ź£ź£ heir to the cameron empire and estate whether his father admits it or not. rafe exists in a constant state of auditioning for a role he already has. ward uses inheritance as a bone and a weapon, dangling approval just out of reach. his role is unofficial but essential : heās the enforcer, the fixer, the one who absorbs backlash so ward can keep his hands clean. rafe resents the company, craves control of it, and is terrified of becoming ward at the same time.
ź£ź£ is smarter than he lets on. heās highly observant, strategic, and emotionally perceptive, but hides it under volatility and destructive so people assume heās reckless ; heās actually calculating most of the time. he reads power dynamics instantly. he understands finance, contracts, and manipulation far better than he admits. wardās biggest mistake is assuming rafe is just muscle ā rafe could run cameron development if he wanted to, but heās never been allowed to believe he deserves to.
ź£ź£ his violent tendencies come from dysregulation, not enjoyment. he doesnāt explode without a trigger ā but once triggered, he struggles to stop. physical aggression feels grounding to him ; it pulls him out of dissociation and back into his body. afterward, he feels shame and relief in equal measure. he doesnāt seek violence for pleasure, but he relies on it as a release valve. he justifies it by telling himself the world is dangerous and heās doing whatās necessary to survive.
ź£ź£ has a complicated relationship with his father. ward is his god and executioner. approval from him feels like oxygen while rejection feels like death. ward praises rafeās usefulness but never his personhood ā he values results, not emotional presence. rafe learned early that love equals performance. mistakes are punished with withdrawal, disappointment, or humiliation. ward gaslights him constantly : rewriting events, minimizing harm, shifting blame. rafe internalizes this so deeply that he doesnāt trust his own memory. he loves ward then he hates ward, he wants to impress him then he wants to destroy him ā both feelings coexist violently.
ź£ź£ has substance abuse issues. but in his mind, he doesnāt have āa problemā ā he has tools. substances are regulation for him. alcohol to slow his thoughts. coke to feel sharp and invincible, pills to sleep without nightmares, and alcohol to numb the pain and everlasting feeling of emptiness. he cycles between control and chaos, convincing himself heās fine as long as heās functioning. sobriety scares him because it forces him to feel everything at once : grief, guilt, rage, emptiness. but he hates the version of himself that needs substances, which only deepens the spiral.
ā„ļø kissieās note ; paired with cupcake!reader. this rafe is to be a way darker version than in canon, heās written to be morally grey and intentionally uncomfortable, showing his internal conflict between predator and protector is central to the story. general warnings are listed under the cut. this is not a guide, endorsement, or fantasy of abuse ā it is a story about navigating it ā please donāt read if you canāt decipher the difference or if anything of the following upset you! read at your own risk, for i am not responsible for the media you consume.
ā„ļø warnings : childhood trauma, emotional abusive parent, slut shaming, isolation, threats, physical abuse, emotional blackmail, infantilization, parentification, age play, age regression, caregiver / little dynamics, ddlg themes, separation anxiety, codependency, extreme language, coercion, power imbalance, morality conflict, intense emotions, possessiveness, shame, controlling behavior, manipulation, gaslighting, abandonment, negligence, fatal car accident, death of family members, survivorās guilt, flashbacks, grief, dissociation, overstimulation, panic attacks, anxiety, ocd, ptsd, depression, mental spirals, violence, murder & blood mentions, addiction cycles, emotional volatility, relapses, anger issues, lash outs / crash outs, reckless behavior, age gap ( 19 / 24 ), consensual sexual relationships, regressive sexual behaviors, innocence, corruption + more.
Rafe just wants the sorority sweetheart by his side ą¼.Ā°
MINORS DNI 18+ .į.į
Everybody on campus had opinions about you and Rafe Cameron.
Opinions you didnāt ask for, didnāt want, and definitely didnāt encourage, but that didnāt stop the rumours from drifting through campus like glitter. People whispered because neither of you ever confirmed anything, and because denial looked a little silly when Rafe acted like gravity itself bent around you whenever you walked into a room.
He always found you at parties. Always stood close enough that your perfume clung to his shirt. Always touched you like he forgot you werenāt officially his.
The problem?
Tonight, he wasnāt near you. And that was how the trouble started.
The Alpha Rho house was packed, glowing with cheap neon lights and the humid press of bodies, the air thick with beer-sweetness and too-strong cologne. Music vibrated through the walls, the kind of heavy, thumping bass that made reckless decisions feel like a good idea.
You hadnāt expected Rafe to show up. Not here. Not tonight. Delta Chi Alpha wasnāt hosting. Sigma Theta wasnāt co-hosting. Everyone was pretending to behave for the semester.
So you let yourself breathe.
Lip gloss shiny, hair soft around your shoulders, wearing the little black dress that made you feel pretty and a little dangerous in your own quiet way.
Your friends drifted toward the kitchen, and you followed, smoothing the hem of your dress with nervous fingers, trying very hard not to think about the last time you and Rafe were alone. About the bruised-soft kiss he left on your shoulder after.
About the quiet, almost vulnerable way he had said stay like it was a question he wasnāt sure he deserved to ask.
You werenāt his.
He wasnāt yours.
And yet, there were moments that felt like something more. Moments that clung to your ribs like secrets. You hadnāt touched since. You hadnāt talked since. You kept telling yourself it was easier that way.
You were at the kitchen island, offering a polite, airy laugh at something stupid, when he appeared.
Ryan Wolfe. Alpha Rhoās golden boy. Campus menace. And, unbeknownst to you, Rafe Cameronās least favourite person on the entire planet.
Ryan slid in way too close, smelling like vodka and fake confidence, his smile edged like a blade. āSigma Thetaās sweetheart,ā he drawled. āDidnāt know youād grace our house tonight.ā
You stiffened.
Not because you were scared, just irritated.
But your training kicked in, the forced sweet smile, the one you saved for annoying guys you couldnāt escape without causing drama, the harmless-girl giggle, even as your gut whispers ew.
āItās just a party,ā you said lightly. āI go where the music is.ā
Ryanās eyes dragged over you in a way that made your skin feel tight around your bones. āYou look incredible,ā he said, voice dropping a notch. āRafe must be kicking himself right now.ā
Your pulse stumbled.
āWhy would Rafe care?ā you asked, too quickly, too breathlessly.
Ryanās grin sharpened like heād found a bruise to press on. āOh, come on. Everyone knows Cameron gets weird when other guys look at you. He acts like youāreāā
āHey.ā
The word cracked through the kitchen like something breaking. Rafe was suddenly there.
Not approaching. Not easing in.
Just there, like heād been summoned by jealousy alone.
Beer bottle dangling from his fingers. Jaw tight enough to ache. Eyes fixed on Ryan with a coldness that felt lethal. He didnāt look at you. He didnāt look at Ryan. He looked through Ryan, like he was already imagining putting him through a wall.
Ryanās smirk didnāt disappear when he saw Rafe.
But it did falter, just the tiniest twitch, the smallest crack in that over-polished confidence of his, and it was enough for anyone paying attention to realize something ugly lived beneath the surface.
Something old. Something festering. Something the two of them had been dragging behind them long before you ever stepped into this kitchen in your pretty black dress and glossy pink lips.
You felt it before you even understood it.
That sudden tightening in the air, that glittery-static prickle over your skin, like walking into a room where someone had just slammed a door. The neon lights seemed to sharpen, the bass thumped deeper, and the air between Ryan and Rafe became a thin, shimmering wire pulled taut enough to snap.
And Rafe, God, Rafe wasnāt even looking at you.
Which meant he was furious.
He didnāt wear anger the way other boys did, not loud, not explosive. It settled over him like a storm front, slow and cold, his shoulders squared, jaw flexing, fists loose but dangerous.
He stood there like the embodiment of ādonāt test me,ā and the fact that he wouldnāt even glance your way made your stomach twist.
āCameron,ā Ryan finally drawled, leaning back on his heels like he wasnāt threatened at all, a performance you recognised all too easily. āDidnāt expect you to crawl out of Delta Chi tonight.ā
Rafeās jaw ticked once. A sharp, proud, warning sort of movement. āDidnāt expect Alpha Rho to let you through the door after last semester.ā
Ryanās smile soured like spoiled fruit. āOh, please. You still crying about all that? Thought you wouldāve let it go.ā
You blinked, confused, your glossed lips parting. āLet what go?ā
Neither boy answered you.
And thatās when the memory hit, a whisper of gossip youād ignored because you werenāt the type to feed into drama. The charity auction. Rafeās spot. Ryan hijacking it. The public humiliation. The shove from Rafe. Campus police grabbing him before he could rearrange Ryanās face.
And apparently, neither of them had recovered.
Ryan didnāt back up. Not even a step.
Instead he leaned closer to you, too close, while his cologne stung your nose and his eyes dragged over you like you were something he could claim if he wanted.
You stiffened instinctively, but your sorority-girl training kicked in: the soft, sweet smile, the polite laugh, the gentle step to the side that wasnāt quite an escape.
āRelax, man,ā Ryan said, voice dropping like he was revealing something private. āI was just complimenting your slut of a girlfriendāā
And then Rafe moved.
Fast.
Not just fast, dangerously fast.
It was the kind of movement you felt before you saw it, a ripple in the charged air, a burst of heat beside you. In one smooth, furious stride, Rafeās fist slammed flat against Ryanās face and punched him, hard.
The sound of Ryanās back hitting the counter echoed through the kitchen, loud enough to rattle the bottles, loud enough to yank the attention of every person within ten feet.
A beer can toppled, fizzing across the floor. Someone gasped. Someone whispered āoh shit.ā
The party didnāt stop, but the room around you did.
Everything slowed, thickened, strained.
Ryan head snapped back with a wet crack against the counter, his nose erupting crimson. He barely had time to register the pain before Rafe's fist connected again, left hook, knuckles splitting skin, the force of it sending Ryan's body sideways into the fridge.
Glass bottles shuddered inside. The crowd surged back in a wave of gasps and spilled drinks. And Rafe wasn't stopping. His chest heaved, pupils blown wide with something feral as he hauled Ryan up by his collar with one hand and drove another punch into his ribs. Ryan wheezed, knees buckling.
"What was that?" Rafe snarled, voice raw. "You wanna say that fuckin' shit again, huh?" His fist drew back again, aiming for the jaw this time.
Topper's bulk slammed into Rafe's side, grappling him back. "Jesus Christ, man!" Kelce hooked an arm around Rafe's throat from behind, yanking hard. Rafe thrashed, elbow catching Kelce's ribs, but they held firm.
Ryan crumpled to the linoleum, coughing blood onto his Alpha Rho letters.
The kitchen had become an amphitheater. Sigma sisters clutched each other's arms, Delta Chi pledges gawked like they'd just witnessed scripture.
You stood frozen, pulse jackhammering in your ears, watching Rafe's shoulders strain against his brothers' grip. His knuckles were split, dripping red onto the tile.
His gaze finally, finally, found you.
The rage flickered.
Something vulnerable flashed beneath, quick as a fish in dark water. Then Kelce hauled him backward through the crowd, muttering "Fuck's sake, Rafe," while Topper shot you an apologetic grimace.
Ryan groaned on the floor, swiping at his face with a trembling hand. Someone tossed him a dish towel. Your legs moved before your brain caught up, not toward Ryan, but after Rafe, pushing past gawkers into the yard where the humid night swallowed the party's noise.
Grass squelched under your heels, mud splattering silk straps. "Rafe!" you snapped.
He was already halfway to his Range Rover, shoulders taut, ignoring Topper's frantic "Dude, the dean will fucking expel youā"
Rafe spun on his heel so fast you nearly collided with him. His knuckles glistened crimson under the floodlight. "What?" he growled, voice raw.
The words died in your throat. His pupils were blown black, nostrils flared, jaw working like he wanted to bite something. Or someone. You reached for his wrist, his skin scorched yours, but he yanked away.
"Get in the car," he ordered, already striding toward the Range Rover. Kelce made a strangled noise.
"Rafe, Christ, you can't justā"
The passenger door flew open with a metallic screech. Rafe didn't wait for you to comply, his grip closed around your elbow, hauling you forward. Mud caked your ankles as he practically lifted you into the seat. The door slammed.
Silence.
Then the engine roared to life, tires spitting gravel as he wrenched the wheel. Through the windshield, Topper's mouth moved soundlessly, hands raised in surrender. You gripped the leather seat as Rafe accelerated onto the road, his bloody fist flexing around the gearshift.
"You should be fucking careful," he bit out, eyes locked on the asphalt ahead. His voice was tight, frayed. "You think Ryan was just making conversation? You think guys like that don't know exactlyā" The wheel groaned under his grip. "āhow to trap girls like you in kitchens?"
You blinked at him, the neon blur of streetlights smearing across your vision. "Girls like me?" Your laugh sounded shrill, unfamiliar to your own ears. "What, sorority girls? Or yours?"
His jaw twitched. The car lurched as he swerved onto a side road, gravel pinging against the undercarriage. "You know what would've happened if I wasn't there?" His voice dropped low, rough as gravel.
"He would've 'accidentally' spilled his drink on you. 'Offered' to help clean it up in some quiet bedroom. And you," His breath hitched. "you would've fucking gone, because you're too polite to say no."
The accusation landed like a slap. Your throat burned. "That's not fair."
"Isn't it?" He braked hard, the Range Rover jerking to a stop beneath a flickering streetlamp.
For the first time since the kitchen, he looked at you, really looked, taking in your smudged mascara, the tremble you couldn't hide. His nostrils flared. Then, with a muttered curse, he shoved the gearshift into park.
"Back seat," he ordered, voice thick. "Now."
The command hovered between you, charged and impossible. You didn't move. His fingers drummed once on the steering wheel, impatient, then he was unbuckling his seatbelt with a sharp click.
"Fine," he gritted out. "I'll go first."
The driver's side door slammed. You watched, pulse hammering, as he stalked around the hood, broad shoulders outlined in yellow streetlight, and yanked open your door.
Before you could protest, his hands were on your waist, hauling you out into the humid night.
His palms burned through the thin fabric of your dress. "In," he growled, nudging you toward the backseat. His breath smelled like whiskey and mint, his split knuckles brushing your thigh as he crowded in behind you.
The door shut with a decisive thud, sealing you both in shadow. You barely had time to scoot back before Rafe was on you, one knee pressing into the leather beside your hip, calloused fingers gripping your chin.
"Answer me straight," he demanded, voice rough. "Did you want to fuck Ryan?"
Heat flooded your cheeks. "What? No!" You squirmed against the seatbelt still tangled around your waist. The lie sounded thin even to your own ears, not because you wanted Ryan, but because Rafe's intensity always made honesty feel dangerous.
His nostrils flared. "Bullshit." His thumb dug into your jaw, forcing your gaze up. The overhead light caught the flecks of gold in his irises, the sweat beading along his temple.
"You were laughing at his jokes. Letting him stand too close." His voice dropped to a venomous whisper. "You gonna tell me you didn't notice him staring at your tits?"
The accusation prickled down your spine. "I was being polite!"
"Polite." He scoffed, shifting his weight until his hips pinned yours to the seat. The hard line of his belt buckle pressed uncomfortably against your stomach.
"That's your problem, sweetheart. Too fucking polite." His free hand slid down to your thigh, fingers digging in. "Boys like Ryan don't want polite. They want easy."
You gasped as his teeth grazed your earlobe. "And you?" you challenged breathlessly. "What do you want?"
Rafe stilled. For a moment, the only sound was your ragged breathing and the distant hum of cicadas. Then his grip tightened. "You know exactly what I want," he murmured against your skin. "The difference is," His lips brushed your pulse point. "I don't pretend otherwise."
A shiver raced down your spine as his fingers found the hem of your dress, inching up with deliberate slowness. Cool air kissed your thighs. You squirmed, pressing back against the leather seat, but his knee between your legs trapped you perfectly.
"You whine so pretty," he observed, amused, when you huffed in frustration. The fabric bunched higher, revealing the lace edge of your panties. "But we both know you don't actually want me to stop."
His palm smoothed over your stomach, then higher, rough fingers catching on the delicate silk of your bra. You inhaled sharply when he cupped you, thumb flicking over your nipple through the fabric.
"Think Ryan'd appreciate this view?" His voice dripped mock sincerity. "Since you're so fucking polite, maybe I should send him a picture." He pinched lightly, grinning at your involuntary jerk. "Wouldn't that beā¦ courteous?"
The clasp gave way under his practiced twist. Breeze rushed over your bare skin as he shoved the straps down your arms. "Look at you," he murmured, dragging a fingertip around one pinkened peak.
"All soft and sweet for me when you should be clawing my eyes out." He leaned in, teeth grazing your shoulder.
His other hand joined the torment, rolling and squeezing with deliberate cruelty. "Ryan ever make you this wet?" His breath hitched when you arched into his touch despite yourself. "Bet he wouldn't even know where to start."
A sharp twist drew a gasp from your lips. "Too busy thinking with his tiny fucking dick."
Heat pooled between your thighs as he worked you over, the filthy commentary blending with the slick sounds of his hands on your skin.
"Fuckā" you choked out when he bent to take a nipple between his teeth, biting just shy of pain. His tongue swirled in apology before he pulled back to watch the marks bloom.
"Gonna ruin you," he promised against your collarbone. "So next time Wolfe looks at you, all you'll feel is me." His palm slid down your stomach, under the waistband of your panties. "Right here."
He didn't tear them off, that would be too easy, too kind. Instead, he hooked two fingers into the lace and tugged slowly, torturously, letting the elastic snap against your hips before peeling them down inch by inch.
The humid air hit your bare skin as he finally yanked them free, dangling the soaked fabric between you. "Fuck," he exhaled, pupils dilating. "Been thinking about this since that bullshit party."
You shuddered when his knuckles brushed your inner thigh. "Avoiding me," he continued, pressing harder into the soft flesh. "Walking the long way across campus. Pretending not to see me at fucking parties." His fingertip traced your folds, featherlight, making your breath hitch. "Why?"
The question hung between you, sharp as the scent of whiskey on his tongue. You squeezed your eyes shut, mortified by how easily your body betrayed you, arching into his touch.
Rafe chuckled darkly. "Look at me." When you didn't obey fast enough, he pinched your clit, just enough to sting, and your eyes flew open. "Why?" he repeated, circling that swollen bud with agonising precision.
"Becauseā" You gasped as he slipped a finger inside without warning, the stretch burning deliciously. "Because you don't repeat girls."
His rhythm stuttered. For a heartbeat, the car was silent except for the slick sounds of his fingers moving in you. Then his free hand gripped your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze. "Bullshit."
"Lindsey saidā"
"I don't give a fuck what Lindsey said." He curled his fingers sharply, wrenching a whimper from your throat. "You ran first." His thumb rubbed punishing circles as he added a second finger. "Could've stayed. Could've fuckin' asked."
Your thighs trembled around his wrist. The truth clawed its way up your chest, how you'd bolted at dawn, how you'd memorised his number but never used it, how every Sigma sister knew the rules: Cameron boys break hearts by breakfast.
Rafe's lips ghosted over yours, tasting your ragged breaths. "Say it." His fingers sped up, ruthless. "Say you thought I'd throw you away like the rest."
The confession spilled out between moans, half-formed and humiliating. His mouth crashed onto yours before you could finish, swallowing the words, the excuses, the stupid sorority-girl fears. The kiss was all teeth and hunger, his hips grinding against yours as his fingers fucked you deeper, faster.
Then the headlights flashed.
You froze. Rafe's head snapped toward the windshield where two blinding beams sliced through the darkness. "Fuck," he hissed, yanking his fingers free with a wet sound. "Campus security."
Panic flared in your chest as you scrambled to pull up your dress, fabric clung awkwardly, twisted around your waist, but Rafe caught your wrist with a low chuckle. "Easy, princess." His thumb grazed your inner thigh, deliberately slow, as the flashlight beam swept closer. "Let me."
Just the audacity of it, the way his fingers deftly smoothed your dress down while sliding back between your legs, made your breath hitch. The knock came just as his fingertip found your clit again, circling lazily.
"Evening, officers," Rafe drawled, rolling the window down with his free hand. His expression was all practiced innocence, except for the wicked pressure of his fingers inside you, curling just right.
"Mr. Cameron." The security guard sighed, recognition flattening his tone. His flashlight skimmed over Rafe's bloodied knuckles. "Again?"
Rafe grinned, all charm, while his other hand worked you deeper, slower. "Just discussing Greek philanthropy partnerships, sir."
You bit your lip hard enough to taste copper, hips twitching involuntarily as his thumb pressed down. The guard's gaze flickered to you, your flushed cheeks, the death grip on the seatbelt, then back to Rafe with weary resignation. "Jesus, Rafe. At least use a dorm."
Rafe's fingers crooked deliberately inside you, drawing a choked inhale you disguised as a cough. "We were just leaving, officer." His smirk widened when your thighs clenched around his wrist.
The guard shook his head, flashlight beam catching the glisten of sweat on your collarbones as Rafe's pace slowed to languid, torturous circles.
"Sigma Theta's charity bake sale tomorrow," you blurted, voice strained, as Rafe's middle finger pressed insistently against that spongy spot inside you. The guard frowned at your sudden spike in pitch. "We'reāahādiscussing cupcake logistics."
Rafe's laugh was pure sin, fingers never stopping their ruthless rhythm. "Yeah," he agreed smoothly, watching your chest heave. "Need to make sure we frost themā¦ just right." His thumb swiped hard over your clit on the last word, and you nearly sobbed, nails digging into the leather seat.
The guard sighed, tapping his flashlight against his palm. "Just drive safe, Cameron." He stepped back, oblivious to how Rafe withdrew his fingers just enough to let you feel the loss before plunging back in deeper. The window rolled up with a soft hum, sealing you back into the charged darkness.
"You," Rafe murmured against your temple, knuckles brushing your inner thigh, "are terrible at lying." His breath hitched when your hips rolled against his hand. "Gonna have to teach you better."
As he pulled back just enough to flip open his belt buckle, the metallic snap louder than the music still thumping in your veins. He pinned you with one knee between your legs, yanking your dress up without ceremony this time, the fabric bunching around your ribs.
The rough handling sent heat pooling low in your belly, mixing with the sharp bite of humiliation still clinging to your skin from earlier.
"You tell me next time," he ordered, voice gravelled with intent, fingers digging into the soft flesh of your hips. His other hand worked his zipper down, the sound obscene in the cramped space.
"Tell me what party. Tell me who's looking at you too long." His teeth grazed your pulse point. "I'll text back. Every time." The unspoken promise, unlike Lindsey, unlike anyone else, hung between you, heavy as the scent of his cologne mingling with your arousal.
His palm smoothed up your thigh, callouses catching on sensitive skin, before he gripped himself and lined up.
No condom, no preamble, just the blunt press of him where you were still fluttering from his fingers. "And if I see Ryan breathing near you again?" He thrust in hard, stealing your breath, his groan low against your neck. "I'll break his fucking jaw properly this time."
You arched against him, nails scraping the leather seats as he set a punishing rhythm, the car rocking slightly with each snap of his hips.
The guard's flashlight beam swept past the tinted windows again, but Rafe didn't slow, if anything, he fucked you deeper, his laughter dark when you muffled a whimper against his shoulder.
"That's it," he coaxed, nipping at your earlobe. "Let 'em hear you." His hand slid between your bodies, thumb finding your clit with unerring accuracy. "Let the whole goddamn campus know who you belong to."
The headlights flashed once more, a warning or a blessing, as Rafe's pace turned erratic, his breathing ragged against your collarbones. You came with his name tearing from your lips, the vibrations drawing a growl from his chest as he followed, hips stuttering, fingers leaving bruises in their wake.
Silence.
Then his phone buzzed in the cupholder, Topper's name flashing, and Rafe exhaled a laugh against your damp skin, still buried inside you.
"Speak of the fucking devil," he muttered, blindly grabbing for it with his free hand while the other kept you pinned against the seat. "What?" he barked into the receiver, voice ragged with exertion.
A pause.
Then, louder: "No, I'm not at the fucking Sigma mixerā" His hips snapped forward sharply, punctuating the lie with your gasped moan. "Yeah, I'm busy. Yeah, with her."
Your fingers dug into his shoulders as his grin curled against your throat. "No, you can't come help," he drawled, rolling his hips slow just to feel you squirm. "Because oneāfuck off, twoāshe's not screaming your name, is she?" The crudeness of it burned your cheeks hotter than his touch ever could.
The phone pressed into your palm, still warm from his grip. Topper's tinny voice crackled through, "Like hell she's actually there."
Right as Rafe's teeth grazed your pulse point, his chuckle was a low rumble against your skin when you gasped instead of speaking. "Go on," he murmured, fingers tightening on your hip. "Say hi."
You pressed the receiver to your lips, swallowing hard. "Hi, Topper." The words came out breathless, ruined, as Rafe thrust lazily upward, just enough to steal your voice again.
Static hissed through the line before Topper's shocked curse cut off abruptly. Rafe snatched the phone back with a satisfied hum, tossing it onto the dashboard where it skittered against loose change.
"Now," he murmured, dragging his lips along your jaw, "where were we?" His hands slid down to grip your thighs, spreading them wider against the leather.
The headlights of a passing car sliced through the tinted windows, illuminating the sweat-slick flush of his collarbones, the possessive arch of his fingers branding your skin.
You arched into him with a whimper, past caring about the audience, about Lindsey, about anything but the slow, punishing drag of him inside you.
Outside, a Sigma sisterās laugh floated through the cracked window, too close, but Rafe only grinned, rolling his hips deeper. "Hear that?" he breathed against your mouth. "Theyāre looking for you." His thumb found your clit again, circling just shy of enough. "Let āem."
š thinking about play fighting with bigbro!rafeā¦.
maybe it starts off by you playfully bumping him in the hall, and he just bumps you harder, vice versa.
now youāre bouncing around the middle of the living room, swatting each other back and forth, and heās getting a bit too rough, ārafe! stop, iām done playing!ā you gasp running behind the couch, sweaty and hairs sticking to your face, he just snickers, climbing over it like a predator chasing prey, ānah you started it baby, you donāt get to tap out now,ā
you squeal, breathless and scrambling, laughing even though your stomachās tightening, heat curling low just from the sound of his voice. you try to dodge around the coffee table but he grabs you by the waist mid-sprint, yanks you back into his chest like itās nothing, and now youāre shrieking and squirming with both your feet off the ground.
ārafe! i mean it!ā you yelp while rafe throws you over the couch, body plopping on the cushions, already climbing over after you, slow and unbothered, towering like heās got all the time in the world.
you squirm to sit up but heās already on top of you ā knees planted on either side of your thighs, pinning you down like a challenge. his hands grab yours, shoving them above your head, wrists crossed over the armrest, grip rougher and breathing a little heavier than before.
āyou donāt get to start shit and then cry when you lose,ā he mutters, tone darker now. your chest rises fast, lips part, eyes wide as heās looking down at you with that awful, dangerous smirk, and he knows heās too close, he wants you to feel it.
āget off me,ā you breathe, but your voice is all wobbly, your thighs pressed together now under his weight. your shirtās ridden up, face flushed, trying to twist your wrists, but he doesnāt move, just watches you.
his gaze flicks down your body, slow and deliberate, then back to your face. āsay please,ā
š¹.į she keeps things of his: cigarette butts, his shirt, an old lighter. sniffs his cologne bottle in secret. she has a hidden folder of pictures where heās blurry in the background.
š¹.į she doesn't really care if he sleeps around, she just believes she's the one who knows him. it bothers him that she won't get jealous like other girls.
š¹.į āyouāre so fucking sick,ā he mutters while pushing her legs open wider. but his cock twitches every time she says, āyours. iām all yours.ā
š¹.į rafe once found her stash of his stuff. Instead of being mad, he threw her onto the bed and fucked her harder than he ever had. āyou really are mine, huh?ā
š¹.į she's touched herself to the sound of his voicemail. she's recorded him sleeping next to her. once stole a pair of his boxers and keeps them on her dresser.
Hey horny writer lil heads up for you guys, the āaiā google is forcing into docs to āscan for grammar errorsā has been proved to also be scanning for spicy content and multiple ppl have already got notifs saying like āweāre sorry, there was a system error and some of your work was lostā and it was only the horny stuff so uh
Pleeeeease back up your files !!!! Donāt lose your horny to a robot, thatās Docās job, not Docsāā¦
hello horny writers of tumblr this is your sign to try out ellipsus instead of google docs. it's completely free and the team behind it have a very strong stance against the use of AI in creative spaces. I haven't been using it long but it works beautifully.
