Warnings ! kissing, light ass slapping, authors first language isn't english.
💌: Golf is saurrrr boring but I saw these pictures on pinterest and.. HELLO?! I had to write this.
Rafe had always had habit of chewing on the end of his thumb whenever he was trying to calculate something in his head, his eyes narrowing as if the world around him had suddenly become a complicated math equation.
He wasn't a man of stillness, even when he was standing perfectly still, there was a restless energy in his shoulders, a constant shifting of weight that suggested he was ready to bolt or fight or laugh, depending on which second of the minute it was.
Sometimes it scared you.
He was truly so unpredictable.
He wore his wealth like a loose garment, expensive but slightly rumpled, as if the effort of maintaining a polished image was just a bit too tedious for him to bother with.
It was attractive, oh you had to admit that.
The way he wore his cap backwards, with the slightly opened shirt. The pride vibrating around him as he walked the golf field as if he owned it.
Which some people could argue that he did, in a way.
– "Why are you gripping it like it's a gun," he said, stepping closer to you. He didn't laugh, but there was a small, genuine smile playing at the corners of his mouth.
You looked down at the golf club in your hands, then back up at him. – "I feel like it is a gun, and i'm somehow accidentally going to hit something else than the ball"
– "Isn't that the real goal?" he replied, a wide grin painting his face.
He stepped behind you, the scent of sun-warmed skin and expensive cologne following him. He didn't hesitate to wrap his arms around you, his chest pressing against your back as he reached forward to adjust your hold on the grip. His hands were steady and warm, guiding your fingers into the correct position with a slow, deliberate patience that he rarely showed anyone else.
Only with you.
"Keep your weight on your back foot," he murmured, his voice vibrating against your shoulder. He didn't pull away once the grip was set, instead, he kept his hands layered over yours, guiding the club in a slow rhythm, guiding you.
He moved with a surprising level of focus, treating the lesson less like something you had to know how to do and more like a puzzle he was determined to help you solve.
As if he really enjoyed doing this with you.
You took a breath, feeling the tension leave your shoulders as you trusted his lead.
When you finally swung, the connection between the club and the ball was a crisp, clean sound that echoed across the grass that was way too green to be natural.
The ball soared, cutting through the air in a high, straight arc before landing a distance away, rolling softly toward the fringe.
Rafe let out a low whistle, stepping back a little.
– "Well, look at that," he said, his eyes bright with an unexpected flash of pride as his hand lightly smacked your ass.
You rolled your eyes, – "Rafe.." your voice was strict.
He smirked, ignoring you completely, – "You're a natural. If you keep this up, I might actually have some competition on the course, but my ego can't handle being beaten by a beginner."
That was true, very true infact. You still remembered his reaction when he lost against you in some stupid card game.
It was your first time playing and he was not happy, at all. It was so bad he even considered sleeping on the couch that night, but all it took was a few kisses and you in his lap and he had forgiven you.
You laughed, leaning back into him for a brief moment, the competitiveness of the game actually feeling light and playful this time.
He didn't usually do 'patient,' but with you, the edges of his personality seemed to soften. He reached out, brushing a stray strand of hair away from your face, his expression turning softer, almost tentative before he pressed his lips onto yours with a tender softness.
– "I'm not letting you win this time baby, you just had some beginners luck, that's all."
– "Don't get cocky," you teased, glancing back at him with a grin. "I might just take your money on the next hole."
Rafe pouted letting out some air through his mouth, – "So you wanna bet huh, if I were you I wouldn’t be so cocky"
He let out a short, genuine laugh, the sound cutting through the quiet of the morning.
He stepped away to retrieve your ball, walking with a loose, easy stride that felt grounded. As he walked back, he didn't just hand the ball over; he paused, leaning in to press a quick, lingering kiss to your temple.
The butterflies in your stomach were practically doing backflips at this point, and yes, they were still there, even after so long together.
Sometimes you wondered if they'd ever really go away.
The next few holes were less about the score and more about the rhythm of the day. Rafe didn't push you to be perfect; instead, he turned every missed shot into a joke, teasing you while still being affectionate.
Yeah, maybe it was good you didn't make a bet, cause your chances of winning would've been low.
Like, really low.
As you moved toward the ninth hole, the sun climbed higher, casting long, golden shadows across the fairway. You stepped up to the tee, focusing on the grass far away, and swung with everything you had.
The ball screamed off the club, slicing sharply to the right and disappearing into a piece of non cut grass. You groaned, dropping the club and putting your hands on your hips. – "Well, so much for being a natural."
Rafe laughed, glancing to the spot where the ball had vanished. – "Now that, is what I call a fail"
You rolled your eyes, mimicking his earlier words in a funny way, "Now that, is what I call a fail" you grimaced.
He laughed again, oh it was beautiful, his laugh. – "It's just your form of art, right" he teased, and you slapped his arm lightly.
– "Rafael Cameron." You spoke, voice strict as you used his full name, you rarely did.
He raised an eyebrow, – "But it is isn't it?" He continued the teasing, laughing like a teenage boy who just had done something he shouldn't.
You wanted to say a cocky line back again, there were millions of things you could comment on, there truly were.
But fair should be fair, and golf really wasn't your thing, so maybe you could tolerate a little teasing, just for today.
Warnings ! kissing, light ass slapping, authors first language isn't english.
💌: Golf is saurrrr boring but I saw these pictures on pinterest and.. HELLO?! I had to write this.
Rafe had always had habit of chewing on the end of his thumb whenever he was trying to calculate something in his head, his eyes narrowing as if the world around him had suddenly become a complicated math equation.
He wasn't a man of stillness, even when he was standing perfectly still, there was a restless energy in his shoulders, a constant shifting of weight that suggested he was ready to bolt or fight or laugh, depending on which second of the minute it was.
Sometimes it scared you.
He was truly so unpredictable.
He wore his wealth like a loose garment, expensive but slightly rumpled, as if the effort of maintaining a polished image was just a bit too tedious for him to bother with.
It was attractive, oh you had to admit that.
The way he wore his cap backwards, with the slightly opened shirt. The pride vibrating around him as he walked the golf field as if he owned it.
Which some people could argue that he did, in a way.
– "Why are you gripping it like it's a gun," he said, stepping closer to you. He didn't laugh, but there was a small, genuine smile playing at the corners of his mouth.
You looked down at the golf club in your hands, then back up at him. – "I feel like it is a gun, and i'm somehow accidentally going to hit something else than the ball"
– "Isn't that the real goal?" he replied, a wide grin painting his face.
He stepped behind you, the scent of sun-warmed skin and expensive cologne following him. He didn't hesitate to wrap his arms around you, his chest pressing against your back as he reached forward to adjust your hold on the grip. His hands were steady and warm, guiding your fingers into the correct position with a slow, deliberate patience that he rarely showed anyone else.
Only with you.
"Keep your weight on your back foot," he murmured, his voice vibrating against your shoulder. He didn't pull away once the grip was set, instead, he kept his hands layered over yours, guiding the club in a slow rhythm, guiding you.
He moved with a surprising level of focus, treating the lesson less like something you had to know how to do and more like a puzzle he was determined to help you solve.
As if he really enjoyed doing this with you.
You took a breath, feeling the tension leave your shoulders as you trusted his lead.
When you finally swung, the connection between the club and the ball was a crisp, clean sound that echoed across the grass that was way too green to be natural.
The ball soared, cutting through the air in a high, straight arc before landing a distance away, rolling softly toward the fringe.
Rafe let out a low whistle, stepping back a little.
– "Well, look at that," he said, his eyes bright with an unexpected flash of pride as his hand lightly smacked your ass.
You rolled your eyes, – "Rafe.." your voice was strict.
He smirked, ignoring you completely, – "You're a natural. If you keep this up, I might actually have some competition on the course, but my ego can't handle being beaten by a beginner."
That was true, very true infact. You still remembered his reaction when he lost against you in some stupid card game.
It was your first time playing and he was not happy, at all. It was so bad he even considered sleeping on the couch that night, but all it took was a few kisses and you in his lap and he had forgiven you.
You laughed, leaning back into him for a brief moment, the competitiveness of the game actually feeling light and playful this time.
He didn't usually do 'patient,' but with you, the edges of his personality seemed to soften. He reached out, brushing a stray strand of hair away from your face, his expression turning softer, almost tentative before he pressed his lips onto yours with a tender softness.
– "I'm not letting you win this time baby, you just had some beginners luck, that's all."
– "Don't get cocky," you teased, glancing back at him with a grin. "I might just take your money on the next hole."
Rafe pouted letting out some air through his mouth, – "So you wanna bet huh, if I were you I wouldn’t be so cocky"
He let out a short, genuine laugh, the sound cutting through the quiet of the morning.
He stepped away to retrieve your ball, walking with a loose, easy stride that felt grounded. As he walked back, he didn't just hand the ball over; he paused, leaning in to press a quick, lingering kiss to your temple.
The butterflies in your stomach were practically doing backflips at this point, and yes, they were still there, even after so long together.
Sometimes you wondered if they'd ever really go away.
The next few holes were less about the score and more about the rhythm of the day. Rafe didn't push you to be perfect; instead, he turned every missed shot into a joke, teasing you while still being affectionate.
Yeah, maybe it was good you didn't make a bet, cause your chances of winning would've been low.
Like, really low.
As you moved toward the ninth hole, the sun climbed higher, casting long, golden shadows across the fairway. You stepped up to the tee, focusing on the grass far away, and swung with everything you had.
The ball screamed off the club, slicing sharply to the right and disappearing into a piece of non cut grass. You groaned, dropping the club and putting your hands on your hips. – "Well, so much for being a natural."
Rafe laughed, glancing to the spot where the ball had vanished. – "Now that, is what I call a fail"
You rolled your eyes, mimicking his earlier words in a funny way, "Now that, is what I call a fail" you grimaced.
He laughed again, oh it was beautiful, his laugh. – "It's just your form of art, right" he teased, and you slapped his arm lightly.
– "Rafael Cameron." You spoke, voice strict as you used his full name, you rarely did.
He raised an eyebrow, – "But it is isn't it?" He continued the teasing, laughing like a teenage boy who just had done something he shouldn't.
You wanted to say a cocky line back again, there were millions of things you could comment on, there truly were.
But fair should be fair, and golf really wasn't your thing, so maybe you could tolerate a little teasing, just for today.
Warnings ! kissing, light ass slapping, authors first language isn't english.
💌: Golf is saurrrr boring but I saw these pictures on pinterest and.. HELLO?! I had to write this.
Rafe had always had habit of chewing on the end of his thumb whenever he was trying to calculate something in his head, his eyes narrowing as if the world around him had suddenly become a complicated math equation.
He wasn't a man of stillness, even when he was standing perfectly still, there was a restless energy in his shoulders, a constant shifting of weight that suggested he was ready to bolt or fight or laugh, depending on which second of the minute it was.
Sometimes it scared you.
He was truly so unpredictable.
He wore his wealth like a loose garment, expensive but slightly rumpled, as if the effort of maintaining a polished image was just a bit too tedious for him to bother with.
It was attractive, oh you had to admit that.
The way he wore his cap backwards, with the slightly opened shirt. The pride vibrating around him as he walked the golf field as if he owned it.
Which some people could argue that he did, in a way.
– "Why are you gripping it like it's a gun," he said, stepping closer to you. He didn't laugh, but there was a small, genuine smile playing at the corners of his mouth.
You looked down at the golf club in your hands, then back up at him. – "I feel like it is a gun, and i'm somehow accidentally going to hit something else than the ball"
– "Isn't that the real goal?" he replied, a wide grin painting his face.
He stepped behind you, the scent of sun-warmed skin and expensive cologne following him. He didn't hesitate to wrap his arms around you, his chest pressing against your back as he reached forward to adjust your hold on the grip. His hands were steady and warm, guiding your fingers into the correct position with a slow, deliberate patience that he rarely showed anyone else.
Only with you.
"Keep your weight on your back foot," he murmured, his voice vibrating against your shoulder. He didn't pull away once the grip was set, instead, he kept his hands layered over yours, guiding the club in a slow rhythm, guiding you.
He moved with a surprising level of focus, treating the lesson less like something you had to know how to do and more like a puzzle he was determined to help you solve.
As if he really enjoyed doing this with you.
You took a breath, feeling the tension leave your shoulders as you trusted his lead.
When you finally swung, the connection between the club and the ball was a crisp, clean sound that echoed across the grass that was way too green to be natural.
The ball soared, cutting through the air in a high, straight arc before landing a distance away, rolling softly toward the fringe.
Rafe let out a low whistle, stepping back a little.
– "Well, look at that," he said, his eyes bright with an unexpected flash of pride as his hand lightly smacked your ass.
You rolled your eyes, – "Rafe.." your voice was strict.
He smirked, ignoring you completely, – "You're a natural. If you keep this up, I might actually have some competition on the course, but my ego can't handle being beaten by a beginner."
That was true, very true infact. You still remembered his reaction when he lost against you in some stupid card game.
It was your first time playing and he was not happy, at all. It was so bad he even considered sleeping on the couch that night, but all it took was a few kisses and you in his lap and he had forgiven you.
You laughed, leaning back into him for a brief moment, the competitiveness of the game actually feeling light and playful this time.
He didn't usually do 'patient,' but with you, the edges of his personality seemed to soften. He reached out, brushing a stray strand of hair away from your face, his expression turning softer, almost tentative before he pressed his lips onto yours with a tender softness.
– "I'm not letting you win this time baby, you just had some beginners luck, that's all."
– "Don't get cocky," you teased, glancing back at him with a grin. "I might just take your money on the next hole."
Rafe pouted letting out some air through his mouth, – "So you wanna bet huh, if I were you I wouldn’t be so cocky"
He let out a short, genuine laugh, the sound cutting through the quiet of the morning.
He stepped away to retrieve your ball, walking with a loose, easy stride that felt grounded. As he walked back, he didn't just hand the ball over; he paused, leaning in to press a quick, lingering kiss to your temple.
The butterflies in your stomach were practically doing backflips at this point, and yes, they were still there, even after so long together.
Sometimes you wondered if they'd ever really go away.
The next few holes were less about the score and more about the rhythm of the day. Rafe didn't push you to be perfect; instead, he turned every missed shot into a joke, teasing you while still being affectionate.
Yeah, maybe it was good you didn't make a bet, cause your chances of winning would've been low.
Like, really low.
As you moved toward the ninth hole, the sun climbed higher, casting long, golden shadows across the fairway. You stepped up to the tee, focusing on the grass far away, and swung with everything you had.
The ball screamed off the club, slicing sharply to the right and disappearing into a piece of non cut grass. You groaned, dropping the club and putting your hands on your hips. – "Well, so much for being a natural."
Rafe laughed, glancing to the spot where the ball had vanished. – "Now that, is what I call a fail"
You rolled your eyes, mimicking his earlier words in a funny way, "Now that, is what I call a fail" you grimaced.
He laughed again, oh it was beautiful, his laugh. – "It's just your form of art, right" he teased, and you slapped his arm lightly.
– "Rafael Cameron." You spoke, voice strict as you used his full name, you rarely did.
He raised an eyebrow, – "But it is isn't it?" He continued the teasing, laughing like a teenage boy who just had done something he shouldn't.
You wanted to say a cocky line back again, there were millions of things you could comment on, there truly were.
But fair should be fair, and golf really wasn't your thing, so maybe you could tolerate a little teasing, just for today.
Warnings ! kissing, light ass slapping, authors first language isn't english.
💌: Golf is saurrrr boring but I saw these pictures on pinterest and.. HELLO?! I had to write this.
Rafe had always had habit of chewing on the end of his thumb whenever he was trying to calculate something in his head, his eyes narrowing as if the world around him had suddenly become a complicated math equation.
He wasn't a man of stillness, even when he was standing perfectly still, there was a restless energy in his shoulders, a constant shifting of weight that suggested he was ready to bolt or fight or laugh, depending on which second of the minute it was.
Sometimes it scared you.
He was truly so unpredictable.
He wore his wealth like a loose garment, expensive but slightly rumpled, as if the effort of maintaining a polished image was just a bit too tedious for him to bother with.
It was attractive, oh you had to admit that.
The way he wore his cap backwards, with the slightly opened shirt. The pride vibrating around him as he walked the golf field as if he owned it.
Which some people could argue that he did, in a way.
– "Why are you gripping it like it's a gun," he said, stepping closer to you. He didn't laugh, but there was a small, genuine smile playing at the corners of his mouth.
You looked down at the golf club in your hands, then back up at him. – "I feel like it is a gun, and i'm somehow accidentally going to hit something else than the ball"
– "Isn't that the real goal?" he replied, a wide grin painting his face.
He stepped behind you, the scent of sun-warmed skin and expensive cologne following him. He didn't hesitate to wrap his arms around you, his chest pressing against your back as he reached forward to adjust your hold on the grip. His hands were steady and warm, guiding your fingers into the correct position with a slow, deliberate patience that he rarely showed anyone else.
Only with you.
"Keep your weight on your back foot," he murmured, his voice vibrating against your shoulder. He didn't pull away once the grip was set, instead, he kept his hands layered over yours, guiding the club in a slow rhythm, guiding you.
He moved with a surprising level of focus, treating the lesson less like something you had to know how to do and more like a puzzle he was determined to help you solve.
As if he really enjoyed doing this with you.
You took a breath, feeling the tension leave your shoulders as you trusted his lead.
When you finally swung, the connection between the club and the ball was a crisp, clean sound that echoed across the grass that was way too green to be natural.
The ball soared, cutting through the air in a high, straight arc before landing a distance away, rolling softly toward the fringe.
Rafe let out a low whistle, stepping back a little.
– "Well, look at that," he said, his eyes bright with an unexpected flash of pride as his hand lightly smacked your ass.
You rolled your eyes, – "Rafe.." your voice was strict.
He smirked, ignoring you completely, – "You're a natural. If you keep this up, I might actually have some competition on the course, but my ego can't handle being beaten by a beginner."
That was true, very true infact. You still remembered his reaction when he lost against you in some stupid card game.
It was your first time playing and he was not happy, at all. It was so bad he even considered sleeping on the couch that night, but all it took was a few kisses and you in his lap and he had forgiven you.
You laughed, leaning back into him for a brief moment, the competitiveness of the game actually feeling light and playful this time.
He didn't usually do 'patient,' but with you, the edges of his personality seemed to soften. He reached out, brushing a stray strand of hair away from your face, his expression turning softer, almost tentative before he pressed his lips onto yours with a tender softness.
– "I'm not letting you win this time baby, you just had some beginners luck, that's all."
– "Don't get cocky," you teased, glancing back at him with a grin. "I might just take your money on the next hole."
Rafe pouted letting out some air through his mouth, – "So you wanna bet huh, if I were you I wouldn’t be so cocky"
He let out a short, genuine laugh, the sound cutting through the quiet of the morning.
He stepped away to retrieve your ball, walking with a loose, easy stride that felt grounded. As he walked back, he didn't just hand the ball over; he paused, leaning in to press a quick, lingering kiss to your temple.
The butterflies in your stomach were practically doing backflips at this point, and yes, they were still there, even after so long together.
Sometimes you wondered if they'd ever really go away.
The next few holes were less about the score and more about the rhythm of the day. Rafe didn't push you to be perfect; instead, he turned every missed shot into a joke, teasing you while still being affectionate.
Yeah, maybe it was good you didn't make a bet, cause your chances of winning would've been low.
Like, really low.
As you moved toward the ninth hole, the sun climbed higher, casting long, golden shadows across the fairway. You stepped up to the tee, focusing on the grass far away, and swung with everything you had.
The ball screamed off the club, slicing sharply to the right and disappearing into a piece of non cut grass. You groaned, dropping the club and putting your hands on your hips. – "Well, so much for being a natural."
Rafe laughed, glancing to the spot where the ball had vanished. – "Now that, is what I call a fail"
You rolled your eyes, mimicking his earlier words in a funny way, "Now that, is what I call a fail" you grimaced.
He laughed again, oh it was beautiful, his laugh. – "It's just your form of art, right" he teased, and you slapped his arm lightly.
– "Rafael Cameron." You spoke, voice strict as you used his full name, you rarely did.
He raised an eyebrow, – "But it is isn't it?" He continued the teasing, laughing like a teenage boy who just had done something he shouldn't.
You wanted to say a cocky line back again, there were millions of things you could comment on, there truly were.
But fair should be fair, and golf really wasn't your thing, so maybe you could tolerate a little teasing, just for today.
Warnings ! Angst, violence, suggestive content, swearing, writers first language isn't english, I don't know anything about fishing so this required a lot of research and i'm sorry if it's not completely accurate, not really proofread.
The fishing lure had snapped, taking a good chunk of the dock’s railing with it. It was the third one this morning, and the line was a tangled mess of nylon and saltwater.
It smelled like summer and early mornings.
And a little bit, just a tiny bit like Rafe's signature cologne.
"You're doing it all wrong," Rafe said, leaning against the piling.
He wasn't helping, but he was watching, his eyes tracking the way the sunlight hit the water. You had practically forced him to go with you.
He was not a big fan of fishing, said it was "pogue activities" it wasn't, not that it mattered but it wasn't.
Everyone can fish.
– "I'm doing exactly what he told me to do? What’s your problem?" You replied, fighting with a stubborn knot in the line. Beside you, your guide laughed, a loud, easy sound that seemed to echo across the quiet stretch of the creek.
Rafe was not a big fan of your guide, it was obvious, too obvious. Embarassing, but whenever you told Rafe about it he defended himself with his all, and all of a sudden he'd even tell you he liked your guide.
And you didn't bother pushing him even more, scared of how he might react.
He was Rafe after all, completely unpredictable.
The guide reached over, his hand brushing yours as he took the rod to help you untangle the mess. – "I got it, you're doing it right you just have to keep the tension lose so it doesn't bind" he managed to pick the knot free with a quick flick of his wrist, handing the rod back with a grin that was just a little too big for your boyfriends liking.
Rafe shifted his weight, his shoulder brushing against the wooden post. He didn't say anything, but the atmosphere shifted, the air feeling heavier, like the pressure drop right before a summer storm.
He watched the guides hand linger on yours for a second too long, his gaze narrowing as he tracked the movement.
– "Thank you for the.. tips, but I think we're done here" He spoke, grabbing your hand just a little too tight, it was almost bordering at painful.
You pulled away quickly, – "Seriously Rafe?!"
Why did he always have to do this.
He sighed, clenching his jaw. – "Come on baby, we're kooks we don't need to know how to fish"
There it was again, the kooks and pogues thing, oh you absolutely despised it.
You frowned, – "But it's fun? Okay I just want to do something fun together for once, why can't you just swallow your pride, put your fucking labels aside and do this with me?!" You exhaled, a rush of anxiety seeping through you, "please." You added.
Rafe didn't answer immediately. He just stared at you, his pupils dilated, the blue of his eyes almost swallowed by a dark, erratic hunger. You seemed to have hit a nerve, though not in the way you intended.
To Rafe, these labels weren't just categories; they were the only things that made sense in a world where he felt like he was constantly sliding off the edge. He let out a short, sharp breath, his gaze flickering back to your guide.
– "Let's fucking go" he spat on the ground, you flinched, your guide did too. Rafe noticed, "Let's go" he said again, this time in a voice which he tried his best to sound calm.
– "I'll see you guys later!" Your guide called out, his voice cautious as he stepped back from the dock.
He didn't wait for a response, sensing the unstable energy rolling off Rafe in powerful waves. As he turned to walk back toward his truck, Rafe didn't move. He stood perfectly still, his hands shoved deep into his pockets, watching the back of your guides head with a terrifying, focused intensity.
– "Rafe come on, you said we'd go, so we'll go" you spoke, pulling him with you.
He sighed and followed you back to the truck very unwillingly, the ride back home was quiet, a bad kind of quiet and you could practically taste the tension that was coiling in the air.
Rafe's eyes were locked on the road the entire time, but his mind was elsewhere, that was clear.
Your hand found his thigh, squeezing lightly through the fabric of his jeans, just for reassurance. – "I'm sorry." You begun, your lips forming into a slight pout. "I'm sorry that the day ended like this" you paused, trying to look for more words but they just wouldn’t come to you.
Your hand moved higher up, closer to his core, teasing, and his breath hitched. – "It's fine, it's not you that's fucked up it's him. He's been doing this for weeks, these subtle touches, it's embarassing, i'm right next to him and he still dares." He murmured, barely audible, infact he might've called him a motherfucker aswell.
But you didn't hear it well enough to be sure.
Your hand moved higher up, sliding over his crotch in the most subtle and innocent way you could. Normally he'd react, this time he didn't.
You sighed, – " So you're still pissed," you murmured, your voice low, teasing the tension.
"Pissed isn't the word for it," Rafe groaned, the sound vibrating deep in his chest. He didn't wait for the truck to come to a complete stop before he reached out, his hand sliding into the hair at the nape of your neck to pull you toward him.
The kiss was frantic, tasting of salt and desperation, his tongue sweeping against yours with a hunger that felt like he was trying to consume you. He backed you into the passenger door, his body heavy and pressing, his hands roaming with a possessive urgency that left you breathless.
You arched your back, your fingers digging into his shoulders as the heat between you spiked.
Rafe’s breath was hot against your skin, his lips trailing a path of fire from your jaw down to the sensitive hollow of your throat, your collarbones.
His hand slid beneath your shirt, his palm hot against your ribs, pulling you closer until there wasn't a single inch of space left between you.
The truck felt like a chamber, the windows beginning to fog over as the outside world faded into an irrelevant blur which you in that moment didn't even remember.
Your mind was only thinking about him, and him only.
Just as his hand moved to the button of your jeans, his eyes dark and focused, your phone vibrated in your pocket.
He exhaled and pulled away from you, his eyes trailing over you in a way you couldn't describe even if you tried.
But it wasn't in a good way.
You sighed, grabbing your phone. It was your guide.
It wasn't some long apology message as you had expected, where he'd say that he was sorry for being so flirty, that the understands Rafe's frustration etc etc.
No. It was just a short text; this made me think of u lol
And a link to a tiktok video, you didn't even have time to open it before Rafe snatched your phone out of your hands.
His eyes immediately found yours, yours filled with guilt, his with genuine anger.
You didn’t even do anything wrong.
– "You texting him?" He licked his teeth, rolling his eyes when you didn't answer immediately.
You shook your head, – "No.."
You weren't.
Rafe's thumb hoovered over the screen as he scrolled through your chats, nothing suspicious, not really.
Except for the suspicious amount of emojis from your guides side.
Smileys where they weren't needed, pink hearts at the end of sentences. Not red, pink. Who even used pink hearts?
Rafe took a deep breath, closing his eyes, clenching one of his fists—you noticed.
–"Rafe—" you begun, your voice cracked, "Don't do anything you will regret"
You were such a fool for even trying, he was Rafe Cameron. What were you actually expecting?
He didn't slam the door—he closed it with a terrifying, deliberate softness.
He didn't look at you as he began to walk back the way you had come, his stride long and predatory. You scrambled out after him, calling his name, but he was already halfway back to the dock, his shoulders hunched and his pace accelerating.
Your heart was beating fast in your chest, and you couldn't remember the last time you were this scared.
You weren't scared of Rafe, nor of your guide.
But you were scared for Rafe, what made him lose his grip this bad. What made him go this insane?
Was it, you?
By the time you caught up, your guide was just loading his gear into the bed of his truck, humming a mindless tune to himself, completely unaware of what was to come.
He didn't even see Rafe until the blonde boy was practically on top of him. There was no warning, no verbal confrontation, no "why are you texting her." Rafe simply lunged, his forearm slamming into his chest to knock the wind out of him and sending him crashing back against the side of the truck.
The sound of the impact—the dull thud of flesh against metal—made you gasp.
You threw yourself between them, your hands pressing against Rafe’s chest to push him back. – "Rafe, please! He didn't do anything!"
Rafe didn't even look at you. His gaze was locked on the guide, who was now curled on the ground, gasping for air and clutching his midsection.
Rafe’s chest heaved, his pupils so dilated that his eyes looked like two black holes.
Like they did whenever he was high, the lump in your throat only grew bigger, the memories of a drug addled Rafe throwing glass bottles of wine around the house, one of them hitting your leg.
You still had the scar.
He looked like he was vibrating, the adrenaline turning his skin pale and tight across his cheekbones. He raised his hand for one more strike, his knuckles already split and bleeding, but as your touch registered on his skin, he froze.
The silence that followed the crash of the fight was heavier than the noise. Rafe’s fist stayed suspended in mid-air, trembling slightly, his knuckles raw and smeared with a mixture of grit and your guides blood.
He looked at you then, and for a second, the darkness in his eyes flickered, the predatory focus shifting back into a desperate, searching need. He didn't apologize; Rafe didn't know how to apologize for the life of him.
Instead, he let out a long, shuddering breath that sounded like a collapse, his arm dropping slowly to his side. – "Leave her the fuck alone, do you understand?!"
Your guide nodded slowly, eyes filled with terror as he swallowed.
– "Do you understand? Hey! Do you understand?!" Rafe grabbed his face by the cheeks, and for a moment you thought he was going to spit in his face.
Your eyes flicked towards your truck who was standing unlocked not too far away, the door to the passenger seat left open. – "Rafe, let's go."
He turned towards you, his pupils just as big as earlier. He was just as insane, just as wrecked. And if you weren't watching his every move he'd probably swing again.
You mouthed a quick; "I'm sorry" to your guide before running towards Rafe who was waiting for you. His hand immediately found your waist, his grip tight, strong, filled with anger he never got the chance to truly let go off.
Maybe he'd let it out on you, maybe he'd let it out on someone else.
Or maybe he'd just keep it inside him until he snapped, until he completely lost it. However, you had you suspicions that perhaps he already had lost it completely.
And you were too nice for staying.
Join my taglist babes 🤭
— this is so scary to post I haven't written anything in ageeees 🥹
Warnings ! Angst, violence, suggestive content, swearing, writers first language isn't english, I don't know anything about fishing so this required a lot of research and i'm sorry if it's not completely accurate, not really proofread.
The fishing lure had snapped, taking a good chunk of the dock’s railing with it. It was the third one this morning, and the line was a tangled mess of nylon and saltwater.
It smelled like summer and early mornings.
And a little bit, just a tiny bit like Rafe's signature cologne.
"You're doing it all wrong," Rafe said, leaning against the piling.
He wasn't helping, but he was watching, his eyes tracking the way the sunlight hit the water. You had practically forced him to go with you.
He was not a big fan of fishing, said it was "pogue activities" it wasn't, not that it mattered but it wasn't.
Everyone can fish.
– "I'm doing exactly what he told me to do? What’s your problem?" You replied, fighting with a stubborn knot in the line. Beside you, your guide laughed, a loud, easy sound that seemed to echo across the quiet stretch of the creek.
Rafe was not a big fan of your guide, it was obvious, too obvious. Embarassing, but whenever you told Rafe about it he defended himself with his all, and all of a sudden he'd even tell you he liked your guide.
And you didn't bother pushing him even more, scared of how he might react.
He was Rafe after all, completely unpredictable.
The guide reached over, his hand brushing yours as he took the rod to help you untangle the mess. – "I got it, you're doing it right you just have to keep the tension lose so it doesn't bind" he managed to pick the knot free with a quick flick of his wrist, handing the rod back with a grin that was just a little too big for your boyfriends liking.
Rafe shifted his weight, his shoulder brushing against the wooden post. He didn't say anything, but the atmosphere shifted, the air feeling heavier, like the pressure drop right before a summer storm.
He watched the guides hand linger on yours for a second too long, his gaze narrowing as he tracked the movement.
– "Thank you for the.. tips, but I think we're done here" He spoke, grabbing your hand just a little too tight, it was almost bordering at painful.
You pulled away quickly, – "Seriously Rafe?!"
Why did he always have to do this.
He sighed, clenching his jaw. – "Come on baby, we're kooks we don't need to know how to fish"
There it was again, the kooks and pogues thing, oh you absolutely despised it.
You frowned, – "But it's fun? Okay I just want to do something fun together for once, why can't you just swallow your pride, put your fucking labels aside and do this with me?!" You exhaled, a rush of anxiety seeping through you, "please." You added.
Rafe didn't answer immediately. He just stared at you, his pupils dilated, the blue of his eyes almost swallowed by a dark, erratic hunger. You seemed to have hit a nerve, though not in the way you intended.
To Rafe, these labels weren't just categories; they were the only things that made sense in a world where he felt like he was constantly sliding off the edge. He let out a short, sharp breath, his gaze flickering back to your guide.
– "Let's fucking go" he spat on the ground, you flinched, your guide did too. Rafe noticed, "Let's go" he said again, this time in a voice which he tried his best to sound calm.
– "I'll see you guys later!" Your guide called out, his voice cautious as he stepped back from the dock.
He didn't wait for a response, sensing the unstable energy rolling off Rafe in powerful waves. As he turned to walk back toward his truck, Rafe didn't move. He stood perfectly still, his hands shoved deep into his pockets, watching the back of your guides head with a terrifying, focused intensity.
– "Rafe come on, you said we'd go, so we'll go" you spoke, pulling him with you.
He sighed and followed you back to the truck very unwillingly, the ride back home was quiet, a bad kind of quiet and you could practically taste the tension that was coiling in the air.
Rafe's eyes were locked on the road the entire time, but his mind was elsewhere, that was clear.
Your hand found his thigh, squeezing lightly through the fabric of his jeans, just for reassurance. – "I'm sorry." You begun, your lips forming into a slight pout. "I'm sorry that the day ended like this" you paused, trying to look for more words but they just wouldn’t come to you.
Your hand moved higher up, closer to his core, teasing, and his breath hitched. – "It's fine, it's not you that's fucked up it's him. He's been doing this for weeks, these subtle touches, it's embarassing, i'm right next to him and he still dares." He murmured, barely audible, infact he might've called him a motherfucker aswell.
But you didn't hear it well enough to be sure.
Your hand moved higher up, sliding over his crotch in the most subtle and innocent way you could. Normally he'd react, this time he didn't.
You sighed, – " So you're still pissed," you murmured, your voice low, teasing the tension.
"Pissed isn't the word for it," Rafe groaned, the sound vibrating deep in his chest. He didn't wait for the truck to come to a complete stop before he reached out, his hand sliding into the hair at the nape of your neck to pull you toward him.
The kiss was frantic, tasting of salt and desperation, his tongue sweeping against yours with a hunger that felt like he was trying to consume you. He backed you into the passenger door, his body heavy and pressing, his hands roaming with a possessive urgency that left you breathless.
You arched your back, your fingers digging into his shoulders as the heat between you spiked.
Rafe’s breath was hot against your skin, his lips trailing a path of fire from your jaw down to the sensitive hollow of your throat, your collarbones.
His hand slid beneath your shirt, his palm hot against your ribs, pulling you closer until there wasn't a single inch of space left between you.
The truck felt like a chamber, the windows beginning to fog over as the outside world faded into an irrelevant blur which you in that moment didn't even remember.
Your mind was only thinking about him, and him only.
Just as his hand moved to the button of your jeans, his eyes dark and focused, your phone vibrated in your pocket.
He exhaled and pulled away from you, his eyes trailing over you in a way you couldn't describe even if you tried.
But it wasn't in a good way.
You sighed, grabbing your phone. It was your guide.
It wasn't some long apology message as you had expected, where he'd say that he was sorry for being so flirty, that the understands Rafe's frustration etc etc.
No. It was just a short text; this made me think of u lol
And a link to a tiktok video, you didn't even have time to open it before Rafe snatched your phone out of your hands.
His eyes immediately found yours, yours filled with guilt, his with genuine anger.
You didn’t even do anything wrong.
– "You texting him?" He licked his teeth, rolling his eyes when you didn't answer immediately.
You shook your head, – "No.."
You weren't.
Rafe's thumb hoovered over the screen as he scrolled through your chats, nothing suspicious, not really.
Except for the suspicious amount of emojis from your guides side.
Smileys where they weren't needed, pink hearts at the end of sentences. Not red, pink. Who even used pink hearts?
Rafe took a deep breath, closing his eyes, clenching one of his fists—you noticed.
–"Rafe—" you begun, your voice cracked, "Don't do anything you will regret"
You were such a fool for even trying, he was Rafe Cameron. What were you actually expecting?
He didn't slam the door—he closed it with a terrifying, deliberate softness.
He didn't look at you as he began to walk back the way you had come, his stride long and predatory. You scrambled out after him, calling his name, but he was already halfway back to the dock, his shoulders hunched and his pace accelerating.
Your heart was beating fast in your chest, and you couldn't remember the last time you were this scared.
You weren't scared of Rafe, nor of your guide.
But you were scared for Rafe, what made him lose his grip this bad. What made him go this insane?
Was it, you?
By the time you caught up, your guide was just loading his gear into the bed of his truck, humming a mindless tune to himself, completely unaware of what was to come.
He didn't even see Rafe until the blonde boy was practically on top of him. There was no warning, no verbal confrontation, no "why are you texting her." Rafe simply lunged, his forearm slamming into his chest to knock the wind out of him and sending him crashing back against the side of the truck.
The sound of the impact—the dull thud of flesh against metal—made you gasp.
You threw yourself between them, your hands pressing against Rafe’s chest to push him back. – "Rafe, please! He didn't do anything!"
Rafe didn't even look at you. His gaze was locked on the guide, who was now curled on the ground, gasping for air and clutching his midsection.
Rafe’s chest heaved, his pupils so dilated that his eyes looked like two black holes.
Like they did whenever he was high, the lump in your throat only grew bigger, the memories of a drug addled Rafe throwing glass bottles of wine around the house, one of them hitting your leg.
You still had the scar.
He looked like he was vibrating, the adrenaline turning his skin pale and tight across his cheekbones. He raised his hand for one more strike, his knuckles already split and bleeding, but as your touch registered on his skin, he froze.
The silence that followed the crash of the fight was heavier than the noise. Rafe’s fist stayed suspended in mid-air, trembling slightly, his knuckles raw and smeared with a mixture of grit and your guides blood.
He looked at you then, and for a second, the darkness in his eyes flickered, the predatory focus shifting back into a desperate, searching need. He didn't apologize; Rafe didn't know how to apologize for the life of him.
Instead, he let out a long, shuddering breath that sounded like a collapse, his arm dropping slowly to his side. – "Leave her the fuck alone, do you understand?!"
Your guide nodded slowly, eyes filled with terror as he swallowed.
– "Do you understand? Hey! Do you understand?!" Rafe grabbed his face by the cheeks, and for a moment you thought he was going to spit in his face.
Your eyes flicked towards your truck who was standing unlocked not too far away, the door to the passenger seat left open. – "Rafe, let's go."
He turned towards you, his pupils just as big as earlier. He was just as insane, just as wrecked. And if you weren't watching his every move he'd probably swing again.
You mouthed a quick; "I'm sorry" to your guide before running towards Rafe who was waiting for you. His hand immediately found your waist, his grip tight, strong, filled with anger he never got the chance to truly let go off.
Maybe he'd let it out on you, maybe he'd let it out on someone else.
Or maybe he'd just keep it inside him until he snapped, until he completely lost it. However, you had you suspicions that perhaps he already had lost it completely.
And you were too nice for staying.
Join my taglist babes 🤭
— this is so scary to post I haven't written anything in ageeees 🥹
Warnings ! Angst, violence, suggestive content, swearing, writers first language isn't english, I don't know anything about fishing so this required a lot of research and i'm sorry if it's not completely accurate, not really proofread.
The fishing lure had snapped, taking a good chunk of the dock’s railing with it. It was the third one this morning, and the line was a tangled mess of nylon and saltwater.
It smelled like summer and early mornings.
And a little bit, just a tiny bit like Rafe's signature cologne.
"You're doing it all wrong," Rafe said, leaning against the piling.
He wasn't helping, but he was watching, his eyes tracking the way the sunlight hit the water. You had practically forced him to go with you.
He was not a big fan of fishing, said it was "pogue activities" it wasn't, not that it mattered but it wasn't.
Everyone can fish.
– "I'm doing exactly what he told me to do? What’s your problem?" You replied, fighting with a stubborn knot in the line. Beside you, your guide laughed, a loud, easy sound that seemed to echo across the quiet stretch of the creek.
Rafe was not a big fan of your guide, it was obvious, too obvious. Embarassing, but whenever you told Rafe about it he defended himself with his all, and all of a sudden he'd even tell you he liked your guide.
And you didn't bother pushing him even more, scared of how he might react.
He was Rafe after all, completely unpredictable.
The guide reached over, his hand brushing yours as he took the rod to help you untangle the mess. – "I got it, you're doing it right you just have to keep the tension lose so it doesn't bind" he managed to pick the knot free with a quick flick of his wrist, handing the rod back with a grin that was just a little too big for your boyfriends liking.
Rafe shifted his weight, his shoulder brushing against the wooden post. He didn't say anything, but the atmosphere shifted, the air feeling heavier, like the pressure drop right before a summer storm.
He watched the guides hand linger on yours for a second too long, his gaze narrowing as he tracked the movement.
– "Thank you for the.. tips, but I think we're done here" He spoke, grabbing your hand just a little too tight, it was almost bordering at painful.
You pulled away quickly, – "Seriously Rafe?!"
Why did he always have to do this.
He sighed, clenching his jaw. – "Come on baby, we're kooks we don't need to know how to fish"
There it was again, the kooks and pogues thing, oh you absolutely despised it.
You frowned, – "But it's fun? Okay I just want to do something fun together for once, why can't you just swallow your pride, put your fucking labels aside and do this with me?!" You exhaled, a rush of anxiety seeping through you, "please." You added.
Rafe didn't answer immediately. He just stared at you, his pupils dilated, the blue of his eyes almost swallowed by a dark, erratic hunger. You seemed to have hit a nerve, though not in the way you intended.
To Rafe, these labels weren't just categories; they were the only things that made sense in a world where he felt like he was constantly sliding off the edge. He let out a short, sharp breath, his gaze flickering back to your guide.
– "Let's fucking go" he spat on the ground, you flinched, your guide did too. Rafe noticed, "Let's go" he said again, this time in a voice which he tried his best to sound calm.
– "I'll see you guys later!" Your guide called out, his voice cautious as he stepped back from the dock.
He didn't wait for a response, sensing the unstable energy rolling off Rafe in powerful waves. As he turned to walk back toward his truck, Rafe didn't move. He stood perfectly still, his hands shoved deep into his pockets, watching the back of your guides head with a terrifying, focused intensity.
– "Rafe come on, you said we'd go, so we'll go" you spoke, pulling him with you.
He sighed and followed you back to the truck very unwillingly, the ride back home was quiet, a bad kind of quiet and you could practically taste the tension that was coiling in the air.
Rafe's eyes were locked on the road the entire time, but his mind was elsewhere, that was clear.
Your hand found his thigh, squeezing lightly through the fabric of his jeans, just for reassurance. – "I'm sorry." You begun, your lips forming into a slight pout. "I'm sorry that the day ended like this" you paused, trying to look for more words but they just wouldn’t come to you.
Your hand moved higher up, closer to his core, teasing, and his breath hitched. – "It's fine, it's not you that's fucked up it's him. He's been doing this for weeks, these subtle touches, it's embarassing, i'm right next to him and he still dares." He murmured, barely audible, infact he might've called him a motherfucker aswell.
But you didn't hear it well enough to be sure.
Your hand moved higher up, sliding over his crotch in the most subtle and innocent way you could. Normally he'd react, this time he didn't.
You sighed, – " So you're still pissed," you murmured, your voice low, teasing the tension.
"Pissed isn't the word for it," Rafe groaned, the sound vibrating deep in his chest. He didn't wait for the truck to come to a complete stop before he reached out, his hand sliding into the hair at the nape of your neck to pull you toward him.
The kiss was frantic, tasting of salt and desperation, his tongue sweeping against yours with a hunger that felt like he was trying to consume you. He backed you into the passenger door, his body heavy and pressing, his hands roaming with a possessive urgency that left you breathless.
You arched your back, your fingers digging into his shoulders as the heat between you spiked.
Rafe’s breath was hot against your skin, his lips trailing a path of fire from your jaw down to the sensitive hollow of your throat, your collarbones.
His hand slid beneath your shirt, his palm hot against your ribs, pulling you closer until there wasn't a single inch of space left between you.
The truck felt like a chamber, the windows beginning to fog over as the outside world faded into an irrelevant blur which you in that moment didn't even remember.
Your mind was only thinking about him, and him only.
Just as his hand moved to the button of your jeans, his eyes dark and focused, your phone vibrated in your pocket.
He exhaled and pulled away from you, his eyes trailing over you in a way you couldn't describe even if you tried.
But it wasn't in a good way.
You sighed, grabbing your phone. It was your guide.
It wasn't some long apology message as you had expected, where he'd say that he was sorry for being so flirty, that the understands Rafe's frustration etc etc.
No. It was just a short text; this made me think of u lol
And a link to a tiktok video, you didn't even have time to open it before Rafe snatched your phone out of your hands.
His eyes immediately found yours, yours filled with guilt, his with genuine anger.
You didn’t even do anything wrong.
– "You texting him?" He licked his teeth, rolling his eyes when you didn't answer immediately.
You shook your head, – "No.."
You weren't.
Rafe's thumb hoovered over the screen as he scrolled through your chats, nothing suspicious, not really.
Except for the suspicious amount of emojis from your guides side.
Smileys where they weren't needed, pink hearts at the end of sentences. Not red, pink. Who even used pink hearts?
Rafe took a deep breath, closing his eyes, clenching one of his fists—you noticed.
–"Rafe—" you begun, your voice cracked, "Don't do anything you will regret"
You were such a fool for even trying, he was Rafe Cameron. What were you actually expecting?
He didn't slam the door—he closed it with a terrifying, deliberate softness.
He didn't look at you as he began to walk back the way you had come, his stride long and predatory. You scrambled out after him, calling his name, but he was already halfway back to the dock, his shoulders hunched and his pace accelerating.
Your heart was beating fast in your chest, and you couldn't remember the last time you were this scared.
You weren't scared of Rafe, nor of your guide.
But you were scared for Rafe, what made him lose his grip this bad. What made him go this insane?
Was it, you?
By the time you caught up, your guide was just loading his gear into the bed of his truck, humming a mindless tune to himself, completely unaware of what was to come.
He didn't even see Rafe until the blonde boy was practically on top of him. There was no warning, no verbal confrontation, no "why are you texting her." Rafe simply lunged, his forearm slamming into his chest to knock the wind out of him and sending him crashing back against the side of the truck.
The sound of the impact—the dull thud of flesh against metal—made you gasp.
You threw yourself between them, your hands pressing against Rafe’s chest to push him back. – "Rafe, please! He didn't do anything!"
Rafe didn't even look at you. His gaze was locked on the guide, who was now curled on the ground, gasping for air and clutching his midsection.
Rafe’s chest heaved, his pupils so dilated that his eyes looked like two black holes.
Like they did whenever he was high, the lump in your throat only grew bigger, the memories of a drug addled Rafe throwing glass bottles of wine around the house, one of them hitting your leg.
You still had the scar.
He looked like he was vibrating, the adrenaline turning his skin pale and tight across his cheekbones. He raised his hand for one more strike, his knuckles already split and bleeding, but as your touch registered on his skin, he froze.
The silence that followed the crash of the fight was heavier than the noise. Rafe’s fist stayed suspended in mid-air, trembling slightly, his knuckles raw and smeared with a mixture of grit and your guides blood.
He looked at you then, and for a second, the darkness in his eyes flickered, the predatory focus shifting back into a desperate, searching need. He didn't apologize; Rafe didn't know how to apologize for the life of him.
Instead, he let out a long, shuddering breath that sounded like a collapse, his arm dropping slowly to his side. – "Leave her the fuck alone, do you understand?!"
Your guide nodded slowly, eyes filled with terror as he swallowed.
– "Do you understand? Hey! Do you understand?!" Rafe grabbed his face by the cheeks, and for a moment you thought he was going to spit in his face.
Your eyes flicked towards your truck who was standing unlocked not too far away, the door to the passenger seat left open. – "Rafe, let's go."
He turned towards you, his pupils just as big as earlier. He was just as insane, just as wrecked. And if you weren't watching his every move he'd probably swing again.
You mouthed a quick; "I'm sorry" to your guide before running towards Rafe who was waiting for you. His hand immediately found your waist, his grip tight, strong, filled with anger he never got the chance to truly let go off.
Maybe he'd let it out on you, maybe he'd let it out on someone else.
Or maybe he'd just keep it inside him until he snapped, until he completely lost it. However, you had you suspicions that perhaps he already had lost it completely.
And you were too nice for staying.
Join my taglist babes 🤭
— this is so scary to post I haven't written anything in ageeees 🥹
Warnings ! Angst, violence, suggestive content, swearing, writers first language isn't english, I don't know anything about fishing so this required a lot of research and i'm sorry if it's not completely accurate, not really proofread.
The fishing lure had snapped, taking a good chunk of the dock’s railing with it. It was the third one this morning, and the line was a tangled mess of nylon and saltwater.
It smelled like summer and early mornings.
And a little bit, just a tiny bit like Rafe's signature cologne.
"You're doing it all wrong," Rafe said, leaning against the piling.
He wasn't helping, but he was watching, his eyes tracking the way the sunlight hit the water. You had practically forced him to go with you.
He was not a big fan of fishing, said it was "pogue activities" it wasn't, not that it mattered but it wasn't.
Everyone can fish.
– "I'm doing exactly what he told me to do? What’s your problem?" You replied, fighting with a stubborn knot in the line. Beside you, your guide laughed, a loud, easy sound that seemed to echo across the quiet stretch of the creek.
Rafe was not a big fan of your guide, it was obvious, too obvious. Embarassing, but whenever you told Rafe about it he defended himself with his all, and all of a sudden he'd even tell you he liked your guide.
And you didn't bother pushing him even more, scared of how he might react.
He was Rafe after all, completely unpredictable.
The guide reached over, his hand brushing yours as he took the rod to help you untangle the mess. – "I got it, you're doing it right you just have to keep the tension lose so it doesn't bind" he managed to pick the knot free with a quick flick of his wrist, handing the rod back with a grin that was just a little too big for your boyfriends liking.
Rafe shifted his weight, his shoulder brushing against the wooden post. He didn't say anything, but the atmosphere shifted, the air feeling heavier, like the pressure drop right before a summer storm.
He watched the guides hand linger on yours for a second too long, his gaze narrowing as he tracked the movement.
– "Thank you for the.. tips, but I think we're done here" He spoke, grabbing your hand just a little too tight, it was almost bordering at painful.
You pulled away quickly, – "Seriously Rafe?!"
Why did he always have to do this.
He sighed, clenching his jaw. – "Come on baby, we're kooks we don't need to know how to fish"
There it was again, the kooks and pogues thing, oh you absolutely despised it.
You frowned, – "But it's fun? Okay I just want to do something fun together for once, why can't you just swallow your pride, put your fucking labels aside and do this with me?!" You exhaled, a rush of anxiety seeping through you, "please." You added.
Rafe didn't answer immediately. He just stared at you, his pupils dilated, the blue of his eyes almost swallowed by a dark, erratic hunger. You seemed to have hit a nerve, though not in the way you intended.
To Rafe, these labels weren't just categories; they were the only things that made sense in a world where he felt like he was constantly sliding off the edge. He let out a short, sharp breath, his gaze flickering back to your guide.
– "Let's fucking go" he spat on the ground, you flinched, your guide did too. Rafe noticed, "Let's go" he said again, this time in a voice which he tried his best to sound calm.
– "I'll see you guys later!" Your guide called out, his voice cautious as he stepped back from the dock.
He didn't wait for a response, sensing the unstable energy rolling off Rafe in powerful waves. As he turned to walk back toward his truck, Rafe didn't move. He stood perfectly still, his hands shoved deep into his pockets, watching the back of your guides head with a terrifying, focused intensity.
– "Rafe come on, you said we'd go, so we'll go" you spoke, pulling him with you.
He sighed and followed you back to the truck very unwillingly, the ride back home was quiet, a bad kind of quiet and you could practically taste the tension that was coiling in the air.
Rafe's eyes were locked on the road the entire time, but his mind was elsewhere, that was clear.
Your hand found his thigh, squeezing lightly through the fabric of his jeans, just for reassurance. – "I'm sorry." You begun, your lips forming into a slight pout. "I'm sorry that the day ended like this" you paused, trying to look for more words but they just wouldn’t come to you.
Your hand moved higher up, closer to his core, teasing, and his breath hitched. – "It's fine, it's not you that's fucked up it's him. He's been doing this for weeks, these subtle touches, it's embarassing, i'm right next to him and he still dares." He murmured, barely audible, infact he might've called him a motherfucker aswell.
But you didn't hear it well enough to be sure.
Your hand moved higher up, sliding over his crotch in the most subtle and innocent way you could. Normally he'd react, this time he didn't.
You sighed, – " So you're still pissed," you murmured, your voice low, teasing the tension.
"Pissed isn't the word for it," Rafe groaned, the sound vibrating deep in his chest. He didn't wait for the truck to come to a complete stop before he reached out, his hand sliding into the hair at the nape of your neck to pull you toward him.
The kiss was frantic, tasting of salt and desperation, his tongue sweeping against yours with a hunger that felt like he was trying to consume you. He backed you into the passenger door, his body heavy and pressing, his hands roaming with a possessive urgency that left you breathless.
You arched your back, your fingers digging into his shoulders as the heat between you spiked.
Rafe’s breath was hot against your skin, his lips trailing a path of fire from your jaw down to the sensitive hollow of your throat, your collarbones.
His hand slid beneath your shirt, his palm hot against your ribs, pulling you closer until there wasn't a single inch of space left between you.
The truck felt like a chamber, the windows beginning to fog over as the outside world faded into an irrelevant blur which you in that moment didn't even remember.
Your mind was only thinking about him, and him only.
Just as his hand moved to the button of your jeans, his eyes dark and focused, your phone vibrated in your pocket.
He exhaled and pulled away from you, his eyes trailing over you in a way you couldn't describe even if you tried.
But it wasn't in a good way.
You sighed, grabbing your phone. It was your guide.
It wasn't some long apology message as you had expected, where he'd say that he was sorry for being so flirty, that the understands Rafe's frustration etc etc.
No. It was just a short text; this made me think of u lol
And a link to a tiktok video, you didn't even have time to open it before Rafe snatched your phone out of your hands.
His eyes immediately found yours, yours filled with guilt, his with genuine anger.
You didn’t even do anything wrong.
– "You texting him?" He licked his teeth, rolling his eyes when you didn't answer immediately.
You shook your head, – "No.."
You weren't.
Rafe's thumb hoovered over the screen as he scrolled through your chats, nothing suspicious, not really.
Except for the suspicious amount of emojis from your guides side.
Smileys where they weren't needed, pink hearts at the end of sentences. Not red, pink. Who even used pink hearts?
Rafe took a deep breath, closing his eyes, clenching one of his fists—you noticed.
–"Rafe—" you begun, your voice cracked, "Don't do anything you will regret"
You were such a fool for even trying, he was Rafe Cameron. What were you actually expecting?
He didn't slam the door—he closed it with a terrifying, deliberate softness.
He didn't look at you as he began to walk back the way you had come, his stride long and predatory. You scrambled out after him, calling his name, but he was already halfway back to the dock, his shoulders hunched and his pace accelerating.
Your heart was beating fast in your chest, and you couldn't remember the last time you were this scared.
You weren't scared of Rafe, nor of your guide.
But you were scared for Rafe, what made him lose his grip this bad. What made him go this insane?
Was it, you?
By the time you caught up, your guide was just loading his gear into the bed of his truck, humming a mindless tune to himself, completely unaware of what was to come.
He didn't even see Rafe until the blonde boy was practically on top of him. There was no warning, no verbal confrontation, no "why are you texting her." Rafe simply lunged, his forearm slamming into his chest to knock the wind out of him and sending him crashing back against the side of the truck.
The sound of the impact—the dull thud of flesh against metal—made you gasp.
You threw yourself between them, your hands pressing against Rafe’s chest to push him back. – "Rafe, please! He didn't do anything!"
Rafe didn't even look at you. His gaze was locked on the guide, who was now curled on the ground, gasping for air and clutching his midsection.
Rafe’s chest heaved, his pupils so dilated that his eyes looked like two black holes.
Like they did whenever he was high, the lump in your throat only grew bigger, the memories of a drug addled Rafe throwing glass bottles of wine around the house, one of them hitting your leg.
You still had the scar.
He looked like he was vibrating, the adrenaline turning his skin pale and tight across his cheekbones. He raised his hand for one more strike, his knuckles already split and bleeding, but as your touch registered on his skin, he froze.
The silence that followed the crash of the fight was heavier than the noise. Rafe’s fist stayed suspended in mid-air, trembling slightly, his knuckles raw and smeared with a mixture of grit and your guides blood.
He looked at you then, and for a second, the darkness in his eyes flickered, the predatory focus shifting back into a desperate, searching need. He didn't apologize; Rafe didn't know how to apologize for the life of him.
Instead, he let out a long, shuddering breath that sounded like a collapse, his arm dropping slowly to his side. – "Leave her the fuck alone, do you understand?!"
Your guide nodded slowly, eyes filled with terror as he swallowed.
– "Do you understand? Hey! Do you understand?!" Rafe grabbed his face by the cheeks, and for a moment you thought he was going to spit in his face.
Your eyes flicked towards your truck who was standing unlocked not too far away, the door to the passenger seat left open. – "Rafe, let's go."
He turned towards you, his pupils just as big as earlier. He was just as insane, just as wrecked. And if you weren't watching his every move he'd probably swing again.
You mouthed a quick; "I'm sorry" to your guide before running towards Rafe who was waiting for you. His hand immediately found your waist, his grip tight, strong, filled with anger he never got the chance to truly let go off.
Maybe he'd let it out on you, maybe he'd let it out on someone else.
Or maybe he'd just keep it inside him until he snapped, until he completely lost it. However, you had you suspicions that perhaps he already had lost it completely.
And you were too nice for staying.
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