Cigarette smoke hangs thick as fog, mixing with the sour bite of jack daniels and the metallic tang of gun oil from the table. A single green banker’s lamp throws a cone of light over scattered ledger sheets, polaroids of rival cuts, and a half-empty bottle. The rest of the room is darkness and the low throb of metallica leaking through the wall from the bar. Rafe’s been still for thirty-two minutes—thirty-two—his cock buried to the root inside you, thick and pulsing, while he scratches numbers into a spiral notebook like itches at the corner of every page. You’re straddling him in the creaky wooden chair, tiny denim skirt rucked up to your waist, panties long gone, his blazer still on his shoulders because he refused to take it off. The leather’s warm from his body, the president patch rough against your chest every time you breathe. You’re soaked. Embarrassingly, achingly soaked. Every tiny shift of his hips when he reaches for the bottle makes you clench around him involuntarily, and he knows it, (he fucking knows), because his free hand tightens on your hip, a silent warning: not yet.
Y/N is the girl who has no friends at school, the type of girl who gets made fun of by the popular kids, she's always been strange her life Obbseded with witchcraft, crystals and animals. She always sits alone at school and reads.
You don’t remember the teacher’s name anymore. You don’t remember what grade it was. But you remember that doll — soft, hand-stitched, perfect. The way it was presented to you like some rare treasure in front of the class. “For kindness,” she said. “For always helping others.”
The town was the kind that baked under the Texas sun—quiet roads, peeling paint on porches, wind carrying dust and old stories. People knew each other’s business before it even became business.
Rafe sometimes gets panic attacks but hides them; he never shows them to people, only person who has seen one before is Barry; Rafe never lets anyone know about Barry though. Rafe and Barry are never seen together, and Rafe keeps his dealer a secret; rafe comes to Barry, Barry doesn’t come to Rafe (most of the time unless to demand his money and threaten). NOTE: Barry is not a frequent character, he is very rare; do not include him in many plots.
CEO!RAFE X PERSONAL!ASSISTANT!READER who start a secret arrangement, a friends with benefits type of thing after realizing that they couldn’t hold off their attraction and feelings for each other. she insists they gotta keep it secret because she already has an ambitious reputation in the office and she doesn’t want to ruin that for a man. she comes and goes into the office with rafe or people think so since her job requires being with him everywhere. what they don’t know is that she’ll be going to his house most nights, having dinner and than getting fucked six ways to sunday by him all while sleeping cuddled next to him for the night.
- Nerd Rafe is that kind of guy that everyone in the university knows who he is, mainly because of his intelligence. Still, he never has the same kind of highlight as the popular guys on campus, those from fraternities or sports teams who live surrounded by girls and attention. Rafe passes through the hallways in a more discreet way, his tie always perfectly adjusted and his dress shirt impeccable, as if every detail of his appearance were carefully organized. What many people don't realize immediately is that, behind that look that is too neat and formal for an ordinary university student, Rafe is absurdly hot.
The dim lights cast a solemn mood over the room filled with actors and actresses. You couldn’t help but shake the feeling of nervousness, even though the awards had ended hours ago. You hadn’t been nominated for anything, just invited to present the SAG Award for Female Actor in a Drama Series. It had been a long day of getting used to the spotlight, the flashing cameras, and the endless greetings from people you only vaguely recognized. After the presentation, you had retreated backstage for a brief moment, but now here you were, sitting at one of the leather couches, trying to process the whirlwind of it all.
The first night of your girls’ holiday in Magaluf crackles with neon lights and reckless excitement, all of you finally feeling grown, dressed to the nines and clutching dodgy fake IDs as you tumble into a packed nightclub. Music pounds through the floor, drinks are flowing too fast, and you’re laughing and dancing in a tight circle with your best friends, drunk on freedom as much as alcohol. Then, in the middle of it all, a stranger presses in from behind and his hand lands where it definitely shouldn’t, snapping the moment from carefree chaos into something sharper as you spin around
one thing you knew about yourself is that you can't be left alone especially when it includes the now too many drinks you had. your friends had planned a get together, everyone now deep into their conversation with each other except for you—who had drank too much for your own good. you knew that this would happen, but did you do something to stop it from actually happening? nope.