𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 18+ mdni. therapist/patient relationship, unethical therapy, professional boundary violations, power imbalance, emotional dependency, obsessive thoughts, explicit sexual content, fingering, edging/orgasm denial, dirty talk, discussion of compulsive sexual behavior/sex addiction, unhealthy relationship dynamics, and emotional manipulation.
this work is entirely fictional and is not intended to romanticize or endorse therapist-patient relationships or unethical clinical conduct.
𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: twenty six sessions in, you're still pretending dr. cameron is just your therapist. he's still pretending he doesn't look forward to thursday evenings. you've told him everything except the truth, that every fantasy you've had for months ends with him.
𝐚/𝐧: a serious genius sent me this idea. i'm so so happy they did because i had a similar idea previously but didn't have the courage to pursue it due to... well. you know. which is funny because i've written much more taboo content. anyway, if you're reading this my love, thank you for the courage! this story explores quiet obsession and an intentionally unethical therapist/patient relationship. none of this is meant to reflect healthy therapy or healthy relationships. please read the warnings before continuing. ♡
𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 4.9k
you're fifteen minutes early. you're never early.
the waiting room is empty, which is good because you don't think you could sit here making small talk with another patient right now. the white noise machine hums from somewhere behind the reception desk, a constant static that's supposed to be soothing but just makes you more aware of every sound your body makes. your breathing. the rustle of your clothes. the tap of your shoe against the floor that you can't seem to stop.
you left your hair down even though you always tie it back for sessions because it feels too vulnerable otherwise. but today you want to feel vulnerable. you want him to notice.
you check your phone. 6:47pm. his last appointment of the day is always at seven. you know this because you've been coming here every thursday at seven for six months and you've never seen anyone leave after you.
six months.
you remember the first session. how you sat on that couch and couldn't look at him while you explained why you were there. "i have a problem with sex," you'd said, and the words felt stupid coming out of your mouth. so clinical and detached.
"tell me about it," he'd said, and his voice was so calm that you actually looked up at him. he was leaning back in his chair, one ankle crossed over his knee, pen in hand but not writing anything yet.
so you told him about the compulsion. about the way you'd fuck someone and feel nothing and then do it again the next night hoping it would be different. the way you fixated on people... strangers, mostly, and built entire fantasies around them until the reality of actually being with them shattered everything. how you were chasing something you couldn't understand or begin to grasp.
he'd listened to all of it. didn't flinch, didn't judge, didn't try to fix it right away. just asked questions. "what do you think you're looking for?" and "how do you feel in the moment, right before?" and "what happens after?"
you'd left that first session feeling raw.
the second session, you noticed his hands. the way he held the pen, the way his fingers moved when he gestured while talking. you told yourself it didn't mean anything.
by the fourth session, you were thinking about his voice at night.
by the eighth session, you realized you were dressing differently on thursdays.
and then one night, session eleven, maybe twelve, you were fucking some guy you'd met at a party and you weren't thinking about him at all. you were thinking about dr. cameron. about what his hands would feel like instead. about whether he'd be gentle or rough, whether he'd talk to you the way he does in sessions, that calm steady voice asking you questions while he—
you'd came so hard you scared yourself. that was a rarity. you never came.
after that, it was over. every hookup became a placeholder for him. every confession in therapy became a way to see if he'd react, if you could make him break that professional mask even for a second. you started telling him more explicit details. not because you needed to for therapy, but because you wanted to see what he'd do with the information. if he'd really look at you.
you're pretty sure he does. you've caught him sometimes, when you're in the middle of a story, and there's something in his eyes that doesn't really feel like clinical interest.
or maybe you're delusional and maybe this whole thing is just another fixation.
but today feels different.
last weekend you fucked someone in a bar bathroom and the entire time you were imagining it was dr. cameron. you’d said his name so quietly, barely a whisper, but the guy heard it. asked "who's rafe?" and you'd lied, said it was your ex, but the truth sat in your chest like a bag of heavy rocks.
you can't keep doing this. you can't keep coming here every thursday and confessing everything except the one thing that actually matters.
the door to the inner office opens.
dr. cameron steps out, holding a file. he's wearing a light colored button-down with the sleeves rolled up, and you hate that you notice. the way his forearms flex, and how his long fingers grip the file. he sees you and something flickers across his face. surprise, maybe, but it's gone so fast you might have imagined it.
"hey," he says. "you're early."
"yeah." your voice sounds normal. "is that okay?"
"of course. come on in."
you follow him into the office and the familiar space feels different today, even though its all the same. the couch where you always sit with his chair angled toward it. the desk in the corner with his laptop and stacks of files. the lamp that casts everything in warm light. the door closes behind you, and you hear the lock click into place like he always does, for privacy, but today the sound makes your stomach turn.
"how was your week?" he asks, settling into his chair.
you sit on the couch, your usual spot. nothing feels normal. your skin is too tight.
"it was fine," you say. "i mean, not fine. i don't know."
he waits. he's good at that. letting silence stretch until you fill it.
"i hooked up with someone last weekend," you say, and you watch his face for a reaction, but there's nothing. just that calm, attentive expression. "met him at a bar."
"okay," he says. "tell me about it."
so you do. you tell him about meeting the guy, about how easy it was to fall into that classic pattern—drinks, flirting, the bathroom with its flickering fluorescent light and the smell of cheap soap. you tell him about fucking the guy against the sink, your jeans around your ankles, his hands on your hips, and how the entire time you were somewhere else. you were here. in this office. with dr. cameron's hands on you instead.
he's leaning forward in his chair, elbows on his knees, and he's listening the way he always does, but there's something else underneath it. the lamp casts shadows across his face and you can see the tension in his jaw, the way his fingers are pressed together.
"and after?" he asks. his voice is steady but there's something underneath it now, something that wasn't there before. "how did you feel after?"
"empty," you say. the word sits between you like a stone. "like always."
"but you did it anyway."
"yeah."
"why?"
you shrug, but the gesture feels wrong, too casual for what you're about to say. "because... because i wanted to feel something? i guess? anything." the words come out uncertain, like you're testing them as you speak.
there's a pause that stretches way too long. it makes you aware of the distant sound of traffic outside muffled by the closed window, the fact that you're alone in this room with him and the door is locked. you can hear your own breathing. his too, if you listen closely enough.
and then you say it.
"i've been thinking about you," your heart is pounding so hard you can feel it in your throat. "since session six. maybe earlier. i don't know."
session six is definitely a lie. you’d been thinking about him since session two. but there’s no way you could admit something like that. telling him at all was more than enough.
his face changes. it's subtle, just a flash of something raw crossing his features before he can stop it. he looks away, down at his hands where they're pressed together between his knees, and for a moment he's just a man sitting in a chair. not a therapist. not someone in control. just a man who's been caught.
when he looks back at you, his jaw is tight, and whatever argument he'd been having with himself is over. you can see it in his eyes.
"session six," he repeats, and his voice is quieter now, rougher around the edges. "that's... that's a long time."
"yeah."
he's quiet for another moment. you watch him process it, watch the way his chest rises and falls a little faster than it should. his fingers unclasp and he runs one hand through his hair, messing it up in a way you've never seen before.
"why didn't you tell me?" he asks.
"because i thought it would go away," you reply. the confession feels like peeling off skin. "i thought if i just... maybe if i kept coming here, kept talking about it, it would stop. but it didn't. it got worse."
he nods slowly. you can see the conflict playing out on his face, the way his mouth tightens, the way he looks at you and then away and then back again like he can't help himself.
he stands up. the movement is sudden enough that you flinch, and for a second you think he's going to ask you to leave, going to tell you this was a mistake and that you need to find another therapist. but he doesn't. he walks away from you, toward the window, and stands there with his back to you, one hand coming up to grip the back of his neck. you can see the tension in his shoulders, the way they're drawn up tight. the way they rise and fall with his breathing. the office feels smaller suddenly, the walls much closer.
he's pacing now. not frantically or anything, just a few steps back and forth in front of the window, looking at the floor like he's trying to work something out. his hand falls from his neck and he shoves both hands in his pockets, then pulls them out again. you watch him, and you realize this is it. this is the moment where he decides whether to cross the line or send you away.
he stops so abruptly it almost looks like something catches him. his hand falls away from the back of his neck again and when he turns, he doesn't say anything right away. he just looks at you, and there's something in his eyes you've never seen before. something hungry and raw and completely unprofessional.
the way he looks at you... it's not the way a therapist looks at a patient.
"stand up," he says.
you do. your legs feel shaky, unsteady, but you stand anyway. your hands are trembling at your sides.
"come here."
he sits back down in his chair, and the distance between the couch and where he's sitting is barely a few steps, but it feels way longer now. each one gives you another chance to turn around, another chance to pretend none of this happened, to walk out and find a new therapist and never come back. you don't take it.
your shoes are silent on the carpet. you're standing in front of him now, close enough that you could reach out and touch him if you wanted to. close enough to see the way his pupils are dilated, the way his chest is rising and falling faster than normal. there's no trace of the careful distance he'd kept for six months. it's gone completely.
"sit," he says, patting his lap.
"dr. cameron—"
"sit."
you do. you lower yourself onto his lap slowly, your back settling against his chest. his thighs are thick and solid and warm beneath you, the muscle firm under the fabric of his pants. you can feel his cock, already hard, pressing against your ass through the denim of your jeans. the knowledge of it sends heat flooding through you. you want to shift, to grind back against him, but you force yourself to stay still because part of you still can't even believe this is happening.
his hands settle on your thighs. warm and heavy, the weight of them grounding you.
"keep talking," he says, his voice low in your ear. you can feel his breath against your neck, warm and slightly uneven. "tell me about the compulsion."
"i—i don't know what you want me to say."
his hands slide higher, fingers tracing the inside of your thighs through your jeans. the touch is light, almost teasing. "tell me what it feels like. when you're with someone. what are you chasing?"
you can barely think. his fingers are moving in slow circles on your inner thighs and it's making it hard to form words. "i don't know... validation, maybe? proof that i'm wanted."
"and do you get it?"
"no. never."
his fingers pop the button on your jeans. the sound is loud in the quiet office, the snap of metal against fabric. you lift your hips slightly so he can pull the zipper down. the rasp of metal teeth separating sounds almost deafening in the silence.
"why not?" he murmurs, sliding his hand inside your jeans, over your underwear. you're already wet, soaked through the fabric, and you know he can feel it. his fingers press against you through the damp cotton and you gasp, your hips jerking forward involuntarily.
"because... because it's never enough," you whisper. "it's never—fuck—"
he presses against your clit through the fabric and your hips jerk forward again. his other hand comes up to grip your jaw, fingers splaying across your cheek and throat, holding your head back against his shoulder. the grip is firm and feels like a gentle anchor.
"keep talking," he says. "you're doing so good."
"dr. cameron, please—"
"please what?" his thumb catches the edge of your underwear, easing it aside. his fingers find you almost absently, like he's waiting for your answer more than your reaction, but you can hear the wet sound of it when he slides through your folds. "use your words."
you can't answer. your eyes are squeezing shut and it feels like you're hardly breathing. he circles your clit once, twice, and you're already shaking. the jeans are tight around your hips, constricting, and his hand is trapped inside them, the denim pressing his knuckles against you in a way that's almost uncomfortable but also perfect.
his fingers stop circling. they just rest there, warm and still against your clit. the sudden absence of movement makes you whimper, a sound you didn't mean to make.
"the guy from last weekend," he says. not a question. his breath is against your ear, warm and steady. "tell me what he did."
"he—" your voice cracks. you can't think. his fingers are right there but not moving and it's worse than if he'd pulled away completely. the stillness is torture. "i don't—"
"you don't remember?" his fingers slide lower, just barely, teasing your entrance. you can feel the tip of one finger pressing against you, not pushing in, just resting there. "or you don't want to tell me?"
"no, i—he fucked me. in the—" you're breathing too fast. the words won't come out right. your brain can't form complete thoughts with his hand between your legs. "backseat. i was—"
his fingers push inside you. just the tips, just enough that you can feel the stretch, the intrusion. you gasp and lose the sentence completely, your mouth falling open.
"you were what?"
"on top," you manage. "i was on top."
he pushes deeper. not all the way, just enough that you can feel the stretch, the promise of more. his fingers are thick and you can feel every ridge, every knuckle as they slide into you. then he stops again and holds still inside you, buried to the second knuckle.
"did you cum?"
"no."
his fingers don't move and he’s silent for a moment. you can feel your pulse around them, can feel yourself clenching involuntarily, trying to pull him deeper. the stillness is maddening.
"why not?" he asks, and his voice is so calm, so steady, like he's asking about the weather while his fingers are inside you and you're falling apart in his lap.
"because i—" you're shaking. "i never—with them, i can't—"
"can't or don't?"
"both? neither. i don't know." the words come out frustrated, desperate.
his thumb brushes your clit. once. the lightest touch. you jerk against him and he pulls it away immediately, denying you.
"but you want to," he says.
"yes—fuck—yes."
"what do you think about?" his fingers curl inside you slightly, pressing against that spot. not enough pressure. just enough to make you aware of it. "when you're with them. when they're inside you... what's in your head?"
you don't answer. you can't. your breath is coming in short gasps and his hand is still gripping your jaw, holding you in place, and you can feel the heat of him against your back, the solid weight of his chest. the hardness of his cock pressing into you through your jeans, and you wonder if he's as desperate as you are, if this is killing him too.
"answer me," he says, and his fingers push deeper, all the way now, buried inside you to the knuckle. you cry out, the sound echoing in the small office.
"i can't—"
"yes you can." he starts moving them. slow, methodical thrusts that make you see stars. his thumb finds your clit again and circles it once, twice. the dual sensation is overwhelming. "tell me what you think about."
"i—" you're climbing already, way too fast. the pressure building low in your belly, spreading through your thighs. "i think about—"
he stops. completely stops. his fingers buried inside you but motionless, his thumb lifting off your clit.
this broken and desperate sound falls from your mouth, something you'd never even heard before.
"say it," he says.
"you," you gasp. "i... i think about—fuck—i think about you."
"me." his voice is rough now, the professional veneer cracking. "you think about me while some stranger fucks you in a parking lot."
"yes."
"what am i doing?" his fingers move again, just slightly, just enough to remind you they're there. "in your head. what am I doing to you?"
"this," you whisper. "you're—you're doing this."
"yeah?" he pushes deeper, curling his fingers inside you. you can feel every ridge, every knuckle, the stretch of it. his thumb finds your clit and he starts moving in a rhythm that has you climbing fast. too fast. your hips start to move, grinding back against his cock, and you can feel how hard he is, can hear the way his breath catches. his other hand tightens on your jaw, fingers pressing into your skin hard enough to leave marks.
"stay still," he says.
you try. you're shaking so fucking badly, your thighs trembling. you're right there, right on the edge, the pressure building and building and—
he stops. his fingers stay inside you but they don't move. his thumb lifts off your clit.
"no—please—"
"tell me more," he says. his voice is steady but you can hear the strain in it now. "you think about me. what do i do? in your head?"
you're gasping. you can feel tears starting to form, burning in your eyes. "i can't—"
"yes you can." his fingers move slightly, just a tiny curl, pressing against that spot inside you. "tell me what i do to you. in your fantasies."
"you—you touch me like this," you say, your voice breaking. "you make me—you don't stop. you let me cum."
"do i?" his fingers curl inside you again, harder this time, and you cry out. "what else?"
"you fuck me," you whisper. "you fuck me and you—and you tell me i'm good."
"you are doing good," he says, and his thumb presses against your clit again. you're climbing again, faster this time, the pressure building impossibly fast. "you're being so good for me right now."
"dr. ca—"
"tell me why you chase validation," he continues. meanwhile his fingers are moving inside you, pumping in and out, and you can hear the wet sound of it, obscene in the quiet office. you can feel yourself dripping, soaking his hand, soaking through your jeans. "what are you trying to prove?"
"i don't—i can't think—"
"try."
you have actual tears on your face now, hot and wet and streaming. "that i'm worth something. that someone wants me."
"and do you feel that? with the men you fuck?"
"no—never—please—"
you're right there again. your whole body is tense and shaking and his fingers are moving faster and his thumb is circling your clit and you're so close, so fucking close, the pressure building to an unbearable peak and—
he stops again.
you actually sob, the sound wrenching out of you.
"not yet," he says. "we're not done talking."
"please," you beg. "pleaseplease let me cum. i can't—"
"you can." his voice is firm. "breathe."
you try. the jeans are soaked now, the denim dark with wetness. you can smell it, the smell of sex starting to fill the office, mixing with the scent of his cologne and the faint smell of coffee from earlier.
"why do you think you fixate on people who can't give you what you need?" he asks.
"i don't know."
"yes you do."
"because—because it's safe," you gasp. "because if they can't give it to me then i can't be disappointed."
"and me?" his thumb brushes your clit, so light it's almost nothing. "am i safe?"
"no."
"why not?"
"because you could actually—fuck—you could actually hurt me."
"how?"
you're crying. "because i actually want you. not just—not just the sex. you."
his fingers start moving again. slow, and you're climbing again, faster now. you grind back against his cock and he doesn't stop you this time. you can feel him hard and thick against your ass, can hear the way his breathing has changed, rougher now.
"say it again," he says.
"i want you."
"louder."
"i want you," you say, your voice breaking. "i want you so fucking bad. please- please let me cum. i'm so close. please."
he's building you up again. his thumb on your clit, his fingers inside you, and you're climbing so fast you can't breathe. his other hand is still on your jaw, holding you in place. you can feel his breath against your ear, the slight hitch in it, and you realize he's as affected as you are.
"that's it—" he whispers quietly. "take what you need."
you're right there. right fucking there. the pressure is unbearable and—
his fingers go still.
but this time he doesn't pull away. just... stops. his fingers stay buried inside you, his thumb resting against your clit. completely motionless. completely silent.
the silence is worse. you're right there, right on the edge, and he's not moving and he's not saying anything. you can feel your pulse in your clit, can feel yourself clenching around his fingers, your body begging for more. the stillness is psychological torture. you need it so bad you could honestly cum right then and there without him touching you anymore. your pussy is clenching around nothing, beggining for it. but god, what a waste that would be.
so you wait. five seconds. ten. fifteen. your breath coming in short gasps.
finally, he speaks.
"why do you think you're here?" he asks, and his voice is quiet. "really here. not the answer you gave me in session one. the real answer."
"i don't—"
"yes you do." his fingers curl slightly inside you, just enough to make you gasp, but then he goes still again. "why are you here?"
"because..." you whisper. "because i don't know how to want something without destroying it. because i'm afraid if i let myself actually have something real, i'll ruin it."
"and me?" his thumb presses against your clit, just barely. "what am i?"
"real," you say. you're crying again. "you're real. and i'm terrified."
"good," he says, and his fingers start moving again. slow at first, then faster, harder, and his thumb is circling your clit and you're climbing so fast you can't breathe. "you should be terrified. because i'm not going to let you run from this. i'm not going to let you turn me into another fantasy you can chase and never catch. this is real."
"yes—fuck—yes—"
"knowing you go home and touch yourself and imagine it's me?" his fingers curl inside you, hitting that spot, and he doesn't stop this time. his thumb is relentless, circling and pressing and you're climbing higher and higher. "knowing you're so desperate for it you'll fuck anyone just to feel something?"
"oh my... god, please—"
"you don't need them," he says. his fingers are relentless now, pumping in and out of you, the wet sounds loud and sloppy and obscene. "you need someone who knows what you need. someone who's been listening. someone who's been paying attention for six fucking months."
"i—i'm—i'm gonna—"
"then do it," he says. "cum on my fingers. right here in my office. show me what you look like when you finally get what you need."
and you do. you cum so hard you can't breathe, can't think, can't do anything but feel. it hits you like a wave, starting deep in your core and radiating outward. your body convulses in his lap, every muscle tensing and releasing. your hips grinding back against his cock, and his fingers don't stop moving, drawing it out, prolonging it. the orgasm tears through you in waves, each one crashing over you harder than the last. you can feel yourself clenching around his fingers, rhythmic pulses that seem to go on forever. the wetness gushing out of you, soaking his hand, soaking your jeans, probably soaking through to his pants.
you're aware of everything and nothing—the way your thighs are shaking uncontrollably, the way your breath is coming in broken gasps, the way you can hear yourself making sounds you've never made before, desperate and raw. his fingers keep moving, keep curling, keep hitting that spot inside you, and just when you think it's over another wave hits and you're crying out again, your back arching, your head thrown back against his shoulder. it goes on and on, longer than ever before, until you're begging him to stop, until it's too much, until you can't take anymore.
when you finally come down, you're crying. actual tears streaming down your face, your breath coming in gasps. he pulls his fingers out slowly and you whimper at the loss, at the sudden emptiness. your jeans are soaked, the denim dark and wet, clinging to your thighs.
"shh," he says, wrapping his arms around you. "you're okay. you did so good."
you're trembling. you can still feel his cock hard against your ass and you want to turn around, want to touch him, want to make him feel what you just felt, but you can't move. your body won't cooperate.
"that's what you needed," he says quietly. "someone who knows you. someone who listens."
you nod, still trying to catch your breath.
"next session," he says, and his voice is back to that calm, professional tone, like he didn't just make you come apart in his lap, "we're going to talk about why you keep choosing people who can't give you what you need. i think we made some progress today on identifying the root of the compulsion."
you almost laugh. the absurdity of it.
"okay," you whisper.
"good," he says. "now go clean yourself up. there's a bathroom down the hall."
you stand on shaky legs. your jeans are dark with wetness and you have to button them with trembling fingers. when you look back at him, he's watching you, his fingers in his mouth, tasting you. the sight of it sends another jolt of heat through you.
"same time next week?" he asks.
"yeah," you say. "same time."
you walk out of his office on legs that barely work. in the bathroom, you look at yourself in the mirror. your face is flushed, your eyes red and glassy, your lips swollen. there's a mark on your neck from where his hand gripped your jaw, dark and obvious. you reach up to touch it. the skin is tender, slightly raised. you stare at it for a long moment, and then you notice something else in the mirror's reflection: your therapy appointment card, sticking out of your back pocket. the next date is already written on it in his handwriting. thursday. same time. you pull it out and look at it.
he wrote it before today's session.
you tuck the card back into your pocket. look at yourself in the mirror one more time. the mark on your neck. your flushed face.
He crushes the rock between his teeth first, right in front of you, jaw flexing, then spits the damp, half-melted powder directly onto your open cunt. It lands in a messy, uneven smear across your clit and the soft inner folds, already starting to dissolve in the heat and slick that’s been dripping out of you since he ordered you onto your back and spread your thighs with both hands.
“Look at that,” he mutters, voice low and almost fond. “Pretty little hole all dressed up for me.”
He doesn’t use his tongue right away. He uses the flat of two fingers first—rubbing the wet powder in hard, working it into every crease, pushing some of it inside you with short, filthy thrusts. The burn hits almost immediately: sharp, chemical, electric. Your hips jerk. He just presses his palm down on your lower stomach and keeps going, smearing, scooping, forcing more of it deeper until your cunt is glossy and pink and faintly frosted with what’s left.
Only then does he lean in.
The first lick is slow and deliberate, broad and flat, from the bottom of your hole all the way up over your clit. He collects everything—coke, cum, the thin string of spit he left earlier—and swallows it like it’s nothing. Then he does it again, harder, tongue pointed this time, fucking into you with it, chasing every last grain that’s tried to hide inside. The sound is wet and obscene. He’s breathing through his nose like an animal.
When he finally seals his mouth over your clit and sucks, it’s not gentle. It’s greedy. He sucks like he’s trying to pull the powder back out of your bloodstream, tongue lashing, teeth grazing just enough to make your thighs jump. Two fingers slam back into you mid-suck, curling hard against that swollen spot that makes your vision white out, and he keeps sucking through the whole thing—loud, messy, spit running down his chin and onto the sheets.
You’re shaking. He’s not done.
He pulls off just long enough to spit a thick string of coke-laced saliva directly onto your clit, then smacks it lightly with two fingers so it splatters. The sting mixes with the chemical heat and the ache of how empty you suddenly feel. He watches your face the entire time, dark eyes half-lidded, mouth shiny.
“Again,” he says simply.
He doesn’t wait for permission. He just ducks back down, spreads you wider with both thumbs, and starts licking like he’s trying to clean you out completely—long, filthy strokes that drag from your hole to your clit and back, occasionally stopping to suck hard enough that the wet sound echoes. Every time you try to close your legs he forces them open again. Every time you moan too loud he bites the soft inside of your thigh hard enough to leave a mark, then goes right back to eating you like he’s starving.
By the time he finally lets you come, your cunt is swollen and twitching and still faintly tingling from the coke, and Rafe’s face is a mess—lips red, chin dripping, pupils blown. He doesn’t wipe it off. He just crawls up your body, presses his wet mouth to yours so you can taste yourself and the chemical burn, and murmurs against your lips.
“Next time I’m packing it in deeper. See how long you can keep it in while I fuck you.”
ㅤㅤ “ouhh, this is cute.” you grab a white, linen midi dress hanging on the clothing rack. staring up and down of the design on the dress. its flowy and stops at your shin. you held the dress on your body, watching how good it would look. “i could wear this to topper’s boat party.”
“put that shit down.” rafe lazily comments from behind you. eyes not leaving his phone. you turn around, pouting. “youre not even looking at it!”
your face scrunched up in a frown. “c’mon, ray, this is pretty. white is my color, it makes me look classy.”
rafe turns his phone off, sliding it into his pocket. he closed the distance between you until hes completely towering you.
he reaches out, pinching the fabric between his thick fingers, looking at it with disgust. it was boring and completely swallowing your body shape.
“since when do you get so boring?” he spoke up. your face falters. looking back at the white dress youre holding. a faint blush covering your face in embarrassment.
“last summer you wore a bikini top to a bonfire. now youre trying to dress like.. this. if you dont want to show off, fine. but i know your real style.” he guilt trips was right. you immediately panic. thinking youre losing your 'cool' girl image on his eyes.
“you think it looks bad?” you put the white midi dress back into the rack.
“it looks cheap.” he lies answered smoothly.
“you wanna be the girl everyone stares at, right? try this one on.” he grabs a white ribbed mini dress instead. its.. very tight, scoops low on the chest, and the hemline ends on your inner thigh.
you paused. “ray, thats.. way too short. if i bend over, everyone’s gonna see everything.” you look at the dress, not sure. your face flushes hot.
rafe stares at you, gaze slowly getting dark. he smirks possessively. he leans his head down to your ear. dropping his ‘bestfriend’ act. “then dont bend over unless im standin’ right behind you.”
you gasp, brows furrowing. well, its not unusual for your bestfriend to whisper you weird things. hes just like that! a little perverted but you love him.
“youre so pervy.” you roll your eyes and giggling. he steps back, handing you the dress. “go try it on.” he orders lazily. you grab the dress and step inside to a massive, private fitting room.
once you put the dress on, you stare at yourself in the mirror. turning around to see how it looks from the back. it looks so short and tight. almost suffocating your body. you cant help but to admit you indeed look sexy in this. glad youre bestfriends with rafe, he always picks out the best for you!
and not long, rafe enters the fitting room with you there. you ask nervously, “does this look good?” you show him the front and then turning around.
rafe doesnt say anything. he physically cannot speak. his eyes goes hungry, tracking from your collarbone, down to the swell of your tits in a cleavage, then to the dip of your waist and hip, finally to how barely it covers your plush thighs and ass. you look innocent in white, yet so disrespectful.
“its fuckin’ perfect.” he compliments. theres something about rafe that makes you feel.. weird. everytime he conpliments you or stares at you, you always feel shy. maybe its because hes just intense like that.
“thanks! but im not sure—”
“keep it. you look pretty.” pretty, he said. there it was. mostly, guys and your stupid exes call you ‘hot, sexy, fine’. never ‘pretty and beautiful’. its weird ‘cause.. considering of how pervy you know your bestfriend is. but hes got a kind heart.
you stare up at rafe with a smile, heart fluttering. “aw, rafe. you always find a way to make me feel so entirely seen.”
rafe’s smile didnt reach his eyes, it stayed sharp and hungry as he dropped his gaze back to the short dress. he felt a dark thrill. feeling like he was the only guy who actually gets you and treats you right.
you take a shaky breath, fingers digging at the hem of the dress to pull it over your head, “uhm, okay. ill pick this one. just go wait outside so i can change back into my clothes.”
rafe doesnt even move towards the door. he reached over to the small hook on the wall and grabs the black micro string bikini. he brought it here before she even enters the fitting room. what the?
“try this one first.” he stares back at her. “fits your style, no?”
you stared at the bikini he held in his hand, eyes going wide. “i have to take my bra off to put that on. get out, ray.” you command softly.
rafe lazily looks down at you. tilting his head and brows furrowing in confusion. “just put it on.”
“im about to take my clothes off..?” you hiss, cheeks burning.
rafe sighs in exhaustion, “y’know, if youre that insecure about your body right now, we can put it back. thought it would look good on you, but if youre going to be weird ‘bout it.. whatever.” classic rafe, hes always dramatic!
before he could left, you let out a gasp. “im not insecure!” you argued gently, a small smile coming out. you take the bikini from his hand. “fine, ill put it on. but i want you to turn around. or, look at your phone, whatever.” well you know rafe’s definitely hooked up with a lot of girls and see them naked but still, hes your bestfriend. your rafe. you feel shy undressing under his gaze.
you take the white dress off over your head. leaving only in the pink lacy panties and bra. obviously youre not taking your panties off whenever youre trying bikinis on.
your fingers moved behind you, unclasping the bra. and just then, you quickly grab the tiny black triangle top to cover your tits.
you dont know the fitting room has three-way mirrors on every single wall. youre too busy putting the bikini on, not realizing rafe wasnt staring at his screen. he stares right at you. eyes taking in your soft skin, curve of your waist, and the way your thighs press against each other. pink undies? how cute. makes him want to ruin you.
he noticed how your fingers fumbled against the bikini string. your face confused.
“ray, i cant get the knot.” you admit, looking back at him.
he shoved his phone back into his pocket, walking closer to you. “drop your hands, ill do it.” he closed the distance, tall frame towering over you.
he reached his thick fingers to the nape of her neck. blood rushing violently on his head (and dick) that he actually feels dizzy. he takes the bikini strings and tying it slowly. he could see your tits from up here.
the air felt so thick. dont know maybe from how tense you were or the fact that his dick is throbbing. hes thinking about groping your tits from behind, and bending you over in here. he would cover your mouth to keep your moans quiet and muffled from making the staff suspicious. bet you’d get so cockdrunk. he jerked off at the thought of you for a lot of times before.
then, he brings the second set of strings down to her back. he pulls them really tight.
you squirm, “rafe, wait, thats too tig—” a gasp left your mouth, from how warm his broad body is, pressing against yours.
“if its loose, youre gonna spill right outta it. wouldnt want any other guys oglin’ at you, hm?” he tied the knot on your back carefully. his bruised knuckles from whatever fight he got—brushing softly into your bare back on purpose. once hes done, he pats your right hip. “there. told you it’d fit you.”
you stare at your reflection in the mirror infront. suddenly realizing how big his frame is swallowing you from behind. your gaze tracks down to your body—from your pink panties to the micro bikini top, but then directed at rafe.
he stares back from the mirror. making a long eye contact seconds after seconds. he leans down, his chin pressing against your bare shoulder. you dont even realize both of his hands are gripping the sides of your waist, not tightly—but firm enough.
“youre wearing this under the white dress tomorrow,” rafe dictates, tone flat. his eyes bored, but then dropped to your body again. smirking secretly. he lifts his chin off your shoulder.
“and when other guys say you look so good, youre gonna tell ‘em i picked it out for you. understood?” his big hand grabbed your chin, making you look and turning up at him.
he loves making you his doll. putting his name on your aesthetic and demanding you to brag about it to the rest of the island.
overwhelmed, flustered, and so obedient.
your lips part slightly. you give a tiny nod as you stare up at him.
“put your clothes back on. im paying for everything weve picked out.”
Summary: You were so desperate to make Rafe Cameron yours that you never thought a day would come where you didn't want him to be.
Warnings: NON-CON, mentions of blood, loss of virginity, witchcraft, yandere behavior, morally ambiguous reader, pogue!reader
➥ banner by @vase-of-lilies
☾
You didn’t actually think it would work and that was your first mistake.
Rafe Cameron was the first and only son of Ward Cameron. He was handsome and rich and way out of your league, and you knew that he would never look at you in a million years. That didn’t stop your gaze from landing on him though anytime he was in the vicinity, and there was a point when you felt ashamed of your little crush, but now it hardly mattered to you. It’s not like he would ever actually be interested in you, so you saw no harm in indulging in silly fantasies.
…but then you started to wonder what it would actually be like.
What it would be like to be looked at by him like he looked at so many other girls—skinnier girls, richer girls, prettier girls. What it would be like to hold his hand and even kiss him. It was harmless, yes, but it was happening often enough to distract you, and you felt yourself being pulled from your thoughts.
“We’re about to head back to John B.’s for the night,” JJ told you after tapping you on the shoulder.
You gave him a nod, reluctantly following after him, but not without a last glance over your shoulder. You looked back just in time to watch as Rafe followed some girl up the stairs, one hand holding hers and the other holding a drink. Your heart skipped a beat as you watched them disappear, and you only forced yourself to move when JJ called your name.
You knew that your friends would think there was something wrong with you if you voiced these thoughts. The only one that might try to understand would be Kie. She was a girl like you who wasn’t related to him, and so she might be able to sympathize with why you couldn't just see him as some asshole.
And he was certainly an asshole.
There was never any wool over your eyes about that. You’d witnessed enough of his interactions with your friends to come to that conclusion yourself, and you were sure you too would've been on the receiving end of his ire if he ever took the time to actually notice you. As it were, you were practically invisible to the blond, and you still couldn’t decide if that was a blessing or a curse, but that indecisiveness didn’t last much longer as you later came to the conclusion that it was indeed a curse.
A curse you could no longer live with.
“This is so stupid,” Sarah laughed one night, flipping through the book Kie had thrifted. “Look, look, this is one for how to get rich.”
“It’s not like you need that one,” the dark-haired girl teased, snatching it back.
“Neither do you,” you told her, reaching for it.
Kie laughed at you as you stood shoulder to shoulder, flipping through it. Her mocking gasp made you pause at the page y’all flipped to, and you didn’t join in right away as she laughed again.
“Look at this one,” she grinned, facing the pages towards Sarah. “A love spell!”
Sarah found it just as funny, taking the book and smiling at the page.
“Are you and John B. having any problems?” Kie joked.
“Are you and JJ having any problems?” she threw back, tone just as light. “...because now we know how to fix any.”
You were quiet as you took the book from the blonde, looking over it as Kie stood over your shoulder.
“Huh,” she commented. “It’s surprisingly simple. A little blood, their name on some paper, and a red candle and boom!”
“Sounds too easy to be true,” Sarah replied, taking the book back with a sigh. “You think they have one in here for a fat ass?”
You all laughed at that, but your mind was still stuck on that silly love spell. While Sarah found one for longer hair that she was willing to try, you kept thinking about Kie’s comment. You’d read it yourself, and it was surprisingly simple—easy to do—and it wasn’t like you’d be going completely out of your way to try it. It would take what? All of five minutes? Sarah was certainly having fun with it, currently brushing cinnamon through her hair, so why couldn’t you try some silly little love spell?
Worst case scenario, nothing came of it.
It’s not like that would be some devastating loss for you. Rafe already didn’t notice you, and it wouldn’t hurt you if he continued to not notice you. You’d learned to live with it for years, now, and it’s not as if you were expecting some miracle from some book Kie bought for laughs. You just wanted to try it, wanted to see what would happen.
“If my hair is down to my butt in two weeks, I owe you twenty dollars, Kie.”
Kie responded with something you couldn’t quite make out, your attention on your phone as you flipped through the book she’d left on the couch. They were none the wiser as you took a picture, telling yourself there was a chance you wouldn’t even do it, but wanting the option in case you changed your mind. Deep down though, you knew that you were lying to yourself.
Over the years, your harmless crush had morphed into something just a tad more desperate, and you couldn’t ignore the small voice in the back of your mind whispering to you what if it did work. What if you could make Rafe see you? Talk to you? Pursue you like you often dreamt about? The possibility filled you with butterflies, and you ignored the silly spell in your phone for all of a week.
You told Sarah that you weren’t feeling too well when she invited you to stay over. She hoped you felt better and asked you if you needed anything, but beyond that, she didn’t find your sudden ailment suspicious. Only you knew that you would never pass up an opportunity to see Rafe, even in passing, health be damned.
You felt somewhat foolish as you sat on your bedroom floor, a red candle lit next to a bowl of water. Truthfully, you didn’t know why. It’s not like anyone was around to witness this, but you would be lying if you said your desperation didn’t make you feel just a tad pathetic. Either way, it’s not like it stopped you from writing his first and last name on that paper, hand shaking as you did.
You thought that the blood would be the hardest hurdle to jump through, but it turns out that little thing in your brain that made it hard to hurt yourself decided to take a break for the night. Or maybe your desperation was just stronger. It took nothing at all to press a safety pin into your finger, and moments later Rafe’s name was covered in both your blood and the red candle wax.
You only started to feel unsure when you picked up the slip of paper.
What if it did actually work? While you weren’t sure what you believed in exactly, you did believe in something. You believed that some higher power did indeed exist and played a part in everything that happened in this world…and what if that higher power made this work? What if you woke up tomorrow and Rafe was knocking on your door to take you out on a date? What would you do? Your desires were so beyond out of reach that it had never occurred to you what you would actually do should you get what you wanted.
Your train of thought made you chuckle, rolling your eyes in the quiet room. You believed in something, sure, but magic didn’t exist. You believed in energy and faith backed actions, but you didn’t think you believed in magic. Either way, telling yourself it was pure curiosity, you held the piece of paper over the flame.
“We’re looking for John B.,” Sarah told you with a sigh. “Pope drank too much, so we gotta call it a night.”
“I think he was in the kitchen,” you let her know.
“Can you check the backyard just in case he had to pee or something? I’ll text you if I find him so we can go.”
You both went in opposite directions, and you squeezed your way through bodies as you made your way outside. Mostly everybody seemed to be inside though with the exception of a few people, so it wasn’t hard to see pretty quickly that he wasn’t in the backyard anywhere. Not wanting to push your way past bodies again, you made the decision to just make your way to the van.
Your trek was interrupted by a very familiar blond.
“Woah,” he drunkenly said, having almost run into you. “Someone’s on a mission.”
You were stumped.
Not once had Rafe Cameron ever spoken to you—not even a word—and you couldn’t stop yourself from staring at him in a mixture of shock and awe. You felt your lips part, and you knew that you were staring at him like some kind of idiot, but you were finding it really hard to fathom that Rafe Cameron was talking to you.
The guy in question frowned at you, eyes narrowing a bit as he snapped his fingers in your face.
“You good?”
Acknowledging that you needed to speak and that you probably looked all kinds of unwell, you blinked.
“I..I’m sorry, I… What?”
He thought you were funny, apparently, chuckling at you with this haughty drunken smile on his lips. He tilted his head at you, dirty blond strands falling onto his forehead.
“I said are you good,” he slowly repeated.
“Yeah,” you hurried to reply, not wanting to look any more foolish in front of him. “Sorry. My friend…he’s kind of not feeling good, and I’m just trying to round everybody up.”
You felt like you were standing on air, having a somewhat out of body experience. Were you actually holding a conversation with Rafe Cameron? Someone who had never acknowledged you a day in your life? It felt like a dream, and you could only stare at him as he softly laughed to himself. You only noticed the blunt in his hand when he brought it up to his lips.
“Sarah drink too much?”
You frowned at him, and you felt confused. You and Sarah were friends, but you didn’t know that he knew that. You didn’t even know that he knew you knew her. Your silence must have stretched on for too long because he was speaking again.
“You are one of her little friends, right?”
For the second time that night, you were stumped.
“Yeah…I am,” you slowly told him, hurrying to defend Sarah after you processed what he said. “...and no. We’re looking for someone else.”
Feeling completely out of your element, you started to walk past him, wondering if you were hallucinating. Rafe Cameron never talked to you, never even so much as looked at you, and in one night you’d had a whole conversation with him.
“You don’t seem like the partying type.”
Make that two.
“What?” you wondered, facing him again.
You watched smoke swirl between his lips for a while before he exhaled.
“You don’t seem like the partying type,” he repeated. “You seem like you’d rather have your head in a book somewhere.”
You didn’t know how to respond to that so you simply said:
“I can’t like both?”
Rafe’s only response was a slow smile, and something about it made your stomach twist—in both a good and bad way. Before he could say anything else thoguh—and before you could further embarrass yourself—you heard your name being called. It sounded like Sarah, and giving Rafe one last look, you ran off to find her.
It turns out she’d texted you that she found John B., and you’d been so distracted by Rafe that you hadn’t felt the vibration. You were distracted by him for the rest of the night in fact, even as you rubbed Pope’s back as he threw up in the toilet. Rafe Cameron had talked to you, and it still didn’t feel real. If you didn’t know any better, you’d say that you dreamt the whole thing up, but the goosebumps still on your skin said otherwise.
A brief thought of a red candle and some blood passed through your mind, and you shook your head. You actually scoffed out loud to yourself, telling yourself that Rafe was drunk and high out of his mind, and he just happened to run into you outside. Even if magic was real, it wouldn’t be in the form of some spell done by some silly nineteen year old girl. That’s what you told yourself anyway, but you were having second thoughts about that when Rafe Cameron stood at your door only a few days later.
“I just wanted to do the old fashioned and respectful thing…”
You stood in the living room with your lips parted, looking over your father’s shoulder as he faced the blond—the blond who had shown up at your doorstep with flowers and candy and a charming smile on his face asking your father for permission to take you out on a date. It was so outdated and so unlike him, and you could only avoid your mother’s gaze as she looked at you in confusion.
“Well, that’s…that’s very admirable of you, Rafe.”
When your father turned to you, you didn’t need to be a genius to see that Rafe’s chivalry had gotten to him. Normally so over protective, your father instead stepped out of the way for you, and you remembered that it was you Rafe was asking out. It was your response he needed, and you cleared your throat.
“We’ll be on the porch,” you softly said to the older man as you moved past him, quietly shutting the door behind you.
You took the flowers and the box of chocolates, but frowned when you did. The box felt weirdly light, but before you could comment on that, Rafe was speaking.
“It’s old school, I know, but…” he shrugged at you. “My ego can’t take not being liked by your parents.”
“Rafe, what are you doing?”
You jumped right to it, voicing your confusion and uncertainty and questioning his actions.
“Asking you out,” he said like it was obvious.
It was.
“Why?” you wondered, a deep frown between your brows.
“...because I want to take you out.”
Again, he said it like it was obvious.
“Why? We’ve had two conversations, including this one,” you reminded him.
“...and I can’t want to change that?” he wondered, voice dropping, and you hated the way your heart skipped a beat.
You looked down at the flowers in your hand, completely in shock.
This wasn’t like Rafe, at all, and you’d watched him enough to know. The entire thing was strange and unsettling, and you almost wanted to reject him but… Wasn’t this what you wanted? Hadn’t you watched Rafe for years just wishing that he would see you? Talk to you? Hadn’t you fantasized to have him look at you as he was currently looking at you?
Hadn’t you bled for that wish?
The thought that that silly little spell actually worked made your head spin, and even still, you didn’t want to believe it. There just had to be some other explanation, but nothing else made any sense. Didn’t this bring his consent in the matter into question? Wasn’t this beyond ethically bankrupt? Did you care?
It was wrong, so wrong, because deep down you knew where all of this was coming from. You’d wanted this for years, and here it was literally at your doorstep. Rafe Cameron was asking you out and wanting to pursue you and you were questioning it because of the ethics of witchcraft? Who were you to say no? It was so beyond selfish, but if Rafe could be selfish his whole life, why couldn’t you for five minutes?
You bit your lip and tightened your grip on the flowers.
“Okay,” you whispered, lifting your gaze. “I’ll go out with you.”
The look on Rafe’s face was one you’d wanted to see for ages, and any guilt that you felt was forgotten as he leaned in and pressed his lips to your cheek.
Rafe’s lips were harsh against yours as he kissed you on the bed of his truck. The cool night air was barely felt as he ran his hands over you, unable to keep them in one place and you were glad for it. The blond moaned into your mouth as he pressed himself against you, fitting comfortably between your legs. You felt like you were living in your wildest of dreams, and you couldn’t believe it.
Sarah had said something similar only days earlier.
“I don’t believe this,” she’d scoffed. “You and Rafe are going on a date?”
“He asked and I said yes. It happened so fast that I didn’t even consider how it might make you feel until after,” you’d honestly told her.
If all of this was really the result of some stupid book, you didn’t want to sell any more of your soul by being a bad friend too. You’d watched as the blonde ran her hands through her hair, seemingly in shock. She seemed like she had a lot she wanted to say, but she probably kept it to herself for your benefit.
“If this is what you want, what can I even say, you know? I didn’t even know you liked him like that,” she murmured to herself. “Although I suppose I can see why you never said anything.”
“I just wanted to make sure you were okay with it.”
“I don’t know if okay is the right word, but…” she shrugged. “I can’t tell you or him what to do.”
Your talk with the other blonde definitely made you feel better about answering the door when Rafe arrived at your house. The date went well enough, Rafe taking you to some restaurant you’d never be able to afford, and giving you his undivided attention the entire time. His heavy gaze kept your face warm the entire night, and you reminded yourself that this is what you wanted and you got it.
“I don’t want to take you home just yet,” he’d murmured outside of the restaurant, his thumb brushing over the back of your hand.
You hadn’t wanted to go home just yet either, not wanting this night to end.
“Okay.”
…and that was how you found yourselves parked in some abandoned field with Rafe on top of you in the back of his truck. A thick blanket was underneath you, and it was hard to remember how long you’d been kissing him. His tongue tasted the inside of your mouth and his hand was on your jaw. Every so often you’d lift your hips and he’d groan against your lips. Two weeks ago you had never said one word to him, and now here you were.
Rafe’s lips traveled to your neck, giving you a moment of reprieve, and you gasped for air. Your heart was racing in your chest, and you ran your fingers through his dirty blond strands, head thrown back. Every open mouthed kiss he left on your throat made your heart flutter, and you once again couldn’t believe that this was your life.
When his hand reached for the top of your dress, however, you reminded yourself that not only was this the first date, but that your mother was no doubt waiting up to make sure you made it home safe. As much as you wanted all of Rafe, the speed at which this had all progressed was definitely making your head spin.
“It’s getting late…”
Your words didn’t affect Rafe none, and you gasped when he nipped at the top of your chest.
“Rafe,” you said, reaching for him.
Only then did he pause, looking up at you from his position, and it took everything in you to keep your head on straight. The blond looked like he wanted to eat you alive, and that made your stomach twist in ways you weren’t used to.
“I think I should head home, now.”
He stared at you for too long to be comfortable, but he eventually moved.
“You want to go home?” he asked you, running his hand through his hair.
At your nod, it was like something in him shifted, and he became a lot more relaxed. His shoulders dropped, and he looked between your eyes, and Rafe appeared a lot more docile in the span of a second. It was crazy to witness the sudden shift, and in that moment you accepted that you had done this. There was nothing natural at all about any of this, and you swallowed, hating that you didn’t care.
Rafe was the perfect gentleman as he righted your dress and helped you down. The ride home was silent yet comfortable, his hand on your thigh the entire way, and every so often you felt his eyes on you. On the occasion you met his gaze, he always returned it with a smile. Rafe seemed happy to be here, so how awful could this really be?
You glanced down at the diamond bracelet on your wrist, recalling the shock you’d felt to find it inside the box of chocolates instead of candy. Rafe had said something about wanting to impress you when you brought it to the date, unable to find it in yourself to stop him when he took the box back before putting the jewelry on you himself.
You’d looked at him in a mixture of awe and worry. You should’ve accepted then that nothing about this was natural, but you were still in denial. After all, if what you did was actually real and all of this was the result of that, what did that make you? How far were you willing to take this?
Those questions were still on your mind when he walked you to your door, and again, Rafe was the perfect gentleman as he placed a kiss at the corner of your mouth. You stared after him as he walked back to his truck, tugging his jacket closer. You liked to think that you weren’t some horrible person, and you told yourself that you’d enjoy this for a little while longer before finding a way to undo what you’d done.
Rafe Cameron was your boyfriend, and you liked it.
You didn’t just like that he was your boyfriend, but you liked what that meant for you. You liked the privilege that came with the relationship. You liked walking into doors you would’ve never been able to walk through otherwise. You liked when he spent money on you and bought you the kinds of things you could only dream about owning.
…and the girls.
You liked the way they looked at you.
It didn’t take long for Rafe’s exclusiveness to become noticeable, for it to become apparent that the once ladies’ man and heavy partier had done a 180. Girls he used to spend every weekend with no longer got so much as a glance from him. Phone calls and texts went ignored before those numbers were eventually blocked altogether, and when you were out and about, it was clear that you were to blame.
Rafe was absolutely obsessed with you, and you relished in the way some of his former lovers looked at you.
You, who had never so much as had a single boyfriend, was now on the receiving end of the most envious looks you’d ever seen in your life. You knew that if any of those girls had access to the kind of magic you had, you would’ve been dead a long time ago. You were always overlooked by boys and barely even seen as a woman in their eyes, and now you were with Rafe Cameron and he looked at you like you hung the moon.
“I won’t lie…I definitely expected this to crash and burn,” Sarah admitted. “Through no fault of yours, of course.”
Kie snorted at that, and you took a sip of your drink.
“I’m serious,” she said, “He’s like a completely different person. Part of me wants to ask what you did, but another part of me is scared of the answer.”
Her and Kie thought that was funny, and you could only hold back your smile.
“He literally worships the ground you walk on,” Kie commented, slightly disgusted. “...and that’s the only reason the guys are even respectful about any of this.”
It was true.
Rafe gave into your every whim and he answered your every beck and call. Sometimes he felt more like a servant than a boyfriend, asking you what you needed and running you hot baths and kneading his fingers into your shoulders after you had a long day. With that kind of behavior, how could you deny him for much longer?
You hadn’t planned on sleeping with him, telling yourself it was a line you just couldn’t cross considering the circumstances, but it happened so seamlessly. One moment he was kissing your face and telling you how beautiful you were, and the next his fingers were inside of you and massaging your walls so good that it had you clinging to him.
Rafe was a man starved.
“I’ve never…” you had trailed off, somewhat embarrassed to admit to him your lack of experience.
Rafe had only grinned at you before kissing you.
“I feel honored,” he’d whispered against your lips. “To be your first and your last.”
His words had given you pause, but then he was pushing his cock into you, and your nails were digging into his skin, and they were forgotten.
You’d anticipated the pain, and that surely didn’t disappoint, but you hadn’t anticipated just how good it could feel. That honestly could've just been Rafe though. It’s not like he didn’t have a reputation, and you quickly realized that it was not without reason. His lips stayed on you the entire time you had sex, and it was just enough to not be overstimulating.
Every curve of his hips into yours had you gasping, and you were so happy that your parents wouldn’t be home for hours. Having him inside of you felt nothing like your fingers or his. It was a different experience entirely, and Rafe was ravenous as he fucked you and tasted you. One of his hands was behind your neck as he repeatedly pressed his lips to yours while the other was tight on your waist.
“Do you like that?” he whispered, and you could barely get a word out.
You could only nod, and that seemed to satisfy his curiosity, and you swore that you heard a low growl escape his throat as he stretched you around his cock. He looked down between you where you connected, his hair hanging onto his forehead, and you couldn’t hold in your moans. You’d been dating for months, but it was finally setting in.
Rafe Cameron was yours.
You’d daydreamt about it for years—harmless and silly fantasies—but now it was your reality. Rafe held your hand and kissed you and paraded you around town for all to see, making you the envy of just about every girl who’d ever so much as looked at him. He doted on you and called you beautiful and said all of the things and looked at you in a way you wanted him to for years.
…and now he was in your bed and making love to you and giving you your first experience.
You were on cloud 9, and you allowed yourself to bask in it. You threw your head back as he bit at your neck, and your chest arched up into his as he thrust into you. You wrapped your arms around him, holding him closer, and Rafe moaned at the action. It seemed like he wanted to be as close to you as possible too, and he slid his knees underneath your thighs.
“Rafe,” you sighed, breath hitching as he filled you to the hilt.
Every time he pulled his hips back, only the tip of him remained, and when he surged forward he filled you up again. It was driving you crazy in the best way, and your nails scraped down his back and arms. The blond hissed at the action, and his teeth grew rougher on your skin. You came around him once, but that wasn’t enough for him, and you swore that when you came around him for the third and final time, he told you he loved you.
Rafe was obsessed with you.
It was like once he had you, it was never enough. The first night you slept together blended into one long night. You came around him too many times to count, small naps in between, and he only left a few minutes before your parents came home, but you were sneaking him back in a few hours later as soon as they were asleep. He wouldn’t stop kissing you the moment he climbed through your window.
“Are you going to chew it for her too?” Sarah wondered one day when Rafe cut up your omelet for you.
Her tone was teasing, and you threw her an equally teasing glare, but Rafe hadn’t responded outside of a scathing look towards his sister. His behavior was glaringly obvious for all to see, and you couldn’t say you hated it. Your life had become a fairytale overnight, and you’d happily ate your food while he sat next to you, his seat so close to yours that his arm rested over your shoulder as he watched you eat.
“Honey, I’m just worried,” your mother had said another day. “It just seems like you spend all of your time with him these days and you hardly see your friends.”
Her concern was understandable, but you assured her that you were fine.
“I do see them,” you’d told her. “Rafe has just never gotten along with them too well, and it’s not like that’s changed now that we’re together.”
It wasn’t a complete lie.
Your friends were cordial with Rafe, now, and you appreciated that, but Rafe loved having you to himself. Any time you convinced him to be around your friends, it never lasted long before he was convincing you to sneak off with him somewhere, and the blond could be very persuasive.
“Five more minutes,” he said to you in the middle of the night.
His head was between your legs and your thighs were aching from being bent so long and a thin layer of sweat covered your skin. Rafe’s fingers were pressed into you as he held you in place, and you shuddered when his breath blew along your folds. You’d never been this wet in your life, and you were scared to look at the time and see just how long he’d had his mouth and tongue against your cunt.
You were exhausted and out of breath and Rafe refused to let you go.
You told yourself that it was fine, that it was just what came with that honeymoon phase of every new relationship. Granted, it’s not like you would know, but you figured that things would calm down between you the longer you were together. A time would come where you were more normal about each other and he didn’t want to spend every waking moment on you or in you.
You thought that, at least, but you were woken up in the middle of the night a month later. The knocking on the door was incessant, and you’d thought that something was wrong, that some kind of emergency was happening. Your parents beat you to the door, and no one was more shocked or horrified than you to see that it was Rafe on the other side.
Your father glanced at you with the kind of anger you’d never been on the receiving end of, and your mother looked between you with a disturbed frown.
“Rafe?” you wondered in shock. “What…?”
“I had to see you,” was his only excuse, and you shrank under your father’s withering gaze.
“Dad, I… I don’t know what’s…”
Your words died in the air, unable to understand what was happening. However, despite how much he’d grown to like Rafe, you could see your father’s patience thinning. You hurried to deescalate something before it began, profusely apologizing to your parents as you told them you’d handle this.
“Something could be wrong,” you hurried to say to him. “Five minutes and then I’m inside.”
Your father didn’t say a word, but the way his mustache twitched told you enough. Your mother was the only one to linger a bit before eventually leaving too.
“Five minutes,” were her soft parting words.
Rafe’s hand was tight on yours as you forced him off of the porch, wide eyes on him.
“I wanted to see you,” he said, and you blinked.
“Is something wrong? Is it Sarah?” you worriedly asked him.
His scoff made your frown deepen.
“No, Sarah’s…fine,” he waved that off. “I was thinking about you and…I just had to see you.”
You stared at him for a long time, mouth falling open when you processed his words.
“You were thinking about me and you just had to see me? Rafe, it’s three in the morning. You woke up my parents—they have jobs they have to go to tomorrow,” you told him, voice rising in pitch.
“I wanted to see you,” he repeated.
“I get that, but…this isn’t okay. You have to go home, I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Technically you’d see him later on today, but that didn’t need to be pointed out.
“...but I don’t want to go home,” Rafe said with a frown, and you blinked at him.
“Rafe…”
“I’m not going home.”
His tone was strong with conviction, and you swallowed. You looked over your shoulder before glancing behind him. You didn’t see his truck, so you guessed that he’d parked it somewhere before sneaking over here. His hand was still tight on yours, and when you looked at him again, he hadn’t looked away from you once.
“I’ll meet you at my window…okay…?”
That was the right thing to say, and Rafe gave you a crooked smile before kissing you. You pulled away before it could become heated, and you hurried inside, sure that your five minutes was up. Your mother was in the hall as you locked the door, and you apologized to her several times before wishing her a good night.
Like you agreed on, Rafe was at your window when you shut your room door, and he didn’t hesitate to climb inside the moment you opened it.
“Rafe, my parents are home, okay? Do you understand what that means?”
The way you were talking to him felt strange.
“Of course,” he said with a nod and a small smirk. “I just wanted to see you.”
He kissed you again, arms wrapped around you, and you kissed him back after a while. His hold on you was tight, and when he broke the kiss, he briefly kissed your cheek.
“Just want to sleep next to you, tonight…”
His words made you less tense, and you felt your face soften as you separated. You helped him get undressed, only his boxers remaining, and you watched him slide into your bed after you. He didn’t give you any time before reaching for you and pulling you closer, and Rafe only seemed to relax when your head was comfortably on his chest.
You traced patterns into his skin, and you bit your lip as you told yourself this was nothing.
“Rafe,” you warned, but he didn’t hear you.
Or chose not to, it was hard to tell these days.
One of his hands was curved around your throat while the other held your wrists against the small of your back. The sound of skin slapping against skin was loud in the kitchen, and you squeezed your eyes shut from both the pleasure he was giving you and the nervousness that filled you. Rafe was getting harder and harder to say no to, and he didn’t seem keen on listening to your concerns when he started kissing you in his kitchen.
“No one’s home,” he’d said.
“...but they could walk through that door,” was your response.
“...but I need to be inside of you,” he replied.
The blond loudly groaned behind you as he filled you up, slowly pushing his cock into you as he held you down against the counter top. Every dip of his cock past your folds had you gasping, but despite how good it felt, you couldn’t stop worrying about someone walking through that door. Everyone was out, now, but it wouldn’t be the first time Rafe was inside of you in a not so private place when someone came home.
You’d never been caught yet, but you never liked to chance it.
He pulled you back until his chest was against you, and the strain in your arms made you wince. Rafe hummed, leaning over and pressing his lips to yours. You were dripping around him and the sound it made every time he pushed his cock into you was loud in the otherwise quiet room. You whimpered when he tightened his hold on your throat, and you both knew that he was the only thing keeping you upright.
This was the fifth time you’d had sex today.
You were worn out—and even a little sore—and it seemed that it was never enough for Rafe. He liked to get his hands on you at every opportunity, and what you thought was a honeymoon phase turned out to be something beyond that. Every day several times a day was the new normal for you, and when Rafe couldn’t be in you, he had to be with you and touching you in some way.
…and he was the only one allowed to.
You still thought about the boy whose arm he broke only last month for pulling out your chair. It was a terrifying and embarrassing debacle, one that was solved with a little bit of money from Rafe. You’d stared at him in horror, and he’d acted as if it was the most normal thing in the world. Or when he’d rammed his truck into Topper’s jeep, citing it as a drunken accident, but you knew better. You’d seen the look on his face when Topper gave you a hug goodbye.
Rafe was equally possessive as he was obsessive, and the more it escalated, the closer you were pushed to facing the truth.
Nothing about his behavior was normal or explainable, but you didn’t want to accept that this was your fault. When he snuck into your room in the early hours of the morning or when he picked out your clothes and put them on you or when he cut the brakes on some guy’s car who’d looked at you for too long for his liking.
You didn’t want to accept responsibility for any of this.
…but when you woke up in the middle of the night to find him staring at you in the darkness for the umpteenth time…you knew. You knew that this was all your fault, and you stared back at him with a sinking feeling in your heart. You’d played God, and you’d had your fun, but now you had to find a way to undo this.
“Kie…what happened to that book you bought a while back?” you asked her the next day when you finally had some time to yourself.
The other girl frowned at you, and you elaborated.
“You know, the one with the love spells and stuff.”
Her face evened out as she remembered.
“Oh, that thing? I tossed it,” she waved off.
You stared at her, stomach dropping.
“You what?”
Your tone must have given her pause because she looked at you.
“It was bullshit,” she shrugged. “Something somebody made when they were bored, because it’s not like it worked. Sarah’s hair is shorter now than it was then. I keep telling her she needs to just cut those split ends…”
The rest of Kie’s words were lost to you as you looked away, mind going a mile a minute as you thought about what you were going to do. You had long accepted that you did this to Rafe, and you’d told yourself you were only going to take it so far, but you’d loved being Rafe’s girlfriend and loved having him all to yourself as you’d always wanted. Now, you had him all to yourself, and you were terrified out of your mind.
“I was only at Kie’s for an hour,” you told the man in question later in the day.
His arms were wrapped around you from behind and his face was pressed into the crook of your neck.
“I know…but I missed you. I always miss you,” he murmured, kissing your skin.
“Do you ever think about why you miss me so much?”
“Because I love you,” he said to you as if you were silly for asking.
With difficulty, you pulled away from him, facing him. You looked into Rafe’s eyes with worry, and you noted that they were completely dilated. You pulled your lip between your teeth, at war with yourself.
“...but why do you love me? Do you ever think about that, Rafe—why you love me so much? Don't you think it came out of nowhere?”
The blond seemed to think on it for a minute.
“No,” he answered, and you frowned. “I woke up one day…and you were just there.”
You swallowed as he touched your cheek.
“...and I couldn’t stop thinking about you, and I had to have you and I did.”
You blinked at him.
“I always get what I want.”
He didn’t take his eyes off of you as he said that, and he grabbed your arm before you could take a step back. He threaded his fingers through yours, and he brought the back of your hand up to his lips. Rafe’s eyes held yours the entire time, the blue of them hardly visible, and the gravity of what you did finally settled on your shoulders.
“...and I’ll never not want you.”
You stared after your friends through the crowd, Rafe’s arm feeling like a weighted belt around you. There was hardly a difference between his arms and chains these days, and you forced yourself to look away from their fun. You hadn’t hung out with them in what felt like ages, and while Kie and Sarah assured you there was no hard feelings—seeing firsthand how needy Rafe could be—you still felt like shit in more ways than one.
“You okay? Are you cold?”
Rafe didn’t give you a chance to say no, already slipping out of his jacket. You accepted it with a small smile, and he returned it before giving you a heated kiss. His friends were used to his public displays of affection by now, but considering your relationship at the moment, you were beyond uncomfortable.
You needed to break up with Rafe…and you were terrified to do so.
Kie had thrown out that book, and everything you looked into that didn’t seem like some cheesy gimmick all basically said the same thing—you had to let it run its course. What did that even mean? Did it mean he’d eventually get tired of you? How long would that be? Did it mean you had to tell him the truth? Get him to break up with you? Break up with him?
In the beginning of all of this, you felt so…powerful. You’d snagged the Rafe Cameron, and you’d had him eating out of the palm of your hand and hanging onto your every word. You’d had other girls green with envy, and you'd been basking in all that came with being his girlfriend. Now, though?
Now, you were frazzled and drained. Rafe was fucking you and kissing you more often than he was not. You spent more nights at his house than your own despite what you wanted because he was going to get what he wanted regardless if your parents were home or not, and the Camerons were much more relaxed about certain things than your parents. He stuck to you like a shadow, even leaning against the door and talking to you when you had to go to the bathroom.
You never thought you’d long for the day when you could cut up your own food and dress yourself and speak for yourself. He was doting and sweet yes, but Rafe was also insatiable and violent and suffocating. It was driving you to your breaking point, and you were silent the entire ride home.
When you asked him to take you to your house, he obliged, but you should’ve known that he expected to come inside with you.
“Rafe, I…I think I want to be alone tonight.”
It was like he didn’t process your words, at all, staring at you with a blank look, and you sighed.
“My parents are going to be home in like an hour…”
Again…nothing.
You glanced away, feeling completely unnerved, before taking his hand. The corner of his lips curved upwards into a small smirk, and he walked you inside. Your thoughts seemed so loud in the quiet house as you considered what you had to do. There was no hesitation in Rafe as he walked towards your room, and you eventually followed him.
You pulled your lip between your teeth as you took off his jacket.
“Rafe…I don’t think that we should see each other anymore.”
It was the nicest way you could say it, and Rafe still looked at you like you’d told him the craziest thing. The snort that left him made your jaw clench, and you took a deep breath.
“I’m serious,” you said, voice shaking. “You’re not in love with me.”
“Of course, I am,” he fired back.
“No, you’re not. Rafe…”
You felt like you were going to be sick, and you were acutely aware of his heavy stare.
“I did something to make you love me.”
“I know you did,” he said with a smile, reaching for you.
“No!” you moved away from him. “I did something wrong, okay? I made you love me. I had a candle and I had some blood, and I made you feel how you feel about me…”
Rafe was frowning at you, now, and you hoped that he was getting it.
“Before this, you never even looked at me, Rafe. Remember? I was invisible to you—I was nothing! Nothing, and then you suddenly can’t stop thinking about me? I’m the only girl you want to be with? Doesn’t that seem odd to you?”
The room was silent as you just stared at him, gaze pleading as you hoped and prayed you got through to him. Rafe slowly blinked at you, and in a matter of seconds, you watched his expression shift. It was hard to place, but you knew that it made you uncomfortable, and a shiver crawled up your spine.
“What’s odd is you coming up with this nonsense—this bullshit—to try and leave me.”
You let out a sigh of defeat, pressing your hand to your forehead.
“Rafe, please hear what I’m saying–.”
“I hear you.”
“No, Rafe, no. This isn’t natural. I…I messed up,” you tearfully said. “I was wrong, and I shouldn’t have done it, but part of me didn’t think it would work and another part of me hoped it would, but now… I don’t know how to undo it.”
He was moving towards you, and you stumbled back.
“You’re not leaving me,” he quietly told you.
“Rafe, please hear what I’m saying. Please, fight it because I don’t…I don’t know how to make it stop,” you cried. “...but you’re so you, and you have to still be in there. You have to be!”
You felt like you were talking to a wall, and you pushed at his hands as he reached for you.
“Rafe, please,” you begged.
When his hand pulled at your shirt, tearing it, it was sinking in.
There was no leaving him, no getting away, and you brought your knee up. You didn’t stay to see if he was okay, stumbling into the hall and running for the door. Your name was loud in the air as he shouted it, and it made you flinch. You were running past his truck when you heard the door bounce off of the wall, and tears blurred your vision as you ran across the yard.
You’d never run so fast in your life, but Rafe’s legs were longer—or he was simply more determined, fueled by something other to catch you—and he caught up with you sooner than you would have liked. You both fell to the ground, a grunt leaving you as he tightly held onto you. Your hands pulled at the grass to get away, ripping out a few blades as Rafe pulled you back.
You kicked at him, crying and screaming, and Rafe yanked you back so hard that it hurt your hands. One of his hands was tight in your hair, pulling your head back before slamming it back down. The action made you see stars, damn near knocking you out, and you groaned in pain. The sound of that seemed to trigger something in Rafe, and he let you go.
“I’m sorry, baby,” you heard him whisper, turning you over.
Your vision was spinning, and you could just barely make him out as he leaned over you.
“I’m sorry,” he quietly said to you, leaning in to press his lips to the corner of your mouth. “...but you can’t leave me.”
His hands were all over you, now, and you felt him press kisses to your chest, your shirt tearing some more to make room for them.
“I love you,” he breathed, kissing you. “...and you love me.”
You weakly pushed at his chest.
“Why would I let you leave me? Why would you want to?”
“Rafe…I’m sorry,” you mumbled, trying to sit up.
The blond shoved you back down, and your struggle continued.
“I forgive you,” he hummed, nipping at your skin and settling in between your legs.
“No, no….”
He thought you were apologizing for something else, and you couldn’t stop crying. You shoved at his face and tried to back away, but he gripped your wrists, moving his mouth against yours. The breeze from the water cooled your skin, and the clouds hid what little light there would’ve been from the moon. The sound of tearing fabric made your heart race, and you cried harder, unable to get him off of you.
Rafe moaned like a man starved when he finally managed to sheath himself inside of you, holding himself there with parted lips before pulling his hips back. One of his hands held your wrist to your stomach, and the other slid behind your head as he pulled you in for another kiss. The kiss was salty from your tears, but Rafe didn’t mind it.
He fucked you against the grass, unconcerned about where you were. If you didn’t know any better, he was more hungry for you now than he was the first night you slept together. His grunts and moans were loud in your ear, and you squeezed your eyes shut.
“What were you thinking, baby? Hmm?”
He slammed his hips against yours, letting your wrists go to reach underneath your thigh.
“Rafe,” you gasped, trying one last time to undo what you did. “This isn’t you.”
He only pushed your leg back, hungrily kissing at your jaw and neck and chest.
“Please, listen to me,” you sobbed.
Your words went ignored, and more tears fell as he thrust into you, losing himself in the feeling. His hand behind your head slid to your neck, and it tightened around your throat as he lifted his head to look at you. His blue eyes did not look away from yours once.
“If you try to leave me again,” Rafe quietly started, blond strands kissing your forehead. “I might have to lock you away until you come to your senses.”
He said it with a laugh, but you knew he was entirely serious, and you blinked back tears as he kissed you again.
hii honey, i love your writing! i was wanting to ask if you could do a storyline where rafe meets a homeschooled isolated kook princess who is a huge prude (like freaks out at having to say the word sex, lol.), and maybe rafe has a corruption kink, basically where he corrupts reader into a sex obsessed girl, maybe even introducing her into drugs. something toxic!
thank you!! much love xoxo
⎯⎯⎯⎯ 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐍 ✦
pov. the christian good girl gets wrapped up in somethin’ that’s nothing but bad news
content warnings. ⸝⸝ fem reader, corruption kink, religion mentioning, toxic!rafe, innocent!reader, toxic household, no proof read, dramatic description of christian home, virgin!christian!reader, heavy drug usage, rafe snorts/licks coke off of reader, drug abuse
growing up, you were restricted from electronics, taught that sex was something involved with the devil, and that if you were ever to see something sexual, you must pray for the lord to forgive you. so when you were finally allowed to go to public middle school, any chance boys got to look at you, you’d assume they were sinners and judge them intensely, telling your parents, which caused them to tell their parents—even if they were staring at your face because you had food on it.
most of the time, they had absolutely no idea of your existence when you told on them, which caused you to be extremely hated by boys growing up. but who could blame you? you were only just now experiencing people outside of your household.
but that didn’t last long. you were only two months into public schooling before you got taken out. there was never really a reason given, but it had something to do with the school not being christian enough.
your standards were constantly high, always for your lord and savior.
when you finally reached eighteen, you got a cellphone. it wasn’t anything special, it was a flip phone, the kind of phone that made you embarrassed to even pull it out in public, so you’d leave it at home or bury it deep in your purse so nobody could accidentally see it.
to say that you were just insecure would be an understatement. you were a walking joke to yourself.
your self esteem was wrecked. your faith made you disgusted with yourself; showing a little bit of your body made you feel slutty, and in your parents’ eyes, gave them full permission to make fun of you. most likely until you cried, which was always how it worked.
you spoke soft and proper, like the older movies in the 60’s, only because that was the only source of personality you were allowed to have. if you came back to the house having picked up a different saying, it’d be called devilish, and you wouldn’t be allowed out of your room until you forced your brain not to ever let it slip out of your mouth again.
the first time you ever got a friend, you were excited. you called her on your flip phone constantly, but one of your parents always had to be present to keep the conversation godly. which you agreed to, or accepted.
life was amazing. you finally got to talk to someone who wasn’t a person trapped inside your square boxed television in the living room.
her laugh was memorized in your brain, and you never wanted to let it go. in fact, sometimes it made you cry when you were alone because you adored the woman so much.
but the honeymoon phase of your friendship ended when you were on the phone with her and one of her friends slipped up and admitted that she had been talking badly about you. saying all the trashiest things about you, all the things you’d heard from your parents before.
slut. whore. hoe bag. skank. ugly. bitchy. fat.
the phone call went silent, and you hung up instantly, hugging your mother, who was sitting on the edge of your bed reading the bible. you explained what happened, and instead of comforting you, she scolded you.
“that’s what you get when you make friends with sinners! i told you, her shorts were whore-ish. how could you be so stupid?”
ever since that day, you never interacted with women again to be friends with them. it wasn’t like you didn’t crave friendship like interaction with them, or an opportunity to help them out, but you were terrified of being treated like that again.
you were taught that under god, everyone was your friend and everyone should treat each other as such.
but when you came across this man named rafe, there was no way you could even attempt to be friends with him. you smiled hard naturally when talking to him, cheeks all pink.
you’d never been flirty before, never even attempted to be promiscuous, so when you watched the other pretty blondes flirt, you were upset. not because of how pretty they were, which they absolutely were, but because you’d been so late to the trends of being a woman.
you were eighteen and still wearing church approved length skirts, long sleeved office mom shirts, hair down because if it was up it’d be considered too slutty and sinning.
so over time, you’ve adapted the game that you’ve seen work on men; eyes flickering down at his lips then back up at his eyes, a cute yet dangerous smile, tension, the tone of your voice, pulling him gently toward you, your lips parted like they were begging for a kiss from him.
what you got from the men when they reacted was their interest. they liked the chase, the thrill, the excitement that came with a good flirt. an inviting, consenting woman seemed to draw their attention, leaving room for their imagination to run wild. the women always seemed to be in charge; just a simple shake of their head or a judgmental once over was more than enough of a hint for the men.
in a way, sex felt empowering to you. that’s how the college girls would describe it in public whenever you’d walk past them. it gave you control, it gave you access to the guy, money sometimes, even love.
eventually, you took a deep breath, let all your anxiety escape through your nostrils, and talked to the two girls—not at church, but at the grocery store while your mother wasn’t hounding you like you were still six years old.
they were in the chip aisle, looking for fat free chips for one of their diets.
you side eyed them and gulped, searching around the checkout lane for a reason to walk up to them, then it came to you, lip gloss! you grabbed a tube of lip gloss and walked over, purposefully dropping it onto the floor with a small gasp.
“oh my! is this yours?” you asked, looking down at the lip gloss beside the girl’s heels. she turned, her brows furrowing. “oh, uh… i don’t think so?” she answered nervously. you stared, completely stunned that she had even replied to you. “oh—um… uh, i’m…” you stuttered, swallowing.
“i’m raegan,” she explained, bending down to pick up the lip gloss. “and this is from the checkout lane, silly. if you wanted a reason to talk to us, you should’ve just come up to us!” raegan, the blonde smiled, her voice incredibly girly, reminding you of the early 2000s, almost like paris hilton.
your breath hitched before you laughed softly, completely embarrassed. “gee, i’m sorry,” you started, holding onto your own arm. “i just thought you were really cool, and i’ve never really had cool girlfriends, so…”
you paused, realizing you were oversharing, your eyes flickering between the two girls. “we can tell,” the other girl said, glancing down at your skirt. you frowned and nodded. “yeah… my mom forced me to wear this.” your lips pressed into a flat line. the girl’s jaw dropped. “oh my god, no way.” she scoffed.
“what a jerk of a mom.” the blonde said, she lightly pinched the fabric of your skirt, moving it between her fingers before looking back at you. “listen, there’s a party this weekend. be there. we’ll pick you up and everything.”
the blonde held your gaze as though she was making you promise the most important thing in the world. “oh gee, i don’t know! i don’t have anything to wear,” you admitted with a frown.
“ugh, girl, nonsense,” the other girl chimed in. “i’ll buy you something. what’s your phone number?” you gulped. “i have a flip phone,” you admitted. “y2k. so 2000s,” the blonde laughed with a grin. “…and my mom is always monitoring me,” you continued, your frown only deepening.
the girls exchanged thoughtful looks. “how about this,” the blonde suggested. “you give me your address. i’ll pick you up this saturday at twelve, you can change at the gas station next to the party, and i’ll have you home by three in the morning. sound good?” she asked.
a smile spread across your face as you nodded eagerly. “yes! oh, how wonderful!” you respond. the girls stared at you. “are you, like… a disney princess?” the other girl asked. the blonde chewed her gum a little more aggressively as she looked you over, something almost judgmental lingering in her expression. after a couple seconds, she cleared her throat.
“we’ll teach you, ’kay?”
you nodded. you ended up giving them your address, and you went home excited. you didn’t show it, but you were beyond happy.
it was finally time to experience what being a normal person felt like; boys, people experimenting with drugs and alcohol, parties, and a world you’d only ever watched from a distance.
“oh boy… are you sure this fits me?” you asked, nervously tugging at the hem of the dress as it rode higher against your thighs, feeling as though it was determined to expose you. “yes, it does! that’s hot. keep it on!” raegan replied without hesitation, looking you up and down inside the cramped bathroom stall with an approving grin.
“cute,” the other girl added, shamelessly admiring your outfit. “if i ever turn gay, i’d like to be your secret girlfriend. since you’re christian and stuff.” raegan teased. “thank you?” you replied cautiously, your brows knitting together as you tried to figure out whether she was joking or being sincere.
both girls burst into laughter.
“god, she’s adorable,” raegan giggled, reaching over to smooth a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “you’re gonna survive tonight. just… don’t say anything too churchy.” she comments and you nodded earnestly.
“i’ll try.” you smile. “don’t try,” the other girl laughed. “just copy what everyone else does.” the other girl said. the words settled somewhere deep inside your chest, copy what everyone else does. that was something you knew how to do.
raegan pushed open the bathroom door, and the bass from the party immediately swallowed the room. music rattled through the walls hard enough to make your ribs vibrate, conversations overlapping with laughter, shouting, and the occasional cheer from somewhere deeper inside the house.
the smell hit you next, perfume, beer, sweet smoke you couldn’t quite identify. it was nothing like church, nothing like home.
people stood shoulder to shoulder throughout the house, cups balanced in their hands as they drifted from room to room without a care in the world. girls laughed loudly without covering their mouths. boys wrapped lazy arms around their friends’ shoulders. everyone looked comfortable, everyone looked like they belonged.
you hesitated in the hallway. your fingers instinctively reached for the bottom of your dress again, trying to pull it lower, raegan caught your wrist before you could. “stop doing that,” she said gently, lowering your hand. “you look good.” she reassures and you swallowed. “i feel… exposed.” you comment.
“that’s because you’re not used to dressing for yourself yet.” she smiled, before you could ask what that meant, the girls guided you farther into the house. your eyes wandered everywhere; the kitchen, the living room, the people dancing without caring who was watching.
it felt like stepping into a movie you’d only ever been allowed to watch with someone covering your eyes during certain scenes.
then your attention landed on him.
he was leaning against the kitchen counter with effortless confidence, one hand wrapped loosely around a red cup while he talked to a group of people around him. every few seconds someone laughed at something he’d said.
he barely seemed to be trying, it was like he didn’t have to. your gaze lingered longer than it should have. “who’s that?” you asked quietly, careful not to stare too obviously.
raegan followed your eyes before letting out a small laugh. “him? that’s rafe.” she answered, your lips parted a bit. “he’s…” you start, while you searched for the right word. “very handsome.” the other girl finished while raegan smirked. “yeah. everyone thinks that.” raegen laughed, your stomach fluttered in a way you didn’t recognize.
you watched as another girl walked past him, brushing his arm while saying something that made him grin. she looked so… natural, like she’d done it a thousand times.
“…how does she do that?” you asked softly and raegan looked at you. “do what?” she questioned. “flirt.” you say simply, the word came out almost like a confession. you looked back toward rafe. “i don’t… know how.” you admitted.
raegan’s expression softened. “seriously?”
you nodded. “i’ve never really…” your voice trailed off as heat climbed into your cheeks. “i was always taught not to look at boys too long. i don’t know what’s supposed to happen.” you laugh. raegan smiled sympathetically before looping her arm through yours.
“okay,” she said. “first lesson.” she starts. she nodded toward rafe without taking her eyes off you. “flirting isn’t about having some perfect line. half the time it’s just confidence. you smile, you keep the conversation going, and you don’t panic every time he looks at you.” she explains.
your brows knit together. “…that sounds difficult.” you reply. “it is at first,” raegan admitted with a laugh. “but you’ll be surprised how far a little confidence gets you.” her brows lift up as she smiled. you glanced back toward rafe again. “…and if i don’t have confidence?” you ask.
raegan smiled knowingly. “then fake it until you do.” she said, winking. so that you did!
you weren’t entirely sure how your legs managed to carry you across the room. maybe it was the music, maybe it was raegan’s encouragement, or maybe it was the fact that if you thought about it any longer, you’d lose every ounce of courage you had managed to scrape together.
behind you, raegan mouthed, you got this.
you nodded once, then immediately forgot every single thing she’d just taught you. rafe noticed you before you reached him.
he’d seen you walk in nearly five minutes ago, awkwardly trailing behind the two girls like you’d accidentally wandered into the wrong house. while everyone else blended into the party, you stood out without even trying, not because you were loud, but because you weren’t.
you looked… untouched.
like someone had taken a girl straight out of sunday morning and dropped her into a friday night house party. it definitely caught his attention, and now you were walking straight toward him.
he lifted an eyebrow, taking another sip from his cup before setting it on the counter.
“hey.” he started, his voice was casual and so easy. it made your rehearsed greeting disappear instantly. your mind emptied….completely.
you stared at him and he stared back.
your throat became dry, a lump created as you started to sweat.
“…hi,” you finally managed. “…hi,” he repeated, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.
then silence….complete awkward silence. you’d had an entire conversation planned, you were going to compliment his shirt, or maybe ask how he knew the girls…or introduce yourself for christ sake.
instead you gave him nothing. every word had packed its bags and abandoned you.
you looked over your shoulder for raegan.
she dramatically motioned for you to say something, your stomach twisted as you looked back at him. “…i forgot.” you said. rafe let out a short laugh through his nose. “forgot what?” he asked. “…everything.” you reply, brows furrowed in embarrassment. you answered so honestly that it almost made him laugh again.
his head tilted slightly.
“you came over here without a plan?” he asked, his eyes watching your face as if you were a puppy and had just got kicked. “i had one..” you mentioned, while you frowned at yourself. “it’s… gone.” you add. he watched you for another second.
girls usually walked over already knowing exactly what they wanted from him. they’d lean against the counter, laugh a little too hard, touch his arm, play some version of the same game.
you? you looked like you wanted permission to breathe. it was strangely refreshing to him. there was something amusing about watching someone so obviously inexperienced trying to step into a world they clearly didn’t belong in yet.
he shouldn’t have found it interesting, but he did… and sort of hot. “what’s your name?” he asked, and you visibly relaxed.
finally! a question you could easily tell him.
you told him your name, your shoulders loosening just enough that you remembered to breathe. “i’m rafe.” he added after you, and you nodded enthusiastically. “i know.” you say, which that earned another smile from him. “course you do.” he said, his eyes not lifting from yours. your cheeks warmed.
“my friend told me.” you said, smiling. “which one?” he asked. “raegan.” you answered. he glanced toward the kitchen doorway where raegan was pretending not to watch. “…she send you over here?” he teased with his soft smile, and you hesitated.
“…sort of.” you answer and he laughed shortly. “sort of?” he echoes. “she said…” you looked down at your shoes before forcing yourself to meet his eyes again. “…she said i should learn how to flirt.” you detailed. rafe blinked, then laughed, not at you, but because of how absurdly sincere you sounded.
“did she?” you nodded. “i’ve never done it before.” you replied, there wasn’t an ounce of irony in your voice, no attempt to sound mysterious. you were simply telling him the truth. he liked it.
he leaned one shoulder against the counter, studying you a little more carefully now. “so this…” he started, he gestured loosely between the two of you. “…this is your first attempt?” he asked. “yes.”
“…how am i doing?” you questioned, the question was so painfully genuine that he had to bite back another grin. “honestly?” he asked, and you nodded. “pretty terrible.” he told you and your face immediately fell.
“oh.”
he laughed again, shaking his head. “nah, don’t make that face.” he said. he stepped a little closer, close enough that you instinctively looked up at him. “you’re terrible at flirting.” he starts, then he paused. “but you’re real.”
his eyes lingered on yours for a second. “that’s kinda cute.” he assured and you blinked. “…it is?” you asked and he nodded. “yeah.” he replied, his grin widened. “don’t start pretending now.” he stated. you looked genuinely confused.
“pretending?” you question. “to be like everybody else.” he explained further, his gaze drifted around the room before settling back on you. “they’re all putting on a show.” he shrugged. “you don’t even know how.” he brings up, and your lips parted slightly.
“…is that… bad?” you ask, brows furrowing now. “nah.” he answered your question and his smile turned almost amused. “i think i’d rather see what happens when somebody teaches you.” he stated, something about the way he said it made your stomach flutter, though you couldn’t quite place why.
all you knew was that for the first time that night, you hadn’t embarrassed yourself enough to make someone walk away.
the rest of the night was great, and most importantly! your mother didn’t find out about the party. but since she didn’t find out, you hung out with him more, and it didn’t take much for you wanting to explore him sexually, and his bad choices.
rafe grinned wide, his frat house room dimly lit by a single lamp and the glow from his phone screen playing some trap beat low in the background. the once christian girl he’d met at that awkward party days ago was sprawled naked across his messy bed, her skin flushed and glowing, eyes half lidded and sparkling from the high.
“fuck, look at you,” he murmured, voice thick with that corruption kink that had been eating him alive since day one. she’d shown up to that party with no clue she’d be here doing this, she promised her parents she wouldn’t do this anyway, but one line, one bump, and now here she was, his perfect little project, giggling and arching under him like she’d been waiting for this her whole life.
he poured a fresh line along the curve of her spine, right between her shoulder blades. she shivered at the cool touch, letting out a soft breathy laugh. “feels so weird” she whispered, voice already slurred and happy from the coke buzzing through her veins.
he leaned down, nose brushing her warm skin, and sniffed the line hard, the rush hitting him instant. “that’s my girl,” he growled against her back, hands gripping her hips to hold her steady. “no more of that innocent shit, you can let go with me baby.” he assured.
she moaned softly as he licked the residue trailing down, his tongue hot and slow, tracing from her back over her shoulder and down to her throat. he licked a fresh path there too, another small bump dissolving under his mouth as he sucked lightly at her pulse point. she was squirming, high and loose, fingers twisting in his sheets while she laughed that bright, uninhibited laugh.
“rafe, oh my god,” she gasped, but it wasn’t prayerful anymore, it was pure blissed out fun. her body melted under him, thighs parting naturally as he moved lower.
he grinned against her stomach, drawing a lazy line right below her belly button. “god ain’t here, baby. just me.” he sniffed it off her smooth skin, then licked it all up, tongue dipping into her navel, tasting the mix of her and the bitter powder. she bucked a little, high giggles turning into breathy whimpers as the sensations hit her amplified.
down further he went, hands spreading her thighs wide. he laid another thin line along the inside of one thigh, close enough to her heat that she was trembling with anticipation. rafe looked up at her flushed face, eyes dark with satisfaction. “you were such a good little christian girl. now you’re naked in my bed doing lines with me, crazy ain’t it?”
she bit her lip, nodding hazily, the high making everything feel electric. “yeah, yeah. keep going, rafe.” you said. he snorted the line off her thigh, then licked long and thorough, tongue dragging up toward her center, teasing the sensitive skin until she was laughing and moaning at the same time, completely lost in the fun of it all. no guilt, no hesitation, just coke fueled pleasure and his hands and mouth owning every inch of her corrupted body.
they were both buzzing hard, naked and tangled, the night stretching out with more lines, more licks, more of her innocent walls crumbling while rafe reveled in every second of it.
then came the sex.
rafe had her pinned on her back in the middle of his bed, both of them still completely naked and sweating under the low lights. the coke was everywhere now, lines scattered across her tits, her stomach, the dip of her hips. she was giggling and moaning at the same time, eyes glassy and wild from how much they’d already done, her little christian walls long gone.
“fuck, you’re so wet for me,” rafe groaned as he thrust deep inside her, slow and hard, stretching her open while he leaned down and licked a thick line of coke right off the swell of her breast. his tongue dragged over her nipple, sucking the powder and her skin clean as he fucked her harder. she arched up into him with a broken cry, the rush hitting her even stronger while he was buried inside.
“rafe—oh! shit,” she gasped, high as hell and loving every filthy second. her hands clawed at his back, pulling him closer as another wave of pleasure mixed with the drugs. he smirked down at her, something dark burning in his eyes that she couldn’t quite grasp yet. “i’m ruining you, baby. look at you, getting fucked and doing coke like a little slut.” he scooped more powder onto his fingers and rubbed it along her collarbone before licking it off slowly, hips snapping forward in rhythm, pounding into her tight heat.
every thrust made her bounce, tits jiggling as he snorted another line straight off her sternum mid stroke. the bitter taste mixed with her sweat drove him crazier. he grabbed her jaw, forcing her mouth open, and kissed her deep, his tongue coated in fresh coke. she moaned into his mouth, sucking greedily on his tongue, licking every bit of the powder off while he fucked her senseless.
“that’s it, suck it off my tongue like a good girl,” he growled against her lips, feeding her more with every sloppy kiss. she was whimpering, high and desperate, legs wrapped tight around his waist as she licked and sucked, swallowing the mix of coke and spit while he railed into her.
rafe pulled back just enough to lay another line down her stomach, right above where he was sliding in and out of her. he licked it clean in one long stripe, never breaking his rhythm, tongue flicking over her skin as he drove deeper. she was shaking, another orgasm building fast from the insane mix of drugs and his cock.
“more,” she begged breathlessly, voice wrecked. “give me more, rafe.” she begged. he laughed low and dark, scooping another bump and letting it dissolve on his tongue before kissing her again.
she sucked hungrily, licking every grain off while he fucked her harder, the bed creaking, both of them lost in heavy, messy, coked out sex. lines on her thighs, lines on her neck, him licking it all off her body while he filled her up over and over, turning his innocent girl into his perfect corrupted fucktoy for the night.
they weren’t stopping anytime soon, but your parents didn’t know that. so when she wasn’t in her bed the next morning, her mother was ready on the phone with police. but that didn’t stop anything, you both were still going when morning came around.
rafe’s room was hazy with morning light filtering through the blinds, the clock showing past nine but neither of them cared. they’d been going for hours, round after round of filthy, coked out sex that blurred into one endless high. the bed was a disaster of sheets, empty baggies, and scattered powder. his once little christian girl was still under him, legs spread wide, pussy soaked and used as he thrust into her slow and deep for what felt like the tenth time.
“still can’t believe you’re letting me fuck you like this at sunrise,” he rasped, voice hoarse from the night, sweat dripping down his chest. he had her on her back again, one of her legs hooked over his shoulder as he ground into her, hitting that spot that made her eyes roll back. she was wrecked, hair messy, lips swollen, body covered in faint red marks from his mouth, but the coke kept them both buzzing, refusing to let the high crash.
he leaned down, licking a messy line of fresh powder off her tits while he fucked her, tongue swirling around her nipple as he snorted hard. “my perfect little slut,” he groaned against her skin, hips snapping forward harder. “you were praying last week. now you’re taking my cock all night like you were made for it.” he laughed.
she moaned loud, high and delirious, nails digging into his shoulders. “rafe… don’t stop. feels so fucking good,” she whimpered, voice raw from screaming through the rounds. her body trembled with another orgasm building, the mix of exhaustion and drugs making everything hypersensitive. he kissed her deep, feeding her coke straight off his tongue again, letting her suck and lick it greedily while he pounded her through it.
they’d already switched positions countless times, her riding him while he snorted lines off her stomach, him bending her over and licking it off her ass before sliding back in, her on her knees sucking him off with powder on his cock that she licked clean between rounds. now in the morning light it was raw and lazy but relentless, his thrusts deep and possessive as he chased another high with her.
“you’re mine now,” he muttered, licking another trail of coke down her throat and stomach while never stopping fucking her. “this is what you are. my coked up little fucktoy.” he stated.
she came again with a broken cry, clenching around him tight, but he just kept going, flipping her onto her side for another angle, spooning her close as he entered her from behind. more lines, more licking, more messy kisses where she sucked the powder off his tongue like she couldn’t get enough. the sun climbed higher but they were still lost in it, rounds blurring together, heavy drug haze keeping them fucking through the morning like animals who didn’t know how to quit.
“have you guys…” one of your friends wiggled her eyebrows dramatically. “…you know.” she added and your eyes widened. you looked around instinctively, making sure no strangers at the gas station were close enough to hear.
“yes.”
they both froze. “…seriously?” they asked and you nodded once. their mouths fell open. “that fast?” they questioned. “i…” you looked at your melting slushie. “…i love him.” you muttered. the laughter disappeared, the two girls exchanged a glance, a long one.
one that made the smile slowly leave your face. “…what?” you asked quietly. one sighed. “nothing.” they said, then swallowed. “don’t do that,” you replied. “that’s what my parents do.” you frown.
they exchanged another look, then finally, one of them spoke. “…i just don’t think rafe’s good for you.” the words hit harder than you expected, these two girls were with you since day one, since your first party, first shots, first alcohol experience. you frowned. “…why?”
“because he’s rafe.” the other explained, rolling her eyes softly. “…what does that mean?” you asked. she rubbed the back of her neck. “look… he’s charming. everybody knows that.”
“he’s also been with… a lot of girls,” the other added carefully. “like… a lot.” the other one chimed in. your stomach tightened. “people can change.”
“they can.” one started. “…but has he?” the other chimed in one again, then silence settled, you didn’t answer, because you didn’t know. one of the girls reached over, lightly squeezing your arm. “we’re not trying to be mean.”
“we actually like him more than we should,” the other admitted with a small laugh. “he’s funny. he’s attractive.” one explained. “…he’s really attractive,” the other muttered. they both laughed before growing serious again. “that’s kind of the problem.”
you looked between them, confused. “guys like him know they’re attractive.” they explained together. “they know exactly what to say.” one explained. “exactly how to make a girl feel special.” then the other said.
you frowned. “…he makes me feel special.” you admit. they both softened. “we know.” one of them sighed. “that’s why we’re worried.” one whispers and your brows pulled together.
some time later, rafe had you in his lap on the couch in his room that same hazy afternoon, the remnants of last night’s binge still scattered around them. she was naked again, straddling his thighs, his hard cock pressed between them as she looked at him with those big conflicted eyes, the high making her thoughts spill out.
“my friends keep saying you’re not good for me,” she murmured, voice soft but shaky, even as her body betrayed her and rocked slowly against him. “they basically said that this is a bit too fast, that this… all the coke and everything… it’s too much. maybe they’re right.” you said.
he smirked, that darkness flaring as he cupped her jaw, thumb brushing her lips. “they’re just jealous, baby,” he whispered, leaning back and sprinkling a thick line of coke across his abs, right below his chest. “don’t listen to them. they don’t know how good this feels. how good we feel.” he guided her head down gently but firmly. “c’mon, snort it off me. show me you know better.” he assured.
she hesitated for half a second, then leaned in, pressing her nose to his warm skin and snorting the line hard. the rush hit her instantly, making her moan and grind down on his cock. rafe groaned, hands gripping her hips. “that’s my girl. fuck, you’re so pretty when you do that.”
“but rafe—” she started again, eyes glassy as she licked the residue off his abs, tongue dragging over the defined lines of his muscles.
“shh, don’t listen to them baby,” he cooed, voice low and persuasive while he lined up more powder along his chest. “they want you back in that boring good girl cage. i love you. i fucking love seeing you like this. free and high.” he pulled her up for a deep kiss, letting her suck the last bits off his tongue before pushing another line onto his thigh.
she snorted it obediently, the words sinking in with the high, her doubts melting as pleasure took over. “you love me?” she whispered, already positioning herself over his cock, sinking down slowly with a gasp.
“yeah, i love you,” rafe growled, hands on her ass as she started to ride him, rolling her hips in needy circles. “love my little christian slut. ride me, baby. show me you’re not listening to that bullshit.” he encouraged.
she moaned louder, bouncing on his cock now, hands braced on his chest as she rode him harder, the coke making everything feel electric. rafe thrust up to meet her, watching her tits bounce while she lost herself in it, doubts forgotten in the rush of him inside her and the powder buzzing through her veins. “good girl,” he praised, licking stray powder off her chin before kissing her again. “just keep riding me like that.”
notes. this is just a little bit rushed, i hope this met your expectations! ♡
the party was loud enough to make your ribs shake.
bass through the floorboards. bass through the walls. bass through your teeth.
someone had spilled beer across the kitchen island hours ago and nobody cleaned it, so now everything smelled sticky and sour and expensive in that way figure eight parties always did. girls in tiny dresses leaning against marble counters. boys yelling over each other. somebody laughing too hard upstairs.
you stood at the sink pretending to read a text you’d already read six times.
where are you?
sent twenty minutes ago. no name attached. didn’t need one. you could feel him before you saw him: everybody else arrived loudly while rafe arrived like a pressure change.
the noise around you bent strangely. people looked over without meaning to. conversations stuttered. one of the guys near the fridge muttered “shit” under his breath.
and then — “there you are.”
his voice landed right behind you. you closed your eyes for exactly one second before turning around.
Rafe Cameron stood too close immediately, smelling like cigarettes and ocean water and whatever liquor he’d drowned himself in tonight. his hair was damp like he’d shoved his hands through it a hundred times. pupils blown wide already.
angry. or high. or both. usually both.
“you ignored me,” he said.
“i was busy.”
“doing what?”
“living a full and meaningful life, rafe.”
that almost made him smile. instead he stared at you in that horrible focused way he had, like he was trying to peel your skin back and look directly at the thing underneath.
“you left without telling me.”
“i’m pretty sure i’m legally allowed to leave buildings.”
“not mine.”
your jaw tightened because there it was. that thing he did. the subtle ownership. like every room belonged to him. every person inside it too. you should’ve moved away then. you didn’t. that was the problem with the two of you. nobody ever left when they should.
“you said you weren’t coming tonight,” you said quietly.
“changed my mind.”
“obviously.”
his eyes dragged slowly over your face. not sexual. not even affectionate. worse. possessive like he was checking whether you’d changed while he wasn’t looking.
“who drove you?” he asked.
“what?”
“who. drove. you.”
“why?”
“answer the question.”
you laughed once under your breath, exhausted already. “god, you’re insane.”
“yeah,” he said softly. “little bit.”
you hated when he admitted things. it took all the fight out of you.
for a second neither of you spoke. around you the party swelled louder, bodies pushing through the kitchen, music changing songs. somebody bumped into rafe’s shoulder and immediately apologized after recognizing him.
he didn’t even look at them. still staring at you. you remembered once — months ago maybe — asking him why he did that.
what?
look at me like that.
and he’d smiled without humor and said: because if i stop, you disappear.
you should have run then too. instead you’d kissed him which turned out to be the beginning of the end. or maybe the middle. with rafe, it was impossible to tell.
“you’re shaking,” he said suddenly.
you crossed your arms tighter. “i’m cold.”
“bullshit.”
“okay.”
his jaw ticked and he stepped closer. you stepped back automatically and hit the counter. there was the smallest pause after that. you watched the exact moment it happened — the exact moment he realized you’d moved away from him instinctively like you were scared which maybe you were.
sometimes, especially when his eyes got too empty, especially when he was using too much again, especially when he grabbed too hard without realizing it.
the silence stretched. then he laughed quietly, looking down at the floor.
“right,” he murmured. “forgot.”
your stomach twisted. “rafe —”
“nah, it’s okay.”
it very clearly was not okay.
he shoved a hand through his hair hard enough to pull at the roots. restless energy radiated off him violently tonight. he looked strung too tight beneath his skin.
“you been avoiding me all week,” he said.
“i’ve been working.”
“you didn’t answer my calls.”
“you called me fourteen times in one night.”
“because you hung up.”
“because you were screaming at me.”
“i said i was sorry.”
“after you punched your dashboard.”
“didn’t hit you, did i?”
the second the words left his mouth, everything froze. even him. your face changed. very slightly. but enough because suddenly he looked sick. actually sick like he wanted to climb out of his own body.
“that’s not —” he started.
“i know.”
“i didn’t mean —”
“i know.”
but your voice sounded far away now. flat and gone and that scared him more than if you’d yelled.
“hey,” he said immediately, stepping forward again. “hey, look at me.”
you looked somewhere over his shoulder instead. people were still moving around you. laughing. drinking. existing normally. it felt unreal.
rafe’s breathing got sharper. “don’t do that.”
“do what?”
“shut down.”
“i’m not —”
“yes you are.”
he knew you too well. that was another problem. his hand wrapped around your wrist before you could think about it. your eyes dropped to it instantly and his did too. again, that horrible silence because rafe always realized things too late.
always after, never before. his fingers loosened immediately like he’d touched a hot stove. “shit,” he muttered quietly.
you swallowed. “i should go home.”
his head snapped up. “no.”
“rafe —”
“don’t.” there was panic underneath it now. real panic. you could hear it clawing under his voice. you hated that too because you knew him well enough to understand what panic turned into with him. rage. recklessness. destruction.
anything to avoid being abandoned first.
“i’m tired,” you said carefully.
“you’re leaving because of what i said.”
“i’m leaving because i’m tired.”
“don’t lie to me.”
you laughed softly then, but there was no humor in it. “that’s funny coming from you.”
you watched it land. to your immense satisfaction, he looked away first this time. tongue pressing into his cheek. breathing uneven. “i’m trying,” he said eventually.
and god. that was the worst thing he could’ve said. because he was. in his own horrifying way, he was trying all the time. trying not to explode. trying not to spiral. trying not to ruin every good thing that touched him.
the problem was that trying for rafe looked violent compared to normal people. trying looked like fists through walls instead of into faces. trying looked like screaming into pillows at three in the morning because he knew if he called you he’d say something unforgivable. trying looked like showing up outside your house just to make sure your car was there, then leaving before you noticed. trying looked obsessive and ugly and desperate.
and you kept loving him anyway which probably said something terrible about you too. his eyes lifted back to yours, red-rimmed now. you felt your chest cave in a little at the sight.
“don’t look at me like you already left.”
you didn’t realize he was holding his breath until you touched him. just your hand against his jaw. immediate relief flooded his face so fast it made you feel ill. there it was again. that unbearable dependence.
he leaned into your palm instinctively, eyes closing for half a second. and you thought, with sudden terrifying clarity: this is going to kill both of us.
not metaphorically. not poetically. actually.
someday there’d be blood on something expensive. a hospital waiting room. a slammed door. a phone call at 2 a.m. something final because nothing between you and rafe had ever known how to be small.
his hand covered yours. “come upstairs with me,” he said quietly.
you should’ve said no. you knew what he meant. but instead: “okay.”
the hallway upstairs was quieter.
not actually quiet — the bass still throbbed through the walls, people still shouted somewhere distant, a girl was laughing too loudly behind one of the closed bedroom doors — but quieter enough that you could hear rafe breathing in front of you.
fast and uneven. he kept looking back to make sure you were still following him like you might disappear halfway down the hall. like you’d change your mind. you almost did. twice.
but then he’d glance over his shoulder with that wrecked look in his eyes and your feet kept moving anyway. that was how it always happened.
you knew better. and then you loved him harder than your own self-preservation. rafe pushed open the guest room door at the end of the hallway and immediately locked it behind you.
the click echoed and your stomach tightened.
“it’s so nobody comes in,” he said quickly.
“i didn’t say anything.”
“you looked at the lock.”
“because you locked it.”
his jaw flexed.
there was a bruise blooming along it tonight. dark purple under tan skin. probably from some fight. with rafe it was impossible to tell anymore whether injuries came from other people or himself.
the room smelled faintly like cologne and smoke and the ocean drifting in through the cracked balcony door.
he paced once, twice, clearly restless. you stayed near the door. watching him unravel in real time. “say something,” he muttered finally.
“about what?”
“anything.”
“you brought me up here.”
“yeah, and now you’re standing over there like i’m gonna fucking hurt you.”
the words cracked out of him harsher than he intended. you saw regret hit immediately afterward. he turned away before you could answer, pressing both hands against the back of his neck.
“fuck,” he whispered to himself.
you looked down at the carpet. “i never said that.”
“you didn’t have to.”
silence. you hated this version of him. not the cruel one. not the screaming one. this one. the one that knew exactly what he was because that version made you stay. you could survive his anger easier than you could survive his honesty.
“come here,” he said eventually, quieter this time.
you hesitated: there it was again. that tiny pause but this time you watched it destroy him. his face shut down instantly. not dramatically. not loudly. just — gone like somebody turned the lights off behind his eyes.
“right,” he said with a short nod. “okay.”
“rafe —”
“don’t pity me.”
“i’m not pitying you.”
“then what are you doing?”
you opened your mouth and closed it again because you didn’t know anymore. you didn’t know what this was. you just knew every time you tried to leave him for real, something inside you started tearing at the seams.
and he looked worse. thinner lately. more exhausted, more unstable. you wondered sometimes if loving rafe was less like being in a relationship and more like standing in front of a collapsing building trying to hold the walls up with your bare hands.
eventually your arms were going to give out. the scary part was that his probably would first. he laughed suddenly, bitter and low. “you know what topper said to me yesterday?”
your chest tightened immediately. “why were you talking to topper?”
“because he’s a dickhead who likes hearing himself talk.”
“what did he say?”
rafe looked at you then and for one horrible second you saw genuine vulnerability underneath all the wreckage. “he said you look tired.”
your throat went dry. “and?”
“and he said i’m bad for you.”
you stayed very still. “he’s not wrong,” you said softly.
that did it. you saw the exact second something snapped: rafe laughed again but this time it sounded ugly. sharp around the edges. “yeah,” he said, nodding fast. “yeah, okay.”
“rafe —”
“no, you’re right.” he pointed at himself mockingly. “i’m fucking poison, right? everybody says it, so it must be true.”
“that’s not what i meant.”
“then what did you mean?”
his voice rose suddenly.. “because i’m getting a little tired of hearing how terrible i am from everybody all the fucking time —”
“lower your voice.”
that stopped him cold. you hadn’t meant to say it like that, soft and careful but also a little afraid but the second the words left your mouth, the entire room changed. rafe stared at you and you watched horror spread slowly across his face. “you’re scared of me.”
it wasn’t accusatory: that would've been easier. it sounded devastated. you felt tears sting immediately. “i didn’t say that.”
“but you are.”
“sometimes i just —”
“sometimes what?”
you looked away. big mistake. he moved toward you instantly, not aggressive exactly, but frantic now. “look at me.”
you pressed back against the door unconsciously. another mistake because his expression physically crumpled after that.
“jesus christ,” he whispered.
he stepped away from you so fast he almost stumbled. then came the sound. a laugh. wrong. “that’s fucking crazy,” he muttered to himself, dragging both hands through his hair. “you’re actually scared of me.”
“rafe, stop.”
“no, no, i get it now.”
“you’re spiraling.”
“am i?” he snapped. “because from where i’m standing, this seems pretty fucking clear.”
you hated when he got like this. once he started falling apart, he dragged every conversation into deeper water until both of you drowned in it.
“i never wanted that,” he said suddenly quieter.
you looked up - his eyes were glassy now. “wanted what?”
his throat bobbed hard.
“for you to look at me like everybody else does.”
your chest ached so violently it almost made you angry because this was the trap. this was always the trap with him. he’d hurt you then bleed all over the floor afterward until you forgot your own bruises trying to stop his.
you moved before thinking. crossed the room, grabbed his face. “hey,” you whispered. his breathing caught instantly. you felt it happen beneath your hands. that terrifying dependence again. “look at me.”
he did. immediately. always immediately for you. his eyes were bloodshot. exhausted. furious and miserable all at once.
“i’m still here,” you said softly.
he stared at you like the words physically hurt him. “don’t say shit like that.”
“why?”
his hands wrapped around your wrists carefully, carefully like he was forcing himself to remember his own strength. “because one day you won’t be.”
the room went still. your heartbeat thudded unevenly. he looked away first, voice quieter now, almost embarrassed. “and i don’t think i survive that.”
there it was. the thing neither of you said out loud. the real thing underneath all of it. it wasn’t love anymore. not fully. it was dependency. attachment sharpened into something dangerous. he needed you in a way that went beyond romance and crossed into ruin.
and maybe the sickest part was that some hidden awful piece of you needed it too. needed being wanted that desperately. needed being the only thing capable of calming him down. needed being chosen over everything else. even his sanity.
you kissed him before you could stop yourself. hard and desperate. his reaction was immediate like a match hitting gasoline. one second he was staring at you and the next his hands were in your hair, pulling you flush against him so fast your back hit the wall beside the door.
the kiss turned messy instantly. teeth. breathing. anger hidden inside want. he kissed like he was trying to crawl inside your ribcage and stay there. your fingers tightened in his shirt and for a few terrible perfect seconds, everything disappeared.
the fighting. the fear. the damage.
just him. just this. then his hand slid against your neck.
not choking. not hurting but enough pressure that instinct flashed through your body before your brain could catch up.
you flinched. tiny. barely there but he felt it. rafe pulled away so fast it almost looked like you burned him. silence crashed into the room. your breathing sounded too loud.
his eyes were locked on your face now with pure horror inside them. “i didn’t —”
“i know.”
“i wasn’t —”
“rafe.”
he stepped backward hard enough to hit the dresser behind him. “fuck.”
you reached for him automatically and this time, he recoiled. actually recoiled. “don’t.”
your chest dropped. “what?”
“don’t do that right now. don't try to make me feel better.” his voice broke on the last word and suddenly he looked young. not scary. not violent. just deeply, catastrophically damaged. “you should go home,” he said.
you stared at him. “what?”
“before i ruin this worse.”
“rafe —”
“please.”
the word almost didn’t sound like him.=he looked like he was trying not to come apart at the seams. “just go tonight,” he whispered. “please.”
but you didn’t leave of course you didn’t. for a second neither of you moved. the music downstairs kept shaking through the floorboards, distorted now, like the entire house was underwater. rafe stood across from you breathing hard, one hand braced against the dresser behind him like he needed it to stay upright.
you could see it happening. the war inside him: half of him wanted you gone before he hurt you worse while the other half wanted to lock the door and keep you there until the world ended. and the terrifying thing was that you genuinely didn’t know which side would win if he stopped trying.
“say something,” he said hoarsely.
you swallowed. “i don’t want to go home.”
his eyes closed. just for a second, like the answer physically hurt him. “don’t make this harder.”
your chest tightened painfully. “you think this is easy for me?”
he laughed under his breath, exhausted and ugly. “no, i think you’re fucking addicted to drowning.”
that landed because it was true. you hated him for saying true things out loud without sugarcoating it. it's exactly what he did when he confessed his love for you.
rafe looked at you again then, and there was something dangerously open in his expression now. stripped raw. no performance left. “why do you stay?” he asked quietly.
you didn’t answer. because there wasn’t one answer. because you could’ve listed a thousand reasons and none of them would’ve made sense to normal people.
you stayed because he looked at you like you were the last thing tethering him to earth. you stayed because sometimes at three in the morning he held you so gently it made your chest ache for days afterward. you stayed because underneath all the violence and ego and destruction was somebody deeply terrified of being unlovable.
and maybe because part of you believed if you loved him hard enough, he’d finally become someone safe.
which was stupid. people weren’t projects. you knew that.
and still.
“i don’t know,” you whispered finally.
rafe stared at you for a long time after that then he nodded once like you’d confirmed something terrible. “yeah,” he murmured. “that’s what i thought.”
before you could respond, somebody started pounding on the bedroom door downstairs. “rafe!” a drunk voice shouted from the hall. “bro, where the fuck’s your coke?”
his entire face changed instantly. rage flooding in so fast it was almost frightening to watch. “go away,” he barked.
the person outside laughed. “you with your girlfriend?”
girlfriend. the word hung weirdly in the room because neither of you ever used it. whatever this was had grown too sharp for labels months ago. “i said fuck off.”
more laughter. footsteps retreating eventually. silence again. you looked back at rafe and found him already staring at you.
“what?” you asked quietly.
his jaw tightened. “you didn’t say anything.”
“about what?”
“girlfriend.”
your heart skipped strangely. “do you want me to be?”
the question slipped out before you could stop it. immediate regret because rafe’s expression shifted into something almost painful. “you know that’s not what this is.”
there it was. that awful ache again. you crossed your arms tighter around yourself. “right.”
“don’t shut down again.”
you looked away and he moved before thinking. you saw it happen in real time — the instinctive step toward you — and then the moment he caught himself.
stopped. forced distance back between you. god, that somehow hurt more. “i don’t know how to do this right,” he admitted quietly.
your throat tightened. because that was true too. rafe loved like somebody who’d only ever been taught possession. keep. hold. consume. destroy before being destroyed. gentleness didn’t come naturally to him.
sometimes neither did empathy.
but want? need? those he understood perfectly.
“come here,” you whispered.
he hesitated this time. you almost laughed at the irony.
slowly, like approaching something dangerous, he crossed the room again. you took his hand carefully. his fingers twitched immediately around yours. he looked down at them like he couldn’t believe you were touching him voluntarily after everything.
“you’re shaking again,” you murmured.
“i know.”
“have you slept?”
a pause. “not really.”
“how long?”
another pause. “does it matter?”
yes. because suddenly you could see it clearly — the exhaustion under his eyes, the twitchiness in his movements, the emotional whiplash. he’d been spiraling for days. probably longer. “rafe.”
“don’t start.”
“you can barely stand still.”
“i’m fine.”
“you’re absolutely not fine.”
his expression hardened instantly. there he was. the second he felt exposed, he shoved knives back into his voice. “you wanna know what’s funny?” he said coldly. “you only act like you care when i’m falling apart.”
you blinked because that was the only time he let you see him. “that’s not fair.”
“isn’t it?”
“i’m here all the time.”
“physically? sure.”
that hurt more than it should’ve because lately maybe he was right. lately you’d started pulling pieces of yourself away from him quietly. subconsciously. trying to survive him in small hidden ways.
taking longer to answer texts. sleeping over less. flinching sometimes. looking at him differently. and rafe noticed everything, especially rejection, the one thing he had been trying to escape.
“i’m trying,” you whispered.
“fuck,” he muttered, squeezing his eyes shut. “don’t say that.”
“why?”
“because that’s my line.”
you almost smiled. almost. then his phone buzzed somewhere in the room. he ignored it. buzzed again and again. finally he yanked it off the bed hard enough to nearly throw it. his expression darkened instantly when you saw the name reflected briefly across the screen.
wheezie.
“what happened?” you asked.
“nothing.”
“rafe.”
he rubbed a hand over his face violently. “my dad’s looking for me.”
cold spread slowly through your stomach. “why?”
“because i left dinner.”
“that’s it?”
he didn’t answer which was answer enough. you’d seen the aftermath of ward and rafe too many times already. broken glasses. split knuckles. screaming matches that sounded less like arguments and more like mutual destruction.
you stepped closer instinctively. “did you fight?”
his laugh came out sharp. “when do we not?”
“what happened?”
“he said i was embarrassing him.”
your chest ached immediately. “rafe —”
“and i told him to go fuck himself.”
“okay.”
“and then he grabbed me.”
you froze. he looked away instantly after saying it like he regretted letting you see that piece. “he was drunk,” rafe muttered quickly. “it’s whatever.”
but your eyes were already on the bruise along his jaw. suddenly it made sense. rage curled hot in your stomach.
“he hit you?”
“don’t look at me like i’m pathetic.”
“i’m not.”
“you are.”
his breathing started getting uneven again. too fast. you knew this version of him now — the one balancing right on the edge between fury and collapse.
“hey,” you said softly. “come sit down.”
“i’m not a fucking child.”
“i didn’t say you were.”
“stop trying to fix me.” he almost begged. “please stop trying to fix me.”
your eyes burned suddenly because he sounded tired. like he genuinely believed he was beyond saving now. “i don’t know how to love you without trying,” you admitted.
his head lifted slowly. and there it was again that terrifying softness. the one nobody else ever saw. “that’s the problem,” he whispered.
you didn’t realize you were crying until he touched your face. gentle. so gentle it almost broke something inside you. his thumb caught a tear beneath your eye.
“don’t cry,” he murmured immediately, panic slipping back into his voice. “shit, baby, don’t —”
baby. he only called you that when he forgot to be careful.
you laughed shakily through the tears. “you’re so fucked up.”
a weak smile pulled briefly at his mouth. “yeah.”
“and you make me fucked up too.”
that smile disappeared. he looked at you for a long time after that. then very quietly: “i know.”
rafe was still standing close enough for you to feel the heat coming off him. his hand lingered near your face like he wanted to touch you again but didn’t trust himself to. you should’ve left twenty minutes ago. instead you whispered, “kiss me again.”
his eyes shut instantly. the request hurt. “don’t ask me like that.”
“why?”
“because i’ll do it.”
your heart twisted. “that’s kind of the point.”
he stared at you for one long awful second before kissing you hard enough to push you backward a step. all restraint gone this time. anger lived inside every movement he made. not at you — never really at you — but at himself, at the world, at whatever hollow thing inside him kept ruining everything he touched. you kissed him back anyway which probably made you just as bad.
his hands slid around your waist, pulling you flush against him, and immediately you felt it — the desperation. the way he held you like he was scared somebody would rip you away if he loosened his grip for even a second.
the kiss turned messy fast. his breathing uneven. your fingers tangled in his damp hair. he made this quiet wrecked sound against your mouth that nearly shattered your resolve entirely because nobody ever saw this version of him. nobody else got the trembling hands. the exhausted affection. the terrifying vulnerability hidden underneath all the violence.
they got the monster. you got the aftermath.
“i missed you,” he admitted suddenly against your lips.
your chest ached so hard it almost made you angry. “it’s been four days.”
“felt longer.”
his forehead dropped against yours. you could feel him breathing, could feel the slight tremor running through him now. coming down. crashing. whatever cocktail of adrenaline and drugs and rage had been keeping him upright tonight was fading, leaving something rawer behind.
you brushed your thumb beneath his eye softly. “you’re exhausted.”
“don’t psychoanalyze me right now.”
“you can barely keep your eyes open.”
“still prettier than everybody else here.”
you laughed despite yourself and rafe’s expression changed instantly at the sound. that was it, that terrifying thing again. he looked at your happiness like a starving man looked at food. for him, your emotions controlled the oxygen in the room. it scared you sometimes, how much power he gave you accidentally.
because one day you were going to disappoint him in a way neither of you could come back from. you felt it coming already. some inevitable disaster waiting at the end of the road.
“what?” he asked quietly.
you hadn’t realized you were staring. “nothing.”
“that’s a lie.”
“you know,” you murmured, “normal relationships aren’t supposed to feel like this.”
his jaw tightened immediately. “you want normal?”
“i didn’t say that.”
“answer the question.”
you looked away. his fingers tightened slightly at your waist.
“do you?”
“i don’t know.”
he laughed once under his breath, but there was no humor in it. “yeah,” he whispered. “that’s what i’m afraid of.”
before you could answer, his phone buzzed again and again and again. he ignored it until the fourth call then finally snapped, grabbing the phone and answering violently. “what?”
you flinched slightly at the sudden volume. his eyes flicked to you instantly afterward, regret immediate. he turned away.
“i said i’m busy.” pause. his jaw hardened. “tell him i’m not coming home.”
another pause. then: “i don’t give a shit what he said.”
you heard muffled yelling even from across the room. wheezie, probably. or ward. likely both. rafe’s breathing sharpened. “stop calling me,” he snapped suddenly. “seriously, just leave me the fuck alone for one night —”
the line disconnected. silence. he stared at the phone screen for a second before hurling it across the room. it smashed against the wall violently. and you couldn't help it: you jumped.
immediate stillness. rafe froze too, horror spreading slowly across his face, because he saw it. saw your reaction. the fear. small but there.
“shit,” he whispered.
he stepped toward you instinctively. you stepped back instinctively. his face just fell apart. “right,” he said softly.
you hated yourself immediately. “rafe, i didn’t mean —”
“no, it’s okay.”
it wasn’t okay. his voice sounded empty now. dangerously empty. he dragged both hands down his face hard enough to redden his skin. “i’m trying so fucking hard with you.”
the words cracked in the middle and your throat tightened painfully.
“i know.”
“do you?”
he looked at you then with genuine devastation in his eyes. “because every time you look scared of me i feel like i’m losing my fucking mind.”
you blinked quickly against fresh tears. “you think i want this either?”
“then why can’t you trust me?”
you laughed softly, disbelieving. “because sometimes you scare me.”
silence. real silence this time. rafe stared at you like you’d shot him. you watched the exact second the words sank in fully. his mouth parted slightly, eyes glassy, breathing gone uneven again. “oh.”
just that. oh. like some final piece finally clicked into place. you instantly wanted to take it back. “rafe —”
“no, no, it’s okay.”
again with that awful calm voice. the dangerous one. “i get it now.”
“please don’t spiral.”
“i’m not spiraling.”
he absolutely was. he turned away from you abruptly, pacing once across the room before stopping at the balcony doors. his shoulders looked tight enough to snap. “i would never hurt you,” he said finally.
“i know.”
“no.” he shook his head hard. “i don’t think you do.”
you opened your mouth, closed it again because the horrible truth was that you did know and that somehow made this worse. you genuinely believed rafe would rather die than intentionally hurt you. the problem was that rafe destroyed things accidentally all the time, himself included.
“look at me,” he said suddenly.
you did. his eyes were red now. angry tears sitting there unshed, humiliation all over his face. “tell me exactly what you’re scared of.”
“rafe…”
“tell me.”
you swallowed hard. “sometimes when you get angry, i don’t recognize you.”
he went very still. “and?”
“and i never know what’s gonna happen.”
the room felt freezing suddenly. he nodded slowly. he was forcing himself to hear it. “okay.”
you hated how calm he sounded now. “say something.”
“what do you want me to say?”
“anything.”
he looked down at the floor for a long moment. then laughed quietly to himself. completely broken. “that’s so fucking embarrassing.”
your chest tightened. “what is?”
“that i love you this much.”
the tears finally spilled down your face. because he said it like a confession. like a wound just ugly and devastating and far too real. rafe noticed the tears immediately and swore under his breath, crossing the room before stopping himself halfway there.
that hesitation again. that horrible learned restraint. “baby,” he said softly. “please don’t cry.”
you covered your face with your hands suddenly because everything hurt too much at once. the room. the conversation. him.
your entire body shook once and then he was there anyway. careful this time. so careful. his hands slid around your wrists gently, pulling them away from your face. “hey,” he whispered. you couldn’t look at him. “hey.”
his forehead rested against yours. you felt him trembling. “i’m trying to be somebody you can feel safe with.”
that almost broke you completely because you believed him. that was the tragedy. you believed every word and still didn’t know if love was enough to survive him.
for a while neither of you spoke. you just stood there breathing the same air, foreheads pressed together, both pretending this wasn’t already doomed.
downstairs, the party kept going. people laughed. music shook the walls. somebody yelled drunkenly from outside near the pool. normal life continued while the two of you stood in the middle of something quietly catastrophic.
rafe’s hands stayed loose around your wrists. too loose. he was terrified you’d notice if he held on too tightly. “say something,” he whispered eventually.
and suddenly all you could think was: he’s never going to get better like this.
the realization hit so hard it made you feel sick.
because you loved him. god, you loved him. but love had started feeling like enabling a slow death. for both of you. your lips parted before your brain caught up. “i think i’m losing myself.”
the words barely made sound leaving your mouth but rafe heard them anyway. he always heard everything. his entire body went still while you watched panic creep slowly into his face. the kind that hollowed him out from the inside.
“what does that mean?” he asked carefully.
you started crying harder immediately because there wasn’t a way to explain it without hurting him. and hurting him felt unbearable even now.
“baby,” he whispered quickly, “hey, hey, don’t cry, just talk to me.”
you shook your head. he looked terrified. actually terrified. “please.”
your chest hurt so badly it felt impossible to breathe through it. “i don’t know who i am anymore,” you admitted shakily. “everything in my life revolves around whether you’re okay or not.”
his face crumpled instantly. “i never asked you to do that.”
“i know.”
“then don’t make that my fault.”
the defensiveness came automatically. reflex. you saw him hate himself for it immediately afterward. “fuck,” he whispered, letting go of your wrists completely. “i’m sorry.”
you wiped at your face roughly. “i’m tired all the time.”
rafe stared at you silently. “i jump every time my phone rings because i think something happened to you.” still silent. “and when you disappear, or get too high, or stop answering me, i feel like i’m gonna throw up until i know you’re alive.”
you could see it. see him trying not to fall apart right in front of you. “i know you don’t mean to,” you whispered. “but loving you feels like waiting for a disaster.”
that did it. you saw something inside him break. actually break. his eyes dropped immediately to the floor because he couldn’t look at you anymore. and when he spoke, his voice sounded small. small enough to ruin you.
“i told you not to stay.”
tears blurred your vision completely because he had. over and over. not directly but in all the ways that mattered. through every ruined night. every split knuckle. every terrifying outburst followed by shaking apologies.
he’d warned you the entire time. you just loved him more than your own judgment. “rafe…”
he backed away suddenly. like he physically couldn’t stand near you after hearing that. he laughed afterward, but it sounded awful. empty. “god.”
you’d never seen him look this destroyed before. not even after fights with ward. not after police reports or overdoses or nights where he came to you bleeding and furious and half-conscious.
this was worse. because this time you were the thing hurting him.
“i ruined you too,” he said quietly.
your heart stopped. “don’t say that.”
“it’s true.”
“rafe —”
“look at you.”
his eyes finally lifted back to yours. “you used to be happy.” the room tilted slightly because he sounded genuinely heartbroken about it. “you used to laugh at everything,” he whispered. “you used to sleep through the night.”
you couldn’t stop crying now. he noticed every detail. every change. every piece of damage. and somehow that made it infinitely worse. “i still love you,” you said helplessly.
his face twisted painfully. “i know.”
“then why does this feel so awful?”
he laughed softly through tears that finally started falling. you froze.
you had seen rafe angry. furious. violent. drunk. high. bleeding. screaming.
you had almost never seen him cry.
and somehow it looked more frightening than all the rest because he cried silently like he was ashamed of it. he turned away from you immediately, wiping hard at his face.
“please don't look at me right now. sseriously.” his voice broke again. “please don’t fucking look at me.”
you’d never heard him sound this shattered.
slowly, carefully, you walked toward him anyway. he didn’t move this time. didn’t pull away. didn’t stop you. you wrapped your arms around him from behind and felt him inhale sharply like he’d been stabbed.
for a second he stayed rigid. his hands grabbed your arms hard enough to tremble. his head dropped forward and you felt the exact moment he started crying for real.
trying not to make noise. your own tears came harder immediately. “i’m sorry,” he choked out.
you pressed your face against his back, shaking your head even though he couldn’t see it.
“i’m so fucking sorry.”
“stop.”
“i never wanted —”
you felt him trying to breathe through it and failing. “i tried so hard not to fuck this up.”
that sentence. that fucking sentence. because you knew he meant it. every awful broken piece of him had genuinely tried. he just didn’t know how to love without destruction attached to it. you tightened your arms around him instinctively and rafe made this horrible wounded sound in response. like comfort hurt now too.
“you should hate me,” he whispered.
“i don’t.”
“you should.”
he finally turned around in your arms then, and the sight of him nearly destroyed you. just a boy who had never been taught how to be loved correctly. his hands cupped your face desperately. “i would’ve done anything for you.”
your breath caught painfully. “i know.”
“no, you don’t understand.”
fresh tears spilled down his cheeks. “i would’ve burned my whole fucking life down if you asked me to.”
you started sobbing because he meant that too. that was the problem. his love had no survival instinct in it. it consumed, destroyed, devoured everything around it until there was nothing left. including himself.
“i don’t know how to save us,” you whispered.
the expression on his face after that was something you’d remember for the rest of your life because it wasn’t anger. wasn’t desperation, wasn’t even sadness anymore.
it was acceptance. the slow horrible realization that maybe there was no saving this. that maybe love alone had never actually been enough. his thumb brushed under your eye automatically, wiping tears that wouldn’t stop falling. “yeah,” he whispered brokenly. “i know.”
a week later, you stopped answering his calls. not all at once. that would’ve been easier. instead it happened slowly, painfully, in tiny cowardly pieces. you let the phone ring longer before picking up. you answered texts with shorter replies. you stopped sleeping at his house. stopped driving by figure eight automatically. stopped checking the news every morning in fear you’d see his name attached to something awful.
you tried to remember who you were before Rafe Cameron became the center of your nervous system. it felt like trying to remember a language you used to speak as a child. everything was quieter now. that should’ve felt good. instead it felt like withdrawal because your body had gotten used to chaos.
used to checking your phone every five minutes. used to decoding his moods through text punctuation and response times. used to the intensity of him. and without it, you felt strangely hollow which was humiliating.
you hated that part most.
the fact that even after everything, some pathetic ruined part of you still missed him constantly.you missed his hands. his stupid laugh when he was genuinely amused. the way he touched your waist absentmindedly in crowded rooms. the way he only ever slept properly with you there.
you missed being needed. that was the ugly truth underneath all of it. you missed how desperately he loved you. even if it was killing you. your phone buzzed again against your bedsheets. you stared at the screen without opening it.
rafe:just answer me once.
another message immediately after.
please.
your chest tightened painfully. you turned your phone face down instead. coward. coward coward coward because if you answered him, you knew exactly what would happen.
you’d hear his voice. hear how wrecked he sounded and fold instantly. you always folded for him. that night, sarah found you sitting on the beach alone.
Sarah Cameron slowed when she saw you, expression immediately shifting into concern. “hey.”
you wiped quickly at your face before she could see. too late. she sat beside you in the sand without asking. “you okay?”
you laughed softly. “obviously.”
sarah was quiet for a second. waves crashed somewhere in the dark. “he’s bad,” she said finally.
your stomach dropped instantly. “what happened?”
“nothing happened.” which somehow sounded worse.she hugged her knees to her chest, looking out toward the water. “he’s just…” she hesitated. “really bad.”
you stared at her. “define bad.”
she looked uncomfortable now. that terrified you immediately. “sarah.”
“he’s barely sleeping.”
your chest tightened. “okay.”
“and he got into some fight at the country club three nights ago.” you closed your eyes. of course he did. “and ward’s losing his mind because rafe keeps disappearing for hours.”
“sarah —”
“he asked me if i knew where you were yesterday.”
your heartbeat stumbled.
“what did you say?”
“nothing.”
silence stretched.
then quietly:
“he looked awful.”
you swallowed hard. don’t do this. don’t go back. don’t go back just because he’s hurting. but your brain had never mattered much where rafe was concerned. your body already knew the route to his house by memory.
sarah looked at you carefully. “did something happen between you guys?”
you laughed again. this one sounded closer to breaking. “something’s always happening with us.”
she didn’t smile. “he loves you, you know.”
the words hit like bruises now instead of comfort.“i know.”
“i’ve never seen him like this over anyone.”
you looked away toward the ocean because suddenly you felt sick again. “that’s kind of the problem.”
sarah went quiet after that because she understood. more than anybody else probably. she’d grown up inside the same house as him.
she knew what loving a cameron could cost somebody.
that night you dreamed about him. of course you did. in the dream he was standing in the ocean fully clothed, staring at you from far away.
not angry. not yelling just looking tired. waves crashed harder and harder against him, but he never moved. and somehow you knew — with dream logic certainty — that if you walked away, he’d let himself drown.
you woke up crying. your phone lit up beside you immediately.
3:14 a.m.
one voicemail from him. your hands shook before you even pressed play. for a second there was only silence then breathing.
“hey.”
his voice sounded wrecked, raspy like he hadn’t slept. you squeezed your eyes shut immediately.
silence again. you could hear wind in the background. maybe outside. maybe driving.
“i just wanted to hear your voice tonight.”
your throat tightened painfully. another pause then quieter: “something happened today and you were the first person i wanted to call.” your chest physically hurt now. “but i couldn’t.”
his breathing cracked slightly. “that’s probably good for you.”
you pressed your hand over your mouth hard. “i’m trying really hard not to come see you.”
the tears started immediately because he sounded honest.
“and i don’t know if you understand how hard that is for me.”
you could hear him swallow. hear the slight shake in his breathing.
“i keep reaching for my phone before i remember.”
another silence so long this time that you almost thought the voicemail ended. then:
“i miss you so bad it feels embarrassing.”
your entire body folded inward around the pain of it.
“i know you said you’re losing yourself,” he whispered. “and i swear to god i’m trying to let you go because maybe that’s what’s best for you.”
his voice broke completely there. you started crying harder.
“but i don’t know how to do that.”
the wind crackled sharply through the speaker. then very softly: “i don’t know how to exist in a world where i can’t reach you anymore.”
the voicemail ended.
you stared at the screen for a long time afterward then finally looked at the call button. your thumb hovered over it.
one press. that’s all it would take and every wall you’d spent the past week trying to build would collapse instantly.
you knew that. you knew it with horrifying certainty. your thumb shook harder. then your phone buzzed suddenly before you could decide.
incoming call.
rafe. 3:27 a.m.
your breath caught. he was calling again. probably because he knew you listened to the voicemail. you stared at the screen while your heartbeat hammered painfully against your ribs.
ringing.
ringing.
ringing.
without fully meaning to you answered. silence. you could hear him breathing immediately. sharp inhale on the other end like he couldn’t believe it actually worked.
neither of you spoke.
then finally, in a voice so small it barely sounded like him at all: “hi, baby.”
the second you heard his voice, every carefully constructed thought in your head collapsed. all week you’d been trying to turn him into something survivable.
a lesson. a phase. a relationship that hurt too much and therefore had to end. but then he said hi, baby in that exhausted wrecked voice, and suddenly he was just rafe again.
your rafe. the one who fell asleep with his hand wrapped in your shirt like you might disappear overnight. the one who got mean when he was scared. the one who loved you so intensely it felt radioactive.
you covered your mouth hard to stop the sound that almost came out of you. on the other end of the line, his breathing shook. “you answered.”
you squeezed your eyes shut. “i shouldn’t have.”
“probably not.”
god. even now. even now he sounded sadder about ruining you than losing you. silence stretched between you. you could hear tires against pavement. he was driving. immediate panic hit your chest.“where are you?”
a pause. “nowhere.”
“rafe.”
another pause. “outside your house.”
your entire body went cold. you sat upright instantly, heart hammering. “what?”
“i’m not doing anything,” he said quickly, hearing the fear immediately. “i swear. i just—” his voice cracked. “i just wanted to be close to you for a minute.”
you looked toward your bedroom window automatically even though the curtains were closed.
suddenly you could picture it perfectly. his truck parked somewhere down your street. hands gripping the steering wheel. eyes exhausted and bloodshot. waiting not because he wanted to scare you because he genuinely didn’t know where else to put all this love.
your chest hurt so violently it felt impossible to breathe through it. “how long have you been there?”
“like an hour.”
“rafe —”
“i know.” you heard him laugh softly at himself. “i know it’s fucked up.”
tears burned instantly behind your eyes again. “why didn’t you call?”
“because i said i was trying to leave you alone.”
the silence afterward nearly killed you because that was the tragedy of him.
he was trying. in all the wrong ways, maybe, but he was trying so hard it was tearing him apart.
“i hate this,” you whispered.
you heard his breathing hitch sharply through the phone. “yeah,” he whispered back. “me too.”
another silence then suddenly: “can i see you?”
your heart twisted so hard it felt dangerous “rafe…”
“just for five minutes.”
“it’s three in the morning.”
“i know.” his voice sounded thin now. fraying at the edges. “please.”
that word again. please. rafe never begged anybody for anything except you.
you pressed the heel of your hand hard against your eyes. “you can’t keep doing this.”
“i know.”
“showing up outside my house —”
“i know.”
“calling me crying at three a.m.—”
“i know.” each answer quieter than the last. “i just don’t know how to stop.”
there it was. the truth. raw and ugly and impossible to fix. you started crying silently againbecause he sounded genuinely ashamed.
“talk to me,” he whispered immediately when he heard your breathing change.
you couldn’t. your throat hurt too badly on the other end, you heard him exhale shakily. “are you crying?”
you laughed once through tears. “what do you think?”
his silence said everything. you imagined him gripping the wheel tighter. head tipped back against the seat. eyes shut trying not to come apart. “don’t cry because of me,” he said softly.
the sentence hit so wrong it almost made you angry. “everything is because of you.”
he inhaled sharply and you regretted it immediately.
“no, it’s okay.” that awful calm voice again. “you’re right.”
“that’s not what i meant.”
“yeah, it is.”
you could hear the self-hatred bleeding through him now slowly poisoning everything. “i keep thinking about what you said.”
your stomach dropped. “what part?”
“that you’re losing yourself.” his voice sounded far away suddenl like he was speaking from somewhere underwater. “i can’t stop hearing it.”
you pressed your hand harder over your mouth.
“you know what’s fucked up?” he whispered. you stayed silent. “i think i knew already.”
fresh tears slipped down your face. “rafe…”
“i saw it happening.”
his breathing cracked slightly.
“every time you looked tired. every time you flinched at loud noises. every time you checked your phone too fast because you thought i got arrested or overdosed or wrapped my truck around a tree.”
you squeezed your eyes shut harder because all of it was true. every word.
“and i kept loving you anyway.” his voice finally broke completely there. “i loved you more every time you stayed.”
your chest caved inward because that was the sickness of it. your suffering had become proof of love to him. how could it not have? nobody had ever stayed before. not really. not after seeing the ugliest parts.
except you.
you stayed through every shattered thing and somewhere along the way, rafe started measuring love by endurance by who could survive him longest. “i’m sorry,” he whispered suddenly.
not loud. just devastated. “i’m so fucking sorry for what loving me turned you into.”
you started sobbing hard enough it hurt and on the other end of the line, you heard him make this horrible broken sound in response like hearing you cry physically injured him.
“baby,” he choked out immediately. “baby, please—”
“i miss you,” you admitted suddenly.
the confession ripped out of you before you could stop it. silence. dead silence.
“don’t say that if you don’t mean it.” his voice sounded terrified. actually terrified.
“i mean it.”
you heard him inhale shakily hope itself hurt. “i miss you every second,” you whispered. “it feels like there’s something under my skin all the time.”
a quiet wrecked laugh escaped him. “yeah.”
“and i hate you for making me like this.”
another silence then very softly: “i know.”
you looked toward the window again. your entire body aching with the urge to run outside and climb into his lap and let him hold you until morning.
which was exactly why you shouldn’t because loving him had started feeling less like a relationship and more like a mutual suicide pact.
emotionally first. everything else later.
“can i ask you something?” he said quietly.
“okay.”
you heard him swallow. “if i was different…”
your heart immediately started breaking all over again. “rafe—”
“just answer me.”
his voice trembled slightly. “if i was better… would this still have worked?”
tears slipped silently down your face.
because underneath all the anger and obsession and destruction, that was the real thing haunting him.
not does she love me. he knew you did. the real question was: would she have survived loving me if i’d been someone else?
you stared blindly into the dark of your bedroom then whispered the worst possible truth. “i think i would’ve loved you forever.”
you heard him stop breathing. completely. for one terrible second neither of you moved or spoke and then on the other end of the line, very quietly — like the sound was dragged out of him against his will — you heard rafe start crying.
you had never heard him cry like that before. not the quiet tears from the party.
not the angry frustrated choking-back-emotion thing he usually did. this was different. this sounded helpless like something inside him had finally given out.
you sat frozen in your bed listening to him try and fail to breathe normally on the other end of the phone, and it felt like somebody was reaching into your chest with bare hands.
“rafe…”
he laughed weakly through it, humiliated already. “sorry.”
that almost destroyed you more than the crying itself because even now, falling apart felt embarrassing to him.
“don’t apologize.”
“can’t really help it.”
his voice sounded wrecked beyond repair. you could picture him perfectly now without even looking outside. head bent forward over the steering wheel.
eyes squeezed shut.
trying desperately to pull himself back together before you heard too much.you realized suddenly that nobody had probably ever held him through this before.
through grief. through fear. through shame. people only ever dealt with rafe in extremes — anger, violence, ego, recklessness. nobody stayed long enough to witness what happened after.
the collapse and somehow that made your love feel unbearably sad.
“i didn’t mean to cry,” he admitted quietly.
your eyes burned again. “you don’t have to sound guilty about it.”
“yeah, well.” a shaky exhale. “kinda hard not to.”
“are you alone?” you asked finally.
“yeah.”
“have you been drinking?” a pause. “a little.”
your stomach tightened. “how much is a little?”
another pause. “enough.”
you shut your eyes hard. of course. you heard him shift around in the truck. “don’t do that.”
“do what?”
“go quiet like you’re disappointed in me.”
your throat tightened painfully. “i’m not disappointed.”
“then what?”
you didn’t answer immediately because the truth was exhausting. you were scare all the time. scared he’d die. scared he’d hurt somebody. scared he’d destroy himself slowly while you stood there loving him helplessly. scared that one day the phone would ring and this entire nightmare relationship would suddenly become irreversible.
“i’m tired,” you whispered finally.
he went silent after that; you could hear the engine idling softly in the background. then “yeah.”
just that. yeah like he understood exactly what kind of tired you meant. not sleepy: soul tired. the kind that settled into your bones after loving someone too destructively for too long.
you wiped at your face roughly. “you should go home.”
he laughed softly. “you know that’s the last place i wanna be.”
“rafe.”
“i know.”
you heard him sniff once quietly. trying to recover. trying to sound like himself again. it hurt worse somehow.
“do you remember that night on the boat?” he asked suddenly.
your heart twisted immediately. of course you remembered.
it had been late august, storm coming in. the two of you alone off the marsh because he’d shown up at your house bleeding from the mouth after another fight with ward.
you’d cleaned his face up in silence while he stared at you like he was dying.
later, the storm got worse. rain hitting the boat roof hard enough to sound violent. and rafe — half-drunk, exhausted, eyes soft in that dangerous vulnerable way — had suddenly asked:
do you ever think maybe we met at the wrong time?
you hadn’t answered then either because what could you even say to that?
“yeah,” you whispered.
he was quiet for a long moment. then: “i think about that night all the time.”
your chest ached. “why?”
another pause.
“because that was the first time i realized loving you felt good and horrible at the same time.”
tears slipped down your face silently. “rafe…”
“i remember looking at you and thinking…” his voice cracked slightly. “thinking that if i touched you enough maybe i’d stop feeling so fucking empty all the time.”
you covered your mouth hard because that was the tragedy of him in one sentence.
he didn’t love gently. he loved like starving and eventually starving people consumed everything around them, including themselves to satisfy her hunger.
“you know what the worst part is?” he whispered.
you couldn’t answer. “sometimes it worked.”
you started crying again immediately because you knew exactly what he meant.
there were moments.
moments where lying beside him felt so intimate and raw and devastatingly human that it almost convinced you this could survive.
late nights tangled together while he talked quietly about things he never told anyone else.
his sleepy hand finding yours automatically under blankets.
the rare genuine smiles. the way he looked at you like the world got quieter when you walked into it.
those moments ruined you because they made leaving impossible.
“i loved those parts of you,” you whispered.
you heard him inhale shakily. “which parts?”
“the soft ones.”
silence then a broken laugh. “there’s not enough of those to save this.”
you cried harder because he sounded certain now. certain in a way that terrified you. “don’t say that.”
“why not?”
his voice stayed painfully calm. “you already know it.”
you couldn’t breathe correctly anymore. your entire chest felt crushed under the weight of this conversation.
“i think…” he stopped. started again quieter. “i think i loved you so much i stopped seeing you as a person.”
your heartbeat stuttered. “what?”
he swallowed audibly. “you became…” another shaky breath. “everything.” the word hung horribly between you but you continued. “my mood depended on you. whether i slept depended on you. whether i felt okay for five fucking minutes depended on you.”
he laughed weakly at himself. “that’s not love, is it?”
you shut your eyes tightly because part of it was love. that was what made this so awful. buried underneath all the obsession and fear and dependency was real genuine love. which meant neither of you got to dismiss this as fake. it would’ve been easier if it was fake.
“i don’t know,” you whispered honestly.
he was quiet for a long time after that. then finally: “i think i ruined the best thing that ever happened to me.”
your chest physically hurt. “you were the best thing that ever happened to me too.”
the second the words left your mouth, you heard him break all over again. a sharp inhale, similar to one of a kicked puppy.
“don’t.”
“it’s true.”
“please don’t say shit like that right now.” his voice trembled violently.
“why?”
because maybe if you hadn’t loved him back so deeply, this would’ve been easier. because maybe mutual destruction hurt worse than one-sided heartbreak. because maybe hearing that he mattered this much to you was the final thing pushing him toward collapse.
you heard movement suddenly. a car door opening.your stomach dropped instantly.
“rafe?”
“i just need air.”
“where are you going?”
“nowhere.”
panic crept sharply up your spine. “are you driving?” silence. “rafe.”
“i can’t sit here anymore.”
your pulse hammered. “you’ve been drinking.”
“i’m fine.”
“don’t lie to me.”
he breathed shakily into the phone. “i just…” his voice cracked apart again. “i just wanna see you so bad.”
you started crying harder immediately.
because he sounded desperate, so unbearably desperate.
“please,” he whispered suddenly. “please just let me see you for five minutes.”
you looked toward your bedroom door. toward the window. toward the version of your life that existed before him and then toward the one that existed now.
the terrifying thing was that you already knew which one you were about to choose.
c/w .𖥔 ݁ ˖ swearing, pet names, edging + denial, pussy slapping, fingering + oral (fem. receiving), brief unprotected p in v, light degradation, possessiveness, dom!rafe, crying, overstim., consensual + down bad rafe
2,604 words
𝓋𝒾𝒹𝑒𝑜 𝒷𝑒𝓁𝑜𝓌…
“Hey, pretty.” His thumb brushes your cheek, the other clutching a bouquet of flowers.
“You got me flowers?” You smile, leaning into his touch a little as his eyes fall to your lips.
“‘Course I did.” His hand drops, not going far, fingers lacing through yours.
He looks down at your hand in his, the corner of his mouth curling into a smile when he sees your nails.
“New?” He asks, glancing up at you briefly before looking back down. He hums softly before you can answer, like he already knows. “Yeah, I like these.”
He keeps your hand and lifts it, guiding you into a slow turn under his finger, his eyes moving over you, taking in the outfit you put on for him.
“Yeah,” he murmurs, softer now. “That’s my girl.”
You tug him further into the house, a breathy laugh slipping out of you when he follows without hesitation, letting you lead him like he wasn’t already planning to.
The door shuts behind him with a quiet click. His hands settle at your waist, pulling you closer. His nose brushes along your neck, lips ghosting against you, kissing wherever they land with a soft press.
“Fuck me… that the perfume I got you, sweetheart?” He asks, his voice vibrating against your skin as he breathes it in.
You tilt your head back with a smile, giving him more access, a soft confirmation slipping from your lips.
“Knew it,” he hums, pleased with himself.
Your sundress shifts as you press your chest to his, skimming higher on the back of your thighs. He smiles into your skin as he takes advantage of it—his rough hands sliding to grip your ass, lifting you off your feet. You let out a surprised laugh, arms coming up around his shoulders, guiding him closer.
“Miss me?” He murmurs against your neck, not waiting for an answer.
“Maybe,” you tease, breath catching when he bites down lightly.
“Yeah?” He huffs, amused, tightening his grip just enough. “Couldn’t tell.”
“Did you have fun?” You ask, moving close enough that your mouth brushes his when you speak.
“Sure,” he answers with the dry wit of a man who would rather be where he is right now. Then he’s right back on you, his mouth dragging from your lips to your jaw, down to your neck.
“Rafe,” you giggle softly, fingers sliding into his hair, tugging just enough that he groans for more.
“I did,” he adds, quieter, his voice already a little breathless. “Until you told me to come over… didn’t wanna be anywhere else.”
“Sorry, baby.”
“Sure,” he echoes with the same bite. “Started playin’ like shit,” he mutters, the words half lost against your lips. “Couldn’t focus. Kept thinkin’ about you.”
“I should’ve waited.”
“Stop,” he chuckles, like that’s even an option. “Still beat ’em.”
“Of course you did.”
“Stop feedin’ my ego,” he mutters. “Got you in my arms… don’t need help.”
“Please,” you breathe, cheeks burning from the compliment, smiling as Rafe’s lips drag along your neck, sucking at the soft skin, his teeth sinking in with that playful possessiveness you love.
“Made some cash,” he adds. “Gonna take you out later.”
“Yeah?”
“That place you like. Drinks, dinner… we’ll get that dessert you like.” His mouth drags back up your throat. “Do this again after.”
Your back hits the bed with a bounce, and he follows you down a second later, settling onto his knees.
Your fingers drift to the hem of your dress, lifting it slowly, a quiet laugh slipping out of him when you do something he likes.
“Atta girl,” he mutters under his breath.
His hat is gone the next second, flicked off without a thought, his shirt following right after—pulled over his head and tossed aside.
He runs his hands through his hair, pushing it back, and you don’t even try to hide the way you’re looking at him.
“You’re staring,” he points out, a little amused, like he wants you to.
Your hands slide over his chest slowly, feeling the heat of his skin, the way his muscles flex under your touch.
“Can you blame me?” You murmur.
The sound of his belt loosening cuts in, and he lets out a quiet breath, snapping it through the loops. His hands come down to your thighs, warm and steady as he presses them into the bed, pinning you beneath him.
“Look at you,” he says as his thumb drags along the crease between your skin and your panties.
He leans over you without breaking eye contact, one hand braced beside your head as he dips down, catching your lips again.
“All dressed up for me…” He murmurs quietly.
You let out a soft sigh against his mouth, your hands coming up to his shoulders, feeling the tension there.
His mouth drags lower, from your neck down to your chest, before he lifts the lace cups of your bra just enough to knead your flesh, his mouth sucking down on the other while his body grinds into the mattress, keeping pace with each swirl of his tongue.
He releases your nipple with a pop, kissing down your stomach, his breathing hot against your skin, heat building with each touch.
Your fingers slide into his hair, raking through his bangs, guiding him lower until his mouth reaches your hip. He pauses there, lips brushing, goosebumps spreading across your skin.
His grip firms, thumbs pressing into your skin as he leans in closer, his breath warm where it hits, his gaze still locked on yours.
“Rafe, please.”
“Yeah… yeah,” he murmurs teasingly, his voice rougher now. “Fuckin’ desperate, huh? I can tell.”
His hands adjust on you, keeping you right where he wants you as he leans in again, slower this time, more deliberate.
“Easy… Stay put,” he mutters, low and steady, thumbing over your clothed clit, making your hips buck, your lip caught between your teeth as you try to stay still. “You don’t think I know what my girl wants?”
His hand leaves your thigh for a second, sliding up your body, big and warm as it catches the fabric of your dress and pushes it higher.
“Show off, baby. C’mon now,” he murmurs like he’s starving for it, watching from between your thighs as you lift your bra completely. “So fucking beautiful. Oh my god,” he moans against you, making your back arch.
His tongue retraces the same path, gliding up your inner thigh along the lace, licking just beneath it before he catches the fabric between his teeth, tugging your panties to the side.
You shiver as your wetness hits the breeze of the ceiling fan above, your thighs drawing in, squeezing his broad shoulders between them. Looking up into his blue eyes, you spread your legs—Rafe kissing your clit like a thank you, groaning into you before he drags a line up your slit.
“Fuckin’ soaked,” he murmurs, more to himself than you. “Didn’t even make me work for it.”
His arms slide under your thighs, biceps flexing as he pulls you closer, diving in. Your fingers tug at his hair again, your other hand twisting in the sheets, gasping as his finger presses into your entrance, your body tightening around it as it curls and thrusts.
He leans into it, his mouth just far enough away that you’re left reaching and trembling—too much pleasure building to move, to let it fade. His chuckle is low, close enough to make your head spin.
“Yeah?” He huffs.
Your head falls back as it keeps building, so close to the edge you can feel yourself about to break.
“Eyes on me, baby. C’mon,” he murmurs against your sex.
You lift your head again, eyes locked, lips parted. “Fuck, Rafe. I’m gonna cum.”
“That so?” He asks.
You nod immediately, heavy-eyed as you fight to keep them open. “Yes. Yes—” Your body jolts at the loss, a sharp breath punching out of your chest as your hips stutter.
“Yes. Yes. Oh fuck, Rafe,” he mocks, mimicking your breathless tone—just nasal enough to make it sting, his eyes rolling away in annoyance.
“Baby?” You breathe, half disbelief, half frustration hitting all at once. “What—what the hell? Fuck!” The word breaks from your lips as his hand comes down sharp, slapping your pussy, making your eyes well with tears from the shock alone.
His head tilts as he looks back at you, pouting his lip to match yours.
“What’s wrong?” Your voice comes out pathetically small.
“Wrong?” He asks, like the word doesn’t make sense to him. “Nothing’s wrong.” His eyes drop to where his hand is, watching the way you react—how you still follow his touch.
“What,” he adds, crueler now. “You were countin’ on something?” Your stomach twists at the tone, the pleasure that had been building, gone now. “Or someone?”
“I—yeah?”
He hums, playing with you shamelessly, fingers slipping through the wet mess he made.
“U n r e l i a b l e…” He breathes, like he’s thinking out loud more than talking to you, drawing every letter of the word over your clit with his rough finger.
“I don’t know what—what’s going on?” Your words clip off in a gasp as he thrusts his digits in and out, in and out, then stopping—leaving you rocking your pussy into his palm, chasing something he still isn’t giving you.
“Y’know what pissed me off the most?” He asks, his eyes dragging over you slowly, his fingers still moving like he’s still deciding your fate. “It’s not even that you said it… it’s that somebody out there might’ve believed you.”
“Believe what?” You whisper.
His hand slows again—not stopping, just playing, keeping you waiting—just enough to pull you back before you can settle into the feeling of it.
“You tell me,” he says, glancing up at you like the issue’s obvious. But it’s not.
He lets out a low, sharp laugh under his breath, shaking his head in frustration. “You even know what ‘no’ means?” He asks.
You blink up at him, confused, your brows pulling together as your lips part to answer, but nothing really comes out.
He watches that happen in real time, something in his expression shifting when you don’t have an answer.
“Yeah,” he mutters. “Didn’t think so.”
“Just tell me, Rafe…”
He exhales through his nose, leaning in closer.
“You know how embarrassing that was today?” He says, quieter this time, like he’s replaying it in his head. “My boys saw that TikTok shit and thought I don’t take care of my girl.”
He looks you over as he says it, slow and pointed, like he’s making sure you feel the ridiculousness of those words.
“Me?” He adds, a disbelieving edge slipping in. “You fuckin’ kidding me?”
“Rafe, I can explain—”
“I mean, look at you, huh?” He murmurs, lifting his fingers, sucking off the wet. “You’re a mess.”
“I didn’t mean it like that,” you say breathlessly, still a little unsure. He just scoffs, muttering your words under his breath. “I was just trying to be funny,” you whimper, soft and a little desperate.
“Funny,” he repeats, his hand resting on the bed beside your head as he lowers himself closer.
“It was silly,” you whisper.
“Tryin’ to be relatable, huh?” He asks, his thumb pressing against your clit, rolling slow. Your brows pull together as he keeps you right on the edge. “Had people lookin’ at you different today,” he mutters. “That’s not how this works with me.”
“I know, baby. I—”
“You really thought I was gonna laugh that shit off?” He laughs, dark and demeaning. “C’mon, baby. You know me better than that… I don’t do halfway,” he mutters. “Not with you. Never have.”
Your eyes roll back in your head, the pressure building between your thighs, your heart racing in your chest.
“I don’t want any girl lookin’ at you,” he says, quieter now, “and thinkin’ they’ve got a man who takes care of them like I take care of you. I don’t want them to think you’re relatin’ to that bullshit, understand?” He asks, slowing his hand just enough to keep you right there—a fat tear rolling warm and heavy down your cheek, landing on your silk pillow.
“You mean so much more to me than that,” you whimper.
“Yeah?” He asks, dipping in to kiss your lips. “Sayin’ you couldn’t rely on me… like I’m not gonna have you like this ten minutes after I walk through the fuckin’ door if I wanted to. Lucky for you I still do—”
“Please,” you whimper as your thighs shake uncontrollably.
He leans in closer, his forehead brushing yours for a second, his tone steady when he speaks again. “Delete that,” he says quietly. “Then we’ll talk.”
“Oh—okay, of course,” the words stutter out of you in a rush, breathless and weak, your hand patting blindly against the bed until you find your phone, fingers fumbling as you lift it between you.
The device trembles in your hand, hitting every button but TikTok, struggling to get from your fyp to your main page. A sharp huff of a laugh leaves him as his eyes drop to your hand, then back to your eyes, something dark and amused flickering there.
“Fuck, baby,” he murmurs, watching you struggle with a simple task. “Who’s got you shakin’ like that, huh?”
“It’s gone,” you say quickly, completely breathless, almost dropping it as you flip it around to show him. “See? I deleted it.”
He takes the phone from your hand, glances at it for half a second, then drops it back onto the mattress, his attention already back on you.
“No more bullshit. You understand me?”
“I’m sorry, baby,” you whisper, nodding immediately as your vision goes hazy, blinking the tears from your eyes as you look up at him.
“Don’t do that shit again.”
“I won’t,” you say quickly. “I promise.”
“You’re a fucking brat sometimes,” he mutters, the tempo of his hand speeding up as your orgasm comes within reach. “My brat.”
“You’re so good to me… I’m sorry.”
His thumb brushes your jaw, tilting your face back toward him. “Better,” he says, almost amused. “See? You learn fast.”
Your eyes pinch shut, your back arching off the mattress, hands wrapping around his body, digging into the broad planes of his back as your body releases.
Your pussy flutters around his fingers as he pounds his hand into you, palm slapping against your clit again and again, until you’re pushing him away from the overstimulation—but he’s having none of that, lowering himself between your thighs to work you with his tongue as well.
He circles your clit, groaning against your heat with each breath of praise that slips from your lips.
“You’re gonna make it up to me,” he breathes against your pussy, spreading your lips apart, your panties stretched at the seams from being yanked. “I’m gonna take care of you like I always fucking do. You’re gonna be screaming my name over and over… I promise you that. You can see how reliable I am then.”
“You always take care of me,” you whisper, pulling down your panties, tearing your dress over your head. He shoves his pants down his thighs, quickly pressing your thigh to your chest, tapping his tip against your pussy.
He traces lower, lips parting when he feels you start to stretch around him.
“C’mon, baby… remind me. Who takes care of you.”
“Rafe Cameron,” his name falls from your lips in a moan, his lips swallowing the sound as he presses his body tight to yours.
Toxic!Dad!Rafe is so protective, and although he is toxic no-one's allowed to talk shit about his girl- (except for him obviously but thats different duh)
The sun is out, the country club buzzing with chatter and the occasional thwack of a golf club striking a ball. Y/N is settled in a shaded area, her baby girl sitting in the grass, her tiny hands grabbing at the white golf balls, rolling them back and forth as she giggles at the way they wobble on the lawn. Rafe is standing a few feet away, talking with Topper, Kelce, and some other guys Y/N doesn’t really know. Some trust fund babies, probably. The type who think their daddy’s money makes them invincible. She doesn’t care to know because right now, her attention is on their daughter, the way she beams when Rafe glances over at her, proudly showing him her new 'toys.'
“Yeah princess, you got ‘em.”
His voice is soft when he talks to her, completely different from the cocky, arrogant way he speaks to everyone else. Y/N watches with a smile as he grins, winking at their little girl which makes her giggle, before he's going back to his conversation. She’s just about to pull out her phone and snap a picture when she hears one of the guys laugh. A little too loud, a little too amused.
“Guess it worked out for her, huh?”
It’s casual, muttered between swigs of beer to the other new guys, but it makes her stomach drop.
“Got kicked to the curb by her family—”
Her heart rises to her throat.
“—but hey, at least she had Cameron to knock her up. Now she’s set for life, right?”
Silence.
The kind that makes the hairs on the back of Y/N’s neck stand up, she knows exactly what’s about to happen. She watches the way Rafe's shoulders stiffen, the muscle in his jaw ticks, his grip on his beer tightening like he’s two seconds away from crushing the glass.
“What the fuck did you just say?”
His voice drops slow and controlled but lethal. The guy, oblivious or maybe just plain fucking stupid, grins and shrugs.
“Chill, man. I just meant- ”
Wrong move.
Y/N is already standing, her heart in her throat. She doesn’t give a fuck about the comment itself— it’s Rafe she’s worried about. Rafe, who’s already moving. He steps forward, beer bottle still in hand, shoulders squared.
“Nah, go ahead. Say it again.”
He challenges the guy who now shifts on his feet chuckling, but there’s an edge of nervousness evident in his actions.
“Jesus man, it was a joke.”
“Oh yeah? Not fuckin’ funny.”
Rafe’s jaw clenches at his petty excuse. Y/N barely has time to react before he shoves the guy back.
Hard.
Not enough to knock him down- but enough to make a statement. Enough to make everyone around them go silent. His fist tighten by his sides and Kelce mutters something under his breath looking over to Topper who sighs, shaking his head.
“Don’t fuckin' talk about her like that.”
His voice is deadly, protective, and it makes Y/N’s breath catch. Her throat is tight, her skin burning. Not because of what the guy said- but because he wasn’t entirely wrong. She’s heard it before.
Lucky to have Rafe.
Lucky to have their daughter.
Lucky because otherwise she’d have nothing.
She swallows hard, blinking fast but Rafe sees red and he shoves the guy again, harder this time. Kelce lets out a low whistle and Topper rubs a hand down his face. Y/N moves quickly, stepping between the two guys, one hand pressing against Rafe’s chest. She can feel how hard his heart is pounding, how tense his muscles are, like he’s just waiting for an excuse to swing.
“Rafe, stop.”
He doesn’t move. Just stares the guy down, nostrils flaring as he opens his mouth again to say something but is cut off- a tiny giggle.
Y/N whips around at the sound.
Their daughter is still sitting in the grass, completely oblivious to the tension, laughing as she claps her hands, watching her daddy like she thinks this is just another game. It’s enough to make Y/N’s stomach drop. Rafe must notice it too, because his shoulders drop slightly. He doesn’t turn away from the guy, but he exhales sharply through his nose.
“You’re fuckin’ lucky I have my kid with me.”
The guy doesn’t say anything. Just nods before stumbling back, shoving his hands into his pockets. Rafe rolls his eyes at him, shaking out his shoulders. Y/N stares at him, momentarily unsure of what to say as she watches the guys walk away.
“You can’t keep doing this.”
He scoffs.
“Yeah? What, I’m just supposed to let him run his mouth?”
“You have your daughter with you, Rafe.”
That’s what matters. That’s what she cares about. Rafe’s gaze flickers to their baby girl, still sitting on the grass, still smiling at him and something softens in his expression. He shakes his head, muttering something under his breath before bending down and scooping her up.
“C’mon, princess. Let’s go home.”
Y/N doesn’t argue. Just lets him lift their daughter into his arms as he adjusts her small white hat, her tiny hand clutching onto his shirt. She watches him as they walk towards the car, feeling exhausted but knowing one thing for certain:
Rafe Cameron will never let anyone disrespect his family.
