liv

eighteen ⋆ . ࿔ ˚ rafe camerons gf garrett grahams fav puck bunny 𑣲˖Ი𐑼 ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི

[livellee]

[thebriarbunny]

my boyfriends sharing the same shirt 😌

[livellee]

RAFE CAMERON & HIS HYPERSEXUAL GF

in which i present to you rafe cameron x hypersexual!ditzy!reader headcannons!!

too many warnings to state them but lots of kinky things & not proofread.

hypersexual!reader who is absolutely insufferable about his hands, and not in a subtle way. she’ll stop mid sentence in a crowded room just to grab his wrist and examine his fingers like they’re a museum exhibit, turning them over and tracing the veins, murmuring “god, look at these.” under her breath while rafe tries to carry on a conversation with topper like his girlfriend isn’t openly ogling his knuckles. the obsession reaches a tipping point one lazy afternoon when she’s lying across his lap on the couch, supposedly napping, but instead she’s pressing soft, open mouthed kisses to his palm, his fingertips, the inside of his wrist. rafe lets her for a full minute, tension coiling in his gut, before he curls those same fingers under her chin and tilts her face up. “you got a problem?” he asks, voice already sandpaper rough. she blinks up at him, lip gloss smeared, and says with devastating sincerity, “just thinking about how good they feel inside me.” he has her bent over the arm of the couch within seconds, two fingers knuckle deep while she keens and babbles about how she knew they’d feel this perfect, she’s been thinking about it all day, and his hands are her favorite thing maybe ever. he makes her count each orgasm on those fingers after, holding them up, slick and shining, while she whines and loses track at three.

hypersexual!reader who talks during sex, genuine, unfiltered stream of consciousness rambling that should ruin the mood but somehow never does. he'll be balls deep, bottomed out inside of her, her back arching off the mattress, and she'll gasp out, "oh my god, wait, did i tell you what sarah said about the—oh—the party? she said kelce might not—right there, right there—bring a date and i said—" and rafe laughs against her neck, low and breathless, and says, "baby, baby. love you, but i swear to god i’m gonna need you to stop talking about kelce right now." and she'll blink up at him, dazed and flushed, and whisper, "m’ sorry. you just make my brain go all fuzzy." and then he's kissing her again because she's so unbelievably ridiculous and he puts up with it.

hypersexual!reader who has a habit of asking for the most unhinged things in the sweetest voice, like she's requesting a refill on her iced latte. they'll be lying in bed, post round one, her tracing patterns on his chest while he catches his breath, and she'll prop her chin on his sternum and say, "hey, rafey? can you choke me next time? like, not too hard, but hard enough that i feel it the next day?" and he just blinks at the ceiling for a solid five seconds before looking down at her with an expression somewhere between disbelief and desperate arousal. "you can't just say shit like that," he manages, voice wrecked, and she tilts her head like a confused kitten and says, "why not? you'd be so good at it! you've got such big hands." he has to take a moment. then he rolls her onto her back, wraps a careful palm around her throat, and watches her eyes flutter shut with a breathy little "finally." that makes him dizzy. she babbles through the whole thing about how safe she feels, how much she trusts him, how she knew he'd be perfect at this too, and afterward she's so blissed out she just curls into his side and murmurs, "told you," before passing out cold.

hypersexual!reader she has a habit of crawling into his lap during the most inconvenient moments, and rafe has stopped being surprised by it. movie night? she's sideways in his lap, legs hooked over the armrest, twirling her hair and whispering commentary about the film directly into his ear. family dinner at the camerons'? she's perched on his thigh like it's her assigned seat, passing him bread rolls and trailing her fingers up his forearm under the table until he has to excuse himself to adjust his pants. the worst, or best, depending on who's asking, is when he's on the phone with barry, pacing the driveway and trying to handle business, and she pads out in nothing but his button down, climbs onto his lap right there on the porch bench, and starts kissing his neck. "i'm on the phone," he mouths, but she just smiles against his pulse point and whispers, "i'll be quiet," in a tone that promises she absolutely will not. barry hangs up three minutes into rafe's increasingly distracted responses, and rafe doesn't even call him back.

hypersexual!reader who develops a pavlovian response to the sound of his belt unbuckling, which would be embarrassing if she had any shame left. it starts during a particularly tense fight that isn't really a fight, just him wound tight from a deal gone sideways, pacing his room like a caged animal, and she's perched on her knees on the bed trying to figure out how to help. he yanks his belt free in one sharp motion, more frustration than intent, and she just melts. visibly. pupils blowing wide, thighs pressing together, a tiny involuntary sound catching in her throat. he freezes, belt still in hand, looks at her with that slow, calculating head tilt, and pieces it together instantly. "oh, you like that?" his voice drops into something dark and curious, and she can only nod, glossy lips parted, completely caught. now he uses it against her constantly. will casually start loosening his belt in public just to watch her squirm, hooking his thumb in the leather with a half smirk while she completely loses her train of thought mid conversation. the first time he wraps it around his knuckles and uses the folded leather to tap her inner thigh, gentle, teasing. she makes a sound she's never made before, and he adds it to his mental arsenal.

hypersexual!reader who discovers a mirror kink by accident, or maybe not, because everything she does feels calculated in a way rafe is still learning to decode. they're in his bathroom, her freshly showered and perched on the marble counter in just a towel, him standing between her legs while she complains about having to move her nail appointment. he's half listening, more focused on the way her towel's slipping, when she glances at the mirror behind him and just stops talking. her eyes lock on their reflection, on the way his bare back looks, on her own post shower glow, and she breathes out a tiny "oh" that's all curiosity and zero shame. "wait," she says, pushing at his chest until he turns around, until she's facing the mirror with him pressed up behind her, "i wanna watch." and rafe gets so hard so fast he has to brace his hands on the counter. she watches herself with wide, greedy eyes the whole time, chattering away about how pretty they look together, how good he fills her up, how she wishes she could film it for later, and he comes harder than he has in weeks, face buried in her damp hair, rearranging his entire mental list of turn ons around this single moment. the mirror fogs up by the end, and she draws a little heart in the condensation with her fingertip, prints still smudged on the glass, and hums, "we should do that again tonight." and they do.

hypersexual!reader who gets it in her head that she wants to roleplay the classic "stranger at a bar" scenario, and rafe's initial reaction is a flat, unimpressed stare. "you want me to pretend i don't know you?" he says, leaning against the kitchen counter with a beer in hand, and she's already bouncing on her heels in a dress that barely covers her ass, nodding so fast her earrings jangle. "it'll be fun! you'll be all mysterious and broody—well, broodier—and i’ll be a ditzy little thing you pick up." he takes a long sip, eyes narrowing. "you are a ditzy little thing i picked up." she gasps, hand flying to her chest in mock offense, but her grin is pure trouble. "rafe! be meaner. pretend you don't like me yet." so he does. he slides onto the stool next to her with a cold, appraising look that sends a shiver down her spine, and orders a whiskey without breaking eye contact. she plays her part so well, twirling her hair, biting her glossed lip, asking if he comes here often in that breathy, clueless voice, that he almost forgets they've been together for months. by the time he's got her spawned out on the kitchen island, her legs on his shoulders and his name a wrecked chant on her lips, she's babbling about how he's so good at this, how she felt like she was cheating on him with him, and he just laughs against her throat, a low, surprised sound, and says, "you're batshit, you know that?" she hums, nails raking down his back.

hypersexual!reader who has a thing for waking him up with her mouth, which rafe discovers on a random tuesday when he blinks awake to find her already under the covers, working him over with the kind of lazy, unhurried dedication that says she's been at it for a while. "what the f—" he starts, voice wrecked with sleep, and she pops up from under the blanket like a daisy, hair a mess, lip gloss long gone, and beams at him. "morning baby. you just looked so pretty, i couldn't help myself." he stares at her, chest heaving, one hand fisting the sheets while his brain reboots, and she just ducks back down without waiting for a response. it becomes a thing after that, he never knows when he's gonna wake up to her mouth or her hands or her already sinking down onto him with a contented little sigh, murmuring about how she couldn't sleep and he felt so warm next to her and she just wanted to feel close. he starts going to bed earlier just to give her more time, not that he'd ever admit it. one morning she's so focused she doesn't notice he's awake until he's flipping them over and pinning her wrists, "my turn" against her throat, and she just giggles and spreads her legs wider and says, "finally! i was getting lonely up here."

hypersexual!reader who gets obsessed with the idea of being his "good girl" in the most literal sense, wants rules, wants praise, wants him to tell her exactly what to do and then reward her for doing it. rafe thinks it's ridiculous at first, this hyper feminine little thing asking him to "give her structure," but then she's kneeling on his bedroom floor with her hands folded in her lap, looking up at him with those big eyes, asking "how can i be good for you today?" and something in his brain short circuits. he starts small. she texts him her outfits for approval, asks permission before touching herself, waits for his nod before she orders at restaurants. and every time she follows a rule, she glows, preening under his muttered "good girl" like it's a standing ovation. the sex is unreal, she's so eager to please, so responsive to every command, melting into a puddle of breathless gratitude when he tells her she's taking him so well, she's being so perfect, she's the best girl. after, she's curled up against his side, tracing shapes on his chest, and she whispers, "do i get a gold star?" and he laughs so hard he pulls a muscle, then kisses her forehead and says, "i'll get you a whole sticker chart, baby."

hypersexual!reader who has a habit of saying the most unhinged shit mid bite of a salad, like her brain and mouth have zero filter between them. they're at lunch with sarah and john b, some tense double date thing rafe only agreed to because she asked, and she suddenly sets down her fork, tilts her head, and says to no one in particular, "i think i have an oral fixation. like, not just with food. with everything. rafey's fingers, his d—" and rafe chokes on his water so violently sarah has to thump him on the back. "what the fuck," he coughs, eyes watering, and she just blinks at him with genuine confusion like she forgot other people were at the table. "what? it's a real thing— i read about it." john b is staring at the ceiling like he's praying for death, sarah is bright red, and rafe is gripping the edge of the table with both hands, jaw tight, a vein ticking in his forehead. "we're leaving," he announces, throwing cash on the table, and she pouts the whole way to the car about how she was just trying to share, she thought they were all friends. he doesn't say a word until they're in the truck, and then he just turns to her with this wild, incredulous look and says, "you cannot say shit like that in front of my sister. ever. i fucking mean it." she crosses her arms, lower lip jutting out, and mutters, "fine. but you know i'm right." he drags a hand down his face, starts the engine, and doesn't speak for five full minutes. then, quieter "i know." and she beams.

hypersexual!reader who has a habit of absentmindedly touching herself while they watch movies, not even in a performative way, just idly slipping a hand between her thighs under the blanket while she’s curled against his side, eyes glued to the screen, breath hitching so subtly he almost doesn’t notice. the first time it happens, he glances down and sees the movement, the blanket shifting, her bottom lip caught between her teeth, and he goes still. “are you serious right now?” he asks, voice a low rasp, and she turns to him with those big, startled eyes like she forgot he was there. “oh! m’ sorry, just felt good,” she pouts, completely unashamed, but starts to pull her hand away. he stops her, wrist caught in his grip, guiding it back where it was. “don’t stop. let me see.” after that, movie nights become a gamble, she’ll either fall asleep on his chest twenty minutes in or end up straddling him with the credits rolling, both of them too wrecked to remember what they watched.

first time writing little blurbs/headcanons (???) like this and i luv theyre so fun and cute. i have a really good rafe fic idea and i got inspo from a video i’d seen on twitter so im excited😫 but i also wanna write a fic for the 4th but sooo undecided on if i should do rafe, garrett or dean ughhegsgshsg help & send ideas!!!! kisses to u all<3

[realityicons]

[livellee]

he’s sooo daddy omg, i need him expeditiously.

[livellee]

what are y’all’s opinions on using names during fics? like i guess it would be considered an oc then if i was to start using a name and i really was considering just making an oc introduction with the name “merritt” bc i just absolutely hate the “y/n” and “reader” and im sooo stuck on what to do bc on here i always see mixed emotions on original characters😩😩😩

[livellee]

interrupted

in which garrett graham x sorority!reader who have a complicated situation are walked in on while having sex, but that doesn’t stop the show, nor the aftermath.

THE SOUND OF SKIN SLAPPING AGAINST SKIN filled garrett's bedroom, heavy and rhythmic, punctuated by the wet, obscene sound of him driving into her over and over again.

she was on her stomach, face pressed into his pillows with her back arched prettily, garrett's favorite way to take her. he loved the view. loved watching the way her long hair spilled across his sheets, the way her spine dipped, the way her ass bounced every time he snapped his hips forward. he had one large hand pressed flat between her shoulder blades, holding her down into the mattress while the other gripped her hip hard enough to bruise.

"fuck, you feel so good," garrett groaned behind her, voice low and wrecked. he pulled almost all the way out, just to watch the way her swollen, slick pussy clenched around the tip of his dick before he slammed back in deep. "this pussy was fucking made for me, you know that?"

she nodded and whined into the pillow, high pitched and breathless, her fingers curling into the sheets beneath her. her mascara was already smudged, had been since the second he'd pulled her into his room and kissed her hard enough to bruise her lips, and her lip gloss was long gone, replaced by the taste of him and the salt of her own skin.

"garrett—" she gasped, pushing her hips back against him desperately. "please, more—"

"look at you," he breathed, shifting his weight so he could lean down over her, his chest pressing against her back, mouth hot against her ear. "begging for it like a good little bunny. you that desperate for my dick, huh?"

"yes," she cried out, the word muffled by the pillow but no less desperate. "only you, garrett. it’s only ever you."

he groaned, a guttural sound from deep in his chest, and rewarded her honesty by picking up the pace.

the mattress dipped with the force of his thrusts, the headboard slamming rhythmically against the wall, a sound that would surely earn him complaints from his teammates tomorrow, but neither of them cared. she was so wet, soaking him, making a mess of his sheets, and the thought alone made garrett feral.

"such a messy girl," he gritted out, tangling a hand in her hair and tugging her head back just enough so he could hear her gasps better. the angle forced her back to arch even deeper, taking him impossibly hard. "you love this dick, don't you? love when i fucking wreck you."

"yes, oh my god, yes," she whined, her voice cracking on a moan. she was so loud, always so loud for him, unable to hold back the pornographic sounds he pulled out of her. "you’re so deep, garrett, fuck—"

he let out a dark chuckle against the curve of her neck, lips brushing hot skin before he bit down gently on her shoulder. "i know exactly how deep i am. you feel that?" he pulled out slow, torturously slow, then drove back in so hard her whole body jolted forward on the mattress. "that's all the way in your stomach."

she sobbed into the pillow, fingers twisting the sheets so tight her knuckles went white. her thighs were trembling, slick with her own arousal dripping down from where they were joined, and every thrust sent another shiver through her body.

"garrett, please—" she whined again, face still half-buried in the pillow, hair wild and sticking to the sweat on her back. "i'm so close, please don't stop, don't stop—"

"i got you, baby, i got you," garrett promised, his voice ragged and tight. he didn't let up, his hips snapping against her ass with a punishing rhythm that was designed to destroy her. his hand snuck around her hip, his fingers finding her clit with practiced ease, rubbing tight, frantic circles that matched the thrust of his dick. "let go. soak my dick, show me how much you love it."

the stimulation was too much, the coil in her stomach snapping tight and then exploding violently. she cried out, her back arching so sharply it looked painful, her pussy clamping down around him like a vise as she came. she gushed around him, her walls fluttering and pulsing, making everything so much wetter, so much tighter, the sound of him fucking her through her orgasm loud and shameless.

just as she started to come down, her whole body trembling and weak, the bedroom door clicked and swung open.

"yo, garrett, you seen my—" dean's voice cut off mid-sentence.

dean stood in the doorway, frozen for exactly one and a half seconds before he whipped around so fast his sneakers squeaked against the hardwood floor. "what the fuck dude! you couldn't put a sock on the door?"

garrett didn't stop. didn't even slow down. he barely even looked up, just kept his hips moving in that same brutal, steady rhythm, one hand still pressed between her shoulder blades and the other still working her clit.

"you see me busy, dean," garrett said, his voice strained but impossibly casual for someone currently buried balls-deep. "knock next time."

"i did knock!" dean's voice came out pitched higher than usual, his back still turned, one hand covering the back of his neck like he'd been burned. "i knocked three times, garrett. three! you just didn't answer because you're—" he gestured blindly behind him without looking, "—clearly busy"

"then take the hint," garrett grunted, his hips stuttering for just a second before he found his rhythm again. he leaned down, pressing his mouth to her ear. "ignore him."

she let out a choked whine into the pillow, her face burning, and not just from the orgasm still pulsing weakly through her body. she could hear dean standing there, could hear his sneakers shifting on the floor like he was debating whether to bolt or keep yelling, and the humiliation of it somehow made her clench tighter around garrett's dick.

"jesus christ," dean swore, the doorknob rattling as he grabbed it blindly, still facing the hallway. "fuck, just lock your door next time!"

the door slammed shut, the sound echoing through the room, followed immediately by the heavy thud of dean’s footsteps stomping down the stairs.

garrett didn't miss a beat. the second the door clicked shut, a dark, arrogant smirk stretched across his lips, and he planted a hand beside her head, slamming his hips forward with enough force to shove a cry out of her throat.

"think he learned his lesson?" garrett murmured against the shell of her ear, his breath hot and ragged, hips rolling deep and slow now, dragging every inch out of the moment. he laughed quietly when she only responded with a broken, desperate moan. "yeah. me neither."

"garrett—" she gasped, her voice wrecked and muffled against the pillow. "he just—"

"don't care," he cut her off, pulling almost all the way out before slamming back in so hard the bed frame groaned. "you think i'm gonna stop when you're squeezing me like this? when this pussy's still dripping for me?"

she buried her face deeper into the pillow, ashamed of the way her body responded to the sheer filth of this situation. dean had just walked in. dean had just seen her, face down, ass up, garrett's hand between her shoulder blades, and instead of being mortified enough to stop, she was getting tighter around him.

"you're clenching up on me," garrett noticed, his voice dropping into that low, knowing register that made her insane. he pulled out slow, torturously slow, leaving her empty and aching before he slammed back in so deep her vision blurred.

she sobbed into the pillow, her body betraying her completely. he was right, she knew he was right, and the worst part was that she could feel it herself, the way her walls gripped him like she never wanted to let go, the way her hips pushed back against him involuntarily, chasing more.

he straightened up behind her, both hands gripping her hips now, thumbs pressing into the soft flesh of her waist as he held her steady for his thrusts. the new angle let him watch himself disappear into her, slick and glistening, and the sight made him let out a low, filthy groan.

she whimpered, her fingers balling into the sheets so tight the fabric bunch around her knuckles. she let out a strangled moan when he pulled her hips back to meet a particularly brutal thrust. his thumb dragging slow circles into the bruise already forming on her hip.

he watched himself slide out, slow and deliberate, watched the way her slick coated his shaft, the way her swollen lips clung to him like she didn't want him to leave. the visual alone was enough to make his jaw clench, his stomach tighten. he'd had a lot of girls throw themselves at him over the years, it came with the territory of being assistant captain, but none of them compared to this. to her. none of them were this wet, this tight, this responsive.

none of them looked like her either, long hair sticking to her sweat slicked back, spine curved like a goddamn renaissance painting, taking him so pretty it made his chest tight in a way he'd never admit out loud.

"you're staring," she breathed, turning her head just enough to catch his eye over her shoulder. her lips were swollen and bitten, cheeks flushed, mascara smudged under her eyes. she looked ruined. she looked perfect.

"hard not to," garrett said, his voice rougher than he intended. he drove into her hard, watched the way her mouth fell open, the way her eyes fluttered. "look at this pussy taking me. look at how pretty you look stretched around my dick."

she moaned, dropping her forehead back against the pillow because holding herself up was becoming impossible. every nerve in her body was wired to the place where they were connected, to the relentless drag of him in and out of her, and she could already feel the pressure building again in her lower stomach, a second orgasm gathering like a storm.

"garrett, i'm gonna —" she tried to warn him, her voice thin and breaking, but the words caught in her throat when he suddenly changed the angle, lifting her hips higher so he could hit deeper. the new position made her see stars, made her toes curl against the mattress, made her mouth fall open in a silent cry.

"go ahead," he said, his voice tight and controlled even though she could feel him twitching inside her, feel the way his thighs were starting to tense behind hers. he was close too, she could tell, she knew his body almost as well as she knew her own after two years of this, but he'd never admit it first. never let her think she'd won. "come on my dick again. give me another one."

and she shattered. it hit her harder than the first one, ripping through her body in waves that made her thighs clamp together and her back bow so deeply her spine cracked. she screamed into the pillow — actually screamed, the sound muffled but still loud enough that she knew every guy in the house heard it, and her pussy clenched around garrett so hard he let out a string of curses through gritted teeth.

"fuck — fuck, okay, okay —" his composure cracked. finally. his hips lost their rhythm, stuttering forward in short, desperate thrusts as he chased his own release. his fingers dug into her hips hard enough to leave crescents in the skin, pulling her back onto him with every thrust like he couldn't get deep enough, like he wanted to crawl inside her and stay there.

"garrett —" she gasped, overstimulated and trembling, her body still pulsing around him in weak aftershocks. "come inside me, please —"

that was it. that was all it took.

he slammed into her one final time, burying himself to the hilt, and came with a groan so low and broken it sounded like it was dragged out of the deepest part of his chest. she felt him twitch inside her, felt the hot rush of him filling her up, and the sensation made her whine, a broken, exhausted, satisfied sound, into the pillow.

he collapsed on top of her, his full weight pressing her into the mattress, and for a long moment neither of them moved. just the sound of their ragged breathing filling the room, the slow settling of their heartbeats, the wet, filthy sound of him still buried inside her as his cock softened slightly.

"fuck," garrett muttered against the back of her shoulder, his lips brushing her damp skin. his voice was wrecked, sandpaper and gravel, and he pressed a lazy kiss to the spot where he'd bitten her earlier. "that was…"

"yeah," she agreed breathlessly, her eyes closed, face still half smushed into the pillow. she could feel his come inside her, warm and thick, could feel the way it was already starting to leak around where they were still joined. "yeah."

they stayed like that for a long, lazy moment, his weight pressing her into the mattress, both of them breathing hard, the sweat cooling on their skin. garrett's face was buried in the curve of her neck, his lips occasionally pressing absent, half conscious kisses to her shoulder, her neck, the spot behind her ear that always made her shiver.

finally, he pulled out, slow, deliberate, and they both groaned at the loss. she could feel the immediate rush of warmth sliding down her inner thighs, messy and obscene, and she pressed her legs together with a quiet whine.

garrett rolled off her and onto his back beside her, one arm thrown over his eyes, chest still rising and falling heavily. his other hand found her lower back, resting there possessively, thumb tracing lazy circles against her damp skin.

the room was quiet for a while, just the sound of their breathing slowly evening out and the distant bass of someone's music playing downstairs. the ceiling fan wobbled lazily overhead, casting slow shadows across garrett's mess of a room. hockey posters on the walls, a pile of gear in the corner, an empty gatorade bottle on the nightstand. she'd been in this room enough times to know it by heart.

"your boy dean is gonna kill you," she murmured into the pillow, her voice muffled and hoarse. she hadn't moved. couldn't really. her body felt like it had been through a washing machine, a very thorough, very aggressive washing machine.

garrett snorted beside her, his chest rumbling with the sound. "dean's a big boy. he'll survive." his thumb was still drawing those lazy circles on her lower back, like he wasn't even aware he was doing it. "he's seen worse."

"he has not seen worse," she countered, finally turning her head to the side so she could breathe properly, her cheek pressed against the cool cotton of his pillowcase. her hair was a disaster, a tangled, sweat damp mess spread across his sheets like something out of a shampoo commercial gone wrong. "he saw me face down in your bed, garrett. that's pretty much as bad as it gets for a guy walking into his teammate's room."

garrett lifted his arm from his eyes just enough to look at her, a lazy, satisfied grin spreading across his flushed face. his hair was wrecked too, dark and messy, sticking up in every direction like she'd been pulling on it, which she had been. "he's walked in on john and that girl from theta before. trust me, we've seen worse."

"that doesn't make me feel better."

"wasn't trying to make you feel better," garrett said, his grin widening. he turned his head on the pillow to face her, dark eyes dragging over her face, the smudged mascara, the flushed cheeks, the swollen lips. something flickered in his expression, something softer than he'd ever let himself show in daylight, and then it was gone, replaced by his usual cocky smirk. "was trying to make you feel less special. you're not the first girl i've had screaming in my bed."

she reached over without lifting her head from the pillow and pinched his side. hard.

"ow—" he flinched, laughing, catching her wrist before she could do it again. "okay, okay. you're the only one who sounds that pretty doing it. happy?"

she huffed out a small laugh, rolling her eyes even though her heart was still racing a little in her chest. "marginally better. keep going."

garrett chuckled, the sound vibrating through the mattress where his arm was pressed against hers. he sat up eventually, dragging a hand through his messy dark hair and glancing down at the mess they’d made of his sheets. there was a visible wet spot under where she’d been lying, and the sight made that cocky smirk of his come back in full force.

"look at that," he said, gesturing to the stain with his chin. "ruining my sheets, princess. that’s nasty." he joked.

she lifted her head just enough to glance at the wet spot, then dropped her face back into the pillow with a groan. "that's half your fault, graham."

"maybe," he conceded, standing up from the bed entirely unbothered by his own nudity. he grabbed a pair of shorts from the floor and pulled them on with one hand, the waistband sitting low on his hips, the line of his v-cut disappearing beneath the fabric. he tossed her one of his t-shirts, a worn briar hockey shirt, soft from too many washes, and a pair of sweatpants that would obviously be too big on her. "get dressed. i'm hungry."

"you're always hungry," she mumbled, but she sat up slowly, wincing at the soreness already settling into her hips and lower back. the t shirt smelled like him, detergent and cologne and something underneath that was just distinctly garrett, and she pulled it over her head without putting on a bra, letting the soft cotton fall to mid thigh. she left the sweatpants on the bed. his shirt was long enough.

she padded barefoot after him toward the stairs, his sweatpants draped over her arm just in case, but she didn't bother putting them on. the oversized hockey shirt hung off one shoulder, and she could feel the slow trickle of him still between her thighs with every step she took. it was obscene.

garrett walked ahead of her, barefoot and shirtless, basketball shorts slung low enough that she could see the indent of his obliques flexing with each step. he took the stairs two at a time, totally unbothered, like he hadn't just rearranged her internal organs thirty minutes ago.

the noise hit her before the sight did, voices, the tv playing some sports center recap, the crack of a can opening. the living room was full.

dean was on the couch, of course he was, sprawled out with a bag of chips balanced on one knee and a gatorade in his hand like he was trying to cleanse his soul of whatever he'd just walked in on. john was in the armchair, and two other guys she recognized from the team, she thought one was also named john, the other maybe beau, were on the floor leaning back against the coffee table, controllers in hand, some shooting game paused on the tv.

every single one of them looked up when garrett came down the stairs.

and then they looked at her.

the silence lasted exactly two seconds before dean threw a chip at garrett's head.

the chip bounced off garrett's temple and landed on the floor somewhere near his bare foot. he didn't flinch. just looked at dean with that lazy, satisfied grin still plastered across his face, like getting pelted with snack food was a small price to pay for the evening he'd just had.

"real mature, dean."

"mature?" dean's voice cracked on the word, his face still slightly red from whatever residual mortification he hadn't managed to sweat out in the last thirty minutes. he pointed at garrett with the gatorade bottle, jabbing the air like a prosecutor delivering a closing argument. "you wanna talk about mature? because mature is locking your door when you have company. mature is not making your teammates hear —" he gestured vaguely at the ceiling, at the room above them, at the general concept of what had just occurred up there, "— all of that."

"hear what?" garrett said innocently, walking past dean toward the kitchen like he didn't have a care in the world. he pulled the fridge open and grabbed a water bottle, taking a long sip before turning back around. "i have no idea what you're talking about."

"oh, you have no idea—" dean started, voice climbing again, but john cut him off from the armchair without looking up from his phone.

"bro, we heard everything. everything. i had my airpods in with the volume all the way up and i could still hear the headboard." john scrolled casually through something on his screen, like he was commenting on the weather. "at one point i considered calling the police. not because it sounded non consensual, but because it sounded structural. like the house might be coming down."

the room erupted. beau choked on his drink, spraying mountain dew across the coffee table while the other one doubled over laughing, his controller clattering to the floor. dean's ears went pink to the tips, and he shoved another handful of chips into his mouth like the act of chewing would keep him from saying something worse.

she leaned against the banister at the bottom of the stairs and raised an eyebrow at the room full of guys like she was surveying them from the top of a sorority staircase at a mixer. "you guys done?" she asked, her voice still hoarse but laced with enough dry amusement that it landed like a punchline.

she looked at dean specifically, chin tilted up, lips curved in that infuriatingly serene smile she'd perfected during rush week her sophomore year. "because if we're doing a debrief, i'd love to hear what exactly you saw, dean. since you seemed so traumatized."

dean's face went from pink to full crimson. he looked like he was about to spontaneously combust right there on the couch, chips scattering across the cushions as he held up both hands like she was a cop and he was surrendering.

"i didn't see anything!" he said, way too loud. "i turned around immediately. i saw— a shape. a blurred shape. i didn't even know it was you until you came downstairs just now."

"sure, dean," she said sweetly, tilting her head. "a shape."

the living room erupted again. beau nearly fell off the coffee table he was leaning against, slapping the surface with his palm while john buried his face in a throw pillow to muffle his laughter. john hadn't even cracked a smile, but his shoulders were shaking suspiciously, and he still hadn't looked up from his phone, which meant he was definitely not scrolling anything and was just using it as a shield.

dean looked between her and garrett like a man who'd wandered into a trap he couldn't find his way out of. "i'm going to bed," he announced, standing up from the couch with the dignity of a man who had none left. the chip bag crinkled in his grip. "i'm going to bed and i'm putting in earplugs and i'm never coming upstairs again without a warrant."

"smart," garrett said from the kitchen, leaning against the counter with his water bottle. he was watching the whole exchange with the casual satisfaction of a man who'd just won a game he hadn't even realized he was playing. his eyes kept drifting back to her, standing there in his shirt, barefoot, looking like she owned the place, and his jaw tightened in a way that had nothing to do with amusement.

he stopped beside her at the bottom of the stairs, close enough that his arm brushed hers, and looked down at her with an expression that was all garrett, cocky, lazy, proprietary. like she was something he'd won in a game and was now collecting his prize. his hand found the back of her neck, fingers curling into the loose mess of her hair, and he tugged gently, just enough to tilt her head back so she had to look up at him.

"you need a ride home?" he asked, his voice low enough that it was just for her. she looked up at him, eyes still hazy and half lidded but sharp enough underneath to cut glass. her lips twitched, that particular twitch she got right before she said something that would make him crazy. "you offering to drive me home in your truck with your come still inside me, graham? because if so, that's very gentlemanly of you."

"you're gonna be the death of me," he said, his voice so low it was barely more than a rumble in his chest. his thumb pressed into the side of her neck, right over her pulse point, and he could feel it hammering under his touch. "you know that?"

she smiled up at him, slow, sweet. the kind of smile that had gotten her into this situationship in the first place. "you started it."

new set up i hope we like!! i’ve been so obsessed with garrett recently and also dean omg so be on the lookout💋💋

[livellee]

i’ve hopped on the “off campus” train and started watching the series and yall omg GARRETT😫😫😫 will be writing for him asap

[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.