#toxicbf!rafe

>>>pairing: toxic!bf Rafe x toxic!gf reader

>>>warning: toxic, playful, possessive, and deeply co-dependent, unfortunately no smut

>>>summary: Rafe flirts with a girl to make you jealous since he loves seeing you angry.

A/N: inspired by Chuck and Blair in season 3 of GG iykyk. this is probably as close to smut as I can write🫣

Rafe saw you the second you walked into the room.

You always made an entrance even when you pretended not to. Even now, dressed like trouble in heels that were made to crush egos and a dress that clung like sin. But you didn’t look at him. You looked everywhere else, nursing your drink like the glass offended you.

So he played his card.

The girl at the bar was easy enough to pull in. Soft smile, basic flattery, the kind of desperation that mistook his silence for mystery. Rafe barely touched her. Just leaned in, slow and calculated. Just enough to let her fingers graze his bicep. Just enough to make sure you saw.

And you did.

You always did.

He felt your presence behind him before you even said a word. The temperature dropped. The air changed. You stepped between them, your body a wall of practiced elegance and venom. “Sweetheart,” you said to the girl, tone faux-kind, “do you always hang off men who aren’t yours or is tonight special?”

The girl blinked. “Excuse me?”

“I mean, it’s adorable. Really. Trying so hard with a man who hasn’t looked at you once.”

Rafe sipped his drink, watching the moment like a front row seat to his favorite show.

The girl stammered. “I didn’t—he said—“

You tilted your head. “He’s mine. But don’t worry, you’ll make a great pity post in a group chat.”

The girl’s face crumpled. She fled, heels clicking too fast across the floor.

Rafe didn’t move.

You turned to him, eyes still blazing, glossed lips —that Rafe loved to bite— turned down in a frown. “You enjoyed that.”

“Did I?” he said, smug. “Looked like you did.”

“You’re sick,” you snapped, breath short.

Rafe grinned, leaning down your height just enough that you smell the bourbon on his breath. “You’re worse. And I love it.”

You dragged him by the wrist out the side exit, not saying a word as you headed straight to his truck. He followed without hesitation, enjoying the way your nails dug into his skin far too much. The door slammed behind you both, and the second you turned to speak, he was already kissing you.

It wasn’t gentle.

It was teeth and tongue and tangled limbs across the bench seat. His hands in your hair. Yours fisting his button-up. You bit his lip; he growled into your mouth.

“She really thought she had a chance,” you muttered against his jaw, voice breathless.

“She was a pawn,” he drawled, lips trailing down your throat. “You’re the queen.” He kissed your pulse like a brand, his voice thick. “And I like when you get mean.”

You laughed—wild and giddy, drunk on jealousy and adrenaline and Rafe.

He pulled back just enough to look at you, hand still cradling your thigh. “I’d let you ruin me,” he murmured. “You know that, right?”

You smirked. “I already have.”

He kissed you again, deeper this time. Slower. His hands slides beneath your dress, mapping out your soft skin like he always does.

You let him. You move down his neck, glossed lips leaving tacky residue on his skin as you murmur,

“Let’s do that again…”

“pretty when you cry..”

“Say sorry...”

>>>toxic!bf Rafe

>>>warning: Includes toxic manipulation, emotional teasing, possessive affection, and twisted tenderness.

>>>summary: Rafe weaponizes jealousy so you’d apologize and make it up to him however he wants to

You didn’t do anything wrong.

You know that. Rafe knows that.

It was some guy—barely memorable—asking for directions outside the café. You smiled. Maybe laughed. Maybe. And Rafe saw it from across the street, sunglasses perched on his head like a halo.

He didn’t say anything when he reached you. Not at first. Just pulled open the passenger door for you with that slow, tight-lipped look.

Silent.

Coiled.

“You okay?” you asked, frowning as you slid in.

He didn’t answer. Didn’t even look at you. Not until the car started. Not until the silence became something sharp. And then he said, real quiet, “You seemed cozy with that guy.”

You blinked. “What?”

He shrugged. “Guess I didn’t realize I was just a placeholder.”

Your heart dropped. “Rafe—what are you talking about?”

His knuckles flexed on the steering wheel. “Don’t play dumb. You were flirting.”

“I wasn’t! He just—he asked for directions, and I—”

“Sure.” Flat. Dismissive.

Your voice cracked. “Rafe, I swear I wasn’t—please don’t be mad…”

That’s when he looked at you. Finally. And there it was—your eyes big and wet, your lips trembling just enough. He drank it in like a sadist sipping champagne.

Fuck, you were beautiful when you were scared of losing him.

He parked the car. Slowly turned to you.

“Say it,” he said softly.

“Say what?”

“That you’re sorry.”

You hesitated—because again, you’d done nothing wrong. But he looked at you like his whole world would crack if you didn’t.

So you whispered it. “I’m sorry…”

And just like that, Rafe’s whole demeanor shifted.

He leaned over. Cupped your jaw. Kissed you gently—possessively—like he hadn’t just manipulated your guilt for his own satisfaction.

“I forgive you,” he murmured, lips brushing your cheek. “Just don’t make me feel like that again.”

He didn’t feel anything but smug triumph.

But you didn’t need to know that.

Not when you looked that damn pretty falling apart for him.

You think it’s over after the apology. The weight on your shoulder visibly dropping in relief. But Rafe doesn’t move. Doesn’t start the car. Doesn’t let go of your thigh.

He looks at you from the corner of his eye—calm, unreadable. That quiet kind of smug that means he’s not done with you yet.

“Y’know,” he says slowly, thumb brushing dangerous circles against your bare skin, “sorry’s a good start…” You blink, lips parted, still dazed from the last emotional whiplash. “But it doesn’t really feel like you mean it,” he adds, tilting his head like he’s thinking so hard. Like this is difficult for him.

You shift in your seat, flustered. “I—Rafe, I told you—”

“I know what you told me, baby.” His voice drops. Lazy. Sweet like poison. “But if you really wanna prove it…” His hand creeps a little higher. “You’re gonna have to show me.”

Your breath catches.

He leans in, nuzzles your jaw with just enough heat to make your knees press together.

Then he murmurs, “We’re parked. No one’s around. You could start now.” You gape at him. “Here?”

His smirk grows. “What? Shy all of a sudden?” You look away, embarrassed.

And Rafe—smug, possessive, head over heels for your guilt-ridden blush—just sits back, spreading his knees a little wider.

“Come on, crybaby,” he says, voice silk-wrapped steel.

“Show me how sorry you are.”

“Pretty when you cry..”

>>>toxic!bf Rafe

>>>warning: Emotional teasing, slight toxicity, Rafe is intense, but loving in his own twisted way.

>>>summary: Rafe loves to tease you on the verge of tears

Rafe liked breaking things.

Not like furniture—not anymore—but the quiet little sounds you made when he got too close. The tremble in your voice when he pushed too far. The way your lashes fluttered when he called you names he didn’t let anyone else get away with.

“You seriously wore that out of the house?” he asked, eyes skimming the hem of your skirt like it insulted him. He leaned back against the doorframe, arms crossed, tone lazy. “Bold for someone who starts stuttering the second I look at her too long.”

Your lips parted, eyes flicking up, confused—hurt. “I didn’t think you’d care…”

“Oh, I don’t. Not really.” His smirk said otherwise. “Just figured you’d want to look good for me, not every loser in a ten-mile radius.” He said it like a joke. Like it didn’t mean anything. But he was watching you.

Watching the way your fingers twitched at your sides. The way your lashes started to flutter, blinking too fast. The way you bit your bottom lip like you were holding something in—tears or words, he didn’t know which.

God, you were pretty when you were on the edge of crying.

Soft. Breakable. His.

And then, just when your chin trembled—just when your breath hitched like you were about to turn away—that’s when he moved.

He crossed the room in two steps, hands warm and firm on your waist. “Hey,” he murmured, voice suddenly softer. “I was just messing with you.”

You blinked up at him, glassy-eyed.

Rafe reached up, brushing his thumb under your eye like it wasn’t his fault they were wet in the first place. “You’re gorgeous, okay? Mine. Always.” You exhaled shakily. “Then why say stuff like that?”

He shrugged, ducking his head to kiss your cheek. “’Cause you’re cute when you cry.” You swatted him. He caught your hand. Pressed it to his chest. “But I’m the only one who gets to see it.”

And he meant it.

Even if he’d keep pushing. Just to pull you back again.