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killing me softly | 19

K M S M A S T E R L I S T | <- P R E V I O U S | N E X T ->

✿ G E N R E ✿ she fell first, he fell harder | slice of life | drama

✿ P A I R I N G ✿ s1!rafe cameron x overthinking!reader (f)

✿ C O N T E N T W A R N I N G ✿ swearing, suggestive language & themes, rafe refusing to refer to them cuddling as cuddling, fluff, rafe crashing out internally and also externally (standard cw atp), ANGST, mention of coke usage, rafe on coke, ruthie :)))), rafe having violent thoughts, hints at platonic rafe x kiara, verbal tension/major argument, minor violence (punch to the face), again ANGST and kindaaa s2!rafe vibes at the end (and ig some hints at bpd)

✿ S U M M A R Y O F L A S T P A R T ✿ you updated cara after waking up (who had spent the night with jj) and she freaked out over everything, insisting that rafe liked you more than you thought, but you said you'd rather play it safe. you and rafe texted a bit. he immediately got riled up about you being in the pogue girls’ group chat, but you reassured him. he also got a bit too comfortable with his flirty pics and wording. cara ditched topper’s ride and chose to drive with john b. at lunch, your parents voiced concern over rafe’s well-being, given ward’s difficult nature. you stuided the afternoon for tomorrow’s math test. after a quick outfit check with the girls, you were picked up at 7. in the car, topper sulked about cara; molly and kelce seemed even closer. at the open air parking lot, you and rafe complimented each other. he was surprisingly gentlemanly, paying for your ticket, coat check, and snacks. after a brief chat with cara and jj, you felt a small pang of jealousy when rafe commented on cara’s nipple piercings. kelce and molly had reserved you and rafe a lounge bed next to them, which made you panic a bit. rafe seemed disappointed and hurt by your distant behavior, but you pulled yourself together and even excused your anxiety to which he reacted surprisingly sweet. a slightly awkward moment arose when he got a boner (probably bc of you) which you managed to defuse by joking around about your teacher’s buttcrack. as it got colder, you hesitantly scooted closer to rafe under the blanket. you lay really close and eventually worked up the courage to fully cuddle with him, pushing aside your fear of rejection. rafe even put your pillow away so it was just the two of you close together. deep down, it started to feel like this maybe meant more than just a newfound friendship.

✿ W O R D C O U N T ✿ 15.2k+ (SO SORRY)

✿ A / N ✿ um, yeah. not much to say about this other than AHHHHHHHH. sorry this is so long, i heavily debated if i should cut it before the last scene but i didn't wanna keep you guys on edge for no reason so guess you gotta eat all that shit up. also, hahahah, LOTS of back-and-forth but i HOPE you guys will enjoy the direction i decided to go with (especially bc i'm so anxious about the new problem i'm introducing) and PLS lmk what you think <3 ᓚᘏᗢ

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Rafe had stopped counting how many times he’d questioned his sanity this week. The tenth, fourteenth, fiftieth, shit, probably the thousandth time.

With this moment right now? Probably the 1001st.

Because if some asshole had told him at the beginning of the week that seven days later he’d be lying on some stupid shitty lounge bed with some completely random girl back at the time, at some stupid shitty open-air event, watching fucking Barbie with a bunch of stupid shitty people, while you clung to him like a goddamn baby koala—Rafe would’ve beat the fucker right the fuck up.

After that, he probably would’ve done a fat line of coke just because hearing some dumb shit like that required it on principle, and then he’d have gone on with his life.

But now? He probably wouldn’t even beat up that bum Rob. Shit, not even fucker Chris, even if that asshole stood right in front of him talking some bullshit. Because that would mean Rafe had to get up. And that, in turn, would mean he’d have to let go of you.

Of you. Your warm body half-hugging his, your right hand resting comfortably on his upper stomach—a gesture that somehow irritated and grounded him all at once—your head that seemed to fit perfectly on the side of his chest, and fucking hell, your addicting scent mixed with the perfume you wore that was driving him absolutely crazy.

Rafe felt so at ease with you here. The lack of tension, the missing irritation that usually ran through his whole body, confused the absolute fuck out of him.

He didn’t fucking understand why he liked the way you clung to him. Why this felt like doing four lines in a row. Why this absolutely absurd position you two were in had his pulse racing. Why it made his blood rush, his nerves buzz, and his adrenaline shoot through his veins like going 140 mph down the highway with a line in his system.

And what confused him the most—what made him question absolutely everything he’d ever stood for—was why he even allowed it.

Why the actual fuck was Rafe letting some random girl get this close to him—in public, no less—where every shitty bastard and gossip bitch could see? And fucking Kelce, barely a meter away on top of it.

It made no fucking goddamn sense why this felt… normal.

As normal as paying for your ticket and snacks because Rafe had already been in line anyway and it’s not like he was hurting for cash, so he might as well save time and pay for yours too.

And for some fucked up reason, Rafe actually enjoyed doing it.

Why? He had no fucking clue. Most chicks he’d hooked up with expected him to buy them drinks, gifts, dinner, or pay for their nails or whatever the fuck. Like, did he look like a goddamn charity case to them?

But you? You even wanted to pay for yourself, which, as a matter of fact, just made him want to pay for you all the more, just out of fucking principle. No fucking way was Rafe letting himself get turned down.

Shit, seriously, since when had he started chasing after a girl?

But honestly, he didn’t even give a fuck anymore.

He’d already stopped fighting this feeling on Friday night. Because this pull he felt toward you? Simple explanation: you were a very cute girl with a pretty face that drove him absolutely fucking insane with your fucked-up brain—and somehow, Rafe liked that.

He fucked with it.

You being a little nuts, the way you always pissed him off, your weirdness, and the insane shit that ran through your head nonstop. It was like having the human version of Rick and Morty around—deranged, cracked out, and somehow still annoyingly enjoyable. Especially because you weren’t predictable.

As much as that pissed him off as well, he also liked how your reactions always surprised him. You weren’t boring.

Sometimes you were awkward and nervous for no fucking reason, just like earlier when you two had waited in line for snacks. Like what the actual fuck was that? Sometimes you snapped back like your life depended on it, like yesterday, during that stupid argument about you hanging out with Sarah. And sometimes, you even flirted the fuck back—like holy shit, did you actually have a split personality or some shit?

Then again, Rafe wasn’t entirely sure if you were flirting, or just being nice whenever you complimented his looks or had that teasing little twinkle in your eyes.

Nah. You flirting? You always looked like you were about to have a mental breakdown whenever Rafe flirted.

So, you were probably just on that sweet polite girl shit.

Shit. Why was this even taking up space in his head? See what you were doing to him? Your fucking overthinking whatever-the-fuck was rubbing off on him.

NAH, what the fuck was he even thinking? That wasn’t overthinking. Rafe was just following his thoughts a little further than usual.

He wasn’t you. He didn’t have a fucking army of little shitty-ass asshole minions in his head constantly talking shit and running around setting his brain on fire.

…Shit.

Rafe hadn’t even noticed his left hand playing with that stupid crappy bracelet on your wrist, fingers brushing over the little childish charms dangling from it. He couldn’t help it. Somehow, it scratched his brain just right.

And you actually wearing that four-dollar gas station horse-themed friendship bracelet? Stupidly hilarious. But for some goddamn reason, the fact that you wore it filled him with this weird sense of pride (the fuck) and excitement (even bigger the fuck) because you deciding to wear something he had given you? Sure. If you wanted to show off your new possession, Rafe wasn’t gonna stop you.

And as a matter of fact, you weren’t stopping him either from touching that cursed thing in the first place (Shit, why the fuck was he still messing with it?).

Oh! Speaking of touching things he probably shouldn’t be touching.

His right hand, which was resting very comfortably on your blanket-covered waist? The fact you hadn’t stopped him from doing that either really confused the fuck out of him.

Shit, the fact that you’d even initiated this whole laying-on-him-and-clinging-to-him thing in the first place? What the actual fuck. Like Rafe definitely wasn’t complaining about a cute girl like you holding onto him, but seriously—what. You making some kind of move or whatever the hell this was supposed to be? That was the craziest part of tonight.

Sure, it was also fucking insane how hot you looked in that sweet little dress of yours, or how he’d actually fucking gotten bricked up earlier when the same dress had ridden up your thighs, because that had immediately triggered a whole chain reaction of images (which—you reacting that chill about it? Fucking unreal), or the fact that right now he had to hold himself back so badly from not letting his hand wander lower because of the curve of your ass under the blanket?

Shit was driving him absolutely crazy to the point he had to pull up that cursed image you’d burned into his mind of Mr. Martin’s hairy caterpillar-ass or him in a goddamn tankini.

Like, hell no. Fuck you and bless you at the same time for that.

So Rafe kept his hand on your waist, fingers lightly drumming out a rhythm, because honestly? You’d probably freak out—well, the minions in your head would—if that hand actually wandered. And also, he didn’t wanna look like a damn liar because just yesterday he’d made it very clear (again...) that he wasn’t some perv trying to get into your pants.

Okay yeah, he wanted to bend you over, press your face into some sheets, hear those sweet little noises from your lips and—fuck, that wasn’t the point, alright? Just last night, he gave you some physical proof that he’d accepted your weird-ass conclusion that he wanted to be your friend (mainly because you practically forced him into it and, well, he kinda liked you but that also wasn’t the point either, okay?).

So yeah, Rafe definitely wasn’t about to scare you off by making a move that would have you backing away like some scared stray cat.

THEN AGAIN, why the hell had you initiated this, if you supposedly weren’t looking for anything with him, huh? You’d both been lying there pretty damn comfortably. You with your little pillow under his arm and all, and then when you'd sat up, Rafe had honestly thought you were about to have a mini panic attack again—but no.

Fucking hell. You’d actually wanted to lay down on him, and now he was back to the exact same fucking thought cycle he’d just tried to escape, and he hadn’t registered a single damn word that stupid-ass Ken was sobbing about on the screen.

Fucking fantastic.

Maybe one of your shitty little asshole minions had actually infiltrated his brain.

No, fuck that, he just had to face the facts.

You were a sweet, nice girl when you weren’t in your cracked-out mode. As far as Rafe knew, you only hung out with other girls. One of them being your insane best friend (who chose fucking swamp rat Maybank over Topper? Whatever). And Rafe remembered from Sarah and her friendship with Kie that girls didn’t really have boundaries when it came to physical closeness. Cuddling, sleepovers, sharing beds, even making out for fun, all that shit. Stuff Rafe would never in his fucking life do with Kelce or Topper.

So with that in mind, you probably saw this—you two cozied up like this—as just another normal, friendship thing (Rafe still couldn’t believe he agreed to that fucking label). That was probably exactly why it didn’t faze you.

You were used to this with your girl friends.

Fuck, and why the hell did that piss him off now?

The fact that this was just some mundane, platonic thing for you and—fuck that. Jesus Christ, fuck that. What the actual hell was going on with him?

Oh right. He hadn’t done a line since yesterday morning. No wonder his brain was going insane.

Rafe slouched deeper into the seat, this whole mental gymnastics session draining the shit out of him. Your body instinctively adjusted to his as he pulled you in a little closer by your waist and—

Fuck.

The way your hip shifted under that fuzzy blanket as your right leg moved slightly, your knee now resting on his.

Rafe bit the inside of his cheek, trying like hell to think of literally anything else besides the electric shock that movement sent up his leg. How you didn’t seem fazed at all but he was basically losing his goddamn mind.

Like, he actually had to fight off another wave of brutally suggestive thoughts and visuals and—get a fucking grip,dude. The last thing he needed was another goddamn boner within thirty minutes.

Then you’d really think he was some horny fucking bastard. And also? He never got this turned on this quick with any other girl. Did you have some crazy-ass pheromones baked into your insanely good-smelling perfume?

Shit was insane.

With the hand that had been fiddling with your bracelet, Rafe ran his fingers through his hair in frustration, trying to focus on the dumbass movie. He let his hand fall back down onto his stomach, just inches from yours.

There was this urge, this absolutely stupid pull to reach over again. Not just for the crappy bracelet but for your actual hand. Feel your skin, trace the shape of your fingers, map out the patterns of your palm.

He was just curious, okay?

But he didn’t wanna push it. He was already scared that any wrong move might make you recoil. No way you'd—

No fucking way.

Rafe’s heart actually skipped a beat as your hand reached for his. Well, not exactly his hand, but the golden ring around his middle finger, your fingers brushing over it.

“Does it have a meaning?” you asked quietly, eyes focused on the shiny object.

Rafe looked at your soft profile for a moment before saying, “Belonged to my mother.”

Something weird twisted in his chest as your fingers stopped playing with the ring, then pulling away, your hand returning to rest gently on his stomach.

“Shit’s not cursed,” he said with a smirk at your oddly weird reaction.

You let out a soft chuckle, your warm breath ghosting over his hand. “Yeah, no, I know.” After a moment, you added, “It’s really pretty.”

Like you, Rafe thought, but he didn’t dare say that shit out loud.

“Yeah, I guess,” he muttered instead, reaching back out for your bracelet and playing with a tiny dangling heart charm. Ken was whining about something in the background. “Not as pretty as this royal masterpiece, though. Must’ve belonged to some ancient queen or some shit.”

Weirdly enough, the more Rafe looked at it, the more he actually started to think it was pretty. Maybe that was just your effect though.

You let out another soft laugh and Rafe soaked it up like liquid coke. “Cersei Lannister would be jealous.”

Rafe blinked. “Who?”

For some reason, that made you shift.

Rafe’s hand slipped from your waist as you turned toward him, propping yourself up on your left elbow while your other arm rested lightly on his stomach.

“You’ve never seen Game of Thrones?” you asked like it was some kind of personal offense.

Your face was so close now, thanks to how you two had been lying, and Rafe’s eyes briefly flicked to your lips before locking back onto yours. He smiled, shaking his head. “Nah. Not my type of shit.”

You looked like he just insulted your whole family tree. “That ‘shit’ is a masterpiece,” you said, tilting your head. “Well, minus the last two seasons.”

“Oh, I’m sure the sex scenes are real cinematic works of art,” Rafe replied with a crooked grin.

Your nose scrunched up. “You’re probably one of those guys who worships American Psycho. Yeah, not taking your opinion into account.”

“Wow. Acting like you know other guys,” Rafe said, chuckling at your dramatic little scowl.

Okay but like, he did like that movie. Bateman was a cool dude.

You just kept staring at him, brows furrowed like you were trying to decipher some puzzle.

Rafe chuckled again, raising his brows at you with a grin. “What?”

His phone buzzed in his pocket but he ignored it. Probably just Kelce being a dumbass a few feet away.

“This show is a must-watch,” you said, tapping your index finger against his chest.

Oh? This sudden boldness? The way you were initiating physical contact, telling him what to do, trying to boss him around about what trashy TV show he had to watch?

Shouldn't turn him on as much as it did.

“Yeah?” he asked, smirking. “Well, shit. Then I have to watch it.” He couldn’t have said it more sarcastically, but you just nodded all serious.

"Yeah, you have to," you said, expression stern. "I’ll bring the DVDs to school tomorrow and then you’re gonna watch that shit. Two weeks max and no scratches on the discs."

No fucking way you actually insisted on this shit. Also, who the fuck even had DVDs these days?

Rafe scoffed, amused. "Or you leave that shit at home and show me there."

There. That was the reaction he’d been hoping for. That little twitch of your brows, the blink of your eyes, the way you instantly got all awkward again once the minions in your head started realizing what he’d just said.

Shit was hilarious as fuck.

Bzzrt. Seriously, could Kelce stop being so fucking annoying?

Huh.

When Rafe looked over to the right, both Kelce and Molly were cuddled up, giggling at the movie. So either it was crybaby Topper sobbing over Hall again, or Wheezie sending him another one of her weird-ass YouTube conspiracy vids.

“Well, yeah, I guess if you want to,” you said, smiling all awkward.

Rafe raised a brow. “Do you?”

Bzzrt. Rafe was gonna kill that fucker, whoever it was.

Your brows twitched, your fingers absentmindedly playing with the fabric of his polo as you let the question marinate.

A crooked smile formed on Rafe’s lips. No way the thought of watching that shit at your place made you uncomfortable but lying here with him was fine. Your brain was seriously fucked up.

But by now, he knew exactly how to shut up that one stupid minion in your head: just state the obvious. As much as it pissed Rafe off that he had to do this at all, he’d rather repeat himself a thousand times than go through another long-ass, exhausting convo with you spiraling over some completely unnecessary bullshit.

Bzzrt.

“Okay, let me say it again—” he started calm but firm, but you shook your head with a sheepish smile.

“No,” you let out a chuckle, then nodded. “I mean, yeah, I’d like that.”

That made this weird, fuzzy feeling bubble up in Rafe’s stomach, and the grin came naturally. “Okay, then—”

Bzzrt. Bzzrt.

Okay, that was fucking enough. Who the fuck was blowing up his phone like that?

“Fucking hell, wait a sec, some fucker’s spamming my phone,” he said with a frown and shifted slightly to the side, lifting his hip to grab his phone from his pocket.

Another annoying-ass bzzrt.

He lifted it to his face with his left hand but fucking Face ID bugged out, so he had to awkwardly move his right arm over your head to unlock it manually. That, in turn, made you back off slightly.

His chest clenched as your hand slid off his stomach, your head left his chest, and you shifted onto your back again, your gaze fixed back on Barbie.

Fuck. Seriously. This fucking fucker would catch hands.

Furrowing his brows, he unlocked his phone. And what. the. actual. fuck.

This fucking bitch.

What the actual fuck was she thinking, texting him this bullshit like he fucking cared? Shit. What the fuck?

Shit, hell no. This? This made his blood rush so fucking fast because not only had she chosen now to piss him off, she was also the fucking reason you’d pulled away from him. And Rafe wasn’t sure he could get you to move closer again.

But what really pushed him over the fucking edge was how she had the audacity to throw this passive-aggressive side dig at you. That was what really riled him up. This fucking bitch of all people trying to drag your name through the mud, acting like you weren’t worthy of him when it was the exact fucking—

FUCK.

Rafe could’ve thrown his phone at the screen. Why hadn’t he turned it off before this shitty-ass event? Why had he even bothered checking it?

Shit. And of all people, it was someone he didn’t give a single shit about.

Okay, no. Fuck her. He wasn’t putting up with Ruthie’s bullshit.

He sent her a middle finger emoji and made a mental note to tell that bitch off hard after the event.

He let out an annoyed breath, was about to turn off his phone and maybe try to coax you back to lying on his chest when, of course, Ruthie’s next message popped up.

Shit. He should just turn it off. But something in his gut told him something was off. That bitch lived to rile people up, but the tone of these next messages? It pissed him off too much to ignore.

Rafe shifted up higher, now sitting upright, knees pulled up, and tapped back into the chat.

Rafe stared blankly at the phone screen, fingers nearly digging into the display, pulse pounding, blood rushing through him while his chest rose and fell sharply, a vein popping in his neck as he tried to keep his fucking cool.

He was going to kill her.

He was going to fucking kill that bitch.

Because who the fuck did she think she was? Trying to toy with him like he was one of her stupid, cackling little bitches, when Ruthie’s stupid-ass family wasn’t even close to top-tier on Figure 8.

What did she—how the fuck had she even gotten a video like that? It didn’t make any fucking sense. Rafe always went into a backroom to deal AND do coke. He wasn’t a fucking idiot. He never did that shit in public.

HAH. Probably just fucking with him. Yeah. She was probably just trying to rile him up, fucking around, trying to ruin his moment with you.

Nah, it was probably just one dumb troll videos, fucking around like she always did. Joking, messing with people. Now she thought she could pull that same bullshit with Rafe.

He made sure his phone was muted and clicked on the video, pulse skyrocketing.

Come on. Fucking load.

Oh, that bitch was gonna catch hands for whatever troll video she’d sent. For whatever—

How.

He didn’t—

That didn’t make sense. That was—

No. Fucking shit, NO.

And yet, there it was. Some shaky video starting with Gracie’s front camera, that drunk bitch realizing she was filming herself. The POV switched to the back camera, focusing on two other girls in the kitchen, giggling and waving at the camera before downing shots.

The fucking video wasn’t even about Rafe. Except that it was.

Because in the background, you could see his back—him reaching into his pocket, prepping a line on the kitchen counter, and snorting it right off.

It could’ve been anybody if he hadn’t turned around at the last fucking second and rubbed his nose, the video cutting off as his full face came into frame.

FUCK.

Rafe didn’t even fucking remember that. He knew he’d done some lines that night—like two or three, okay maybe five—but all of them had been in the bathroom or Kelce’s guest room with nobody else around but himself, that fucker Chris, and some other losers.

Fucking hell.

He definitely didn’t remember being in the kitchen alone with Gracie of all people—the girl he’d dumped after a week of hooking up because she annoyed the living fuck out of him. Always clinging to Ruthie’s ass, always babbling about Ruthie. Ruthie this, Ruthie that. Like her whole life revolved around that bitch.

Shit, even during sex, she’d once asked to try a position because it was Ruthie’s favorite. Like—Jesus fuck—what the hell?

That had been the last straw. He’d packed his shit and left. Sure, Gracie had some insane mouth and hand game, but that? That had been beyond fucked.

That had been—

Shit. He remembered now.

He’d gone into the kitchen to look for you after doing lines with Chris and his loser crew in the guest room. But when he came back, you weren’t where he'd left you. Then he’d texted you and you’d replied you were in the bathroom with some guy which later turned out to be a typo for Molly’s name and FUCK.

Rafe had been so on edge, he hadn’t thought, and straight-up done a line in the kitchen.

Shit. Fucking shit.

And of all people, Ruthie had gotten her hands on the video.

Fuck. If she actually released that—

He didn’t give a shit what the school would think. They could kick him out, whatever. Even the cops, what could they do? They had a video, sure, but no real proof of it being coke. It showed him doing white line of something. Could've been flour. So what? Maybe an investigation, a fine. Whatever.

But his dad.

If his dad saw this video, Rafe was fucked. So fucking fucked. He’d—

He’d fucking kill that bitch.

Rafe didn’t even think. Rage and fury flooded his brain.

He set his phone aside, tossed his part of the blanket over your legs, and sat at the edge of the lounge bed, blood boiling as he reached for his shoes.

Oh, that bitch was lucky she wasn’t a guy. So fucking lucky. He would’ve knocked the fuck out of her, wiped that stupid grin off her face, knocked a few teeth loose and—

“Everything okay?”

Rafe stopped.

The turmoil inside him only worsened as he glanced back over his shoulder and met your pretty eyes, that soft glimmer in them. You had sat up too, hugging the blanket around your stomach.

Rafe just wanted to kick off his shoes again and slip right back under the blanket to your warm body. Feel your hand on his stomach, your head on his chest, breathe in your sweet perfume.

Then he remembered he'd only done that cursed line at the party because of you. Because you’d messed with his head with your cryptic-ass texts and your whole vibe and just—

Fuck.

You were the reason Ruthie had him in a fucking chokehold now. You were the reason Rafe had lost his goddamn mind to the point he’d done a stupid fucking line of coke right in the middle of some giggling girls filming him.

Rafe furrowed his brows, jaw clenched tight.

This anger toward you confused him because it clashed hard with that light feeling he’d had just seconds ago, lying there next to you.

"I’ll be right back," was all he said, his voice distant, and it pissed him off, even though he couldn’t stop it.

Your brows twitched and that just fueled his irritation and—

Shit. He could see it in your eyes. Little minions running around, confused and overwhelmed. Fuck, he really didn’t have time for that shit right now.

Rafe had to leave. If he didn’t find Ruthie soon, that fucking video would get out and he’d be fucked. He couldn’t deal with your anxiety spiral right now.

That was something you had to handle on your own now.

Once he’d gotten his other shoe on, he grabbed his phone and stood up, that familiar itch to snort a line crawling into his fingers.

And with that, he walked off, gaze fixed straight ahead, because he couldn’t bear to meet your sad eyes again.

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A girl. He’d been texting another girl.

You hadn’t seen who it was, hadn’t caught her name or profile pic, only the red heart at the bottom of the chat before he’d snatched his phone off the lounge bed and stormed off.

And now you were left alone.

The bed that had felt too small for the two of you earlier now looked way too big and empty. A deep clenching in your chest, a horrible twist in your stomach, and a storm of racing thoughts threatening to suffocate you.

You pulled the fluffy pink blanket higher, hugging your knees to your chest, staring straight ahead and clinging to the traces of warmth and scent he’d left on the fabric.

You didn’t even know what to think or feel. You two had just been so close moments ago—cuddling, the air light and sweet, Rafe actually relaxed.

But now? He’d looked so angry, so pissed off and mad, and you even got the sense that some of it had been directed at you, the way his voice had been so cold.

The fact that he’d even checked his phone to answer some girl while you two had been lying there so cozily... it hurt more than you wanted to admit. And you felt so stupid for feeling like this.

It’s not like he’s my boyfriend or anything.

Shit. And yet. Deep disappointment and irritation were bubbling up inside you. But even more than that: the question of who that girl was.

Who the hell was she to be sending Rafe little hearts? Who was she that he’d leave you behind to go chase after her? Who the fuck was she that he couldn’t even look at you as he stormed off?

Fuck. Now you were angry? This was so embarrassing and dumb. So many questions and wild theories gathering in your brain, each one worse than the last.

There were a lot of girls at the event tonight. You could rule out some random touron girl or a Pogue for obvious reasons. That just didn’t add up.

So... probably someone from school.

Maybe some ex-fwb who got jealous seeing you two together, or someone hoping to get back with him. Or maybe—

Ruthie was here. Cara had said she'd seen her with Topper. And where Ruthie was, Gracie usually wasn’t far.

Your heart sank.

She’d been one of his recent fwb situations. Sure, that had been a few months ago and hadn’t lasted long, as far as you could remember, but... could she be the one texting him?

Although, she hadn’t seemed particularly interested in Rafe at the party, or even at school, really. Even during the Truth or Dare game Friday night—she had sat on his right, yeah—but you remembered she hadn’t paid him any attention if you were being honest. Just giggling about Ruthie leading the game.

Besides, Gracie was pretty reserved and passive. Ruthie was the mouth of the duo, the one holding the whip.

So... maybe Ruthie had told Gracie to text Rafe? Just to mess with you two.

Okay, no. Wait. That’s... jesus christ. That’s borderline insane.

AHHHHH, were you really putting that much importance on yourself that you thought Ruthie would go out of her way to ruin something between you and Rafe? Which, what even was there to ruin?? Like it’s not like you two were a couple or anything, it was just this maybe kind of vibe, this budding friendship—

Ughhhhhhhh, strong secondhand embarrassment right here.

Sure, Ruthie didn’t seem to like you but to be fair, the feeling was mutual. But you clearly weren’t a threat to her. She had never paid you any attention before, so why would she now?

Okay ew, no. Scratch that thought immediately and pretend it never happened.

And besides—hello?? Rafe cuddled with you. CUDDLED.

No way he’d just throw that away to go make out with some random girl. Especially not when he’d seemed so at ease and relaxed with you. Like, come on. You didn’t want to act all full of yourself or anything but no way some ex-whatever-girl was more interesting than you right now.

HAH. That’s exactly what Cara would say. First she’d screech like a banshee at the fact that you and Rafe had cuddled, and then she’d say something like "Girl, no way he’s trading the comfort and safety of your boobs pressed to him for some dry-ass blowie from a rando bitch."

Wow. Thanks, imaginary Cara. #actuallyschizophrenic

Also, you kind of forgot the most important detail: Rafe had looked furious. Not just annoyed or moody, no, full-on I’m gonna beat someone up energy.

So maybe it wasn’t a girl at all. Maybe it was a guy texting him and the heart was some passive-aggressive way to piss him off.

Ohhhh, yeah, that would make sense.

You hadn’t seen Chris around, so maybe some other frat guy? Or maybe even a customer?

OH YEAH. Rafe dealt coke. Let’s not forget that. Maybe it was just some very urgent “business” emergency or whatever.

HAHAHAHAHAHHAHAH SURE PROBABLY THAT.

Then again, hahahahha, why would he go deal coke NOW, right in the middle of cuddling and watching a movie?? Like?????

UGH. Why couldn’t he have just told you why he was leaving? Then you wouldn’t be sitting here spiraling over something that was probably nothing. Maybe he was just taking a piss and the texts weren’t even related to why he'd left at all.

AHHHHHH so many possibilities, GONNA GO INSANE NOW HAHAHAHHA

No seriously. Chill. The minions in your brain were just going crazy for no reason (oh god am I actually adopting Rafe’s metaphors now welp).

AND ALSO, Rafe had said he’d be right back. No point spiraling over this right now, RIGHT?

You exhaled slowly and pulled the blanket up to your shoulders. Your left hand reached for the bracelet on your wrist, playing with the little dangling charms.

He’d come back soon. And then you could enjoy the rest of the movie, cuddled up with him again.

Except… he didn’t.

You spent the next thirty minutes alone on that lounge bed, hugging your blanket close, trying not to think about how humiliating and embarrassing you felt surrounded by all these other people who were sharing their lounge beds with someone else. Some of them had even watched Rafe leave, and now you looked like some stupid girl who just got ghosted.

And that’s exactly how you felt.

You didn’t even dare to look around, especially not to the right where Molly and Kelce were cuddling barely a meter away. This was just...

I'm so fucking stupid for believing this could’ve meant ANYTHING at all. That in some dumb, pathetic way you’d actually thought you meant something to Rafe after yesterday.

Am I just being angry for no reason?

You furrowed your brows, pulling your legs in even closer, tears threatening to rise, especially now that America Ferrera’s character was delivering this insanely powerful and gut-punching speech about women in the modern world.

And then the anger hit you at how right she was, at how fucking mistreated women were (not like that was news but right now it just hit differently), at the fact that Rafe had left you again, like he’d done at Kelce’s party to go deal coke, and now he was maybe balls deep in some girl in one of the toilet stalls while you were lying here alone like some stupid, naive idiot.

And now Ferrera was preaching about how women shouldn’t settle for less, how you should know your self-worth, about how society always expected you to be grateful for even the tiniest crumbs, even if they were against you.

LIKE NO. Fuck that. Fuck this. Fuck Rafe and his stupid—

The cushion beside you dipped. Startled, you looked away from the screen, expecting to see Rafe but instead, big brown eyes and a furrowed brow greeted you.

“You okay?” Kie asked, her tone laced with anger, though it didn’t feel directed at you.

You blinked, completely taken off guard seeing her here—and then realized, shit, you actually were crying.

You instinctively wiped your tears away, feeling ridiculously stupid and pathetic and gave her a forced smile.

“Yeah, yeah, all good,” you said, scooting a little to the right so she could sit properly.

But Kie didn’t move.

“Do you wanna come join us?” she asked, hesitating a bit before carefully adding, “I doubt he’s coming back.”

Your stomach twisted at hearing what you already knew deep down.

But facing everyone like this now? No way. You didn’t want their pity or well-meaning sympathy right now. So you shook your head, forcing another smile.

“No, I… it’s fine. I’m good here,” you said, and you both knew you were lying.

Kie held your gaze for a moment, her expression stern. Then she moved away from the edge and sat down next to you in the spot that had been Rafe’s.

Somehow that made your chest tighten.

“It’s not fine,” Kie said quietly, shaking her head. “Rafe doesn’t get to play the asshole whenever he feels like it.”

You knew she was right, and yet…

“I don’t think he means it badly,” you said and immediately questioned yourself for saying that.

Kie clearly thought the same, judging by the way she looked at you. “He left you here. Don’t tell me you’re defending his shitty behavior.”

“No, but—” You blinked. How did she even know he’d been gone in the first place? “Did you see him?”

For a brief second, an image of Kie and Rafe together somewhere on the event grounds popped into your head but you quickly pushed that absurd thought away.

“He almost walked me and Cleo over when we came back from the snack bar,” Kie explained. “Seemed like he’d just come from the toilet stalls.” She furrowed her brows. “Then he pretty much stormed off toward the exit. Looked like he was about to kill someone.”

…

Oh.

He left.

Not just for 30 minutes. No, he actually left.

The feeling that rose in your chest… you couldn’t even describe it. It just felt hollow. Like a deep, deep hole that had just gotten even deeper after hearing Kie’s words.

You didn’t even— what the hell was going on with him? You didn’t understand. This just seemed off. Sure, his mood swings were completely unpredictable but going from cuddling straight to ditching the entire event?

Maybe something had happened? Like a family emergency? But then again, Sarah was still here. If something had happened, wouldn’t she have been alerted too?

All of it felt so strange. And somehow, your gut was telling you something bad must’ve happened, something that had rattled Rafe enough to make him bolt like that. And now you felt bad for thinking all those horrible things about him earlier.

“Did you see if anyone was with him?” you asked anyway, dreading the answer.

Kie curled her lips and shook her head. “To be honest, I just came straight here. I figured he didn’t tell you he'd leave. He’s an ignorant asshole.”

God, Kie was way sweeter than you’d initially thought.

“I don’t get why he’d leave without at least saying something,” you said, brows furrowing. “That’s just… I don’t get it.”

Kie made a bitter grimace. “There’s nothing to get. He’s always been like that. There’s no changing him. Trust me, okay?”

That… didn’t sound like someone who just disliked a guy. It sounded like someone who had history with him. Which made you feel all kinds of weird. Like you were talking to some ex of his, even though you didn’t actually know what had gone down between them. If anything had even gone down.

And because you didn’t want to make assumptions, you just said it straight out: “That sounds like you two used to be close.”

Kie’s brows twitched and she looked away for a second, as if debating whether to open up. In the background, the Barbies were currently executing their plan to take back Barbieland.

“Not in the way you might think,” she finally said, hugging her knees up to her chest. “When I first became friends with Sarah as kids, Rafe was always hanging around too. Back then he wasn’t such a massive asshole. More like a friendless loser, honestly.” She let out a small laugh. “He’d always crash our hangouts, trying to annoy us—me especially—but once I put him in his place, he was… actually kind of okay to be around.” A distant smile touched her lips. “I’m an only child but I guess he was the closest thing I had to an older brother.”

Her smile faded quickly, that stern expression returning. “And when their mom died, everything just… changed. I mean, of course it did. But Rafe… he suddenly seemed to hate Sarah. He got more aggressive. More distant. But she was my best friend, so obviously I stuck by her when it felt like he wanted me to pick sides. It only got worse when I joined the KA in ninth grade.” Kie grimaced. “He grew almost obsessed with trying to turn me against her. So I put a stop to it. Eventually, he backed off. But it’s Rafe,” she said bitterly, “if he can ruin someone’s day, he will.”

She held your gaze, a kind of bittersweetness behind her eyes. “I’m not saying he’s toying with you. Actually, I’m pretty convinced he’s horribly into you and just doesn’t know how to deal with that because it freaks him out.” A small, frowning shake of her head. “Still doesn’t excuse his shitty behavior.”

You just stared at her, kind of baffled. Only the sound of Ryan Gosling’s Ken singing “Push” while playing guitar in the background grounded you, which, disturbingly, kinda described Rafe's dynamic with you a little too well.

The fact that she and Rafe had been kind of sibling-like once… that was unexpected, but honestly very sweet. And the idea that the three of them—Kie, Sarah, Rafe—had once been some little trio? That hit in a way you hadn’t expected.

And here you’d been feeling jealous like some stupid crazy bitch.

But what really threw you off were her last words. Hearing her say—she, who had been so skeptical just the day before, clearly judging your whole thing with Rafe—that she actually believed he might actually…

GOD, YOU COULDN’T EVEN THINK IT. Didn’t want to. Scared it might jinx it.

Kie's features softened slightly when she saw your expression, letting out a sigh. “I can tell you genuinely seem to like him, and I think you could actually be really good for him in the long run.” She raised her brows, amused. “JJ said Rafe only almost decked him earlier when you'd talked.”

That made you chuckle too.

“That’s why my only advice to you is,” she continued, her expression turning serious again, “Don’t let his bullshit slide. Ever. Rafe is a very difficult person but whatever he’s dealing with doesn’t excuse being an asshole.” Her features softened again as her eyes landed on your bracelet. “Still, I believe he has so much to give to the right person.” She met your gaze again. “Maybe it's you.”

JESUS CHRIST. This was just... A LOT.

Her spilling some crazy backstory about their past, the bittersweet tone in her voice when she talked about him, the fucking fact that she thought Rafe might actually have caught feelings for you AND HOLY FUCKING SHIT, her thinking YOU might actually be good for him?

God, and on top of that, her still seeming to care about him even after their falling out, despite how much she’d learned to dislike him…

It just hurt even more because it felt like she didn’t want you to go through what she had, and AHHHHHH I CANNOT.

You hugged your legs closer, eyeing her, completely stunned. “That... I don’t even…” you started, but nothing felt more fitting right now than: “Thank you.” You smiled, genuinely. “For making me feel better and… for sharing this with me.” You let out a sheepish little laugh, playing with the charms on your bracelet. “And for looking out for me in the first place.”

Kie’s mouth twitched into a smile, her gaze flicking away from yours for a second. “To be honest, I didn’t know what to make of it—how you seemed to actually like Rafe. It’s just… he’s turned into this cocky, pushy, aggressive guy, and I couldn’t really believe someone like you would hang out with him willingly.”

She shook her head and met your eyes again. “But then I saw you two together on the event field earlier, and there was this calmness to him.” A bittersweet smile tugged at her lips. “It’s like he lets himself relax when he’s around you.”

OKAY BYE. THAT WAS THE FINAL BLOW. HOLY SHIT.

All of this spilling out of Kie, It was just... a lot to process.

Not to mention the entire situation in the first place, and as much as you appreciated her words, her presence, everything, all you could think about was how badly you wanted to go after Rafe now. Check the parking lot or wherever he’d gone because he definitely hadn’t gone home. You all arrived with Topper’s car.

But you stayed put.

As much as your heart was aching to run after him, to find out what was going on, to understand why he’d left you like that, hell, even just to talk it out, you didn’t want to leave Kie behind.

She didn’t seem like the type to just open up easily or willingly to some girl she’d known for a day, so this felt like a rare moment—something real between you two. And you definitely didn’t want to pull a Rafe move on her.

“I can’t believe I’m putting up with his bullshit either,” you finally said, a smile tugging at your lips. “But I guess... part of me also relaxes around him. I don’t know, he just… helps me get out of my head.” You chuckled softly. “Even if he does it in the worst way possible.”

Your brows furrowed slightly, thinking about how hurt he’d looked earlier. “And I’m far from a saint either. I have a huge overthinking problem, and it messes with my relationships a lot. Honestly, I’m surprised he still sticks around, considering I drive him up the wall most of the time.”

That got a genuine laugh out of Kie and she shook her head. “Sounds like you’re handling him just right then.”

You smiled, the heaviness in your chest easing a little. Grateful for Kie’s honesty and her presence.

And when you noticed the goosebumps on her arms, a soft breeze blowing through her brown locks, you immediately reached for the fluffy pink blanket and held it up for her.

Shit, you hadn’t even noticed she was probably freezing. Oops.

Kie eyed you for a second, something like hesitation in her gaze, but then she smiled and scooted closer, grabbing one end of the blanket and pulling it up to her chest.

“Thanks,” she said quietly, adjusting into a more comfortable position, her shoulder now resting against yours.

That somehow marked the end of the whole Rafe conversation.

The next twenty minutes were spent snuggled up under the blanket, sharing warmth, giggling about how pathetic Ken had been at the end (Kie compared him to Rafe which just made you laugh harder), snacking on Rafe’s leftover nachos and your own snacks, and almost (definitely) crying during the crazy emotional montage of Barbie experiencing girlhood and humanity in a speedrun. You were pretty sure you even heard Kelce sobbing next to you.

No better way to bond than over Barbie.

After the movie ended, the screen showed a 45-minute countdown until Transformers would start. In the meantime, most people got up to stretch, run to the restroom, grab new snacks and drinks, and some even left—they’d only come for Barbie.

You and Kie had left the blanket on your seats and headed straight to the stalls (you made sure to take a wide detour around Kelce and Molly because the last thing you needed was them asking questions about Rafe or making comments about you two cuddling).

Inside the stall, you pushed down all your anger and confusion and decided to send Rafe a quick text because, more than anything, you were actually worried.

Ughhh, is that too clingy? PROBABLY.

But you didn’t care. He’d spammed your entire phone this afternoon with cursed and suggestive pics, so you could definitely drop one little concerned text. Besides, it had been almost an hour since he'd left, and the fact that he hadn’t sent even a small update was kind of weird.

Rude. Ignorant. Definitely an asshole move. But somehow Kie had eased your thoughts so much that it didn’t feel like he left because he regretted cuddling with you, or ran off to find another girl, no, it felt like something must’ve happened. Something serious.

And your gut told you that if Rafe was spooked enough to leave like that, it had to be bad (And you had your dad’s gut and his was never wrong. So that had to mean something, at least)

Outside the toilet stalls, girls were giggling and chatting about the movie, laughing about the Kens, quoting America Ferrera’s monologue, and praising the message of the film.

You even recognized Cara’s voice when you stepped out to wash your hands.

“I swear, I dated a guy exactly like that once,” she said. “He literally played the same song and stared at me the exact same way. Most horrendous moment of my life.”

More laughter followed.

You chuckled to yourself, shouldered your bag, and took a deep breath. This was going to be the most awkward and interrogative interaction of your life.

As you made your way through the crowd of girls still in line, stepping out of the restroom cabin, all eyes snapped toward you the second you joined the group.

Legitimately everyone was there. The Pogues, Cara, even Kelce and Molly. Surprised Topper wasn’t there too.

Great.

Everyone was here—except the one person you desperately wanted to see.

Just smile. Prepare for some horrible question like Where’s Rafe?, Did you guys fight?, Why’d he leave?, Kelce said he saw you cuddling, blah blah blah.

UGHHHHH.

But to your surprise, they stayed quiet. Smiling in that way that said we know what happened but we’re not gonna overwhelm you.

And worst of all? Every single face was filled with pity. The last thing you wanted.

Except Kie's. She had this genuine smile, one that said don’t worry, I made sure they wouldn’t bombard you with questions.

“Alriiiight,” JJ said, clapping his hands. “Shots?”

Everyone seemed to agree.

✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿

“…and then he left,” you finished your little recap of tonight’s events as you and the girls were sitting at a high table on barstools near the bar at the edge of the event venue.

The boys were sitting a few tables down, laughing loudly at some nonsense. Kelce and JJ had clicked immediately. Not surprising at all, considering both of them were party animals with the same extroverted energy.

Anyway. You hadn’t really had a choice not to tell the girls about your night with Rafe because they’d been staring at you for the past ten minutes like you were a bomb about to explode. And also, they’d tried acting normal in a painfully awkward way. Failed miserably.

You’d asked them to just listen first and not interrupt, though, because otherwise it would turn into an endless back-and-forth, and you hadn’t even wanted to talk about this in the first place.

All five of them stared at you blankly.

And then Cara exploded. “YOU FUCKING CUDDLED?!”

Jesus Christ—that was probably loud enough for half of the North Side to hear.

“Did you not hear the part where he just left her?” Cleo said with an amused expression.

Cara nodded wildly. “Absolute asshole move, yeah, I’m definitely gonna kill him next time I see him but—” She shook her head and gestured her hands in your direction, nearly knocking over Kie’s drink. “YOU CUDDLED. I—That’s—Someone call 911, I think I’m having a heart attack.”

You and Sarah chuckled while Cleo and Kie just shook their heads.

“He wasn’t even watching the movie,” Molly said with a smile, playing with the straw in her mojito. “Every time I looked over, he was just gazing at her.”

WHAT.

Cara shrieked and almost fell off her barstool.

“And yet he still left,” Kie said dryly, shaking her head with a grimace. “Can we please not gloss over that.”

Molly nodded. “I’m really sorry about that. I wanted you to come over and join me and Kelce, but he insisted Rafe would be back soon. And when I did want to get up, Kiara was already with you.”

Um... yeah, you were pretty glad you hadn’t joined Molly and Kelce. That lounge bed was definitely too small for three people, and you absolutely didn’t feel like third-wheeling like some loser.

Still, the thought counted.

“Thanks, but it’s all good,” you said with a smile.

Sarah shifted in her seat, brows furrowed. “I just can’t believe he’d leave you like that. And you really didn’t see who messaged him?”

You shook your head. “No. Just that most of the texts seemed to be from the one texting him, and at the end I just saw a red heart in one of the messages. That’s it.”

“That’s so weird,” Sarah said. “I honestly can’t think of anyone that could’ve been. Maybe Wheeze needed to be picked up from Theo’s? He does live pretty far from Tannyhill. Maybe Dad or Sasha couldn’t go. That could explain why he looked so pissed, like you said. Maybe he was just mad the night got ruined.”

You assumed Sasha was the Camerons’ housekeeper.

You tilted your head. “But then why wouldn’t he just say that? Like, that wouldn’t even have been a problem. And besides, he said he’d be right back.”

“And also, how would he even have left?” Cara added. “They all arrived with Topper's car."

Sarah nodded. “Oh right.” She tilted her head. “Did he maybe ask him for the keys?”

Cara shook her head with a nope look. “It’s his mom’s Range Rover. I’m surprised he even got to drive it. No way he’d let Rafe take it.”

You all just stared at her.

“What?” she said. “He whined to me about it at the party on Friday, okay?”

Uh-huh.

“Well, have you texted him?” Cleo asked you, crossing her arms on the table. “Seems like the easiest way to find out what’s going on.”

You nodded. “Yeah, but he hasn’t answered yet.”

And right on cue, your phone buzzed in your purse.

Your heart skipped a beat, pulse shooting up, everyone watched you expectantly as you pulled your phone out but that feeling quickly faded.

“Topper,” you said, disappointment leaking into your voice. Then you picked up. “Hey, what’s up?”

“Hey,” he said on the other end, voice sounding weird. “Do you have a minute?”

Aaaand your heart was back in the race. “Uh… sure, I guess. Where are you? Everything okay?” Is Rafe with you? you almost asked.

“Yeah, yeah,” he said, but he didn’t sound convincing. “I’m at the archway.”

You blinked and looked over your shoulder, spotting his silhouette—at least you thought it was him—at the far end of the venue. He seemed to be alone.

“Okay, uh, we’re at the bar,” you said, turning back around. “Don’t you wanna come over? Kelce is here too.”

A pause. Then: “Cara’s with you, right?”

Instinctively, your eyes met hers. “Yeah.”

“Um,” he gave a strained chuckle, “I’d rather not then.”

You nearly frowned. Was he seriously still sulking because she didn’t accept his ride offer?

Whatever.

“Alright, I’ll be right there,” you said, and the girls shot you weird looks.

You could practically hear Topper exhale in relief. “Thanks.”

With that, you hung up and shouldered your bag.

“What?” Cara asked, frowning. “He’s afraid of coming over here or what?”

Sarah and Molly chuckled.

You shrugged and slid off the stool. “No idea. I’ll be right back. Maybe he knows something about Rafe.”

Cara was already about to protest, making a move to join you, but you shook your head with an amused smile. “Stay here. I got this.”

“Tell him his drama queen behavior is such a turn-off,” she muttered, and the others laughed in agreement.

As you made your way across the venue, you gripped the strap of your bag tighter. Your hands were clammy with nerves, unsure what exactly Topper needed to talk to you about. And now that you were away from the fireplace at the bar, a cold night breeze whipped across your bare arms and you just now realized how much the temperature had dropped.

Great. And Rafe had the ticket for your jacket at the coat check.

Even though you were cold, kinda annoyed that Topper hadn’t come over himself, and hadn’t even said what this was about, you still managed a smile as you finally reached him at the archway.

“Hey,” you said. “Everything okay? What’s going on?”

Why was he standing here alone? Hadn’t he spent the whole evening with Ruthie’s girl squad? And most importantly: Did something happen to Rafe? Because the tension in his smile definitely hinted at something serious.

Topper nodded. “Yeah, uh, yeah.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Actually, no.” He pressed his lips together and sighed. “I feel stupid for even asking you to come over here. I mean I don’t wanna drag you into something you’re not really involved in.”

Again, you almost frowned. So this wasn’t about Rafe. It was about Cara.

Great :)

“But,” he continued, “I’m just… I’m confused. About Cara, I mean. Her whole vibe.”

Then why don’t you just talk to her??? (Okay girl, calm down, no need to take it out on the poor guy who’s probably just looking for some clarity. Just like you.)

You hugged yourself from the cold and tilted your head. “I get why you're irritated, but honestly, I think it’s best if you just talk to her yourself. I’m really not in a position to speak for her.”

Topper nodded. “I know and I—I wanted to but she’s either been with Sarah or Maybank the whole night, and I didn’t wanna approach her with those two around.”

Okay, JJ you understood, but Sarah? That just seemed like a lame excuse. Oh, wait— didn’t Rafe mention during his little hate speech yesterday that Sarah tried to turn Topper against him too? So maybe there was some history between them.

“Well, she’s free now,” you said, rubbing your arms. “Want me to go get her?”

Please say yes, it’s freezing out here.

Topper’s brows twitched and he scratched his chin. “You think she’d even wanna talk to me?”

If you keep being this self-pitying, then probably not. Holy shit, girl, calm the fuck down. This was Rafe infiltrating your brain.

Wait—

RAFE!

Your heart stopped when you spotted him a few meters away, coming from the parking lot with the biggest scowl known to man. He made a quick stop at the register, probably because the cashier had called him over. Probably wanted to check his ticket.

Your gaze flicked back to Topper, pulse racing now, adrenaline shooting high. You nodded quickly.

“Yeah, yeah! Sure,” you said, probably grinning like a maniac. "Actually, I think she’d really love it if you went up to her. I mean, Cara likes it when guys take initiative.”

UGHHHH that sounded so stupid, no way he would—

“You think so? I don’t—”

Another quick nod. “Yeah, definitely. You can trust me on this.”

PLEASE JUST GO, NEED TO TALK TO RAFE.

Topper hesitated, then nodded with a somewhat relieved smile. “Yeah, okay.” He took a step forward, but then paused, eyeing you in confusion. “Aren’t you also—”

“Yo, Top!”

Both you and Topper turned, and your heart plummeted as you saw the furious look on Rafe’s face while he marched toward you. His expression twisted into an irritated, almost maniacal grin locked solely on Topper.

Topper didn’t even get the chance to react before Rafe shoved him in the chest. “You’re a fucking shitface,” Rafe hissed, not even sparing you a glance.

“Hey, man, what—what’s going on?” Topper looked totally confused, rubbing his chest after stumbling back a step.

Rafe scoffed, tapping his chest with both hands. “You trying to fuck me over or some shit, huh? Trying to act like some little backstabbing piece of shit?”

You just stood there, frozen, completely stunned by the whole situation. A few people nearby had already started glancing over.

Topper shook his head, brows furrowed. “What the fuck are you even talking about?”

“Oh, real funny.” Rafe clicked his tongue, shaking his head slightly. Then, without warning, he stepped forward, grabbing Topper by the collar and towering over him. “I think you know damn well what the fuck I’m talking about.”

Topper blinked, clearly completely thrown. “No, dude. I have no idea what you—”

“Yeah, yeah, sure,” Rafe said, nodding, the corners of his mouth twitching downward. There was something seriously unsettling about his tone. He gave Topper a hard shake and raised his voice: “You think I’m fucking stupid, huh? You think I—”

“Get the fuck off me,” Topper snapped, shoving Rafe’s hands off. “You’re coked up, dude. I don’t even fucking know what you’re on about—”

Rafe’s fist connected with Topper’s face with a sickening crack. A pained groan escaped Topper as he stumbled sideways, his hand flying to his cheek. “What the fuck?!”

Horrified, you gasped. A few girls nearby even shrieked.

But Rafe didn’t stop. He stepped forward again, looking like he was about to beat Topper to a pulp but instead grabbed his collar once more, just about to open his mouth when:

“Rafe!”

Kelce’s voice rang out suddenly, with John B and Sarah right behind him.

Rafe’s head snapped up and he scoffed, shaking his head. “Shiiit. Is this some kind of fucking joke?” He shoved Topper away and threw a mocking gesture toward Kelce. “You too now, huh?” He let out something like a chuckle but it sounded more like a disbelieved scoff. Tapping his chest again, he said, “Both of you trying to fuck with me, huh?”

“Dude, you need to chill out,” Kelce said, and it was wild how weird his voice sounded when he was serious. "What's going on?"

Rafe tilted his head, and everything about him screamed danger. “Chill, yeah? Just like you’re chillin’ with fucking pogue rats now, huh?”

“Rafe,” Sarah said, and his head immediately snapped toward her. “Seriously, you need to—”

“Oh, don’t you fucking dare tell me what to do,” Rafe snapped, stepping toward her with a shake of his head.

John B stepped in front of Sarah, chin raised, and Rafe stopped in his tracks with another scoff, rubbing over his nose with a sniff. He nodded. “Sweet. Yeah. That’s fucking sweet. Y’all a big happy fucking family now or what?”

“Dude,” Kelce said, stepping in and grabbing Rafe’s shoulder but Rafe immediately shoved his hand away.

Kelce raised his hands and backed off. “You need to get your shit together, bro.”

Two mean-looking security guys were already heading straight toward the commotion. The whole nearby area had quieted down, all eyes on you.

Rafe didn’t give a damn. His gaze was now locked back on John B.

Oh god—and the security guys looked like the kind who’d knock someone out first and ask questions later. They were heading straight for Rafe.

“Step back! Now!” one of them yelled.

Jesus Christ, and that idiot just turned to them with a provocative smile on his face, clearly ready to stir up more shit but you couldn’t bear to watch him get beat up again.

Heart pounding like mad, you stepped up to Rafe, hesitantly reaching for his arm. Your heart sank to your stomach when he grabbed your wrist tightly with his other hand, probably thinking it was Topper or Kelce.

“Rafe,” you said, voice shaking.

His head snapped toward you, and for a second, you thought he’d push you away but the moment his blown-wide pupils met your eyes, his grip immediately loosened, his brows twitching as he stared at you.

One of the security guards was about to grab Rafe, but you quickly shook your head, letting go of his arm and stepping halfway in front of him, giving the grim-looking guy a nervous smile. “It’s okay, he—we’re leaving.”

“No, the fuck, we’re not.”

You turned back to Rafe, planting your hands firmly on his chest as he tried to step forward again. You looked up at him, pleading, hoping he’d have some shred of sense left.

“Please,” you whispered, your heart hammering at the fury in his eyes. “If they call the cops, and they see you like this…”

They’d know immediately he was on something. They’d run tests—oh god, and if he had a baggie on him, it’d be over. He’d be arrested, charged, investigated, and—

You felt the warmth of his chest slip from beneath your hands as he took a step back. With a big, crooked grin, he threw his hands up for a second, gaze still locked on the security behind you.

“Chill the fuck out, aight?” he said, then let his hands drop, his expression twisting into a scowl as he looked first at Topper, then Kelce, then Sarah. He shook his head, his voice full of scorn and detachment—almost not even sounding like him when he said: “Fucking backstabbing rats. All of you. You fit right into this little play-pretend family.”

Everyone just watched him storm off in stunned silence, completely speechless.

“If your friend comes back again, he’s getting more than a warning,” one of the security guards said.

John B mumbled something in response, but you didn’t even register it, the blood was rushing in your ears too loud, your heart pounding wildly, eyes fixed on Rafe’s back as he disappeared through the entrance.

Kelce stepped forward and said something like “I’ll go after him,” but you were faster.

You didn’t think. Didn’t give yourself the chance to second-guess. Didn’t even hear Kelce call after you as you took off after Rafe.

Gripping the strap of your bag tightly, you rushed through the archway, past the entrance and register. Your cheeks flushed with adrenaline as you stepped into the gravel parking lot, scanning frantically for his familiar silhouette.

The warm lights of the lanterns and the cool milky hue of the moon mixed together, bathing the parked cars in a spectacle of gold and silver surfaces.

And then—there!

Just straight ahead, a silhouette walking off.

You rushed after him, feet hitting the gravel path, every step in sync with the pounding of your heartbeat.

“Rafe,” you called after him, a weird feeling spreading in your chest as he didn’t stop.

You pushed down the anxiety and doubts and called his name again. “Wait. Please.”

The silhouette came to a halt.

Broad shoulders lit by the golden glow of the streetlamp hanging directly above him. His whole posture tense, defiant and alert all at once. You could see his strained breathing in the way his upper body moved.

You pressed your lips together, nerves buzzing with unease. You’d never seen him like this. All coked-up and furious. Even punching his friend in the face.

The fear of what he might do if you said the wrong thing clashed hard with your concern and the aching need to reach out to him.

Heart hammering, you forced yourself to shove all of that down and stepped closer, half-circling him, knuckles white from how tightly you clutched your purse strap.

Your heart sank straight through the ground when you stepped around him and saw his face, expecting a frown, a deep scowl, rage and irritation in his gaze but instead:

Tired, red eyes. Glossy. Pupils so wide they seemed to choke out the blue of his irises. And adding to the heart-wrenching sight was the purple bruise blooming on his right cheek, still fresh enough to be illuminated like a spotlight in the streetlamp’s golden glow.

Physically and mentally, Rafe looked completely wrecked.

“What happened?” you asked quietly, a silent whisper, scared that even the smallest push might make him crash out. “Are you okay?”

Your chest tightened as he looked at you with such cold distance it almost resembled contempt.

Rafe scoffed, more a tired exhale than anything. “Do me a fucking favor and go back inside. I’ve had enough of fake bitches tonight.”

Your brows twitched, the words hitting like a punch to the gut but you swallowed the sting and the anger. You knew he didn’t mean it like that. He was just pushing you away.

“Rafe, what’s going on?” you asked again, a little more confident now, voice soft, searching his cold eyes for some kind of answer.

He let out an annoyed breath, rolling his eyes so hard you saw the whites. As his gaze locked with yours again, it was sharp and unsettling. He tapped his temples with his fingers. “I’m serious. I have zero patience for your anxiety bullshit right now.”

You blinked, stunned. Did he seriously think you came out here for some kind of reassurance? And what the fuck did he mean by ‘anxiety bullshit’?

“I don’t—I’m not here because of that,” you said with furrowed brows, unable to keep the edge out of your voice. You hugged your arms tightly around yourself, partly from the cold, partly just to soothe yourself. “I just... You left so suddenly, and I—what happened?”

Rafe shook his head and raised his chin, face twisted in irritation. “Okay, what the fuck is this? Some pathetic attempt to squeeze gossip out of me? Did Sarah send you here so you can giggle with your new little girl squad later?”

“What?” You stared at him, baffled. What the actual fuck was going on with him? “No! I’m just worried. This is—I mean, I’m just trying to understand what's going on.”

Rafe let out a bitter laugh, gesturing back toward the event hall. “Why don’t you go back inside to Topper then and ask that fucker, huh? Looked like you two were getting real cozy right now.”

Seriously, what the actual fuck.

You didn’t even let your brain begin to process what that implied. You just blinked at him, stunned, brows knitting together as your own frustration started to rise.

“We were just talking,” you said, voice tight. “He asked me—”

“Yeah, talking alone far from everyone else,” Rafe cut in, tapping his chest with an angry hand. “Does everyone think I’m some fucking—”

“He was whining to me about Cara, okay!” you snapped, totally done with his deflections and accusations. “He called me over because he was scared to join us at the bar or whatever, I don’t know.” You shook your head in disbelief. “I—do I look like—I mean what does that even have to do with Topper?”

“Nothing that fucking concerns you,” Rafe shot back with a scowl, eyes so cold it was like he didn’t even recognize you.

Why couldn’t he just say what was wrong?

Instead, he threw all his anger at you for no damn reason. Almost like...

Now you tapped your chest. “It does fucking concern me because it feels like I’m the reason you left.”

Shit.

Your lips clamped shut the second the words left your mouth. Fuck. You really didn’t mean to make this about you. Fuckfuckfuck.

“I’m just—” you started again, but stopped as Rafe’s face twisted into full-blown irritation and disbelief.

“You think this is about you?” His voice was razor sharp, slicing down your spine. He ran a hand through his sweaty hair, scoffing. "Seriously, this constant whining and need for fucking reassurance is pissing me the fuck off.”

He spat the last words like venom, making you flinch at his sudden shift toward you. Just an hour ago you’d been curled up together, laughing. Now he was a completely different person.

His brows twitched as he stared at your shocked expression, mouth opening, probably to throw more shit at you, but you’d had enough. Your conversation with Kie flashed through your mind.

“You know what,” you snapped. “Yeah, this is about me. Because you don’t get to treat me however the fuck you want just because you feel like it. First all sweet and affectionate and now whatever the hell this is.” You let out a shaky breath, tapping your temples. “You call me crazy but what the fuck is going on with you? It's fucked getting me to cozy up to you and then vanishing without a word. I just—it's fucking humiliating getting left behind like that.”

Rafe grimaced, voice low. “I fucking came back, didn’t I?”

Was he for fucking real?

“Yeah, sure,” you said dryly. “You came back all coked-up and then punched your friend. Like, did you seriously dip just to snort something? If your addiction is—”

“You better shut your fucking mouth now,” Rafe snapped, eyes narrowed, taking a step forward. His stare was so intense, real fear prickled down your spine. But he just shook his head. “You have no fucking clue what the fuck you’re talking about.”

You had to fight the urge to step back, clutching your arms tighter. Despite the fear and irritation swelling in your chest, your next words came out quiet, shaky around the edges. “I’m just worried, okay? Something clearly happened in the last hour that set you off. I’m not trying to be nosy—”

“You are,” Rafe barked, pupils blown wide like black discs. He grimaced, brows tight. “This has nothing to do with you, alright?” His voice cracked into something almost desperate. “Now stop pissing me off and get your ass back inside.” His hand went into his pants pocket for a second, then shoved a tag with the number 69 into your view. “And take that shit too.”

“No.”

Rafe’s scowl deepened so much you genuinely thought he might throw the tag at your face. “You really wanna test my fucking patience right now?”

You didn’t move. Didn’t even look at the tag. Just stared at him, shaking your head softly. “Something happened. And you don’t look okay at all. You don’t have to tell me what it was, but—”

“Jesus Christ, do you ever stop talking?” Rafe cut in, shaking his head with a bitter laugh, tapping his temples again with a crooked smile. “Shit up here can’t be that bad.”

Fuck. That.

"You're an asshole," you snapped, fury taking over your voice. "And being on drugs doesn’t excuse your shitty behavior."

He opened his mouth, but you cut him off, brows furrowed deep. "And attacking my insecurities and issues is disgusting and pathetic, especially when all I was trying to do was understand what's going on with you."

You shook your head with a scowl, stepping closer and pointing at his chest, voice furious. "And I’m so sick of your constant mood swings. I get it if you’re having a bad day, but I’m not letting you take it out on me." You hugged your arms around yourself again, stepping back, heart clenching painfully at the shift in his expression—genuine irritation written all over his face. "So if that’s your idea of what a friendship is supposed to look like, then I sure as hell don’t wanna be part of it."

You didn’t even wait for a reply, too afraid you’d start crying at whatever awful, hurtful comment he’d throw at you next. So you grabbed your bag strap tight, heart pounding and screaming, and turned around to go rejoin the others, doing everything you could not to let the tears fall.

I’m so stupid. So, so stupid for thinking I could handle him. So fucking stupid for running after him and—

"Don’t leave."

You froze in your tracks as those two small words hit the air, his voice shaky and desperate, laced with fear and frustration. It felt like someone had just reached into your chest and torn your heart right out.

And then the second bullet hit, even harder and more painful, as it followed the first one with a quiet "Please."

The final blow hit you as you turned around. Standing under the soft glow of the streetlamp was the shilouette of a boy, looking so deeply wrecked and broken, it cut right through your ripped-out heart.

Wide eyes staring back at you, desperation etched into every line of his face as he rubbed his forehead with a fist.

"I… I just can’t help it, okay," he said, frustrated, his expression twisted in pain as he tapped his temples aggressively. "My head, it’s— I know something’s wrong up here, I just…" Now rubbing his temples, hands clenched into fists, eyes shut tight. "It’s like my body’s… like it's always two steps ahead of my brain, and it's out of my control what I say or do."

His face contorted as he let his hands drop and gestured to his chest, gravel crunching under his shoes as he stepped closer. "I’m not a bad guy, okay?" he said, desperation bleeding into his voice and his expression, hands now motioning to you. "I’m just— it’s just… I need you to understand I didn’t mean to hurt or attack you. Or lash out at you. In moments like these I just…" Palm rubbing one eye with a grimace, then tapped one finger at his head. "It’s like someone else's taking over. And this whole fucked-up situation has me so on edge anyway, and I—I know I shouldn’t have taken it out on you and I don’t—"

"Rafe."

Your voice was as soft as it could be, and yet he still looked like he was bracing for impact.

"It’s okay. Really," you said with a sad smile, shaken to your core by what had just spilled out of this boy (again). "I know what it’s like to have a messy head. You don’t need to—"

"No, you don’t understand," he interrupted, shaking his head in frustration, tapping his temple again. "It’s not like your little minions running around spreading bullshit. It’s--it's more like there’s just two of them, and when one knocks the other out, I’ve got zero control over what he does." He shook his head again, face twisting as he rubbed one temple with his knuckles. "And I don’t want you to leave just because I can’t keep that fucker’s mouth shut."

A tiny smile tugged at your lips at the comparison, though it pained you deeply to see how much he was struggling inside his own mind. Even worse was the fear of being left behind that was written all over his face.

"I’m not leaving," you finally said quietly, chest aching as his eyes widened. "Like I said, I know what it’s like not feeling safe in your own head. I don’t care about this ‘issue’ you think you have going on. I’ve handled you this far, haven’t I?" You let out a strained chuckle before your expression grew serious again. "But I need you to talk to me. Whenever you feel like this… asshole minion of yours is about to take the lead, you need to say so." You raised your brows just a little, letting out another soft chuckle. "Maybe I can send over one of my own to knock some sense into that idiot."

"And I also need you to know," you continued, "whatever’s bothering you, or whatever’s weighing you down, you can share with me. You don’t have to let it eat you up just because you’re too proud or scared to let someone else in. That’s what friends are for. To help carry the load." You tilted your head with a troubled smile. "And clearly whatever happened in the past hour is weighing heavy on you, the way it’s got you so shaken."

Rafe just stared at you for a moment. Big blue eyes watching you like he couldn’t decide whether to actually let you in or shove you away.

Your heart ached deeply for this angry, broken boy.

Finally he shook his head, brows drawn into a bitter grimace. "This shit… no one can help me with. It’s fucked, it’s so fucking FUCKED." His face scrunched up, both palms pressing against his temples. "Shit's so bad I was this close to beating that bitch up."

Your brows twitched.

"Ruthie?" Somehow you already knew who he meant, and a bad, bad feeling settled in your stomach.

Rafe nodded with a bitter smile. "Of course fucking Ruthie." In a swift motion he gestured angrily toward the event venue. "I would’ve never gotten up and left if that bitch hadn’t pushed me to it."

Somehow that was both relieving and deeply concerning. Because if Rafe let Ruthie mess with his head, then shit must be really bad.

"Why? What did she want from you?" you asked, hugging your arms tightly as the cold breeze hit your bare skin.

Rafe frowned. "Doesn’t matter. Get back inside, you’re freezing."

Yeah, no shit. Been freezing since I came over to talk to Topper.

"It does matter," you said anyway, mirroring his expression. "What did she want?"

Rafe let out a sharp breath, dragging a hand through his hair. "That crazy bitch is blackmailing me, alright? Got a fucking video of me snorting coke at Kelce’s shitty-ass party and now she’s trying to make me do her bidding."

Your frown deepened. "Who—"

"Gracie took some dumb video of her bitch friends in the kitchen and I’m seen in the background. Clear shot of my face and everything," he said, pissed off and deeply frustrated. "Now fucking psycho Ruthie’s threatening to post it online if I don’t convince my dad to accept her father’s dumb-ass joint venture deal."

He shook his head hard, rubbing his temples like he was trying to physically to hold himself back from crashing out again. "But my dad’s already said no because it’s a shit offer. Only an idiot would agree to those terms." His face twisted into a pained grimace. "Already tried calling him but Wheezie said he’s at some corporate dinner tonight. It’s a fucking lost cause anyway, my dad will never say yes to that bullshit."

Jesus Christ.

That was seriously fucked. Like, next-level fucked.

Sure, everyone knew Ruthie was nuts, but blackmailing someone? Using Rafe’s addiction against him? Backing him into a corner until he had to numb the desperation and frustratioi with more coke?

FUCK. THAT.

"Fuck that bitch," you said, and Rafe’s head snapped up, clearly caught off guard. "You got proof of her blackmailing you?"

Rafe frowned. "Yeah, but it’s all in the same damn chat as the fucking video. If I showed that to the cops, I’d be turning myself in with it."

"Isn’t Topper’s mom a lawyer?" you asked, voice sharp with focus. "Maybe she could find a way around that."

"Shit, no," Rafe replied with furrowed brows, scratching his jaw. "Don’t need that crazy woman getting involved. She’d go straight to my dad, and it’d be the same fucking outcome." He rubbed a hand over his face, shaking his head. "Can’t even stand to see Topper right now anyway. Fucker’s been glued to Ruthie and her little bitch squad all night. Probably even involved in this bullshit game."

You gave him a deadpan look. "Topper might be gullible and stupid when it comes to girls but he’d never stab his best friend in the back."

"He’s not my fucking best friend," Rafe snapped with a scowl.

"No, you’re right. That title definitely goes to Kelce," you said with a little chuckle before your face turned serious again. "But my point still stands. Topper would never do anything that would really hurt you."

Rafe rubbed at his eye, clearly worn out. "Doesn’t fucking matter. No matter what I do, I’m fucked. Only option’s getting my dad to accept that garbage deal."

Fuck no. Ruthie getting to pull off her little game and win? No fucking way. Just—no. Absolutely not.

"Even if you succeed, she still has that video," you pointed out. "She’ll just keep playing the same game. So you gotta beat her at it." You raised your brows. "Meaning: We need to get our hands on something worse than what she’s got on you and make sure that video gets deleted from her possession."

For the first time since Rafe’s crashout, his face lit up with an amused smile. He raised his brows. “‘We’?”

You nodded. “I meant it when I said you don’t have to deal with shit like this on your own.” A cheeky smile tugged at your lips. “Also, she kinda ruined our bonding moment, so I kinda feel like getting back at her.”

Rafe let out a disbelieving breath, that boyish smile spreading across his face. “Bonding moment.”

“Well, yeah. We were all cozied up and cuddling. I’d say that counts as bonding,” you replied, cheeks heating up, surprised you even dared to say it out loud.

And the chuckle that left Rafe’s lips was so sweetly boyish, it felt like a win in itself. He stepped closer with a lopsided smile and gently grabbed your shoulders, nudging you to turn around. “Aight then. Let’s get back inside and continue bonding.”

NJDHWANDJKHla WHAT.

Your heart skipped a beat at his words and the feel of his hands on your shoulders. Still, you didn’t move, turning your head to look back at him with raised brows. “But the Ruthie situation.”

Rafe shook his head. “Bitch gave me until the Gloaming. I’ll figure that shit out later. Can't change shit right now anyway.”

“We,” you corrected him.

“Yeah, we are gonna go back inside and get you back under the blanket,” he said, nudging you forward. “I can feel the goosebumps through the fabric of your dress.”

You could swear he glanced at your ass for a second and that alone made your cheeks burn even hotter.

This guy was a menace.

His hand settled on your upper back as he guided you toward the entrance, his touch sending shivers up your spine.

“What?” he asked, clearly amused, as you stopped again.

You smiled sheepishly. “Uhm, pretty sure I heard one of the security guards say they’re gonna knock you out if you come back in.”

Also, his pupils were still blown but one could argue that’s just a natural reaction of eyes toward darkness.

Rafe scoffed, totally unfazed, and nudged you forward again. “My dad knows both of them. They’re not gonna do shit if they don’t wanna end up jobless for the rest of their lives.”

Not him flexing his dad like Draco Malfoy. Help.

“Jesus Christ, what now?” he frowned as you stopped again.

“Promise you won’t be mad at Topper,” you said, brows raised, waiting.

Rafe’s face twisted into a dramatic scowl. “That fucker—”

“Topper probably didn’t even do anything wrong,” you cut in. “Other than maybe seeing Ruthie as a potential love interest, but I guess that was just him trying to cope with Cara rejecting him.”

A sigh left Rafe’s lips. “Alright, alright. Now move. This shitty-ass car robot movie’s already starting.”

Transformers, dude.

“And you’re gonna apologize for punching him,” you added. “Because THAT was actually uncalled for.”

Rafe looked like you just insulted his entire existence. “Fuck that. I’m not about to crawl up that loser’s ass.”

Seriously.

“That’s not crawling up anyone’s ass,” you said with a frown. “It’s called being a decent human being. And a good friend.”

Rafe scoffed. “A good friend would beat his ass again just for talking to Ruthie in the first place. Might knock some damn sense into him.”

You stared at him deadpan. “I’d love to knock some sense into you."

Ah, shit. Here we go again.

Rafe’s lips curled into that cocky fucking grin but you beat him to it with a scowl.

“First of all: no to whatever you were gonna say,” you said dryly. “Second: stop trying to change the subject.”

He chuckled. “Okay, okay. I won’t beat him up again.”

You didn’t move a muscle, just stared at him expectantly.

Rafe frowned. “I’m not saying sorry.”

“You will. Otherwise, you can expect some bonding time with Cara and JJ cause that’s who we’ll be sitting with then.”

He looked at you like you’d grown another head.

“Fuck that,” he muttered, brows furrowed. “I’m not cozying up with some pogue rat.”

You shrugged. “Then have fun having the lounge bed to yourself because I will."

I won’t. And I don’t want to. No way I’m getting caught up in whatever they’d do under that blanket.

Rafe stared at you for a good ten seconds before sighing and rubbing a hand over his chin. “Fine. I might say I shouldn’t have punched him. Still not saying sorry.”

Better than nothing, you thought.

You raised your brows. “Promise?”

A dramatic sigh. Then: “Promise.”

With that, he placed his hand on your back again and nudged you forward one last time. Only this time, it had settled a little lower than before—dangerously close to your butt, for someone who’d agreed to a friendship yesterday.

But you didn’t complain. Didn’t flinch. Because maybe that was exactly where you wanted it to be.

✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿

K M S M A S T E R L I S T | <- P R E V I O U S | N E X T ->

✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿

T A G L I S T F O R M (taglist for this series is CLOSED but you can sign up for my other stuff through this link)

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(ʘ‿ʘ✿) “what you say ‘bout me”

(ʘ‿ʘ)ノ✿ “hold my flower”

[gubesboo]

quite literally just BINGED this whole series so far yall like!? foaming at the mouth for more 😭

illicit affairs - part twelve | r.c

summary:

“Mom, let me just take care of this, okay?”

Your mother didn’t look entirely convinced, but she nodded anyways, sitting back down as you walked out of the living room, heading straight to the front door. As you stepped out on your porch, craning your head to find the motorcycle, you let out an exasperated sigh, when you recognized the owner.

“Seriously?”

JJ let out a bright grin when he saw you on the porch, driving around in a circle before he came to a stop in front of you.

“Hey princess, I was starting to think you’ve been hiding from me.”

OR; home from your trip, a surprising visitor manages to distract you from your Rafe-shaped problems

pairing: rafe cameron x reader

warnings: mini Topper pov, bad Spanish (from me, let’s just pretend it’s flawless in this chapter for plot reasons) (DeepL im looking at you), translation at the end

word count: 4,1k

author’s note: ooop the cat’s out of the bag! i told you, jj would be back👀 i wonder what he’s up to this time… happy reading, as usual, i look forward to what you’re thinking 🫶🏼

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

pt. twelve: “take the road less traveled by”

“You need help with that?”

“Why are you even asking?” you said, pushing the suitcase towards Rafe, then climbing up the stairs into the jet.

Something was different.

Topper didn’t exactly know what it was, but something changed in the last twelve hours. Rafe didn’t immediately disappear into his bedroom after they had dinner, instead, he stayed out on the patio with Topper, having a drink of Ward’s expensive whiskey he hid under the kitchen island. Topper even laid awake in bed, keeping an ear out for suspicious sounds when everyone had gone to sleep, expecting to hear a door opening and closing, but nothing. When they made their way over to the airfield, Topper expected a silent treatment from you, or maybe Rafe being especially short-tempered, but he was surprised when everything was normal. At least it seemed to be.

When everyone was on board, buckled up in their seats, the pilot started take off procedure, and Topper leaned over to Kelce, hoping the noise of the plane would block what he was gonna say.

“Hey, don’t you think they’re acting weird?” he whispered in Kelce’s ear, and he looked at him confused.

“Who?”

“Rafe and Precious.”

Slowly, Kelce turned his head towards your seat, where you were napping, your head leaned on Rafe’s shoulder while he was scrolling on his phone. Then, he looked at Topper again, giving him a look.

“You’re acting weird,” he pointed out, slipping his AirPods out of the case. “And don’t breathe in my face, it breaks me out.”

With that, Kelce put both of his AirPods in, drowning out Topper, who only settled into his seat with a frown. Something definitely changed.

“Mom? Dad? I’m home.”

Even though the hadn’t seen their cars, you still called out. But the house seemed to be empty. You left your suitcase in the laundry room, before you headed straight to your bedroom, changing your clothes before throwing yourself on your bed with a deep exhale.

When you first packed for Nassau, you couldn’t wait to leave. Now, it felt so good being home again. Funny how things worked out.

For the first time, you were alone since you broke things off with Rafe. It was weird, how almost nothing changed between you, except for the fact that he probably would have spent your last night in Nassau in your bed. But that was just the thing, wasn’t it? You didn’t know any other way of being around him. Honestly, the smartest thing to do was getting some distance, which was partly the reason why you were so glad to be home. Smartest didn’t mean easiest though, because avoiding Rafe meant avoiding Topper and Kelce too, and how were you going to explain that?

Suddenly, you remembered what Topper said to you at the Spring Fling.

“Seriously precious? You know this isn’t gonna end well. And it won’t just affect you and Rafe, it’s gonna affect me als Kelce, too. How the fuck are we supposed to choose sides if you’re our best friends?”

At that point, you thought Topper was being dramatic, but now it seemed like reality. To your horror, you weren’t even sure if either of Topper or Kelce would choose your side, if it ever came to it. Yes, they were all your best friends, but at the end of the day, they were all guys. And guys usually stuck together.

And were you willing to lose your friends just because you couldn’t deal with your feelings? Not the easiest pill to swallow. With a small sigh, you turned over in your bed, feeling like you could use a little nap. Just before you fell asleep, your phone buzzed next to your head and you picked it up, squinting at the screen.

rafe [04/23/24: 2:21 pm]: you get home okay?

precious [04/23/24: 2:22 pm]: yeah

The small read appeared under your messages as soon as you sent it, the ellipsis popping up. They stayed for a good while, making you wonder what the fuck he was writing, until they disappeared. You frowned, then, the ellipsis returned, before your phone buzzed again.

rafe [04/23/24: 2:25 pm]: are we good?

Seemed like you weren’t the only one thinking about this.

precious [04/23/24: 2:26 pm]: yes

You kept it short, because there really wasn’t much more to say, locking your phone and muting it for good measure, before you rolled over, quickly falling asleep.

When you stirred awake agian, you were disoriented at first, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes. The sun was still up, the orange glow in your bedroom telling you it was nearing sunset, so you mustn’t have been asleep for long, but you could tell that someone came home in the meantime, because you could hear the tv.

With a yawn, you padded on downstairs, finding your mother in the living room, snuggled up under a blanket. She lifted her head when you appeared in the doorway, clearly surprised to see you.

“Hi mom.”

“Hi honey. I didn’t know you were home already.”

“Yeah, I got home a couple of hours ago,” you replied, slinking into the arm chair. “No one was home.”

“I was having lunch with Anne at the country club and your father is at work,” your mother explained, taking you in. “How was Nassau?”

You shrugged. “It was nice. Good weather, the usual. How have things been here? Anything new?”

“Not much to tell,” your mother said, “been having some migraines lately, but otherwise things have been the same.”

“Migraines?” you asked, raising a brow at your mother and she nodded.

As if on cue, the sound of a motorcycle revving its engine suddenly filled the neighborhood and your mother groaned in annoyance, rubbing her temples with the tips of her fingers.

“Not again.”

“What is that?” You asked curiously, trying to get a peek out of the window.

“Some kid keeps turning up in our drive way with his bike, revving his engine like a goddamn hooligan,” your mother complained and you turned back to her with a frown.

“Is that why you’ve been having migraines?”

“What do you think?” your mother snapped at you. “I’ve been calling the sheriff’s department about it, but by the time they get here, he’s always gone.”

“You called the sheriff’s department over this?”

Your mother glared at you, your tone suggesting that she overreacted. “What was I supposed to do?”

The motorcycle engine rumbles to life again and your mother winced, reaching for her phone, but you stopped her.

“Mom, let me just take care of this, okay?”

Your mother didn’t look entirely convinced, but she nodded anyways, sitting back down as you walked out of the living room, heading straight to the front door. As you stepped out on your porch, craning your head to find the motorcycle, you let out an exasperated sigh, when you recognized the owner.

“Seriously?”

JJ let out a bright grin when he saw you on the porch, driving around in a circle before he came to a stop in front of you.

“Hey princess, I was starting to think you’ve been hiding from me.”

“That would imply that I waste my time thinking about you.”

JJ clutched his heart, as if you’d just shot him. You rolled your eyes at his theatrics, biting back a laugh.

“You really know how to bruise a guy’s ego.”

“What are you doing here, JJ?” you asked, leaning against one of the porch posts, crossing your arms over your chest.

JJ let out a small laugh, running a hand through his dirty blonde hair.

“Wanted to show you my bike,” he said, as if it wasn’t obvious. To prove his point, he revved the engines loudly, and you could basically see your mother steaming with fury in the living room.

“You’ve been giving my mom headaches with your bike,” you pointed out, the corner of your mouth ticking up.

“Well, tell her my sincerest apologies,” JJ replied, bowing his head with a flourish. “I was trying to see you.”

Your eyebrows shot up.

“Me?”

He shrugged, fixating on the mirror on his left handlebar. “I mean, yeah. I was able to fix it with the money I earned from working at the Country Club. Thanks to you. The least I could do is show you where the hard earned money went.”

Your smile softened a little and you ducked your head.

“I’m glad I could help.”

JJ gave you a grin, giving the bike a gentle clap on the exterior.

“It rides like new,” he said proudly and you snorted a little.

“I’ll take your words for it.”

“Or you could try it out yourself?”

You raised an eyebrow at him and he only met your look with a straight fact, tilting his head towards his bike.

“Come on, just one ride.”

JJ wrapped his hands around the throttle and you quickly held your hands up, stopping him.

“Please don’t do that again. My mom is this close to flipping out,” you told him, but he only grinned at you.

“So princess, what do you say? You down for a day outside of your castle?”

A laugh on your lips, you fixed him with a look before you gave in. Taking a few steps back to the front door, you yelled: “Mom, I’m going out!” before you shut the door behind you, jogging down the steps to the drive way.

JJ pulled a helmet out of nowhere, handing it to you, despite his own lack of one.

“Where’d you get that?” you wanted to know and JJ winked at you.

“Can’t reveal all my secrets now, can I?” He teased. “Now go ahead and put that on. I ain’t got enough money to repay your parents if something happens to you.”

“Yeah yeah, and people say chivalry is dead.”

You shook your hair out, grinning at JJ while you put on the helmet, before swinging your leg over his bike, settling on the seat behind him. As expected, you were sat snug behind JJ, as one did as a passenger on a bike, and you tried not to let it affect you, only doing a half assed job about it.

“Don’t be shy to hold onto me tight if you’re scared,” he said over his shoulder and you only gave him an eyeroll. You wrapped your arms around his waist, just as he revved the engine one last time, driving off your property.

Despite the helmet on your head, your hair fluttered in the wind and you felt an odd sense of freedom. The boys have never taken you on their bikes before, mostly because it was inconvenient when it was the four of you, you just tended to take a car, but they also often argued that it was too dangerous. You called bullshit on that.

Figure Eight blew past you as JJ rode the bike down the street. You weren’t exactly sure where he was taking you, but he wasn’t exactly taking the direct route towards the Cut like you had expected. Instead he drove along the coast, until the road turned into a dirt pathway, leading uphill, the sun rays filtering through the branches of the tree. JJ slowed his pace, when you finally reached a clearing by a cliff, coming to a stop.

JJ leaned the bike to the side, his foot supporting the weight, allowing you to get off. You took your helmet off, shaking your hair out before pushing the helmet in JJ’s hands, before you walked to the cliffside, not waiting for him to join you.

“The infamous JJ make out spot,” you mused when JJ finally sidled up to your side. You didn’t turn to look at him, but you could tell that he was grinning.

“Ah, my reputation precedes me.”

“I aspire to be as delusional as you sometimes,” you snorted with an eyeroll, sitting down on the grass, stretching your arms out behind you. It didn’t take long for JJ to do the same, his legs sprawled out over the ground. A comfortable silence settled over you, while you took in the view. It was pretty nice, you know, considering what this spot was known for. In all fairness, the view probably was the reason for its popularity among your horny peers.

“Thanks for getting me out of the house,” you then said in a somber tone; the look JJ gave you was a surprised one, his brows raised.

“Didn’t you just come back from… Wherever you were?”

“Eh.” You shrugged with your shoulders. “I mean yeah, but I was with the boys, even if we were in Nassau, it didn’t feel like I was doing something new. This is not routine for me.”

JJ looked at you with a glint in his eyes. “Well, then it’s my honor to break you out of your routine, princess.”

He then eyed you up and down carefully, before meeting your eyes again. You raised a brow at him, unimpressed.

“Nassau, huh? I been thinking that you’re glowing more than usual.”

“Oh come off it,” you laughed, throwing your head back. “Seriously, do you just come up with these lines or did someone have to teach you?”

“‘s a quality I was born with, princess,” JJ said with a wink, as if it was something to be smug about. You merely snickered, knowing arguing with him about this was no use so you pushes yourself to stand again.

As you dusted off the dirt off your hands, you glanced down at JJ who was still sprawled on the floor, watching you curiously.

“Come on, let’s go get some tacos,” you suggested. “My treat.”

His nose wrinkled as he hesitated but you only rolled your eyes.

“Or does your fragile masculinity not allow that?”

With a sigh, JJ pulled himself up, regarding you with an impressed look. “You really know how to push my button’s you know that?”

“‘s a quality I was born with princess,” you mocked him and he only barked out a laughter, handing you the helmet, that sat on the saddle of his bike. The drive to taco truck didn’t take long, with you giving JJ the directions over his shoulder, holding onto him a little tighter than necessary. The sun had set while you had sat on the cliff side, the remaining heat of early summer dissipating as the dusk crept onto the island; you felt the wind biting at your bare skin as JJ sped his bike over the island.

You were almost glad when you finally pulled up by the truck, climbing off the bike before JJ settled down. Unconsciously, your eyes flitted over the tables as you took off your helmet, not recognizing any of the faces that were there. At least none that would throw a fuss over you spending time with JJ Maybank willingly. Not that you cared what people were thinking, but you weren’t in the mood for explaining yourself.

As usual, Spanish music floated from the inside the truck as you approached it, and it didn’t take long before Mateo came up to the window.

“Hola hermosa,” he greeted you, leaning on the counter to peer down at you as you smiled up at him. His eyes swept to the back, where JJ was standing behind you with his hands stuffed in his pockets. Mateo looked back at you, his eyes full of questions. “No Rafe today?”

You shook your head, though his question was warranted, had you ever come here without Rafe?

“No, no Rafe today,” you replied with a wry smile. “Can I get some carne asada tacos?”

Mateo gave you a quick nod, turning to prepare your order, his eyes still on JJ who sidled up to you, curiously glancing over the display.

“Aren’t you going to ask what I want to eat?”

“For some reason, I think you’ll be fine with whatever I ordered,” you quipped back and JJ gave you an exasperated look. Mateo’s eyes never left you during this quick exchange, and he cleared his throat, pressing the tacos onto the grill.

“¿Quieres chile en tus tacos?” he asked JJ, who only furrowed his brows, turning to you. You bit back a laugh, shaking your head.

“He’s white, Mateo. No spice for him.”

Mateo let out a small grunt and JJ hummed, crossing his arms as he looked you over.

“I didn’t know you speak Spanish.”

“I get by,” you answered with a shrug, making Mateo snicker. He shook his head as he flipped over the tacos.

“¿Desde cuándo andas con este chico?” He asked you, and it was then that you realized the reason for his sudden switch. “No da más que problemas.”

Your eyes flitted over to JJ, who was none the wiser, muttering under his breath as he read over the menu. “¿Estás haciendo una suposición basada en su apariencia?”

“No hermosa,” Mateo sighed, giving you a look. “Olvidas que Carmen tiene tu edad.”

Ah, Carmen, his niece. She must have been in JJ’s grade in Kildare County High.

“Estoy segura de que Rafe tampoco aprobaría que pasaras tiempo con este chico.”

You tried not to let your anger flare up at his words, your eyes snapping up to Mateo. You weren’t sure if it was because he brought up Rafe, or because he was insinuating that you needed anyone’s permission when it came to the company you were seeking.

“I’ll be fine, Mateo.”

Your tone was cold, and your switch back to English told Mateo everything he needed to know. His warm brown eyes softened when he looked at you.

“Sólo intento cuidar de ti.”

Mateo slid your order over the counter along with two cans of coke. You handed him the money, with plenty of tip, despite your sour mood, grabbing the two cans of coke, leaving the food for JJ to take as he trailed after you to a table on the far corner of the court. Wordlessly, you cracked open a can of coke, taking a sip while JJ sat down with your food. Your sour mood must have been showing on your face, because he only took a quick look at you before biting into his taco, immediately moaning out.

“Holy fuck this is good.”

“Still questioning my taste?” you asked him, bemused as you pushed the other coke can towards him, reaching for you own tacos. JJ shook his head quickly, shoving the rest of his taco into his mouth, already reaching for his next one. He was acting rather clumsy, the sauce running between his fingers as he tried to maneuver the taco as cleanly as he could. It was kinda cute, you weren’t going to lie. You had perfected the art of eating tacos, with just a squeeze of lime, but that was after years of practice.

“First time I’ve seen a Pogue talking smack about me,” JJ said offhandedly, licking the sauce from his fingers. You raised a brow at him, but you weren’t surprised; just because JJ didn’t understand the language, didn’t mean he was slow.

“First time, really?”

JJ gave you a look, swallowing his second in two bites before he answered.

“You know what I mean.”

You shrugged, your palms finding the edge of the bench as you leaned back. “Mateo means well. I just don’t like being told what not do to.”

“Really? I couldn’t tell,” JJ snickered, wiping his hands on the napkins. “Besides, you can’t listen to Mr. Diaz. He’s biased.”

“In what way?”

“Carmen. She’s his niece, right?”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “… Yeah. What have you done to her?”

“Oh ye of little faith,” JJ sighed, balling up his napkin and tossing it on his empty paper plate before responding. “She was pretty into me, approached me during a party down by the boneyard.”

“So you hooked up and then ghosted her.”

JJ fluttered his eyelashes at you, metaphorically zipping up his lips with his fingers. “A gentleman doesn’t kiss and tell.”

“You’re so annoying,” you said in exasperation. Nevertheless, a laugh escaped you and JJ grinned, like that was his goal all along.

You spent the rest of the evening sat by the food truck, with Mateo occasionally peeking out from the truck to see you still sat with JJ. It was mostly spite, that kept you rooted at the spot, but you genuinely really enjoyed JJ’s company, which you didn’t expect. While his first impression on you did prove to be true, a charming flirt, he also showed surprising depth, especially when he talked about his friends. He was clearly fiercely loyal to them, which did remind you of your own friends, but you tried not to think about it too long.

The neighborhood was quiet when JJ finally dropped you off in front of at home. The house was dark, your parents must have already gone to bed, so you tried to keep your voice down. The last thing you needed right now was your parents throwing a fit when they found out whom you’d been spending time with.

“Thanks for today,” you said softly, his helmet under your arm. “It was… Nice.”

JJ swept his hair off his forehead, grinning at you. “Careful, people might think you actually like me.”

You rolled your eyes at him with a head shake, shifting on your feet, before you offered him his helmet back. JJ glanced down at the helmet, before pushing it back into your hands.

“Keep it. You might need it next time.”

Like you said, charmer.

Ducking, your head, you smiled at the ground before lifting your head again. You didn’t know what you were thinking, or if you were thinking at all before you leaned in to kiss JJ. Even though he wasn’t expecting the kiss, he was quick to kiss you back, his hand on your waist. If it weren’t for the helmet, you were sure he’d have dragged you right back on his bike with him. Before it could get any further, you pulled back as much as you could, JJ’s grip on your waist tight.

“Good night, JJ,” you murmured your mouth curled up in a grin. JJ sighed softly, before he let go of you.

“Night princess.”

You chuckled quietly to yourself as you headed back to the house, the porch light flickering on, but you don’t turn back to him, despite knowing he was still there. Just as you reached your front door, you turned your head.

“Hey JJ.”

He lifted his head, his face illuminated by the porch light, a raised brow. You opened the door, halfway into the house before you answered.

“Next time you want to see me, just text me. I don’t need my mom on my ass because your bike’s exhausting pipe giving her migraines.”

JJ only laughed, his hair falling into his face. “I don’t have your number, Princess.”

“Ask Sarah.”

You shut the door behind him, but you could still hear his laughter over the roaring of his bike as he sped off the drive way. You were still grinning as you placed the helmet on the dresser by the front door. This night had not gone the way you had expected it to go.

Turning the lights on, you walked upstairs to your bedroom quietly, shutting your door behind you, before you laid on your bed.

“Aw, fuck,” you hissed, as something poked into your waist, and as you reached under your blanket, you were surprised to find your phone. You hadn’t even noticed that you’d left it at home. The screen lit up, with numerous notifications, most of them trivial, some of them Rafe.

rafe [04/23/24: 7:26 pm]: you wanna go grab pizza?

rafe [04/23/24: 8:02 pm]: ?

rafe [04/23/24: 9:31 pm]: rude as fuck

It was then that you realized, in all the hours you spent with JJ, you hadn’t once thought about Rafe.

“Huh.”

────────────

translation:

“Do you want chili on your tacos?”

“Since when do you hang around with this boy?” & “He’s nothing but trouble.”

“Are you making an assumption based on his appearance?”

“No, hermosa.” & “You forget that Carmen is your age.”

“I’m sure Rafe wouldn’t approve of you spending time with this boy.”

“I’m only looking out for you.”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

author's note: honestly it's kind of criminal that the longest chapter of this rafe series so far is JJ centric but oh well.... what are we thinking??

[gubesboo]

THE TENSIONNNNNN IN THIS CHAPTER!?!? i literally love this series so much yall have no idea

killing me softly | 13

✿ G E N R E ✿ she fell first, he fell harder | slice of life | drama

K M S M A S T E R L I S T | <- P R E V I O U S | N E X T (soon) ->

✿ P A I R I N G ✿ s1!rafe cameron x introverted!reader (f)

✿ C O N T E N T W A R N I N G ✿ swearing, suggestive language, reader smokes weed and drinks alcohol, reader being silly and bold (yas girl), rafe does and sells coke, verbal tension, kinda angsty but also fluff, a little reader x random guy, rafe showing mixed signals/jealousy/possessiveness/DENIAL/heavy mood swings (but of course he doesn't name it as such), mentions of vomiting (non-graphic), also subtle implication of rafe having sexual thoughts about reader (just hints + non-graphic)

✿ S U M M A R Y O F R E C E N T E V E N T S ✿ thursday afternoon, cara helped you pick out an outfit for the party and she even managed to get you excited for the night. on friday, after econ class, you and rafe had a little run-in with ruthie and her bsf gracie (his ex-fwb/whatever), where you managed to politely get ruthie to shut her mouth. later, rafe got pissed when he found out topper had texted you and offered to give you a ride to the party. topper claimed he was just mad bc of the ruthie situation and he'd talk to him later. surprisingly, rafe texted you after school saying he would pick you up instead, claiming topper decided on taking ruthie and her friends. but the truth was (revealed in the extra scene UNKNOWN to reader) rafe got so mad with topper that he'd basically told topper to go fuck himself, leaving topper to drive ruthie's gang. rafe decides to drive you himself bc you're the only one he actually tolerates rn and also bc he doesn't wanna hear you whine about not having gotten a ride.

✿ W O R D C O U N T ✿ 8k+ (sorry)

✿ A / N ✿ guys, this was one of the hardest things to write and i'm the most stupid person alive for not having made a plot outline of KMS beforehand (i didn't even think i'd get past the second chapter ngl). i tried to include different kind of scenes and moods for the party setting without making it seem like pressuring reader and rafe into a dynamic that'd feels off or rushed but still i feel like i kinda made it flop. please please please lmk what you think and i hope you enjoy reading it anyway <3

✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿

Deep breath, brain off. I got this.

DON’T FORGET TO EXHALE.

“Hey,” you said with a hesitant smile as you opened the passenger door of the black Mercedes. And oh boy, you felt just as awkward as you had on Monday, the first time you two had actually talked.

Because this? This was a whole different level. A whole fucking different league. Because holy shit—this wasn’t school-related. You weren’t being forced to meet for a project or anything.

No, this was completely casual.

Even if Rafe’s invite to Kelce’s party was supposed to get you out of your shell and (quote) “fuck your brain out” (which—absolutely not happening tonight, wtf), he was still here voluntarily.

It had been his decision to invite you. His decision to come pick you up. And honestly? All the other stuff—the project meetups the past few days—were all initiated by him too (which, thinking about it now, made you a pretty shitty project partner, oops).

And that was what made this whole situation feel so intimate. It created this weirdly charged atmosphere that clearly only you seemed to notice (of course the ungodly hour didn’t help, nor did the fact that he was picking you up FROM YOUR HOUSE and now you were alone together in his car hahaha(very funny, yeah)).

Rafe turned down the music (some Kendrick Lamar track) and looked you over with a crooked smile (we’re talking full-on checking you out). “Damn, you really dressed up.”

DHGHCNGXFUDNJFKNGIKCDFJS.

A COMPLIMENT, RIGHT???

You smiled shyly, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks. Still, you raised a brow and met his blue eyes with a playful glimmer. “I guess I look like shit the other days then.”

Rafe scoffed, amused. “Shit, jusy say ‘thank you’ and shut your ass.”

IT WAS A COMPLIMENT.

Okay but—NOPE GIRL, NOT TONIGHT.

“Thanks,” you said, the butterflies in your stomach going absolutely feral. And then, feeling bad for not having something to say about his looks, you added: “You don’t look so bad yourself.”

OKAY SLOW IT DOWN, BRAIN OFF DOESN’T MEAN ZERO FILTERS. STAY COOL!!!!

But still, it was true. Rafe looked fucking good. The fresh aftershave lingering in the air? HOLY SHIT. But even that couldn’t top the look itself.

He was wearing a loose white button-up—partially unbuttoned (MHM)—with subtle vertical stripes, a silver chain resting against his collarbones, and whatever was under the shirt, your eyes didn’t even dare look at, afraid he’d catch you staring. And his hair wasn’t slicked back today—he had it styled into curtain bangs AND OVMFKNJDNVKFDHLSK.

Rafe raised his brows, smiling. “Yeah?”

OH UM OKAY??? NO DUMB COMMENT OR SOME SHIT???

You gave a surprised smile, awkward as hell, and your eyes flicked to his hair. “Yeah, I mean… your hair's different, right? Suits you better than the other one.”

You had to literally bite your tongue to stop yourself from backtracking, from explaining that the other hairstyle wasn’t bad per se, but this one just looked better without sounding like—

“Shit, is that a compliment or a polite insult?” Rafe shot back with a smug teasing grin, starting the engine.

Cool cool I’ll just get out of the car and crawl back into bed now, thanks.

You fiddled with the strap of your bag in your lap and gave a nervous smile. “A positive observation.”

“A—Jesus Christ, your game is ass,” Rafe said with a chuckle as he pulled out of your driveway.

You bit the inside of your cheek, hesitating. Then (fuck it): “Who says I’m playing?”

Rafe shot you a quick look, his smile widening, something weird glimmering in his eyes, before he turned his attention back to the road.

Okay, sir????

“What?” you asked, genuinely confused.

“Nothing.” Rafe shrugged, the smirk still on his face. “You ever even made out with a guy before?”

WHAT.

You furrowed your brows, painfully aware of the heat in your cheeks, and turned your gaze to the lights flashing by outside the window. “Can we not.”

“So that’s a no.”

NO I HAVEN’T YOU ASSHOLE.

“Why does that even matter?” you asked frowning.

But of course Rafe didn’t notice—or maybe he did, and he enjoyed it. In the reflection of the window, you could see his smug-ass smile.

“Well, maybe you should deal with that first before you try to go all in tonight,” he said, eyes still on the road.

And because you were REALLY not in the mood to listen to this kind of shit all night, you looked at him, clearly annoyed. “Okay, seriously, why are you so obsessed with my sex life or whether I get laid?”

WHEW GIRL OKAY.

Even Rafe gave you a quick, surprised glance, then let out this dumb little chuckle like what you said was so ridiculous. “Shit, that’s why you’re coming to the party tonight. So your crazy-ass brain can finally shut off.”

An uneasy feeling creeped up your chest—thoughts bubbling up, the sudden worry that maybe this whole thing was a joke to him. That you were just something to keep him busy tonight, some kind of project. But you pushed it down.

Actually, NO—you weren’t gonna let that sit. If he was really just here out of boredom, treating you like some throwaway experiment, then bye. He could take you right back home.

Because crush or not, you weren’t about to let him treat you like some kind of piñata.

“Okay, for real, this is getting on my nerves,” you said, and the sharpness in your voice? Yeah, he better hear it. “I know I have a problem with overthinking, okay? I know that. But getting drunk and letting some random guy rail me at a party?” You let out a dry laugh. “If you really think sex fixes everything, then you’ve got a way bigger problem than I do.”

You half-expected him to pull over and kick you out of the car (tbh, with Rafe you never knew), but instead he just scoffed, still looking at the road ahead. “See? That’s pent-up tension. A simple fling or a makeout would fix that.”

“Well, I guess, you can turn around then.”

Rafe laughed. “What?”

“You clearly invited me so some guy could get in my pants,” you said, shaking your head. Your voice was sharp, not exactly angry—more like fed up. “But that’s not gonna happen. So I might as well just stay home.”

Rafe glanced over at you, actual confusion on his face. “You actually going crazy right now?”

“No, you’re crazy for inviting me and acting like I’m—I don’t know, just some fucking project for tonight.” Your heart pounded hard in your chest, all the pressure you’d been holding in since this afternoon choosing now to break out. “Like, is that the plan? Throw me at one of your friends like I’m some kind of …sex doll?”

That thought had been hiding somewhere deep in your subconscious, and the fear that it might actually be true cracked through in the shakiness of your voice.

And now that it was out in the open—spoken, thought, real—your chest tightened, and whatever excitement you’d had about this night started twisting into—

“Holy shit, what?” Rafe looked over at you, visibly thrown off. “That’s actually insane.”

“Is it? Because that’s exactly what it feels like.”

Rafe didn’t say anything for a second. Just stared ahead with his jaw clenched. His brows twitched, then froze—his face unreadable, some emotion you couldn’t place.

Your heart was racing, nerves buzzing. You half expected him to turn the car around, drop you back off, maybe confirm your fear with some offhand joke.

But instead, his voice came quiet, serious: “Did Kelce or Topper put that shit in your head?”

You blinked. “What, no.”

“Then why the fuck would you think that?”

“I just told you.”

Silence. Just Travis Scott playing low in the background. Oh—and your fucking heart, hammering in your ears.

“If this is some pick-me girl attempt to—”

“No, what? Why would you even—okay, you know what, forget it,” you cut him off bitterly. “Clearly it’s impossible to have a normal conversation—”

“Jesus Christ, what would I even gain out of throwing you at some desperate fucker at a party, huh?” He motioned to himself with one hand, a pissed-off smile on his face. “As if I’m out here playing wingman for some asshole.”

Your knuckles hurt from how tightly you were gripping your bag. “Then I don’t get why you keep bringing it up.”

Rafe dragged a hand down his face, subtly shaking his head. “A joke, okay? It's just a fucking stupid joke, holy shit.” His voice was tight, barely holding back the tension, but there was a rough softness in it too. Like he was trying not to escalate. “Seriously, why do you spiral so hard over everything?”

“Because that’s what I do, okay?” You turned your body toward him, tapping your fingers against your temples like an actual maniac. “I overthink and spiral and if you keep repeating the same shit every fucking day, it doesn’t help—it just makes it worse, whether it’s a fucking joke or not.”

Rafe pulled the car over and cut the engine. For a second, you really thought he was gonna kick you out—but then you realized you were already parked in Kelce’s driveway.

Now he turned toward you, one arm resting on the steering wheel, brows furrowed deep. He pointed toward the house. “We’re gonna walk in there, Kelce’s gonna roll you a joint, and you’re gonna take the fattest fucking hit of your life. Then you’re gonna throw your goddamn brain in the trash and chill the fuck out.”

You blinked. Had he even listened to what you just—

He snapped his fingers in front of your face. “Fucking stop that. Seriously, I can hear the crazy-ass voices in your head.” He motioned to himself with a tense laugh. “Shit's making me nervous.”

And that—that utterly ridiculous idea that Rafe fucking Cameron felt nervous, and because of you—that made you let out a shocked, almost disbelieving laugh.

“You know,” you said, voice softer now with a hint of amusement, “telling me I’m crazy doesn’t actually help either.”

“Oh, fuck that,” Rafe muttered, no real bite in his tone, as he unbuckled his seatbelt. “Get your ass out of the car before Kelce starts getting ideas. And neither of us wants to deal with that shit right now.”

✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿

"Poor Top, now he has to deal with Ruthie’s bullshit," Kelce said as he leaned back on the couch, grinding the weed.

The three of you had settled on the back porch. No sign of guests yet (technically the party didn’t start till ten), but everything was already set up.

In the kitchen, there were all kinds of snacks in glass bowls, paper towels, and red cups everywhere, lit up like a club thanks to LED strips and fairy lights which also ran outside across the yard.

And of course, there was a whole damn bar—yes, Kelce’s family just casually had a legit bar in their backyard, with taps, shakers, and everything. It looked like a museum of alcohol. Four hookahs were set up in different corners, fully stocked with tobacco and coals, plus tables for beer pong and a pool filled with inflatable balls and flamingos.

And the wildest part of it all? The insane speaker system in the living room, hooked up through a network of cables so music played both inside and out.

Future was already blasting at a volume that felt like a preview of how loud shit was gonna get later. For now, though, it felt like the calm before the storm.

Which made the joint all the more welcome.

“More like his mom’s bullshit,” Rafe replied, taking a sip of his beer. “She won’t let him out of the office before ten.”

Kelce nodded and started rolling. “Oh yeah, right. That lady’s just straight up insane. Ruthie doesn’t even come close.”

“Shit, that bitch probably reminds him of his mom. That’s why he’s chasing after her in the first place,” Rafe said with a scoff.

Both of them chuckled at the same time, and for once, they actually seemed like friends—not like... bully and victim.

And honestly, you kinda felt like a third wheel.

“What about you? Cara showing up later or what?” Kelce asked, glancing over at you for a second before going back to rolling.

You were a little thrown by the question at first, then remembered—right, you’d talked about it in history class. With him and Topper, actually.

After Rafe had stormed off today, Topper had invited you to sit with them, and well, not wanting to be an asshole (especially since Topper had been so chill and polite), you’d joined them.

And it turned out, without Rafe around, both guys were actually decent company. Topper anyway, but even Kelce hadn’t seemed like such a loudmouth—just someone who liked to talk.

You nodded, smiling. “Yeah, she’s coming around twelve. If that’s cool.”

Kelce grinned. “Shii, of course. A hot girl’s always welcome.”

Even you had to smile at that because damn right, Cara was hot af.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Rafe shift in his seat and scratch at his chin. "Dude, you done yet?"

"Perfection takes time, okay?" Kelce said, then turned to you. "You wanna lick it or should I?"

UM... He hadn’t even said it in a teasing tone but still like—

You shook your head with a polite smile. “You do it. I’ll probably mess it up.”

NO WAY were you gonna go over there and lick a joint in front of both of them like ?? excuse me???

“Your tongue game can’t be that bad,” Kelce said, but he went ahead and sealed the joint anyway.

PLEASE, the party hadn’t even started yet. Jesus.

“You want me to beat his ass?” Rafe asked with a deadpan expression, and you had NO idea if he was joking or being serious.

Either way—THE BUTTERFLIES WENT FERAL FOR THAT BECAUSE OMG WHAT???

Not sure what to say, you just let out a nervous chuckle and were thankful when Kelce jumped in, holding the finished joint up like a trophy. “No need for violence. This bad boy’s ready to be smoked.”

After Kelce gave you a quick rundown on how to hit it best (you knew from Cara, but he looked so excited to explain you didn’t wanna interrupt), you took a deep inhale and let the smoke roll through your lungs and—fuck, it scratched the hell out of your throat.

You really tried to hold it in, but you were already leaning forward and having a mini coughing fit.

Ugh. Classic.

“Dude, here,” Kelce said, holding your beer out to you.

You smiled awkwardly, eyes watery, still half-coughing, and took the bottle from him. Then, out of pure secondhand embarrassment, you started laughing—only to choke a bit on the beer and end up patting your chest. “Sorry.”

Kelce grinned, taking the joint back from you with a shrug. “It’s cool. Ask Rafe. Dude coughs up a whole lung every damn time.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Rafe shot back, but even he had a little grin on his face, those blue eyes of his watching you with quiet amusement.

And you just smiled back, a soft giggle slipping out, your face finally relaxing. That whole insane argument in the car earlier? Not even worth thinking about anymore.

✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿

“Quit giggling,” Rafe said, hiding a smirk while mixing himself a Jäger-Bull drink in the kitchen.

It was just after 10, and where the house had stood quiet earlier, now it was packed with dozens of guests. The music had kicked up a notch.

Most of them you recognized from school or around town (just from seeing them though). Basically all frat boys, gym bros, wannabe influencer girls/self-proclaimed kook princesses, or gossiping drama queens.

In short: people you couldn’t stand.

And while Kelce played the perfect host—probably spending the next thirty minutes loudly greeting people and taking shots with half of them—you and Rafe had ducked into the kitchen.

And yeah, HE had asked you to come with him. Or, well, kind of. Said something along the lines of “Shit, let’s dip until the first zombie wave passes.”

Obviously, you’d followed him, because (A) it was the obvious choice, (B) who the hell else were you supposed to hang with??? and (C) ... you were way too high to argue anyway.

Ever since your second hit, your whole body had been wrapped in this soft, warm glow, your thoughts nearly (!!!) silenced, and you couldn’t stop smiling and giggling. You were probably looking at him with total heart-eyes right now, but honestly? You felt too good to care.

“Sorry, I just—” you let out another amused chuckle, grabbing some snacks from one of the glass bowls while watching his hands. “That was kinda petty.”

Rafe scoffed and flicked open the Jägermeister bottle. “Nah. If he acts like a little bitch, he gets treated like one.”

Oh, right, context:

Topper had shown up earlier—or more accurately, waddled in behind Ruthie and her girl gang. And surprise, surprise, the second they got what they wanted (aka a ride), they vanished into the bathroom. Poor Topper got left behind, dapping up Kelce while Rafe had stayed on the porch couch, holding his beer in his lap, only giving Topper a slight nod.

You, at least, had had the decency to give him a smile and a small wave—not even feeling awkward about the obvious tension between him and Rafe, which you seemed to be the cause of, but whatever (that joint had absolutely softened your brain).

Meaning, that Rafe had probably just wanted to get away from Topper more than he actually wanted to hang with you, but WHO CARED.

You raised your brows at him, amused. “What even happened though? I can’t believe you’re this pissed just ‘cause he drove Ruthie.”

“Shit, of course. That’s a fucked up move,” Rafe said, now cracking open a Red Bull.

“I don’t buy that,” you replied, cheeks warming a little when he met your eyes. “I mean, I can't believe you'd back down for Ruthie.”

He raised a brow. “You’re being nosy as fuck right now.”

“I mean you were already acting weird at school when Topper mentioned he’d give me a ride,” you said, and um, yeah, WHY did you say that?

Rafe paused, tilting his head slightly, his whole expression switching to defense mode. “Shit, you think this is about you or something?”

You chuckled (girl, get it together) and squinted at him. “I’m just saying, it’s kinda funny how Topper suddenly ends up driving Ruthie even though he told me earlier I didn’t have to worry about a ride. And then you text me, offering to drive instead.”

Okay, maybe you were pushing it a little too far because Rafe looked at you with a frown. "Okay, what the fuck are you trying to say, huh?" he scoffed, disbelief in his voice, gesturing to his chest with an irritated smile. "You think I’m jealous or some shit?"

His reaction just made you giggle (girl next time, just take one hit). “I don’t know—”

“Okay, fuck no, jesus, what the fuck.” Rafe cut you off, shaking his head and squinting like you were giving him a headache. He gestured toward you now. “I picked you up so you wouldn’t end up bitching to me about how Topper ditched you for Ruthie, alright?” Then he motioned between the two of you. “You’re not seriously getting the wrong idea here or anything, right?”

Your smile faded, and then, panicking that your face might give something away, you just shook your head with a baffled little laugh. “What? No, oh my god, I just—I was just saying—”

“Yo, Rafe, there you are!”

Your mouth snapped shut as some guy from school walked into the kitchen, heading straight for Rafe and dapping him up.

Ugh, okay—not just some guy. That was Chris Reid. A walking jock stereotype.

Blonde hair, athletic build, tanned as hell, and captain of the football team. An asshole… and a full head taller than Rafe.

“Kelce said you'd be in here,” Chris said, and his stupid grin landed on you next, eyes scanning you in a way you did not appreciate. “This your girl?”

Heat crept up your neck, and when you caught Rafe’s dark look, you suddenly just wanted to leave. You felt completely unwelcome.

“You actually want something, or are you just here to creep on girls?” Rafe said with a crooked smile, not taking his eyes off Chris.

Reid’s grin only deepened. “Me? Come on, dude, I’d never hit on someone’s girl.” His eyes flicked back to you for a split second, almost like a provocation, before settling on Rafe again. “Nah, I heard you brought some yayo.”

...

Seriously?

You knew Rafe liked to mess around a little at parties, and okay… apparently during the last couple school days too, but dealing?

If you weren’t so high, it would probably hit you harder. But right now, you were just standing there awkwardly, a smile glued to your face because you had no clue what else to do.

Rafe’s eyebrows twitched, like his face couldn’t decide whether to go with annoyed or full on pissed off.

You honestly thought he might swing at Chris and Chris clearly thought the same because he just let out this cocky little chuckle. “Hey, I get it, if you wanna play the sweet little boyfriend role—”

“I’m not her fucking boyfriend,” Rafe finally snapped, his voice cutting through the room hard enough to startle you. He ran a hand down his face, clearly irritated. “You even got cash on you?”

Chris looked between the two of you, that gross little grin still on his face. “Of course.” Then he nodded toward the hallway. “You coming? Sounds like you could use some too.”

Rafe’s jaw tensed, and every part of you hoped he wouldn’t just leave you standing there. But he sighed, frowning, and motioned vaguely with his hand. “Yeah, I guess.”

“Waiting in the guest room then.” Chris gave you one last smirk before turning and disappearing down the hall—and something ugly and heavy settled in your chest.

It’s not like you expected Rafe to be your bestie tonight, and definitely not to act like you were his or anything—wtf, no, omg??? No. That would be peak delusion, holy shit.

No, you’d just kinda hoped… well, yeah, what had you hoped for?

Rafe didn’t owe you anything. He had every right to do what he wanted at this party, with whoever he wanted. He’d invited you as a guest, not as his date.

But still, this hollow feeling crept up and wrapped around your chest, sobering you faster than anything else could’ve.

“I assume you can handle yourself for ten minutes,” Rafe muttered, eyes dull like even he knew he’d just given in to some jock-asshole. There was this weird tone in his voice too, something tired and flat. “Unless you wanna come along and give it a try?”

Your cheeks already hurt from all the fake smiling but this one was worse, because now you weren’t smiling from comfort but because you had no idea what else to do.

You shook your head, chuckling awkwardly, trying to keep the disappointment out of your voice. “Oh, no thanks. I’m good here.”

No way in hell you’d do a line in this environment. Plus, being around Reid made your skin crawl. And if Rafe had actually wanted you there with him… well, girl, it doesn’t matter. Let the guy do his thing. Don’t get clingy.

Rafe seemed to hesitate, big blue eyes staring at you with his jaw clenching slightly, then he just nodded and muttered, “Aight,” before following Chris down the hallway.

Something deep inside your chest twisted painfully as you were left alone in the kitchen. Suddenly, this whole party felt like the dumbest decision you’d ever made.

Technically Rafe didn’t even do anything wrong. He didn't owe you any kind of loyalty. But still, the way he’d made very clear that he’d had no interest in you.

Yeah, that stung. Made you feel hurt. Stupid.

The fact that you'd actually—seriously—believed that Rafe might see you as anything even remotely—

“You okay?”

You looked up, startled, as Topper stepped into the kitchen holding a beer, a genuinely concerned look on his face.

Once again, that default smile found its way to your face—probably from relief at seeing someone friendly. “Oh, yeah, I’m fine. I just wanted to get a drink,” you lied, gesturing to the untouched cup Rafe had left behind.

Topper glanced at the bottles nearby and raised his eyebrows. “You drink Jägermeister?”

Um…

“Lemme guess. Rafe dipped,” Topper said, now frowning.

The fact that he acknowledged it out loud just made it even more embarrassing.

“Well, he went off with some guy to…” you started, not sure how to finish the sentence.

“Snort coke,” Topper finished for you, clearly annoyed.

You nodded silently.

“He’s such a fucking idiot, I swear to God,” he said, setting his own cup down on the counter with a sigh. “Sorry he’s being such an asshole.”

You raised your brows, not quite following. “It’s fine. I guess that’s just his version of having fun.”

“That’s his version of being stupid,” Topper shot back, brows pulling together. “First he blows up at me about the whole driving situation, then he ditches you? The guy doesn’t know what the hell he wants.”

OH, WHAT???

“Sorry, what?” you asked carefully, trying not to sound too curious.

Topper leaned against the counter, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Okay, what did he tell you—why I couldn’t drive you?”

Your eyebrows twitched, a sinking feeling already forming. “Well, he said you were picking up Ruthie and her girls, and that’s why he picked me up instead—so I wouldn’t get upset or whatever.”

“He made it sound like I decided that, didn’t he?”

... oh my god. OH MY GOD. DID THAT MEAN...?

“He didn’t say it explicitly, but—”

“What a fucking idiot. I can’t believe it,” Topper said, scoffing and shaking his head. “Ugh, and I’m the dumbass for letting his bullshit slide.” His gaze softened as it met yours. “Honestly, I’m sorry this turned into such a mess.”

You smiled—this time for real—a warm feeling blooming in your chest at the fact that he actually cared, though part of you was still confused why he seemed so riled up about all this.

“It’s all good, really. Just the fact you even offered me a ride in the first place means a lot.”

Topper nodded, then hesitated before saying, “Cara told me you weren’t sure about coming tonight. Or more like... didn’t feel great about going without her.”

God, at this point you didn’t even know who had texted what to whom anymore.

Also, you probably should’ve been a little annoyed that Cara had shared that with him but if you were being honest, you’d kind of figured that out the moment she’d asked Topper to give you a ride. And right now, you didn’t even care, because honestly? You were just glad not to be standing alone in some random corner.

So you nodded, a little embarrassed. “Well, yeah. I mean, I barely know anyone here.” You chuckled awkwardly. “And it just feels weird showing up to a party by yourself.”

But instead of laughing or making some dumb comment, Topper just furrowed his brows. “And that idiot still left you here?”

“What? Yeah—I mean, no,” you said, smiling nervously. “He’s free to do whatever he wants.”

Topper just looked at you for a second, his expression softening like he was trying to figure you out. Then he nodded, grabbing his drink again. "So are you", he said and tilted his head toward the door. “Me and a buddy are looking for two beer pong players. Was actually trying to find Kelce, but I think he’s stuck playing party host for a while. You down?”

You didn’t even think—just nodded with a smile, cheeks still warm from the aftereffects of the joint, and relieved to be included in something,. “Sure.”

✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿

“Damn, nice shot!”

You high-fived Rob as he held his hand up after you landed the ball in one of the opposing team’s cups.

“Thanks,” you said with a sheepish smile.

Rob—who was actually named Robert Lewis—had come all the way from Wilmington for Kelce’s party, and even though he was technically Topper’s rival in bigger surf tournaments, the two of them still seemed to be really good friends. And we’re not talking about that performative, hyper-masculine/bro-chill/we-might-be-toxic kind of guy friendship either—like, they were actually genuine.

Topper had even told you Rob was the better surfer by far, but the guy didn’t flaunt it or tease him about it. It was kinda sweet.

And Rob was sweet to you too. He’d greeted you right away, offered you a handshake (like, okay, manners king??), introduced himself, and was excited to play on your team.

Long story short: he wasn’t some Kook from Figure 8, and it showed.

Topper was teamed up with Molly Crane. WHICH WAS A FUCKING CELEBRATION FOR YOU, BECAUSE OMGGG?? A FAMILIAR FACE??

You had even hugged her when you saw her because you were so happy to see someone you knew and actually got along with.

And all three of them were just... nice. Chill. No dumb comments, no weird mixed signals, no constant mood swings. You actually felt comfortable for once.

And because the joint was wearing off and you were starting to feel a little tired, you’d ended up taking a few sips of Rafe’s fresh Jäger-Bull drink he had left behind to get your energy back.

That crazy-ass combo did make your heart race a little faster, and yeah, it freaked you out a bit because like, hehehehe what the fuck??? Butttt you’d already had a beer and half your current drink plus like three cups from beer pong, and so far you were totally fine HIHIHIHIHII.

Maybe even too fine, because playing with Rob was... NDNXDXNDUSXNK, he looked good, OKAY? Like objectively handsome (okay, scratch that—he was exactly your type), and also sweet and respectful, BUT still kinda flirty???

BEST. OF. BOTH. WORLDS.

And it seemed like he was genuinely interested in you. He asked where you were from, how you knew Topper, what you did besides going to parties, and even asked what perfume you were wearing because “damn, it smells really good” (THAT BASTARD WAS SMOOTH).

So yeah. To sum it up: you were having a great time, felt extremely at ease, and that was a very dangerous combination—because the way Rob so obviously showed he liked you, yeah, that gave you a big confidence boost.

So while you were having the time of your life, you just kind of... tuned everything else out. The loud music and chatter, the crowd, the screaming girls getting pushed into the pool by drunk dudes.

You even tuned out your own thoughts, just let yourself enjoy the moment, completely forgetting all the anxiety you’d felt before this party.

Including Rafe.

Who had totally disappeared ever since he left with asshole Chris Reid to go do god-knows-what sketchy shit. Like, why should you care that he’d ditched you? That he basically traded your presence for a line of coke? Or that he had acted genuinely offended when Chris had assumed you were his girlfriend? Like OKAY I GET IT.

No really—you were fine. Everything was great—

“Hey, watch out.” Rob reached out and gently pulled you toward him, saving you from a soccer ball that would’ve smacked right into your hip (“sorry” came the shout from some drunk guy in the distance).

You looked up at Rob, startled by the close proximity, your cheeks heating up, the warmth of his hands still on your shoulders, his smile, and girl, DO NOT FALL FOR THIS RANDOM GUY RIGHT NOW.

But it was getting really hard not to, because in the following, you two were seriously a great team—and more importantly, he wasn’t sending you any confusing signals like some people.

“Nice game,” he said after sinking the final shot that won you the round.

You just chuckled, your whole body buzzing warm. “You landed most of the shots though.”

Rob smirked, eyes twinkling a little as he looked at you. “Sorry—if I’d been more focused, it would’ve been even more.”

BOIIIIII.

“Nice win,” Topper said as he walked over to your side with Molly. “Up for another round?”

Honestly, you really had to pee… and all that standing around was starting to get exhausting, especially now that the backyard had gotten way more crowded in the last half hour.

Molly seemed to feel the same. “Maybe later, I need a quick breather first.”

A few seconds later, you both found yourselves giggling in the downstairs bathroom.

You were peeing while Molly sat on the edge of the bathtub—your heart pounding, cheeks flushed from the alcohol. Your vision was… well, not trashed exactly, but yeah, you were definitely feeling it.

Shit, but you felt good. Free, open, not like some socially awkward fish anymore.

You and Molly talked about this and that, giggling like two silly, smitten girls over Rob and sharing your mutual suffering about the hell that was senior year.

You felt genuinely happy—thankful for Topper and Molly (and obviously Rob, hihihii), even for Kelce, who’d welcomed you so warmly and actually seemed kinda caring after your coughing fit because of the joint.

You and Molly were about to head back to Topper and Rob when your phone buzzed.

Probably Cara.

“Go ahead, I’ll join you in a minute,” you said to Molly with a smile, then stumbled with a surprised chuckle to the edge of the tub, sitting down, ignoring the sudden funny feeling in your stomach.

Ready to shoot Cara a quick update, your heart skipped a beat when you saw Rafe’s name on your screen. It started beating just a little bit faster as you texted him back.

✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿

Rafe shoved his phone back into the pocket of his shorts, jaw clenched, not even bothering to reply to your shitty-ass pic.

Had you really managed to catch some dude named Mickey—or Mikey, or whatever the hell that name you tried to spell was—within the thirty goddamn minutes he’d left you alone? And on top of that, gone into the bathroom with him to—

He cut the thought off with a sharp shake of his head, a frown settling in. Why the fuck did such an image flash in his head again?

Rafe gritted his teeth. He’d only left to deal with that asshole Chris and his loser friends, selling them a few grams (and also snort some lines because why not). He wouldn’t even have left you behind if he didn’t desperately need the cash to meet Barry’s deadline.

Fuck—and there it was again. Another picture, clear as day. You, in that stupidly good-looking outfit tonight, pressed against the bathroom door—

What the actual fuck.

Rafe rubbed his eyes, a heavy, sick feeling sitting in his stomach. Jesus fucking Christ, he needed another line. This shit was getting unhinged.

He lined up a clean stripe of white on the kitchen counter with his phone, ignoring the looks of some bickering bitches, and snorted it off in one go.

Rubbing his nose, he inhaled deep, the familiar kick spreading through his veins like wildfire.

Better.

But then—another image. This time from his own point of view. You in front of him, his pants around his ankles, your pretty lips on—

NO. NO, FUCK THAT. What the actual—like, actually, holy shit.

Rafe’s breathing was heavy now, his heart pounding in his ears, and his brain kept flashing images he couldn’t stop if he tried.

Frustrated and irritated, he ran a hand through his hair, pissed at himself and at the fact that he had no idea where the fuck these thoughts were coming from.

Then he spotted that fucker Reid across the room, chatting up some chick like he wasn’t a walking STD, and the memory hit him—the way that bastard had looked at you earlier when he’d walked into the kitchen. How his eyes had lingered on you. That slimy-ass grin.

The fucking fact that he’d had the balls to do it right in front of Rafe.

Shit, you weren’t Rafe’s fucking girlfriend. Fuck, no—not even close. But the idea that you could’ve been—and that Reid still had had the audacity to look at you like that—lit something vile, something filthy and twisted in Rafe’s gut.

And then it hit him harder: this whole fucking party was filled with greasy assholes like Chris Reid, looking for some poor girl to get laid.

And one of them had probably latched onto you while Rafe had been gone, maybe even fed you drinks, pretended to be all nice and charming just to pull some sleazy shit, and that made Rafe’s blood boil on a whole different level.

You weren’t some cheap party girl who let any random dickhead get handsy. Plus, the way you’d texted Rafe, made clear you weren’t exactly sober.

Fuck no. That thought alone had his jaw locking tight.

And before he even knew what he was doing, before he could stop to question the wild, confusing feeling building inside him, his feet were already moving.

He shoved past sweaty, perfumed, half-drunk bitches and pricks as he stormed out of the kitchen and into the hallway, brows furrowed, pulse hammering.

He came to a halt in front of the downstairs bathroom door, ignoring the group of girls waiting in line, and grabbed the doorknob.

His heart did something weird as it didn’t budge.

“Wait your turn, Cameron,” said some irrelevant chick who wasn’t even worth looking at.

Rafe ignored her—her, and the rising storm inside him over why the fuck he was even doing this—and knocked on the door.

Once. Twice. Four times—

The door creaked open. He lifted his chin, ready to confront the bastard inside but all the tension in his shoulders dropped the moment he saw your face.

Eyes glassy, wide with surprise, still slightly red from the joint, your skin glimmering like it had just been washed, and your lips slightly parted as you met his gaze.

In your breath, he caught Red Bull, beer, and something else.

“Did you puke?” Rafe raised his brows, trying to peer through the crack in the door to make sure—

“Yeah,” you replied with a half-tired smile and a little chuckle. “But I’m good now.”

Jesus Christ.

Rafe felt like a fucking joke. At this point, he was seriously considering if he’d done way too much earlier because why the fuck was he even here right now?

“Cameron, take your girlfriend somewhere else, some of us still gotta use the damn bathroom,” said that same dumb bitch’s voice again.

Rafe glared at her, ready to snap that you weren’t his fucking girlfriend, but before he could say anything, you just let out a chuckling “sorry” toward the bitch and softly stumbled forward.

Toward him.

Your hand, landing briefly on his chest—just enough to steady yourself—sent a sharp jolt of something through him. You gave him an awkward “sorry” and when you immediately backed away, something in Rafe wanted to pull you back but fuck that, holy shit.

And because the bitches in line were already clucking impatiently behind you, Rafe put a hand on your back and said, “Move,” guiding you through the crowded hallway.

“Where to?” you asked, almost too quietly to hear over the pounding bass.

“Kitchen,” Rafe replied dryly.

This was exactly why he didn’t want a damn girl clinging to him. No annoying girlfriend. No clingy chick of any kind.

He hadn’t come to this fucking party to play goddamn babysitter.

Honestly, he could punch himself in the face. He’d only come looking for you so that no dirty asshole had a chance to get handsy. Rafe had some decency. He wasn’t about to leave a drunk girl in the hands of some rando loser.

With a scowl, he placed his hands gently on your shoulders when some other girl almost stumbled right into you. Rafe almost opened his mouth to snap at her but clenched his jaw instead, confused as hell why he was suddenly so on edge.

Once in the less crowded kitchen, he hesitated before letting go of you.

You leaned back against the counter with a tipsy smile—but it faded the moment your eyes met his.

“What’s wrong?” Your voice was nervous, almost apologetic.

A strange pull tugged at Rafe’s chest but he shoved it aside, annoyed, and stepped next to you toward the bottles.

“Why were you alone?” he asked, pouring a shot of vodka.

“I wasn’t,” you replied. “Molly was with me before.”

Molly Crane. That was the name you’d tried to type earlier. Not some fucking Mickey.

Holy shit—was Rafe actually losing it?

He let out an irritated scoff, brows furrowed as he set the bottle down. “Such a good friend, leaving you alone to puke.”

“Funny thing coming from you,” you said with a half-laugh, and Rafe could feel your gaze on him.

He clenched his jaw, then threw back the shot, the bitter taste hitting his tongue and burning all the way down.

Meeting your eyes with a crooked grin, he said, “Yeah? The fuck’s that supposed to mean, huh? You pissed because you couldn’t be alone for thirty minutes? You do realize I’m not your fucking babysitter.”

Your expression shifted, and something about it pulled a hollow feeling straight through his chest.

“I was joking…”

Rafe gritted his teeth, overwhelmed by the mess of confusing shit swarming his head. He ran a hand down his face. He needed to chill the fuck out. Either he’d done too many lines or not enough.

You gently pushed yourself off the counter, a sad smile playing on your lips. “I think I should go find Molly. Don’t want her to worry.”

What about me?

The thought hit him like a fucking truck—crazy, embarrassing, pathetic as fuck—and yet there it was, leaving him almost sober in its wake.

Fuck.

He just didn’t get why you suddenly wanted to get away from him.

Fuck, seriously, what the fuck. Why do I even care?

“Or… did you want something?” you asked hesitantly, a flicker of vulnerability in your voice Rafe didn’t know how to process.

He shook his head, irritated, keeping his mouth shut—because clearly his brain was on some fuckery, and the last thing he needed was to start saying that shit out loud.

Your brows twitched, uncertainty flickering in your eyes. “I just thought... you texted me, asking where I was, and—”

“Ayo, Rafe! Y/N! We were just looking for you.”

Kelce’s voice boomed over the music as he barged into the kitchen with some random dude in tow—

Oh fuck no. Fucking hell no.

Not this fucking asshole.

Stupid fucking grinning Robert Lewis.

Topper’s dumbass surfer buddy who Kelce, for some unknown, brain-dead reason, seemed to worship.

Rafe already wanted to punch him. But instead, he forced a fake-ass smile as Robert came up, hand outstretched for a dap.

“Good to see you, man,” Robert said with that dumb fucking grin. “How you doing?”

Rafe just nodded, subtle shake of the head, corners of his mouth pulled down. “The usual shit.”

Robert laughed like it was the funniest fucking shit he’d heard all night, and the moment his eyes landed on you, Rafe felt a twitch in his fingers—ready to swing on this fucker.

And fucking hell, the way he looked at you. That big-ass smile. That glimmer in his eyes like you two were already familiar which was ridiculous because—

“And you, Y/N?” Robert asked, voice all warm like he gave a shit. “You doing okay? Molly told us you wanted to stay behind.”

What.

The.

Actual.

Fuck.

Rafe thought he’d misheard—his ears were already ringing from the coke and the insanely loud music (fucking Carnival playing for the fourth time tonight), so maybe it was just his brain tripping again.

But the way you looked up at that grinning asshole, eyes all dreamy and soft, a smile so sweet Rafe didn’t even know you had it in you—it felt like someone smashed a baseball bat right into his skull.

“Oh, yeah, no, I’m all good,” you said, a soft chuckle slipping from your lips. “My stomach just freaked out a bit after the beer pong drinks, but I’m good now.”

Funny. Yeah, real fucking funny. You and that douchebag playing beer pong together? Funniest shit Rafe had ever heard.

Kelce laughed. “Ahhh, shit, classic mistake. Weed and alcohol are not the best of friends.”

“My fault,” Robert said with that fake-ass innocent smile. “Should’ve made sure you weren’t drinking all of Topper’s hits.”

Rafe tensed instantly, alarm bells blaring and he didn’t even know why—no, actually, he did know. This fucker had been trying to smooth-talk you while Rafe had been gone, get you drunk, play his little fake-charm game, and wrap you around his goddamn finger.

God, Rafe would love to slam his fist into that smug face right about now. And fucking Topper too, for setting up this whole bullshit game in the first place.

And you? Why the fuck were you falling for this crap? Looking at that loser you’d known for maybe a couple of hours like he was the only guy in the room?

Rafe had spent an entire fucking week with you—every day—for that damn school project, trying to make you feel at ease, and you still hadn’t warmed up to him. But this greasy little fucker? All it took was one night?

Fucking ridiculous.

He didn’t get it. Didn’t understand. Couldn’t make sense of this fucked-up chaos inside him. The rage. The insane thoughts. The way he suddenly wanted—needed—you to look at him the way you just looked at that piece of shit.

FUCK.

What the fuck had Barry mixed into that coke?

And what. the. fuck. was going on with the guys at this damn party that they were looking at you like Rafe wasn’t standing right the fuck there?

Like seriously?!

Rafe never brought girls to parties. And the one fucking time he did—and yeah, okay, it was chill and casual and nothing serious—BUT NONE OF THESE FUCKING IDIOTS KNEW THAT.

NO ONE KNEW YOU WEREN’T RAFE’S HOOKUP OR DATE OR GIRL—AND STILL, THEY HAD THE AUDACITY TO ACT LIKE THAT?

Nah. FUCK THAT.

Rafe wasn’t some fucking merchant bringing girls around to be snatched up by whatever fucker got his hands on you first.

At this point, they were asking to get decked.

And Rafe? He’d seen enough. Let enough of this bullshit slide.

Because you didn’t just show up here. You were brought. Invited.

By him.

And if nobody seemed to fucking get that, then it was about damn time he’d change that.

So when Kelce announced a game of Truth or Dare starting in the living room, Rafe didn’t back out despite how much he hated that childish-ass game with every fiber of his being.

Because if this meant he could wipe the stupid fucking smile off Robert Lewis’ face, and shut down every other asshole at this party who thought tonight was their chance to piss him off—he’d gladly take part.

“Aight, party people, get your asses into the living room then”, Kelce said, clasping his hands.

Rafe glanced at you for a second, watching the way you looked at douchebag Robert… the way that fucker placed his hand on your back, leading you out of the kitchen toward the game.

Yeah. That guy? Rafe was fucking him over tonight.

Because he could just about tolerate that loser hanging around Kelce and Topper—Topper had been pissing him off lately anyway, and Kelce was like some dumb puppy always chasing new people—but you?

No fucking way was Rafe letting that wannabe surfer douche try anything with the girl he had brought.

Didn’t matter that you weren’t his girl or whatever.

No, it was about the fucking principle. About the fact that this prick even thought he could lean that far into Rafe’s zone.

And somehow, the thought of how you’d cling to him after he’d chased off Fuckhead Lewis—Rafe being the one you’d gaze at so smiley and sweet—left him with a buzzing feeling in his chest that hit almost as good as the high from a line.

"You coming, dude?" Kelce asked, putting a hand on Rafe's shoulder, a drunk grin on his stupid face.

Funny enough, Rafe didn't push him away because he realized that idiot might just be the key to fucking Lewis over.

So all he said in response was, "Yeah, yeah, sure". A crooked smile appeared on his lips. "Just wanna know if you'd be down to score some extra baggie."

Kelce's shitty grin was answer enough.

✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿

K M S M A S T E R L I S T | <- P R E V I O U S | N E X T (soon) ->

✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿

T A G L I S T F O R M (taglist for this series is CLOSED but you can sign up for my other stuff through this link)

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[gubesboo]

I BEEN WAITIN FOR THIS ONE TURN IT UPPPP

the power play (part six)

pairing hockeyplayer! rafe cameron x tutor! reader

rating mature 18+

summary rafe is your complete opposite. the only thing you have in common with the hockey player you tutor is that he’s also recently had his heart broken. in a last-ditch effort to make the people who hurt you regret it, you agree to pretend to date.

< prev

Rafe drives down the dark street, silent while his mind races and whirls with regret.

He shouldn’t have offered to come with you tonight. He shouldn’t have let himself see you like that, with all your friends, with the guy who’s blind to how lucky he is that you love him.

Envy courses through him, burning and vicious. Who would he be if he had a life like Beck, surrounded by people who loved him? Why couldn’t he have that? Why couldn’t he be someone else? Someone you’d want?

“You might be right,” you say happily. “Maybe Beck is jealous. He wouldn’t stop looking at me tonight.”

Rafe is still in his head. He hated that your eyes wouldn’t stay on his at that party. That other eyes were on you.

“Neither would that guy who plays for Hatfield,” he mutters.

“Marcus?” You sink further into the passenger seat, settling in for the hour-long drive back to campus. “What do you mean?”

He rubs his jaw, reminded of how warm your cheek felt on his when you whispered to him during that stupid game of truth or dare.

“He likes you, too,” he says.

You have to laugh.

“No way.”

“So, he’s never tried anything,” Rafe states, unconvinced.

You look out your window as he turns onto a busier street. Through your high school days, Lyla had implied that Marcus had a crush on you, but you refuted it every time.

“Well…” You sigh. “Lyla thinks because he asked me to a dance one time, it meant something, but he told me himself he was asking me as a friend.”

“He said that to not look like a loser if you shot him down,” Rafe huffs.

“I’m not so sure,” you say.

His pain weighs even heavier. It’s messing with him how you imply that guys don’t look at you like that. It took you this long to say that maybe Beck’s jealous.

You’re oblivious to the effect you have on people. On him.

Frustration wrenches in his chest and his words come out unfiltered.

“You really are clueless about this shit,” he mutters, his voice clipped.

It’s the first time Rafe’s words truly cut into you. You’re used to his brashness, to how he doesn’t hesitate to let you know when you’re irritating him, and normally it makes you laugh or roll your eyes.

But this stings. And it throws away the joy you’d felt seconds ago. You’re already painfully aware that you’re inexperienced, having spent so much time stuck on one guy who kept you trapped in a confusing loop.

Despite the pang in your heart, it’s comforting to know, to really know, that you could never like Rafe like that.

You’ve seen bits of tenderness in him, but he’s more hard, icy edges than anything else, and he’s not the type of person you’d ever feel safe giving your heart to.

At least you know you’ll be able to avoid Rafe hurting you the way Beck has.

Rafe glances over to see you turned away, your dejected pout reflected in the window. He hates himself for being such a dick, but fuck, it kills him that you act like it’s ridiculous that someone could have feelings for you.

He’s falling off the edge right in front of you and you don’t see it. And it dawns on him that it’s a good thing you don’t, because you wouldn’t fall with him.

“That was mean,” you say quietly. You look over and catch glimpses of the writing you left on the inside of his wrist as the streetlights flood in and out of the car. “Even for you.”

The thinness of your voice is a razor that slices into him.

“You’re not always right about everything, okay?” Rafe says stiffly.

“I never said I was,” you reply. You look out the window again and take a moment before you continue speaking. “But what happened with Beck did mess with my confidence, if that’s what you’re getting at. And you’re not making it any better.”

Knowing he’s only adding to your baseless insecurities cuts him deeper.

“I’m sorry, alright?” he mumbles. He stares ahead as he pulls onto the freeway. “All I’m tryin’ to say is that you don’t need to be so jaded just because one asshole strung you along.”

Your ache numbs a little. In his own, tactless way, he’s attempting to help.

“Your approach needs work,” you say flatly, “but I see your point.”

Tension sinks between you, every sense of camaraderie gone. And Rafe is desperate to undo it, to make you feel better.

“You can tell you’re getting to him?” he asks.

“Yeah,” you say in a hush, although the high of witnessing Beck’s jealousy is gone now.

It’s satisfying to know he’s seeing what he’s missing, but it hurts that you had to go to these lengths for it to happen. It hurts that you still care.

“Good,” he says.

Rafe’s met with no response. And he wants to beg you to speak. His lips part, heart hammering.

“What are you thinking?” His deep voice fractures the silence.

You bite your lip, remembering the first time you were in this car, when Rafe suggested he drive you back home because you wouldn’t stop talking.

Now, he wants you to talk, and if he didn’t ask, you wouldn’t offer up your thoughts like you usually do. Not after that dig.

“You ever wish you could make yourself not care about something?” you eventually say.

“All the time,” he admits within an exhale of relief that you answered him.

“Really?” you ask, your brows lifted in surprise.

He knows he manages to seem like he doesn’t give a shit about most things. It’s a defense mechanism that works until his anger gets so heavy that he cracks.

He refuses to crack in front of you again. Right now, he’s okay with giving you the vulnerability you’re always trying to coax out of him if it means you’ll be you again.

“She told you I wouldn’t move on, right?” he says sardonically.

You gaze at him, reminded of the way his ex had laughed when she told you he wouldn’t stop bothering her.

“I kept trying to work things out and I – I wish I didn’t.” He shakes his head, embarrassed. “And I don’t even want to be with her now, but I care enough to want to piss her off. I know that’s not normal.”

You eyes are fixed on the license plate of the car ahead of you. The things you know about his past relationship, things that Emma said, things that he said, come together to paint an ugly picture.

“I think it’s how a lot of people would feel,” you say. “It doesn’t sound like she was very nice to you.”

Rafe knows he could be just as poisonous, raising his voice and escalating fights, but Emma made him feel like he was insane for being human.

Any time he was hurt, she said he was overreacting. He wasn’t allowed to be angry. To be sad. To be anything.

And he always feared she was right. He was too much, felt too much. He’d heard it from so many people, the first and loudest voice being his father’s.

“She wasn’t,” he answers. “I wasn’t, either.”

You don’t doubt it. You can only imagine how vicious their arguments were.

“Can I tell you something?” you say.

He’s upset, but he takes a page out of your book, trying to lighten the mood.

“You’re going to do it anyway,” he mumbles.

Despite yourself, you chuckle.

“You already very kindly established that I’m no expert on relationships,” you say, your joke splitting the tension, “but do you ever think that maybe things were toxic between you?”

You’re prying again, but Rafe’s relieved you are, because it means you’re okay.

Maybe his relationship was toxic, but he doesn’t know otherwise. It’s how he operates, always on the cusp of chaos, always on the edge of imploding.

“What?” he asks, just to stall.

“You said you wanted to hurt each other when you fought, right?”

The tires continue to rapidly roll over the asphalt with rhythmic pats, the wind whooshing over the windows.

“Yeah.”

“What’d you fight about?”

“Everything,” he says. “I mean, yeah, I have a short fuse and I – I say shit I don’t mean, but she acted like she never did anything wrong.”

“That’s hard to deal with,” you sympathize. “What’d she do wrong?”

He grits his teeth. The memory of how Emma would shut him down whenever he had a problem with something she did flashes through his mind like a bad dream he wants to forget.

“She acted like she only liked me when I was happy,” he tells you, on edge, in disbelief that he’s hearing his voice admit these things.

“What would she do when you weren’t?” you ask.

His jaw tenses, the memories of Emma’s shouted words a punch to the gut.

“She’d tell me to grow up,” he says dryly.

Rafe is sure you’d never say something like that to him, but there’s still an alarm going off in his head that he’s opening up too much, giving you what you need to hurt him, sharing criticism that you might silently agree with.

Every piece that he shares with you could serve as proof that he’s a catastrophe of a man that you’d be better off staying away from.

You look down at your lap, your heart pinching. The space between you is delicate, fragile, a bond you never could have imagined growing between you.

You’re upset to think about how Rafe clearly already doesn’t really do feelings and was made to feel bad for showing his to his girlfriend.

Emma had called him pathetic, but you feel that the word describes her instead.

“That’s not fair,” you say. “Nobody deserves to hear that from someone who’s supposed to care about them.”

He only offers a rigid shrug.

You’re still curious about what he told you when you asked him why he liked her. He’d said things were simple with her, that she made him feel uncomplicated, but it sounds like all they did was bicker.

You want to know why he tried to get back together after they’d had such a rocky relationship, why he’d called her crying.

“You said she made things easy?” you say.

He tightens his grip on the steering wheel, not sure how much more of this conversation he can take.

“When we weren’t fighting, we had fun,” he explains. “I didn’t have to think about anything, you know?”

And she never pushed to see the pieces of himself that he hides. And all you do is push, so why the hell is he losing his mind over a girl who’s done nothing but try to make him face what he runs from?

But when he looks at you again through the darkness, it’s like he can see how good you are.

And that’s why.

That’s why you’ve taken him captive. You’re warm, the way you find joy in almost everything, the way you’re unabashedly yourself, the way you want to understand people for who they really are.

You take in his awestruck expression, looking like he can’t believe he just told you all that.

You get it now. Emma didn’t want to deal with the heavy stuff. And it worked for him. Until it didn’t. It doesn’t sound like they had that deep of a connection if she punished him for having feelings.

“I really don’t like her,” you say quietly.

“Damn,” he murmurs. “Brutal coming from you.”

You chuckle. Rafe takes a few breaths before he speaks again, hating that he actually feels shy right now.

“Sorry I said…” He trails off, not wanting to repeat the word clueless. He went too far. “You’re smart, okay?”

“You’ve mentioned that a few times,” you laugh.

“We friends again?”

You smirk.

“Maybe if you say please,” you say.

“Shut up,” he laughs.

“Hmm.” You squint. “Try again.”

You watch him with an expectant expression, a playful smile on your face.

“Please,” he mumbles, shaking his head in disbelief.

“Alright, you don’t have to beg,” you chuckle.

Rafe groans in annoyance and you laugh again, picked back up out of your low mood.

You get the feeling of being linked to him again, the one you had when you watched him from the stands before you even spoke.

He’s wading through the pieces of a broken relationship, and you’re trying to shake yourself out of infatuation, and they’re different circumstances, but you both need the same thing. To not care anymore.

“I read something about how the opposite of love isn’t hate,” you say. “It’s indifference. Eventually, you won’t care about what she thinks. And you’ll find the girl you need when the time’s right.”

Rafe stares ahead.

“Yeah,” is all he can say. Because he’s already found the girl he needs. She just doesn’t need him back.

════════

In the span of almost five days, Rafe has gone from bad to worse.

On Sunday, the team just barely won the first game of the tournament. He watched from the bench, pissed off beyond belief watching the gameplay. They were lucky the opponents’ offense was so choppy.

It was both frustrating and validating when his coach told him that he hopes Rafe can play game two, because defense is suffering without him.

Yesterday, he saw the team’s physical therapist. He managed to move his arm with full mobility, but still felt a minor, stubborn pinch. He was cleared for game two, so long as he saw a doctor to get imaging done and make sure he wasn’t putting himself at risk.

He had the appointment this morning and he’s already dreading the call with the results. He can’t lose hockey. It’s the one thing keeping him sane.

Now, he’s walking under the hot afternoon sun, on his way to an off-campus uptown cafe you’d suggested for your tutoring session. He had to park two blocks away after looking for a spot for ages.

He’s in a foul mood, rereading your text just so he doesn’t take it out on you. You gave him the head’s up that this place is usually busy and parking could be tough, offering to stick with the library if he preferred.

He went along with what you wanted, because he’d rather not let you down. At this point, it hurts seeing any hint of sadness on your face. He’s still pissed off at himself for what he said to you in his car last weekend.

He steps into the small cafe, the air smelling of coffee, the machines whirring over overlapping conversations. He finds you in the corner, your head adorably tilted in thought as you type on your laptop.

The knot in his stomach loosens once you look up and smile at him.

Every morning, every afternoon, every night, you’re on his mind. You’ve thrown him completely off center, dominating every second of his day, the longing to see you when he’s not with you insatiable.

Rafe strides towards you between full tables, and you take a moment to drink him in, the strong, self-assured way he walks, never the type to act like he thinks he doesn’t belong wherever he is.

“Hey,” you say. “Was parking okay?”

“You warned me.” He pulls out the chair across from you, dragging it across the hardwood. You shut your laptop. “Why are we here? I got that tattoo for nothing?”

You glance at his wrist to see that the marker has washed off.

“It’s gone anyway,” you giggle. “I thought we could use a change of scenery. Plus, this place has the best treats.”

You slide a small brown paper bag towards him.

“I’ll trade you for your laptop,” you say.

Minutes later, you’re checking in on his grades. Your stomach drops when you see a warning in red text next to last week’s submission link.

7 days late.

“Rafe,” you say soberly. “You forgot to send it in.”

You look up at him from across the table, confusion creased into his features as he finishes chewing.

“Remember, last week?” you say. “Your laptop died and I told you to submit the essay before midnight?”

He readjusts his posture.

“It’s not a big deal,” he sighs defensively.

“It’s 5% lost every day,” you reply. “I’ll submit it now.”

He scowls, agitation rippling over his features. It discredits the text that Lyla sent you the morning after her birthday party, not that you believed it anyway.

My mom said it’s cute how obviously in love Rafe is with you.

The way he’s looking at you right now is the farthest thing from love. Like he said, he’s a great liar.

“This matters,” you reiterate. Rafe glances away. It’s hurtful to witness how disinterested he is.

You submit the assignment, displeased by his apathy, reminded of how much his bad attitude and moodiness can get to you, but try to remain positive.

“Let’s see what you have so far,” you say, opening his draft document. “This week’s discussion question is about the significance of time in the novel. Did you notice it was sometimes spelled with a capital T?”

Your brows pinch in concentration as you lean forward, reading what he’s put together. It’s sparse, disjointed, just like his work when you first started tutoring him. It’s like he’s gone backwards.

You look up at him, but his eyes are downcast, lips turned down. Something’s wrong.

“You didn’t get much time to work on it?” you say, keeping a kind tone to your voice.

“This book made no sense,” he mutters.

“It is pretty convoluted,” you say. “But there’s substance to it. I like how it explores the idea of friendship. Speaking of, friends tell each other when something’s wrong, so get to talking.”

If Rafe didn’t know better, he’d think you're trying to hurt him.

Disappointing you was painful enough. It’s why his instinct was to act like that late assignment wasn’t a big deal; because then, he wouldn’t have to accept that he was messing up in front of you yet again.

And now, you’re rubbing it in that you only see him as a friend, adding salt to the wound.

“It’s been a shitty week,” he admits.

You lean over to push the bag of treats a little closer to him, earning a nearly silent chuckle.

“Is your shoulder feeling okay?” you ask.

“I had to do some scans,” he says. “I’m waiting to see if I can play. But I’m good.”

Your lips purse in thought. It’s like Rafe is nothing but knee-jerk reactions, snapping when he’s mad, direct about when he’s annoyed, but he hides everything else, as if he’s telling himself he’s not allowed to feel anything besides anger.

You wonder if he was always like that, or if his last relationship left that particular scar.

“Is midterm season getting to you?” you ask. “Because it’s getting to me. Studying’s hard enough and now I have a group project that’s been keeping me up at night.”

“It’s that bad?” he says, a hint of amusement in his tone.

“You know when you’re put into a group with guys who think dropping paragraphs into a slide deck counts as contributing?” you say. “And when you try to meet up outside of class to practice the presentation, they pretend they didn’t see your text? Does that kind of stuff not happen to you?”

A smile pulls on his lips.

“Just me, then,” you reply.

“Do I need to talk to anyone?” he asks, and he realizes he’s only half-joking.

“You mean like, to threaten them? Only if you can fit it in your schedule,” you joke. “I don’t want to put you out.”

You think he’s kidding. He’s not. He feels insanely protective over you, and while he can see that you’re not that bothered by this, he’d get those idiots you’re working with in line if you needed him to.

This is only getting more difficult. He wants to tell you that he’s serious. That he’d do anything to make things easier for you, that you don’t deserve to be ignored, that you should cut this act out and be with him for real.

But he has to accept that while he’s spent his life being ruthlessly honest about what he thinks about people, good or bad, he needs to swallow down his words around you.

He can’t talk like that with a girl who’d never want him. Who he’d never recover from getting rejected by.

“You know you can tell me when something’s bothering you, right?” you say. “It’s not like I’d…”

You don’t finish your sentence, your gaze soft. He can tell you’re trying to reassure him that you wouldn’t criticize him for being stressed like his ex used to, the reminder of your last conversation planting discomfort in his chest.

“I didn’t mean to forget,” he utters, eyes darting away again. You nod. So he does care. And now you feel bad if you made him feel ridiculed.

“Was I too intense?” you say dolefully. “I’m sorry. I just want you to do well. We worked hard on that assignment and it’s a waste of effort to lose points for lateness.”

You pull out your notebook, full of study notes you took last semester.

“It’s okay,” you conclude. “It’s just one assignment. We’ll finish up this essay and then start prepping for the midterm.”

Rafe’s muscles loosen, in awe of how quickly you just turned his mood around.

“Oh, before I forget,” you say, “do you want me to come to the next game? I can drive up with Lyla. It’s an away, right? This Saturday?”

“You did your homework.”

“Did you forget who you’re talking to?” you laugh.

“Yeah, you should come,” Rafe says after a beat. “If I play.”

“Deal,” you say with a grin.

He’s hopeful you follow through. Because even if you’re there as a friend, as all you’ll ever want to be to him, he plays better knowing you’re watching.

════════

Rafe sits on the team bus on the way to game two, his eyes following the dips and valleys of lush trees lining the road. Music buzzes in his earbuds, his fingers interlaced in his lap, his knees bouncing.

He needs this before big games; the closest he can get to solitude, confining himself into his own mind, finding focus.

He’d never liked quiet until he started playing hockey. He chased noise, commotion, distractions. And he still gets his dose of chaos with every game, but it’s always preceded by this stillness. This moment he gives himself for the calm before the storm.

He got the call yesterday. The scans came back fine. They showed nothing serious, no signs of tearing, no reason for him to be freaking out.

Rafe texted you right away, finding himself wanting to tell you of all people the good news first, even before his coach.

As expected, you responded with an enthusiastic message telling him you couldn’t wait to cheer him on. The focus he’s trying to find right now keeps getting derailed by thoughts of you.

The song fades out, replaced with ringing. He picks up his phone to see that you’re video-calling him.

His stomach flips and he feels like a little kid with a crush on a girl in his class. The effect you have on him is starting to get really damn embarrassing.

Your pretty face appears on his screen, the backdrop a well-lit ceiling and colorful display shelves.

“Hello,” you greet him cheerfully. “We just stopped at a gas station. Do you want me to grab something for you for after the game? You know, because you’ll need nutrients and electrolytes and all that.”

“I will?” he says, his lips turned up in a smirk. “No shit?”

“Okay, I’m just being nice,” you laugh. “Don’t you get tired of being so sarcastic all the time?”

“Not really,” he replies.

Isaac, who always sits beside him on these drives, hears Rafe mumbling. He leans over and gazes at the screen.

You see the corner of Isaac’s face, then grin and wave.

“Hey, I have a really quick question,” Isaac says.

“What’s up?” you ask.

“She said to leave her alone,” Rafe murmurs.

“I did not,” you laugh, realizing only Rafe can hear you through his earbuds.

“Lies,” Isaac says. “I have this essay that’s killing me. You’re good at that stuff, right? Could you look at it for me? Please? It’s a huge chunk of my grade.”

“Sure,” you say with a nod. “Send it to me. You can get my email from Rafe.”

“She said no,” Rafe says.

“I saw her nod,” Isaac retorts.

“I’ll give you her email, alright?” Rafe says impatiently. “You done now? I’m trying to talk to my girl.”

Isaac feigns offense and leans away after giving you a thankful smile.

“You don’t need to get me anything,” he tells you.

“Suit yourself,” you say. “How are you?”

“Good,” he says simply, because he can’t be honest that he’s nervous about this game, nervous that he’ll mess up his shoulder again, nervous that he’s falling so hard for you that you could shatter him without even knowing it.

His mind is blank, words refusing to form.

“Okay,” you say, unhappy he’s being so short with you.

You don’t know what you did wrong, why he gets so irritated with you all the time. You’d called him impulsively, only ten minutes into your drive with Lyla when you stopped to buy a drink, but you assumed you were in a good enough place to call whenever you felt like it.

It’s all too familiar, this sinking feeling of questioning what a guy thinks of you, just like you always did with Beck. You know things between you and Rafe are platonic, but you thought he’d like to hear from you, because you like to hear from him.

Still, you can’t pretend that the sound of him calling you his girl didn’t make your heart lift with an unwelcome warmth. You remind yourself it’s a lie. Beck’s surely sitting close by, overhearing Rafe’s words.

“I’ll see you after the game,” you say low-spiritedly.

Rafe grimaces, guilt sinking into his bones. You’d once told him he makes you feel annoying and you were joking, but he hates to think that he’s really making you feel like that.

“How ‘bout you?” he asks hurriedly. “How’s your drive been?”

“Aside from Lyla’s road rage?” you joke.

“I do not have road rage,” Lyla defends herself with a playful gasp from the other side of the aisle.

Rafe watches as you look off-screen, the corners of your eyes crinkled as you laugh.

“Be careful,” he says, worry icing his chest. “Tell her to drive safe.”

“Oh, my God, I do!” Lyla half-shouts with a laugh. “Is he always that protective?”

“It’s why I like him so much,” you answer.

This is the point where Rafe would just be direct. He doesn’t play games. Never has. He’d ask you, straight up, the next time you're alone, if you meant that or if you were just faking affection in front of your best friend.

But he can’t do that when he already knows the answer. You told him yourself last weekend. I like you. Just not like that. Imagining something more with you just makes him a masochist.

“I’m offended that your boyfriend doesn’t trust me,” Lyla says.

“He doesn’t trust anyone,” you counter playfully. You look back at the screen. “I’ll let you go. Let me know if you change your mind.”

“Look what I found,” Lyla sing-songs. She holds up a bottle of the drink you’ve been looking for.

“I love you,” you tell her.

Hearing you say those words and knowing they’ll never be directed to him is its own brand of agony. And it’s so soft, so insane that he’s already thinking about love, but you’ve thrown him for such a loop that he can’t control it.

He catches his reflection in the corner of the screen. It’s almost unbelievable how good he is at it, looking so careless, numb, when his heart is cracking down the middle.

“Good luck today,” you say to him. “You don’t need it, though.”

“Thanks,” Rafe replies. “See you.”

You hang up.

“For a second, I thought you were telling Rafe you love him,” Lyla says.

“Oh,” you laugh, turning to look at the items on the shelves again. “No.”

“Do you?” she asks. “Or do you see it getting to that point?”

“Maybe,” you reply.

“You’re giving me crumbs,” she whines.

You meet your best friend’s eyes, having already heard her complaints about how little you share about your relationship. You’re tight-lipped about Rafe because you’d rather not have to stomach the shame of feeding Lyla lies.

“What do you want to know?” you ask.

“Everything. Start with the juicy stuff. Have you guys kissed?”

Imagining what it’d be like to kiss Rafe makes your stomach flutter. You wonder if his kisses would be like him; rushed, hard, impatient, or if he’d be soft and gentle and slow.

Your cheeks burn as you think about it, once again trying to pull yourself back into reality.

“Lots of times,” you say with a shrug.

“Have you guys…?” She raises her brows.

You laugh nervously. Her brother saw you leaving Rafe’s room. You doubt they’d ever gossip about you like that, but it’s better to keep the lies consistent.

You nod in response.

“And?”

“Let’s not do this here,” you chuckle, playing it off. “I don’t want strangers overhearing.”

Less than a minute after you hang up, Isaac gets Rafe’s attention with a nudge. He takes out an earbud.

“Don’t take this the wrong way,” Isaac says, “but how’d you get her to like you?”

“How the hell do I take that the right way?” he replies.

“No offense. She’s just so… nice,” Isaac tells him. “It’s a good thing. I can tell you’re happy. Way happier than you were with what’s-her-name.”

Rafe suggested this ploy so it’d seem that way. But with time, with getting to know you, with seeing what it’s like to be someone you care about, it’s become the truth.

════════

The game is hardly a nailbiter. Within the first period, you can tell the opponents aren’t strong contenders. It ends in an easy win.

You catch Rafe’s gaze a few times throughout the game, but you don’t get a chance to talk to him. On your way back to campus, he texts you that the team is celebrating their win in one of the common rooms in the athletes’ dorm building.

Lyla parks and before you can let her know you’ll call Rafe to come downstairs, she pulls out her phone.

“Hey,” she says after a pause. “Can you come down and let us in?”

You unbuckle your seatbelt, stomach turning. You know she’s talking to her brother.

“I could’ve called Rafe,” you say nervously when you step out of the car, walking side-by-side to the building.

“It’s no problem,” she says. You can tell that she thinks she did you a favor by taking care of it, but these days, being around Beck brings you an unwelcome, awkward tension.

Beck lets you in, holding the front door open as you exchange casual greetings. You pace through the lobby and the elevator door slides shut behind you.

Beck stands by the buttons, Lyla leans against the corner between you, and you cross your arms and look up at the numbers changing.

“When’s the last time just the three of us hung out?” Lyla says lightheartedly. “And this doesn’t count.”

Your eyes flit up to Beck, whose stare is already on you. Lyla has no idea what’s gone on between you, that an unspoken heaviness has settled between you since that day in front of his exam room last semester.

Does he regret it? Does he want to take it back? Does he wish he’d never spent years leading you on and just pursued you from the beginning? Does he want to tell you what he’s really thinking? Will he ever?

The questions swirl through your head, a pattern that, at this point, you could do in your sleep.

And you realize that the answers don’t matter. Not really. Because if it takes a lie, a delusion that you’re with another man for Beck to see your worth, he never deserved you in the first place.

It gives you hope that you’re finally taking back your heart, piece by piece.

You need to allow yourself to see who you are without this hold he has on you. To love yourself instead of waiting for somebody else to. To give yourself space to be you, unencumbered by what anyone else thinks.

“It has been a long time,” you say. “I think we’ve all just been swamped.”

“Swamped?” Beck asks you. “You doing okay?”

His eyes drift over your face, shadowed with a hint of sadness.

The elevator reaches its stop. The doors open with the ding of a bell. And you nod.

“Yeah,” you answer. “My head has never been clearer, actually.”

════════

Rafe was hoping you’d still be wearing his jersey, rubbing it in Beck’s face that you’re wearing his name, no matter if it is just a ploy.

His throat tightens when his eyes land on you as you step into the common room, taking you in as he leans against the armrest of a couch. You’re not in his jersey. And you’re with Lyla and Beck.

His heart sinks. Why didn’t you call him to come get you?

“Hey,” you say, beaming at Rafe as you approach him. “You were great tonight.”

You pull him into a hug, arms draped around his wide shoulders, inhaling the smell of his body wash.

Part of you is embracing him because it’s what a girlfriend would do. The other part is because it feels good to be held by someone who knows just how much pain you’ve been holding onto.

Rafe’s hands tighten at your waist, his nose in the crook of your neck, breathing you in.

“Pretty relaxed celebration,” you say, looking around when you part. Teammates and their friends and girlfriends are scattered around the room, grouped in different conversations.

You look at Rafe again and you swear that he’s somehow getting more handsome the longer you know him. Being inches away from him after daydreaming about kissing him makes the realization all the more overpowering.

The only thing you can feel is frustration because this is the last thing you need, to jump from liking one guy to another. Especially to one who has proven that he’d only hurt you.

You need your crush on Rafe to remain superficial. Any deeper and you’re just opening yourself up to more heartache.

“Yeah, this is really lowkey,” Lyla agrees with you. “You guys didn’t have it in you to party?”

“We’re pretty worn out,” Beck explains.

“Are you?” you ask Rafe, gazing up at him in that way that he’s grown to adore.

He is. He’s exhausted. And he’d fucking love it if you could go to his room just down the hall, lie in his bed together, doze off wrapped up in each other.

“Getting there,” he replies.

“I’ll let you guys talk,” Lyla says, then looks at you. “Or whatever it is you do.”

“Lyla,” you groan with a laugh. She slips away, prompting Beck to do the same. Nowadays, he seems to hate being around you when you’re with Rafe.

“What was that about?” Rafe murmurs to you quietly.

You lean on the armrest, settled next to him with your arm pressed against his, finding that you’ve grown to enjoy the conversations you’re always having outside of the crowds, the feeling of being tucked away into privacy together.

“She’s annoyed that I’ve been so secretive,” you reply just as quietly. “I don’t give her details about us, but can you blame me?”

“What does she want to know?”

“If we’ve kissed and… stuff,” you say, looking at the floor, feeling too awkward to tell him the truth. “I said yeah, but I couldn’t exactly come up with details about something that never happened.”

Rafe’s eyes lower to your lips, staring while your gaze stays on the floor.

“You tellin’ me you want to break your ‘no kissing’ rule?” he asks in a joking tone, as if his heart is pounding in his ears right now.

“No,” you chuckle, looking back up at him. “I still want my first kiss to be real.”

It’s the first time he doesn’t like the sound of your laugh, because it’s apparently funny to you to consider having genuine feelings for him.

He swallows down the bitterness, determined not to punish you for his own pain. He’s done that before and he hated himself for it.

“If I played so great, why’d you take off my jersey?” he asks.

He didn’t his best tonight, feeling pricks of pain in his shoulder only a few minutes into the game. It made him afraid of getting into any hard collisions. He’s never been like that. It’s just as aggravating as it is depressing.

You lace your fingers together in your lap, fidgeting.

“I left it in the car,” you answer. You don’t offer him anything else, a faraway look in your eyes.

“Did something happen?”

You breathe out slowly, still in disbelief of how easily Rafe can read you. It’s a good thing you’re not really falling for him. He’d be able to tell.

“You’re too perceptive,” you murmur. He smirks. “It was just a weird elevator ride.”

“You could’ve called me to let you in.”

“Lyla called him before I could.” You clear your throat. “I’m finally seeing him act how I always wanted him to and… it doesn’t feel like I thought it would.”

Rafe studies you intently, hanging onto your words like they’re the only thing keeping him breathing.

“Everything that happened with him made me so insecure,” you confess. “And I think I shouldn’t date for real until I’m totally over him.”

At least Rafe won’t see you with another guy once you call this off, but now he’s wondering if he’ll see you at all, if you want to stay friends with someone like him, if he can manage being platonic with a girl who has so ruthlessly claimed his heart.

“And that’ll be long after we stage a mature, civil breakup where we mutually decide we’re better as friends,” you say. “And we are staying friends, got it?”

You offer him a smile. He returns it, relieved that you answered his unspoken concern, lucky that you want him around at all.

Rafe hopes you mean it, that you’re not just being nice. He can’t not have you in his life. He’ll just have to get used to quietly wanting you.

“Do we have to?” he teases, keeping his pain hidden.

You breathe a laugh, gently elbowing him, the contact making your heart feel a little less heavy.

It’s moments like these, when Rafe jokes with you and flashes his dimpled grin and shows glimmers of softness, that you worry your feelings will plunge into dangerous territory.

But you spent too long silently hoping someone would like you back. You can’t do it again.

(to be continued)

author’s note my bad… i love a man yearning too much to end it just yet… slowest slowburn i’ve ever written stg

if you want notifications on when i post my fics, follow @xorafe-library and turn on notifications 💘

[gubesboo]

this blog hates donald trump

Look how many people hate him. I’m pretty damn happy about that 😁😁😁😁😁😁

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this video might drive me insane!

What do you mean I made a compilation of his kiss scenes? Uhh I would never????

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Playghoul

Artist: Cassandra Dunn Art

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god i cant stop reading this!!!

THE BOY’S A SLAG | SPENCER REID

Spencer Reid has a reputation. You couldn’t care less.

Word Count: 6k.

Warning: GradSchool!Spencer, smut.

Something people don’t know about Spencer Reid at 19 years old: he was a whore. And this is not an exaggeration. The little fucker (pun intended) got around. It was the brains, and the way he explained things without speaking down on anyone. It was the way he grew his hair out in the winter so it fell into his face just the right way. It was the long, skinny fingers that girls just wanted to deepthroat. The veins in his neck, his arms, and the way he licked his lips. The way some girls said he would go down on them for hours upon hours and how, allegedly, his dick was the equivalent of a snake — long, skillful and intimidating. That is what got him a bunch of pussy. Being kind and helpful and laying down pipe so well that it was spoken about around campus.

His set was the undergrads. Girls were into the genius thing. He was the same age as the sophomores and some of the freshmen and everything he heard was Oh my god, you’re already getting your doctorate? How old are you? 19? No way! Are you a genius or something? And here, this response, is key:

He’d say, “Or something.”

He was mysterious and collected and had an apartment off campus. He went to parties just to stand against the wall and sip on a cup of water. He’d play games of poker just to win a bunch of money and give it back. It was during one of these games that he first saw you. He was on a winning streak, and he had a girl hanging onto his shoulder. She was sweaty and playing with his hair. In his hands, he had a winning lottery of cards and just as he went to slam them on the table, he caught a glimpse of you and only a glimpse. The two of you held eye contact, and you raised your cup to him. The cards fell out of his hands and the room erupted in chaos and you disappeared.

“I’m out,” he said, much to the dismay of the crowd, and he brushed the sweaty girl off of him and he stood from his chair. By the time he pushed his way through the crowd, you were gone and for a long time, he carried on thinking that he had lost his mind. That he imagined you, that you were merely a hallucination that had overtaken his thoughts. For most of the night, he thought he was seeing you everywhere. When he found you smoking on the patio, he had to catch his breath. Think of what to say. Fix his hair.

He approached you with his hand in his pocket, only one, and the other held his solo cup. He had a method, and it was full proof. Working the hair and deep eye contact and leaning in close enough to make himself desirable. He does this with you and you exhale smoke, look him up and down.

“You’re new,” he says.

“Fresh out the box,” you shrug. “Who are you?”

“Sorry,” he says. “I’m Spencer. I go by Reid.”

“Okay.”

“Did you know that more than six million Americans are living with a disease caused by smoking?” he asks.

“Yeah. It also causes erectile dysfunction. I like to take my chances, y’know?”

He chuckles, he thinks: where the hell did you come from?

“What’s your major?” he asks.

“Chem.”

“No shit,” he smiles. “I’m studying chemistry, too.”

“Never seen you around.”

“I’m a graduate student.”

“And you just like to hang out at undergrad parties, or . .?”

“I’m 19.”

“You a science experiment or something?”

And here is where he looks at you, really looks at you. He grins, “Or something.”

You toss your cigarette on the ground and stomp it out. “Okay, well,” you pat his shoulder. “See you around, Spencer.”

He thinks: that has never happened before.

You’ve walked away before he can find the breath to speak and when he does, he says, “Just . . . Reid . . .”

Spencer fucks two other girls before he sees you again. With both, he’s a lot rougher than usual. He’s out of his head. He tosses them around and he keeps switching positions and he can’t come unless it’s in their mouths. You’ve thrown him off his game and it’s funny because you don’t even know it. The day he ate a girl out in the back of the library, you were studying there. The brothel was conveniently located in the chemistry section and you caught him in the act. He had his hand over her mouth because she was going to come and her back was against the bookshelf. Spencer was finger fucking her and you assume it’s good because she’s going cross-eyed. You clear your throat and her eyes focused on you and she scrambles to pull her dress down. She pushes Spencer off, he goes, “What? What?”

He turns to see you and his jaw is hanging open and he wipes it with the back of his hand.

“Really, dude?” you say. You roll your eyes, you grab your book and walk away.

He runs after you, but you had already made the decision to leave the library and he could not find you. Spencer thinks it’s just his luck. He feels every interaction ruining his chances of ever getting into your pants. He wishes he knew your name. He wishes he knew more about the girl who smokes cigarettes and majors in chemistry and only catches him when he’s least expecting it.

A week later a rumor is going around that he got a girl pregnant. This is the first you ever hear of him. Of course it is not said directly to you, but you overhear it in class. You raise an eyebrow, you scoff, you get back to your notes.

“I think she’s lying,” one girl says.

Another sighs, “Why, Audrey?”

“Because everyone who’s hooked up with him has said he’s extremely careful. That —“

“I’m sorry. Everyone? Didn’t you hook up with him?”

“We didn’t have sex, it doesn’t count.”

“I would say if body fluids were exchanged, that counts.”

“He’s cautious, is what I’m trying to say, smart ass. He wouldn’t fuck up and knock someone up.”

“And how are you so sure? You barely know him.”

“I know him well enough.”

“Yeah. You and everybody else.”

When it comes to light that it was, in fact, a rumor, there is a moment of silence in which Spencer does not have sex. He loses the urge for it and he does not come to any parties. His first night back out is a grand appearance. Girls and guys alike flock to him when he enters the room and he seems out of it.

When he is nowhere to be found a few hours later, there are whispers. Did he leave? To buy diapers, maybe? No, that was just a rumor. Maybe off with his new flavor of the week? Possibly, but who here hasn’t he fucked?

He goes outside in a corner of the garden and lays in the grass. He stares at the sky and the stars and for once, he wishes he was drinking. He wishes he could find a way to ascend from his body, someway, somehow. He feels so heavy and he could fall asleep.

“Hey. Earth to ET,” you call.

He lifts his head up and he gives you this real, genuine smile.

“Brought you a drink,” you tell him, holding two cups in your hands.

“Oh, I —“

“Calm down, dude, it’s sparkling water.”

You take a seat beside him and the grass pokes you through your jeans. “Thank you,” he says. He takes a big gulp and he lays back down. You look up to the sky, trying to imagine what’s there. What’s jumping out to him, what’s speaking to him.

“Hey,” he is looking at you now. “I’m sorry. About the library.”

You shrug, take a sip of water, “Not my business.”

He goes quiet and he stares up at the sky.

“We don’t have to talk about that, y’know,” you tell him. You lay down beside him and he feels as though he can’t breathe. “We can talk about . . . I don’t know, the olympics. The weather. That cloud right there in the shape of a dog.”

He observes the cloud, he tilts his head, “I don’t see it. A cat maybe.”

“A really big rabbit.”

He laughs, he says, “Maybe,” and then he says, “I don’t know what I’m doing with my life.”

You choke on your water, but to be completely fair, you shouldn’t have been drinking while laying down. You sit up and hack it up and Spencer watches the whole thing. “I’m sorry,” you say. “But we were just talking about clouds. What about that triggers an existential crisis?”

“No, no,” he sits up. “The existential crisis started long before the clouds. I think I was born with it.”

“Hm,” you hum. “Y’know, I’m not a psychology major. I can’t give you the great answer.”

“That’s okay,” he chuckles. “The, um,” he holds up his cup, but he is looking at you. “The sparkling water is enough.”

You nod, you almost smile. “Well, I’ve got to get back to my friends but you should keep looking at the clouds. Hey!” you exclaim, as you stand up, “Maybe that’s what you could do with your life. Be a cloud.”

“Ha. Ha.”

“Or, a sunflower,” you back away. “A patch of grass. A shooting star.”

“You really are not a psychology major.”

“You’ll figure it out,” you turn your back to him and as he is watching you walk away, his eyes go wide and he begins to chase you.

“Wait!” he calls. “Wait!”

You turn around and he is running so fast that he nearly collides with you and he catches himself on his toes. He huffs, he puffs, “What, what’s your name?”

You tilt your head. Now, you smile, “[y/n].”

You walk away and he watches you disappear and when you are out of his vision, he whispers, “[y/n] . . . hm.”

Spencer gets your number from a friend. This friend sucks him off and immediately asks, “How do you know [y/n]?”

Spencer’s heart drops and he leans against the wall. He hasn’t even had a moment to catch his breath. “How do you know [y/n]?”

“She’s my lab partner. She doesn’t seem like your type.”

“Oh, and you know my type, huh?”

“I know you,” she says. “I know [y/n]. Not a match.”

“Don’t be jealous. It’s not a good look on you,” he tells her.

“Don’t be so full of yourself. I’ll give you her number if you want.” At this point, she is reapplying the lipstick she used to paint Spencer’s dick.

He is quiet and it is obvious.

“Wow . . .” she whispers. “You want.”

She is civil and hands over her phone and she has you saved as [y/n] (chem lab). Spencer takes a quick picture and gives her a kiss on the cheek. “This dress looks real nice on you.”

“Oh, boo you whore,” she rolls her eyes and he laughs as he leaves.

Spencer waits until he is out of her sight to freak out. He cradles his phone in both his palms. It is precious, it holds a single image and is his one mode of communicating with you. He doesn't call you until the end of the day. Just as the sun is going down. He has his phone sat on the bed and he paces back and forth. The line rings and it rings.

“Hello?”

Silence.

“Hello?” you repeat.

He clears his throat, “Hi, [y/n].” His voice cracks and he wants to shrivel up and die.

“Who’s this?” you ask.

“It’s Reid,” he says. “Spencer. Spencer Reid. You brought me the sparkling water, I had the existential crisis?”

“Ah, library boy,” you laugh.

“Just Reid is fine,” he smiles. “Are you busy?”

“Why?”

“I was wondering if you wanted to . . . I don’t know, hang out?”

“Hang out?” you repeat. Slowly.

“Yeah. We can go anywhere. I can meet you or come pick you up.”

“Why don’t you come here?”

“Oh,” his eyes go wide and he rushes over to the phone. “To you?”

“Yeah, to my dorm. I’ll send you the room number. Just text me when you’re here.”

“Oh. Okay,” he can’t hide this grin in his voice. “Okay. I’ll be there in 20.”

“Cool.”

“Cool.”

After he hangs up, he showers. He does his hair and he picks out sweatpants that are extra flattering. He never uses cologne and when he sprays some, it makes him cough. You don’t send your address until 10 minutes later and he is out the door as soon as he knows where to go.

He shows up tactically late and knocks on the door with his other hand in his pocket. The door opens and he says, “Oh. Sorry. I must have the wrong room,” because a guy answers.

“Who is it?” you call from inside.

“String bean,” the guy replies.

“Hey, Spencer!” you greet him. “Come on in.”

The small room is crowded, with only five people occupying the space. Spencer does not know all of them but they all know him.

“Hey, dude,” you turn around for a moment to grin at him. “We’re playing connect four. Jace is playing the winner, but you can play after that.”

“Or you can have one of these,” the guy hands Spencer a red cup and it is almost hot. “My own special creation. Way more fun than connect four.”

Spencer takes the cup and he feels like a fucking idiot. For the first time in his life, he feels not a single brain cell in his head. He looks around the room, at your friends, at you. You are having a blast, you are hardly acknowledging his existence and he wishes he was alone with you.

He looks down at the drink in his hand. This icky oozy cup of filth and he drinks it. He knocks it back and it knocks the wind out of him in turn. The Guy laughs and catches Spencer before he stumbles to the ground, “Ha!” he laughs. “I like you, string bean. Here,” he hands him a drink. “Have another.”

And Spencer does. He drinks until he can’t see straight (which, admittedly, happens only after a few cups) and he crashes onto a futon. He watches from the side as you laugh. It is a gorgeous and full laugh that makes the room stop. A guy walks up behind you and whispers in your ear and you look at this guy in a way that Spencer wishes you would look at him.

By the time he passes out in the bathroom, everyone has gone. And it is just you and him. The Guy tries to stick around, even offers to drive Spencer how. But you tell him, “I’ve got him. He’s harmless.”

You spend the night making sure he doesn’t die. If he was semiconscious, his pulse would be racing. He has no idea his head is in your lap. That you’re wiping the sweat of his brow and the vomit from his lips. The snot from his nose. And when he is lying there, sweaty and wet and red, you think: he is kind of cute.

Spencer wakes up on the floor. He is laying on a tile and his mouth is slimy. His head is killing him, his body aches from being curled up in a ball. He tries to push himself up but he collapses back to the floor. He doesn’t know you’re there until you chuckle. You cover your mouth as he looks up at you, “Hey, sleeping beauty. Thought we lost you for a minute.”

“[y/n]?” he mumbles, his face still pressed to the floor. “Where am I?”

“My bathroom.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“I’ll leave,” he says. “As soon as I can get up.”

“Take your time, party boy. I have nowhere to be today.”

He lets out a long sigh and it takes all his strength to get himself up. He grumbles and leans back against the bathtub.

“I feel gross,” he says.

“You look it.”

“Thanks.”

“I like the sweatpants, though.”

He smiles. “Hey.”

“Hey.”

“Did it ever occur to you . . .” he starts. But he can’t seem to put the words together. “. . . That when I asked to hang out . . . I don’t know, when I asked to hang out . . . I only . . . wanted . . . to hang out with you?”

You look at him for a long time. Heat is rising to your face and you put your hand to your cheek. “No. It hadn’t occurred to me.”

“Oh, well,” he sighs. “You’re an idiot, then.”

You burst out laughing and he is relieved. He could listen to this sound all day. “Real bold coming from the guy who can’t hold his liquor.”

“Liquor?” he exclaims. “That was liquor?”

“No, it was juice. Of course it was liquor!”

“Oh, my god,” he slumps. “I hate liquor. Must kill liquor.”

“I think liquor’s gonna win that fight.”

It is silent for a moment. He is gazing at you from the corner of his eye and you will not look away from your lap. He goes to speak, but you do so first. “Let’s hang out,” you tell him. “Just the two of us.”

“Right now?”

“Mhm,” you nod. “Right now.”

“I,” he stutters. “I’m hardly in shape to go out.”

“Be there or be square,” you say, standing up from the floor. “I’m gonna change.”

Spencer forgets the hangover in an instant and stands up too fast. He catches himself on the sink and sticks his head under the water. He washes his face and uses his finger to brush his teeth. He walks out of the bathroom to find you fully dressed for the day.

“So,” he says. “Where to?”

You walk to a diner down the street. Spencer sets a napkin down on the chair before he sits.

“Really?” you tilt your head at him.

“Just a precaution,” he smiles and starts to look at the menu, “God, this all looks . . . terrible.”

“Best hangover food in town. Give me that,” you take his menu from his hands and hand both to the waiter. You order for the both of you and he is in shock.

“I’m hungover but I can talk,” he says.

“Why? So you could order a glass of water and a piece of toast? I don’t think so.”

A big breakfast is set on the table after a few more minutes. There’s waffles and eggs and bacon and sausage and toast. Spencer could vomit just looking at it. But you tell him to take just one bite and then he cannot get enough.

The two of you stuff your faces and giggle at each other incessantly. “Right?” you ask.

“It is good,” he says with a full mouth. “It’s almost like I can remember what happened last night. Oh, god. Did I sing?”

You burst out laughing and food shoots out of your mouth and people stare. “The entire intro to Grease, actually.”

“Ah, fuck,” he puts his hands over his face as he laughs. “Never again.”

He continues eating his food. You watch him shove it down and there is a small smile on your face.

After dinner, you walk. Not a stroll, not a casual walk in the park. You walk. You tell Spencer is keep him from focusing on all the food in his gut. And you walk. You walk for hours. You talk for hours. Your voices sing the sun to sleep. You see the city and you see Spencer under the light. He wants to hold your hand. Not to be sappy or romantic, just to make sure he doesn’t lose you. Just to keep you close.

He keeps making jokes in effort to make you laugh and the sound echos down the empty street. He is so lost in you. He is so infatuated with you. That when a car rolls by, he does not see the puddle and gets splash by a wave of fallen rain. It narrowly misses you. You dodge out of the way as the car drives off and watch the entire thing in almost slow motion.

“Oh, my god!” you laugh. You cackle, actually. You bend over in hysterics. “I’m so — I’m sorry, I just —“ you’re cut off by another laugh. If Spencer didn’t enjoy the sound so much, he’d be angry. But you are happy. You are happy because of him, and that is okay.

He asks if you two can stop by his place before he takes you home. He walks there soaking wet and you walk at his side.

“I’m sorry for laughing,” you tell him. “That was a dick move.”

“Hey,” he shrugs. “You don’t ever have to be sorry about that.”

Spencer’s place is clean. About as clean as it gets for a 19 year old boy. The books as organized and shelved away. Blankets are folded and set neatly on the couch. The tile in the kitchen is spotless. The air smells nice and fresh.

“I just have to run into my room. I’ll be back,” he tells you as he walks down the hallway. He disappears and you continue to observe the apartment. Find little details of Spencer written in the walls. Your curiosity piques at the thought of his room. What it looks like, where he sleeps. You take a breath, you hold it, and you walk down the hall.

He is putting on a new shirt when you walk in and his hair is messy. “Nosey much?” he asks with a smile.

“Very much,” you step into his room and he watches you look around. “It’s cute in here.”

“Oh, yeah. Cute is just what I was going for.”

There’s a night light in the corner in the shape of a rocket. A pile of clothes on the floor right beside it. A picture of an older blond woman on his dresser. The room is filled with soft hues of blue and black and there are more books in a box beside his bed. There is a stereo against the wall. You walk up to it and hit play. Classical music leaks from the speakers at a subtle volume.

You turn around and eye him and he immediately says, “I just use it to fall asleep.”

You chuckle, “Sure.”

You walk across the room and pick up a single solo cup. It is empty and old and nearly the only piece of trash in sight. You go to throw it in the wastebasket, but he rushes over to grab it. “Whoa, whoa, whoa,” he grabs the cup from you. “That’s not trash.”

“Oh?” you raise your eyebrows. “It’s not?”

“No, no,” he shakes his head.

“Then what is it?”

He sighs, slowly and deeply, “It’s . . . the cup. From that night. When you — when you brought me . . .”

You tilt your head at him. Your face is stoic and void. “No shit.”

“Yeah, now that you mention it, it’s trash. I’ll just,” and he pops the cup in the waste and fiddles with his hands.

“God,” you roll your eyes and laugh. You’re trying to lighten the mood. “You’re obsessed with me, dude.”

“I’ve been obsessed with you since I met you, [y/n],” he says, and he follows it with a soft laugh. “I’ve been thinking about you. Nonstop. How could I not?”

And, for once, you’re speechless.

“I mean, you’re beautiful. You’re funny. You have this awful sense of sarcasm that makes me feel small and . . . silly and I like that. Your laugh takes up an entire room and I just, I want to be around it, I don’t know. I like that you . . . let you let me sleep on your bathroom floor. That you find me obnoxious and you let me know. I like . . . you.”

When you say nothing in response, he sighs and it is full of disappointment. He turns away and begins to dig for his drawer. For what, you’re not sure. But you are sure of one thing.

“Spencer,” you call, in a low, soft voice.

He turns around with a smile that quickly dissipates when he sees your chest. Bare, covered in a bra that pushes your boobs up in a way he likes. He loves. His jaw drops, just slightly, and he shakes his head from side to side to make sure this is real.

“[y/n] . . .” he whispers. “What are you doing?”

You chuckle, “What does it look like?”

He steps close to you. In slow, small steps like he is afraid you’ll run away. But you want this. You tell him, “I want to. I want you.”

And as his hand snakes around your waist, shakily and steadily, he asks if you’re sure. You nod, you take his face in your hands and you kiss him. It is a gentle and staggered kiss, each second bringing your lips closer and closer until they are smushed into one another’s. Spencer’s eyelids fall, like they are heavy and he cannot keep them open. He hums into your mouth and pulls you in by your waist. Your boobs graze his chest and he is craving the skin to skin contact.

He only breaks the kiss to take his shirt off. You run your fingertips up his chest, trace his collarbones to raise goosebumps on his skin. You kiss his neck and his knees buckle beneath him. Your lips are so soft, plush. They taste nice and he is getting drunk off of your saliva.

Your lips travel down his chest, your palms holding onto his biceps. You can feel his muscles tightening, growing tense and full of anticipation. You drop to your knees and hold his gaze. He tells you that you don’t have to and you tell him to shut up. He watches you undo his pants, and his cock is so hard that it nearly pops out of his clothes.

You had to look at it for a moment because it is big and you aren’t sure if it will all fit in your mouth. He repeats that you don’t have to. “I can do you if you want. I’m dying to.”

And because you are full of spite, you look him in the eye and take his length into your mouth. You hold the base in your hand and hollow your cheeks as you pull back. It is everything Spencer has wanted and more. Your mouth hugs him in just the right way and he thinks every other girl must have been doing it wrong.

You spit on his cock and it makes it easier for your mouth to slide up and down his shaft. Spit is dribbling onto your chest and it makes you look messy but Spencer can’t take his eyes off of you. He gives you quiet compliments of ooh’s and ahh’s and one, clear “Fuck.”

You take him to the back of your throat and he nearly stumbles over, so he removes himself from your mouth and pulls you to your feet. He catches your face in his hands and gives you a slimy kiss. His tongue traces a trail from your chin to your neck to your chest. He licks the saliva from your breasts and moans at the taste.

He would fuck you in his bed, where so many other girls have laid before you but this was different. And the two of you wind up laying on the carpeted floor of his bedroom, Spencer on top of you, his torso between your legs, your hands in his hair, your tongue in his mouth. The bra is thrown to a corner of the room and Spencer cannot get enough of your boobs. The way they sit perfectly and beg to be sucked. He covers them in hickeys from the suction of his mouth. Your nipples get hard between his teeth. You moan for him and it makes his head fuzzy.

He removes your pants and runs his hands over your thighs, squeezing them gently before he takes off your underwear. His hand lays flat on your tummy and he takes you in. The bleary look in your eyes and the glow around your body. When he begins to eat your pussy, it is with slow movements on his tongue and his hands gripping your thighs. He hums against you, but he is quiet because he likes to hear you moan. He buries his face into you and devours you like he is starving. Your back arches off the floor and your pinch at his shoulders. He reaches up and plays with your nipples and the stimulation causes your moans to grow three times in volume.

His fingers slip into you and you cannot take it. Your body shakes and he holds you against his face to keep you from squirming. Gotta make her come, he thinks. Gotta make this good. Gotta make this shit fucking fantastic. And so he finger fucks you like his life depends on it. He sucks on your clit until it’s pulsing between his lips. And when you come, he keeps his mouth on you until you are pushing him away.

He climbs back on top of you with a toothy grin. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and gives you a kiss. Your lips only move against his just slightly. You are worn out and reeling.

“Yeah?” he whispers.

“Oh, yeah,” you laugh and you guys smile into another kiss.

You part your legs as he puts a condom on and you notice his hands are shaking. “Don’t lose it on me now,” you tell him. “Come here.”

He moves over to you and you crawl in his lap. His breath catches his throat when you grab his cock and it comes to a complete halt as you slide down onto his length. You roll your head back, feeling so full and warm. He holds onto your waist and kisses your neck and tells you, “You feel so good.”

You move your hips against his and the sensation rocks you both so intensely that you embrace each other. The sweat on your skin binds you together and Spencer whispers, “Keep going.”

So you tangle your hand in his hair and grip onto his shoulder and ride him. On the floor. In his dark room, in his dark apartment as the moonlight creeps in through the window. He buries his face in the crook of your neck and moans softly. He says your name over and over, “[y/n] . . . oh, god, [y/n].”

“Mm,” you hum, falling all over him as your hips quicken in pace. “Mhm.”

He catches your lips in a deep kiss and his jaw drops to release a grunt. “You’re so good,” he tells you. “You’re so, so good. Fuck.”

You are whimpering into his ear and he runs his nails down your back. “Louder,” he commands, but you are never loud enough. He wants the walls to shake and your throat to be sore, to know he’s doing good. “Louder,” he repeats. “Louder.”

He holds you tightly and he will not let you go. He can feel you crumbling, getting closer to the edge. You tighten around his cock and you grind your hips into his and you tell him, “I’m gonna come.” So he reaches down and rubs your clit and your body spasms. You throw your head back and groan and Spencer pushes his hips up as much as he can. He plunges himself into you and he watches you come undone. Fall apart.

“Oh, fuck,” you mumble. Your eyes are roll back and your move yourself on his dick as if on autopilot. Spencer is entranced by you. By the sounds you make and the way you look while you’re getting fucked. He’s thought about it many times, what it would be like.

This is better.

Spencer’s nails are digging into your hips and the pain is just enough to get you there. You come down on his cock in just the right away, you grab his wrist and hold it tight and you cry out as you come. You gasp for air and shake and claw at his skin.

When Spencer can pull himself away, he flips you over. His dick is still inside of you as he lays you on the floor. He gives you slow and steady strokes and he nuzzles his nose against you. “Keep coming on my cock,” he tells you. “Do it again. Do it again.”

It is an easy order to obey when he puts your legs over his shoulders and pushes into you. His hips are skillful and full of motion, like the movement of a wave. He watches your face twist up and contort, your jaw dropping and your eyes squeezing shut. “You’re so hot,” he whispers to you. “So fucking hot.”

And it is throwing you for a loop, his words. How vulgar they are and how low his voice is as he says them. He sees you rub your clit and starts to fuck you faster. Harder. The floor squeaks and you can see his muscles flexing underneath his skin. He leans in to put his forehead against yours. He smiles at you and you smile back and your smile breaks down into a soft moan.

“You’re gonna make me come again,” you tell him.

“Oh,” he grunts, sinking all the way into you. “It’ll be an honor.”

You hold him close, you listen to him pant and whine in your ear. He kisses your neck sloppily, leaving traces on spit from your earlobe to your jaw. You rub your clit in soft, slow circles until you feel the tension building in your gut. You close your eyes and let out a long and strangled moan.

“Mhm, I know,” he whispers. “I know.”

You lick your lips, purse them together and when you look into Spencer’s eyes, you choke. You tense up and moan his name and come on his cock. He shoves his tongue in your mouth and holds you tightly as you tremble. “Mm,” he moans. “There ya’ go. So fucking hot.”

At this point, all his body weight is on you and he is pounding into you with messy thrusts and jagged grunts. “Can I come?” he asks you. “Can I come?”

You nod quickly, you grab a hold of his face and give him a kiss. It is long and sticky and perfect. Your moans are mixing together in the air, loud and incessant and nonstop. His body grows weaker by the second. It grows heavy and he can barely hold himself up any longer. You kiss his neck and lick his jaw and he tells you he’s close. “I’m gonna come, [y/n],” he whines. “You’re gonna make me come. God. Fuck!”

And when he does, when you make him come, he collapses on top of you. His mouth falls onto yours and he releases a loud groan against your lips. He spills into the condom and thrusts himself into you a few more times. When it is over, he lays on you and plays with your hair.

He can’t look at you while he says it, but he tells you, “It’s never been like that for me before.”

You grin. You push his hair back and kiss his forehead. “Hm,” you reply. “Shocker.”

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I've been watching this TikTok for the last hour 'cos it's all I need to hear. It's like a hug from Spencer.

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JOSEPH QUINN Interview with Foquinha

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i-

The Love Hypothesis (Seven)

(Spencer Reid x f!Reader)

Series Masterlist

General Masterlist

She thought it would take at least a few days to bring her out of the sour mood she was in. She had felt embarrassed, violated, and straight up belittled by Dr. Joseph Carter. He was not the first man to undermine her work, but he was the first one to accuse her, to her face, of sleeping her way up to the top. She supposed that’s what her relationship with Spencer looked like from the outside. But from the inside, if she could call it a relationship, it was something else entirely. It was safe, this little thing she had with Spencer. He made her feel safe to be herself with all of her shyness and he never made her feel small or intellectually inferior, despite being so intellectually ahead. It was a gift, this thing with Spencer. She wanted to call it a relationship, she wanted so deeply to be his, she could feel it in her bones. In the very essence of who she was. She wanted Spencer, the good, the bad, and the ugly. Though, nothing about him was ugly, she thought, as she glanced towards his flawless profile across Spencer’s rented car.

“What? Is there something on my face?” He chuckled, keeping his eyes on the road. She smiled despite the lingering ache in her chest.

“No, I just like looking at you, Dr. Reid.” The words made them both blush, but she didn’t take it back and he didn’t comment further. If he’d spoken, he’d have laid his soul bare and tonight was not the night for that. No, he’d do anything in his power to make her forget about what the asshole said to her.

Keep reading

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SPENCER REID | SEASON 3

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he’s literally so handsome

S13 E02 // To a Better Place Spencer Reid for @fightingdragonswithreid 🤍

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i…. literally… am… IN LOVE…. with this series already 🤌🤌

Me & You & Everyone We Know - Masterlist | S.R

My moodboard. Does not depict appearance of reader.

Find the Sneak Peak Here.

Summary - Spencer Reid thought he had the perfect life. He has his two beautiful daughters, large house in the suburbs and a steady, albeit slightly unconventional marriage.

But even geniuses reserve the right to be wrong every once in while.

Now he’s struggling to adjust to life as a single divorced dad of two whilst working full time and navigating the unsteady waters of the dating world.

But his divorce left him more damaged than he’d ever admit. And you have to decide if you’re strong enough to deal with falling in love with a man who’s heart doesn’t fully belong to him.

A/N - very loosely based around a movie with the same title. I’ve never actually seen it but the vague premise is the same. This is just a little sneak peak on Spencer’s back story, reader will be introduced soon after.

Category - hurt/comfort, angst with a happy ending, smut (minors DNI)

Pairing - Single Dad! Spencer Reid / Fem! Reader

Content Warnings - chapters will have their own warnings but expect: unplanned pregnancies, divorce, unhappy marriage, cheating (not Spencer or reader), smut, tears, arguments, lots of tooth rottingly cute daddy Spencer moments, Spencer hating dogs.

Chapter Navigation Under the Cut

Chapter 1 - Out on the Weekend

Chapter 2 - Today My Life Begins

Chapter 3 - Brand New

Chapter 4 - Bonfire Heart

Chapter 5 - Nobody’s Supposed to be Here

Chapter 6 - Lonely Together

Chapter 7 - All At Once

Chapter 8 - Half of My Heart

Chapter 9 - As it Seems

Chapter 10 - She Had the World

More chapters coming soon!

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FOAMING AT THE MOUTH.