Drew Starkey Imagines

Don't Call Her That

The music pulsed through the walls of the house, vibrating under your feet as neon lights flickered across the crowded living room. The party was in full swing—people laughing, drinking, shouting over music that was far too loud—but none of it mattered to you. Not with Rafe's arm securely around your waist, his thumb gently brushing against your side, grounding you.

You weren't much of a party person, not anymore at least, but you came for Rafe. He wasn't the wild, out-of-control version of himself he used to be—not with you. You helped him steady himself, not by force, but by loving him through every crack in his armor. And because of that, he had grown softer around you. His touches were gentler, his words calmer. The edge was still there, sharp and protective, but it came out only when necessary.

And tonight... that edge would show itself.

You were both getting ready to leave. Rafe's hand rested low on your back, gently guiding you toward the front door. You could feel how relaxed he was, his eyes slightly hazy from a beer or two, but still focused, still present—until a slurred "Hey" made you both freeze just as you reached the porch steps.

Your stomach dropped.

Topper.

Rafe's grip on your waist tightened slightly, his body moving closer to yours, as if shielding you from the drunk figure standing in front of you. His voice came out calm but clipped. "Hey, Top."

You didn't say anything. Couldn't. Your throat felt tight just being near him. Topper had been your ex, your mistake. The one who had called you names, thrown cruel words your way after you'd set your boundaries. After you told him no. He hadn't taken it well. And tonight, clearly, he was still bitter.

Topper's bloodshot eyes dragged lazily over the two of you. He swayed slightly, beer bottle dangling from his hand. "Wow," he slurred, "look at you two. So cute."

You glanced away, heart beating faster, hoping Rafe would just steer you past him.

But then Topper laughed. "So, Rafe," he said, raising a brow, "how's it goin' with the prude?"

Time froze.

Rafe's jaw clenched instantly, and you felt it through the tension in his arm wrapped around you. He didn't yell. He didn't snap. But his voice was firm, deadly serious.

"Don't call her that."

Topper raised both eyebrows mockingly. "Why not?" he said, grinning. "What should I call her? A slut?" He turned to you, eyes narrowing. "No, she definitely ain't that... unless..." He leaned in slightly, his smirk venomous. "Unless you and Rafe finally did it? Huh?"

That was it.

Rafe moved without hesitation, stepping directly in front of you so you were shielded from Topper's gaze. "Back off, man," he growled, shoving Topper just enough to make him stumble back a few steps.

Topper laughed, shaking his head like it was some kind of joke. "What, you gonna hit me?" he taunted, gesturing at Rafe. "Come on, man. We all know how soft you've been since dating that prude!"

And Rafe... Rafe lost it.

The punch landed hard—clean and fast. Topper's head snapped to the side and suddenly, the party's music and noise seemed to fade into the background as the two of them went at it. You shouted Rafe's name, panic rising in your chest as fists flew and people backed up, some yelling for them to stop, others pulling out their phones like it was a show.

"Rafe! Stop!" you cried, but he didn't hear you.

Topper, his face bloody, spat out, "Your princess is calling for you."

That only fueled Rafe more. He threw a couple more solid hits before Topper finally dropped to the ground, dazed and humiliated.

Rafe stood over him, chest heaving, knuckles bleeding, and eyes cold with fury. He leaned down just enough to make sure every word sank in.

"Don't ever speak to her—or me—again. You understand?"

Topper didn't answer. He just groaned, covering his face.

Rafe grabbed your hand, still breathing hard, and didn't say a word as he pulled you through the crowd and out the door. You could feel the adrenaline pouring off him, but his grip on you remained gentle—never rough.

The drive back was silent, save for the sound of the tires on the pavement. Rafe kept one hand on the wheel, the other resting palm-up on the center console. You placed your hand in his, and he gave you a squeeze without taking his eyes off the road.

When you got home, you were the first to speak.

"Sit down," you said softly, guiding him to the couch. He sat with a sigh, head falling back, eyes closed. You could see the bruising on his knuckles, the way his lip was slightly busted. His breathing was steadying, but barely.

You went to the bathroom and came back with a damp towel, a first aid kit, and a glass of water. You knelt in front of him, gently lifting his hand.

"You didn't have to do that," you murmured as you cleaned the blood off his knuckles.

He looked down at you, eyes softened now. "Yeah, I did."

"No, Rafe... I'm okay. You didn't have to fight him."

He brushed a strand of hair behind your ear. "He called you that word," he whispered. "I saw the way you froze. I knew he made you feel like shit before. I wasn't gonna let him do it again."

You paused your movements, blinking away the sudden sting in your eyes. He wasn't perfect. Far from it. But when it came to you, he was loyal, fierce, and loving in his own, protective way.

You finished bandaging his hand, then sat beside him, curling into his side. He immediately pulled you closer, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

"I'm sorry you had to hear that," he said. "You don't deserve that—what he said, how he treated you."

You looked up at him, hand resting over his heart. "You were there. You stood up for me. That's what matters."

"I'd do it again," he said without hesitation. "You don't ever have to face people like him alone."

You leaned in and kissed him softly, feeling the tension in his body begin to melt. His arms wrapped around you tighter, and for a moment, the rest of the world fell away. There was only the two of you—your heartbeat steadying against his, your safety secure in his arms.

Rafe Cameron was soft around you. But for anyone who disrespected you?

He'd never hesitate to show them just how wrong they were.