livvy

rafe camerons’ gf

[livellee]

[livellee]

bby let’s get a pt 2 to that fic where rafe tells ditsy reader he loves her mid cracking

this is in the works i promise babes!!!! just trying to figure out which direction i wanna take this🫣🫣🫣

[livellee]

Hey are you taking requests?? Love your writing style!!

that’s the biggest compliment ever thank u🥹🥹 & absolutely!!! please send alll request my way, i’m open to anything lovies.

[livellee]

— the eye game.

summary: a secret situationship turns into a public mind game when rafe uses a country club brunch to quietly claim control over her in front of everyone.

warnings: possessive behavior, power imbalance, toxic situationship, sexual tension, implied control.

an: wow almost a week later & i did not realize i accidentally posted this instead of drafting it..

she’d slipped out of tannyhill while the sun was still a pale, buttery smear across the sound. her matching white alo set felt crisp and clean against her skin, a stark contrast to the faint, phantom memory of rafe’s sheets tangled around her legs an hour ago. now, nestled between brittany and chloe at a round table on the country club patio, she was the picture of sorority sunday brunch. sunglasses perched on her nose, a weak mimic of a smile playing on her glossed lips as she listened to some story about a date gone wrong from a date function last night.

“…and he literally had the nerve to ask if i was going to finish my fries,” chloe was saying, her voice a conspiratorial whisper over the clinking of silverware. “like, hello? buy your own.”

she nodded along, humming a vague, “so rude,” but her focus was a million miles away, catching on the distant glitter of the water. her body was here, present and perfect, but her head was still back in that dark room, the scent of rafe’s cologne a ghost in her hair, the low rumble of his morning voice a phantom vibration in her ear.

it was their unspoken rule: what happened in the sprawling, intimidating house on the north side of the island stayed there. no labels, no public acknowledgment, no texts unless it was a logistical question about a time or a place. rafe hated labels. he’d told her so, flat and uninterested, the first and only time she’d dared to press. it was a known fact, a warning whispered through the halls of kildare academy long after he’d graduated. she was supposed to be a smart girl, but around him, her intelligence seemed to melt into a puddle of want, and she agreed to every word of his without a fight. so they played the game. she’d become an expert at blank stares in the halls of the country club, at subtle detours in the grocery store, at pretending her phone didn’t buzz with his name.

but then the patio doors slid open and a familiar energy bled into the sun drenched space. she didn’t have to look to know who it was. a ripple went through the room, a subtle shift in volume and posture. rafe cameron, flanked by topper and ward, a couple of older guys in tow. her breath caught, a tiny, insignificant hitch in her chest that she prayed her sunglasses hid. she didn’t turn her head. she kept her eyes on her half eaten eggs benedict, suddenly tasting like cardboard in her mouth.

“yo, top, you see that? they actually put real lobster in the omelette bar now. ‘bout time,” he nudged topper. rafe’s voice carried, louder than it needed to be, dripping with that easy, arrogant confidence he wore like a second skin. he wasn't talking to topper, not really. he was performing for the room. she could feel his set of eyes, and she knew they had just landed square on her table.

she risked a glance, tilting her head just enough to peer over the rim of her sunglasses. he was laughing at something topper said, throwing his head back, the column of his throat long and tan. but even as he laughed, his gaze slid sideways, a laser focus beam that found her instantly. it connected, a spark across the fifty feet of manicured lawn and expensive patio furniture. a smirk played on his lips, subtle and sharp, before he looked away, back to his friends, as if nothing had happened.

her stomach flipped. this was new. this was not in the script.

“god, he’s so loud,” brittany complained, stirring her bellini with a tiny straw. “thinks he owns the place.”

“he practically does, plus he’s hot so what does it really matter.” chloe shrugged, not entirely unimpressed.

she stayed silent, picking at a piece of toast, hyper aware of the space he occupied. he moved, all loose limbs and coiled energy. he and his group settled at a large table near the railing, giving him a perfect, unobstructed view of her. of course.

the game continued. he’d gesture wildly while telling a story, making the older men laugh, making topper slap the table. but every few seconds, his eyes would find hers. a quick, deliberate glance. a testing look. she felt it like a physical touch. she’d look away first, always. down at her plate, out at the water, anywhere but at him. each time she did, she could feel the phantom of his smirk burning into the side of her head.

a waiter approached their table, a young guy who looked flustered. “excuse me, ladies,” he said, his gaze darting between them. “this is from the gentleman at the bar.”

he placed a vibrant pink cocktail on the table, complete with a sugared rim and a lime. it was ostentatious and feminine and so obviously for her.

“omg, who is that from?” brittany gasped, already craning her neck.

“no idea,” the waiter mumbled, “he just said to bring it to the prettiest girl at the table.” with that, he scurried away.

her friends dissolved into giggles and speculation, debating which sad, old guy at the bar was trying his luck.

but she knew. she didn’t have to look.

she could feel rafe’s eyes on her, waiting. the pink liquid was a dare. a public claim. he was marking his territory without saying a word. she took a slow, deliberate sip, the sugary sweetness cloying on her tongue. she kept her expression neutral, letting her friends think she was just playing along with a harmless mystery.

she met his gaze across the patio then, held it for a beat longer this time. she let a small, almost imperceptible smile touch her lips before turning back to her friends. a check. her move.

the tension on the patio started to shift. what had begun as rafe’s private amusement, a cocky game to see her squirm, was starting to feel different. more intentional. he was leaning forward in his chair now, ignoring something ward was saying to him, his entire being focused on their silent, ridiculous standoff. he sent another glance, this one slower, heavier. it wasn't just cocky anymore. it was a challenge. it was him asking a question without words: how far can i push? how much of you can i have right here, in front of everyone, with you pretending you don’t even know my name?

she was starting to sweat under the pristine fabric of her top. the game was fun, a thrilling secret. but this, this felt dangerous. felt like a line she wasn't sure she was ready to cross, a line that led directly to labels and consequences and the one thing rafe cameron hated more than anything. she took another sip of the pink drink, the ice clinking against the glass, the only sound in the suddenly roaring silence of her own head. she could feel his stare, hot and unwavering. waiting.

the ice in her glass felt like the only solid thing in a world tilting on its axis. chloe was still going on about the mystery sender, but the words were just noise, a meaningless buzz against the thrumming in her ears. rafe hadn’t looked away. it was a stare that held weight, that pressed down on her shoulders and made it hard to breathe. he was no longer performing for his friends or the room; the audience had shrunk to just her. the game was still silent, but the stakes had just been raised.

her phone, face down on the table beside her half eaten eggs, buzzed once. a single, sharp vibration that made her entire body flinch. her friends didn't notice. she knew, with a certainty that settled like a stone in her stomach, who it was.

with a nonchalance she didn’t feel, she picked it up, angling her body slightly away from the table as if she were just checking a notification from her mom. the screen lit up with a message from an unsaved number. just two words.

her thumb hovered over the screen. a command disguised as a suggestion. finish the pink, sugary drink he’d sent her. a public performance of her obedience. her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic, trapped bird. she could set it down. she could leave it half finished and pretend she hadn't seen the text. that was her out. the safe move.

instead, she lifted the glass again, tilting it back. she took a long, slow swallow, letting the cloying sweetness coat her throat, her eyes locked on her own distorted reflection in the patio window. then, she set the empty glass down on the table with a soft, definitive click.

when she looked back up, she met his gaze across the space. and she saw it. a flicker of something raw and triumphant in his eyes before he masked it with a slow, deliberate smirk. he had won this round. and they both knew this was no longer a game. this was a preview. a test run for how much he could own her in a room full of people who thought she didn't even know him. he gave a small, almost invisible nod, as if to say, ‘good girl.’

her composure was cracking. her perfect alo set felt like a costume, her sunglasses a flimsy shield against a storm she had invited. she needed air. she needed to get away from the weight of his stare, from the silent, suffocating power he was so effortlessly wielding over her.

“excuse me, guys,” she said, her voice coming out thinner than she intended. “i’m just gonna run to the girls’ room.”

she pushed her chair back, the legs scraping softly against the stone patio. she didn't look at rafe as she stood, but she could feel his eyes on her, tracking her every movement. she walked with as much steadiness as she could muster, her path taking her directly past his table. the air grew thick, electric. she kept her head forward, her chin held high.

as she drew level with him, a low murmur cut through the noise of the brunch crowd. it was his voice, aimed at topper but pitched just for her. “see something you like, top? they’re really pulling out all the stops today.”

it was crude. it was public. it was a knife twisted in the pretense they had so carefully built. her cheeks burned, a hot, betraying flush she hoped her sunglasses would hide. she didn’t break her stride, but her steps faltered for half a second. a tiny stumble that only he would notice.

she pushed through the heavy doors into the cool, dimly lit hallway leading to the restrooms, leaning against the wall as soon as she was out of sight. her breath came in short, shallow bursts. her reflection in a gilded mirror looked like a stranger’s. a girl in a perfectly coordinated sleek outfit, her eyes wide and bright behind the dark lenses. she felt the phantom weight of his stare, the ghost of his command. finish it. and she had.

the silence of the hallway was shattered by the heavy thud of the door swinging open again. she didn't have to turn. the scent of him, fresh, clean laundry and something expensive and woody, filled the space, wrapping around her.

he didn’t say anything at first. just moved to stand behind her, so close she could feel the heat radiating from his chest, inches from her back. she could see both of them in the mirror, a dark, looming figure crowding her smaller, brighter one. the image was terrifying and intoxicating all at once. she was trapped.

“that was a good look on you,” he finally said, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through her. “‘ya know, listening.” he raised a hand, not to touch her, but to trail a finger in the air just beside her arm, a ghost of a touch that made her shiver. “what’s wrong?” he taunted as he leaned in, his lips brushing against the shell of her ear. “thought you were good at pretending we don’t know each other.”

“rafe,” she breathed, a warning and a plea. it was the first word she’d spoken to him since he’d gotten here, and it came out broken.

he chuckled, a soft, dark sound. “you were a perfect little actress out there. so surprised by that ‘mystery’ drink.” his eyes met hers in the mirror, and they were hard, glittering with something that looked a lot like ownership. “but you knew, didn’t you? you knew it was from me. you always know.”

he reached past her, placing both hands on the counter on either side of her, caging her in. her own hands were gripping the edge of the marble so tightly her knuckles were white. she was cornered. the game was over.

“i wonder,” he mused, his gaze dropping to her lips in the reflection. “i wonder what your little friends would say if i came back there with you. if i kissed you right here. if i—”

he was cut off by the click of another door opening down the hall. an older woman with a helmet of white hair emerged, giving them a curious, disapproving look. for a split second, he didn't move. he just held her there, forcing her to be seen with him, forcing her to be a part of this.

then, as casually as if he’d just been asking for directions, he pushed off the counter and took a step back. a smirk played on his lips. “have a good rest of your day,” he said, his voice loud and clear, a performance for their new audience. then he turned and walked away, leaving her trembling against the counter, the faint scent of his cologne the only proof he’d ever been there.

she stayed there for a full minute, trying to piece her composure back together like a shattered vase. when she finally walked back out onto the patio, her legs felt like they belonged to someone else. rafe’s table was empty. he was gone. he’d gotten what he wanted and left.

her friends were still giggling, still oblivious. “everything okay?” brittany asked. “you look a little out of it.”

“just fine,” she said, the word barely a whisper. she sat down, her body feeling hollow. she looked at the empty pink glass on the table, a trophy from a battle she hadn’t realized she was losing.

he wasn't just testing her. he was changing the rules of their entire secret game, and she had a sinking feeling she was the only one who didn't know what the new rules were.

[livellee]

— house tour.

summary: a sorority girl invites rafe cameron in for a casual “house tour” after a date, but the night escalates.

warnings: explicit sexual content and graphic sexual acts, alcohol use, @nal

an: a little scared to post this one bc of the last warning, not sure how ppl feel about that but🫣 in honor of sabrinawood!!! i’m also gonna be writing for nate jacobs soon so;)

the engine of the mercedes idled with a low, expensive hum, the only sound breaking the late night quiet of figure eight’s most pristine street. outside the driver's side window, the facade of the kappa delta sorority house gleamed white and imposing under the muted golden glow of the porch light. it looked like a dollhouse, a perfect, curated space for girls who had their lives perfectly curated.

rafe’s knuckles were white on the steering wheel, but he wasn’t looking at the house. he was looking at her.

she was angled towards him in the passenger seat, the hem of her short, pale pink dress riding up her thighs. the scent of her perfume, something sweet and floral like peonies and vanilla, hung in the small, air conditioned space of the car, a dizzying cloud. a faint, rosy blush still painted her cheeks from the wine at the country club, and her eyes, sparkling, had that specific, hazy quality that told him she was feeling it. feeling good.

"well," she breathed out, a little sigh that was half giggle. "this is me."

he didn't move. the engine continued its purr. "i see that."

"big, scary sorority house," she teased, her smile wide and bright. "full of secrets and hairspray."

a slow smile spread across rafe’s face, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. his gaze was heavy, intense, tracing the line of her visible collarbones above the neckline of her dress. "you don't look scared."

she laughed, a soft, airy sound. "never." she leaned forward boldly, the motion bringing the scent of her even closer, and the space between them shrank to nothing. her hand came up to rest on the back of his neck, her fingers playing with the hairs there. her touch was electric. "thank you for tonight, rafe. i had… a really good time."

he met her halfway. the kiss wasn't gentle, not really. it was a collision. his tongue swept into her mouth, tasting the sweet wine on hers, claiming the space with a familiar urgency that made her head spin. she kissed him back with equal fervor, her other hand gripping the expensive fabric of his polo shirt, pulling him closer. the kiss deepened, growing messy and desperate, the car's quiet hum a forgotten backdrop to the wet slide of their mouths and the soft, breathy sounds she made.

when they finally broke apart, her lips were swollen and glossless, her chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. rafe’s thumb came up to trace her bottom lip, his gaze fixed and dark.

"you know," she said, her voice a little shaky but still playful. "it’s pretty much empty in there. everyone's gone for the weekend." she pulled back just enough to gesture with her chin towards the house. "if you have time, would you want… a house tour."

a beat of silence. rafe’s eyes searched hers, seeing the unspoken invitation, the alcohol fueled bravado, the raw desire simmering just beneath the polished surface. he killed the engine. the sudden quiet was absolute.

"lead the way."

she unlocked the heavy front door with a delicate pink key and pushed it open, revealing an interior bathed in the warm, soft light of strategically placed lamps. the air inside was thick with the scent of expensive candles, sandalwood and pear, lavender and linen. it was immaculate. the floors were a gleaming light wood, covered in plush, cream colored rugs. white couches were piled high with coordinating throw pillows, and every surface held a curated collection of ceramic vases, coffee table books, and framed photos of smiling, beautiful girls.

it was the physical manifestation of the "house tour" aesthetic, so perfectly clean and feminine it felt almost unreal.

"okay, so this is the formal living room," she announced, her voice a little too loud in the stillness, her words tripping over each other slightly. "we only use it for… well, for formal things. parent's weekend, you know. which is a whole thing." she let out a small, breathy laugh, adjusting a strand of her hair. "and this is the grand staircase. very grand, obvi."

she led him through the silent, perfect house, a whirlwind of slightly too fast commentary and bright smiles. she pointed out the pledge class composite on the wall, the little study nook with its pink velvet chair, the kitchen with its state of the art appliances and a bowl of flawless green apples on the island. her gestures were a little wide, her laughter a fraction of a second delayed. she was performing, trying to fill the heavy, charged quiet with the comfort of casual conversation, but she couldn't quite meet his eyes for more than a second.

he didn't say much, just followed, a silent, looming presence at her back. his presence seemed to suck the air out of the pristine rooms, making the curated decor feel like a flimsy stage set. he was watching her, his focus a palpable weight that made the fine hairs on her arms stand up.

"and, um, up here is where the magic happens," she said, her pitch a little higher as she led him down a carpeted hallway. "or, you know, the sleeping happens." another one of those slightly too loud laughs. she stopped in front of a door with a small, gold plated nameplate: Y/N.

with a slightly unsteady hand, she turned the knob and pushed it open.

her room was a softer, more intimate version of the rest of the house. the walls were a creamy white, the comforter on her bed a fluffy, cloud like duvet in a shade of champagne. a string of warm fairy lights were draped over her headboard, and a vanity table was perfectly arranged with perfume bottles, dainty jewelry stands, and a gold backed hairbrush. it smelled of her the peony and vanilla scent was stronger here, mingled with something warmer, like clean skin.

she plopped down on the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping slightly. she patted the space next to her, a bright, practiced smile on her face. "and this is it. the inner sanctum. don’t touch the tiffany lamp."

rafe didn't sit. he stood in the center of the room, just inside the doorway, his hands in his pockets, and looked around. his gaze swept over the vanity, the neatly arranged pillows, the stack of vogue magazines on her nightstand. then, slowly, it returned to her.

the silence that fell was different from the one in the hallway. it wasn't empty, it was packed. packed with the memory of the kiss in the car, with the unspoken reason he was here, with the sheer, overwhelming force of his attention now concentrated in this small, soft space.

"nice lamp," he finally said, his voice a low rumble.

she let out a nervous giggle, twisting the pearl in her earlobe. "right? my dad got it for me for, like, being a good daughter or something. which is, you know, subjective." she trailed off, her bright smile faltering for a second as their eyes locked. "so… yeah. this is where i… sleep." god, she was rambling. "and study, sometimes. and watch Netflix. and… other.. things.."

he took a step closer. then another. the soft thud of his expensive sneakers on the plush carpet was the only sound. he stopped right in front of her, so close that her knees were almost brushing the denim of his jeans. she had to tilt her head back to look up at him, and the fairy lights caught in her hair, making her look ethereal.

her rambling stopped. her smile remained, but it was trembling now, fixed and fragile. she could feel the heat radiating off him, could see the same dark, consuming intensity from the car, now magnified a hundred times. the casual act was melting away, layer by layer, leaving something raw and exposed underneath.

"so," she whispered, the word barely audible. "end of the tour."

rafe didn't answer with words. he reached down, his fingers hooking under her chin, and tilted her head back further. his other hand came to rest on her thigh, his thumb slipping under the fabric of her dress and stroking the sensitive skin there. the touch was light, but it burned.

"good," he murmured, and then he was kissing her again.

this kiss was different from the one in the car. that had been a frantic collision. this was a deliberate conquering. his mouth was firm and demanding, his tongue claiming hers with a lazy, possessive stroke that made her whole body flush with heat. she melted into it, her hands coming up to grip his shoulders, her fingers digging into the muscle as she pulled him down with her onto the bed.

he followed her down without breaking the kiss, settling his weight over her, caging her in with his body. the fluffy duvet was a soft cloud beneath them, a stark contrast to the hard, demanding press of him against her. his hands were everywhere, sliding up her thighs, pushing the hem of her pink dress up to her hips, skimming over the lace of her panties. he hooked a finger in the delicate fabric, a question in the touch, and she arched into him, a silent, desperate yes.

he broke the kiss, pulling back just enough to look down at her. her hair was fanned out on the pillow, her lips were parted and glistening, and her eyes were hazy with lust.

he looked at her like she was a meal he couldn’t wait to devour.

"rafe," she breathed, her voice a ragged moan.

he peeled the dress off her in one smooth motion, tossing it to the floor. then he took a moment, just looked at her. looked at the lacy white bra that barely contained her tits, the matching panties. he saw her as the ultimate version of this hyper-feminine world she lived in, soft, polished, perfect, and now, just for him, utterly debauched.

he lowered his head, pressing a hot, open mouthed kiss to the hollow of her throat. then another to her collarbone. he worked his way down, his lips and tongue tracing a path of fire over her skin. he kissed the swell of her breasts, nipping at the sensitive skin, before unhooking her bra and tossing it aside. he took one hard nipple into his mouth, sucking hard, and she cried out, her back arching off the bed, her fingers tangling in his hair.

he worshipped her body with his mouth, mapping every curve, every hollow. he kissed the dip of her waist, the soft skin of her stomach, the sensitive skin of her inner thighs. he was slow, deliberate, savoring every gasp and moan he pulled from her. he was taking her apart, piece by piece, and she was letting him. she was a symphony of soft whimpers and desperate pleas, her body moving restlessly beneath him.

when he finally settled between her thighs, hooking her legs over his shoulders, she was already trembling. he looked up at her from between her legs, his eyes dark and feral.

"please," she whimpered, her voice broken. "please, rafe." he couldn’t make her wait. he licked a slow, deliberate stripe through her folds, and she saw stars.

he ate her out with a focus, an intensity that was almost too much. his tongue was clever and relentless, finding her clit and circling it until she was a writhing, begging mess. he slid one finger inside her, then another, curling them just so, and that was all it took. her orgasm crashed over her, a wave of pure, unadulterated pleasure that left her gasping and boneless.

he didn't give her time to recover. he moved back up her body, kissing her again, letting her taste herself on his lips. he fumbled with the button on his jeans, shoving them down along with his boxers. His cock sprang free, hard and thick, and she felt a fresh wave of arousal pool between her legs.

he lined himself up, and for a moment, he just teased her, sliding the head of his cock through her wetness. she was so wet, so ready for him, and the anticipation was agonizing.

"look at me," he commanded, his voice rough.

she forced her eyes open, meeting his gaze. and then he pushed inside.

the stretch was exquisite, a delicious ache that made her eyes roll back.

he filled her completely, and for a moment, they just stayed like that, connected, breathing the same air. he was so deep, so present, and she felt a wave of something so intense it was almost painful.

then he started to move.

his thrusts were deep and deliberate, each one hitting a spot inside her that made her see stars. he set a punishing rhythm, his hips snapping against hers, the sound of their bodies meeting filling the quiet room. he was fucking her, really fucking her, and she was taking it, her nails digging into his back, her moans growing louder, more desperate.

she was a mess of tangled limbs and breathy cries, her body a canvas for his desire. he was marking her, claiming her, and she was reveling in it.

"rafe," she gasped, his name a prayer on her lips. "fuck, rafe."

he shifted, hooking one of her legs over his arm, changing the angle. the new position allowed him to go even deeper, and she cried out, her mouth falling open. he was hitting that spot, over and over, and she could feel another orgasm building, this one more intense than the last.

"cum for me," he growled, his voice a low command. "cum all over my dick."

and she did. her body convulsed, waves of pleasure washing over her as she came, her walls clamping down around him. he followed her over the edge with a guttural groan, burying himself deep inside her as he spilled into her.

they collapsed onto the bed, a tangle of limbs and sweaty skin. he rolled off her, pulling her into his arms. her head was pillowed on his chest, and she could feel the steady beat of his heart under her ear. the room was quiet, the only sound their ragged breathing.

for a long moment, they just lay there, basking in the afterglow. the scent of sex and sweat and her sweet perfume filled the air, a potent cocktail that was more intoxicating than any wine.

she traced idle patterns on his chest, her fingers trailing over the light dusting of hair there.

she propped herself up on her elbow, looking down at him. in the soft glow of the fairy lights, he looked different. softer, somehow. the hard edges were gone, replaced by a satisfied contentment.

"so," she said, a small smile playing on her lips. "what did you think of the tour?"

he laughed, a real, genuine laugh that crinkled the corners of his eyes. "it was... informative."

"oh yeah?" she teased, leaning down to press a soft kiss to his lips. "what was your favorite part?"

he considered this for a moment, his hand coming up to cup the back of her neck, his fingers tangling in her hair. "i think," he said, his voice a low murmur, "i’d have to say the bedroom."

"good choice," she whispered against his lips. "but, you know," she added, her tone shifting to one of mock seriousness, "there is one rule you should really know about this house."

he raised an eyebrow. "yeah?"

she nodded, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "i’ve been told you should never, ever enter through the back door."

for a second, he just stared at her, processing her words.

then, a slow, wicked grin spread across his face. he rolled her over, pinning her beneath him once again.

"is that so?" he growled, his eyes darkening with a new wave of lust. "that’s a shame. i was just about to suggest we break that rule."

her breath hitched, a fresh wave of arousal coursing through her. "well," she breathed, her voice barely a whisper. "rules are meant to be broken, aren't they?"

he didn't need any more encouragement. he flipped her over with surprising gentleness, positioning her on her hands and knees. he ran a possessive hand down her spine, making her shiver. he took a moment to admire the view, the graceful curve of her back, the swell of her ass, the glistening pinkness of her pussy. she was a vision, a princess.

he reached over to her nightstand, his fingers closing around a small bottle of lotion. he squeezed a generous amount onto his fingers, warming it between his hands before slowly, carefully, working it into her tightest hole.

she gasped at the intrusion, a mix of pleasure and pain, as he stretched her, preparing her for him.

"relax," he murmured, his voice a soothing balm. "i’ve got you."

and she did. she trusted him, completely and utterly. she took a deep breath, forcing her muscles to unclench as he worked her open. he was patient, methodical, taking his time, his other hand stroking her back, grounding her. once she was ready, he positioned himself at her entrance, the head of his dick pressing against her slick, puckered hole.

"ready?" he asked, his voice thick with desire.

she could only nod, her words lost in a breathy moan.

he pushed inside, slowly, inch by inch. the stretch was intense, a burning ache that bordered on pain, but beneath it was a current of pure, unadulterated pleasure. he filled her completely, and for a moment, they just stayed like that, savoring the sensation of being so intimately connected.

then he started to move.

his thrusts were slow at first, experimental, as he found a rhythm that worked for them. she was so tight, so hot, and the friction was exquisite. he could feel every clench, every shudder, as she adjusted to this new, deeper kind of possession.

"rafe," she gasped, her fingers digging into the sheets. "oh my god, rafe."

he leaned over her, his chest pressing against her back, his lips brushing against her ear. "you feel so good," he growled, his thrusts becoming deeper, more confident. "so fucking tight for me."

his words were like gasoline on a fire, and she was already burning. she could feel another orgasm building, a slow, creeping wave of pleasure that started in her toes and worked its way up her body. he reached around, his fingers finding her clit, rubbing tight, insistent circles that pushed her closer and closer to the edge.

"you gonna cum for me again?" his thrusts becoming faster, more erratic. "cum for me, baby." he commanded.

and she did. her orgasm crashed over her, a tsunami of pure, unadulterated bliss that left her gasping and trembling. he followed her over the edge with a loud groan, burying himself deep inside her as he emptied himself into her.

they collapsed onto the bed, a sweaty, sticky mess. he rolled off her, pulling her into his arms, her back pressed against his chest. he wrapped his arms around her, holding her close, his face buried in the crook of her neck. for a long moment, they just lay there, their ragged breaths the only sound in the quiet room.

"mm," she whispered, her voice hoarse, raw.

he chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that vibrated through her chest. "yeah."

she turned in his arms, facing him. she reached up, her fingers tracing the line of his jaw, the stubble rough against her skin. he looked tired, but happy, a rare, unguarded expression on his face that made her heart ache.

a small smile played on her lips. "was it worth breaking the rules?"

he leaned in, capturing her lips in a slow, lingering kiss.

"every rule," he murmured against her lips, "has its exceptions."

they lay in silence for a while, the comfortable quiet settling over them. the fairy lights cast a warm, gentle glow, making the room feel like a bubble, a separate world from the pristine, perfect sorority house outside.

he looked at her, his expression unreadable. he studied her face, as if searching for something, a hidden meaning. he saw the girl who had the perfect life, the perfect house, the perfect friends, and he saw the cracks in the facade, the raw, messy, beautiful truth underneath.

[livellee]

— we almost broke up again.

summary: just listen to we almost broke up again by sabrina carpenter to get the full experience

(i’m too lazy to list all the warnings my apologies! but a lot of sex, cursing and everything all my other storylines consist of)

an: happy easter babies!!! 🥹

the humid august air clung to the back patio of the kappa house, thick with the smell of spilled beer and cheap cigars. somewhere inside, a bassline throbbed, a dull, persistent heartbeat against your skull. you were tipsy, floating on the sweet, syrupy edge of the two vodka cranberries you’d let topper pour for you, but rafe was drunk. not happy drunk, not fun drunk, but that specific, dangerous brand of drunk where his eyes got too bright and his smile never quite reached them, all sharp edges and restless energy.

bullshit repeats itself.

"you're not even listening to me," you said, your voice thin against the din. you were trying to explain, something stupid, something that now felt utterly meaningless, about him leaving you alone inside for over an hour while he did shots with his brothers.

rafe scoffed, leaning against the wooden railing, the muscles in his arms tensing. he gestured with his red solo cup, sloshing warm beer onto the deck. "jesus, can you just chill for one fucking second? one second. i’m talking to my friends. it’s not a federal crime."

"it’s not about that! it’s about you promising we'd leave by twelve thirty and it's almost two. it’s about you looking at me like i’m an embarrassment for wanting to go home."

"an embarrassment?" he laughed, a harsh, loud bark that made a few heads turn. "you think you're an embarrassment? nah. you’re just a fucking buzzkill. always have been."

the words were stones, and they landed with sickening thuds in your stomach. "you’re a dick."

"and you're fucking insane!" his voice rose, booming across the patio now. the music seemed to fade, the chatter around them quieting to a low hum. "i swear to god, i can't do anything right! i come to a party, you wanna leave. i stay home, you're bored. i buy you the expensive shit, you say i’m trying to buy you. what the fuck do you want from me?!"

his frat brothers, topper and kelce, were watching from the doorway, their expressions a mixture of pity and morbid fascination. they'd seen this movie before, so many times that they’d lost count by now.

"i want you to care!" you shot back, your own voice cracking with a fury you could no longer contain. "i want you to act like you have a girlfriend and not a fucking accessory you can put back in a box when you're bored with it!"

he stepped into your space then, so close you could smell the beer on his breath and the faint, clean scent of his cologne underneath. his face was a mask of contempt. "accessory? after everything? i moved you into my fucking house! this is how you thank me? by making a scene?"

"making a scene? you’re the one yelling!" You shoved him, a weak, drunken push against his solid chest. he didn't budge, just stared down at you, his blue eyes flinty and cold.

"don’t fucking touch me," he seethed, catching your wrist. his grip was tight, a promise of a bruise.

"let go of me." you tried to pull away, but he held fast.

"or what? you’re gonna cry? run to your little friends and tell them how mean rafe is?" he leaned in, his voice a low, venomous whisper just for you. "go on. leave. see if i fucking care. maybe this time you'll actually have the guts to stay gone."

something inside you snapped. it wasn't a loud break, but a quiet, clean severing. the fight drained out of you, replaced by a cold, hollow calm. you stopped struggling and met his gaze, your own eyes steady. "okay," you said, your voice soft but clear. "bye, rafe."

you twisted your wrist out of his grip one last time, and he let go, surprised by the sudden shift. without another word, you turned and walked away. you didn't look back. you could feel the weight of dozens of eyes on you as you pushed past kelce, who mumbled a quiet "shit, man," and back into the thumping heart of the party. you grabbed your purse, storming out and into the cool night air, the bass from the kappa house a fading pulse behind you.

to the outside world, it felt final. even to you, it felt final.

rafe watched you go, a muscle feathering in his jaw. he stood there for a long moment, the party slowly restarting around him, the music coming back into focus. then he turned to topper and kelce, a self-deprecating smirk twisting his lips.

"see?" he said, throwing his hands up. "fucking insane. see what i gotta deal with? i fucking told you guys."

they nodded, buying the performance hook, line, and sinker. "yeah dude, she's... a lot," kelce offered, ever the diplomat.

"a lot? she's a fucking nightmare," rafe corrected, draining the rest of his beer. "i’m so done. never again."

he said the words, and he almost believed them.

he spent the next hour getting progressively more drunk, recounting the story to anyone who would listen, painting you as a hysterical, ungrateful girlfriend who couldn't handle him having fun. but with every telling, every retelling, the story felt less real. the anger began to curdle into something else, something sharp and hollow in his gut. the high of the fight, the adrenaline, it was fading, and in its place was a sickening emptiness.

the thought was so jarring, so utterly wrong, that it sobered him faster than a pot of coffee. he was outside, hailing an uber before he could second-guess himself.

the ride to the apartment was a blur of streetlights and regret. he stumbled up the stairs, fumbling with his keys, and pushed the door open.

you were sitting on the couch, a tear stained face but dry eyed now. you looked up, and for a second, the anger was there again, sharp and ready. "what are you doing here?"

he didn't answer with words. he crossed the room in three long strides and dropped to his knees in front of you, his hands finding your face, thumbs stroking your tear wet cheeks. the frat boy persona was gone, shed like a snake skin, leaving only the desperate, needy boy underneath.

"i'm sorry," he breathed, his voice raw, broken. the scent of beer and his distinct cologne filling your nose. "i'm so, so sorry, baby. i was an asshole. a drunk asshole. i didn't mean it. any of it."

"rafe..."

"no, let me talk." he was leaning his forehead against your knees now, his whole body trembling with a sincerity that was so potent it was almost nauseating. "i love you. you know that, right? i love you so much it fucking hurts. i can't... i can't lose you."

it was the script. the beautiful, terrible script you both knew by heart. the fight, the storming out, the groveling, the i love you’s and im sorry’s. and just like every other time, you felt your resolve crumble. you wanted to believe him. you needed to believe him.

you tangled your fingers in his hair, pulling gently until he looked up at you. his blue eyes were glassy, pleading, swimming with an emotion that looked so much like love you couldn't question it. not now.

"i’ll prove it," he whispered.

you leaned down, your lips crashing into his. it was a desperate, messy kiss, all teeth and tongue and the salt of your tears. he tasted like cheap beer and desperation, and you drank it in. you were pulling at his clothes, and he was lifting you up, carrying you effortlessly to the bedroom, your legs wrapped around his waist.

he had you on your back on the bed, tearing at your panties until they were a heap on the floor. he entered you with a sharp, punishing thrust that stole the air from your lungs, and you met him with equal force, your nails digging into his back, pulling a raw groan from his throat.

"you're mine," he snarled against your neck, his hips pistoning into yours, the bedframe slamming against the wall in a desperate rhythm. "say it."

"i'm yours," you gasped, the words torn from you. "all yours."

it was an act of possession. he was trying to fuck the memory of the fight, of his words, out of existence. you were letting him, chasing the pain with pleasure until you couldn't tell where one ended and the other began. every thrust was an apology. every cry was an i love you.

later, breathless and spent, your bodies tangled in the damp sheets, he held you. the adrenaline had bled away, leaving a bone-deep exhaustion and a fragile peace.

"i’m serious," he said, his voice a low rumble against your hair. "i'll show you how much i love you."

you propped yourself up on an elbow, looking down at him. in the dim moonlight filtering through the blinds. you interpreted his words not as another empty promise, but as an offering. he wasn't just saying he loved you. he was giving you his whole heart, laid bare and beating in your hands.

"i believe you," you murmured, your lips ghosting over his.

so you moved down his body, pressing soft, wet kisses to his chest, his stomach, the sharp V of his hips. you could feel him tense, a sharp intake of breath as you settled between his legs. this was your language. your currency. this was how you accepted his apology, how you sealed the deal.

you took him in your hand, feeling him twitch to life under your touch. you looked up at him, your eyes locking with his in the semi-darkness. you swirled your tongue around the tip, tasting the salt of your own release, the lingering musk of his skin. you watched his head fall back against the pillows, a low moan escaping him.

you took him deep, your lips stretching around him, your tongue working against the sensitive underside. you set a slow, deliberate pace. this wasn't about pleasure, not entirely. it was about acceptance. about a cycle so deeply ingrained it felt like fate. you were taking his apology, his love, his whole heart, and giving him your devotion in return.

his hands found your hair, not guiding, just resting, a grounding weight. "fuck," he breathed, the word a ragged prayer. "i love you."

you moaned around him, the vibration making him shudder. you could feel him getting closer, his hips beginning to move in shallow thrusts. you hollowed your cheeks, taking him deeper still, your nose brushing against his base.

you gave him your everything, and when he came with a strangled cry, spilling down your throat, you swallowed. you took it all. you licked him clean, pressing one last, soft kiss to the head of him before crawling back up to lie on his chest.

he pulled you into his arms, his body limp and sated. the silence in the room was heavy, comfortable. for now. the fight was forgotten, the ugly words buried under layers of lust and forgiveness.

but the peace was a lie. because the truth was, this was the rush. the makeup sex, the desperate apologies, the almost breaking. it was a drug, and you were both addicted.

and you both knew, with a certainty that settled deep in your bones, that it was only a matter of time. before you almost broke up again.

[livellee]

ur rafe fics are soooo fucking good like holy shit. do u write for nate jacobs too?

OMG YESS I WANT TO SO BAD PLEASE SEND REQUESTS😩😩😩 toxic mentally unstable men r my shittttt

[pawuhh]

i'd do anything for frat boy rafe

[livellee]

— rewritten.

summary: after a drunken hookup she barely remembers, rafe reconstructs the night, framing her as reckless and needy. she begins to believe him, apologizing and reshaping herself to fit his version of reality.

warnings: sexual content, non consensual framing/gaslighting, manipulation, emotional coercion, alcohol use

an: we back!!!! 💋💋

the morning light was thin and gray, filtering through the slats of rafe's blinds, carving stripes across the tangled sheets. the air was thick, heavy with the stale scent of sweat and expensive perfume, and something else. regret. it clung to the walls, the floor, the very particles of dust dancing in the sunbeams.

rafe was already moving, a restless energy thrumming through his bare chest as he paced the room. he was a predator in a cage of his own making, all long limbs and coiled tension. he snatched up a black lacy thong from the floor, holding it between two fingers like it was something dirty, something contaminated, before tossing it onto the rumpled duvet. he couldn't find his own boxers. he was searching, but his movements were too sharp, too angry for a simple scavenger hunt.

a soft groan came from the bed. she was stirring, a mess of hair spilled across the pillow, a dark smudge of mascara tracing a path down her cheek. her head throbbed, a dull, persistent ache behind her eyes, the kind that promised a story she wasn't sure she wanted to hear. the sheets were twisted around her legs, the cotton rough against her skin. she felt raw. used in a way that had nothing to do with pleasure and everything to do with disposability.

"huh," she mumbled, the word sticking in her dry throat. she pushed herself up on her elbows, the world tilting slightly. "how did i.. what happened?"

rafe froze, his back to her. for a beat, there was only the sound of his breathing, ragged in the quiet room. then he turned, and when he looked at her, his face was a careful blank, but his eyes were cold. assessing. he had the story ready. he'd been rehearsing it since he’d woken up an hour ago, the narrative already solidifying in his mind, a fortress he was building brick by brick.

"you seriously don't remember?" he asked, and there was no concern in his voice, only a kind of weary disbelief. he ran a hand over his head, a gesture of practiced frustration. "jesus. you were a wreck last night."

she blinked, trying to push through the fog in her brain. flashes. loud music, the burn of tequila, rafe's smile looking sharper than usual in the strobing lights. nothing more. "i… i think i remember the party. bits of it."

"bits of it," he repeated, a humorless laugh escaping him. he walked over to the edge of the bed, not too close, but close enough to loom. "you came onto me. hard."

her brow furrowed. "what? no, i didn't."

"yeah, you did," he said, his tone flat, factual. he was rewriting the night in front of her, painting over her blank canvas with broad, confident strokes. "you were wearing that little pink dress. the one that's practically see through. you kept… touching my arm. leaning in. laughing at everything i said, even the shit that wasn't funny."

he leaned down, his forearms resting on his knees, bringing himself closer to her level. he had her attention now, her confusion a foothold. "you told me you were tired of being good. that you wanted to see what it felt like to be bad with me. those are your exact words."

she shook her head, a slow, uncertain movement. "i wouldn't… i don't say things like that."

"well you sure did when you were drunk," he countered, shrugging a shoulder. a dismissive, see it all the time gesture. "you had this look in your eyes. all big and wanting. you looked at me like i was a prize you'd won. you're a sweet girl, i know that. but you know exactly what you're doing when a little bit of alcohol gets in your system. you act all bubbly and stupid, but it's a game. you're reckless as fuck. you wanted this. you basically begged for it."

he went into detail. he painted a vivid, sordid picture. he described her pushing him against the wall of the hallway, her hands fumbling with his belt. he described the breathy moans he claimed she made, the way she supposedly arched into him. he told her about the things she’d whispered in his ear, filthy commands he put into her mouth, making her the architect of her own violation. he talked about the ride back to his place, how she couldn't keep her hands off him, how she giggled when he nearly ran a red light.

"i wouldn't laugh at that," she whispered, a tremor in her voice. she felt sick. her head was pounding, a frantic drumbeat against her skull.

"you did," he said, his voice softer now, laced with a dangerous kind of understanding. "that's the part that gets me. you were so… carefree. so careless. with me, with yourself. you said you wanted to feel something real. so, i gave you real."

she tried to explain, to find the words to say that she didn't remember, that that didn't sound like her. but every protest was a dead end. " but i'm not like that," she managed, her voice small.

"aren't you?" he pushed, leaning in just a fraction more. he was so close she could smell the mint of his toothpaste, a clean, sharp scent that cut through the grime of the room. "or is this just the morning after regret talking? you got what you wanted, and now you're trying to take it back. make it all my fault."

that stopped her. the accusation hung in the air, poison gas filling the room. the thought that she would blame him, that she would see herself as a victim, was somehow worse than the act itself.

"no," she said, the word barely audible. "i'm not… i would never do that."

"i know," he said, and he sounded so fucking reasonable. so patient with her. like he was dealing with a child. "and that's why i'm not mad. i'm just… concerned. you can't keep doing this to yourself, drinking like that. you lose control. and then you get what you think you want in the moment, but you can't handle it in the light of day. do you get how that makes me feel?”

by the end, she wasn't arguing anymore. she was quiet, her hands twisting in the sheets. the story he'd told was so detailed, so specific. it had the ring of truth, or at least, a truth she could no longer access. she was a blank page, and he'd written a novel. she started apologizing.

"i'm sorry," she whispered, shaking her head and looking at her hands. "i'm sorry that i was so… reckless. i'm so sorry that i put you in that position."

he watched her. he watched the fight drain out of her, replaced by a cloying, desperate need for his approval. he saw the shift in her eyes, the moment she accepted his version of reality as her own. that was the point.

"it's okay," he said, his voice dropping to a low, soothing murmur. he reached out, his fingers tracing a line down her arm. "i'm not angry. i just hate seeing you get so… lost."

he moved closer, sitting on the edge of the bed now. the mattress dipped with his weight. she felt the heat of him, a stark contrast to the chill that had settled over her skin.

"you know," he started, his voice a low hum that vibrated through her. "it wasn't all like that. before you got so wild." he leaned in, his lips brushing against her ear. "at the party, you were so sweet. you looked like an angel. that pink dress… you know, when you first came up to me, you just stood there for a second, smiling. you were nervous. i could see it. it was cute."

his words were a balm, a sweet, sticky poison. she leaned into them, desperate for a version of herself that wasn't a reckless, manipulative slut. a version that was just cute.

"you kept twisting the strap on your dress," he continued, his breath warm against her skin. "and you kept playing with that little necklace you always wear. you wanted to say something, but you were scared."

she didn't remember doing that, but it sounded right. it sounded like her. the nervous fidgeting. the shyness.

"and then," he murmured, his hand coming to rest on her thigh, over the sheet. "when you finally touched me, it was so light. just your fingertips on my arm. like you were testing to see if i was real. that's when i knew. that the sweetness was just a wrapper. and inside, you were starving."

he was rewriting the beginning now, making it softer, more palatable. making her want it from the very start.

"i tried to be good," he lied, his thumb stroking her skin through the sheet. "i really did. but you looked at me, and you said, 'rafe, don’t fight it.' and you kissed me. and it wasn't a sweet kiss. it was a hungry kiss. you tasted like tequila, strawberry lip gloss and desperation."

she was captivated, her body leaning into his, her mind painting the picture he was describing. she could almost taste it. almost feel it.

"by the time we got here," he continued, his voice dropping even lower, a husky whisper meant only for her. "you were a different person. you were in charge. you pushed me onto the bed. you were the one who started undressing, standing right there," he gestured to a spot by the window, "and you let that dress fall to the floor. you weren't wearing a bra. you just stood there in that little black lace, and you looked at me like you owned me."

he shifted, moving his hand higher up her thigh, the sheet a thin, useless barrier. "you told me what to do. you told me to be rough. you said you wanted to feel it for days. you said you wanted to forget your own name. so i did. i gave you what you asked for."

he paused, letting the words settle. letting her absorb the image of herself as the one in control, the one demanding, the one taking. "i held you down, because you begged me to. i pulled your hair because you arched your back and moaned when i did. i fucked you so hard the headboard was hitting the wall, and every time it did, you dug your nails into my back and told me not to stop."

she felt a flush creep up her neck, a hot, prickling shame mixed with something else. something that was terrifyingly close to pride. this version of her was powerful. a femme fatale in a pink dress. not a lightweight who lost control.

"you remember any of it?" he asked, his lips now grazing her shoulder. "the way you sounded when you came? you said my name over and over. like it was the only word you knew."

she shook her head, her eyes wide. she didn't remember, but she wished she did. she wanted to be that girl.

"that's okay," he soothed, his other hand coming up to cup her cheek, his thumb stroking the smudge of mascara under her eye. "you don't have to. i remember for the both of us." he leaned in and kissed her, a soft, gentle press of his lips, a stark contrast to the rough night he described.

she kissed him back, her body responding to the sweet talk, the gentle touch, the promise of being seen, even if the version he was seeing was a complete fabrication. she felt the sheet shift as he moved, and then she was exposed again. the cool morning air hit her skin, and she instinctively crossed her arms over her chest, a sudden wave of self consciousness washing over her.

"what are you doing?" he asked, but there was no judgment in his voice. only curiosity.

"nothing," she said, but she quickly scrambled off the bed, her movements clumsy. she looked at the pile of her clothes on the floor, the pink ribbon dress, the black lace thong. they looked alien. like a costume for a girl she didn't know. "i just… i should get dressed."

he watched her, silent, as she bent down and scooped up the dress. she held it for a moment, then dropped it. she looked through the mess on the floor, found one of his t shirts instead. she pulled it over her head, the soft, worn cotton a comforting shield. it smelled like him. clean and masculine.

he didn't stop her. he didn't correct her. he just watched her change, a small, satisfied smirk playing on his lips. she was already adjusting. already trying to be someone else. someone more modest. more careful. someone who wouldn't get herself into this kind of trouble again.

she turned back to him, dressed in his shirt, the hem brushing her mid thigh. she felt safer, but also smaller. younger.

"better?" he asked, as if he knew exactly what she was thinking.

she just nodded, not trusting her voice.

he patted the space on the bed beside him. "c’mere."

she hesitated for a second, then walked over and sat down, keeping a careful distance. he closed the gap instantly, his arm wrapping around her waist, pulling her flush against him.

"you know," he started, his voice that low, persuasive murmur again. "this morning… this is the real you. the sweet one. the one who gets shy and needs to wear my shirt to feel okay." he kissed her temple. "i like this one, too."

she leaned into him, her head finding a place on his shoulder. this was easier. this was the version she could handle.

"but last night," he continued, his hand sliding down to rest on her ass, over the fabric of his shirt. "that was fun, too. you were so alive and free."

he was twisting the knife again. reminding her of the other girl, the one she was supposed to be. the one who was reckless and wanted it.

"i don't know how to be both," she confessed, her voice small.

"you don't have to choose," he said, and he was lying, but it was a beautiful lie. "they're both you. and i like all of you." he tilted her chin up, forcing her to look at him. "show me."

"what?"

"show me the girl from last night," he whispered, his eyes dark. "the one who knows what she wants."

her stomach clenched. she didn't know how. she was just a blank slate. but he was looking at her with so much expectation, with so much faith in the story he'd created. she couldn't let him down.

she leaned in and kissed him, trying to make it hungry, trying to make it demanding. she tried to channel the girl from the pink dress, the girl who tasted of tequila and desperation.

he responded, deepening the kiss, his tongue sliding into her mouth. he pulled her onto his lap, her legs straddling his. she could feel him, hard against her, through the thin fabric of his boxers.

"that's it," he breathed against her lips. "just like that."

his hands were under the shirt, roaming over her back, her sides. she felt a flicker of panic, of being exposed again, but she pushed it down. she had to be this girl. for him.

"you feel so good," he murmured, his hands moving to her breasts, cupping them, his thumbs brushing over her nipples. "so responsive."

she wasn't sure if she was. she was just letting it happen. letting him guide her, his hands and words puppeteering her responses. she arched her back because he seemed to like it when she did. she let out a small moan because that's what the girl from last night would do.

"ride me," he commanded, his voice husky. "just like you did last night. show me how much you wanted it."

he lifted the shirt, pulling it over her head and tossing it aside. she was naked again. vulnerable. but she didn't have time to feel it, because he was lifting her, positioning her over him. he entered her in one swift movement, and she gasped, the sudden fullness a shock to her system.

"fuck," he groaned, his hands on her hips, guiding her. "just like that. you're so tight. so perfect."

she started to move, a stilted rhythm. she was trying to remember, to find the muscle memory of a night she couldn't recall. she was a poor actress in a play she'd never seen.

"touch yourself," he told her, his eyes locked on hers. "you did that last night. you wanted me to watch."

her cheeks burned with shame, but she did as he said. her hand slid down her stomach, her fingers finding her clit. she started to rub slow circles, trying to lose herself in the sensation, trying to become the girl he wanted her to be.

"yeah, baby. just like that," he praised, his grip on her hips tightening. "you're so fuckin’ hot. you know that, right? you drive me crazy."

his words were a drug, and she was getting addicted. she needed the validation, the confirmation that she was doing this right. that she was being the right kind of girl for him. she moved a little faster, her fingers working in tandem with the rhythm he was setting.

"who's in charge?" he asked, his voice a low growl.

she faltered, the question throwing her. "you are," she whispered, because it was the truth.

he chuckled, a dark, rumbling sound that vibrated through her. "no, baby. not right now. you are. last night, you were. you took what you wanted. be that girl again."

she didn't know how. the pressure was immense, a weight on her chest that made it hard to breathe. she was just a blank slate, and he was carving into her with every word, every touch.

she tried to take control. she leaned forward, planting her hands on his chest, and started to move with more purpose. she rolled her hips, trying to find a rhythm that felt powerful, that felt like she was the one dictating the terms. she looked down at him, trying to channel the femme fatale, the girl in the pink dress.

"that's it," he breathed, his eyes dark with lust. "don't stop."

she didn't. she kept moving, her body a machine, her mind a distant observer. she was performing, and the audience of one was captivated. she could feel the pressure building inside her, a slow, steady climb toward a peak she wasn't sure she wanted to reach.

"come for me," he commanded, his hands on her ass, pulling her down harder. "come for me like you did last night. scream my name."

she closed her eyes, blocking out the sight of him, the sight of the room, the sight of herself. she focused on the friction, the pressure, the build. she let out a moan, then another, louder this time. she chanted his name, a prayer, a plea, a performance piece.

"rafe. rafe. rafe."

it wasn't a scream. it was a sob. the orgasm tore through her, a violent, shattering force that left her trembling and empty. it wasn't pleasure. it was release. a release of all the confusion, the shame, the pressure. a release of the girl she used to be.

she collapsed against his chest, her body limp, her mind a void. he held her for a moment, his heart thumping a steady, reassuring beat against her ear. then he rolled her over, pinning her beneath him. he was still hard, still inside her.

"my turn," he murmured, and he started to move. his thrusts were deep, punishing, a stark contrast to the gentle, coaxing tone he'd used before. he was taking back control, reminding her who was really in charge. he was erasing the performance and replacing it with his own reality. he was fucking her not like she wanted, but like he wanted. rough, hard, without regard for her pleasure. this was the truth of the night before, laid bare in the harsh morning light. and she took it. because the girl in the pink dress would have. because the girl in his t shirt didn't know how to say no.

he finished with a guttural groan, collapsing on top of her, his weight a heavy, final punctuation mark. they lay there for a long moment, the only sound their ragged breathing. the regret was back, thicker than before, suffocating.

finally, he pushed himself up, pulling out of her. a wave of cold washed over her, and she shivered. he looked down at her, his expression unreadable.

"see? that’s what you wanted," he said, his voice flat. "just like last night."

she didn't answer. she just stared at the ceiling, at the stripes of light cutting across the plaster. she felt used, dirty, and utterly, completely lost.

he got up and walked into the bathroom, leaving her alone on the bed. she heard the shower start, the sound of water a steady, impersonal hum. she lay there for a moment longer, then slowly, carefully, she sat up. her body ached, a dull, throbbing reminder of the night she couldn't remember and the morning she would never forget.

[livellee]

— the L word.

summary: a chaotic hookup spirals into an accidental confession, emotional whiplash, and an unspoken relationship one of them doesn’t know how to handle.

warnings: sexual content, sex, emotionally abusive language, volatile emotions

an: i love frat boy rafe with a little ditzy reader it’s so fun. this has me wanting to continue them as a series and show their relationship dynamic but let me know! and send request please☹️(also not proof read lol so be aware of potential mistakes)

the headboard was cracking against the drywall in a frantic percussion, the whole frame of the bed groaning with every punishing thrust from rafe’s hips. the sound was probably waking up the entire floor of the fraternity house, but neither of them gave a shit.

"holy fuck," he grunted, the word punched out of him as he drove into her, hitting that spot that made her toes curl and her eyes roll back. she wasn't quiet about it. a high, whiny moan tore from her throat, her nails dragging red lines down the sweat slick expanse of his broad back.

"oh my god, rafe! right there!" she cried out, her voice breathy and pitched an octave higher than normal. he just grunted in response, like a goddamn animal, a bead of sweat dripping from the end of his nose and landing between her tits. he was chasing his own high, and she was just along for the glorious, mind numbing ride.

his pace got sloppy, the powerful strokes turning short and desperate. he buried his face in her neck, smelling like sex and expensive cologne. she felt the vibration of a deep, guttural moan against her skin more than she heard it.

"god, i love fuckin' this pussy," he breathed out, the words thick with lust. "love you... love this so much. fuck, i love you."

the words barely registered at first, lost in the haze of pleasure that was clouding her brain. she just tightened her legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, because that's what her body wanted. more. more of him, more of this, more of the feeling that made her feel like she was going to explode into a million glittery pieces.

then it hit. i love you?

his whole body went stiff. it was like someone had hit the emergency brake on a freight train. the frantic energy vanished, replaced by a sudden, horrifying stillness.

he pulled out so fast it was almost violent, leaving her feeling cold and gaping and confused. he shot off the bed like it was on fire, stumbling back a few steps and raking a shaky hand through his messy hair.

"shit," he spat. he paced a short, agitated line on the ratty rug, his back a tense line of muscle. "don't- don't even. don't say a fuckin' word. you know i didn't mean that shit."

she pushed herself up onto her elbows, the duvet, a thing that had probably seen more action than a porn set, clutched to her chest. she watched him pace, her head tilted like a confused puppy.

"what didn't you mean?" she asked, her voice small and genuinely bewildered. "the 'i love fucking this pussy' part? or the ‘i love you’ part?"

he stopped dead and whipped around to face her, his blue eyes wide with panic and fury. "the other part! obviously the other fuckin’ part! what the fuck is wrong with you? it meant nothing. you're nothing to me. nothing but a warm place to stick my dick, alright? that’s it. just a good fuck."

a normal girl would have been devastated. a normal girl would have burst into tears and started grabbing her clothes. but she wasn't a normal girl. and for some reason, the insult just kind of bounced right off. at least he’d just called her a good fuck.

a slow, dopey smile spread across her face. "you love me," she said, the words coming out as a soft, happy sigh.

he stared at her like she'd just started speaking a foreign language. "are you- i just called you a hole to fuck. did you not hear that part?"

"i heard it," she said, nodding enthusiastically. "but you said you loved me while your dick was still inside me. which one do you think i'm gonna focus on? the good one, duh!" she bounced a little on the mattress, a giddy, bubble filled excitement bubbling up inside her. "oh ‘em gee, rafe! i love you more!" she blurted out, the words a bright, shiny thing. it felt so good to finally say out loud.

his jaw literally dropped. he looked completely confused, all his practiced, frat guy cruelty suddenly useless against her relentless, dizzying cheerfulness. he looked like he was trying to solve a math problem in his head and failing spectacularly.

"jesus christ," he muttered, looking up at the ceiling as if for divine intervention. "is your brain powered off?"

"nope!" she chirped, patting the empty space on the bed beside her. "just in love! now c'mere. you can't tell a girl you love her and then not cuddle her. that, like, breaks all the rules of the universe, rafe."

he didn't move. he just stood there, a statue of pure frustration, looking at her, then at the spot on the bed, then back at her. he let out a long, defeated sigh, the sound of a man who had lost a war he didn't even know he was fighting.

slowly, like he was approaching a wild animal that might bite, he walked back to the bed and sat down on the very, very edge, as far away as possible without actually falling off. he didn't look at her, just stared at the wall.

she scrambled over, wrapping her arms around his rigid middle and pressing her cheek to his stupidly perfect back. "see?" she murmured, nuzzling into him. "this is way better than being all grumpy, isn’t it?”

his muscles were still bunched up tighter than a drum, but he didn't pull away. he just sat there, a silent, brooding monument to emotional constipation, letting her cling to him like a human sized barnacle.

"unbelievable," he mumbled to the wall, but the bite was gone. it just sounded exhausted.

"so you're my boyfriend now!" she announced happily, the logical conclusion of this entire conversation. "that's what happens when you say you love someone and they say it back. boom. instant relationship, obvi."

that made him react. he twisted around, finally looking at her, his expression a mix of alarm and disbelief. "whoa, whoa, hold on. no one said anything about me being your boyfriend."

she blinked at him, her smile faltering for a fraction of a second. "but you just said you love me?"

"that's... i was caught up in the moment!" he sputtered, running a hand through his hair again before patting his own cheek repeatedly out of frustration. "it was a slip of the tongue! it doesn't mean we're, like, dating or some stupid shit!"

her bottom lip started to tremble. the glittery, happy feeling inside her was quickly being replaced by a heavy, confusing ache. "but you don't just say you love someone if you don't want to be with them," she whispered, her eyes getting glossy. "that's... that isn’t right."

his face crumpled. the anger and panic were gone, replaced by a look of sheer, unadulterated horror. seeing her cry, genuinely cry, was like a punch to the gut. it was one thing to be a dick to her when she was smiling and bouncing back, but it was another thing entirely to be the reason her beautiful face got all scrunched up and sad.

"no, hey, fuck, don't- don't do that," he said, his voice softening into something she'd never heard before. something gentle. he reached out a hesitant hand, his thumb awkwardly wiping at a tear that had escaped and was trickling down her cheek.

"shit. don't cry, okay? this is just not how i do things. i don't do… this." he gestured vaguely between the two of them, a motion that encompassed their entire, complicated, freshly minted relationship.

"well, how do you do things?" she asked, shuffling closer to him, her curiosity momentarily overriding her sadness.

"i don't know!" he burst out, running both hands through his hair in frustration. "i fuck, and i party, and i go to class, sometimes. i don't... i don't do feelings. i don't say 'i love you'."

"but you did," she said softly, reaching out to trace the tense muscles of his back. "and i loved it."

he flinched at her touch but didn't pull away. he just sat there, a monument to conflicted masculinity. "yeah, well. look where it got me."

"it got you a girlfriend who loves you a whole lot," she murmured, leaning her head against his shoulder. "is that so bad rafe?"

he was quiet for a long moment, the only sound in the room the distant chatter from his brothers downstairs and her own quiet sniffles. then, with a sigh that sounded like it came from the soles of his feet, he slumped.

"nah," he mumbled to the wall. "i guess it ain’t so bad."

"so i am your girlfriend?" she asked, her voice wobbly with hope.

he let out a groan that seemed to come from the depths of his soul. he looked at her, at her bright, tear filled, hopeful eyes, and he knew he was fucked. utterly and completely fucked. he couldn't say no. not to that face.

"fine," he ground out, the word tasting like acid in his mouth. "yeah. whatever. you’re my fuckin' girlfriend."

"yay!" she clapped her hands together. "so now what do boyfriends and girlfriends do?"

"they usually get dressed," he said, eyeing the door. "before someone comes looking for me and finds us like this."

"oh. right." she looked down at herself, at the wrinkled sheet and the drying sweat on her skin. then she looked back at him, at his handsome, miserable face, and a new idea struck her. "or… we could do it again? to, like, celebrate?"

a slow, reluctant smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. it wasn't a full blown smile, but for rafe cameron, it was the equivalent of a standing ovation. "wow, putting that pretty little brain of yours to work now," he said, a warmth in his voice now, a grudging affection that hadn't been there before.

"am i?” she smiled cheerfully at the praise, leaning in to kiss him properly this time.

"yeah you are," he murmured against her lips, pulling her closer. "my smart girl."

the kiss was different this time. it wasn't frantic or desperate. it was slow and deep and full of newness. “yours?” she muttered against his mouth, smiling.

he nodded, and when he finally laid her back against the pillows, his movements were still sure and possessive, but there was a softness to them that hadn't been there before.

he took his time, like he was learning the terrain of her body all over again, mapping every curve and hollow with his hands and mouth. he watched her face, his blue eyes dark and intense, as if trying to memorize every flutter of her eyelids, every sigh that escaped her pouty lips.

when the headboard started its frantic rhythm against the wall once again, this time, it sounded different. like less of a rough act of desperation and more like a beginning, a very pink, chaotic and glitter filled beginning.

[livellee]

i’ve never requested anything before, but maybe a rafe x ex gf, maybe they see each other at a party, one gets too drunk and like goes up to them… add whatever you’d like

— irresistible.

summary: at a party, a drunk and volatile rafe cameron zeroes in on the one person who still has a hold on him, his ex. jealousy, and chaos collide in a way neither of them can walk away from.

warnings: bipolar rafe, unprotected sex, name calling, slapping, drinking

an: i wasn’t sure of how i wanted to go about the ending but i think i love it?? still not sure but enjoy. this also isnt proofread at all so!

the music was a physical thing, a bass heavy pulse that vibrated up from the soles of her feet and settled somewhere deep in her chest. it was a wall of sound, drowning out individual conversations, blending laughter and shouts into one cohesive roar. she stood by the pong table, a pink solo cup in her hand, her focus entirely on the game. she was laughing, head thrown back, as the guy opposite her, a tall lanky frat boy, missed his shot. "sucks to suck!" she teased, grinning at her partner.

she was in her element. a few drinks in, the glow of seltzers and competition warming her veins, she felt loose, happy. the sticky floor, the smell of spilled liquor and sweat, the mind numbing bass, it all faded into the background. all that mattered was the next shot, the easy camaraderie, the simple, fleeting joy of a friday night party. she'd almost forgotten what it felt like to just be, without a shadow of him looming over her thoughts.

across the room, leaning heavily against the kitchen counter, rafe cameron’s world narrowed to a single point. the raucous laughter of topper and kelce beside him, the burn of cheap beer in his throat, the swirl of bodies, it all blurred into indistinct noise.

it wasn't a gradual realization, it was a gut punch. there she was, a splash of vibrant pink in the sea of dark clothing, a flash of white skirt as she shifted her weight. her head was thrown back in a laugh that he used to be able to coax out of her so easily, a laugh that wasn't for him. it was for some random asshole with a backwards cap and a stupid grin. a hot, possessive wave of something ugly and familiar washed over him, choking him more than the alcohol. that was his laugh. that was his body. all his.

"there you are," he slurred, the words a low murmur meant only for himself. he pushed off the counter, patting his friends on their backs. the world tilting slightly before righting itself. he moved through the crowd with an unnerving ease, a predator navigating his territory.

people seemed to part for him, or maybe they just felt the electric energy rolling off him and instinctively gave way. he didn't see anyone else, his path a straight, unwavering line to the pong table.

she was lining up her next shot, tongue peeking out from between her lips in concentration. she didn't notice the shift in the energy around her, the way the guys at her table suddenly stiffened, their smiles faltering. she didn't notice the parting of the sea of bodies behind her until a wall of heat pressed against her back.

his presence was a sudden, startling weight. then his arms were wrapping around her waist, from the back, pulling her flush against him, the move both possessive and startlingly intimate. his breath, hot and smelling of beer and mint, ghosted over the shell of her ear.

"winning without me, huh?" he murmured, the words a low, gravelly hum against her skin. he was giggling, a soft, airy sound that was gone as quickly as it came, replaced by a low growl as he nuzzled into her neck. "always showing off."

she jumped, the ping pong ball slipping from her fingers and bouncing onto the sticky floor. her entire body went rigid, the happy buzz evaporating instantly, replaced by a jolt of adrenaline and a treacherous, unwelcome thrill. "rafe, what the fuck?" she breathed out, the words barely a whisper. she tried to turn, but his grip was like a vice. so she didn't pull away. she couldn't. her body betrayed her, melting back into the solid warmth of him, a deeply ingrained muscle memory of surrender.

"what?" he chuckled, the sound vibrating against her. "can't congratulate my girl on a good shot?" his hands roamed, one splaying possessively across her stomach, the other brushing hers, playing with a piece of her skirt with his finger.

his fingers tangled in the strands of her hair, tugging just enough to make her head tip back, exposing the line of her throat. it was a practiced, proprietary gesture, one that used to make her feel cherished and now just made her feel cornered. the guys at the table were watching, their playful banter dying down, a tense silence falling over their little corner.

he glared at one of the guys who was looking a little too long, a mock, dangerous look that was all for show. “she's a little busy, man."

he was a whirlwind of contradictions. one second he was nuzzling her neck, murmuring about how perfect she looked in pink, how unfair it was that she could still make him feel this way. the next, he was biting her earlobe, a sharp sting that made her gasp, his teeth scraping over the sensitive skin. "missed this," he whispered, his voice dropping lower, thick with an intoxicating mix of longing and resentment. “miss you so much it feels like i’m missing a lung.” he says, the words barely audible over the bass. his thumb is stroking her hip now, a slow, maddening rhythm. “hate that you broke up with me.”

“you’re insane,” she whispers back, the confession feeling huge in the small space between them.

someone, a drunk guy stumbling past, bumped into rafe's shoulder, hard. the effect was instantaneous. the playful energy evaporated, replaced by a cold, dangerous snap. he straightened up immediately, dropping her hair, and turned on the guy, shoving his shoulder harshly.

"watch where the fuck you're going!" his voice raised as he got in his face, the words a venomous spit. the guy flinched, throwing his hands up in defense, and backed away.

the guys at the pong table suddenly found their drinks very interesting. the bubble of safety she'd been trying to maintain around herself popped.

"rafe, stop it," she said, her voice firmer now. she turned in his arms, her hands coming up to press against his chest. the hard muscle of his pecs were tense beneath her palms. "it was an accident. don’t make a scene."

he looked down at her, his blue eyes blazing, the alcohol and anger warring in their depths. for a second, she thought he might push her away, might lash out. then, just as quickly, the fire banked, replaced by a familiar, pleading look. he leaned into her touch, his forehead resting against hers.

"sorry," he mumbled, the word slurred and insincere. "you know how i get." his hands found her hips again, thumbs brushing over the strip of bare skin between her bodysuit and her skirt. the touch was electric, sending sparks skittering across her nerves. "come with me."

"rafe, i don’t think this is-," she started to protest, but he was already guiding her, his grip on her hips firm and unyielding. he led her away from the pong table, through the thicket of bodies, and towards the stairs. she knew she should fight it, should turn and walk away, leave him to spiral on his own. she knew it with every rational fiber of her being. but her feet kept moving, following him up the creaky wooden steps, her heart a frantic drum against her ribs.

they found an empty bedroom at the end of the hall. he kicked the door shut behind them, the click of the lock echoing in the quiet room. the distant thump of the bass was a muffled heartbeat now. she was trapped with him.

he spun her around, pushing her back against the door. the lock clicked, the sound sharp and final in the sudden quiet. the distant party was a forgotten world, a muffled heartbeat from another life. in here, it was just him, the scent of whiskey on his breath, and the raw, predatory gleam in his eyes.

“god, i fuckin’ missed you,” he breathed, the words a ragged confession before his mouth crashed down on hers. it wasn’t a gentle kiss, it was a claiming, a punishment. all teeth and tongue and the desperate need to inhale her whole. he tasted of beer and something purely, intoxicatingly rafe. a flavor she'd tried to scrub from her memory.

she kissed him back, a wave of self loathing crashing over her even as her body responded. her hands fisted in the soft material of his t shirt, pulling him closer. “you don’t know how much i’ve missed you.” a traitorous act of surrender.

she hated him for this, for the way he could waltz back into her life and shatter her resolve with a single look, a single touch. but god, she wanted him. her body ached for him, a deep, hollow ache that only he could fill.

with a sudden, rough grip on her shoulders, he pushed her down. her knees hit the plush carpet, the room spun for a second, the streetlight painting a diagonal line across the floor. "suck it," he commanded, his voice thick with authority as he fisted a hand in her hair. he guided her, not asked, her face to the hard outline of him straining against his jeans. "show me how much you miss me."

"yes, sir," she breathed, the words coming out on a whimper. her fingers trembled as she worked the button and zipper of his jeans. the metallic scrape was obscenely loud in the quiet room. she freed him, and he was hot and heavy in her palm, the familiar weight a jolt to her system. she wrapped her lips around him.

"fuck, yeah," he groaned, his hips jerking forward, pushing deeper. "just like that. choke on it."

he began to fuck her face, his movements erratic and uncontrolled, driven by alcohol and a possessive need that bordered on violence. tears pricked her eyes, blurring her vision as she struggled to breathe around him, to relax her throat. but she didn’t pull away. she couldn’t. a dark, broken part of her wanted this, wanted to be used by him, wanted to give him everything he asked for, no matter how degrading.

"keep those eyes on me," he demanded, his grip in her hair tightening. she forced her gaze upward, her vision blurred with tears. he was watching her, his head tilted, his blue eyes dark with a frightening, focused intensity.

"you're so fuckin' pretty when you're crying on my cock." the words were a lit match to gasoline. a fresh wave of shame and heat burned through her. "mmmph," she managed to moan around him before he pulled out suddenly, a string of saliva connecting her lips to the head of him. he hauled her up, his strength effortless, tossing her onto the bed as if she weighed nothing. she bounced once on the comforter, her skirt riding up to her waist.

he was on her in an instant, a cage of muscle and heat, his body covering hers. he spread her legs apart with his knee, settling himself between them. the rough denim of his jeans scraped against the sensitive skin of her inner thighs.

"i'm gonna fuck you so hard you won't be able to walk," he growled, a low promise against her ear as he leaned over her. he lined himself up, the blunt head of him nudging at her entrance. "gonna make sure you remember who you’ll always belong to."

without another word, he thrust into her. one hard, deep stroke that stole her breath. it was a sharp, burning stretch, a pain that was inseparable from the pleasure. she cried out, her nails digging into the powerful muscles of his back.

he stilled for a beat, buried to the hilt, letting her adjust. then he started to move, and any trace of restraint was gone. it was frantic and dirty and raw. "that's it," he praised, his movements punishing. "take that fucking dick. this pussy was made for me, wasn't it?" he was fucking her on a stranger's bed, the headboard thumping a rhythm against the wall that was barely audible over the bass from downstairs. it was the most alive she'd felt in months. his hands were gripping her hips, pulling her onto him with every punishing thrust. the only sounds were their harsh breathing and the wet, slick slap of skin on skin.

"look at me," he commanded, his voice rough. she forced her eyes open to meet his. they were dark, wild, clouded with lust and anger and alcohol. "you let anyone else touch you?"

"fuck, no rafe," she cried, her head turning to the side, her cheek pressing into the pillowcase that smelled of someone else's laundry detergent.

"nah," he said, grabbing her jaw, forcing her to look at him again. "say it like you mean it."

"no one else has fucked me rafe," she repeated, her voice stronger this time, a ragged plea.

"that's it," he grunted. "my girl. taking my cock so good." a filthy litany of praise and degradation that had her spiraling towards the edge. "such a good little slut for me, aren't you? drippin’ all over my dick. missed being filled up like this, didn't you?"

he shifted his angle, hitting that spot inside her that made her see stars. a sob tore from her throat.

"yeah, you like that?" he smirked. "gonna cum for me? gonna soak my cock?"

she was falling into a haze, her eyes rolling back. he brought a hand up to her face, patting her cheek, a little too hard to be a caress. then he did it again, a sharp, stinging slap that brought tears to her eyes. "woke you up, didn't it?" he said, grinning. "pay attention when i'm talkin’ to you."

he was getting rougher, his thrusts harder, more punishing. he pulled out of her suddenly, and she whimpered at the loss, the cold air hitting her slick skin.

he flipped her over with a rough grip on her hip, yanking her up onto her hands and knees. she was facing the full length mirror leaning against the wall, a full view of the scene. she saw her own reflection, flushed, disheveled, eyes wide and dark. she saw rafe behind her, his face a mask of raw, animalistic need.

"ass up," he grunted, kicking her feet apart with his. she complied, arching her back, presenting herself to him and he was back inside her in an instant, this new angle allowing him to go even deeper. he grabbed a handful of her hair, pulling her head back. the sting on her scalp was exquisite.

"look at you," he said, his gaze meeting hers in the mirror.

"look what you do to me. look what i do to you."

he spanked her, a sharp, loud smack on her ass. she yelped, the sound swallowed by the thumping bass from the party downstairs. he did it again, on the other cheek, her skin stinging.

"fuck, love this ass," he groaned, squeezing the reddened flesh. "love marking you up."

he let go of her hair, only to grab her face, turning her head towards him. "open your mouth." and she did, without question. he spit, a hot, intimate act that made her whole body clench around him. she swallows, her eyes locked on his.

"nasty girl," he murmured, leaning in to kiss her, a messy, claiming press of lips and tongue. "you love this, don't you? love bein’ treated like a whore."

he was shaking her now, his hands on her hips, using her body to meet his brutal rhythm. the bed was squeaking, the headboard rattling against the wall. it was too much.

"why'd you leave me?" he suddenly asked, his voice cracking with anger and hurt. "answer me."

"you… you wouldn’t get the help you need rafe," she gasped, the words torn from her by the force of his thrusts. "you’re bipolar, and i couldn't… i couldn't take it anymore."

"liar," he snarled, his movements becoming even more erratic. "you were scared. scared of how good we are. scared of this."

he drove into her one last, punishing time, and she shattered, a loud moan tearing from her throat as her orgasm ripped through her. he followed right after, burying himself deep with a guttural groan, spilling inside her.

for a moment, they just stayed there, panting, the only sounds in the room their ragged breaths and the distant noise of the party. then he pulled out, collapsing beside her on the bed. he immediately pulled her against him, her back to his chest, wrapping an arm around her waist like a vice.

she stayed stiff, her body a mess of conflicting signals. satisfaction, shame, a bone deep exhaustion. her legs were shaking. she felt used. she felt alive. she felt like she'd made the biggest mistake of her life, and the best decision all at once.

his thumb traced circles on her hip, a surprisingly gentle gesture after the brutality.

the storm had passed, leaving behind a quiet, hollow stillness. the adrenaline began to fade, replaced by a creeping sense of shame and regret. what had she done? she had promised herself this would never happen again.

he rolled off of her, but not before pressing a soft, lingering kiss to her forehead. it was a tender gesture that felt more intimate and more violating than anything he had done to her all night.

he didn't say anything else as he pulled up his jeans and fumbled with the buttons. she watched him, her body aching, her heart a raw, open wound. he was just rafe again, not the raging monster he had been moments ago.

he sat on the edge of the bed, his back to her. the streetlight from the window cast a long shadow across the room.

"you should go," he said, his voice flat, empty. the heat was gone, replaced by a familiar, chilling distance. it was the same old story, the same familiar dance of destruction. she braced herself for the familiar sting of rejection, the cold finality of being used and discarded.

but then he turned, and the look on his face wasn't distant. it was raw, plastered, and so desperately hopeful it made her chest ache. a slow, sloppy grin spread across his face.

"or," he said, drawing the word out, "you could… not go."

he shuffled closer on the bed, the mattress dipping with his weight. he reached out, his thumb stroking her cheek, a clumsy, drunk gesture. "this was… this was good. right? like, really fuckin' good."

she nodded, a silent, traitorous agreement. it had been good. it had been electric. it had been exactly what she craved and exactly what was worst for her.

"see," he said, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "so let's just… do this again. tomorrow. and the day after. and, like, forever."

it wasn't a question. it was a declaration. a drunken, half-baked proposal that was somehow more appealing than any sober, logical argument she'd ever heard.

"rafe, we can't," she whispered, the words a weak protest. "you were a nightmare."

"i'll be less of a nightmare," he promised, leaning in to nuzzle her neck, his breath hot against her skin. "i'll be… a good dream. a wet dream." he laughed, a breathy, unhinged sound that was pure rafe. "we'll just be us, but… more. like, all the way. no more breaking up."

he looked at her, his blue eyes pleading, searching her face for any sign of agreement. "c'mon. you miss this. you miss me. don't lie."

she did. she missed the chaos, the passion, the way he could make her feel like the center of the universe and a speck of dust at the same time. she missed the fighting and the fucking and the way he looked at her like she was the only thing that mattered, even when he was looking right through her.

"okay," she breathed out, barely audible. "okay." she repeated with a nod.

"okay?" he repeated, a grin splitting his face. "okay! fuck yeah! we're back!"

he lunged forward, kissing her again, a messy, triumphant kiss that tasted of beer and bad decisions. this time, she kissed him back with equal fervor, her hands coming up to cup the back of his neck, her fingers tangling in the soft hairs there. she deepened the kiss, pouring all her conflicting emotions into it, the anger, the longing, the relief, the regret.

it was a seal on a pact made in sweat and desperation.

when they finally broke apart, both breathless, she was the one who spoke first, her giggle slurring slightly from the alcohol and the rush of adrenaline. "we're so back."

"damn right we are," he said, his chest puffed out with pride. he stood up, swaying slightly, and pulled her up with him. "c'mon. let's go tell topper my girl's back. he owes me fifty bucks."

"alright, pause," she said, holding up a hand. "recon mission." she turned her back to him, bending over slightly as she clipped her bodysuit back into place, the fabric snapping with a satisfying click. she smoothed down her skirt, which was still thankfully in place, and ran a hand through her hair, trying to tame the mess he'd made of it. she caught her reflection in the mirror, a flash of flushed cheeks and bright, satisfied eyes.

he laced his fingers through hers, she tightened her grip, pulling him back towards her. "wait," she said, a mischievous glint in her eyes. she reached up, wiping a smudge of her lip liner from the corner of his mouth with her thumb. "you can't go down there looking like you just got your dick sucked. you have a reputation to uphold, mr. cameron."

he laughed, a loud, genuine sound that echoed in the quiet room. "you're one to talk," he teased, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear, his thumb brushing against her cheek. "you look thoroughly ran thru."

"good. i want them to know.” she said, a slow, sly smile spreading across her face. "presentable. mostly." she sauntered over to him. she grabbed the collar of his shirt, pulling him down for another quick, hard kiss. "now, about that fifty bucks... i get half."

"greedy," he chuckled, but he was already nodding, completely wrapped around her finger again. "deal. let's go collect."

he laced his fingers through hers, and this time, she was the one pulling him towards the door, leading him back into the noise and the chaos, back into their world.

[livellee]

— our little secret.

summary: a line she didn’t plan to cross disappears when left alone with her boyfriend’s best friend as he quietly dismantles her loyalty and convinces her she’s been overlooked.

warnings: cheating, sex, emotional manipulation, gaslighting, power imbalance

an: i got a request for this but literally can’t find it:( hopefully whoever requested sees this.

the air in tannyhill was thick, sweet with the smell of chlorine from the pool and the faint, expensive scent of rafe’s cologne. she was curled on the edge of the plush, cream colored couch, watching topper pace near the door. he was already pulling his keys from the pocket of his khakis, his brow furrowed.

“shit, i gotta go,” he said, not quite looking at her. “some shit with my dad. i’ll be back as soon as i can, okay?”

he leaned down, pressing a quick, perfunctory kiss to the crown of her head. it was a familiar gesture, but tonight it felt rushed, like an afterthought. the warmth of it barely had time to register before he was pulling away, the scent of his salt and sunscreen washed cologne already fading.

“okay,” she murmured, offering him a small, tight lipped smile. “be careful.”

“yeah, yeah i will,” he was already halfway out the door. “love you.”

the door clicked shut behind him, the sound echoing in the sudden quiet of the massive living room. she was left alone on the couch, the only other occupant being rafe, who was sprawled in the armchair opposite her. he hadn’t moved, just watched the entire exchange with an unnerving stillness. he swirled the amber liquid in his glass, the ice clinking softly.

silence stretched, thin and taut. she picked at a loose thread on her denim shorts, suddenly feeling exposed, small in the cavernous room.

“he’s always in a hurry, isn’t he?” rafe’s voice was a low murmur, cutting through the quiet. it wasn’t a question. it was an observation, stated with the same casual tone one might use to comment on the weather.

her head snapped up. “he just had to go.. you know how his dad gets sometimes.”

rafe took a slow sip of his drink, his eyes never leaving hers. they were a startling, piercing blue, and they held a disconcerting amount of focus, like he was seeing straight through her. “i know. but why didn’t he ask if you wanted to go with him? didn’t even bother to ask if you’d be okay here, by yourself?”

her lips parted, but no words came out. because, no. he hadn’t. he’d just announced his departure and assumed she’d fall into line, a pretty accessory to be left on the couch until he returned.

rafe leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, the glass held loosely in one hand. the movement brought him closer, shrinking the space between them. “he doesn’t really listen, does he? not when you talk. not really.” his voice was even softer now, a conspiratorial whisper.

a strange warmth bloomed in her chest, confusing and unwelcome. this was topper’s best friend. she shouldn’t be having this conversation. “rafe…” she started, a feeble protest.

he held up a hand, a placating gesture. “i’m not trying to start anything. i’m just… saying what i see.” he let out a short, breathy, humorless chuckle, shaking his head slightly. “honestly, don’t even know how topper landed a girl like you. he’s… he’s a good guy and all, but he doesn’t value what he has. not like i would.”

the words hung in the air, heavy and intoxicating. he wasn’t shouting, wasn’t accusing. he was just noticing. he was seeing things she’d only ever let flicker across her own mind in the darkest, most insecure hours of the night. he made her feel seen.

her gaze darted to the door topper had just exited through. “but… topper…”

“i know,” rafe said, nodding slowly. his agreement was so easy, so disarming. it took the wind right out of her sails.

“you’re with topper. i know.” he stood up, and her breath hitched. he moved with a liquid grace, crossing the plush rug until he was standing right in front of her. he didn’t loom or crowd her, just stood there, a towering presence that suddenly made the couch feel very small. he reached out, and she flinched instinctively. but he wasn’t going to hurt her. his fingers, cool from the glass, gently brushed against her cheek.

“you’ve got a little…” he murmured, his thumb ghosting over the corner of her mouth. he carefully tucked a stray strand of hair that had stuck to her lip gloss back behind her ear. his touch was deliberate, lingering on the shell of her ear for a fraction of a second too long. when she didn’t pull away, didn’t even breathe, something sharp and predatory flashed in the depths of his blue eyes before it was gone, replaced by that same gentle understanding.

“i’m not telling you to do anything,” he said, his thumb now tracing the line of her jaw. his voice was a hypnotic caress. “but topper did leave you all alone tonight. with me.” he paused, letting that sink in. “and i notice you. i really listen. i know that’s what you’ve been wanting.”

he was so close now. she could smell the whiskey on his breath, mixed with that clean, expensive scent. her heart was beating a frantic, wild rhythm against her ribs. she should get up. she should call topper. she should do something.

but instead, she stayed frozen, trapped in the intensity of his gaze. he made it feel like this was her choice. a decision she was coming to all on her own. he wasn’t pushing her. he was just opening a door. and the way he was looking at her, the way he made her feel seen, chosen, wanted in a way topper, with his rushed kisses and distracted attention, never had, it was impossible to ignore.

his hand slid from her jaw to the back of her neck, his fingers tangling softly in her hair. it was a possessive gesture, but it felt like a caress. “he doesn’t appreciate you,” rafe whispered, his lips now so close to hers she could feel the heat from them. “not like i would.”

he didn’t give her a chance to respond. he closed the final inch, and his lips were on hers. it wasn’t like topper’s kisses, which were often quick and perfunctory, a punctuation mark to a sentence. this was slow, deep, and deliberate. it was a question and an answer all at once. he tasted of whiskey and something addictively rafe. her body responded before her mind could catch up, a soft sigh escaping her lips as she melted into him, her hands coming up to rest on the firm planes of his chest.

he pulled back just enough to speak, his forehead resting against hers, his breathing slightly ragged. “see?” he murmured, a possessive edge to his velvet tone. “you feel that? that’s what it’s supposed to feel like. to be wanted.”

her mind was a haze of conflict, but her body was a traitor, arching into him. “but my boyfriend…” she breathed, the words a final, desperate attempt to grasp onto reality.

“you’ve already started it now,” he said, his lips brushing hers with every word. “you’re just doing what you’ve been wanting to do, and that’s okay.” he took her hand, his grip firm but not painful, and gently tugged her to her feet. “c’mon.”

his bedroom was just down the hall, a masculine space of dark wood and crisp white linens. the curtains were drawn, bathing the room in a soft, intimate glow. the moment the door clicked shut behind them, the world outside ceased to exist. it was just her and him.

he turned to face her, and there was no more pretense of gentleness, only raw, undisguised hunger in his eyes. he hooked his fingers in the belt loops of her shorts, pulling her flush against him. she could feel him, hard and insistent, through the thin fabric of their clothes.

“rafe,” she whimpered, her hands flat on his chest, half pushing, half clutching.

“shh,” he soothed, his hands sliding down to grip her ass, squeezing firmly. “i know.” then he was kissing her again, a punishing, claiming kiss that stole the air from her lungs.

he unbuttoned her shorts, the denim sliding down her legs and pooling at her feet. then he removed her top, until she was standing before him in nothing but her little lace bra and panties set. she slowly wrapped her arms around her body, in attempt to cover herself with her arms, in attempt to not finalize what was already happening between them.

he tutted softly, shaking his head as he stripped off his own shirt, revealing a sculpted chest and abdomen. “no, none of that. let me look at you.” he circled her slowly, like a predator admiring its prey. “so fucking perfect. and he just leaves you. what a waste.”

he led her to the bed, his hands guiding her to kneel on the edge of the mattress, her back to him. she felt the mattress dip as he climbed on behind her. a shiver ran down her spine as he hooked his fingers into the waistband of her panties, slowly dragging them down her thighs. they joined the rest of her clothes on the floor.

she heard the unmistakable sound of a zipper, the crinkle of a foil wrapper. the anticipation was a tangible thing, coiling tight in her belly. “topper would feel…” she started, the thought fragmented and breathless.

“fuck how topper would feel,” rafe shook his head disapprovingly, his voice a low growl right against her ear. one of his hands splayed across her lower back, holding her in place, while the other guided himself to her entrance. he pushed inside with one slow, agonizingly deep thrust.

a choked cry tore from her throat. he was bigger than she was used to, the stretch a delicious burn that stole her breath. he gave her a moment to adjust, his hands stroking her sides, a deceptive comfort before the storm.

“that’s it,” he praised, his lips trailing down her spine. “take it. take what you’ve been missing.”

then he began to move. it wasn’t gentle. it was hard, deep, a relentless rhythm that had her clutching at the sheets, her knuckles white. each thrust pushed a strangled moan from her lips. he angled his hips, hitting a spot inside her that sent jolts of electricity through her entire body.

“you feel that?” he grunted, one hand tangling in her hair, pulling her head back slightly. “he doesn’t hit this spot, does he? can’t make you fall apart like this.”

she couldn’t form words, only a series of helpless, breathy cries. her mind was blissfully empty, filled only with the sensation of him moving inside her, the sounds of skin meeting skin, his low, filthy praises in her ear.

“such a good girl,” he growled, releasing her hair to grip her hip, pulling her back to meet each of his powerful thrusts. “wish you were my girl. look at how fuckin’ good you take my dick.”

the possessive words, the sheer overwhelming pleasure, it was all too much. the coil in her belly snapped, and her orgasm crashed over her in a blinding wave. her entire body convulsed, a silent scream tearing from her throat as she clenched tightly around him. he followed her over the edge with a low, guttural groan, burying himself deep as he came.

for a moment, the only sound in the room was her ragged breathing. he collapsed over her, his weight a grounding pressure, his face buried in the crook of her neck. she could feel the frantic beat of his heart against her back. it was intimate in a way that felt more dangerous than the act itself.

after a long moment, he pulled out, leaving her feeling achingly empty. he flopped onto his back beside her, chest heaving. she lay there, boneless and spent, a mess of tangled limbs and conflicting emotions. guilt began to creep in, cold and sharp.

she turned her head to look at him. he was already watching her, that unnerving focus back in his blue eyes. the hunger was gone, replaced by a cool, calculated satisfaction.

“he’ll be back soon,” she whispered, the words sounding flimsy and inadequate.

“yeah,” rafe said, his tone completely casual, as if they were discussing plans for the weekend. he propped himself up on an elbow, looking down at her. he reached out, tracing the line of her jaw with his thumb. “and when he does get back, you’re going to tell him we watched a movie.”

her brow furrowed in confusion. “what?”

“we watched a movie,” he repeated, his voice firm but still low. “i know he’ll ask what you did, and you’re gonna say we hung out, watched a movie. super boring. simple.”

she pushed herself up onto her elbows, the sheet pooling around her waist. the post orgasm haze was rapidly evaporating, replaced by a chilling clarity. “rafe, i can’t lie… i’m not gonna lie to my boyfriend.”

“you can,” he cut her off. “you’re wanting to tell him? you’re out of your fuckin’ mind. he’ll just blame you. say that the way you dress around me is one of the reasons why this played out like it did. it’ll all fall on you, is that what you’re wanting?” his expression hardened just slightly. it was the first crack in the gentle facade, and it was terrifying. “so you will. because this” he gestured vaguely between the two of them “this is our little secret. isn’t that right?”

she just stared at him, her heart starting to pound again for an entirely different reason.

“isn’t it?” he gritted, his thumb still stroking her skin, a possessive, grounding touch.

she swallowed hard, her throat dry. “okay. yes.”

he smiled, a slow, satisfied curve of his lips. “such a good listener. no wonder top hasn’t let you out of his possession.” he leaned in and pressed a soft, almost chaste kiss to her lips. it was a seal, to close off the deal she just agreed to. “now get dressed. he’ll be back any minute.”

[livellee]

hiii i love your writting>< do u have any rules for the requests?

absolutely none i can think of! im open to anything🩷

[livellee]

send me request please omg. i’ve been obsessed with writing after my latest one!!!

[livellee]

— frat boy on a mission.

summary: after rafe sees you around campus a few times, he goes from stalking all of your social media to finally having you to himself.

warnings: unprotected sex, choking, drinking, cursing, more i don’t feel like listing😩

rafe cameron wasn't usually one for pre-party nerves. but tonight, the air in the frat house basement felt different, thicker, buzzing with an energy that had nothing to do with the thumping bass of the stereo. it had everything to do with the fact that she was supposed to be here.

he took a long pull from the cold bottle in his hand, the cheap beer doing little to quell the thrum of anticipation under his skin. he’d seen her around campus, of course. how could he not? It was like she'd been plucked straight from one of his daydreams and dropped into the hallowed halls of their university.

his nightly ritual had become a shameful, obsessive dive into her digital life. he’d scroll through her instagram, her private story glimpsed through mutual friends, even her aesthetic pinterest boards. he knew she liked rom com movies and overpriced fun drinks. he even knew her dog's name was daisy. he felt like a creep, a total fucking weirdo, but he couldn't stop. he was absolutely hooked. and tonight, he was finally going to talk to her.

then, she walked in.

the crowd near the makeshift bar seemed to part for her. and rafe’s breath caught in his throat, a sharp, painful little hitch. she looked even better than she did in her pictures and from a far on campus she was wearing a scrap of black fabric masquerading as a dress, all strategic cut-outs and clinging material that left very little to the imagination. the lights from the beer signs caught the strands of her hair as she laughed at something her friend said, and rafe had to physically grip the edge of the pong table to steady himself.

"damn, rafe," topper's voice was a low whistle beside him. "would you look at that. that’s your girl, isn't it?"

"she’s not my girl, top," rafe gritted out, his eyes glued to her as she scanned the room. “not yet.” he saw the exact moment her gaze landed on him. a flicker of recognition, a slow, appreciative smile spreading across her perfectly pink glossed lips. yeah. she knew who he was, too.

"bullshit bro. i’ve caught you staring at her account. go talk to her before someone else does," topper urged, giving him a shove.

rafe didn't need to be told twice. he straightened up, draining the rest of his beer and discarding the bottle into the nearest trash can. he pushed through the throng of bodies, a man on a mission. the noise of the party faded to a dull roar in his ears, his entire world narrowing down to the path between him and her.

he stopped just in front of her, close enough that he could smell her perfume, something sweet and expensive, vanilla like. "hey," he said, his voice a low rumble that he barely recognized as his own.

"hey there," she replied, her eyes sparkling with amusement and what looked suspiciously like hunger. she tilted her head, letting her hair spill over one shoulder. "rafe, right?"

"the one and only." he smirked, feeling a surge of confidence. "you're a lot prettier up close."

"and you're a lot bigger," she shot back, her gaze dragging down his body before meeting his eyes again. the boldness sent a jolt straight through his pants. "i was wondering if i was gonna see you tonight."

"oh, yeah?" he leaned in closer, their shoulders almost touching. "been thinkin' about me, have you?"

"maybe a little," she admitted, biting her lower lip. a move that made him want to bite it for her. "topper said you've been asking about me."

"topper talks too much," rafe chuckled, but there was no heat in it. he was thrilled. "but he's not wrong. i have been asking about you. i've been waitin' for this, not gonna lie."

"for what?" rafe didn't answer with words. he let his hand drift to her waist, his fingers brushing against the warm, exposed skin of her hip. the contact was electric. her breath hitched, and her eyes darkened with desire. he watched her, a predator observing its prey, and saw the exact moment she surrendered.

"c'mon," he murmured, his hand guiding her through the crowd, an unspoken understanding passing between them. he led her toward the stairs, away from the prying eyes and the pounding music, towards the second-floor that was usually reserved for frat brothers only.

the second he had the door locked behind them, the noise of the party was muffled, replaced by the sound of their ragged breaths. he had her pressed against the door before she could even protest, his body pinning hers, one hand tangling in her long hair while the other gripped her ass.

"fuck," he groaned against her neck, inhaling her scent. "you have no idea how long i've wanted to do this."

"then stop talking and do it," she gasped, her hands fisting in the front of his polo shirt.

that was all the encouragement he needed. he crushed his lips to hers, a desperate, hungry kiss that was all teeth and tongue. it was messy, and perfect, and everything he’d fantasized about and more. he couldn't get enough of her. he tasted like cheap beer and desire. she tasted like cherry lip gloss and sin.

his hands were everywhere, tracing the curve of her spine, skimming over the smooth skin of her thighs exposed by the short length of her dress. he was hard as a rock, and he ground against her, letting her feel exactly what she was doing to him.

"rafe," she breathed against his mouth, her voice a needy whine that went straight to his head. "please."

"please what, baby?" he growled, pulling back just enough to look at her. her lipstick was smeared, her cheeks were flushed, and her eyes were wide with lust. she was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. "tell me what you want."

"you. i want you."

"you got me," he promised, before kissing her again, slower this time, deeper. he took his time exploring her mouth, savoring the moment. but the slow burn wasn't enough. he needed more. he needed all of her.

he hooked a finger in the strap of her dress, pulling the halter over her head. "this dress is fucking lethal, you know that? driving me crazy."

"that’s the point," she panted, helping him pull the other strap down. the fabric pooled around her waist, leaving her chest bare to his hungry gaze.

"jesus christ," he muttered, dipping his head to take a peaked nipple into his mouth. he swirled his tongue around the sensitive bud, loving the way she arched against him, her fingers rubbing over his head. he gave it a gentle bite, and she cried out, a sharp, breathy sound that made him even harder.

he took a step back, just to look at her. her dress bunched at her waist, her hair a mess from his hands, her lips swollen from his kiss. she was a goddamn vision. an absolute masterpiece.

"on the bed," he commanded, his voice rough with need. "now."

she didn't hesitate, scrambling onto his unmade bed, her eyes never leaving his. he followed, crawling over her, caging her in with his body. he wrapped a hand around her throat, not squeezing, just resting his fingers there, a silent promise of what was to come.

"i'm gonna ruin you for anyone else," he vowed, his thumb stroking the delicate skin of her neck. "gonna fuck you so good you'll forget your own name."

her eyes fluttered shut, a soft moan escaping her lips. "do it," she whispered. "ruin me, rafe."

he started to apply pressure, a slow, steady squeeze that cut off just enough of her air to make her head spin. her hands flew to his wrist, not to push him away, but to hold on, her nails digging into his skin. he could feel her pulse fluttering against his palm, a frantic little bird beating against its cage.

"that's it," he praised, his voice a low, gravelly hum. "take it. you like that, don't you? like my hand around your pretty little throat."

she couldn't speak, could only manage a choked little whimper and a desperate nod. her hips bucked up against him, seeking friction, seeking relief from the ache he was building inside her.

he let up just enough to let her gasp in a breath, before leaning down to whisper in her ear. "i've thought about this. so many times. thought about how you'd look underneath me, how you'd sound. it's even better than i imagined."

his other hand slid down her body, pushing the bunched-up fabric of her dress the rest of the way off. he tossed it aside, leaving her completely bare except for a tiny black thong that did nothing to hide how wet she was.

"so fucking wet for me," he groaned, sliding a finger over the damp fabric. "and i've barely even touched you."

he finally hooked a finger in her panties and pulled them down her legs, adding them to the growing pile of clothes on his floor. he spread her thighs wide, settling between them. he took a moment, just looking at her, at the slick, pink flesh of her pussy, already swollen and ready for him.

"rafe, please," she begged, her voice strained. "stop teasing."

"patience, baby," he smirked, but he was done teasing. he leaned down and licked a long, slow stripe through her folds. her back arched off the bed, a sharp cry tearing from her throat. "oh, god!"

he did it again, and again, flattening his tongue to lap at her clit before sucking it into his mouth. he ate her out like a man starved, like this was the last meal he'd ever have. he was messy and unapologetic, devouring her with a single-minded focus. her hands were tangled in the sheets, her head thrown back, a string of incoherent praises and curses falling from her lips.

he could feel her getting close, her thighs trembling around his head, her breath coming in short, sharp pants. he slipped two fingers inside her, curling them just right to hit that spot that made her see stars.

"rafe! i'm— i'm gonna—"

"come on, baby," he urged, pumping his fingers faster, sucking harder on her clit. "let go. cum for me. i wanna feel it."

that was all it took. her body went taut as a bowstring, a silent scream on her lips as her orgasm crashed over her. he didn't stop, working her through it, prolonging the pleasure until she was a writhing, sobbing mess beneath him.

he pulled back, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. she lay there, boneless and breathless, her chest heaving. he thought he'd never seen a more beautiful sight.

"get up," he commanded, his voice rough with desire. "on your hands and knees."

it took her a moment, her limbs still shaky, but she complied, turning over and presenting herself to him. the sight of her ass in the air, her glistening folds on display, was almost enough to make him cum right then and there.

he quickly shed his own clothes, finally freeing his aching cock. he gave it a few rough strokes, not wanting to waste any more time.

"you ready for me, baby?" he asked, positioning himself behind her.

she breathed, pushing back against him. "please, rafe."

he didn't need to be told twice. he slammed into her in one smooth, powerful thrust. they both cried out at the sudden, fullness. he gave her a second to adjust, then he started to move.

his thrusts were hard and deep, setting a punishing rhythm that had the bed slapping against the wall. he gripped her hips, pulling her back to meet him, driving into her again and again.

"fuck," he grunted, his head thrown back. "you feel so good. so fucking tight." he could feel the muscles in her stomach clenching, a sign that she was close again. he reached around and started rubbing her clit in tight, fast circles.

"cum with me," he demanded, his own orgasm building rapidly. "cum all over my dick."

her walls clenched around him, pulling him deeper, triggering his own release. he buried himself inside her, spilling into her with a hoarse shout. he collapsed on top of her, both of them panting, their bodies slick with sweat.

for a moment, they just laid there, a tangle of limbs, the only sound their ragged breaths. then, he rolled off of her, pulling her into his arms.

"damn," he said, his voice still a little shaky. she just hummed in agreement, nuzzling into his chest.

after a few minutes, he pulled away, getting up to grab a towel from his dresser. he gently cleaned her up, then pulled the covers over them.

he laid back down, pulling her close again. she settled against him, her head on his chest.

"so," he said, after a while. "you wanna go get a drink?"

she laughed, a soft, breathy sound that made his chest feel weirdly tight. "i think i need about ten of them."

he chuckled, pressing a kiss to her lips. "c'mon then." they got dressed, her little black dress somehow looking even more devastating now that it was rumpled. he watched her, a smug satisfaction settling over him.

she was his now. he knew it.

when they opened the door and went back downstairs, the party was still in full swing. they didn't make it five feet before topper and kelce cornered them by the beer pong table, identical shit-eating grins on their faces.

"well, well, well," topper drawled, eyeing them both. "look what the cat dragged in. or should i say, what rafe dragged up to his room." kelce just slapped rafe on the back, way too hard.

rafe felt a flush creep up his neck, but he just shrugged, an arm wrapping possessively around the girl's waist. "had to make an impression," he said, looking down at her.

she just rolled her eyes, but she was smiling. "you're all animals," she said, but there was no real heat in it.

[livellee]

— look, but can’t touch.

summary: you get dragged to a golf outing with rafe and his jealous friends. after rafe records an intimate video of you two, the guys see it and get envious, but rafe reassures you that you’re always his and no one else’s.

warnings: light manipulation and possessive behavior, a barely explicit scene, themes of jealousy and control, references to objectification.

an: hopefully this gets some reads, if so don’t be shy to send some request;) enjoyed making this so will def be making more.

the sun was blazing over the lush green of the golf course as you sat in the golf cart, legs crossed neatly, wearing a crisp white mini tennis skirt that was riding up just a little, but it hugged your hips perfectly. paired with a tight, black button-up tee, left mostly unbuttoned to show just enough cleavage. the contrast made your sun-kissed skin pop. your hair was pulled up high in a perfect curled ponytail, swinging with every small motion, and your eyes sparkled with mischief and sunshine.

you weren’t exactly the type to care much about golf. the whole sport seemed slow and boring to you but rafe had dragged you along, insisting that you come “for moral support”. you’d brought a pack of colorful sharpies with you, and now you were leaning over the console, carefully coloring on golf balls, making pretty flowers, cute patterns and words. it was the only fun thing you were able to do out here as they played this mostly serious game.

rafe was out there with his crew topper, kelce, and the usual all rough-around-the-edges rich boys trying to look casual and not like they were born into money.

rafe was always never more than a step away from you. no matter where you were, he had his hand on your thigh, a finger tracing lazy circles on your skin, or he was pulling you close with that cocky grin. and even if far his eyes were glued to you, blowing you kisses or just sending you a wink. you two were like magnets, always tangled up in some kind of touch, some kind of closeness that made the space between you invisible.

topper and the others noticed too. their eyes kept flicking over, half amused, half jealous. they all knew you were hot, and tried getting with you before things were official with rafe. and the way rafe claimed you so openly only made it worse. sometimes they’d nudge each other, whispering, maybe imagining what it’d be like to have your attention. but none of them ever said anything out loud. it was obvious. you were rafe’s.

you caught rafe’s eye from the cart, and he flashed that crooked, cocky grin you knew so well. his usual green eyes sparkled with that dangerous confidence the kind that made your stomach flutter and something else as well.

topper, who was standing nearby, made his way closer to rafe and leaned in with a grin. “dude, seriously, how the hell did you get a girl like that? look at her. she’s hot as hell. i bet you’re having all kinds of fun hitting that, huh?”

rafe laughed, shaking his head like it was all too easy. “you have no idea.”

topper smirked, eyes gleaming. “man, if i were you, i’d show off more. let us know what we’re missing.”

rafe shrugged, cocky as ever. “patience.”

as they moved closer, you caught the tail end of the conversation and rolled your eyes playfully, flicking a sharpie over at topper from the cart. “keep dreaming, topper.”

rafe glanced over, shooting you a look that was mixed with pride and amusement. then he pulled you a little closer, fingers slipping under your shirt to rub your bare waist. “all mine,” he said, voice low enough only for you to hear.

later that night, back at the cameron’s place, the vibe shifted. the cocky bravado melted away in the dim lighting of his room. you two were sprawled out on his bed, naked and tangled up in the sheets and each other, laughter and low moans filling the space.

rafe was a master at pushing boundaries, and tonight was no different. he pulled out his phone, that signature smirk tugging at his lips. “wanna try something new?”

you raised a brow, intrigued.

he explained how he wanted to record himself fucking you, but strictly for his own memories “nothing crazy,” he promised as he then stuck his pinky out. you could tell he was getting off on the idea of having something private, something just between you two, that no one else could have. or so you thought.

normally, you might’ve hesitated, but tonight, you didn’t care. you trusted him, and honestly, it turned you on. you nodded and locked your pinky with his. “okay,” you said, voice breathy, “let’s do it.” you smiled.

the camera rolled, capturing everything. your loud whines, the way he so easily slipped inside of you, showing how rafe’s fingers traced over your skin, the soft gasps and whimpered names. it was raw, hot, and undeniably you two.

the next day, rafe was back at the golf course with his friends and you, once again, stuck tagging along. this time, you were more interested in snapping cute pictures, catching the sunlight in your hair, the way the wind played with your skirt, the glint of your blue eyes as you posed and laughed.

meanwhile, rafe and the guys were huddled nearby, and you could hear bits of conversation that made your eyebrow raise a bit.

“dude, those videos. rafe’s got it all,” topper said, voice low but loud enough that you caught it.

kelce chuckled, nudging rafe. “man, she’s something else. bet she doesn’t even know you showed them.”

you tilted your head, glancing over, but ignored it as you were too wrapped up in taking selfies and trying to find the perfect face to make, not picking up on all the subtle hints and snickers.

rafe, of course, was making his way over to you, just wanting to be close the whole time. his hand would sneak around your waist and rest on your ass when he thought no one was watching, or he’d rest a palm on your thigh when you were sat in the cart. the guys noticed and it only made them grumble more under their breath, especially after watching that video. it was like rafe was daring them to try something, daring them to come close.

later, when the group was winding down, rafe finally sat down in the cart beside you, curiosity gnawing at you.

“okay so what’s with all those looks and comments? you showed them the videos?” you asked, heart pounding suddenly.

rafe’s grin widened, eyes gleaming with that familiar, confidence you knew too well.

“yeah, told them you didn’t mind because i didn’t think you would. did you?” he raised his eyebrows like it was the most natural thing in the world.

your heart stuttered. “i mean no? not really.. i didn’t give it much thought, but why?”

he moved closer, voice dropping to a slow, silky drawl. his hand making its way around your hip and pulling you right into his lap. “look baby, you wouldn’t understand but that’s just what guys do. they show their friends what they got. you’re mine, always will be. and honestly? i wanted them to know they’re able to look, but will never be able to touch.”

you blinked, processing the words, the possessiveness mixed with that slight manipulation, that you obviously didn’t pick up on.

“that shouldn’t bother you, right?” he spoke up again, voice suddenly soft, fingers brushing strands of your hair back.

you hesitated, gently chewing on your lip as your eyes began traveling away from him.

“keep those pretty eyes on me.” rafe smiled, noticing your uncertainty. his finger moved to under your chin. “relax love. it’s normal. and it’s just us, you and me. nothing’s ever gonna change that.”

his words wrapped around you like a warm hug, confusing but strangely comforting. you wanted to believe him. to believe you weren’t only there for show.

“i guess” you started, leaning into his touch “i just want to make sure i’m still only yours.”

rafe smiled, that cocky, irresistible grin. he pressed a quick kiss to your temple before following that with a soft one on your lips, which you returned. “always.” he then whispered softly, as he started the golf cart up and headed to the next teeing ground.