the party is loud, warm, a little messy — bodies everywhere, music bleeding into laughter, beer cans clinking against the concrete. rafe tried to act normal for maybe the first hour. tried being social. tried being charming.
then the alcohol hit him just right.
now he’s sitting on the floor between your legs, back pressed to your thighs like that’s the most natural place in the world. your knees frame his shoulders, your hands resting lazily on his chest while he leans into you, loose and heavy and completely unbothered by anyone watching.
he’s drunk-drunk. the clingy kind. the kind that forgets the room exists.
“baby,” he murmurs, head tilting back so he can look up at you, eyes glossy, smile soft and stupid and in love. “stay. don’t move.”
you laugh, fingers sliding into his hair, scratching lightly at his scalp. he hums at the touch immediately, eyes fluttering closed like a cat that just got exactly what it wanted.
someone walks by, says his name. rafe doesn’t even flinch.
you feel his hand find your knee, fingers curling possessively like he needs the reminder that you’re real, that you’re there, that you’re his. his thumb rubs absent little circles through the fabric of your pants, slow and comforting, not even trying to be subtle.
“you’re so warm,” he mumbles, pressing his cheek to your thigh. “this is better than standing.”
“you’re drunk,” you tease.
“mm,” he agrees easily. “drunk and married.”
that makes your chest ache — the way he says it like a fact, like a badge of honor. like nothing else in the room matters more than being yours.
your fingers trace the line of his jaw, thumb brushing over the corner of his mouth. he catches it with his lips, kissing it softly before resting your hand against his cheek, grounding himself there.
the party keeps going. music gets louder. people get messier.
rafe doesn’t move.
he stays right there between your legs, head tipped back against you, breathing slow, trusting, clingy in the way only he gets when he’s had too much to drink and too much love for one body to hold.
summary you live a turbulent life in the public eye as an unruly heiress from a controlling family. you thought you had your future all planned out, until you learn that your trust fund hinges on marrying a stranger.
» masterlist
You can’t have heard your father right. Ice creeps through your ribs, wrapping around your heart, locking you in place.
“What are you talking about?” Rafe’s terse tone runs through you. It’s like he’s in a different room, instead of right beside you. You can’t grasp what’s happening.
“We made it clear that the public needs to believe you’ve matured,” Kal says, his gaze fixed on you. “Everything you do reflects on this family. The attention you’ve drawn in the last six months hasn’t been favorable. The contract spelled out that anything that damages our reputation has consequences.”
“Mom won.” You look at Celeste, her face pinched in something you’ve never seen in her before. She averts her eyes. “We got married. People bought it. Tell him. I did what you told me to do.”
“There’s proof of every single time you didn’t,” your father says, motioning to the lawyer. Your stomach twists when you spot the printout of paparazzi shots capturing the mistakes you’ve made, all the moments that looked worse than they were in the last six months.
“They’re always going to find things to twist and criticize,” you say. “You can’t use that against me.”
“Let’s just end this the way we planned to, Kal,” Rafe says tightly.
It’s all so clear how he orchestrated this, every move calculated to make it seem like he tried. But he didn’t. He wanted you to teach you a lesson in the cruelest way.
“I don’t blame you,” he responds to Rafe, voice calm but cutting. “You held up your side of the deal. You kept me informed on her like I instructed you to. You can walk away now. This doesn’t preclude the possibility of working with you and your father down the line. It’s my daughter who ruined this. Not you.”
His words are another attempt to isolate you. To hurt you. He included Rafe in this conversation to give him an out, and to make you watch him take it.
“You meant for this to fail,” you say. You shoot a glance at Celeste, confirming to her that what you suspected was the truth. “You didn’t expect me to make it this far, did you? And now you’re grasping at straws so you don’t have to follow through. Because you never were going to.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” he huffs.
“Follow through, then,” Rafe says.
“You think you can give me orders?” Kal smirks. “I already told you, you’re not liable here. I’ll leave a good word with Ward. I insist you leave now. Your job is done.”
You look over at Rafe, meeting his eyes. He doesn’t budge. It’s a silent show of loyalty, proof that you’re more important to him. It’s undeniable that you’re the one he’s choosing. Your stomach turns, your throat tightening.
“What could’ve I done differently?” you say quietly, brokenhearted, looking at your father.
Rafe feels it burning inside him, the protectiveness, the rage, the disgust at the way the woman he loves is being treated. Your life is on the line, and this man is still committed to punishing you.
“I have it right here,” he scoffs, finger pressed on the stack of proof. Hot tears start to build in your eyes, and you’ve lost all your pride now. You don’t care who sees. In fact, you’re glad they do. You’re glad they’re witnessing the damage they’ve done.
“No,” you say, voice breaking. “What could’ve I done for you to love me?”
Kal shakes his head and huffs like you just told a joke.
You know the answer. You shouldn't have complicated their lives. You should’ve been healthy. You should’ve shut up and obeyed like your brothers did. You should’ve taken the abuse and never questioned or challenged it. Or really, if he got what he wanted, you should’ve never been born.
“It’s not all negative press,” Celeste chimes in, voice tight, clearly unused to challenging her boss. “That interview went very well. And the public likes them together. Perhaps we should extend the contract? Leverage the positive press?”
You meet her eyes, touched by her small act of defiance.
“Don’t let her tears fool you,” Kal says with a passive wave, and finally, Rafe snaps. He stands and slams a fist on his desk with a sharp crack, sending a few of Kal’s items to spill over in a chaotic scatter.
“You’re done fucking with her,” Rafe says, leaning over the desk. “She did every damned thing you told her to. You’re not scamming her out of her money.”
“Her money?” he laughs. “I earned every dollar in that account. She’s not entitled to it.”
“Yes, she is,” Rafe states. He looks down at you, at how small and scared you look, and his love for you burns through him, consuming him. “This isn’t over.”
“Did you forget who I am?” Kal mutters. “I’ll ruin you.”
“It’s nothing compared to what I’ll do to you.”
“You’re threatening me?” he says.
Rafe cocks his head to you in a soft gesture towards the door, to leave with him. Your legs barely hold you as you stand. Being defended and protected like this is still a shock to your system, like your body doesn’t know how to process it.
“I am,” he replies clearly. “And I don’t give a fuck that you’re blackmailing us. Whatever you did for my dad, it’s not worth this.”
“Blackmailing?” Kal says, confusion etched into his tone. Shock floods through Rafe. He glances at you, then at Kal again. The certainty in him falters. He’s unwilling to accept it, sure that this is another manipulation tactic.
“I don’t have anything against your father,” Kal says. “Whatever she convinced you of was a lie. This was meant to be a clean and mutually beneficial agreement.”
Rafe doesn’t correct him, doesn’t say that the claim came from his own father, not you. He’s too shaken up.
You’re in a trance, the news that Ward lied to his own son adding to the shock. Kal rises slowly, deliberately.
“Listen very clearly,” he says to Rafe. “Cameron Development will be blacklisted. I will make it my personal mission to destroy you and your family, unless you leave this alone. This is your last warning.”
This is the moment that could define everything. His future, his family, his integrity. And Rafe doesn’t even have to think twice. He inches forward, eyes locked on Kal.
“I’ll see you again,” he says firmly. “Soon.”
You don’t look back as you walk out. Rafe stays solid beside you, his steady presence enough to keep your legs moving. The door shuts behind you.
▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱
You sit in the passenger seat and hold your purse against your stomach, your trembling fingers at the opening just in case you need your inhaler, just in case your lungs give out.
“Fucking asshole,” Rafe mutters under his breath, his grip on the steering wheel tight, knuckles pale. “What a piece of shit. He’s not going to get his way, alright?”
You stare at him, his eyes narrowed as he eases the car down the winding driveway. There was a time you judged him for how deeply he cared about his father’s approval, his career. But then you understood why it’s everything to him, and he just gave it up. And you can’t accept that. You don’t know how to be worth that.
“Pull over,” you half-whisper. His gaze snaps to you, confusion tied with anxiety, and he slows the car to a stop, tires crunching against gravel just past the gate.
“It’s not too late to go back,” you say. “I’ll find a way to cover my treatment. You can… even help me if you want to until then and I’ll pay you back.”
The last part catches in your throat. You’ve never been good at asking for help, but this isn’t about you anymore. You’re desperate to give him something, anything, that feels like a way out.
And you realize that instead of looking out for your survival, just like you always have, you’re looking out for his.
“I always knew there was a chance he wouldn’t give me my inheritance,” you say. “I’ll be fine.”
He knows you’re lying. If it were really that simple, you wouldn’t be clawing so desperately for your trust fund. You wouldn’t be fighting like your life depends on it. You need to get your money and you need to escape these people.
And he’s convinced, terrified, that if you don’t get the help you need, if you’re denied even a fraction of it, your condition will get worse, just like it did when you were a child, when they ignored you.
“Don’t lie to me,” he says.
“Just tell him you take it all back, okay?” you say, tears building again. Rafe’s expression fractures with something that looks like betrayal. You can’t just surrender like this. This isn’t the woman he knows.
“No.”
“Rafe, you heard him,” you say. “He’ll ruin you.”
You’re thinking about him. Your world just collapsed, a promise shattered, but you’re thinking about him. It cracks his heart open. He inches closer, his hand settling gently over yours.
“Baby, you’re shaking,” he realizes. “Are you breathing okay?"
Your face crumples, his care, his loyalty, his sacrifice heavy on you. It’s too much. You look down, ashamed, unsure how you could ever deserve this kind of devotion.
“You can’t do this,” you repeat.
His hands rise to cup your cheeks, warm and firm. He guides you to meet his gaze again. His lips part, his eyes search yours.
“Look at me,” he says, low and steady. “I love you. You can’t make me take any of it back.”
Despite the pain wringing you out, softness breaks through after hearing him say those words, like sunlight warming your skin after a night that you thought was your last. You’ve imagined a moment like this a thousand times, but none of those daydreams came close to the reality of being chosen like this.
You nod slightly. Your vision is blurry with tears of sorrow and pain, of happiness and shock, and you know in your heart that no matter how hard you try, Rafe won’t take back his choice. The depth in those blue eyes, the sincerity in his deep voice, are proof. He means every word.
▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱
Rafe gets you home first. He helps you into bed, brushes your hair back gently, and assures you he’s got everything handled. Then he slips out, confident he’ll catch his father at work after the lunch hour, having already told him he had a meeting with Kal this morning.
His head aches as he approaches his dad’s office, thoughts colliding. There’s so much he wants to say. He doesn’t knock. He walks straight in. Ward looks up, eyes blazing with fury.
“Kal just called me,” he says. “What the hell are you thinking?”
Rafe shuts the door and sinks into the chair across from the desk. Anger burns in him. His father lied to him and he still can’t wrap his head around it.
“He said he’s not holding anything over you,” Rafe says evenly. “That true?”
Ward’s somber expression says it all. Rafe feels the last thread of hope snap. He’d wanted to believe his father respected him enough to be honest. He’d wished Kal was playing some twisted trick.
“You were spiraling,” Ward explains. “You wouldn’t have done it. But now I know I should’ve never trusted you. You threatened him, Rafe?”
He scoffs in bitter disbelief. Of course his dad is twisting it, justifying it, like he always does. Beneath the anger, fear creeps in. Kal is powerful. Who knows what he could do to them? Still, going back on his word isn’t an option. He can’t leave you to the wolves. He won’t.
Because through the noise, all he can hear is your voice, reminding him he doesn’t deserve the pain his father puts him through. That he never did.
“You lied to my face,” Rafe says. “You spewed bullshit about how you don’t trust me, and you lied.”
“I had to,” he says. “We need this partnership. He just called me to tell me he’d make us regret this. How could you do this?”
“He’s backing out and screwing her out of her money,” he says evenly.
“It is not your place to intervene,” he says. “You do this. You get emotional and you make a mess of things because you can’t get a handle on yourself.”
The sting of dismissal is familiar. It’s an ache of being brushed aside, like his feelings are inconvenient.
“I told him I’ll get this settled,” his father tells him. “You need to apologize, cut ties with that girl, and be done with it.”
Rafe shakes his head and mutters, “I’m not doing that.”
“For God’s sake,” he mutters. “Who are you? I thought you said she was impossible.”
“I was wrong.”
Ward leans back in his chair, the leather creaking beneath him as he shifts his weight. The room is still, save for the faint hum of the overhead lights and the distant ticking of the clock.
“You know what this sounds like?” he says. “It sounds like you care more about some spoiled princess than you do about our family.”
Rafe’s fists clench as his nails dig into his palms. Heat floods his chest, a slow burn of rage and pain.
“Do you care about our family?” he says. “I’m your son. You won’t even listen to me or - or hear me out. You took his side over mine before you even let me explain. You pushed me into this. You lied to me. You got us involved with that asshole, and now that I’m fighting for something important, you want me to back down.”
“Do you hear yourself?” he says. “Our business is important. How did you lose sight of this?”
He didn’t lose sight. He just found something worth more. You.
“You made me sign that contract,” he says, voice low but firm, eyes burning as he stands up, “and I’m seeing it through.”
▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱
Your body eases when you hear the front door open. You shift the cutting tray from the edge of the kitchen counter and turn to find Rafe standing there. His shoulders are drawn up, tense.
“What happened?” you ask, voice soft but urgent, closing the distance.
“He lied,” Rafe says, eyes dark and distant. “I wanted out, so he lied to convince me to go through with it.”
“That’s so messed up,” you say. “I’m sorry.”
You see it in his face, the betrayal, the disbelief, the ache.
“I’m going to find a lawyer,” he says. “And I’m getting you out of this.”
“Rafe, you don’t have to,” you say, stepping even closer. “I’ve been thinking about it. You can walk away. I’ll fight him on this. I can do it. There’s no reason for you to lose everything for me.”
His eyes soften, like he’s remembering where he is. Who he’s with now. He loves you and he doesn’t have to say it again, and he doesn’t have to hear you say it back. It’s just a fact. A fact he sees no point in hiding.
“I’m not leaving you to do this alone,” he says. “Do you trust me?”
You want to argue, but you know him. You know that look in his eyes. He’s already decided. Even if it breaks him, he’s going to do this. Resigned but also relieved, you nod, settling the disagreement.
“Are you cooking?” he asks, trying to soften the tension between you, having caught the sound of chopping when he walked in.
“You did it for me,” you say, offering a small smile, “so I’m doing it for you.”
You stare at each other for a long moment. There’s no future in this, not with your illness hanging between you like a shadow neither of you can outrun. But for now, there’s enough keeping you together.
▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱
Rafe goes into the meeting with one thing in mind: your father will either make this clean, or Rafe will make it public.
He found the best lawyer money could buy, had him tear through the contract line by line, paid extra to have him prepped and ready for today. Every detail accounted for. Every loophole closed.
When he walks into Kal’s office, his breath is steady. There’s no hesitation. This is what he was meant to do. To protect you. To stand between you and the man who’s done nothing but hurt you.
▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱
It’s nearing 11 pm. You’re sitting up in bed, legs trembling with anxiety. You’ve been like this since Rafe left earlier this evening. He got your father to agree to meet. Knowing his ego, he probably thinks Rafe is coming to beg for forgiveness. To fall back in line.
He’s doing the opposite. He told you that he loves you, and you believe him. And now, he quite literally has your future in his hands, and you trust him to carry it. He’s right. You’re too weak for this fight. The stress is carving through you, slow and merciless. Your breathing keeps catching, shallow and uneven, your lungs struggling.
And then, your phone rings. It’s him. You scramble for it, hands shaking, heart thudding against your ribs.
“Hey,” Rafe says when you pick up. His voice is tired, worn thin after the long meeting. “It’s done. You’re getting your money. There are some clauses to it, but… it was the best we could do. You’re getting all of it, okay?”
The weight on your chest vanishes, not sure you can believe it.
“You’re coming home now?” you ask, voice barely above a whisper.
You hear a tired chuckle on the other end, so soft and so him.
“Yeah.”
▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱
Rafe finds you sitting up in your bed, eyes wide, fear etched into every line of your face. And like always, it hits him. Aching, relentless love. That instinct to protect you from everything.
He crosses the room, sits across from you on your bed, his hand finding yours, the other holding a clipped document.
“He had to set up a trust fund for you,” Rafe says, seeing in your expression that you’re desperate for answers. “Your great-grandfather wrote in his will that every heir in the family gets one. Your dad had no choice.”
You blink, trying to process. Your great-grandfather, a man you never met, who built this empire you were born into, made that rule, and your father had no choice but to honor it.
It’s disorienting, considering how much you thought you hated your family. You never spent much time wondering about the ones who came before your dad. You assumed they were all the same.
“Kal didn’t want you to have it,” Rafe says. “He came up with this stunt to fuck it up for you. He didn’t expect you to actually do it.”
“And he didn’t expect you to be on my side,” you say in awestruck realization. You weren’t entirely wrong; your father did want to punish you, but if it weren't for this rule, he would have just written you out completely, with no need for this scheme.
You look down at the crisp, official stack of papers in Rafe’s hand, Trust Distribution Authorization stamped across the top.
“What are the clauses?” you ask.
“I fought him on them,” Rafe says, flipping through pages. “But my threats only got so far. He was saying some insane shit, like he gets to decide what you do with the money and that you have to send reports of your spending. We got him to back down on that, but not everything.”
He stops on a page, with Conditions of Release in bold. You lean closer, eyes travelling over the words. To preserve public standing, the Beneficiary shall adhere to the following behavioral conditions. You read on.
Mandatory attendance. You need to show up when you’re told to attend family events, public appearances, and anything your father deems important, to a limit of one event a month.
Speech restrictions. You can’t air out family drama. You’re not allowed to speak negatively about your father or the family in public, on the internet, anywhere.
“Their argument was that your family’s value is tied to their reputation, and you play a part in that,” he mutters bitterly. “We couldn’t negotiate out of it.”
You read that if you breach this contract, you face a mandatory repayment, and that the conditions will remain in effect for a fixed period.
“Five years?” you read aloud.
“And then you’re out,” he says. “The old contract didn’t hold up because the conditions were too vague. But he can’t play any games with this one.”
Your eyes land on the bolded line at the bottom: Total amount released. The number is surreal. It’s enough commas to make your stomach turn with relief and excitement. Finally, this money is yours.
You know your father will try to sabotage you. He doesn’t believe you can do this. You can’t wait to prove him wrong.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t do better,” he murmurs. “I wanted to make it a clean break for you.”
“Are you kidding?” you say. “I wouldn’t have anything without you. I can handle five years.”
You rest your hand on his chest, where his heart drums against your skin, bottom lip caught between your teeth.
“What happens to you?” you ask softly.
“I take you to the bank tomorrow,” he replies.
You let out a quiet, bittersweet laugh, eyes tender as they settle on him.
“You know what I mean.”
“I’ll deal with it later,” he says.
You give a small nod. If he’s not willing to go there right now, you won’t make him. The fight is over. He went into battle when you didn’t ask him to. Made choices that cost him. You still don’t know how to carry the burden of what he gave up. You can only hope that he finds the happiness he deserves.
“Thank you, baby,” you say in a whisper, pulling him into a tight hug. “Thank you so much.”
You pull back, and you don’t want to say it, because the vulnerability aches too much.
“Can you sleep here tonight?” you decide to say instead.
His lips tug into a smile, his eyes tired, his nod gentle. After you get ready for bed, you settle in under the duvet and Rafe folds around you, protective and warm. You shut your eyes, wrapped in calmness.
That feeling comes back, the one where you feel like you fit, like your edges align with his. But everything around you pushes back. Reality won’t bend. It won’t make room. This can’t work. But nonetheless, he deserves to know how you feel.
“I love you, too,” you say into the dark. He presses his lips on the back of your shoulder, caught between gratitude and sadness. He can’t believe he was lucky enough to meet you, to be loved by you, and so fucking unlucky to lose you. You were never supposed to stay. And he has no right to ask you to.
You fall asleep in his arms, to his tender kisses, in a melancholy peace that you’ve never known before.
▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱
Rafe is sure that Kal is still going to do whatever he can to follow through on his threats. He only hopes that after telling him that his father forced him out of the company, that he doesn’t support anything Rafe is doing, it’d leave an impact.
Despite everything, he still feels loyalty to the man who raised him. He hasn’t officially pushed him out of the company yet, but he knows he will.
He slowly leaves your bed the next morning, walks down the hall to his room, closes the door behind him, and dials his father. He recounts the conversation with Kal and the lawyers from the night before. Then he finishes quietly, “I told him you’re against this and that you already fired me. So you don’t have to do it, alright? I know I’m out.”
The other end is silent. Rafe is glad he doesn’t have to see the disappointment in his father’s face. He knows his father banked on his undying loyalty. That he was sure even with the lie coming out, he would still choose him. But things changed.
“You do this over the phone?” Ward says. “You don’t even face me like a man?”
“For what?” Rafe scoffs. “You’d fire me anyway, wouldn’t you?”
Another pause. Longer this time.
“I’m sorry, dad,” he says, voice softening. “I still want to work for you. I still want to make you proud and take over the business one day. But I…”
He paces the room, words catching in his throat. He can try to force the type of relationship he always wanted, but it’s no use. Telling him the truth, that he loves you in a way he didn’t even know he could love a person, would just be used against him.
“You never cared about the business,” Ward replies. “I hope she’s worth everything we’re about to lose.”
The line goes dead.
▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱
You wake up alone. The sheets are still warm where he lay, but the space beside you is empty. You stare at the ceiling for a moment, letting the quiet settle in. This something you’ll have to get used to. Waking up without him close by.
Rafe keeps his word. He drives you to the lawyers’ office, then to the bank that morning, eyes flicking toward you every so often like he’s checking to make sure you’re still okay. When you pull into the bank parking lot, he asks if you want him to wait in the car.
You hesitate, then tell him to come with you. Having him beside you makes the whole thing feel less daunting.
Inside, you meet with an advisor. The process is clinical and efficient. You sign a few forms, answer a few questions, and just like that, the trust fund is yours. But before you leave, you pause and ask about opening a separate account.
The advisor nods and leaves the office to retrieve the paperwork. When you’re alone again, Rafe turns to you, brow furrowed. He doesn’t say anything, but the question is written all over his face.
“I’m putting some money aside for my nurse,” you say quietly. “She has a son and I want her to be able to give him whatever he wants without working herself so hard.”
Rafe’s chest twists. Underneath it all, underneath the defensiveness and anger and harshness he’s seen, you’re a sweetheart at your core. After a moment, he clears his throat.
“You want to get lunch after this?” he asks.
You laugh. It bubbles up unexpectedly, light and warm.
“Voluntarily? Not because a publicist scheduled it?”
“For once,” he says with a smile.
“Yeah,” you agree.
▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱
You can hardly wait to walk into a public space and not feel like you’re on display, to not have eyes tracking your every move. You and Rafe settle at a table in the corner of a small restaurant, feeling gazes on you.
You worry for him. He’s gotten used to being in the public eye now, but you hate to think about him being followed once you leave, hounded with questions about your break-up.
“You okay?” he asks, eyes softened. You realize he noticed the concern written in your face.
“They’ll be even more annoying than usual after they hear we split up,” you say, your voice low. “They’ll probably be trailing you everywhere.”
“I can handle them,” he says with a smirk, touched by your worry for him.
You mirror his smile. Gratitude swells inside you, overwhelming, filled with guilt and awe. You still don’t know how to accept all that he’s done for you.
“I’ll start the process,” he says. “I can get whatever you need to sign mailed to you.”
The annulment will be a clean break, a necessary one, and yet it’s bittersweet. Somewhere along the way, Rafe became someone you love. You wanted it to end, but not like this. Not with the sadness of losing someone.
“You don’t have to,” you offer. “I can handle it.”
“I know you can,” he says. “You won’t, though.”
You roll your eyes playfully, and his dimples deepen with that familiar smile. For a moment, you let yourself study him, as if memorizing every detail in his handsome face might help you hold onto this. Then the question slips out, quiet but sincere, “Are you going to be okay?”
His brows draw together, like no one’s ever asked him that before.
“Yeah,” he answers.
“Did he let you go?”
Rafe exhales through his nose. The laugh he doesn’t bother to make is thin, edged with something like relief.
“I quit before he could,” he tells you.
Sharp guilt digs into you again. He gave his future up. What he was working towards for years. For you.
“Did you find a place yet?” he asks.
“I found a few promising apartments this morning,” you say. “Nothing too far. I don’t want to be somewhere I have to get on a plane for since I’m going to be coming back here.”
Rafe nods slowly. You admire him, every piece of him. His steady competence. His strong resolve. His care.
“How can I pay you back for everything?” you ask softly.
He takes you in, and sees that under the confident person he’s come to know is a woman who isn’t sure she’s worth another person caring this much about her.
“I was an asshole to you when we met. I went along with your dad’s plan. This is me making up for it, okay?” he says. He flashes a hint of a sad smile. “We even? You gonna stop moping now?”
You breathe a soft laugh, nudging him playfully. You’re nowhere near even, but there’s no convincing him that you weren’t worth it.
You’re glad that if it had to be anyone to be pushed into this with, it was him. You can’t imagine any other man deciding to pull this stunt, just to end up saving you from everything.
He’s not the opportunistic man you once thought, or maybe he was, but he changed. It heals something in you; that someone got to know you, and became better for it.
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Two days later, you exhale a deep breath as you pull out the suitcases from your closet. You stand in the middle of your bedroom, taking mental inventory of everything you have left to do, the room cast in the setting sun’s glow.
Your new apartment, a two and a half hour drive away, is just a listing on your screen, a few photos and a vague floor plan. You haven’t seen it in person, haven’t walked its floors, but it’s booked and rented. It’s waiting for you.
You called the nearest clinic this morning. Your treatment is scheduled, your information already sent over. It’s official now. You’re planting roots in a town where no one knows your name. It’s what you’ve always wanted. Except you never expected to have a reason to miss this place.
You start to pack, then a box topples, textbooks spilling across the floor with a heavy clatter. Rafe hears from the living room, and he rushes over, his footsteps quick and purposeful as he slips through your half-open door.
“You okay?” he asks, crouching beside the mess, eyes scanning for anything that might’ve hurt you.
“Yeah,” you say softly, collecting your things. “Thanks.”
He nods, helps you collect the books, hands skimming over glossy covers. He thinks of all the times you were locked up in your room, studying, never once expecting praise, because you never got it.
“Keep me company?” you say to him.
Rafe shifts the box across the floor once it’s full, then settles on the edge of your bed, his eyes traveling over your room like he’s keeping track of what’s left.
“When are you leaving?” he asks.
“Friday.”
He nods. Two days. You must feel it, too. The pain of knowing that you’ll miss each other. Now, with time slipping through your fingers, you both realize how hard it will be to let go.
“When are you moving out?” you ask, opening a drawer and pulling clothes out.
“Don’t know yet,” he says. His father hasn’t been answering his calls. It’s like he’s in limbo, suddenly on a different life path with no map. “I could stay here. It might be a decent place without your music blasting all the time.”
You laugh and flip him off, but your chest aches, knowing you won’t be able to joke around like this with him anymore. Then, your eyes catch on something, the flimsy top you wore on your first date. You pick it up, smoothing it out with a cocky smile.
“Remember this?” you ask, holding it up. “You wouldn’t stop staring.”
He leans back, smirking. He remembers that night too well, how you walked into the restaurant, all attitude. He’d been drawn to you instantly, and just as quickly repelled. You were chaotic and beautiful, and you still are, but not in the way he once thought.
“You were always so obvious,” you tease, folding the top.
Rafe stares at you. How can you say you love each other, and not try to make this work? The thought gnaws at him. It loops in his mind, louder than the silence between you. You’re folding clothes, teasing him like always, and he’s watching you with a desperation he doesn’t know how to voice.
He remembers every fight, every laugh, every moment that made this more than it was supposed to be. And now, with the end looming, he’s drowning in the need to know.
“What do you want?” he says, voice low.
The air thickens. Your pulse picks up. It’s a question only he’s asked. Nobody else in your life has truly cared what you want.
You know you don’t want to stay here, among your family’s toxicity. You need to escape the tabloids, with their twisted narratives. You’ve been living under a microscope and you need to get away.
You drop your clothes, legs weak as you step closer to sit next to him on your bed. He stiffens, leans forwards, interlaces his fingers.
“Being around me is hard for you, isn’t it?” you ask. You put your hand over your chest, over the part of you that will never work the way it should.
You think of the night you lost control of your breathing and the way he held you. He was what you needed, but it’s because he didn’t know what was happening. He didn’t know how frequently your body gives out. Now, he’ll always be looking out for it. Always worrying. With how protective he is over you, you’re sure of it.
Rafe looks down, jaw tensing, not agreeing with you, but not disagreeing either.
“It’s a big part of my life,” you say. “My treatment is intense. Sometimes my symptoms spike. I shouldn’t have to hide it and you shouldn’t have to see it. This just… it wouldn’t work, right?”
You always wished you weren’t sick. It was a silent wish, tucked into the corners of your mind, but now, it’s the loudest it’s ever been.
Rafe swallows hard. Now that you’re asking him if you can handle this, he knows he’s too damn broken. He can’t be who you need him to be, can’t be steady, can’t be a man who doesn’t lose his mind when shit gets hard.
He’d like to think he’s stronger than the anxiety, but he’ll always be afraid of losing you the way he lost his mom. And that what happened to her could repeat itself in him.
“It’s not just you, okay?” he says, voice strained, almost cracking. “What if - what if what happened to my mom happens to me?”
You feel his words settle in your chest like stones. You thought you were the only wrench in the plan. The only one who’d bring uncertainty into the relationship. But now you see it: he’s been holding onto another type of fear, not only that he’d watch you slip away, but that you’d watch it happen to him.
“I’m used to not knowing what’s going to happen next,” you admit. “I’m okay with it. Are you?”
You watch him, your fragile words settled between you, as you wait for his answer.
“No,” he says, under his breath. It crushes your heart. You had a shred of hope that he’d prove you wrong, that his love for you would be bigger than the fear his trauma left in him. But still, you can’t blame him.
Rafe stands. It cuts to know for certain now. You always felt like a problem, and in some way, you are to him now. Someone that would be right for him, but can’t be because of the way she was born.
“Take care of yourself,” he says, keeping his eyes off of you.
“You, too,” you say to his back.
He stops at the doorway. Shakes his head to himself in self-loathing, in how badly he wishes he could just be complete. He’s always had this fear in him, and like everything else, you made him face a part of himself he’s been running away from.
“Can you let me know when you’re in town?” he asks, a quiet plea buried in the question.
Before, the idea of staying tethered to him scared you. Now, you’d take scraps if that’s all you can have. A fraction of Rafe is better than nothing at all. You almost want to ask him what for. If you can’t be together, why torture yourselves? But not having him in your life at all would be worse.
He’s still turned away. Your breath hitches with a sniffle, and you reply, “I will.”
And he leaves.
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You’re contractually obligated to be here, but you’d want to come anyway. Eira and Sam have welcomed a beautiful baby girl into the world. You stand stiff in the nursery, the camera flash catching your hollow expression in the family photo, a curated moment for the public, a performance of unity.
Later, they let you hold her. She’s warm, impossibly small, and the protectiveness you felt over her only intensifies. You make a silent wish to anyone who’ll listen that your niece grows up healthy, safe from the curse that followed you.
It’s been over a month since you’ve seen Rafe. You didn’t know how much it could hurt to miss every piece of a person. He called to make sure you made it to your new place okay. It was a short, emotionless call. Then, a week ago, you received the paperwork in the mail. Your fingers traced over his inked signature, his part of the marriage signed away, before you signed, too.
Your throat is tight once you finally leave your family home. You pace towards your car and pull out your phone to see a text from Iris. You handed her a sealed envelope at your last appointment, telling her that you’d be moving away, but that you wanted to get her something to say thank you.
You left your number in case she had any trouble accessing the bank account. She called you soon after to say she couldn’t accept this, the tears thick in her tone. You told her that nothing could change your mind.
After responding to her text asking how you’ve been, you open Rafe’s contact and text him: Hi. I’m in town.
He responds minutes later: Can I see you?
You ask him if he’s still at the condo you shared. He replies he is, and to come over.
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Rafe was stupid to stay here after you left. Every corner of this place reminds him of you. The walls still echo with your voice, your laughter. He has to leave soon. He’s going to settle on a job, then move the hell out.
He walks through the condo like he’s haunted. He replays the way you silently hugged him goodbye when you walked out the door for the last time. He misses you so much it aches in places he didn’t know could hurt. When he first moved in here, he thought he’d feel relieved once the contract ended, but he feels nothing but loss.
And then, he hears a knock, and it’s like the air leaves the room.
Rafe opens the door, and you meet the face you haven’t stopped thinking about since you left. His blue eyes are tired, his sharp jaw going from tight to relaxed.
“Hi,” you say.
“Hey.” He steps aside. It feels wrong to let you in like you’re only a guest. The door clicks shut behind you, and suddenly it’s just the two of you, standing in the same room again. “How are you?”
“Good,” you say. His eyes travel over you, his heart thumping, finally reunited with the woman who owns it. “I just met my niece. She’s tiny.”
He sees the endearment in your eyes. You’ve spent years building walls around you, but he’s fortunate to see this version of you, the one who still believes in love.
“Did your parents try anything?” he says, voice sharp at the edges. That protectiveness of his is still alive and burning.
“I didn’t even look at them,” you reply. “At least they can’t bother me for another month.”
“I keep thinkin’ about how I should’ve fought him harder on that.”
“Well, stop,” you order.
He puts his palms up in defense. The corner of your mouth lifts, the first smile since you arrived. His eyes flicker with relief. The air is tense, but you’re still you, acting how you used to together.
“You want something to drink?” he offers.
It’s a quiet check-in. He waits, hoping you’ll notice the care tucked into the question. He wants to ask about your health, how you’ve been, if you’re off those meds, but the words knot in his throat.
“Make it strong,” you say, and it settles him. If you can drink, you’re off those meds. You’re doing better.
Soon after, you’re on the balcony together. Far down below, the beach stretches out in golds and silvers, the tide curling in slow breaths. It’s nearing 6 pm, and the sun hangs low, casting long shadows.
The air smells like salt. The breeze is cool but not cold. Every so often, a cloud slips in front of the sun, dimming the world in gray before the light returns.
“This is so pretty,” you say, legs stretched out on the wicker recliner. “I didn’t appreciate this as much as I should’ve.”
He glances at you and takes a slow pull of his scotch before he answers. You seem so much lighter now and it brings him ease.
“You were too busy fighting with me,” he replies, lips wet from his drink.
“You started it,” you say with a laugh. He looks down, unable to laugh, too.
“I did,” he says. He did start all of it. You asked him, nearly begged him to back out of this deal, and he refused. It set off a painful chain of events, and even though he was once glad to have met you, right now, sitting next to you, feeling the warmth of your arm from mere inches away and knowing he can’t touch you, is the first time he regrets it.
It’s a bitter, tangled thing in his chest. Maybe if he didn’t go through with the publicity stunt, your father would’ve found another way to screw you out of your money, and you wouldn’t have had the help you needed to get it.
Or maybe everything would’ve been better if Rafe stepped away, and you’d have the strength to fight for your trust fund without needing to go along with a stupid scheme, and you both wouldn’t have found love in a person you can’t give it to.
You stare at his profile. His grimace is subtle, but unmistakable, regret etched into the lines of his face. You can feel it radiating off him. He’s hurting.
“What’s new with you?” you ask, gently, carefully.
Blue eyes find yours, and he almost looks caught off guard, like he didn’t expect you to be watching him. He takes a moment, then decides to tell you.
“I got an interview tomorrow,” he says. “Third one out of four at this place.”
You nod, letting the silence stretch just long enough. He’s looking for a new job. He’s not working for his dad anymore. You wonder how it ended. How badly his father cut into him after choosing your future over his.
“Four is intense,” you say. “Must be a good position.”
“It is.”
He doesn’t offer more. The sun dips behind another cloud, casting everything in soft gray. You just want to make him feel better.
“I don’t know how things are with your dad…” You look out at the distance, your lips flattening. “But I saw how hard you worked and I don’t think you ever got the recognition you deserved. I hope you can find that.”
Your words land softly, but not deeply. The ache Rafe is feeling is too worn-in. It’s a voice that’s lived in him for years, telling him that he’s not enough. Not for his father, who only ever saw the flaws. Not for you, who asked for something he couldn’t give. And not even for himself, when he looks in the mirror and sees all the ways he’s fallen short.
Whatever you think he deserves, he doesn’t know how he’d accept it without being afraid he’ll lose it.
Rafe only nods. He’s a vault, and you don’t blame him. He already bared himself to you so much, just for you to part ways. It makes your heart pinch in pain. If this is how it’s going to be, seeing him casually, keeping things surface-level, you’re not sure you can do it.
“My lawyer called me this morning,” you say, in an attempt to change the subject. “It’s official. What are you going to say to the reporters when they find out we broke up? Are you going to talk bad about me?”
You’re attempting to joke, to lighten the air that’s grown too heavy between you. And even though he’s hurting, even though the pang in his chest feels like it might never let go, he humors you.
“I’m telling them you were only in it for my last name,” he murmurs.
You chuckle, trying to keep it light, trying to pull him out of whatever dark place he’s sunk into. But his smile isn’t genuine.
You know what his real smile looks like, the way it crinkles the corners of his eyes, the way his dimples dip into his cheeks. This is him pretending for your sake. And you can’t stomach knowing all you’re doing here is hurting him.
“I should go,” you say, sitting up, the corners of your eyes burning with a sudden threat of tears.
“What?” Rafe’s voice is soft, surprised, and you’re shocked yourself that he thinks this is worth dragging out.
“It’s a long drive,” you say, avoiding eye contact. “Thanks for the drink.”
You cross into the condo, putting your glass away in the sink, unable to walk fast enough to get out of here. You rush to the front door, throat dry, but when you reach for the doorknob, his hand wraps around your wrist.
“Wait,” Rafe whispers, his thumb brushing slightly against your pulse, agony laced in the word.
You glance up at him, lips parting. His eyes meet yours, and for a moment, everything is stripped bare. The pain in his gaze is unmistakable and you know he sees the same in you. Neither of you says a word, but it’s all there, suspended. The hurt, the history, the longing.
He shifts his weight, turning to face you more fully, towering over you. That familiar mix of his cologne and warm skin hits you instantly and floods your senses with memories.
“I miss you so much,” he rasps, a subtle shake of his head betraying the heaviness behind the words. He’s been carrying it for too long, and saying it aloud is both a release and a wound.
“I miss you, too,” you admit.
Your eyes drop to the floor. The silence stretches, thick and aching, until you feel his gaze on you again.
“Be with me,” he says, voice low.
Your eyes finally gloss over when you look up at him, the emotion rising before you can stop it. It’s the sting of something old tearing open again. The wound splits wide and you feel it bleed into the space between you.
“I’m sick,” you say, the simple words landing like a blow.
His sad eyes search yours.
“I could be, too,” he says.
“But you...” you say, your voice trembling. “You wouldn’t be a burden to me.”
“You think you’d be one to me?” he murmurs.
It unearths a painful fear in you that you’re a chore. Maybe you’d feel like this with any man who’d want to be with you. Or maybe it’s just because it’s Rafe, someone who carries enough pain already.
“Yes,” you admit.
“You’re wrong,” he tells you. You sigh, a wall slowly coming up as you gently twist out of his grip.
“What if it’s too much for you?” you challenge quietly, crossing your arms.
“It’s not.”
“What if you’re saying that now, but-”
“You’re not going to talk me out of loving you,” he says. “I was an idiot to walk away. I’m sorry and I’m - I’m in this if you are.”
His pulse pounds in his ears as he looks down at the woman who changed everything for him, who changed what he wanted out of life and who he wanted to be. He can’t fathom watching you walk out that door again without trying this, for real.
You’re still, staring at him, parts of you screaming that he’ll leave you. That he’ll see who you really are and decide you’re not good enough. But that’s just it. He’s already witnessed every little piece of you, good and bad, and he’s still looking at you like you’re the only thing worth looking at.
“What are you thinking?” Rafe half-whispers.
You don’t have words, so you let your body take the lead, like it always has with him. And you kiss him.
Every movement is slow but hungry. You drift into his room, lie down together in his bed, your lips locking, wet smacks and soft sighs between you. He hovers over you, cupping your face, kissing you so deeply and tenderly that your skin tingles.
Eventually, his hands move lower as he peels your clothes off, yours trembling in excitement as you undo his shirt buttons. He strips you to your bra and panties, dipping to kiss your neck and your collarbones and your chest. He kisses your sternum, kisses your rising and falling chest, kisses over the part of you that you always thought was unloveable.
You rub your hands over his firm, bare chest and tug off his shirt. You push him to his back, and he lets you. You straddle him, moaning when he guides you down to sit on his thigh. He pulls your hips forward, silently encouraging you to grind against him. You moan louder this time, the friction, with only your panties and his jeans between you, good but not enough.
“I missed those sounds you make,” he mumbles, his breath hot against your mouth.
“I missed the way you touch me,” you say.
“Yeah?” he whispers. “Like this?”
His hands trail up your back as you continue to grind on him, unhooking your bra and throwing it to the floor. He grips your breasts, kneading them as you writhe, wrapping his lips around your perked nipple. You whine in pleasure, his hot tongue flicking as he flexes his leg to give you a firmer surface to get yourself off on.
You slowly sit up off of him, desperate to make him feel good. You tug his jeans down, eyes widening when you see his attraction for you tented beneath his briefs. You lustfully gaze at him through low lids as you pull down the band, his cock springing out.
Everything in him burns as he watches the way you pump him slowly, moving to hold him to your mouth. You part your lips and take the head in, swirling your tongue over him.
“Fuck,” Rafe groans. You lower, sucking harder, and he can’t take his eyes off of you. “Fuck, that’s good.”
Your core aches with need, tasting him, pleasuring him, showing him how much you love him. Your hands cover where your mouth can’t reach, stroking as you bob up and down.
He laces his fingers in the roots of your hair, gazing at you with pure love. His body tightens with the promise of an orgasm, and he realizes it’s always going to be like this; he’s always going to want to make sure that you come first, and that he can come inside you.
“Get up here,” he orders. You obey, shifting to kiss his lips, on your knees so he can peel off your panties. His hands firmly grip beneath your thighs, pulling you even higher. You realize he wants you to sit on his face, and you whimper when you lower to feel his hot mouth on you.
Your knees sink into the bed as he laps at you, gripping your ass and exploring every inch of you with his tongue. His moan against you sends a vibration through you, making you quiver. You gently writhe, panting as he laps at you, moaning when he sucks your clit. You’re so hungry for the pressure of him inside you that it hurts.
“I need you inside,” you beg. “Please.”
You shift, lips on his as he guides you onto your back, moving so your head is on his pillow. It smells like him.
Rafe guides himself inside you without wasting a second, and it feels like coming home. You wrap your legs around him, hooking your ankles, holding him tight. This is the most wanted that he’s ever felt.
Your kisses are deep as he starts to rock in and out of you, filling you perfectly. The sounds of your moans and your breaths and your wet skin smacking fills the room, clinging on to each other, sure to never let go again.
You come undone together, breaths catching as you tremble against each other. He continues to leave slow, lazy kisses on your cheek as you tighten together where your bodies meet.
He doesn’t feel any rush to pull out, and you don’t feel any rush to separate, either. He props himself up on his elbows, a hand brushing your hair back as he stares down at you.
“I love you,” you whisper.
“I love you, too.”
“Yeah?” you mumble, a tremble in your tone. Even after everything, it’s scary to be this vulnerable. To give him the power to break you.
“What is it?” he whispers, catching the way your brows furrow.
“I still don’t know why you gave up so much for me,” you say, your eyes pricking with tears. He frowns, lips swollen from how much he’s kissed you.
You have a lifetime of being broken down behind you, just like he does. You’re expecting him to hurt you, to not love you all the way, and he realizes it’s not because you think low of him, but because you think low of yourself. Because all you’ve ever been told is that you’re a problem.
“I didn’t have anything before you,” Rafe says, and he means it. “You’re everything. You’re everything I want.”
It breaks your heart, then puts it back together again. And you let go, you let him own you completely, and you stay tangled up in each other with your promise heavy between you.
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It’s been three months since you and Rafe began a real relationship. It’s been fun and passionate and fulfilling. There’ve been tough times as you’ve continued to learn to adjust to each other’s quick tempers and strong personalities, but you feel like you already have your worst fights behind you.
You open your front door to see him leaning against the frame with a coy smile in a crisp, dark blue suit. He drove over to your place straight after work, at a new firm that offered him a much more senior position than he ever had at his dad’s business. They still haven’t spoken, and you can tell it bothers Rafe, so you never bring it up, just like he never talks about your family unless you do.
“Hey, baby,” Rafe says, stepping in and kissing your forehead. Your lips twist in frustration. “What’s that look for?”
“Why don’t you ever let me visit you?” you say. He wouldn’t give into your requests to make the drive this time. He comes to see you much more frequently and it feels unfair that you hardly ever go see him.
You think he stays in town in the hopes that he’ll repair things with his dad one day. For now, you won’t push the subject. He’s still fragile, and so are you. You make appearances when you need to, and Rafe offers to come every time, but you’d rather handle your family on your own. You’d rather keep him out of the mess.
“Damn, you’re already fighting with me?” Rafe mumbles with a chuckle, wrapping his arms around your waist. The door shuts behind him.
“Don’t be so bossy and we won’t fight,” you reply.
“I’m bossy?”
You narrow your eyes adorably.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” you mutter.
He chuckles, and you crack a smile, perching on the tips of your toes to kiss him.
“I like giving you a break from the drive,” you tell him.
“I like knowing you’re here, safe, waiting for me,” Rafe says. “And I don’t want those reporters botherin’ you.”
Every time you’re spotted back in the city, you’re hounded by the press. The last time you met with Rafe there, an image of you two hugging in his car made headlines, with comments like I thought they were broken up? flooding the posts.
He’s right. It’s better for you here. But that doesn’t mean you’re okay with him having to make the trip more often.
“Fine,” you give in. “Dinner will be here in five.”
“I was going to pay for it.”
“Guess you can’t always get your way, can you?” you respond with a shrug, earning a defeated laugh from him. You give him one last kiss before you part.
Rafe goes into your bedroom, changing into sweats and a t-shirt that he keeps in his drawer. Eventually, your takeout arrives, and you place it on the coffee table in front of the tv. You’re about to sit down next to him, but he leans forward to cup your hand and pull you forward. You laugh as you settle on his lap.
“Did you have a good day?” you ask, arm draped over his shoulders.
You gaze into his kind eyes, unable to believe that you once thought there was nothing but bad in this man. There’s so much good, and you know it’ll take a while to convince him of it, but it’s work you’re willing to do.
“Just got way better,” he says.
You roll your eyes and breathe a laugh, and every time he earns that pretty smile on your face, it fills him with joy. It’s all he ever wants. Making you happy is the most important thing he can do in this world.
You take a moment to sit like this together, to appreciate that there’s endless, enduring love between you now, and nothing else.
You’ve both felt homesick all your lives, and you thought that you always would, until you found comfort and love and belonging in each other. Until you found home.
the phone rings three times before the sound of rafe’s voice sounds, raspy and tired sounding.
“hello?” he speaks cautiously,
“hey, ray…” you respond, voice sweet and warm.
“why did you call?” you can hear him moving on the other end of the phone, his voice now softer. you hold back a giggle at his immediate investment in the call.
“just wanted to call and say goodnight…” you say calmly, waiting for his response. there’s a beat of silence between you as rafe lets out a small hum.
“that’s nice of you, honey… but why?”
“i don’t know… just wanted to say goodnight to you.” you mumble, picking at a loose thread on your shorts.
he lets out a large huff, a small thud sounding through the phone like he had lay down on the bed.
“you’re a strange girl, sweetheart…” he remarks, his voice low, yet you can hear the smile in it.
“are you going to say it back?” you scoff,
“say what back?”
“goodnight!” you snap, not even attempting to hide the giggle that escaped your lips.
“oh… goodnight, princess…” he chuckles, “…sleep tight”
“night, ray…” you reply, making a soft kissing noise down the phone as if you’re blowing him a kiss.
“miss you, sweet girl…”
“yeah, miss you too…” you chuckle, not believing what he’s saying.
“no, i mean it, baby…” he sighs, “can’t get you out of my head.”
an: i have a migraine and my brain wouldn’t shut up about this idea so i had to write it so i can sleep
hi!! i love ur ex husband!rafe and reader work sm!! i have a request like reader amd rafe were doing something kids related whole day so In the evening they had... a rather intimate moment... I don't know, maybe flirting, I don't even know what it could be and Olivia sees it and was happy, then she walks to them and asks, "Is dad staying here today?" with such childish innocence and it takes its kinda.. awkward?? cuz they don't want to upset her
SPARKLER TENSION
ex-husband!rafe x ex-wife!reader
summary: the twins turn 9 and a birthday party seems to be enough to bring you two close again...
word count: 6.fucking4k.... (im so sorry)
warnings: language (wow), (as always English isn't my first language so apologies for any possible grammatical errors).
author's note: so i got way too carried away but you're gonna thank me for this one.
The moment your doorbell rang at 9:00 in the morning, you knew it was going to be a long day.
And you are made for those. You have taught yourself to achieve the impossible, to keep up and be the one who is able to sustain any situation and take charge. Sometimes even with situations that are unsustainable.
And Rafe knows it.
So here he is, with a coffee first thing in the morning. From your favorite place, with your order that he knows you haven't changed. And he also knows better than to get out of your way when there's something to arrange or organize, he might as well bring you a little motivation.
Why is he even here?
The twins' birthday.
You try not to think about it too much or you may actually spend the entire day crying at the idea of them turning nine years old. And for the first time since the separation, you and Rafe have decided to call it a truce and celebrate their birthday together.
You both know this is what the kids want, even tho they claim to love having two birthdays and more presents and more celebrations, more cakes and more guests. You have noticed how different it was for them, so this year (you'll see what you do the next year) you spend it together.
The event was meant to happen at 12 pm with your siblings, Sarah with John B and their kid, along with some friends from both Olivia and Parker.
Olivia had her friends list for the party planned months in advanced. And Parker, as social as he is, he is very picky about who he invites to his birthday parties. It's going to be a total of 12 kids, counting your own. It's not supposed to be that hard.
But you still worry.
So, when you open up the door first thing in the morning and see Rafe's amused smirk resting perfectly on his lips, you give him a knowing look.
"Come on." He chuckled, already stepping in and giving you your cup of coffee, he doesn't let you have a say on his gesture. Just take it. "Smile a little." He entered and quickly made himself at home, still taking a a deep breath every time he has the chance of coming inside the house. It's so foreign now. "Where are my kiddos, huh?"
No other question needed to be done before two little excited hurricanes ran down the stairs like the Santa Claus in the flesh was making an early appearance just for them.
"Dad!"
"Daddy!"
Both little bounds of energy sprinted all the way to the entrance with the biggest smiles on their face. You took the cup of coffee from his hand before Rafe kneeled and dramatically grunted when they crashed against him, he used both of his arms to pick up the kids, barely even using half of his strength to hold both of them, which was impressing considering how tall they were right now. "Happy birthday, hellraisers." He said, voice muffled against Parker's hair.
Olivia giggle and wrapper both of her arms the best way she could around Rafe's neck. "Thank you, Daddy!" She said, all princess-y and like the little spoiled child she knew she was and it melts Rafe's heart. She was the definition of ribbons, she radiated pink energy.
"Thanks!" Parker concluded with a happy look as he rested his chin on Rafe's shoulder, looking over his father's shoulder back to you. Because whenever you're all together, Parker always wants to catch a glimpse of you two together. He knows its a rare occurrence to see the two of you together and well, and his poor little family heart does the best it can.
You don't even have the heart to look away, seeing him like this... it's all you ever wanted for so long. What you prayed for (and you don't pray) that Rafe would change on himself in order for the family to work, for you to work out after so many years together.
Sometimes you can't help but feel bitter about it. Did the change really had to be at your expenses? Was it really necessary? It doesn't make you exactly jealous to see him like this now that you're not together but you can't help but ask yourself: Why not when it was with me?
You have stopped trying answering that question a long time ago, the only possible outcome out of it would be your ever ending misery, and to be honest, you don't like to be depressed. You try to make it into water under the bridge... however it does feel like there's being a dam blockage for a long time, the water simply won't flow sometimes. You thought it was going to be easier.
"You're nine and old, how does that feel, huh?" He teased both of them, shaking them up a little bit in his arms. How does he manage to carry two nine year old kids? You don't know.
"I'm not old!" Both of them answered almost at the same time, the twin synchronization that has always amazed you whenever it happens. You both laughed at it, the mirroring is always amusing.
"Daddy...!" Olivia scolded him.
Parker crossed his arms over his chest. "You and mom are old." He corrected as a matter of fact.
You scoffed, finally stepping in the conversation. "Oh, I'm not old. Your dad is." You teased as you walked over to the living room.
"Yeah, right." He rolled his eyes.
You allowed yourselves to spend at least thirty minutes all together. You shared a quick meal, the chocolate chip pancakes that both kids love as a birthday breakfast never failed.
You sang happy birthday for the second time in the day (the first one had been when Rafe called at midnight once it was officially their day), even tho you had sang it three times with Olivia already when they woke up, this felt more special. The candles on their pancakes were the ones in charge to hold their wishes for the first time today.
After it, with excitement running through everyone's veins (for very different reasons for you and Rafe), the decoration started happening.
Rafe was everywhere something had to be put up and you couldn't reach, he sometimes didn't even need a chair. Which, pissed you off, to be honest.
He appeared behind you. His hand flexed with the reflex of finding your lower back but he held back. "Why are you even trying?" Quietly talking just right next to your ear as he takes one of the garlands from your hand, he carried a smirk on his tone. He purposefully (but very well hidden) takes it from your hand and makes sure your fingers touch.
Before you can even say anything, he prompts himself up in a chair and reached for the high point in one of the arches entrances in the living room.
His shirt rode up and you obviously looked. He was starting to get a tan. The days have been getting hotter in the island and the amount of time under the sun in the golf course were starting to give him a soft tan line where the sleeve of his shirt ended. It was quite drawable, you think.
His arm stretched out, showing off his bicep out of his shirt, you hate that they gotten even bigger.
You look away once he comes down and he noticed it. Of course.
But for once in his life, Rafe has finally learned to not say anything if he wants to enjoy more of the same thing, he doesn't want to scare you away. Don't brag, just bag some will say. He calls it investment, think about the future.
So, he limited himself with just a soft smirk
and his eyes tracing your profile when you looked away from him.
"There, looks great." He dared to say once he was down on the floor again, taking advantage that you don't know that he knows how you watched him up there for a moment. He just made it an inside joke with himself.
"Yeah, thanks..." You said overly awkward for something that allegedly didn't matter.
You looked up to the decorations that he just hung, he placed it exactly where you wanted it. Not too high or too down or too on the left or right. He got it.
"Hm."
He nodded and left you alone.
You noticed.
Your mind has always been prone to wander around where it shouldn't, you used to hate it because of it. You can't help torture yourself again over it. Shit, was I too obvious? Did he notice?
You don't want him to have the possibility of noticing what he still does to you; you barely let the incongruity of his actions around you have some sense of power over you. The way your mind keeps changing about him every single time he does something. You won't have it anymore.
You were the one in charge to go pick up the two cakes at the fancy bakery a few miles away from your house. But when the kids insisted on more family time, it was no surprise that the four of you hup up in the car. Everyone's still usual spots.
Rafe drives. You in the passenger seat. Parker behind your seat and Olivia behind Rafe's. It has been designated like that from the moment the twins were conscious enough to pick a side of the car.
"Alright, you two stay here. Don't scream or hit the windows like you're running out of air." Rafe said more firmly, remembering the time a few months ago when the pair thought it would be funny to pretend they were suffocating once he left them alone for five minutes in the car after going to buy the candy they asked for.
"Boooring." Parker said from his seat, probably scheming already.
"Parker."
The kid crossed his arms over his chest and pressed himself against the expensive leather of the seat. "Fiiine."
With an amused smile from your part, you both got out of the car to go get the cakes that had been ordered and planned with a month and a half of anticipation. They had to be perfect.
You enter the big store, an imposing glass door was opened by Rafe's hand behind you, letting you in first.
While you wait, you don't try to make a lot of small talk. The vibes between you haven't been exactly great since that little show that happened at the science fair a few weeks ago. He still hated the idea of seeing you get hit on by that guy and you still hate the image of him flirting with all those school moms.
But he does make a comment when his eyes linger to the pastries propped up in fancy trays on a window for the clients to see.
"I haven't had those in ages..." He mentions briefly with his eyes in one of the pastries, his voice almost reminiscing.
You don't even know why you looked. But when you see what he was talking about you can't help but feel a little something in your chest.
It's just some stupid lavender-honey madeleines that you served on the dessert table of your five year anniversary party. You obsessed over them after spending part of your honeymoon in Paris and having them almost every single day.
It's the irony of it. What is he even implying? That he hasn't had them since your anniversary celebration? Or maybe he just hasn't tried them in a long time. Maybe he doesn't even remember they were at your party, maybe he doesn't actually say everything with a hidden meaning. It's not that important.
"Oh, right..." You said.
He doesn't say it with the purpose of making feel both of you awful. It just... casually slipped out of him.
He bits his tongue immediately after when he realizes what interpretation you could give to his confession. So, he lays on the narrative that you probably think he doesn't remember they were even part of the party that you both had so eagerly organized and had such a great time at.
He remembers it. It was one of those times of the year when you were okay, not so much argument. Rafe remembers how it was after it, times started to get harder and harder. Just tiny little details were going to start getting stacked up like dirty plates waiting to be cleaned. Almost three years later the divorce happened, so...
"Here are your orders!" The young lady announced while placing the two cakes on the top of the counter.
Rafe was ready to pick them up and leave, payment was already covered.
"I'm sorry, uhm..." You started after you opened one of the boxes. Head already started to hurt by what you were seeing. "This isn't what we ordered." You stated.
Rafe raised his brow and took a look to what you were seeing. He sighed heavily at the sight.
They had mixed up the names.
The fairy, cottage core, baby green and shiny cake that Olivia had so specifically designed had Parker's name in the middle of it. And the dark blue and red, and the somehow mix of Spider-Man and Parker's favorite hockey team had Olivia's name.
"Oh, really...?" The young woman's voice went suddenly shallow, already expecting a whole drama out of this. "Well, we can't change it now." She said.
"What do you mean 'you can't'? This isn't what we asked for." You said, a frown was already painted in between your eyebrows like clockwork and Rafe knew what he had to do.
"It takes a few more hours," The girl started to explain. She shrugged. “We have a lot of orders today, and it’s not like the kids will notice, right?”
Your jaw dropped. “Not—? Not notice?” you repeated, incredulous. “One cake is literally covered in glitter butterflies and the other has Spider-Man webbing on the sides. Trust me, they'll notice."
Rafe quietly rubbed his temple, already recognizing the tone of your voice — the one that used to chase him in the middle of the night after you yelled at him over the phone for staying at the office for too long again.
The girl just stared.
Rafe exhaled through his nose, dreading and slow. "Alright," He stepped forward next to you. “We’re not asking for a miracle. Just—switch the names. That’s all.”
“That’s not our policy,” she replied, already half turned away. You hated this, when people doesn't care or doesn't notice how they are inconveniencing someone else. Besides, isn't it obvious with the names? I mean, if you rely a little bit on stereotypes, it's so obvious which name goes where.
You scoffed, jaw tightening. “And what’s the policy for when you mess up an order?” You muttered under your breath, wanting to slap some sense into this girl already.
Rafe’s voice came in, level. “Don’t start.” He said, half glancing at you as he tried to think how to manage this.
You turned toward him, brow raised. “I’m not starting—” Offended at the audacity from him.
Rafe shot you a look — the warning one — but you were already halfway through your next sentence.
“I’m sorry,” he cut in smoothly, giving the girl a practiced smile. Like he suddenly remembered the business man he is and how he charms people for a living — the one that you hated to see after it started taking all over him at one point. The same one that got him out of trouble with you more than once and the same one that got him in even more trouble once you realized it. “It’s just a really important day. Twins’ birthday. You know how kids are.”
Her face softened slightly.
He leaned a little closer to the counter, lowering his voice just enough to sound conspiratorial. “If you can help us out here, I’ll make sure your manager knows how kind and quick you were.” You obviously roll your eyes the moment you noticed the girl's eyes lingering on Rafe and how he is definitely a young dad.
You crossed your arms, watching, unimpressed. “You’re bribing a teenager with flattery.”
He ignored you, still smiling at the girl. “Please.”
She hesitated. Then sighed, like she couldn't help but fall into his charms. “Fine. I’ll see if we can swap the names. But it'll be done in a few hours, we can't have it now."
Rafe shrugged, like that wasn't a problem. "Just... get it to our house—" Yes, he said our house. "We can wait a few more hours, we'll pay it."
The girl nodded, already taking the cakes with her again. "Fine. It can be done by three, at least."
“That’s all we need,” Rafe said with an easy going smile that made you feel like you could be his next best thing. “You’re a lifesaver.”
As she disappeared into the back, you muttered under your breath pretending it was for yourself but you clearly wanted him to hear, “Unbelievable.”
“What?” he asked, smirking, elbows resting on the counter. “Worked, didn’t it?” He was so proud of himself and how his tricks still worked.
Once the girl disappeared again you talked. You stood there, arms crossed, tapping your foot like it would make everyone work faster. “You didn’t have to be so—”
“So what?” he asked, leaning against the counter as he looked at you with his brows raised, daring you to say something.
“Manipulative.”
He snorted, shaking his head as he pushed away from the counter, ready to leave. “I’m efficient,” he corrected. “You yell, I fix.”
You stared at him as you watched him move again. “That’s not how it works.”
“Seems to be." He shrugged, his hand reaching for his phone again as he attempted to look at the time.
You shot him a glare that didn’t quite hide the small unwanted smile tugging at the corner of your mouth. “You’re insufferable.”
“And you’re dramatic.”
“And you’re—”
“—fixing the problem,” he said, grin widening. He knows he won this one. “You’re welcome.”
You scoff again. Between scoffing and rolling your eyes, you don't know which one is the one you do the most around him. It's a tie, for sure.
You sighed, frustrated and a little amused despite yourself after his little act that he has memorized by now apparently. “You think you’re so charming, don’t you?”
He looked up then — slow, steady. Not up to a contradiction. “No. I think I’m right.” He opened the glass door again, inviting you out of the store.
It shut you up, if only because of how casually he said it. And maybe because of the faintest curve at the corner of his mouth — not quite a smile, but close enough to remind you why he’d always gotten his way.
Moving fast forward to another hour and a half later, most guests for the party have already arrived. The place looked great, so did Parker and Olivia, who were completely radiant today. More than ever, you don't remember them seeing them so happy at their birthday in a minute now.
The sting of it settles.
You're watching the kids playing around in the big backyard for a moment. The pool cover is on to avoid any accidents and everyone seems happy for now.
"Relax." You feel that voice behind you, closer than you would like. "Everything looks great. You did it." He looked down at you, allowing himself to rest against the doorframe and leaning down to get a better look at you.
"Yeah, I know but—" There's a flicker of insecurity and stress that is only visible for him in between the cracks of the tough front you put on yourself.
"You did it. So drop it."
The tough love kind of thing has always been one of your guilty pleasures. Because of how fast it works, because of the way he delivers it and because it's so on brand for Rafe Cameron.
He walks away after you just stared at him. He knows.
When it's time to have lunch, the kids are sitting at a different table in the big backyard. You don't try to make them stay still on their chairs, if they want to be on the grass, so be it.
You and Rafe sit together. You don't know why, it's not like you have an image to maintain in front of your direct family. Especially when it's just your siblings, Sarah and John B.
You can't help it. The way you sit next to each other, how he reaches for what you need before you even have to ask for it. How when he grabs some more soda to drink he also just fills up your glass too.
Conversation flows and the situation gets easier, blurrier the more time goes by. This is what you don't like about Rafe, this is why you don't like spending too much time together with him. Because the dynamic and banter just happens again and you helplessly fall into it without even noticing.
It just happens—like the way sunlight warms the water without meaning to. It doesn’t ask, doesn’t wait, it just reaches, and the water, helpless to do anything else, gives in. That’s how it feels—something simple turning into something that hums beneath the surface, like it’s always been waiting to happen.
Maybe you laugh after something was said and you rested your hand on his thigh for a moment. Maybe he has an arm behind the backrest of your chair and he occasionally touched your hair when you leaned against it. Maybe you caught Sarah's eyes when Rafe made you laugh a little too hard.
Then Sarah starts telling one of the stories about the restless Parker, the time around when you were still married and had those family gatherings every once in a while but it thankfully was not the main focus of the conversation. “—and like, Parker just immediately tried to fit the entire piece of watermelon in his mouth,” she says, laughing. “I swear, he looked like he was choking and he was so fucking proud of it at the same time.”
Everyone’s laughing, it feels nice.
Rafe shakes his head, half-smiling. “That’s on her,” he says, jerking his chin toward you. “She told him he couldn’t do it.”
Your fork stops as you shake your head, trying to prove your innocence. “Oh, no, you told him to try it,” you shoot back. “I just said I didn’t think he would.”
“That’s called reverse psychology, baby.” He says with the easy petname that still has the same taste on his tongue. “You basically dared him.” He leans in, like pretending to be closer to Sarah as he talks.
You scoff, biting back a smile. “You’re unbelievable.” You take your first and last glass of white wine in the entire day.
He takes a slow sip of his drink, nodding along like he is owning and embracing the title you gave him. “I’ve heard.”
You lock eyes for a second too long for both of you to know what it means. Which is why you look away with a roll of your eyes, suddenly overly conscious on what you have been doing the entire day
It’s not right. It’s not supposed to happen — and the way your heart drums against your ribs is not something an ex-husband should be capable of provoking.
His jaw clenches the second he notices you pull away. Just barely — the way you straighten up, the way your fingers find the bracelets on your wrist, that ghost-touch against the spot where a ring used to live. You tilt your head, the same quiet motion you always use when you’re trying to look at anything but him. It’s small, but it’s enough. A boundary, invisible and absolute. It was enough to set a boundary.
A quiet line drawn.
And he respects it. Or pretends to. His arm slides away from the back of your chair, the one keeping him just a little too close. The air cools where he was.
Fine, he thinks. As you wish.
Just when he thought he might actually have a chance to enjoy himself with you after having such a good day. He shouldn’t have thought tonight might actually feel easy. That maybe, after the way you’d worked together all day — running around, fixing decorations, making sure the twins had the perfect birthday — that the rhythm you used to share when he was actually home might still exist somewhere, waiting under the surface. He’d almost let himself enjoy it.
But he knows better. So he keeps his distance.
Have it your way.
Then it’s time to blow the candles (the cakes arrived thirty minutes ago and you almost have a heart-attack but they look perfect), and everyone gathers around the big table. Olivia climbs onto Rafe like he’s the only tree in the forest, and Parker stands in front of you with that wide, proud smile. His hair was all disheveled from running and his face was a little sweaty from playing around so much but he looked happier than ever.
You smooth his hair down, the same way you always do, while everyone sings happy birthday to the two kids who somehow hold everything together. They are your anchor— the reason you kept fighting when it would’ve been easier to let go, when you really wanted to let go.
The sparkler flickers bright between you all— a tiny storm of gold light. It paints the four of you in the kind of glow that makes everything look whole again for a second and you avoid everyone's eyes for a moment when you noticed it. The sunset is behind you, soft and wide, and the cameras flash to catch what used to be a family.
Bittersweet doesn’t even begin to name it, you stopped trying to look for the words to describe what this situation provokes in you. It’s the kind of ache that feels familiar now, like warmth that lingers long after the fire’s gone out.
You smile for the photos anyway. You always do.
You're still so proud, Rafe is too. The shared hug you always have after Olivia and Parker blew the candle happens again. It's a tradition, a habit that you haven't had for two birthdays now but it makes a comeback. You both just naturally lean to each other once you're child free.
It's short, concise with only the meaning of congratulating each other. You became parents nine years ago, after all. And despite everything: the disputes, the late nights, the crying and lawsuits, you have managed to do a good job.
"Mommy, I want the butterfly!" Olivia said from her place next to the table, eagerly looking at her cake as Parker decided which part he wanted on his.
You both snapped out of it, pulling away from each other before you let the contact last for longer than it needed to. "You don't want your name?" Rafe asked, reaching over for one of the knives as he gestured to the Olivia written on the middle with with buttercream in that cursive and baby blue color.
"I already know what my name is." She said all smart, brows pinched with decision. Of course, she's so ahead. She obviously would want something else. "I want the butterfly."
Rafe laughed amusedly as he cut the part of the cake she wanted, Parker still needed the help of his best friend to decided if he wanted the hockey stick or the spider or his name out of the cake as his *first* portion.
God, there's nothing Rafe wouldn't do for these kids. They're so... you.
By 6 pm the house is finally... quiet. Olivia and Parker are still outside, the place is getting darker and the grass is starting to feel colder but they are using they're new toys. Parker is surprisingly good at sharing with his his sister and Olivia isn't as much but she feels sorry for Parker being so good so she eventually gives in.
You sighed, finally stepping into the kitchen with another stack of dirty plates. The ivory counters caught the light, all cool and clean— that particular kind of brightness that makes the air feel fresher, sharper. Maybe it’s in your head, but you swear this kitchen always feels colder thanks to them, and on an island that never stops pretending it’s summer, that’s a lifesaver.
"Look at you: cleaning." You said with a smirk, carefully putting the plates next to the sink.
Rafe laughed, low and easy, drying his hands on a towel after rinsing the last glass. “I always clean,” he said, and there it was — that glint in his eyes. Mischief, charm, something you’ve known too well to ever really forget. You’ve never decided if he was born with it or built it deliberately over the years. You just know it's there.
It's true. Rafe’s always been neat — almost obsessively so. If there’s one thing you could never hold against him, it’s the way he hated disorder. He cleans, he fixes, he straightens.
"Hm, true." You conceded it to him with a smile.
He hummed and reached over for one of the glasses he just washed. With another expert hand he grabbed the bottle of white wine that wasn't even half empty. He pours some of it on the glass.
You raised a brow, but he only looked at you — that unflinching, knowing look that comes from over a decade of shared history. He looks at you like he has known you for a lifetime. And he has. He's proud enough to say it. He knows you. "C'mon. You deserve it."
You take it from him, not breaking the eye contact he has been trying to give to you the entire day. You give in for once. "I do." You agreed with him, your fingers brushing with his for the second time today as you the glass finally made it into your hand.
"You do." He repeated. "Everything looked perfect today. Like always..." He granted it to you effortlessly. He loved complimenting you, the compliments always fell too easily out of his mouth.
You’re gorgeous. You’re unreal. You drive me insane. I want you forever. Please don’t ever make me live without those legs.
He used to live for saying them.
You take a sip, the wine crisp and cold against the back of your throat, you let some of the tension that has been holding you together all day slip away. He watches, and he doesn’t even pretend not to. His blue eyes are intense, and with this kind of look the blue looks even darker.
“You’re staring.” You tell him, eyes fixed on the glass as you swirl it, pretending it’s nothing. You don't even glance at him because you just know it.
He doesn’t deny it. He likes being shameless with you, it's been a long time since you ever let him being this close to you. “You make it hard not to.” Maybe it's because you're tired, you don't have the energy to put the walls up.
You chuckle — soft, but the kind that sounds like trouble. You're amused. “Still got lines, huh?”
Rafe leans against the counter, towel slung over his shoulder that gives him that domestic look you would kill for years ago, that half-smile tugging at his mouth. “I’ve had practice.” He tilted his head.
“With who?” You ask, feigning casual, like it’s just another jab. But the question comes out a little quieter than you meant it to. It's not even jealousy or possessiveness.
He catches that. Of course he does. He always did. “Does it matter?” he says. There’s no edge in his tone — just a quiet kind of amusement that lands somewhere between confidence and confession.
You roll your eyes, but it’s weak. He always made you weak. “You think you’re so—”
“—Irresistible?” He cuts you off, voice low and teasing. “Yeah. I’ve been told.”
That makes you laugh again, he does have a perfect timing. You take another sip of your white wine, letting yourself think that whatever happens it's because of it. You set the glass down behind you on the counter.
Rafe's still looking at you and you're annoyed because it makes you nervous. "What?" You asked again with a tired smile.
He shrugs. "You just..." His eyes drag over your face like he's trying to remember every part of it, he knows he doesn't have all the time in the world with it now. "...look like you actually had fun today."
You raise a brow, feigning disinterest. "And that's rare?" You're slightly offended by it.
"For you?" He smirks. "Sometimes." He always knew how to get you talking and talking.
"Jeez, thanks." You roll your eyes, but the smile betrays you. You can't deny that the conversation is strangely stimulating. "You're impossible."
He leans a little closer, voice dropping. "You used to like that." He dares to say, his heart starts to quicken. Maybe he's not as slick as he thought he was.
You tilt your head, pretending to think. "Hm, did I?" You give in into the undeniable flirting, that gorgeous smile of yours that always got his head spinning. You're still so good at flirting it's insane.
"Yeah," he says without hesitation. “A lot.”
It's the quite confidence in it that makes you want to slap him. The way he's so certain about what has been with you, he doesn't pretend he knows you now but he uses the past to touch a nerve.
The words hang there: heavy, familiar, and way too cruel. The kind of words that used to mean something and still do, even if neither of you will say it.
You glance at him then, really look at him— the rolled-up sleeves, the undone buttons, the way he still smells like salt and aftershave and how he was able to get the faintest trace of the lavender scent incense your house always has after he spent the entire day here today. It's not fair. It never is.
"Careful." You warn, though your voice isn't half as steady as you want it to be. "You're starting to sound like you miss me." It sounds like you're making fun of him.
He meets your gaze, eyes steady and unflinching, exactly what you're not right now. "What if I do?"
You let out a quiet laugh, shaking your head. "Don't start." You don't take it to heart, he started flirting again a few months after the divorce when the tension between you had lessened. He does it to piss you off.
So you don't take it seriously.
He doesn't back down with it. He doesn't try to make it lighter or easier for your comfort, he wants to get to you. "I'm not starting." He says. "I'm just... talking."
You scoff now, shaking your head as if it's so obvious how much you know him too. "That's the problem with you. You never just talk."
"Oh, but I'm so good at it."
You try to ignore the heat crawling up your neck and the trembling of your fingers. Your grip on the counter behind you tightened in desperation for some stability. "Rafe..." You warn him softly than you intended to.
He leans in again, feeling like he's finally making some progress. "Yeah?"
"Don't."
He half-smiles, the dangerous kind, the one that used to get you to skip classes and get bad grades back in high school. "You keep saying that."
You groaned. "And you keep not listening."
"Because you don't really mean it."
And when you're about to complain, about to say maybe yes or maybe no, when you're about to give him something more to work with, a little voice interrupted.
"Mom?"
Olivia. Freshly nine years old and apparently using her time for perfect interruption. She's standing there, with the plastic golden retriever her new vet Barbie brought. One of the gifts.
You both pull back from each other, not that you were exactly so close but it was the closest you have been in years. "Hey, bug." Rafe says, voice gruff.
"Yeah, Liv. You're okay?" You sighed, putting yourself back together.
"Is daddy staying here tonight?" She asked, looking up between you two with that innocence that you hope she carries with her forever. It makes her brutally honest and you can't help but love it.
She had the hope in her eyes that you hated to crush every single time you had to bring the reality back into everyone's lives.
"Uh..."
You shook your head, fast and with a purpose. Rafe thought you might break your neck doing it. "No, no. He's just... helping me clean up, baby." You explained with a soft smile as you also comforted yourself.
The disappointment goes over her face but she quickly masked it. It's what she's used to now: dad doesn't stay over. "Oh... okay!" She said before running away outside with her brother again.
Jesus, these kids are really here to remind you of everything.
He cleared his throat, putting the towel he had on his hands down. "Guess that's my cue."
You nodded awkwardly, suddenly aware of what had happened between you two. Again. "Yep." You pressed your lips in a line. "Thanks for... helping cleaning—"
"Yeah, no worries." He cut you off, suddenly awkward too. "I'll go say goodbye." He announced before you even got a chance to say something else.
Two minutes later you see him again after you heard him saying goodbye to the twins, giving them one last tight hug and saying happy birthday again, he promised to call them later.
He appeared on the kitchen, heading to the front door so he could finally get the fuck out of this house. He definitely doesn't know how to control himself when he's here.
"Goodnight. I told them I'll call later—" He gestured to the kids who were now entering from the backyard, still so bubbly and happy.
"Yeah, sure." You said, scratching the back of your neck as you watched him leave, his tall frame was out of the picture and you were able to breathe again.
Oh, my God. Why do you keep doing this to yourself? He always just... ugh.
Whatever, all you know is that you can't let this happen once more. You won't let him get to you with his... domestic abilities or whatever the fuck he uses to flirt with you now. You won't allow it.
It makes your head dizzy and your hands shaky with an indecision you're not able to process.
You can't let the hours together be able to cuddle you into some kind of strange longing for him that makes you want to be closer to each other again.
requesting chichi (cause that's my girl) with any type of !rafe but heehehehe
him having to drag her out of a party they were at, drinks were involved and chichi caught some girl staring at her man which is a biiig nono- but yes, at first she gets all huffy and puffy but the minute the other girl passes by them and purposely has a hand graze rafe's arm- yeah, cat fight! 🙂↕️🙂↕️🙂↕️
any note (s) ⎯♡ yes yes yes! and this will take place after they get married (fic coming soon)
rafe had been glued to your side all night, hand in the back pocket of your skirt, leaning down every so often to press his mouth to your ear. “you’re pretty when you pout,” he had whispered earlier, when you complained about your heels pinching.
but you weren’t pouting now. you were fucking angry.
because across the room, half-hidden by the crowd of sweaty bodies and flashing lights, some girl had her eyes locked on your man. not a glance. not a double-take. a full-on, bold, hungry stare like she was thinking of climbing him like a tree. you set your drink down on the counter with a loud clink and crossed your arms over your chest.
“baby,” rafe drawled, noticing the way you shifted. “what’s with the look?”
you tilted your chin toward the girl. “her.”
"oh come on," he followed your gaze, then smirked. “seriously?”
“she’s staring at you,” you snapped.
“so?”
“so she needs to stop.” rolling your eyes.. like he should know this already.
“chi,” he cooed, pulling you closer. “you know i don’t see anyone else.”
“that’s not the point,” you huffed, pressing your chest against him. “she’s thinking about you, i can tell. i hate it.”
"or..." he grinned. “you’re jealous.”
“i’m protective,” you corrected.
“you’re possessive,” he teased. “and it’s hot as fuck.”
before you could reply, the girl herself appeared. she pushed right past the crowd, eyes lingering a second too long on rafe. her perfume trailed behind her as she brushed by, and then—oh fuck no—her hand grazed his arm.
no it was a light touch, to be honest. almost nothing. but you saw it and worse, she smiled when she did it.
“oh no you didn’t,” you muttered.
before rafe could stop you, you shoved past him and spun on the girl. “hey!” you snapped, loudly over the music.
she froze, turning with a fake innocence written all over her face. “what?”
“did you just touch my husband?” you demanded.
"chill," her brows lifted. “it was an accident.”
“like hell it was,” you spat, stepping closer to the girl. “keep your hands off what doesn’t belong to you.”
rafe’s hand caught your waist, but you shrugged him off, your eyes blazing. the girl gave a little smirk. “he doesn’t look like he minds.”
you gasped so dramatically half the people around turned to watch. “excuse me?”
before she could answer, you jumped, lunging at the girl. rafe caught you just in time, arms wrapping around your waist, hauling you back against his chest. “baby, no—”
“let me go!” you shouted, kicking your feet. “she touched you! she touched my man!”
the girl laughed under her breath, flipping her hair like she hadn’t just declared war on you. “oh my God, i will kill her!” you yelled, still thrashing.
“chiii baby,” rafe grunted, dragging you away from the crowd. “you’re drunk.”
“i am not drunk,” you snapped, trying to wiggle free. “i am furious!”
he pulled you toward the door, ignoring the stares and snickers, his grip iron around your waist. you twisted in his hold, shouting over his shoulder. “keep your desperate little claws to yourself, barbie!”
rafe finally pushed out into the cool night air, kicking the door shut behind him as he set you down on the hood of his car. you glared at him, cheeks flushed, eyes wild. “why didn’t you let me scratch her eyes out?”
“because i don’t feel like bailing my new wife out of jail,” he said flatly.
“she deserved it.”
he smirked, stepping closer until he stood between your legs. “yeah. but she’s not worth your time.”
you pouted, crossing your arms. “she touched you.”
“so what?” he asked, tilting his head.
“so you’re mine,” you snapped.
he leaned in, nose brushing yours. “you think i don’t know that?”
“then why didn’t you shove her off?”
“because i knew you would,” he said with a grin. “and honestly, it was fun watching you get all huffy.”
you gasped again, swatting his chest. “you let her touch you to see me get mad?”
“mmaayybe,” he said, his eyes dark filling with lust. “you’re sexy when you’re jealous.”
you whined, burying your face in his neck. “i hate girls looking at you.”
“good,” he murmured, gripping your thighs. “means you’ll never let me forget who i belong to.”
“that’s right,” you muttered. “you’re mine.”
“say it louder.”
you pulled back, eyes meeting his. “you’re mine.”
his mouth curved into a dirty smile. “there she is.” he kissed you hard, hands sliding under your skirt, squeezing your ass until you squeaked. "there's my pretty girl."
“rafe,” you whispered against his mouth. “take me home.”
he chuckles, with the biggest smile, “you’re lucky i love you. otherwise, i’d drive back in there and let you start that catfight.”
“you wouldn’t dare,” you gasped.
he kissed you again, softer this time. “no... i wouldn’t. because you’d win.”
"hmph," you huff sweetly, tugging his hair. “exactly.”
BEAUTIFUL PERSON AWARD. Once you're given this award, you're supposed to paste it in the ask of eight people who deserve it. If you break the chain, nothing happens but it's sweet to know so. I think you're beautiful inside and out, never forget to love yourself 💝🌟
i have a req for corporate and blue collar rafe! maybe one where corporate has a super hard day at work and rafe calls her and he can tell shes not happy but she denies it and goes home because shes used to dealing with things on her own but he shows up anyway and lets her vent and makes her feel better. ty!!
lean on me
꩜ corporate!reader x bluecollar!rafe
꩜ i'm obsessed with this req, love you anon
You weren’t going to tell him.
It wasn’t that you didn’t trust Rafe, because you did, in ways that scared you sometimes, it was that you’d spent years learning how to be bulletproof.
No matter the meeting that went wrong, the client that screamed at you, or the hours you stayed late just to fix someone else’s mistake, you knew how to plaster on a calm voice and a neat smile.
So when his name lit up your phone on the drive home, you answered like everything was fine.
“Hey.”
“Hi, baby. You headed home?” His voice was warm, lazy, the faint clinking of beer bottles and low guitar music in the background.
“Mhm. Just left the office.”
“You sound…” he paused, and you could practically see his brow knit through the phone. “…different.”
You laughed under your breath. “Different how?”
“Like you’re smiling without meaning it.”
God. He was annoyingly good at reading you.
“I’m fine, Rafe,” you lied, too quickly. “Just tired.”
He didn’t push, which was almost worse. He just told you he’d see you soon, like he meant later this week or next time we hang out.
So when there was a knock on your door twenty minutes later, you stood there in your crisp work clothes and bare feet, staring at him in disbelief.
“Rafe—”
“You didn’t sound fine,” he said simply, like that explained everything. And in his mind, it did.
You let him in because saying 'no' felt impossible.
He dropped his baseball cap on your kitchen counter, scanned you once, then once more. “Bad day?”
You shook your head. “It’s not—”
“Don’t do that,” he said, stepping closer until your back met the counter. His voice softened. “You don’t have to be steel with me.”
That cracked something.
You didn’t mean to tell him about the meeting that went off the rails, or the passive-aggressive email, or the way you’d swallowed every retort because that’s what professionals do. But the words just started tumbling out, your voice getting smaller with each one.
Rafe didn’t interrupt. He just stood between your knees after gently lifting you onto the counter, one palm on your hip, the other skimming your thigh like he was grounding you in the present. When your voice faltered, his thumb brushed over your knuckles. When you tried to apologize for unloading, he shook his head.
“Don’t say sorry,” he murmured. “You take care of everyone else all day. Let me take care of you for a change.”
And then you were tucked against his chest on your silk bed, breathing in the smell of sawdust and laundry detergent, his chin resting on your hair. His hands moved slow, one rubbing circles into your lower back, the other combing through the ends of your hair.
You stayed like that until your shoulders stopped aching and your breathing evened out.
When you finally pulled back, his eyes searched yours. “Better?”
You nodded, a little embarrassed. “Yeah. I… don’t usually let people see me like that.”
“Guess I’m not just people,” he said, smirking just enough to make your heart lurch.
And maybe you’d deny it later, but you swore you felt something click right then, the quiet, certain truth that no matter how much you insisted on standing on your own… he’d still show up.
...
Rafe has had plenty of rough days at the garage, but some were worse than others. Like today.
You hear it before you open your door, the slow, dragging footsteps in your hallway, the faint metallic rattle of his keys as he stopped and knocked.
“Rafe?”
He doesn’t answer right away. Just appears in the doorway, still in his oil-stained shirt, hair mussed, eyes a shade darker than usual. There’s grease smudged on his forearm, a streak across his jaw like he forgot to wipe it off.
“Hey, corporate,” he says, voice rough, but it’s missing the usual spark and cocky flair.
You set down your glass of wine. “You okay?”
He exhales through his nose, crossing the threshold without hesitation.
“Long day.”
“How long?”
“Started before sunrise, ended… now.” He gives a humorless huff. “Bent over the hood of a ‘97 Silverado for four hours. My shoulders feel like concrete.”
You close the door, and before you can even ask if he wants water, he’s already got his arms around your waist, his forehead pressed to your shoulder. Not his usual teasing hug, not that cocky Rafe swagger, just a full-body lean, like he’s putting his weight on you.
“I missed you,” he mumbles into your neck.
Your fingers find the back of his hair, combing through it gently. “You saw me two days ago.”
“Too long,” he says, voice low. He breathes you in, long and slow. “I swear, I walk in here and my head finally shuts up.”
You guide him to the couch, easing him down. He doesn’t let go, just pulls you with him so you’re straddling his lap, his hands tucked under your shirt for the heat of your skin.
“You’re warm,” he says quietly, like it’s a revelation. “Perfect.”
That last part is quieter, almost like he didn’t mean for you to hear it. But you do, and your chest goes even warmer in that way only Rafe seems to manage.
He groans when your fingers work into the knots along his shoulders.
“God, that’s good,” he mutters, eyes falling shut. “Think you’re the only thing keepin’ me in one piece right now.”
You smile faintly, rubbing slow circles into the tense muscle. “Don’t tell me the great Rafe Cameron is dependent on someone.”
He opens one eye to glare, but there’s no heat in it. “Not someone. You.”
And maybe it’s the way he says it without hesitation or embarrassment at your teasing remark that makes your throat go tight.
His breathing evens out after a while, the tension melting under your hands. His thumb is still tracing lazy patterns against your side, even half-asleep.
“You can crash here,” you whisper.
“Wasn’t plannin’ on leavin’,” he mumbles.
You let him stay exactly like that, heavy and warm under you, smelling faintly of motor oil and cologne, because if there’s one thing you’ve learned about Rafe, it’s that when he needs you, he really needs you.
And you wouldn't want it any other way.
TAGLIST (OG taglist + anyone who asked to be tagged): @lunaleah, @luzstarkey, @rafeycameronsgf, @pluviophilis @aerie717, @voqueflms, @drewstarkeyspecs, @nightchanges777, @starkeyjoseph, @bonjourjiminie, @discomago, @kissylec, @kelbrave, @therosequartzwitch666, @laurel-inheaven, @parkjiminiemouse, @a-lovers-card, @lxvrgirl
Summary: After an unforgettable spring break in Cabo with cocky frat boy Rafe Cameron, you return to campus expecting to forget him, especially since he ghosts you completely. Months later, your best friend Savannah ropes you into a chaotic road trip to Vegas with the same group of frat boys and sorority girls. When you’re unexpectedly thrown back into Rafe’s orbit, old feelings resurface fast.
“I swear, if you say no one more time, I’m filing for a best friend divorce.”
You barely glance up from your coffee. “You’d never survive without me.”
Savannah glares at you from across the kitchen island, standing there in her matching pink workout set like she didn’t just burst into your dorm at 9 a.m. on a Saturday. “I’m serious. This is the trip. The trip of the year. You’re coming.”
“Nope.”
“Yes.”
You take a slow sip. “No.”
“Yes!” She tosses a sparkly duffel bag onto the counter for dramatic effect. “Vegas, baby. Come on. It’s tradition. Summer, post-finals blowout, one big road trip with the girls and the boys—”
You cut her off, deadpan. “You mean the frat boys who spell 'Las Vegas' with a Z and think sunscreen is for losers?”
Her smile tightens. “Okay, first of all, they only did that once. And second, that was Topper. You can’t hold everything against him.”
You give her a pointed look.
“Okay, fine. You can hold that against him. But the rest of them? They’re pretty much harmless.”
You hum, not convinced. “What part of me ever gave you the impression I wanted to spend twelve hours in a cramped van with those people?”
She narrows her eyes. “You promised me you’d be less boring this year.”
“I did not.”
“Fine. I promised myself you’d be less boring.”
You sigh, rubbing your temple. “Sav…”
She softens. “Please? You’ve been, like…off. Since Cabo.”
You go still.
She notices.
“I’m fine,” you say, too fast.
She gives you a look that says, liar.
You hold her gaze. She doesn’t blink.
And the thing is, she’s not entirely wrong.
Because ever since that stupid, tequila-soaked, sand-in-your-shoes spring break trip, you’ve been a little…off.
Specifically, ever since Rafe Cameron flirted with you the entire time, was with you at every moment, slept in the same bed as you, and then never texted you again.
Not a single message.
Not a call. Not a reel. Not even a stupid emoji.
Nothing.
So you didn’t reach out either.
Because screw that.
You’re not the girl who chases guys, especially not guys like him. Golden, cocky, fratboy gods who know exactly what they do to people. And if he didn’t want to talk to you? Fine. Whatever. Cabo meant nothing.
(Except it did.)
(Except you still dream about his hand on your thigh and the way his voice dipped when he said your name.)
(But whatever.)
Savannah’s voice cuts through your internal spiral. “You don’t even have to talk to him.”
Your stomach tightens. “Who?”
She blinks innocently. “Who what?”
“Savannah.”
She winces. “Okay, fine. Yes. Rafe’s going. But I wasn’t gonna lead with that.”
You stare at her. “Absolutely not.”
“Please.”
“Fuck no.”
“Okay, but imagine this: you, hot as hell in the passenger seat, sunglasses on, feet on the dash, looking unbothered. You make him suffer. Tortured ex-hookup energy. A power move.”
You hesitate.
Because… okay. That does sound kind of fun.
She sees you crack. Pounces.
“C’mon. Vegas is the perfect distraction. Slot machines. Poolside cocktails. Getting hit on by guys in Hawaiian shirts pretending to be hedge fund managers. And maybe, maybe even revenge.”
You squint. “Revenge?”
She smiles like the devil. “Look good. Laugh a lot. Ignore him. Men hate that.”
You consider. Your silence is dangerous.
She knows she’s won.
“Fine,” you mutter.
“YES!” she shrieks, already pulling you off your bed. “You’re gonna wear that black dress, the one that makes you look like heartbreak in heels. And you’re gonna be so mean to him.”
You sigh. “I’m not gonna be mean.”
She grins. “Okay, fine. You’re gonna be icy. Emotionally distant. Like he’s just another grain of sand in the Vegas desert.”
You roll your eyes. “You’re insane.”
She winks. “And you’re coming to Vegas.”
...
You should’ve known he’d drive.
Of course Rafe Cameron would show up in a blacked-out Jeep Wrangler, all polished steel and testosterone, like this wasn’t a twelve-hour road trip and he wasn’t about to turn a freeway into his personal F1 fantasy.
You’re standing in the student union parking lot, trying to blend into the crowd of sorority girls squealing over matching trucker hats and portable chargers. You’re in your best chill outfit. Cute, effortless, completely disinterested. Sunglasses on. Coffee in hand. Lip gloss poppin’. You’re not nervous.
(Lie. You’re absolutely panicking.)
And then, you hear the engine.
The Jeep pulls in like a movie entrance: slow, dramatic, with that stupid subtle bass rumble that makes your chest feel like it’s vibrating. And then the door swings open and there he is.
Rafe.
Wearing aviators, a worn gray t-shirt, and the kind of smug expression that says yeah, I know you looked. His tan is back. His hair’s longer. His jawline is still doing unnecessary things.
He hops out of the car like it’s nothing.
But then his eyes find yours.
And everything else disappears.
Just like in Cabo. Just like always.
But unlike Cabo, you look away first.
Savannah elbows you hard. “He’s totally staring.”
“No, he’s not.”
“He’s definitely staring.”
“I’m not doing this,” you mutter, walking toward the van where the girls are sorting snacks and arguing over aux privileges. You do not need to make eye contact. You are not acknowledging him.
“Hey,” he says.
You freeze.
You glance over your shoulder. Rafe’s right behind you, thumb hooked in his pocket, acting casual, but his voice is low, almost hesitant.
“Hey,” you say flatly.
He nods once. Like that was the entire conversation. Like it didn’t just send a weird, electric tension zipping between you.
You start to turn away again, but then you're interrupted because Rafe grabs your duffel bag from the pile before you can reach it. Just picks it up like it’s automatic.
You blink. “I’ve got it.”
He shrugs. “Didn’t ask.”
You want to argue. But then he’s already walking toward his Jeep, not the van, and opening the passenger door.
You frown. “What are you doing?”
He doesn’t even look at you. “You’re riding with me.”
You scoff. “Says who?”
“Savannah made a seating chart.”
“She did not.”
“She did,” he deadpans, pulling out a crumpled piece of notebook paper from his glove box and holding it up. It has highlighter marks. Your name is literally next to his.
You turn to Savannah, who gives you a shameless thumbs-up from the other car. “You’re welcome!”
You look back at Rafe. “I’ll ride with someone else.”
He tosses your bag in the back. “Too late. Dibs.”
You grit your teeth. “You are so—”
“I got you that coffee you like,” he says casually, cutting you off.
You blink. “What?”
He pulls a second coffee cup from the console and offers it without looking at you, like it’s no big deal. Like he didn’t just drop a memory bomb from four months ago.
You eye it suspiciously. “How’d you even know I was coming?”
He shrugs, eyes sparkling like he knows something you don't. “Didn’t. Got lucky.”
You stare at him for a long second. He doesn’t flinch. Just stands there, one hand on the door, waiting.
And god help you, you take the coffee.
You hate how good it tastes. And how much that stupid little gesture hits you harder than it should.
He opens the door for you. Doesn’t say anything, but when you slide in, the corners of his mouth twitch like he’s trying very hard not to smile.
You keep your eyes straight ahead like it's a hostage situation.
The others pile into the backseat. Topper ends up behind you and yells something about needing an “emergency gas station White Claw run.”
And just like that, the road trip begins.
But then Rafe adjusts the AC vents to point toward you. Turns down the music when you’re fiddling with your phone. Switches lanes early so you don’t have to get jolted. Drives smoother.
And maybe it’s nothing.
But maybe it’s not.
Because Rafe Cameron might not say much.
But everything else is loud as hell.
You stay silent for the first hour. So does he. The playlist rotates between trap music and Lana Del Rey, which is…oddly on brand for this group.
At some point, the sun gets in your eyes. You don’t ask for help, but without a word, Rafe reaches behind your seat and pulls out an old baseball cap. He tosses it into your lap.
It’s his.
Faded blue. Smells like sunscreen and something you don’t want to name.
You glance at him. “What’s this?”
He doesn’t look away from the road. “Sun’s in your face.”
You hesitate, then slip it on.
...
You pull up to a diner that looks like it hasn’t changed since 1973. The kind of place where time stands still and so do your better instincts.
You’re halfway through a plate of pancakes you didn’t even really want when Topper walks out of the bathroom and slides dramatically into the booth next to Savannah like he’s just returned from battle.
“Tell me why that bathroom had three different air fresheners and none of them worked.”
Savannah wrinkles her nose. “Maybe because you were in there for twenty minutes.”
“I was exploring!” he protests. “Don’t shame me for having curiosity.”
"More like taking a fat shit," Savannah mumbles under her breath.
You tune them out, eyes drifting to the other side of the table where Rafe’s sitting entirely too comfortably for someone who has you emotionally spiraling. Elbow propped on the back of the booth, one hand nursing a black coffee, the other absently spinning the silver napkin holder between his fingers.
He hasn’t looked at you in ten minutes.
Which would be fine.
Except he keeps nudging your foot with his under the table. Every few minutes like it’s a game.
And you keep pretending not to notice.
Except you absolutely do.
You shift in your seat, clearing your throat. “Can we not?”
He tilts his head, all faux innocence. “Not what?”
“That.” You flick your ankle against his, annoyed. “Whatever that footsie thing is.”
He lifts a brow. “Footsie?”
Topper perks up. “Who’s playing footsie?”
Savannah smirks, catching on immediately. “Oh my god, is this happening?”
You roll your eyes. “Nothing is happening.”
Rafe sips his coffee like he didn’t just get caught red-handed. “She started it.”
You whip your head toward him. “I did not—”
Savannah claps her hands. “Okay, wait. I’m just gonna say it, this is the exact energy you two had in Cabo, and we all saw it. You were basically the plot of a slow burn romance novel.”
“Except it burned out,” you say coolly, stabbing your pancakes a little too hard.
There’s a beat of silence.
Rafe glances at you. Quietly. Carefully.
Topper, oblivious as ever, picks up a ketchup bottle. “Burned out or just... paused?”
“Not everything needs to be analyzed like a Marvel post-credits scene, Topper.”
Savannah kicks you under the table gently, which is even worse. “Okay, but be honest. Are you mad at him or just mad you miss him?”
Your fork stills.
Across from you, Rafe’s gaze is heavy. You can feel him watching.
You don’t answer.
You can’t.
But then Rafe leans forward, voice low, just for you. “You want the rest of my hashbrowns?”
You blink. “What?”
He pushes his plate toward you with one finger, casual but intentional. “You always steal mine anyway. Figured I’d save us the trouble.”
Your heart betrays you with a flutter.
You try to recover. “I don’t always steal them.”
Savannah coughs. “You absolutely do.”
Rafe shrugs. “It’s fine. I like when she does.”
That shuts everyone up.
He says it with no theatrics. Just plain and honest. The way people say things when they mean them and don't care who hears.
Your chest tightens. “Don’t say stuff like that.”
“Why not?”
“Because.” You look at him, eyes sharp. “You don’t get to.”
Something flickers in his expression. But he nods.
Fair.
Quiet settles again. This time a little heavier.
Then Rafe picks up the ketchup bottle, unscrews the cap, and without looking, starts pouring a perfect R-shaped squiggle on Topper’s pancakes.
Topper howls. “Dude!”
Savannah snorts. You bite back a laugh.
And just like that, the moment cracks.
Rafe glances at you, mouth curving slow. “Smile looks good on you.”
You shake your head, warmth creeping up your neck.
This was supposed to be easy.
Eat. Ignore him. Get back in the car.
But somehow, even in a crappy booth with a plate of unwanted hashbrowns and fluorescent lighting buzzing overhead, Rafe finds a way to knock the air out of you.
...
The second the Vegas skyline comes into view, Savannah rolls down the Jeep window and screams.
Loudly.
For no reason.
The warm desert air whips through your hair. Neon lights flicker in the distance. You’re tired, vaguely dehydrated, and running on a diet of pancakes and emotionally complicated eye contact, but even you have to admit it’s a little breathtaking.
The Strip glows like a fever dream.
The group chat is blowing up. People are yelling from cars. Someone's honking like they just discovered sound. Topper's already lost a shoe.
“We made it, bitches!” Savannah hollers from the backseat, standing up and sticking half her body out the sunroof like she’s on a party bus. “Vegas, baby!”
Rafe rolls his eyes but doesn’t stop her. He’s still driving. One hand on the wheel. The other… is draped casually over your seatback.
Not touching you.
But almost.
He hasn’t said much since the diner. Just the occasional joke, a playlist switch, a quick stop for gas. But the air’s been heavy between you. And you haven’t stopped thinking about it since.
But you’re in Vegas now.
Which means distraction.
Which means chaos.
Which means—
“Oh my god, there are so many people,” Savannah says as the group finally pulls into the hotel drop-off zone.
It’s a blur of suitcases, sequins, and bad decisions waiting to happen. The valet is overwhelmed. The hotel lobby looks like a reality show on steroids. Everyone’s yelling. No one knows where their ID is. A girl from Savannah’s sorority has already thrown up in a conveniently placed bush.
You and Rafe step out of the Jeep at the same time, and it’s instant overload.
“Where’s the check-in line?”
“Did we lose someone?”
“Why is there a python around that man’s neck?”
You look around and immediately feel your brain short-circuiting.
“This is a nightmare,” you mutter.
Rafe, next to you, grins. “Told you. What’s a vacation without a little chaos?”
You scowl. “Did you just quote yourself?”
He winks.
Before you can respond, Topper appears, dragging three bags and yelling, “Room keys! I have the room keys!”
He waves them around like he’s won a prize.
Savannah runs over. “Who am I rooming with?”
“Me,” he says confidently.
“You wish,” she shoots back.
There’s shouting, switching, arguing over who gets the suite with the Strip view. The hotel manager looks mildly traumatized.
You try to stay out of it.
“Room 1215,” Savannah says, sliding a key into your hand. “You’re with me. But…”
She glances at Rafe. Then at you. Her voice drops to a whisper. “His room is across the hall.”
Your stomach flips.
You glance at the card in your hand.
Rafe’s watching you. Silent. Careful.
Before you can say anything, he leans in slightly, just enough for his voice to hit your ear. “I didn’t plan that.”
You turn your head. He’s close.
You can smell his cologne. See the faint stubble on his jaw. Watch the way his eyes search yours like he’s not sure if he’s allowed to be doing this.
“Sure,” you whisper back.
He smirks, but it’s softer this time. “I didn’t.”
You don’t answer. You just pocket the key.
Then Savannah grabs your wrist and yanks you toward the elevators, yelling something about getting ready for the first club.
Rafe watches you go.
You feel it the whole way down the hall.
Like gravity.
Like Vegas is about to get a lot messier.
...
The Vegas club is loud enough to rattle your bones.
Bass pulsing like a heartbeat, lights strobing through the haze, bodies packed wall to wall. The VIP section you and the rest of your group scored is practically glowing, champagne bottles popping, sparklers waving, someone already standing on the couch in heels far too high for physics.
You’re three shots deep and glowing with the kind of chaos only Savannah could inspire.
“Drink this,” she shouts over the music, pressing another shot glass into your hand.
You eye it. “I’m already—”
“Drink it,” she demands. “You’re thinking too much. I see it. Cabo Brain. Still. Get it out.”
You frown. “There’s no Cabo Brain.”
“There’s so Cabo Brain,” she says, practically dancing in place. “You’re still hurt. Still bitter. Still waiting for some text that’s not coming.”
You roll your eyes. “I’m not waiting for anything.”
“Then prove it.” She smirks, and nods toward the edge of the VIP section. “That guy’s been staring at you for ten minutes. Go flirt. Be reckless. Be hot. Make him—” she points discreetly toward the booth where Rafe is laughing with Topper and pretending not to be watching you “—miserable.”
You hesitate.
Savannah’s eyes glitter. “Time to make someone regret his whole damn life.”
You down the shot.
It burns on the way down. But not nearly as much as the thought of Cabo. Of him.
Of Rafe not texting. Not calling. Not anything.
So you stand.
You’re tipsy and warm and a little unhinged, but the dress you’re wearing fits like sin and your confidence spikes as you move across the floor.
You smile at the guy Savannah pointed out. He looked tall, decent smile, obviously in Vegas for some corporate retreat with a fake Rolex and too much cologne. Doesn’t matter.
You let him flirt.
Let him lean in.
Let him touch your waist when he laughs at something you barely said.
Because maybe it’ll make you forget.
“Seriously?”
The voice hits your spine before you see him.
You turn. Rafe. Towering. Furious.
Eyes dark, jaw clenched, shirt clinging to him like he fought his way through the crowd to get to you.
You blink, drunk and wobbly. “What?”
He’s looking at the guy. “Back off, man.”
“Dude, chill—” the guy starts, but Rafe’s glare is sharp enough to cut glass.
The guy takes the hint.
Vanishes.
You scoff. “Nice. So now you care?”
He looks at you. Really looks at you. His chest is rising and falling like he ran here. “What the hell are you doing?”
“What does it look like?” you snap.
“You’re drunk.”
You cross your arms. “No shit. That was kind of the point.”
He stares at you, like he doesn’t recognize the version of you in front of him. Or maybe he does... and it scares him.
You continue, words slurring just a bit. “Isn’t that what you do in Vegas? Get drunk? Dance with strangers? Forget people who disappear on you for four months and never f—freaking call?”
His face shifts. Pain flashes through it. Real pain.
You shake your head. “I thought you liked me. You were stuck to me like glue and then you just… evaporated. Like none of it mattered. Like I didn’t matter.”
He’s silent. Just watching you.
And you hate it. Hate how exposed you feel. How you’re slurring your heartbreak under flashing lights in front of the one person you swore you were over.
You laugh bitterly. “God, I am so stupid. I knew you were a frat boy. I knew you were trouble. I knew you were never gonna be the type who—”
“I didn’t know what to say,” he cuts in.
You blink.
He steps closer, voice quieter now. Barely audible over the music. “I didn’t know how to say it.”
You stare.
“I liked you,” he says. “Too much. More than I was supposed to. And I knew if I texted, if I called, I’d...”
“You’d what?” you whisper.
“I’d fall harder.”
You’re swaying slightly now. Not from the music. From all of it. The weight. The way his words slice through your chest like broken glass.
He reaches out gently, steadying your elbow. “Let me take you back upstairs.”
You want to fight him. You want to scream. You want to cry.
But you’re so tired.
So you just nod.
And when he walks you back through the crowd, hand steady on your lower back like you’re something fragile, something to treasure, you let yourself lean into him. Just a little.
Even if it hurts.
Even if you know tomorrow, everything could fall apart all over again.
...
You’re swaying in the elevator.
Rafe’s got one arm loosely around your waist to keep you upright, but he’s not doing much better. His eyes are glassy. His shirt is half unbuttoned. You’re both buzzing with alcohol and something deeper, something heavier.
“I lost my keycard,” you mumble, squinting at the blurry numbers above the doors.
“I know,” he says softly.
“You don’t know.”
“You dropped it in the ice bucket at the bar.”
“…Oh.”
He laughs, quiet and fond, like he’s trying not to spook you.
He nudges you gently into his hotel room, guiding you with both hands now, warm and careful. You trip on the rug, laugh into his chest. He catches you like he’s done it a hundred times.
And when you finally collapse onto the bed, face-first and sighing like it’s the best thing that’s ever happened to you, Rafe just watches for a second. Like he’s still trying to figure out if this is real. If you are.
You roll onto your back and stare up at him. “You really didn’t call because you thought I didn’t want you to?”
His hand drifts behind his neck, rubbing the back of it like he’s exhausted. “I overthink things. Especially you.”
“That’s dumb,” you whisper.
“I know.”
He sits at the edge of the bed, undoing his watch, toeing off his boots. “You were the first person I ever… I don’t know. Cared about who didn’t chase me.”
You blink up at the ceiling. “That’s even dumber.”
He huffs a laugh. “Yeah.”
You’re silent for a beat before you admit. “I missed you, asshole.”
His head tilts slightly, like he’s not sure he heard you right.
You’re barely conscious at this point. Voice slurred, body heavy, mascara smudged beneath your eyes, but honest. Raw.
“I hated you for not calling,” you say, eyes fluttering. “But I hated myself more for wanting you to.”
That lands hard.
You don’t see it, but Rafe’s face twists.
He exhales shakily, turns off the light, and crawls into the bed beside you without a word.
No jokes. No flirtation.
Just his arm brushing yours under the blankets. Just the quiet inhale when your legs tangle. Just the way his hand ghosts near your shoulder like he wants to hold you but doesn’t.
And when you roll over and curl instinctively toward him, your face tucked into his chest, you feel it.
His heartbeat.
Fast and unsure.
He doesn’t say anything.
Just pulls you in gently and closes his eyes like he’s home for the first time in months.
The world wakes before you do.
It creeps in through the thin hotel curtains, soft gold pouring over tangled sheets and your still bodies, warm like honey. The room smells faintly of his cologne and your shampoo. Of sleep. Of something safe.
You stir slowly, blinking your way back into consciousness.
There’s a weight over your waist.
A hand.
His hand.
And your leg is hooked over his, bare skin brushing denim, the fabric of his hoodie that he must've slipped onto you bunched up at your hips.
Your breath hitches.
Rafe.
He’s still asleep.
Head turned toward you, one arm tucked under the pillow, the other wrapped around your waist like it never left.
His brow is relaxed. Lips parted. Chest rising and falling in steady rhythm against your side, like your breathing has synced up somewhere between midnight and morning.
You don’t move.
You just look at him.
At the angle of his jaw. The tan line at his collar. The soft lashes you always pretended not to notice. His mouth, the same one that once to whisper things against your neck, things you pretended didn’t mean anything anymore.
You reach out, instinctively, and gently brush a strand of hair from his forehead.
His eyes flutter open.
Groggy. Sleep-warm.
And they land on you.
He doesn’t jolt. Doesn’t smirk. Doesn’t speak.
Just smiles, slow and sleepy. Like waking up next to you was a dream he didn’t expect to be real.
“Hi,” he whispers.
Your heart does something stupid in your chest. “Hi.”
His thumb drags softly along your hip under the hoodie. Not in a way that makes you flinch. Not in a way that asks for more.
Just there. Present.
“I didn’t mean to pass out like that,” you say quietly.
“You did in Cabo too,” he murmurs, voice still scratchy. “You get comfortable and then you just… go.”
You huff a laugh, face half buried in the pillow. “That’s so embarrassing.”
“No,” he says, gaze searching yours. “It’s so cute.”
You go still.
The room does too.
And when your eyes begin to sting, for reasons you don’t want to admit, he seems to sense it. His fingers trail up from your waist to your back, drawing tiny circles.
“You okay?” he asks.
You nod before you mean it.
“I missed you.”
It slips out before you can stop it.
Soft and broken and too early for confessions like that, but it’s true. And it’s yours.
Rafe’s expression crumples just slightly. Then he shifts closer, tucking you fully against his chest like he’s trying to shield you from everything outside that room.
“I know,” he whispers. “Me too.”
Your face finds the warm space under his jaw, and his hand moves to the back of your head, cradling it gently.
He kisses your hair.
Not to prove a point.
Not to make a move.
Just because he wanted to.
And when you both drift back to sleep minutes later, curled into each other like muscle memory, you realize you’ve never felt more at peace.
“Fine. Sorry for bothering you,” you snapped, turning on your heel to leave but Rafe grabbed you by your wrist, effectively stopping you in your tracks.
“What exactly do you want me to say, Precious?” he said, his voice rising. His cheeks were red, when you turned back to look at him.
“Do you love me?”
Rafe immediately let go of your wrist, as if touching your skin burnt him, his expression ashen.
author’s note: the final chapter!!! who'd ever thought we'd get here?? bc I certainly didn't! at this point, I want to thank everyone who stayed from the beginning to the end, despite my hiatus. thanks for reading, crying and laughing with me, I really do appreciate every single one of you <3 without further ado, please have the last (official!) chapter of illicit affairs! 😭
PS: don’t skip the author’s note at the end!
✦ . ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺ . ✦
You’d stared at the swinging keychain, like it had personally offended you. After having found it in Rafe’s drawer, something in you compelled you to take it with you. You seriously doubted that Rafe was gonna miss it, considering it was buried in the drawer of his night stand.
After laying in your bed, staring at the key chain in your hand for what felt like the whole day, you’d grown restless, so you got up. The weather forecast looked pretty good for a surf, and from then on, you mostly worked on autopilot, packing your surfing gear and showing your board in the trunk of your jeep.
But, like you were cursed, you had brought the goddamn key chain with you, having slid it over the rearview mirror, and it swung around your car as you drove, like it was mocking you.
Every single thought that ran through your mind was of the same caliber, and by the time you reached the beach, you were confused and angry.
Probably not the best mood to go surf in, but your sense of rationality had left long ago. With your board under your arm, you waded into the water, the rough waves immediately causing you to lock in.
You didn’t have a death wish. Yet.
A good amount of waves later, some of them more successful than others, the sun had started to begin its descent over the island, which you took as a sign to get out of the water. Your steps towards the beach was slow, your body aching, and you already dreaded the next day. The waves had been a touch too rough for you liking, and you were leaving with more bruises that you had arrived with. Still, it was exactly what you needed, because focusing on the waves, meant not thinking about that stupid key chain and what it could possibly mean
Of course, it was still dangling by the rear view mirror when you got back into your car, and you only rolled your eyes at it. Waterdrops rolled down your back, from your wet hair, though it didn’t make much of a difference, considering you hadn’t bothered changing out of your bikini before throwing your dress back on.
You were just a mess and you still didn’t feel like going home, where you were going to be alone with your thoughts. With a small, decisive sigh, you turned your engine on, pulling out of your parking spot.
A cold drink wouldn’t hurt.
It wasn’t long until you reached the nearest corner store, parking your car right in front. Your normal surf spot was on the side of the Cut and so was the corner store, so the vendor didn’t bat an eye at your disheveled appearance, or the fact that your wet bikini was imprinting on your dress, making it more inappropriate than not.
Still, you didn’t care.
Walking through the aisles of the small store, the humming of the AC oddly calming you. You stopped in front of refrigerated section, taking in all the options, when someone else joined you in the aisle, stopping right next to you. You didn’t turn to look at him, only seeing him out of the corner of your eyes.
What the hell did it mean, that Rafe had bought the key chain you had seen together? Why did he throw it in his night stand? Just… Why?
“Can ya grab me a corona?” he asked when you opened fridge door, so you grabbed a bottle of corona for him before reaching for your own can of diet coke.
“That your jeep and board outside?” he drawled and you bit back a sigh. You really weren’t in the mood for this. Turning to face him, he looked exactly like you had expected: buzzed hair, loose tanktop, a pair of brown shorts and a pair of polarizing sunglasses in his head. His gold tooth was glinting at you when he cracked a grin.
“Why, you trying to steal it?” you asked back dryly, handing him his beer.
“Not if you’re being this nice.”
You rolled your eyes. “Glad I could help.”
Without paying him any more attention, you headed to the front desk to pay, but much to your dismay, he decided to follow you.
“You don’t look like you’re from this side of town,” he commented when slid your can of coke on the counter to pay.
“That’s cause I’m not,” you replied with a sigh, waving at the guy behind the counter. “Just the coke please.”
“Ring us up Pete,” the guy next to you said, and the guy behind the counter didn’t flinch, ringing your drinks up together.
Great.
“Thanks, but I can buy my own shit.” With that, you slapped a ten dollar bill on the counter, snatching your coke.
“Keep the change,” you called over your shoulder, your steps quick as you exited the store, wanting to leave this guy in the dust.
And you would have, if you hadn’t stopped in your tracks, seeing Rafe’s motorcycle strapped to the bed of the truck parked next to you. The guy skidded out of the store behind you.
“Good, you’re still here.”
“Why do you have Rafe’s bike?”
The guy looked at you, confused, turning to look at the bike, before his eyes fell back on you, sniffing his nose.
“Ah… You’re precious,” he said with a flat voice and you narrowed your eyes at his.
“I’m sorry?”
“You’re Precious.”
You paused. No one else besides your friends ever called you that. Occasionally, Sarah would use that nickname. This guy was obviously not Sarah.
“Do I know you?”
“Nah,” he waved you off, snickering. “We got mutual friends; though.”
You furrowed your brows at him, taking in his appearance again, before it dawned on you.
“You’re Barry, aren’t you?”
“My reputation precedes me,” he gloated, but your lips drew a tight line. So this was the fucking guy who got Rafe into cocaine. Barry noticed the sudden change of your demeanor immediately, shifting on his feet.
“An’ this is exactly why I don’t have a lady, cuz they only frown and complain.”
You balked at his words, your nostrils flaring, because really, what the hell was this guy’s problem?
“First of all, I’m not “Rafe’s lady”, whatever the fuck that even means,” you pointed out. “Second of all, I’m “frowning and complaining” because you actually got him fucking addicted to cocaine.”
Barry sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, like all of this was an inconvenience to him. You were this close to slapping him.
“Well, he stopped, didn’t he?”
“He shouldn’t have done it in the first place.”
Barry stared at you for a good second, before a breathy laughter escaped his lips and he tipped his head back, looking up to the sky.
“No fucking wonder you’re so miserable, how much longer you’re gonna hide the fact that you’re in love with him?”
You tensed. How had Barry, a guy you just met, figured out that you loved Rafe in the span of one conversation, whereas Rafe was none the wiser?
“You don’t know me,” you hissed. “And you don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Sure I don’t,” Barry snickered, pushing the sunglasses back on his nose. “The two of y’all really deserve each other.”
Before you could even ask for clarification on what the fuck he meant, Barry climbed into his truck, shutting the door behind him.
“Tell country club I’m dropping his bike off at the shop, it’s taking up too much space on my property.”
Your mouth was agape, and Barry only lifted his beer bottle out of the window.
“Thanks for the beer, Mrs. CC!” he crowed out of the open window, before driving off, his music blasting off inside the car.
“Mrs. CC?” you muttered to yourself with a small headshake, getting into your own car. Your coke was already starting to get warm, condensation drops running down the outside of your can.
“So much for that ice cold drink.”
The drive back home was silent. All the peace you had found while surfing, had dissipated into thin air as soon as you ran into Barry. What did Rafe tell him? Why was Barry just spewing shit around? You let out an annoyed groan when you reached the corner that turned into your street, the stupid key chain swinging into your view before you braked sharply, turning your car back around.
“Fuck this shit. I’m done.”
You knew the way to Rafe’s house by heart, driving there like it was ingrained in your head, all the while your heart was thrumming in your chest, adrenaline and emotions running high. The tires of your car squeaked when you turned into the drive way of his property, the car coming to a rough stop in front of his porch. You’d barely turned off the engine of your car before you snatched the key chain off your rear view mirror, storming out of your car and into Rafe’s house.
“Rafe!”
“Precious?”
Rafe sounded confused, his steps hurried when he met you halfway, coming from the living room. He took you in, head to toe, a crease in his forehead.
“Are you okay? What’s wrong?”
You took a deep breath as you looked at him, before dangling the keychain from your hands in front of his face.
“What’s this?”
His eyes widened a little, in a way that was almost unnoticeable, but you noticed. He clearly recognized it, still he shrugged with his shoulders, playing it off.
“‘s a key chain.”
You tried to stay calm, even though this fake nonchalance was driving you insane.
“It’s the key chain from Nassau, the one we saw together,” you pointed out, shaking the key chain at him.
“And?”
This time, a groan escaped your lips. Rafe was giving you the run around. On purpose. “Why do you have this?”
“Where did you even find it?” Rafe asked back instead, snatching the key chain out of your hands and shoving it into his pocket.
Stemming your hands in your hips, you shrugged, copying his nonchalance, because two could play this game. “Your drawer.”
“Snooping is rude, Precious.”
Of course he would take the first chance to deflect from the topic at hand. Sometimes Rafe really was a wuss.
“Why do you have that?” you asked again and Rafe groaned, throwing his hands up.
“Cuz I bought it, what the hell?”
“Why would you buy a key chain and just leave it in a drawer to rot?” you asked and he only looked in your eyes, before shaking his head with a small sigh.
“It’s just a key chain, Precious. Can we drop this?”
Rafe sounded resigned, like he was tired and usually you would give in, compromise. But you were tired, too. Tired of half-asses explanations and spending most of your time in a trance of unresolved questions. So you only blinked at him, nodding slowly, your lips drawn in a tight line.
“Fine. Sorry for bothering you,” you snapped, turning on your heel to leave but Rafe grabbed you by your wrist, effectively stopping you in your tracks.
“What exactly do you want me to say, Precious?” he said, his voice rising. His cheeks were red, when you turned back to look at him.
“Do you love me?”
Rafe immediately let go of your wrist, as if touching your skin burnt him, his expression ashen.
“What?”
“Do. You. Love. Me,” you repeated, enunciating every word, so he would understand you clearly, leaving no space for wrong interpretations.
Rafe stared at you, a mixture of disbelief and anger, clenching his jaw before he looked away, shaking his head.
“Of course I love you. You’re my best friend.”
“That’s not what I meant and you know it.”
Your words hung heavy in the air and Rafe slumped his shoulders, the fight leaving his body.
“Precious… Don’t do this. I-” he broke off, casting his eyes on the floor. “We can’t go back.”
“You mean like we can’t go back after having sex with each other?” you shot back, and his head snapped up to glare at you. “What was it you called it again? Casual? Friends with benefits?”
Throwing his own words at him, you felt mean, like you were provoking him. And honestly, you were.
“You’re being a bitch.”
“You’re being a bitch!” you yelled at him, poking him into his chest with your index finger. “What are you so fucking scared of, Rafe? Just answer the question!”
“Fine, goddamit!” Rafe exploded, making you flinch at the sheer volume of his voice. “I am in love with you! I have been in love with you for I don’t know how fucking long and it’s killing me.”
Even though a small, minuscule part of you had expected it, you were still shocked at his confession. All this time?
Rafe scoffed at your silence, pressing the palm of his hand against his forehead, something he always did when he got anxious.
“Is that what you wanted to hear?” he asked quietly, avoiding your eyes at all costs. His reaction broke your heart. Rafe turned to leave, and the sight of his back turned to you made you panic, so you dashed right in front of him.
There was a split second, where the two of you just stared at each other, before you all but launched yourself at him, throwing your arms around his neck, pressing your lips on his, standing on your tiptoes.
Go big or go home, right?
Rafe was frozen, stiff as a board, but then, after processing this whole turn of events you assumed, he wrapped his arms around your waist, carrying most of your weight, kissing you back. And finally, finally, despite already knowing how he truly felt about you, your heart felt lighter, a relieved sigh falling from your lips.
The kiss was hot, messy, frantic, like the both of you were trying to make up for lost time. When your lungs started burning, the realization of needing air making itself known, you pulled away reluctantly, breathing heavily. Rafe was staring at you, his eyes wide, like he couldn’t quite believe that you were real.
“You stupid fucking idiot,” you mumbled against his lips, leaning your forehead against his. “I love you.”
An unsure smile grew on Rafe’s face, his hold in you impossibly tight.
“Yeah?”
You rolled your eyes at him, annoyed, but mostly fond.
“Yes! I can’t believe you…. Even Barry, that dumbass realized after like, five minutes into meeting me.”
“Barry?” Rafe’s brows drew together in confusion. “When did you talk to Barry?”
“Just before I came here. I ran into him at a corner store on the Cut.”
“That explains your bikini.”
You looked down to see the imprint your bikini had left on Rafe’s clothes through your dress, before shrugging, grinning at him.
“Are you complaining?”
“I mean…” Rafe trailed off, releasing his hold on your waist to slide his hands down your thighs. “It just means that I have to get changed, don’t I?”
With those words, he hiked your legs up, which you instinctively wrapped around his waist, easily carrying you to his bedroom.
Your heart was thrumming in your chest, and in a way, it reminded you of the first time you had sex with Rafe.
But this time, you weren’t nervous. This time, you were giddy. You had Rafe, all of him.
Instead of throwing you on the bed like the first time, Rafe turned, so he could take a seat in the edge of the bed, with you in his lap.
“What, no throwing me on the mattress?” you teased and Rafe gave you a look, his hands on your waist.
“I was in a rush. I thought it was my one and only chance with you and I didn’t want you to change your mind,” Rafe said, leaning in to leave kisses on your neck. “I can take my time now.”
And that he did.
Brushing your still damp hair over your shoulder, he kissed down from your neck to your cleavage, slowly, and agonizingly.
“You’re salty.”
“You’re slow!”
Rafe snickered against your skin, placing one last kiss on your collarbone before he stood up, turning so he could lay you down on the bed. You were growing impatient, so you grabbed a hold of his shirt, tugging it up.
“Take that off,” you demanded and while Rafe smirked, he complied, tossing his shirt somewhere in the vicinity of the floor. He made quick work of your dress, too, despite it sticking to the damp bikini. Though when it came to taking off your last layer, that’s when he slowed down again. Nimbly, he unraveled the knots of your bikini top, immediately latching his lips on your breasts, his tongue tracing circles around your nipples, making you writhe.
“Rafe,” you whined and he only glanced up at you through his lashes, kissing around your breasts unperturbed.
“You’re so impatient,” Rafe chastised, his fingers hooking onto your bikini bottoms to tug them down. He slowly worked his way down your body, leaving a trail of wet kisses, until he finally hovered between your legs, sucking on your sensitive skin on your thighs, right next to the spot you really wanted him. You only watched in frustration, partly because you couldn’t even hold onto his hair, mostly because he was so slow.
His touch was light, almost like air when he brushed his fingers over your folds, his other hand propping up your leg, so he could get even closer. You’d nearly exploded from anticipation.
Using his index and middle finger, he spread your folds, and you’d be embarrassed at the sound it made, if you weren’t so turned on right now.
“You’re so wet,” Rafe commented, swiping a finger through your wet folds and you only whimpered, fisting the bed sheets with your hands.
“That’s because you’re a god damn tease,” you’d barely breathed out and Rafe only cocked an eyebrow at you, pushing his finger into you, your tense shoulders finally sacking. He was pumping his finger into and out of you, before adding another, while his thumb rubbed circles into the small bundles of nerves, making your toes curl. The moans leaving your mouth were obscene, you were so hyper focused on your pleasure, you didn’t even notice how Rafe laced his hand with yours, his other hand never ceasing in getting you off.
When you felt his warm breath on your cunt, you nearly passed out, his mouth on you, with his fingers pumping in and out of you relentlessly. You were squeezing his hand so hard, it must be painful, but Rafe was buried in you, like he was a man starved, fed with only you and the sounds he was coaxing out of you.
In all the times you were hooking up before this, the both of you had learned what got the other off, so it was a surprise to neither of you, when you felt the familiar sensation of your high building in your lower stomach.
“Rafe…” you whined softly, and his mouth ticked up in a smirk, pressing his thumb on your clit.
“Are you going to come for me, Precious?”
“You’re so stupid,” you moaned, though your words lacked any heat. Rafe only laughed, and it was absurd, seeing him grin so widely before dipping his head between your thighs again, sucking on your clit, but that thought was quickly pushed to the back of your head. Your breath tightened in your throat, before you let out a moan, when your orgasm finally hit you, a weak call of Rafe’s name passing over your lips. Letting out a breath, you slumped back into the pillows, energy zapped, merely acknowledging Rafe as he crawled on top of you.
“You did a great job, A+ for execution,” you mumbled, between breaths. “Subtracting points for pace, though.”
“Duly noted,” Rafe mused, pushing your hair out of your face, before leaning down to kiss you. You sighed softly into the kiss, meanwhile your fingers were skimming down his body, unbuttoning his pants. Rafe took the hint, taking off his hands and boxers, and he had barely settled back between your legs when you wrapped your hand around his hard cock.Rafe groaned harshly against your lips, his hips bucking out of reflex.
“Fuck,” he muttered, his hand cupping the back of your neck to kiss you, while you lazily pumped his cock with your hand.
“Do you want me to…?” you asked between kisses but Rafe denied it with a small grunt.
“No, next time,” he said, like it was a promise, leaning in to kiss you again. He wasn’t hurried by any means, pressing closer against you and you hiked your leg up his waist, willing him even closer.
It was odd, you couldn’t even count on one hand how many times you and Rafe have had sex at this point, but this felt so… New.
“I love you,” you blurted out, just because you could. Rafe’s eyes snapped to you, so blue, you nearly got lost in them.
“Say it again.”
You honest to God giggled. How have you been so blind all this time? Shifting on the mattress, a small moan escaped your lips when Rafe’s cock brushed up against your clit.
“I will if you finally fuck me.”
“Oh, I didn’t know your love for me was transactional.”
You rolled your eyes fondly at him, your hand cupping his cheek gently, his eyes meeting yours.
“I love you,” you said again, humoring him. “I love you, I love you, I love y- ahh…”
The last word melted into a moan when Rafe finally pushed into you, leaning his weight on one elbow.
You exhaled softly, opening your eyes - which you hadn’t even realized that you had closed - to see Rafe looking at you, his hips still. He leaned down to kiss you and when you wrapped your arms around his neck to kiss him back, he finally started moving, driving his cock in and out of you in a delirious rhythm.
His grunts were low, while your moans were breathless, the bed hitting the wall with every thrust Rafe had. The sex with him had always been great, but this? This was out of this world.
You pressed your knee into his side, signaling wordlessly that you wanted a change of position and his hips barely stuttered before he rolled you on top.
Though he barely gave you the chance for control, his arms already wrapping around your waist and his legs propped up to fuck up into you. Your body was pressed against his, moaning with every thrust, before you slowly leaned up, forcing Rafe to ease the grip around your waist. He grinned up at you, his hand cupping your face, while your own hands leaned on his chest.
“You good?”
“Perfect.”
With that, you lifted your hips up until Rafe’s cock nearly slipped out of you, before sitting back down again, riding him like your life depended on it, his cock hitting that sweet spot of yours over and over again. Sooner than later, you felt pressure building again. Rafe could tell immediately, sitting up to hold your body against his, the position making the friction between you even harder.
“Fuck,” you gasped against his shoulder and Rafe only held the back of your head, rutting against, in a way that told you that he was close. It wasn’t much longer until the pressure finally hit the peak and you moaned out Rafe’s name, slumping against him. Rafe’s high followed soon after a few more weak thrusts, before his warm come spurted into you in short ropes, his groan of your name making all the butterflies in your stomach go crazy. What an absurd to feel after sex.
Out of breath, Rafe laid down again, careful to lift up your hips so his softening cock could slip out of you, while his come dribbled out of your cunt, onto him.
“Ugh,” you huffed, already starting to feel sticky while Rafe was still trying to catch his breath. With a small pout, you pressed a kiss on Rafe’s lips before you got up, careful not to make a mess everywhere.
“Precious, just stay put, I’ll get a towel,” Rafe groaned, grabbing your wrist to stop you but you only tugged him up.
“Just let me take a shower,” you whined and he let out another groan, before he let you pull you up, his arms looping around your waist to pick you up, as you squealed while he carried you to the bathroom.
After another round in the shower of slow, and passionate sex - which you didn’t mind this time, because you were already blissed out from your two previous orgasms - Rafe dragged you out of the shower and back into bed. With the way his arm was thrown over your waist, you weren’t sure he was ever gonna let you leave.
“I can’t believe Barry is what finally brought us together,” Rafe muttered with a raspy voice. You had almost assumed that he had dozed off, with him not moving a muscle despite you tracing circles on the back of his hand.
“I don’t like him,” you told Rafe and he snickered, pressing a kiss on your shoulder.
“I didn’t think you would.”
“He’s so… Vulgar. And ridiculous,” you huffed. “He called me ‘Mrs. CC’, like what does that even mean?”
Rafe frowned, confused, before breaking out in laughter, hiding his face in the crook of your neck.
“Why are you laughing?” you asked, annoyed.
Whatever Rafe was saying, was barely comprehensible, both because he was still shaking from laughter and because his face was in the crook of your neck.
“Rafe, come on,” you whined, pushing him off of you and his laughter finally subsided. The clown was even wiping his eyes.
“He calls me Country Club,” Rafe finally explained. You only frowned at him, still not quite getting it, before it finally dawned on you.
“Oh wow, Mrs. CC… Mrs. Country Club?” you said with a huff. “This guy is something.”
Rafe laughed, leaning over to nose along your cheek.
“Come on, you gotta admit it’s cute.”
“What’s cute about that?!”
“He wingman-d me, and it worked… Somehow.”
You rolled your eyes at him. “You’re giving him too much credit.”
“Maybe,” he admitted, tracing his finger along your jawline, before turning you to face him. “I’m just happy we finally got here.”
You glowered a bit a him, just for show, before you closed the last distance between you, kissing him. Even though you had lamented about Rafe’s grip on you earlier, you yourself weren’t sure if you’d ever get sick of kissing him. But Rafe didn’t seem to mind, shifting while you kissed him, so he was crowding around you, careful not to tug on your hair.
A distant ring caught your attention, and it rang for a good ten seconds before you realized it was Rafe’s phone, coming from somewhere on the floor. He made no move however to pick it up, cupping your cheek as he deepened the kiss.
“Rafe.”
“Just let it go to voicemail,” he mumbled against your lips. Shortly later, the phone stopped ringing, only to ping twice, and then start ringing again.
Rafe let out a frustrated groan, getting up to grab his phone out of his pocket, frowning at the screen.
“It’s fucking Topper,” he grumbled, declining the call and tossing the phone on the bed, lying down next to you. He burrowed himself under the blankets, pressing himself against your backside and you laughed, patting his arm.
“Come on, just give him a call back, you’re not even doing anything.”
“I’m cuddling with you,” Rafe pointed out and you only laughed, turning in his arms.
“You can cuddle with me and talk to Topper on the phone.”
Rafe frowned at you, letting out a big sigh when his phone started ringing again. He reached behind himself, grabbing his phone, putting it on speaker.
“What?”
“Hey, what’s up?”
Rafe rolled his eyes and you bit back a laugh.
“You didn’t call to ask me what’s up.”
“Cranky. What are you doing later? Should we grab drinks?”
“I don’t know,” Rafe sighed, clearly not up for it but you gently nudged him, nodding. “Ugh. Fine.”
“Cool. Kelce said he’d be down too, but I can’t reach Precious, you know anything about her whereabouts?”
Right. You’d left your phone in your car.
Rafe grinned, opening his mouth, but before he could even utter a single word, you placed your hand over his mouth, just knowing he’d drop something insane. He raised a questioning brow at you, and you only shook your head at him. Rafe let out an agreeing grunt, and only then, you removed your hand.
“I’ll let her know.”
“Okay. Thanks, see you later?”
“I’ll text you when I’ll leave.”
Rafe ended the call with a click, before exhaling loudly, and very, very dramatically.
“Do we have to go?”
“It’ll be nice to hang out again,” you snickered but Rafe only huffed and puffed, wrapping his arms around your waist.
“I’d rather stay in bed.”
“We can do that literally whenever, Rafe.”
“We can also hang with Kelce and Top whenever,” Rafe grumbled, but you could tell that he was faking his annoyance.
“We can tell them about us,” you said, quirking a smile at him. “No more secrets.”
“I was about to tell Topper and you stopped me,” he pointed out but you gave him a knowing look.
“You were about so say something crazy, Rafe. Did you really think that’s the right way to tell them?” you leaned up to press a quick kiss on his lips, throwing the blankets back. “Come on, I need to go home first to get changed.”
Pulling on some shorts you had left behind a while ago and one of Rafe’s t shirt, Rafe dumped your bikini and your wet dress into the laundry, before getting dressed himself.
The two of you piled into your car and drove straight to your house, where Rafe parked right in front of the porch.
“Can you bring my board into the garage? I’ll be quick,” you asked and Rafe nodded, ushering you inside. With a spring in your step, you headed inside, where you could hear the tv running from the living room.
“Hey mom, hi dad, I’m back, but only to get changed!” you called as you walked up the stairs, their “hi honey!”s muffled over the tv speaker. You didn’t take long in your bedroom, grabbing a dress from your closet and changing into it, putting on some mascara and gloss, which you tossed into your purse. It was probably the quickest you ever got ready. You knew Rafe was just itching for an excuse to cancel on Top and Kelce, so you didn’t want to give him too much time to think. Slinging your purse over your shoulder, you headed out of your room, down the stairsc your steps slowing when you realized your parents were talking to Rafe in the hallway.
“- trying to expand. But yeah, that would be a good opportunity.”
Rafe’s attention was drawn to you when he saw you standig on the stairs, raising a brow at you.
“Hey. You ready?”
“Uh huh,” you hummed, walking down the last few steps towards him and your parents. Rafe’s hand flexed, like he was holding himself back from reaching out to you, waiting for your lead. You hadn’t thought about how you were gonna tell your parents, but as you glanced at them, it didn’t take you long before you slotted yourself against Rafe’s side. His shoulders slumped against yours, like he was relieved, his arm wrapping around your waist.
Your parents’ reaction to the revelation was minimal, with your mother grinning briefly and your dad shaking his head, chuckling quietly. They didn’t look even remotely surprised.
“We’re meeting Kelce and Topper for a drink at the Country Club,” you told them and your mom nodded.
“Okay honey.”
“You kids take care of each other,” your dad added and you waved at him, while you and Rafe walked out of the house, your parents quietly whispering between them.
“You owe me fifty bucks.”
You glanced at Rafe, your brows furrowed in confusion and Rafe only snickered as the door shut close behind you.
“Well, at least your parents approve,” Rafe mused, opening the door to the passenger’s seat for you, an unspoken tradition of Rafe driving your car whenever the two of you took your jeep, “Even if you don’t care for their approval.”
“Yeah,” you replied, looking over to him when he got into the driver’s seat. “It’s nice, though.”
Rafe glanced at you, his eyes crinkling, and he took your hand to press a quick kiss on the back of it, before he started the car.
“So how are we gonna to tell them?” you asked as Rafe pulled into the street.
“Tell them what?”
“That we’re dat-“ you suddenly broke off, your cheeks heating up, when you realized that you never really specified what you were.
Rafe threw you a curious look.
“That we’re dating?”
“Are we?” you asked, somewhat meekly and Rafe reached over to take your hand.
“Precious, you are so much more to me than just my girlfriend,” he told you and you flushed, swatting at his hand.
“Oh stop.”
Rafe snickered, squeezing your hand affectionately.
“But in layman’s terms, I guess you are my girlfriend…”
“And you’re my boyfriend.”
“And I’m your boyfriend,” Rafe repeated, amused. “Don’t worry about telling the boys. We’ll play it by ear.”
When you arrived at the patio of the country club, Topper and Kelce were nowhere to be found, so you and Rafe got some drinks by the bar before you sat down.
Rafe’s arms was thrown over the back of your chair and you were angled in his direction as you talked, nothing about your body language indicating to the change in your relationship. So it wasn’t that surprising that Topper and Kelce didn’t comment on anything when they finally arrived. The conversation flowed easily, but you never found the right opportunity to mention it. Topper did squint his eyes a little when Rafe brushed his hand over your leg, and Kelce eyed you and Rafe suspiciously, like he sensed something was going on, but neither of spoke up about it.
“I’m gonna go grab another drink from the bar,” Rafe said, pushing his chair back to stand up. You weren’t sure how long you had been sitting there, snack plates having joined the table and left, the patio filling up with more people.
Rafe gently laid his hand on your back, raising a questioning brow at you. “You need anything?”
You looked at your almost empty glass before nodding.
“Can you just get me a white wine?”
“Yeah, course.”
Rafe paused behind you before leaning down, and when you glanced up at him, he was looking at Kelce and Topper, then he looked back at you, dipping his head to kiss you.
“What the..?”
Kelce’s chin dropped, and Topper choked on his beer, but you paid them no mind, kissing Rafe back. You could feel him grin against your lips before he pulled away, stepping away from the table without another word, leaving you to deal with the aftermath.
Of course this was how he wanted to break the news to your friends.
You turned back to the boys, and Kelce only stared at you openmouthed, while Topper was coughing into his elbow.
“When did this happen?” he wheezed and you shrugged with your shoulders, biting back a grin.
“Today, I guess.”
“I can’t believe it,” Kelce groaned, falling back in the chair. “The two of you sitting here and keeping your mouths shut like this isn’t the most life changing news.”
“Okay, take it down a notch,” you snorted. “We just couldn’t find a good time, okay?”
“I hate y’all.”
“I’m honestly more surprised that Rafe was holding it in for so long,” Topper admitted and you snickered.
“Rafe would’ve told you immediately, if I’d let him.”
Topper narrowed his eyes at you, confused before he realized, his chin dropping.
“You mean on the phone?”
You nodded.
“You guys were-?!”
You nodded again.
“Eurgh!”
Kelce barked out a laugh and you only shook your head, grinning.
“Grow up, Top.”
“You tell ‘em yet?”
Rafe asked, coming up behind you with your drinks and you gave him a look.
“Funny.”
He only smirked at you, sliding the drinks on the table when Topper raised his hand.
“Aye congrats man, you bagged the hottest girl on the island!” he cajoled, high-fiving him. Rafe snorted and Kelce only snickered, their antics making you roll your eyes, as you reached for your wine.
Boys will be boys.
Rafe sat back down next to you, throwing his arm around the back of your chair. Kelce observed, his face softening.
“In all seriousness though, I’m happy for you. Genuinely, I’ve always thought how unlucky Rafe’s future girlfriend would be because we all knew that you are his number one priority. I guess we should’ve seen this coming.”
“Who’s we?” Topper scoffed, giving him a look. “I’ve seen this coming from a mile away.”
“Oh well, I am sorry for even opening my mouth then, all knowing Topper,” Kelce bitched back and soon, they both started bickering about an entirely different topic.
Rafe curled his hand around the arm rest of your chair to pull you closer, and you raised a brow at him.
“This okay?” he asked gently and you nodded, before leaning your head on his shoulder.
“Perfect.”
And for the first time, in a long time, you truly meant it.
✦ . ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺ . ✦
author’s note: what would you do if i told you this wasn’t in fact, the last chapter?👀 surprise! i got an epilogue coming for you! I can't tell you when it's coming just yet, and there won't be any new plot points happening, just a few loose ends being tied up :)))
i can see corporate reader and blue collar rafe going to lunch or dinner and when the check comes they fight over who’s paying😭 cause she’s all independent and makes her own money but rafe is a gentleman if that even makes sense idk😭
Check, Please
꩜ corporate!reader x bluecollar!rafe
꩜ this request is perfect to explore their dynamic, ily anon!
"Color me impressed, Cameron."
The restaurant is nicer than you expected.
Not uptight-nice, but dimly lit with real candles flickering in old wine bottles and a jazz trio tucked in the corner playing like they really mean it. You’re seated at a small table near the window, the city bleeding neon outside. Rafe showed up in a dark button-down, sleeves rolled to the forearms, collar rumpled like he got ready in the truck’s side mirror.
He still looks unfairly good.
The conversation’s too easy He makes you really laugh, not the polite boardroom kind. His voice is smooth: that usual Carolina silk, and low and warm, and every time he looks at you, really looks, you feel like you’re being studied by someone who doesn’t miss much. Someone who’s not the least bit impressed by your résumé but can’t stop watching the way your mouth curves when you sip your wine.
You’re halfway through dessert (a shared crème brûlée he claimed he 'didn’t want' but somehow ate most of) when the waiter drops the check on the table.
You both reach for it.
Your hands collide.
Rafe freezes. “Oh, no.”
“Oh, yes,” you counter, already pulling your card out. “You invited me.”
He leans back slowly, mouth twitching. “And you said yes. That’s payment enough.”
“That doesn’t make any sense.”
“It doesn’t have to. I’m payin’.”
You blink at him, tilting your head. “Do you always do this?”
“What, treat a lady to dinner?”
“Argue with women who are perfectly capable of paying for themselves.”
His smile flickers wider. “Only when they look like they’ve got a black card and a point to prove.”
You narrow your eyes. “It’s not about the card.”
“Then what’s it about?”
You hesitate. “It’s about…equality.”
Rafe snorts. “Sweetheart, you’re already out here fightin' the patriarchy just by being the independent, strong woman you are. Lettin' me pay for dinner ain’t gonna let it win.”
Your mouth opens, closes. “It’s a principle.”
He leans forward on his elbows, voice low and teasing. “If I let you pay, will it ruin the fantasy that I’m some old-school Southern gentleman who wants to spoil you rotten?”
Your breath catches. “So you admit it’s a fantasy.”
He just shrugs, lips curved. “Didn’t say whose.”
You stare at him. The room buzzes, golden and slow, and for a second it feels like the two of you are the only ones in it.
“So what is this?” you ask. The question slips out quieter than you mean it to. “This dinner.”
Rafe blinks, straightens up a little. “You tell me.”
You fiddle with your water glass. “I’m not sure.”
His gaze softens. “You think I help strangers fix tires, drive twenty minutes to pick ‘em up, and put on a button-down for a business transaction?”
Your lips part. “So it’s a date?”
He leans in, voice like molasses and mischief. “That depends.”
“On what?”
He taps a finger against the check. “On whether you’re gonna let me pay like it is.”
You hesitate.
And then sigh deeply and let your card slide back into your purse. “Fine.”
Rafe smirks like he just won something bigger than a financial debate. He slips his card into the folder with a smoothness that makes you suspect he’s done this a hundred times before.
“I still don’t like this,” you grumble.
He chuckles. “You don’t have to like it. You just have to sit there lookin’ pretty and let me take care of you for one damn hour.”
You flush. Hard.
“I don’t need taking care of.”
“I know that,” he says, suddenly serious. “You don’t need anyone. That’s not why I’m here.”
You glance at him, startled by the shift.
“I’m here because I want to be,” he says, voice gentler now. “Because I like the way you pretend you’re all business, but you blush like hell when I flirt with you.”
You stare at him. And then, unwillingly, traitorously, you smile.
“You’re trouble,” you say softly.
Rafe leans back, satisfied. “I’ve been called worse.”
When the check disappears, he stands and offers you his hand. You take it before you can think. His palm is warm, calloused, steady.
He leans in as you leave the restaurant, voice right against your ear.
“You can get the next one, corporate.”
Your heart does something stupid in your chest.
You don’t answer.
You don’t have to.
He knows you will.
TAGLIST (OG taglist + anyone who asked to be tagged): @lunaleah, @luzstarkey, @rafeycameronsgf, @pluviophilis @aerie717, @voqueflms, @bonjourjiminie, @drewstarkeyspecs, @nightchanges777, @starkeyjoseph
summary you live a turbulent life in the public eye as an unruly heiress from a controlling family. you thought you had your future all planned out, until you learn that your trust fund hinges on marrying a stranger.
» masterlist
The daydreams won’t stop. It’s like you’ve discovered a new drug and you’re craving another hit.
You sat through your classes quietly today while your mind raged on, running through the memories of yesterday, your senses numbing every time you remember the way he felt, the sounds he made, the deepness of his voice and the coarseness of his touch as your bodies met in your bed.
The tension between you, laced with disdain, was finally broken open, but it’s like it’s just built itself back up today.
You haven’t seen him since he slipped out of your room, but you’re sure he’s doing the same thing you are. Remembering it. Wanting to do it again.
Rafe is a distraction. The fact that it was so hard to focus today is proof. That’s why you took yourself straight to the library after class to work on your senior project. With just weeks left in your final college year, you refuse to let anything derail the master’s degree you’ve poured everything into.
It’s late when you finally push your key into the front door, every edge of the condo blanketed in shadows. After you drop your bag onto your bedroom floor and change into your pajamas, you walk to the kitchen for water.
The appliances buzz in the quiet of the night as you reach for a glass in the cupboard. You’re sure you have a good grip on it, but you realize just how tired you are when it slips out of your hand, ricochets off the counter, and shatters to the floor.
You brush your hands over your face, expelling a quiet sigh. You should know better by now not to work yourself this hard. You can’t operate like you can afford to get burned out, to get so exhausted that you’re lightheaded.
You gently sink to your knees to start to collect the translucent shards of crystal off the tile, the glass clinking together softly.
Moments later, Rafe squints as his eyes adjust to the kitchen light. He realizes you’re crouched on the floor, and the anger he let go of yesterday comes back tenfold, because it’s past midnight and you’ve woken him up in yet another reckless drunken stupor, the splitting smash of the glass having pulled him out of his deep sleep.
“Wasted again?” he rasps.
You look up to see him standing over you just a few feet away. He’s expecting the worst of you, like always.
Your heavy fatigue makes you teeter in place, nicking your knee on a piece of glass. You inhale a sharp wince.
“Jesus,” Rafe mutters, closing the distance, gripping your elbows.
You’re frustrated, but too exhausted to fight it as he guides you to stand, holding his hand open next to yours. You stare at his palm, fatigue enveloping you almost completely. You don’t catch onto what he’s doing; he turns your wrist to gently drop the shards of glass in his hand.
“How fucked up are you?” he mutters, in disbelief of how zoned out you are.
He guides you backwards, his grip still on your elbow, to create distance between you and the mess you created. But you’re too stubborn to let him. His grimace is judgemental, narrowed eyes brushing over your face as he towers over you.
“I don’t need your help,” you tell him.
“Move,” he says. You’re too tired to resist his force this time, stepping back, pulling your arm out of his grip with a frustrated huff.
He bends to pick up the remaining shards, wondering what the hell he’s doing cleaning up your mess. But when he glances at your bare legs, noticing those tiny shorts on you yet again, he realizes it’s to make sure you didn’t cut yourself too badly.
A part of the tension bothering him is concern. And he hates that he cares, and that he has to hide that he cares, but if the last half of a minute showed him anything, it’s that nothing about how much you piss each other off has changed.
“You’re doing what your dad wants you to do when you party. You know that, right?”
“I was at the library,” you say sharply. “Working on my senior project.”
Rafe stands to toss the glass into the garbage. When he looks down at you, taking in how disoriented you are, he’s not sure he believes you.
And it’s a reminder of how the entire day, down to the moments before he fell asleep, down to the way he touched himself in the shower, he was thinking about how pretty you looked when you were on top of him, thinking about how he wants it again, wants you again.
“What’s it on?” he asks.
You scoff, pushing past him as you reach for another glass from the cupboard. He grips it right before you can, holding it higher, using his height to his advantage.
“Tell me,” he says.
“Are you seriously testing me to see if I’m lying?” you snarl.
Rafe shrugs, a ghost of a smirk on his lips. Your brows furrow, and he thinks about how much easier this would all be if you didn’t look so hot when you’re pissed off. His anger is dissolving, his body remembering how good you can make each other feel.
But you’re obviously still very much upset, eyes swimming with irritation.
“I already told you I’m getting an MBA,” you mutter.
“What kind?”
You suck your teeth, stepping forward, letting your body press against his. As you’d hoped, the misleading gesture throws him off, and his arm lowers just enough for you to take the glass out of his hand.
It’s your turn to smirk as you brush past him, swinging open the fridge door behind him.
“Is it some kind of secret?” he taunts.
“I don’t owe you details,” you murmur, filling the glass.
“Come on,” Rafe chuckles.
You roll your eyes as you take a sip. The track you chose for your degree was an easy choice for you. A given.
All your life, you’ve watched what happens when someone leads by fear and intimidation. You want to make something of yourself, to work with people, to be more than your father is and to prove that you can do what he does and better.
Your academic goals may be driven by spite, but at least you have motivation. It’d be easier if you took a different career path entirely, but this one interests you. You’re good at it.
It must run in your blood. You try not to think about what could have been if your parents wanted you. Where you’d be. How well you’d do in the family business.
“Management,” you reply curtly.
“So, you want people to answer to you,” Rafe says.
“Doesn’t everybody?” you reply, then take another sip.
His eyes travel down your body. You notice. If you weren’t so tired, you’re sure you’d already have him naked at this point. But then again, the power you have over him, the only control you hold in this situation, is addictive.
“So, what, is it a case study?” he presses.
“Why are you asking?”
“It’s called a conversation.”
“I never asked for one.”
He cocks a brow, the amusement in his face refusing to fade.
“Research project?”
“You never stop, do you?” you say through a tired sigh.
“You liked it last night.”
The words render you speechless for a moment, your lips parting, your core warming. And because of that comment alone, that cockiness, you decide you’ll string him along yet again.
“I have to design a strategic plan,” you reply.
Rafe crosses his big arms and leans back against the counter.
“Got finals going on, too?”
“Yeah,” you reply.
He nods, wearing a sense of recognition, as if he’s reminiscing. You won’t ask. You won’t give him the satisfaction of showing that there’s a quiet pull of curiosity tugging at you.
You drain your water, stepping closer to him to leave the glass in the sink. Your arm brushes his, and you feel it, the undeniable magnetism, the one that was satisfied for only a moment yesterday just to lodge itself between you once again.
Rafe studies you. It’s disarming, seeing the depth of your work ethic.
“And you’re in school ‘cause you want to be?” he asks.
“Why else?” you huff.
In a matter of a minute, he’s seen a side of you he didn’t know was there. You’re doing this out of your own will. And taking it seriously. He’s certain your trust fund would cover everything for you. But you want to work towards something.
It doesn’t line up with everything he’s read about you, everything he’s seen from you firsthand.
“I was in the analytics track,” he mentions.
“Must have been hard to do before computers existed,” you chide.
Rafe’s lips pull into a smirk again.
“I’m only six years older than you.”
You almost crack a smile, but you look down. Then, your head pinches with dull pain.
Rafe notices that you hold onto the counter, watches your quick blinks and hears your shaky exhales. He’s seen you after a few drinks, and this is nothing like it. You’re being honest. You aren’t drunk. You’re exhausted.
It comes back, that needling sense of protectiveness that he felt not that long ago, the unsettling and confusing urge to disentangle you from your troubles, even the ones you bring on yourself.
He tells himself it’s because you’ve obviously always been alone, your family versus you, and he knows what that’s like. It's just impulse to want to do something about it.
“Go to bed,” he rasps. “I can look at your plan tomorrow.”
You scoff and turn away from him, making your way back to your bedroom. You have no idea why he’d offer to help you with your project. It’s not even possible for anything an opportunistic person like him says to be well-intentioned. And he’s invading something sacred.
Your pride flares hot in you. You don’t need anyone. If you ever were to let him help, it’d be admitting weakness. And you would never do that to a man who’s witnessed your pain and still treats you like a PR strategy. Who didn’t defend you when you needed him to. Who implies that you’re lazy and spoiled. Who tries to control you.
“I already said I don’t need your help,” you reply.
Rafe watches you leave.
He’s not an idiot. He didn’t expect that after last night, which was obviously purely physical, you’d suddenly grow to be nice to him. But he thought the ice would’ve cracked a little.
And now he’s wondering if you saw it as a one-time thing, if that was enough for you and you’re back to treating him like he’s a hassle, instead of a man who has no choice but to be in this arrangement with you, a man who you should cooperate with to get through this.
You really are going to hate him, no matter what. He’s sure of it now. He thought he was fine with that. The weight on his chest tells him otherwise.
▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱▰▱
Days later, chatter fills your ears as you step into the softly lit restaurant on Rafe’s arm. It’s time for another publicity stunt, another staged romantic dinner with your supposed boyfriend.
The photos from the boat party did their job. The cheating rumors that swirled around fizzled.
You settle across from Rafe, still feeling weird about the other night in the kitchen. You don’t want him thinking you can be some twisted version of friends now. You would never take his help, no matter what the intention behind it is.
It’ll always bother you, that he could have backed out of this scheme. All that was on the line for him was approval. All he had to say was no. You have so much more at risk and he didn’t have the humanity to refuse to put you in this position. You could never forgive that.
He’d told you he tried to back out, but you don’t believe it. The man you’ve reluctantly been getting to know is hard-headed as hell. He wouldn’t do anything he doesn’t want to do.
You can tell by the way he’s looking at you that he’s craving you again. You want him, too, but while you typically give into impulse, you’ve drifted into what you were doing before. Tempting him, torturing him, giving him no indication if he’ll even get you again.
As you look over the menu, Rafe stares at you, frustrated that he can’t figure you out. You gave him fiery passion, then you iced him out.
“Appetizers on the house, miss,” the waiter says, placing a steaming plate in the middle of the table.
Your brows furrow, looking up at him, gazing around, feeling eyes on you.
“Thank you, but this isn’t necessary,” you say in a hush.
“We insist,” he says. “Please enjoy.”
Rafe catches the contempt in your features, the subtle shake of your head as the waiter rushes away. He thought he was getting a different picture of who you are, but again, he can see why you have the reputation you do. It’s beyond him why anyone would get annoyed over a complimentary gesture.
“You just got a problem with everything, don’t you?” he rasps.
You grit your teeth. It’s so irritating how he sticks with the negative story he’s written in his head about you.
“They’ll ask me to post a picture or do a review or something,” you explain. “This wasn’t them being nice. They just want publicity. Everyone’s got an angle.”
He agrees. He doesn’t really believe in the good of people, either. But it’s become second nature to needle at you now.
“That’s what you think?” he asks.
“That’s people for you.”
“But you want to manage them?” he scoffs.
You cock your head, glaring at him.
“That’s different,” you say.
“Is it?”
“What’s your deal?” you sigh. “What’s with all the questions? My dad give you a new assignment?”
Rafe breathes a humorless chuckle.
“You’re makin’ me regret telling you about that,” he says. “I’m bored. Don’t you think this shit gets boring? Just sitting with nothing to talk about?”
You want to ask him what the hell he expected from a girl he cornered into an arranged marriage. But when you remember the night you pretended to meet, when he came home disheveled and annoyed, you begin to speak.
“Remember what you asked me when this started?” you say. “You wanted to know what I needed. I said to leave me alone when I say to, which by the way, you never do, and to not bullshit me. Right?”
Rafe nods, frustration still etched into his handsome face.
“So, keep your word. For once. No bullshit.” You lean closer. “What do you think about the way my dad operates? Professionally, I mean?”
He grimaces. The cover story, the one that you and that publicist believe, is that he’s only here to benefit from the press visibility and business exposure. But beneath it, he’s protecting his family’s name. And it’s all because your father twisted his arm and put a job on Rafe that he couldn’t refuse.
“He’s ruthless,” he answers.
Your brows lift a little in surprise. He looks like he means it. Like he condemns it.
“That’s why I’m studying business management," you admit. “To prove you don’t have to be like that to get somewhere in life.”
He gently taps his knuckles against the table, looking at you in a way you haven’t been looked at in a long time. Maybe ever. Like what you’re saying is important.
“You’re not going to work for him, are you?” he says, wondering where this somewhere you’re talking about would be.
You stiffen. You would never tell him your plans, that you’re going to take a one-way plane ticket hours away to the north of the coast, find a place to live, get a job, start a new life.
You don’t trust Rafe at all. You’re not sure of what he would do with any information you give him. Even talking about something as surface-level as school is making you tense.
“No,” you finally say, then swallow hard. “You were right. He set this up to fail. I could tell the last time we met. It’s like he was happy that photo came out. He’s obviously twisted.”
Rafe stares in that way again, and you can’t, you won’t let yourself think he’s hanging on your words because he cares. He has something up his sleeve.
“Did you say I was right?” he murmurs with amusement.
“That’s what you’re focusing on?” you say. “I’m done talking about this.”
You look back down at the menu. Rafe doesn’t take his eyes off of you. Truthfully, he barely has since he met you, and it’s like tonight in the soft, dim lighting of this intimate restaurant, he’s seeing past the woman you pretend to be.
You’re bratty and spiteful and irritating. There’s no doubting that. But you’ve trapped him in a daze that he doesn’t see himself falling out of. There’s more to you. Ambition, intelligence, a fire that he keeps coming back to, a fire that he keeps letting himself get burned on.
“So, what, back to silence?” he asks.
“Works for me,” you reply with a careless shrug.
At the end of the night, the restaurant owner comes by and subtly asks that you post about your meal. You look at Rafe with a snarl that tells him, I told you.
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You’ve reached the two-month mark. Your mom’s campaign is garnering attention. Everyone in your family is told to travel with strict security, no exceptions.
And the announcement of your engagement has just hit the media.
You fielded the texts and calls from your friends, accepting their congratulations and agreeing that this was all so fast, lying through your teeth about how it just felt right.
Celeste told you and Rafe that the supposed proposal happened behind closed doors and the real press opportunities would be within the following week: a photoshoot of you two, followed by an engagement party days after.
As if you hadn’t already spent enough time in your family’s home, your engagement photos are being taken in the manor’s conservatory.
Rafe snags a glance at the painting he saw when he first visited as he follows you through the foyer. The idea he had of that sullen-looking woman has flipped in so many ways in the past two months.
Things have been tense, and you’re back to doing what you were doing before, toying with him, giving him no indication of if you want him again.
He follows you as you storm down the corridor, making your appointment just on time. You’ve been your typical self: distant, and curt when spoken to.
Bright lights surround the expansive room, made of glass and marble, manicured plants spread out across tables, hanging from the ceiling. He watches you make friendly introductions with the photographer. Your smile doesn’t quite meet your eyes.
It’s getting even more annoying to see how you can force warmth for other people, but he gets nothing but scowls, no matter how hard he tries with you.
Minutes later, you’re facing each other in front of a window after the photographer angled everything to her satisfaction. She instructs you to place a hand on Rafe’s chest, step a little closer, and look up at him for your first shot. You feel the thumping of his heart beneath your palm.
“What a gorgeous ring,” she says kindly.
“Thanks,” you say tightly, but your eye contact with Rafe says a thousand words between you. You already muttered to him about how gaudy, how not you, the ring Celeste chose is.
“You’re a beautiful couple,” she says.
You can’t even muster a thank you this time.
The camera begins to shutter as you gaze at each other. You hate how familiar the sound is to you.
And you stare at him, surprised to feel relief that you can do it under the guise of needing to.
Rafe looks good in white and you’re sure he knows it. His tailored button-up matches your silk dress, the picture of two people who are put-together and poised, when in reality, you’re pretty sure he’s just as damaged as you are.
Not that you care. Not that you feel bad for him in any way.
You move through the motions, following the photographer’s instructions, smiling when she tells you to, every bit of contact you get with Rafe reminding you of how good he felt bare against you.
You think of that night so often, ache for him, but he’s the one thing you can delay your gratification for. You find a thrill in waiting for him to crack.
“Alright, these are coming out a little stiff,” the photographer murmurs as she clicks through the photos on her camera. “Some couples just get camera shy. I have a good trick for that. Look at each other again.”
You lick your lips, eyes fluttering up to meet Rafe’s. The only thing more irritating than his brashness is how handsome he is.
“Now, think about your first kiss,” she tells you. “Place yourselves in that memory.”
You catch the tick in Rafe’s jaw, his eyes boring into yours. It wasn’t that long ago when your lips finally pressed together in your bedroom, followed by the most passionate night you’ve ever had. You slightly tilt your head as you imagine it, the tension in your body softening just a little.
His eyes drift down to your lips, glossy from the way you’d just licked them, thinking about how good your tongue tasted against his.
“Great,” she says. “The sun is perfect at this angle. Can you kiss her cheek?”
Your pulse thunders in your ears as Rafe leans down, soft lips gently pressing against your skin.
“A real one now?” she instructs.
You tense up, hating how fake this feels, hating that you’re doing this because your parents told you to, hating how the only way Rafe will be tender with you is if it’s for show. Your dynamic is rough and angry and nothing like this, and it feels wrong to force gentleness that doesn’t exist.
Rafe shifts just an inch, but you look down, as if you’re ashamed.
“Sorry,” you say to the photographer. “PDA’s a little weird for me.”
“No problem,” she says. “Let’s move over to the fountain and get some photos of you holding hands?”
“Sure,” you say, stepping away, losing all contact with your fiance.
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You don’t look at Rafe when you sit in the backseat after an hour of taking photos, your cheeks hurting from the forced smiles.
Beneath the frustration of your stubborn rebellious streak, Rafe feels bitter rejection. You were tangled up in each other that night he can’t stop thinking about, but now you act like he disgusts you.
“You can’t just play along?” Rafe mutters.
“When something is forced, no, I can’t,” you snap. “All I could think about was how I’m only doing all this because of a contract I was cornered into signing. And that pisses me off. I hate being told what to do.”
“Yeah, no shit,” he says. That was the first thing he learned about you.
“This is all so stupid,” you scoff. “It’s ridiculous to kiss someone because someone else told you to. I have to draw the line at some point.”
Rafe looks through the window as the car trails down the driveway, your words tumbling in his head.
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When you enter the quiet penthouse, the space is dim now that the sun has dipped below the horizon.
Your head swims with the studying you have left to do. The project that’s been hanging over you. The degree you’ve been working so hard on. The way you have to balance it all while managing an illness that silently takes so much out of you–
“I wasn’t going to do it because someone told me to,” Rafe’s low voice interrupts your thoughts.
You look at him. He savors that half a second of curiosity he sometimes sees on your face before it turns into frustration.
“What?” you breathe.
His brows furrow, his gaze darting to your lips before it trails up to your eyes again.
“You know what.”
You do. He’d kiss you because he wants to, not because it was instructed or orchestrated or demanded of him.
“You can’t play along,” Rafe says, his words heavy with desire, a pinch of pain swirled in, “but you can pretend that the other night didn’t happen?”
You glare at him, desire coiling beneath the frustration, impossible to separate, impossible to ignore.
“I’m not pretending anything,” you say.
Rafe pinches the bridge of his nose, barely hanging on by a thread now.
“You’re so…” He exhales sharply, looking down and turning away to go to his bedroom. “Fuck.”
“I’m so what?” you challenge.
“You just make everything so damn hard.”
“You think you’ve made it easy?” you say to his back.
“I’m trying,” he snips, turning around to stare at you again.
“Are you?” You cross your arms. “Or are you just mad I haven’t let you touch me since then?”
Rafe’s jaw tenses, his blue eyes hard with lust. He hates your games, yet he keeps playing them.
You feel it spike in your chest, the rush, the satisfaction, the focus. You have so much power over him that every little step forward of yours is loaded.
“That’s it, isn’t it?” you taunt. “You want me again?”
His Adam’s apple bobs with a tense swallow, staring down at you, all domineering breadth and sharp edges. Your pulse picks up when his gaze drops to your lips again.
“Wish I didn’t,” he murmurs, tense that you’re tempting him just to slip away. The corners of your lips curl in a satisfied smile.
Rafe shakes his head, as if he’s trying to convince himself it’s a dream he can’t indulge. But it doesn’t last long. He can’t resist you and he takes the risk and leans lower, cradling your jaw in one hand while the other finds your waist, pulling you in.
You melt under his touch in an instant, his mouth hot on yours. Your hands have a mind of their own, dragging up his hard torso, tugging at his collar.
Your body buzzes with anticipation, impulses taking over as you shove him forward. He could easily withstand you, but he doesn’t, letting you shove him into the living room, onto the couch, watching as you lean to straddle him, bunching your dress up to your hips.
His hands are on your thighs, squeezing over your pantyhose as your lips meet again, even more feverishly this time. You roll your hips against him, feeling how quickly he’s gotten hard, his cock urging to push out of his pants.
His buttons are stubborn under your fingers and you lose patience, tugging so hard that a button breaks off. He retaliates, his warm hands dragging to your inner thighs, pulling until your pantyhose rip.
It’s urgent, nothing but pure hunger as you palm him over his clothes. His breath is ragged as he unbuckles his belt, wrapping an arm around your waist as he shifts to pull down his pants.
You stroke him over his briefs, a moan slipping past your lips when you feel a drop of precome in the cloth. His body needs you so badly, and yours needs him, the ache between your legs hot and wet.
Your knees press into the plush couch as you perch yourself up, watching him use the space to pull his briefs down. His cock springs out and you’re moving as if you have seconds left, because that’s what it feels like.
You shift your panties to the side, watching as he holds himself at his base, ready for you.
When you sink onto him, you both breathe a sigh of relief at the same time. Your head falls back, eyes shut as he stretches you out, filling you with the pressure you’ve been thinking about every day.
You squeeze his shoulders as you start to roll your hips, writhing in hungry, desperate thrusts. Rafe’s head is swimming in pure pleasure, watching the pretty way your face pinches, feeling how good your walls tighten around him.
His hand finds your jaw again, cradling like before, but tighter this time, guiding you so you’ll stare at him. You meet his eyes, staring into them as your bodies melt together, thinking about how frustrating it is that behind them is someone so cruel and so irresistible.
“Keep looking at me,” he says.
You obey, panting, writhing, thighs growing sore from how fast you’re riding him.
He’s in awe of how perfect you manage to be, even with all your flaws, even with how deeply you get under his skin.
And he doesn’t want your eyes off of him, not for a second. He wants you to show how good he makes you feel. He wants to see those pretty eyes roll from pleasure instead of annoyance.
“Don’t make me wait this long again,” he says hoarsely.
Your nails dig into his shoulders, earning a wince from him.
“I’ll make you wait longer,” you whisper.
“You want to look me in the eye when you lie like that?”
His grip on your jaw stiffens and his thumb’s so close to your throat that it sends a whisper of fear through you, afraid he’d dare to choke you.
You put your hand over his, cupping it roughly.
“Move your hand,” you snap in a hush.
Rafe’s face falls in a way you haven’t seen before, a mix of confusion and curiosity, but he listens, resting his hands over your thighs again, shifting back a bit to give you more of him to straddle.
Your hands skim down his hard chest as you sink even lower and let him reach even deeper.
“Fuck, you feel good,” his voice comes out rough. “Keep bouncing like that.”
You groan breathily as you move, angling to feel him rub against your sensitive bud with every rock of your hips. Euphoria curls at the base of your spine, heat trickling through you.
Your orgasm floods through you and the sound of you sighing so erotically, the feeling of you clenching around him, the sight of you in ecstasy makes Rafe feel high.
He’s seconds behind you, his pleasure coming out of him in hard, hot pumps. Your foreheads press as you slowly come down together, skin sticky, exhausted, blissed out.
You’re both in the middle of a storm, but in this minute, the world is quiet. It’s something you both desperately needed.
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Lights twinkle across the grand ballroom, music and the hum of conversations float through the air, and once again, your hand is at the inside of Rafe’s elbow.
You stand by the framed photo of you two. It’s only been days since the shoot, but the image of you, backlit by the glowing sun, is sitting by the entrance of your engagement party, conveniently placed next to you as you greet guests.
Despite yourself, you can admit it’s a nice photo. Neither of you are smiling, and that’s probably because you looked too disingenuous when you tried to, but it works.
It’s an elegant shot of you gazing at each other. You do look like two people who’ve fallen into a hard, fast romance.
You shake yet another hand, quietly greeting a man you’ll never see again after tonight. Or, you might, at the wedding. It’s hilariously sad, how these are all just strangers with influence, instead of the people you’d really want surrounding you to celebrate a milestone.
Rafe is relieved you’re actually doing this. When Celeste told you that you were expected to greet guests upon their arrival, you scoffed. But here you are, doing it.
You meant it when you said you can see that your father was banking on this to fail. And now, spitefully, you’re going along with it. He feels a confusing sense of pride over you.
The evening stretches too long. You reach for a drink whenever there’s a break in the chaos. Your father’s toast, veiled as pride, name-drops your mother’s political campaign and lands a jab about you finally settling down.
It doesn’t feel like any sort of celebration. It doesn’t even feel like your life. Just a carefully choreographed role. And it drives you to drink more.
The event photographer scurries around the room, snapping photos. The guests focus on talking to your parents rather than the couple they’re supposedly here for, not that you care.
And as the next hour passes, Rafe loses you. After a stressful search, he finds you, standing by the bar, arms crossed. He can see the glaze over your eyes. The anger in your features. He knows you well enough by now. You’re close to imploding.
Anger burns through him. The pride he thought he felt is gone. Then again, everything to do with you is a rollercoaster. Highs when you’re naked together, catastrophic lows when you’re not.
And he hates how you don’t have it in you to keep it together for just one evening. You won’t do it for yourself. For him.
“Ever think you might have a problem?” he says sharply, gesturing to the drink.
You thought you didn’t expect good in Rafe. But the way his words sting show you that something has crept in. Hope. And you’re furious that your subconscious let you put your guard down.
He’s just like them.
“I know I do,” you respond bitterly. A small hint of recognition flashes over your face, noticing that his gaze loses some of its hardness.
The words spilled out before you could stop them. You have to get out of here.
“I need to leave,” you realize.
Rafe’s stomach clenches with tension. He looks around the crowded ballroom.
“You can’t,” he says.
“Yes, I can.”
He says your name evenly. You glare at him.
“We have to get through this,” he adds, eyes traveling over your face. “You’re forgetting what’s on the line.”
“So are you when you’re such a dick to me,” you mutter. “Why are you provoking me? Why are you so…”
You stop yourself from saying it. Mean. He’s mean. And the word implies that his jab at you hurt. You won’t show him that.
“Tell everyone I was tired,” you mutter.
“Please,” he begrudgingly whispers, leaning closer. “I’m sorry, alright?”
You shake your head. Things with him have gotten even more twisted. You have no idea where you stand, although you’d like to just be two people who have nothing in common but a contract and sexual tension.
But nothing’s ever that simple.
“I can’t be around him, Rafe,” you admit quietly. “Did you hear that toast? He meant to embarrass me.”
He nods, searching your face with softened eyes.
“He’s an asshole,” he says. He looks down, trying to find some way to fix this. “Listen, you know when that chick was recording you?”
You shrug, failing to see the relevance.
“You squeezed my hand so hard I thought you were going to break it,” he says.
“I should’ve squeezed harder,” you reply, some of the edge in your tone gone. “What’s your point?”
“Just - just do that when you get pissed off,” he says. “Don’t lose your shit like you always do. Don’t give him the satisfaction.”
“I don’t always lose my shit.”
He widens his eyes. You roll yours.
“So, you want me to break your hand?” you say flatly.
“If it gets us through the night,” he says.
He holds out his hand. You sigh. But then, you accept it.
And you take him up on it. Every time someone annoys you, every time Celeste whispers to you to adjust something, every time one of your parents is in sight.
You squeeze. Hard. And he lets you.
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When the night winds down, Rafe isn’t sure he can breathe a breath of relief until he steps foot out of here.
He heads towards his father, and he notices the way he guides his wife with a hand on her back. As always, seeing that affection hits quiet and sharp and unwelcome.
It always reminds him of how his mother was treated, how Ward only gave her warmth and softness after the diagnosis. As if she didn’t deserve to be loved only until her days were numbered.
He shakes away the thought.
“You managed,” Ward says when he sees him.
“Yeah,” he agrees.
“I’ll find you out front, honey,” he says to his wife.
Rose offers a small smile before she leaves.
His father looks ahead, and Rafe follows his eyeline, eyes landing on you. You’re sitting with your elbow on the front table, one hand holding your chin up, legs crossed, foot shaking with impatience.
On the outside, you look bored and apathetic and annoyed. A spoiled princess who doesn’t even care about the event made for her, celebrating her.
But he sees past it. He sees how much anger simmers within, how much self-control it takes for you not to snap every minute.
“Don’t let her forget she needs you, alright?” Ward says. “She’s emotional, but you just need to be logical. Logic always wins.”
“Yeah,” he replies, although he’s not sure he agrees with that word for you, or at least the connotation. He knows his father means emotional in a negative way. It’s how he’s been raised. Feelings are weak.
But Rafe sees no fragility in the woman he’s staring at. He sees someone who’s taken punches and never misses the opportunity to punch back.
“Few more months and it’s over,” Rafe murmurs, just to have something to say.
“Just…” Ward claps a hand on his son’s shoulder. “Get to the finish line.”
He looks to his dad. No praise or thanks, only curt advice, as if Rafe needs to be told to make it to the end of this. As if he isn’t here to pay for a deal his father made years ago.
Ward steps away. Rafe used to argue with him. He used to have a backbone, until he clued in that he needed to take the hits to earn a place back in the family.
He looks at you again. You’re difficult as all hell, but at least you have it in you to fight back. He thought he did, but he’s nothing compared to you.
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Rafe makes it a habit to stick around the office. It makes a good impression. Because that’s what’s driven him for most of his whole life: to look competent, to be respected.
But he can hardly stand it today. After his dad’s comment last night, he’s been pissed off all day.
After what was meant to be his last meeting is canceled, Rafe heads home. He’s halfway to his bedroom when he hears it. Laughter. A light, clear burst of it. Yours.
It stops him cold. Not because it’s unpleasant. The opposite. He’s never heard you laugh like that. Not in public, not around him.
He hears another voice. You have someone over. And you didn’t tell him. Who knows how often you’ve done this without him knowing?
He storms through the penthouse, ignoring how much it pisses him off that this is the first time he’s heard you sound truly happy and it’s when he’s not around.
You’re perched on your desk chair, sleeve rolled up, looking down as Iris gently places the bandage on the inside of your elbow from where she just drew blood. There’s still a small smile on your face from the story she’d just shared about her family.
You told her why you weren’t taking your monthly appointment at your family’s home for once. Even though you trust her almost completely, you can’t risk anyone knowing the truth, so you went along with the public story that you just got engaged and moved in together.
She was happy to see you’ve moved out. It didn’t take her long to realize how difficult your relationships with your family are. There’s a risk Rafe might come home. But he won’t. He always gets here at five at the earliest. You have over an hour until then, and Iris is done here anyway.
The door silently opens under Rafe’s grip. A stranger in scrubs is kneeling over you, her gloved hands pressed around your arm. And for one sudden, nauseating, disorienting second, he’s twelve years old again, standing outside his mother’s room, nurses and doctors surrounding her.
His voice, sharp as a blade, startles you, “What is this?”
You flinch. Iris looks up, startled but calm.
“I was just finishing up,” she says quietly. Her eyes find yours, and you shake your head in confused apology, caught off guard.
You’re not often left speechless, but this is too much. Rafe snapping at one of the people you truly care for, seeing you like this, jumping to anger, as if you’ve done something wrong.
His hands are clenched, and there’s a storm behind his eyes.
Iris packs up, her back to you. You glare at Rafe in disbelief, then turn your head towards her again.
“I’m sorry,” you say softly. “He’s…”
You don’t know how you could possibly find a justification for his outburst. There isn’t one.
Iris nods, offers you a tight smile, and leaves with her head down. Rafe steps back as if in disgust, as if your nurse brushing past him is something he’s too good for.
“What the hell?” you say, your voice in a tremble.
Rafe opens his mouth, then closes it. His jaw twitches. For a breath too long, he says nothing. Then he just turns and walks away. Fast. Like he’s trying not to breathe the air in your bedroom.
Your pulse thunders. In the last ten seconds, everything has started to crumble.
You clench your fists, fury pooling through you as you stand to find him. You cross the kitchen, the living room, through the hallway to his side of the condo. You’ve never been here.
You push open his bedroom door. If he has no respect for personal space, you won’t, either.
Rafe's chest is tight, the same tightness he used to feel as a kid when the beeping machines echoed down the hall, as he stands looking out the window.
“You’re unbelievable,” you mutter, throwing him out of his daze. Unlike a moment ago, he doesn’t hesitate to respond to you. He turns, his jaw clenched in anger.
“You bring people like that here, you tell me,” he snaps.
“People like that?” you repeat. “You were such an asshole to her. What the fuck is wrong with you?”
He only glares. You shake your head. If you have to give it to him in terms that he’ll actually care about, you will.
“We’re supposed to be putting on a show, remember?” your snarl. “You think we just looked like a happy engaged couple?”
“You gave me your word that you’d tell me your plans.”
You’ve already prepared a lie in your head just in case, ready to claim that you needed a medical house call for something minor. You’re terrified of pity, of anyone seeing you as fragile.
“Do I need to call you every time I have a headache?” you say mockingly. “I’ve been stressed out. It led to migraines. I wanted to see a professional to make sure I was okay. In private.”
You exhale. Slow, tight. Your hands shake, just a little.
He doesn’t say anything. Just stares.
“You don’t see anything wrong with the way you just treated her?” you ask. “Or me?”
Your voice shakes on the last word. Because you thought you meant something to him after you found a semblance of common ground, after your exchanges have grown to have some softness to them.
He says nothing. You slam the door on your way out.
And Rafe is left to stand alone again, trying desperately not to remember the antiseptic smell of another room, another lifetime, where someone he loved was slowly slipping away.
(to be continued)
updates will be a little slower for the next while. my update account is @xorafe-library if you want post notifications.
You’re in the corridor outside the conference rooms, phone to your ear, scanning an email on your tablet, when you hear his laugh.
That low, careless, sun-warmed sound that somehow crawls under your skin every time.
You stop in your tracks.
Rafe’s leaning against the reception desk again, the picture of relaxed confidence. His arms are crossed, biceps flexed under the sleeves of his T-shirt. And perched on the edge of the counter beside him is Chloe, the new bubbly blonde intern.
She’s giggling. Like, actually giggling. Twirling a strand of hair around one finger.
“…and then I said, ‘Well, I might not know how to change my oil, but I’m real good with my hands,’” Rafe’s saying, eyes sparkling.
Chloe dissolves into fresh giggles, practically shoving his arm. “Oh my God, stop. You’re terrible.”
You freeze, invisible ice sliding down your spine.
Rafe, your Rafe, with the rag stuffed in his back pocket and the grin he only usually gives you, leans closer, dropping his voice conspiratorially. “Anyway, point is…you ever need help checkin’ your fluids, you know where to find me.”
Chloe squeals. Squeals.
You don’t even realize you’ve hung up your phone call mid-sentence. You just turn on your heel and march back toward your office, ever the avoidant.
He comes knocking an hour later.
Your door’s half-closed, but he doesn’t bother knocking, of course. Just pokes his head in.
“Hey, corporate—”
You don’t look up from your screen. “I’m busy.”
There’s a beat. You can practically feel him staring at you.
“…O-kay,” he says slowly. “I just—”
“Busy.”
Another pause. Then you hear the door close again.
The next day, you find a sticky note on your monitor:
“Lunch? Or you still mad?” — Mr. Corporate
You crumple it and toss it into your trash can.
By Thursday, he’s had enough. He corners you at the elevator bank, stepping in front of the doors just as they’re opening.
“Okay, what the hell,” he says.
“Move, Rafe.”
“Not ‘til you tell me why you’re actin’ like I keyed your car.”
You lift your chin. “I’m not acting like anything.”
He folds his arms, towering over you. “Bullshit.”
You refuse to look at him. The elevator doors slide shut again behind him.
He lowers his voice. “Is this about Chloe?”
“Why would it be?” you snap. “You can flirt with whoever you want.”
His brows shoot up. “So that’s what this is.”
You glare at him. “I don’t care what you do. It’s none of my business.”
“Oh, see, that’s funny.” He steps closer, voice dropping. “’Cause you sure look like you care.”
“Don’t flatter yourself.”
He studies you for a long moment. The playful glint is gone. When he speaks again, it’s softer, but still intense enough to pin you in place.
“I was messin’ around. I don’t give a shit about Chloe.”
“Seemed like you were having fun.”
“She’s nineteen, corporate. I was tryin’ not to be an asshole. That’s it.”
You fold your arms tighter. “I’m sure she’d love to hear that.”
Rafe sighs. “Jesus. You really don’t get it, do you?”
“Get what?” you snap.
He hesitates. Just a second. Like he’s deciding something. Then his jaw firms.
“That I don’t come all the way across town in the middle of my workday to see anybody else.”
Your heart stutters. You try not to let it show.
“That I don’t bring sandwiches to girls I don’t give a shit about.” He tilts his head, eyes blazing. “That I’m not interested in anyone else but you.”
Your mouth opens. Closes.
He exhales. “You drive me fuckin’ crazy, you know that?”
You swallow hard. “Then why…why flirt with her?”
“’Cause I was tryin’ to prove I can hang in your world. And I screwed it up. Happy?”
You blink. “Why would you have to prove anything?”
“Because you’re…” He gestures vaguely at your suit, your heels, your entire immaculate presence. “This. And I’m…not.”
You hesitate. A long beat of silence stretches between you. Then you say, softer than intended: “You don’t have to prove anything to me.”
He searches your eyes. “Then why’d you freeze me out?”
You glance away. “I didn’t like it.”
Rafe grins, slow and a little wicked. “Didn’t like me flirtin’ with someone else, huh?”
You scowl. “Shut up.”
He takes another step closer, invading your personal space completely. “So what you’re tellin’ me…is you’re jealous.”
“I am not—”
But he cuts you off, mouth brushing your ear. “God, you’re cute when you’re mad.”
Your entire body locks up.
“Tell you what,” he murmurs. “Why don’t you let me make it up to you tonight?”
You shove his chest lightly. “Rafe—”
But he’s already smirking. “I’ll pick you up at eight, corporate.”
And then he’s gone, sauntering away like he hasn’t just shattered your defenses completely, leaving you breathless in your power suit and wishing you’d pulled him back instead of pushing him away.
...
You’re back at the garage on a Friday afternoon, wearing a silk blouse and dark jeans instead of your usual suit, casual for you, though you still look wildly out of place among the oil stains and rattling pneumatic tools.
Rafe’s truck is nowhere in sight.
Which is unfortunate, because your car is definitely making a noise this time.
A real one.
Like a metallic screech that sends a jolt straight through your bones every time you brake. So you pull in, pop the hood, and hover beside your car, arms folded, trying not to look helpless.
That’s when you hear a voice behind you:
“Whoa. Fancy car for a fancy lady.”
You turn.
He’s tall, maybe a couple years younger than Rafe. Dark hair, mechanic’s shirt half unbuttoned, grease on his fingers. He’s wiping his hands on a clean rag, grin firmly in place.
“Hi,” you say cautiously. “Is Rafe around?”
“Nah, he ran to the parts store. I’m Eli. New around here.” He flashes a brilliant smile. “But lucky for you, I know my way around a BMW.”
“Oh…that’s okay. I’ll just wait for—”
But he’s already stepping closer, peering into your engine bay. “Pop the hood the rest of the way for me, sweetheart?”
You bristle faintly at sweetheart, but comply. “I just came in for a noise—”
“Brake noise, right? I heard it when you pulled in.” Eli shoots you a wink. “Bet you didn’t know a pretty car like this could scream so loud.”
You open your mouth, then shut it again.
He leans closer into the hood, arms flexing under the fluorescent lights. “You from around here?”
“Uh…kinda.” You shift awkwardly. “I work downtown.”
He grins. “I knew you were a corporate girl. You’ve got that boss energy.”
Your cheeks warm despite yourself. “I don’t know what that means.”
“Oh, it means you probably scare the hell outta half the guys you meet. But that’s okay.” He glances over his shoulder, eyes gleaming. “Some of us like a woman who knows what she wants.”
You stare at him, thoroughly off-balance.
And that’s precisely when Rafe comes back.
You hear his boots before you see him. The slam of his truck door. The crunch of gravel.
Then his voice, sharp as a blade: “What the fuck’s this?”
You blink up, startled. “Rafe—”
He’s striding across the lot, eyes zeroed in on Eli like a predator who’s spotted something on his territory.
Eli straightens, rag still dangling from one hand. “Hey, man. Just helpin’ her out—”
“Didn’t ask what you were doin’,” Rafe snaps. He plants himself between you and Eli so abruptly you nearly stumble backward. “Back the fuck off her car.”
Eli raises his hands. “Jesus. Chill.”
“Don’t tell me to chill.” Rafe’s jaw is clenched so hard you can practically hear his teeth grinding. “You don’t touch her car. You don’t talk to her like that.”
“Rafe, it’s fine,” you try to cut in, but he ignores you completely.
“You think ‘sweetheart’ is how we talk to customers around here?” Rafe demands, voice low and dangerous.
Eli blinks. “I…I was just being friendly—”
“Yeah? Go be friendly somewhere else.”
Eli glances between you two, looking faintly rattled. Then he mutters, “Whatever, man,” and walks off, tossing the rag onto the nearest tool cart.
The moment he’s gone, Rafe rounds on you, eyes blazing.
“What the hell, corporate?”
Your mouth drops open. “Me? I didn’t do anything!”
“You let him touch your car!”
“I didn’t let—he just started helping!”
Rafe rakes a hand through his hair, leaving a streak of grease at his hairline. “You should’ve waited for me.”
“I was waiting for you!”
He’s breathing hard. His chest is rising and falling like he’s been running.
Then he grabs your wrist, not hard, but firmly, and yanks you away from the car a few steps, out of earshot of the others.
“Do you even realize…?” His voice is hoarse now, lower, ragged. “The way you stand there, all wide-eyed…lettin’ guys lean all over your car, talkin’ to you like you’re somethin’ to win…like you’re—”
“Like I’m what?” you demand, getting ticked off at his tone.
He glares at you, but there’s a wild, almost panicked glint behind it. “Like you’re available.”
You blink, stunned.
“Rafe…” your voice softens. “I didn’t even notice he was flirting.”
He lets out a harsh laugh. “Yeah, well. Every guy within ten feet notices you.”
You scoff, a slow smirk spreading on your lips. “What, are you…jealous?”
He stiffens. “No.”
“Rafe—”
He grips your chin gently, tilting your face up. “You’re mine.”
Your breath catches, and you shouldn't find it attractive but you do.
He blinks, seeming to realize what he’s said. His thumb drifts across your jaw. “Shit. I didn’t—”
But before you can answer, he’s ducking his head and kissing you. It’s not soft, not gentle. It’s rough and urgent and tastes faintly of salt and grease and something purely Rafe.
When he finally pulls back, your pulse is thrumming in your ears.
You whisper, “I was just getting my brakes checked.”
Rafe grins, still breathless. “Not by him, you weren’t.”
And then he tugs you back toward your car, muttering under his breath, “C’mon. Lemme fix it proper.”
A/N: i may be spamming this duo but i just love them
TAGLIST (OG taglist + anyone who asked to be tagged): @lunaleah, @luzstarkey, @rafeycameronsgf, @pluviophilis @aerie717, @voqueflms, @bonjourjiminie
summary: rafe picked you up from the party and you got too bold in the car. and now alone in your room, rethinking everything. texting him. overthinking. deleting. sending. again. again. and his messages come slower now. meaner. he’s not ignoring you, he’s waiting.
warnings: dbf!rafe × reader, age gap, forbidden tension, alcohol (reader is tipsy but aware), regret spiral, texting, possessive undertone, suggestive themes, no smut
you’re lying on your side, phone screen lighting your face in blue-white flashes. your room’s too hot and your skin still smells like the perfume you sprayed for him, not for anyone else just him.
you were in his lap. you were saying shit like “i’d let you touch me if you asked nice.” you were so close. and he let you walk inside like none of it mattered.
you scroll up in the chat. reread the last few texts. he hasn’t said anything in… ten minutes.
you:
i didn’t mean it like that
or maybe i did idk sorry i just talk too much
can u forget it? pls?
delivered. .
no read.
you bite your lip and stare at the blinking cursor. unsend. resend. type. delete. type again.
you:
u looked so good tonight like really good like i wanted to
never mind.
you groan into your pillow, hugging it tight to your chest. your legs are tangled in the sheet, your bare thighs warm and restless from the mess of the night : the drinks, the laugh, him gripping the steering wheel like he was seconds from crashing the car just because you said something stupid like, “do you ever wanna kiss me?”
you:
i didn’t mean to make u uncomfortable i’m such a mess sorry
finally, his name flashes on your screen.
rafe:
you done?
your breath catches.
you:
no
maybe
i wish i was
rafe:
you want me to lie to you or what
you:
no maybe idk
rafe:
you climbed in my lap and said i could touch you if i asked nice and now you’re playing sorry?
you freeze. that message alone hits your stomach like a slap.
don’t twist it up now.
you knew what you were doing.
you still do.
you:
i just wanted you to want me
i feel really stupid now like maybe i made it all up
rafe:
yeah? that why you’re shaking when you walked back in?
you feel that in your chest. deep. sharp.
you:
i was tipsy
rafe:
you were needy
you:
maybe
rafe:
you looked at me like you wanted me to take you apart and then walked away like a coward
you:
i didn’t know if you wanted me back
rafe:
i had my hands on your ass and you’re asking if i wanted you?
your thighs squeeze together under the sheets. your cheeks burn. you don’t reply. your fingers hover.
rafe:
go to sleep
you:
are you mad at me
seen.
rafe:
yeah
you:
why
rafe:
because you don’t get to do that to me and then regret it
your hands shake just a little. something in your chest twists.
you:
what if i don’t regret it what if i just wanted u to say something first
he’s typing. typing. stopped. typing.
rafe:
say what
you:
that u wanted me too
nothing. no typing now. the screen’s still. silent.
you lock your phone and throw it on the other side of the bed like it burned you. your face buries in your pillow and your legs curl up. and you say into the dark, low and breathless: “i’m so dumb.”
but your phone buzzes again. once. you scramble to grab it.
rafe:
i wanted you so bad i could barely drive
you stare.
don’t ever doubt that again.
you press the phone to your chest. you close your eyes. you’re not sure if this is better or worse, but you are so sure you’re not sleeping tonight.
Because the noise your car made this morning was hardly a noise at all. More like a single, delicate click, like a fingernail tapping glass. A sound that disappeared the moment you turned down the radio to listen for it.
And yet…here you are, easing your BMW into the cracked lot beside Rafe's garage, tires crunching over gravel.
Rafe’s truck is there. So is Rafe, half-sitting on the hood of an old Mustang as he counts some cash. One boot planted on the bumper, the other dangling, pen hanging from his lips as he budgets.
He’s in a sleeveless shirt this time, tanned shoulders on display, grease smudges on his biceps, sweat darkening the neckline. A pair of sunglasses sits low on his nose. He pushes them up when he sees you, slow and deliberate.
“Well, well,” he drawls as you step out, black heels clicking on the asphalt. “Either the city finally gave up on fillin’ potholes, or you just missed me that bad.”
You fold your arms, chin high. “My car’s making a noise.”
“Mm.” He tilts his head, studying you like a piece of art he’s deciding where to hang. “Funny how that happens right around lunch hour.”
“It’s an…intermittent issue.”
His lips twitch. “Is it now?”
You bristle a little, despite yourself. “Are you going to help me or not?”
Rafe slides off the Mustang, wiping his palms on a rag. He walks around your car, slow and assessing, like he’s inspecting livestock at auction.
“Describe the noise for me, corporate.”
You purse your lips. “It’s…a click. Or a tick. Possibly a ping.”
“A click, a tick, or a ping,” he repeats solemnly, like he’s writing it down in an invisible notebook. “Well, that narrows it right down.”
You glare at him. He’s trying not to grin.
“I’m serious, Rafe. What if it’s important?”
He leans closer, lowering his voice so only you can hear. “Sweetheart, you drive a Beemer so uptight she probably makes a noise if the air pressure changes.”
Your mouth drops open. “Excuse me—”
But he’s already crouched beside the front tire, pressing a palm to the fender like he’s listening for a heartbeat.
“You hear it right now?” he asks, glancing up.
You hesitate. “Not…exactly.”
His eyes crinkle at the corners. “So, to be clear…there’s no sound right now, and it only happens when no one else is around to hear it?”
You lift your chin another inch. “Are you suggesting I’m imagining it?”
“Nope.” He straightens, towering over you, close enough that you smell his aftershave beneath the motor oil. “I’m suggesting maybe the car’s fine…and maybe you just wanted to come see me.”
Heat crawls up your neck. You drop your gaze. “I did not.”
“Mm.” His thumb brushes a speck of dust from your blazer sleeve, feather-light. “Guess I’m just good at what I do.”
You force yourself to look at him, determined, lips pressed tight. “If you’re done being smug, can you check under the hood?”
Rafe shrugs, still smiling, and pops the latch. The hood rises, and he leans in, forearms braced on the frame. His shirt stretches across his back, sun glinting off a thin line of sweat tracing his spine.
“Looks good to me,” he calls after a moment. “All your important bits are still attached.”
You frown. “That’s…not helpful.”
He peers back at you over his shoulder. “C’mere, corporate. I’ll show you.”
You approach cautiously. He gestures you closer until you’re practically flush against his side.
“See that belt?” He points, his fingers brushing yours as he guides your hand. “No cracks. No squeal. That’s a good sign. Hear that hissin’?”
You strain to listen. “Yes?”
“That’s your AC. Not your engine dyin’. And that little click you heard?” He taps a metal bracket. “Coulda been this. Loose heat shield. Tightened it just now. Cost ya nothin’.”
You blink at him. “That’s…all it was?”
“Mm-hm.” He lowers the hood and wipes his hands again. “Tragedy narrowly avoided.”
You swallow, cheeks warm. “I didn’t come here just to…see you.”
“Course not,” he says lightly, hooking the rag into his back pocket. “You came here ‘cause your car was clickin’, tickin’, and pingin’. Just so happened I was here to rescue you again. No shame in that.”
“I don’t need rescuing,” you snap, but it comes out too soft.
“I know.” He leans closer, voice low. “But I like doin’ it anyway.”
You go still, breath caught somewhere between your lungs and your throat.
Rafe steps back, grinning as if the moment never happened. “Wanna grab lunch since you’re here?”
Your voice fails you for half a second. Then: “I…suppose I could spare thirty minutes.”
“Thirty, huh?” He chuckles. “Gonna put me on the clock, corporate?”
“Someone has to.”
He smirks, already leading you toward the garage office. “Let’s see if I can earn my keep.”
And as you follow him, your car silent and purring behind you, you wonder when exactly it became so easy to find excuses to be here.
...
You’re in your office, halfway through an endless spreadsheet, when your intercom buzzes.
Your secretary, Alexa, says, “Hi…there’s a man here asking for you? He says his name is Rafe?”
Your entire body stiffens. “Rafe?”
“He’s…um. Wearing jeans. And he has a…hat?” The receptionist lowers her voice like she’s describing a criminal. “He says he’s here to drop off…a…bolt?”
You blink. “A bolt.”
“That’s what he said.”
You close your eyes for a second, inhale slowly. “Send him up.”
Five minutes later, there’s a knock on your office door.
Rafe appears in the doorway, leaning against the frame like he owns it, thumbs hooked in his belt loops. His t-shirt is clean-ish today, but he’s still Rafe, sun-bleached hair, tan skin, a streak of grease near his jaw like he’d wiped his face with the back of his hand and forgot about it.
“Hey, corporate.”
You fold your arms. “Are you seriously here…to deliver a bolt?”
He holds up a shiny silver bolt between his thumb and forefinger, like it’s proof. “Yup. Important business.”
You stare at him. “Rafe. Why are you actually here?”
He shrugs, sauntering closer. “Had a job in the area. Figured I’d, y’know…swing by. See how the other half lives.” He peers around your office, eyes catching on the floor-to-ceiling windows, the glass conference rooms outside. “Fancy. Smells like printer toner and overpriced coffee in here.”
“It’s called professionalism,” you say crisply, resisting the way your lips threaten to curve upward.
He leans in, voice dropping. “Mm. I’m partial to sweat and motor oil myself.”
Your breath hitches, just a little. You force your expression back to neutral.
“Well. Thank you…for the bolt.” You pluck it from his fingers, very proper. “I’ll, keep it…somewhere.”
“Good,” he says solemnly. “Never know when you might need one.”
You exhale sharply, fighting an eye-roll. “Rafe. Seriously. You drove thirty minutes into downtown traffic to give me a bolt?”
He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he strolls toward your window and looks out at the skyline, hands in his pockets. “Y’know. I get it now.”
“Get what?”
“The view,” he says. “This whole…up-in-the-clouds thing. Glass everywhere. City lookin’ like one big jewelry box.” He glances over his shoulder. “But it’s kinda lonely up here, huh?”
Your chest tightens. You look away, pretending to straighten a stack of files. “I like it fine.”
“Mm.” He turns back, grinning. “Can’t exactly work on a carburetor in here, though.”
You purse your lips. “How tragic.”
“Hey. I bring culture wherever I go.” He nods toward your pristine glass desk. “If you want, I could leave a few oil stains around. Liven the place up.”
“I’ll pass.”
Rafe’s grin softens. He steps closer, close enough for you to smell the faint trace of soap and sun on his skin. “So…you busy?”
“I’m at work, Rafe.”
“Yeah, yeah. Work. So…lunch?”
You blink. “Lunch?”
“Yeah.” He shifts his weight, scuffing his boot on your gleaming floor. “I dunno. I figured…you gotta eat sometime, right?”
Your brows draw together. “But…you’re probably busy. At the garage.”
He waves a hand. “Garage’ll survive for an hour.”
“Rafe…” You shake your head, a small, helpless laugh escaping. “Why would you come all the way up here? You hate it downtown. You said there’s no good parking. And you hate the smell.”
He shrugs again, looking weirdly shy for half a second. “Guess I…wanted to see you.”
Your heart does a weird little somersault. But you push the feeling down, hard.
“You don’t have to pretend,” you say, forcing a light tone. “I know you’re just…being nice. Because of the tire thing.”
Rafe’s entire expression changes. The grin drops. His brows pull together. “Sweetheart, you really think I’m here ‘cause of some tire?”
You stiffen. “I just mean…we’re so different. You don’t have to feel obligated—”
“I ain’t obligated.” His voice is rougher now. “I’m here ‘cause I wanna be. And for the record? You’re the one who keeps droppin’ by my garage talkin’ bout phantom noises in your car.”
Your face goes hot. “That’s not—”
He steps closer, close enough you feel the warmth radiating off him. “Look me in the eye and tell me you don’t like seein’ me.”
You swallow hard. “That’s not the point.”
Rafe tilts his head, studying you. Then he smirks, though it’s softer this time. “Fine. I’ll let you off the hook…this time.”
He jerks his chin toward the bolt still sitting on your desk. “Keep that. So you’ll remember who to call next time your Beemer starts squeakin’.”
And before you can answer, he’s backing toward the door.
“Oh—and corporate?”
You look up, pulse still galloping.
“Don’t work too hard,” he says, and winks. “Wouldn’t want ya gettin’ stress lines on that pretty forehead.”
Then he’s gone, leaving the scent of summer and motor oil lingering in your glass-and-chrome office.
You stare at the bolt on your desk for a long time.
And for reasons you can’t quite explain, you tuck it carefully into the top drawer.
A/N: return of the corporate reader!
TAGLIST (OG taglist + anyone who asked to be tagged): @lunaleah, @luzstarkey, @rafeycameronsgf, @pluviophilis @aerie717, @voqueflms,
Where Rafe Cameron turns your house into an icebox, all in the name of love
It happened again.
You woke in the middle of the night, teeth chattering so hard it echoed off the walls. You pulled the covers tighter, but your entire body felt like it was submerged in ice water.
Next to you, Rafe Cameron was warm as a furnace, sprawled on his back, one arm thrown over your waist, lips parted on a gentle exhale.
“Rafe,” you hissed, nudging his ribs. “Wake up, I’m dying.”
He blinked groggily, blue eyes unfocusing and refocusing on your face. “Wha’s wrong?”
“It’s fifty-six degrees in here, that’s what’s wrong!”
He paused, then grinned, sleepy and wicked. “Mmm… snuggle closer, baby.”
“Rafe.”
He rolled toward you, hooking a leg around yours and tugging you flush against his chest. His skin was hot under his t-shirt, arms firm around your back. He buried his face in your neck, stubble brushing your skin, breath sending little shivers down your spine.
“You’re warm now,” he murmured, voice low and husky. “Problem solved.”
You tried to push him away. You tried. But he held you tighter, lips pressing gentle kisses beneath your ear, thumb sweeping little circles over your lower back.
“Rafe. This is manipulative.”
“Nahhh. It’s love,” he said, smirking. “Plus, I sleep better when you’re all over me.”
You glared. “I’m literally trembling.”
He pulled back just enough to look at you, gaze suddenly soft. “Baby… you know I’d keep you warm forever, right?” His thumb brushed over your cheekbone. “I’d build a fire with my own two hands. I’d carry you around in my hoodie. I’d—”
“Then why not just set the thermostat to a normal temperature?!”
He bit his lip, as if suppressing a smile. “Because… then you’d drift to the other side of the bed. And I hate when you’re all the way over there.”
Your chest squeezed at the sincerity in his eyes.
“Rafe.”
“Look, I’m just sayin’…” He tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, fingertips brushing your temple. “When it’s cold, you curl up against me. You tuck your little feet under my legs. You tuck your face here—” he guided your head into the crook of his neck “—and sigh all soft, like I’m the best thing that’s ever happened to you.”
Your throat tightened. “You… are the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”
He froze, lashes fluttering. Then his whole face broke into a grin so wide, it made your heart squeeze. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” you whispered.
He dipped his head and kissed you, slow, lingering, lips brushing yours like he was memorizing the taste of your breath. One of his hands slid up your spine, warm and gentle, while the other settled protectively over your ribs.
“Love you,” he mumbled, barely pulling away.
“Love you too,” you breathed.
He kissed your cheek. “Good. Now stay right here, or I’m turning it down to fifty-four.”
“Rafe—!”
But he was already chuckling, shifting until he was half on top of you, tucking the blankets tighter around you both, pressing kiss after kiss into your hair. His nose nuzzled your temple as his palm stroked slow, soothing patterns across your back.
And despite the cold, your chest felt so warm it could’ve lit up the whole room.
Because Rafe Cameron might be a thermostat saboteur but he was also a big softie when it came to you.
