#rafe x reader

He knows how brave Rory’s trying to be now, too—the simplest explanation for the tears he’s scrubbing out of his eyes and his wobbly, pouty lip having nothing to do with the storm outside and everything to do with the fact he can’t see.

“Oh, yeah? I got you, baby,” Rafe mumbles to Rory, stopping mid-step to turn back, the chain against his bare chest catching the lamplight as he reaches into his nightstand for the emergency set.

The little guy cowers when another streak of lightning lights up the bedroom. “Thanks, buddy.” Rafe’s voice softens to his oldest when he takes Rory off Max’s hands.

You pull back the sheets a little and Rafe looks down at you lovingly as Rory snuggles into his arms.

“I got this, honey,” he whispers, the corner of his lips tipping into a sleepy smile when he looks down at you. “Get some sleep.”

Rafe hands Rory his glasses and he pushes them onto his little face clumsily before resting his head on his shoulder again, his shoulders falling as he takes a deep breath.

The two of them turn, walking toward the door as the room flickers with another lightning flash, Rafe holding his son a little tighter as the two of them step out into the hall.

Rory trembles in Rafe’s arms, buttoning his lips to hold back the tears his little pride won’t let fall, hiccuping as he inhales.

“You’re alright, buddy. You’re okay,” Rafe mumbles with his lips against his hair.

Rafe’s hand wraps around the banister, holding onto Rory as he goes down the stairs slowly. “I was having a bad dream,” Rory whispers.

“Then this happened?” Rafe asks gently as the storm rolls on. “That’s not fair.”

Rory’s lip pouts a little more in agreement and even though he doesn’t know where his daddy’s taking him, he knows he’ll be okay.

He blows out another breath as Rafe stands with him in the living room, the big bay windows stretching across the room.

“Storms are pretty cool,” Rafe adds, keeping his voice soft. “You wanna go outside?”

Rory doesn’t answer right away, the hold around his neck getting tighter. His head falls a little heavier on Rafe’s shoulder as he thinks it through.

“Okay,” he whispers.

“Just goin’ to our spot, okay? No place scary,” he assures. He steps toward the door as the thunder sounds through the lower level.

“Okay, daddy.”

The summer night air is thick when Rafe steps onto the porch, warm and damp against his skin, carrying the smell of wet earth and salt off the ocean mixed with the metallic bite the air gets when lightning comes.

Rain spills steadily off the edge of the roof, hitting the grass, the storm turning everything beyond the porch into shades of deep emerald and navy every time the sky lights up.

Crickets chirp in the grass competing with the frogs from the marsh, and farther out, underneath all of it, Rafe can hear the low roll of the ocean.

He shifts Rory securely against his chest, running his free hand through his sleep-mussed hair as Rory lifts his head from Rafe’s shoulder just enough to look around.

His tiny nose scrunches a little, smelling the air, his thick glasses slipping slightly. Another flash stretches across the sky, bright enough to light up the yard for a second, Rory’s face finding that spot in the crook of Rafe’s neck that it always does.

The wooden porch creaks under Rafe’s feet as he carries him over to the oversized wooden chair, rocking already with the breeze.

He lowers himself into it, Rory curling naturally against his bare chest as Rafe stretches one long leg out in front of him, giving the chair a gentle push.

It rocks slowly beneath them, back and forth, back and forth, that same easy rhythm Rafe has used more nights than he could ever count when Rory was younger—and even though he’s still small heat builds behind Rafe’s eyes because it happens less and less.

Another low growl of thunder rolls over the house. He just keeps rocking, listening to the rain drum against the porch roof.

“You know,” Rafe murmurs, looking out across the dark yard, “you used to sit out here with me all the time.”

“Yeah?” Rory whispers.

“All the time,” Rafe says, turning slightly to look down at him, smiling when their eyes meet. “You were a baby. Little thing.” Rafe holds his hands up for emphasis, eyeing the space between.

A sleepy little smile pulls at Rory’s mouth.

“And your mama bought me this chair because she knew when you were sad, this is where we’d go. Rock you until you fell asleep right here on my chest.”

“That’s a good gift,” he mumbles.

“Yeah,” he answers with a sigh and a grin, his southern accent a little more honeyed when he thinks about you. “She always gets it right.”

Lightning crackles long and wide across the sky, lighting up the choppy water as the waves swell.

Rafe takes a deep breath, feeling his son against his chest as his heart beats steady, Rory’s little head resting on him now. There’s weight now—that baby who was impossibly small is someone he has to work to carry now—but he’s still his baby.

“You had a bad dream?” he whispers. “You wanna talk about it?”

Rory shakes his head no, pressing his lips together as his eyes go wide, blinking away a few tears, but the truth comes out still. “Just mommy—was about mommy.”

“She get hurt?” Rafe asks softly.

He nods solemnly, a warm little tear slipping off his round cheek onto Rafe’s chest.

“I worry about mommy all the time,” Rafe whispers. “She’s special. We care about her. She’s the best mommy in the world.”

Rory nods again, blowing out a little sigh.

“It’s okay to worry, buddy. You saw your mommy. She was okay,” he breathes. “Nothing’s going to happen to her.”

He lets that sink in for a moment, trying his best to push through. “Okay, daddy.” His voice comes out pitifully small. He jumps slightly, body going rigid, so lost in thought he missed the lightning and only caught the boom. The sound, so loud it rumbles in Rafe’s chest too.

“Ya know, when I was gone last week mommy said you had a rough night—same thing. Storm, not dreams.”

Rory nods, recalling that too, biting nervously at his lip as his hand rests against Rafe’s chest, patting softly.

“I learned some pretty cool things. Wanna hear ‘em?” he asks.

“Yeah,” he answers, snuggling a little closer. A smile curls at the corner of Rafe’s mouth because he knew this was coming and he wanted to be ready—the research he’d done in his hotel room that night still on his mind.

He shifts Rory a little higher against his chest as he looks out over the yard toward the water. “Lightning is basically electricity. All those little pieces of ice and water movin’ around inside the clouds build up a charge until there’s too much of it, and then—” He lifts one big hand, snapping his fingers toward the dark sky. “Flash.”

“Lightning,” Rory whispers. His little brows pinch together as he thinks about it more. “And thunder?”

Rafe nods, his eyebrows pulling together. “Air gets hot, it gets big, and it makes that sound you keep hearin’. Doesn’t mean anything’s coming to get us. Just the air makin’ a whole lotta noise.”

“Like Max,” Rory mumbles without a beat and Rafe laughs, looking down at him with an eyebrow raised.

“That so?” Rafe asks through a chuckle.

“He makes a lotta noise,” he grumbles.

“That’s true.” Rafe smiles, nodding in agreement.

“Lightning and thunder go together,” Rory breathes.

“Every time,” Rafe hums. “Lightning just gets here first.”

“S’pretty neat,” Rory breathes. Rafe smiles, pressing his lips against the top of his hair.

“I thought so,” Rafe hums. “You can tell how far away the lightning is by how many seconds it takes to hear the thunder.”

Lightning splits through the clouds again, almost on cue. Rory perks up a little this time, his hand pulling away from Rafe’s chest to turn over with Rafe’s.

“We counting?” Rafe asks and Rory nods.

“One… two… three… four… five…” He lifts another little finger with every number as they count together, and the thunder comes.

“How far?” Rory asks curiously, but Rafe can hear how sleepy those two little words are.

“About a mile every five seconds,” he answers.

“That’s far,” Rory whispers, but when you’re little, anything that takes a whole hand to count feels like a lot. He looks toward the ocean again, more interested now than afraid.

They wait together, the chair rocking beneath them as the rain patters against the roof. Rory yawns, his dark lashes working to stay open now, his body a little heavier in Rafe’s arms.

“Gettin’ sleepy?” he mumbles.

“I’m not tired,” Rory insists, and a deep laugh rumbles in Rafe’s chest. A sleepy smile pulls at Rory’s lips, the little dimple in his cheek deepening before another yawn calls his bluff.

“Nah,” Rafe says through a yawn himself. “Me either.”

Another flash flickers through the clouds, Rory’s hand opening about two seconds later than it should have. “One…” he breathes. “Three.” The numbers whisper past his lips, skipping number two altogether.

His little hand curls shut completely and Rafe waits for the next number to come, whatever that might be, but it never does.

Thunder vibrates through the porch beneath them, but Rory doesn’t move.

Rafe looks down—his little face is pressed into him, lips parted with every soft breath, one cheek squished against Rafe’s skin.

Same round cheek against his chest, same little breaths warming his skin, only now there are long legs hanging over his lap where two tiny feet used to rest in the palm of his hand.

His glasses have gone crooked, one side sitting higher than the other. Rafe carefully slips them from Rory’s face and sets them on the wooden armrest.

And for a moment, he just looks at him.

Rafe settles deeper into the chair, one arm secure around Rory while his other hand rests behind his head. He pushes his foot against the porch boards, rocking them slowly. Back and forth.

The storm keeps moving farther out over the water, lightning flickering one nautical mile away, give or take. Rafe smiles because, yeah, he researched enough to know that much—something he never would’ve cared about before he had a little boy who made him want to know everything, just in case knowing it could make something a little less scary.

Rafe lowers his head, pressing a kiss to your son’s forehead, just like he always has when Rory’s eyes shut and the chair rocks.

“Love you, buddy.”

He backed off that particular plan. Barely.

You were independent to the bone. Always had been. You’d built your career before Rafe Cameron ever looked at you twice, and you weren’t about to let a man—no matter how rich, how obsessed, how ridiculously good he looked in a three-piece suit—erase that. You liked your paycheck. You liked the way it felt to earn it. You liked knowing that if everything went to hell tomorrow, you could still stand on your own two feet. Rafe knew that. He just hated it.

One evening he came home later than usual, jacket already half-off, tie loosened, that restless energy rolling off him like heat. You were on the couch with your laptop, still answering a few last emails. He stopped in the doorway and just looked at you for a long second.

“You’re still working.”

“I’m finishing,” you corrected without looking up. “There’s a difference.”

He crossed the room, leaned down, and pressed a slow kiss to the side of your neck—the kind that usually made you forget what you were doing. You didn’t close the laptop. He exhaled through his nose, half-amused, half-frustrated.

“I could make it so you never have to open that thing again,” he murmured against your skin. “One call. You’d never lift a finger for anyone but me.”

You tilted your head just enough to meet his eyes. “And then what? I sit around looking pretty while you run the world?”

“Sounds perfect to me.”

“Sounds like a cage to me.”

His jaw flexed. He didn’t argue. He just kissed you harder, like he could change your mind with his mouth alone, then straightened and walked toward the kitchen. You heard him open the fridge, the low sound of him talking on the phone a minute later.

You only caught the end of it.

Whoever was on the other end must have said something about finances, about “her contribution,” about how it looked when the girlfriend of Rafe Cameron still clocked in every day like a regular person. Rafe’s voice was calm. Almost lazy. The way it got when he’d already decided something and was done explaining himself.

“Her money is hers,” he said. “My money is ours. Easy as that.”

A pause. Then, quieter, but no less final, “Don’t bring it up again.”

He hung up. When he came back into the living room he didn’t say anything about the call. He just sat down beside you, pulled your legs across his lap like it was the most natural thing in the world, and started scrolling through his own emails with one hand while the other rested on your thigh.

You closed your laptop after a minute and set it aside.

“You’re still trying to get me to quit,” you said.

“Every day,” he answered without looking up.

“Doesn’t mean I don’t respect the hell out of the fact that you won’t.”

You studied his profile—the sharp line of his jaw, the way his thumb absently stroked the outside of your knee. “That line you just said. About the money.”

A small smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “You heard that.”

“I did.”

He finally looked at you. There was something almost soft in his expression, buried under all the usual intensity. “I meant it. What’s yours is yours. I’m not touching it. I’m not asking for it. I’m not using it as leverage. But everything I have?” He shrugged, like it was the simplest truth in the world. “That’s already yours too. Whether you want it or not.”

You were quiet for a moment. Then you shifted, straddling his lap so he had to look up at you properly. His hands settled on your hips automatically.

“I’m not quitting,” you told him.

“I know.”

“You’re going to keep trying anyway.”

“Obviously.”

You leaned down and kissed him—slow, deliberate, the kind of kiss that said you weren’t going anywhere and neither was he. When you pulled back just enough to speak against his mouth, your voice was soft.

“As long as you remember that line,” you said. “Her money is hers. Your money is ours. Easy as that.”

Rafe’s fingers tightened on your hips. His eyes were dark and warm and completely unrepentant.

“Easy as that,” he agreed.

Then he kissed you again, deeper this time, and the laptop stayed closed for the rest of the night.

“hes home in five minutes, i dont know where to go.” you frantically moved around the room trying to find a place to hide in the dark. your face terrifying in the screen before you set your phone down in the corner and ran to the other corner.

the entire room was shown.

the front door opened and you dropped your arms until you could fully relax them. your pink hair half tied up- not bothering to do anything with it.

you glanced at your phone again, a smile on your lips. “babe!” you usually met him at the door. there was an uncomfortable silence until you cried out, mimicking from the movie and pausing abruptly. “no, no, no- im not doing this shit!” you laughed silently while hearing him walk to the bedroom.

you frowned, holding your shoulders limp and seeing him stop completely in his tracks. his arms were held up, lips pinched and tight look on his face. “no- i dont wanna do this. i dont wanna play this game.” you interrupted him with another cry, quickly moving to the left. he jumped back, tripping over his feet.

it took everything out of you not to laugh. “whyd you take so long?” your voice wasnt one you usually spoke with. it taking rafe a second to try and understand what was happening before holding out his hands. “i texted that, oh my god-“ he spoke under his breath before clearing his throat.

“dude- i cant.”

“i feel like you dont love me as much as i do” rafe shook his head while laughing. “oh my god” muttering under his breath. “i do, baby- i do…” responding out of fear while shrugging his shoulders and extending his arms out again. “its not mutual” the word ended in a whine- brows knitting together.

“it is, i swear” he breathed out. “youre freakin’ me out-“

“why dont you love me?” rafe ducked quickly before stumbling back. “oh my god” he covered his mouth with his hands, his high pitched nervous laugh slipping through. “no, no, im done.” he held up a hand, turning around to walk out.

“stay!” another scream that left your throat raw and rafe slipping on his socks from trying to sprint out of the room.

you slapped a hand over your mouth, seeing him standing at the end of the hall breathing heavily.

No coffee.

No colorful pens.

No frantic highlighting.

No Chegg tabs suspiciously open beneath the lecture slides.

He just sat there in a gray sweatshirt, occasionally pushing his glasses higher on his nose while the professor drew mechanisms across the board at a speed that felt personally vindictive.

And somehow, annoyingly, he understood all of it.

You knew because the professor had a habit of asking questions nobody wanted to answer.

“What would make this carbonyl carbon more electrophilic?”

Silence.

You stared at your notes.

Someone coughed.

Then, from somewhere in front of you—

“The electron-withdrawing group.”

Rafe didn’t even look up when he said it.

The professor pointed at him. “Exactly.”

You narrowed your eyes at the back of his head.

Freak.

The next Thursday, you got to class late.

Not dramatically late. Three minutes late.

But apparently three minutes was enough for every decent seat to disappear, leaving one empty chair beside Rafe Cameron.

You stopped in the aisle.

He glanced up.

You glanced at the seat.

Then at him.

“Is anyone sitting here?”

“No.”

That was it.

You waited a second like maybe he was going to add something.

He didn’t.

“Okay.”

You sat.

Rafe turned his attention back to his notebook.

You knew who he was, technically. Everybody did.

Not because he was popular in the traditional sense, because Rafe Cameron seemed to possess absolutely zero desire to speak to anybody who didn’t make the first move.

But because he was Rafe Cameron.

His family had money. His dad’s name was on something on campus. A building, maybe. You couldn’t remember. He was always with Topper Thornton and Kelce, both of whom were significantly easier to talk to than him.

And he was hot.

Ridiculously, inconveniently hot.

It was one of those things people noticed specifically because he seemed completely unaware of what to do with it.

He wore glasses to class.

His hair was always slightly messy, like he’d run his hand through it while studying and never bothered fixing it afterward. He dressed almost exclusively in hoodies and quarter-zips and those boring expensive sneakers guys bought when they wanted everyone to know they had money without wearing anything interesting.

You’d also never seen him at a single party.

Which made him especially fascinating to you.

You, meanwhile, had been at approximately every party.

Your tote bag had your sorority letters embroidered across the front. There was still a faint pink stamp on your wrist from whatever bar you’d ended up at Saturday night. You’d come directly from chapter the previous evening and hadn’t gotten back to your apartment until almost eleven because someone had needed to discuss philanthropy chair drama for forty-five minutes.

Rafe glanced at your notebook.

Then your handwriting.

Then the enormous question mark you had drawn beside the reaction currently projected on the screen.

His mouth twitched.

You caught it.

“Did you just laugh at me?”

His eyes went back to the board. “No.”

“You did.”

“I didn’t.”

“You looked at my notes and laughed.”

“I looked at your notes.”

“And?”

“They’re concerning.”

You stared at him.

That was the longest sentence you had ever heard Rafe Cameron say.

“My notes are beautiful.”

“You wrote ‘what the fuck’ next to the mechanism.”

“Because what the fuck?”

Rafe finally looked at you.

His expression stayed almost completely blank.

Almost.

But there was something in his eyes.

Amusement.

“It’s an SN2 reaction.”

“That means nothing to me.”

“We learned it Tuesday.”

“I was here Tuesday.”

“Apparently not mentally.”

Your mouth dropped open.

He looked back at the professor.

“Oh my God.”

“What?”

“You’re mean.”

Rafe shrugged.

You stared at the side of his face for another few seconds.

Then you smiled.

Interesting.

ᨳଓ .

You sat beside him again Tuesday.

This time, intentionally.

Rafe was already there when you dropped into the chair.

He looked at you.

Then at the approximately twenty other empty seats surrounding him.

Then back at you.

“Hi.”

“Hey.”

You pulled your notebook out.

“How was your weekend?”

“Fine.”

“What did you do?”

“Studied.”

“That’s depressing.”

His pencil stopped.

“Sorry.”

“You asked.”

“Did you do anything besides studying?”

“Went to dinner.”

“With?”

Rafe turned his head slowly.

You smiled innocently.

“What?”

“Why are you interrogating me?”

“I’m making conversation.”

“You ask a lot of questions.”

“And you answer none of them.”

“I answer them.”

“With one word.”

“That’s still an answer.”

You leaned toward him.

“Do you hate talking?”

“No.”

You waited.

He looked at you.

You started laughing.

“Oh my God, you’re doing it on purpose now.”

That tiny movement happened again at the corner of his mouth.

You pointed at him.

“You smiled.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“You absolutely did.”

The professor began speaking, and Rafe looked forward before you could continue bothering him.

But twenty minutes later, when you whispered, “What the fuck is happening?” beside another mechanism, he quietly slid his notebook closer to you.

His handwriting was irritatingly neat.

He’d drawn the reaction in steps.

You copied it.

At the bottom of your page, you wrote:

rafe cameron may have saved my life

He saw it.

He said nothing.

But you saw him smile again.

ᨳଓ .

By the second midterm, you were in trouble.

Not failing trouble.

But enough trouble that you called your mom after getting your exam back and conveniently described your score as “fine.”

It was not fine.

You stared at the red number written across the top.

Beside you, Rafe flipped his exam over.

You immediately leaned toward him.

“What’d you get?”

“No.”

“Rafe.”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re going to be annoying.”

“I’m always annoying.”

“I know.”

You ignored the insult and tried to grab his paper.

Rafe moved it away before you could.

“Rafe.”

He sighed and pushed it toward you.

Ninety-six.

You stared.

Then looked at him.

Then back at the exam.

“You’re disgusting.”

“Thanks.”

“I studied for four days.”

“So did I.”

“You study every day.”

“Yeah.”

“That shouldn’t count.”

Rafe tucked the exam into his folder.

You looked down at yours.

Seventy-one.

Your shoulders dropped.

The teasing disappeared from his expression.

“What?”

“I’m literally going to die.”

“You got a seventy-one.”

“Exactly.”

“That’s not dying.”

“My GPA is dying.”

“You can bring it up.”

You looked at him.

“How?”

“Final replaces your lowest midterm if you score higher.”

You blinked.

“It does?”

“It’s in the syllabus.”

“Who reads the syllabus?”

Rafe gave you a look.

“Obviously you.”

He went back to packing his bag.

You watched him for a second.

Then an idea occurred to you.

“Wait.”

Rafe paused.

“You should tutor me.”

“No.”

You blinked.

“I didn’t even finish asking.”

“You did.”

“Rafe.”

“I’m not tutoring you.”

“Why?”

“Because.”

“That’s not a reason.”

“You talk too much.”

You put a hand over your heart.

“That is genuinely so rude.”

“You asked.”

“I’m actually really easy to tutor.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“I am!”

“You asked me what a carbocation was last week.”

“And now I know.”

“What is it?”

You opened your mouth.

Paused.

Rafe waited.

You pointed at him. “That was manipulative.”

His mouth twitched.

“Please?”

“No.”

“Please.”

“No.”

“Rafe.”

He zipped his backpack.

You grabbed the sleeve of his sweatshirt before he could stand.

“Please. I will buy you coffee.”

“I don’t drink coffee.”

“Food.”

“No.”

“Alcohol?”

His expression flattened.

“Right. Forgot who I was talking to.”

“I drink.”

You perked up. “You do?”

“Yes.”

“I’ve never seen you at a party.”

“That doesn’t mean I don’t drink.”

“Why don’t you come to parties?”

“Because I don’t want to.”

“You’re fascinating.”

“I’m leaving.”

You tightened your grip on his sleeve.

“Two hours.”

Rafe looked down at your hand.

Then at you.

“One.”

Your face lit up.

“Seriously?”

“One hour.”

“Tomorrow?”

“Library.”

You smiled.

“Seven?”

“Six.”

“I have chapter until six.”

“Six-thirty.”

“Seven.”

“Six-thirty.”

You stared at each other.

“Fine.”

He stood.

You released his sleeve.

“Thank you, Rafe.”

“Yeah.”

He started down the aisle.

“Wait.”

He turned.

“Do I need to bring anything?”

“Your notes.”

You looked at the notebook covered in doodles, gossip reminders, and half-finished reactions.

Rafe looked at it too.

“Actually,” he said. “Maybe don’t.”

ᨳଓ .

Tutoring with Rafe became a thing by accident.

The first session lasted two hours instead of one.

Mostly because it turned out that beneath the dry responses and constant expression of mild irritation, Rafe was ridiculously patient.

Not sweet about it.

Never sweet.

But patient.

“No.”

You erased your answer.

“Why no?”

“Because that makes no sense.”

“You could say that nicer.”

“It still wouldn’t make sense.”

You glared at him.

Rafe pointed at the molecule.

“Where’s your nucleophile?”

“There.”

“That’s carbon.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. Oh.”

You kicked his shin beneath the library table.

He barely reacted.

Twenty minutes later, you finally got the mechanism right.

You stared at it.

Then at him.

“Wait.”

Rafe glanced over.

“Is that right?”

“Yeah.”

Your eyes widened.

“Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

“Oh my God.”

You slapped his arm excitedly.

“I did it.”

“You did one problem.”

“Can you be happy for me?”

“I am.”

“You don’t look happy.”

“This is my face.”

And somehow that made you laugh so loudly somebody two tables away shushed you.

Rafe looked down.

You caught him smiling.

By the third tutoring session, you brought him dinner.

By the fifth, Rafe had your Starbucks order memorized despite insisting he hated Starbucks.

By the sixth, he started texting you before you could text him.

Library at 7?

Then—

You have a quiz tomorrow. Don’t go out.

You responded:

you are literally not my father

Three dots appeared.

Thank god.

You stared at your phone before bursting into laughter in the middle of your sorority house.

“What?”

Sydney looked over from the couch.

You immediately locked your phone.

“Nothing.”

She narrowed her eyes.

“That was a boy laugh.”

“There’s no such thing as a boy laugh.”

“That was absolutely a boy laugh.”

Ruthie’s head appeared over the back of the couch.

“Who?”

“Nobody.”

Sydney grabbed for your phone.

You yanked it away.

“Stop!”

“Oh my God.” Ruthie gasped. “There IS somebody.”

“There isn’t somebody.”

“Then show us.”

“No.”

Sydney pointed at you.

“Somebody.”

You rolled your eyes and disappeared upstairs.

But there was somebody.

Kind of.

Maybe.

You didn’t know.

Because Rafe didn’t flirt.

At least not in a way you recognized.

He didn’t compliment you constantly.

He didn’t respond to your Instagram stories with heart-eyes.

He didn’t ask what you were doing at midnight.

He didn’t touch you unnecessarily or give you stupid nicknames or make suggestive jokes.

He just—

Remembered things.

You mentioned once that you hated walking back from the library alone after ten, and suddenly your tutoring sessions always ended by nine-thirty.

If they didn’t, he walked you home.

You complained that the lecture hall was freezing, and the next class he took the seat closest to the air vent without saying anything.

You told him you had an important sorority event one Thursday, and when you showed up to lecture dressed nicer than usual, he looked at you for approximately three seconds too long before saying,

“You look nice.”

Then immediately looked at the board like he hadn’t said anything at all.

That single compliment affected you more than every drunk guy who had ever called you hot combined.

Which was ridiculous.

And annoying.

Especially because you were starting to realize that Rafe Cameron wasn’t shy in the way people assumed.

He wasn’t nervous.

He wasn’t timid.

He could hold eye contact with you until you were the one looking away.

He had no problem telling somebody they were wrong.

When a guy interrupted you during a study group one afternoon, Rafe stared at him and said, “She wasn’t finished,” with enough flatness that the guy actually apologized.

He was just quiet.

Selective.

He didn’t speak unless he had something to say.

Unfortunately, you wanted him to say things to you constantly.

ᨳଓ .

“You should come.”

“No.”

You looked up from your worksheet.

“Again, I didn’t finish.”

“I know what you’re asking.”

“You don’t.”

“You’re having people over Saturday.”

Your mouth fell open.

“How did you know?”

“You told me twenty minutes ago.”

“Oh.”

Rafe stared at you.

“Whatever. You should come.”

“No.”

“Why?”

“I don’t want to.”

“You haven’t even met everyone.”

“I know Topper and Kelce.”

“And you like them.”

Rafe made a noncommittal noise.

“You do.”

“They’re fine.”

“They’re your best friends.”

“That’s generous.”

You grinned.

“Ruthie and Sydney will be there. And Matthew.”

“Don’t know them.”

“Exactly. You should meet them.”

“Why?”

You paused.

Because I want you there.

The answer appeared so naturally in your head that it startled you.

You looked down at your worksheet.

“Because it’ll be fun.”

Rafe watched you.

You tried to keep your voice casual.

“It’s not, like, some huge party. We’re just pre-gaming at my apartment and people might come over later. You can leave whenever.”

“Sounds terrible.”

“Rafe.”

“No.”

“I’ll let you pick the music.”

“Your music sucks.”

“You liked my playlist.”

“I tolerated it.”

“You saved three songs.”

His eyes narrowed.

“How do you know that?”

You grinned.

“Spotify activity.”

“That’s creepy.”

“Come Saturday.”

“No.”

You leaned across the table.

“Please?”

Rafe stared at you.

You gave him your best smile.

He sighed.

“What time?”

Your smile grew.

“Nine.”

“I’m leaving by eleven.”

“Sure.”

“I mean it.”

“Of course.”

“I’m serious.”

“Totally.”

Rafe pointed his pencil at you.

“You’re annoying.”

“You like me.”

The words slipped out before you could stop them.

His pencil stilled.

Your stomach dropped slightly.

Rafe looked at you.

Really looked at you.

You attempted a laugh.

“Like as a person. Obviously.”

His gaze lingered.

Then he looked back at your worksheet.

“Do number twelve.”

And you spent the next ten minutes trying not to think about the tips of his ears turning red.

ᨳଓ .

Rafe showed up at nine-fifteen Saturday night.

You opened the door in a tiny black skirt and an off-the-shoulder top, expecting Sydney to be coming back from downstairs.

Instead—

Rafe.

Black shirt.

Dark jeans.

No glasses.

You forgot what you were saying.

He looked different outside of class.

Not dramatically.

Which almost made it worse.

His hair was pushed back slightly, still messy around the edges. A watch sat around his wrist. His sleeves were rolled to his forearms.

And he was holding a six-pack.

You stared at him.

Rafe stared back.

“Hi.”

“Hi.”

A beat passed.

His eyes moved over you once.

Quickly.

Then back to your face.

“You gonna let me in?”

“Oh.”

You moved aside.

“Yeah. Sorry.”

He walked past you.

You shut the door and immediately became hyperaware of the fact that your apartment suddenly felt approximately six hundred degrees hotter.

Topper noticed him first.

“Holy shit.”

Rafe looked over.

Topper stood from the couch.

“You actually got him here?”

You laughed.

“I told you.”

Kelce appeared from the kitchen carrying two plastic cups.

“No fucking way.”

Rafe looked unimpressed.

“Nice to see you too.”

Topper slapped his shoulder.

“You don’t answer my texts for three days, but she invites you somewhere and suddenly you’re social?”

You froze.

Rafe’s expression hardened slightly.

“Shut up.”

Topper grinned.

Your heart did something deeply embarrassing.

You introduced him to everyone.

Ruthie immediately gave you a look.

Sydney gave you an even worse one.

Matthew, already two drinks ahead of everybody else, shook Rafe’s hand and said, “Organic chemistry guy.”

Rafe looked at you.

You shrugged.

“I’ve mentioned you.”

“How much?”

“Normal amount.”

Ruthie snorted.

You glared at her.

Rafe’s mouth twitched.

The first hour was surprisingly easy.

Rafe stayed mostly beside Topper and Kelce at first, beer in his hand, listening more than speaking. But whenever you passed him, you found his eyes on you.

Not obviously.

Never obviously.

Just enough.

You’d be laughing with Ruthie and glance across the room.

Rafe.

Watching.

You’d bend over the kitchen counter to pour someone a drink.

Look up.

Rafe.

Watching.

Then immediately looking away.

At some point, you ended up standing beside him in the kitchen.

“You’re having fun.”

“I’m okay.”

“That means yes.”

“It means I’m okay.”

“You haven’t left.”

“It’s ten-thirty.”

“You said eleven.”

“I know.”

You smiled.

“So you’re counting down?”

“No.”

“Aw.”

“Don’t.”

“You like my party.”

“Your party is seven people.”

“Eight including you.”

“Crazy.”

You bumped your shoulder against his.

Rafe looked down at you.

“You look different.”

You blinked.

“What?”

“Outside class.”

Your heart jumped.

“Good different?”

Rafe took a drink from his beer.

“Didn’t say that.”

Your mouth fell open.

He walked away.

“Rafe!”

He looked back.

And he was smiling.

Actually smiling.

“You’re such an asshole.”

“I’ve heard.”

You watched him return to Topper.

Ruthie appeared beside you.

“You’re screwed.”

“Shut up.”

“He likes you.”

“No, he doesn’t.”

She gave you a look.

“That man has been staring at you for the last hour like you invented oxygen.”

You looked at Rafe again.

He happened to look at you at the exact same moment.

You immediately turned away.

“Shut up.”

Ruthie started laughing.

ᨳଓ .

Things deteriorated around midnight.

First Matthew decided tequila shots were necessary.

Then Sydney decided she could outdrink Matthew.

Then Matthew decided the appropriate response was apparently to prove that he could consume alcohol as if somebody had informed him prohibition was returning at sunrise.

By twelve-thirty, both of them were obliterated.

Not fun drunk.

Problem drunk.

Sydney was sitting on your bathroom floor insisting she had never been drunk in her entire life while actively missing the toilet beside her.

Matthew had disappeared onto your balcony, where Kelce found him attempting to call an ex-girlfriend who had blocked him eight months ago.

“Oh my God.”

You stood in the hallway, one hand pressed to your forehead.

Ruthie was holding Sydney’s hair.

Topper and Kelce were trying to convince Matthew that he absolutely did not need “one more.”

Your apartment looked like a fraternity basement.

Cups everywhere.

Someone had spilled something sticky across the counter.

Music was still playing.

Your head had started hurting.

You loved your friends.

You really did.

But suddenly everybody needed something.

“Can somebody get Sydney water?”

“I’ll do it.”

You turned.

Rafe.

He’d been quieter the last hour, mostly sitting at the end of the couch while everything descended into chaos.

“You don’t have to.”

“I know.”

He walked into the kitchen.

You went back into the bathroom.

“Syd.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re literally lying on the bath mat.”

“It’s comfortable.”

“Okay.”

Sydney suddenly gagged.

You grabbed the trash can.

Too late.

“Oh—fuck.”

Ruthie jumped backward.

You closed your eyes.

Fantastic.

“I’m sorry,” Sydney mumbled.

“It’s okay.”

“It’s not okay.”

“It’s fine.”

“It’s disgusting.”

“It’s fine.”

You were trying to clean around her while keeping her hair away from her face when Rafe crouched beside you.

He handed you a bottle of water.

Then held another toward Sydney.

“Small sips.”

Sydney stared at him through half-open eyes.

“You’re pretty.”

You choked.

Rafe blinked.

“Thanks.”

“You’re her chemistry boyfriend.”

Your entire body went hot.

“He’s not—”

Rafe unscrewed the water.

“Drink.”

Sydney obeyed.

You looked at him.

He refused to look at you.

Definitely red ears.

Interesting.

Then Topper called from the hallway.

“Uh, we have another problem.”

You groaned.

Matthew.

You found him sitting against the kitchen cabinets with his head between his knees.

“Okay.”

You crouched.

“Matt?”

He lifted one finger.

“Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Talk.”

“Great.”

You rubbed your forehead.

“Kelce, can you—”

“I got him.”

Again.

Rafe.

He crouched beside Matthew.

“Hey.”

Matthew groaned.

Rafe grabbed the trash can from underneath your kitchen sink and placed it between his knees.

“Use that.”

Matthew stared at it.

Then at Rafe.

“You’re so smart.”

Rafe’s face stayed completely straight.

“Yeah.”

You bit back a laugh.

Even now.

“You don’t have to help,” you told him quietly.

Rafe looked up at you.

“I know.”

There it was again.

Not it’s fine.

Not don’t worry about it.

Just—

I know.

Like he knew nobody was making him.

Like that was exactly why it mattered.

He stood.

“Do you have trash bags?”

“Under the sink.”

Rafe pulled two out.

“What are you doing?”

“Cleaning.”

“Rafe.”

He looked at you.

“You have two people about to throw up, your floor is sticky, and you’ve been running around for an hour.”

“I can handle it.”

“I know.”

Your chest tightened.

“Then—”

“You don’t have to handle everything by yourself.”

You went quiet.

Rafe seemed to realize what he’d said.

His gaze shifted away.

“I mean, it’s your apartment.”

You smiled a little.

“Right.”

“Just—go deal with Sydney.”

Your smile grew.

“Okay.”

He frowned.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“You’re doing that thing.”

“What thing?”

“Looking at me.”

“I’m always looking at you.”

Rafe paused.

You did too.

Then Matthew gagged.

Rafe immediately shoved the trash can toward him.

“Great timing.”

You escaped before Rafe could respond.

ᨳଓ .

By one-thirty, the apartment had emptied significantly.

Kelce took Matthew home after determining that he was coherent enough to be moved.

Ruthie stayed in your room with Sydney, who had finally fallen asleep on top of your comforter with a bucket beside her.

Topper called an Uber after spending fifteen minutes making fun of Rafe for cleaning your kitchen.

And then there were two.

You wandered into the living room.

Rafe was standing beside the coffee table collecting abandoned cups into a trash bag.

“You’re still here.”

He looked over.

“So are you.”

“I live here.”

“Right.”

You laughed softly.

Everything felt strangely quiet without the music.

You walked toward him.

“You can stop cleaning.”

“I’m almost done.”

“You’re a guest.”

“I noticed.”

“You’re supposed to leave the mess for me.”

“That’s stupid.”

You took the trash bag from his hand.

Rafe let you.

For a moment, neither of you moved.

“You took care of everybody tonight.”

You shrugged.

“They’re my friends.”

“Still.”

“They’d do it for me.”

Rafe nodded.

You looked around your apartment.

He had done more than you realized.

The bottles were gone.

The cups were stacked.

Someone had wiped the counter.

There were water bottles lined up beside the couch.

“You cleaned all this?”

“Topper helped.”

“Topper?”

“A little.”

You smiled.

“Rafe.”

“What?”

“Thank you.”

His expression shifted.

Softer.

“Yeah.”

“No, seriously.”

You stepped closer.

“You didn’t have to do any of that.”

“I know.”

“Why did you?”

Rafe looked at you.

And for once, he didn’t have a dry answer waiting.

His jaw shifted slightly.

You waited.

Finally—

“You looked overwhelmed.”

That was all.

You stared at him.

“And?”

“And what?”

“You hate parties.”

“Yeah.”

“You don’t know Sydney or Matthew.”

“No.”

“You said you were leaving at eleven.”

“I know.”

You glanced at the clock.

“One-forty-three.”

“I can read.”

“Why are you still here?”

Rafe was silent.

You could practically see him deciding how much he wanted to say.

His eyes dropped briefly to your face.

Then your mouth.

Then back up.

“I didn’t want to leave you alone with all this.”

Your stomach flipped.

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

You looked down, suddenly shy in a way you almost never were.

Which was ridiculous.

You talked to everyone.

You flirted with strangers.

You could walk into a room full of people you had never met and leave knowing half their life stories.

But standing barefoot in your messy apartment with Rafe Cameron watching you like that made you forget every interesting thing you had ever said.

“So,” you murmured.

“So.”

“You like me.”

Rafe’s face went blank.

You smiled.

“You do.”

“I cleaned your kitchen.”

“That’s basically a proposal.”

“Jesus Christ.”

You laughed.

“There he is.”

Rafe shook his head.

“You’re impossible.”

“You tutor me for free.”

“Because you’d fail.”

“I got an eighty-eight on the last quiz.”

“Because I tutor you.”

“You walk me home.”

“It’s late.”

“You remembered my coffee order.”

“You order the same thing every time.”

“You came to my party.”

“Topper was here.”

You narrowed your eyes.

“You ignore Topper’s texts.”

Rafe finally smiled.

You stepped even closer.

“So?”

“So what?”

“Admit it.”

“No.”

“Rafe.”

“No.”

“You like me.”

He looked down at you.

This close, he had to tilt his head slightly.

You could smell his cologne, faint underneath the beer someone had spilled near him earlier.

“You really want me to say it?”

Your teasing faded.

The question sounded different.

Lower.

More serious.

You swallowed.

“Maybe.”

Rafe studied your face.

Then he shrugged one shoulder.

“Yeah.”

Your heart stumbled.

“Yeah?”

“I like you.”

Just like that.

No dramatic speech.

No nervous rambling.

Because Rafe didn’t ramble.

He said things when he meant them.

You stared at him.

“How long?”

“Does it matter?”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Rafe.”

He sighed.

“Probably since you started sitting next to me.”

Your eyes widened.

“That early?”

“You’re hard to ignore.”

You smiled.

“That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

“It wasn’t entirely a compliment.”

“I’m taking it as one.”

“I figured.”

Your gaze dropped to his mouth.

Then back up.

Rafe noticed.

Of course he did.

For someone who barely spoke, he noticed everything.

“You’re staring,” he said quietly.

“So are you.”

“I know.”

That made your stomach flip.

You reached out and hooked one finger through the belt loop of his jeans.

Rafe’s eyes dropped to your hand.

“You gonna kiss me?”

His gaze snapped back to yours.

“Maybe.”

“Very decisive.”

“You want me to?”

You smiled.

“Maybe.”

His eyes narrowed.

“Annoying.”

“You like it.”

“Unfortunately.”

Then his hand found your waist.

Slowly.

Like he was giving you every possible opportunity to change your mind.

You didn’t.

Rafe leaned down.

Your eyes fluttered closed—

“OH MY GOD.”

You jumped apart.

Sydney stood in your hallway.

Barely conscious.

Hair everywhere.

One eye half closed.

She pointed between you.

“I knew it.”

You covered your face.

“Sydney.”

“My chemistry boyfriend.”

Rafe closed his eyes.

You started laughing.

“No, no,” Sydney continued, stumbling toward the bathroom. “Your chemistry boyfriend. Sorry.”

She disappeared around the corner.

Silence.

Then you looked at Rafe.

He looked at you.

You lost it.

You laughed so hard you had to grab his arm, and after approximately three seconds of pretending not to find it funny, Rafe started laughing too.

Actually laughing.

Not the tiny hidden smiles he gave you in class.

Not the little exhale through his nose when you said something stupid.

A real laugh.

You stared up at him.

“There.”

He frowned slightly.

“What?”

“That.”

“What?”

“You do know how to have fun.”

Rafe rolled his eyes.

“Don’t ruin it.”

You smiled.

“Sorry.”

He looked down at you again.

His hand was still on your waist.

Neither of you had moved away.

“So,” you whispered.

“So.”

“Where were we?”

Rafe leaned closer.

“You talk too much.”

“You knew that when you agreed to tutor me.”

“Worst decision I ever made.”

“Liar.”

“Yeah.”

And this time, when he kissed you, Sydney yelling something incomprehensible from the bathroom didn’t stop either of you.

It was then you truly realised. You’d been sitting there, in his leather jacket under his blanket, in his bed. But Rafe wasn’t here. Your eyes darted around the room as you shakily stood, still exhausted from everything that had gone down. The weakness was paired with a need to fuel your hunger. If not food, then him. Rafe. You wanted Rafe-

You took a deep breath, pushing the thoughts out of your mind before padding down to a table in the corner of the room. It was almost like your father’s desk except it was worn and lacked a chair. The wood was barely visible, the entire surface scattered with items you’d never seen before. Rafe wouldn’t leave you here. He’d come back, right?

Part of you knew he would, but the other part carefully scanned the table, looking for something. Anything that would indicate his return. Your eyes landed on bank blueprints first. Your eyes widened slightly as if this revelation changed something. You’d already known. Known that it was him who robbed the bank. That the police were looking for him right now. 

You instinctively tried to focus on the sirens, but they couldn’t be heard. That meant either the heat had died down just a bit, or Rafe had brought you somewhere so desolate where no one could find you. You were almost grateful no one was around. There were no expectations here. No duties. You could afford to worry about things was irrelevant as the items in front of you.

Some seemed important. Others… you didn’t even recognise. Crushed cigarettes and ash. Tools of varying sizes you assumed were for picking locks. A stack of IDs in the corner. You reached for the pile carefully, curiosity getting the best of you as you looked through them. There must’ve been at least thirty, yet none of Rafe. Just some look-alikes at first glance. John. Matthew. Logan. Rick. Trevor. 

You didn’t think they looked like him. They all looked like good men with stable jobs and loving families. Ones who didn’t drink, didn’t smoke, didn’t rob banks and commit unspeakable crimes. You set them back on the table, reminding yourself you shouldn’t go through his personal stuff. This is what your mother must’ve meant years ago. 

“Once you sin, you can never go back.” Her words floated back to you even though you tried to push them back. But what if she was right? Everything had been fine until that first time you dreamed of Rafe. You had been the preacher’s daughter, praying in church every day and smiling at every neighbour. And now you were here in a criminal’s house after having kissed him last night, invading his privacy. They weren’t even his IDs. He probably stole them. 

Regardless, your conscience got the best of you as you stepped back from the desk. You were about to go back and wait for him on the bed when your eyes landed on a duffel bag, half unzipped. There seemed to be something black and metallic sticking out of it. Just one last look. That’s at least what you told yourself, carefully crouching down to touch the fabric of the bag, hands trailing to the cold metal. 

You couldn’t exactly make out what it was just from the part that seemed to be jutting out, but it felt heavy. Nothing like anything you’d seen before. This wasn’t a tool or pipe. You decided to just pull it out and take a glance before stowing it away again. Except when you did, you froze; a sheer wave of terror washed over you. 

A gun. That’s what you were holding with trembling hands now. Not just a pistol like you’d seen in the drawer of your father’s desk. This was a worn rifle, barrel rusted, almost your height. Weighted. Loaded. Deadly. 

It fell from your hands as soon as your mind caught up, clattering near your feet, the stained carpet absorbing most of the sound, yet it still echoed in your mind. You shouldn’t be here. Your breath came heavier, your shoulders rising and falling faster as you took a step back, shaking.

You could make out what was in the bag now. Guns. All different types. Most you’d never seen. They were guns. Rafe’s guns. Why did he have so many? Your ears were ringing. What had he done with them? Your heart raced as you stumbled back. Had he killed? One step. Two. Before you slammed into something hard. 

The gasp that escaped you was a form of terror you’d never experienced before. You were turned around then. The force had arms. Strong ones. You were met with Rafe, his darkened eyes raking over you shamelessly. The dread that filled you didn’t die. God, how much had he seen? 

Rafe took in your petrified state. The way you stared at him so fucking pleadingly, still wearing his jacket. The way your hands had instinctively fisted in his shirt, just like last night. His jaw clenched as his grip tightened on your shoulders. How could you be so scared yet desperate to cling to him? You just wanted to be wrecked, didn’t you? Trying to kiss him yesterday. Edging him today with the whole innocent act. 

He was so damn tempted to give in. To just pin you against the wall or desk and fuck you till you couldn’t stand. You deserved it, practically begging for him since he found you stumbling down that highway. Rafe thought you were pure, but he was wrong. He knew it now. You’d been waiting. Waiting for someone like him to find you. Someone corrupted to save you from that wretched house and motherfucking father of yours. Ruin you till you couldn’t think. 

Rafe understood now. You’d woken, come to your senses, and hadn’t run. He’d watched you sleep all night, eyeing the bruises on you. The hints of your father’s abuse. With all the time he’d spent digging through the pantry for something that wasn’t beer, you had a chance to run. But you didn’t.

Why did he even care? Rafe told himself that he didn’t. You didn’t matter. That he was only doing all of this so you didn’t die on him. The last thing he needed was more dead bodies and problems to deal with. If only you’d admitted you wanted to run, he would’ve taken you with him ages ago. 

Rafe laughed at himself, internally. You’d never survive the life of a criminal. The fact that you couldn’t bear the simple sight of a gun should’ve been sign enough. He’d lost his mind. All the beer and drugs must’ve finally caught up to him. Thinking you could ever be with him. You’d just become his weakness. Rat him out the first chance you got. He could always keep you tied up. He knew you’d end up being so good for him. 

His mind was conflicted. Torn between taking you away from everything you knew, whether you wanted it or not, or telling you to run back home now. No. Rafe couldn’t do that. He wouldn’t send you back to that father of yours. No one got to hurt you. Except Rafe. 

You bit your lip, the silence between the two of you stretching. You could cut through the tension with a knife. “R-Rafe, I didn’t-” 

Your attempt at trying to explain was cut off by Rafe. “Looking through my things now, are we?” he tutted, shaking his head. The way you looked away as if you were ashamed for committing such a simple act just made Rafe want to provoke you more. God, the thrill you gave him was unparalleled to any other high. “I don’t recall giving you permission, sweetheart, hmm?”

Rafe smirked as you shook your head frantically, apologies spilling from those sweet, sweet lips of yours. “N-no. I’m sorry- I wasn’t-” You gasped as he gripped your jaw roughly, calloused fingers contrasting with the softness of your skin.

“Thought you were supposed to be a good girl. Guess not,” Rafe commented, faking a disappointed look. He could see from the look in your eyes that you fully believed it. That going through his things out of interest was truly some heinous crime. Rafe couldn’t help but edge you a little more. “Didn’t your daddy teach you about resisting the grasp of curiosity?”

You kept nodding, tears welling in your eyes now. The last thing you wanted was to disappoint Rafe. What did he think of you now? You knew you shouldn’t have looked through his personal items, and yet you did. This was the consequence for your actions. His being upset was worse than your father’s rage. No. You couldn’t lose Rafe. What if he took you back? 

“No, please. I’m sorry, R-Rafe,” you begged desperately, hands fisting in the worn fabric of his shirt. “P-please don’t take me back.” 

Rafe’s heart clenched strangely at your words, but he pushed the feeling aside, shifting his lips into a mocking pout. “No? The preacher’s daughter doesn’t want to go to church anymore?” He moved his hand down to your neck, his grip tightening when you shook your head. He dropped his act. 

“You think you can stay with me?” he growled, voice serious now. Your fragile little mind clearly didn’t understand the implications that came with it. Rafe didn’t let you get a word in. “You have no idea who I am and what I do.”

“I know you robbed the bank. That the police are looking for you,” you whispered, softly cutting in but unable to meet his eyes. Rafe tilted your chin firmly. 

“And you think knowing that means something?” He couldn’t help but laugh. How were you so fucking naive? “Princess… You were fucking terrified at the sight of a gun. Your innocent little mind can’t even comprehend a piece of metal, and you want to live with a criminal?”

You froze at the harshness of his words. They reminded you of the bitter truth. That you’d grown up more sheltered than any other girl in town. You hadn’t drunk. Hadn’t talked to guys. Hadn’t had your first kiss- except you did now. With Rafe. He was a criminal and morally wrong and nothing like the man you’d been promised, but he’d given you everything you’d dreamed of. How could you leave? 

You swallowed hard, meeting his gaze. “I… I’m not scared,” you murmured, even though it was written all over your face. Rafe was no fool. It was obvious to anyone that you were lying. But he decided to play along. 

“No? You wouldn’t last a week. The guilt would consume you before my sins did.” His jaw clenched as he spat out the words. “Blood. Suffering. Crimes. Guns. Knives. Death. You think you could survive that?” Rafe listed off everything from the top of his head that came with his life. A life that wasn’t meant for you. You probably expected a husband. Kids. A home. He’d never be able to give you that. His first love would always be money.

You didn’t look away this time, even though you felt another wave of terror wash over you. Yet your uncertainty didn’t show when you answered his question. “Yes.” How hard could it be? You’d lived through your father’s wrath. Rafe couldn’t be worse. He hadn’t hurt you. Done the opposite, in fact. 

You were stubborn. Rafe could give you that. At least you’d come to the point of lying now. What had he done to you? Mere weeks ago, you wouldn’t have been in the same room as him, and now you were begging to stay? “Pick it up,” he ordered, voice cold now, gesturing to the gun at your feet. Rafe wasn’t sure what he was proving with this. Maybe he just wanted you to bend over so he could get a look at that ass of yours. That church dress of yours wasn’t helping. “I don’t want to see your hands shaking, hm?”

You stared down at the rifle for a second, hesitating. But then you felt Rafe’s gaze on you, expectant. It was just metal. You could pick it up. This was your punishment for letting your curiosity get the best of you. If only you’d resisted. 

Rafe’s eyes darkened as you bent down slowly. He could tell you were using all your focus to will your hands not to shake. Your determination was nothing short of amusing. 

You bit your lip in concentration as you took the rifle into your hands carefully, forcing your mind to block out its purpose and focus on anything else. The coldness of the metal. The fact that this might persuade Rafe to believe you could stay. You stood with the gun in your hands, holding it out to Rafe slightly.

The sight made his mind wander. He could almost picture you before heists. Helping him get ready. Handing him his weapons just like this. He’d promise to come back and fuck you. You’d be such a good girl. 

Rafe took the rifle from your hands. He was almost willing to take you. Pack his shit and cross the border with you on his bike. Yet part of him also wanted to know. Why you were on the highway alone and delirious last night. What had changed in the past few days. What the fuck your father had done to give you those bruises. 

Just as Rafe was about to ask, his thoughts were broken by the growing sound of a siren. Fuck. The police. They shouldn’t be here. Rafe didn’t hesitate. He just knew. You watched as he tossed the rifle into the duffel bag with his other weapons before throwing a few wrinkled clothes on top.

The next thing you knew, he was grabbing you. Your gasp was muffled against his palm as he pulled you both into the closet in his room, his hand clamped tight over your mouth. You wanted to ask what was going on. Why you were hiding. But remembered the last time you let your curiosity get a hold of you. Rafe wasn’t allowing you the chance now anyway, so you had no choice but to succumb to his hold. Darkness swallowed the two of you whole as he shut the door, hiding you away.

Rafe reached carefully for the loaded pistol he kept hidden under the loose floorboards, gripping it tight in one hand. He could hear the car doors slamming somewhere near the driveway. The other hand stayed firm over your lips, softening the sound of your heavy breathing, simultaneously pressing you against him more than necessary. The space being tight was his excuse, but really he just wanted to feel you against him. 

“Don’t make a sound. You understand?” Rafe breathed as quietly as he could, his breath fanning over your ear. You didn’t speak, just nodded. Such a good girl. He forced himself to steady his breathing, hoping you’d match his. Guess he was getting a chance to see firsthand if you could survive a life with him. Except if you failed this test, there would be no second chances. He’d be going straight to jail. 

You heard the front door open with a thud, the house filling with footsteps. Your breath hitched as you realised why you were hiding. The police were inside. Searching the place. And you were with a criminal. The most wanted criminal in town. You couldn’t imagine what your parents would think. What the town would think. You tensed instinctively but then felt the steady rise and fall of Rafe’s chest against your back. You let yourself follow him, taking deep breaths, relaxing slowly. 

Rafe stroked your cheek with his thumb, trying to convey his words with actions. So good for him. He tried to focus on the direction of the footsteps, but he couldn’t help it when you were pressed against him. He could feel everything. Every curve and contour of your body. The way you chose to trust him instead of panicking. How small and weak your frame was against his. 

Had they been starving you or some shit? Richest family in town, and they couldn’t even take care of you. It pissed Rafe off, but he forced himself to calm down for the sake of the situation they were in. He couldn’t get arrested now. Not when you clearly needed someone to take care of you. And that would be him. He’d feed you everything you could ever want. 

Rafe snapped into focus when he heard the scuffle of shoes stepping into the room you were hiding in. He straightened up just slightly. Not enough to alert you, but enough so that he had some power. His index finger hovered over the trigger of the pistol as he glanced through the crack between the closet doors. 

You bit your lip, feeling the tension in the room rise. You felt sick to your stomach, staring at the thin sliver of light illuminating the dark space. Could they see you? You tried not to think about it, leaning your head back against Rafe’s chest, choosing to take in the scent of weed and dust in the closet. 

Rafe’s gaze tore away from the officer searching the room to you. Eyes closed and curled into him. Fucking hell. He couldn’t be hard right now. What were you doing to him? He tried hard to ignore the tightness in his jeans, staying perfectly still and quiet. The footsteps came closer then. As if stopping right outside the closet. 

You dug your nails into your palms, trying your best not to make a sound. It was as if you could feel the officer’s breath seeping in through the gap. You felt Rafe pull you harder against himself, taking in the feeling of his hard planes of muscle against yours. What if this was it? Your heart pounded so hard you thought it was going to burst. 

Rafe pressed his finger just a fraction harder on the trigger, ready to shoot any second. Then… the footsteps faded, the house emptying in a matter of seconds. He didn’t move an inch. Just waited. Only minutes after hearing the car drive off did Rafe let you go.

A gasp tore from your throat as you finally took in a breath, hands shaking. Rafe opened the closet doors, stepping out and closing his eyes to compose himself. That had been too fucking close. He needed to leave town. “Stay here,” Rafe panted, leaving the room.

You wrapped your arms around yourself as he left, the tension slowly dissipating. You were alone again. Your eyes fell on the mess littering his room. You figured the least you could do was make it look a little neater. It was the right thing to do after going through Rafe’s things. You didn’t want to admit it was also a welcome distraction after the events of the past few minutes. 

Rafe walked in with a bag of chips and a packet of crackers. It wasn’t much, but it was all that was left in the pantry. He wasn’t exactly the type to cook proper meals. His steps faltered as his gaze landed on you, cleaning his room. What the fuck? 

Rafe couldn’t bring himself to speak for a minute. All he could do was stare. At the way you were folding his clothes so carefully. Organising whatever mess he’d last left on his desk. Gathering all the trash in a little corner. They’d really made you into the perfect wife. And God, he couldn’t help but crave it. Imagine you keeping everything all clean and pristine for him after he came from his latest robbery. And then he’d ruin it all again by fucking you hard and deep against every surface of every room. 

“Being a good little housewife now?” You turned at the sound of Rafe’s low tone, then froze slightly as you saw him standing there in the doorway, holding chips and crackers. Was that for you? No. You couldn’t assume it was. Even though your stomach growled desperately and you wanted nothing more than to eat after having been starved for days, you held yourself back. You couldn’t afford to be greedy. 

“I wasn’t going through your stuff. I was just… cleaning,” you whispered, the explanation stumbling out of you quickly as you tried to gauge Rafe’s reaction. 

He didn’t move. Just stood there for a second. You had no clue what you were doing to him by just cleaning his shit, did you? As if everything you’d done already to edge him wasn’t enough, this sent Rafe over the edge. He crossed the room in two strides, impatient now. You wanted to live this life so bad? He’d give it to you. 

You barely had a chance to process it as he pushed you back against the wall, slamming his lips against yours. It wasn’t soft. It was hungry and desperate and all-consuming, drawing a whimper from you as his tongue forcefully slipped into your mouth. The rush from last night came back harder. 

You’d been in a trance then, unable to do anything but feel. Overwhelmed by the sheer intensity, yet so helpless. But now? You tentatively moved your lips just the slightest bit, trying to adjust to the sparks flying through you. 

“Fuck,” Rafe groaned against your lips as you kissed him back. “Learning so quickly.” His hands fisted in the fabric of your dress, yanking you closer against him. 

You gasped, hands wrapping around his neck as you stood on your tiptoes to reach him better, chasing whatever pleasure he was offering. You could feel his hardness against you. And Rafe wanted you to. 

He slammed you harder against the wall, one hand moving to fist in your hair, angling your head just how he wanted. His tongue never stopped moving, licking lavishly inside your mouth. 

You moaned softly, wanting- needing more. “P-please,” you gasped against his mouth. You were craving something you didn’t know. 

Rafe pulled back abruptly then. Eyes darker than ever, the blue of his irises gone. You looked wrecked beneath him already, fueling his lips to curve into a smirk. He could give you so much more. And God, did he want to. But not yet. You’d have to wait. He wanted you begging for him. 

“Eat up,” he muttered coldly, nodding to the table where he’d thrown the chips and crackers carelessly. 

You watched with longing in your eyes as he spun on his heel, leaving you breathless and wanting. You couldn’t help but sit down and devour whatever food he’d given you. You missed your mother’s cooking. But not the diners. 

You were in Rafe’s clothes now, lying in bed as you stared at the ceiling. He’d given you one of his worn T-shirts and sweatpants, telling you to go shower before bed. You didn’t protest, needing to feel the cold water rinse away the sins of the past two days. The clothes were way too big on you, but they were more comfortable than anything else you’d worn. For as long as you could remember, you only slept in nightgowns. Your mother told you it was improper to sleep in anything else. 

The mattress was empty beside you as you curled deeper into the thin blanket Rafe had provided. His voice was flat when he said he was sleeping on the couch. Rafe didn’t seem open to your opinion, so you’d had no choice but to agree. Yet part of you wished he’d sleep here with you. You wanted him to hold you. It was greedy, but you craved it. 

Those were the only words he’d said to you after the kiss. And they wouldn’t leave your mind. You tossed and turned in bed for what felt like hours, but sleep wouldn’t come easy tonight. Finally, you sat up, taking shaky breaths.

Rafe glanced at the clock on the wall from his spot on the floor when he heard footsteps. It was midnight. He never slept this early and had decided to spend his time counting through the money he’d acquired from the Dunwich heist. He wasn’t originally planning on sorting it until he returned to town months later, but as he was still here due to a detour in his plan, he figured he’d go through the stacks and loose cash and get his shit together. It would make his life easier later when figuring out what he owed to whom. 

He could’ve sworn you’d be asleep by now, but then there you were. His eyes traced over you as you padded out barefoot in the clothes he’d lent you. Fuck you looked good in them. 

You stood there, fidgeting nervously as you saw the piles of money surrounding Rafe. You were probably disturbing him. He stared at you expectantly, hands never stopping his counting of cash. “I…um. I can’t sleep.” Your voice came out in a soft whisper as you waited for Rafe’s reaction.

He barely gave you one, not pausing his movements. “C’mere,” he murmured simply, patting his lap with one hand. You bit your lip, then walked over slowly. Rafe pulled you into his lap, settling you against his chest, surprisingly gentle this time. 

You couldn’t help but relax into him instinctively, watching as Rafe went back to counting cash. As if he didn’t mind you being here. Curling up in his lap. Soaking his warmth. You felt as though you were high on him, the haze from last night washing over you again. 

Rafe watched as you nuzzled into his chest like a fucking cat. You were so innocent that it was painful. His fingers moved swiftly through the loose one-hundred-dollar bills, the routine one he was familiar with. Count. Band. Repeat. He tied a rubber band around another stack, tossing it into the pile. 

“Is this what your life is like?” Your voice floated through the room softly as you gazed at him like he hung the moon. Rafe didn’t break eye contact, taking in the look in your eyes. You weren’t being judgmental. You were too soft. So fucking sweet. 

Rafe brushed back a strand of your hair, trying to lull you to sleep. He could tell you were exhausted. “Mhm…” he hummed in response to your question, watching as your face broke into a little smile. You pressed closer to him, closing your eyes, head over his heartbeat. 

“You’re so warm…” Another little thought slipped from your mind as you dozed off against his chest. Rafe couldn’t help but look down at you, sighing softly. He reached up and pulled the blanket from the couch around you. You looked so peaceful when you slept. 

Rafe stared at the piles of crash surrounding him. This was going to be a long night. 

a/n: it is like 2am rn but chapter 5 is all yours!! i think this is like the first time we've actually seen rafe and reader have a convo sooo 🤭🤭 i also love me some good tension and dw smut will be coming in the next part, hopefully! anyways i think we're over half way now with this series which is a little bittersweet 🥲 also underground nights is coming tomorrow so stay tuned!!!!!💕 always feel free to send in requests and please please please scream and rant to me about this series ✨ i love seeing all your thoughts and my inbox is always open! ‎ꫂ᭪݁

taglist: @rafesgreasycurtainbangs , @rafecameronarchive , @misschillyy , @isastarset , @rafessweetheart87 , @rafeysfawn , @fleintur , @st4rg1rl2222 @starbuckslover213-blog , @muffymuffs , @isastarset , @cameronsdior , @bonjourjiminie , @shewants7 , @rafessweetheart87 , @flowersarcute , @aceluck , @bookishbelle2312 , @puffinton , @wearilytemporalsong , @s-we-e-t-t-ea , @mattsdollie

dividers: @chrisssiren