the first time he pulled out his phone, you’d laughed – a nervous, breathless sound swallowed by the dark of his bedroom. but he hadn’t laughed back. his eyes had that sharp, hungry glint, the one that made your stomach flip, and he’d simply held the camera up, angled down at where his cock was already disappearing inside you.
“don’t stop,” he’d murmured, thumb recording the way your walls gripped him.
“wanna see this forever.”
now it’s a ritual.
every time his hands find your hips, every time he pushes you against the mattress or bends you over the arm of the couch, that black rectangle appears like a third limb. he props it on pillows, balances it on the headboard or – his favorite – holds it in one hand while the other digs into your flesh, guiding you onto his length.
tonight it’s no different.
the bedroom is dim, lit only by the harsh glow of his phone screen. rafe is on his knees behind you, your body spread beneath him, cheek pressed into the sheets. one hand cradles your ass, thumb sliding through the wet mess he’s already made of your cunt, while his other hand lifts the phone, record button already blinking red.
“look at you,” he mutters, voice low and thick. the camera zooms in on the slick shine coating your folds. “takin’ me soooo fuckin’ good.”
he doesn’t ask. he never asks. he just slides in, slow and deliberate, and the phone captures everything. the initial stretch, your gasp, the way his balls tighten against your clit with each thrust.
“gonna make you cum on cam, yeah?” he grunts out, snapping his hips faster. the phone jostles but stays trained on the point where his cock disappears into your body, each plunge painting a wet sound that echoes in the small room.
you moan into the pillow, fingers twisting in the sheets. he lets go of your ass just to reache down with his now free hand and press two fingers against your clit, rubbing in tight circles while he fucks you – all while the phone captures every twitch, every spasm, every drop of arousal that slicks his shaft.
and when you come? it’s a messy, broken view – your back arching, your cries muffled by cotton all while rafe keeps the camera steady, capturing the way your pussy clenches around him, milking his cock until he follows, a low groan escaping his lips as he pumps his cum deep inside you. he holds the phone for a long moment after, recording the aftermath, the way his release leaks from your used hole. then he sets it down, rolls you onto your back, and shows you the playback.
“see that?” he says, thumb tracing your wetness on the screen. “that’s mine. gonna keep it forever.”
Hii! I’m the anon who asked for a part 2 of stuck with’chu! I’d love to read how rafe and reader grow their connection on the work floor as well as outside of work. Would they still rival like before, or do they come by now they’re officially a couple? Besides, maybe the reaction of their boss or other coworkers, like Sunny’s, would be interesting to read!
Hope this gives you any inspiration and it’s not too boring. I’d love anything involving them<3
stuck with'chu again
rafe cameron x corporate!reader
summary: forced onto a work trip to fix their rivalry, you and Rafe secretly navigate your relationship as he proves that you don't have to face everything alone (part of the stuck with'chu universe)
content warning: mostly fluff, men in the corporate world being a bitch (as per usual), some mentions of suggestive content 18+ MDNI
w/c: 2.5k
a/n: nonnie boo i am SO sorry with how long this took ˙◠˙ this is the unofficial second part to swu but also, not really? just exploring them a bit more <3 also let's talk about how that... species got casted as gus in beach read bc wtf
“Let’s just cut to the chase, it’s obvious that you both do not get along.”
You stared into the eyes of your manager through his glasses, his almost-bald head shining under the bright LED lights that filled the room. It was probably better that he just cut off the remaining five strands of hair, but for some reason, he never did. You rolled your eyes as soon as he continued, “This isn’t called a team if two of my team members are constantly bickering.”
Rafe kept the same stoic face that he always had as he peeked at you from the corner of his eye, like he was waiting to see if you’d bite first.
And obviously, you did.
“With all due respect, Jason, we are functioning,” you said flatly, folding your arms across your chest, “we get the work done, don’t we?”
Your manager sighed like he’d been personally wronged. “That’s not the point.”
“It kind of seems like it, Jay,” Rafe cut in smoothly, leaning back in his chair as you rolled your eyes at Rafe’s obnoxious use of his nickname for your manager. “Last time I checked, all of the mergers and acquisitions we’ve done went well without either of us having to work with one another.”
You shot him a look. “Don’t speak for me.”
“I wasn’t,” he replied coolly. “You talk more than enough for the both of us.”
“Excuse me?”
Your manager pinched the bridge of his nose. “Exactly this,” he muttered. “This is what I’m talking about! I don’t care what the issue is. What I do care about is the fact that I have a regional review coming up, and I need my team functioning like one.”
The room settles into a silence so thick you can practically hear Jason’s blood pressure rising. You keep your gaze fixed on the wall behind him, resisting the urge to check if Rafe is smirking. But you know he is, he always is. He always smirks when he’s managed to get under your skin in public, playing the part of the arrogant adversary with a terrifying amount of skill that made you wonder if he was pretending or genuinely meant it. The palms of your hands most likely had crescent-shaped indents from your nails digging into them as you tried to regulate your breathing.
Jason clears his throat, the sound sharp and final. “I’m sending you both on the Montreal trip.”
Your eyes widen as you look at him, appalled by the decision. “The same one that you said I was supposed to go on, myself?”
“Rafe will take my place as you’ll be meeting with the regional team, sitting in on operations, understanding the workflow from the ground up,” he continued, as if it was the most logical solution. “And you’ll be doing it together.”
Rafe’s jaw tightened ever so slightly. “You think forcing us into the same space is going to fix this?” He asked.
“I’m sure as hell not going to keep allowing this to happen,” Jason replied, clearly fed up and done with the conversation. “You’re adults. Figure it out.”
The hotel room, now quiet with nothing but your steadying breaths and the air thick with the musk of what was the last of four rounds of sex, lingered in the air as it bathed in the soft, amber glow of the bedside lamp. You’re sprawled across his chest, the heavy, rhythmic beat of his heart grounding you both from the adrenaline of the last hour. Your skin is still flushed with heat, tangled in Egyptian cotton and the scent of his cologne.
Rafe huffed a laugh, the vibration rumbling through your entire body when he reached up to twist a lock of your hair around his finger, his eyes dancing with a dark, private sort of mischief. He’s in disbelief, partially of the situation you both are currently in, except mostly that he still couldn’t fathom that even with all the friction, all the sharp words and tension that had once defined your relationship, you were still there—with him.
"Imagine if they’d found out they only needed to book rooms instead of two," he whispered, his voice low and gravelly as he took in the sight of you above him.
“I mean, we are technically team-bonding,” your fingers traced the edge of his jawline, feeling Rafe lean into your touch before he smirked again. “Yeah, with m’dick in you.”
You swatted him square in the chest. “Rafe!” You chuckled, making him let out a breathy moan.
“Fuck, princess,” Rafe moaned out, shutting his eyes as he felt the slight vibration. “If y’keep laughing then m’gonna get hard again.”
“What happened to wanting to break the bed to make up for lost time?”
Rafe mirrored your smirk, remembering when you’d spent the weekend after he professed his love for you, lying in his bed as he swore he’d make up for every moment he’d wasted fighting you instead of having you.
“Didn’t say I was done,” he murmured, hand sliding lazily along your back, pulling you closer like he had no intention of letting you go anytime soon. You tilted your head against his chest just enough to look up at him, studying his face in the dim light. There was no arrogance there now, nor the sharp edge he had once shown you. Simply Rafe being Rafe, raw and unfiltered.
“You’re a menace,” you said softly.
“Huh. Weird, I’ve been told the same thing by a particular coworker of mine,” The humour in Rafe’s expression softened into something steadier as he replied. He didn’t try to pull away or try to reclaim that mask of cool indifference he usually wore at the office. Instead, he reached out, cupping your cheek with a gentleness that always catches you off guard and made your heart tighten at the gesture.
So instead of responding, you rolled your eyes lightly. “Don’t get used to this,” you muttered, while Rafe’s arm tightened around you instinctively.
“Too late,” he said. Except this time, neither of you tried to argue it.
You’re already up and dressed the next morning for the final meeting to review your findings with the company’s management team, as Rafe set a cup of coffee next to the notes you were reviewing.
“Oh, you didn’t have to-”
“I know,” he interjected, shrugging his blazer on. “Jus’ wanted t’make your morning a little easier.”
You felt your heart warm at the gesture, smiling more to yourself that he’d gone as far as to do that, before grabbing your tote bag and heading out to the office.
Perhaps your ability to keep a straight face truly did work its magic, because it astounded you that the lead director for the meeting you were in hadn’t noticed how appalled you were after he’d barely acknowledged you, despite the fact that every answer, projection, and figure being discussed had come directly from your work.
“And what would you suggest we do about the variance in Q3?” the director asked, eyes fixed solely on Rafe as your jaw tightened even more than it had before. You’d already explained it thrice to him, except it was obvious that the director in charge had little to no regard for you or your work.
Rafe hadn’t responded immediately, his mind stuck on the fact that this had been your project. Instead, his gaze flicked to you, assessing how your fingers curled slightly against your pen, the way your shoulders squared just a bit too rigidly before leaning back into his chair and zeroing his eyes in on the director.
“You know she’s the one leading this, right?” His voice, steady but controlled, when the room stilled.
The director blinked. “Excuse me?”
Rafe’s tone didn’t change, but there was something sharp beneath it. “I’m not the one you should be directing your questions to,” he continued, nodding toward you. “She built the model. She’s running points. And with the way you’ve been dismissing her, good luck getting anything out of this moving forward.”
Silence stretched across the table when you felt every set of eyes shift. Soon, the director cleared his throat, finally turning to you. “Right. Of course.” He paused, shifting towards you. “Would you mind walking us through your approach again?”
Your grip on your pen loosened as you settled back into the same professional mask you’d always put on. “Not at all,” you replied smoothly, sitting up straighter as you met his gaze head-on.
Later, back at the hotel, you paced around as you thought of all the missed opportunities to bite back at the man. You were used to being the pillar of the room, the one who could withstand any slight without cracking, but the weight of constantly proving your worth was starting to leave a phantom ache in your shoulders. You had spent so long being "the strong one" that you’d forgotten what it felt like to have someone else hold the line for you.
Rafe watched you from the edge of the bed, his tie undone and hanging loosely around his neck. He didn't interrupt your pacing, letting you vent the restless energy that came with being underestimated.
"Rafe, you didn’t have to do that. I could have handled it," you muttered, finally stopping in front of the window, your reflection looking back at you with that familiar, guarded intensity. "I've handled worse than him with my hands tied behind my back."
“I know you could, and you did.” Rafe’s voice dropped an octave as he pushed himself off the bed, taking a step closer, not enough to crowd you, but enough that you felt him breaking through the barrier you were so used to keeping around yourself. “I just had to make sure that dumbass knew it too.”
“Well, I could have reminded him on my own. For all we know, he probably thinks I don’t have it in me to stand up for myself, and I need someone else to help me get the same respect they do.” Your expression faltered for just a second before looking away in frustration, blinking away the gloss that covered your eyes. He reached out, his hands resting gently on your waist, pulling you back against him.
“You don’t have to do that,” he said, quieter now.
“Do what?” You shot back, immediately regretting how harsh you were with him when Rafe had done nothing to hurt you.
“Act like you’re on your own.”
The words hit harder than you expected, making you frown. “I’m not—”
“You are,” he cut in. “You’re still treating me like I’m trying to one-up you.”
“I’m not.”
Rafe held your gaze. “Yeah,” he said softly, “you are.”
Silence stretched as you let his words settle in. “I’m not trying to make you look bad,” he added. “I’m not trying to prove anything over you.” His grip on you loosened, but he didn’t let go completely before you grabbed onto him not to lose the warmth he’d provided.
“You don’t have to have your guard up with me all the time,” he murmured. “Not anymore. And I’m sorry you had to all the time, or that your sorry excuse of an ex made you feel like you had to just to prove yourself, but I promise that you always have proved your place.”
“But what about today?” For someone who was so strong, you felt so little and helpless, with how you couldn’t even take the simplest form of help from anyone else. Rafe exhaled, like he’d been expecting that question.
“What about it?” he asked, tilting his head slightly, eyes still fixed on yours.
“You stepped in,” you said, your grip on him tightening just a fraction. “You spoke for me.”
“I redirected them to you,” he corrected, his voice steady. “You shouldn’t have to fight that hard just to be heard when you’re the most qualified person in the room.” Your chest tightened at that, your gaze dropping briefly to where your hands still held onto him, like letting go would mean slipping back into something colder.
“What if-”
“No,” Rafe cut in. “Baby, this was your project, and it was under your lead. We both know you could have, and handled it, but that’s not the point.”
Your brows furrowed, looking at Rafe in confusion. “Then what is?” you asked, quieter.
“That you don’t have to do everything alone,” he replied. You swallowed the lodge in your throat, the hotel room feeling smaller than it was, except the space between you became something opposite to the sharp and biting environment you’d always felt yourself in, but warm and inviting.
“I don’t… know how not to,” you admitted, the words slipping out before you could stop them. For a second, something flickered across Rafe’s face, something that looked like he was pained to hear that.
“Then start with me,” he said. Your fingers loosened slightly against him, though you didn’t fully pull away.
“Okay,” you said, barely above a whisper. Rafe didn’t smile, but the way his shoulders dropped, and his grip softened instead of tightening, told you enough.
Suddenly, Rafe’s phone lit up with a notification, a message from Bryan that he’d never thought he’d have to read.
Bryan: What position do you have her in? I know you two are fucking.
Rafe barked out a laugh as you peered over to look at the source of Rafe’s contentment. Upon the words, your face dropped, mortified that now Bryan had found out, even though you’d both agreed to keep your relationship a secret to avoid it becoming bigger than it should be. Soon enough, Rafe was calling him back, cutting to the chase once Bryan had picked up, “What the fuck, dude?”
“WHO told you?” You butt in, exasperated over the whole ordeal.
“To think that I had to find out from Sunny instead of my own friend,” Bryan exaggerated, acting offended, which made you both roll your eyes. “Is that why you guys don’t bite as much anymore? The office feels like a unicorn shit rainbows with how happy it is.”
Rafe smirked as you pushed your head into his arm, embarrassed that now another person had found out. You groaned. “Sunny has a big mouth.”
Rafe let out a quiet laugh, his hand coming up to rest at the back of your neck, absentmindedly brushing his thumb there like he’d forgotten Bryan was even on the line. “You done interrogating us?” he asked lazily.
“Oh, I’m just getting started-”
“‘Kay, bye Bryan.” The line cut as Rafe ended the call, then threw his phone to the other side of the bed. He looked at you, a dark yet playful glint in his eyes, as he spoke with a low voice.
“What position should I have you in by the end of the night?”
taglist: @bonjourjiminie
dividers: @cursed-carmine @saradika-graphics
a/n (again): kinda overthinking but is this format okay? i want to make sure my fics are accessible for everyone
Strawberry & Soap | Predatory!Rafe x Bimbo!Reader. ♡ FEM READER
-masterlist-
Warnings: frottage (contact over clothing), public risk, airhead reader, manipulation, mention of semen/ejaculation (on clothing), and exhibitionism. (mild)
Note: i absolutely loved this topic, I love writing about bimbo readers, let me know if you like it! It motivates me. (I wrote this in the rush of everyday life)
The sun in Outer Banks was not just shining; it seemed to want to melt the asphalt. It was one of those stifling days when the air vibrates with heat and the only logical solution was to throw yourself into the sea. Your friends had already been in the water for hours, but you, with your heart of gold and a concentration span that fit into a teaspoon, had promised to help your father.
Washing the car seemed like a fun adventure, almost like a scene from a movie you saw once. The problem was that you didn't have the slightest idea where to start.
You were standing on the sidewalk, holding a hose that seemed to have a life of its own. You wore your favorite baby pink tank top, which was already becoming dangerously transparent because of the water splashes, and a white miniskirt so short it barely covered the essentials. To you, the look was just cute. You didn't even notice the whistles from passing cars or the lingering stares from neighbors; your mind was too busy trying to balance a strawberry ice cream in your left hand while passing the sponge with your right.
"Oh, no..." you grumbled softly, making a frustrated pout.
The ice cream, defeated by the sweltering heat, began to melt at an absurd speed. A sticky pink drop ran down your wrist, past your elbow and dripping directly onto your bust, but you were too distracted trying to make a giant soap bubble on the hood of the car.
The door of the house next door creaked. Rafe Cameron stepped out onto the porch, adjusting his sunglasses, ready to ignore the rest of the world. But the movement on the neighboring sidewalk froze his steps.
He stood still for a few seconds, in silence, observing the chaotic and mesmerizing scene: you, all clumsy, leaning over the hood with your legs shining with water and soap, your face stained with strawberry syrup and that vague and sweet look of someone who didn't have a single complex thought passing through their head. To Rafe, you were a deliciously absurd vision.
He walked calmly, stopping right behind you. The smell of cheap soap and artificial strawberry was almost intoxicating.
"Need some help, sweetie?" His voice sounded husky, too close to your ear.
You gave a little jump, spinning your body and almost hitting Rafe with the hose.
"Oh!" You let out a shrill and childish giggle, wiping a drop of ice cream from the corner of your mouth with your thumb, which only served to spread the sweet even further. "No, no need! Everything is fine. I just... I think the soap is winning against me."
Rafe didn't hear half of what you said. His gaze was fixed on the trail of water running down your legs and the syrupy glow of your skin under the sun. He wasn't the type to help anyone, in fact, he hardly had patience for human beings, but the way you tilted your head to the side, looking like a confused doll, made something strange stir in his chest.
"Yeah, I can see that," he murmured, taking a step forward and taking the trembling sponge from your hand. "You're making a terrible mess, you know?"
"Well... I don't know exactly what I'm doing, but I think I'm doing very well!" you commented with childish excitement, returning your total attention to the car.
You plunged the sponge into the bucket with force, making a cloud of foam fly in all directions, including into your own hair. With clumsy movements, you began to scrub the windows, too concentrated on making perfect circles with the soap. Rafe, standing right behind, let his gaze descend slowly down your back. With every movement you made with your arms, your miniskirt rose a few more centimeters, revealing the curve of your wet legs. He was fascinated; it was obvious that you had no malice at all, which made everything ten times more tempting for him.
"There's some dirt right there, look," Rafe said, his voice suddenly lower.
He pointed to a random spot on the hood, a perfectly clean spot, just to test how far your distraction went.
"Where, Ray? I don't see anything?" You leaned over the hot metal of the car, propping your elbows and projecting your body forward like an obedient little doll.
Your big, confused eyes searched for the alleged stain while you made a concentrated pout. Rafe let out a muffled laugh, a dark and satisfied sound, as he shortened the distance between you. He took a quick look at both sides of the street, making sure the neighborhood was deserted under the midday sun, before pressing himself completely against your back.
You felt the heat of his body and the pressure of Rafe's hip brushing against yours, but your mind took a while to register what that meant.
"Right there, look closely," he whispered against the back of your neck, his hot breath sending shivers down the small hairs of your neck.
He began to move in a slow and suggestive way behind you, pretending he was just helping to guide your gaze. You remained there, leaning and vulnerable, feeling his firm contact while the strawberry ice cream finished melting in your hand, forgotten, leaving a sweet and sticky trail that perfectly matched the situation you had just gotten yourself into without even noticing.
Rafe began to move his hips in subtle movements, feeling the pressure of the erection forming against your butt. He acted as if he was just helping you see the invisible stain, but his body gave away how much he was enjoying it. As you continued to lean and move to try to clean the glass, your butt ended up swaying against him in a perfect way, creating a friction that drove him crazy. You felt something rigid pressing against your back, but your mind was too occupied with the soap and the heat to really question what that was.
His board shorts were made of a thin fabric, allowing him to feel almost every detail of your skin underneath that tiny miniskirt. To Rafe, it was almost as if there were no clothes between you. He let out a heavy sigh, closing his eyes for a brief second as he felt your strawberry scent mixed with the sun.
"That's it... you do a good job, sweetie," he murmured with a voice loaded with an irony that went completely unnoticed by you.
"Thanks, Ray! I knew I could do it!" you replied with a sweet and proud voice, giving a little smile over your shoulder.
You didn't notice the predatory gleam in his eyes, nor how his hand "accidentally" descended to touch the side of your wet thigh, slowly rising towards the hem of the skirt. To you, he was just the nice neighbor being kind and helping with the car, while for Rafe, that was the most exciting afternoon he had ever had.
"What else do I need to clean?" you asked with that vague and bright look, totally at his mercy without even suspecting.
"Right there, let me help such an obedient little girl," Rafe murmured, his voice now dangerously low.
He pointed to some other place on the shiny metal of the car, but his eyes did not leave the curve of your butt for a single second.
"I'm giving it my best, Ray!" you replied with that sweetly ridiculous voice, almost childish, which seemed to act as a trigger for him.
Rafe let out a contained moan right behind you, his voice almost failing. The way you were both clueless and adorable at the same time made him harder and harder, a constant pressure that you felt against your body, but that your mind seemed to filter out as something unimportant.
"Of course you are, honey," he said, his patience clearly reaching its end.
Rafe's large hands came down and grabbed your hips with a possessive force, almost forcing you back against his body. He began to rub himself with an almost animal urgency, no longer caring about disguising the movements. As you were well leaned over, the miniskirt ended up rising enough for Rafe to have a privileged view of your small and lacy panties. He bit his lips hard, enjoying every millimeter of that vision and the forbidden friction you were providing him, even without knowing it.
You felt a strange heat rise through your body and let out a small involuntary moan, feeling your cheeks burn in a bright red tone. But, faithful to your silly way, you didn't say anything and didn't try to move away. To you, it was just the heat of the sun or perhaps the exhaustion of the "hard work" with the hose.
You continued passing the sponge on the car with slow and rhythmic movements, while Rafe, completely surrendered to desire, took advantage of your distraction and your vulnerable posture to discharge all the accumulated frustration right there, in the middle of the sunny sidewalk.
"You're such a good girl... did you know that?" he panted in your ear, squeezing his fingers into your soft skin until they left clear marks.
The strawberry ice cream was now little more than a pink and liquid mass, running between your fingers and dirtying the back of your hand. With a childish urgency, you brought what was left to your lips, trying to save the sweet before it completely disappeared. You murmured something disconnected to Rafe, something about how the flavor was your favorite, but your voice came out muffled by the cold sweet.
Through the reflection of the car window, Rafe watched everything with a dark fixation. He saw you making a mess of yourself like a complete idiot, the pink trail dirtying the corner of your mouth and dripping into your cleavage, and that vision was the trigger for the little self-control he still had.
Feeling his dick contract hard against the thin fabric of his shorts, Rafe rubbed himself even more against you, seeking as much contact as possible. He could no longer keep his hands only on your hips; his long fingers spread out and squeezed your butt hard, sinking into the soft flesh and pulling the fabric of the skirt up to the limit.
"God, you have no idea what you're doing, do you?" he panted, his voice failing as he pressed against you with rhythmic and possessive movements.
You felt his firm grip and let out a sharp sound, half laugh and half sigh, while you tried to lick a drop of strawberry running down your wrist. Your cheeks were flushed and your mind seemed wrapped in a fog of heat and sugar. To you, Rafe's grip was just a rough and funny way for him to play, but to him, that moment on the sunny sidewalk was the pinnacle of a silent obsession.
You remained there, leaning and surrendered, savoring what remained of your ice cream while feeling Rafe's body vibrate with tension right behind yours.
Rafe's eyes narrowed into dangerous slits as he practically pinned you against the warm metal of the car. The weight of his body was firm and overwhelming, leaving no room for you to move unless it was to follow his rhythm.
"Rafey?" you asked with a muffled and sweet voice, your mind spinning slowly, confused by the sudden pressure and the heat rising up your back.
Rafe didn't answer immediately. He just continued rubbing his body behind you with a predatory intensity, feeling the delicious friction between his shorts and your soft skin. His silence was heavy, broken only by the heavy breathing that hit the back of your neck.
"Keep still. You need to do a good job before your father arrives," he whispered, his voice coming out as a low and raspy command that made a shiver run down your spine.
You blinked your eyes, processing the sentence in a simple way. In your head, he was just being a "zealous" friend, making sure you finished the task on time. Obedient as always, you nodded your head, letting out a small sigh and returning to focus on the soapy sponge, even though Rafe's hips were dictating a rhythm that made any coordinated movement difficult.
"Oh, I see... daddy will be mad if I don't finish," you murmured to yourself, accepting his imposition with a disconcerting naturalness.
Rafe let out a low growl of satisfaction at seeing how easy you were to manipulate. He grabbed your waist even tighter, digging his fingers into your skin while rubbing himself with a renewed urgency. He was loving the fact that, while you worried about the soap and the ice cream, he was there, in full view of the street, taking possession of you in the most blatant way possible.
Your nipples were hard, marking the thin and wet fabric of the pink tank top that no longer hid almost anything. Rafe saw that and felt his blood pulse stronger. He stretched out his hand, pretending he was going to fix the strap of your blouse that was slipping off your shoulder, but it was just a dirty excuse to squeeze your breast hard, feeling the firm tip against the palm of his hand.
You let out a short sigh, but didn't complain. You stood there, still, letting him grope you as if it were the most natural thing in the world. In your head, he was just being careful, and you, like a good girl, saw no reason to stop him.
Rafe's breathing was heavy and noisy in your ear, the sound of someone who was losing control. He felt like he was at the limit, his penis throbbing against your butt with every clumsy movement you made with the sponge. He bit his lip hard, feeling the metallic taste of his own blood, while his hand descended without any shame down your wet thigh, going straight for the hem of your lacy panties.
"Ray... what are you doing?" you asked with that mild and malice-free voice, leaning your body a little further forward and giving him an even better angle.
He didn't bother to invent a cute excuse this time. Rafe just growled low, his fingers entering under the thin fabric and finding your hot and moist skin. He rubbed himself against you with a brute force, almost crushing you against the hood of the car, his eyes fixed on the nape of your neck while he took advantage of your slowness and your vulnerable body.
You felt a shock run through your spine when his fingers touched your intimacy, but your only reaction was to let out a low and syrupy moan, continuing to scrub the car window with slow movements. To you, it was just a strange and hot game in the middle of the afternoon; for Rafe, it was the pure pleasure of having an obedient and dumb doll entirely at his disposal under the scorching sun.
"Stay still," he ordered, his voice hoarse and authoritative, while increasing the pace of the thrusts from behind, without caring who might see.
The heat from the asphalt seemed to rise up your legs, but it was nothing compared to the fire Rafe was awakening. He was no longer trying to be subtle. His hands now squeezed your waist with a force that would certainly leave purple marks on your hips, but you could only think about how his touch was firm and secure.
"Rafe, it's getting a bit tight..." you murmured, your voice coming out whiny and drawn out, while you tried uselessly to reach the hose that had slipped from your hand and was now gushing water aimlessly across the ground.
Rafe let out a nasal laugh, a dry and humorless sound, as he shoved himself even further against you. He ignored your comment, focused only on the brute friction. The fabric of his shorts was already soaked from the water splashing from the car, sticking to his skin and making every back-and-forth movement against your butt something visceral and direct. He could feel the heat of your skin through the tiny panties, and that was driving him to the edge.
With a sudden movement, he shoved his free hand inside your pink tank top, squeezing your breast with a rawness that made you arch your back and let out a sharp moan. You didn't even notice that the rest of the strawberry ice cream had finally fallen, dirtying the car tire with a sticky and useless stain. Your mind was becoming more and more blurred, unable to process why the neighbor was being so aggressive and, at the same time, why that felt so right.
"Keep quiet and finish cleaning that glass," he hissed against your ear, his voice loaded with a lust that bordered on anger.
He gave a harder thrust with his hips, feeling his own erection throb against you with an unbearable urgency. Rafe didn't care if someone opened the curtain of the house next door or if a car turned the corner at that moment. The risk only made it more exciting. He was using you like an object, a beautiful and brainless doll who accepted any command without questioning.
You obeyed, of course. With your cheeks burning and your breath short, you went back to scrubbing the window with the almost dry sponge, feeling his body dictate every inch of your movement. You were just a silly girl washing her father's car, while the most dangerous boy in town lost himself in you in broad daylight, taking advantage of your stupid innocence to get exactly what he wanted.
Rafe's climax was not just physical; it was the power of having you there, so void of malice and so full of a perfection he didn't deserve. With a sharp and none-too-gentle movement, he pulled the lace of your panties to the side, exposing your intimacy to the sun and to his hungry gaze. The sight of your skin contrasting with the pink of the wet tank top made him let out a low growl, a mixture of adoration and possession.
He felt an almost uncontrollable urge to release his penis right there, to end any barrier between you, but the last shred of rationality in his head prevented him from going too far in the middle of the sidewalk. He squeezed your waist with so much force that his knuckles turned white, burying his face in your neck while his body went into a violent spasm.
"Ray? What is it? Are you okay?" you asked, stopping scrubbing the car for a second, confused by his weight collapsing onto your back.
Rafe didn't answer immediately. He just let out a long, hoarse moan against your skin, feeling the intense and moist heat while he completely came inside his own pants. The thin fabric of the board shorts was no match for the strength of his climax; he felt his own cum flood the fabric, sticking everything to his skin as the pulse between his legs slowly diminished.
He stayed there for a few seconds, his forehead pressed against your shoulder, breathing in an erratic and heavy way. You remained motionless, feeling his chest rise and fall against your back, having not the slightest idea what had just happened. To you, he just seemed to be very tired because of the excessive heat.
"Finished, sweetie," he finally whispered, his voice loaded with a dark and satisfied afterglow.
Before pulling away completely, he leaned his face in and deposited a lingering and possessive kiss on your wet shoulder, an almost arrogant gesture, as if he were marking territory on property of his. He detached himself from you with a side smile, adjusting his visibly soaked and heavy shorts in a discreet way, feeling the discomfort of the sticking fabric.
Without saying anything else, he turned his back and walked towards his house with hurried steps, clearly needing to change clothes and clean himself up before anyone noticed the state of those shorts.
You stood on the sidewalk with the sponge in your hand and a silly smile on your face, watching his back disappear through the door, genuinely thinking he was the most helpful neighbor you could ever have.
── .✦ Hair v/s Genes. . . highschool!rafe x highschool!reader
contains: rafe getting distracted with how your hair looks in the middle of class :3
warnings: none. fluff
the classroom feels like it’s melting in the afternoon heat-sunlight leaking through the blinds in long, lazy stripes, the hum of the ceiling fan barely cutting through the teacher’s voice. something about mendel's inheritance, maybe. the words float somewhere in the background, tangled between chalk dust and the faint smell of disinfectant and new books.
you’re sitting near the middle row, head bent over your notebook, your blue pen moving in that careful, looping script rafe’s seen a hundred times. you write like you mean it-little arrows connecting terms, neat underlines in alterating colors, a perfect diagram of a chromosome already half-shaded.
rafe’s sitting one seat behind, chin propped in his hand. he’s supposed to be paying attention-he tried, for like, two minutes — but the truth is, he’s been staring at you since the class started.
your hair’s what did it.
it’s soft-looking, too soft for someone with as much focus as you. it slips down your back in waves, catching the light every time you tilt your head to read something. and rafe’s brain-which should be full of “dominant genes” and “di-hybrid cross” is instead occupied with one thought: what would it feel like between his fingers?
he tells himself to stop staring. he even tries to copy a few notes just to look normal. but the scratch of your pen, the faint perfume that somehow cuts through the chalky air, the way you keep brushing a stray strand behind your ear- it’s all too much for his poor already crap-at-focusing-brain.
so he gives in.
one second he’s tracing patterns on his desk with the back of his pen; the next, his fingers are reaching forward, looping a strand of your hair around them like he’s done it a thousand times before.
you stiffen slightly.
not in surprise, more like you noticed but don’t really mind. your pen doesn’t even pause. you just tilt your head a little, like you’re letting him.
rafe smiles to himself, quietly, lazily twisting the strand. the texture is exactly what he imagined. impossibly soft. smooth. silky. he shouldn’t be doing this. he knows that. but he’s never been much for self-control, especially when it comes to you.
from the back of the room, topper spots it first. he nudges kelce, who's sitting right beside him, who nearly chokes on his laugh. across the row, kiara’s elbowing jj, who bites down on his lip to keep from grinning. pope and john b exchange knowing looks like they’ve been waiting for this to happen.
the teacher drones on, completely oblivious. something about “the inheritance of traits through chromosomes and recombination.” none of it registers for rafe. he’s too focused on the way your hair slips through his fingers when you move, the way the sunlight turns it gold at the edges.
every now and then, you glance sideways, just enough to meet his eyes for half a second before pretending to refocus on your notes. he swears he sees the hint of a smile there.
the bell rings suddenly, a shrill reminder that the rest of the world still exists. desks scrape, papers shuffle, laughter fills the room again. you finally turn fully around to face him.
“did you even listen to class?” you ask softly, amusement tugging at your mouth in the form of a smirk.
rafe grins, lazy and unbothered, leaning back in his chair. “didn’t hear a word of the lecture.”
“shocker,” you mutter, slipping your pen into your bag with a small smile.
you start to leave, but he reaches out, brushing his fingers through your hair one last time. “couldn’t help it,” he says, voice low. “you were way more interestin' than pea plants.”
you roll your eyes, but there’s that smile again — the one that makes his heart do that stupid skip thing he'll never admit to.
and as you walk out of class, kie and jj are already snickering behind you while topper’s making kissy faces at rafe. he just flips them off, still smiling.
summary: after a snowstorm strikes, you're stuck in the apartment of none other than your coworker/workplace rival, Rafe, forcing you both to live in a confined space with nothing but your own feelings
content warning: enemies to lovers, workplace rivalry, forced proximity, underlying "there's only one bed", explicit sexual content, rafe being a yearner (again, bc a man who yearns is a man who earns) 18+ MDNI
w/c: 15.9k (i kinda got carried away, again-so sorry)
a/n: the inspiration? toronto was under a polar vortex and I was snowed in 🧍♀️kinda (very) insecure about this one since it's written in a way I usually don't write, but it's still my baby :') enjoy!
The cold flush painted across your face started to finally warm up and fade as you sipped on the warm mulled wine cradled in your hands. Outside, the city was already cold, the harsh winds harrowing as you observed the already-greyed sky become darker as the night settled in. Though the snow that had blanketed over the city was beautiful and dangerous at once, sparkling beneath streetlights. The sound of its crunching under your boots when you stepped into the bar.
Though it was happy hour on a Friday after work, you internally thanked that you could have some peace in the hole-in-the-wall bar you and your work friend had once found a few months back. It was quaint in the way that it felt intentional; the owners, being the older millennials they were through and through, were able to curate the bar to make it look effortlessly cozy. Warm lights hung low over wooden tables and second-hand stools that didn’t match at all. Thrifted decor that made you wish you’d gotten your hands on it first to keep in your home, but no matter how many times you asked, they’d never tell where they got it from. The playlist humming in the back that always added the right ambiance to any topic of discussion.
“You seriously need to go on vacation,” your work friend, Sunny, exclaimed as she eyed you taking a huge sip of your drink. “I can’t remember the last time you took time off for yourself and actually relaxed.”
Offended, you remarked, “No, there was that one time back in December, remember?”
“That was a sick day,” she deadpanned.
“That counts! Plus, I need to make sure the projections and future forecasts are perfect so that the Eden Young acquisition goes according to plan, so I can prove to that buzzed out-cokehead bastard that I know what I’m doing.” You tip your glass over to down the rest of the wine before smacking your lips again, tasting the citrus and spice coat your mouth again. “Plus, relationships are exhausting. I don’t have the energy for that right now.”
This work week couldn’t have gotten any more hectic than it already had been for you as you decided to give yourself more work than your boss had ever expected, and mostly out of your own free will, and slightly to spite the one person you’d been competing against your whole career since you’d first joined the firm. Sunny rolled her eyes, clearly not having heard this the first time.
“Never mind, you need a vacation, and you seriously need to get laid to get whatever this hatred is in your system out.” She pulled out her phone, showing her lockscreen picture of her and her partner, “I mean, look at me and Roxanne! We never got along, and then one day, I got my shit rocked by them, and now we’ve been living together happily for three years.”
“You left your boyfriend during a date and then had sex with them in the bathroom.”
“Thank fuck I did, I don’t know how much longer we could have gone lying to each other.”
You nodded in understanding, “Tris was a good guy; he looks happy with his boyfriend now.” To which Sunny hummed in agreement. Behind you, the door swung open, letting in a sharp gust of cold and the sound of laughter that didn’t belong in a place this calm. Snow scattered across the entryway as two figures stepped inside, shaking off the storm like they weren’t already a nuisance.
Sunny smirked at you.
“Speaking of buzzed-out cokehead bastards, yours just walked in with his little minion.”
You groaned and turned to the bartender with a look of desperation and quiet resignation, sliding your empty glass across the counter. “Espresso martini, please. And triple the amount of vodka.”
The bartender glanced over your shoulder, then back at you, lips twitching. “Rough night?”
“You have no idea,” you muttered.
Rafe Cameron’s voice carried easily through the bar, low and confident, saying something smug enough that it made Sunny snort into her drink. She leaned closer to you, stage-whispering, “Wow. Even his entrance is obnoxious.”
“Please don’t let him see us,” you murmured.
Rafe had immediately spotted you from the entrance of the bar, your silhouette ingrained far too well in his mind. Though it was cold outside, seeing you made the weather feel incomparably warmer, as you never greeted him with the kindness he’s seen you've shown others. Still, riling you up was always fun, even if you managed to get on his nerves with the silent competition that happened between you two, if it meant he got the opportunity to talk to you.
He hated how much he wanted that and hated even more how you consumed his thoughts all the time. The way every giggle you let out while talking to that one analyst from the financial planning and analysis team made his heart race and fester with jealousy – not from the fact that you were enjoying your job, but that he wasn’t the one who was able to get that reaction out from you and instead are met with witty remarks and not-so-subtle eyerolls that he wished he could get out of you through other ways.
There’d been one too many times where he wanted to bang his head into the wall, getting frustrated from when you’d give him a hard time with any joint projects within the team from how stubborn you were with him. Then, heading home wired from the interaction itself, ultimately giving into the urge and jerking off to the sight of you earlier as you were bent over conference tables as you drew out merger tactics.
Your drink was shortly handed to you, along with two shots of tequila. You looked up at the bartender, as he winked at you. “On the house, thought you might need it.”
Right when you and Sunny went to clink your glasses, a familiar scent of pinewood cut through the air.
“Not even an hour off the clock and you’re already downing shots like you’re in a sorority. Have some decorum.”
Slowly, you turned your head. Rafe stood far too close for comfort, jacket shrugged open, eyes flicking between the shots and your expression with clear amusement. Bryan, his little minion, a data analyst who laughed a second too late at everything Rafe said—hovered just behind him, already nursing a beer and pretending not to stare.
You downed the shot in one go, then the second, slamming the glass back onto the bar with a sharp clink before finally looking at him.
Your hand stilled mid-air. Sunny, on the other hand, turned with open interest, eyes flicking between the shots, your frozen expression, and the man now standing far too close to you.
Rafe had shed his coat, the first few buttons of his button-up undone casually like he wasn’t the source of half your professional stress. Snow still clung to the dark fabric at his collar, melting slowly, and when you finally glanced at him, his gaze was already on you with a look of amusement.
You tipped the shot back in one smooth motion, then the second, slamming the empty glass onto the bar before turning to face him fully.
“Don’t you have somewhere else to be?” you asked coolly, your eyes narrowing in on him as he took in your appearance after work. “No one at home to annoy with your snark and flaunt daddy’s money? How do you even know about Bar Poet?”
“Everyone knows about Bar Poet.”
“What? No, no one does.”
Rafe sighed your name in pity and annoyance, a tone you knew all too well and had grown to have a hate-love relationship with. “Then why the fuck is it on the New York Times ‘Top Ten Bars in the City’?”
Sheepishly looking away, you took a sip of your espresso martini before taking in the scene outside. The snowfall had started to pick up, the streets becoming visibly more white as it gusts through. Winters in the city were great, except only when you were in the comfort of your condo, which you couldn’t wait to get to. The idea of a scorching hot bath, the bath salts you’d bought sitting in your bag, and your current read was calling your name, and with Rafe looming over you, it was the only thing that would probably get you through the rest of your evening.
Rafe purposefully hovered over you as he gave his order to the bartender, smirking at the blush creeping up your face as you became acutely aware of just how little space there was between your bodies. You felt an unusual pressure from the core between your thighs grow warm, heat blossoming from the He could feel the heat radiating off you, close enough to notice the way it mixed with the scent of vanilla and something warm, like amber, from your perfume that he’d grown accustomed to.
You’d be lying to yourself if you said Rafe didn’t look at least a bit more different here today than he usually did. He usually did a good job of not letting his
“Relax, Princess,” he said, “we’re only here for a drink anyway.”
“I’ll go grab us a table,” Bryan stated, before Sunny mercifully—or maybe maliciously—decided to fill the silence and grabbed his arm.
“Stay! Look, there’s so much space, and a little birdie told me you saw the bossman at Pilates,” she teased, grinning as she tugged him back toward the bar stool next to her.
Bryan coughed awkwardly, cheeks flushing as he shot Rafe a look. “I, uh—purely coincidental,” he said quickly, suddenly very invested in the condensation on his glass.
“What do you mean it was coincidental? Hiding something, Bryan?” You smirked.
Rafe snorted, rolling his shoulders as the conversation bored him already. “If Bryan’s hiding anything, it’s how he somehow manages to complain about the workload while still never being the one who actually gets blamed when shit hits the fan.”
You shot him a look. “Like how you always send emails at seven o’clock in the morning and then complain that no one respects your time?”
“I work,” Rafe shot back smoothly, “relentlessly. It’s exhausting carrying half the firm on my back and being the only one that the boss can truly rely on.”
“Oh my god,” you muttered into your drink.
“Plus, if you ever did notice, I’m always working late. I couldn’t even remember what my apartment looked like at one point. I don’t recall seeing you at the office until then.”
“That’s because I sit at a focus pod so I don’t have to hear you, Cameron.”
Sunny pointed her finger at you, quick to your defence. “She also hasn’t taken a day off since ever!”
“That’s crazy,” Bryan said, “especially considering Jason always lets Rafe take extra time off.”
“That’s because I work my ass off hard enough for Jason to notice.”
“And the rest of us don’t?” You looked at him, eyebrows furrowed in a V-shape as you studied whatever audacity he had in him to overlook everyone else’s efforts.
“Not as hard as me,” Rafe shrugged nonchalantly, his arms slightly brushing against yours, burning this path into your skin while you tried to tell yourself to get over it. “The numbers speak for themselves.”
“Listen, I get that it’s tiring to be the boss’ pet and constantly dick ride him, but can you not go three seconds without talking about it?" You turn around to face him,
“Careful,” he said lightly, tilting his head toward you. “For someone who claims she doesn’t care, you’re awfully invested in my work ethic.”
Bryan snorted into his beer. “God, you two need to fuck each other before either one of you chokes the other one out.”
“That’s what I said!” Sunny exclaimed, “There’s more sexual tension between these two than there was in the entire 50 Shades of Grey series.”
You scoffed. “Excuse me?”
Rafe blinked once, like the idea had genuinely caught him off guard—though not for the reason anyone else would assume. He recovered quickly, leaning back against the bar. “That’s never gonna happen, Bryan.”
“Yeah,” you said flatly. “I’ll never sleep with someone who probably jerks off to his quarterly performance review.”
A slow smile spread across his face, not because he was offended or embarrassed, but worse. He was actually amused. He leaned in just enough that only you could really feel it.
“Funny,” he murmured. “You don’t want to sleep with me, but you’ve clearly spent some time thinking about it.” His eyes dropped briefly to your mouth before coming back up. “Makes me wonder who’s actually interested here.”
You carefully looked at Rafe, taking in his current state —at the loosened tie, the faint flush in his cheeks from the cold, the way his attention stayed fixed on you no matter who else was talking. It only made the knot in your chest tighten and burn from the inside, from both embarrassment and exasperation. There were one too many times where you’d woken up, heaving for air and sweating profusely from a wet dream, where Rafe had his head between your legs as an apology for the way he’d irritated you at work, or how he’d done the one thing that you’d never forgive him for, no matter how many times you’d thought about how his lips would mould against yours.
“Can you just…not? I’ve had a long week,” you said flatly. “And you’re not helping.”
You looked away, your eyes meeting the bartender’s softened ones, looking back at you. He leaned over the counter, his voice soft as he set another napkin down in front of you, “If it makes you feel any better, you’re the highlight of my day whenever you come in.”
On the napkin was his name, Ryan, and a phone number scribbled in blue ink. You blinked, clearly off guard because he’d remembered you while you barely even knew his name. Heat crept up your neck, a soft laugh slipping out before you could stop it. “That’s very kind of you.”
From beside you, Rafe stiffened. “Hey,” he said coolly, looking at the bartender with a tight jaw and narrowed eyes. “Quit flirting with your customers and focus on making my drink.”
You looked at Rafe like he’d grown three heads as you contemplated ripping his off. The smug smirk on his face added fuel to the growing hatred you had for him. “Rafe!”
“What? Pretty sure I ordered first.”
Sunny’s eyes were practically sparkling at the whole interaction, while Bryan suddenly found his beer even more interesting than it was before. You cleared your throat, overwhelmed by the attention and all the alcohol in your system that was starting to make Rafe’s irritation feel oddly personal as you thought more about it. “I- uh, I’ll be right back.”
You slid off the stool, grabbing your bag a little too quickly as you walked off, trying to ignore the set of eyes you knew were watching you as you went down the narrow hallways. It wasn’t like it happened the first time, every time you had something good happen to you, whether it be praise for your work or a good moment between a coworker and yourself, Rafe had always stepped in and burst your bubble in some way. He’d always managed to take something that was specifically yours and then turn it around for it to be his, leaving no room for you to feel pride in any sort of form. Yet, some part of you kept pulling you back into the cycle in hopes of one day getting your payback and proving him wrong, slightly because while your ego was bruised, it was also so that the younger you, who’d fought tooth and nail to get to where you were now, didn’t sacrifice her own mental sanity for nothing.
Looking into the bathroom mirror, you composed yourself before getting a message from Sunny.
Sunny: Hey, im SO soz but i have to run bc Rox had an emergency! lmk when you get home!!!
“Great,” you muttered to yourself as you braced for whatever was on the other side of the door, “how am I gonna sneak past them?”
Just as you walked out, you collided with a firm frame, only for it to be Rafe’s when you looked up.
“You alright?” Rafe’s voice was low as he steadied you with his hands on your arms, the heat from his arms burning through the fabric of your shirt as if they were made of fire.
“I don’t need your concern, Cameron. I really don’t have the energy for you anymore tonight,” you said, voice as cold as ice as you attempted to push away from him.
“Liar.”
“Yeah? First, you intrude my space after work with whatever audacity you have. Then, you miraculously have the ability to trample over whatever good thing happens to me. And you still expect me to have any energy left for you tonight?”
“Is this what this is about?” Rafe raised an eyebrow, though it was obvious that he was smug about it. “You’re mad that I cockblocked you and that bartender?”
“Oh, don’t try to fucking patronize me.” You leaned in closer, hissing, “This is more than just that, and you know it. You think everything revolves around you, but God forbid the office’s nepo-baby isn’t the centre of attention.”
“I am not a nepo-baby,” he shot back. “He was flirting with you while he was working on the clock. He wasn’t doing his fucking job like he should have and gotten me my drink before.”
“Are you hearing yourself right now? You don’t get to have an opinion about who I talk to or who talks to me.”
“I wasn’t giving an opinion.”
“You literally told him to focus on your drink like-”
“Because he was looking at you like-”
“Like what?” you challenged, stepping closer without realizing it. You both had gotten closer to each other without even realizing it, to the point where you could feel him breathing in the same air as you, focusing on how he took deeper breaths from the exchange. “Like someone who actually enjoys my company? Like someone who actually wants to know me? Sorry that’s such a foreign concept to you, Rafe, but it’s how relationships start.”
His hands flexed at his sides.
“Don’t,” he warned quietly.
“Don’t what? Point out that you can’t stand someone else getting the attention you never got from a girl? That you can’t stand when I-”
You were suddenly caught off by Rafe as he pressed his lips to yours, kissing you like it was his first and last time. It was anything but gentle, the months of pent-up frustration and unspoken tension pouring into it as his hand braced against the wall beside your head as if he needed the support to keep himself from topping you both to the ground. For a split second, you froze, your mind in disbelief that Rafe, the one person who vexed you, who knew how to get you riled up, who you truly despised, was the one who was kissing you.
Then the anger melted straight into heat, feeling yourself melt like butter into the kiss. You slightly gasped into the kiss as he began to move his lips against yours, swiping this against the seams of your lips and tasting the bitterness of coffee on yours. You curled your fingers into this shirt before you could think better of it, slightly moaning against Rafe’s lips.
Rafe initially couldn’t fathom that he’d gone ahead and kissed you mid-conversation, but was even more confused now as he felt you kiss him back. His heart beat faster than it possibly could, his thoughts ran faster though as he felt the softness of your lips move against yours and your hands now placed against his chest. Admittedly, while Rafe was annoyed that he still hadn’t gotten his drink, seeing the bartender be able to flirt with you so effortlessly sparked a possessive flame in him that set off his reaction. You’d never felt at ease with him like you did with a complete stranger, and you’d definitely never give the same doe-eyed look that you’d seen you give to the bartender. He was tired of losing against everyone for someone he was always bickering with for something he wasn’t even sure how it’d started in the first place.
As his body pressed flush against yours, the unmistakable hardness between you made your breath catch. Heat pooled low in your stomach, your hips moving before you could stop yourself, seeking friction against him.
Rafe’s hand slid to the small of your back, fingers spreading wide as he dragged you closer, eliminating whatever space had been left between your bodies. A quiet sound left his throat when you moved against him again — approval, hunger, something darker — and he answered by rolling his hips slowly into yours in return.
“Ahem.” Your heads whipped to a woman with irritation painted on her face, waiting to get to the bathroom door, “Can I… go in?”
You both muttered your apologies and stepped to the side, clearly even more frustrated than before.
“I- fuck,” Rafe breathed out, “You’re coming home with me.” His thumb brushed over your jutted out bottom lip, slow as if he was tracing where he’d left his mark.
Your mind was so hazed over from the alcohol, and even moreso from the intoxicating kiss you both had just shared, you simply nodded your head and picked up your bag from the floor where they’d dropped it. “What about Bryan?”
“He left early, can’t remember what he said though.”
“I’ll just uh,” you looked towards the bar, Ryan’s back was towards you as he helped another customer. “Pay my tab an-”
“Already handled it. C’mon.”
Rafe grabbed your hand, picking up the rest of whatever was left at your spots and heading back out into the cold as the snowfall began to pick up. Even through the limited visibility ahead of you, Rafe’s hand hadn’t let go of you once as he guided you through the city.
Rafe’s lips had barely left you once since you’d entered the building, from the moment the elevator doors slid shut, he was on you. Your back hit the mirrored wall with a dull thud as his mouth crashed against yours, a messy, desperate clash of teeth and tongues as either of you tried to fight for dominance. You hadn’t realized that the elevators had stopped until a bell chimed and Rafe’s face whipped behind to see who’d interrupted. A teenager, no older than sixteen, stared with his mouth agape at the sight of Rafe with his hand on your chest and one of your legs hiked up. Rafe just shot the kid a filthy smirk over your shoulder before the doors closed again.
By the time you stumbled into his apartment, neither of you were pretending this was anything but inevitable. Your bag hit the floor somewhere near the entryway as his coat followed. You barely registered moving down the hallway before the back of your knees hit the mattress. You landed on Rafe’s bed with a soft bounce, the expensive sheets cool against your flushed skin as he trailed his kisses from behind your ear to your neck. He inhaled the smell of your shampoo, citrusy and fresh, while his hands made work of pulling off your shirt. Rafe felt like he was experiencing sex for the first time all over again as his eyes quickly took in the state you were in, your lips swollen, eyes full of need. It was almost like he had complete reign over you, but he still was at your mercy if you wanted him to since he’d never imagined that he’d get to have you in his bed, let alone even kiss you.
You smirked, noticing that Rafe was spacing out, “Cat finally got your tongue?”
Rafe pinched your nipple through your bra, making you arch against his body. “You have such a fuckin’ mouth on you, even in bed.”
“And you aren’t doing anything,” you countered, as you undid your bra and threw it to the side. “I could’ve gotten myself to cum by now.”
Rafe followed, stripping himself quickly while throwing in, “So that’s why you’re always in a mood, because no one’s ever been able to get you off.”
“Shut up, I could make you cum before I do - oh my god,” you breathed out just as Rafe took your breast in his mouth, his tongue circling your nipple. Your nails dug into his shoulders, a sharp, satisfying pain that made him hiss.
"You talk too much, princess," he snarled, yanking your dress pants down your legs. He hooked his fingers into your panties and tore them, the flimsy fabric giving way with a sharp sound. "Always have something to say." He spread your thighs roughly, his gaze dropping to the slick heat between them. A cruel, triumphant smile twisted his lips. "Look at you. Already soakin’ for me."
"Go to hell," you breathed, but it came out as a moan as he dragged a finger through your folds, circling your clit without giving you the friction you desperately craved. It was a power play, and you both knew it. He wanted you begging for more, and oddly enough, something in you wanted to see how long you could make him make you work for it before he broke and caved in on himself. Rafe continued to collect the slick that’d collected between your thighs, feeling you become wetter. His finger continued its maddening dance, a slow, deliberate circle that never quite touched the pulsing, sensitive nub at your core. Your hips bucked involuntarily, trying to chase the friction, to force his hand where you needed it most. You breathed out his name, feel frustrated from the building tension yet with not going further like you needed him to. “Faster, please.”
“Saying please?” He shifted, his knee pressing between your thighs, forcing them wider. He lowered his head, his lips brushing against yours, a feather light touch that was more torment to you than comfort. “That’s a first, princess.”
"Asshole," you gasped, digging your nails into his shoulders, hard enough to draw blood hoping it hurt. Then Rafe’s hand came down, landing a sharp, stinging slap directly onto your exposed pussy. The jolt was electric, a bolt of pure, unadulterated pleasure intermingled with pain that shot straight to your core. You cried out, your forehead resting against the cool glass as your body trembled.
"Oh my god," your voice a ragged whisper.
He obliged. Another sharp slap, then another, until you were a quivering mess, your body humming with a desperate, frantic energy. "You like that, don't you?" he taunted, his voice akin to a dark caress. "Look at you," he snarled in your ear, his breath hot against your skin. "All high and mighty, but you're dripping for me, aren't you? So desperate for my cock you can't even think straight."
Rafe wasn't wrong. You could feel the slickness coating your inner thighs, a humiliating betrayal of your body's desire. He ran his fingers through your drenched folds, a cruel, exploratory touch that had you writhing against the glass. "So fucking wet from jus’ that," he groaned, his voice thick with lust. "Jesus." He brought his slick fingers to his mouth, licking them clean with a groan of pure satisfaction. The sight was so obscene, so possessive, it made your knees weak.
“You taste so fuckin’ good, just as good as you look.” Rafe inserted a finger into you, pumping in and out as he leaned in to kiss you again. You could taste yourself on his tongue, feeling dirty about the whole ordeal. It wasn’t long until Rafe pushed another finger into you, coaxing you that you’d been ready for it because of how wet you were. Though you had no capability to think, this was the wettest and most turned on you’d been since forever.
You pulsed around his fingers, gripping onto them, and he kept moving, and felt the tension in the apex of your tights becoming tighter when you realized that he’d been close to getting you to cum first. It pained you to have to deny your own orgasm, but you’d be damned if you let Rafe win; it’d give him the ego boost you couldn’t afford to give, even on your deathbed.
In an instant, you pulled yourself away from the kiss and guided Rafe’s hands out of you before sinking to the ground and onto the plush carpet. It almost pained you to have to ruin them, knowing you were dripping of arousal on what felt like a designer carpet, but once you’d remembered that Rafe had come from money, it didn’t feel as bad. Rafe watched you through hooded eyes and the lingering thought of how angelic you looked at that moment as you freed his cock from his boxers, your hands wrapping around the base of it, and it slightly twitched — thick, long, and flushed in a deep shade. The head was already leaking with beads of precum that’d evidently been smeared, and you guided it to your mouth.
Rafe couldn’t wait any longer, thus fisting his hand into your hair and shoving himself inside. He moaned at the feeling of your warm mouth enveloped around his cock, and even moreso melting at the sight of your current state—the way your lips stretched around him as he guided you up and down, hitting the back of your throat. You gagged, tears springing to your eyes, but you didn't pull away. You took it, taking him deeper, relaxing your throat to accommodate his brutal size. He set a punishing rhythm, fucking your face with a raw, primal need. "That's it, princess," he grunted, his hips pistoning. "Shit, if I’d known how good you were with your mouth, I’d have shut you up a long time ago." You slapped one of his thighs, looking up at him in annoyance.
He pulled you off him, a string of saliva connecting your swollen lips to the glistening head of his cock. He hauled you to your feet and threw you onto the bed, making you bounce on the mattress. You scrambled to your hands and knees, but he was on you before you could get away. He covered your body with his, his weight a delicious, suffocating pressure, and lined himself up with your entrance, rubbing the head of his cock through your soaked folds to tease you.
"Tell me what you want," he demanded, his voice a low growl against your ear. "Beg for it."
"Fuck you," you spat, pushing back against him, trying to impale yourself on his cock.
He huffed out a controlled breath and grabbed your hips, stilling your movements. "God, I have to do everything, don’t I, Princess?" He delivered a sharp, stinging slap to your ass. "C’mon. Beg," he commanded again, his voice leaving no room for argument. Rafe pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes burning with an intensity that stole your breath. He saw everything—the desperation, the hate, the reluctant desire. He saw you, completely undone, and he loved it.
You tried your best to move, you really did, but Rafe’s grip was too strong. Though you kept a grip on yourself, refusing to give in as you were somewhat eager to see if his walls would crack just enough for you to take charge. While Rafe wasn’t used to his conquests in bed ever disobeying him, he felt himself throb even more at how you’d always managed to put up a fight and in a way, it fascinated him even more to see the lengths you’d go to get the orgasm he so desperately wanted you to have first. He landed another smack to your ass again, your skin feeling like it was on fire, before picking you up and placing you to the side.
You stared at him, confused as he moved away from the bed, “Wh-what? Where are you going?”
Rafe shrugged, “You don’t want to beg, and I’m not gonna give an orgasm to someone who’s bein’ a brat.”
“Fine,” you lay down on the bed while looking at him, “then I guess you don’t mind if I get myself off to the thought of Ryan.”
“Excuse me?” He felt the same jealousy burn in him again, but tried to keep his cool. His eyes followed to where you started to rub circles against your clit, before looking back into yours. Neither of you broke eye contact, but rather, you let out a lazy, yet daunting, smile as your fingers began to get to work. It was a calculated risk, but as soon as you noticed the flash of fury in Rafe’s eyes, it all became worth it. His composure that he often held, the one that could never falter, soon crumbled to dust. He was no longer the detached observer; he was a man possessed.
Your fingers dipped lower, gathering your slickness before returning to your clit, rubbing a little faster, a little harder. You let out a soft, breathy moan, a sound you knew would drive him insane. "He probably would have done anything I asked."
That did it. A low, guttural growl ripped from Rafe's chest, a sound of pure, primal rage. He was looming over you in the second, putting your movements to a halt as he kissed you again, almost like he was taking possession of you. Rafe rubbed his length through your folds, lubing himself with your slick, and in with one brutal, unforgiving thrust, he buried himself to the hilt.
You screamed, a raw, guttural sound of pure ecstasy as he split you open. Rafe gave you no time to adjust, setting a fast pace from the very beginning. Each thrust was a punishment, a claim, a reminder of every hateful word you'd ever exchanged. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, a lewd, percussive rhythm that was the soundtrack to your destruction. He reached around and found your clit, his fingers rubbing tight, merciless circles. The dual stimulation was too much.
“Cum for me,” he demanded.
“You cum first,” you spat back. He increased the pressure on your clit, thrusting harder than he was doing before. His touch was rough and insistent, matching the brutal pace of his hips. The dual stimulation was a sensory overload, a delicious, agonizing assault on your senses. The anger, the jealousy, the hate—it was all melting away, consumed by the white-hot fire of his possession.
“I’m gonna count to five, and then you’re gonna cum.”
“And if I don’t?”
“Oh, trust me,” Rafe smirked. “You will.”
Rafe’s grip on your hip tightened, his other hand fisting in the hair at the nape of your neck, tilting your head back. His body was a hard line against yours, his breath hot and ragged against your ear.
“One,” he gritted out, his voice a low growl as he drove into you with a sharp, powerful thrust that stole your breath. The pressure built instantly, a familiar tension building up again in your belly. He didn't give you a chance to adjust before he moved again.
“Two,” he counted, the sound rough and possessive. This thrust was deeper, harder, designed to push you closer to that edge. A desperate cry escaped your lips, your nails digging into the sweat-slick skin of his back. He paused for a fraction of a second, letting the anticipation hang in the air before his hips snapped forward again.
“Three.” The word was punctuated by a thrust that hit that perfect spot deep inside you, making your vision blur with pleasure. The coil in your stomach tightened to an almost painful degree, your entire body trembling with the need for release.
“Four,” he snarled, his rhythm becoming erratic, his control clearly fraying. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, mingling with your broken moans and his harsh breathing. You were right there, teetering on the precipice, waiting for the final push.
“Five.” The last number was a guttural declaration as he slammed into you one final, brutal time, holding himself deep as he whispered against your lips, “Cum for me, princess. Show me who you belong to.” His words were your undoing. Your orgasm tore through you, a violent, convulsive wave that ripped a scream from your lungs. Your body spasmed, your vision going white as pleasure, sharp and absolute, consumed you. Wave after wave of intense, overwhelming pleasure pulsed through you, leaving you a shaking, breathless mess in his arms. He fucked you through it, his thrusts becoming erratic, his breathing ragged in your ear as he chased his own release.
"Mine," he grunted, his grip on your hips tightening painfully. "You're fucking mine."
With a final, guttural groan, he buried himself deep inside you, his cock pulsing as he came, his hot release flooding you. He collapsed to your side, your body already missing the way his kept you warm, then pulled you over to face him. He kissed you again, slower and more intense, like you’d vanish if he stopped. You explored him, tasting the Jack Daniels that was left on his tongue from the bar, memorizing the texture of his lips, the sharp edge of his teeth. You rocked your hips again, a slow, deliberate grind that had him groaning into your mouth before pulling away.
Rafe stroked your hair, his touch surprisingly gentle. The silence was heavy, thick with the unspoken truth that had just been violently fucked into existence. It wasn’t long until your felt your eyes begin to close, your mind succumbing to the rest it so desperately needed.
The first thing you noticed was pure white light seeping through the windows and a type of silence you hadn’t heard in years. The sheets were softer, heavier, and more luxurious than the ones you’d bought from a department store before moving here, smelling faintly of something unfamiliar, like cedar and laundry detergent instead of your usual lavender.
Your eyes opened slowly, confusion knitting your brows together as you took in the unfamiliar ceiling, the unfamiliar bedding, the unfamiliar sunlight filtering through curtains that definitely did not exist in your apartment. Then you felt the weight and the steady heat of another body pressed against yours. An arm draped over your stomach and soft snores that hummed close to your ear. Carefully turning your head, you moved to see where you were — and nearly choked.
Rafe was blissfully sleeping right next to you. Naked. Just like you.
“Fuck,” you whispered to yourself, elongating the word as the reality of your situation settled in, “fuck, fuck, fuck.”
It almost made you scream, dread filling you as you tried to navigate how you’d leave without waking him up. As slowly as you could, you lifted Rafe’s arm off of you and quickly placed a pillow underneath it before moving away. Looking around, it terrified you how minimalistic and lifeless his apartment looked, almost as if it had replicated itself from American Psycho. Almost like it was a reflection of Rafe himself, cold, calculated, and anything but lively. You made quick work to get dressed when you looked to see Rafe’s button-up from last night lying next to your blouse on the ground. As a final fuck you, you slipped it on and grabbed yours and headed out, grabbing your bag and coat on the way that you’d put on in the lobby to not waste another second.
Though you could barely tell what you’d even seen of the apartment last night, stepping through the hallway, it became apparent that you’d set foot in only a fraction of what seemingly looked like a mansion. Floor-to-ceiling windows stretched across the living space, sunlight pouring in over sleek furniture that looked like it belonged in a showroom rather than somewhere someone lived.
“No wonder he forgot what his apartment looked like,” you muttered to yourself as you walked to the door, where a singular picture frame hung on a small corner of the wall next to the entrance. In it held a picture of Rafe, who looked no older than four, being held by a woman who looked exactly like Rafe.
His child-like eyes were soft, much softer than the hard ones that you were used to seeing all the time, and a genuine smile that held happiness that could only stem from the joy of being young and naive. It made your heart ache to wonder what happened to have turned that little boy into someone who was no different from a robot, or how this was the same person who you held resentment for, when he was someone’s baby.
Your stomach twisted unexpectedly. You’d always assumed Rafe lived the way he came off to be, loud and chaotic, but instead, the apartment felt quiet and controlled. Even more so lonely, like he’d been put in the most luxurious, minimalistic jail for a crime he’d never confess to. You were snapped out of your thoughts when someone started knocking at the door, scaring you because if Rafe woke up and caught you sneaking out, you’d be in even deeper in a mess than you already were. So you did the most logical thing.
You opened the door.
On the other end was a man who looked to be a part of the building’s management team, staring at you in the same way you were at him. You leaned against the doorframe, trying to look as natural a homeowner as possible.
“H-hey,” you glanced down to find his nametag, only to realize he didn’t have one. “What brings you here?”
“Good morning, miss,” he said cautiously, “I just came with an important message if I could just let t-”
“You can let me know! Matter of fact, I was just about to head out, let me grab my things, and we go.”
“Well, miss, I wish I could, but I really need to tel-”
“Yeah, no, yeah, I’ll hear you out. Don’t worry. Just need to get this other—umph—heel on, and we’ll go. Sorry, what did you say your name wa-”
“Hey, Louis.” Your face dropped as you froze up. If someone were pumping a cooling agent into your bloodstream, you could definitely feel it with the way your blood ran cold. Rafe came up behind you, his hand on the small of your back as he came to the doorframe to speak directly to the man who was clearly judging you now. His voice, thick with sleep, rasped, “I see you’ve met my…friend. Is everything okay?”
“Ah, yes, she’s quite the talker. I just wanted to personally let you know that we’re advising everyone to stay inside due to the weather and our ability to get out.”
“What do you mean?”
“The doors are blocked, we’ve been snowed in.”
“What?” You yelped, “You mean I’m stuck here?”
“Uh, yes? Were you not aware that there was a snowstorm today? It was all over the news.”
“Okay, thank you for letting us know, Louis,” Rafe interjected, “Have a good day.” With that, you were pulled back into the apartment and the door shut. Rafe was now leaning against the hallway wall, blocking you from going any further. His shirtless frame, messy hair, and sweatpants hanging low on his hips threw you off. You could tell he was eyeing you, taking in the sight of his shirt on your body, then back to your face.
“It’s one thing to leave someone alone in bed, acting like last night never happened,” he started, the corner of his mouth twitched, “Stealing my clothes as well? I must say, that’s very bold of you to do.”
“Had to give you the whole experience,” you sarcastically shot back before pushing him aside to look out of the windows to assess the situation. A quiet huff of amusement left him, but it faded just as quickly when he glanced toward the windows.
“Yeah,” he muttered. “About that.”
You looked out to see nothing but snow, not just falling, but piling. Thick white sheets that had already blanketed the streets below more than it already had last night, cars barely visible, wind still whipping flakes sideways against the glass.
“No,” you breathed.
Rafe dragged a hand down his face. “Storm warning came in overnight. Roads are shut down.”
You turned slowly toward him. “You’re kidding.”
“Wish I was, princess.”
The realization settled between you both, “I’m stuck with…you? For the next two days?” You panicked.
“Not how I wanted to spend the only days I have away from you, either.”
You ignored him, trying to find a way out, “There has to be an Uber available for me to go-” you were cut short again when you saw that there were no rides available. “I was supposed to go house-sitting for my sister. Ugh.”
“Is that why you looked like you’re carrying a duffle bag at work, but you still wanted to take my Tom Ford?”
“It does not look that big.”
“I can see three sets of clothes packed in there right now. But yeah, by all means, take the shirt I bought with my own money.”
“You’re not gonna die without it, you fuckin’ crybaby. And yes, she’s gone to Mexico to meet her boyfriend’s parents.” You stared out, trying to figure out how to get out of here to not only save yourself from the impending truth about how you’d slept with Rafe, but also that you enjoyed it to the point where you felt yourself heating up at the thought of last night. Rafe walked away, overwhelmed that you were not only wearing his shirt like he’d once dreamed of, but that he’d have to spend two days with you even though you both couldn’t stand to be around one another.
It wasn’t until moments later when Rafe walked up and offered you a protein bar, “It’s for breakfast.”
You stared at it, “You don’t have any food in the house?”
“I do, but the chef I hired won’t be able to come in so...”
“And you don’t know how to cook?” You stared at him incredulously, wondering how he could live in such a place, with the most beautiful kitchen you’d ever seen, and not even use it. “You have groceries, just make something.”
“I don’t have time for that.”
“You know damn well you do,” you replied, walking over to open the fridge, with you being met with rows of neatly organized containers and glass bottles of green juice. Typical, you thought to yourself. There was enough food to feed a family of five.
“If I did, I wouldn’t have hired someone,” he said defensively behind you. You turned, brows raised. “And now you have all the time in the world, yet you’re relying on a protein bar.”
He leaned against the counter, arms crossed, watching you move around his kitchen like you belonged there, opening cabinets to pull out a pan, then tying your hair back with the elastic from your wrist.
Something in his chest tightened once he realized what you were about to do. No one had ever willingly done anything for him before without expecting something in return, at least not since his mother passed.
“You don’t have to—” he started.
“I know,” you cut him off. “I want to.”
Rafe went quiet, before you spoke up again. “But you’re going to do it with me.”
The rest of the day went by with both of you actively avoiding each other, except every single opportunity between you two led to both of you irritating each other.
You both were sitting on opposite sides of the couch, Rafe mindlessly scrolling on his phone while you watched TV.
“You breath loud” he said without looking up.
You turned slowly, “I do not breath loudly. Have you heard yourself snore?”
“Someone paid attention last night,” Rafe smirked. You shook your head, looking away from him and returning back to where you’d left off. “What are you even watching?”
“You hate it.”
“Put it back on,” he said when you reached for the remote.
Oddly enough, Rafe had offered to make you coffee as a way to warm you both up, but your skepticism made you follow him into the kitchen when he was taking too long. On the counter, a mug, handthrown and nothing like the aesthetic that Rafe had going on in this place, was set.
You grabbed it without thinking twice, hoping it’d be a quick exit for you to get back to your book, when you took a sip and immediately grimaced.
“Jesus, Rafe, this tastes like—”
“That’s mine.”
You froze mid-sentence. Slowly, you looked down at the mug in your hand, seeing nothing but black coffee swirling in its confinements, then back up at him. He was leaning against the counter, holding another cup that was identical to yours except your coffee was lighter.
“My sister, Wheezie, she got into pottery and sent this over to me a while back,” He walked over to you, holding your coffee mug out. “Made yours with cream and sugar.”
“You couldn’t label it?” you muttered, suddenly very aware of where your lips had just been.
“You didn’t ask.”
You scoffed, but handed the mug to Rafe in exchange for your drink. You watched as he turned it slightly in his hand, almost deliberately aligning it, then lifted the mug to his mouth and drank from the exact same spot your lips had just touched.
Your stomach flipped.
“That’s disgusting,” you said, but your voice came out thinner than you intended. Rafe lowered the mug, a faint smirk tugging at his mouth.
“Didn’t seem to bother you five seconds ago.”
Heat crept up your neck.
“You’re insufferable.” You took a sip from the mug, painted to look whimsical as ever, and smiled a little, “But your sister has a talent for painting though.”
Rafe’s phone buzzed once, and a couple more times afterwards, making you slightly annoyed as you continued to read your book.
Then he laughed, though it wasn’t in his usual sharp, detached huff, but something lighter. Warmer. The kind of laugh you’d heard before, back when boys thought they were subtle about having a crush. Your stomach twisted as it lingered over the possibility that all this time, Rafe was infatuated with someone else while you’d slept with him. Even worse, you’d began to feel warmer towards Rafe, where his glance made you slightly weak in the knees instead of digging your nails into the palms as you’d clenched your fists. Perhaps Sunny had been right, you did need to get laid, but getting laid by Rafe was not what you anticipated that she meant.
You glanced over, “Who’s that?”
“Why do you care?”
“You’re smiling at your screen! You never smile, period.”
Rafe turned to look at you and rolled his eyes, “So? It’s none of your business.”
You looked away, your cheeks blushing in embarrassment. Rafe was right, it really was none of your business and the fact that you cared more than you should have for someone you thought you despised mortified you.
It wasn’t until a bit later when he spoke up, “It was a picture of my niece from my sister, if you were wondering.”
Walking into the living room, you found Rafe doing push-ups on the floor. Shirtless.
Of course.
You rolled your eyes as you walked over to grab your laptop from your bag. “Is this really necessary?”
“Yes, I can’t miss a single day.”
“You live in this big ass fancy apartment and they don’t have a gym here?”
“It’s not like the one I go to,” he pushed up. The muscles on his back flexed as he continued his movements, making your mouth go slightly dry. He looked back up at you, sweat droplets dragging down his forehead and he noticed you in a trance. “You staring?”
“What? No, I’m judging you and your lack of form.”
“Sure you are.”
You grabbed a throw pillow and threw it at his head, but to your surprise, he caught it mid-air without breaking form.
“Don’t you have anything else to do?” He said between reps, his voice heavy.
He dropped to the floor again, slower this time. You hated how your eyes followed the movement, seeing his back flex made you wonder about what it felt to have touched them last night. The way his short spurts of breath and heavy whimpering reminded you of what you’d heard as Rafe thrusted into you made confused all over again, so you grabbed your things and walked away.
“You folded that wrong.” Rafe said, watching you handle his laundry.
“It’s a towel, Rafe, how else does one fold it?”
“It has a system,” he walked over to the living room where you’d set up his laundry, grabbing it from you and rolling it up, “and don’t touch my stuff.”
“You left it in the dryer for God knows how long,” you fussed, “I need to do mine too if I’m stuck here. Instead of being a tad bit grateful that I’m keeping this place functional, you keep bitching at me.”
“I’m not the one with a stick up her ass,” Rafe shot back, completely unbothered, hands shoved into his sweatpants pockets.
You scoffed. “Please. If anyone here has a stick up their ass, it’s—”
Something cold smacked into the side of your shoulder.
You froze. Slowly, you looked down to find snow, packed into a neat little ball, already crumbling against your sweater.
Rafe stood three feet away by the balcony, lips pressed together like he was trying not to smile. Your jaw dropped. “Did you just—”
Another snowball hit you. This time square in the chest, making you gasp.
“Oh, my- RAFE!”
You lunged for the small pile of snow gathered along the balcony edge, scooping some up and launching it at him. He dodged the first one easily, laughing which only made you more determined.
“I am hilarious,” he said, ducking again, then retaliating with one that caught your hip. “You’re just mad you’re losing.”
“I am not—”
You stepped forward too fast.
Your sock hit melted slush.
The world tilted.
There was a split second where you realized you were going down—followed immediately by the impact of Rafe grabbing for you, which only made both of you lose balance entirely. You landed on your back with a startled gasp, feeling the impact of the hard surface beneath you, only for Rafe to land on top of you. Neither of you moved, simply looking each other in the eyes. Rafe broke contact first, just to glance down at your lips, though you caught it. Snowflakes drifted down around you as the wind blew some threw the open balcony door. Rafe’s weight braced on his forearms so he didn’t crush you, but still close enough that you could feel his breath against your cheek.
Then you started laughing. You weren’t even sure why, maybe from the adrenaline, or perhaps the absurdity of this situation as a whole was insane enough. Rafe blinked down at you—and then he laughed too. A warm, genuine laugh, eliciting the same way you felt when you saw his baby picture of him, almost as if you wanted to take him in your arms and tell him that he’s okay, that he doesn’t need to keep playing the cold, restrained person he always came off as.
Soon, your laughter faded when you realized how close your faces where. You could see the tiny scare near his eyebrow, the way his pupils were blown wider than normal, and the faint baby pink flush in his cheeks from the cold. Your voice came out softer than you meant. “I… have bath salts.”
His brows pulled together slightly. “What?”
“In my bag,” you clarified, suddenly very aware of his hands still planted on either side of you. “If you… wanted to warm up together. Since this is technically your fault.”
A beat.
Then his mouth tilted into that slow, dangerous smile you were starting to recognize.
“Yeah,” he said quietly. “Yeah, okay.”
The bathroom filled with steam quickly, the large tub taking longer than expected to fill. You both hovered in that awkward not-awkward space of pretending this was normal while absolutely knowing it wasn’t.
“You’re getting in with your clothes on?” Rafe asked, nodding towards your discarded sweater.
“They’re underwear,” you said defensively. “And you’re literally wearing sweatpants.”
“They come off.”
“I wasn’t born yesterday,” you scoffed as you stepped out of your sweatpants and placed them to the side. “No need to be a smartass.”
“Pretty sure I can be anything I want in my house, princeess.” You hated how easily your body betrayed you, the way your pulse softened instead of spiking like it would when he’d call you that in the office.
A few minutes and Rafe dumping more than half of your bottle of bath salts later, you both were in the tub, him in his boxer briefs, you in underwear and a thin tank, knees bumping occasionally under the water as lavender-scented steam curled between you two. For once, neither of you were talking, afraid to ruin an intimate moment as this that’d come after a day of banter and snark thrown at each other.
Rafe sat across from you, arms resting loosely along the sides of the tub, but his shoulders stayed tight — like he was hyperaware of every inch of space between you, or the way your bodies would accidentally touch and then immediately pull away from each other. Even then, Rafe would count the seconds until it’d happen again. His eyes were fixed on his thumbs as he twiddled them to distract himself from staring at your features and wondering how he’d carve them if he’d been a sculptor back in the sixteenth century. He was feeling more vulnerable than he’d ever felt since he’d moved away from his hometown.
It wasn’t supposed to feel like, he should’ve been more resentful towards you. He should have just stayed in his home office and let you roam about like he wasn’t even there, that’s what he would’ve done at the office. Instead, he found himself wanting to be around you all the time, like leaving you to be on your own wasn’t an option, even if it meant bickering with you all the time. Bickering was barely an issue to him anymore, Rafe enjoyed it because at least it meant someone paid attention to him past the surface level and materialism that he had to offer. You’d spent the day in his kitchen, on his couch, arguing with him, laughing at him, even laughing with him. Being forced to exist in a space that had never felt like anything more than a hotel room that he happened to call home, until now.
Rafe loved the way you fought him, even if it peeved him a little. He loved how you never folded when he pushed, and he pushed you a lot more than he should, just to see if you’d still be there after. He loved when you’d call him out when he knew he deserved it. He loved the way you never thought twice to speak your mind during business meetings, even having a civil argument that he knew he would’ve fumbled if he let his emotions get the best of him. He loved how you’d always leave at 2:30 to grab an iced latte with Sunny but still stay late to make up for the time you’d wasted.
Love. Rafe loved you. Yet, you’d never know it.
The worst part was knowing you reacted to him the way he’d reacted to everyone else, but he couldn’t understand what made you resent him in the first place. Every bite in your tone was something he’d handed to you first. He hated that about himself. He hated that the best day he’d had in years had been spent doing nothing but arguing and cooking and throwing snow at each other like children.
Rafe hesitated to speak up and ask why you felt the way you did, afraid that he’d say the wrong thing and you’d leave him to cool in the steaming mist. He glanced at you through the steam, only to find you staring at the water, absentmindedly dragging your fingers through it. You would never realize that you’d shifted something inside him just by staying, and he knew he’d forever yearn for the chance to explain how he adored you in ways he’d only ever seen his mother adored in, or how he had the same glint in his eyes like his sister, Sarah, did when she met her partner. You’d never understand why he’d felt so at peace just laying in your arms, even if it was a night you both did on a spur, or how his hand molded the small dip of your back so perfectly, that he’d keep it there forever, even if it meant using superglue.
His train of thought finally stopped in its tracks when you’d spoken up, “Who’s the woman with you in that picture?”
Rafe looked up again to see you looking at him with a curious look, making him almost soften from the inside from how innocent and real it made you look, though, it felt far more dangerous than any insult you’d ever thrown at him.
“Which one?”
You looked at him knowingly, almost as if you could sense the internal battle of thoughts that were in his mind. You softly replied, not wanting to come off as snarky as you usually did. “You know which one I’m talking about.”
His chest loosened. “That’s my mom,” he said, voice softer than he intended. Something in your expression shifted — subtle, but he caught it. The tension in your shoulders stayed, but your mouth parted just slightly like you hadn’t realized you were holding your breath until now.
“Oh.”
“She died when I was younger. It’s one of my favourite pictures I took before leaving my hometown.” He paused, watching you process it.
“I’m so sorry, Rafe.”
Rafe shrugged it off and looked away, his jaw tightening for a moment like he was bracing for impact. “She was the only one who ever really believed in me. Like, even if I’d been scared to do something, she never let me feel doubt in myself.
“Mom kind of just made me feel like I… belonged, y’know? Sarah had my dad on her side, but with Mom, I knew she was in my corner. But she never chose between us. She used to always tell me how she hopes I’m just as good of a person in the future.”
He chuckled to himself over the irony of it all, “Guess I screwed that up when she died. It was like everything flipped and I kept tripping over myself for everything I did.”
“I’m sure it wasn’t like that,” you tried to reassure him, the gesture feeling foreign to do it to him, specifically, “
“No, it was-” Rafe cut himself off and huffed a breath. He tried to steady himself as he continued. “My dad… He was nothing like her.” He rubbed the back of his neck, fingers dragging slowly as though the words weighed like burdens on his neck that he kept holding up.
“After she died, I was just- I felt SO alone and it didn’t help that he’d dialled in on me and held it against me. Every mistake I made, every time I screwed up… he made sure I didn’t forget it.” His throat worked around the next sentence. “And I gave him plenty to work with.”
You didn’t say anything but swish through the spacious bathtub to sit next to him, the water’s rippling slowing as you settled next to him. Close enough that he felt the warmth of you, close that he didn’t feel alone with the memories he was recounting.
“I’m not proud of the stuff I did,” he said quietly. “The drugs, the fights… losing control all the damn time. I was out of hand. And he’d look at me like I wasn’t just disappointing him — like I was confirming everything he already believed.” Rafe could already hear the scold and lectures that Ward had given him, replaying like a vinyl that set to play any time through his brain at any given moment.
“I know I deserved him to lash at me, I had to be straightened out. But I just wanted my dad… I just wanted him to at least try to make it feel like mom wasn’t gone.” His fingers curled at his sides. You reached out, your hand brushing his arm, but it was enough for him that he felt it all the way down to his chest.
“He got me this job kind of as repayment for a favour he’d done for Jason a while back. For once in my life, it’s the real chance I’ve gotten to make something of myself and prove that I’m not the screwup he decided I was. I don’t even care what I have to do to do it, I just want to prove him wrong, so he’d shut up and not see me as some fuck up.”
“Rafe,” you spoke up, “You don’t have to prove anything to someone who never tried to understand you.” His eyes flicked to yours, wary of you as he searched the slightest amount of sarcasm in your voice.
“But if you want to prove something to yourself?” you continued. “Then do it the way you want, not the way your dad wants you to.”
For a second, he didn’t move. Then his shoulders loosened, not from pain this time, but from being able to take off one of the weights he had on his shoulders and breathe a little better. “It’d been so many years, I almost forgot what her laugh sounded like,” he paused, “until I heard yours. You kind of have the same laugh as hers.”
Guilty and warmth bloomed in you, brewing low in your chest in a way that you hadn’t expected. Part of you made it feel adored that he’d specifically looked for your voice, that he actually liked it. Yet, it weighed on you that even with such a comparison, you thought of all the times he thought of his mother, hurting over her absence and having a painful reminder that he’d have to listen to without any control over it.
You swallowed, your chest tightening with a tenderness you weren’t ready for. “She sounds like someone anyone would’ve been lucky to know.”
All Rafe could do was nod, he could feel his pulse in his throat that signals the familiar edge of panic he’d get whenever he thought about his past. Vulnerability always felt like a mistake, so it was easier to push it down and be harsh to everyone else around him, because he’d indirectly just be disciplining himself to not be weak. He saw it though, the way you didn’t look at him and think he was weak as he poured his biggest flaw in him to you.
Rafe couldn’t tell if it was just his emotions getting in the way, or if his feelings for you had started to feel even more prevalent as he felt the water move between your bodies, becoming more aware that you were next to him, that you willingly moved to by his side. He wasn’t sure if he deserved that kind of steadiness from someone — but for the first time in a long while, he wanted to try. Wanted to be someone his mom would’ve recognized, someone she would’ve been proud of. Then he remembered how he got to this point in the first place, and took the leap of faith that he’d been hesitant to take for a while.
“Why do you hate me so much?” Rafe asked bluntly, wincing once he realized that he’d probably ruined the moment. He watched as you stopped your movements and looked at him like he’d said the most obvious thing ever.
“You don’t remember?”
“I- no? You keep acting so hostile towards me and I don’t even have a clue what I did.” Rafe felt helpless, not even remotely knowing what he might have done to you for him to make you act this way except compete against you to see who was better.
You scoffed to yourself, not believing that he wasn’t aware of it. Suddenly, you felt like you were in that meeting room all over again, sitting in the seat as you sank further into it. The harsh lights in your eyes that made blurred whatever happened afterwards, the tight knot in your throat and the way your palms had gone cold as you pretended that it all didn’t sting.
The memory hit you so sharply you almost forgot to breathe.
Of course he didn’t remember. Why would he? To him, it had probably been a gateway to where he was now versus your current position at work. Something he’d lobbed because he could — because he didn’t think anyone would take it to heart. His words replayed in your head as you imagined yourself back in that position, I don’t even care what I have to do to do it.
You lifted your eyes to his, your voice steady though your body clearly wasn’t. You could feel yourself shake even though the water hadn’t cooled yet. “Rafe, you don’t remember the Northland acquisition deal from three years ago when we both joined?”
You’d stayed overtime at the office three nights in a row this week alone, your eyes burning as you worked tirelessly on spreadsheets that bled into strategy trees, colorcoded tabs fanned across the table like ribs. You’d rehearsed contingencies until your voice went hoarse. Confidence exuded through you as you walked into the meeting room to present it to Jason, who directly managed over you, and two other executives from the company. It was going to work, you knew it, you had been at it for over a month.
The door opened, for you to find Rafe walking in, relaxed, his sleeves pushed up like he’d been here forever instead of six months like you’d been. “Hey, this for the meeting?”
You stood proud, smiling to yourself as you slid your desk across the deck. “This is the route that gets us to Northland without overpaying in year one-tiered earn-outs, a staggered approach over their governance, and lockup language that keeps their OFC on our side.”
Rafe hadn’t paid much attention, absentmindedly nodding to your words and skimming the first page. “Got it.”
Finally, the presentation started, but as soon as you’d gotten up to present your strategy, it’d immediately left when Rafe had gotten up faster and sauntered the front. It all shocked you that you’d stayed remained sat when everything inside you was screaming to get up and put him in his place, but instead, you were frozen.
“Rafe, what are you-”
Jason interjected in a tone that made you want to throw up as he called your name in a hushed tone, “Sit, let Rafe do his presentation.”
A wrecking ball hitting through bricks couldn’t cover half of what you felt at the moment.
Rafe talked clean and fast — your earnout ladder, your governance framework, your lockup clause. Your model numbers, your talking points, your risk table, everything that you’d lost sleep over was coming out of his mouth like he’d stuck his hands in the mud and did the dirty work. Jason nodded, pleased as he announced that he knew that taking him on the team. The CEO said it was brilliantly done, while the CFO said exactly what we needed. At the front of the room, Rafe was smug as he glowed with the praise he’d gotten. Not a single mention that you’d done the work left Rafe’s mouth, the praise didn’t drift your way. It moved around you, like current skirting a rock.
You sat still, your lips pressed together so tightly, you were afraid you’d bite through the skin. Your fingers pressed to the paper so they wouldn’t shake. When it ended, you blinked back the hot tears that welled in your eyes, managed a professional smile, and walked out of the door with resentment at Rafe brewing deep within you. For days, you told yourself you’d be fine, but every email that mentioned Northland, along with Rafe’s name written right after, was like a knife to the heart.
It wasn’t until you thought back to the last time you’d felt this defeated that sobered you up, numbed you from the name and months that came after the acquisition was complete, because you knew how to survive being erased once. Because not too long ago, someone who you’d given your heart, would diminish your hopes, saying you’d never make past a certain point because you weren’t built for the pressure. He’d said it like clockwork, as if it was a pacifier to sooth your ex from the fact that he’d been falling behind as you excelled in your field, and you’d still fight back every single time. But at night, when you’d look yourself in the mirror, it hurt to think that someone thought as lowly of you as he did.
You promised yourself then that you’d prove him that you weren’t the type to crack, and even more so, you promised yourself that you’d be proud of yourself, even if no one else said your name out loud.
Rafe looked down, telling you that he remembered the events of that day as clearly as you did, guilt twisting his stomach all over again like it did when he first stepped up in front of the room that day.
He remembered that day all too well, the way Ward had called, condescending him that if he didn’t have anything to show for this job, he was done for. With all the pent-up anger, he’d just looked at you, content and focused as you looked through your slides, he could feel your energy from behind the glass and see that you clearly belonged in that room more than he ever it. But as he looked at the text Ward had sent over that call, Rafe decided it was his moment to take. Back then, he’d told himself it didn’t matter. That you would tolerate him anyway if he tried to charm you just right, that you wouldn’t care, that it was just strategy and numbers and a clean presentation. But beneath all of that, buried under layers of pride and fear, was the part of him that wanted you to notice him — to see something in him worth looking twice at.
A part of him felt bad, especially when he’d been intrigued by you from the day he’d joined. Drawn to you in a way that irritated him as much as it scared him. You were sharp, unshakeable, impossible to ignore. He found himself watching you in meetings longer than he should, memorizing the way your eyebrow twitched when you disagreed with someone, the way you bit your lip as you were deep in thought.
But when he lifted his eyes to you after presenting, he couldn’t miss the glassy coat over your eyes. He realized that you had noticed him, just not in the way you wanted.
Your voice came out leveled, no bite like it usually did which made it worse.
“You used my strategy, Rafe. You took the deck off my desk while I was in the print room, changed the title slide, and pitched it. Jason and the execs all give you their respect, and you didn’t correct them once. You didn’t look at me. You just… took the win.”
Rafe breathed out, the sound low and uneven. He rubbed a hand over his face, a frustrated, ashamed drag. When he looked at you again, the defensiveness was gone; something raw sat in its place. “I did. I did look at you.” His voice cracked, almost too quietly to hear. “I shouldn’t have done that. Especially not you.”
You held his gaze, not daring to look away. “Do you know how much it hurts to see everything you worked on be blatantly taken from your hands and you don’t even get the simplest acknowledgement?” You curled up, your legs pulling themselves up to your chest as you wallowed in where you were three years ago.
“It cost me something to let you walk out of that room with it,” you whispered. “It cost me even more to keep showing up after to keep proving myself.”
The steam from the warm water died down, yet still, something heavy and thick with regret filled the atmosphere.
Rafe looked down at his hands, the bravado he always wore like armor had seams now. “I was desperate,” he said, this voice low and rough. “That’s not… I’m not saying it was okay. It wasn’t. I just, I’d gotten off of a call with my dad, and I wanted a win so bad that I didn’t think twice about who I was hurting. Not saying that my dad is an excuse either. I just, reacted irrationally.”
A beat passed by before Rafe spoke up again, “I’m sorry.”
You exhaled, not sure what to do with the ache his apology unlocked. “I worked for that acquisition deal,” you said, softer now. “Not just the hours, Rafe, years. Building myself back up after someone I trusted told me I wasn’t enough. I told myself I would never let anyone decide my ceiling again. And then you—” Your voice thinned, until you steadied it again. “You made me feel small. And I hated that I let you.”
Rafe closed his eyes for a second, like the only way to stand still was to shut something out. When he opened them, they were steady. The water between you quieted, now cold, but the warmth your bodies kept it bearable. He shifted closer, your arms pressed against each other, but it felt like they found shape with each other quickly. He was careful, like the space itself might shatter. “I can’t change that day,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “But I can change the next one.”
You studied him, the fight and the fear both visible now. The part of you that had learned to endure wanted to fold back into silence and keep moving. The part of you that had learned to be proud wanted the truth to land. “You want to prove your dad wrong,” you said. “I get that. I’ve been proving ghosts wrong my whole life.” You took a breath. “But if you want to prove something, do it on your own accords, on your own terms. Do it through a way that wouldn’t make you regret it after.”
Rafe’s expression shifted. not dramatically, but enough that you saw something crack open in him. Something he’d been holding back for far longer than he should have. He wet his lips, eyes flicking down, then back up at you like he wasn’t sure if he had the right to say the next words aloud. “You know… every time I look at you, I think about what I could’ve been if I wasn’t so damn stupid back then.”
You squinted at him, eyebrows furred together in a way that, caught off guard by the quiet sincerity in his voice.
He gave a small, humorless laugh. “Y’know I always notice you, right? Even when you give me the hardest time.” His fingers brushed the surface of the water, creating soft ripples between you.
“You walk into rooms like you already know what you’re worth.” His breath stuttered just slightly.
Your heart thudded once, hard.
Rafe swallowed, his voice dropping to something rougher. “You were the first person here who actually made me want to be better. Especially when I pretended you pissed me off.”
You felt a warmth rise in your chest, confusing and achingly familiar.
“And after the Northland acquisition,” he continued, softer now, “I kept telling myself you hated me because you saw right through me. Because you knew I wasn’t on your level.” His eyes searched yours, earnest in a way that made your throat tighten.
“But the truth is… I just wanted you to look at me the way you looked at your work. Like I mattered. I know my worth, but it crumbles when it comes to you, and I’d let it crumble at your mercy a thousand times over if it meant I could be in your presence all the time.” The confession hung between you, fragile and unguarded.
Before you could respond, Rafe took a slow breath, his hand hesitating in the water before settling gently at your waist. Not pulling — just making contact, asking for your permission without explicitly asking. “Tell me if this is too much,” he murmured.
You didn’t move away, you let the moment hold you both. And that was all the permission he needed. He guided you toward him, careful and deliberate, the water shifting around your hips as your knees brushed his. You felt the warmth of him beneath you, grounding and steady, as he pulled you onto his lap as though he’d imagined doing it a hundred times but never believed he’d actually be allowed. The movement sent a soft splash against the sides of the tub, ripples spreading around you in lazy circles.
Rafe’s breath hitched, his nose brushing yours, his forehead touching your own like he needed one more second to be sure. “I don’t want to keep messing this up,” he whispered, voice cracking just slightly. “Not with you.”
Your arms curled around his shoulders, drawing him closer. You didn’t have to say a word. He closed the last inch and kissed you—slow and reverent—like he’d been waiting for this since forever. The water stilled around you both, but everything inside you felt like it was finally moving. You returned his kiss, moving your lips around his like you were dancing around the confession. It wasn’t before long until his arms left your waist and traced a path of fire down to your thighs, moving your legs wrapping around his waist as he settled you against the thick, hard ridge of his cock. The friction was a delicious promise, a silent vow of what was to come.
The rest of the night dissolved into a hazy, feverish dream. The tension that had always coiled between you was gone, replaced by a profound, aching need to be close. Your clothes became a forgotten trail on the bathroom floor as he carried you to his bedroom, his gaze never leaving yours. He laid you down against his sheets like you were something precious.
Every kiss was softer, more apologetic than the last, a silent atonement for every harsh word ever spoken. Every thrust was slower, more deliberate, a prolonged act of worship rather than a claim of ownership. It was slow, like you both were taking the time to learn each other’s bodies. Rafe moved with an unhurried rhythm, hitting deep, forcing you to feel every thick inch of him as he stretched and filled you completely.
Every so often, Rafe’s lips would brush against your ear, whispering sweet nothings that made your inner walls clench around him as he hit your cervix.
"M' so sorry, princess."
"My girl," he groaned, his voice thick with emotion as he pressed impossibly deeper, the head of his cock kissing your cervix. "Taking me so well."
And when you awoke in his arms the next morning, the world felt softer somehow — muted by snowfall and the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath your cheek. You didn’t question it. Didn’t question him. Instead, you burrowed closer, tucking your face into the warmth of his shoulder, letting sleep pull you under again like a tide you were finally willing to surrender to.
The rest of the weekend unfolded in that same suspended, dreamlike rhythm.
The banter never disappeared — it simply changed shape. Sharper edges softened into teasing smiles, insults dissolving into quiet laughter that lingered a little too long. You found yourselves tangled beneath the same blanket more often than not, knees brushing, shoulders pressed together while you traded stories about childhood embarrassments, nightmare clients, and the strange paths that had led you both here.
At some point, you realized you were memorizing him — the cadence of his voice when he talked about something he loved, the crease that formed between his brows when he concentrated, the way his hand would absentmindedly find your hip like it belonged there.
And when Rafe surprised you with dinner — something he’d cooked himself, unevenly chopped vegetables and all — it wasn’t the food that made your chest ache.
It was the quiet pride in his eyes when he set the plate down in front of you. Like you mattered more than anything he’d ever tried to win before.
It wasn’t until late in the evening when you’d gotten news that the snow had cleared up and you could safely head out now.
“I’ll just head home since the snow’s cleared,” you stated, packing whatever you’d taken out back into your bag. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”
“What? No, you can stay here, it’s just another night.” Rafe looked at you, what looked to me, an attempt at making puppy eyes. “Please?”
“You did not just try to make puppy eyes at me at your grown age.”
“Did it work?”
“…Yes.”
As soon as you’d both gotten to work, it was as if a switch had gone off, and Rafe was back to his usual self, either annoying you or being cocky. He was no longer the soft, vulnerable man you’d seen him as when you left the apartment together, nor the one who’d pressed sleepy kisses into your shoulder before you’d slipped out of bed that morning. By the time your elevator reach the floor to your office, he barely even looked at you.
Meetings came and went, emails flew back and forth within your circles, even conversations happened around you like you weren’t even there. If it’d been anyone else who’d done it, you would’ve brushed it off as normal workplace distance. But this was Rafe, the man who’d tried to convince you to skip work with him and pretend the snow caused your absence. It wasn’t until you skipped your daily coffee run with Sunny when she dropped your drink and stared at you, eyes wide and feral with curiosity.
“Something’s wrong. What happened during the snowstorm?”
“Nothing’s wrong,” you continued to type before thanking her for the drink and grabbing, “It was just a regular-shmegular snow storm.” You thought you’d played it off as nonchalant as you possibly could as she eyed you up and down, her honey brown eyes taking in every single detail of your appearance.
“You got laid.”
You choked on your coffee. “What?”
“You’re glowing,” she whispered loudly. “Your hair looks suspiciously blown out better than usual. And you’re wearing the ‘I have secrets’ face. You got laid.”
“I did not—”
“You DID,” she emphasized. “My intuition does not lie, don’t lie to me.”
You glanced across the floor before you could stop yourself. Rafe was at his desk, jaw tight, shoulders squared, typing with aggressive precision like the keyboard had personally offended him. He didn’t look up once, though you could tell he was listening.
Your stomach sank, unsure why he’d pulled a 180 and suddenly acted like you no longer existed to him.
“…Okay maybe I did,” you muttered.
Sunny gasped like she’d just witnessed a solar eclipse. “WITH WHO? Was it the bartender guy?”
You didn’t answer, just simply looking down to avoid confirming or denying anything.
“Oh my God. It was!”
Suddenly, you both were started when Rafe had let out a huge huff and walked by your desk, still not making any eye contact with you.
The next three days were worse. If avoidance were an Olympic sport, Rafe would’ve taken gold. It was nothing but short replies and no eye contact. He’d even started delegating through others on the team instead of speaking to you directly. He was professional to the point of cruelty, which made the burden you’d had on you worsen as you stayed late finishing your latest project. You’d found yourself tuning out more and replaying the weekend over again, just to see if you’d overthought and misinterpreted anything. If the night in the bath was just purely out of frustration and you’d been vulnerable with each other out of obligation.
By the time the Eden-Young acquisition presentation arrived, you were running purely on spite and caffeine. The conference room was packed. The same two execs from the last time you’d presented, multiple financial planning analysts, and your boss at the head of the table.
You thought back to the last time you’d given a strategy rundown for a company this big, and remembered everything that transpired after. You worked hard to where you were today, and even if Rafe was in the room, looking at everywhere but you, you’d be damned if it dampened your performance. And so you did, you’d delivered your presentation almost flawlessly, the projections, integration strategy, and risk mitigation all outlinted to a tee. Weeks of work poured into twenty minutes.
When you finished, there was a brief silence. Then your boss nodded slowly, proud of how you’d done.
“Impressive. You’ve clearly been taking notes from Rafe.”
Though he’d given you the only thing you’d cared about, the words hit like a slap. All the effort you’d put in, just be credited to Rafe.
Before you could even react, Rafe spoke.
“That was all her.”
The room shifted, and suddenly all eyes were on Rafe or you. Your boss looked between you both. “Excuse me?”
Rafe leaned back slightly, completely calm. “The modeling, the integration timeline, the synergy assumptions — she did all of it. The work is hers. Just like the Northland acquisition.”
Your boss blinked, then nodded again, this time toward you.
“Well. Excellent work.”
Heat rushed to your face — pride, validation, and yet, confusion tangled underneath at the base. The man who had just given you public credit hadn’t spoken more than ten words to you all week, he hadn’t looked your way at all, he didn’t even acknowledge your existence. It made the praise feel heavier somehow, like a bouquet handed over a locked door. It was like he’d now sparked the firestarter in you, and before you knew it, you had the same resentment you’d held for him before.
Except this time, you were going to outright confront him.
You kept an eye out for when Rafe was about to leave, though he always left late. It wasn’t until he’d gotten up from his desk to head out when you grabbed his arm and pulled him into an empty conference room closeby.
“What the hell if your problem?” you demanded.
Rafe froze, surprised by the contact.
“You ignore me for three days,” you continued, voice tight. “and then suddenly you’re defending me in meetings like nothing happened? You don’t get to do that. You don’t get to pretend the weekend didn’t happen.”
His jaw locked just as his hand flexed open, itching to grab onto you. You couldn’t understand his constraint against you when you’d laid everything bare in front of him.
“I wasn’t pretending,” he said quietly.
“Really? Because it sure felt like—”
“I was trying to figure out if it was real.” That stopped you. You looked at Rafe, only to find him looking back at you with raw emotion and uncertainty. The tears you’d held back all week finally welled in the corner of your eyes as you could tell that he was being vulnerable again, that he truly was at a crossroads with himself.
“I needed to know,” he continued, voice lower, “that I wasn’t just… caught up in proximity. Or adrenaline. Or finally getting something I’ve wanted for years.” He swallowed. “I needed to know I wasn’t going to ruin you because I couldn’t separate work from… this.”
“Rafe—”
“I love you.”
The words landed heavy between you, but it made your heart begin to race faster than it had when you first saw him.
“I think I have for a while,” he admitted. “I just didn’t realize it wasn’t hate until you stayed. Until you didn’t leave Saturday morning. Until you were in my kitchen telling me I don’t know how to use my own stove.”
A shaky breath left him as he continued. “You’re the best part of my day,” he said. “Even when you’re yelling at me. Especially when you’re yelling at me. So, I took a few days to make sure I wasn’t about to screw this up.”
The silence stretched, only thing to be heard was your sniffles from your failed attempt at keeping your tears at bay. All this time, Rafe had been trying to figure out why he felt the way he did, but it hurt you more that he felt the need to step away just to save you from being hurt again.
As you wiped your tears with the back of your sleeve, you spoke up again. “You could have came to me, Rafe. We could have worked this out.”
“I know, but,” Rafe ran his hand through his buzzed hair, exasperated, “If I lose you, then I lose it all. No one’s ever made me this happy or anxious all at once, but.” He paused and looked at you, and with the way you looked at him earnestly, willing to hear him out even after what he’d done, Rafe felt himself falling in love with you all over again. “I want to love you the right way. However it is you want me to.”
You gently placed your palms on his cheeks, pulling his face closer as you softly placed a kiss on his lips as if it were a seal of confirmation that you, in fact, loved him as well. Even if you didn’t say it out loud.
“You don’t have to love me perfectly,” you whispered against his lips, your voice still fragile from crying. “You just have to love me the way you know how to. And honestly.”
The words seemed to land somewhere deep inside him, somewhere bruised and guarded that he didn’t let many people reach. His hands came up instinctively, wrapping around your wrists where they cradled his face, like he needed to anchor himself there. Relief flooded his face so quickly it almost made you laugh through the remnants of your tears. He leaned forward again, pressing another kiss to your lips, steadier this time, like something had finally clicked into place. You both were so enamoured with each other, you hadn’t realized a figure in the door way, gaping at the scene in front of her.
tw : face fcking, power imbalance, age gap, uhhh i think thats it.
“ah, it's you again.”
you been visiting the ER more times than what a 23 year old should. sometimes its a headache, a knee injury, but really, almost all of the times is you wanting to see your favorite doctor.
Dr. Rafe Cameron.
the man responsible of allowing you past the full waiting and into a room where someone who actually needs medical help could occupy. “what is it, this time?” rafe needed to stop whatever this was. he was sure acting this way towards a patient, a patient that has no life threatening injuries nonetheless was extremely unprofessional.
but how could he ignore you when you looked at him with sad eyes and pouty lips. “my jaw hurts..” you mumble, gazing up at him while rubbing the side of your jaw. he sighs, ultimately pushing whatever nasty thoughts he had to actually tend to you. he cups your jaw, gently feeling the area. “open your mouth..." and when you do, he cant help but feel his scrubs feeling tighter. “then close it.”
he gulps, backing up. “well thankfully there's no popping, so it must be soreness.” “but-” “no buts, sweetheart. we been over this, you cant keep coming back.” you stare at him with a pout, fidgeting with your sleeves.
“i told you we would have our time when i got out of work.”
yeah. he had fallen for you the moment you came in, a year ago. you went through a car accident, he technically saved your life. and since then, well he's been hooked. he's too scared to ask you to be his girlfriend, but you're obviously more than a FWB. since then you been a regular patient in the ER, his patient. “i know but you take so long and i-”
“lay down, sweetheart.” rafe sighs, softly pushing you down on the bed before he goes to the room door and locking it. he closes the blinds before going up to you. “dirty girl... so impatient for me.” shivers run down your back, lips parting as you open them to speak. “shh. just relax, im a doctor, remember?” he says sarcastically. shifting you so your face is close to his waist. “i know what im doing.” once he brushes hair off your face, he pulls his scrubs down.
“so, your jaw's been hurting...” you nod, staring at his hands as they scoop his cock out. “it could be due to an act of stress.." he coos, smirking at how your eyes light up at the sight of his cock. “like in the morning, remember? or last night. or the day before th-“ “okay i get it...” you giggle, rolling your eyes. “so, what will you prescribe me, doctor cameron?”
“maybe a good mouth stuffing.." he proposes, eyes fluttering as you take matters into your own hands and take his tip into your mouth. “fuck, baby... we better hurry.” you whine against his cock, his hands caging your head as he thrusts his cock into your mouth at his pace.
“fuck..” he groans, his eyes shutting tightly as he fastens his pace. he's completely unaware of the mess you are. the sloppy, teared eyed mess you turned as he continues slamming his cock into your mouth.
“you're so pretty like this baby... taking all of me-” he jerks his hips, eyes rolling back as he gropes your breasts. “all of me like a good girl. every inch...coated in your spit.” you moan on his cock, squirming as your hands grip his thighs. after a few more thrusts, he releases his load inside your mouth.
“good girl... swallow all of it.” he hums, gently rubbing your bottom lip before tapping his tip against your plump lips. “satisfied?” he says, this time more softer. he pulls his pants up, adjusting his scrubs before helping you up. “y-yeah. alot.” you giggle shakily, licking your lips. “up you go," rafe helps you up, gently smacking your ass. “go home, sweetheart. and wait up for me, alright? ill leave earlier. just for you.” you cant hold in your excitement, so you hug him tightly.
he hugs you back, kissing your forehead before letting you go. “now go on before people start getting suspicious.” he says with another peck, this time on your cheek.
and you leave; satisfied, and with his taste in the back of your throat. you know people stare as you and him walk out at the same time, and you also know people definitely notice the way his stare lingers on you as you walk out of the ER. but you dont mind. not when you're the one he comes home to, and the one he comes on.
summary: clark’s always been adamant on being private with his personal life. few friends, low profile, and a hushed relationship. he can’t understand why people would want to publicize everything about their life. that is until he sees you talking to one of the school’s football players.
pairing: quarterback!clark x student body president!fem!reader
tags: tooth rotting FLUFF, legally aged students making out, established secret relationships, clark being Whipped with a capital W, slightly insecure clark, emotionally mature reader, football descriptions, no use of y/n
The faint smell of donuts and caramel coffee fill the council office as you hear the soft click of the door lock. You turn around and you're immediately met with your boyfriend, clad in his plaid blue button-up longsleeve shirt, worn-out bag slung over his shoulders, and lips immediately placing a soft kiss on your cheek.
"Woah, woah, hold it there farm boy," you laugh, placing a hand right in the middle of his chest as his kisses quickly descended to your neck. The thought of him not actually locking the door haunted your mind.
"What?" He breathes. Still continuing his attacks on the column of your neck while carefully placing your food and beverage on your table. "I missed you."
With a little more effort on your push—which was exceptionally hard considering how much Clark has improved in terms of making you lose your mind—he finally pulls away. A bummed-out pout shaping his lips.
You smile even wider. Who knew the big friendly farm boy everyone walks all over on is actually the biggest grump when he doesn't get kisses?
No one, of course. Not one soul in Smallville High School knows because your relationship with Clark isn't even out to the public. Not even your closest friend knows about it—and you're sure his closest friends don't know either.
But it's been like that for three out of the on-going four years you two have spent in Smallville High and so naturally neither of you wanted to break the streak.
You run your head through his soft brown locks, giving him a sweet kiss on the lips. Clark's face immediately lights up, already pulling you off of the table you were leaning on to exchange positions. This time, he has a better view of the blank canvas that is your collarbone.
"Missed you," he repeated. "Brought you donuts and coffee from the Talon."
"Didn't know they did deliveries again." You humor him, grabbing the brown bag and pulling a donut out. Clark watched as you point the donut at him, urging him to take a bite. With his eyes locked in yours, he takes a slow and relaxed bite. You wipe the side of his mouth with your finger before taking your own bite. Groaning when the sweet taste of the glazed donut touches your tongue.
"They allow it for certain people." Clark plays along, nodding at you. His eyes wander to the gigantic bulletin board you had in the council office, seeing almost ten listed items now struck-off with a bright red marker. "Specifically people that are overworking themselves again."
You roll your eyes, rolling to his side as you grab the cup of coffee. "Who says I was? I just did my job."
"Babe, you aren't the only one on the council. You can't just cover for everyone's jobs just 'cause they aren't doing theirs," Clark replies, watching you eat.
"Says the one that always takes on Chloe's extra load," You retort with a sly grin. "You do know that the reason most of Chloe's writers are bailing on her is because they don't like her way of gathering her news, right?" You place down the coffee, still eating your donut as you place a hand on the one Clark had resting on the table.
Clark chuckles, "Chloe's my friend, what can I say? She's been like that since fifth grade."
"At least she's passionate about it. It's so rare to see someone so committed in their craft that I can't even deny whenever Chloe asks me for an exclusive… which, mind you, is almost seven times a week." You sigh, head subtly shaking.
"Weren't you the one that wanted somebody aside from me to interview you?" Clark furrows his eyebrows, putting on a thinking face. His eyes squint, "Something along the lines of not getting work done."
Your eyes roll back, finishing the glazed donut in your hand. "Yeah, 'cause I clearly remember how we spent twenty-five minutes eating each other's faces and five minutes actually answering questions."
You throw the crumpled brown bag to the trash bin from afar. You miss, badly, but Clark's quick to distract you from your lack of shooting skills by kissing you. Again.
"Let's shorten that twenty-five minutes then," he smiles into the kiss. Snaking his arm around your waist as he could still taste the sugary taste of the donut on your tongue.
The kiss was anything but sweet. It was full of hunger, desire… and something you can't quite pinpoint. Usually Clark has his own rhythm of sucking the air out of you but this time it's messy—all over the place. Like you'd disappear any moment now if he didn't move faster.
He doesn't mistake the very subtle jingle of door handle. He hears it crystal clear and yet, he doesn't pull away. When the sound registers in your ear, you pull away without a second to think.
You immediately grab a spare folder on the other table. Clearing your throat as you looked down on it, pretending to flip through the papers. Clark on the other hand looked directly at the student who came in.
It was Adam. The same guy he saw you with earlier.
"Oh—is this a bad time? I can come by later?"
"Actually," Clark begins but you cut him off.
"No, it's fine. Do you have a concern?" You ask directly. Putting on your professional mask as you looked at Adam by the door. Ignoring how you can actually feel Clark glaring holes at the side of your face with his jaw clenched.
Adam stutters. Shifting from you to Clark, then back to you. "I, uh, I was wondering if there were any other tutors available? I'm kinda flunking Chemistry and I need to ace the upcoming test."
"Then study," you hear Clark mumble. It was a little louder than he had expected but who cares, obviously not him.
You inhale sharply, turning your head to the bulletin board for the tutoring sessions for the month. Your shoulders flunk when you see your name under the Chemistry border. The other one—Lana—was already done with her tutoring hours so it was only you left.
Your head turns to Clark. He had already seen the arrangement on the bulletin board, he was looking at you now to wait for your response to Adam's request.
"Uhm, you can take my slot. What time works for you?"
"Any time you're free." Adam smiles at you. Clark rolls his eyes.
You nod unenthusiastically. Taking the clipboard beside Clark and handing it to Adam. "You can write on the 4:30 PM row. I'll be at the library fifteen minutes prior to our schedule, and I can wait for you until quarter to five."
Adam happily writes his name, glancing up to see you and Clark exchanging looks. "Is he signing up for a tutoring class too?"
"No," the two of you say in unison.
Your eyebrows furrow slightly at Clark. The farm boy breathing deeply before he responds. "I'm asking about the, uh, football schedule," he looks at you for confirmation. When you nod approvingly, he does too. "Yeah, the football schedule."
"Oh… Well, shouldn't you be asking Coach Teague that?"
"How would you know?" Clark raises an eyebrow, sounding way sassier than you ever heard him speak. Adam looks at him with subtle surprise, masking it with a friendly smile. "Because I am in the football team?"
The air quickly shifts as Clark and Adam have a stare-down. Only broken off when you clear your throat. Adam reluctantly says goodbye, stepping out of the office with a wave directed to you.
When the door closes, you turn to Clark with your arms crossed. "What?" He groans. He knows that look all too well.
"Are you okay with me tutoring him?" You ask straightforwardly.
"Why wouldn't I be? You've tutored dozens of our classmates over the years." He shrugs. His hand slowly coming up to tug on the strap of his bag.
"You sure? 'Cause it's a yes or no question, Clark. I can have someone else cover for me if you don't want me to tutor him," you say genuinely. Brushing away the lock of hair that fell in front of his handsome face.
Clark's lips purse into a thin line as he nods, hands finding solace on your hips. "Yes, baby, I'm sure. Just… don't overwork yourself, okay? I don't want you gettin' tired from something that isn't even your job."
You bite back a smile, looking into his eyes with stars in yours while he pulls you in for a hug. Your head rests on his shoulder as you wonder to yourself—how exactly did I manage to score a man like this?
"Gotta go, handsome. I'll see you back home," you give him a chaste kiss. Using every self-control you have not to respond to Clark's obvious attempts of deepening the kiss.
The first tutoring session you had with Adam was a quick one. Adam had a pretty solid foundation, he understood the concepts clearly, his only flaw was in his application of said concepts. Usually, he'd do well on the conceptual-based questions while also failing the problems connected to it.
One session wasn't going to cut it and so he booked you for four other sessions. All of which had a longer time frame, extending thirty minutes more from the usual one and a half hour long session. That only meant that you had to spend two hours with him every Tuesday and Thursday for two whole weeks.
Now if Clark didn't find it bothersome the first time, he definitely did now.
"So, uh, we still up for six later?" Adam leans on the locker next to years, smiling.
"Yeah, uh, sure. Of course. I'll see you at the library." You smile back. You quickly turn back to your locker and grab your things fast. Adam wasted no time diving into another subject.
"Oh, by the way, I—y'know, I really appreciate you being my tutor. I know you're juggling a lot of responsibilities and still, you never come to a session late and…" your eyebrow arches, waiting for him to finish. Thankfully, he takes the look in your face as a hint. "I was wondering if you'd let me treat you to a coffee? Just something after our session to show my thanks."
Your response arrives fast, without any hesitation. "No, Adam."
Adam gets caught off-guard by the firmness in your voice. He didn't expect you to say yes right away but he didn't exactly expect you to deny it in a split second too. He thought you'd at least think it over for a minute.
"Oh! But, it's, uh, y'know, coffee as friends. I'm not asking you out on a date," he laughs awkwardly but you could see right through him.
"I appreciate the thought, Adam, but no. If you have any questions about the lessons we're discussing, you can reach out to me—but anything else besides that, please do not." You breathe deeply. Eyes catching on the tall figure at the end of the hall, watching your encounter with Adam. "I have to go. I'll see you at the library."
You don't give Adam a second to respond, immediately slipping out of his sight only to find the end of the hall empty. No plaid-wearing farm boy in sight. You swallow on nothing, beginning to feel a thump in your chest.
It takes you some time of walking around to finally catch a glimpse of him. He was standing beside Chloe, visibly talking about something as they had laughs on their faces. You walk over to them, locking eyes with Clark in the process.
Just as you were about to walk by them—and possibly strike up some small talk—your shoulder gets nudged by your friends.
"Hey! We were looking all over for you! Did you hear the news?" Janet, your friend, says.
"What news?"
"Not so fresh meat just made it onto the roster. Rumor says he's starting quarterback," another friend, Rose, says. Her tone held a bit of bite to it, as if she didn't want him on the spot in the first place.
"Now that's a nice headline," a bright voice speaks. All three of you turning to the shaggy-haired blonde. "What d'you think, Clark? Not so fresh senior meat now starting quarterback. Kinda has a ring to me."
You tried to act naturally, chuckling at Chloe's words despite your friends glaring at them. Since he is the topic, you look at Clark. Eyes round and awaiting a response from him.
He doesn't respond though. He simply shrugs, looking at you like your were nothing before pulling Chloe away from probably stirring up a fight.
"That guy has some problems," Rose rolls her eyes, checking her nails carelessly.
"Yeah. He's already senior and he's only just tried out for football now? Damn. Talk about a late bloomer," Janet says high-fiving Rose.
"At least he's cute… right?" Janet turns to you.
"Huh?"
"Clark Kent. He's cute, right?" When Janet repeats her question, you felt something inside of you twitch. Janet's calling your boyfriend cute, and Rose's agreeing with her too. They're checking your boyfriend out. Shamelessly.
But you can't even worry about that now—your mind is filled with the way Clark looked at you moments ago. Like you were nothing. Like he hasn't met you even once.
Of course, you two hide your relationship to the school but there's always something unspoken of each time you look into each other's eyes. It's a comfort and a pleasure at the same time. A cozy blanket in the cold air. Hot chocolate every Christmas. Donuts and caramel coffee in hidden rendezvouses.
There were none of those when Clark looked at you earlier. You can't help but feel there's something wrong.
"Hey Mr. and Mrs. K! I was wondering if Clark was around?" You ask with a smile.
Your relationship with Clark may be a secret to everyone in Smallville, but his parents are a definite exception. Yours, not so much.
Jonathan and Martha share a look you recognize to be an apologetic one. "He's, uh, he's at the barn. He's been there since he got home." Martha answers with a strained smile.
You feel even weirder because Clark's parents have been nothing short of supportive. You two may have hidden the relationship from them for four months but they definitely enjoyed the idea of their son going out with you.
When you nod determinedly, turning around to head to said barn, Jonathan calls you. "Clark's, uh… you may want to be careful approaching him. He's a bit pent-up, with the football and stuff."
You nod. "Oh, of course! I'll be careful. Maybe he just needs a little cheer up."
You head over to the barn in haste. Walking up the loft to see Clark with his head down, writing something in his notebook as a stack of textbooks sat beside it.
"Knock knock." You knock on the wooden rails, letting the sound resonate through the barn.
Clark looks up from his notebook, smiling the moment he registers it was you. But you notice his smile didn't quite reach his eyes. Still, you set that aside.
"What a surprise," he replies, voice clipped. "I thought you'd be slumped up with your council work and tutoring."
"And miss out an awesome opportunity to spend time with the charming plaid-wearing farm boy? Pftt, never," you drop yourself beside him. Propping your elbow up on the backrest as you turned your body towards him.
Clark chuckles, looking back down on the coffee table as he began writing again. You felt an even stronger twitch in your body when he does that—ignore you.
He may be tired, drained, or pissed off—but he had never gone through a second of seeing you without kissing you the moment the coast was clear. He'd always sneak in the quickest of kisses even though you two would get caught if he was slower by a millisecond.
"Clark, hey," you touch his shoulder. "I missed you."
His head keeps itself in place, "Missed you too, baby. How was your day?"
"Clearly not as harsh as yours has been. Wanna talk about it? I can spend the night…" you pause. "Oh, also, I heard you're starting quarterback! How'd that happen?"
"Did you now?" He laughs dryly.
The smile on your face falters, his tone felt like a bucket of ice was dumped on your head without your knowledge. He drops his pen, leaning back on the couch as he actually looks at you for the first time this night.
"Well, the previous one was injured. I stepped in." His answer is short and direct. His voice lacking the enthusiasm you're used to. "How about your day?"
You blink. Once. Twice. Thrice.
"Clark, what's the problem?"
Clark's eyes flicker up towards yours, hurt and anxiety evident in your pupils. He feels a tinge of guilt in his chest. Licking his lips, he reaches out for you only for you to pull away.
"Did I do something wrong?" You question. Though no matter how firm your voice was, Clark knew it was close to breaking.
"No, no, baby, you did nothing wrong—" Clark's voice rises as he panics. Fully reaching out to you so he can pull you to his chest. "It's… it's me, okay? I… I just—" he takes in a deep breath. "Don't you think it's time we made our relationship public?"
It's clear that you were surprised with his question. The sharp inhale and your raised eyebrows gave it away no doubt. But why wouldn't you be? Not once has Clark ever thought about making your relationship public. In fact, he was the one that actually proposed it in the first place.
You tried your best to understand him though. "Is there a reason why you want to make our relationship public?"
"Babe, we've been hiding our relationship for three years. We started when we were sophomores, we're seniors now. No one can worry about us anymore. We're graduating in a few months—who cares by now?" This is the first time his voice actually held some energy to it. His hands intertwined with yours as he looks at you for approval.
"Clark, I know when you're lying," you say. Clark's throat bobbing up and down as he clenches his jaw. You place a hand on his cheek, your other hand running through his hair comfortingly, "You know you can tell me anything, Clark. Let's talk about this like adults."
It takes him a second to actually decide to speak, and another second to construct the words in his head. "I don't like how people still think you're single," he starts. "The guys talk about you, people in the hall talk about you… I hear so many promises from people that they'll ask you out either after the game or after graduation—regardless, I can't even respond. I can't tell them that you're my girlfriend because in the first place, no one knows about us—no one'd believe me." You feel his heart beat faster. The continuous thump underneath his chest makes your stomach flip as well.
"Call me selfish, but I can't take it when other people look at you and think that they can have you." His voice drops, hands tightening on yours.
"Like Adam?"
A scoff comes from him. "Yeah, like Adam. Have you even heard half of the stuff he says about you in the locker rooms?" Clark's voice raises. His sharp features straining furiously before he feels your hand tighten around his. It prompts him to raise your intertwined hands, kissing your knuckles. "It's nothing bad, baby, believe me. He wouldn't be walkin' straight if they were bad. It was just that he's so in his head that he actually thought he can take you out on a date."
"So this is about Adam?" You arch a brow, testing the waters. When Clark shakes his head, looking away to hide the smile on his face, you laugh. "Well, y'know, farm boy, he actually just asked me out earlier."
"I know. I heard."
"Then you also heard what I responded with?" Your lips widen slowly.
He sighs, turning his head back to you. "Yes, I did."
You smile at him. He returns it, ten times wider than yours. Your heart flips as the smile finally reaches his eyes—finally feeling right.
Quiet envelopes you both. A comfortable silence before you snuggle on his lap, resting your head on his muscular chest. "I understand how you feel, baby."
One of the things Clark loved about you was your ability to always have him heard and understood. Even the dozens of times he's missed your dates, suddenly cancelling unannounced; you've always been there for him with a patient mind, an awaiting ear… and probably a grumpy attitude when Clark specifically dipped on a day you were really looking forward to.
Now, one thing definitely changed; if before you had to trap him in the barn, force him to be honest and say his feelings, you were content that now all you had to do was talk to him sincerely and directly, no interruptions, and no hotheads.
"Does this mean we're going public?" Clark asks cautiously.
You lift your head, letting your chin rest on the center of his chest. "Just do good on the game tomorrow, 'kay farm boy? We'll see how the day goes."
It wasn't the answer Clark wanted, but he accepted it. It was better than giving him the hard no.
And so you laid there the whole night, trying your best to stay awake while Clark told you about his day. His hands running aimlessly through your hair and body until you fell asleep. When you did, he took you to his bedroom and let you sleep there.
A soft and tender kiss on your forehead to end the night.
Loud roars of the crowd could be heard from any side of the field.
The bleachers were packed with people, majority came from Smallville High while some were from the rival school playing. It's been quite some time since the game started and yet, it still feels like a win can be called any moment now.
You were there—since the very start—sitting at the very front row with Chloe by your side. Your friends Janet and Rose sitting away where the cheerleaders were sat. Each time you watched Clark fall short of a goal, you could feel your heart thump even harder.
Way before the game started, you had another little rendezvous with Clark. Giving him the best good luck charm in the form of red lace—which God knows where he kept—and a kiss on the cheek.
Clark's been training for this game for so long now. Weeks of hardworking and sweat come to this very day where he finally gets to earn his teammates' respect.
31-28, in favor of the opponent.
The air gets struck out of your system when you see the opposing team score another point. Slowly building on their lead against the Crows. Your teeth unconsciously nibbles on your lower lip, pulling and biting the soft tissue as you prayed for a plot twist.
"C'mon Clark, c'mon," you mumble under your breath. Glancing at Jonathan and Martha from a far as they too shared nervous and worried looks.
You hear a ring from somewhere, and suddenly they're all splitting into their respective teams. "The Crows asked for a time out," Chloe says. You nod, noting that on the pad of paper that Chloe gave you earlier. Both of you have been noting game highlights since the start of the game.
"Should we try interviewing them?" The blonde was already standing when she asks you that, eyes narrowed at the group of players bundled far from them.
"No." You shake your head. Chloe looks at you weirdly, you sounded way too energetic. "It's not really the best time, Chloe."
Seven seconds remain on the clock. All players head back to the center line as the game resumes back. Your eyes lock with Clark despite the distance. You could barely make out the expression on his face while he could clearly see yours—full of anxiety and hope, hands in a prayer position in the middle of your face.
With a new found drive to make you proud, he turns to the front to look at the opposing team.
You watch as all of the players scramble fast as soon as the clock began. Clark inhaled, clocking his arm back before throwing the football with all of his human force, every fiber in his being hoping that the other quarterback is able to catch it before the time ran out.
The football felt like it was on air for more than five minutes. Every head in the football grounds followed the brown ball as it made its way across the field, every person holding in their breaths as the second player reached up as the time hit two seconds.
On the last second, he lands a touchdown.
Happiness shoots through your body as you jump with Chloe on the stands. Lungs screaming Clark's name as thunderous cheers filled the space, loud enough to even make the ground shake. The players run over to Clark, crashing into him while he throws away his helmet, eyes immediately searching for you. Just you.
Your heart begins beating faster, the idea in your head being thrown away as your legs move on their own.
Clark watches as you rush down the bleachers, sliding past everyone and anyone in your way. Confusion hits him for a second until he finally understands what you're going to do. Shrugging off his teammates, he runs over to the bleachers' side, the amount of adrenaline running in his veins was almost enough to push him to super speed onto your side and lift you up—almost.
The moment you reach the ground, Clark's already jumping over the fence, catching you in his arms.
"Clark!" You yell out, feeling his strong arms tighten around your waist as he spins you around. Your hair moves with the wind as it splatters messily all over Clark's face, his lips stretched into the widest and biggest smile you've ever seen from him. "You did—"
Your words are cut off as Clark lifts you even higher, crashing his lips into yours. The outside world is anything but a figment of his imagination now that he has you in his arms just after winning his first game as a quarterback—and the best thing of it all, was that it was in front of the whole school.
The deafening sound of cheers and wolf whistles make you smile into the kiss, head subtly pulling back only for Clark to hungrily chase after you, not letting you up so easily. When he finally does, with his lips all puffy and swollen, he's staring at you with nothing but affection.
"A real quarterback now, huh?" You tease, smirking lightheartedly at him.
Clark rolls his eyes, lunging forward to give you another kiss on your lips. "Not really, just your boyfriend."
You lose yourself in his smile, only to be pulled away from it when your head moves to the side. You see Clark's parents looking at you two with proud smiles while beside them were his friends—all of which had a shocked look on their faces.
Clark squeezes your side to get your attention back. A contented look grows on his face as he keeps his hold around you, making the moment last just a little longer before you two face the outcome of whatever just happened.
"Ready to put me down, farm boy?"
"Never.”
hearts, reblogs, and comments are highly appreaciated if you loved the fic !
mary janes. baking. animal lover. picnics. golden girl. sundresses. luxurious curls. poetry. paired with cowboy!rafe
SUGAR!READER who is the kind of woman people remember long after they’ve left the farmstand. she is gentle, warm, and endlessly kind, but she’s never been stupid or blind to the world. she spends her days gathering eggs, milking cows, and setting up the little farmstand by the road. cooking is her love language, and while she adores her wife duties, she also enjoys taking care of herself. putting in rollers for the perfect blowout, always wearing dainty blouses and keeping her lips glossy.
SUGAR!READER who got married at eighteen for the sake of her parents and stepped straight into the role of a wife without ever questioning it. she didn’t travel, didn’t rebel, didn’t dream too big, cause deep down she knew with whom she was destined to be. the farm became her whole world, and she learned to love its routines and quietness. she never thought she was missing anything, because she didn’t know there was more.
SUGAR!READER who meets rafe and feels something shift inside her. he’s free in ways she’s never been. at first, she thinks he’s just passing through, just to help out. but the longer he stays, the more he makes her curious. with rafe, she starts to question the life she accepted without thinking. he doesn’t try to change her, doesn’t belittle her life. he sees sugar as more than just the farmer’s wife. how gentle she is with the animals, and how the whole place seems warmer when she’s around.
SUGAR!READER and rafe who keep their distance at first. falling for each other slowly. they know every look is a risk, that every touch could ruin everything. but with rafe it feels different. he writes her notes instead of touching her, meeting her in the barn instead of stealing her away. they know it’s wrong, but every time they try to stop it, one of them comes running back the day after. walking away from each other feels impossible.
summary you’re home for the holidays and while you thought you’d be excited to reunite with your friends, you’re dreading seeing zach again. it’ll just be a painful reminder that he claimed your heart long ago. and that you never claimed his.
tropes/tags brother’s best friend. snowed in. mutual pining. angst. mentions of alcohol. mild spice. she falls first, he falls harder. something about the winter season always makes me want to write about zach <3
Cold air pricks your cheeks as soon as you step out of the car. You shut the passenger door behind you, its slam echoing through the quiet neighborhood, blanketed in dusk.
Your breaths spill into small puffs of fog as you take cautious steps over the icy driveway behind Jordan, your pulse thundering.
You’ve been here so many times before. Zach’s house was the default. Always the place your group of friends met to hang out.
You got to know him over senior year, when your twin brother’s friends and yours began to blend, the eight of you inseparable. With college looming and the thought of parting ways, you and Jordan clung to the time you still had together.
You were never the type of siblings to outright say you loved each other. Your bond showed up in the way you joked and poked fun at each other. Beneath it was always a deep friendship.
Every weekend of your last year of high school passed by with the same people, and every time you saw Zach, every time you learned more about your brother’s best friend and teammate, every time you shared a laugh, you fell harder.
And it’s been hell getting over someone you were never even with. You haven’t seen him in months, since summer faded into a memory. Yet the heaviness in your stomach betrays you, proof that every attempt to erase your feelings has failed.
You want to see him. But you don’t, at the same time.
You reach the front door, and after Jordan rings the doorbell, he jerks forward, slipping and clinging onto the handle.
“Shit!” he chokes.
You crack a laugh, watching your brother scramble over the ice before regaining his footing.
“Be careful,” you chortle.
“Helpful,” he chides.
You wish you’d forgotten, but you remember everything about Zach. You realize it when he swings open the door.
It comes rushing back, the way his hair is always a little messy, the way the clothes he throws over his broad frame look so soft, the way he has a permanent smirk playing on his lips. You even notice the shallow scar on his chin, the one that he’d told you he got from his little sister when they were younger, a mishap on a playground.
And most deeply, when Zach’s eyes meet yours, you relive the pain inside you that won’t fade, the pain that reminds you that you’re still hopelessly enamored with him.
“I almost just died,” Jordan says to him.
“You slipped,” you tease, looking down as you step into the house.
You trade greetings, then follow Zach downstairs, the rumble of your friends’ conversations growing louder. And you wonder if he’s thinking about the last time you spoke. If texting even counts as speaking.
It was a week into freshman year and he texted you: settled in? You responded, purposely without a question: yes :) Hope you are, too.
He texted a few days after, saying to let him know how your Tuesday goes. Over the summer, you’d told him about how you had back-to-back classes on opposite sides of campus on Tuesdays, and you’d joked together how you’d have to sprint to make it on time.
That Tuesday came and went. You didn’t text him back. He was just being kind by checking in on you and you didn’t want to go through it anymore. The nerves in your stomach whenever you wrote him a message. The leap in your chest every time his name flashed on your phone. The aching hope that he saw you as more than a friend. And the pang in your heart when you realized if he felt something, he would have told you.
Because that’s who Zach is. He doesn’t hold back. He wears his heart on his sleeve. You’ve watched him flirt with girls, watched him date them, watched him get his heart broken and bounce back, ready to risk it again. It was masochistic to hope that one day he’d look at you the same way.
The rest of your friends are already here, sprawled across the rec room downstairs, the coffee table littered with drinks and snacks. It’s typical. Zach likes to host. He possesses such warmth, finding joy in making people feel welcome.
And you wish you could stop thinking of him like this. As more than a friend.
You greet everyone with hugs and then settle on the plush couch, conversation flowing seamlessly, as if no time has passed at all. Zach sits on the ottoman, long legs stretched out in front of him, making him look far too big for the seat.
You catch up with the group, mentioning how much you like your classes and how much you dislike your roommate. The attention eventually shifts to Zach, and you learn that his parents are away on a trip and his sister is at a sleepover, explaining the dark quiet enveloping the rest of the house.
Soon after, Jordan asks him what it’s like to play at the college level, and you’re glad he does, because you’ve been dying to know despite your efforts to forget him.
Everyone knew Zach was the best on your high school’s soccer team. That he was destined to keep playing post-grad. You’ve sat on the bleachers many times, meant to be there for your brother but staring at Zach instead, watching him command the field and carry the team.
But you really saw him through the private conversations you’d held at the end of parties when everyone else, but you two, was wasted. You wished those stolen moments held as much importance to him as they did to you.
But he has every right not to care as deeply as you do. That doesn’t make it hurt any less. It’s left you with a feeling of not being good enough, like there’s something about you that doesn’t get Zach’s heart twisted up like he does to you. Remembering that stings.
——
“You’re so bored you’re watching commercials?”
You glance away from the tv screen, focusing on Zach as he settles in the space next to you. The couch slightly sinks with his weight.
You offer him a small smile and he can tell it doesn’t reach your eyes. You’ve been zoned out tonight, and after nearly an hour of watching you drift your attention between your phone and the tv, he had to come over and ask.
You look down and it brings a pang to Zach’s chest, how you don’t care to really look at him. You’re indifferent to seeing him. You did the same thing when you arrived.
He wasn’t even sure you were coming. He sent a text to the group inviting everyone and when your brother responded with See you then, a part of him was worried you weren’t included.
“I’m a little out of it,” you reply. A small part of you buzzes knowing he caught on to your efforts to keep him at a distance, while the rest of you freezes with guilt at the idea of making him feel bad in any way. And then, worry tugs at you, whispering that you won’t be able to play it off.
“You okay?” he asks.
You look at him again. This attention he’s giving you, the way his eyes soften, sends a rush of endearment through you. You hadn’t expected him to care this much.
“Just tired,” you respond half-truthfully.
“Did you eat?” he asks. “You want me to get you something?”
You shake your head, your stomach coiling with a familiar ache. His kindness, his attentiveness, is what took your heart captive. That, and how much he cares about others. He’s slipped out of the room a couple times tonight to call his sister and make sure she’s doing okay.
“I’m good,” you lie. “We should head out soon, though.”
You look at your brother, who’s sprawled out on the couch, slurring as he jokes with your friends.
“You gonna be able to drive?” you call to him from across the loud room. He realizes you’re talking to him and waves passively.
“You can do it,” Jordan replies.
Zach sees the worry knit in your brows, the way your lips twist in displeasure.
“It’s really icy out there,” you say.
“Relax,” Jordan says dismissively.
Zach’s chest tightens. He wouldn’t ever say anything against your brother, not when he already understands the way you two speak to each other sometimes, but he gets protective over you. He doesn’t like when Jordan is even the slightest bit curt with you; it’s like his loyalties lie with his best friend’s sister, instead of his best friend.
“Jordan,” you whine.
“If you’re so scared, we’ll just crash here,” he offers.
“Did you ask Zach if that’s okay?” you reply.
The sound of you saying his name warms Zach’s chest.
“Is that okay?” Jordan shouts to Zach mockingly.
“No,” Zach replies with a joke, breaking the tension.
You sigh and meet his blue eyes, frustrated that you’ll have to be around Zach longer than you mentally prepared yourself for, guilty that he’ll have to host you two overnight.
“I’m sorry,” you say.
It’s not what Zach wants an apology for. It’s weird being upset with you. But he is. How could you just write him off after parting ways for college? It’s been needling at him for months, but now, being with you, it’s a frigid wave of sorrowful confusion consuming him.
“Don’t be,” is all he offers, swallowing down the bitterness.
You’re back to where you were before, with everyone else drunk or close to it, leaving you two to be the only sober, level-headed people in the room.
Zach gazes at you. He desperately wants to know what the hell he did to make you push him away. But more than that, he wants to know why you look so damned sad. He wants to fix it.
“You want to play something?” he offers.
You breathe a chuckle.
“You really feel like fighting right now?” you ask, your voice carrying a lighthearted lilt.
It’s a glimpse of who you once were together. You used to match each other in your competitiveness, taking every silly game and pointless bet much too seriously. Your energies once wove together so naturally. You’re trying not to go back to the past, but you crave that fun, that comfort again.
He shrugs, saying why not? with his heartbreaking grin. So much for staying away from him. He makes it impossible.
You look around the large rec room, which brims with games of every kind.
“Darts,” you decide.
“You’re going down,” he taunts, standing up.
You can’t stifle your smile as you follow him.
——
You’re quiet the first few rounds, tucked away on the far side of the room while your friends’ laughter and chatter spill around the tv. It’s always a tight match when you and Zach play anything, both of you treating it like the stakes are real.
“You’re standing way closer to it than I was,” Zach mumbles as you aim your last shot of the round. You narrow your eyes at him. A few feet away, he looms at your side, arms folded across his broad chest, smirking as he keeps his eyes on you.
“I’m shorter than you,” you say.
“That makes no sense,” he says with a boyish laugh. “Height has nothing to do with it.”
“Yes, it does,” you retort defiantly, the playful gleam in your eyes enough to flush heat over his cheeks. It’s alleviating, having you talking to him like this again. Like you used to.
“You’re breaking the rules,” he says.
“Are you like this on the field, too?” you reply with a shake of your head. “Such a rule-follower.”
He runs a hand through his honey-colored hair. You tear your eyes off of him to finally throw your last dart. As you step forward to pull them out of the cork, he says something behind you, almost inaudible.
“I’m barely even on it,” Zach admits, his voice quieter than you’re used to.
Your brows furrow as you grip the darts tighter, turning to face him. Barely on the field? The thought feels wrong.
“Really?” you ask, slowly stepping forward.
His jaw tightens, yet it’s so unmistakably Zach, the crooked smile curling his lips. It’s like he can’t handle any other emotion but happiness for long, like something rises up in him to push everything else away.
“I’ve played like, three minutes this semester,” he says lightheartedly, dimples caving into his cheeks. “My coach called me Matt the other day.”
The way your eyes deepen with concern is what he misses the most about you. You always did it when he told you things he tried to laugh off. He hasn’t confided in anyone about how chaotic college has been. How invisible and inadequate he feels. You were the only person he could talk to about that stuff.
He was always the easygoing, happy guy, always felt like he had to be, except with you. You used to give him this perfect mix of easy banter and sincere empathy. You’d tease him out of his frustration, and listen when he felt okay enough to tell the truth.
Then, you left him behind.
“That sucks,” you say. You know the man standing in front of you well enough to know he thrives on approval. He must hate feeling so unseen. “Is it like… you have to prove yourself?”
“All the new guys do. It’s cool. I’m bein’ a baby,” Zach says with a shrug. “So, your roommate sucks?”
You frown. He does this. He offers a peek into the painful things, then brushes it away.
“You’re not a baby,” you say. “I mean, you are, but not because of this.”
He smirks. It’s ridiculous, but imagining you calling him that with endearment sends his pulse racing.
“Why, then?” he asks.
“Because you were just whining about where I’m standing.”
“I take darts very seriously.”
You giggle. He missed that sound.
“Once your coach sees what you have to offer, he won’t let you off the field,” you tell him. “But don’t let it get to your head when that happens. Your ego’s big enough.”
Your consolation, playful yet empathetic, settles in him like warmth.
“You talk to your RA?” he asks.
He’s clearly still stuck on the roommate issue you mentioned back when you first got here. But that’s Zach: always trying to fix problems for other people.
“It hasn’t been so bad that I’ve had to,” you say.
He nods. He doesn’t like thinking you’re unhappy. You’re on his mind all the time, even during practice, which he spends hoping to get back to the locker room to see a text from you. But all he’s gotten since school started was a short reply and then nothing, and the ache in his chest just won’t go away.
As Zach aims his dart, you catch yourself studying the handsome balance of his face, gentle, but sharp.
“Don’t forget they’re there to help,” he says, eyes focused ahead.
You nod, noticing his concern, wishing he wouldn’t stress over you.
“I think I’m just homesick,” you admit. “I don’t know how everyone around me adjusted so fast.”
“Me, neither,” he says. He throws the dart, then throws a second in quick succession.
“You’re just trying to make me feel better,” you chuckle. “You could make friends in your sleep.”
“Wait. Was that a compliment?” He looks down at you and puts a big hand over his chest. “My ego… It’s growing…”
“Shut up,” you laugh.
“No, go back to being nice to me.”
“Never.”
“Never?” he says in a soft, joking whine. He throws his third dart quickly, landing sixty points.
“Oh, come on,” you sigh in defeat. He looks down at you again with a proud smirk, stepping forward.
“You gotta stay sharp,” he says, holding up his dart once he plucks it out of the board. “Get it?”
“I hate how I never see your dad jokes coming,” you say. Truthfully, you hate nothing about him. His playful, goofy nature is what makes him so fun to be around.
“I think you love it, actually,” he teases.
You playfully roll your eyes, but you feel utterly exposed. He’s right. You love everything about him, no matter how much you try to convince yourself not to.
——
After the game, you rejoin the group. Eventually, your friends begin to trickle out, each one escorted to the front door by Zach, reminding them to drive safely. By the time the last person leaves, Jordan is passed out on the couch in the rec room, snoring loudly.
“Ten bucks he says he’s never drinking again tomorrow,” you murmur, watching from the other couch as Zach comes down the stairs.
“I can’t take that bet,” he says. “You know he says it every time.”
Standing up, you let out a laugh, though the quiet between you now feels strangely awkward.
“You want to take my sister’s room?” he offers.
“Sure.”
“Come on. I’ll get you something to sleep in.”
You follow him up the staircase, then another leading to the third floor. As you pass the living room, you gaze at the Christmas tree, lights glowing among the crisp scent of pine.
You trail Zach to a part of the house you’ve never been to. His bedroom. You pause in the hallway as he flicks on the light and steps inside.
The faint aroma of laundry detergent lingers in the air. There are textbooks stacked on his desk. His backpack slumps against the bed frame and his jersey is draped over the back of his chair. It’s a glimpse into his life. And it’s so him. Scattered, but hardworking.
He collects a t-shirt and sweatpants from a drawer, tossing it to you. The cotton of the shirt is worn, the letters of your high school’s name faded but familiar. Embarrassment prickles your chest at the memory of the fantasies you once held, slipping into his clothes like a girlfriend would.
“This is soft,” you offer, just to say something. “Thanks.”
“Sure,” Zach says kindly. He steps past you, opening a door to the bathroom on the other side of the hallway. “There should be some extra toothbrushes in here.”
Of course. You’ve met his family a few times, and they’re warm people, surely the type to have everything a person they’re hosting might need.
Again, the fantasies of being his girlfriend return. You’ve imagined yourself as someone who matters to him so many times. You pictured evenings spent in this house, growing closer to his parents, laughing with his sister, discovering hidden pieces of him that only they know.
“Thanks,” you say again, taking the packaged toothbrush from his hand. “Which room is it?”
He silently guides you to the door beside his bedroom.
“Good night,” you say quietly.
You step past, careful not to brush against him, as if even the smallest touch would be too much. The door shuts behind you.
Of all the things hurting Zach, he can only focus on how much he hated hearing you’re homesick, especially this far into the year. That you’re sad, alone, and unwilling to let him help.
When he lies back in his bed, he stares at the ceiling, and all he sees is you.
He can’t stop thinking about your coldness. Downstairs, things had felt almost normal, your conversation falling into familiarity. But now, you’re distant again, acting like you can’t wait to get away from him.
What did he say? What did he do to make you so upset with him?
It’s killing him. Over the summer, he started caring about you more than he should have, even though he told himself not to because you’re his best friend’s sister. He tried to draw a line, tried to keep his feelings under control, but they grew anyway.
And the hole in his chest that’s formed due to the distance between you made it clear. You own a piece of him. But you don’t want him. If you did, you wouldn’t have written him off so easily.
Minutes pass. Zach exhales, steadying himself. He needs to talk to you.
He leaves his room and knocks on your door a few times. No answer. Maybe you’re already asleep. Maybe you’ve wandered to another room in the house.
This is his only chance. He can’t imagine returning to campus with this hanging over him. He needs to know what he did wrong.
——
Zach finds you in the sun room.
For a moment, he simply looks at you curled up on the couch, the night pressing against the glass panes stretching around you. Only the back of you is visible, the curve of your shoulders outlined by the faint light quietly buzzing from the overhead lamp.
He taps his knuckles on the wall to get your attention. Your gaze goes from the backyard, blanketed in shiny, untouched snow, to Zach. He’s standing in the doorway, having the same effect on you as always, making your heart skip.
His presence eases something in you, but it sharpens the hurt you’ve tried to bury, too. You came down here searching for a shred of peace, the knowledge that he was only a wall away from you too much to take, but your thoughts of him have refused to slow down.
He’s in his pajamas now, and it throws you off balance. The intimacy of seeing him this way.
“Hey,” his voice is low.
“Hi,” you reply.
He lingers, nerves coiling, the same kind of pressure he feels before a match. And the fear of what you might say is almost crushing. His eyes drift over his shirt on you as the words sit in his throat.
“What’d I do?” he finally says.
“What?”
“Did I do something?” he rephrases. “You’ve been acting different.”
Anxiety rings through you. You haven’t hidden it well enough.
“I’m good,” you say quickly. “I’m fine.”
“No, you’re not,” he says, a hint of irritation in his tone. He looks mad, and it’s odd, because Zach never looks mad at you.
You’ve only seen him angry once. At a championship game, when your brother was roughly taken down by the other team’s midfielder. He was livid at the guy. A glimpse of that intensity flickers now.
“Are you mad at me?” you ask.
The sadness in your eyes undoes him. It doesn’t feel right to be towering above you, creating a power dynamic. He settles on the couch beside you, the fabric of the cushions creaking under him.
Zach elbows are planted firmly on his thighs, shoulders tense as he looks out the window, instead of at you. His hands hang loosely, lacing and unlacing his fingers.
He is mad. But he’s hurt, too. And so confused.
“You just… stopped talking to me,” he says. You notice the rise and fall of his Adam’s apple, bobbing at his pause. “You said you’d keep in touch.”
It was a passive promise you made, because you thought he didn’t really care all that much. Zach is simply a friendly person, and it was better to accept that than to pine after him any longer.
Pushing him away was an act of self-preservation. It hurt too much to love him and not have him love you back.
“I didn’t think you cared,” you murmur.
His gaze flicks to you, the corners of his mouth twitching, betrayal etched into his features. It breaks your heart. You wounded him. You implied that his kindness was insincere. That your friendship was hollow.
And again, it’s unlike anything you’ve seen before with Zach – he’s not cracking a smile or making a joke to ease the tension.
“I’m sorry,” you say. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
Your mind spins with everything you haven’t said. Your unspoken confession claws at your heart, but fear keeps your lips sealed shut. You can’t possibly tell him the truth.
Your longing, your buried feelings, how long you’ve pretended you didn’t want more than friendship, all weigh on you.
“Then, why?” he presses.
“I… I figured you were just being nice.”
He breathes a scoff. You’re only hurting him again. It was the wrong thing to say.
“This isn’t coming out right,” you sigh. “I told you downstairs. You’re good at making friends. You get along with everyone. You care about everyone. I thought I was just… I don’t know.”
He grimaces. How could you not know how important you are? How did he mess up so badly that he led you to believe you don’t mean anything to him? He came down here angry with you, but now he’s angry with himself.
Zach’s stiff. He looks so upset. And you can’t take seeing him like this. Despite your better judgement, you put your hand on him, cupping the inside of his elbow.
Touching him, even so innocently, makes your stomach tighten. You’re close enough to smell toothpaste and soap, to feel the warmth radiating off his skin. He needs comfort right now. A friend. And you took that away from him.
Zach’s jaw tenses, eyes fixed ahead. Your touch makes his body buzz, mixing with the shame sitting deep in his gut. He needs to prove how much you matter to him.
“I tell you things nobody else knows,” he says.
A jolt of surprise surges through you. You mean more to him than you imagined. You didn’t know you carried his secrets.
“Is it something I did? Or is something else bothering you?” he murmurs, finally glancing at you again. “It sucks to just… not talk.”
“It sucks for me, too.” You swallow hard. He misses you. His blue eyes are fixed on you, swimming with hurt and a hint of disbelief. “Honestly. It does.”
You clear your throat. It feels wrong to lie, to make up that you’ve been busy. But it feels just as hard to tell him you pushed him away because he was unknowingly hurting you.
“I was wrong,” you say. “I’m really sorry.”
You don’t know if you can continue to be friends with him. But right now, it feels like you have no choice. How can you possibly abandon him?
Zach chews on his lip. Regret laces through him. He made you feel insignificant. And it gives him a sense of anxiety he’s never felt with you.
“I’m sorry, too,” he says. “I don’t want you thinking I don’t care about you.”
You should let go of him. You don’t want to. But you do. You clasp your hands in your lap, heart racing as you consider that baring it all to him.
He deserves to know the truth. You can’t let him think he’s responsible for any of this. It’s not his fault you fell for him.
You flatten your lips together, wondering how to start. Wondering if you even can.
You can see the hurt and confusion in his frown. He just wants to figure it out, how a girl could go from acting like a best friend to a stranger.
You inhale slowly and push past the discomfort, because he deserves a real answer.
“Zach, I distanced myself because staying friends was hard for me,” you say, keeping your eyes on your lap. “I know you don’t feel the same way I do and I was trying to protect myself from getting hurt. But I hurt you instead and I’m sorry. I should’ve been honest about my feelings for you.”
He straightens. It feels unreal, like a dream he doesn’t want to wake up from. Apprehensive hope burns in his chest and he’s almost afraid he isn’t hearing you right.
He says your name softly. You look up at him. It hurts more than you could’ve imagined, confessing your feelings to someone when you know he doesn’t return them.
“You don’t have to try to let me down easy,” you tell him, looking away again, shuffling to stand up. “I already know.”
“Wait,” he half-whispers, but you need to leave. Your throat tightens with the threat of tears, with the burn of rejection and embarrassment.
“Hey, hey, wait,” Zach says. He stands and strides forward, closing the distance in a heartbeat, and suddenly he’s there, between you and the open door.
“It’s okay,” you respond, shaking your head, still not looking at him.
“You’re way off,” he says.
Your gaze meets his, holding you in suspension. He tilts his head gently, blue eyes soft as they linger on you. And then, for the first time since he entered the room, his lips curve into a smile.
“What?” you ask, because your aching heart refuses to let you believe it.
Zach breathes a sigh. It sounds like relief. And finally, he touches you like he’s always wanted to, slow and hesitant.
When his hand cradles your face, thumb grazing your cheekbone, you lean into his touch. The faint roughness of his fingertips sends a shiver through you, equal parts comfort and surprise.
You can only hear your breathing, the howling wind outside, the ticking clock in the hallway. The warmth from his palm on your cheek comforts you in ways you didn’t know possible.
“You’re wrong,” Zach says, voice low and soft. “I’m crazy about you. Have been for a long time.”
He studies your pretty features, unable to believe this is happening, that it’s real, that the ache he’s held for you goes both ways, that you want him, too. And he craves you so much that it hurts.
“I need to kiss you,” he confesses, his deep voice hushed. “Can I?”
Every piece of you numbs in pleasure, in joy, and you only nod, because you’re not sure you’ll be able to speak.
He dips low and the feeling of his lips against yours is even better than what you dreamed. Zach is warm, insistent, sweet. The heat of him pressing closer makes your head swim.
A faint bang from downstairs shatters the moment. You flinch, pulling away as though the contact burned you. The silence that follows is heavy.
Zach blinks, as if waking from a dream, the shadow of your brother’s presence hanging over him. He momentarily forgot the reason he’s held back all this time. But now, with his lips still tingling, he can’t seem to remember why it ever mattered.
His hand lingers at your wrist, and his voice is low, thickened by desire.
“Do you want to go to my room?” he asks. Heat floods through you, his words promising a world where only the two of you exist.
——
You’re in a fit of giggles by the time you make it to Zach’s bedroom, your hand in his.
“You ran up here,” you whisper through a laugh. “I could barely keep up.”
He smirks, shutting the door behind you, cradling your face like he might lose you.
“Can you blame me?” he murmurs.
His mouth captures yours again and your eyes squeeze shut in pleasure. Slowly, he licks into your mouth, the taste of his tongue prompting a soft moan to spill from your throat.
The sound makes Zach’s body tighten with desire. He deepens the kiss, hands sliding down to yours to guide you to his bed.
You sink into the soft sheets, your head on his pillow, as he hovers over you and continues kissing you, slow and careful, still subdued because he doesn’t want to move too quickly.
“You okay here?” he whispers, hand gripping your hip, lips pressed against your neck.
“Yes,” you breathe. You’re in disbelief that you’re tasting him, feeling his heartbeat against your chest.
Time blends and weaves into itself, your hands threading in his soft hair as you share deep, slow kisses, savoring each other.
His lips are swollen when he eventually pulls back, eyes half-lidded as his gaze sweeps over your face.
“I didn’t think you liked me back,” he whispers with a shake of his head and a shy smile.
You breathe a soft laugh, tilting your head back in his pillow.
“It’s pretty obvious now, isn’t it?” you reply as you brush your fingers over his jaw.
“I would’ve told you a long time ago if…” Zach’s voice trails off, worry flickering in his gaze.
“Is it because of my brother?” you ask gently.
He flattens his lips together and nods. In that moment, the past feels rewritten. He did feel something for you; he just held himself back.
“Do I tell him?” you say, a bit concerned that he doesn’t actually want this to go anywhere.
“Tell him,” he says without hesitation. “If he wants to kick my ass, I can take it.”
You laugh, the sound soft and uncertain, but it feels good to let it out. Zach’s arms tighten around you and though you’re not sure how your brother will take this, you know he’ll adjust.
Because there isn’t a single reason strong enough to keep you away from the man holding you.
——
Footsteps thunder toward you as you sit in the corridor by the college bus stop. You look up just in time to see Zach, lips parted as he pants, clinging to the strap of his backpack on his shoulder. He’s clearly sprinted straight from practice to find you.
“Breathe,” you say with a giggle, your voice light but full of affection. You’ve only been here ten minutes, after a long bus ride you took just to visit him.
“I hate…” He sighs, dropping to one knee in front of you so he can meet your eyes despite the chaos of students shuffling past. “I hate making you wait. I’m sorry.”
“I knew you had practice,” you chuckle, squeezing his shoulder. “It’s okay, baby. Sit down before you pass out.”
He chuckles, collapsing onto the bench beside you, still catching his breath. It’s something else, hearing you call him baby, spending his practice knowing he’ll be seeing you and holding you and touching you afterwards.
“Coach kept me back to talk,” he explains, excitement flickering in his tired eyes. “He’s putting me on the field for the start of the next game.”
“That’s amazing,” you muse, leaning closer. “Can I say it now?”
“Go ahead, baby,” he sighs, with a smirk.
“Told you.”
Your righteous grin makes him laugh. He takes your hand, lifting it gently to his lips, pressing a kiss to the back of it.
You’ve been together just over a month. Your brother was shocked at first, but when he shrugged and told you to just not be gross around him, you knew he’d accepted it. And now, sitting here with Zach, you realize you’ve accepted it, too. This is real. He’s yours.
Zach stares at you, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. Right now, in one word, he feels lucky. Lucky that he knows you. Lucky that you want him, too. Lucky that you came all this way just to be with him. Lucky that he fell in love with you.
As the corridor hums with footsteps and voices, Zach leans in to kiss you. For him, all the noise stops here. When he’s with you.
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