∗rafe cameron archive∗

“Yeah,” You reply, unable to think of anything else.

“He’s a strong guy, and he skated off on his own.” Another girl says positively, nodding.

“Right.” You nod with her, trying to convince your mind to agree with them.

Somebody calls your name, and your head whips sharply. Red hair. Blue eyes looking at you with a mixture of confusion and what looks like pity.

“He left already. His sister took him home.” Holiday says, stopping beside you.

“Oh, okay.” You breathe a sigh of relief, feeling like if he was sent home, then it wasn’t too bad.

“He’s fine.” He assures, voice firm. “We’re all tougher than we look.”

The walk to your apartment feels like forever as your finger hovers over the call button on your phone. You want to call him, to hear his voice, but you don’t know if your own voice will betray your emotions. If you seemed this emotional from one hockey injury, that could freak him out and send him running.

“Hey, partner,” Rafe’s voice as you turn the corner in the dorm hallway startles you into dropping your phone. You think you might be hallucinating, but as your phone clatters to the floor, you look up to see Rafe sitting in front of your room door.

“Jesus,” You stammer, grabbing your phone and checking for cracks in the screen. Thankfully, it’s fine. And Rafe looks fine. And real. Smiling at you like he didn’t just get pummeled. “What are you doing here?”

“Making sure you come with me to the bars, like you promised.” He says it so casually that you immediately stiffen.

“Rafe, seriously?” There’s an edge to your voice and you try to soften it. “You just got punched into the ice. Taken out of the game. They didn’t even let you go back in.” His eyes widen just for a second before narrowing, shrugging.

“All precautionary,” He insists. “They cleared me. I’m good.”

You scoff, nudging him aside so you can unlock your door. Thankfully, Katy was out of town visiting her family so she didn’t have to deal with you arguing with this idiot.

“Inside.” You demand, and he reluctantly follows. Taking a seat on the edge of your bed, you watch as he leans against your desk, eyeing you warily. “Do you really think it’s a good idea to go out and drink after something like that?”

“I won’t drink,” He promises, trying to force that cocky grin back. “And you can keep an eye on me.”

“Sounds fun.” Sarcasm drips from your voice.

“Listen, I’m fine. Everyone said I’m fine. I don’t get why you’re freaking the fuck out-”

“I saw your head hit the ice!” You interrupt, voice loud but shaking. Tears sting your eyes again, and you look away and try to force them to stop.

“That’s what the helmet is for.” He says, and your emotions simmer faster.

“You didn’t move, Rafe. You weren’t moving. Even if it was just for half a second, I don’t care what you say. That was terrifying.”

Rafe finally shuts his mouth, looking away from you now. The silence feels charged, thanks to your emotions boiling over.

“Hockey’s hockey,” He starts, voice measured. “We know what we signed up for. This shit happens.”

“I understand that,” You take a deep breath. “But I’m allowed to be scared for you. I’m allowed to give a damn about you.”

“I didn’t say you couldn’t-”

“You’re acting like it!” You shoot back, eyes boring into his. “Fuck, Rafe. Just imagine, just for one second, if someone hurt me. Just try. What if they hurt me on purpose, and I wasn’t moving? How the fuck would you feel?” A tear falls down your cheek, and you wipe it away swiftly. He goes quiet again, eyes darkening, jaw clenching. He’s gripping your desk so hard his knuckles are white.

“I get it.” Rafe forces the words out. “Shit, I’m sorry. I just-” He stops himself again, releasing your desk and cracking his knuckles. “I’m not used to, um, people giving a shit, I guess.” The words tug on your heart a little bit.

“Well, I do. So, get used to it.” Your lips curve up despite how hard you try to keep your expression firm. He smirks.

“That’s a little terrifying.” His voice is mischievous, but there’s a little truth in it.

“Oh, fuck off. What’s terrifying is the bruise forming on the side of your head.” You point, and he turns to the mirror hanging by your desk, touching the spot softly.

“Huh.” He shrugs. “Not bad. You should see my torso. Banged me up pretty good.”

“I think I’m okay.” You swear, voice tight.

“Since when do you not want to see me shirtless?” He turns back to you, finally getting you to laugh a little.

“Whatever,” You wave him off. “Also, your sister clearly cares about you. Does she know you’re here and trying to go to bars?”

“No. And trust me, her giving a shit is new.” Rafe tries to keep his tone light but you can hear the edge in it. You don’t want to push him, especially after the night he’s had.

“If you wanna go out with the team, we can go. But no drinking.” You tell him sternly.

“Yes, ma’am.” He salutes you, leading the way eagerly. He takes you to a bar a couple blocks from his house, but thanks to it being Friday night after a rivalry hocky game, there’s already a long line to get in when you meet up with the team.

“Glad you made it!” Meghan hugs you as you all take your place in line. There’s Miguel, Holiday, and a handful of other boys you don’t recognize. Rafe introduces them to you, but the only name that sticks is Bobby Flynn. The boy Meghan had mentioned. He was huge, clearly a defenseman, with blonde hair cut short and brown eyes and freckled skin. His smile was much more friendly than everyone else’s.

“My dad’s calling,” Rafe announces with a sign as he pulls out his phone. “Sarah probably overexaggerated everything and made him think I’m in the fuckin’ hospital. I’ll be right back.” He walks off a bit to take the call, leaving you with Meghan and the team.

“Good to meet you finally. I think having you here will calm Cameron down a bit.” Bobby says to you as the team chuckles.

“Was he really that bad?” You wince.

“Oh, you have no idea how many times we had to talk him out of all the drunk ‘I miss you’ texts he wanted to send.”

“Seriously?” All the blood rushes to your cheeks, and you look away from the boys at Rafe, who is pacing while on the phone.

“Dead serious.” Bobby replies.

“That doesn’t sound like Rafe.” You shake your head, trying to imagine it.

“Well, maybe he wouldn’t have said ‘I miss you’. But he wanted to text you. All the time.”

“We all saw it.” Another boy says. A flash of baby blue takes your focus back up front in time to see a group of UNC boys ditching your group. You stiffen as the Duke boys around you curse under their breath, but they don’t move. Probably in enough trouble with their coach after the chaos of the game earlier.

“Great,” Meghan mutters. “Now I’ll have to wait even longer to finally pee.” Somehow, that was enough for you to do something. Maybe it was the hockey team behind you. Or the anger from watching Rafe get hurt. But something was building, and you weren’t afraid to be confrontational. You tapped the closest UNC boy on the back and waited for him to turn around.

“Excuse me,” You cross your arms, looking up into his dark brown eyes. “There’s a line, if you didn’t notice. You and your little friends should wait like everyone else.” The boy just laughs at you, eyes narrowing.

“Yeah? Whose puck bunny are you, huh? Holiday’s?” He sneers down at you, his friends turning to the commotion.

“She’s no one’s.” Holiday cuts in, voice laced with annoyance.

“Then what’s your deal? All sad your school lost tonight?” He mockingly pouts, and that makes your body tighten.

“Duke could’ve won if your team didn’t play so dirty. Y’all were so threatened you had to try to actually hurt us to win.” You retort, hearing the boys chuckle behind you.

“Oh, so you’re Cameron’s girl?” The boy’s grinning now, his friends egging him on. “Sorry your pussy of a boyfriend got a few more screws knocked loose in that fucked up brain of his.” Meghan gasps. Holiday steps up beside you. But you can barely hear anyone else, your heart lurching as your vision turns red.

“Shitty team, shitty fans. Of course, you have to ditch like a fucking child to make yourselves feel good. Pieces of shit.” You hiss.

“No need to be such a bitch.” The boy scoffs, ready to turn and ignore you.

“The fuck did you call her?” You hear Rafe’s voice before you see him. The UNC boy goes pale, looking behind you.

“Nothing.” He mutters as Rafe steps in front of you, solid but simmering with anger.

“Nah, say that shit again.” Rafe snaps, and the UNC boys practically cower.

“We were just going to the back of the line.” One of the other boys insists, and they sulk away like the past five minutes never happened.

“Cameron saved the day.” Miguel tries to soften Rafe, patting him on the shoulder.

“Only because they were scared shitless.” Bobby chuckles, shaking his head.

“What’d they say to you?” Rafe turns to you, still laser focused, still tense.

“Don’t worry about her, Cameron. She handled her own.” Holiday says, surprising you with the compliment.

“And we wouldn’t let anything happen to her.” Miguel promises.

“Looked like they weren’t doing jack-shit.” Rafe murmurs, leaning toward you so only you can hear.

“Like they said, I can handle myself.” You shrug, glad that he seems to be slowly relaxing.

“Did they say some shit about me? Is that why you were so mad?” He smirks, seemingly amused at the thought. You flush, clearing your throat.

“He just made it seem like he was glad you got punched. Called you a pussy.” You say evenly, watching his expression.

“Well, I am what I eat.” He winks, exaggeratedly licking his lips.

“Ew, nasty.” You chuckle, shoving him away.

“You like it.” He grins, and you’re relieved to see his smile. Even if it was brief. He definitely didn’t need to be getting in trouble for you.

“Hey, with all the free stuff you get, how come you can’t let us cut the line?” You change the subject, tapping your foot with fake impatience. He shakes his head.

“Best I can do is getting your 20-year-old friend in without a fake.”

“Aw, bars don’t care about hockey players?” You pout.

“Not enough.” He places a hand on the small of your back while you wait in line, like he’d lose you if he didn’t. His jaw was still ticking, a little too quiet. The moment you all got into the crowded bar, you asked the team for shots to help loosen you up. Bobby gets everyone a lemon drop, and you watch Rafe skip like he promised while taking your own. Without him able to drink, you didn’t know if he’d let himself relax. You order a drink for you and Meghan quickly, while you’re still at the counter.

It doesn’t take long for a group of girls to come up to the team. One of them, a girl with dark auburn hair, beelines for Rafe and tries to chat with him. But it’s like he doesn’t even hear her. His eyes dart around the bar, as if he’s expecting the UNC boys to show up again and cause trouble. As soon as the girl moves on, you pull Rafe to the side.

“Your head bothering you?” You ask.

“What? No.” He narrows his eyes.

“Then relax, please. Have fun with your team.”

“I am having fun.” His voice is not at all convincing.

“You just ignored a girl that tried to talk to you.” You point out, nodding at the girl who’s still sneaking glances at Rafe while she orders a drink at the bar.

“I did?” His brow furrows, meeting her eyes. “Damn. I got you, at least.”

“Rafe,” You give him a knowing look. “Don’t change anything because I’m here. Stop worrying about me. Go have fun, please.”

“What, you want me to go talk to another girl?” He smirks at you, straightening up.

“It’s not like it’s illegal.” You shrug, pushing him in her direction. That was the whole point of being casual. Either of you could do what you wanted. Those were his terms.

“Fine. If that’s what you want.” He walks away slowly.

“Do what you want, that’s the whole point!” You call after him, doubtful if he heard you over the crowd and the loud rock music playing. Meghan sees a chance to drag you with her to an open high-top table, taking a seat with you.

“Getting them to give you space during a night out feels impossible sometimes.” She commiserates, giving Miguel a flirty wave. “Although, I don’t know how you can stand watching him talk to other girls like that. Much less encourage him to do that.”

“We’re not dating.” You shrug.

“Which I understand,” Meghan assures you. “I just don’t think I could handle seeing that.” Truthfully, you hadn’t been watching Rafe since he left. You might’ve actually been avoiding looking at him. You sneak a glance, just in time to see the girl put her hand on his arm. It’s enough to make you feel very warm, your stomach twisting as you look away.

“I feel like jealousy is a little normal,” You try to justify it. “Or maybe I’m just not used to the whole casual thing.”

“Better at it than me, that’s for sure.” Meghan widens her green eyes.

“Ladies,” A slightly familiar voice interrupts you both, and you turn to see a slightly familiar face.

“Joker! From the Halloween party.” You say as recognition hits, and he laughs.

“Mike, actually.” He corrects lightheartedly. “Can I get you both another drink? Vodka cran?” He guesses.

“Yeah, thank you!” You smile at him, and he smiles back as he heads to the bar. Meghan gives you a sly smile as you giggle in return. Mike was definitely cute, even if you couldn’t really remember his name. And perfectly fine to talk to when things were casual.

But Mike is only just walking back with your drinks when you see Rafe. His eyes are ice, jaw tense from before, locked on the frat boy. At first, you feel anger itching under your skin. There wasn’t anything wrong with you talking to another guy. Having a guy buy you a drink.

And then, you’re startled. Rafe grabs Mike’s shirt and shoves him against the brick wall of the bar, drinks sloshing. You call out his name, but he doesn’t seem to hear you. The hockey team moves toward Rafe faster than you can even leave your seat.

“The fuck did you put in there, huh?” Rafe’s voice carries over the crowd, causing a few people to turn. “I saw you! You slipped shit in their drinks. Admit it.”

You freeze at his words, your body feeling numb and too warm all at the same time. Just like at the arena, you grab Meghan’s arm as if it would steady you. The hockey boys move for you both, Holiday stepping beside Rafe while the others stand to block Mike from both of you. Mike’s still protesting, struggling against Rafe, voice shaky and stuttering.

“Thompson, get the bouncer.” Holiday orders, and one of the boys takes off toward the front. “Okay, frat boy. You know this place has security cameras. You gonna fess up, or what?”

“Okay, okay, shit, I did it!” Mike whimpers.

“Did what, bitch? Say it.” Rafe hisses, somehow pressing him further into the wall.

“I drugged their drinks, okay? I did it.” Mike admits more firmly. A gasp slips past your lips, Meghan gripping you back enough to sting. But you barely feel it. True terror surges through you, because you would have taken the drink without thinking. Mike probably thought it was just you and Meghan, and that he could get one of you home. The thought made you nauseous.

“Alright, Rafe. Let him go. We got the confession.” Holiday says calmly, holding up his phone. He places his other hand on Rafe’s shoulder. “Bouncer’s here.” Only when a burly man steps into view does Rafe let go, seeming to snap out of his rage.

“Where are the girls? Where is she?” Rafe stammers, eyes searching. Holiday reassures him, but you call out anyway, gently nudging Bobby aside.

“Rafe!” You call again over the noise, and his eyes lock on yours. So many emotions seem to flash through him all at once. Fear, sadness, relief. Both of you push through the crowd, and the second you’re close enough, you launch into his arms. He holds you tight enough you can barely breathe, like he has to remind himself that you’re safe now. Your body gives out against him, tears falling as the adrenaline fades.

“You’re okay, you’re safe, you’re okay,” He repeats like he wants to convince you and himself. You pull away just enough to look into his eyes again.

“Let’s get the hell out of here.” You plead, your skin still crawling with the thought of someone spiking your drink and taking advantage of you. Rafe nods quickly, pulling away just enough to take your hand.

Y/N frowned. “What what?”

Rafe leaned back slightly in his chair, turning the joint between his fingers as he studied her with the kind of expression that usually meant he was about to become unbelievably annoying. “Do you even know what overstimulating means?”

“Duh. I’m not stupid,” she snapped, rolling her eyes so hard it was a miracle they didn’t detach and go bouncing across the floor like marbles. There was a fire in her voice, the kind that only flared when Rafe was being insufferable—which, let’s be real, was at least eighty percent of the time.

He chuckled, the sound rich and warm, like whiskey poured over ice. “Not sayin’ you are, sweetheart,” he drawled, shifting in his seat, the wooden chair creaking under him. “Just sayin’ you’re usin’ the wrong word. The one you’re lookin’ for is overwhelming. Not overstimulating.” He shrugged, as if this were the most casual observation in the world, as if he weren’t already mentally rubbing his hands together at the prospect of proving her wrong.

Her arms tightened across her chest, her nails digging into her sleeves. “It’s basically the same thing. Stop being a smartass.”

Rafe’s grin widened, slow and deliberate, like a predator savoring the chase. “No, baby,” he said, dragging out the word like it was made of honey, “it really isn’t.” The teasing edge in his voice was sharp enough to cut, and he knew it. She knew it. The air between them crackled with the kind of tension that only existed when two people were equally matched in stubbornness and wit.

She threw her hands up, sarcasm dripping from every syllable like molten gold. “Oh, I’m so sorry, I didn’t realize Rafe Cameron had suddenly earned his PhD in English. Please, Professor, enlighten me.” Her voice was laced with mockery, but there was a flicker of something else beneath it—amusement, maybe, or the reluctant acknowledgment that she was, in fact, about to get schooled.

And Rafe? Oh, he lived for this shit.

The grin that split his face was immediate. Massive. Unbearably pleased with himself, like a kid who’d just been handed the keys to a candy store. “Gladly,” he said, and before she could groan—though she did, loud and dramatic, like he’d just announced he was going to recite the entire dictionary—he was already leaning forward, the joint now a makeshift pointer as he gestured at her like some kind of stoned Socrates. “Overstimulation,” he began, voice taking on the exaggerated gravitas of a lecturer, “is when there’s too much sensory input. Too much noise, too much light, too much shit happening all at once. It’s your brain screamin’ at you because it can’t process it all—like tryin’ to watch five TVs at the same time while someone’s banging pots next to your ear and a strobe light’s goin’ off in your face.”

He sat up straighter, actually committing to the bit now, his free hand waving for emphasis. The chair groaned under him, but he didn’t notice. He was in his element. “Overwhelmed,” he continued, “is when you’ve got too much on your plate emotionally or mentally. It’s not about the senses—it’s about the soul. Like when your coworkers are up your ass, your boss is breathin’ down your neck, and your to-do list looks like it was written by a sadist with too much optimism.”

She let out a noise that was half-laugh, half-sob. “Oh my God.”

Undeterred, Rafe pressed on, undeniably in his zone. “So if your coworkers were annoyin’ you and you had too much work—”

“I don’t care.”

“—that’s overwhelmed.”

“I literally do not care.”

“But if five people were talkin’ at once,” he said, counting off on his fingers, “while fluorescent lights were beamin’ into your skull like some kind of government experiment, and somebody was chewin’ loudly next to you like a damn cow—”

“Rafe.”

“—that’s overstimulation.”

“Rafe.”

He paused, tilting his head, the picture of mock innocence. “See the difference?”

She stared at him, a mix of exasperation and reluctant admiration in her eyes. “You’re a dick.”

Rafe’s grin turned downright wicked, his eyes alight with the kind of mischief that promised retribution—or at the very least, a very thorough demonstration. “Want a demonstration?”

She hadn’t known what he meant by demonstration back then, when he’d been smirking at her with that infuriating, know-it-all grin, the joint dangling from his fingers like a dare. But now? Oh, she knew.

The mattress beneath her was a battlefield—rumpled, damp with sweat and the tears she’d spilled when he’d pushed her past the edge of what she thought she could handle, only to drag her back again, gasping. Rafe had her exactly where he wanted her: face-down, ass up, her body a trembling, over-sensitized mess beneath him. The sheets were tangled under her, the fabric rough against her skin, but she barely noticed. All she could feel was him—the heavy, unrelenting weight of his body pinning her down, the way his cock filled her so completely it bordered on painful, the way his breath hitched against the back of her neck.

“See, baby?” His voice was a dark purr, the kind of sound that slithered under her skin and settled deep in her bones. “This…” His fingers found her clit, already swollen and throbbing from the last orgasm he’d wrung out of her, and he circled it with maddening precision. “This is overstimulating.”

She whimpered, her hips jerking involuntarily, her body caught between the need to escape and the desperate, aching want to stay right where she was. Every nerve ending was alight, her skin electric, her pussy clenching around him in a rhythm that betrayed her—traitorous, greedy thing—as if she couldn’t decide whether to push him out or pull him deeper. “Please…” The word was a broken thing, muffled against the pillow, her voice raw from screaming his name. “I can’t… I can’t take anymore.”

Rafe chuckled, the sound a low, dark thing that vibrated through her entire body, making her toes curl. “Yes, you can,” he murmured, his hips rolling forward in a slow, deliberate motion that bottomed him out inside her. The angle was obscene—so deep, so perfect, that she let out a choked sob, her fingers clawing at the sheets beneath her. “I know you can, sweetheart.” His thumb pressed down on her clit, rubbing in tight, relentless circles.

She could feel him everywhere. The weight of his cock stretching her, the rough callouses of his fingers digging into her hip, the way his other hand left her clit to snake beneath her, palming her breast, his thumb flicking over her nipple until it was a hard, aching peak. “You’re gonna take every fucking inch of me,” he groaned, his voice rough with the kind of hunger that made her stomach flip. “And you’re gonna love it.”

His fingers never stopped moving. Never stopped tormenting her. He was drawing out every last spark of pleasure, every gasp, every sob, until she was nothing but a trembling, sobbing, begging mess beneath him. And still, he didn’t let up. Because Rafe Cameron didn’t do mercy. Not when he had her like this—when she was his, completely and utterly, her body singing under his touch, her mind reduced to nothing but the next wave of pleasure he forced upon her.

With a groan, he pulled out of her, the sudden absence of his cock making her whimper in protest. But before she could even process the loss, he was flipping her onto her back, his hands rough as they gripped her thighs and spread them wide. She was a mess—her lips parted, her eyes glazed with the kind of pleasure that bordered on pain. And God, the way he looked at her—like she was the most exquisite thing he’d ever seen, like he wanted to devour her whole.

He didn’t waste a second. In one fluid motion, he was back inside her, sliding home with a groan that sounded like it was ripped from his soul. His hand pressed down on her lower stomach, his fingers splaying wide over her skin as he felt himself move in and out of her. The visual—the sensation—was almost too much. She could see the way her body stretched around him, could feel the way he filled her so completely it was like he was rewriting her from the inside out.

“Fuck,” he hissed, his voice strained, his hips snapping forward with a rhythm that was punishing. “Look at you. Look at how good you take me.” His thumb pressed down on her clit again, and she screamed, her back arching off the bed, her nails raking down his arms. She was so close—so fucking close—but he wasn’t going to let her come. Not yet. Not until he was ready.

God it was going to be a long night.

©𝓐𝒏𝒈𝒆𝒍𝒑𝒆𝒅𝒊𝒂𝒂. do not copy, translate, or repost my work on any other sites without my permission. 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭.

Rafe’s eyes glint at the suggestion. He resumes kissing his way down, stopping on your breasts so that he can mark and nip as he pleases. Your nipples harden as his mouth explores, his hands tugging down your panties.

He palms your cunt, making you arch into him. But just when you think he’s going to rub your clit to orgasm like he’s done every time before, he drags kisses down your body, taking your clit into his mouth. He kisses and sucks in a way that has you writhing, a warm finger circling your soaked entrance before plunging inside.

The moment he curves his finger into the right spot, you can’t help but buck against him. He groans into you like he can’t help himself, the sound and vibration flooding you with heat. You continue to grind, yet as good as his mouth feels, it’s not enough.

Rafe is so experienced it’s like he’s completely intuitive. He seems to know what you might want before you even have the chance to say it. Giving your clit one last kiss, he moves his mouth to your entrance, his other hand finding your clit instead. His warm, wet mouth and the way his fingers always know just the right pressure and speed send you over the edge. You grip his hair, gasping his name as your first orgasm rolls through you.

You would never get used to this feeling. The way your legs shake and your ears ring, your body warm and humming and your mind empty. He could ask you to do anything right now, and you’d do it. But he just kisses your inner thighs and lays beside you in bed, breathing heavily.

“That’s one.” He murmurs.

“What?” Your brain can barely comprehend him, and he chuckles at you.

“I told you on Halloween I’d make you cum over and over.”

“Oh.” Your heartrate picks up again, and it feels like all the blood rushes to your cheeks. Something about a promise like that was more intimidating than your party-drunk brain had realized. And you’d figured he had drunk enough to forget about it. Sure, he’d pulled two orgasms out of you before like it was the easiest thing in the world. But more than that? It would kill you, right?

“We don’t have to do that.” You smile at him, taking a deep breath.

“What if I want to?” His blue eyes refuse to look away from yours.

“Don’t you want to cum?” You try to pivot.

“I mean, that’s easy for me. And I’m used to it. I wanna make you cum. I like it.”

“Well,” You clear your throat, wanting to somehow sink into the mattress. You’d literally never talked about this with a guy before. Never had to. “I like when you finish too, you know.”

“Hm.” He’s grinning at you now. “You don’t have a morning class, do you?”

“No. I have Marketing at 11.”

“Cool. Let me take care of you a bit longer. Then you can worry about me. Deal?”

“I-I guess,” You stammer. “Give me a minute?”

“’Course.” He says as you stare at the ceiling, trying to steady your heart and your mind.

“I’m sorry,” You blurt before you can stop yourself, the words flowing out of you. “I’ve never really done the whole fuck buddy thing. And I haven’t been with a lot of guys. I know I told you that, but sometimes I get nervous about this….stuff. Or I don’t know what to do.”

“Nothin’ wrong with that,” He replies, voice softer. “Are you, um, uncomfortable?”

“No!” You assure him immediately, looking into his eyes again. His face relaxes. “Sometimes I just feel bad at it.”

“Bad at….?”

“All of it,” you sigh. “The last guy….this is embarrassing, but….the last guy I was with said I was a terrible kisser. And way too tense during sex.” The words that have haunted you since last year, swirling in your head every now and then, especially with Rafe. Who is now quiet. Letting the silence linger. Making you regret rambling again.

“I, um….” He runs a hand through his hair. “I don’t think you’re bad at any of it. Or too tense. Some guys just say stupid shit.”

“Thanks.” You smile tightly.

“’M serious,” He insists. “I know my opinion isn’t, like, special, but I wouldn’t keep seeing you if I didn’t like it. His opinion ain’t special either. He’s just a dumbass.” You laugh at his words, loosening up a bit.

“So, I’m not a bad kisser, then?” You raise a brow.

“Absolutely fuckin’ not.” Rafe leans in, claiming your lips with his. This kiss is surprisingly gentle and soft, and he pulls away to rest his forehead on yours. “Always say if you wanna stop, we stop. Up to you, babe. All up to you.”

“Ugh, I guess you can give me more orgasms.” You pretend like it’s the biggest inconvenience, rolling on your back and smiling at him.

“Oh, I will. Open your legs.” That glint in his eyes that you’re starting to love is back.

Rafe being Rafe gives you two more orgasms until you tap out, a sweating, panting mess with no voice nor ability to move. You’d wanted to get him off somehow. You really did. But it was like all your energy had been blissfully drained from you. He didn’t mind at all, or so he claimed. But you did. All you can manage is offering him to finish on you, which he is more than happy to take.

As exhausted and sore as you are, watching him come apart builds your heat back up again. You had no idea how he did that. Managed to make everything sexy, make everything feel incredible. His warm release on your chest was the only sign it felt even half as good for him.

Rafe cleaned you both up and settled in beside you once more. Neither of you spoke for a while, the only sound being both of your breathing.

“You gonna dash out on me again?” He murmurs, a smirk tugging on his lips.

“Too tired.” You admit, letting your eyes fall closed.

“Good,” He pulls you into him, wrapping you in his warm arms. “Thought I might have to restrain you.”

“That’s fucked.” You giggle as you yawn, snuggling into his chest.

“Or hot.” He retorts. You don’t have anything witty to say, your exhaustion taking you quickly.

When you wake up, it takes you a moment to register your surroundings. Navy blue bedding. The scent of laundry detergent and citrus cologne. A warm arm draped across your side. When you turn toward it, the arm pulls you closer. Rafe. The memory of the night before comes flooding back.

It was perfect. Basically all about you, and fun, and it made you feel confident and desirable. But that’s where things like this were supposed to end. No breakfast. No morning breath kisses. No dates. You had to keep this as casual as you’d agreed to.

Sliding out of Rafe’s comfortable embrace into the chill of the morning felt like torture, but it had to be done. You quickly throw on your clothes to get some kind of warmth, hearing him stir awake.

“Good luck on your game tonight,” you smile as he slightly forces his eyes open. “I’ll be there.”

“You better.” He grumbles before closing his eyes again, and you sneak out in case Holiday came back at some point and was awake.

The rival game against UNC couldn’t come quickly enough. Class dragged, and you got ready in a hurry, adding some extra makeup and jewelry in case Rafe looked up into the stands again. Meghan met up with you early so you both could be sure you still had close seats.

The arena was the most crowded it had ever been. Students and spectators had come out in droves to support their teams, a blur of Duke royal blue and UNC’s lighter blue. The crowd was louder, the energy much more exciting. And once the game started, it made you nervous.

Both teams start off fast and rough, skates scraping on the ice. The crowd is too loud to hear the players, but you can see them chirping as students pound on the glass. And the first hit is a UNC player slamming Rafe into the side with a bang that you can feel. It makes you wince, your fists clenching.

That moment wakes you up completely, your gaze trained on Rafe whenever he enters the ice. You can see the UNC players chirping before Rafe does, only at him. There’s plenty of checking for a rivalry game. But the bulk of it is directed at one person. A UNC player even gets thrown in the penalty box for checking Rafe after the whistle.

“They’re targeting him.” You say more to yourself than Meghan as you come to the realization.

“Really?” Meghan gasps beside you. “He is our best player, I guess.”

“And our most reactive.” You mutter. “I think they’re trying to bait him. Get him ejected.”

“Jesus. Hopefully Rafe can keep it together.” Meghan starts to twirl her hair nervously.

“Hope so.” You agree, finding yourself tapping the edge of the rink.

Miguel passes to Rafe, who manages to score. The crowd erupts, much louder than any game you’d been to yet. The stands rumble underneath you as you cheer, your nerves momentarily lifted. Until you realize that just set UNC off.

There’s a face off between Rafe and the UNC player from before. Robinson. They’re so close to your seats that you can see their expressions. Rafe still looks confident, riding the high of his goal. But Robinson’s dark eyes are cold. His sneer making you tense. He chirps first, and Rafe falters.

His blue eyes go wide, and then dark. Smirk gone. You worry for a moment that Rafe will snap. Memories of stories and rumors students told about him in the previous years swim in your mind. He’s a loose cannon. A ticking timebomb. A problem. But Rafe doesn’t move. Instead, he talks back.

The arena is too loud to even try to hear what was said. But Robinson’s face goes red. He drops his stick and shoves Rafe. The crowd eats it up, yelling and banging on the glass as Rafe shoves back. You’re yelling at Robinson now, calling him every name in the book as the ref tries to separate the two boys.

But Robinson isn’t done. He pushes past the ref and tackles Rafe to the ground. The other players are getting riled up, but you can’t look away from Rafe. You watch as Robinson swings his fist and punches Rafe’s head into the ice.

Every part of your body freezes as you gasp. The crowd is absolutely losing it but all sound starts to muffle. Your heart drops to your stomach, blood going cold. Without thinking, your hand flies out to Meghan, gripping her arm.

Get up, get up, get up, GET UP, RAFE! You think over and over. Meghan is reassuring you, rubbing your arm, but everything is so far away. In slow motion. You just want Rafe to move. And he’s not moving. You’re pleading now. With him. With the universe. With anything and anyone that will listen. Tears stinging your eyes.

And then Rafe moves. He pushes himself up like nothing had happened, your body bracing for Robinson’s next punch. But the UNC player is restrained by the ref and a member of his team. As Rafe manages to stand, you see the rest of the ice come into focus. Holiday is screaming, held back by his teammates all the same. And for a moment, you understand him. Embodying all the rage you feel toward the person who tried to hurt Rafe on purpose.

Rafe gets surrounded by trainers and escorted off the ice, quickly giving the crowd a thumbs up. Robinson is ejected, but none of that eases the fear in your gut. That was Rafe’s head hitting the ice. Helmeted, sure. Still terrifying to see. He could be concussed. What if he wasn’t okay?

The thought scared you more than you ever thought it would. More than it probably should. Your heart ached, your body rigid. It made you want to run across the ice to him. Follow him into whatever training room and stand by his side. Hold his hand while they checked up on him. Hear every single thing they said. Take care of him.

But you couldn’t do that. You just had to stand there and wait in agony, wondering if this all meant that you cared way more than you should about Rafe Cameron.