“Mine…”
>>>pairing: toxic!bf Rafe x toxic!gf reader
>>>warning: toxic, playful, possessive, and deeply co-dependent, unfortunately no smut
>>>summary: Rafe flirts with a girl to make you jealous since he loves seeing you angry.
A/N: inspired by Chuck and Blair in season 3 of GG iykyk. this is probably as close to smut as I can write🫣
Rafe saw you the second you walked into the room.
You always made an entrance even when you pretended not to. Even now, dressed like trouble in heels that were made to crush egos and a dress that clung like sin. But you didn’t look at him. You looked everywhere else, nursing your drink like the glass offended you.
So he played his card.
The girl at the bar was easy enough to pull in. Soft smile, basic flattery, the kind of desperation that mistook his silence for mystery. Rafe barely touched her. Just leaned in, slow and calculated. Just enough to let her fingers graze his bicep. Just enough to make sure you saw.
And you did.
You always did.
He felt your presence behind him before you even said a word. The temperature dropped. The air changed. You stepped between them, your body a wall of practiced elegance and venom. “Sweetheart,” you said to the girl, tone faux-kind, “do you always hang off men who aren’t yours or is tonight special?”
The girl blinked. “Excuse me?”
“I mean, it’s adorable. Really. Trying so hard with a man who hasn’t looked at you once.”
Rafe sipped his drink, watching the moment like a front row seat to his favorite show.
The girl stammered. “I didn’t—he said—“
You tilted your head. “He’s mine. But don’t worry, you’ll make a great pity post in a group chat.”
The girl’s face crumpled. She fled, heels clicking too fast across the floor.
Rafe didn’t move.
You turned to him, eyes still blazing, glossed lips —that Rafe loved to bite— turned down in a frown. “You enjoyed that.”
“Did I?” he said, smug. “Looked like you did.”
“You’re sick,” you snapped, breath short.
Rafe grinned, leaning down your height just enough that you smell the bourbon on his breath. “You’re worse. And I love it.”
You dragged him by the wrist out the side exit, not saying a word as you headed straight to his truck. He followed without hesitation, enjoying the way your nails dug into his skin far too much. The door slammed behind you both, and the second you turned to speak, he was already kissing you.
It wasn’t gentle.
It was teeth and tongue and tangled limbs across the bench seat. His hands in your hair. Yours fisting his button-up. You bit his lip; he growled into your mouth.
“She really thought she had a chance,” you muttered against his jaw, voice breathless.
“She was a pawn,” he drawled, lips trailing down your throat. “You’re the queen.” He kissed your pulse like a brand, his voice thick. “And I like when you get mean.”
You laughed—wild and giddy, drunk on jealousy and adrenaline and Rafe.
He pulled back just enough to look at you, hand still cradling your thigh. “I’d let you ruin me,” he murmured. “You know that, right?”
You smirked. “I already have.”
He kissed you again, deeper this time. Slower. His hands slides beneath your dress, mapping out your soft skin like he always does.
You let him. You move down his neck, glossed lips leaving tacky residue on his skin as you murmur,
“Let’s do that again…”
“pretty when you cry..”
“say sorry..”