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summary rafe’s job at the country club is nothing but a paycheck, until you, his boss’s daughter, slip into his life. you’ve always lived by the rules. rafe makes it hard to keep following them.
tags pogue!rafe au. forbidden love. secret relationship. star-crossed lovers. substance use. suggestive moments, but no smut (closed door). reader is a sweetheart who struggles with standing up for herself.
> masterlist
break line (noun)
a point where deep water hits shallows; where a gentle swell breaks into a unpredictable wave; where two worlds irreversibly crash into each other.
author’s note i’ve been wanting to explore an au where rafe is from the cut, and when thinking about who he’d be without class privilege, i see him with his core traits still intact: he’s hardheaded, loyal, and protective, but growing up less fortunate among friends who really cared about him kept him from becoming cruel. he still has the rough edges that make him rafe, but he’s not elitist. i also don’t see him being close with the younger canon pogues; he’d have his own friend group of guys his age. and he never liked kooks, but when he meets a sweet, complicated girl from figure 8, things get messy 🤭 only read this if you want a spoiler: they don’t end up together. i mean star-crossed lovers for REAL. felt like i should warn y’all.
The first time Rafe saw you, he was out on one of the country club’s lawns, working under the harsh sun. You were draped across a lounge chair by the main pool, laughing with your friends, savoring the same heat that he was cursing.
You were hardly twenty feet from him, but a world away.
He never liked Kooks. When he got a job at the club a couple of months ago, it earned him a front row seat to their easy, comfortable life. Seeing it up close only dug the knife of resentment in deeper.
You were in the crowd of people returning home from college for the summer, and when he saw you, he couldn’t look away. It didn’t matter that you were from the side of the island he tried to avoid – he’d think the same thing. That you’re the prettiest girl he’s ever seen.
He overheard from some of the staff that you’re the estate owner’s daughter. He knows your type. You’re the kind of girl who never has to worry about expectations or limits or rules.
And he knows he’s right, because at this moment, you’re exactly where you’re not supposed to be.
Far past an Employees Only sign, up the paved path, he sees you leaning against the locked door of one of the club’s maintenance sheds, arms crossed as you stare down at the ground.
You could get him in trouble just by being here. Grounds crew are told to stay invisible, and talking to a member, even when you’re the one hanging out somewhere you shouldn’t be, could fall back on him.
Rafe’s chest burns with irritation. You think that you can just wander wherever you please.
He approaches the shed, heaving a bag of soil. You don’t notice him. If any other employee found you back here, they’d be polite about it. But Rafe refuses to play nice.
He doesn’t suck up to management or force a smile at members. Even if it’s the boss’s daughter, who could get him fired in a second, who’s even more beautiful up close. He has too much self-respect to be a kissass.
“You lost?” he murmurs.
You jolt, looking up into blue eyes you’ve never met before. The stranger is a few feet away, towering over you, sweat clinging to his uniform. He drops the bag he’s carrying, letting out a tired exhale, waiting for an answer.
“Hiding,” you admit, because you can’t think quickly enough to come up with a lie.
You shuffle away from the door once you clue in that he needs to get into the shed. You’re still dazed from the anxious spiral he yanked you out of. He reaches the door, punches in a code, and shoves it open.
“You can’t be here,” he says. He’s not about to risk getting chewed out all because you’re where you shouldn’t be.
His gruffness catches you off guard. People who work at the club never speak to you like this.
“I’ll go soon,” you respond.
He picks up the bag again with a grunt, hauling it into the shed. You stay outside, listening to the clatter behind you, each sound laced with his rough exhales.
Through a gap in the bushes, you see a couple carrying golf bags walking past, close enough that they could spot you. Without another thought, you slip inside the dim, dusty shed.
It’s cluttered and smells like grass and gasoline. Two golf carts sit parked side by side surrounded by stacks of equipment and tools.
The stranger is bent over the open hood of one of the golf carts, wide shoulders stretching the fabric of his shirt. His sleeves are shoved up to his forearms, muscles shifting with every move he makes.
“Can I wait in here?” you ask.
Rafe looks over his shoulder, thrown off that you’re asking for permission. That you’re asking it from him.
He has way too much work to do this morning to entertain you, to risk getting in trouble. But as much as he hates it, you intrigue him. You’re beautiful, and he’s only human.
“Fine,” he responds with a sigh.
Rafe continues working inside the engine, one hand braced on the cart and the other twisting, as you stand by the opposite wall. It’s the last thing he expected when he woke up today. That he’d be stuck in a room with you.
Hiding. The word sticks in his mind. What could a girl like you possibly need to hide from? To his annoyance, the thought needles at him. He can’t ignore it. He never had great impulse control.
“What are you hidin’ from?” he asks, his attention still fixed on the engine.
Your throat tightens. The truth feels so stupid. On your way to the club café, you’d spotted your parents talking to Vander by the terrace near the golf course, and you ran.
Vander’s a good friend. You just don’t like him the way everyone wants you to. Your parents and his parents are close, and over the years, the jokes about you two “ending up together” have started to feel too real.
You’ve spent your whole life trying not to disappoint your parents, trying to keep the peace, so you smile along, all while knowing that if Vander ever actually makes a move, you’ll gently reject him.
While you love having the club as an easy place to hang out and see your friends over the summers away from college, you hate having to put on a performance. You don’t have it in you today.
“Some people,” you answer vaguely, again too scattered to make something up.
Rafe’s brows pull together as looks at you. You nervously touch the side of your neck, and his eyes catch on the shimmer of your bracelet. He’s sure ten of his paychecks wouldn’t come close to covering the cost of it.
He hates how fast it happens, the natural pull to step in and fix whatever’s wrong. But you look like you’re barely holding it together.
“You need help or something?” he rasps, even though he doesn’t know what he could possibly offer that you don’t already have.
Your shoulders drop in relief that he doesn’t seem all that irritated with you anymore.
“I’m okay. Thanks,” you say. “I just don’t want to talk to them right now.”
He shifts his weight, still bent over the hood, a loose strand of hair falling across his forehead as he gazes at you with inquiring eyes.
“So, you came here,” he says.
The way he says it, looking as good as he does, makes your heart flutter. You’ve been trying to ignore how handsome he is. It’s impossible.
“What, do you not like being bothered while you’re trying to work?” you joke.
He huffs a near chuckle. He wasn’t expecting that from you. Kook girls flirt with him for fun all the time, but he never sees any self-awareness in them.
And now, he hates the idea of you thinking he doesn’t want you here. It was true for a moment, his bitterness towards Kooks kicking in by instinct, but the instinct was shaken away. At this point, he’s simply trying not to get into any shit with his boss.
“Listen, it’s nothing personal,” he says.
You nod.
“Sorry,” you say quietly. “I’ll leave in a minute, I swear. I just want to be sure I miss them.”
He takes you in. You look worried. This is not what he expected from a girl like you. And now, he feels like an asshole for how he treated you when he found you here.
“Stay as long as you want,” Rafe decides, trying to sound indifferent. “But if anyone asks, I’m sayin’ you wouldn’t leave.”
“Deal,” you say with a soft chuckle.
He drops his gaze back to the engine, a frown tugging at his mouth. He can’t figure this engine’s issue out. And now, he’s realizing he kind of wants to figure you out.
You notice him grimace at the mess of wires under the hood. It confuses you. A minute ago, he looked like he’d been doing lawn work, and now he’s elbow‑deep in a golf cart.
You ran away to be alone, but you’d rather talk to him. There’s something real about him that pulls you in.
“So, what do you do here?” you ask.
Rafe cocks his head. He signed on to mow lawns, but it didn’t take long before he started getting pulled into every job on the property. Once his manager realized he knew his way around a toolbox, he got handed work from every corner of the club.
And he never says no. Rafe has always been driven by a need to prove himself. He might be a lot of things, but lazy isn’t one of them.
“Started as grounds crew,” he tells you, glancing up again. “But now I just do whatever they tell me to.”
The way you’re watching him, curious instead of condescending, is the complete opposite of the looks he’s gotten from around the club. When members glance at him, it’s usually with arrogance or disgust. But in your eyes, all he sees is innocence.
“What do you do here?” he asks, feeling the impulse to flirt with you when he definitely shouldn’t.
“Whatever they tell me to,” you echo his words.
And it’s true. You might not work here, but you still have to follow orders. You have to play the put-together, respectful daughter your parents are always reminding you to be.
Rafe studies you. He licks his lips before he speaks again, a quick, unconscious motion.
“You sure?” he says, now seemingly amused by your little escape. You can’t stifle the smile that tugs at your lips.
The silence stretches as you look at each other. It’s surprisingly comfortable. But the rules, the expectations, the role you have to play all rush back to mind. You’re not supposed to be here. If anyone sees you, it’ll be a problem.
You straighten and step towards the door.
“I’ll go,” you say, afraid of what he might tell other people, and how it might get back to your father. “Please don’t tell anyone I was here.”
It’s sort of jarring to Rafe. You’re scared. It looks like you don’t get away with nearly as much as he assumed.
“I won’t.”
You meet his eyes again, and you find yourself hoping this won’t be the last time you see him.
“What’s your name?” you ask.
“Rafe.”
“I’m –” you begin, but he interrupts by saying your name, followed by a quiet, “Yeah, I know.”
And it’s relieving. He knew who you were this entire time, that your family owns this place, but he never gave you that insincerity everyone else does. You spoke for barely a minute, but it felt more genuine than any conversation you’ve had in a long time.
You slip out and Rafe looks down at the engine again, already convincing himself your curiosity was a one‑off. He doubts you’ll talk to him again.
But the way you looked at him, and the way it made him feel, lingers in his mind.
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
Rafe steps into the empty house after work, internally groaning when the thick air hits him. The AC must’ve died again. The place feels like a sauna.
He steps back outside, crouches beside the AC unit, and after he nudges the fan, it whirs to life. He doesn’t know how many more times this trick will work, but it bought him another day.
They need a new AC unit. It’s somewhere on the to-do list. He’d moved into this rundown place with Mase, Pax, and Danny with the plan to fix it up and flip it for a profit.
They’d all grown up on the outskirts of wealth. It made them learn how to work, how to fix things themselves, how to survive. And doing all that with guys he’s gotten into trouble with and fought beside since they were kids formed a bond Rafe can’t live without.
Landing the job at the club was what finally pushed him into committing to this house. It’s one of the few steady gigs on the island that pays decently.
The trade‑off is dealing with the people he’d spent his whole life resenting. Kooks who never looked at guys like him unless they needed something carried or fixed. Still, it beats taking whatever odd jobs he could find.
Rafe rakes his hand through his hair and steps inside again. After a long shower, he lingers in his bedroom, hating that his thoughts keep drifting back to you. Your voice, your eyes, the way you looked at him like he wasn’t just some loser.
He tries to distract himself, but you’re still there in the back of his mind.
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
It’s a Saturday afternoon as Rafe paces across the path behind the tennis courts beneath the cloudy sky, another errand in hand.
His steps slow when he sees you. You’re on the club’s restaurant patio, leaning over a table beside a friend as she says something that makes you laugh. You turn to your friend with a bright grin.
He already knew you were pretty, but damn, the way you look when you’re happy is something else. He can’t look away. It’s been almost a week since he met you. It feels like longer ago.
For a second, the familiar reckless urge rises in him, hot and stupid and tempting. But reality hits just as hard. He can’t afford to think this way.
You’re the boss’s daughter. Off‑limits. He shouldn’t be letting himself feel any sort of pull to you.
Then you turn. Your eyes find him instantly. You still, your lips parting. Heat crawls up the back of Rafe’s neck. He looks away and continues on with his job.
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
That night, the sky is a beautiful dark blue, fading into gold with the sunset. Music carries across the marina, muffled by the soft laps of waves.
You’d told your friends you’d meet them here. Keely is hosting yet another party on her family’s boat. You walk down the dock, following the thump of bass.
Rafe coils a line on the deck of a boat he’s helping Pax fix, having drank just enough beer to take the edge off a long day. Pax is crouched on the other side of the boat, fiddling with a busted deck light, muttering about how the owner didn’t mention that the wiring was so fucked up.
Rafe glances up when a figure passes by on the dock.
It’s you.
Your eyes meet, just like they did earlier today, when you caught him staring.
His hands pause on the rope. You slow in your tracks. He squints and his body reacts first, heat sparking through him. You’re dressed up, your clothes tight on your body, and it makes it hard for him not to stare.
“Hey,” he says, an amused smirk growing on his face, flashing dimples you didn’t know he had. His skin is tan against the worn white t-shirt he’s wearing, the fabric thin enough that the fading sunlight outlines the shape of him.
His eyes linger, like he’s trying to memorize your features. And you want him to keep looking at you like that.
“Hey,” you reply, mirroring his smile.
“That your party?” he asks, chin lifting toward the thumping bass farther down the dock.
“A friend’s,” you say. “What are you doing?”
“Fixing this up,” he says, glancing at the boat beneath his feet.
Your Saturday nights look nothing alike, and the obvious truth of that weighs on him. After already having worked at the club all day, he’s helping his buddy with an odd job for some extra cash. Meanwhile, you’re on your way to party with people who’ve never had to worry about a paycheck.
Behind him, you see a guy stand and wipe his hands on his shorts. His mouth twitches, failing to hide a smile.
“Rafe,” he calls casually. “I… forgot something in my truck. Be right back.”
Rafe nods, relieved. Pax isn’t oblivious. He’s a good enough friend to recognize that he wants privacy.
Pax slips past you on the dock, offering a sly smile as he goes.
And it’s quiet again. Just you and Rafe and the thump of distant bass and the hush of waves.
“You want a drink?” he asks, voice low, blaming his impulsivity on his buzz.
“Yeah,” you say, because you can’t imagine telling him no. You’re not at the club, being watched, and it feels easier to do what you want to do, to talk to the boy you haven’t stopped thinking about.
Rafe holds out his hand to you. His palm is warm and rough when you take it. He pulls you up onto the deck gently, guiding you so you don’t slip.
He clears a spot for you, shifting tools, making space even though he can’t really imagine you being comfortable here no matter what he does.
You sit on the bench seat. From here, you can see the glow of Keely’s party.
Rafe sits across from you, elbows resting on his knees. He reaches into the cooler beside him and glances up at you with a half‑smile.
“All I got is beer,” he says, like he’s bracing for you to scoff.
“That works,” you say warmly. “Thanks.”
He pops off the cap and hands you the bottle, his fingers brushing yours again.
“Where’d you learn how to fix boats?” you ask. “And golf carts?”
Rafe huffs out a quiet laugh. He can fix way more than that, because he has to. Because he doesn’t have the luxury of calling someone when something breaks. But he won't say that, because he’s never been one to fish for pity.
“Why?” he replies. “You want to learn?”
His tone is playful, but there’s a thread of skepticism woven through it.
“You don’t think I could do it?” you challenge, lifting your brows.
“I never said that.”
“You didn’t have to.”
He smirks, curiosity in his eyes.
“You’d rather do that than party?” he asks, nodding toward the music down the dock.
“Most of those parties aren’t even really that fun,” you admit with a shrug. You’ve never told anyone that. But something about Rafe pushes the truth out of you before you can stop it.
“Then why go?” he asks.
You gaze out into the distance. Being part of your family means fitting a role. It’s the same with your friends. They have expectations, too. You like them, and you want them to like you. You hate how much it affects you.
It’s something you’ve never said out loud. It always felt embarrassing. But Rafe is far outside your social circle. There’s no point pretending with him.
“Because…” you begin, “I think sometimes, it’s easier to just do what people expect you to do.”
He hears the strain in your voice. He knows all about expectations. Pogues are supposed to take what they’re given and be grateful for it. They’re expected to fuck up and never make anything of themselves.
“Yeah,” Rafe replies, gazing down at his bottle with a pensive look. You study him. There’s something about him that tugs at you, that makes you want to know him.
“What do people expect from you?” you ask.
He breathes a laugh, dry and humorless.
“What they expect from everyone on the Cut,” he says.
“Which is?” you press.
He swallows hard. He’ll never hand anyone a sob story about the way he grew up, but if you want to hear the truth he’s always lived with that badly, he’ll give it to you.
“That I should know my place.”
You’ve always known the island was divided, but hearing him say it like that makes reality dig into you. You never bought into the social hierarchy, but you’ve also never had to feel it the way he clearly has.
In a second, Rafe has shown you how sheltered you are. Here you are, complaining about peer pressure and parties you don’t want to attend, while he’s looked down on simply because of what side of the island he’s from.
“Your place is wherever you want it to be,” you say, the words slipping out.
Rafe’s eyes flick up to yours. He can’t tell if it’s idealism or naivety or you just saying what anyone would say to make themselves feel better about living in a system that only benefits them. But he notices the same curiosity in your face that he saw before, and he can’t bring himself to expect the worst from you like he did when you met.
He usually assumes every Kook is an out of touch brat, but it feels wrong to do to you.
“Doesn’t work like that,” he responds.
“It should.”
He clears his throat, glancing out into the water. Pax will be back soon. They need to fix this boat before morning and they’re losing sunlight. He knows he shouldn’t even be thinking about what he wants to do, because that would mean giving in to desiring something he can’t have.
But then he looks at you again and you’re stunning in a way that feels unreal and the impulse is uncontrollable.
“If you…” Rafe murmurs, “ever want to do something else instead of going to another party you’re just gonna hate…”
Your lips curve into a smile. He still makes you a little nervous, but the way he’s watching you, unmistakably interested, makes it easier to feel confident.
“Are you asking me something?” you ask with a teasing lilt.
He looks down again, smirking, and you let yourself stare at him. His lashes cast shadows on his cheeks and you admit to yourself that he really is beautiful. There’s no better word for it, the mix of sharp and soft in his features.
“Yeah,” he says, low and rough. “I’m asking for your number.”
Warmth blooms under your skin and you hold out your hand for his phone. After entering your number, you catch sight of his friend heading back.
“Thanks for the drink,” you murmur, setting your bottle down on the deck. His eyes rake up your body when you stand and every part of you feels like you can hardly be pulled away from him. “Are you almost done here?”
Rafe helps you down to the dock, his grip steady.
“It’ll be a late night,” he admits, glancing back at the mess of gear still waiting for him.
“I hope not too late,” you say.
You offer Pax a small smile as he approaches. The second you’re out of earshot, Pax’s eyebrows shoot up.
“So…” he begins. He steps past him towards the deck light he was working on. “Who’s she?”
Rafe bends over to pick up the rope again, working through the knots.
Hearing that you seem to put up a front with your friends reminds him of how he doesn’t lie to his. He’s always running his mouth about how much Kooks piss him off, so he knows Pax is going to give him shit once he tells him, but he and his friends are honest with each other. Always have been.
“Her dad owns the club,” he says.
Pax snorts.
“You’re fucking with me. You’re messing with a Kook?”
Rafe doesn’t know what he’s doing with you. All he knows is that trouble has a way of finding him, and this is the kind he doesn’t want to run from.
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
You slip through the front door, your house dim save for the warm glow spilling from the front room. The quiet feels jarring after the noise of Keely’s party. You pass to see your mom curled up on the couch.
“Hi, sweetheart,” she says kindly. “You have fun?”
You’ve never doubted her love, but even with that, you’ve always felt the need to keep up a certain front at home. And there’s no chance you can tell her the truth – that throughout the whole party, you were thinking about someone you’re not allowed to want.
You sink onto the opposite end of the couch, the cushions dipping.
“Can I ask you something?” you say quietly.
“Of course.”
You hesitate, picking at the hem of your shirt, the story already rehearsed in your head.
“One of my friends started seeing this guy,” you fib. “He’s not exactly well off. Everyone was giving her a hard time for it. Don’t you think that’s harsh?”
It doesn’t even feel like a lie. You know most people in your social circle would react badly if any of you started dating a Pogue.
“Which friend?” your mom asks. The tight-knit island runs on gossip, and she’s no exception.
“I swore I wouldn’t tell,” you say, keeping your tone light through the lie.
She sighs, disappointed but not surprised, then finally gives you her answer.
“Differences can be exciting at first, but they’ll wear on her,” she says. “Life is easier when you’re with someone on your level. Eventually, she’ll want things he can’t give her. If I were you, I’d tell her to just end it now.”
It cuts into you. You’ve always known that your mom, loving as she can be to you, thinks that people on the other side of the island should stay in their place. Just like Rafe said.
This is why you went so far away for college. You needed distance from this mentality. You didn’t want to grow into someone who believed the same things.
You wonder what people who live like you have said and done to Rafe. How many times he’s been dismissed and berated. The thought twists your stomach, anger rising hot. You don’t want to be anything like that.
“Thanks for the advice,” you tell your mom, the words tasting wrong. “I should go to bed.”
You always slip back into the young, quiet, obedient version of yourself when you’re back home. You hate how easy it is to fall into that role, even when your chest is burning with everything you want to say, but can’t.
You’ve learned what happens when you don’t play along. There have been times where you dared to push back or disagree, even a little. And the people around you never failed to make you feel ashamed and wrong and stupid for stepping outside the lines.
As you climb up the stairs to your bedroom, your phone buzzes with a text. It’s an unfamiliar number, but you quickly realize that it’s Rafe, asking you how your night has been.
You smile to yourself. Your mom just reminded you exactly how she expects you to think. Who to talk to. Who to stay away from. And yet your breath catches over a message from him.
There’s no way you won’t reply. Whatever this is, whatever it becomes, you’re not going to play by the rules this time.
(to be continued)
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shia labeouf DIE. brad pitt DIE. chris brown DIE. johnny depp DIE. cristiano ronaldo DIE. conor mcgregor DIE. die die die die die die die DIE. every single abuser DIE. if you support them DIE TWICE!
thinking about creepy bsf!rafe who’s obsessed with you
CREEPY BSF!RAFE who begs for your nudes almost every single day and will never leave you alone until you say yes. For the most part, you always give in to his pleas and send him all the pics. He only encourages you to send them ‘just in case’ someone else were to get a hold of them. He’s only keeping them just to protect you.
CREEPY BSF!RAFE who can’t help but discreetly take pictures of you whenever you’re not looking so he can add them to his little collection later on. Who reminds himself that these pictures are simply for adoration and memories. Who also finds himself jerking off to all of your pictures in the middle of the night. His thick ropes of cum spurts out as he starts at his favorite picture of your plump tits.
CREEPY BSF!RAFE who constantly reminds you that your relationship with him is very special, and no one could ever come in between you guys. He knows for certain that no man will ever love you like he does. Rafe loves you to death!!
CREEPY BSF!RAFE who initiates sleepovers whenever he’s not working. Who waits until he hears your soft snores before reaching under your top to play with your hardened nipples. It’s not the first time he’s done this and it simply won’t be the last.
CREEPY BSF!RAFE who grips your tits even harder as you lean further into his touch in your drowsy state. Who takes it even further and pops one of your nipples into his mouth to be even closer to you. Who ends up falling asleep painfully hard with your tits in his face.
CREEPY BSF!RAFE who wakes up to find his semi-hard cock deep inside your throat. Who almost cums too early just from the way your tired eyes look up at him as you bob your head up and down his length. Who softly caresses your face as he pushes your head down even more.
EQUALLY OBSESSED!READER who swallows every ounce of his nut and keeps going until Rafe’s shaking, twitching, and shivering all over the fucking bed. Who doesn’t stop even when Rafe’s thick thighs clamp around your head in a desperate attempt to push you off of him.
EQUALLY OBSESSED!READER who kisses Rafe passionately with her cum-stained lips and falls back asleep on his chest. Whose heart flutters at the fact that she has the most amazing best friend ever.
author’s note: FAWKKKKKK I just watched the new (not really) Hellraiser and he looked SOOOOOOOOOOOOOO FINEEEE!!! I NEED HIM TO BREED MEE!!
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bff rafe thats has a past of being a notorious fuckboy is shocked when his lifelong bff (reader) mentions that shes a virgin bc shes undeniably HOT. and hes experienced... shes not... so they do something about it..!
pov. while playing truth or dare, he discovers his long time bestfriend (who’s so hot and cute) has never had sex before.
notes. i love this plot, it’s so similar to my nerd x frat boy rafe fanfic! thank you for recommending this anonymous
content warnings. ⸝⸝ fem reader, gentle sex, vanilla sex, praising, cussing, titty sucking, no proof read, rafe teaching kissing, oral sex
rafe grew up swearing he’d never be attracted to you, swore he’d never let himself be perverted toward you. but ever since you hit college, it’s been a different story.
he’s been with so many girls. every age, every type, but none of them ever hit like you do. your tits sit so perfectly in your bra that he gets nervous whenever you stand there casually talking about life while getting dressed.
he’s seen you almost naked plenty of times, just in a bra and panties, but never fully bare. he acted cool in the moment, eyes not lowering down to the obvious outline of your pussy. but he’d be lying if he said he’d never fantasized about you being fully bare and finally seeing the outlines.
the soft curves of your body make him hard in seconds. even the lightest brush of his fingers against you while he was taking a photo for your mom’s facebook left him aching.
it’s honestly laughable how many times rafe has told himself you’re completely off limits. all those almost-kisses, the times he’s accidentally walked in on you changing, and the sharp jealousy he felt whenever his friends started showing interest in you, none of it helped.
but right now, the two of you are playing truth or dare with a generous side of alcohol that wasn’t exactly part of the rules. it’s been light and playful so far; crushes, stripping off a hoodie or socks, handstands against the wall, holding your breath for thirty seconds. then you both decided to make it more interesting.
“someone you’d fuck for access to their partner?” you asked, reading from a website full of spicy questions. rafe laughed. “any lesbian couple,” he teased. you rolled your eyes. “cheater!” you yell. he grinned before asking his own. “do you prefer virgins or experienced guys?” he questioned. the question came too smooth, like he’d been waiting to ask it for a while. “i don’t know… i’m a virgin,” you said, then laughed. “i haven’t gotten that far yet.” you add.
rafe didn’t laugh with you. he stared at you like you’d just said something insane. “what?” he asked quietly. “sorry, i was joking,” you clarified, still smiling. “i meant i basically am a virgin.” you continue.
his expression didn’t change. his eyes dragged slowly down your body, taking you in. “no… i heard you,” he said, voice low. you blinked, suddenly aware of how intently he was looking at you. “oh.” a small smile tugged at your lips.
“how are you still a virgin?” he asked before he could stop himself. his gaze wandered shamelessly over your curves, no longer pretending it was casual. you felt heat rise in your cheeks, but the alcohol made you bold. “wanna come do something about it?” you teased, locking eyes with him.
rafe’s smirk was slow and hungry. “you giving me a go?” he asked and you paused, tilting your head as you held his stare. then you nodded.
rafe didn’t waste another second. still sitting on the floor across from you, he leaned forward, one hand bracing on the carpet as he closed the distance.
his other hand gently cupped the side of your face, thumb brushing your cheek. you could smell the faint mix of his cologne and the alcohol on his breath right before his lips met yours.
the kiss was soft at first, warm and careful, like he was testing the waters. but when you stayed frozen, unsure, he pulled back just enough to look at you. “i… i don’t know how to kiss,” you whispered, a little embarrassed.
rafe’s eyes softened, but his smirk stayed. “that’s okay, baby. i’ll teach you.” he said. he tilted your chin up slightly with his fingers. “just relax your lips… don’t tense up.” his voice was low and patient. “follow what i do.” he adds.
he leaned in again, slower this time, pressing his mouth to yours with a little more pressure. his lips moved gently, guiding yours to part just enough. when you started to mirror him, he hummed approvingly against your mouth.
“good girl… like that,” he murmured between kisses. “use a little tongue if you want.”
he demonstrated, licking softly at your bottom lip until you opened for him. the moment your tongues touched, a small sound escaped you, and rafe deepened the kiss, taking control but staying gentle enough for you to keep up.
his hand slid into your hair, cradling the back of your head as he kissed you like he’d been waiting years to do it. he pulled back for air, forehead resting against yours, breathing a little heavier. “see? you’re a natural,” he whispered, voice rough. “again?” he whispered, voice low and rough.
you nodded, cheeks flushed. “yes.”
he pulled back just enough to look at you, a wicked little smirk tugging at his mouth. “beg me for it then.” he teased. you bit your lip, heart racing, but the heat between you made you brave. “please, rafe… kiss me. i want you to teach me.” you begged. his eyes darkened with satisfaction. “good girl.”
he leaned in and captured your mouth again, slow but deliberate to make you ache. “relax your lips,” he murmured against you. “open for me a little… yeah, just like that.” he kissed you deeper, guiding your mouth with his, teaching you how to move, how to respond, all to him. his tongue slipped in lazily, stroking yours until you started kissing him back properly, all soft and eager.
while his mouth worked against yours, your hands moved on their own. you tugged at the hem of your shirt, pulling it up slowly and over your head. he quickly kissed you once again, as you dropped it beside you, now sitting there in just your bra, chest rising and falling quickly.
rafe broke the kiss to look down at you. his gaze locked on your tits, big and perky, straining against the thin fabric of your bra. they were so full and plump, perfectly rounded with a soft, sexy bounce as you breathed. he smiled, slow and hungry. “so fucking pretty,” he breathed.
he couldn’t hold back anymore. rafe leaned down, pressing hot, open mouthed kisses along the swell of your breasts. his hands cupped them, squeezing gently, feeling their weight and softness. “fuck… look at these tits,” he groaned, clearly obsessed with how big and plush they were.
he pulled one cup down, exposing a nipple, and immediately dragged his tongue over it before sucking it into his mouth. he moaned against your skin, sucking harder, switching between licking broad strokes and deep, greedy pulls. his other hand kneaded your other tit, thumb brushing the nipple through the fabric.
he was completely lost in them, burying his face between your soft, plump curves, kissing and sucking like he couldn’t get enough.
you got shy all of a sudden, face burning as the heat between your legs became too much. biting your lip, you reached down, grabbed his hand, and slowly guided it to the waistband of your shorts, pressing his fingers there.
rafe pulled back from your chest, eyes filled with desire and hungry as he understood exactly what you wanted. “yeah?” he murmured, voice rough. without another word he hooked his fingers into your shorts and panties, tugging them down your legs in one smooth motion and tossing them aside.
you were completely bare now. rafe’s gaze dropped between your thighs, and he let out a low groan. his fingers found your clit instantly, rubbing slow, firm circles over the sensitive little bundle. your hips jerked hard at the first touch, twitching and bucking uncontrollably as he played with your soaked, horny clit.
“fuck, look at you,” he breathed, eyes locked on the way your body reacted, twitching and jerking every time he stroked you. “so sensitive already.” he comments.
you moaned loudly, the sound spilling out as pleasure shot through you. your back arched and you leaned back until you were lying flat on the floor, chest heaving.
rafe didn’t stop. he moved down between your legs, spreading them wider. before you could catch your breath, he pinned your hips down firmly to the floor with both hands, holding you in place so you couldn’t squirm away.
then his mouth was on you. his tongue dragged hot and wet over your clit, licking and sucking with filthy hunger.
he kept you pinned down tight, strong hands gripping your thighs as he ate you out like he’d been starving for it, tongue flicking and circling, lips sucking gently then harder. every time you tried to buck or twist, his grip only tightened, keeping you right there for him.
rafe kept his mouth on you, licking and sucking your clit until your moans turned into desperate little cries. you couldn’t take it anymore.
“rafe… please,” you whimpered, voice shaky. “please fuck me. i want you inside me. please.” you plead.
he pulled back from between your thighs, lips shiny, eyes full with lust. “yeah? you want my cock, baby?” he asked, already moving up your body. he shoved his shorts down just enough, freeing himself, and settled between your spread legs. you nodded quickly, breathing fast. “please… i need it.” you continued on.
rafe leaned down, kissing you softly as he lined himself up. he rubbed the head of his cock against your soaked entrance, then started pushing in, very slow and careful.
just the tip stretched you open, and you gasped, body tensing hard. it was a lot. your hands flew to his shoulders, gripping tight as you struggled to adjust.
“shh, easy baby,” rafe murmured, voice low and sweet against your ear. he stayed perfectly still, only the head inside you. “you’re doing so good already. just breathe for me. we’ve got all the time you need, okay? i’m not gonna hurt you.” he says sweetly.
you whimpered, nodding, trying to relax around his thick tip. “that’s my good girl,” he praised, kissing your neck and jaw. “you can take it. just let me in nice and slow… there you go.” he continued.
he pushed forward another inch, then stopped again, letting you feel every bit of him. his hand stroked your hair, thumb brushing your cheek as he whispered encouragement. “look at you… so tight and pretty for me. you’re doing perfect, baby. whenever you’re ready, i’ll give you more. no rush.”
after a few deep breaths, the stretch started turning into something hotter. you nodded again, and rafe began moving, continuing the slow, shallow thrusts, easing more of his cock into you with every gentle rock of his hips. he kept talking you through it, voice warm and steady.
“feel that? that’s all for you. just relax and let me fuck you nice and slow… good girl. you’re taking me so well already.” he kept that gentle rhythm, letting you feel every inch as he worked himself deeper, patient and sweet while your body slowly opened up for him.
rafe kept his pace slow and deep, rocking into you with steady thrusts that gradually grew stronger. your legs were spread wide open for him, knees bent and falling further apart with every push of his hips. they bounced and shook each time he sank back in, the soft flesh of your thighs jiggling from the impact.
you were holding onto him for dear life. arms wrapped tightly around his neck, nails digging into his shoulders as your body rocked beneath him. every thrust pulled a shaky moan from your throat, your chest pressed flush against his while he fucked you.
“fuck… you feel so good,” he groaned against your neck, one hand gripping your thigh to keep you spread nice and wide for him. “look at these legs… all open for me.” he said.
your grip on him tightened as he thrust a little deeper, your walls fluttering around his cock. you buried your face in his shoulder, breathing hard, clinging to him like he was the only thing keeping you grounded while he filled you over and over again.
the wet sounds of him sliding in and out mixed with your soft, desperate moans, your body bouncing gently on the floor with each roll of his hips. rafe kissed the side of your head, still talking you through it in that low, sweet voice. “that’s it, baby… just hold onto me. you’re taking my cock so fucking well.” he said.
rafe kept fucking you with his deep, and steady thrusts. your legs spread wide and bouncing softly with every roll of his hips. you were still clinging to him tightly when you reached up and tugged desperately at the bottom of his shirt.
“take it off,” you breathed.
he didn’t hesitate. rafe slowed his thrusts just enough to yank his shirt over his head in one smooth motion, since he has done it so many times, tossing it aside. the second his bare chest pressed against yours, you pulled him down harder, craving his mouth.
he leaned all the way down, covering your body with his as he kissed you. at first your kissing was eager but messy, a little too much tongue too fast, lips slipping awkwardly as you tried to keep up.
rafe smiled against your mouth. “slow down, baby,” he murmured, voice husky. “watch…”
he took control, tilting his head slightly and kissing you deeper, slower. his tongue slid sensually along yours, teasing and stroking in long, wet strokes that made your stomach flutter. you tried to match him but slipped again, pushing your tongue too eagerly. he gently sucked on your bottom lip, correcting you.
“easy… let me lead,” he whispered. “open your mouth a little more… yeah, you got it baby.” he coos.
then he really kissed you, hot, filthy, and unhurried. his tongue licked into your mouth deeply, curling around yours in slow, sexy strokes.
wet sounds filled the space between you as he fucked you and kissed you at the same time, tongues sliding and tangling sensually. every time you messed up the rhythm he fixed it with a soft groan, guiding you until you were kissing him back perfectly, sloppy, passionate, tongue heavy making out that left you both breathless.
you moaned into his mouth, legs trembling around his waist as he kept thrusting into you, never breaking the intense kiss. his tongue explored yours like he owned it, slow and dirty, sucking lightly on your tongue before sliding back in deep again.
“good girl” he praised against your lips once more, then dove right back in for another kiss. rafe groaned against your mouth as you kept kissing him, your tongues sliding hot and wet together. he could feel how desperate you were getting, the way your pussy clenched around him tighter with every thrust.
“you want it harder, baby?” he rasped, breaking the kiss just enough to look at you. you nodded, biting your lip. his hips snapped forward suddenly, driving his cock deeper and faster. your legs bounced harder, spread wide and shaking as he started fucking you with more force.
you cried out, nails digging into his back as he picked up the pace. the wet slap of skin on skin got louder, his thrusts turning rougher, pounding into you steadily. every hard stroke hit that perfect spot inside you, making your whole body jolt.
“rafe—fuck—” you moaned, holding onto him tighter, legs trembling uncontrollably around his waist. “that’s it,” he encouraged, fucking you harder, deeper, one hand gripping your thigh to keep you spread open for him. “cum on my cock, baby. i can feel how close you are.” he continues.
rafe kept pounding into you harder, hips snapping with deep, relentless thrusts that made your whole body bounce beneath him. your legs stayed spread wide, trembling violently as your orgasm crashed over you.
“rafe—!” you cried out, back arching hard off the floor as you came hard on his cock. your pussy clenched and pulsed around him in tight, wet spasms, gushing slick, creamy liquid all over his thick shaft. the warm wetness painted his dick with every thrust, coating him shiny and messy, dripping down his balls as he fucked you through it.
he looked down between your bodies, groaning loudly at the sight. “fuck, baby… look at that. you’re soaking my dick so good,” he rasped, voice strained with lust. he didn’t slow down, sliding in and out of your spasming, drenched pussy, the wet sounds even filthier now as your cum coated every inch of him.
your body kept twitching and jerking, soft whimpers falling from your lips while he kept thrusting through your orgasm, his cock glistening with your release.
You and Rafe finally get the house to yourselves over the summer, and you quite literally can't get enough of eachother.
Warnings: Smut, mention of p n v, oral, fem! And male! Recieving. Authors first language isn't english. Mention of alcohol and drugs.
Ever since summer started and Ward and Rose went to Barbados you and Rafe literally can't stop touching eachother.
Maybe it was Wards fault for leaving two very hormonal nineteen year olds alone in a big empty house.
When the others were home, Rafe had always been so careful. He rarely ever fucked you, scared to death that someone was going to walk in on you two. He'd eat you out once in a while, keeping a steady hand over your throat to muffle your sounds.
But now that you had the whole house to yourselves, everything changed.
The warm summer days you were supposed to spend by the pool or on the beach turned into long filthy sessions where you'd ride him until you just couldn't take it anymore.
Your embarassingly wet pussy taking his hard and thick cock so well.
It became a habit, a bad one. You'd cancel on friends because Rafe gripped your waist just a little to hard before leaving the house. Or because you wore a too revealing dress and just Rafe couldn't help himself.
He'd find you by the pool, chilling in one of the sunbeds, wearing one of those oh so slutty bikinis he once bought you.
He'd walk up to you from behind, press slow and hot kisses to your neck before bending you over and fucking you deep and hard while the faint sound of water splashing in the pool filled your ears.
He'd find you in the kitchen while you're cooking, pulling you away from the stove for a moment all for a short dry- humping session that left you both soaked and desperate for eachother.
And most days, he'd offer to drive you to your friends house, only to park on the street next to hers.
" Just a quickie. "
That was what he said every single time, but that quickie, turned into so much more and all of a sudden you were twenty minutes late to a girls night out and had five missed calls.
Oh it was unhealthy, it really was. — How the two of you just couldn't keep your hands off eachother, no matter how hard you tried.
And it was even more unhealthy how fucking was the only thing you did. You had been dating for awhile, usually seeing eachother at parties, only having time for a quick makeout session in the bathroom before saying your goodbyes.
And of course, the times where he'd invite you over only to eat you out, he'd force you to climb through the window instead of taking the main door. Just so that Ward wouldn’t find out that he was having girls over aswell.
Ward truly saw Rafe as a failure og some kind—which of course, you did understand.
He was a drug addict, spent his daddys money on buying motorcycles and well—drugs. He could be gone for a full day and come home at 2:am with no explanation of where he had been or who he had been with.
Of course that would make a father worry.
But Rafe didn't understand, perhaps he was too deep into the drug addiction and the self hate that he just saw himself as the failure his father believed him to be.
But without an explanation.
And he tried, oh he did try so hard to have his fathers approval. Even if that came with hiding you from him.
That hurt you, you loved Rafe and all you wished for was that he would feel the love, feel the love that so many people around him held for him.
Not only you.
But what hurt you even more was that you truly only saw eachother to fuck and drink. You couldn't remember the last time you and Rafe had done something, "coupely" together.
If that even was a word.
You just fucked and drank, fucked and drank. Sometimes in between rounds. But yeah, that was truly all that you were.
𑣲 Aska speaks: This turned out so bad towards the end and it's pissing me off.. it felt as if I was just writing down whatever words came to mind without actually putting any thought into it. Well well, I hope everyone enjoyed reading either way. And I hope i'm your new fav Rafe writer after this.. perhaps 😉 (jk)
pairing fratboy! rafe cameron x kook!sororitygirl! reader
rating explicit 18+
summary when rafe’s friends bet that he can’t charm you into sleeping with him, he can’t say no to the challenge. he has no idea that you decide to make a game out of his advances. you have a secret bet to win, too. and you’re determined to break his heart.
< prev
Your sorority house is bright, crowded, and covered in pink decorations. Once Rafe steps into the Valentine’s Day themed party, he realizes just how stupid it is to be here. But after a month of replaying that conversation in the parking lot, a month of silence between you since then, he couldn’t turn down the opportunity to see you again.
You had real feelings. You admitted to regretting hurting him. To liking him. It’s why he’s here, stubbornly hopeful that you’ll find that spark again, because what you two had after you gave up on your stupid bets was too good for him to forget about.
He moves deeper into the house with Mac and Cooper, scanning the crowds. A few nights ago, he’d had too much to drink, and he didn't tell them everything, nothing about your bet, but he did admit to them that he actually liked you.
It was awkward. Mac slapped his shoulder, told him he’d get over it. Cooper made a joke, teased that the whole point of the bet was to not catch feelings. It was the typical response he’s used to, being told to man up. All he had left to do was pretend it didn’t hurt.
They find a pocket of space and Rafe leans against his wall, trying to ground himself, when he sees you. You’re near the kitchen doorway, laughing with someone, unbothered and looking impossibly beautiful in a short white dress. His fingers curl against his palm.
Mac notices him zoning out. He follows Rafe’s eye line, then huffs a quiet laugh when he sees who Rafe’s staring at.
“Bro, there’s a million other girls,” Mac says. “At least fifty in this house. You gotta quit acting like she’s the only one.”
“She’s got you whipped,” Cooper adds, grinning.
Rafe ignores the pain in his stomach, the anger rushing into him, and just laughs it off, the way he’s supposed to, the way he’s expected to.
“Shut up, man,” Rafe scoffs. “I’m good.”
Mac shifts his weight, glancing between Rafe and you across the room.
“It’s really over over, huh?” Mac asks.
Rafe knows he’s asking if he should try again, if there’s something left to salvage. But they don’t know all of it. And then, he remembers Mac’s voice from the start of the bet. She hates you.
“You were right,” Rafe says, keeping his tone light. “She hates me. So, who you gonna strike out with tonight?”
Mac shoves him and Rafe laughs, relieved the attention is off of him, glad that he can still fake being okay when he needs to.
・・・・・
“I just heard some gossip about you,” Jada says quietly, approaching you as the crowd shifts around her.
Her words make your stomach tighten. It hits the same nerve Rafe pressed when he told you what people say about you, how you don’t have feelings.
“I don’t want to know,” you laugh, but it comes out thin.
“I was eavesdropping over there.”
She tilts her head toward the front of the house. You follow her gaze.
Rafe is leaning against the wall, standing with the same two guys he’d told you had bet him to sleep with you. You’ve felt his eyes on you all night. You’ve been drawn to him since the moment he walked in, but you’ve refused to give in. You’ve never had to have this much self-control over a guy before.
“His friend said he’s whipped for you,” Jada murmurs.
“Hm,” you say flatly.
It’s clear that Jada knows you’re only acting like you don’t care. After everything you told her, every late night where you sat on the edge of your bed, frustrated and hurt, asking her to physically take your phone away from you so you wouldn’t text Rafe, she can read you easily.
And funny enough, despite how messy the situation was, she roots for you two. She said that it was obvious something real had begun between you, that sometimes two wrongs do kind of make a right.
“And then that other guy was like, is it really over?” she continues. “And Rafe said it is because you hate him.”
You shrug, taking a sip of your drink.
“Do you?” she asks, her brows raised.
“He’s still hanging around the same guys who made a bet on me,” you reply.
“Don’t you still hang out with the friends who made the bet on him?” she asks.
“Can we not do this?” you laugh, used to her stubborn optimism.
Your eyes drift over to Rafe. You don’t hate him. You hate what you did to each other.
Admittedly, you were thinking about approaching him tonight. Even after everything, part of you still wants him anyway. At a safe distance.
Impulse has never been your strong suit, and when it comes to Rafe, it’s even worse.
・・・・・
As the night drags on, you eventually cross paths in the crowd. Rafe’s close enough that you can smell his cologne, close enough that you don’t want to pretend you don’t feel the pull.
Without thinking, in your tipsy state, you tug lightly at the sleeve of his dark blue t-shirt. He looks over, his expression losing its tension, and he leans down to hear you over the music and the crowd, dipping his head closer.
“You didn’t even try,” you say, looking up at him.
“Huh?” he murmurs, a tiny smirk pulling on his lips, heart pounding now that you’re talking to him.
You look stunning, but all he can think about is how much he prefers to see you like he did the night he came over, when you were barefaced and wearing nothing but a t-shirt. There’s something different about your beauty then, when you’re comfortable and unguarded.
“You didn’t even try,” you repeat, and gesture around at the pink, red, and white decorations scattered across the house. “There’s a theme.”
The tension between you is so thick and so familiar, the kind of heaviness that can only come from two people who admitted they had feelings for each other and then gave up anyway.
Rafe licks his lips, shaking his head just slightly, accepting the fact that even after a month of no contact, you pull him in effortlessly.
“You look…” he starts, voice low.
His gaze drifts over you slowly, and suddenly, it makes you feel exposed. He’s looking at you like he’s thinking about everything you admitted to, and it’s instinct to pull away when you feel this vulnerable.
“I know,” you say self-assuredly. Then, you pace past him, deeper into the crowd, slipping back into how it was before, when you kept him at arm’s length.
There’s a sharp twist in your chest as you walk away, because no matter how many hard feelings you still carry, the gravity between you and Rafe hasn’t gone anywhere.
You can feel it. You’re sure he can, too.
・・・・・
It’s a Friday in mid‑March, and the air is cooling, the tide rolling over the sand as the sun sets.
You and your friends spread your blankets out in a circle. You're glad you came home for Spring Break, even though you’ve spent the whole week noticing that Rafe hasn’t been around.
He must’ve gone far away. You shouldn’t care, shouldn’t wonder if he’s talking to someone else. You’ve never felt jealousy like this before, but that’s just more proof of how he’s completely changed things.
・・・・・
The beach is nearly full when Rafe gets there with his friends. He stands apart from them as they sit down, staring out at the water.
He almost didn’t answer when his mom called yesterday. He thought of what you’d told him, that someone who can leave their family doesn’t deserve a space in their life. But he picked up. And she told him she’ll come back to the island soon for his birthday. Just to see him and his sisters.
It’s been haunting him. And as if he doesn’t have enough on his mind, he hears you before he sees you, that genuine laugh of yours that used to love. He scans the crowd ahead until he finds you sitting with your friends.
It feels like it used to, back when you silently circled each other around Kildare, oblivious to how easy things would be if you just had a genuine conversation. If things were different, if you’d just started this organically, you’d learn just how much you have in common, how joking and talking together can last hours but feel like minutes.
He hates this. The one time he felt a girl could actually understand him, she was only with him to hurt him.
He wasn’t harsh enough with you for what you did to him, but he couldn’t let his temper snap the way it usually does.
Normally, he’d lose it, scream at someone for doing something like that to him, but he couldn’t bring himself to raise his voice at you. Because there’s something about you that softens him. And he hates how powerless he is to it.
・・・・・
As night falls, the tide keeps pushing everyone back, higher and higher up the beach. The sand is crowded now, bodies everywhere, music thumping.
You and Rafe end up shifting into the same open patch of sand. He’s sitting, but you’re standing, and he sees you rub your bare arms, the wind colder now that the sun is gone.
He hasn’t spoken to you since Valentine’s Day. You told him this was over before that, and he decided that if you wanted him, you’d come to him like you did at that party. He swore he wouldn’t go out on a limb again. But then he sees you cold, and he can’t pretend he doesn’t care.
Everyone around both of you is talking and laughing. No one is looking. And he lets himself listen to his instinct, once again losing control when it comes to you.
Rafe stands up and steps toward you. His button-up is loose over his t-shirt, and he pulls it off.
You finally see him standing beside you, towering over you. He holds the overshirt out, his hand brushing your arm.
With everyone drunk and distracted, it feels like the whole party disappears, like it’s just you two, the tide pushing you into the same space. Like this, like you and him, are inevitable.
“Here,” he murmurs.
The reflex to protect yourself and shut him out crashes into you. You almost say you don’t need it, but the feeling of looking in those blue eyes again cracks you open. It’s something you’ve been starving for.
“Returning the favor?” you say softly, reminding him of the night you offered your sweater to clean him up after that fight.
A small smirk tugs at Rafe’s lips, like he’s reminiscing about it too, about everything that came before. The expression fades as quickly as it came.
You take his shirt, and even though it’s thin, when you pull it over your arms, it offers you a familiar warmth.
“You wanna…?” Rafe murmurs, nodding behind you, toward the dunes. You nod at the invitation to find privacy and slip away with him, the cool night air carrying the salty smell of the ocean, your shoes sinking into the sand.
・・・・・
Seconds later, you settle in the cool sand, sitting side-by-side, half-hidden by the dunes.
The distant party thunders ahead. Rafe notices how good it feels to see his shirt on you, to know you’re more comfortable now. He always liked this feeling, of taking care of someone. He’s spent most of his life feeling replaceable. This gives him value.
“How are you?” he asks.
“It’s been a quiet week,” you say. He can’t tell if that’s good or bad. “You?”
“Yeah, me too.”
“Where’d you go for the break?”
“No where. Just stayed at school.”
“Oh.” You’d been so sure he’d escaped somewhere far away. “Makes sense, I guess.”
Rafe just looks at you, waiting for you to continue. And for a second it’s like you forget that you have so much history between you. His eyes look so soft, his lips so inviting. But you don’t give in. You can’t.
“I mean, you do kind of hate it here, don’t you?” you add.
He rubs his hand over his mouth, gaze turning towards the dark water. Being home always drags him back into the parts of himself he’d rather outrun, to the memory of his mother leaving, and the fact she’ll be here again in a couple of weeks.
“What?” you say when he doesn’t answer.
Rafe doesn’t see why he’d open up to you when you rarely open up back. Sitting here with you feels good in the moment, but you’ll just walk away again, and he’ll be left with nothing but a hollow feeling.
He’s not even sure why he pulled you away. Except he is. It’s because you’re a habit he can’t break.
He exhales, eyes flicking to his shirt on you.
“You look better in it than I do,” he murmurs, changing the subject.
“Does that mean I can keep it?”
“You want to?”
It’s a simple question, but it’s not at the same time. You know he’s asking about whether you want to keep a reminder of him. And you don’t know how to answer that without giving yourself away.
“If I look good in it, then yes,” you say, trying to play it off.
Rafe breathes a half-hearted chuckle, his expression dimming with disappointment. You hate that it gets under your skin. So, you swallow hard, and let yourself be honest.
“Hey, I… I don’t hate you,” you say. “I heard that you think that. But it’s not true.”
Rafe’s jaw tightens. He wants to ask where you heard, then decides against it. It doesn’t matter. He misses you, and it’s good to hear you don’t hate him, but it hurts just as bad to know you could never love him, either.
He only nods and doesn’t meet your eyes. The ache in your chest deepens. Even though what he did hurt you, you think you hurt him more.
You wonder if he still wants something real with you. After what you did, maybe he doesn’t. But either way, you know you can’t give him that.
Your father leaving ripped something out of you. It left you trapped, gave you a fear of being seen for who you are and of being abandoned for it. You wish you could fix it, but what if you can’t, and what if Rafe ends up being the one who pays for it?
You exhale, and you reach for the only escape you know. Distraction.
“When are people going to realize we don’t need three different songs playing at the same time?” you say, shaking your head as the music overlaps at the party ahead.
Silhouettes move in clusters in the sand under the night sky. It’s a representation of exactly what your life here has always been: surrounded by other Kooks who have nothing to do but party.
Rafe can’t help but smirk when he recognizes that annoyed look on your face, the adorable way your eyes narrow.
He wants to say how pretty you are, but he wouldn’t be able to take the rejection, so he says, “You sure you’re not the one who hates it here?”
You catch yourself scowling and laugh. And Rafe revels in it. He should be used to it, being the exception for the girl who’s known as cold, for making her laugh when she usually only offers glares, but it still feels so good. It always will.
As you continue to talk and make jokes, it starts to feel like the dynamic you once had. It’s an easy back‑and‑forth that you only get with him.
Eventually, you realize you’ve been gone far too long. Your friends will wonder where you disappeared to, but most of all, you can’t let yourself get too comfortable here.
You pull off the overshirt and hand it back to Rafe. It felt so good, letting him take care of you, being so close to him again, but it’ll all just make you want him more, miss him more. And you can’t want him, because you’ve spent years building walls you don’t know how to take down.
It feels cruel to let him believe in something you’re still afraid of. The guilt settles in your chest. He deserves more than your uncertainty.
“I should get back,” you say. “My friends are gonna start worrying.”
Rafe takes the shirt, fingers brushing yours, watching you stand and dust sand off your shorts.
“What’d you tell them?” he murmurs.
You meet his eyes in the dark, and you realize he’s asking what you told them about your bet. About his. It used to annoy you, the way he’d pry, but now you can see he’s just trying to understand you.
“That I didn’t go through with it,” you admit, gazing at him as he sits under the moonlight, the wind stirring his hair, brushing it across his forehead. “That things just… fizzled out.”
You pause and look away, still not used to this kind of vulnerability. But there’s something too special between you to let him believe a lie, to let him think you’re as emotionless as pretend you are.
“I didn’t want to admit that I got hurt,” you say, voice thinning out.
That’s when Rafe gets that it’s not just him you keep at a distance. It’s everyone.
He watches you leave, the sound of the waves filling the silence you left behind.
・・・・・
It’s the first weekend of April, only an hour into the frat party, and you’re already exhausted. Studying for finals has taken a toll on you. You don’t want to ruin your friends’ fun, so you let them know you’re going home and rush away before they can protest.
The main reason you came was because you knew Rafe would probably be here. It’s his frat’s party, after all. You can admit you miss him. He gives you a feeling nobody ever has.
But you haven’t seen him. And maybe that’s for the best.
You slip out the front door, the same doorstep where he spilled his drink on you that night in October. The memory flashes through your mind, how angry you were, especially once he asked if you were always so sensitive. It’s ironic, because he’s the one who’s shown just how deeply he can feel.
You recognize his baseball hat first. Rafe’s sitting on the top step of the porch, broad back to the door, elbows on his knees, a beer bottle dangling from one hand.
Now that you see him, you tell yourself you should just walk past him. Mostly because you know his birthday was a few days ago. It came up in one of your many conversations a while back, and you haven’t forgotten the date.
You almost want to avoid him, because you feel bad for not sending him a happy birthday text. But it felt too weird and sentimental and vulnerable to do it.
As you stare at him now, though, feeling just how much your chest warms simply from being a few feet away from him, you don’t think you can ignore what’s been tugging at you any longer.
Before Rafe, you were used to living with an emptiness inside of you. It was tolerable, but impossible to escape. And then this temperamental, funny, frustrating, complex man made you actually want to put your guard down. He’s shown you what life can look like when you let someone in, even just a little.
Giving into this feeling goes against every instinct you have, but standing here now, you know you’d rather feel something, even if it’s pain, than nothing at all.
Rafe feels the step shift beside him, and he turns his head right away, and when he sees you sit next to him, it’s like his heart stops.
You look so pretty. It's insane how it’s been weeks and he can’t stop thinking about you. He keeps telling himself to move on from the girl who told him whatever this is was over, but something's clearly wrong with him.
He first sat here with a hollow feeling in his chest, but it’s gone now that you’re here.
“Is this a new habit?” you ask over the sound of the muffled bass, over the groups of students chattering as they walk down the street.
Rafe looks at you, the planes of his face sharp in the porch light.
“Bailing on parties to just… sit somewhere?” you add.
His dimples flash as he huffs a quiet laugh.
“What, you keepin’ tabs on me?” he teases.
“It’s hard not to when you’re out here looking so lonely," you play along.
It stings him a little to hear that, but it also makes him feel kind of wanted that you noticed.
“I’m good,” Rafe says, because admitting the truth is admitting that he wants you, and the last time he did that, you told him you don’t want him back.
You interlace your fingers in your lap, steadying yourself, deciding to finally say it out loud, to show him you care.
“How was your birthday?” you ask.
Rafe’s head lifts. He wasn’t expecting you to remember. What happened that day has been sitting heavy on him, mostly because he let himself hope it would be different this time. He feels stupid for it.
He looks at you, at the way you’re actually listening, and he answers honestly because if anyone would understand this kind of disappointment, it’s you.
“My mom was supposed to visit,” he says.
A pang sinks into your heart. Clearly, she didn’t show up.
“Why didn’t she?” you ask.
He shrugs.
“Said she couldn’t make the timing work.”
He hates that he’s still hurting over this. He should be used to people not showing up for him by now. And it’s fucking with him how before his mom hung up to tell him she wasn’t coming, she told him she missed him. If she really did, then where the hell was she?
But he keeps that part to himself. Because he remembers that night in the poolhouse, how coldly you asked if he expected you to feel sorry for him, and even though you’re looking at him with so much compassion right now, your eyes softened, he can’t say it.
You nod slowly, feeling the sadness he’s trying to swallow like it’s your own. You realize you’d take your dad’s silence over the kind of hope his mom gives him any day. At least you know not to expect anything.
“That’s a bad excuse,” you reply.
Rafe shakes his head, rubs his thumb over his knee.
“I shouldn’t give a shit,” he says with a humorless laugh, then takes a swig of his beer.
Your lips twist. You’ve spent so long hiding from feelings, but now, you can understand that bravery isn’t shutting emotions out. It’s letting them in. He’s shown you that.
“Caring isn’t a bad thing,” you say quietly.
Rafe’s eyes harden a little. You’re being kind, but only from a distance, because you’re always at a distance, and knowing that leaves a bad taste in his mouth.
“It is to you,” he replies, his temper slipping through.
You inhale and look away. His truthful words dig into your heart.
For a second, Rafe thinks you’re going to leave. The thought is bittersweet, because he loves how it feels to be near you, but he knows the ache that will come later, just like the one you left after you walked away from him on the beach.
“Because I’m…” you begin, forcing a weak smile. “I’m messed up.”
It’s the closest you’ve come to admitting it, that you’re so emotionally shut out because you’re convinced something is broken inside of you.
“So what?” he responds. “So am I.”
You like that he doesn’t try to prove you wrong. He’s seen the ugly parts of you, and he knows better than to pretend they aren’t there. It’s something you appreciate about him. There’s no sugarcoating.
“You have it in you to still try to trust people,” you say, meeting his gaze. “I don’t.”
His eyes search yours, and it’s almost unbearable how exposed and bare you feel right now.
“Why not?” he scoffs, sharp, like he still believes this is fixable. Like you’re fixable.
“Why do you want to know so bad?” you reply with the same tone.
“Why don’t you let me?”
“Because I think you think you like me,” you say. “But if you really got to know me…”
You swallow down the threat of tears. The painfully honest words feel wrong in your mouth and every instinct tells you to leave, but Rafe is your weakness. You’ve accepted that now.
He squints in disbelief. He never imagined that what held you back wasn’t him, but you. The realization hits hard, that maybe it was never his fault for not getting through, but yours for never letting him. And that’s crazy. Can’t you see how happy he is when he’s with you?
He remembers you telling him it was when he came to your room after that phone call with your mom that you chose to let the bet go. From that moment on, whatever was between you wasn’t an act.
“You forgot about it after that day in your room, yeah?” he asks, brows furrowing.
The memory turns in your mind. He didn’t say the word bet, and you’re thankful for it. Hearing it now would hurt too much.
You nod, remembering that cloudy Sunday morning, remembering staring at him as he sat on your bed and making the decision that you weren’t going to try to break his heart anymore.
“You weren’t faking anything after that,” he mutters, eyes locked on you. “I know you weren’t. I did know you. I do. And I still…”
He huffs, looking down at his beer, jaw tightening. You watch his hard profile, your pulse pounding in your ears.
“You still…?” you breathe.
“You already know,” he says, resigned.
And you do. He still wants you.
And that’s all you needed to hear.
Something breaks open inside of you, every remaining bit of control you had shattering and falling away. You lean in and guide him closer, your fingers brushing over his jaw. He doesn’t fight it, his head turning towards yours beneath your touch, letting you press an impulsive kiss to his lips.
Rafe kisses you back, hard, his beer bottle landing on the concrete with a dull thump, his hands finding your face, feeling himself grimace with relief, with pain. Your mouth is soft on his, your skin warm, the sounds of your breath so utterly perfect. Everything about you is so damn perfect.
You pull back, gazing at him, your hands slowly dragging down to his shoulders.
This all started with a ridiculous bet that was never supposed to mean anything. But why should that matter now? You’re always looking for excuses, always finding reasons to run. And that makes you just like your father, just like everyone who’s ever walked away. Selfish, hurting someone who doesn’t deserve it.
You take a breath, realizing how many times Rafe’s been the one to open up first, to tell the truth, to risk something. Even after everything, he still wants you. And you still want him.
You don’t want to live in the past anymore, expecting pain and abandonment. You need to take a risk. And he’s worth it.
“I’ve spent my whole life trying not to care,” you tell him, his hands still cradling your face, steadying you. “It’s always been so much easier to pretend I don’t feel anything. And it got to a point where I really didn’t. But then, I met you.”
Rafe takes you in, takes in how even the small things about you undo him. His pulse is thundering, hope blooming as you speak.
“I hate how this started and how we lied to each other,” you say, “but I’m still glad it happened.”
He sees your lip tremble and his hands shift to take yours, resting on your lap. He’s used to you looking confident and unbothered and untouchable, but now, he sees total uncertainty.
“I want to be with you,” you confess. “I don’t know how to do this, but I… want to try. Do you?”
For a second, Rafe can’t breathe. Hearing you say those words makes the ache that’s lived in him for so long soften.
And for the first time, he feels wanted, chosen, and it’s by a girl who sees him in ways no one else ever has. He always thought he was too soft, pretending he didn’t care just like you always did, but you saw it all, every part of him, and you still want him anyway. You still want to take this risk, even though you’re terrified.
And this is something he’s been waiting his whole life to feel. For once, he doesn’t have to be tough or loud or anything forced.
He leans in. This kiss is different. It feels like both of you let go of the tension that’s been holding you apart as your lips meet. It’s slow, gentle, like you’ve reached the end of a race and both made it.
You pull away, eyes meeting his, your thumb tracing the edge of his hand. You can feel the pulse in his wrist. It’s going just as fast as yours.
“Yeah,” he murmurs, and it makes you laugh, because the way he just kissed you was more than enough of a confirmation that he wants this, too.
You share a smile. This still feels scary, but you’ve spent so long bracing for disappointment, and now, you know this is the start of something you can have hope in.
・・・・・
The early evening sunlight filters through your bedroom window as you get ready for Rafe’s house party.
Ivy’s sprawled across your bed, scrolling on her phone, already ready, while Alayna touches up her makeup at your vanity. You’re standing at your closet when your phone loudly buzzes on your dresser.
You cross the room to check who texted you.
You almost here? so boring without you.
You grin at Rafe’s message before you can stop yourself.
“I wonder who that is,” Ivy teases.
You look over at your friends, caught smiling, and roll your eyes.
“Whatever happened to I’m not interested?” Alayna adds, an obvious callback to what you said months ago, when you’d sworn Rafe wasn’t your type.
“Enough,” you laugh, waving them away. You’ve gotten used to their teasing. It’s all still new to you, liking a guy this much, and being committed to him.
After that night on the porch, you and Rafe have been inseparable. You stayed out there talking for so long that your sorority sisters eventually left the party and walked right past you. Once Jada saw you, she had a big smile on her face when she said, “Thought you were going home?”
Later on, you told her, and eventually Ivy and Alayna, all about how this thing with Rafe turned into something you never saw coming.
Now that you’ve finished the school year and reached summer, you’re back in Kildare, but it feels like you returned as a different person.
・・・・・
Rafe’s out back, leaning against the railing, the breeze lacing through his hair. His home’s main-floor deck faces the beach, and he’s laughing with his buddies, but his eyes keep flicking toward his house. You’d texted that you were on your way a few minutes ago, and he’s been distracted since.
His friends knew better than to give him shit when he told them he’s with you. He could tell they were surprised, but smart enough not to say much about him being with the girl with your reputation.
He spots you the second you step out onto the deck through the open doors with your friends, and your eyes find his.
Rafe closes the distance between you. He knows not to be too touchy in front of people. In the month you’ve been his girlfriend, he’s seen the way affection in public makes you stiffen. So, all he does is pull you into a quick, easy hug, then he steps back again.
“Hey,” he says, voice low. The warm smile you give him makes his chest tighten.
“Just steal her already,” Ivy sighs.
You chuckle at your friend’s comment. They’ve all gotten used to it, the way you and Rafe tend to disappear at these gatherings, and eventually come back again. There’s no bitterness behind it. They like seeing you happy.
You gesture towards the house and tell him, “Are you not going to offer me a drink?”
“So demanding,” Rafe teases, but his gaze is full of affection. You chuckle and as you walk in with him, his hand brushes yours.
・・・・・
Like always, time with Rafe slips away. The minutes blur in the packed house as you lean against a wall together, tucked away in your own private world.
As you talk, your eyes drift up the wall along the staircase. Family photos are in neat square frames, representing his and his sisters’ lives growing up here. You’ve been in Rafe’s home before for parties, but never got close enough to study the photos. You never cared to.
Now you do. Now you want to know everything about him.
In one of your late night conversations, he’d told you about his dad, about how he never felt good enough for the man. And even though Rafe is so much bigger and taller and stronger than you, you’ve developed a fierce protectiveness over him. It’s like you wish you could save him from every time he was told he was too sensitive.
The protectiveness flares when someone drunkenly bumps into him, hard enough that if Rafe’s drink was still full, it would’ve spilled.
“Watch where you’re going,” you snap before Rafe can even react.
“Sorry,” the guy responds, hands up in the air as he stumbles away.
Rafe looks down at you, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. He kind of loves seeing you mad. It’s a reminder that you don’t let anyone get away with anything, that you’re sharp with every other guy, but not him. Most of the time.
“You’re not going to kick him out for that?” you half-joke.
“You looked like you were about to take him,” he says.
“I probably could,” you reply, eyes following the guy as he disappears into the crowd. When you look up at Rafe again, you notice that intense look of his, the one that looks like he’s trying to figure you out, the one you’ve grown to love.
“What is it now?” you sigh playfully, used to his staring.
Rafe licks his lips and looks down. He’d kiss you right now if he could, but the last time he tried that in public, he felt you tense up.
It’s hard not to take it personally. But he knows there’s more to it, because there’s always been so much more to you than you let on.
“Too many people around for me to kiss you, huh?” he says, because like always, he can’t stop himself from saying what’s on his mind to you.
You still, then shake your head with a sympathetic smile. He nods like he understands, but you can see the hurt anyway.
Sometimes, it scares you. Rafe eases into affection, while your instinct is to guard yourself. It’s not natural for you to be openly affectionate. You’ve spent years being the girl no one can get close to because softness is something you never want people to see in you.
“It’s just not my thing,” you explain.
“I get it,” he says, eyes dropping to your empty cup. “You want another?”
You appreciate him trying to play it off. That’s one of the things you like about Rafe, that even with all his intensity, he’s never been forceful with you. He can be overwhelming. Everyone knows that about him. But he gives you space.
You gaze up at him as he towers over you, waiting for your answer, your heart knocking against your ribs, the crowd’s noise thudding around you. You do want him to kiss you. Just not here.
“Actually, let’s go upstairs,” you say. “I want to see your room.”
Rafe’s expression softens, and when he leads you up the stairs, you slip your hand into his. It catches him off guard, especially after you’d just pulled back from affection, but mostly, it just fills him with a warmth nobody else can give him.
・・・・・
Rafe’s bedroom at home is like what you saw in his dorm room. It’s lived in, but neat.
Your breath steadies after the long walk upstairs as he shuts the door behind you. Through the cracked open window, you can hear the slow, rhythmic hush of waves rolling in and pulling back again.
You turn to face him, standing in the middle of his room, watching him as he steps towards you.
“It’s just new to me,” you murmur as he stops inches away from you, the mix of cologne and detergent and beer drifting off of him. “Being a girlfriend.”
Rafe sees that concerned look on your face. You used to be impossible to read, but now he can really see you and he’s grateful for it.
“What’s wrong, baby?” he says with a teasing lilt. “You’re doin’ great.”
You nudge his shoulder and he chuckles, pulling even closer to press a kiss on your lips. He pulls back an inch, his gaze searching yours.
“I can tell you want me to be more…” you begin, then shrug. “I wish I could kiss you in front of people without feeling awkward about it. It’s just hard being so… open.”
Rafe’s forehead creases. He likes these moments, the ones where you share a piece of yourself.
“I don’t need that,” he tells you, voice low.
“You want it, though,” you reply.
His gaze softens, the tension in his jaw easing as he brings his hands up to cradle your face.
“I already got what I want right here,” he rasps.
Your heart twists in the gentlest way. It’s still unfamiliar having someone treat you with such tenderness, reassuring you.
It’s why you haven’t gone past kissing since that night on the porch, when you decided to try for a relationship. The thought of sex with him, with someone you really care about, with someone who could break your heart, has been intimidating.
But as you stand here, held by him, heat curling in your stomach, there’s nothing else you’d rather do.
Rafe’s knees weaken a bit when you cup the back of his neck to pull him closer for another kiss. The second he tastes your tongue, his muscles tense with arousal, with desire, with a heat he’s never felt with anyone else.
His blood burns when your hands move lower, your fingertips dipping below the hem of his t-shirt, your warm palms dragging up his stomach. You start to push up the fabric, and he does the rest, tugging the shirt off, guiding you backwards the second it hits the floor.
You meet eyes when you pull back and reach his bed, gazes locked as you shift to lie down on your back. Rafe’s stare is heavy, lustful, but most of all, there’s a desire in it that almost overwhelms you. He wants you so badly.
He’s already drunk off pleasure when he watches you start to pull off your top. He takes the cue to help you, tossing it away, lowering onto the bed.
Your bodies press together, skin on skin, heat on heat, kissing again, deeper and harder. He’s been waiting for this for so long, giving you the distance you needed, and now, the elation of feeling you pull him in with such impatient desire consumes him.
Your hands trail down his firm back as you shift to spread your legs, giving him the access to grind against you. You breathe into each other’s mouths once you feel each other, his hardness, your warmth.
He moves to his knees to give himself space to pull down your skirt. You tilt up your hips so he can slip it down your legs, leaving you in your bra and panties. He pulls off his pants, eager to put his weight on you again.
Rafe’s lips are on your neck once he’s down to his boxers, mouth hot and wet and sucking, as you lace your fingers through his hair, tightening your legs around him.
You writhe against him when he peels off your bra, his mouth dropping to your breasts, kissing and teasing, leaving your chest wet from his tongue, leaving you feeling utterly worshipped.
You push down the band of his boxers, but you can’t reach low enough to pull them down.
“Off,” you whisper impatiently. Rafe smirks against your skin, then nods.
Finally, you see all of him when he peels the boxers off, your breath quickening. His eyes are on yours as he shifts to open his nightstand, the wrapper of the condom crinkling. With only your panties left between you, he presses his fingers to your heat as he hovers over you, nose nudging yours.
“You want it?” he rasps, needing to hear you say it.
“Yes,” you breathe, back arching. He rubs circles, teasing you, before he finally pulls down your panties.
He takes a few seconds to just stare at you, absorbing every beautiful part of you, before he holds himself at his base to pull the condom on. He shifts to lie over you again, propped up on his knees, kissing you softly.
This is how it should be. How it should always be. Wrapped up in Rafe, enveloped in sheets that smell like him, listening to his breath and yours. Nothing has ever felt so right before.
Rafe is slow when he enters, stretching you out with hard, but mindblowing pressure, guiding himself in until he’s completely inside you.
He stays like this for a moment, because he can’t remember if he’s ever felt this complete before. He loves you, he’s known that for a while now, and feeling you so tight and hot around him, like you were made for him and he was made for you, makes him certain if he wasn’t already that anything in this world, anyone in this world, is nothing compared to you.
He pulls his hips back slowly, starts to drive in and out, earning your soft moans and the feeling of your nails digging into his back. You wrap your legs around him, hooking your ankles, feeling him hit that spot over and over and over again, the bed creaking, your groans interlacing.
You hold each other like you might lose each other, but within this moment, you’re not worried about that, about not being enough, about being left behind. Because this is unlike anything you’ve felt before. This isn’t just physical, and you know that for sure when Rafe pulls back to look at you with pure adoration.
Your gazes are locked, and they stay that way until you both reach your climax, consumed by euphoria, by happiness, by peace.
・・・・・
You don’t bother getting dressed. You slip under Rafe’s sheets. He returns from his ensuite wearing his boxers, and he smiles when his eyes land on you.
His skin is still flushed as he settles next to you under the sheets, resting his head on the same pillow. You lie on your sides, facing each other, a shared blissful daze heavy in your gazes.
And you get it. Doing this with emotion attached is different. It’s better. Even with the vulnerability that comes with it. You’ve never been the type to cuddle, but the mere thought of not having Rafe like this pains you.
You reach forward to rest your palm on his cheek, to rub your thumb over his skin, and he can’t help but close his eyes. You might not always be affectionate, but when you are, it’s like a drug.
“Kind of sucks that I’ve been missing out on that for so long,” you murmur.
Rafe’s lips stretch into a grin, dimples dipping into his cheeks.
You realize that you’d once said that as a part of the bet, lied to him about wishing you’d spoken sooner. At that point, you didn’t think you could ever like him for real. Now, you’re falling.
“Only kind of?” he says, lids slowly lifting. He shifts closer to you, his arm on your waist.
“I’m trying to keep you humble,” you reply playfully.
“Well, stop,” he says.
“Fine,” you laugh. “I’ve really been missing out. It actually pisses me off.”
Rafe’s chuckle warms you from the inside out. His fingers trace up your spine, then he splays his hand over your back and pulls you in even tighter, until you can’t possibly get any closer together.
“Me, too,” he tells you. “Thanks for giving me a shot.”
You tuck your head under his neck, cheek against his shoulder.
“Thanks for wanting one,” you respond quietly.
He can’t fathom you thinking he wouldn’t want you. But he knows now how hard it is for you to accept someone choosing you. Someone staying. And he gets it because he’s lived in that same place for a long time, too.
Rafe kisses the top of your head, and then, his words slip out.
“I love you.”
You shift to lift your head and look at him, your heart skipping. And you realize right now, fully and entirely, you trust him. You trust that he means that. That he’ll stay. That even though he has all the power to break you, he won’t.
“I love you, too,” you tell him. It’s crazy how easy it is for you to say.
Rafe kisses you again and you feel so free, as if all the ways you used to guard yourself to have control actually controlled you, and they’re gone now.
You’ve never been so happy that both of you decided to accept a silly bet, because ultimately, thankfully, this is where it led you.
pairing fratboy! rafe cameron x kook!sororitygirl! reader
rating explicit 18+
summary when rafe’s friends bet that he can’t charm you into sleeping with him, he can’t say no to the challenge. he has no idea that you decide to make a game out of his advances. you have a secret bet to win, too. and you’re determined to break his heart.
< prev
You’re standing by a sliding glass door, and while the crowded house is warm, the January cold still presses through the glass. It’s another house party in Figure Eight, and being back here reminds you that the island never really changes.
You lift your cup to your lips. No alcohol, since it’s better that you don’t drink right now. The pain that dug into you since the last time you saw Rafe hasn’t gone away, and getting drunk will just make it worse.
It’s been three weeks since you left his bedroom. Since the last words between you twisted everything you thought you understood about the two of you. The holidays came and went, and now it’s mere days before everyone here heads back to their colleges to start the spring semester.
You’ve spent so much time telling yourself Rafe didn’t even hurt you, that you were simply angry that he tricked you. But you’ve resigned yourself to the truth now.
At some point over the months you spent getting to know him, you did give him the power to hurt you. And he used it.
The worst part is you don’t even know how much of what he said was manipulation. Which parts were fake. If any parts were even real.
The party hums around you as your friends talk over the music. You haven’t told Ivy and Alayna about any of it. They asked about the bet and you said you gave up, that Rafe was too annoying for you to pretend to like him. They laughed it off.
Through the glass door, there’s a backyard bonfire in a stone pit, a group gathered around it. Rafe’s there, shoulders hunched slightly against the cold.
He’s been drinking a lot. Even from here, you immediately noticed the way he keeps tilting his beer back, again and again.
It’s only been minutes since you and your friends drifted toward this corner of the house, relieved when you didn’t spot him inside. But then you glanced out the door.
The glass reflects your face back at you. You can’t believe how easy it is for you to look unaffected. Like nothing he did ever got to you. But then again, you’ve gotten very good at burying things where no one can see them.
You think about the last time you spoke to him, how he stammered and cried and told you he wanted to be with you. But even if that were true, this started because he saw you as a challenge. You were just a girl to fuck so he could brag about it to his friends.
At least you could tell that you really did hurt him when you told him it was all fake for you. You broke his heart, but what you never saw coming was that he’d break yours, too.
You force yourself to stop looking outside. You turn back toward your friends. You let yourself get pulled into their conversation, and for a few minutes, it works. Then Ivy’s eyes widen, her gaze toward the backyard. You turn.
A fight has broken out near the bonfire. And Rafe is on the ground, surrounded. You wait for someone to step in, but the guys not involved just watch. You stare, hoping someone will do something, but he’s getting pummeled.
And despite everything you’re feeling, the pang of fear is the loudest.
Impulsively, you set your drink down and push through the crowd inside the house. It’s easy to spot one of Rafe’s friends, Topper, leaning against the kitchen island. You’ve known him by sight for years.
You lean in close so he can hear you over the music.
“You need to help Rafe,” you say. “He’s in the backyard.”
Topper’s smile disappears and he shakes his head like he’s irritated, used to the fact that his friend is always stirring up trouble. He grabs two other guys and they head for the backyard. You follow, zipping up your hoodie the second the chill hits you.
His friends manage to get the group to back off, shouting and shoving. The crowd around him loosens.
Rafe is still on the grass, though. He’s curled on his side. His hair’s fallen into his face, and he’s breathing hard. He doesn’t even try to get up when his friends tell him to.
He doesn’t look like the man who once made you feel protected. Now it feels like you have to be the one to save him.
Worry digs into you. You step closer, leaning down.
“Rafe,” you say sharply. “Get up.”
Hearing your voice does something to him, even though the last time he saw you, you’d proven what people say about you is true.
“Get up,” you repeat.
Rafe lifts his head and his eyes finally land on you. From where he’s lying, you’re framed against the starry sky, the bonfire’s glow catching the edge of your face. You look unbelievably beautiful.
Your voice cuts through the ringing in his ears. He hates how nice it sounds. Hates that it still gets to him. Hates you.
But even with all that, this is the first time in a long time that he feels a semblance of steadiness. He forces himself onto his knees, swaying slightly.
Your eyes scan the massive yard, searching for somewhere you can take him that isn’t in full view of the crowd. Then you spot the poolhouse tucked behind the in‑ground pool. You hope it’s unlocked. And you hope your friends don’t see you doing this.
You don’t want Ivy or Alayna to catch you worrying about him. You don’t even know how you’d explain what you’ve done so far. You’re not sure you can.
“Let’s go,” you say firmly.
He tries to stand and nearly tips, so your hand finds his arm, steadying him.
The moment your fingers close around Rafe’s bicep, traitorous warmth buzzes under your skin. You despise him. You’ve told yourself that a hundred times. He hurt you. He made you feel stupid. You should want nothing to do with him.
But your body won’t listen. It’s unfair that it brings you comfort to touch him again.
The walk across the yard is long. Rafe’s breaths are ragged and he leans some of his weight into you and the voices fade the farther you get, replaced by the distant hum of ocean waves.
When you reach the poolhouse, you try the handle and thankfully, it turns. You push the door open and guide him inside. The space is dark and chilly and smells like chlorine. You flick on the light.
Rafe sinks down onto the closest couch, elbows on his knees, staring ahead with a blank expression. And now, you can see him clearly.
His bottom lip is split. He obviously got punched in the nose, too, because it’s covered in blood. His hands are trembling, and he keeps blinking as he stares ahead.
A drop of blood falls onto his thigh, soaking into his jeans, and you unzip your hoodie, shrugging it off even though the cold immediately sinks into your arms. You can’t believe your instinct is to choose his comfort over yours.
Rafe is dazed. Then he sees a bunched‑up cloth in front of his face. You’re standing over him, offering him something to press to his nose.
Past the blood, he can smell you on the fabric. Your expression is tight and unreadable. But he could never read you all that well. Obviously.
“Take it,” you state.
You’re helping him. After everything. It’s what he always wished for, someone to look after him after he loses it and gets hurt, but it’s ruined, because all he can remember is the cruel way you told him you could never feel anything for him.
He lifts a hand, takes your sweater from you, and presses it to his nose with a wince.
You watch him shaking, standing a few feet away, arms wrapped around yourself. You can’t make yourself move any closer. And you can’t make yourself leave either. What the hell is it about him that makes you act this way?
You’re curious and worried and angry. You try to piece together what happened, why he got ganged up on like that. Obviously he couldn’t fight back for once because of how drunk he is.
You teeter between caring and refusing to care, because as much as you tell yourself you’re done with him, walking out of this room while he’s shaking and bleeding feels impossible.
“Why are you even here?” Rafe mutters, not looking at you.
He’s been hanging on by a thread. The guys by the fire were already annoying him, laughing about how wasted he was. Normally he’d just tell them to shut up, but tonight he was drinking because he’s trying to forget you.
Rafe was already close to snapping. He made a comment to one of the guys about his parents just to piss him off, some gossip he heard a while ago. To get Rafe back, the asshole said something about his dad.
That’s what broke him. He swung. The other guy swung back, harder and with his friends backing him up.
You don’t know how to answer his question, because you have no idea why you’re here. You stay silent, staring, never having felt this before.
“They said something about my dad,” he says under his breath, trying to justify himself. His words are slurred. He’s too drunk to filter anything. “Bet he’s real proud.”
You still. You remember Rafe saying that he’s not what his family wants him to be. To know he lost it over a stupid comment about his dad makes it clear that that’s really something that gets to him.
Or maybe not. You don’t know anymore. Every memory you have of him feels poisoned, warped by the fact that he was lying to you through so much of it.
Rafe hates the silence, that you’re just standing there, that you shattered his heart.
“What? You’re thinking I deserve this, right?” he rasps, bringing the bunched up hoodie to his lap, looking down at the blood sinking into the fabric. He’s simply repeating what you told him. That he deserved to be fucked with, that he’s stupid.
Anger floods you so fast it’s dizzying. He’s actually feeling sorry for himself, after he got himself in this mess, after he admitted to trying to use you. The audacity almost makes you laugh.
“Do you expect me to feel sorry for you?” you say.
Rafe lets out a breath, your cold words slicing into him. And finally, he looks up at you.
“No,” he mutters, shaking his head slightly, squinting, grimacing. “I don’t expect anything from you.”
That’s what makes you snap. You scoff and storm out, the door slamming shut behind you. You should’ve just left him on the cold ground.
Rafe doesn’t move. He keeps staring at the floor long after you’re gone, shoulders hunched, breath shaky, his nose and jaw pulsating with pain.
The silence presses in around him. All he can smell is blood now. Tears burn his eyes and he squeezes them shut.
・・・・・
You never get attached. Every fling you’ve had always stayed surface‑level. It wasn’t even a conscious effort; it was how you protected yourself from getting hurt.
But with Rafe, it’s like he broke you apart, like he lit a fire in you and doused it in fuel until you became someone you didn’t recognize.
And you had the same effect on him, because while he did lie to you when this started, there was no faking the meltdown he had. His voice cracked in a way that didn’t sound like him as he told you he regretted the bet, that you deserve better.
You hurt him, too. It doesn’t even feel satisfying, though.
It’s Sunday afternoon and you’re lying in bed in your sorority house bedroom. Your mind keeps going back to Friday night in Kildare. The way Rafe looked, bloodied and hurt. The way your instinct kicked in to help him.
You’d caught up with Ivy and Alayna at the party after leaving the poolhouse. And you lied. You told them that even though you don’t like Rafe, you just couldn’t stand there and watch him get hurt. No matter who it was, you’d help.
The guilt of lying has been eating away at you. But how can you possibly confess to making a fool of yourself for someone who disrespected you the way he did?
You got back to campus yesterday. You desperately want to pick up where you left off before Rafe. It’s like he knocked something loose in you and you can’t get it back into place.
You stare up at the ceiling, wired. You told your sorority sisters you were going to take a nap, exhausted from the trip back. But you haven’t slept. You’ve just been lying here, listening to the muffled voices drifting up from downstairs.
The loud rumble of an engine drifts in from outside and you push yourself up on your elbows to peek through the sheer curtain.
A black pickup rolls to a stop in front of the house. Rafe steps out, something bunched in his hand. You stay still, watching him.
Time drags by and then there’s a knock at your bedroom door. Your breath catches.
He can’t see you like this. You want to have the power here. Even after you helped him on Friday night, he still looked at you with so much hatred. Like you don’t give a shit about him. And it’s best that he thinks that.
You edge back toward the window to see Rafe walking away from the house, heading for his truck again. Relief finds you. It’s not him.
“Yeah?” you call, forcing your voice to sound normal.
Jada cracks the door open. “Sorry, did I wake you?”
You shake your head no.
“Rafe came by,” she says, stepping inside. “He dropped this off.”
She holds out your hoodie. The same one you’d pressed against his face in the poolhouse. The fabric is soft and clean now, scrubbed of every trace of him. You take it, thanking her.
“He looked rough,” Jada adds, watching you. You’re still, staring ahead as you hear his truck drive away. “You okay?”
A while ago, you’d told her you were done with the bet, that you’d keep seeing Rafe just for fun. Then, when things fizzled, you told her you got bored. You never said how you actually let your guard down for the first time.
You clutch the hoodie to your chest. And you don’t have it in you anymore to pretend.
“I liked him,” you say, the words thin. Your eyes well up before you can stop it.
Jada sits beside you immediately. You can see it in her face: she’s never seen you like this. You’re supposed to be the one who never cries over a boy.
“He had a bet with his friends that he could have sex with me,” you tell her. “That’s why he started this whole thing.”
“What?” Jada breathes, stunned. “Are you serious?”
“He cried when he admitted it,” you say, letting out a scoff. “And I couldn’t even feel bad for him. Like, what, you realized I was a person and now you’re sorry?”
Your breath catches. You look away.
“I told him that I was in it to break his heart. And he said I did.” You swallow hard. “I forgot about that bet with my friends a long time ago, but I said that just to hurt him back.”
“I’m so sorry,” she says softly. “What a mess.”
“I know.” You wipe your eyes, your breath shaky. “Why does it hurt so bad?”
Jada’s brows pull together, her expression warm and aching with sympathy. She reaches for your hand.
“It won’t forever,” she tells you. “I promise.”
You nod, even though you don’t believe it yet. You’d give anything to feel like yourself again. To feel like Rafe never touched a single part of you.
・・・・・
Rafe thought he wanted you to open the door. Once he got to the front step of your sorority house, though, he realized he couldn’t face you. He barely said a word when your roommate answered.
He held out the sweater, muttered that it was yours, and went. He only returned it because he hates having something of yours lying around.
His hands are tight on the wheel. He turns off Greek Row. He doesn’t have a destination. He just needs to move to protect himself from drowning in his thoughts.
His stomach pinches in pain and he realizes he hasn’t eaten all day. He imagines you in the passenger seat, teasing him as you go to get food together, and he hates that his mind goes there.
Friday night crashes back into him, the way you grabbed his arm and led him to the poolhouse. He thought you’d never speak to him again. He doesn’t know why you did it. And he can’t read into it, because it wasn’t that long ago that you looked at him like he was nothing.
How could you do that to him? He keeps replaying it, over and over, torturing himself. The way you sat in his bed, eyes cold, telling him it was all a bet for you, too.
Admittedly, before all that, it felt good that the girl who seems to hate every guy saw something in him. But now he knows you faked it all.
He tells himself he doesn't need you. But all he can think about is how easily you said you never liked him, that you never could, and how much it hurts to know you meant it.
・・・・・
Rafe sits in the lobby of the main lodge while his friends talk around him.
He didn’t want to come. He got out of the spring day trip for the past two years, but Trey was serious that everyone needed to show up after the whole probation bullshit.
And Rafe doesn’t care for orders, but he cares enough not to let the frat president make an example out of him. He refuses to look weak, to be cut out socially, to be even more isolated than he already feels.
Rafe’s been bracing to see you since the moment he stepped out onto the college-owned retreat center. The place is huge, a cluster of buildings that face a lake. It’s big, but not big enough that he can fully avoid you.
He rubs a hand over his face. He has no idea what he’s supposed to do if you come.
・・・・・
You’ve been excited for this all year. It’s one of your favorite parts of Greek life. This day trip is a long‑standing tradition. Every spring semester, every chapter is invited out for a Saturday of team‑building and fun.
But this year, you’ve spent the entire 45-minute drive wondering if Rafe will be here. You’re in the backseat of your sorority sister’s car, music blasting as you approach the retreat center.
Your phone buzzes in your lap. It’s the guy you met at a party earlier this week. You hated how, the entire time he talked, you kept comparing him to Rafe. He didn’t catch your humor, didn’t look at you like you’re the most interesting thing in the world like Rafe used to.
Usually you can distract yourself with someone new. It won’t work this time.
・・・・・
The chapter leaders, made up of the frat and sorority presidents, welcome everyone in front of the main lodge. There are a lot of people here. With most members of all the chapters on campus, maybe a hundred students total. With so many people gathered, the air feels even hotter, sun beating down hard.
You spot him. Rafe is standing with his frat, that stupid hat sitting backwards on his head again. He’s too far away for you to see how much he’s healed since that fight he got into.
But you can tell he looks tired. He doesn’t want to be here. You’re not surprised. The last time you saw him was through your bedroom window a week ago. He looked just as tired then, like a light he once had is gone now.
And if you didn’t believe it in that moment, you do now. You really did break his heart. It’s painfully obvious.
He looks up. Your eyes meet through the crowd. For one second, it’s just you and him, standing on opposite sides of a crowd, pretending you’re strangers.
You’ll have to get used to that. You look away.
・・・・・
Fireflies drift over the grass in the warm night air. It’s the last stretch of the day, the lull after a big dinner. It’s tradition to end the day trip with a dip in the lake. You did it last year and you’re eager to do it again, to plunge into the water after a hot, tiring day.
Some cars in the lot are already gone, surely the chapter presidents. They know all about the swim, and they don’t forbid it, but they don’t encourage it. They just slip away once dinner ends, leaving the night to everyone else.
You walk with your sorority sisters to the trunk of the car to grab the towels you’d packed, then head back to the lake, hopeful you’ll be able to keep avoiding Rafe like you have been all day.
Rafe’s frat brothers talk over each other as they exit the dining hall, hyping up the lake jump, saying he skipped the last two years so he doesn’t get to bail on anything.
He didn’t even know about it until five minutes ago. He’s exhausted, though, and the idea that the day isn’t over yet annoys him.
He just wants to leave. Unfortunately, he got a ride with them, which means he’s stuck until they’re done splashing around like idiots. He tells them he’s not coming, so Mac tosses him the keys. They jog off toward the lake under the moonlight while Rafe stays behind.
He reaches the car and yanks open the door, thinking he can sit inside, but the moment he leans in, a wave of trapped heat slams into him. He ends up leaning against the side of the car instead and pulls out his phone to kill time.
From the lake, he can already hear the distant splash of someone jumping in, followed by cheers.
Minutes later, he hears footsteps on the gravel. He assumes it’s someone heading back to their car, someone else who decided not to jump. But the footsteps angle closer, weaving between the cars.
Then he glances up. It’s you. And you don’t notice him.
You’re heading for your sorority sister’s car, your phone tight in your hand. You’d forgotten to drop it off earlier, too rushed to think straight. Now you’re back to stash it in the car before heading back to the lake to finally jump in.
You reach the car, find the backseat handle, and pull. It’s locked. Your friend swore it wasn’t. You sigh and try the driver’s side next. Nothing.
Rafe is watching you, because like always, he can’t tear his eyes away. He’s angry. Embarrassed. Confused, because he still feels a pull towards you, and it’s the worst part of this whole thing.
You tug the handle again out of frustration. That’s what makes him speak.
“I think it’s locked,” he mocks you, words edged with annoyance.
The sound of Rafe’s voice hits you. You look up to see him slouched against a car parked at a diagonal, barely ten feet separating you.
And immediately, it’s effortless to be mean to him again. You’d let your guard down with him once, but before that, snapping at him was second nature. And you want to be that old version of yourself again.
“Really?” you scoff sarcastically, turning away. “Asshole.”
Rafe’s jaw firms, the sting of anger and hurt and betrayal rushing through him.
“I’m the asshole?” he replies.
You stop in your tracks, blood boiling. And you can’t let any of your heartbreak show. He lied to you, humiliated you, was so mean to you when you helped him at that party, and now he’s acting like he’s blameless.
You turn and glare at him, arms crossed, the words sitting on your tongue. You’re just close enough that you can see the tight line of his jaw in the moonlight.
“You think you’re totally innocent here?” you mutter, taking a step forward, heart pounding.
Rafe looks away and scoffs. What he did doesn’t compare. It doesn’t even come close. He came clean. And he never set out to hurt someone. You did.
“I’m better than you,” he mutters.
“Sure,” you huff. “Starting a bet with your friends that you can trick a girl into fucking you is what a really good person does.”
He grimaces. He knows how it must’ve sounded, like he was just another asshole who wanted you for only one thing. You’d told him how men make you feel that way, and while nothing you shared with him was real, he knows the anger you felt when you told him that was.
“It’s not like that,” he mutters. “I didn’t think you’d care.”
You scoff, the sound of splashing and laughter carrying from the lake. You can’t help thinking how different things would be if you’d never let him in. You could be out there in the water, light and unbothered, instead of standing here with this weight pressing on your heart.
“Is that what you tell yourself?” you reply.
Rafe adjusts his hat as if it’ll steady him. He’s thrown by how merciless you sound, how easily you can cut him down when he’s trying to explain himself.
“Come on,” he says. In the back of his mind, he hears every rumor he ever absorbed about you, about the girl who treats guys like they’re disposable. “You know what people say about you.”
“Right. They say I’m a bitch, so–”
“They say that you don’t even have feelings,” he cuts in, fast and sharp.
It stings. You thought it’s what you wanted, for people to think that you don’t get hurt. That you can’t. But hearing him say it, like it’s the truth, makes you realize how much of yourself you’ve hidden.
Silence settles between you. Rafe’s expression shifts, pain flickering through it.
He thinks about everything you’ve been through together, everything people say about you, and how not that long ago, he thought that none of it matched the girl standing in front of him.
You’d told him to stop bothering you. But if you’re letting him bother you right now, if you’re still here, still talking, still glaring at him like he’s actually getting to you, then maybe a part of you cares.
“I’ve never been a guy who can just mess around,” he admits, realizing how weak it makes him sound, but needing to get it out nonetheless. “But I thought I could with you because I didn’t think it’d mean anything to you. And I was right.”
He says it hoping you’ll refute it.
“That doesn’t make it okay,” you tersely say instead.
Then, your eyes flick down. He hates the way you go quiet, the way you slip somewhere he can’t follow. You do this. You shut down without warning.
“When were you going to tell me?” Rafe asks, voice tight. He needs to know how long you would’ve kept stringing him along.
You remember how fast everything collapsed when he told you about the bet, when you told him it was a bet for you, too. And as your gaze remains on his chest, simply to avoid eye contact, you hate that you also remember how good it felt to be pressed against him, to feel his heartbeat, to hear his breath.
“When I felt like it,” you say simply.
It’s too much. The whole conversation, the way he’s looking at you. You turn, your phone still in your hand, planning to hide it somewhere in your clothes and hope you can find it again after the cold plunge you desperately need.
Rafe’s heart picks up when you start to walk away.
This can’t be where the conversation ends. There’s a part of him that always wants clarity, always wants the truth spelled out, even when it hurts. Especially when it hurts. He can’t stand loose ends, and you’ve become the biggest one in his life.
He moves before he even thinks about it.
Rafe rounds you in a few quick strides, cutting off your path. He steps into your space, close enough that you have to tilt your chin up to meet his eyes. He’s inches from you when he speaks.
“Why’d you help me the other night?” he asks, because it hurts not knowing anymore.
Now that he’s close enough, you can see the still‑healing bruise at the bridge of his nose. It reminds you of the jolt of panic that shot through you when you saw him on the ground at that party back home. And it’s a quiet accusation of how much you care about him.
“I wish I didn’t,” you mutter. “You were such a dick.”
You step to the side, but Rafe blocks you and sternly says your name. Just like the night at the beach when this all started, when he tried to apologize for spilling his drink on you, when you told him to fuck off and you wish he’d listened.
“Move,” you say sharply. But he won’t. He can’t believe that he actually had an effect on you that night. Or ever.
And the possibility that you bluffed about your bet rattles him now. The way you said it that night was almost too perfect to be made up on the spot, but he so badly wants you to tell him you were lying.
“Was there really a bet?” he says.
You sigh. It hurts, knowing you’d once agreed to something so cruel, knowing he’s asking you if you ever saw him as more than just a game, knowing that he started this whole thing with bad intentions, too.
“Was there?” he presses.
You look down at the gravel. And you don’t know what possesses you to be honest, whether it’s the bruise on his nose, or how close he is, or how he said your name. Or maybe it’s simply because you’re tired of pretending.
“At first,” you relent.
“At first?” he echoes.
“I decided to forget about it.”
“When?” he asks.
“That day you came to my room after I got off the phone with my mom,” you tell him. You look up at him again, and the eye contact is both hard and relieving, slicing through the distance you’ve put between you. “I felt guilty about it because I thought I was wrong about you. I thought I saw good in you.”
You see the impact of your words in the way Rafe’s brows pull tight. Your instinct is to be spiteful, to hurt him the way he hurt you.
Rafe remembers that day in your room so clearly. It was a long time ago. You forgot about the bet, and you still wanted to keep him around, even though you’d been clear it wasn’t for a relationship.
You being the person who saw something in him felt better than anything else. It felt like proof that he could be someone good. Someone better. And then he showed you that he can’t be trusted.
“Got it,” he says, clipped, his voice low. He didn’t think he mattered enough to hurt you, but it’s obvious that you’re already checked out and done with him.
The defeated way Rafe says it makes it clear to you that he’s given up. You swallow hard. You know that if you tried to step away now, he’d let you.
“You think I don’t have feelings?” you scoff, the accusation still pressing on your chest. “You don’t know me at all.”
Nobody knows you. And with him this close again, the fear flares that he’ll see you for who you actually are, and he’ll realize you’re not someone worth putting time into.
“I tried to,” Rafe murmurs, his voice coming out sharper than he means it to be.
You think about how he apologized to you, cried over you, told you he wanted more than whatever the two of you had. And then you called him stupid, told him you never liked him, to dig the knife in deeper.
Loss, guilt, and betrayal crash together in your chest, a vicious pressure that won’t ease up.
You’re just two people who never expected to like each other. Something between you ran deeper than either of you meant it to, but you don’t have it in you to try with him. Not after he lied. Not after you lied, too.
“I regret it, too, okay? I… actually liked you,” you admit. Your lips press together, your body heavy with pain. “But it doesn’t matter anymore. I told you this is over and I meant it.”
Rafe gets it now. Even though you felt something, he sees that this was never going to work. Because you don’t want it to.
He purses his lips, offers a curt nod, and steps aside to let you pass. He gets a dose of you, and it sticks with him like it always does, like it always will. But he knows he can’t get any more.
You walk past him. You’re not built for wanting someone, for letting them want you back. And as you pace towards the lake under the night sky, hearing crickets chirping and people splashing, an unexpected relief settles in your heart.
Because for once, you didn’t hide or pretend you were above anything. You showed Rafe that this hurt you, too. It’s an honest kind of victory, and it’s so much lighter than the forced pride you’ve been carrying.
Laying everything out feels good. Clean. And now you can focus on trying to put it all behind you.
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pairing fratboy! rafe cameron x kook!sororitygirl! reader
rating explicit 18+
summary when rafe’s friends bet that he can’t charm you into sleeping with him, he can’t say no to the challenge. he has no idea that you decide to make a game out of his advances. you have a secret bet to win, too. and you’re determined to break his heart.
< prev
Your chest tightens the moment you spot Rafe across the frat house’s main floor.
He texted you the day after you abruptly got out of his truck two weeks ago, asking if he could see you. You never replied. You should’ve just texted him back, but it’s not fair that you’re the one feeling guilty when you clearly needed space.
But you’re over it now. And you want to be around him. You’ve never felt chemistry like you do with him, and it’s a shame that he couldn’t have just kept things uncomplicated.
His frat’s probation is done. That’s why you’re seeing him at a party for the first time in a while. This frat house is the largest on Greek Row and you’ve always joked that it’s made up of the loudest guys on campus.
Rafe is in the corner of the living room, surrounded by his friends. He looks happy. You’re glad. You never let a guy get close enough to make you think that way, but there’s more to him than what you’re used to.
He admitted to you that he knows the pain that comes from a parent walking away. And it tells you even more that he still answers his mom’s calls. He’s forgiving in a way you don’t understand. He’s softer in places you’ve hardened.
You’re on a weird middle ground now. Rafe’s absence doesn't break you, but seeing him again is nice. You’ve recentered yourself, got a grip on the feelings you thought you were developing for him, and with that out of your mind, you can admit you kind of miss him.
You want to get a moment away from the noise. It’s so loud here that you know it’s a matter of time before this frat is next on the probation list.
You tell your friends you’re going to the bathroom, then navigate through the crowded hallway, knowing there’s a chance you’ll lock eyes with Rafe as you pass him.
You wish he’d glance your way. You want things to get back to how they were with him, physical with no feelings involved. Maybe it’s a silly hope, but it’s one you have regardless.
As you squeeze past people, the music suddenly stops. Without the throb of bass, the smaller sounds of the party rush in, conversations fading into confused silence, your breath loud in your ears.
Then, a guy shouts, “Clear out!”
You’re not surprised. Of course this house is getting busted by security. You’ll need to go through the back door.
Everyone starts to scramble. You let yourself be swept up in the tide, pushed deeper into the house, figuring you can just follow the crowd.
But people are moving too slowly, so you follow a group of girls rushing through an interior door. More people shuffle in behind you into the laundry room, a mix of hushed voices, and the door swings shut.
Most are laughing through their whispers, drunk and loving the adventure, while you lean against the washing machine, not in the mood for this. You cross your arms, realizing there’s at least ten bodies crammed in here, and in the small, darkened room, you see him.
Rafe’s leaning back against the door. In the dimness, he still looks content, clearly tipsy and chuckling at something a friend just said, until his gaze sweeps the room. When he meets your eyes, his face falls just a fraction.
“Come on,” a guy snips frantically. “We gotta get out.”
You’re certain he’s an overeager freshman in this house’s frat. He scrambles onto a table, straining as he cranks open the narrow window at the top of the wall. He pushes out the screen and pulls himself onto the grass.
People follow, clearly finding a thrill in all of this, but you refuse to shove yourself through the window, especially after hearing a girl tell her friend behind her to watch out for the pointy bush.
As the room empties, Rafe remains at the end of the line. Normally, he’d vault through that window without a second thought, but he lingers, the pull you still have over him keeping him here.
He watches you from the corner of his eye. You’re just standing there, arms crossed, looking bored. He hesitates, like his sneakers are stuck to the tile, torn between the exit and the girl who rejected him.
You find Rafe’s eyes as the guy in front of him scrambles up onto the table. After a second of silence between you, you lift your shoulders in a shrug.
“I’m not drunk enough to do all that,” you explain to him, and hearing your voice again, especially with that familiar laugh behind it, keeps him from moving.
He doesn’t smirk like he usually does. Instead, his gaze is heavy, the corners of his mouth tight. He looks angry at you, and it leaves a sinking feeling in your chest.
“I think that’s a closet over there,” you say, gesturing toward the door on the other side of the room, saying it casually so he doesn’t think you’ll be offended if he doesn't take the veiled invitation.
“Rafe! Come on, man!” one of his friends calls from the other side.
His eyes stay on you as you pass by him to open the closet door and he shakes his head, looking back up to his friend.
“Just go,” he says.
Cooper hesitates for a second, but then sighs and leaves, the window open, the room quiet.
The sound of heavy footsteps and muffled radio chatter filters in from the hallway. You snag Rafe’s hand, your fingers curling around his. The adrenaline of almost being caught hits you now, and you’re sure it’s because Rafe chose to stay back with you.
“Hurry,” you whisper through a breathless laugh, pulling him into the small, dark closet and clicking the door shut.
The space is tiny, barely enough for two people to stand without touching. He stands directly across from you, and the fact that he followed you speaks louder than the silence between you. If he’s mad, he’s clearly not that mad.
You pull out your phone, the screen casting a blue glow as you reach up to tug at the light bulb string. It clicks, but the closet remains covered in darkness.
“Great,” you mutter sarcastically, letting the string drop. Your phone screen goes black and you pocket it.
Rafe doesn’t speak, unsure of what to say. It feels so damn good that you decided to touch him. It was an unexpected jolt to his system when your hand curled around his.
He stands in the darkness, his heart thudding against his ribs, breathing in the scent of your shampoo that fills the cramped space.
The silence stretches and the guilt you’ve been harboring rises up. You left him, after he’d opened up to you about his mom, and then never replied to him. It wasn’t your best moment.
“Sorry I didn’t text you back,” you say, your voice soft.
The apology undoes Rafe immediately. It’s like a weight has been taken off his shoulders, and the anger evaporates.
He spent the last two weeks bitter that you ghosted him, but the truth is, he was expecting you to force a feeling that wasn't there. You don’t want him, you’ve been clear about that, and wishing that you’d like him is the same thing as wishing that he didn’t like you.
Pointless.
At this moment, he remembers that last conversation, the way you spoke about your dad. For a girl who keeps people at arm's length, opening up meant something, and he knows he fucked up by texting you. It was overbearing. Too much.
He’s always too much.
“Nah,” he responds. “I should’ve left you alone.”
The tired honesty in Rafe’s deep voice makes you want to console him, and that impulse is proof of how he’s managed to become someone you care about.
He’s accountable, and he listens to you, even when it’s a rejection he doesn't want to hear. It makes it impossible to be cold with him like you are with every other guy.
You’ve never been this drawn to a man before. You can’t afford to trust him with your heart, but pretending the spark between you doesn’t exist feels unrealistic.
“Hey,” you say, deciding to be bold, “if you want to keep this… uncomplicated, we can.”
Rafe flexes his fingers at his sides. You’re suggesting to go back to touching each other like you used to, to do what your bodies so clearly want without feelings attached.
The prospect sparks fire through him. Agreeing to this feels reckless, self‑destructive, but it’s the only way he can have you. And he’ll take that over nothing at all.
“You miss me, huh?” he rasps, pushing away his thoughts, acting like the man he thinks he ought to be.
You smirk, relieved he’s joking with you again.
“Get over yourself,” you say with a soft chuckle.
It’s an overwhelming relief when his hands cradle your face, holding you like he used to. He ducks to kiss you, and your hands drag up his arms immediately, fingers interlacing around the back of his neck to bring him closer.
You hear the door to the laundry room open. Low voices follow. It’s security, most likely. If they decide to check the closet, they’ll find you in seconds.
But you stay where you are, holding Rafe and letting him hold you, your mouths opening together. Nothing’s more important than kissing him right now.
The voices retreat, and you’re in the clear again, and when Rafe’s tongue slips into your mouth, you accept him completely, tilting your head back so he can kiss you deeper. You feel his cock twitch against you, hardening, making your stomach curl with heat.
One of Rafe’s hands trails down your back, squeezing your ass, cupping under your thigh to bring your leg up to his hip. He shifts to press you against the door and his fingers dig into the back of your knee as he presses himself up against you just so you can see what you do to him.
You sigh into his mouth and he knows you’re getting wet for him, he remembers how good you tasted, he wants you more than anything right now.
He shifts to kiss your neck, and when you lean your head back against the door, it loosens out its frame behind you, causing you to nearly stumble back. In a fit of laughter, you catch yourself before falling into the empty laundry room. The door’s clearly not as sturdy as you both thought.
Rafe laughs with you as he holds you by the hips. You don’t need the help to stand, but that doesn’t stop him from touching you.
“So… maybe not here,” you half-whisper through your giggles.
He dips his head to kiss you again, simply because he can. His mind shuffles over the possibilities, wondering the best, quickest way he can get you in a bed will be, because if he finally gets to have you, he needs to be able to see you, to take his time.
“We have a party tomorrow,” he murmurs against your lips, knowing he’ll have his bedroom to himself then. “You should come.”
“I will,” you say with a smile, now aware of the buzzing in your pocket, sure your friends are calling to ask where you are.
・・・・・
Rafe hasn’t told his friends that the bet’s off. He realizes it when you walk into his frat’s house party the next night and Mac nudges him.
“Hey,” he grins. “Whatever happened with her? You owe me money, don’t you?”
“Maybe not,” Cooper adds. “He stayed back with her last night, remember? Maybe they fucked in that laundry room.”
Mac laughs. Rafe doesn’t.
It’s been over two months since the night on that front porch, when Rafe watched you walk away down Greek Row, irritated with how perfect and unattainable you always were, and placed that bet.
His jaw tightens. He hasn’t told his friends it stopped being a joke the second he got to know you. That the idea of reducing you to some stupid dare makes him feel sick now.
He just wants the conversation to die. And it does when you walk up to him, gently squeezing his forearm.
“Do you guys ever learn your lesson?” you tease, looking up at him through widened, pretty eyes. “This party has to be the rowdiest one you’ve ever had.”
The house is packed, as if the frat is making up for the weeks they weren’t allowed to throw a party. Before Rafe answers, two of his buddies turn away to laugh. You’re sure they didn’t hear what you said, so clearly something about you simply being here is hilarious to them.
Rafe watches your brows pull together, that small crease forming between them. He hates to see that angry, uncomfortable look on you.
“What the fuck’s so funny?” you mutter to him.
“It’s not about you,” he lies. “They’re just assholes.”
You brush it off. For a long time, you assumed Rafe cared only about what his friends thought, but his passing insult makes you reconsider that he’s not just a guy who always plays along with their bullshit.
“I like when you’re honest,” you reply. “Let’s get me a drink.”
It hits him hard. Honest. You tug him deeper into the crowd, and he follows.
This whole thing between you has been a mess of half‑truths from the start. He’d approached you with the wrong intentions, with something to prove. But then you surprised him. You were nothing like he thought you were.
He watches the back of your head as you weave through the party, your hand brushing his. Does he need to tell you? Would it change anything? Would it ruin everything?
The truth feels too big to say, but too wrong to keep. He tries to stifle it, but he can’t – he has a conscience and it eats him alive.
You both stop at the keg, the noise of the party swelling around you. You’re reaching for a cup when you glance up at Rafe, at the clear blue eyes always trained on you, at the adorable way his hair falls.
“So,” you say lightly, “you survived probation.”
“Barely,” he says with a small laugh. “You girls never get in trouble, huh?”
“We’re just great at not getting caught,” you reply.
He smirks, and as your eyes flicker down to his smile, you realize now just how much your mood has lifted since you started talking to him a minute ago. With Rafe, you don’t feel like you have to perform.
“It’s good to hang out with you again,” you add, and you don’t hide the sincerity in your voice. You mean it.
Rafe’s eyes dart away. The guilt sits in his chest, another reminder of the bet. Hearing you say that would normally make him feel amazing, but it only makes it worse.
You’re confused by his tension, following his gaze behind your shoulder. You spot a couple kissing by the stairs.
“What, does he have a girlfriend, too?” you murmur. Rafe realizes you’re referring to his frat brother blatantly cheating at the beach. You think he’s irritated by the same thing now. He’ll let you believe it.
Then, you recognize him. It’s the guy from the gym, the one Rafe snapped at for staring at you, wearing the same frat insignia on his shirt. He threatened his own frat brother for you.
Rafe’s really not desperate for his friends’ approval like you thought he was.
You turn around and look up at him again. His face is tight in contemplation. He can’t hide anything in his expression.
You fill your cup at the keg, the sound of the tap rushing loud. He still looks upset.
“It’s messed up,” you say with a sigh. “That’s why I won’t give anyone the chance to do it to me.”
The words come out easily. You’re not usually this open, but Rafe makes you feel like you don’t have to keep a front up. It’s because you’ve already agreed to keep things casual, to be friends with benefits.
You feel more relaxed around him than you have with any guy in a long time. For once, you’re not trying to win anything or protect yourself.
It’s sitting on Rafe’s tongue. But he can’t say I wouldn’t do it to you. This arrangement between you has no strings, so it’s just another thing he swallows down.
“Hey,” you say, noticing the faraway look in his eyes. “You okay?”
He could tell you right now. He could get it over with. He could ruin everything. Or he could keep it buried and pretend this is simple, the way you both agreed it would be.
“Yeah,” he lies. “Just thinking.”
“You can do that?” you tease.
Rafe chuckles and nudges your shoulder, but it’s barely a touch, so light it doesn’t even move you. It’s strange, knowing how strong he is, how easily he could shove someone twice your size, yet with you, he’s gentle.
You’re relieved things are back to normal between you. Rafe wanted something real with you at some point and he seems to have pulled that back, and that’s for the best. Because whatever he thought he liked doesn’t exist. He doesn’t know you. Not the real you.
Even though you’re being more direct with him than usual, it’s still a version of you. No one gets the full thing. It makes you feel like you’re always lying, at least a little bit.
Rafe notices you drift, your thoughts pulling you somewhere he can’t follow. You’d shared an ugly truth, admitted your dad cheated on your mom and left you both, so no wonder you hate this topic. He still feels like a dick for trying to make you talk about it the other night.
He clears his throat.
“You goin’ home for the break?” he asks. It’s nearing the middle of December, which means campus is thinning out, everyone scattering for winter break.
You nod, grateful for the shift in topic. It’s like he sensed you’re about to shut down. He definitely learned that he has to steer things around for you the hard way.
“Yeah,” you say. “I don’t really like being at home all the time, but I love seeing my friends.”
He gets it. When a family loses someone, the gap never closes. Life keeps moving, but the empty space stays. He’s sure your home feels as cold as his.
“I don’t like either,” he says.
You offer a sardonic chuckle.
“I guess that explains all the fights?” you ask.
Rafe shrugs. Here, he still has surface-level friendships with guys who occasionally piss him off, but it’s just less intense. Either way, he has to put on a persona no matter what. He’s always had to act tough and overcompensate for how soft he really is.
“I’ve heard you even scrap with the guys from the Cut,” you add, trying to avoid sounding accusatory. Admittedly, you’ve grown curious about that part of his life, the part you’ve always witnessed but know barely anything about.
Rafe looks down at his beer. Those fights weren’t about territory or reputation or any of the excuses he used to throw around. It was about the way anger controls him. About feeling bigger, when his whole life, he’s felt small. Pogues were always easy targets.
“I’m not proud of it,” he admits. “I’m trying to be better.”
His words make you realize you’re not exactly proud of yourself, either. You’ve spent years dragging guys along, dropping them the second they wanted something real. Playing with their feelings. Putting yourself first.
Rafe wants to be better. You’ve never really done that. It makes you wonder if you’d ever want to be any different, if there’s a guy out there worth that.
You love your friends, but a deeper kind of connection, something romantic, demands an open heart. It’s not safe. But maybe you could give it a try.
You shake the thought away, nearly cringing, refusing to think about it any longer. You’re with Rafe for fun. That’s it.
“Well, you didn’t start a fight at the gym the other day, so that’s progress,” you respond, shifting the mood again. “I can admit you were a good personal trainer, by the way. A little handsy, though.”
He laughs, thinking back to how he’d stood behind you, palms cupping your elbows as he led you through a free weight set, touching you as much as he possibly could.
“I’m handsy?” he replies. “You’re always touchin’ me.”
“Oh, you want me to stop?” you challenge.
He tilts his head, eyes dragging down your face, his bottom lip trapped behind white teeth. The charge between you is still burning hot, and with the way he’s looking at you, you can tell he’s just as hungry for you as you are for him.
You like this part. Lust. It’s easy.
You nod, a quiet way to tell him you want to go upstairs. He puts his drink down, you do the same, and you slip away together.
・・・・・
As soon as his bedroom door shuts behind you, Rafe pushes you up against it, lips locked on yours like he couldn’t wait another second to kiss you.
Every inch of your body loosens as he holds you, breathing him in, the mix of cologne and detergent and musk that makes him him, the taste of beer and heat on his tongue. Your fingers lace into his soft hair, tugging gently as your core heats.
His hands cradle your jaw as he pulls you closer to him, guiding you to his bed, settling onto his back so you can hover over him. He shifts to grip your hips, tugging down so you’ll put on your weight on him as you continue to taste each other, kissing in a perfect, unique rhythm that only the two of you have.
Rafe is completely here physically, but mentally, he’s halfway out. I like when you’re honest. Your words from just minutes ago won’t leave his mind, rattling around, stabbing at his conscience.
“You have something?” you breathe against his lips, figuring if he doesn’t have a condom, you can surely find one somewhere in this house.
Rafe nods, but, fuck, the heat in his muscles is fading, shame flooding into every crevice of his being. It’s embarrassing that he can’t even stay hard.
The guilt from lying to you, that he’s been lying to you since the beginning, claws into his heart so sharply that he knows he can’t do this.
Even though it’s purely physical for you, it’s not for him, and because he wants so much more with you, because this all started with a lie, he can’t go through with it. He can’t live with himself, tricking you.
Your brows furrow in confusion when you realize Rafe is slowly pushing you away. Your lips part in a quiet smack as you sit up, studying his face for an answer.
“I need to - I need to say something,” he says, his voice low.
You stiffen, shifting up off of him to sit on the corner of his bed, watching him shuffle to sit, too. You swallow hard. Maybe he’s lost his attraction for you. Maybe he doesn’t like you anymore.
Damn it. Why did your mind go there, and why did the thought hurt so bad? Your heart starts to race, the reality sinking in. You like him. More than you should. Way more than you should.
It’s good he stopped this. You should leave.
“We don’t have to do anything," you tell him, looking away.
“I want to,” he murmurs. “It’s…”
Rafe turns, his long legs swinging off the side of his bed, his broad back to you as he rakes his hand through his hair.
“What?” you ask, studying his wide shoulders, the freckles scattered across the back of his neck.
Rafe is sure this is it. He knows enough about you to be sure you won’t forgive him for this. It’s so easy for you to detach, and he barely even has you at all right now.
He’ll say this, and he’ll lose you, and it’s all because of the man he was when this started. The man he’ll always be. Weak and soft and doomed to feel too much.
“You know I like you, right?” he begins. “I want more than just… this.”
Your pulse hammers in your ears. So, he does still have feelings. It’s a relief. And it’s scary that it’s a relief. Last time he told you he had feelings for you, you felt yourself retreat. This time, you want to reach out and touch him.
But you’ve never done that before. You’ve never been given a chance to be vulnerable with a man and actually taken it.
Rafe rubs his hand over his jaw, hating that there’s a flicker of hope in his chest that that wasn’t the last time you kissed him. But once he tells you this, he’s sure it will be. Unless, maybe, you see something in him worth keeping.
“That night that I, uh… spilled my drink on you…” he says.
“Why aren’t you looking at me?” you ask in a thin voice he hasn’t heard before. He turns to meet your gaze, realizing he’d do anything you asked of him.
You’re right. He should look you in the eye when he tells you this.
“It was so fucking stupid,” he tells you. “After you left, my friends… those guys downstairs, we started a bet that I could hook up with you.”
The burning in his eyes fills him with humiliation. He’s about to cry in front of you. He didn’t think this would happen, but it’s overwhelming. The guilt. The love.
“I swear, I… I know what a dick I was to do it,” he stammers, voice starting to weaken. “I regret it. I’m sorry. I don’t - I don’t want to lie to you. I don’t care about the bet. But you deserve to know. You deserve better.”
You stare at Rafe, his eyes glossing over, his nostrils flaring as he tries to swallow down his tears.
You’re dumbfounded, your lips just barely parted. It stings. It stings so deeply. This is the kind of pain a person can only give you if you let them in. If you trusted them.
He did it. He broke through your wall, reached a hidden part of you, all to prove what you suspected of him from the start. That he’s a liar. A user. A selfish asshole who saw you as someone to have sex with, and nothing more.
That’s surely what his friends were cracking up about downstairs. You were right. They were laughing at you.
You’re furious. Shocked. And slowly losing your composure. But you’re good at smothering your feelings, wearing a mask, and you know what’ll hurt Rafe most now is if you’re completely indifferent. Unfeeling.
You never thought about telling him about the bet, simply because it was a thing of the past. Inconsequential. You started this off wanting to break his heart, and then thought you saw good in him, and you completely forgot about the plan.
But now, it’s back in your mind, and you’re going through with it.
“I knew you were like every other guy,” you reply, flat and cold and spiteful. “I just didn’t know it was a bet. I can’t even be mad at you, though. This was a bet for me, too.”
Rafe grimaces, confusion swimming in his glazed eyes.
“You can ask my friends if you don’t believe me,” you say. “Once you started following me around like a lost dog, we had the idea to fuck with you. They challenged me to break your heart. Because obviously, you deserve it.”
Rafe’s eyes frantically search your face, his face pinched.
“You’re lying,” he says with a brief shake of his head.
“Ask them,” you reply. “Or don’t. I really don’t care.”
You shift to stand up, desperate to leave, to be in private so your body can react the way it needs to.
“I’m over this,” you mutter. “Don’t bother me anymore.”
Your throat is thick, your chest heavy. And you stop at the door with your back to him, you’re determined to dig into him as painfully as you can before you cut him off completely. You’ll deal with the ache in your heart later.
“I don’t know if you believe your own bullshit about how you want to be a better person,” you murmur, “but if you do, you’re even stupider than I thought. I could never like you for real.”
Rafe hears the doorknob twist. You wanted to break his heart. You did it. It’s in a million fucking pieces right now, his pride torn up in front of him.
He can see where you get your reputation from.
“Let ‘em know you did it,” he mutters to your back.
You don’t even turn around at the confirmation, at his confession that you broke his heart. You only shut the door behind you.
next >
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pairing fratboy! rafe cameron x kook!sororitygirl! reader
rating explicit 18+
summary when rafe’s friends bet that he can’t charm you into sleeping with him, he can’t say no to the challenge. he has no idea that you decide to make a game out of his advances. you have a secret bet to win, too. and you’re determined to break his heart.
< prev
The sorority house is quiet. After your day at the beach, most of the girls, including your roommate, left to go to a party on the other side of campus. You were too tired to tag along.
You slip into bed after a long shower, wearing nothing but underwear and a soft, oversized t-shirt. The quiet room is dim with the glow of your desk lamp. Your body is sleepy, heavy after a day of soaking in the sun, but your mind isn’t ready to shut down.
You know Rafe isn’t out tonight on account of his frat’s probation. He’s probably bored in his room, just like you. And you want to have some fun.
Seeing him shirtless all day today, feeling his skin on yours stoked a fire in you. It made you want to slip away with him somewhere and give into the pull you both feel for each other.
You text him to come over. You’re not surprised when he quickly texts back that he will.
・・・・・
When you open the front door with a sweet, relaxed smile and an offer to hug, Rafe feels like he’s in heaven. You never text first. Maybe you’re starting to feel something for him, too.
He ducks down to wrap his arms around you, squeezing gently, reveling in the smell of soap on your neck.
He was kidding himself when he thought this would be the way to get a hold of his emotions. He’s falling off the deep end, and all he can do now is hope you are, too.
The bet is a distant, stupid memory. He doesn’t want to just hook up with you and be done with it. He wants to have something with you and he can only hope you want the same.
You land back down on your heels after getting up on your tip-toes to hug him, swinging the door closed behind him.
“You burned a little,” you say, gently poking the pink tinge at the top of his cheek.
Rafe winces dramatically as if you hurt him, earning a laugh from you. Endeared, he can’t stop himself from kissing your forehead before you turn to guide him up the stairs.
Just like the first night he was here, he watches the shape of your legs as he trails you, his gut already coiling with the anticipation of feeling them wrap around him.
Being next to you all day with no opportunity to kiss you was its own class of torture, and now, the baggy t-shirt you’ve draped over your body just barely covers your ass, making him hard before he’s even in your bedroom.
The door clicks closed behind him as you sit on your bed, leaving space for him.
“Everyone went out?” Rafe asks, the stillness in the house making him unsure whether anyone else is even here.
“Not everyone,” you reply. “But most.”
You remember what he said about hating boredom. It’s the first weekend into his frat’s probation and he’s already restless to party.
“Today was fun,” he says, taking a seat at the foot of your bed.
“You’re welcome for the invitation," you reply with a squint.
“Did I not say thank you?”
“No, but I’m used to you not having manners.”
He grins, dimples cutting deep, and it’s almost starting to irritate you how charming his smile is, your lamp’s light casting shadows over the planes of his face.
“Thank you,” he says, his voice low. And he means it. You’re prickly at times, but how could anyone call you a bitch? You invited him today to give him a loophole out of his frat’s probation, to give him fun. You have a heart, no matter how much you try to hide it.
You smirk, eyes on his. The tension sinking between you is getting heavier with every passing second. The attraction that sits deep in your stomach is hotter than you expected.
You realize it’s because he doesn’t touch you the way you thought he would. He’s firm, but never aggressive or selfish. Every taste he’s given you of his touch has left you hungry for more. It’s like he knows what you want without having to ask.
Rafe leans in, cupping your face like he doesn’t want you looking at anything but him. The tension cracks when your lips finally meet, and you can feel it, how badly you’ve both wanted each other all day.
You drag your hands up his arms, skimming over his hot skin to the cotton of his t-shirt, pulling him towards you. When you guide him to lie over top of you, you feel how hard he is, how his body is begging for yours.
Rafe doesn’t sink onto you completely, but the weight he does put on you is heavy in the best way. The sounds of your slow, wet kisses fill your ears as he gently grinds against your middle, biting your bottom lip just once, enough to make you impatiently writhe against him.
Slowly, you slip your fingers under the hem of his t-shirt, guiding it off his body, tossing it to your floor. His chest is warm and firm against you as his mouth finds yours again.
Moments later, he drags your shirt up, pulling it off over your head, exhaling sharply once he sees you’re braless. He kisses you harder, until eventually, he shifts, and his fingers press between your legs, slowly, torturously.
Your breath hitches at the touch, at how wet you are already.
And he wants it so bad. So bad that it aches. But he knows he barely scraped by with your forgiveness after he snapped at you for walking out of his room the other night, and he can’t do it again. He can’t risk losing you.
“Hey,” he rasps against your lips.
“Hmm?” your voice comes out weak.
“I’m not going to do what I did last time,” he says. “Whenever you want to stop, just… say it.”
You nod, pulling him in to kiss you again. The softness in Rafe’s voice is teetering toward romance, and you have no interest in letting it go there. Truthfully, even if he is an asshole about whatever you end up doing tonight, you’re not attached enough for it to sting.
You spread your legs wider, finding pure bliss in the pressure of his hand on you, only your thin panties keeping him from having full contact. You lose yourself in the way he’s trailing his fingers up and down, steady and firm as his tongue sinks into your mouth.
He pulls back, forehead on yours, and whispers as he gently taps his fingertips against your heat, “You want my mouth here, baby?”
Every muscle in you twists, throbbing.
“Yes,” you sigh in relief.
He shifts lower to settle between your thighs and places a languid kiss over your panties, coaxing a slow moan from you. He drags the fabric down your hips, your legs, your ankles, letting them bunch at the end of your bed, before he sinks onto his elbows with his head between your legs.
Rafe’s heart is pounding in his ears when he sees you bare, up close, glistening and so fucking perfect. His thumbs skim over your folds as he gently spreads you apart so he can see every part of you.
He’s in deep and he knows it, because all he wants to do is please you. Even though his cock is so hard that it’s aching, making you come is all that matters to him right now.
His eyes drag up to your face. You watch him stare up at you like he always does, skin tingling with desire. With anticipation. You shudder as his hot, wet mouth finally meets your core.
The taste of you makes every part of his body ache with hunger, like no matter how much he gets, he’ll always be starving for you.
He doesn’t waste any time teasing you. He gives you what you want, starts to lick and suck, the sounds of your staggered breathing and moisture filling your bedroom. His tongue trails over every bit of you, wriggling over your clit, and when you feel his tongue nudge inside, he groans and you breathe out his name, drunk off the pleasure.
Rafe’s hands dig into your thighs as you pulse around his tongue and fill him with your scent, your taste, everything that makes him so damn lost for you. And he knows now, entirely, that he was an idiot for thinking he could do anything with you without getting attached.
As he continues to lap at you, his nose brushes against your slick clit, making you thread your fingers through his hair and gently pull. No matter how much you writhe, he keeps his mouth hard on you, refusing to lose contact.
It takes almost no time. You press against him as your orgasm crashes into you, every nerve ending pinching with bliss as you come on his tongue. He sucks your clit until you breathe an overstimulated whine, placing a hand on his cheek so he’ll give you a break.
Rafe shifts up to meet your lips again, hovering over you as he lets you see how good you taste. He’s savoring this, covering your mouth with his, breathing you in and unable to believe that just a few weeks ago, you were always around, yet a complete stranger.
He can’t believe what he’s been missing out on. It’s like the world narrows in on him, on both of you in this moment. It feels right to be here with you, in your bed, his lips on yours. He could only do this, feel this with a girl he genuinely likes.
Your body is still buzzing from the rush he’s given you as you trade slow kisses. You’re not sure you’ve ever felt this type of chemistry with a guy before. You want more. Maybe you’ll even become friends with benefits if it’s as good as you think it will be.
You shift to touch him over his shorts, feeling him exhale against your mouth as you cup his thick shaft. He gently jerks against your hand, grinding over you. He’s so hard, so big, that your heart skips in anticipation of feeling him stretch you, fill you.
You move to the button of his jeans, expecting him to help you take them off, but then he pulls back, ending the kiss.
Rafe stares down at you, at the blissed out expression on your pretty face, and he can’t do it. Although every part of him, every muscle, every goddamn vein is hot with his desire for you, he can’t separate his feelings. They’re a part of his core, too permanent to untangle, and as much as he tells himself to get a grip, he can’t.
His emotions control him, not the other way around. He’s lost in you now. And if he’s going to do this, he needs to tell you the truth.
“I really like you,” he half-whispers.
And then he feels it, the way you stiffen. You lift your hand off of him, shifting up a little.
“Am I not supposed to say that?” Rafe teases, trying to pretend your reaction isn’t hurting him, that he doesn’t regret telling you. Why can’t he just keep his fucking mouth shut?
You sit up, finding your t-shirt to cover your bare chest, the mood in the room completely shifted now. You look over your shoulder at him. You were hoping to do more tonight, but you can’t. Not when he’s talking to you like this means something.
You need to tell him you aren’t looking for this. For feelings. For a boyfriend. You may have wanted to hurt him at some point, but now, you won’t. You can’t.
Rafe traps his bottom lip under his teeth for a second, eyes searching like he can find an answer in your face if he looks hard enough.
“Were you serious today?” he asks before you can reply. “When you said every guy does it?”
Your lips part, but no sound comes out. Rafe hangs onto your words. It’s obvious that the things you say stay with him, circle his mind. He almost seems worried about you thinking every guy cheats.
“It was a joke,” you reply.
He sits up, leaning against the wall, close enough that you can feel his breath on your shoulder.
“Why are we talking about this?” you say, tense from the sudden shift in atmosphere.
“I wanna know,” he replies.
It feels crazy that you once thought he was just another careless asshole. Rafe has an intensity to him that you’ve never seen in a man before. A passion that nobody can fake. But you can’t reciprocate it.
“We don’t need to get all serious," you say with an awkward laugh. While you’ve had to tell guys this before, for some reason, doing it feels really hard this time. “This thing between us is just… fun, okay?”
Rafe shakes his head just slightly, unable to understand why. He likes you, more than he ever meant to, and he doesn’t know what to do with the fact that you want to keep him at a distance.
Now that he’s actually spent time with you, he’s sure there’s a deeper reason for why you have the reputation that you cycle through guys and never stick around. It bothers him that he doesn’t know what that reason is.
He wants to understand the girl sitting in front of him. He can’t help wondering what pushed you into being like this. If some guy stepped out on you, then he was an idiot.
“Did it happen to you?” he asks.
He’s clearly still stuck on the whole cheating thing. Why can’t he just take no for an answer?
“Rafe…” you huff in frustration.
“Did it?”
“I’m not talking about this,” you snip, your tone sharp.
Questions circle Rafe’s mind. But he doesn’t ask them.
He still has his pride. It’s obvious that you’re only into him for sex, and that you’ve seen enough of him to know that you don’t consider him worth more.
It’s jarring to go from such heated lust to this cold tension within a minute. He hates this about himself. How he speaks before he thinks. How he can’t just keep doing this with you and convince himself that how he feels doesn’t matter.
“Should I go?” he finally asks, half-hurt, half-frustrated.
You look away.
“Yeah,” you say flatly.
He shifts to stand up and finds his shirt on the floor. You watch the fabric fall down his taut back, a strange mix of sympathy and rejection settling in your heart.
He checks his pockets for his things and sets out to leave. But he stops halfway, lingering in the middle of your bedroom for a second, as if he’s trying to figure out if he should say something.
But he doesn’t. You stare at him. He doesn’t look back.
The door shuts behind him, leaving you sitting up in your bed, your top pressed against your chest, your heart pounding. This time, he’s the one who stopped things from going any further, and it’s clearly because you refused to open up to him.
Rafe is not who you thought he was. You’ve witnessed his temper, his impatience, his spite, but there’s a tenderness to him that you never saw coming. All things that you’re sure some other girl would want. Not you.
This is probably the end of your fling. And it’s okay. It’s familiar and comforting and right to say goodbye before things get too messy.
・・・・・
Rafe’s heart is racing. And it won’t stop. It’s always like this after his mom calls.
It’s a rainy Sunday morning, a week since he saw you last. And he can’t stop thinking about you. Since that night, every time his phone has buzzed, his body has flooded with anticipation, hopeful that it was you, just to be let down.
He was about to leave for the on-campus gym when his phone started buzzing in his pocket and once again, he wanted it to be you. But it was his mother, and now he’s sitting on the edge of his bed, staring down at his phone.
He never knows when she’ll reach out, and every time, it gives him whiplash. It was a quick conversation, a surface-level check-in, but that’s always enough to throw him. She talks to him like he’s an old friend, not his son, not one of the kids she left behind.
Maybe it’s self-sabotage. Or an ill-fated belief that he can prove to you that he’s someone worth keeping around. All he knows for sure is that he misses you, so he texts you that he’s going to the gym if you want to come.
You respond that he can pick you up in fifteen.
・・・・・
You watch Rafe’s truck pull up from your bedroom window.
You figure he made peace with the fact that you want to keep your relationship strictly physical. Some guys can’t, acting like they’re entitled to you because they caught feelings, and you always cut them off when things get to this point.
You decided to accept Rafe’s invitation, though, because you really enjoy being around him. There’s something so effortless about it. You couldn’t have been clearer that you don’t want anything serious, so you’re optimistic he’s back in your life because he got his emotions in check.
Rafe’s eyes meet yours when you open the passenger-side door. Despite every twisted up way you’ve made him feel, his lips curl into a smile. You have that effect.
“Taking me to the gym isn’t some excuse you’re going to use to improve my form, is it?” you say, climbing into his seat. Light raindrops sink into the thin material of your gym clothes as you toss your duffel bag to the back.
Rafe smirks as you shut the door. He’s so glad you agreed to meet him. You lift his mood in seconds, clear the murkiness in his head, move past the tension from the last time you spoke like it wasn’t ever even there.
“If you’re doing things wrong, then I gotta help,” he replies.
“Bye,” you sigh jokingly, reaching to open the door again, but he drives off before you can. You playfully nudge him, and he glances over at you with another smirk, eyes flickering over your beautiful features.
You grin, then your eyes trail down his big arms, the way his t-shirt clings to his taut body. It’s ridiculous, the pull he has on you. The memory of last weekend rushes in, the feeling of his mouth between your legs, the desire to do it all again, and more.
“You go there a lot?” you tease. It’s obvious that he does.
“You can’t tell?” Rafe says, reaching for your hand to put it on his flexed bicep.
“You’re so annoying,” you say, pulling away. He laughs. He loves your sharp teasing, the way you show your humor by giving him shit.
It’s a part of you, one of the layers he doesn’t fully know, and that’s what keeps dragging his mind to the last time he saw you, to how cold and closed off you suddenly became when he tried to actually get to know you.
He told himself to stop trying to break through your wall, but here he is, with you again, silently hoping he can.
・・・・・
An hour later, you’re downing water as you pace towards the gym’s entrance, still a little breathless from the workout as music pulses from the ceiling speakers, weights clanking around you.
You and Rafe spent the whole time making jokes, playfully competing through sets, touching each other wherever you could, catching each other looking. You’re happy you came.
Your legs burn from the squats you finished off with, and as you turn to make a joke about needing him to help you stretch, you realize Rafe isn’t walking behind you anymore.
You spot him across the gym, posture rigid as he talks to some guy by the benches. His hands flex at his sides, and for a second, you think he’s about to swing.
The other guy is already backing up a step, looking intimidated. It’s just like the Rafe you always saw back in Kildare.
But then he looks up, catching your eyes, and shakes his head in frustration, like he’s snapping himself back into reality. You watch as he approaches you with long strides, his jaw slowly losing its tension.
“What was that?” you ask.
He exhales, a sheen of sweat over his face, and replies, “Nothing.”
・・・・・
After a quick body shower, you find Rafe by the front doors, already waiting with his hands shoved in his hoodie pockets.
You walk out of the gym together into the humid air. The rain has stopped now, puddles scattered across the parking lot. Your sneakers squeak across the pavement as you walk to his truck.
You can feel the tension rushing through Rafe, and it surprises you that you care. You’re not the type to want to dig into what’s going on in a guy’s head, but this isn’t the first time you’ve found yourself wanting to know with him.
“I thought you were about to break your streak,” you say once you both settle in the truck.
“What?” he asks, looking up at you.
“I don’t fight anymore,” you say, mimicking him in an effort to keep things light. His dimples deepen a little, and you like that you’ve made him smile.
You won’t ask more, although you want to know if he’s okay the same way you would with a friend, because that’s sort of what he is now.
The second Rafe saw the guy at the gym staring at you as you walked past, the way his eyes dragged over you, he snapped. The protective instinct he has for you that only burned hotter once he remembered he’s not allowed to feel it. You’re not his.
He hated seeing you get leered at, but he hated the reminder that he has no right to be mad about it even more. He had to say something, tell him to stop looking at you, threaten him just to feel some power.
“He was lookin’ at you,” he finally relents, his voice low. He exhales hard, frustrated that his filter always dissolves around you.
Your forehead creases. You shouldn’t enjoy his jealousy. But you kind of do.
“That’s why you got so pissed off?” you say with a dismissive laugh. “You look at me the same way.”
Rafe shakes his head, brief but resolute. You’re cheapening what he feels for you. And it’s a stab in the back.
“I don’t,” he replies.
Again, things have shifted between you within seconds. He means that he looks at you as more. There’s no misunderstanding that. You don’t know what to say. If you can even say anything.
You pull your seatbelt over your body, buckling it in place, frustration rising that he’s not doing the same.
You don’t want to sit here and talk about anything serious. Honestly, it’s scary. You don’t think you should see Rafe anymore because something in you is cracking and you need to keep your distance so you can seal it up again.
He obviously hasn’t reigned in his feelings for you, and you don’t want to deal with that.
“Let’s go,” you murmur.
Rafe shoves his damp hair back from his forehead. You both started this with your walls up, but along the line, he let his guard crumble while you never did. Because you clearly expect the worst from him.
“You really think every guy is the same, don’t you?” he finally mutters.
You look through the passenger window at the car parked next to you. If he wants an answer this bad, he can have it.
“Absolutely,” you reply, simply and honestly.
Rafe’s eyes flick over at you, but you’re looking away, profile silhouetted against the glass. For the first time, he feels the real distance between you.
He’s never had great self-control, and here he is again, a victim to his emotions, drowning in the silence of a girl who finally gave him the truth he asked for, only to realize he has no idea what to do now.
It doesn’t make sense. You have such a good time together. This would be so easy. Why are you so committed to keeping him at a distance?
“I don’t get it,” he says.
“You don’t have to.”
His blood boils. He hates how effortless it is for you to decide the conversation is over while he’s ready to tear himself open for you.
“You’re so…” he sighs bitingly.
You finally turn, your gaze snapping to his. Your eyes are narrowed, daring him to finish that sentence.
“So what?” you snap.
You’re expecting what you’ve heard before. That you’re cold. Impossible. A bitch.
He stares, regretting letting his temper snap, regretting letting himself care.
“What?” you repeat. “Should I walk home?”
The words cut Rafe deep.
This is a reminder of what he learned at ten years old when his mom left, that there’s something unlovable, something too much about him. And right now, with how easily you’re shutting him out, you’re proving it.
He thought seeing you would make things better. It didn’t.
“I shouldn’t have texted you today,” he says.
“Yeah, you shouldn’t have,” you reply.
You unbuckle your seatbelt, reach for the handle, and push open the door, the thick air rushing in. It’s a twenty-minute walk across campus to your sorority house. You’re tired, but you can make it.
Before you can swing your legs out, his hand is on yours, his grip firm.
“No, I mean…” Rafe exhales. He’s desperate. He needs you to stay, even if it means admitting why he’s so scattered. “I’m just on edge, alright? My mom called me this morning and it always fucks with my head.”
The anger sitting in your chest melts a little. Usually, when men share their feelings like this, it’s a manipulative way to get sympathy or a dump of emotional labor that you have to clean up. But the way Rafe said it felt different.
You relent, pulling the door shut with a thud. You turn to look at him again and the urge to protect yourself softens. Because while you’re mad and confused and admittedly kind of afraid of what you’re feeling right now, you want to know.
“Why?” you ask, still a bit of a bite to your tone.
“I never know when she’s going to call,” he admits. “And I don’t - I don’t want to answer, but I always do, and then it just pisses me off the rest of the day.”
Your brows furrow as the questions start to stack up. The curiosity is a tug in your chest.
“What’s… the deal with her?” you ask.
Rafe’s eyes drift down. He turns on the engine. The truck rumbles to life, giving him a distraction to hide behind. It’s stupid; he’s the one who started this conversation, and now he’s getting nervous.
He stares through the windshield, focuses on anything other than the girl sitting inches away from him.
“She left when I was a kid,” he admits. “And it always makes me act like an asshole after she calls because I never see it coming. My bad, alright?”
The air leaves your lungs for a moment. It’s odd to hear an apology from a man you once thought didn’t know what accountability even is, but the real shock is the familiarity of that hollowness in his voice.
It’s the hole only abandonment can leave. It’s the same one your father carved in you.
You keep your eyes fixed on the dashboard.
“Then don’t answer her calls,” you respond.
Rafe’s lips flatten together. It’s such a you thing to say. Don’t deal with the problem.
His dad didn’t care to hide the truth. He’d told Rafe that his mother wasn't going to fight for custody. She only said that she’d keep in touch, as if she was saying goodbye to an old friend instead of the family she decided she didn’t want anymore.
That rejection is a permanent part of him. He’s been angry since. He hates her for quitting, for not sticking to her responsibilities, for being immature, for not loving him and his sisters enough.
She simply didn’t want to be a mother anymore. But he answers her sporadic calls because she is. He’s trapped, hating the woman he can’t bring himself to cut out.
“That’s not me,” he replies.
You meet his eyes again. Usually, the story of your dad is something you only share with friends who have earned your trust. But looking at the hurt etched into Rafe's face, it feels wrong to let him sit there thinking he’s alone with this gut-wrenching feeling.
The words are pushing against your teeth, demanding to be shared, demanding to help him.
“My dad left, too,” you reply. “And if he tried to call me, I’d block him. People who can do something like that to their own kid never change. And they don’t deserve access to the people they hurt.”
It crashes into Rafe, cold and sudden. He’s not angry anymore. Not at all.
There’s a hard sting of sadness for you buried in him now. He finally understands it. Understands you.
And deep below, there’s also a flicker of relief. You told him. He felt like he was screaming at a wall, and now he’s not anymore.
He looks at you with a softened, searching intensity, his heart pounding.
“Really?” is all he can say, because he thinks saying he’s sorry would only offend you.
“He was a selfish cheater,” you say with a shrug. “He did whatever the fuck he wanted to do without thinking about anyone but himself.”
He grimaces. You’d once told him you like structure and it makes sense because if you felt the same pain he did, of someone who’s supposed to love you leaving, it means you never had predictability.
You expect the worst from everyone, because then you never have to watch them fuck you over.
“I know I’m guarded. I hate being treated like it’s a problem.” You sigh, shake your head. “And I think you want more from me and I can’t give it to you, okay?”
Rafe just sits there, the engine idling, his gaze fixed on you with a newfound clarity.
Regret washes over you. You’ve said too much. It’s almost laughable how this all started as a stupid bet, and now you feel like you’ve ripped open a wound for him. And his silence is making it worse.
“I’m walking home,” you say. You reach for the handle, your movements hurried. You need a clean break.
Usually, you cut contact with a guy because you can feel him falling, and you have no intention of letting things get any deeper. But as you step out into the humidity, you can tell that you aren't just running because of Rafe’s feelings. You’re running because of yours.
Somewhere between the weeks of getting to know him, of discovering the depth in him between silly jokes and easy conversations and effortless chemistry, it’s obvious now. He’s almost found a way into your heart.
And you can’t let it go any further than that.
next >
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pairing fratboy! rafe cameron x kook!sororitygirl! reader
rating explicit 18+
summary when rafe’s friends bet that he can’t charm you into sleeping with him, he can’t say no to the challenge. he has no idea that you decide to make a game out of his advances. you have a secret bet to win, too. and you’re determined to break his heart.
< prev
Rafe’s bedroom feels cramped. It’s about the same size as your room, but with the way he fills the space as he walks ahead of you, it feels smaller.
And yours is much more organized. One side of his room is a disaster, sheets twisted, clothes scattered on the floor. The other side is a neater. The bed is made. His Kildare Island Surfboard Co. hat is tossed on the bedframe.
You shut the door behind you, the muffled thump of the party fading. You walk past Rafe and tilt your head towards the bed that’s made.
“Please tell me this one’s yours,” you say, even though you know it is.
“Yeah, it is,” he says amusedly. Every little dose of approval he gets from you feels too damn good.
You sit on the edge of Rafe’s bed, the mattress sinking beneath you as you take in just how tidy his side of the room is.
His desk is cleared, his laundry basket tucked into the corner. You pictured him as a typical rich guy, messy and careless, the type who didn’t bother to pick up after himself, so this throws you.
But it makes sense. He clearly puts effort into how he looks, so maybe it shouldn’t shock you that he cares about the space around him, too.
He sits next to you, watching you take it in. You’re wearing that blank look on your face again, studying his room, making it impossible for him to know what you’re thinking.
“You okay?” he asks quietly.
You look at him, your knee brushing his.
“Yeah,” you say. “Why?”
He hesitates. He needs to play it cool, but the longer he’s around you, the harder it is to keep up the charade.
“I never know what you’re thinking,” he confesses with a defeated chuckle.
Your knees are still touching, expensive denim on your bare skin. It’s like he’s always trying to figure you out. But you don’t want to be figured out. You want escape. You want him.
The buzz in your veins, the heat licking your stomach, the way he’s looking at you is all too tempting. So you lean in, letting the moment shift from emotional to physical, from complicated to simple.
He closes the space between you and you pick up right where you left off the other night, skipping the gentle pecks for deep kisses, carding your hands through his soft hair.
Rafe loosens at your touch, both of his hands suddenly on your cheeks, and as desire pools in your gut, reveling in his soft dominance, the way he holds you when he kisses you.
You don’t want to waste any time. You shift to turn just enough to stand and straddle him. He breathes a deep groan against your lips once he feels your weight on his lap, your legs framing his.
Rafe’s head is spinning. His hands drag up your bare legs, resting under your dress on your ass as your tongues meet. Your bodies hungrily press together and while he once felt irritation over how you act like you’re better than him, he can admit to himself that it feels true now, that he’s lucky that you want him.
He continues to gently squeeze your flesh, to dig his fingers into your skin just hard enough that it makes the ache between your legs nearly unbearable.
“Take your jeans off,” you whisper, perching up to your knees. His lips press against your collarbone as he shuffles beneath you, the hum of his zipper being pulled down coaxing you.
Once his pants are on the floor, you sit to press against his hard length, only his briefs and your panties between you. The sensation sends another rush of heat through you. You roll your hips just a little and he breathes a heavy, breathy, “Fuck.”
The way Rafe’s hand cups your face is firmer now, one arm wrapped around your waist to keep you tight against him. You feel his urgency in the way he’s holding you and kissing you.
You want to go all the way, to ask him if he has a condom, but this is meant to be a game to keep him wanting more and never getting it. Instead, you shift to sit on his thigh, slowly starting to grind as you grip his shoulders.
You feel his smirk against your lips before he tilts his head back just a bit, gaze meeting yours, his eyes drunk with pleasure.
“You want to get off like this?” he murmurs, tightening his grip around your waist so you grind harder against him. The feeling of your wet heat through your panties is mindblowing, making him tense with need.
“Yes,” you breathe, finding relief in putting pressure where you’re so desperate for it. You whisper a soft, satisfied moan at the feeling of his hard thigh against you, fabric still in the way but not too much that you’re not finding pleasure.
Your kisses grow quick and sloppy and you lose the warmth of his hand cupping your jaw, but soon find it again on your shoulder, where he’s pulling down the strap of your dress.
Rafe lowers his head, leaving your cheek pressed up against his temple, as he pulls down the front of your dress. Slowly, he brings your bra down to your waist and expels an almost inaudible moan when he sees you.
You tense with pleasure when you feel his hot mouth close over your nipple, continuing to ride his thigh, your grip on his shoulders loosening as you start to come undone.
Rafe doesn’t want this to stop. He doesn’t want anything with you to stop. He can’t be the only one feeling this, that this is more than just attraction. He wants you in every way. And he wants to be the only one who gets to have you.
He rolls and flicks his tongue over the hard peak of your nipple, gently squeezing the soft flesh of your breasts, feeling you soak his thigh. Every sense of his is filled with you and he can’t get enough.
The pressure builds up and you toss your head back when your orgasm rolls through you, tensing and relaxing, every inch of your body numb with bliss. Rafe cups your face to lead you back to him, kissing you even though you’re too spent to kiss back, rubbing his thumbs over your cheeks.
It happens like every other time. The comedown of pleasure with a guy you feel nothing for. It’s an incredible high and a deep, heavy low. Slowly, as you catch your breath, you start to readjust your clothes, pulling up your bra and fixing your dress.
Rafe’s hands rest on your hips as you remain in his lap, showing him you’re stopping this, maybe even leaving. His heart sinks. He kisses you, tries to keep you here, but you stand up, pulling down your dress.
“I’m thirsty,” you say with a tired laugh.
You meet his eyes, and you can see the disappointment. He’s not getting what he wants. You’ve seen that exact look on so many guys’ faces. When they realize you’re not giving them what they think they deserve.
“You don’t want to stay here?” he murmurs. You’re not sure if he means to continue this, or just to hang out with him, but you’re not the type to stick around.
“No,” you reply simply, adjusting the hem of your dress.
Rafe almost offers to go downstairs and get you a drink. To get you to stay. But the happiness he was feeling just seconds ago has been replaced with the sting of rejection. He can tell when he’s not wanted. When he’s been used.
His temper takes over, anger rushing over the hurt.
“Fine,” he mutters. “Go.”
It confirms everything you ever assumed about him. He’s just like all of them. Nice when he thinks he’ll get something. Cruel when he realizes he won’t.
And this is exactly why you stay unattached.
You leave Rafe’s bedroom, sure that if you never speak again, you still won the bet. Maybe you didn’t break his heart, but you definitely bruised his pride, and that’s enough for you.
・・・・・
“No fucking way,” Mac says when Rafe approaches him in the throws of the party in the living room minutes later. “I saw her coming down the stairs. You seal the deal?”
Rafe could lie. Admittedly, after you walked out of his room, he realized he has no idea what he’s doing. Whatever it is between you has gotten more complicated than he ever planned for.
He’s always hated how easily his emotions swallow him. This is his chance to prove something to himself. He’s not weak. He can stay in control. He can sleep with you and not let it mean anything.
“She’s a tease,” Rafe plays along, even though he’s not doing this because of the bet anymore. “I’ll get her.”
・・・・・
The front lawn of your sorority house is packed. Under the cloudy morning sky, you watch from your bedroom window as students from every chapter mingle at the philanthropic event your sorority is running, a pancake breakfast to raise money for a local charity.
You’re supposed to be downstairs, but when your phone buzzed in your pocket and you saw it was your mom returning the call you made to her yesterday, you slipped away just for five minutes.
It was to tell her the good news about a midterm you were anxious about. You did well. But your mom has been distracted since you started the conversation. You can tell by her one‑word answers.
“Are you busy or something?” you finally ask, a bite slipping into your tone.
“George had a stressful day yesterday,” she answers. “He got home late. I just want to make sure his breakfast is ready before he wakes up.”
You never fully bonded with your stepdad. He tried, but you didn’t. The resentment of your father’s betrayal hollowed you out, urging you to believe that a man will never stay.
It broke your mom. And she poured everything she had into the next relationship, as if loving George enough could erase the fact that your dad walked away.
With the phone pressed to your cheek, you feel anger clawing its way up your throat, tears burning behind your eyes.
You just wanted to share good news with your mom, but right now, she’s focused on someone else. And the lonely feeling that brings hurts.
・・・・・
Nobody pays attention when Rafe slips into your sorority house. The event in the front lawn is too chaotic for anyone to notice him.
Since last night, when you left him in his bedroom, you haven’t spoken. He didn’t see you outside and he needs to find you.
He knows he handled things wrong. And he can’t quit this. You’re too addictive to watch walk away.
He’s not doing this to win the bet anymore. He’s here to prove to himself that he can think like a man who doesn’t feel so much. That he can have a good time with the hottest girl he’s ever been with without getting attached.
He’s at your bedroom door, finding it easily after the night he carried your roommate over, and lifts his hand to knock.
“...can’t even listen to me for a minute?”
It’s your voice on the other side. Choked up.
“Okay. Yeah. Fine,” you eventually say, clipped and shaky.
You hang up and settle onto your bed, trying to center yourself. After you snapped at your mom that she wasn’t listening to you, she snapped right back that she was doing her best to focus on your conversation, and that’s when you began to tear up.
Then there’s a knock on your door. You assume it’s Jada or one of your sisters checking up on you. The last thing you expect is to pull the door open and find Rafe standing there.
You freeze. You’ve never cried in front of a guy you’re seeing. If that’s even what you’d call whatever this is with him. You figured after last night, the whole thing was over.
His forehead creases when he sees you, his gaze deepening.
“Are you okay?” he asks, voice low. He notices your phone in your hand, realizing you just hung up on whoever was making you cry.
There’s no point in lying. Your eyes are still wet.
“I’m great,” you mutter sarcastically, dabbing your cheeks, brushing away the last traces of your sorrow. “Why are you here?”
“For the pancakes,” he says to lighten the mood.
It’s such a stupid answer that despite yourself, your mouth twitches into a small smile.
“I’m serious. Why are you at my door?” you ask, simply confused why he hasn’t cut his losses. You don’t know why he’s sticking around after last night. Most guys would’ve bailed by now.
“To say sorry,” he says.
You put a hand on your hip. He’s here to grovel. It sends a satisfying spark through you. You always love a power trip, especially when it’s over a guy looking like he’s about to beg for another chance.
“I need to fix my makeup,” you say. “Come in if you want.”
Rafe steps inside, clicking the door shut behind him. He sits on your bed and you settle in front of your mirror and open your makeup bag. Your skin is still warm from crying, still a little tight around your eyes.
You feel the heat of his gaze. Knowing he’s seeing you vulnerable like this makes your stomach twist in discomfort. But you invited him in to show him how easily you shake things off. Then your body betrays you.
A quiet, involuntary post‑cry shudder ripples through you. A sharp pang digs itself into Rafe’s chest when he hears it.
“You don’t have to tell me what that was about,” he offers.
“I wasn’t going to,” you say, straightening your posture. “What did you hear?”
“That someone’s not listening to you.”
You let out a breathy scoff.
“Eavesdropping is rude.”
“I’m rude,” he replies with a shrug.
You have to laugh. His shoulders ease hearing it.
“I didn’t expect self‑awareness from you,” you say.
“Yeah? What’d you expect, then?”
You meet his eyes in the mirror.
“What happened last night,” you reply. “What every guy does when he realizes he’s not going to get what he wants from me.”
Rafe scratches the back of his neck, the regret sitting in his stomach.
“I’m sorry. Seriously.”
“Save it,” you respond, waving him off, truly indifferent to it anyway.
Rafe chews on the inside of his cheek. He can’t defend himself without admitting too much. He can’t tell you that last night didn’t piss him off – it hurt.
“I thought we’d hang out. And then you just… left,” he finally says. “I shouldn’t have acted like that. I…”
“Had a tantrum?” you say.
He tensely runs a hand through his hair.
“Is that why you’re always getting into fights?” you ask, thinking about what you’d seen on the island, the way he’d explode at the smallest thing.
Rafe stills for a moment. It’s good to hear that you’d noticed him back home. That he existed to you.
“Wait… you’ve been watching me?” he says amusedly.
You sigh, tipping your head back toward the ceiling with a groan.
“Your ego kills me,” you breathe.
He smirks and stares at you again as you continue to touch up your makeup, looking beautiful even with your eyes still a little puffy.
“I got mad because you’re confusing, alright?” he says. “You just ran out.”
You huff. You don’t believe him. The only thing you trust that comes out of his mouth is anything he says about his physical attraction to you.
“And I don’t get into fights anymore,” he adds.
It’s true. He hasn’t gotten into a single fight in a while, at least not here on campus. He still gets angry, because of course he does, but the distance from the island has done him good.
“Why’s that?” you ask, keeping your tone light, almost bored.
The more he talks, the more he opens up, the more material you’ll have later. Because you know now that you could still break his heart. You see the way he looks at you, the way he’s trying to apologize, the way he came here in the first place. His feelings are growing.
“Being here’s good for me,” he admits.
He looks out the window, jaw tight. You mull over his words. It doesn’t sound like it’s specifically here that’s good for him. It sounds like it’s anywhere that isn’t Kildare.
“You don’t like it back home?” you probe.
He breathes a humorless laugh. This pain is all too familiar. Life on the island was nothing but trying to outrun the truth that he was never wanted.
And the only way he ever learned to cope was by letting the anger take over, letting the chaos distract him from the feeling that he wasn’t enough.
“It’s because of shit with my family,” he finally replies. “I’m not what they want me to be.”
And like a wave, embarrassment that he just spilled so much to you crashes into him. This is what he hates about himself, the way everything sits right at the brim, always threatening to overflow. Somehow you’ve cracked him open.
Rafe’s defeated tone almost, almost makes you feel for him. You can relate more than he’ll ever know. Because on that phone call, your mom expected you to be fine with the fact that her husband comes first, and you don’t.
You turn around in your seat to finally look at him without the mirror between you. Rafe’s eyes are fixed on your floor now. You need to even the playing field. Make him think you’re opening up too, when you’re not.
“It was my mom on the phone,” you say. “She has a very particular idea of how I should act. It’s annoying. I get it.”
It’s a half‑truth, close enough to what he said to feel like you’re meeting him in the middle.
And he buys it. The way he looks at you, like he thinks this is some moment of shared understanding, confirms that he’s trusting you. He’s giving you pieces of himself without realizing it. And you can use every single one.
But right now, you realize you don’t want to.
What you once thought would feel satisfying suddenly doesn’t anymore. Every time you’ve hurt a guy in the past, it wasn’t intentional. You never set out to break anyone. But this time, you did, and it doesn’t feel good like you thought it would.
You don’t exactly like Rafe, but you don’t mind him. And if you go through with this, deliberately pulling him in just to tear him down, then what does that make you?
Whatever your reason, you’re still putting energy into a man. It’s not the same as your mother pouring herself into her husband, but it’s still a direction you don’t want to go into.
This started off as a little game of revenge to put Rafe in his place, maybe even to get payback on all the pain one particular man left in your heart. But you don’t see the point anymore.
“What does she want?” he asks, oblivious to the decision you’ve just made.
You lift a shoulder in a small shrug.
“For me to keep the peace,” you reply. “Don’t know if you noticed, but I don’t like to shut up when I’m mad.”
Rafe chuckles, relieved. He was convinced he blew it with you, but you’re not shutting him out.
“I like that about you,” he murmurs.
It’s the first thing Rafe has ever complimented you on that wasn’t about your appearance. And it’s about something you’ve always assumed people saw as a flaw. He talks about your short fuse like it’s good.
In the few minutes he’s been alone in here with him, you’ve seen a side of him you never have. And while you’ll never trust him, you can admit this is the most honest you’ve ever seen him be.
Your mind flickers back to the charter Olympics, to the way he made those guys who were bothering you leave you alone. You still don’t think that he did it out of sincerity, but the memory of him protecting you lingers right now.
And the way he’s looking at you now, with that same intensity he had then, only makes it harder to ignore the part of you that wonders what his intentions really are. That maybe you were wrong.
Not that it matters.
“We should go downstairs,” you say, pushing back your chair.
・・・・・
Later that day, Rafe pushes open the door to his bedroom, gym bag slung over his shoulder. He’s barely stepped inside when Cooper looks up from his laptop.
“Did you see the email?” he asks. Rafe drops his bag onto the floor with a thud.
“What email?”
His roommate turns the screen toward him. Rafe’s stomach sinks when he sees the subject line. Notice of Disciplinary Action.
“We’re on probation,” Cooper says. “We’re actually banned from partying. We could get suspended.”
“This is a joke,” he mutters with a chuckle.
“No, dude, it’s real,” Cooper confirms. “We’re off probation after four weeks if we follow the rules. Trey called a house meeting tonight.”
Rafe exhales, frustrated and confused.
・・・・・
The meeting starts with Trey, the frat president, standing at the front of the living room. He doesn’t bother hiding how pissed he is.
“We shouldn’t even be having this conversation,” he says, glaring around the room. “We just got warned and you geniuses still thought throwing that Halloween party was a good idea.”
He exhales sharply and reads off the email from the disciplinary committee.
“They’re serious,” he says afterwards. “They’ll be checking. Campus security will do random drive‑bys. If they see cars lined up or people outside or literally anything that looks like a party, we’re done. No one here can even risk being seen at other parties. I mean it.”
As the guys break into complaints, Rafe just sits there, growing more pissed off as the reality settles in. No parties means no distractions.
Eventually, he realizes that the conversations are going nowhere, and he stands and walks out into the night air without a destination in mind. He gets into his truck and sits there for a minute, hands on the wheel, jaw tight.
Then he pulls out his phone and taps on your name. Because right now, you’re the only person who makes him forget everything better than anything else ever has.
He doesn’t even know what he’s going to say when you pick up. He just needs to get out of his own head.
“Hello?” you answer.
“Hey,” he says. “You around?”
“I’m home,” you say. “And I’m in my pajamas, so the farthest I’m going is the porch.”
He smirks despite himself.
“I’ll be there in a minute.”
・・・・・
When Rafe parks under the streetlamp in front of your sorority house, he sees you already sitting on the steps, arms wrapped around your knees. You look unbothered. Beautiful. Like usual.
He sits beside you on the porch, leaving just enough space to pretend he’s not desperate to touch you. For a few seconds, neither of you talk. Crickets sing. Cars pass.
“As peaceful as this is,” you say, picking up on his tension, “what the fuck happened?”
Rafe huffs a quiet, defeated laugh.
“We’re on probation,” he admits. “No parties or anything for a month. Everyone in the house is losing their minds.”
“Oh, wow,” you say. “No fun for a month?”
Rafe shrugs, eyes fixed on the street.
“Sitting around doing nothing drives me insane,” he admits.
“You could finally do those discussion boards you’ve been missing out on,” you say, nudging him with your shoulder. He breathes a laugh again. “You’re telling me you can’t survive thirty days?”
Rafe finally looks at you. And he realizes that just by being with you, his chest isn’t as tight anymore. He feels better around you.
“I’m not good with being bored,” he says.
You stare at him for a moment. Maybe he’s not as shallow as you expected. Maybe he likes noise because it keeps him from thinking. Maybe there’s something he’s outrunning.
This is exactly the kind of conversation you stay far away from with a guy. This is stuff a girlfriend would deal with. And you’re not his girlfriend. You’re not here to fix him or soothe him or get pulled into whatever’s going on in his head.
You need to shift the mood and offer him some sort of comfort, without the vulnerability. Because while you don’t have any real feelings for Rafe, you can admit you don’t like seeing him tense.
You’ll let this fling play out. One of you will eventually get bored once it’s obvious this isn’t going anywhere. But you’re no longer trying to hurt him. You can’t bring yourself to be cruel to someone who isn’t the asshole you thought he was.
“Well,” you say lightly, leaning back on your hands. “The girls keep talking about a beach day.”
He glances over, curious.
“And if you guys come to that,” you continue, “is it really that bad? It’s not a party. And it’s off campus.”
Rafe nods, his mouth curling into a smile, the rigidity in his posture easing.
“I’ll text you the details,” you say. “Come with drinks. And don’t bring everyone, okay?”
You push yourself to your feet, brushing off your hands.
“Wait,” Rafe says. He stands too, and because he’s a step lower on the porch, you end up almost eye‑level with him. Even from here, he’s still taller than you.
He looks at you with that intense focus you’ve seen so many times. And then, like always, he cups your face with both firmness and restraint when he kisses you.
For a second, the world goes quiet around him. The more he gets of you, the more he wants. Your lips are warm and soft and perfect and it hurts that you want to go back inside so soon after he arrived.
You pull back from the kiss first, like always. He stays where he is, stuck between hope and frustration, wishing you’d change your mind and just to sit here with him.
But you only offer a heartbreaking smile before you turn and leave him unable to stop wanting the one thing he can’t get enough of.
・・・・・
You’ve been at the beach for about an hour now, soaking in the early afternoon sun.
Everyone is sprawled out, a mix of your sorority sisters, girls from other houses, and a few guys they invited. Music hums from a speaker over the crashes of waves against the shore.
You’re sitting cross‑legged on your towel, gazing out at the lake. It’s beautiful, light blue contrasted against a wide stretch of beige sand, but it doesn’t compare to the ocean you grew up admiring. Even so, you can’t help enjoying the novelty of sitting on a beach in November.
A faraway voice makes you look toward the parking lot. You see a group of six guys, all in swim trunks and sunglasses, talking loudly and hauling a cooler.
Rafe is easy to pick out. He’s taller than the rest, wearing a white t-shirt over his swim shorts, looking better than everyone on this beach.
You’d sent him a location pin so he could find you. He drops the cooler into the sand and greets the guys already there with his usual confidence.
Rafe hates to see that there isn’t an open spot beside you, that you’re wedged between two of your friends. He chooses a place just across from you, sitting on the corner of a beach blanket.
He’s supposed to be keeping his feelings in check. But how can he when you look like that, sitting there wearing a bikini and an amused smirk that tightens his chest?
You pull at two sides of him, the part that craves to be wrapped up in you, to be deep inside of you, and another part that he tries to ignore. A part that wants to be needed.
“Hey,” he says to you over the surrounding conversations.
“Hey,” you reply. “You staying out of trouble?”
He gives a half‑smile and says, “Trying.”
It’s been a couple of days since you spoke on the porch, since he kissed you and you walked away. Since then, you’ve taken up his every thought, and it sucks having to pretend like you haven’t.
The group’s conversation shifts to the probation. As some of Rafe’s frat brothers whine about the punishment, you stretch out your legs, playfully nudging his knee with your toes. He looks at you, mirroring your smile.
A few weeks ago, you had to make yourself flirt with him. You had to think about the bet and tell yourself to play the part. Now you want to do it. The version of him you thought you hated has been erased, and he’s just another guy you’re having a fling with. Something fun that’ll burn out.
That’s always been the rush. Getting close enough to feel the spark, but never close enough to get burned.
You’ve known for a while now that Rafe really likes you. You can see it in the way he looks at you, in the way his attention keeps drifting back to you, no matter what’s happening around him. You know when a guy is in deep.
But he’s only enamored with a version of you. Guys fall for the cool, detached girl all the time. You never let them see the real you.
Rafe is no different. He probably thinks he’s getting close, but he’s not. You’re enjoying the temporary thrill, and if he stopped talking to you tomorrow, you’d shrug and move on.
Besides, you’re still pretty sure he’s putting up a front, too. Acting nicer than he really is. You know the routine that every guy does when he wants you.
Eventually, Rafe gently cups your ankle. You meet his eyes.
“Swim with me,” he says quietly. You nod.
He tugs his shirt off and you slip your hand into his, letting him pull you up. Jada smiles at you over the rim of her drink. You told her yesterday that you’re over the bet, that it feels wrong to keep playing this game.
She didn’t look surprised. She’s seen you go through enough flings to know exactly how this will go.
・・・・・
The sand shifts under your feet as the two of you approach the shore. When the water reaches your ankles, it’s cool enough to make you wince.
Rafe steps in ahead of you, the surface rippling around his calves as he looks ahead, giving you an opportunity to look at his bare, muscled back.
“It’s nothin’ like ours, huh?” he says.
You smirk to yourself, finding it funny that he’s thinking the same thing you did. And that he’s calling the island ours like it’s something you share, when all you did there was avoid each other.
He keeps his eyes on the horizon. While he seems to appreciate the beaches at home, he admitted to you that it’s better he’s not there. You always assumed he coasted through life with no concerns, but you know now that’s not entirely true.
You wade deeper into the water. It curls around your thighs and you let out another sharp exhale as you adjust to the temperature.
“Come on,” Rafe teases. “It’s not gonna bite you.”
You roll your eyes, familiar easy tension settling between you. When this whole thing started, he had to watch every word, rein in the way he normally teases because he wasn’t sure how to handle you. But now, he doesn’t have to do any of that. He can just be himself.
“This is a shock to my system, okay? I’ve been in the sun for a long time,” you flirt. “See how warm I am?”
You wrap your hand around his bicep. The warmth of your skin sinks into him, and you feel the subtle flex of hard muscle under your palm.
His eyes drop to where you’re holding him, then lift back to yours with an amused look. He likes the way you touch him. And that you chose to.
“Not really,” he replies. He dips his chin toward you. “Probably should feel more of you.”
He uses the excuse to tug you closer by the wrist. You laugh as your bodies meet, the water now at your hips, your shoulders nearly level with his chest. You stare up at him, and in the sun, the freckles on his face stand out, soft, scattered spots.
“Oh, yeah, you’re hot,” he rasps with a smirk as you press up against him. He thinks back to the other night, to the feeling of you grinding on his thigh, his mouth on you, your breathy moans.
“You’re not as smooth as you think you are,” you tease. Rafe’s grin widens.
“What? I’m just talking.”
The water sways around you both. You take a deep breath before finally sinking in to your shoulders, the cold rushing up your spine.
And, like always, your conversation drifts effortlessly. It’s nothing heavy or deep, but you get to know each other a little more, trading jokes in between.
・・・・・
Eventually, the quiet you and Rafe found in the water breaks as more of the group joins to swim. The sun keeps sinking, and by the time everyone wanders back to shore, it’s just about to touch the horizon.
Your section of the beach is a sprawl of towels, drinks, and snacks. Everyone’s stretched out in the sand, talking over each other as all your sorority sisters brag about winning silver in the charter Olympics.
Rafe sits beside you, a beer bottle dangling from his fingers while conversations blur around you.
He’s pissed off. He’s never claimed to be a good person. He knows exactly what he is. But loyalty means something, and if someone loved him, he’d never fuck them over, so when he spots his frat brother with some random girl that’s definitely not his girlfriend perched on his lap, frustration coils tightly in his gut.
Rafe’s seen the way his girlfriend dotes on him. And he can admit it made him jealous. Not because he likes her, but because he wants someone to care that much about him.
Seeing his frat brother throw that away makes his blood run hot. Why do some people get handed the kind of love Rafe would kill for, and treat it like it’s nothing?
You take a deep breath as you gaze out at the water. At first, Rafe looks like he’s just zoning out, but then you notice he’s been quiet for uncharacteristically long.
“What are you pouting about?” you tease.
He flicks his eyes toward the group, then lifts his chin in the direction of one of his frat brothers. The guy is laughing, a girl on his lap, her arms around his neck.
Rafe’s voice drops low.
“He’s got a girl,” he mutters with a shake of his head. He takes a slow sip of his drink, still watching the scene with a judgmental look.
You study his profile, trying to figure out if he’s genuinely bothered by his friend seemingly cheating or just saying what he thinks sounds good. But he actually seems angry. The guys you’ve known wouldn’t flinch at something like this.
“Why does it annoy you?” you ask.
“If you got someone, you don’t do that shit,” he mutters.
“Doesn’t every guy do that shit?” you chuckle.
The words slipped out before you could stop them, pulled from the memory of your dad leaving, emptying the house of his belongings, teaching you that men will always choose themselves.
Rafe looks at you, eyebrows pulling together like he can’t believe you’re excusing it.
“No,” he says. The conviction in his tone is hard and unexpected.
“I’m not saying it’s okay,” you reply with a laugh, trying to keep things light. “I’ve just seen it a million times.”
“Yeah, well, some guys actually give a shit about loyalty,” he responds.
The noise of the group swells around you again and you don’t say anything, letting the conversation slip away. It feels too deep.
You trail off into other topics, joking around, pretending you’re not preoccupied. But Rafe’s reaction lingers in your mind, even after you say your goodbyes later that afternoon.
next >
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pairing fratboy! rafe cameron x kook!sororitygirl! reader
rating explicit 18+
summary when rafe’s friends bet that he can’t charm you into sleeping with him, he can’t say no to the challenge. he has no idea that you decide to make a game out of his advances. you have a secret bet to win, too. and you’re determined to break his heart.
< prev
Rafe absentmindedly scrolls on his phone as his truck idles in front of your sorority house, the windows cracked to let the breeze in.
It’s been a couple of days since your kiss. He texted asking when he could see you, and earlier today, you told him to pick you up after ten p.m.
You step onto the front porch to see Rafe waiting in a black pickup truck. You’re sure it’s the same one you’ve seen him drive around the island. It’s loud and way too big. He probably chose it because he thinks it makes him look tough. Like the dirt bike you’ve seen him on.
Late nights are nothing new for you. You prefer to see guys after dark. It keeps things casual because then, they won’t try to impress you with expensive dates or big gestures. They get the wrong idea when they treat you like a girlfriend. They think that you owe them. And that’s the last thing you’d ever agree to.
When you slide into the passenger seat, Rafe looks you up and down, warmth creeping up the back of his neck.
“So,” you say, shutting the door and buckling in, “where do you want to take me so bad?”
He stares at you first, the words forming only after he’s had his fill. He wants to kiss you right now. He would if this wasn’t a game. He can’t look too eager.
“You said to surprise you,” he answers. He pulls away from the curb with one hand on the wheel, the other resting on the console, inches away from your thigh.
・・・・・
Rafe drives off campus and toward the south end of town, the road curling upward into the hills. His truck’s headlights sweep over gravel as he turns into a pull‑off overlooking the city. Below, the lights glow in pockets of white.
He turns the truck to face the trail he drove in on and shuts it off, allowing the humming of crickets and ticking of the cooling engine to fill your ears.
A lookout point. How cliché. You’re not impressed, but you do appreciate the quiet up here. You won’t admit it out loud that it’s pretty. And that it’s definitely better than some restaurant or a random parking lot.
Without a word, Rafe drops out of the truck, the door thudding shut behind him. You exhale before climbing out after him. Of course he’d just walk off without saying anything. This man has no manners.
You meet him outside at the back of the truck, where he’s unlatching the tailgate. You step out, drifting a few paces toward the edge to study the view.
After throwing a blanket over the truck bed, Rafe follows you. When he looks at you gazing out below, he sees softness crossing your face. For a second, you almost look happy.
This whole thing might work. He came here to get the one thing he wants with you. Privacy.
“Nice, right?” he says. “We can sit in the back. I brought a blanket.”
“Just one?” you reply. “I’m shocked.”
He breathes out a low chuckle. You think about how many other girls he’s brought here. How many times he’s used this view to impress them. Rafe seems like the type who’d want to prove how much he can afford, yet he took you somewhere so lowkey.
You figure it’s because he wants to pick up where you left off the other night. But it’s not like you don’t want to be in private with him. This may all be a scheme to break his heart, but kissing him was nice. And you want to do more of it.
The manners he seemed to have forgotten come back as he cups your hand to help you up to the back of the pickup. You lean against the rear window, sinking into the comforter he spread out, pulling a corner of it over your lap.
Rafe lets out a soft grunt as he settles beside you, the side of his thigh pressed against yours as you take in the view together. Lights sparkle across the streets below, the night air smelling faintly of damp earth.
“What’d you do today?” he asks.
“I helped with prepping for that Olympics event,” you respond. “A bunch of us are volunteering.”
Rafe already knows the gist. The charter Olympics is some lame spirit thing for frats and sororities to compete in games. It’s a dry event. That was enough for him to decide he was skipping it, even with the talks he’s been hearing about his frat being at risk for probation.
“And that’s fun for you?” he asks.
You glance over at him, catching the teasing curve of his lips.
“Let me guess,” you retort. “You joined Greek life just for the parties?”
“Why else?”
You scoff, shaking your head. The more you learn about Rafe, the more you know that once this is over, you won’t miss it. He’s such a typical shallow guy.
“Why’d you join?” Rafe asks.
His eyes are softer, like he’s curious. He either actually wants to know or is doing a good job pretending to.
There’s no chance you’re admitting the real reason. Being in a sorority gives you the stability you never had growing up. Your friends are your chosen family, and joining gave you a place to belong.
But vulnerability, even faked, will pull him in faster. It’ll make him think he can earn deeper access to you. You’ll give him a very light version of the truth.
“I obviously like the parties,” you reply. “But I like the events, too. I can appreciate when things are structured. And predictable.”
Rafe just stares. Hearing the girl who’ll snap at anyone over nothing saying she wants structure doesn’t really register. It’s intriguing.
“What?” you laugh, tilting your head at him when he doesn’t look away.
“You don’t seem like you like predictable,” he admits.
“Well, I do,” you reply with a shrug, looking back out at the view again.
His jaw tenses. He wants you to care what he thinks, but you don’t. It’s like your attention is already full with everything else in your life and he’s trying to find space where there isn’t any.
“I’ll probably come to that, too,” he decides. “Some guys were saying we could be put on probation, so we gotta get more involved in things.”
“Seriously?” you say with a disbelieving laugh.
“Security showed up a few times ‘cause of noise complaints,” he says. “Apparently, you get enough warnings and the school steps in.”
You wince, but Rafe shrugs. He’s used to getting in trouble. When his world crumbled around him as a kid, he lost all control, and he’s been fighting to gain it back since. It turned him into a man who never had patience for being told what to do, who never cared for authority.
“I can tell you’re really torn up about it,” you say, sarcasm thick in your tone.
“It’s just annoying,” he admits. “Their rules don’t make sense. They just like having something to hold over us.”
Of course. The entitlement you always suspected in Rafe is alive and well. He believes that rules are optional for him, that consequences are something that should only happen to other people.
“You realize probation means none of those parties you care so much about, right?” you tease. “Seems like it’s all you care about, actually.”
Maybe it should piss him off that you think that’s all there is to him, but it’s a compliment. You’re wrong. He cares too much, feels too much, but if you think he’s this apathetic, that means he’s selling it.
“They’re just trying to scare us,” Rafe murmurs. “If we come to that Olympics thing and act like we care, we’ll be good.”
He readjusts his backwards hat, licking his lips before speaking again.
“Too bad we can’t be on the same team again, yeah?” he says, thinking back to your game of beer pong the other night.
You meet his eyes. You’re more aware of yourself now. The way you toyed with men used to be instinct, but now, with this bet on your mind, you can feel yourself doing it in real time.
It’s an art. Giving warmth in small doses. You realize that while you hate unpredictability, you love being the unpredictable one.
“It is too bad,” you play along. “I can’t believe we never talked before. We should’ve.”
Heat blossoms in Rafe’s chest, spreading to his limbs. It feels so good to hear you say that, and he’s not sure if it’s because of this bet he’s trying to win or if he really is looking for validation from you.
His eyes sweep over your features in the moonlight. It’s dizzying, watching you lean towards him, showing him that you want him.
You tilt your head just a little, taking your time with closing the distance, teasing him in a silent promise that he’ll get you for now, but if he messes up, he’ll lose you again.
He can’t remember the last time he was this nervous around a girl.
Rafe’s lips press on yours, as warm and soft as you remember them. Your eyes flutter shut as the tip of your nose brushes against his, and his hand cups your cheek just like it did the other night, guiding but gentle, as if he needs to ground himself.
When you part your lips, allowing his tongue to touch yours, he tastes impossibly good, better than you thought he would. He’s not forceful or rough like so many guys are. There’s no need to back away or tell him to slow down. He’s firm, but careful, almost gentle in a way you didn’t expect.
Rafe pulls you in closer. Your lips are so soft, your mouth hot as you breathe each other in. He realizes he revels in the way you taste, wanting more and more of it.
The deeper and longer your kisses grow, the more Rafe’s stomach tightens with need. He’s already so hard. His grip tightens on your cheek as he leads you to tilt your head back just slightly.
The cool air presses against your wet lips as he leaves languid kisses along your jaw, moving down the column of your throat. He presses his hot, open mouth on the most sensitive parts of your neck.
You bite your bottom lip as tingles cover every inch of your skin, your craving for him flooding your senses. His hand drags down to your thigh, and when you let out a breathy moan, his grip tightens. He skims higher, testing.
“You’re so fucking hot,” Rafe huskily murmurs against your skin as his palm lands over the curve of your ass. You respond by kissing him again, deeper this time. He squeezes your flesh over your jeans, and now, his kiss is even hotter.
Your pulse is loud in your ears as time bends in itself, the sounds of your tangled breaths and wet kisses consuming you. Eventually, slowly, his hand trails to your hip, the pad of his thumb brushing under your top.
You want him to move his hand higher. You want to crawl into his truck and let him peel your clothes off and touch you. And you would, if you were here for any other reason.
You pull back, taking in a soft breath, your foreheads brushing together.
“Can you take me home now?” you half-whisper.
Rafe straightens, his heavy lidded gaze trailing down your face.
You move first, scooting forward to get out of the bed of his truck. After you slip into the passenger seat, he sits behind the steering wheel. He shuffles awkwardly in his seat, undoubtedly trying to hide his arousal after making out with you.
His keys jingle, and his engine roars to life. But before he drives off, he looks at you.
“Everything good?” Rafe murmurs.
You nod, wanting to keep him invested without giving him much clarity at all.
“Yeah,” you say with a soft smile. “I just need to slow down.”
It’s a promise that’s more to come, a way to keep him on the hook without blowing him off. He looks ahead and you take in his profile, watch his Adam’s apple bob with a slow swallow as he puts his truck into drive.
You wanted to keep going, but you want to hurt him more.
・・・・・
The sun is already scorching, even though it’s only the first event of the chapter Olympics, music blasting from a portable speaker.
You’re standing in your chapter’s lane, waiting for the water‑balloon toss to start. Jada is a few feet away, rolling her shoulders to warm up. The rules are simple: toss the balloon, take a step back, last chapter standing wins.
Rafe ends up right beside the guy next to you. When he looks over and sees you, he grins, his dimples dipping into his cheeks. You return the smile.
Insecurity isn’t new for him. He hasn’t stopped replaying the other night in his head. The heated makeout session, the way you pulled away, the quiet car ride home.
It was almost a week ago, and you haven’t talked since, and it’s made him restless. He’d normally just text a girl in this situation, but he keeps needing to remind himself to play this carefully.
Now here you are, beautiful, smirking at him like you know you’ve been driving him insane.
The game starts. The guy between you and Rafe eventually misjudges his toss, the balloon slipping through his hands and exploding at his feet. He groans and steps back, and suddenly Rafe is closer. He leans in slightly.
“Hey,” he murmurs, voice barely threading through the noise from the speaker and people shouting and laughing all around you. “Did I totally fuck up the other night?”
He’s asking because he wants to win the bet. Mostly.
There’s another reason, one he hates admitting even to himself. He wants you to think good things about him. He wants your approval. And that feels really fucking embarrassing.
He’s not sure how to manipulate this anymore. The whole be forward but not desperate thing gets harder every time he sees you. His instincts keep pulling him in toward you, and it’s getting harder to pretend he’s above it.
He’s not the type to play coy when he wants a girl. He’s usually direct. And he wishes you’d want him just as bad as he wants you.
“No. I had fun,” you reply with a small smile, squinting in the sunlight.
You can see worry in the way his eyes dart away. And it feels like victory. Worry means he cares, and caring means he’s slipping. He’s starting to have feelings. You’re sure of it.
The next toss comes. Jada’s balloon slips right through her fingers and soaks her shoes when it pops. She screams out an angry groan so loud that it scares her neighbors. You burst into laughter.
Rafe finds himself smirking. Your laugh does something to him.
You step out of the lane, brushing past him. Your hand finds his bicep, warm and solid under your fingers, and he meets your eyes.
“Good luck,” you say.
You feel it, the charged pull between you, heavy and unignorable. Even with all the noise around you, the air between you feels louder than all of it.
Rafe’s gaze lingers when you let go.
・・・・・
You report for your volunteer shift at the snack table, ready for half an hour of collecting tickets and handing out whatever people want.
From under the tent, you catch sight of Rafe across the field, digging his heels into the dirt during a game of tug‑of‑war. He’s all muscle and it sends your mind straight back to the night in his truck.
The losing team is supposed to fall backward into a kiddie pool filled with cold water, and you find yourself hoping that Rafe’s side slips. You want to see the way his shirt would cling to him afterward, plastered to every line of him.
Your sexual chemistry is undeniable. He knows exactly how to touch you. But you’re here to give him what he deserves. And you know now that you’re at the point where you can toy with him.
Three guys wander towards the snack table together, interrupting your daydreams.
“What do you have?” a guy with sunglasses says.
You can tell by the way his eyes are trailing down your body that he’s checking you out. You don’t bother answering. You just tap the laminated sign hanging from the front of the table, showing that you’re offering popsicles, granola bars, and chips.
“If I get a popsicle,” he begins, “can I watch you eat it?”
His friends snort, elbowing each other like they’ve never heard anything funnier. You scowl and step to the side.
“Next,” you say to the girl who just approached behind them. You help her quickly, but the guys linger, still expecting service.
One of his friends steps forward and tries to hand you his ticket.
“Sorry,” he says. “It was a stupid joke. Can I just get some chips?”
You scoff and wave curtly to dismiss them.
“Wait for the next volunteer,” you tell them flatly.
“I was just having fun,” the one who made the comment to you says.
“By being a disgusting pig?” you mutter, your voice sharp.
They don't move. You cross your arms, staring daggers at them, furious that you’re stuck behind this table and that they refuse to leave.
Then, someone approaches. You look up.
After his team won tug‑of‑war, Rafe spotted you, noticed your hand lifted in an irritated gesture. Even from a distance, he recognized that pissed off look on your face.
He realizes a group of guys are hovering around your table, annoying you. He’s seen them before. They’re members of the rival frat his house is always competing with.
“You guys botherin’ her?” Rafe says, light but edged.
“Immensely,” you answer before they can speak. “They won’t leave.”
Normally, you hate when a man acts like you need rescuing. But right now you’re trapped. You can’t walk away from the table. And these guys won’t go away.
Rafe feels a flare of protectiveness burn in him when he sees just how angry you are, and how these assholes are trying to intimidate you. The rivalry between their houses makes his temper snap tighter.
“Go,” Rafe tells them, the sharpness in his voice unmistakable now.
“I want some food,” one of the guys mutters.
“You lost your chance,” you snap.
He scoffs, rolling his eyes like you’re the unreasonable one.
“You heard her,” Rafe says, daring him to push it. You don’t want to expect any good from him, but he’s standing with his broad shoulders squared, making it very clear whose side he’s on.
The guys finally leave, muttering as they stalk off. It’s just you and Rafe at the table now. You don’t want to believe he stepped in because he’s sincerely looking out for you. You can’t. But you’re still grateful because you had no escape and he just gave it to you.
“I’ll give you all the snacks you want,” you say in a show of appreciation.
Rafe huffs a small laugh, but his eyes stay on you.
“What’d they do?” he asks.
“They were gross,” you mutter. Admittedly, you’re tired of pretending the way men objectify you doesn’t get to you. “Like all guys, treating me like I’m only good for one thing. It’s so fucking degrading.”
Rafe is thrown by your honesty. You can tell. But when you’re this angry, you don’t care about putting up a front. Just like the night he spilled his drink on you, when you snapped at him with no inhibitions.
And that memory hits you now. Rafe asked if you were always so sensitive and it reminded you exactly why you don’t let yourself trust guys like him. Whatever he’s doing right now is a game. You have to keep your guard up where it always is.
“Want anything?” you ask, attempting to brush the thought away with humor, to continue to charm him. “Or I could keep ranting if you’re into it.”
“I’ll take one of those,” Rafe says with a small smile, pointing at the granola bars. Your eyes dip to his lips, reminded of how they felt on yours, before you hand him a bar. Your fingers brush his for half a second.
He steps back as he realizes someone is in line behind him. But he’s still staring at you like he’s trying to figure you out. You break eye contact first. And he steps aside to let the next person through.
・・・・・
Later that night, you read Rafe’s text while standing in front of your mirror in your bedroom. Jada is in the bathroom, blasting music as she does her hair.
You coming tonight?
You check your reflection, smoothing your hands down the sides of your deep red mini‑dress. You’re dressed up for an ‘angels and demons’ theme party, your dress soft and skimpy, paired with a plastic headband of two red horns.
His frat shouldn’t be throwing their annual Halloween party tonight. They’re almost on probation, and everyone knows it by now. But that’s not your problem. If they want to risk getting shut down, that’s on them.
Probably, you type back, even though you’re fully planning to head over there.
Rafe has never been afraid to come on too strong with a girl. He either cares or he doesn’t. But tonight, sitting on the couch in the frat house living room, surrounded by his brothers, he feels different.
He keeps checking his phone, rereading your text.
Probably.
His friends are shouting over the music. Normally, he escapes into this loud chaos. He loves not having to think about anything. But you might be coming, and your attention feels different than anything else.
Rafe leans back, letting the music wash over him, pretending he’s relaxed even though he’s anything but.
・・・・・
The second you step into the frat house, the air is thick, too many bodies packed into one place. Music thumps through the floorboards, vibrating up your legs. Your friends pull you deeper inside, weaving through clusters of people.
Rafe stands near the kitchen doorway with his friends. His hair is pushed back instead of hidden under a hat, a little tousled. He didn’t bother with a real costume. Just a red polo and jeans, the bare minimum effort to dress on theme.
You look away before he can catch you staring and go further into the house, pretending you’re not aware of where he is in the room.
Eventually, while you’re dancing with your friends, you feel a hand graze the small of your back. You turn to see Rafe towering over you, close enough that you can smell his cologne under the haze of sweat. His eyes are on you like you’re the only person in the room.
“Who cares about probation, huh?” you say, motioning to the chaos around you. This party absolutely should not be happening.
“Aw, you worried about me?” Rafe replies, leaning in just enough that you feel his breath on your cheek.
“I’m losing sleep over it,” you deadpan.
He laughs under his breath and wraps an arm around you, pulling you into his side like it’s the most natural thing in the world. He doesn’t want to second guess himself with you, even though it’s all he does.
Suddenly, he’s aware of every guy in the room who’s staring at you in that tiny dress. The twist of possessiveness burns in him.
Rafe has no claim over you. But it feels like he does. Like he should.
You gaze up at him, at the way his hair falls slightly over his forehead.
“I like your hair like that,” you flirt.
His grin widens. It’s a full, toothy smile he tries to hide by ducking his head for a second.
“Could barely shower,” he says. “My arms are killing me from today.”
“Weak,” you tease.
“Hey,” he says, laughing. “I carried my team.”
“Whatever you need to tell yourself,” you reply with a nod. He chuckles and shakes his head.
“You have a good time?”
“It’s fun to get competitive,” you say. “You?”
“Yeah,” he says, rolling his shoulders. “Just need a massage now.”
“Nice try,” you laugh.
He pauses for a moment to take in your bright smile, the sweet sound of your laugh.
“Who do you think won?” he asks.
“Us. Definitely.”
“You’re so sure,” he says with a squint.
“We can put money on it if you want to bet,” you say.
Rafe’s smile falters.
The goal was just to hook up with you. It was supposed to be a game. Now he’s standing in front of you, and you’re joking with him, and he’s having so much fun with you that he already misses you before you’re gone.
You’re not just some stuck-up princess. There’s more to you. He’s seen it. How funny you are. How sweet you can be. And today, when he saw that anger in you flare yet again, he realized it’s rooted in how much you have to protect yourself.
He knows what that’s like.
He wonders what’ll happen if he wants more than what he promised his friends. He’s definitely attracted to you. That part was never in question. But there’s something else now that makes the bet feel cheap.
It pisses him off that he’s doing what you vented to him about. He tried to convince himself that he could see you as just a girl to fuck around with. And he was an idiot to do that.
You study him, curious about what his sudden silence means. He’s looking at you like he always does, like he’s trying to read your mind.
But you don’t make it a habit to read between a guy’s lines. All you can feel is the heat of your need for him. The way he’s looking at you only makes it harder to ignore.
You’ll stick to the plan. You won’t go all the way. But you’ll do more.
“You want to show me your room?” you ask, already knowing the answer.
Rafe licks his lips, nodding gently.
“Yeah,” he says, voice low. “Come on.”
He leads you through the crowd, up the stairs, the noise fading behind you with every step. His palm covers yours, sending a hot current straight through you.
He opens the door to his bedroom. And you follow him inside.
next >
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pairing fratboy! rafe cameron x kook!sororitygirl! reader
rating explicit 18+
summary when rafe’s friends bet that he can’t charm you into sleeping with him, he can’t say no to the challenge. he has no idea that you decide to make a game out of his advances. you have a secret bet to win, too. and you’re determined to break his heart.
< prev
Your Saturday morning starts slow. Sunlight spills through the curtains of your room as you rest under your comforter. You can hear girls laughing in the hallway of the sorority house.
Your roommate is on the other side of the room in her bed, and you’ve been drifting in and out of conversation with her, scrolling on your phones and lazing together.
“So… you gonna tell me what happened with that guy last night?” Jada asks.
You didn’t say much when you reunited with your friends at the party after disappearing with Rafe. Jada recognized him as the jerk who spilled his drink on you, but you brushed it off, saying he apologized.
You take a deep breath.
“You can’t judge me for what I’m about to tell you,” you say, your voice low.
Jada perks up immediately, pushing herself upright. She grins, dropping her phone on her lap.
“I love it when a story starts that way,” she says. You chuckle and roll onto your side, resting your head on your hand as you look at her from across the room.
“His name is Rafe. I know him from back home,” you say. “He’s a total dick. And since he’s started trying to get with me, my friends… bet me that I couldn’t break his heart.”
“You’re kidding,” Jada says in amusement. “Why would I judge you for that? It’s never a bad thing for a guy like that to get put in his place.”
Her words are vindicating. He does deserve it. You think back to the way Rafe talked to you and touched you last night, smug like he can take whatever he wants from you.
“It did seem weird to me that you went off with him after he was so rude the other night,” she says, pointing at you. “I know you’re not one to forgive. Wow, it’s all coming together now.”
You laugh. You’ve been called many things, all by guys who felt slighted by you, and Jada affectionately implying that you’re unforgiving is nothing compared to it. You’ve built a reputation. It’s better to be the girl no one fucks with than the girl who gets hurt.
“How are you going to do it?” she asks.
Your eyes drift to the ceiling.
“I’ll make him think I like him, then act like I can’t stand him, which, honestly, I can’t, so at least that part will be easy,” you say. “I swear, the second a guy realizes you’re not dying for his attention, he tries way too hard to make you care. I’ve never wanted to make a guy fall for me, though, so that’s new territory.”
“He’s done for,” Jada says.
You chuckle again. You’ve strung along guys many times before, but this is the first time you’re doing it on purpose. You’ve never tried to hurt anyone’s feelings; keeping your distance is just how you’ve always kept yourself safe.
You feel bad for those you’ve burned, but it’s not like you promised them love or loyalty. Because you learned as a kid what happens when you give a man trust. Your father walked out like it was nothing. If your own dad didn’t stay for you, why would anyone else?
Rafe will make this easy. He’s simple, like most men. He gets a little attention and thinks a girl is powerless to him. He’s sure that you’ll let your guard down. But you don’t do that. You never have.
・・・・・
“How’s it going with her?” Mac asks.
Rafe drags his gaze away from his beer to glance at his friend. The two of them stand near the back doors of the sorority house, the air smelling like perfume.
He realizes Mac is looking at you. You’re laughing at something one of your friends said, beaming a pretty smile. For a second, it’s like he’s back in Kildare, seeing you from a distance at a party, another stranger he never bothered to know.
“Slow,” Rafe answers honestly. It was just last night that he asked for your number and you passively declined. He’s still annoyed.
“If you can’t do it, man…”
Rafe smirks and nudges his friend. He refuses to lose.
“I can, asshole,” he chuckles.
Tonight, Rafe will make you wait. By the time he finally decides to approach you, he’s sure you’ll be relieved.
・・・・・
You should’ve seen it coming. Jada mentioned she skipped dinner. She’s only had a couple drinks, but her empty stomach clearly made them hit her hard. It’s barely an hour into the party and she’s already wobbling.
Her knees are giving out every few steps, and you’re not confident you’ll be able to catch her if she goes down. In the couple of years you’ve known your roommate, you’ve never seen her so wasted.
“You should sit,” you shout over the music, hands on Jada’s shoulders.
“But I’ll fall asleep,” she slurs.
You breathe a defeated laugh.
“Let’s go home,” you decide. “You can sober up. In your bed.”
“I love my bed,” Jada sighs with a grin.
You should get her out of here and with how much she’s stumbling, you’ll need a second body to make sure she doesn’t fall over. You’ll ask one of your sorority sisters to help.
But that’s when you spot Rafe.
You weren’t planning to even look at him tonight. But you’ve learned that if you give a guy you’ve been stringing along a chance to do you a favor, he’ll always take it.
You leave Jada with your friends and weave through the crowd toward him. He’s leaning against the wall, talking to a couple guys, wearing that backwards hat he always wears. You spot Kildare Island Surfboard Co. stitched on the front.
“Do me a favor?” you ask once you close the distance.
Rafe’s head flicks toward you. A self-satisfied smirk grows on his face.
“What’s up?” he says, his voice low, eyes drifting to your lips.
“I need help getting my roommate home. You seem strong enough.”
Rafe sets his drink down on the nearest table without breaking eye contact. Then he tilts his head toward the door, a silent come on.
・・・・・
Warm night air wraps around you as the three of you step out onto Greek Row. The bass from different houses overlaps out of rhythm and the sidewalks are crowded with clusters of students.
You’ve only made a couple of steps together when Jada stumbles. She apologizes through a giggle, then leans on you so hard that you nearly lose your footing.
You grip her forearm, and Rafe’s hand is suddenly on yours, steadying Jada. His other hand settles on the small of your back.
“You can’t walk,” he snips at Jada.
You huff, feeling protective over your friend, and say, “You don’t have to be so rude.”
Rafe scoffs to himself. That’s rich coming from you.
He shifts to slide an arm under Jada’s knees and another behind her back. In one smooth motion, he lifts her off the ground and settles her over his shoulder, earning her drunken laugh.
His biceps bulge under his t-shirt sleeves, and heat rises to your cheeks as you realize how effortless this is for him.
“Which house is it again?” he asks, glancing over at you as he continues to walk forward.
“At the end of the block,” you reply. You point to the red-brick Victorian style home, having to pick up your pace to catch up to his wide strides.
Jada begins to quietly sing, laughing at herself as she stumbles over the lyrics.
“Pretty early in the night to be so wasted,” Rafe murmurs, looking over at you.
“At least she didn’t dunk her drink on anybody,” you respond, still pissed off at how he spoke to Jada. But you’re not surprised. As much as he’s trying to pretend like he’s a nice guy, you know better.
“Are you ever letting that go?” he says with a smile that you don’t return.
“Not until we’re even,” you reply.
You unlock the front door of the empty house and turn to Rafe as he shifts Jada higher on his shoulder.
“I got it from here,” you tell him.
“You kidding? She almost took you down,” Rafe says, his voice raised just enough to cut through the distant music. “Just go.”
You sigh, but as much as you don’t want to admit it, you’re relieved you won’t be the one dragging Jada up the stairs tonight.
Rafe’s eyes are fixed on your legs as he trails you up the stairs, the dim light catching the perfect shape of them with every step.
The place smells like fresh laundry, unlike the staleness settled into the frat house he lives in. And the floor doesn’t creak at all here.
“Your house is way nicer than ours,” he says.
“Probably ‘cause we actually take care of it,” you respond. He rolls his eyes to himself. Is every response of yours some kind of cut?
You reach the second floor and flick on the light in your shared bedroom. You point to Jada’s bed so he knows where to set her down.
Rafe lowers her slowly, and as you lean in to brush her curls from her face, he takes a chance to look around, quietly absorbing the details of your room.
“How do you feel?” you ask Jada.
“Dizzy,” she murmurs, eyelids half-shut.
“I’m getting you water,” you say, “and you have to drink it all.”
“I don’t want water,” she mumbles.
“Does it look like I care what you want?” you reply, but your voice is soft in a way Rafe hasn’t heard from you. He's kind of thrown by how sweet you are when you want to be.
“Do you think you’re gonna be sick?” you ask her.
“No,” she murmurs. “I’m dizzy.”
“I know that,” you say with a gentle chuckle. “Stay on your side. I’ll be back.”
You stand up to face Rafe, and just like that, the warmth disappears and the tone he’s used to returns.
“I’ll walk you out,” you say.
You brush past him on your way into the hallway, and he catches a faint whiff of something sweet; he’s not sure if it’s your perfume or your shampoo or just you, but he doesn’t like when it fades.
He follows you back into the hallway, watching the confident sway of your walk.
“You’re way nicer to her being drunk than me,” Rafe says as you start down the stairs.
“She’s my friend.”
“What am I?”
You don’t answer right away. The light catches the side of your face as you glance back at him.
“You’re… a lot of things,” you finally say.
Rafe huffs a scoff as he trails you down the last few steps. He just hauled your drunk roommate over here for you and you didn’t even thank him. You went right back to being a brat.
Fuck this. He thought he’d enjoy this chase, but you seem to have a talent for making people feel like they’re below you. He hates the thought of failing this stupid bet, but you seem impossible to win over. Why torture himself?
You reach the bottom of the stairs first, hand curling around the banister.
“I’ll stay with Jada,” you confirm in case he’s expecting you to go back to the party with him.
You take a step back toward the kitchen. And then you remind yourself you need to sweeten Rafe up. This is the perfect moment to give him just enough warmth to keep him hooked. You soften your voice, tilt your head slightly.
“Thank you for your help,” you add. “I couldn’t have done that alone.”
You offer a smile. It does something to him. Not that he’d ever be weak for you. But he gets it now, why other guys embarrass themselves for you.
“So, we’re even now,” Rafe flirts back, even though a second ago, he was planning on storming out.
You’re both standing closer to each other than either of you probably meant to be. His features are all hard, strong edges, and it’s kind of irritating because you know he knows how handsome he is.
“Until the next time you spill a drink on me,” you tease.
Rafe’s eyes flick down to your lips again, curved with that soft smile. Instantaneously, he’s been thrown back into his attraction to you, letting it consume him.
“I want to say something, but I think it’ll piss you off,” he murmurs, his voice low.
“I’m sure it will,” you say.
“Then I won’t say it.”
“Just do it, Rafe,” you sigh, resigned. He realizes he really likes hearing you say his name.
“You should smile more,” he says.
“God,” you groan, throwing your head back. “Yeah, you should’ve kept it to yourself.”
He winces a little.
“I know girls hate hearing that shit, but I’m just sayin’ you’re cute.”
“Don’t try to defend yourself,” you respond, realizing he’s even flirtier than you expected. “Just give me your phone, okay?”
His brows lift. You hold out your hand. Your number is a reward and the trick is making him feel like he earned it.
Rafe wants to make a joke about you saying please, but he keeps it in. He hands you his phone without a word. His thoughts of giving up are a distant memory now. He’s going to get you where he wants you. He’s sure of it.
You type in your number, save it, and pass it back.
“If you text me too much, I’ll block you,” you tease.
“What’s too much?” he asks, his gaze heavier than before.
You give a tiny, pitying shake of your head. It’d be adorable to him if he didn’t know your reputation.
“If you have to ask…” you breathe with a giggle.
His smile deepens. You mirror it and turn away, heading down the hallway to leave him hanging.
A moment later, you hear the front door open behind you, followed by the quiet thud of it closing. The sound echoes faintly through the hallway as you enter the kitchen.
You were right. This will be easy.
・・・・・
Rafe texts you the next afternoon asking if you’re free later.
You’re halfway through getting ready to go to the main campus library when you see his name light up your phone. Strategically, you change into something a little more revealing just to tempt him if he shows up.
You text him back that you’re about to go do schoolwork at the library and that he can join if he wants. You don’t wait for his reply.
A while later, your phone buzzes.
Rafe: You still there?
You see it. And you don’t respond.
・・・・・
The library is pretty full for a Sunday afternoon. Rafe circles the first floor twice before he finds you. Each step makes him feel more and more like an idiot, wandering around looking for a girl who didn’t even bother to text him back.
He wants to leave, but then he sees you tucked at a four‑seater table by yourself, typing on your laptop. And the work to find you stupidly feels worth it.
You don’t notice him when he comes up behind the chair opposite you. Or maybe you do and pretend not to.
But he gets a full look at you before you glance up. And fuck, you look good. Your lips are pouted in concentration in a way that makes it impossible for him not to stare, and your top dips just enough that he has to drag his eyes back up before you catch him.
Your phone is right next to your laptop. You obviously saw his text. Still, he plays it cool. The worst thing he can do right now is make you think he cares. He needs to look like he put effort in, but not too much.
He slides into the chair across from you. You look up at the movement, pulled out of your focus.
“You’re actually here,” Rafe says quietly, a hint of surprise in his tone.
“Did you think I was lying?” you ask, cocking your head. You knew he’d come. You knew he wouldn’t be able to help himself.
You lean back in your chair and it gives you a second to take him in. He’s not wearing a hat for once, his hair falling over his forehead. He looks good.
“Maybe,” he jokes, dropping his backpack on the chair beside him. “I barely know you.”
“But you’ve known of me for a long time,” you reply.
It’s a reminder of how he agreed with Mac’s insult the other night. How he later told you he’d always wanted to talk to you. You both know how small the island is and how fast gossip travels.
The word he’s heard people use to describe you rings through his head. Bitch.
But Rafe’s instinct tells him that the word feels wrong after he saw you in your bedroom last night. He can’t get it out of his head, how caring you were with your roommate.
It fucked with him. He hates how badly he wants someone to be gentle with him. And how seeing that made him realize it.
He’s been blackout drunk more times than he can count, and no one’s ever looked out for him. His friends tell him to chill when he starts swinging at parties, but nobody’s there when he’s actually losing it.
All he’s ever been told is to man up. He’s never had someone care enough to try to steady him. And seeing you do it for someone only made the constant ache in his chest deepen.
Rafe looks at you now and leans back, pretending he’s unfazed, laying on his charm.
“It’s true what they say,” he answers. “That you don’t take shit from anyone.”
You wish it didn’t flatter you. You’re not naïve enough to fall for his obviously sugarcoated words. But still, it feels good to be seen as someone who stands her ground.
“What are you working on?” he asks, leaning over to pull out his laptop.
“Discussion boards,” you sigh. Forcing thoughts about readings and replying to classmates has eaten up your last half hour. “You?”
“Fuck, I should do those, too,” he says. You blink at him. It’s already midterm season, and as far as you know, discussion boards make up a huge chunk of most course grades.
“Have you done any?” you say in half-amusement.
“One.”
You nod, not surprised he expects to coast through everything.
“I don’t know what to say,” he murmurs. “All I can type is true.”
Your laugh spills out before you can stop it. You put your hand over your mouth, looking around the quiet library, hoping you didn’t disturb anyone.
Rafe breathes a quiet chuckle, eyes focused on you. It’s the first time he’s heard you laugh like that. He’s caught off guard by how much he enjoys it because for a moment, it feels like you actually like each other.
You fall into an easy rhythm after that. You work, talk in between, occasionally catch each other looking.
And Rafe enjoys it. You’re fun. You always have a retort, challenging his sarcasm with yours, making him feel like he has the potential to be interesting to you if he tries just a little harder.
The sun dips lower outside the windows as time passes, and eventually, Rafe leans back in his chair before he says what’s on his mind.
He’s supposed to be charming enough to pull you in, but not so much that you start thinking you have any real power over him. That’s how he wins the bet. Make you feel wanted, but not too wanted.
“This isn’t what I was thinking when I asked to see you,” he says.
You look up. Technically, he asked you if you were free, but you don’t want him to think you’re hanging on his words.
“What were you thinking?” you ask.
His blue eyes are steady as he stares at you from across the table.
“I want to take you somewhere.”
“Keep it a surprise,” you respond, and Rafe smirks, because he knows that’s your way of agreeing to a date.
He starts to pack up and asks if you want him to walk you home. You agree for two reasons: because it’s dark and because you don’t want to say goodbye just yet.
・・・・・
You set out together, the campus hushed in the late evening. As you begin to walk side-by-side, your hands brush a few times. Neither of you move away. But eventually, just like last night, his strides start to outmatch yours.
“Do you always walk so fast?” you ask.
Rafe glances over, a slow grin tugging at his mouth.
“You want to take your time with me?” he says, but he still eases his pace.
You roll your eyes, but he catches your smile. His hand brushes yours again.
The two of you drift into conversation again, the quiet campus enveloping you. The lampposts cast pools of light across the pathways, and every time you step through one, you catch a different angle of Rafe. The curve of his grin, the way his eyes flick toward you, the way is hair a little messy from the wind.
But you don’t forget the years of half-knowing each other. The stories you heard long before you ever spoke to him. The things you saw back home. The moments that cemented your opinion of him.
And yet here you are, walking beside him like it’s the most normal thing in the world. You don’t like Rafe. Not a chance. He’s being somewhat tolerable today and you don’t know what his endgame is, but you’re not stupid. He definitely has one.
You refuse to believe that he’s behaving out of sincerity. But this is unexpected. You thought you’d go through this bet hating every minute with him. He’s kind of fun. Nonetheless, it’s effortless to keep your guard exactly where it’s always been.
You stop at the front door of your sorority house. Rafe stands close enough that you feel the warmth of him.
He studies you, drawn in despite himself. Even with your posture loose and your expression calm, there’s still a blankness in your face.
“You know,” he says, “you’re hard to read.”
“I get that a lot,” you reply. You’ve heard it from every guy you’ve ever been with. You’re direct when you want to be, but it’s like your inadvertent aloofness makes you some kind of mystery.
He cracks a smile. The porch light hums above you as he tilts his head, towering over you. He feels that pull in his chest again, that desire to close the space between you.
“Guess I have to ask if you’ll let me kiss you instead of just going for it, then,” he murmurs.
You blink up at him, feigning innocence, while the anticipation of his lips pressing on yours sends a rush of heat through you.
“You’re kind of desperate, huh?” you tease.
He huffs a laugh, shaking his head.
“I mean… look at you,” he responds.
The air thickens. His gaze drops to your lips for what feels like the millionth time, and it’s ridiculous how good it makes you feel. Rafe is looking at you like he’s starving for you. It’s pure lust. You feel it too, deep in your stomach.
You reach out, fingers curling into the front of his shirt just enough to tug him closer, to make it clear that if this is happening, it’s happening on your terms.
His breath stops for just a second when you kiss him. His lips are soft and hot, and his hand comes up instinctively, cupping your face with a warmth that spreads across your skin.
He leans in, trying to draw you closer, to deepen the kiss and taste more of you, but you pull back before he can to leave him wanting more.
Rafe’s eyes open slowly, darker now, fixed on you. His lips are still parted and glossed from the kiss.
You knew it would feel good, but it doesn’t mean anything beyond the physical. It’s a temporary pleasure. No spark of anything deeper.
But while you don’t like him in any real way, the mutual attraction is strong enough that you’re already intrigued by what more you can do with him.
You offer a smile and reach for the doorknob, leaving him just like you did last night, suspended in the heat of the moment, wanting more.
next >
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pairing fratboy! rafe cameron x kook!sororitygirl! reader
rating explicit 18+
summary when rafe’s friends bet that he can’t charm you into sleeping with him, he can’t say no to the challenge. he has no idea that you decide to make a game out of his advances. you have a secret bet to win, too. and you’re determined to break his heart.
tags college au. ‘it was all a bet’ trope. reader is a maneater with a reputation for being bitchy. she feels nothing/he feels everything dynamic. substance use. smut. mentions of parental abandonment.
The front door is only steps away.
Your shoes stick to the stuffy frat house’s floor, temples throbbing in response to the earsplitting music and overlapping conversations. You cup your sorority sister’s elbow as she walks ahead of you to not get separated within the tight crowd.
You enjoy parties. Until they get to this point. It’s way past midnight, when most people are so wasted that they can hardly speak, when your fatigue catches up with you and demands that you lie down.
Jada swings open the door and the night breeze presses against your cheeks, offering you a hint of relief. But it’s ruined once you feel a nudge against your shoulder, followed by a frigid wave of moisture down your back.
You stiffen, anger flooding through you, realizing someone just spilled their drink on you. And then you hear it. He’s laughing.
“Shit,” a man chuckles behind you.
“How’d that even happen?” another guy shouts over him through a drunken laugh.
You turn to see the person responsible for dunking you in what smells like beer. He towers over you, throwing his head back in defeated amusement, a sloppy grin on his face and a half-empty solo cup in his hand.
It’s the same guy you grew up around back home on the island. The same guy you spent so much of your life avoiding. A grade ahead of you, close enough to always be around, but just far enough that your worlds never really intersected.
You were thankful for the distance. Because, clearly, Rafe Cameron’s reputation for being an immature asshole precedes him; instead of apologizing like a decent person, he finds this funny.
It’s infuriating. That and the fact that of all the colleges he could’ve chosen, he picked yours. You’re a sophomore now, but you still remember the first time you spotted him back in Kildare wearing a shirt stamped with the emblem of your top‑choice school.
At least it’s a massive campus. And even though he’s in a frat and you’re in a sorority and your social circles overlap a lot, you’ve managed to avoid crossing paths with him. Until now.
“You’re not even going to say sorry?” you snap loudly, glaring up at him.
His brows raise a little, the laughter of his friends lifting over the noise. Frustration trickles into his features, but it’s quickly replaced with amusement again.
“Are you always so sensitive?” he chides. His attempt to make his friends laugh, to get them on his side again, works. He grins as he looks back at them, just another fratboy eager to please his social circle. What a loser.
You refuse to let it slide. Before you can think twice, you tip the cup towards Rafe, watching what’s left of his drink stain the front of his white t-shirt.
His jaw tightens. You smirk and make your way outside, muttering to Jada about what a waste of breath he is.
・・・・・
“What a bitch,” Mac hollers the last word loudly as they step out onto the front porch.
Rafe’s eyes land on your back as you pace away from the frat house and reach the sidewalk. His damp shirt sticks to his abdomen and when you look over your shoulder to give him and his friends a death stare, he’s sure it’s in response to Mac’s insult.
And he’s glad you heard.
He tripped. It wasn’t on purpose. You didn’t have to spill the rest of his drink on him, but he should have expected as much from you.
“Yeah, everyone says that about her,” Rafe replies, purposely just as loud.
He and his friends have finally made it outside after talking about going out to smoke for the last ten minutes. What luck to trip into you on the way out.
Even though you’re constantly orbiting each other here just like you did back home, you’ve never spoken.
You’re both on a campus hundreds of miles south from the island, somewhere hotter and brighter, but that’s the only thing that’s different. The way you dodge each other is exactly the same.
“Oh, yeah,” Cooper recalls, his eyes following you. Rafe had mentioned that he knew you a while ago when Cooper pointed you out at a party with the plan to approach you. Rafe huffed a laugh and told him all about your reputation. “You know her.”
“Were you guys together or something?” Mac asks.
“Fuck no,” Rafe mutters with a laugh.
He’d be a liar if he said he never thought about it. All the Kooks back home know you for being a stuck-up princess, but he can admit that you’re insanely hot and your attitude wouldn’t keep him from having some fun with you if you let him.
“So, what happened?” Mac presses. He lights a joint, taking a deep inhale before passing it over to him.
“Nothin’,” Rafe responds with a shrug. “She’s always been like that. She has a stick up her ass and she makes it everyone’s problem.”
“She’s bad, though,” Cooper murmurs, taking the joint from Rafe when he offers it.
“The crazy ones always are,” Mac adds.
Rafe looks back out towards the avenue lit up by streetlights again, watching your silhouette as you continue down Greek Row with your friend.
He’s still pissed off at your stupid little rebuttal, but the liquor blurring the edges of his senses and the lingering effect of you talking to him, of looking at him so with such intensity for the first time, is numbing it.
You’re untouchable. Always have been. You hardly ever gave any of the guys back home any attention, and if you did, you strung them along just to drop them. Everyone knows you as the girl who either wastes a guy’s time or snaps at him for even saying hi.
Rafe always kept his distance. It wasn’t worth the trouble when he can practically get any girl. The way they light up when he gives them even half a second of attention tells him everything. He’s used to getting what he wants without having to work for it.
But when Cooper pointed you out at that party a while back, Rafe let his familiar desire pull to the surface. He always thought you were a perfect ten. And you’re ungettable. And a deep part of him has always wanted what he can’t have.
“She just needs some fun,” Rafe says with a smirk, indulging in the fantasy.
“What, with you?” Cooper asks.
He looks over at his friends, both staring at him with cocked brows. A competitive fire burns in him suddenly, not liking the apprehension in their faces. Rafe’s never handled doubt well.
“You don’t think I could get her?” Rafe says.
“Bro, were you not there?” Mac says, pointing to the front door behind them where you had your tantrum. “She hates you.”
Rafe smirks, the promise of a challenge burning through him. He’s always loved a chase, a thrill. It’s what keeps him going in every way.
“Wanna bet?” Rafe asks.
Mac chuckles again, squinting in thought as he takes another pull from the joint.
“Fifty bucks says you can’t hook up with her,” he says.
Rafe snorts in amusement. He doesn’t need money. But he’ll take every chance he gets to prove himself.
“Deal.”
“I mean all the way,” Mac clarifies.
Rafe breathes a chuckle, imagining it. Imagining his hands on you. Imagining your pretty face softening into pleasure. He wants it so bad that his pulse picks up.
“Easy,” he agrees.
“Good luck,” Cooper says.
Rafe is sure he doesn’t need it.
・・・・・
It’s the Friday night before fall break and you’re back in Kildare. The air is cool, but not cold enough to keep anyone home. People are everywhere, scattered across the sand, most of them back from their mainland colleges.
The mid-October breeze coming off the water has a bite to it, but it’s comforting. The sea wind drifts over your face, reminding you of how you’d grown up on these beaches, of how much you loved being close to the ocean.
You came closer to the shoreline to fill up your drink at the keg, but now, you’re taking a second to gaze out at the setting sun and the funneling waves before you head back to your friends.
“Hey.”
You look up at whoever just interrupted your moment of peace. Rafe is gazing down at you, blue eyes lingering. Your chest twists with frustration, thrown right back to last weekend, when he laughed and jeered at you.
“What?” you say sharply.
The corner of his mouth curls into a small smirk. He adjusts the dark blue baseball hat sitting backwards on his head, the brim brushing the edge of the hoodie he’s wearing. He looks out at the water for just a second, then back down at you, noticing the full cup in your hand.
“Can we talk?” he says. “Without spilling any drinks this time?”
You scoff and shift to return to your friends, but he steps in front of you, tall and broad and annoying.
“Listen, I’m sorry about the other night,” he says. He’s flashing a cocky smirk, as if he can soften you to forgive him.
“It’s not going to work on me,” you respond.
“What?” he says, still wearing that stupid grin.
“Your sad attempt at charming me.”
Rafe tilts his head.
“You think I’m charmin’ you?”
“That’s exactly my point. I don’t.”
He breathes a soft laugh, and you hate that you notice how nice of a smile he has.
“I was wasted, alright?” he says. “I tripped. I should’ve said sorry.”
“Next time, don’t trip,” you reply. “That way, you won’t have to say anything to me.”
You step to the side, but he does the same, blocking you again and rasping your name.
“I’ll make it up to you,” he says.
“Don’t bullshit me. I heard your friend call me a bitch, and I heard you agree,” you reply. “If you really want to make it up to me, fuck off.”
You don’t look at his reaction as you brush past him and find your way back to Ivy and Alayna.
“What did he want?” Ivy asks as you approach, clearly having seen your unexpected encounter with Rafe by the shoreline.
“He spilled a drink on me at a party a while ago and laughed about it,” you explain. “He just gave me a half-assed apology and said that he wants to make it up to me.”
“And?”
“And I told him to fuck off.”
“Really?” Alayna says, gazing past your shoulder. “But he’s hot.”
“He’s psychotic,” you reply. “And he’s not that hot.”
“Me when I lie,” Alayna says.
You shake your head. Fine. You won’t admit to it out loud, but Rafe is easily one of the best looking guys you’ve ever seen. He always has been. But he ruins it with his personality.
“I’m not interested,” you mutter. As you take a sip of your beer, Ivy squints in thought as she stares at you.
“But he is,” she says. “He obviously likes you if he forced out an apology.”
“Lucky me,” you scoff.
“What if you went along with it?” Ivy says. “Like, if you dated him as a joke?”
You grimace in confusion.
“Oh, my God,” Alayna laughs. “I love this idea.”
You’re speechless, your gaze darting between them.
“You’re always talking about how much guys like him never get what’s coming to them,” Ivy says with a shrug. “You could humble him.”
“You make me sound so spiteful,” you respond amusedly.
“I’m the same way.”
You nod in agreement. Ivy has had her fair share of heartbreak. Watching one of your best friends go through so much pain over the years made it feel like your own at times. You’re convinced men do nothing but lie.
And she’s right; you’ve complained a lot about how most guys, specifically the wealthy ones on this island, are assholes who never face any consequences.
“Wouldn’t it feel good to mess with him?” she continues.
“I can tell you’re trying to manipulate me,” you say with a playful scowl.
“Is it working?” Alayna asks.
You chuckle as you roll your eyes.
“You guys know me,” you remind them. You’ve had meaningless flings and noncommittal hookups, but relationships have always been off the table for you. “I don’t date. Especially not assholes like Rafe.”
“That’s why he’ll never see it coming,” Ivy says. “It’d be so satisfying to watch you break his heart.”
“I doubt he even has one,” you huff, but admittedly, the idea is intriguing.
“Well, it’s not like he could break yours,” Ivy continues. “If anyone can do it, it’s you. Whatever happens, you’d walk away without a scratch.”
You finally look over your shoulder. In the distance, Rafe is in the crowd with his buddies now, in a different social circle like he’s always been. You don’t know them that well, but enough to be certain they’re all jerks.
You always stayed close to your girlfriends. Especially Ivy and Alayna. They were around when you found out your dad cheated on your mom. When he left.
Even though they were with you through it all, you never talk about how deep the wound it left in you is.
It’s why Ivy’s right. You’d walk away unharmed if you started something with Rafe. Because you learned at a young age not to trust men. Not to let anyone into your heart. You’ve always kept your distance, having your fun and leaving guys before they can leave you.
But isn’t going along with this letting Rafe think he did charm you? You could tell with the way he approached you just now that he thought that an apology and an offer to make it up to you would have you swooning.
“This is a guy who thinks he can get everything he wants,” you murmur to your friends. “Giving into him just validates that.”
You tilt your head, considering it. Teasing him would be easy. Entertaining. You bet he’s so used to girls folding that the idea of not giving him exactly what he expects ignites something in you.
“Unless I don’t give him everything,” you add.
Ivy laughs, clearly agreeing.
You continue to watch Rafe, chuckling at something one of his friends said. He’s attractive, but he’s a total asshole.
You’ve seen his outbursts. You’ve noticed how he carries himself like he’s entitled to whatever he wants. You’ve even heard about how he starts fights with guys from the Cut, simply because they weren’t born into wealth. He genuinely thinks he’s better than them.
You quietly stare at him, letting yourself dip into the thought of how satisfying it would be to hurt him.
And how getting close to him with no strings attached would be hot as hell. You hate everything about Rafe, but you could look past it for the physical pleasure that you’re sure he’d be happy to give you.
This would be easy. Emotional detachment comes naturally. Your friends joke about wanting lessons from you on how to not care about guys. There’s nothing to lose here. Like every other fling, your heart wouldn’t be in it at all.
“She’s considering it,” Alayna sing-songs.
You can’t help but chuckle at the way she’s narrating, looking back at your friends again.
“You know what?” you say. “Fine. Whatever. I bet I can do it.”
“I’m not betting against you,” Ivy says. “But, sure. Let’s just say I am.”
“Only if he keeps annoying me, though,” you clarify. “I’m not chasing after him.”
“Of course,” Ivy agrees. “He’s chasing after you.”
“Yeah,” Alayna says in amusement. “Waste his time.”
“This is so stupid,” you laugh, but the excitement curling in your stomach keeps building.
・・・・・
This is Rafe’s favorite part of being in a frat. There’s always a party to go to, always noise to block his thoughts out. And when he’s back on campus and notices you from across the packed living room, he’s glad to have another opportunity to approach you.
You’re with a couple of girls, probably from the same sorority as you, talking and looking so good that it’s kind of driving him crazy.
He’s going to have to play the long game. You glared up at him with so much anger the other night at the beach that he could tell it won’t be easy to get you to like him.
Admittedly, it bruised his ego. But he’s not one to take a loss and simper away to lick his wounds. He’ll just have to play this carefully. You want all the power. He’ll let you think that you have it, but at the same time, he can’t let you walk all over him.
It’s going to be a game of manipulation, but Rafe’s a good liar. It’s how he hides the truth from his friends.
He pretends to be the type to like shallow hook-ups with random girls, that this bet is the kind of shit he does all the time, but truthfully, the rush he gets from meaningless sex has always been short-lived.
He prefers to feel something real. Sex is different when the way a girl touches him means something. And he hates it about himself. How goddamned soft he is.
He just wants to be treated like he matters and that’s what makes him such a pussy. His dad has always told him to toughen up. The advice will stick some day. It has to. If he keeps acting like he doesn’t care about anything, it’ll become the truth.
He shakes away the thought and downs the rest of his drink. He tells his friends he’ll be right back, spotting a game of beer pong before he reaches you.
Rafe gently brushes his fingers against your forearm, then pulls away, knowing by now that he can’t be too forward with you. Your smile fades when you turn to realize it’s him.
“Hey,” he says, just loud enough to be heard over the music. “You still mad at me?”
You stare up at Rafe. Your instinct is to dismiss him like you did last time. But the bet you have with your friends back home spins in your memory. You can’t blow him off. You need to give him a hint of an opening.
“Depends,” you respond. “Do you always drink so much that you can’t even stand?”
He flashes that confident smile of his, framed by deep dimples. It’s irritating how it makes your stomach twist. You can keep your emotions locked up easily, but the pull of lust has always been hard to ignore.
Rafe licks his lips, reminding himself that his usual way of flirting won’t work with you. He likes to tease, but right now, he needs to be agreeable.
“Not always,” he responds. “How good are you at beer pong?”
Your brows furrow as you ask, “Why?”
“I need a teammate.”
You huff, his arrogance irritating you once again. He’s so sure you’ll do what he wants.
“Ask one of your loser friends,” you reply.
“Come on,” Rafe says, the gentle whine to his tone making your core curl with heat again. You did always find a little bit of desperation hot. It means a guy will be easy to toy with.
You cross your arms and it takes everything in him not to stare at your chest, where your shirt has dipped over the swell over your breasts. Now that he’s this close to you again, you’re even hotter than he realized. The way you carry yourself is something else entirely.
“Is that supposed to convince me?” you ask.
Rafe chuckles, stepping an inch closer, towering over you.
“Please?” he says, his deep, low voice just a little sweetened.
If it weren’t for the bet, you’d laugh in his face. But you sigh and agree, holding up your forefinger to your friends to tell them you won’t be gone long.
・・・・・
Your arms are crossed again as Rafe sets up the solo cups on your end of the table. If he’s going to drag you into this game, he can do all the work.
“Was it hard to pick?” he asks over the noise, briefly looking over his shoulder.
“Pick what?” you ask as you gaze at the way his shirt stretches over his back.
“Your sorority.”
It’s strange to hear him asking a genuine question. You know how to play this; you always give enough information to intrigue a guy, but never enough for him to learn anything too personal.
“It’s more like… they picked me,” you reply. “You know what I mean?”
“Nah,” he replies with a chuckle.
His rush week was over two years ago now, but he still gets irritated thinking about it. A lot of frats care way too much about academics and event planning. He hated pretending like those things matter to him.
And he figures if he’s going to get you to put your guard down, he’s going to have to be sincere when he can.
“It was a bitch to get recruited,” he says.
“You love that word, huh?” you respond.
He straightens and turns to face you all the way. You’re thinking about Mac’s comment the other night.
“I should’ve told him to shut up,” Rafe replies, shaking his head.
“Sure,” you say, not bothering to pretend you believe he would. Guys like him only care about what their stupid friends think.
You’re expressionless as you brush past him to pick up a ping pong ball. The couple on the other side of the table has finished setting up.
The game begins, and it’s even for the most part. With every point the other team scores, you get Rafe to drink instead of you. He obeys.
Once there’s only a couple of cups left on both sides of the table, your team and theirs miss a few times. Until you don’t, sinking a ball into one of their cups and earning their defeated groans.
Your skin pricks when you feel big, warm hands on your waist. Sharp cologne wafts over you as he grips gently, leaning closer from behind you to murmur, “I knew you’d be good at this.”
While the guy on the other team downs his drink, you turn to look up at Rafe. He immediately lifts his hands off you, as if he’s worried about how you might react.
“How does bullshit come so easy for you?” you murmur, cocking your head.
“What do you think I’m bullshitting?”
“I think you talk to every girl the same way you’re talking to me,” you respond.
You said it to challenge him. To give him a sense that he needs to prove himself to you. But he doesn’t take the bait. Instead, Rafe says something that strikes a nerve.
“What, you think I don’t like you?”
“That’s not what I said,” you respond with a laugh, playing it off and looking ahead.
The deeply buried truth is that he’s right. You’ve always quietly feared that nobody would like the real you. Men like the persona you put on, they like the way you look, but they don’t see you. You never give them the chance to.
“Hey,” Rafe says. You tilt your chin up towards him and meet his heavy gaze again. His eyes soften, his smirk teasing. “I like you. Even though you’re mean.”
There’s truth there. He’d take brutal honesty over fakeness every day. But while his attraction to you is undeniable, he’s lying about liking you.
He’d never like a girl who acts like she’s doing him a favor by talking to him. Feeling inferior is something he runs from, not chases. The way to win this bet is to get you in his bed, though, so he’ll say what he needs to.
You chuckle and roll your eyes in response. Mean. It’s a compliment. If a man thinks you’re mean, he knows that you don’t care about his opinion of you.
“I know we never really talked before,” he adds, “but I always wanted us to.”
“That makes one of us,” you say, but a small smile tugs on your lips to show you’re messing with him.
Warmth rises through Rafe, desire stirring in him. You’re undoubtedly flirting, and even with all the assumptions he’s made about you, it feels really damn good to be getting your attention like this.
You linger in the moment together, the charge between you palpable, until a ping pong ball falls at your feet. The couple on the other side missed. With only one of their cups left, Rafe throws the ball. And he wins the game.
He shouts in celebration and it reminds you of all the things you’ve seen back home. This is boisterous, cruel Rafe. He’s just trying to sweeten you up now. And the best thing you can do is to leave him wanting more.
“Alright,” you sigh with a shrug, turning on your heels. “I’ll see you around.”
Rafe’s brows furrow. He trails you as you push through the crowd towards the staircase where you left your friends.
“I don’t have your number,” he says, catching up to you.
You stop to look up at him, his face partly shadowed by the frat house’s dim lights, your ears ringing from the music and the noise of the party surrounding you.
“Maybe you can get it another time,” you reply. “I’m going back to my friends now.”
A faint sting of being dismissed settles in Rafe’s chest as you walk away. He’s left alone, wondering how the fuck he’s supposed to get past your attitude. Because clearly, you’re not going to make it easy for him.
next >
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the first time he pulled out his phone, you’d laughed – a nervous, breathless sound swallowed by the dark of his bedroom. but he hadn’t laughed back. his eyes had that sharp, hungry glint, the one that made your stomach flip, and he’d simply held the camera up, angled down at where his cock was already disappearing inside you.
“don’t stop,” he’d murmured, thumb recording the way your walls gripped him.
“wanna see this forever.”
now it’s a ritual.
every time his hands find your hips, every time he pushes you against the mattress or bends you over the arm of the couch, that black rectangle appears like a third limb. he props it on pillows, balances it on the headboard or – his favorite – holds it in one hand while the other digs into your flesh, guiding you onto his length.
tonight it’s no different.
the bedroom is dim, lit only by the harsh glow of his phone screen. rafe is on his knees behind you, your body spread beneath him, cheek pressed into the sheets. one hand cradles your ass, thumb sliding through the wet mess he’s already made of your cunt, while his other hand lifts the phone, record button already blinking red.
“look at you,” he mutters, voice low and thick. the camera zooms in on the slick shine coating your folds. “takin’ me soooo fuckin’ good.”
he doesn’t ask. he never asks. he just slides in, slow and deliberate, and the phone captures everything. the initial stretch, your gasp, the way his balls tighten against your clit with each thrust.
“gonna make you cum on cam, yeah?” he grunts out, snapping his hips faster. the phone jostles but stays trained on the point where his cock disappears into your body, each plunge painting a wet sound that echoes in the small room.
you moan into the pillow, fingers twisting in the sheets. he lets go of your ass just to reache down with his now free hand and press two fingers against your clit, rubbing in tight circles while he fucks you – all while the phone captures every twitch, every spasm, every drop of arousal that slicks his shaft.
and when you come? it’s a messy, broken view – your back arching, your cries muffled by cotton all while rafe keeps the camera steady, capturing the way your pussy clenches around him, milking his cock until he follows, a low groan escaping his lips as he pumps his cum deep inside you. he holds the phone for a long moment after, recording the aftermath, the way his release leaks from your used hole. then he sets it down, rolls you onto your back, and shows you the playback.
“see that?” he says, thumb tracing your wetness on the screen. “that’s mine. gonna keep it forever.”
Hii! I’m the anon who asked for a part 2 of stuck with’chu! I’d love to read how rafe and reader grow their connection on the work floor as well as outside of work. Would they still rival like before, or do they come by now they’re officially a couple? Besides, maybe the reaction of their boss or other coworkers, like Sunny’s, would be interesting to read!
Hope this gives you any inspiration and it’s not too boring. I’d love anything involving them<3
stuck with'chu again
rafe cameron x corporate!reader
summary: forced onto a work trip to fix their rivalry, you and Rafe secretly navigate your relationship as he proves that you don't have to face everything alone (part of the stuck with'chu universe)
content warning: mostly fluff, men in the corporate world being a bitch (as per usual), some mentions of suggestive content 18+ MDNI
w/c: 2.5k
a/n: nonnie boo i am SO sorry with how long this took ˙◠˙ this is the unofficial second part to swu but also, not really? just exploring them a bit more <3 also let's talk about how that... species got casted as gus in beach read bc wtf
“Let’s just cut to the chase, it’s obvious that you both do not get along.”
You stared into the eyes of your manager through his glasses, his almost-bald head shining under the bright LED lights that filled the room. It was probably better that he just cut off the remaining five strands of hair, but for some reason, he never did. You rolled your eyes as soon as he continued, “This isn’t called a team if two of my team members are constantly bickering.”
Rafe kept the same stoic face that he always had as he peeked at you from the corner of his eye, like he was waiting to see if you’d bite first.
And obviously, you did.
“With all due respect, Jason, we are functioning,” you said flatly, folding your arms across your chest, “we get the work done, don’t we?”
Your manager sighed like he’d been personally wronged. “That’s not the point.”
“It kind of seems like it, Jay,” Rafe cut in smoothly, leaning back in his chair as you rolled your eyes at Rafe’s obnoxious use of his nickname for your manager. “Last time I checked, all of the mergers and acquisitions we’ve done went well without either of us having to work with one another.”
You shot him a look. “Don’t speak for me.”
“I wasn’t,” he replied coolly. “You talk more than enough for the both of us.”
“Excuse me?”
Your manager pinched the bridge of his nose. “Exactly this,” he muttered. “This is what I’m talking about! I don’t care what the issue is. What I do care about is the fact that I have a regional review coming up, and I need my team functioning like one.”
The room settles into a silence so thick you can practically hear Jason’s blood pressure rising. You keep your gaze fixed on the wall behind him, resisting the urge to check if Rafe is smirking. But you know he is, he always is. He always smirks when he’s managed to get under your skin in public, playing the part of the arrogant adversary with a terrifying amount of skill that made you wonder if he was pretending or genuinely meant it. The palms of your hands most likely had crescent-shaped indents from your nails digging into them as you tried to regulate your breathing.
Jason clears his throat, the sound sharp and final. “I’m sending you both on the Montreal trip.”
Your eyes widen as you look at him, appalled by the decision. “The same one that you said I was supposed to go on, myself?”
“Rafe will take my place as you’ll be meeting with the regional team, sitting in on operations, understanding the workflow from the ground up,” he continued, as if it was the most logical solution. “And you’ll be doing it together.”
Rafe’s jaw tightened ever so slightly. “You think forcing us into the same space is going to fix this?” He asked.
“I’m sure as hell not going to keep allowing this to happen,” Jason replied, clearly fed up and done with the conversation. “You’re adults. Figure it out.”
The hotel room, now quiet with nothing but your steadying breaths and the air thick with the musk of what was the last of four rounds of sex, lingered in the air as it bathed in the soft, amber glow of the bedside lamp. You’re sprawled across his chest, the heavy, rhythmic beat of his heart grounding you both from the adrenaline of the last hour. Your skin is still flushed with heat, tangled in Egyptian cotton and the scent of his cologne.
Rafe huffed a laugh, the vibration rumbling through your entire body when he reached up to twist a lock of your hair around his finger, his eyes dancing with a dark, private sort of mischief. He’s in disbelief, partially of the situation you both are currently in, except mostly that he still couldn’t fathom that even with all the friction, all the sharp words and tension that had once defined your relationship, you were still there—with him.
"Imagine if they’d found out they only needed to book rooms instead of two," he whispered, his voice low and gravelly as he took in the sight of you above him.
“I mean, we are technically team-bonding,” your fingers traced the edge of his jawline, feeling Rafe lean into your touch before he smirked again. “Yeah, with m’dick in you.”
You swatted him square in the chest. “Rafe!” You chuckled, making him let out a breathy moan.
“Fuck, princess,” Rafe moaned out, shutting his eyes as he felt the slight vibration. “If y’keep laughing then m’gonna get hard again.”
“What happened to wanting to break the bed to make up for lost time?”
Rafe mirrored your smirk, remembering when you’d spent the weekend after he professed his love for you, lying in his bed as he swore he’d make up for every moment he’d wasted fighting you instead of having you.
“Didn’t say I was done,” he murmured, hand sliding lazily along your back, pulling you closer like he had no intention of letting you go anytime soon. You tilted your head against his chest just enough to look up at him, studying his face in the dim light. There was no arrogance there now, nor the sharp edge he had once shown you. Simply Rafe being Rafe, raw and unfiltered.
“You’re a menace,” you said softly.
“Huh. Weird, I’ve been told the same thing by a particular coworker of mine,” The humour in Rafe’s expression softened into something steadier as he replied. He didn’t try to pull away or try to reclaim that mask of cool indifference he usually wore at the office. Instead, he reached out, cupping your cheek with a gentleness that always catches you off guard and made your heart tighten at the gesture.
So instead of responding, you rolled your eyes lightly. “Don’t get used to this,” you muttered, while Rafe’s arm tightened around you instinctively.
“Too late,” he said. Except this time, neither of you tried to argue it.
You’re already up and dressed the next morning for the final meeting to review your findings with the company’s management team, as Rafe set a cup of coffee next to the notes you were reviewing.
“Oh, you didn’t have to-”
“I know,” he interjected, shrugging his blazer on. “Jus’ wanted t’make your morning a little easier.”
You felt your heart warm at the gesture, smiling more to yourself that he’d gone as far as to do that, before grabbing your tote bag and heading out to the office.
Perhaps your ability to keep a straight face truly did work its magic, because it astounded you that the lead director for the meeting you were in hadn’t noticed how appalled you were after he’d barely acknowledged you, despite the fact that every answer, projection, and figure being discussed had come directly from your work.
“And what would you suggest we do about the variance in Q3?” the director asked, eyes fixed solely on Rafe as your jaw tightened even more than it had before. You’d already explained it thrice to him, except it was obvious that the director in charge had little to no regard for you or your work.
Rafe hadn’t responded immediately, his mind stuck on the fact that this had been your project. Instead, his gaze flicked to you, assessing how your fingers curled slightly against your pen, the way your shoulders squared just a bit too rigidly before leaning back into his chair and zeroing his eyes in on the director.
“You know she’s the one leading this, right?” His voice, steady but controlled, when the room stilled.
The director blinked. “Excuse me?”
Rafe’s tone didn’t change, but there was something sharp beneath it. “I’m not the one you should be directing your questions to,” he continued, nodding toward you. “She built the model. She’s running points. And with the way you’ve been dismissing her, good luck getting anything out of this moving forward.”
Silence stretched across the table when you felt every set of eyes shift. Soon, the director cleared his throat, finally turning to you. “Right. Of course.” He paused, shifting towards you. “Would you mind walking us through your approach again?”
Your grip on your pen loosened as you settled back into the same professional mask you’d always put on. “Not at all,” you replied smoothly, sitting up straighter as you met his gaze head-on.
Later, back at the hotel, you paced around as you thought of all the missed opportunities to bite back at the man. You were used to being the pillar of the room, the one who could withstand any slight without cracking, but the weight of constantly proving your worth was starting to leave a phantom ache in your shoulders. You had spent so long being "the strong one" that you’d forgotten what it felt like to have someone else hold the line for you.
Rafe watched you from the edge of the bed, his tie undone and hanging loosely around his neck. He didn't interrupt your pacing, letting you vent the restless energy that came with being underestimated.
"Rafe, you didn’t have to do that. I could have handled it," you muttered, finally stopping in front of the window, your reflection looking back at you with that familiar, guarded intensity. "I've handled worse than him with my hands tied behind my back."
“I know you could, and you did.” Rafe’s voice dropped an octave as he pushed himself off the bed, taking a step closer, not enough to crowd you, but enough that you felt him breaking through the barrier you were so used to keeping around yourself. “I just had to make sure that dumbass knew it too.”
“Well, I could have reminded him on my own. For all we know, he probably thinks I don’t have it in me to stand up for myself, and I need someone else to help me get the same respect they do.” Your expression faltered for just a second before looking away in frustration, blinking away the gloss that covered your eyes. He reached out, his hands resting gently on your waist, pulling you back against him.
“You don’t have to do that,” he said, quieter now.
“Do what?” You shot back, immediately regretting how harsh you were with him when Rafe had done nothing to hurt you.
“Act like you’re on your own.”
The words hit harder than you expected, making you frown. “I’m not—”
“You are,” he cut in. “You’re still treating me like I’m trying to one-up you.”
“I’m not.”
Rafe held your gaze. “Yeah,” he said softly, “you are.”
Silence stretched as you let his words settle in. “I’m not trying to make you look bad,” he added. “I’m not trying to prove anything over you.” His grip on you loosened, but he didn’t let go completely before you grabbed onto him not to lose the warmth he’d provided.
“You don’t have to have your guard up with me all the time,” he murmured. “Not anymore. And I’m sorry you had to all the time, or that your sorry excuse of an ex made you feel like you had to just to prove yourself, but I promise that you always have proved your place.”
“But what about today?” For someone who was so strong, you felt so little and helpless, with how you couldn’t even take the simplest form of help from anyone else. Rafe exhaled, like he’d been expecting that question.
“What about it?” he asked, tilting his head slightly, eyes still fixed on yours.
“You stepped in,” you said, your grip on him tightening just a fraction. “You spoke for me.”
“I redirected them to you,” he corrected, his voice steady. “You shouldn’t have to fight that hard just to be heard when you’re the most qualified person in the room.” Your chest tightened at that, your gaze dropping briefly to where your hands still held onto him, like letting go would mean slipping back into something colder.
“What if-”
“No,” Rafe cut in. “Baby, this was your project, and it was under your lead. We both know you could have, and handled it, but that’s not the point.”
Your brows furrowed, looking at Rafe in confusion. “Then what is?” you asked, quieter.
“That you don’t have to do everything alone,” he replied. You swallowed the lodge in your throat, the hotel room feeling smaller than it was, except the space between you became something opposite to the sharp and biting environment you’d always felt yourself in, but warm and inviting.
“I don’t… know how not to,” you admitted, the words slipping out before you could stop them. For a second, something flickered across Rafe’s face, something that looked like he was pained to hear that.
“Then start with me,” he said. Your fingers loosened slightly against him, though you didn’t fully pull away.
“Okay,” you said, barely above a whisper. Rafe didn’t smile, but the way his shoulders dropped, and his grip softened instead of tightening, told you enough.
Suddenly, Rafe’s phone lit up with a notification, a message from Bryan that he’d never thought he’d have to read.
Bryan: What position do you have her in? I know you two are fucking.
Rafe barked out a laugh as you peered over to look at the source of Rafe’s contentment. Upon the words, your face dropped, mortified that now Bryan had found out, even though you’d both agreed to keep your relationship a secret to avoid it becoming bigger than it should be. Soon enough, Rafe was calling him back, cutting to the chase once Bryan had picked up, “What the fuck, dude?”
“WHO told you?” You butt in, exasperated over the whole ordeal.
“To think that I had to find out from Sunny instead of my own friend,” Bryan exaggerated, acting offended, which made you both roll your eyes. “Is that why you guys don’t bite as much anymore? The office feels like a unicorn shit rainbows with how happy it is.”
Rafe smirked as you pushed your head into his arm, embarrassed that now another person had found out. You groaned. “Sunny has a big mouth.”
Rafe let out a quiet laugh, his hand coming up to rest at the back of your neck, absentmindedly brushing his thumb there like he’d forgotten Bryan was even on the line. “You done interrogating us?” he asked lazily.
“Oh, I’m just getting started-”
“‘Kay, bye Bryan.” The line cut as Rafe ended the call, then threw his phone to the other side of the bed. He looked at you, a dark yet playful glint in his eyes, as he spoke with a low voice.
“What position should I have you in by the end of the night?”
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a/n (again): kinda overthinking but is this format okay? i want to make sure my fics are accessible for everyone
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