#waitforyrlove

you barely had time to straighten up before he was pushing through the crowd, all quiet fury and sharp edges, his presence swallowing everything around you. he didn’t even glance at the guy. just stepped between you like he belonged there — because to him, he did.

“The fuck’s this?” he asked, voice low but sharp. “you entertainin’ now?”

you blinked, already tense. “Rafe, it’s not—”

he turned to you, that smile on his face — not the good one. not the real one. this one was all teeth and danger. “Nah, it’s cute. didn’t think we were playin’ that game tonight. guess i missed the memo.”

the guy held up his hands, laughing nervously. “Hey, man, relax. i didn’t know—”

Rafe didn’t even look at him. “you do now.”

the guy backed off, and Rafe didn’t say another word until it was just the two of you again. his hand slid down to your waist, possessive, fingers pressing in a little too hard.

“You like the attention that bad?” he asked quietly, leaning in, lips brushing your ear. “you that bored of me already?”

you pulled back slightly, annoyed. “it wasn’t like that.”

“No?” he scoffed, eyes dragging down your face like he was trying to read something underneath it. “he got your number? make you feel special?”

you didn’t answer.

so he grabbed your jaw, not rough, but firm enough to keep your eyes on his.

“Look at me,” he said, voice flat. “i don’t give a shit who talks to you. they don’t touch you. they don’t want you. you understand?”

you nodded, just barely.

his lips brushed your cheek, slow and mocking. “Good. ‘cause next time he even tries? i’m not talkin’. i’m breakin’ something.”

and then, like nothing happened, he smiled. that soft, dangerous, rafe smile. the kind that meant it was over — until it wasn’t. his arm wrapped around your waist, and he guided you through the crowd like he hadn’t just threatened someone for breathing too close.

like you were his.

because in his head, you always had been.

© waitforyrlove. all rights deserved. do not copy my works. or modify my work.

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you should say it’s for the deal. for the power. for the merger.

but your legs cross under the table and you don’t answer fast enough.

“Thought so,” he murmurs, already standing. already coming around the table like this is his yacht, his world, and you’re just something to conquer in it.

he doesn’t ask permission. just presses in close behind you, warm hand wrapping around your jaw, tilting your head so your lips part on instinct. “All those boardrooms. all that power. but here?” his voice dips, lips brushing your ear, “you’re nothing here.”

you shouldn’t let him do this. you’re a fucking business woman who has limits.

but your back arches when he bends you over the table, cheek pressing to cold marble. the glass of whiskey he was drinking from clinks nearby, still sweating from the night air. the low thrum of music from the yacht’s speakers vibrates through your spine.

his hands are everywhere—pulling up your dress, pushing aside your panties. rings cold as they drag along your thighs, parting them with obscene ease.

“Look at you,” he mutters, kneeling behind you, breath hot as it ghosts over your soaked heat. “you’re fuckin’ dripping. all that power, and yet you’re still so fuckin’ needy for me.”

you gasp when his tongue meets your clit, slow at first, like a dare. his grip bruises your thighs as he holds you still, licking you like he owns you, like you’re not his equal, like you’re just some pretty little thing that stumbled into his world.

you try to stifle a moan. he slaps your thigh for it, sharp and fast.

“Don’t hold back now,” rafe growls. “let them hear you. let the whole fuckin’ marina know who’s making you fall apart.”

you can’t breathe. can’t think. his mouth is relentless, tongue fucking into you, lips sucking on your clit, and it’s too much—too hot—too filthy on this goddamn yacht with the city lights glinting off the water and his name in your mouth like a prayer.

you come undone with a cry, legs trembling, core pulsing around nothing, and still—he doesn’t stop. licks you through it, eats you like he’s starving.

when he finally pulls back, he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, smirking.

“Deal’s off,” he says.

you blink, dizzy. “What?”

“Don’t need a contract to own you.”

and when he unbuckles his belt and pushes his pants down, you don’t protest.

not when he pins your wrists behind your back.

not when he fucks you like the deal already belonged to him.

not when you moan his name so loud the whole damn harbor hears it.

he’s already inside you before your mind catches up.

your legs are shaking, wrists pinned behind your back with one hand like you’re nothing more than a plaything he’s decided to ruin. and rafe? he doesn’t go slow. he doesn’t ask. he thrusts into you like he’s got a point to prove—deep, rough, fast—and the obscene slap of skin echoes louder than the waves outside.

“Fuck—listen to that,” he grits out, hand tightening on your wrists, pulling you back to meet every thrust. “so fuckin’ wet for me. and you’re supposed to be what, my competition?”

you try to form a sentence. try to say something, anything, but all that comes out is a moan. a messy, broken thing that makes his smirk stretch wider.

“Yeah, that’s what i thought.”

his other hand fists in your hair, yanking your head up so you’re forced to look at the reflection in the massive glass window in front of you. the city lights shimmer behind it, but all you can see is you—bent, ruined, flushed—his body behind yours like a shadow, like a monster made of silk and teeth.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, voice low and gravel-deep in your ear. “so pretty when you’re being used.”

he angles his hips just right, and suddenly your knees nearly give. your pussy clenches hard around him and he groans, sharp and low.

“Fuck—there it is,” he breathes, “right there, huh? that’s your spot, baby? this little pussy was made to take me.”

you’re babbling now. gasping, whining, begging for something you can’t even name. the stretch of him. the sting. the brutal pace. it’s too much and not enough, all at once.

“You gonna cum again on my cock?” he whispers, fucking you harder now, chasing it. “gonna let go like a good fuckin’ girl?”

your yes is barely a whisper, barely a sound at all, and it earns you a slap to the ass so sharp it echoes.

“Say it louder. let everyone know who this pussy belongs to.”

“You—fuck, rafe—it’s yours,” you cry, voice cracking, thighs trembling. “all yours.”

that’s all he needed. he drives into you harder, rougher, and suddenly you’re tipping over, cumming around him with a scream, body arching, legs giving out—but he doesn’t stop. doesn’t slow. not even when you twitch and whimper and beg.

“Too much?” he taunts, breath hot on your neck. “nah. i think you can take it.”

he keeps fucking you through it, and you don’t even know what’s real anymore. only that his name is the only thing in your mouth. only that his hands feel like chains, and his cock feels like heaven. only that you’d sign away every deal you’ve ever closed if it meant he’d keep breaking you like this.

and when he finally spills inside you, groaning your name like it’s the last thing he’ll ever say, you realize—

you didn’t just lose the deal.

you lost the whole game.

© waitforyrlove. all rights deserved. do not copy my works. or modify my work.

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he didn’t even look at you at first, just took another slow drag of the joint, exhaling a cloud of smoke that curled around his face.

when his eyes finally flicked to yours, they were hooded, hazy with the high but still sharp enough to make your breath hitch.

“What?” he drawled, his lips curling into that trademark smirk that made it impossible to tell whether he was mocking you or inviting you closer.

you shifted on your feet, watching the way his legs spread lazily, his body stretched out like he didn’t have a care in the world.

“You’ve been ignoring me all night,” you said, crossing your arms, trying to keep your voice steady.

Rafe’s smirk widened as he sat up slightly, the joint dangling from his lips. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his sharp blue eyes locking on yours. “You’re still here, aren’t you?” he teased, his voice low and rough.

you rolled your eyes, but something in the way he was looking at you made your skin heat up. It was always like this with Rafe—push and pull, frustration and want tangled together until you couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began.

“C’mere,” he said suddenly, his voice cutting through the tension like a blade.

your breath caught, but you didn’t argue. Slowly, you stepped toward him, his gaze never leaving yours. When you were close enough, Rafe reached out, grabbing your wrist and tugging you down onto your knees between his legs.

“See?” he murmured, his hand brushing your cheek, his thumb tracing your jawline. “I knew you’d listen.”

“You’re an asshole,” you muttered, but your voice was softer now, your resolve cracking under the intensity of his gaze.

“Right,” as his smirk returning as he leaned back again, spreading his legs wider, the joint now forgotten on the edge of the ashtray.

his hands settled on your face, his thumb brushing your lips as his eyes darkened. “C’mon, baby,” he said, his voice low and coaxing. “Show me how sorry you are for doubting me.”

your stomach flipped at his words, your heart racing as you leaned forward, your hands resting on his thighs for balance. His cockiness should’ve infuriated you, but instead, it sent a thrill through you, your body responding to the power he exuded.

you dragged his pants down slowly, savoring the moment as your fingers brushed against the taut muscle of his thighs. Rafe shifted impatiently, his hips lifting off the couch to help you shove the fabric away, his movements eager and unrestrained.

the sight before you was sinful—his boxers stretched tight, barely containing the evidence of his need. The outline was unmistakable, and his cock twitched beneath the fabric as if desperate for release.

Rafe caught the way your eyes lingered, his lips curling into a cocky smirk. “Quit starin’, and do somethin’,” he drawled, his voice dripping with arrogance, but his tone was thick with want, betraying his usual composure.

you hooked your fingers into the waistband of his boxers, tugging them down just enough to reveal him fully, the fabric catching slightly before you slid it down his thighs. His cock sprang free, flushed and heavy, the sheer size and intensity of the moment making your breath catch in your throat.

Rafe let out a shaky exhale, his head tipping back slightly, but his eyes stayed locked on you, half-lidded and dark with desire. “Don’t get shy now,” he teased, though his voice was rough.

you ignored his remark, your focus entirely on him. Slowly, deliberately, you wrapped your hand around him, feeling the weight and warmth in your palm. His body jerked slightly at the contact, a low groan slipping past his lips as his hips bucked instinctively into your touch.

“Fuuuck,” he muttered under his breath, his hand reaching out to tangle in your hair. His fingers gripped lightly, but the unspoken dominance was clear, a reminder of how much control he usually held over everything.

you leaned in, your lips ghosting over the tip, your breath hot against his skin. His thighs tensed under your hands, his grip in your hair tightening as he struggled to keep himself from pushing you further.

“Stop teasing,” he rasped, his voice raw and demanding.

“I thought you liked when I took my time,” you said, your tone soft but teasing, your hand stroking him slowly, just enough to make his jaw clench.

“Not tonight,” Rafe growled, his voice thick with frustration and need.

the desperation in his tone sent a thrill through you, and you finally gave in, leaning forward to take him into your mouth. The first contact was electric, his body tensing as a deep groan rumbled from his chest.

you moved slowly at first, your tongue swirling against his tip, exploring every inch of him with deliberate care. His breaths grew heavier, his chest rising and falling as his hands guided your movements, his grip firm but never too rough.

“Jesus,” he muttered, his voice almost a whisper. “You’re too fuckin’ good at this.”

the praise sent heat pooling low in your stomach, and you hollowed your cheeks, taking his thick cock deeper.

his reaction was immediate—a low curse followed by his hips jerking up, pushing himself further into your mouth.

“Look at you,” he murmured, his voice strained but filled with that signature arrogance. “takin’ me so fuuckin’ well.”

you glanced up at him, your gaze locking on his as you continued, the intensity in his eyes making your pulse race.

Rafe’s hand tightened in your hair as he leaned forward slightly, his lips parted, sweat glistening on his forehead. “Don’t stop,” he muttered, his voice almost desperate. “I swear, if you dare to fuckin’ stop—”

you didn’t. Instead, you quickened your pace, your hand working in tandem with your mouth, gagging sounds escaping you as he was too much to fit inside your mouth, but you’d still do anything, anything to pleasure him, drawing more ragged sounds from him with every movement. His control was slipping—his composure shattered as you pushed him closer to the edge.

“Fuck, I’m—” His voice broke off into a groan, his body tensing as his grip on you tightened.

he tipped his head back, his breath hitching as he finally let go, his release hitting you as he moaned your name like it was the only thing he could remember.

you pulled back slightly, catching your breath as you looked up at him. His chest was heaving, his head tipped back against the couch, and his usual cocky smirk slowly returned as he looked down at you.

“We ain’t done here, sweetheart,” he said, his voice still rough and uneven.

© waitforyrlove. all rights deserved. do not copy my works. or modify my work.

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because as much as you hate rafe, you hate how good he feels even more.

it started like all disasters do — sudden and violent. a party, a fight, too much tension and too little space. you called him a selfish prick, he said you needed to be put in your place, and the next thing you knew, he had you pinned to a bedroom door, your legs around his waist, his hand around your throat, mouth pressed to your ear as he growled, “you gonna be quiet now?”

you weren’t. not that night. not ever since.

now, it’s a routine.

you argue in front of friends like you’re seconds from killing each other, and then fuck like you’re trying to ruin one another behind closed doors.

he pulls your hair. you bite his shoulder. he says things like “this pussy only talks back when it’s not full,”

and you answer with your hand wrapped around his throat, spitting, “you’re so obsessed with me it’s pathetic,”

it’s toxic.

it’s addicting.

you leave bruises, and he leaves bite marks.

and neither of you ever talks about it in daylight.

but there’s a moment — always — afterward, when you’re half-dressed, catching your breath, and you catch him looking at you like he’s memorizing every inch.

he won’t say it. never would.

but sometimes, his hands are soft. sometimes he kisses your shoulder instead of your lips. sometimes he holds you too long when he thinks you’ve already fallen asleep.

and still, the next day?

“still a bitch,” he mutters when you pass him in the hallway of a bar.

“still a dick,” you shoot back.

but you’re both lying.

because no one makes you feel like this — hated, wanted, ruined — except him.

© waitforyrlove. all rights deserved. do not copy my works. or modify my work.

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the massive halls of Mount Olympus gleamed with their usual divine perfection: golden pillars stretching endlessly, clouds swirling lazily around polished marble floors. The reunion had been called to settle disputes between the gods, but as usual, their mortal-born children were dragged along, sat at their parents’ sides like ornaments—or pawns.

you—sauntered into the room, the soft click of your heels echoing. Heads turned as you entered, your golden accessories catching the light, a subtle smirk playing on your lips. You knew the effect you had on people. Even the gods glanced up momentarily.

Hades’ son, Chris, was already there, leaning back lazily in his seat at the far end of the table, his booted feet kicked up on the edge, arms crossed and a black backwards cap to go with hus baggy clothes. He barely spared you a glance, but the corner of his mouth tugged into a faint smirk, amused at the way your confidence filled the room like a perfume.

“Don’t you have your own entrance, or do you just love showing off?” Chris drawled, his voice low and gravelly, like smoke curling through the air.

you glanced at him, unbothered, and arched a brow. “I didn’t realize sitting in the dark made people so bitter.”

the gods around the table groaned softly, as if used to this kind of mortal bickering. Hades gave his son a sharp look, though his lips twitched into an approving grin. Aphrodite, seated next to you, simply rolled her eyes and whispered, “Don’t waste your time on him, darlin’.”

“I don’t plan to,”

before he could retort, another voice cut through. “Oh, don’t mind him, he’s just brooding as usual,” said Callista, the daughter of Athena, who was seated just across the table. She flicked her dark hair over her shoulder and cast you a sharp, disdainful look. “But then again, what else can you expect when everyone’s either in love with or annoyed by you, Aphrodite’s little darling?”

“Aw, Callista, didn’t realize I lived rent-free in your head. It’s flattering, really.”

Chris snorted under his breath, clearly entertained, though he quickly masked it by leaning forward, his elbows resting on the table. “Can we get to the point? Or are we just here to trade insults?”

Zeus, at the head of the table, let out a booming sigh. “Enough,” he commanded, his voice reverberating through the hall. “We are here to discuss the increasing interference in mortal affairs, not bicker like children.”

the room fell silent, though tension crackled in the air like a storm waiting to strike. You caught Callista shooting another glance at Chris, her expression softening for a moment. Of course, she had a thing for him—everyone knew it.

but Chris? He didn’t seem to care.

as the meeting dragged on, you found yourself sparring with him again, throwing sarcastic remarks back and forth under your breath.

“You know,” you muttered at one point, leaning toward him with an infuriatingly calm smile, “for someone who’s supposed to be mysterious and brooding, you talk a lot.”

“And for someone who’s supposed to be charming, you’re a self-centered obnoxious little girl,”

wow.

by the end of the meeting, the gods were no closer to solving their problems, and you had made exactly one enemy and one reluctant sparring partner.

as everyone rose to leave, Chris paused, glancing at you with a flicker of something unreadable in his dark eyes. “You’re trouble,” he said simply, his tone somewhere between amusement and a warning.

“And you’re not as scary as you think you are.”

behind you, Callista’s glare burned into your back as Chris walked away, hands shoved into his pockets, a faint smile tugging at his lips, as Callista approached him.

you remained where you stood, watching the exchange from a distance, your curiosity piqued. Chris and Callista’s voices drifted through the air, low and intimate, yet laced with tension. You couldn’t help but feel a small, satisfied grin tug at your lips.

“You’re too patient with her,” Callista said again, her words slightly more insistent, a sharp edge creeping into her voice. “Don’t you think she’s—”

“—Playing games? Yeah, I’ve noticed,” Chris interrupted, his voice unbothered as ever. He took a slow step forward, his gaze shifting toward you for a fraction of a second before he returned it to Callista. “She’s always playing games. Doesn’t mean I’m going to get involved.”

Callista’s eyes narrowed, clearly frustrated by his nonchalance. “Then why do you keep letting her get under your skin? You think I don’t notice?”

Chris didn’t look at her as he spoke, his gaze focused ahead, clearly not fazed by her proximity. “You’re imagining things, Callista. You’ve got enough problems without making up new ones.”

Callista’s jaw clenched, but she refused to back down. “You’re the one who doesn’t get it. She’ll ruin you, you know. She always does this—charming her way through everything, acting like she owns the world.”

Chris’ voice was softer this time, more thoughtful, though his tone carried a warning. “You’re not the first person to say that.”

Callista let out a sharp laugh. “Well, maybe this time you should listen. Because I’m telling you, you’re not the only one she’s playing with.”

for a split second, there was silence between them. The soft rustle of the gods’ departing footsteps filled the space, but the air between Chris and Callista was thick with something else—unspoken tension. Chris’ face remained unreadable, his jaw slightly tense as he finally turned to her.

“Not everything is a game, Callista,” he said quietly, his voice carrying a rare weight to it.

Callista studied him for a long moment, a flicker of something softer crossing her face before her usual coldness returned. She shrugged nonchalantly. “Maybe. But you won’t know that until it’s too late.”

Chris smirked, though it was devoid of humor. “Yeah, well, I’m used to dealing with too late.”

there was a long pause, and Callista finally turned on her heel, clearly done with the conversation but not entirely satisfied. “Fine, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

as she walked away, Chris stood there for a moment longer, eyes scanning the grand hall, lost in thought, though the faintest trace of a smirk lingered at the corner of his lips.

from where you stood, you observed quietly, not quite surprised by the undercurrents running between the two of them. Callista’s dislike for you was no secret, and her sudden obsession with Chris only made sense. What surprised you, however, was how little Chris seemed to care.

his gaze flickered toward you again, this time meeting your eyes across the room. Without missing a beat, he pushed off from the wall and started to walk in your direction, that familiar, lazy swagger in his steps.

but before you could respond, Callista’s sharp voice called out from behind him. “Don’t forget, Chris!”

he didn’t turn around, his back still to her. “Forget what?”

“The offer still stands,” she called, her voice tense and clipped. “I don’t mind… helping you out.”

you saw Chris’ shoulders stiffen for a moment, and something in his expression shifted—irritation, maybe? Or something deeper? But he simply sighed, shaking his head slightly before turning to you.

“I need a drink,” he muttered, more to himself than to anyone. And with that, he walked past Callista without a word, making his way toward you.

you leaned against the pillar you’d been resting on, a small smirk curling at the corner of your lips as Chris came closer. “You know, your little fan club is getting awfully loud,” you teased, eyes glinting with mischief.

he didn’t respond immediately, only stopping a few feet away from you, his gaze now more focused than before. The quiet tension from moments ago lingered between you two, though there was a faint curiosity in his eyes.

“Callista’s fun,” he said dryly, the hint of a grin tugging at his lips. “But I’ve had enough of her… advice for one day.”

you shrugged, a mock-pout playing on your face. “It’s not my fault she has a crush on you.”

Chris scoffed, shaking his head. “That’s what she wants you to think.” He glanced at you sidelong. “But you already know that, don’t you?”

“Maybe. But I have to admit, I’m intrigued by your… indifference.”

“Indifference?” he echoed, raising a brow. “Is that what you call it?”

“Maybe. Or maybe I just don’t feel like playing games with you today.”

Chris studied you for a long moment, then slowly exhaled. “Lucky for you, then, I’m not in the mood to play either.”

with that, he turned and started walking away, leaving you there with an amused smirk, the words hanging in the air between you. “Next time, I’m not being so easy.”

“Looking forward to it,” he muttered under his breath as he disappeared into the shadows.

© waitforyrlove. all rights deserved. do not copy my works. or modify my work.

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your heart pounds. You’re not supposed to be here. And yet, the terms of the bet were clear: sneak into Matt’s space and return with proof. A book, a quill or anything to show you’d been there.

you’d lost the game, and now here you are.

the room smells faintly of aged leather and something crisp, like winter air. You tread carefully, trying to make out which door might lead to the boys’ dormitory. Somewhere above you, the faint sound of laughter echoes—probably from students lingering in the upper common room.

you’re halfway across the room when a voice freezes you in your tracks.

“Planning to redecorate, are we?”

you spin around so fast you nearly trip over your own feet. Matt leans against the far wall, his green-and-silver tie undone, his robes draped casually over one shoulder. His eyes glint with amusement, but his smirk is razor-sharp.

“What—what are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” he says, pushing off the wall and taking a lazy step toward you. His tone is light, but there’s an edge to it, like a cat toying with a mouse. “This doesn’t seem like your scene, sweetheart.”

you resist the urge to back away as he closes the distance between you, though your pulse is thrumming in your ears. “I was just—uh—looking for something.”

“Looking for something,” he repeats, raising an eyebrow. He doesn’t believe you for a second. “Let me guess: your houses tradition? Break into the Slytherin common room and hope you don’t get caught?”

you flinch. He’s far too close now, his presence making the space feel smaller. His dark green jumper clings to his broad shoulders, and you can’t help but notice the faint, woodsy scent that clings to him.

“No..” you say, a little too quickly. “It’s nothing like that.”

“Then what is it like?” he asks, crossing his arms. The amusement is still there, but his tone is sharper now, his gaze probing. “Careful how you answer, love. You’re already on thin ice.”

you hesitate, weighing your options. Lying to him feels impossible under his scrutiny. His eyes seem to see straight through you, as though he already knows why you’re here and is just waiting for you to admit it.

finally, you sigh. “Fine. It’s a bet, okay?” you admit, crossing your arms defensively. “I lost a bet, and now I’m here. Happy?”

his smirk widens, “I’m ecstatic. Go on, then. What’s the dare? Break into my dorm? Steal my favorite book? Something embarrassing, I hope.”

“Just… find something that proves I was here,” you mutter, your cheeks burning.

Matt’s laugh is low and warm, but there’s something dangerous about it. “You’ve got nerve, I’ll give you that.”

“Can I go now?” you ask exasperated.

“Not so fast,” He steps even closer, until you can feel the heat radiating off him. “You think you can just waltz in here, invade my space, and leave without consequences?”

“What do you mean, consequences?”

he tilts his head, pretending to think. “I could report you, you know. Breaking into the Slytherin common room? That’s grounds for a nice, long chat with the fuckin’ professors.”

“Matt, come on—”

“Or,” he interrupts, a glint of mischief in his eyes, “we could make our own bet.”

“What kind of bet?”

“I’ll let you off the hook—no detention, no tattling to your head of house—but you owe me. I haven’t decided what yet, but when I do, you’ll agree. No arguments.”

you hesitate, weighing your options. The alternative—a full-blown scandal and possible expulsion—isn’t exactly appealing.

“Fine,” you say through gritted teeth. “Deal.”

“Gooood girl,” he says, his voice dropping an octave. He steps back, giving you just enough room to breathe, though his eyes never leave yours.

“Oh, and one more thing,” he adds, his smirk deepening. “If you’re ever stupid enough to pull a stunt like this again… don’t expect me to be so fucking forgiving just like I was.”

with that, he turns and saunters off toward the dormitory stairs, leaving you standing there, equal parts relieved and humiliated.

as you make your way back to your own common room, you can’t help but feel that somehow, you’ve just lost another bet.

this was nowhere close to ending.

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