teach please me — tutor!reader x soccer player!rafe - reader's life is meticulously planned, from high school to becoming president of the country—she knows exactly where she's headed and every step to get there. but her airtight plan hits a snag when the principal ropes her into tutoring rafe cameron, the school’s star soccer player, who’s failing algebra and at risk of being benched next season. the team needs him on the field, and reader needs the principal’s glowing recommendation to secure her spot at her dream school. balancing her ambitious goals with rafe’s chaotic charm might just throw her perfectly crafted plan off track.
୨୧ chapter one ୨୧ chapter two ୨୧ chapter three ୨୧ chapter four ୨୧ chapter five ୨୧ chapter six ୨୧ chapter seven ୨୧ chapter eight ୨୧ chapter nine ୨୧ chapter ten ୨୧ chapter eleven ୨୧ chapter twelve ୨୧ chapter thirteen ୨୧ chapter fourteen ୨୧ chapter fifteen ୨୧ chapter sixteen ୨୧ chapter seventeen ୨୧ chapter eighteen ୨୧ chapter nineteen ୨୧ chapter twenty ୨୧
the epilogue
chapter one ୨୧ chapter two ୨୧ chapter three ୨୧ chapter four ୨୧ chapter five ୨୧
the 18+ folder
୨୧ school work is taking you out and rafe helps you destress.
୨୧ you get jealous and rafe shows you you don’t need to be. ୨୧ you and rafe need to study the next algebra chapter but he has different plans.
teach please me — tutor!reader x soccer player!rafe
reader's life is meticulously planned, from high school to becoming president of the country—she knows exactly where she's headed and every step to get there. but her airtight plan hits a snag when the principal ropes her into tutoring rafe cameron, the school’s star soccer player, who’s failing algebra and at risk of being benched next season. the team needs him on the field, and reader needs the principal’s glowing recommendation to secure her spot at her dream school. balancing her ambitious goals with rafe’s chaotic charm might just throw her perfectly crafted plan off track.
word count — 1.8
chapter index — next chap.
masterlist
one
thursday, january 9th
go where the wind takes me. it’s a phrase you’d heard countless times over the years. it eased people, gave them perspective, helped them loosen up. but you? no, it did the opposite. it made you do what you did best—research. what kind of research? the top 100 most successful people and whether they’d ever "gone with the wind." the answer was no. not a single one. going with the wind doesn’t make anyone successful. it leads to dead ends, wrong turns, wasted time—and time was the one thing no one could afford to squander.
the importance of planning everything as meticulously as possible was something that you'd ingrained in your mind at a young age and it had led you exactly where you were. it was the foundation of everything you’d achieved: top of your class, surrounded by like-minded peers, ready for a prestigious summer program, and just a year away from the university of your dreams. everything you’d worked for was at your fingertips. nothing could get in your way now.
"hi, sandy," you greeted the office secretary who watched you struggling to balance a precarious stack of papers in your arms.
"good morning, sweetheart. need help with that?" sandy asked with a warm smile.
"nope, i’ve got it," you replied, setting the stack on the counter with a satisfying thud. carefully, you aligned the papers before placing your palms on top to steady them.
"these are the documents for the student body audit next week. i printed an extra copy for principal oakley, complete with annotations, just in case there’s any confusion."
"always so thorough," sandy remarked with a grin. the compliment made your entire week.
"ah, just who i needed to see." a familiar voice sounded behind you and you twirled around to see principal oakley walking into the office. "oh, good morning, principal oakley." you said, your tone as polished as ever. you barely glanced at the boy trailing behind him before falling into step with the principal.
and yes, following him into his office was a tad unconventional but someone with as much determination and drive as you rarely let things like "innaproriate behaviour" get in your way.
"you are just who i wanted to see too. i know the holidays just ended but i did want to just follow up on my recommendation letter which you'd think about writing, remember?" you fixed your bag on your shoulder as principal oakley sat at his desk and briefly glanced behind you.
"y/n—" the principal tried to interrupt.
you didn't stop talking. "and i know you don't write recommendation letters for your students to keep things fair and whatnot but i—" principal oakley tried to interrupt again but didn't have the chance before you continued rattling. "—hope you reconsidered because i just know that having your letter under my belt will make me stand out to the admissions board and who am i if not representation for our fine school?"
principal oakley cleared his throat and this time you noticed the brief glance behind you. you slowly followed his gaze to see rafe cameron leaning against the doorframe.
your mental file on him loaded instantly: soccer player, tall, messy, and in your opinion, a bit… ran through. still contemporary philosophy like utilitarianism says the morality of having multiple partners depends on whether it increases overall happiness and minimizes harm so you were in no position to shame anyone just trying to increase their own happiness. you suppose.
"oh, was this a bad time?" you asked sheepishly, stepping aside.
"not at all," the principal replied. "in fact, this concerns you as well. please, have a seat—and refrain from going into rants until i'm finished speaking." principal oakley says.
frowning in confusion, you complied. sitting beside rafe, you tried to mask your unease. what could he have to discuss with both you and rafe cameron? you weren't very good with uncertainty so sitting still was becoming a challenge as principal oakley rummaged through his desk.
you had to focus on something to stop yourself from panicking so you focused on him. very discreetly. he was so very..unruly. like something hard to contain, just spilling over the edges with his messy hair, that sweater that was not ironed, the shirt under the sweater that was untucked in that untidy way, that smell—woody with a faint hint of vanilla. you liked that smell.
you looked down at your own clothes—a powder blue ruffle top from khaite that you saved for for months and gifted yourself over winter break, off-white pants that were perfectly ironed and fresh from the laundry, hair in a neat french twist. from first sight, you and him were polar opposites.
"alright, y/n," principal oakley finally sat back down, his gaze steady as you watched him attentively. "you know rafe, right?" he asked, gesturing slightly toward the boy seated across from you. your eyes flicked to rafe, who was already staring at you, his expression unreadable.
"uh-huh," you murmured, turning your focus back to the principal.
"well, rafe here has a little problem." principal oakley slid a paper across the desk, and your curiosity spiked as you glanced down. it was rafe's report card.
it was disastrous.
you gasped softly, and rafe let out a noise of protest. "shit, it's not that bad," he muttered, leaning in close to peer over your shoulder at his own grades. the sudden proximity sent a ripple of awareness through you. despite your best efforts to stay indifferent, the intoxicating mix of his scent and the startling lack of male attention in your life was doing a number on your self-control.
"language, mr. cameron. and yes, it really is that bad," principal oakley said firmly. "which is why we need your help, y/n."
you tried to focus, though every nerve in your body screamed for you to stay perfectly still, afraid rafe would pull back. your intrusive thoughts—chief among them being the absolutely insane urge to bury your head in his neck—were becoming harder to suppress. quickly, you straightened and fixed your attention on the principal.
"my help?" you asked, the words laced with genuine confusion.
"the athletic board won’t let rafe play next season if he doesn’t pass at least one of his failing classes. we’ve discussed it with his teachers, and they believe algebra is his best shot. mr. coleman specifically suggested you for the job. he said your grasp of the material is exceptional, sometimes even surpassing his. your work ethic, dedication, and knowledge are exactly what rafe needs to bring his grade up to a satisfactory six—or, with hope, even a seven or seven and a half."
principal oakley's words hung in the air as you processed them. finally, you blinked slowly. "you want me…" you began cautiously, "to take him from a two-point-five to a seven-point-five in five months?"
"that’s like 150 days," rafe interjected, his tone unexpectedly eager. "we can do this! i’ll be the best student, i swear."
we?
"and on which planet is that 150 days, rafe?" you turned to him, your voice tinged with disbelief. "five months is about 150 days, sure. but i don’t know about you, mr. cameron, but i have class every day from eight to three. we have over 15 assignments a month, tests, midterms in march. i’m student body president. i’m organizing spring fling, pajama day, color war, the bake sale, and the car wash fundraiser—where, by the way, i expect the soccer team’s full, enthusiastic participation in semi-nude form for maximum profit. there’s also valentine’s day card exchanges, college fairs, and, oh, right—i have a life. i need to eat, study, and spend enough time with my friends and family to avoid being accused of neglecting them." you folded your arms. "so tell me, rafe, where in that mess do you see time for this?"
rafe stared at you, slightly wide-eyed.
"exactly," you concluded, crossing your legs. "nowhere."
you turned back to principal oakley. "maybe someone could contact the board and ask for len—"
"y/n, this is their leniency. usually, a two-point-five is an automatic cutoff." principal oakley cut you off, his voice calm but insistent. "i wouldn’t be asking if i didn’t believe in you."
the praise softened you momentarily. "principal oakley," you began, reaching into your bag and pulling out your life planner with a flourish. its heft rattled the pens on his desk. "this is my schedule." flipping to the last pages, you tapped a line with a manicured nail. "rafe, read this."
he leaned in, eyebrows raised. "january 20th, 2056: be sworn in as the 59th president of the country."
you smiled, all proud like you'd already achieved it which you technically had since everything that belonged to you was already yours.
"now, as you can imagine, i have a very rigorous plan in place to achieving my final goal and unfortunately, my schedule is just..airtight until.." you grimaced, "atleast 2061, maybe 2065." you were still debating the second term.
rafe chuckled quietly, and you shot him a glare before principal oakley interrupted.
"i assume my recommendation letter holds a significant place in your 30-year plan."
you hesitated. "…it does."
"well, helping your fellow student would demonstrate the leadership and dedication your university looks for. i could write you a glowing recommendation and even personally contact the dean’s office if you agree to tutor mr. cameron."
you froze, your mind flashing with possibilities. the thought of the dean knowing your name—of shaving years off your plan—was too good to pass up.
"fine," you said at last, exhaling. "but i expect nothing short of perfection in that letter. and the dean better invite me for tea when you’re done."
turning to rafe, you leveled him with a sharp look. "every tuesday and sunday at four. take this seriously, or you’ll see how hostile i can get. and read the chapters beforehand. i’ll text you my address."
you strode toward the door.
"you don’t have my number!" rafe called after you, amusement clear in his voice.
"i practically live in this office, rafe!" you shot back over your shoulder. "i have everyone’s number!"
teach please me — tutor!reader x soccer player!rafe
reader's life is meticulously planned, from high school to becoming president of the country—she knows exactly where she's headed and every step to get there. but her airtight plan hits a snag when the principal ropes her into tutoring rafe cameron, the school’s star soccer player, who’s failing algebra and at risk of being benched next season. the team needs him on the field, and reader needs the principal’s glowing recommendation to secure her spot at her dream school. balancing her ambitious goals with rafe’s chaotic charm might just throw her perfectly crafted plan off track.
word count — 1.6
chapter index — prev. chap. — next chap.
masterlist
two
tuesday, january 14th
you nibbled on your pen as you stood in front of your oversized 2024-2025 calendar, scrutinizing the packed schedule staring back at you. it was a mountain of tasks, every inch of space crammed with commitments and deadlines. for now, you were miraculously on track, but all that would go out the window the moment rafe cameron made his long-anticipated appearance at your front door.
you tossed the pen onto your bed and scolded yourself silently for clinging to that tiny, stubborn habit. pen chewers don’t get into dream schools, you reminded yourself.
the hum of a car speeding past your window sent your heart into overdrive. you forced yourself to breathe, to relax. this was no big deal. just a straightforward arrangement where both of you got something out of the deal.
rafe cameron was just a boy. a boy who smelled heavenly and objectively happened to be the conventially attractive kind.
you glanced around your bedroom—the same one you’d had since you were eleven. soft blue walls adorned with delicate flower details framed the space, bookshelves stuffed with novels you’d read at least three times over, and textbooks for classes you didn’t even take yet because preparation was everything. your closet concealed rows of neatly folded clothes, and the pièce de résistance: your desk. a long, well-equipped workspace lined with pens, sticky tabs, notebooks, calculators, and every imaginable tool a student could need. the tools for your greatness.
you'd set it up for him. moved away some of your "mess" and placed a calculator, notebook and pencil knowing he probably wouldn't even bring one. you didn't have an extra chair which worked in your favor. he and his downright divine smell could stay all the way over there whilst you watched him from your bed.
your phone chimed, and the message flashed across your open laptop screen—two simple words that sent a strange, fluttering sensation through your chest:
you turned to the mirror, giving yourself a once-over. a white tank top showing just a sliver of midriff, paired with a cozy yellow cardigan, jeans, and fluffy slippers.
adjusting your high ponytail, you hurried downstairs and opened the door. there he was, standing on your porch, looking unfairly good for a lazy sunday. no surprise, the only thing he held was his algebra book—no pencil, no supplies. predictably unprepared.
“hey.”
there was something unnervingly open about his eyes. when he looked at you, it was like he was peeling back layers, welcoming you into some uncharted depth of himself. most people avoided eye contact, but not rafe. his gaze was arresting, almost disarming, and it made you feel vulnerable, as if he could see straight through you.
"hey, come in." you turned on your heel and let him into the foyer. you went to stand by the stairs as he took off his coat and when he followed you, you stopped him, pointed to his feet and said, "shoes off." outside dirt was not something your mom found entertaining in the slightest.
"oh, right—yeah," he halted with a nod and turned to kick off his sneakers. you got a good look at his back. he was wearing loose cargo jeans with this white tee that irritatingly did wonders for his arms. they did not look this big last week in principal oakley's office. and his back? the way it flexed was something out of this world. you'd never seen a more attractive back.
you willed yourself to turn around, to avoid being caught staring. "okay, c'mon." you bounded up the stairs two at a time, hearing him follow close behind. "i don't..have to say hello to your parents?" he asked and you hate that your mind immediately went: green flag!
"normally, yes. but no one is home right now." you go all the way up to the attic which was the only room up there. a room you had to fight tooth and nail for but would gladly leave for your sister when you left for university next year.
you closed the door behind him, "work?" he asked and you hummed, "my mom is at work, my dad gets off work at 3:45 and takes my brother and sister to their extracurriculars so we have plenty of time for you to master the first chapter of algebra." you patted toward your desk and tapped on the chair insinuating he sits on it.
he made a face that said he was already tired before you'd even started and you laughed and grabbed his algebra book. "okay, did you read the first chapter?" you asked half-expecting him to say no but he nodded as he slumped into your chair.
you leaned against your desk and did a quick read through of what the first chapter entailed. it had been very long since you'd opened this book in the beginning. "tell me what it's about."
"it's about numbers." he said flatly
you gave him a look and narrowed your eyes. "what kind of numbers?" you asked and he parted his lips like he was going to say something but then stopped to think briefly. "unknown numbers?" he said almost like a question and the answer shuldn't have made you as happy as it did but you quiped, "yes!" happily.
"so, what about these unknown numbers? what are we doing with them?" you dug a little deeper and you could see the cogs turning in his head. "they're unknown so..we need to figure them out?" he says which wasn't wrong, just not exactly what you were looking for. "how?"
"using variables."
"yes, that's right. we need to figure out unknown numbers using variables."
"and i read some shit about expressions and equations?" you find it adorable how he hasn't sounded not confused since the moment he sat down. "mhm, do you know what expressions and equations are?" you ask.
he stares at you for a moment, " expressions are… parts of math that don’t have an equals sign, and equations do…" he hesitates, staring at you for confirmation and you nod gesturing for him to continue. "uh, variables are the letters in those… like x or y, and you have to figure out what they stand for by, you know, solving." he says and you nod. he had a basic grasp of the foundation. that was something.
"yes, perfect. the first chapter covers the basics of algebra—like what variables are and how they work in expressions and equations. it explains how to combine like terms, use the properties of equality to keep equations balanced, and solve for an unknown variable, usually 𝑥. basically, it’s the foundation for everything else, so if you don’t get this, the rest of algebra’s going to feel like trying to read a book in another language."
he blinked at you. "fucking hell..that was english?" he asks and you chuckle and start writing an equation on the notebook you'd prepared for him. "i will walk you through an exercise. once you've done enough of them, you start to see patterns and realise they're mostly, if not all kinda the same thing over and over. math is the most logical course there is."
you covered the intro of variable expressions and basic operations with algebraic expressions and it went okay, rafe was starting to get the hang of the easier exercises but it wasn't smooth sailling either.
you gave him a bit of a challenging one to complete but you had a feeling he could do it if he just concentrated.
he was clearly trying, but his attention wandered. he doodles a soccer ball in the margin of his notebook until you snap your fingers in front of him. “eyes on the prize, cameron. the prize being you not failing.”
“so… this balancing thing,” he says, frowning at the equation. “it’s like… i’m balancing practice, school, and you bossing me around, right?”
“sure,” you says dryly. “except the equation has better odds of working out.”
he laughs at that and you will yourself to not let the sound replay in your mind a dozen times. you fail.
by the end of the lesson he managed to make 6 equations all by himself with no mistakes. it wasn't easy, he had a lot of work but after the lesson you just had, you really believed in his ability to succeed.
"thanks for today." he said as he pulls on his jacket and you shake your head, "no worries."
you turn to the front door and open it before turning back to rafe and your breath hitches when you're face to face with him. the proximity sent a jolt through you. you blink up at him, seemingly frozen in place for a solid three seconds before you clear your throat and move away from the door. "good work today. you're better than i thought." you say as he starts to walk out and he turns, walking to his car backwards. "that's when you're right by my side. once i'm alone? everything hits the fan." he says.
you shake your head, holding on to the door. "you did really good. just make the exercises i gave you and if you get stuck, write down your questions and we can go over it on sunday."
"alright, thanks teach!" he says before he's getting in his car and driving off.
you stood in the doorway for a moment, the faint scent of his cologne lingering in the air, before realising you never sat down on your bed. you stayed right by his side the whole time.
chapter index — prev. chap. — next chap.
masterlist
teach please me — tutor!reader x soccer player!rafe
reader's life is meticulously planned, from high school to becoming president of the country—she knows exactly where she's headed and every step to get there. but her airtight plan hits a snag when the principal ropes her into tutoring rafe cameron, the school’s star soccer player, who’s failing algebra and at risk of being benched next season. the team needs him on the field, and reader needs the principal’s glowing recommendation to secure her spot at her dream school. balancing her ambitious goals with rafe’s chaotic charm might just throw her perfectly crafted plan off track.
word count — 5.1
chapter index — prev. chap. — next chap.
masterlist
a.n — this is one of my favoriteee chapters I BEEN WAITING ON THIS ONEEEE. alsoooo i’ll repeat: there will be adult content in this and many (not all) of the following chapters. proceed with caution <333
fifteen
sunday, february 16th
"hey, suze? i just finished cleaning up the rec area, and the last resident just went up to rest, so i’m heading out, okay?" your voice is soft as you smile at the nurse, who’s busy rearranging the medicine cabinet.
"of course, sweetie. thanks for coming in, alright? get home safe," she replies, glancing at you with a kind smile before returning to her task.
you nod, slinging your bag over your shoulder and digging around for your phone, which you hadn’t touched since arriving. as the screen lights up, a string of missed calls and texts from your dad immediately catches your eye. you skim through them quickly—he’s not coming to get you. grandma’s fridge broke, and she urgently needs help.
you sigh softly, taking in the news when a voice cuts through the quiet evening air.
“i charge by the minute, you know?”
you glance up, your heart skipping just a little when you see rafe leaning casually against his car, hands in his pockets and that signature grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. he looks different from the way he did two hours ago during tutoring—less disheveled, more put together.
“rafe? i thought you were meeting up with friends,” you call out, your feet already carrying you toward him. the distance feels unnecessarily long, each second drawn out as if the air itself was slowing you down.
“i was,” he admits, pushing off the car as you approach. “but then your dad texted me, asked if i could do him a favor. and, well, he’s my favorite y/l/n, so how could i say no?” his cheeky grin widens, and you roll your eyes, sticking your tongue out at him playfully.
“well, thank you for coming,” you say, reaching for the passenger door. “i probably would’ve had to walk home if he wasn’t free.”
before you can open the door, his hand presses against it, keeping it firmly shut. you glance up at him, brow arched in question, but he just tilts his head, his grin turning sly.
“got any other ways to show your gratitude?” he teases, his voice dipping just enough to make your stomach flip.
you cross your arms, narrowing your eyes at him. “hmm… i have gum in my bag?”
“oh, gum? what flavor?” his tone is mockingly serious as he takes a step closer, the space between you shrinking by the second.
“cherry,” you whisper, your voice catching as he’s suddenly right in front of you, his gaze locked on yours.
“my favorite,” he murmurs, the words barely leaving his lips before they’re on yours in a slow, deliberate kiss. it’s soft and unhurried, yet it steals the breath from your lungs, leaving you feeling weightless. your eyes flutter shut, and your fingers clutch the strap of your bag as warmth spreads through your chest.
a quiet sound escapes you—a mix of surprise and contentment—and you instinctively press a hand to his chest, gently pushing him back. rafe chuckles, his laugh low and warm as he takes a small step away, though the smile on his face remains unshaken.
“yeah, that works,” he mutters, more to himself than to you, before pulling the car door open and gesturing for you to get in.
your cheeks flush as you slip into the seat, watching through the window as he rounds the car to slide into the driver’s side. the teasing smirk still lingers on his lips, and you find yourself smiling despite yourself, your heart still racing as the car pulls away.
you’ve made it a habit to turn toward rafe the moment you’re seated and buckled in. not for any practical reason, but because of how captivating he looked doing the simplest things, like driving. the way his hands moved over the stick shift, the smooth confidence in how he checked his mirrors, and the effortless grace of turning his wheel—it was mesmerizing. if rafe could drive you everywhere for the rest of your life, you’d happily never learn to drive. ever.
“did cleo like her gift?” you asked after a moment, your voice breaking the comfortable silence.
he chuckled, nodding as he shifted gears. “more than i thought she would. how’d you know that would be a good gift?”
you shrugged, your gaze lingering on his profile, tracing the sharp angle of his jawline. “she mentioned something about it at the bonfire,” you murmured, the memory surfacing easily.
he glanced at you briefly, his lips curling into a grin. “you really remember everything, huh?”
your grin mirrored his as you shook your head. “only the important stuff.”
your voice drifted off as you noticed the view outside shifting—he was taking the long way, and the car was cruising along the beach. the late-afternoon sun painted the waves in streaks of gold and pink, the kind of colors that made you wish you had a paintbrush or at least a better camera.
despite living so close to the ocean, you didn’t visit as often as you wanted to. rafe seemed to notice the way your eyes lingered on the water.
“do you wanna get out for a bit?” he asked, his voice soft and inviting.
you turned to him, wide-eyed and smiling, nodding eagerly. “yes, please.”
“course,” he murmured, already pulling over. you were out of the car before the engine had even fully stopped, the cool sand cushioning your steps as you made your way toward the shoreline. the air was crisp, but not as biting as it should have been for the middle of february.
“the sunset is so pretty!” you exclaimed, pulling your phone from your pocket. you lifted it to capture the scene—the gradient sky blending from deep blue to fiery orange, the waves rolling in with a steady rhythm.
just as you snapped the picture, rafe wandered into your shot, his tall frame silhouetted against the glowing horizon. you glanced down at your phone, scrolling through the pictures you’d just taken. the last one—the one with rafe standing in the middle of it—instantly became your favorite. something about the way he looked, with the golden light catching the edges of his body.
you smiled softly, your heart warm as you tucked your phone back into your pocket and followed after him.
“i used to come here every weekend with my parents,” you murmur, sitting cross-legged on the soft sand, the water far enough away to be a distant lull.
“what changed?” rafe asks, his voice low, careful not to disturb the quiet of the moment.
you tilt your head, releasing a small sigh as your eyes follow the rhythmic motion of the waves. “a lot,” you admit softly. “we had two new additions to the family. i started taking school more seriously. there’s just… less time. i don’t usually negotiate much when it comes to my schedule.”
you don’t mention how he seems to be the only exception to that unyielding rule.
rafe’s gaze lingers on you, warm and thoughtful. “i think you’re… exceptional,” he says, his words barely louder than the surf but ringing clearly in your ears. “you’re the most driven person i’ve ever met. your ambition is something people should look up to, but… i think you’re too hard on yourself. and while you’re running laps around everyone else, chasing your goals and getting ahead, you forget there are people right here who love you, care about you, and just want to see you. your family—your sister, your brother—all those moments you miss with them? you don’t get them back. trust me, i know.”
you exhale softly, staring harder at the water as if it holds the answers you can’t find. you know he’s right. you also know rafe doesn’t say things like this lightly. his words carry the weight of personal experience, a truth you can’t ignore. buried deep in your hyper-focus on academics and your future, you’ve convinced yourself your family understands. but when was the last time you did something fun with your sister, just for the joy of it?
“i need to learn how to have more fun,” you say, your tone contemplative. a small part of your mind instinctively wants to research the topic, to open a tab on your laptop and find a step-by-step guide to having fun.
rafe’s eyes are on you, and when you glance his way, he’s smiling—wide, mischievous, the kind of grin that sets you on edge.
“what?” you ask, narrowing your eyes suspiciously.
his brows lift playfully. “you can’t say no,” he declares, leaning back on his hands like he’s already won.
“that sounds dangerous,” you reply warily, crossing your arms.
he tilts his head, feigning innocence. “you’ll just have to trust me.”
you gesture for him to continue, and he turns his attention to the water, a wicked glint still sparkling in his eyes.
realization dawns, and you blink at him, horrified. “you want to get in the water?”
“why not?” he grins.
“rafe, we don’t even have our swimsuits!” you exclaim, your voice pitching higher with incredulity.
he shrugs, unfazed. “so? there’s no one around, the sun’s setting—it’ll be dark in ten minutes!”
“no, rafe. i’m not skinny-dipping with you!” you hiss, mortified that those words even left your mouth.
he’s doubled over, laughing so hard he can barely catch his breath. “it’s just you and me! c’mon, it’s fun, i swear!”
your lips press together as you glance between him and the empty stretch of beach. the horizon glows with the last remnants of daylight, the waves lapping softly at the shore. you groan inwardly. “fine. but turn around!”
rafe smirks but obliges, spinning in the sand. “can’t see you naked, but i can have my fingers in your—”
“shut up!” you snap, shoving his shoulder. your face burns as you start peeling off your clothes, layering them neatly on the sand. you hesitate, glancing around to ensure the beach is still deserted before shedding your underwear and bra.
“okay,” you mutter, barely loud enough for him to hear.
rafe starts to turn, but you slam your hands on his shoulders. “no! i’m going into the water first. count to fifteen, and then you can turn around.”
he chuckles, raising his hands in mock surrender. “got it. fifteen seconds.”
you give him a skeptical look before sprinting toward the water. it’s colder than you expected, the chill biting against your skin. “oh, god,” you gasp, wading deeper until the waves lap at your waist.
when you glance back, rafe is standing, shamelessly stripping down. your breath catches for a second, but then guilt tugs at you. you quickly turn away, fixing your eyes on the vibrant streaks of the sunset. if he couldn’t look, then neither would you.
the sound of splashing tells you he’s joined you, “did you peek?” his voice was low, teasing, and when you turned to face him, you shook your head resolutely.
“of course not,” you said firmly, though your heart skipped at the question.
rafe pulled a face, his lips quirking into a mischievous smirk. “shit, i did.”
“rafe!” your eyes widened in horror as you gasped, but his laugh broke through your shock.
“i’m messing with you,” he admitted, grinning. “i didn’t look.”
you narrowed your eyes, unsure whether to believe him. “do you promise?”
he raised a hand solemnly. “i promise.”
you hummed softly, sinking lower into the water until only your eyes and the top of your head were visible above the surface. the water was soothing, cradling you in its cool embrace. rafe, meanwhile, dipped his entire head under, emerging moments later with a shake of his head that sent a cascade of droplets flying in your direction.
“you did that on purpose!” you accused, spluttering as the cold water sprayed across your face and shoulders.
“yeah, i did,” he admitted, unrepentant. “you should definitely come over here so i can apologize.”
you floated lazily, resisting the pull of temptation despite the warmth in his gaze. “i’ve heard that doing… stuff underwater doesn’t feel good because, well, the water messes with everything.”
his teasing smile didn’t falter. “well, i wasn’t talking about that kind of apology.”
“oh my god,” you groaned, kicking a small wave of water in his direction before covering your face with both hands.
he chuckled, the sound rich and unbothered. “but, for the record,” he added, “i wouldn’t say it feels bad. it doesn’t feel bad at all. but the ocean? yeah, not ideal. kind of gross, actually.”
“definitely weird,” you agreed, cupping water in your hands and splashing it over your face. the chill grounded you, calming the blush that threatened to creep over your skin.
“how do you feel?” he asked, his voice gentler now, sincere. “not too exposed?”
you smiled softly, lowering your hands and glancing toward him. “oddly enough, this feels… comfortable. the water’s cold, but it’s like a big blanket. i think i’d do this again.”
“told you,” he sang, his voice laced with pride. “you just have to trust me. i wouldn’t lie to you.”
you nodded slowly, taking in his words. you believed him—rafe had this way of making everything feel safe, even when it was completely out of your comfort zone. he was easily the most perfect person you’d ever met, yet something in your gut always held you back, a quiet voice urging caution.
you were having fun, though. more than fun. being with rafe felt freeing, like playing a game of boyfriend and girlfriend with no rules. you’d never felt this alive, never learned this much about your heart, your wants, your body. but that same voice, persistent and protective, reminded you that this wasn’t forever. it warned you to keep that last wall standing, even as you longed to tear it down.
the two of you stayed in the water until the chill became unbearable, the sky shifting from soft gold to deep navy, leaving only the faintest glow on the horizon. the cold seeped into your bones, numbing your hands and feet, but you didn’t want to leave. the ocean felt like a secret, a world that belonged only to the two of you.
but rafe noticed your shivering and wasn’t having it. “you’re freezing,” he said, his tone firm despite the softness in his eyes. “we’re getting out.”
you hesitated but let him guide you, the warmth of his presence anchoring you as the two of you made your way back to shore, water dripping from your skin and leaving a trail in the sand. your clothes brought some kind of warmth for a moment until they were all wet again.
"oh, god, it's freezing…" you're laughing despite the shivers wracking your body as you and rafe trudge back toward his car. your soaked clothes cling uncomfortably to your skin, but there’s something lighthearted in the shared discomfort.
"hold on," rafe says, brushing wet strands of hair out of his face as he pulls his keys from his pocket. "i’ve got some clothes in the trunk." he unlocks the car with a click, jogging ahead. the wet fabric of his shirt clings to the sculpted muscles of his back, his steps deliberate and sure despite the chill.
you linger by the side of the car, watching as he flips open the trunk and rummages around. moments later, he glances over his shoulder and waves you closer. "i’ve got these," he says, holding up a dark blue sweater and a pair of matching sweatpants. "they’re probably way too big, but at least they’re dry."
before you can thank him, rafe straightens and, without hesitation, starts unbuttoning his pants.
“rafe!” your voice comes out sharper than intended, and he pauses mid-movement, his brow lifting as an amused grin spreads across his face.
“do you… want me to go somewhere else?” he asks, genuinely curious but clearly entertained by your reaction. there’s an ease to him, as if standing half-undressed on a deserted beach was the most natural thing in the world.
you stammer, flustered. “n-no! just… um… just turn around, okay?”
he studies you for a beat, then nods, that grin still tugging at his lips. "whatever you say." he turns around obediently, and you mimic the motion, facing away from him as you peel off your sodden clothes.
slipping into rafe’s sweater and sweatpants feels like a small luxury. the fabric is soft, heavy with the faintest hint of his scent—a mix of cedar and something uniquely his. the sleeves hang past your hands, and the pant legs pool around your ankles, but there’s a comfort in the oversized fit, like being wrapped in a warm hug.
“can i turn around?” rafe calls after a moment, and you glance over your shoulder before spinning to face him.
“yeah,” you say, burying your fists into the oversized sleeves to warm your hands.
his gaze softens as he takes you in, and the corner of his mouth lifts in an affectionate smile. “you look adorable.”
heat floods your cheeks, and you clamp your mouth shut, knowing anything you say will only embarrass you further. rafe steps closer, his hands gentle as he gathers your damp hair. he twists it carefully, wringing out the excess water before smoothing it back over your shoulders.
“better,” he murmurs, pressing a quick kiss to the top of your head.
“thank you,” you whisper, your voice small but sincere.
the car is a blessing, the heated seats almost miraculous as you sink into the passenger side. you press your chilled hands against the warm air vents while rafe fiddles with the settings, adjusting the heat to full blast.
his phone rings, the sound seamlessly connecting to the car’s speakers. you glance at the display, watching as cleo flashes across the screen.
“what’s up, cleo?” rafe answers casually, shifting in his seat. there’s no immediate response, just faint background noise—music, laughter, the buzz of a party.
you rest your head against the headrest, your curiosity piqued as you keep an eye on the screen.
“cleo?” rafe repeats, a faint frown forming, and then another voice cuts through the static.
“so, you can’t answer when i call, huh?” topper’s voice, slurred and unmistakably drunk, fills the car.
your body tenses, and you glance at rafe, noting the way his jaw tightens instantly.
“someone repeatedly not answering the phone is generally an indication they don’t want to fucking talk, top,” rafe says coolly, though his tone carries an unmistakable edge.
“this can’t all be because of that fucking tu—” topper’s words cut off as rafe disconnects the call, grabbing his phone and pressing it to his ear.
“if you don’t want me to break your fucking nose again, you’ll shut the fuck up,” rafe growls, stepping out of the car in one swift motion.
your jaw drops slightly as the car door slams behind him, the force of it making you flinch. through the windshield, you watch as he paces a few meters away, his frustration evident in the hard set of his shoulders and the sharp movements of his free hand.
though you can’t hear the rest of the conversation, it’s clear topper’s words are fueling rafe’s anger. his expression darkens, and even from a distance, you can see the tension in his face.
you lean back in your seat, biting your lip as you piece together the context. you weren’t stupid; you knew topper’s unfinished sentence would’ve been “that tutor”—you. it wasn’t exactly a mystery that topper disliked you, though his reasoning eluded you.
what upset you more was how this feud seemed to isolate rafe. he hadn’t been spending much time with topper or their usual group since that first explosive fight. instead, he’d been with you—joining your friends, staying over after school, and being your constant companion.
today had been an exception. it was cleo’s birthday, and rafe had been excited to celebrate with his friends. he’d even stayed for a couple of hours before leaving to pick you up. you assumed topper didn’t like that.
as rafe’s pacing slowed, you watched him closely, your heart heavy with a mix of gratitude and guilt. he was loyal to a fault, and though you appreciated his defense of you, part of you wished it didn’t come at the expense of his friendships.
after a couple of minutes, rafe slides back into the car, the door shutting with a sharp finality that mirrors the tension radiating off him. his movements are quick, almost aggressive, as he tosses his phone into the backseat without a second thought. his jaw is clenched so tightly you can see the muscles flex, and his hands grip the steering wheel, knuckles pale. his gaze is fixed straight ahead, but it’s unfocused, like he’s wrestling with whatever storm is brewing inside him.
“rafe?” your voice is soft, careful not to add to the crackling tension in the air. you reach out, your fingers brushing tentatively over his fist where it’s clenched on his thigh.
“i’m good,” he says sharply, cutting you off before you can say more. his other hand drags through his semi-dry hair, the tousled strands falling back into place. “just… give me a second.”
undeterred, you rest your hand fully over his fist, your thumb brushing lightly against his knuckles. his body tenses further at the contact, his jaw ticking again.
“wanna talk about it?” you ask softly, leaning toward him, your hopeful gaze searching his face.
he shakes his head faintly, eyes closing as he rests his head back against the seat. “nothing to talk about. just topper being topper—trying to get me to break his fucking kneecaps.” his tone is flat, but the undercurrent of frustration is unmistakable.
you blink at his casual mention of violence, pressing a gentle kiss to his shoulder. “he doesn’t like me very much, does he?”
at your words, rafe’s irritation flares visibly, his fingers flexing as if resisting the urge to punch something. “he just needs to piss off. fuck,” he growls, his voice low and rough. “and i know—i know—he can’t stand it. he hates that i get close to someone he can’t touch, someone who’s fucking mine. he’s a pissy little bitch, and the next time i see him—”
“rafe,” you interrupt softly, sensing the dangerous direction his thoughts are heading. “calm down…” you murmur, your voice soothing as you lean in to press a featherlight kiss to his cheek.
his breathing is still uneven, his chest rising and falling with controlled restraint. “you’re getting way too worked up,” you whisper, cradling his face with one hand, your thumb grazing along the sharp line of his cheekbone.
his lips remain tight, his gaze hard, but he doesn’t pull away. you take the opportunity to scatter soft kisses across his cheeks, the corner of his mouth, and finally his lips. your touch is gentle, alternating between quick pecks and lingering brushes. at first, he’s unresponsive, but slowly he starts kissing back, his lips yielding to yours in unspoken surrender.
you trail your kisses lower, down along the line of his jaw to his neck. you feel the tension in his shoulders begin to ease, the tightness in his posture softening under the warmth of your lips.
your hand glides down his chest, your fingertips barely grazing the ridges of his abs, tracing slow, soothing patterns. his breaths come slower now, steadier, the anger slowly ebbing away with each kiss you leave on his skin.
rafe remains still, his arms resting at his sides, his body still tense under your gentle touch and then your hands find the edge of his sweatpants.
your hand is halfway in when he tenses, "you don't have to do this—" he starts but you're cutting him off. "i want to." you whisper softly and he knows you want to, you've been trying and asking for days. he was the one to insist you go slower which was fair since you were the one who wanted to go slow in the very beginning. that all changed the moment you two made out for the first time. you'd quickly thrown 'slow' in the trash.
you kiss your way back to his lips, "will you tell me how?" you'd seen videos and could also imagine what to do but actually doing it was a lot different. rafe hums against your lips, "take it out first," he mutters with his lips inching yours.
you glance down and slowly take his semi-hard cock out of his pants. you stare at it for a couple of seconds. it's heavier than you'd imagined, fat and veiny with this glossy pink tip that makes your mouth water just a little. without a word from rafe, you're curiously running your hand along it.
you don't expect rafe to tense at your touch and you're immediately looking up at him in surprise when he does. "did that hurt? did i just hurt you?" you ask and his smile is genuine, "quite the opposite." he rasps and then his hand is covering yours gently. he guides your hands up and down along his fat cock and you're a little mesmerised watching it slowly grow in size.
rafe's heavy breathing tells you it's going good so far but you want to get it in your mouth. the nerd in you is trying to calculate how it would even be possible, how you could get such a big dick past your lips without choking on it.
you're lowering your head to get him into your mouth when he stops you gently, fingers on your chin. "no teeth." he explains and you're nodding before you're desperately trying to get down there again. he stops you, again. "just..take it easy, start with the tip and slowly take more." he continues, eyes boring into yours. you could see the lust in them, just pooling in his eyes as he watched you practically drool to get his cock in your mouth.
the moment he let go of you, your tongue was darting out just enough to slowly lick along his fat tip. rafe hissed and gripped the car handle, "fuck," he whispered lowly. you pulled back and looked at it. you weren't sure why you expected it to do something and when it didn't, you just gave it another experimental lick before slowly wrapping your lips around the tender head, suckling gently.
"that's it, baby..take it easy.." rafe is muttering as you suckle on his warm tip. you hesitate for only a second before you're taking more of him in your mouth and you don't expect the tears to come so quickly. they don't really bother you. you realize nothing really bothers you while he's in your mouth. your mind has gone completely empty, void of any noise or thought, he's all you can feel, all you can sense is him filling you up.
it doesn't take long before you're bopping your head up and down and drooling all over his cock. rafe is groaning and grunting every couple of seconds and his hands are in your hair but you can feel him resisting, can feel the moment he wants to push your head down but every time, he stops himself and just lets you go at your own pace.
you whimper when you attempt for the third time to get his entire lenght down your throat and almost want to cry in frustration that he just won't fit. rafe is holding your head back, trying to say something but continously getting cut off by his own moans. "p-perfect, baby, fuck, that's perfect.." he tilts his head back and holds onto you so you stop moving for five seconds. you were eager, so goddamn determined. "stop forcing..you'll hurt yourself." he grunts before he's letting you go and your mouth is right back on his cock, seeking that fuzzy feeling, that instant quietening of the mind.
you know he won't fit unless rafe bucks his hips up and fucks your mouth and you know he won't do that so you settle for using your hands for the part of him you can't reach. you stroke him up and down and your drool helps keep it all smooth and wet. "jesus..fuck, fuck.." rafe moans, voice low, and then you're speeding up, just a little. you just want more, want it to take you over, want to make rafe feel good.
something seems to snap in him because his hands fly to your hair and he's groaning, shoving your head down onto his fat cock. he forces you to take more and more of him and the noises you make are filthy and down-right obscene. you're whining, high, and desperate around his veiny cock as you try to keep up with how he's pushing your head down over and over.
you're choking around him, tears streaming down your cheeks and he's doing all the work now, gripping your hair and shoving your head down, pushing your mouth onto his cock. "g-god..that's it..!" his hips stutter, and then he's hurriedly pulling your mouth off of him as his cum squirts out and covers his cock and a bit of his shirt.
you stare at his tip, a little dazed while you catch your breath. you watch the creamy white lines cover it and without giving it much thought, you're licking the cum off his length and tip. rafe hisses at the feeling of your tongue on his sensitive tip, "if i knew you wanted it, i would've come in your mouth." he's mumbling, and only then do you look at him, "why didn't you?" you ask, mind still a little fuzzy.
"because a lot of people don't like it." he's got this lazy smile on his face as he runs his fingers through your hair. you blink at him and try to think of a reason someone wouldn't want it. all that hard work for nothing?
"did you like it?" you ask him as he sadly puts himself back in his sweats. he's chuckling, "did i like it? that has to be a rhetorical question." he pats his leg gently and you're on his lap in a matter of seconds. "i liked it." you mutter as he presses a couple of kisses to your lips. he pauses and cups your cheeks gently, "are you sure you liked it?" he's whispering softly, "you seem..out of it."
you were out of it; eyes still dilated, mind still fuzzy, brain still empty. you'd never ever felt like this. "i'm really sure i liked it." you nod and rest your head on his shoulder. "i wanna do it again." you confess which has him chuckling again. "you won't hear a complaint from me."
chapter index — prev. chap. — next chap.
a.n — topper is like an annoying ex that you just can’t shake
teach please me — tutor!reader x soccer player!rafe
reader's life is meticulously planned, from high school to becoming president of the country—she knows exactly where she's headed and every step to get there. but her airtight plan hits a snag when the principal ropes her into tutoring rafe cameron, the school’s star soccer player, who’s failing algebra and at risk of being benched next season. the team needs him on the field, and reader needs the principal’s glowing recommendation to secure her spot at her dream school. balancing her ambitious goals with rafe’s chaotic charm might just throw her perfectly crafted plan off track.
word count — 2.1
chapter index — prev. chap. — next chap.
masterlist
three
sunday, january 19th
rafe shifted in his chair, pencil tapping rhythmically against the edge of your desk. "hey, can you help me with this one?" his voice cut through the quiet of your room, where you'd stretched out on your bed, flipping through your notes.
"mhm, just read it out," you replied without looking up, too comfortable to move.
"nah," he said, leaning back in the chair and tilting his head toward you, "come over here."
you sighed dramatically, rolling off the bed and padding over to where he sat. "fine," you muttered, leaning against your desk. "what's the problem?"
he pointed to a particularly messy equation on the page. "this one. i don’t get it. like, where do you even start?"
you leaned in to look, but suddenly all you could notice was him. he looked good today, better than he usually did and you'd done a pretty good job of not making it noticeable that it was affecting you but the sudden proximity completely took you out of the loop. his hair still slightly damp from practice, the faint scent of soap mixed with something deeper, something earthy and warm that reminded you he’d been sweating just hours ago. it should have been gross. it wasn’t. it was distracting.
his shoulders stretched against his hoodie, his jaw tense as he stared at the paper, and you caught a hint of his cologne lingering underneath it all. god, why did he smell so good? your brain stuttered over itself, a series of fragmented thoughts replacing any coherent explanation you were supposed to give.
"so, do i start by dividing or…?" his voice pulled you back abruptly.
"what?" you blinked, realizing he was looking at you now, an amused expression tugging at the corners of his mouth.
"i said," he repeated slowly, "do i start by dividing?"
you stared at him, blank for a moment before forcing yourself to focus on the equation. "uh, no," you stammered, cursing yourself for losing track. "you..simplify first. combine the terms on the left."
"combine the terms," he echoed, his smirk growing. "got it."
you tried to look anywhere but at him, but he shifted closer, his elbow brushing yours. "you good?" he asked, clearly entertained.
"i’m fine," you lied, straightening up and pointing at the page. "just… d-do..focus. combine the terms and go from there."
he gave a low chuckle but went back to work, leaving you to silently pray he didn’t notice how flustered you were.
you shifted back to your bed, lying on your stomach and propping yourself up with your elbows, but your attention kept drifting to him. the way his hands moved as he flipped through his textbook, the slight smirk tugging at his lips, his hair falling just perfectly into place—it was all too much. rafe seemed to notice your lingering gaze, his smirk widening ever so slightly.
"you’re staring," he teased, his tone light but his eyes sharp, almost daring you to deny it.
"am not," you countered quickly, flipping open your planner to avoid his gaze. your cheeks were warm, and you hated that he could see right through you.
"right," he said, leaning back in his chair and stretching, the movement making his hoodie ride up just enough to expose a sliver of skin. "if you say so."
you groaned internally, forcing yourself to focus on anything else. "so, how do you feel about what we’ve covered so far?" you asked, trying to steer the conversation back to algebra and not his stupidly distracting everything.
"i feel like i’m actually getting it," he said honestly, sitting up straighter. "like, for real. it’s weird, though. i’ve never had someone explain stuff like you do."
"what do you mean?"
"i dunno," he shrugged, looking at you. "it’s just… different. better. like you’re not just repeating what’s in the book, you actually make it make sense. you don’t give up on me when i don’t get it right away."
"well, that’s kind of the job," you replied, your voice softer. "i’m supposed to help you, not give up on you."
"yeah, but you’re not just doing the job," he said, his eyes meeting yours. "you actually want me to understand it."
you swallowed, his words hitting deeper than they should. "of course i do," you mumbled, looking away.
"you’re something else, you know that?" he said suddenly, and when you looked back at him, he was smiling—soft, genuine, and completely disarming.
"don’t try to charm your way out of studying," you said, trying to sound teasing but failing to hide the slight waver in your voice.
"who says i’m trying to get out of studying?" he shot back, his smirk returning. "maybe i just like seeing you flustered."
"flustered?" you repeated, your voice going an octave higher. "i’m not flustered."
"uh-huh," he said, leaning forward, his elbows on the desk. "whatever you say, teach."
"focus, cameron," you said, forcing yourself to look at your planner instead of his stupidly perfect face. "next session, i’m making you do extra problems for wasting time."
"can’t wait," he said, his grin widening
"though you don't really need it..you're learning pretty quickly" you add softly.
rafe’s grin spread slow, lazy, and just cocky enough to send a strange flutter through your chest. “well, i’ve got this tutor who explains things better than any teacher ever has. plus, she’s patient and never complains when i need her to go over something twice.”
your eyebrow lifted, a smile tugging at the corner of your lips. “or, in your case, thrice.”
“is that a real word?”
“thrice..? yes, of course.”
he leaned forward a little, his elbow brushing the edge of the table. “okay, so… i once had this drunk argument with two of my friends where we all ganged up on one of them, swearing it wasn’t a word. i think i owe him a beer now.”
you laughed softly, shaking your head. “mm, that sounds like my kind of party. i love proving people wrong.”
“and you’re good at it,” he said, voice dropping slightly.
your gaze flicked to him, surprised by the weight of his tone. “how do you know?”
“cause you’re good at everything.” he replied smoothly.
you rolled your eyes, a small laugh escaping despite yourself. “everything’s a bit much, don’t you think?”
“not really,” he said, his voice dipping. “i’ve only known you for, what? two weeks? and you’ve already made me smarter than i was four months ago. you’re… impressive, hard-working, disciplined. honestly, i think my coach would exchange me for you if he had the chance.”
you laughed at the mere idea of you kicking a ball. it would be a safety hazard for everyone involved. “there’s plenty of stuff i’m not good at, trust me. my parents just drilled it into me that there’s nothing you can’t learn with enough time, effort, and training. same goes for you, you know. i’m not some genius or anything.”
he ran a hand through his hair, his expression softening. “i guess i’ve always been good at soccer. and once everyone realized that, it was kind of decided. i was the soccer guy. but i do love it.”
“you can love soccer and still be good at other things,” you said, tilting your head. “like algebra.”
he groaned, letting his head drop dramatically onto the desk. “algebra and i have a toxic relationship.”
“at least algebra can’t give you a concussion,” you teased lightly.
his head shot up, a grin tugging at his lips. “you kidding? have you seen the size of this book?”
you laughed, shaking your head. “okay, fair point.”
he leaned back in his chair, arms crossing as he studied you. “i’m gonna be honest with you.”
you set your pencil down, mirroring his posture. “okay, shoot.”
“i never even tried to study for algebra before this. didn’t think i could get it, so i just… didn’t bother. the book’s basically brand new. well, except for day one. i opened it then.”
your jaw dropped, and you sat up straighter. “rafe! are you serious? you have to at least try. even if you think you’ll mess it up.”
“yeah, yeah, i know that now,” he said, a sheepish grin tugging at his lips.
you sighed, though your expression softened. “honestly, i’m giving you credit for pulling a 2.5 without even trying. that’s… not terrible.”
his face lit up. “see? that’s what i’ve been saying! thank you.”
you smirked, shaking your head. “don’t let it go to your head. no more slacking, though. i think you can do way better. in fact, i know you can. and i’ll help you get there.”
his smile shifted, quieter, sincere. “yeah, i know you will.”
"and you'll get your glowing recommendation." rafe says and you couldn't even believe you'd almost forgotten about that part of the deal.
"and it better actually glow." you added as you closed your planner. rafe chuckled, "you know you've got principal oakley by the balls?" he says and you gasp at his language. "don't say something like that!"
he laughs, sinking into his chair. "the way you hold yourself around him? the way you walk around the office like you own the place?" he's still grinning and you sit up, trying to think back to that day. were you actually that bad? "you were essentially bossing him around. it was so fucking se—" rafe stops in his sentences and you frown at his abrupt pause. "sick..it was really sick. i think he and i were both at a loss for words."
you agree that they did say a lot less than you did but that tended to happen whenever you were in a room. you could just get so carried away and end up talking people's heads off. you had a lot of thoughts that refused to stay inside of your head like ever.
"i guess it's just..very important to me. his recommendation will make me stand out. it's only the beginning of my 30 year plan. he cannot mess this up." you sigh throwing yourself back onto your bed, stomach twisting at the thought of a less than perfect letter being sent.
"tell me about your thirty year plan." and that, that was something no one ever asked. they asked why and feigned interest for a second but no one ever really asked you to talk about it.
you sit up turning to him, "really?" you ask, a little stunned and he nods and moves to your bed to look at your planner. you'd had it since you were ten, always adding things whenever your mind went places too far to see in the near future. it was your whole life, literally. a little battered but loved nonetheless. you weren't joking when you said you would run into a burning house for this book.
and rafe looks sincere when he urges you to tell him about it again so you start and you talk and talk and talk and you don't stop until almost an hour later and realise a couple of things at the same time.
rafe sat there and not only did he listen attentively, he asked questions and constantly assured you that he was listening.
he'd moved from your desk to your bed, lying on it like he owned, pillow rested under his neck whilst you sat cris crossed by his side, close enough for your knee to knock against his side a couple of times.
you were extremely late for your community service at the retirement home.
"wait, wait.." you glanced out your window to see the sky looking darker than it should. rafe looks at you in confusion, rasps out the softest, "what?" that almost stops you in your track but you keep going and reach for your phone. your eyes widen when you see the time. "oh, no, no. i'm late.." you groan jumping out of bed and pulling your knit jumper over your head.
"late..? time s'it?" he asks and when you say seven pm, his brows raise in surprise. time had gone by so insanely fast. you had blinked and an hour and a half passed.
as you hurriedly grab your bag, rafe grabs his book off the desk, "come, i'll drive you." he offers and you're shaking your head but he's already grabbed your wrist and is dragging you down the stairs. "rafe, you don't even know where i'm going. it's okay." you try but he's pulling on his shoes and essentially ignoring you. you don't like it. you stop in your tracks and he looks at you after a beat. "y/n, put your feet in those little flats and let's go."
you blink at the demand, surprised with his tone but find yourself putting your flats on without another word and then he's driving you to the retirement home.
chapter index — prev. chap. — next chap.
masterlist
teach please me — tutor!reader x soccer player!rafe
reader's life is meticulously planned, from high school to becoming president of the country—she knows exactly where she's headed and every step to get there. but her airtight plan hits a snag when the principal ropes her into tutoring rafe cameron, the school’s star soccer player, who’s failing algebra and at risk of being benched next season. the team needs him on the field, and reader needs the principal’s glowing recommendation to secure her spot at her dream school. balancing her ambitious goals with rafe’s chaotic charm might just throw her perfectly crafted plan off track.
word count — 4.3
chapter index — prev. chap. — next chap.
masterlist
a.n — AAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH
eleven
sunday, february 9th
you'd read and re-read the stoichiometry chapter in your chemistry book so many times the words had started to blur together. no matter how hard you tried to concentrate, the first sentence refused to stick, so you read it again. and again. the mole-to-mole relationships in chemical equations couldn’t do what you so desperately wanted them to: distract you from your laptop sitting smugly on the corner of your desk, mocking you with its silence.
you glanced at the screen for the hundredth time.
still no response.
your chest tightened, frustration bubbling under your skin. you'd never wanted to scratch your own eyes out more than you did right now. your gaze shifted to the blue pen rafe had given you, lying idle next to your notebook. he’d handed it to you after you’d casually mentioned trying to stop chewing on pens. it was one of those novelty pens with a fluffy pom-pom at the end—a ridiculous detail, but it worked. you hadn’t bitten a pen in days.
you sighed, pressing your forehead to the cool surface of your desk. the frustration and restlessness were unbearable. "just get it together. focus. focus, y/n," you whispered, willing yourself to snap out of it.
"what are you doing?"
the sudden voice made your heart leap into your throat. you jolted upright, instinctively grabbing the first thing within reach—a pack of sticky notes—and hurling it toward the intruder.
your sister's stupidly athletic self ducked effortlessly, a bemused look on her face as the sticky notes fluttered harmlessly to the floor. "don't scare me like that," you scolded, your voice stern, though your pulse was still racing.
"relax," she said, rolling her eyes. "mom said you need to help her and rafe unload the groceries."
you froze. rafe? you blinked, sure you’d misheard. "wait, what did you just say?"
but she was already turning away, her athletic frame disappearing down the hall before you could get any clarification.
you shot out of your chair, heart thudding as you hurried after her. she darted down the stairs and into her room, slamming the door behind her, leaving you to descend the stairs alone. with each step, the sound of laughter drifted closer, unmistakably rafe’s—deep, warm, and contagious.
your stomach twisted. your nerves were already frayed, and now they were shot through with the sharp edge of memory. friday’s argument lingered, unresolved and heavy. you’d both walked out of that classroom unsatisfied—him with no answers about what happened at the bonfire, and you still clueless about the black eye he refused to explain. his silence afterward, ignoring your text all day, had only solidified your belief that he was done talking to you.
and yet… here he was.
you stopped in the hallway, your breath catching as you caught sight of him. standing in the kitchen with your mom, rafe moved around like he belonged there, putting dishes away with an ease that almost felt intentional.
your eyes locked on him as he reached for the cabinet, your favorite mug in his hand. something about seeing it there, his long fingers gripping the familiar ceramic, made your chest tighten in a way you couldn’t explain.
you lingered, frozen in place, unsure of whether to walk in or turn back. the kitchen was only a few steps away, but it suddenly felt like miles.
"ah, there you are, sweetie! look who i ran into at the farmer's market!" your mom's voice carried a cheerful lilt as she gestured toward rafe, her grin wide. he turned at the mention of you, his movements calm, but his eyes sharp as they settled on your face. "i came on foot, and he was kind enough to offer me a ride," she continued, her voice full of appreciation that almost made you laugh. for someone you'd barely been able to figure out, it seemed rafe had won your mom over in no time.
he closed the cabinet with a soft thud, his gaze falling on you again, drifting down your frame. you caught the flicker of amusement in his expression as his eyes lingered on your legs, bare except for the well-worn university hoodie your dad had given you and a pair of shorts. his scrutiny was quiet but obvious, and it made your skin prickle, though you couldn’t quite decide if it was irritation or something else entirely.
and there it was—the reason you couldn't get past the bonfire, the reason even standing in the same room as him sometimes felt unbearable. it wasn’t just the way he looked at you, though that was part of it, his blue eyes holding something electric, like you were the only girl in the world. it wasn’t just the way his attention made your heart stutter, like you were under a spell you couldn’t shake. it was the way your mind twisted it all, painting vivid, cruel images of him looking at someone else like this.
looking at any girl like this. every girl. seeing his gaze soften like it did for you, feeling that same magnetic pull that left you breathless, making her feel exactly the way he made you feel. it made you want to throw up.
"how friendly," you muttered under your breath, stepping into the kitchen to busy yourself. your eyes skimmed over the contents of your mom’s shopping bags, your attempt to distract yourself entirely unconvincing.
"are you okay? you’re a little sweaty," your mom asked, her hand brushing your forehead with gentle concern.
"just my period," you replied softly, leaning into the touch as she pulled you into a warm embrace.
her arms wrapped around you, and you rested your head against her shoulder, but your eyes found rafe’s again. he hadn’t looked away, his gaze steady, unreadable.
"i’ll make you a cup of tea, yeah?" your mom offered, her voice soft in your ear.
"mhm, thanks, mom," you murmured.
"do you need a heat pad?" she added.
"already got one," you replied with a faint smile, trying to shake the weight of the moment.
she pulled back, her hand brushing over your arm before glancing toward rafe. "be sure to send rafe down if it cools so i can reheat the water, okay? you’ll do that for her, right?"
rafe didn’t miss a beat, his voice low but certain. "and more."
you felt your pulse stutter, but you didn’t dare let yourself read into it. not now. not again.
it’s only when you’re right in front of the stairs that you stop and turn to him. “you didn’t get my message?”
“i did get your message.” he says it like it’s a minor detail that doesn’t change anything.
“and you’re here.” you state and move up one step because you don’t like that he’s taller than you right now.
he raises his brows, looking up at you, “you’ve never dictated my whereabouts before..”
you cross your arms, “i thought you were mad at me.”
“i think you might be my hill.”
his hill?
“my hill to die on.” he clarifies and you’re quiet for a moment and then another because why why why would he say something like that?
your heart sort of feels like it’s being squeezed.
you don’t say another word as you climb the stairs together, you don’t say a word when you sit at your desk, your chemistry notes waiting, unread and you don’t say a word when he sits on your bed, facing you.
"not gonna talk to me?" he asks, his voice low and even, but you keep your eyes on the notes in front of you, pretending with all the strength you can muster that he isn’t sitting there, watching your every move.
"why’d you even let me into your room if you weren’t going to talk to me?" he asks again, the hint of a smirk in his tone that grates on you.
you roll your eyes, the response instinctual. he was six feet tall—what were you supposed to do? block the door? he wouldn’t have listened even if you’d told him to leave, and you both knew it.
"okay," he says suddenly, standing and crossing the room toward you. he crouches down beside you, his movements deliberate, his presence impossible to ignore now. "you’re still mad i didn’t tell you what happened friday, and i’m mad you won’t tell me what happened at the bonfire. it cancels out. we should just not be mad anymore," he says, as if it’s the simplest solution in the world.
you finally turn to look at him, and he’s close—too close. your eyes drop to the bruise beneath his eye, still swollen and tender-looking, as raw as it had been on friday. your frown deepens, and before you realize it, your hand lifts, fingers reaching toward the edge of the discoloration. but you stop short, your fingertips hovering before dropping back into your lap. you turn away again, determined not to give in to the pull of him.
you try to focus on your notes, the words swimming on the page. then, without warning, he grabs your book and tosses it onto your bed.
you don’t react, not really. instead, you reach for your laptop and pull up the pdf version, scrolling without looking at him.
"are you fuck—" he starts, catching himself when your glare sharpens on him, "—freaking serious?"
you turn back to your screen, your silence louder than any retort.
he closes your laptop with a single motion, holding it down when you try to open it again. your frustration boils over, and you stand, but he pushes you back into the chair, his movements unrelenting.
"you know you’re being a brat, right?" he says, his tone somewhere between amusement and exasperation. you cross your arms, staring straight ahead, refusing to engage.
with a scoff, he turns your chair so you’re facing him. your head swivels away, determined not to meet his gaze.
"i can’t believe this," he mutters, the disbelief laced with dry humor.
he could scoff and huff and puff all he wanted. you weren’t going to say a single word until he told you what happened friday. it didn’t matter if he thought you were being a brat, or if it wasn’t fair to withhold your own truth about the bonfire while expecting him to spill his.
the bonfire was different—separate. telling rafe what you saw would mean telling him why you reacted the way you did, and what was the point of all that when you were determined to weed out these feelings anyway?
because they would pass. they had to pass.
you’d read countless articles that said as much—this infatuation, this pull, was temporary. fleeting. give it ten, maybe fifteen business days, and you’d be fine. you’d be back to normal. telling him would only ruin something that didn’t need to be ruined, would risk losing him prematurely for something that wasn’t permanent.
"jesus christ, fine," he sighed, the frustration thick in his voice as he leaned back and sank onto your bed. he patted the spot next to him, his hand heavy on the comforter. "come here," he ordered, his tone leaving no room for argument.
you hesitated for just a moment before obeying, standing and crossing the small space between you. settling onto the bed beside him, your leg brushed against his, the proximity setting your nerves on edge.
"i’ve been… i’ve been in a shit mood all week, you know?" he began, his voice quieter now, almost hesitant. he exhaled heavily and ran a hand through his hair. "and i guess i’ve been kind of a buzzkill. just… i’ve had a lot on my mind. about sarah, about soccer, my dad… and about you."
your breath caught at his admission, your fingers curling into the fabric of your shorts.
"it’s not like i can’t talk about it with my friends," he continued, his words slower now, more deliberate. "it’s just… i don’t have my thoughts straight yet. haven’t even worked through it myself, you know? but topper…" rafe broke off with a frustrated sigh, his jaw tightening. you could practically see the scene playing out in his head. "topper doesn’t like it when i don’t talk about shit. he’s always on edge, scared i’ll slip into… old habits if i don’t deal with my crap. so, he pushes. and pushes. and i was already pissed off, already had too much to drink, and he kept getting in my face, asking me what my problem was."
rafe’s hands flexed, his fingers pressing into his thighs like he was trying to contain the memory. "so i tell him to fu—to piss off," he corrected himself, glancing at you briefly. "but he just kept going, and i was done. i was ready to walk away, ready to just leave. and then…" his voice faltered, the weight of his words hanging in the air between you.
you frowned, leaning closer without even realizing it. "and then what?" you asked softly, your voice barely above a whisper.
he turned to look at you, and the guilt in his eyes made your stomach twist.
"rafe," you pressed, your heart pounding. "what did he say? was it about me?"
he looked away, his hand dragging across his face like he could erase the tension in his features. "the details don’t really matter," he said, his voice low and evasive.
"no," you said sharply, shaking your head. "no. i want to know. tell me."
"it’s stupid," he muttered, his tone filled with reluctant anger. "he’s stupid—"
"you got into a physical fight over it. it can’t be that stupid," you argued, your gaze fixed on his.
rafe hesitated, his lips pressing into a tight line, as if debating whether to tell you.
"rafe,"
he exhaled sharply, his shoulders tense. "he said…" rafe hesitated again, his voice quieter now, tinged with anger and something softer—regret, maybe. "he said i should cut off ‘that goody-goody, prissy bitch’ because i was in a way better mood before i met you."
the words hit you like a punch to the gut. your shoulders sagged, and your gaze dropped to the floor. you took a shallow breath, exhaling slowly as the weight of his admission settled over you.
"and then?" you asked quietly, your voice steady but barely audible.
"y/n—" he started, but you cut him off, your head snapping up to meet his eyes.
"and then?"
rafe sighed, running his hand through his hair again, the strands sticking up messily. "i told him to come again. i don’t even remember what he said next, honestly. all i caught was sarah’s name and something muffled before i… slammed him into a wall and kneed him in the face. he got one punch in, but i fractured his nose and he looks like shit, so… i’m pretty pleased with that part."
a dry, humorless laugh escaped him, but you couldn’t bring yourself to smile. his words lingered in your head, sharper than the bruise on his face, harder to ignore than the ache settling in your chest.
"i'm sorry..that this all happened." you said and he shook his head, "it's not your fault. don't apologise." it felt a little your fault. or maybe a lot. you can imagine that if you never tutored rafe in the first place, this wouldn't have happened.
your gaze stayed fixed on the floor, avoiding his entirely, but rafe wasn’t having it. he leaned forward, lowering his head until his eyes found yours. "topper’s an asshole," he said bluntly. "and honestly, i’m probably gonna kick his ass again the next time i see him."
a small, unwilling smile tugged at your lips. "don’t do that," you whispered, the diplomat in you rising instinctively.
"no?" he asked, grinning in a way that made your heart flutter and your stomach flip. "don’t think he deserves a matching one?" he gestured toward his own black eye, the faint shadow of a bruise still etched into his face.
the truth was, topper probably did deserve it. but you bit your lip, shaking your head anyway, even as you silently agreed.
"he’s not wrong, though," you admitted quietly, the words slipping out before you could stop them.
rafe rolled his eyes with a sharp exhale. "fuck him and fuck whatever he has to say about you. he doesn’t know a thing about you."
you nodded slowly, your heart both heavy and a little lighter at the same time. "hmm… doesn’t change that i’m pretty prissy. and, you know, a serious goody-goody," you said with a wry smile. "maybe not the bitch part though."
rafe pulled a face, a mix of disbelief and irritation. "just because you’re not downing a beer crate every weekend or hooking up with half the town doesn’t make you prissy—or a goody-goody. topper’s just being a dickhead, and he knows it."
his words made you freeze. your breath hitched, your body tensing almost imperceptibly, but not enough to escape his notice.
rafe’s brows lifted, his tone shifting as a teasing grin spread across his face. "unless…" he started, leaning closer, his voice playful. "you are secretly an alcoholic?"
you let out a small, breathy laugh despite yourself, shaking your head and turning away. you didn’t want to have this conversation—not anymore.
"then…" he pressed, undeterred. "some boyfriend? or… boyfriends? that i should know about? or girlfriend?"
your pulse quickened, and you bolted upright, crossing the room in a hurry. you stopped at your bookshelf, your fingers brushing over the spines of the books as though you were searching for something specific. "um, no," you muttered, your voice clipped and quiet.
behind you, his voice came, laced with that maddening curiosity. "how long has it been?"
you froze, turning your head just enough to glance at him, wary. "how long has what been?"
his knowing smirk deepened, and the glint in his eye told you he already knew the answer—or thought he did. "how long has it been since you’ve gone fourth base, teach?"
your brow furrowed, and you blinked at him, the term pulling at a distant, foggy memory from freshman-year sex ed. "fourth base?" you repeated in a whisper, trying to piece it together.
he stopped moving, his gaze locking on yours with a mixture of disbelief and something softer—was it pity? "wait," he said, the realization dawning on him. "you’ve never…" his voice trailed off, leaving the implication hanging thick in the air.
your cheeks burned hotter, and you blinked rapidly, refusing to answer until you were absolutely sure of what he meant. "is that…hands stuff?" you asked, the words leaving your mouth before you could stop them.
his jaw slackened, and his shock only deepened. "you’ve never had se—"
"shut up!" you snapped, spinning away from him so he couldn’t see your mortified expression. "i’ll have you know that it is completely normal!"
"okay, yes, but…" his tone shifted, almost as if he were genuinely concerned now, which only made it worse. "you’ve done, like, third-base stuff, right?"
the way he threw these terms around so casually grated on your nerves, especially since you had no idea what half of them meant. you glared at him, crossing your arms defensively. "enough with the baseball analogies! speak english!"
he chuckled softly, and the sound only added to your irritation. "okay, fine. have you done… you know, under-the-clothes stuff?" he clarified, his voice gentler now, but it didn’t soften the blow.
your silence stretched too long, and you saw the understanding flicker in his eyes before he even whispered, "shit…"
he hesitated, then asked, almost cautiously, "have you even had your first kiss?"
you turned sharply, glaring daggers at him. "of course," you snapped, though your voice lacked conviction. "i’ve kissed… two guys." the last part came out so softly it barely registered, even to you.
"repeat that?" he asked, leaning forward like he didn’t quite believe what he’d just heard. his eyes were wide, filled with something you couldn’t name—disbelief? Amusement?
"two guys," you hissed, louder this time, but it still didn’t sound like much.
"oh my god," he said slowly, nodding as though he were processing groundbreaking information. "so… two boyfriends?"
you shook your head quickly. "one boyfriend. the other was…" you hesitated, cringing inwardly. "seven minutes in heaven."
that did it. rafe’s quiet laughter bubbled up, low and persistent as he shook his head. "seven minutes in heaven?" he echoed, his grin widening.
"stop!" you demanded, but he was already smiling too broadly to take you seriously.
"who were the guys?" he asked, and you stared at him, debating whether or not to answer. finally, with a shrug, you muttered, "danny watson."
that made him stand up, his eyes wide with exaggerated disbelief. "danny watson?" he repeated, his tone bordering on incredulous. "the one who’s always wearing a fanny pack?"
"he’s really nice!" you argued, crossing your arms tighter over your chest. "and smart! and—whatever, i don’t have to explain myself! i also dated jeremy dunn in freshman year. very, very briefly."
"so, basically…" he said, grinning like he’d cracked the case, "you’ve never been kissed."
"yes, i have!" you shot back, standing taller as though it might add weight to your words. "maybe they weren’t the perfect, romcom kisses, but they were real kisses."
he raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. your defensiveness only made it worse, but you couldn’t help yourself. the way he was looking at you, like you were some sort of anomaly, made you want to claw back every ounce of dignity you had left.
how many girls had he kissed? the thought burned in your chest. if cora was right and he got with a different girl every day, that had to be at least seven hundred girls in the past three years. you even gave him the benefit of the doubt and limited it to weekdays. still, the sheer number made you dizzy.
and here he was, standing in your room, acting like your two measly kisses were some kind of tragedy.
"they weren’t real kisses," he said, his voice low and certain. "you wouldn’t be talking about them like this if they made you feel even a sliver of what a real kiss should feel like." god, here comes the kissing connoisseur.
"okay, enlighten me," you said, exhaling a sigh and trying to sound disinterested, even though your pulse had quickened, and your curiosity was clawing at you.
he shifted, leaning casually against your desk, his arms crossed as he faced you. "unless your first is with someone you really like, it’s gonna be shit. and even if it is with someone you really like, if you’re both bumbling idiots—and let’s be honest, you probably are—it’ll still feel like shit."
your mind flickered back to those two kisses. they hadn’t been bad. they were just…kisses. no fireworks, no earth-shattering revelations. kind of like when your grandma kissed your cheek—sweet, familiar, forgettable. that wasn’t bad, right? you loved your grandma.
"but once you’re older, and you’ve got your eye on someone?" his voice softened, drawing you in like a moth to a flame. "imagine you’re at a party. you’ve been watching each other all night, and you just keep moving closer, little by little. it’s not even intentional—it’s like there’s this magnetic pull between you, like the universe is plotting to pull you together."
you were holding your breath now, your eyes fixed on him. on his lips. on the way his hands gestured subtly, like he was weaving a spell with his words. without realizing it, you leaned forward slightly, the space between you shrinking inch by inch.
"then, you’re face to face," he continued, his voice almost a whisper now. "there’s this quiet kind of flirting, just between the two of you. your breaths mingle, and then…hands start to move—into their hair, onto their waist, wherever. suddenly, you can’t tell where you end and they begin. it’s like you just…become one."
his eyes locked on yours, and you swore you forgot how to breathe. his legs shifted, spreading slightly, and it felt like an unspoken invitation to step closer. your teeth caught your bottom lip as you fought the overwhelming urge to close the distance. but it wasn’t working—you kept inching forward, drawn to him like gravity.
"it feels like electricity," he murmured, his voice thick with intensity. "your whole body is buzzing, like you might actually catch fire the second your lips touch."
his hand reached out, catching the hem of your sweater and tugging gently, pulling you into his space. your breath hitched audibly, and your nose brushed his as your bodies hovered just short of touching.
"and then you finally kiss," he whispered, his hands ghosting over your waist, so light they barely registered. "and it’s like the rest of the world disappears. you forget where you are because nothing else matters. it’s just…you and them. that’s it. it should make your head spin, your knees weak, and leave you completely and utterly incapable of pulling away."
his lips brushed yours then, a fleeting, teasing touch that sent a jolt through your entire body. you froze, caught in the electric moment, and realized with startling clarity that if he pulled away now, it might actually kill you.
"if it didn’t feel like that," he whispered, his voice feather-soft and tantalizing, "then it wasn’t a real kiss."
and then he kissed you.
your mind screamed, finally, finally, finally, like you’d been waiting for this moment your entire life. his lips were soft but firm, demanding but gentle, everything you’d imagined and somehow so much more. a wave of heat spread through you, leaving your skin tingling, your head reeling. your hand trembled as it came up to his face, the other fisting in his shirt, desperate to pull him closer.
just as you started to lose yourself completely, he pushed you back suddenly. the abruptness sent you stumbling into your bed with a startled shriek.
the door swung open. "what was that shriek?" your mom’s voice came, cup of tea in hand as she stepped inside.
"she’s in pain," rafe interjected smoothly, stepping forward to take the tea from her before you could so much as catch your breath. "it’s really…getting to her."
you blinked rapidly, trying to reorient yourself as your mom frowned, concern etched across her face. "oh no, sweetheart. do you need stronger pills? i might have something downstairs."
"y-yeah," you stammered, your voice shaky. "that…that’d be great. yes."
your mom leaned down, pressing a kiss to your forehead before straightening. "all right, then." her gaze flicked to rafe, her smile warm but pointed. "rafe, not that i don’t love having you here, but she should rest. i’ll send you home with some dessert."
you watched helplessly as she ushered him toward the door. rafe shot you one last look, a flicker of amusement and something else in his eyes, before she closed the door behind her.
a.n — honestly yn kinda getting on my nerves now….
teach please me — tutor!reader x soccer player!rafe
reader's life is meticulously planned, from high school to becoming president of the country—she knows exactly where she's headed and every step to get there. but her airtight plan hits a snag when the principal ropes her into tutoring rafe cameron, the school’s star soccer player, who’s failing algebra and at risk of being benched next season. the team needs him on the field, and reader needs the principal’s glowing recommendation to secure her spot at her dream school. balancing her ambitious goals with rafe’s chaotic charm might just throw her perfectly crafted plan off track.
word count — 3.6
chapter index — prev. chap. — next chap.
masterlist
six
tuesday, january 28th
you sat on your bed, legs crossed over eachother with your laptop on your lap. your philosphy teacher had given out this assignment friday and you'd been mulling it over the entire weekend.
you stared at the question asked.
what defines 'perfection"? is it a universal concept, or is it deeply personal and subjective? discuss how ideals shape our perceptions and actions.
you'd been staring at a blank page for five days now, unable to come up with anything. it was like writer block's mean older sister, academic block. anything you did come up with was stupid: a stupid attempt at dissecting society's perception of perfection which was boring, everyone was going to do that. another attempt would talk about how perfection didn't exist and though that was true, your writing quickly turned into the whole, 'nothing is real, nothing really matters mumbo jumbo.' so, you scrapped that too.
your thoughts were abruptly interrupted when you felt something being thrown against your head. you flinched and looked at rafe who was sitting there, innocently with his bowl of jellybeans.
"do you know how lucky you are that i've allowed you to eat in my room? and here you are, just taking my kindness for granted," you say and he laughs and waves his notebook up.
it's messy, full of scribbles where he scratches out his mistakes instead of using an eraser. the corners are littered with little things he doodles like footballs and small animals. by now, you could read it all perfectly though, could understand what he meant even when he didn't even remember his own thought process or was unable to read through all the scribbles on his page. "i'm done." he sings and you glance at the time, "23 minutes, record time." you praise as he stands to stretch his legs.
"we're approaching it."
"what are we approaching?"
"the moment when student becomes teacher." he says plainly and you roll your eyes with a stupid grin. "yeah, can't wait." you mutter, eyes flicking back to your screen.
"if i eat anymore of these, i might actually go up a weight group and coach will chop my balls off so i'm gonna go give your brother a sugar rush. be right back." he says and it only dawns on you after a couple of minutes of him being gone that you didn't even flinch at him just meshing in with your family, casually going down to your brother and you could just imagine the smile on your brother's face when he saw rafe, partly because of the jellybeans in his bowl but also because of how much he'd grown to enjoy rafe's presence.
you didn't know whether to be scared or happy.
you glanced at his sweater on your desk, all frumpled up right next to yours, neatly folded.
you looked back at your screen and started typing.
the concept of the ideal: a personal reflection
the concept of the ideal is elusive but also compelling, isn't it?
philosophically, ideals are often framed as unattainable benchmarks, guiding us but forever out of reach. plato’s theory of forms suggests that ideals exist in a realm beyond our physical world, serving as pure, perfect templates against which our imperfect reality is measured. yet, in our daily lives, ideals often take on a more tangible form—not abstract but embodied in people, moments, or emotions.
for me, the ideal feels deeply personal. it's not static or universal but shifts with my experiences and perceptions. i've always thought of 'perfection" as something distant, unreachable, and theoretical, yet recently, i've found myself reconsidering this definition. sometimes, the ideal isn't flawless but deeply flawed in ways that make it real and irresistible.
take, for instance, the idea of the ideal person. philosophers like aristotle argue that virtue and reason define the 'ideal human' but our hearts rarely follow reason.
we find ourselves captivated by individuals who challenge our ideals and force us to question whether perfection lies in symmetry or in the cracks and contradictions.
my own life is a perfect example. i used to imagine the ideal as someone who fit a checklist—organized, predictable, and safe. yet lately, i've been drawn to the unpredictable, the messy, the human. there's someone i know who doesn't fit my old definition of perfection, but somehow, they embody something more profound. their laugh is loud and uncontainable, their honesty is sharp and unpolished, but it's real, they're restless and noticeably want more from life, there's a chaos to them that should be maddening but instead, feels like freedom.
perhaps the ideal isn't a fixed destination but a reflection of what we value in the moment. it's fluid, shaped by context, emotion, and the stories we tell ourselves. this realization doesn't make the ideal any less compelling or desirable. if anything, it makes it more so, because it feels within reach—even if only for a fleeting second.
in the end, the concept of the ideal may not be about finding something flawless but about recognizing the beauty in imperfection. it's about the moments, people, or ideas that briefly make us pause and wonder if we've just had a glimpse at something divine.
rafe walks into your room, your little brother in his arms. "that's not what i meant when i said you need a study buddy." you tell him as you close your laptop and rafe pauses from blowing raspberries in his stomach. "you're my study buddy," he says to you before holding your brother up real high and making him giggle up a storm. "this little rascal is our mascotte!" and your mouth hurts from smiling so you turn away from them and start tidying up your room.
"you wanna go somewhere with me?" yes. always, every day, any time. literally anywhere.
"depends on where you want to go." you say and go to pick up your brother who is now waddling to your book shelve and is bound to drop a couple of books on his own head.
"my friends are pestering me about this bonfire." rafe explains as he's putting his hoodie back on. "i kinda stood them up when i went to the retirement home with you last week so they're on my case now. it's close to your house but i can drop you off at home afterwards if you want?"
did he want you to meet his friends? you weren't sure you really wanted that. you had friends that you wouldn't trade for a thing in the world but maybe this was him trying to show you that he did want you in his life for longer than the next four months.
his friends were different than you, liked different things, had different priorities and different interest but ultimately, rafe was one of them and you really liked rafe so who says you wouldn't like them?
"how many people are going?" you ask even though you're already thinking about what you're going to wear and which perfume screams, 'i may be a little bit of a nerd and at times too studious but i know how to have fun when in the right mood.'
he takes your brother from your arms and goes to lie on your bed with him. "i'm actually not sure. hopefully not too many cause all this algebra has me pretty beat."
you're hesitating. you don't know anyone but him and he wasn't even sure if this was a bonfire which would turn into a beach party or a bonfire that would stay just that: a cute little bonfire with less than fifteen people which was totally your vibe. beach party with fifty plus people? not so much.
"but i'll be there," he says like he can feel your hesitation from across the room. you fiddle with the blouse in your hand. "and i won't abandon you." it sounds like a promise and you're a sucker for those.
you turn and nod, "okay, yeah, let's go."
"you're not invited." he says to your little brother, a sad little look on his face. you smile and turn back to your closet to pick an outfit.
you do your best at hiding how nervous you are on the car ride there and rafe doesn't seem to really notice which is good. you want him to think you're normal. just a normal girl who maybe doesn't ever go to parties but isn't about to shit her pants at the thought of one right now.
you look down at your outfit. a little unusual for you and your sister did give you a look when you were leaving but when you hid in the bathroom to search "bonfire outfits" on pinterest, this was what everyone was wearing. the pictures had lots of loose clothing, loose pants and big hoodies which you didn't have much of. the most casual thing you owned were these leggings and your dad's old university hoodie. a pair of sneakers that you bought for the gym membership you never used. they were almost brand new and a tote bag with some essentials. it wasn't that bad, right? you felt that maybe it was too sporty because it was missing those damn loose pants but you didn't have those in your closet.
when you arrived and took a look around, you realised, rafe looked perfect—always—but specifically for the occasion. he blended in seamlessly and what did you see? atleast twenty girls in either bikini's or skirts. you were ready to scream into your pillow. they were wearing sandals which you didn't understand because the sand would get all over them? and bikini's? it was january. that's like one of the coldest months of the year.
either way, whatever you thought made sense didn't matter because you were the one who stood out like a sore thumb, walking over with one of the most stared at people in this town.
the bonfire’s glow grew brighter as you and rafe walked down the sandy path, the muffled sounds of laughter and music getting louder with every step. the air was cool, carrying the faint scent of saltwater and burning wood, and the horizon was painted in deep oranges and reds from the flames licking the sky.
as soon as the two of you stepped into the circle of firelight, it was like a switch flipped. people called out rafe’s name from all directions.
“rafe, my man!” one guy shouted, jogging over with a grin that could rival the flames. a group of girls nearby waved enthusiastically, their voices blending in a chorus of greetings.
“hey, you made it!” a tall blonde clapped rafe on the shoulder, already pressing a cold beer into his hand. “and who’s this?” he asked, eyebrows raised as his gaze shifted to you.
“this is—” rafe started, but you jumped in with your name and a polite smile.
“right, right, the tutor!” the guy said, giving a quick nod before motioning toward the group gathered near the fire. “come on, everyone’s over here. there’s drinks and snacks if you want.”
as you approached, more introductions followed.
"guys, look who's graced us with his presence!" the guy who was obviously already drunk said to the group sitting around together.
"rafe!"
"what's up, cameron."
"and you brought a friend.."
the girl who said that didn't seem too pleased but before you could let it simmer in your mind too long, rafe started talking. "i'm gonna do a very quick round of introductions, just try to keep up and remember no one expects you to really remember these names." he says and the guy cuts in, "except my name, i fully expect to be remembered." he grins making the group laugh. you smile when rafe starts, "this pestering moron that has been attached to my hip since elementary school is topper," rafe introduces him first and topper does a little bow.
"then we have, kelce, cleo, adriana, jj, pope, kiara, john b and cora." he points at each person and you recognize most of them from school and almost all the boys seem to be on the soccer team. you knew without a doubt that adriana and cora were cheerleaders because of the pep rallies.
"so, you're the girl who's been keeping rafe so busy." so busy? you saw him twice a week. they got him for five, that sounded like a really sweet deal to you.
"honestly, it's the opposite. she's got better shit to do then tutor me." rafe says before you can and you feel a wave of relief come over you that you aren't totally being put on the spot here.
"right because you're student body president, right?" one of the girls, cleo, you think, says. for some reason, it excites you that she knows you, that these people know anything about you. you never cared before but you wanted rafe's friends to like you or at least, not hate you.
"yes, that's me." you smile and tuck your hands into the pockets of your hoodie when you feel a sudden breeze. "shit, you're number 1, aren't you?" one of the other guys suddenly says and you tilt your head, frowning in confusion. "your class rank." he clarifies and it dawns on you what he means, you nod and hope they don't feel like you're bragging.
"she's also number 1 for grade rank." rafe says it proudly and your heart warms at the thought of him even remembering that. "wait, what's class rank? what's grade rank?" you think his name is kelce but you aren't sure.
"you know that number right in the corner of your report card that says 'rank: 410'? with her it says 'rank: 1" because she performed the best in our grade. you can try to guess what yours means." kiara explained while the others were already laughing at kelce's rank number.
"i've been trying to beat you since sophomore year." the same guy who pointed out that you were number one speaks again.
"pope is number two." jj says before putting a joint between his lips and your eyes go wide, "wait, so," you pause and turn to rafe. "this whole time, pope could have been helping you with algebra!?" you're happy he didn't but still, the idea didn't dawn on them?
"he didn't want to help me!" rafe laughs and looks at pope who's quick to defend himself, "woah, woah! i tried to help him! he's the worst student!"
"false accusations, you just don't explain it the way she does."
"what? she's better than me?" pope laughs astonishedly.
"well, we know she's better than you. you're number two." topper says mockingly as he wraps an arm around rafe's shoulder.
pope's eyes briefly close as if it actually pained him but he's smiling so you know it didn't. "low blow, thornton."
"okay, how about another round!" one of the cheerleaders said and opened the cooler to distribute more beers.
they handed rafe another one almost immediately, while kiara held out a cup toward you.
“drink?” she asked, her smile warm.
“oh, no thanks. i don’t drink,” you said casually, shaking your head.
the reaction was instantaneous. every conversation in your immediate vicinity paused as heads turned toward you. “wait, what?” john b asked incredulously, and cora chimed in, “not at all?”
kiara blinked at you, still holding the cup as if you’d suddenly sprouted a second head. “you don’t drink? like, ever?”
you laughed nervously, feeling the weight of their stares. “yeah, um, i just don’t. it’s a personal choice, but also, i’ve read a lot about what alcohol does to the brain. it slows down neurotransmitters, messes with your decision-making, and—” you paused when you realized they were all still staring at you like you were speaking another language. “anyway, it’s just not my thing.”
an awkward silence settled over the group for half a second too long. then, rafe cleared his throat, stepping in smoothly. “she’s got a point,” he said, holding up his beer. “matter of fact…” without hesitation, he set it down on a nearby log. “guess i’m not drinking tonight either.”
a few eyebrows rose at that, but no one questioned it. instead, someone cracked a joke about who was going to give rafe a hard time for being sober, and just like that, the conversation shifted seamlessly to the music playing in the background. the tension evaporated as the group resumed their chatter, and the attention shifted away from you.
"you don't have to do that." you tell rafe and he's shaking his head, moving to sit on a log near the fire. "it's all good. i'm very worried about my..neuro..things.." he says slowly as if he's trying to guess the world. you giggle, "neurotransmitters." you correct and he nods, "that, and i'm driving you home so i shouldn't drink anyway." he did have a point.
rafe stayed with you for a while but then more and more people showed up and the music only got louder and topper forced rafe up to his feet and they were gone, disappearing in the crowd with big smiles on their faces.
"so, if you don't drink, i'm assuming, you don't smoke either?" kiara was suddenly asking and you smiled small, shaking your head. "then what's your poison?" cora asks and you guess you don't really have one.
"i.. don't think i have one.." you say and see adriana's brows go up. "how bland." she says flatly. you weren't sure when it became uncool to not be addicted to substances but for some reason, your lips wouldn't move to defend yourself. "shut up, adriana. no one asked." cleo tells her and adriana's rolling her eyes and walking away. cora follows her. "she's not usually like that. she's been in a mood for a while." john b suddenly says before he's shrugging and facing the sky again, joint between his lips.
"it’s perfectly normal. pope is the same way. the only thing pope can’t get enough of is…" kiara trails off, gesturing somewhere far behind them.
you follow her gaze, squinting into the distance until you just barely make out pope and jj—practically attached at the lips.
“oh, i didn’t even realize they were—”
“they’re not,” john b interrupts, cutting a glance toward the scene with a faint grimace. “jj’s a freak about commitment.”
kiara smiles sadly, but you can’t help the way your brain immediately starts connecting the dots. “well, that actually makes sense,” you blurt out, drawing their attention. “there’s a 2017 study in personality and social psychology bulletin that suggests people who have commitment issues often have a stronger sensitivity to rejection. it’s not that they don’t want connection—it’s more like they’re wired to perceive potential threats in intimate relationships, so they avoid them altogether.”
cleo, john b and kiara blink at you, a mix of disbelief and faint amusement in their expressions.
"why does that sound like something pope would say?" cleo gasped with a smile.
"i was about to say!" kiara laughs and john b perks up, “god, you and pope really are a match made in nerd heaven,” he says, rolling his eyes.
kiara shoves his arm and tells him to be quiet before turning back to you. “so what’s the science on why you’re always blurting out facts?”
“probably an overactive prefrontal cortex,” you joke, earning a laugh from kiara who shakes her head, "we have no idea what that means!"
you have to admit, the bonfire is fun and apart from adriana, you felt okay about everyone. rafe popped in and out a couple of times but you didn't expect him to stay by your side the entire time either. everyone here seemed to want to talk to him so you stayed with kiara and cleo and even danced a little. it was fun but you were ready to go. it was still a school night. you only gave yourself this much time because you were having fun and you finished your essay.
you had briefly seen rafe with cora and she was standing by the makeshift bar, opening a can of beer. you lightly tap on her shoulder and she whips around, "oh..hey." she says and you ignore her complete disinterest in you. "hi, i'm looking for rafe. i saw him with you a couple of minutes ago but then i lost him again."
"oh..he's.." her voice trails off and she's quiet for a moment, eyes almost examining you. "over there." she points behind some wooden beach bar that was closed. however, you could see people surrounding it so you thanked her and walked over to beach bar, grateful to be standing on some solid land.
you didn't see him immediately and started to wonder if cora hadn't sent you here just to get you out of her sight. you sigh, pulling out your phone as you walk to dial his phone number even though the chances of him hearing his phone were slim.
that’s when you saw him—or them. rafe was leaning casually against the ledge, adriana tucked between his legs like she belonged there. they weren’t kissing, but somehow, it felt worse. their faces were so close, lips barely grazing as they exchanged soft words and easy laughter. the way they smiled at each other made it clear: they were flirting, and neither of them cared who saw it.
you couldn’t stop staring. for a split second, your mind flashed back to all the times rafe had said something to you—his teasing comments, the way his smile lingered just a little too long. you’d wondered if he was flirting with you, or if you were just reading too much into it.
but now you were sure. because the way he was looking at her? it was the same way he’d looked at you.
your stomach twisted, an ache blooming in your chest that you didn’t want to name. you turned quickly, forcing yourself to walk back toward the party, your footsteps heavy and unsteady. that’s when you saw cora, standing there like she’d been waiting for you.
her smile wasn’t kind. it was small and pitying, laced with something sharper. “don’t worry, they’re just friends,” she said, her tone light but somehow cutting.
your lips parted to respond, but she wasn’t done. her next words hit you like a slap. “it’s a different girl every day with him. but hey, maybe next time it’ll be you.”
for some ridiculous, stupid reason, there were tears threatening to spill from your eyes. you blinked them back furiously, refusing to let them fall. you weren’t about to cry over a guy who, a month ago, barely knew your name. no way.
without another word to cora—or anyone—you kept walking. past the party, past the noise, past the place that suddenly felt suffocating. the whole way home, you blinked those tears away, again and again, the lump in your throat tightening with every step.
by the time you reached your door, the ache in your chest had dulled, but it hadn’t disappeared. you let out a shaky breath, swearing silently to yourself that this would be the last time you let rafe cameron get to you.
chapter index — prev. chap. — next chap.
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teach please me — tutor!reader x soccer player!rafe
reader's life is meticulously planned, from high school to becoming president of the country—she knows exactly where she's headed and every step to get there. but her airtight plan hits a snag when the principal ropes her into tutoring rafe cameron, the school’s star soccer player, who’s failing algebra and at risk of being benched next season. the team needs him on the field, and reader needs the principal’s glowing recommendation to secure her spot at her dream school. balancing her ambitious goals with rafe’s chaotic charm might just throw her perfectly crafted plan off track.
word count — 2.3
chapter index — prev. chap. — next chap.
masterlist
eight
sunday, february 2nd
you've gotten the question 'how do you do it?' a couple of times in your life. you've always been the kind to never stop running, never stop moving, never stop working, just never stop. never even take a break, really. any 'free' time was an opportunity to do something useful or productive.
you're pretty sure you never really 'cracked the code'. the code was kind of built inside of you, weirdly embedded in your brain. you've always been disciplined, you've always known that small, deliberate actions over time were the only way to stay consistent. it does help that you've always had this purpose or reason to do it.
you knew what you wanted, who you wanted to be.
you knew that commiting, sticking to the plan was the only way to get there.
in order to stick to a plan, there had to be a plan.
it makes sense that you wrote out an entire two page document, detailed and in depth with graphs, sources and pictures explaining your complete approach to getting over rafe and putting some much needed space between you two.
you're picking your nails, a habit you'd abandoned years ago after a rather brutal pull that ended with you in tears while your dad disinfected your bleeding thumb.
now here you were again, staring at the dining room table you'd temporarily transformed into a desk for rafe's tutoring session. step one of your plan was distance, of course. you had to block him away emotionally and him wandering around in your room, letting his smell linger, leaving his clothes or his stuff sitting there for days, lying in your bed. it was too close. too personal.
your room was a sanctuary, it was essentially your place of work and your home all at the same time. it had to feel serene and cleansed from distractions like feelings for boys.
the table was set up the same way your desk was: his notebook, pencil and calculator neatly placed on the table. you even placed a bottle of water right there so he didn't need to go wandering into your kitchen for anything. there was no need for him to walk around your house.
you would sit diagonal to him, working on the valentine's day cards which you were super behind on because you spent multiple days being too upset to even look at a heart-shaped-anything.
your dad was also sitting in the living room working on his laptop which somehow made it feel even more impersonal. it was perfect.
the doorbell rang and you froze for a moment. "are you gonna open that..or should i?" your dad called from the living room and you jumped into action. "uh! no, it's rafe. i'm going, sorry." you're rushing to the door and take a deep breath. "just be casual, be normal." you whisper to yourself before opening the door.
don't even think about how good he looks or smells or just how good it feels to even be in his viscinity. don't. don't. don't. shut up. don't.
"hey." he says as you move to the side to let him in. "hi. was the..drive good? any traffic?" what kind of a stupid question was that? this town had less than 50 000 people. there was never that much traffic.
he seems to be confused by the question as well, "no, no..traffic. it's sunday.."
"that is.. good. really good." you stand there with your hands behind your back as he takes his shoes off and when he walks over to you, in front of the stairs, he gives you a look and raises his brows. "are we gonna go up?" he slowly asks and you press your lips together and shake your head. "so, actually. i had this really fun idea that we could just..stay down here." you gesture to the dining room down the hall.
he looks at where you're gesturing before he looks at you again. "you want to stay down here?" he questioned, eyes boring into yours. "mm, i would like to stay down here..it's..i—it doesn't really matter where we sit, right?"
he blinks at you, lips parted. "right," he says softly and you nod and repeat after him before turning and heading into the dining room. he followed and his eyes immediately went to the table set up before glancing at your dad. "hey, y/d/n." he says and your dad greets him back, this big smile on his face that kind of makes you want to shove him. this boy broke his little girl's heart and he was just smiling at him? okay, sure, he doesn't know that it even happened but he should just sense those things. is that too much to ask?
you don't waste any time. the minute rafe sits down, you're getting into the lesson. "alright, last lesson we covered how to solve systems of equations by graphing, substitution and elimination. do you feel like there's one or multiple methods that you struggled with the most when you were doing the exercises?"
he looks at you, seemingly lost for a moment. "before we start, can we just—"
you tense. "maybe during the break. so, any issues?" it seems like he sees the momentary panic in your face because his eyes soften before he nods and exhales, "i..i guess with the graphing, i struggled with the overlapping lines and the parallel ones and for substitution, isolating variables and variables in general is still a shaky one."
you nod and stand right next to him, reading his notes carefully. "you're not gonna sit?" he looks at you. you don't look at him. "i'm okay, so, for the overlapping lines and parallel, what you need to remember is overlapping lines represent infinitely many solutions and parallel lines is the concept of no solution or an inconsistent system. it's kind of confusing but once you can set those apart and remember what they mean, it gets easier." you flip his page then, "and for the variables, i can see that you forgot to solve for the second variable a couple of times. remember that after finding one variable, you have to plug it back in to find the other."
"wait, but i thought when i did this, i was solving for the second variable…?" rafe points at his page, eyebrows furrowed as his pencil drags under a line of equations. "because i brought this one over."
you lean closer, bending over his notebook to see what he’s pointing at. "no," you say, tilting your head toward him. "i explained this last time, but you were too busy trying to braid my hair instead of listening, remember?"
he cracks a lopsided smile, the kind that always threatens to make your knees weak. "just trying to grow my skillset," he murmurs, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye.
you roll your eyes but can’t help the smirk tugging at your lips. "anyway," you say, nudging his pencil aside gently, "what you’re actually doing here is moving the term over to isolate one variable first. see? once that’s done, then you substitute it into the second equation to find the other variable."
you wait for his usual reaction, the quiet "ohhh" that always follows whenever he finally pieces something together. but the silence stretches, and when nothing comes, you turn to him. "you get… it?" the words falter on your lips as your gaze meets his, and the rest of the room seems to fall away.
he’s already staring at you, his eyes steady and unrelenting. they’re warm, piercing, and hold a depth you can’t even begin to describe. you don’t even have time to process how close you are, how his breath brushes faintly against your cheek, or how the faint furrow of his brow softens as he takes you in.
you feel caught, anchored by something invisible yet impossibly strong. your heart hammers so loud in your chest you’re sure he can hear it. the air around you thickens, heavy with unspoken words and unacknowledged tension. it’s as if the world has narrowed to just the two of you, and nothing could pull you out of this moment.
remember the plan. remember the plan. you try to tell yourself but then his eyes flicker down for the briefest second, not enough to seem deliberate, but enough to send your pulse skyrocketing. when they meet yours again, it feels like he’s trying to tell you something without saying a word. it’s overwhelming, consuming, and utterly impossible to look away.
your breath catches, the intensity growing unbearable. you’re drowning in the weight of it—this connection, this magnetism that shouldn’t feel as monumental as it does. and just when you think you might give in, might let yourself fall into whatever this moment is, you tear yourself away.
your eyes drop to the notebook in front of you, your hands fumbling to straighten the page unnecessarily. "so, um… yeah, just try the new exercises i made and i'm here if you need help," you say, your voice a pitch higher than usual, and you can feel your face burning. you bee-line for the kitchen before you actually make the situation worse.
you paced in the kitchen for a couple of minutes before casually walking back into the dining room. you slid into your seat and could feel rafe's eyes on you but you refused to look up. you willed yourself to focus on the notes and hundreds of pink and red enveloppes in front of you.
the entire session went the same way. you worked on your envelopes, and rafe worked on his exercises. you answered his questions when needed, but you never moved from your spot.
near the end of the lesson, your dad's voice carried from the doorway, casual and warm. "rafe, are you eating dinner with us?" it had become a bit of a routine—your sessions almost always wrapped up around dinner time. but tonight, you’d planned for this.
"no, not today," you answered for him.
your dad hesitated, clearly surprised to hear your voice instead of rafe's. his confusion deepened when he glanced at you, taking in your stern expression. after a moment, he nodded sharply, muttering, "got it," before disappearing down the hall toward the kitchen.
"what was that?"
"what was what?"
rafe stood, pushing his chair back with a scrape. for a moment, you thought he might just leave, but instead, he stopped at the doorway, turning back to you. his eyes pinned you in place. "come here," he said firmly, his voice low but unyielding.
you blinked at the demand, your body rooted to the spot. "what—"
his jaw tightened. without repeating himself, he walked straight to you, his movements deliberate, his frustration radiating off him like heat. you thought he’d just grab your wrist and tug you to your feet, but instead, he did something much more dramatic.
"rafe, what are you—"
before you could finish, he bent down, his arms looping around your waist as he hauled you over his shoulder with ease.
"rafe!" you yelped, your voice higher than you’d like as you squirmed against him. "what the hell are you doing?"
he didn’t answer. didn’t even flinch. he just turned and started walking, his steps firm and purposeful as he carried you up the stairs like you weighed nothing. you slapped his back and demanded to be put down, but it was like talking to a brick wall.
he set you down, right on the edge of your bed. you jumped to your feet immediately, but he was already there, standing in front of you, so close you could feel his breath. the proximity was overwhelming, so you sat back down again, instinctively creating space.
"rafe—"
"no. i’ll do the talking now." his tone left no room for argument. he pulled your chair from your desk, dragging it a little too roughly across the floor before sitting down, facing you. you felt the weight of his gaze, the intensity of his stare, and for a split second, you felt small—like a kid about to get scolded by the principal.
"i don’t know what happened last week. i don’t know why you won’t talk to me. i can’t help but assume that you either aren’t ready to talk or just don’t want to talk to me, but i can figure out that i’ve done something to upset you. i can’t force you to open up, but if you don’t… i won’t know what the hell i’m doing. i’ll apologize, because, honestly, i just want this," he waved a hand toward you, your whole being, "to stop."
he leaned forward, his voice steady, firm. "you’re ignoring me at school, you barely answer my texts, and we won’t even talk about how you yelled at me on wednesday because clearly, you don’t want to talk about that either. i’ll never bring any of it up again, if that’s what you need from me. but now? you’re shutting me out completely. we can’t even sit in your room? i can’t stay for dinner, you won’t sit next to me—what the hell is this all supposed to mean?"
his gaze was unwavering. "i want to fix it. i want to make things right. but if you won’t let me, if you refuse to even try, you can’t act like i’m the enemy. you can’t be pissed at me, not tell me why, and then shut me out and act like i'm somehow misunderstanding the situation. that’s not how this works."
his voice was tight, but there was no shouting. just a clear, deliberate force.
"okay." you nod after a moment. "okay?" he repeats and you nod after him. "you're right. i'm not being fair, it's just..i d-don't really—i w-want to—"
he stops you the moment you start to struggle, "don't. don't force yourself to tell me anything if you don't want to. i just don't want to lose this. " he says and your mind immediately flashes to him with adriana before you can even delusionalise yourself into thinking he meant that in a romantic way.
"i know..and our friendship is important to me too. i just.." you start slowly and he's looking at you with these, big, kind, hopeful eyes. "i am a very type-a person—"
"you don't say."
you glare at him, "—and i work well with planning, order, organization. i don't like mess. i don't like things that don't go my way. now, please, do not take this the bad way because i promise, i don't want you gone, you aren't a burden," you beg quietly and he nods reluctantly, "but..this..situation we've found ourselves in has significantly.." you pause and search for the right word, "upset my balance and i think that the bonfire was a bit much. that is all. i j-just..got my period that day and i've been doing all this stuff that i usually don't do like not following my schedule by the letter so i needed to let it all sink in a bit and i process things in a very specific way which makes me lose sight of other people's feelings sometimes but i'll try to stop. i promise." you say and rafe raises his brows, "yeah?" he asks and you nod, faint smile on your lips when he grins because it's impossible to not smile with a grin as contagious as his.
safe to say you didn't stick to the plan.
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