bbywhitefox123

[bbywhitefox123]

i'm taking a break, guys... peace out ✌️

[bbywhitefox123]

do u think u could do sum where bradly has to tutor a girl mason likes so she has to come over

Summary: mason cameron (16) would sell his soul or at least bradley’s dignity (15) to get nora delores’ attention.

Warnings: sibling banter, cursing, mason being cocky/flirty/obnoxious, inappropriate jokes + innuendos, light physical contact, tension + sexual innuendo, brad being the forever third wheel,

MASTERLIST

It wasn’t a coincidence that Bradley Cameron, fifteen and armed with enough biology knowledge to bore an entire classroom to sleep, was tutoring Nora Delores that afternoon. No, it had taken blood, sweat, tears, and about three hundred dollars for Mason Cameron to make it happen.

Three hundred dollars Mason would never see again, considering he had handed it all over to his younger brother. He had been saving that amount since he was seven, which was laughable considering Lara— at the rape age of thirteen and a raging shopping addiction— had five thousand saved up.

The deal had been brutal. Mason had to agree to actually put his dirty clothes in the laundry basket. To stop bringing his teammates into their shared room like it was a locker room. To clean his side of the room properly—no more shoving junk under Bradley’s bed. To quit making fun of Bradley and his “biology facts.” Bradley still hadn't forgiven him for mocking the phrase, Mitosis is magical. And the biggest one: Mason had to pretend Bradley didn’t exist at school. No waving, no acknowledging his existence, no asking if he wanted to skip with him and hangout with his teammates— nothing.

Bradley had driven a hard bargain. Mason had caved. Because Nora Delores wasn’t just any girl.

Downstairs, Bradley was sitting at the kitchen table, nervously spinning a pen as he lied straight-faced to their mom, about why he had to tutor an older cheerleader who, by some fluke, was taking the same AP class. Catherine narrowed her eyes but didn’t push too hard. After all, Bradley never caused trouble.

Upstairs, meanwhile, Mason was standing in their father’s walk-in closet, practically drowning himself in cologne. He tilted the bottle once, twice, then again, until the entire room smelled like Tom Ford and trouble.

And here was the thing: Nora Delores couldn’t stand Mason.

She didn’t laugh at his jokes. She didn’t swoon when he threw a wink her way. In fact, Mason was ninety percent sure she actively avoided him in the halls. And Mason Cameron, who was used to girls falling into his arms at Kook Academy, had no idea what to do with that.

Except fall harder.

Because Nora was different. She was a cheerleader, sure. She was popular, sure. But she wasn’t mean. She wasn’t arrogant. Mason had seen her eating lunch with the book nerds more than he’d ever seen her with the other cheerleaders. And that was enough to convince him she was the girl. At least for this week.

So there he was, spraying on another layer of cologne, fixing his hair in the mirror, preparing to casually “run into” his brother’s tutoring session.

Bradley was sweating bullets. Mason was scheming. And Nora—Nora was walking into the Cameron house, thinking she was just here to pass biology.

She had no idea what she was about to walk into.

Catherine opened the door with her usual calm smile, expecting… well, maybe a flustered cheerleader or one of Brad's geeky friends. What she got instead was Nora Delores—sweet-faced, polite, and absolutely disarming.

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Cameron,” Nora said, her voice soft but sure. She wasn’t chewing gum, she wasn’t distracted on her phone, she wasn’t giggling nervously. She was… well-mannered. Respectful.

Catherine blinked, pleasantly surprised. “Hello, Nora. It’s so nice to meet you. Come on in.”

Nora stepped inside with perfect posture, her backpack slung neatly over one shoulder. “Thank you for having me. I really appreciate it.”

Catherine couldn’t help the little tug at her mouth. Polite and stunning, she thought, and already she liked this girl more than Mason’s last three crushes combined.

“I’ll walk you out back. Bradley set up a space there,” Catherine said, leading her through the halway to the grand back doors that opened to the backyard.

Bradley hadn’t set up anything. That had been Mason’s doing, of course. Against Bradley’s wishes. Mason had insisted the tutoring happen outside, “for the ambiance,” he’d claimed, like they were filming some commercial for private schools instead of trying to pass AP Biology. Bradley had argued—repeatedly—that wind, bugs, and sunlight were not conducive to studying. Mason hadn’t listened.

And there he was, already perched at the patio table like he was part of the session, books and pencils lined up neatly in front of him. Catherine’s fruit platter sat in the middle of the table like a centerpiece—perfectly sliced strawberries, melon, and grapes, because Catherine was nothing if not thoughtful.

Bradley was hunched over his notes, mumbling something under his breath, when he heard footsteps. He glanced up—and his brain short-circuited for a second. Nora was actually here.

He scrambled up, nearly knocking his chair over in the process. “Uh—hi. Hi, Nora,” he said, holding out his hand like he was at some professional networking event instead of in his own backyard.

Nora smiled, warm and genuine, as she slipped her hand into his. “Hi, Bradley. Thank you for doing this.”

Catherine watched the exchange, arms loosely crossed, lips curved into a knowing little smile. She couldn’t lie—Nora was striking, the kind of girl people turned their heads for without even realizing. And seeing her standing next to Bradley? Well, she had to admit they looked good together.

Bradley wasn’t bulky like Mason, and he certainly wasn’t Rafe in his gym-rat glory days, but he had inherited just enough of Rafe’s height and lean frame to stand tall next to a girl older than him. Taller, actually. Catherine noticed it instantly, her eye catching the way Bradley straightened his shoulders, like he’d just remembered he wasn’t twelve anymore.

Catherine lingered by the patio doors for a moment longer, smiling politely. “If you need anything, Nora, just let me know, okay?”

“Thank you, Mrs. Cameron,” Nora said, and Catherine gave her a nod before finally slipping back inside.

Bradley sat down a little too quickly, flipping through his neatly tabbed notebook as if his life depended on it. His palms were already sweating. “So, um—where do you think you’re struggling the most? Like, photosynthesis? Genetics? The lab write-ups?”

Truth be told, Bradley had walked into this expecting Nora Delores to be like… well, like every other girl Mason hovered around. Sweet, maybe, but shallow. Someone who smiled in class but didn’t really care about the material, the type who needed to be dragged across the finish line in AP courses. And, okay, she had been nice the other day when he offered tutoring after class, but part of him had been convinced she was making fun of him. And honestly? He half-expected her not to even show up today either.

But here she was. Polite. Gracious. And—Bradley had to admit it—kind of… nice.

“Honestly, thank you so much for doing this,” Nora said sincerely, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “I wouldn’t have agreed to tutoring, but I’ve just been so busy. I really want to go to Yale, and my GPA is… kind of everything.”

Bradley almost choked on his own spit. Yale.

His head snapped up, his eyes wide. “Wait—you want to go to Yale?”

Nora smiled, all confident. “Yeah. It’s been my dream forever.”

Bradley blinked, then broke into a grin he couldn’t hold back if he tried. “That’s—wow. That’s my dream school too.”

For a moment, his usual nerves melted away, and it was just two kids talking about the future like it was around the corner.

Meanwhile, inside the kitchen, Catherine had already whipped her phone out. She leaned against the counter, thumbs flying.

Catherine: Bradley has a girl over. A pretty one.

It only took thirty seconds for her phone to buzz.

Rafe: Brad?? After Leanne?? no way.

Catherine smirked to herself. Ah yes, the infamous Leanne Incident. The “biology partner turned house fire” situation they still didn’t speak about.

That’s when Mason strolled into the kitchen, blonde hair perfectly styled like he was heading to a photoshoot instead of their backyard. Swimming shorts hanging low on his hips, a towel slung over his shoulder, and an obnoxious smirk plastered across his face as he flexed—subtly, but not really—his abs.

“Why are you shirtless?” Catherine asked, her voice flat as granite.

Mason paused only to grin wider. “Going for a swim.”

Catherine raised an unimpressed brow. “It’s seventy-five degrees. Overcast. No one in their right mind is going for a swim.”

Mason, already pivoting toward the glass doors that opened straight out to the patio where Bradley and Nora sat, threw her his best innocent son look. “Hydration, mother. Cardio. You wouldn’t understand.”

“Mase,” Catherine warned, her voice sharp with that maternal edge. But he was already halfway out, catching his reflection in the glass for one last hair check before sliding the door open with dramatic flair.

Back outside, Bradley was mid-sentence about Punnett squares when he suddenly froze, shoulders locking as the scent of half the cologne counter at Nordstrom wafted through the air.

“Heyyy,” Mason drawled, striding toward the table like he owned it. “Didn’t realize we had company.”

Nora’s brows shot up. Bradley looked like he wanted to bury himself six feet under. And Catherine, standing just inside with her arms crossed, muttered under her breath: “God help me.”

Mason's towel hit the empty chair right next to Nora’s before he leaned casually against it, grinning like he’d been invited.

“So,” Mason drawled, eyes flicking between the open textbooks. “What are we up to? Memorizing the square root of lame, nerds?”

Bradley pinched the bridge of his nose. “It’s AP Biology. Not math.”

“Same difference,” Mason shot back, before moving behind Nora’s chair. He planted his hands firmly on the table and leaned over her shoulder, pretending to look at the notebooks, close enough that Bradley flinched on her behalf.

Bradley sat stiffly, watching this disaster unfold, his brain screaming: what kind of flirting technique is this? this isn’t flirting. this is harassment with extra cologne.

Nora, to her credit, didn’t flinch. She just turned her head slowly, meeting Mason’s cocky grin with an expression colder than the iced tea Catherine had left in the fridge.

“Do you mind?” she asked, voice flat as concrete.

Mason’s grin widened. “Not at all.”

“I wasn’t asking if you minded.”

Bradley almost snorted water up his nose. God. She’s actually—oh my god—

Mason chuckled lowly, shameless as ever. “Feisty. I like that.”

Nora arched a brow, flipping her pen between her fingers like she was debating whether to stab him with it. “You’re blocking the light. Move.”

“Blocking the light?” Mason echoed, leaning in even closer, lowering his voice to something he clearly thought was attractive. “You wound me. Most girls say I am the light.”

Nora’s laugh was sharp and humorless. “Funny. Most girls must be blind.”

Bradley coughed loudly into his elbow, partly to cover the bark of laughter that almost escaped and partly to distract himself from the overwhelming urge to evaporate from existence.

Then Nora’s pen stilled. Her eyes flicked between them, narrowing. “Wait. Mason?”

Mason grinned at her like a cat caught in the cream. “Yup.”

“Cameron?” she asked slowly, looking back at Bradley, then at Mason, her face registering dawning horror. “Don’t tell me…”

Bradley winced, sinking into his chair like he could melt into the patio tiles. “…he’s my brother.”

There was a long pause. Then Nora leaned back in her chair, staring at Mason like she’d just discovered mold in her smoothie.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Mason only smirked, unfazed, like she’d just confessed she was falling in love with him. “Dream come true, right?”

Bradley wanted to crawl into the fruit bowl and never come out.

Nora sat back in her chair, arms folded over her chest, and for a moment Bradley was sure she was about to grab her bag, storm out, and never come back. Her eyes flicked from her notes to Mason’s smug grin, then back to Bradley, like she was weighing whether this tutoring session was worth her sanity.

“I could probably just… find another tutor,” she muttered, mostly to herself.

Mason’s stomach plummeted. No, no, no, not like this—

Inside, Catherine stood at the kitchen counter, coffee cup in one hand, phone in the other, staring out the massive window that overlooked the patio. She could see everything: Bradley hunched and nervous, Nora looking exasperated, Mason strutting around shirtless like he was auditioning for Baywatch.

Her phone buzzed as she typed furiously.

Catherine: update: Nora is definitely not impressed w Mase's antics. She just crossed her arms.

Rafe: Are you sure? Girls love Mase.

Catherine: Brad looks like he wants to apologize for being born. I'm sure.

Before Catherine could send another update, Mason let out a loud “cannonball!!” and dove straight into the pool, sending a wave of chlorinated water splashing across the patio.

Nora gasped, leaning back just in time to save her notebook from disaster. Bradley threw his hands over his notes like a soldier shielding the front lines.

“Unbelievable,” Catherine muttered under her breath, firing off another text.

Catherine: Mase jumped in the pool. Durinf tutoring. With her textbooks RIGHT there.

Rafe: Bruh. Should we disown him? Tell Brad he’s about to become the oldest child if Mase keeps doing this bs.

Back at the table, Bradley turned red as he set his damp notes aside, fumbling for something—anything—to salvage the situation. “I’m… I’m so sorry about him,” he said quickly, voice tight with embarrassment. “He doesn’t usually—well, he does, actually. He always—ugh. I’m just—sorry.”

To his surprise, Nora smiled softly, brushing a stray drop of water from her arm. “It’s fine, Bradley. Not your fault.”

They continued to study while Mason was halfway through his third lap, arms cutting through the water like he was training for the Olympics. Every time he turned his head to breathe, his gaze flicked to Nora at the patio table. She sat perfectly still, refusing to acknowledge him, which only made Mason’s grin widen.

Bradley noticed, of course. And Nora pretended not to.

Finally, Nora sighed and turned to Bradley. “Do you think we could… maybe move somewhere a little more waterproof?”

Bradley’s head shot up. “Y-Yeah, of course. Uh—the second living room has a big table we can use. Is that okay?”

Nora’s shoulders relaxed. “Sounds perfect.”

Mason slowed in the pool, feet kicking lazily as he watched in confusion. “Wait—what? Where are you going?!”

But Bradley was already stacking his notebooks in a careful pile, tucking them under his arm. Nora, ever the polite guest, stood and picked up the fruit platter Catherine had cut, balancing it neatly in her hands.

They walked back through the sliding doors into the kitchen. Catherine turned from the counter at the sound of footsteps, her eyes flicking from Bradley’s determined face to Nora carrying her platter like it was a priceless vase.

“Oh, don’t worry about that, sweetheart,” Catherine said warmly, stepping forward. “I’ll take it.”

Nora smiled, setting the tray down on the counter. “It’s no problem. Thank you so much for the fruit, Mrs. Cameron. It was lovely.”

Catherine’s lips quirked. This girl was unshakably polite. A miracle between the kinds of kids usually crashed here. She shot Bradley a subtle approving look before lowering her voice apologetically. “And… sorry about Mason. He’s… well. Mason.”

Nora laughed softly, shaking her head. “It’s okay.”

Bradley gave her a grateful glance before leading her out of the kitchen toward the staircase. “Come on, it's upstairs”

Catherine leaned against the counter, arms folded, watching as they disappeared up the stairs. Bradley, walking a girl upstairs. God, Rafe’s going to lose his shit.

The kitchen door banged open a second later. Mason stumbled in, dripping wet, hair plastered to his forehead, towel in his hands as he tried to scrub the chlorine out. He looked around wildly.

“Where’d they go?” he demanded.

Catherine raised an unimpressed brow. “What is up with you today?”

Mason blinked innocently, water dripping onto the tile. “What? I am just… curious.”

“You practically chased them out of the backyard,” Catherine said dryly, handing him a dishtowel for the puddle he was leaving.

Mason grinned, wringing out his hair. “So? She’s cute.”

Catherine pressed her fingers to her temple.

Mason leaned against the counter, towel hanging uselessly from his hand, trying to arrange his face into something casual. “So, uh… where’d they go?”

Catherine arched a brow, reaching for the dish towel again to throw it over the puddle beneath by feet. “Why?”

Mason shrugged, feigning nonchalance, as he stepped over the towel. “No reason. Just wondering. You know, curious brotherly concern.”

“Mmhm.” Catherine’s tone was flat as stone. She turned back to her phone like she hadn’t just seen him nearly drown Bradley’s notebooks with his pool stunt.

Mason hesitated, then grinned and swooped in, wrapping his dripping arms around her shoulders.

“Maaa,” he drawled, pressing a wet kiss to her cheek, leaving behind a streak of chlorine. “You’re the best mom in the entire world. The smartest. The prettiest. Truly the backbone of this family. Honestly, we’d all collapse without you.”

Catherine let out a sharp laugh, swatting at his damp arm. “Mase, don’t you dare get me wet—”

But he was relentless, hanging off her shoulder like a giant puppy. “Just tell me where they went. C’mon. Pleeease? You know I’m your favorite. I’ll even—” he kissed her other cheek, ignoring her annoyed groan— “say it officially. Best mom ever.”

Catherine shoved him back with one hand, though her lips twitched at his theatrics. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And lovable,” Mason corrected, flashing a grin.

“Self-absorbed,” she countered.

“The golden child,” he sing-songed, drying his hair with his towel.

Catherine fixed him with a look, crossing her arms. “Okay. I’ll tell you where they went… if you tell me what this whole thing with Nora is.”

Mason froze, grin faltering for half a second before he smoothed it back on. “What do you mean? There’s no thing.”

Catherine raised one eyebrow.

“Okay, fine,” Mason amended quickly. “Maybe a little thing. Like—a crush thing. Just… a small one.”

“You practically set up an ambush in my backyard,” Catherine said dryly. “That’s not ‘small.’”

Mason pressed a hand to his chest dramatically. “Mother. It’s called strategy.”

Catherine shook her head, turning back to her phone. “You’re hopeless.”

Mason leaned on the counter beside her, smirk creeping back. “So… you gonna tell me where they went?”

She only hummed, lips curving into the faintest smile. “Not until you admit you’re in way over your head with that girl.”

Mason groaned, dragging a wet hand down his face. “You’re killing me, Mom.”

Mason leaned against the counter, towel hanging around his neck, confidence radiating off him like chlorine fumes. “Look, Nora totally likes me too. She’s just… y’know, making me chase. That’s all. This—” he gestured vaguely toward the backyard and the pool “—is me chasing.”

Catherine actually laughed, a soft, amused sound as she shook her head. “You’re unbelievable.”

“And,” Mason added proudly, “Bradley’s helping me win her over with this whole tutoring thing.”

That made Catherine’s smile vanish in an instant. She froze, dish towel in hand, eyes snapping to her son. “Wait. She isn’t Bradley’s friend?”

Mason barked a laugh, tossing his wet hair back. “Since when does Bradley have popular friends? Or, like, friends at all?”

“Mason,” Catherine swatted his arm with the towel, “don’t be rude.”

“I’m just saying.” He smirked. “She’s older than him. Brad’s basically a baby in her eyes. Cute, harmless, non-threatening. You know.”

Catherine tapped her nails against the counter, fighting her own grin. Then she decided to stir the pot. “I don’t know, Mase. Didn’t look like she was giving him older sister eyes.”

That stopped Mason cold. His eyes went wide, all the cockiness evaporating in an instant. “Wait—what kind of eyes did she give him?”

Catherine only shrugged, turning back to rinse a dish, her expression infuriatingly neutral. In truth, Nora hadn’t given Bradley any special eyes at all, but Catherine wasn’t about to tell Mason that.

“Mom!” Mason whined, voice cracking halfway between teenage boy and melodramatic soap actor. “You can’t just say shit— I mean, stuff like... like that and not elaborate. What kind of eyes did she give him?”

“Why don’t you go see for yourself?” Catherine said smoothly, rinsing the dish for the third time just so she would look busy and he would leave her alone. “They’re in the upstairs living room.”

Mason froze again, then muttered under his breath. “I can’t just go up there. ”

Catherine turned around, startled to find him still standing right there, dripping on her clean floors like some horror movie jump scare. She pressed a hand to her chest. “God, Mason—”

He leaned in, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “Mom, I need you to give me something to bring up there. So it looks like you sent me. Otherwise she’ll think I’m—” he gestured helplessly, “obsessed or something.”

Catherine smirked, one brow raised. “Oh, so you are obsessed.”

Mason groaned, dragging both hands down his face. “Please. Just—give me, like, drinks or cookies or whatever. So I can blame it on you. Make it look casual. Save my reputation.”

Catherine couldn’t help it—she laughed, the sound soft and a little disbelieving as she shook her head at her son. For half a second, her mind wandered, unbidden, to Rafe when they were young. God, the similarities were unnerving sometimes. The cockiness, the dramatics, the way both of them thought the universe bent itself around their crushes. Mason might’ve had more of her eyes, but those traits? The good and the bad? Pure Rafe.

She didn’t tell Mason that, though. No, he didn’t need his ego fed any more than it already was.

Instead, she turned to the fridge, pulling open the door and grabbing the chilled pitcher of sweet tea she’d made earlier. She set it firmly into Mason’s waiting hands.

“There. Something to bring up. Don’t spill it.”

Mason’s face lit up instantly, cheeky grin spreading ear to ear. “You’re the best, Mom.”

Before Catherine could even roll her eyes, he leaned down and kissed her cheek, sticky-wet hair brushing against her face, and then—he was off. Practically sprinting for the stairs, pitcher of sweet tea wobbling dangerously in his grip.

Catherine sighed, watching him disappear around the corner. By the time Mason reached the upstairs landing, his chest was heaving. He slowed to a walk immediately, rolling his shoulders back, trying to force his face into that “ugh, Mom made me do this” look rather than the I just sprinted like a madman because my crush is upstairs with my little brother reality.

He paused at the door to the second living room, pitcher of sweet tea sweating in his grip. From inside, he could hear them talking.

“…so the circulatory system and respiratory system work together because oxygen has to reach the blood to—”

Nora’s voice cut in, curious and sweet. “Wait—so if the lungs are compromised, does that mean the heart…?”

Bradley laughed softly, flipping a page. “Exactly. You’re getting it.”

Mason’s jaw flexed. He shifted the pitcher to one hand, gave his hair a quick tousle, and leaned lazily against the doorframe before finally pushing it open.

“Look what Mom made me bring,” he announced, strolling in with the pitcher like it was a trophy. “Sweet tea. Don’t all thank me at once.”

Nora barely glanced up. She rolled her eyes and turned right back to Bradley. “So—what about the liver? Does it play into that system at all, or is that separate?”

Bradley perked up, already flipping through his notes. “That’s a really good question, actually—”

Mason froze mid-step, brows furrowing. She didn’t even look at him.

He set the pitcher down on the table a little too firmly, watching as Bradley leaned in, pointing at a diagram, Nora nodding thoughtfully. She didn’t so much as flick her gaze in Mason’s direction.

For a guy who was used to every girl at Kook Academy batting their lashes at him, the deliberate ignoring was… infuriating.

Mason dropped himself onto the couch, arms spread across the back like he owned the place, eyes fixed on Nora as if sheer willpower would make her acknowledge him.

It didn’t.

Instead, she smiled at Bradley. “Thanks. That actually makes sense now.”

Mason’s frown deepened. What the hell kind of universe is this?

Mason couldn’t take it anymore. The way Nora leaned forward, elbows on the table, genuinely invested in Bradley’s nerd talk—it was like a personal attack. So he slouched further into the couch, then stood up and draped one arm over the back of Nora’s chair.

“So… anatomy, huh?” Mason drawled, voice dripping with fake interest. “You guys learning, like… femurs and stuff? ‘Cause I’ve got amazing femurs. Coach says they’re built for speed.”

Nora didn’t even glance at him. She was still focused on Bradley, pointing at something in the book. “So if the blood goes through here, it always comes back this way?”

Bradley nodded quickly. “Right—see, it’s a cycle. That’s why—”

“Hey,” Mason cut in again, tapping the side of his thigh. “You ever need a live example, I can show you my quads. Best in the whole football team.”

Still ignored. Nora scribbled something down, nodding like Mason wasn’t even in the room.

Mason sat back, affronted. This girl is actually allergic to me.

As Nora bent her head toward the paper again, her hair falling in front of her face, Mason locked eyes with Bradley. His expression was pure wounded puppy and challenge all at once.

“What the hell, man?” Mason mouthed, jerking his head at Nora.

Brad blinked at him, confused. “What?” he mouthed back.

Mason exaggerated, mouthing slower, She’s not even LOOKING at me.

Brad just shrugged, helpless, and started turning back to the diagram only for Nora to glance up again at that exact second, catching both of them staring at her.

For a beat, it was awkward. Then, like they had rehearsed it their whole lives, both Bradley and Mason broke into identical smiles.

Nora narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “…what?”

Bradley, voice cracking just slightly under the pressure, blurted, “Nothing! He was—uh—asking me something dumb.”

Mason leaned back, smirk returning. “Yeah. Real dumb.”

Mason went to lounge back on the couch like a predator waiting for the right moment. Nora was still hunched over Bradley’s notes, actually learning—which Mason thought was criminal, because she should’ve been learning about him. He slipped his phone out and typed a quick text to his brother.

Mason: yo u need to piss?

Bradley: what?

Mason: bathroom break. go.

Bradley: I don’t have to pee.

Mason: BRO. you NEED to.

Bradley: stop being weird.

Mason: im TRYING to SAVE u

Bradley: how?

Mason: just trust me. go.

Bradley: …

Bradley: oh my god

Bradley’s face went red as the realization hit, and Mason grinned smugly. After an excruciating thirty seconds of internal debate, Brad finally cleared his throat. “Um, excuse me a sec. Bathroom.”

Nora looked up. “Oh, sure.”

The second the door shut behind him, Mason moved fast—swooping into Bradley’s chair like it had his name engraved on it, sprawling sideways so close Nora instinctively leaned away. His damp hair dripped onto her open textbook.

She snapped her head toward him, glaring. “Are you kidding me?”

Mason tilted his head, all fake innocence. “What? Thought I’d keep you company while Brad drains the tank.”

“You’re getting my notes wet.”

“Better the notes than you, huh?” Mason smirked.

Her jaw dropped. “That doesn’t even make sense.”

“Doesn’t have to. You laughed in your head, admit it.”

“I did not,” she said flatly, snapping her textbook closed and grabbing a notebook instead, as if shielding herself from his presence.

Mason leaned closer, voice dropping like he was telling her a secret. “You know, most girls would kill to have me wetting their notebooks. But you? You’re acting like I’m the plague. Kinda hot, not gonna lie.”

Nora gave him a look. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Unbelievably charming,” he shot back immediately.

“Unbelievably getting on my nerves,” she corrected, scooting her chair an inch away.

Mason just followed, closing the gap again. “Careful, you keep talking dirty to me like that and I’m gonna start thinking you like me.”

Her eyes rolled so hard it was a miracle they didn’t get stuck. “You’re insufferable.”

“And you’re gorgeous when you’re mad,” Mason countered, grinning like he’d won the lottery.

That caught her off guard. For a split second, she blinked, thrown off by the way Mason said it—not like a joke, not like he was teasing, but almost like he meant it. She shook it off quickly, scooting her chair back with a squeak of wood on tile.

“I’m not looking for a boyfriend,” she said firmly, flipping her pen between her fingers like she was so done.

Mason’s grin only widened. “Good thing I didn’t say boyfriend, huh?” He dragged his chair forward, the scrape loud, deliberately following her. “I could be whatever you want. Tutor, coach, personal driver…” he leaned in, voice dropping low, “hookup.”

Nora shot him a glare. “You’re disgusting.”

“Disgustingly handsome, yeah, I get that a lot.”

She groaned and turned back to her notebook, trying to scribble down a definition. He leaned closer, his breath ghosting her shoulder.

“You know,” Mason said slowly, “Brad might be tutoring you in anatomy… but I’d be way more fun for the practical part.”

Her head whipped toward him. “Oh my God.”

“What?” He lifted his hands in mock innocence. “I’m just saying—he’ll teach you bones, I’ll teach you how to use them.”

“Mason!” she hissed, cheeks warming despite herself.

He grinned wolfishly, delighted he’d cracked her composure. “You said my name. Nice. We're making progress.”

“You’re literally insane.”

“Insanely into you, yeah,” he fired back without missing a beat.

Nora shoved her notebook at his chest to put some distance between them. “Look, I came here to study. I need good grades. Yale doesn’t accept idiots.”

Mason caught the notebook easily, smirking. “Perfect. You’re the brains, I’m the brawn. Together? We’d be unstoppable. Power couple, you girls're into that, right?”

She narrowed her eyes. “You’re delusional.”

“Delusional about us cuddling on a library table at Yale? Maybe. But tell me you’re not at least curious.”

Nora pressed her lips tight, refusing to give him that satisfaction. Mason leaned back just slightly, watching her with a smug, dangerous kind of patience.

“See, here’s the thing,” he murmured. “You can ignore me, roll your eyes, call me every name in the book—but deep down? You like this game between us, me chasing you.”

Her pen stilled mid-scribble. “No, Mason. I like studying.”

“Good,” he smirked, “’cause I’ve got no problem studying you all night.”

Nora snapped her notebook shut with a sharp thwack. “I can’t do this.”

Mason’s grin faltered for a second. “Do what?”

“This. You.” She shoved her pens into her bag with clipped, standing up. “You don’t shut up, you don’t respect boundaries—”

“—I’m charming,” he interrupted, sliding off his chair like he had all the time in the world.

“You’re annoying,” she shot back, shoving her books.

He leaned over her, pretending to help collect her papers, but his hand brushed over hers deliberately. When she yanked it away, his other hand landed at her waist as he slid a folder across the table.

She froze. “Mason.”

“What?” His voice dripped fake innocence. “I’m just being helpful.”

“You’re not.”

“Sure I am.” He stacked her books neatly, crowding closer until his body angled against hers, pressing her back lightly toward the table. When she turned around, ready to tell him off, he was already smiling—like he’d been waiting for the moment she realized she was cornered.

His arm braced against the table behind her, caging her in. “Serious question.” His eyes dragged over her face, slower than necessary. “Why so you dislike me so much?”

Her lips parted, caught between screaming and sputtering.

“Like, okay—fine, I’m not the brightest.” He gestured vaguely to his head, then dropped his gaze to his chest, still damp from the pool, abs flexing as he glanced down at himself in his swim trunks. “But come on. Hello?”

She nearly laughed. Nearly. Instead, she pressed her palms against his chest to push him back, but God, of course, he was solid, unbudging.

“Mason—” she started, warning in her tone.

He smirked. “Don’t even try to tell me you don’t think I’m hot.”

Her throat went dry. She fought it, she really did, but the words slipped out before she could stop herself. “One of my girlfriends likes you, okay? Girl code.”

For the first time, Mason blinked—surprised. Then, slowly, that cocky smile returned, brighter than ever.

“Wait, wait, wait.” His voice dropped to a mischievous whisper. “You think I’m hot. You just can’t admit it ’cause your friend called dibs?”

Her face burned. “That’s not what I said.”

“That’s exactly what you said,” he countered, leaning in closer, grin sharp enough to cut.

“So. which friend is it?” Mason asked, eyes gleaming like he was already ready to dismantle her excuse. “Cheer squad? Or, like… someone from the nerd club?”

Nora scoffed, trying not to let her pulse betray her. “Not my business to tell you.”

“See, that sounds like cheer.” He leaned just slightly closer, lowering his voice. “Bet it’s Bri. She watches me stretch in the locker room hallway.”

Her jaw tightened. “You’re so full of yourself.”

Mason grinned like she’d complimented him. “You’re still not denying it, though.”

Nora shoved at his chest hard, enough to make him stumble back a step. She grabbed her bag, chin tilted high, forcing her voice to stay cool, flat, dismissive. “Thank Bradley for me. Though, I’ll find someone else to tutor me.”

She moved toward the door, but Mason’s hand shot out, curling around her wrist just enough to stop her. He tugged her back, spinning her halfway around to face him.

“Half the football team has a crush on you, Nora,” he said, all swagger and confidence, like it was supposed to mean something. “You think any of them care about bro code? ’Cause I don’t.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Yeah. That’s because boys are like animals and don’t care about anyone but themselves.”

Mason gasped dramatically, clutching his chest. “Ouch.”

“You’ll survive,” she deadpanned, rolling her eyes and trying to jerk her wrist free again.

But he was faster, slipping the strap of her bag from her grip and slinging it over his shoulder like it weighed nothing. His grin softened into something quieter as he looked down at her, blond hair still damp, blue eyes unflinching.

“You like me?” he asked.“’Cause I like you.”

Her throat tightened, but she forced her face blank. “It doesn’t matter. I’m not doing that to my friend.”

Mason tilted his head, studying her like she was an equation he could solve if he just stared long enough. The corner of his mouth tugged upward, all cocky persistence. “Doesn’t matter, huh?”

Nora’s stomach twisted traitorously as his voice dropped another octave, smug and husky.

Mason leaned down, closing the gap between them until she could feel the heat of his skin even through the faint chill of his still-damp hair.

“Feels like it matters to you. Feels like you wanna say it.”

Nora swallowed hard, her back pressed against the table. She opened her mouth—just a sliver, just enough to let out something she would definitely regret just to be interrupted by a knock on the door.

“Uh—hey,” Bradley’s voice drifted through the door, awkward and polite as ever. “You guys okay in there?”

The spell shattered.

Nora slipped out from under Mason’s arm like she’d been waiting for the escape hatch. She yanked her bag from his shoulder in one smooth motion and spun toward the door.

“Thanks, Bradley,” she said quickly, her voice steady again even though her heart was in her throat. “You’ve been a huge help.”

Before Mason could get another word in, she pulled the door open, brushing past Bradley in a rush of perfume and determination. Mason stood frozen, his hands still empty where her bag had been.

Bradley blinked between the two of them, then turned to his brother. “So… did it work?”

Mason’s jaw flexed. “Does it look like it worked?”

“Well—” Bradley started, but Mason cut him off with a sharp glare.

“Why aren’t you running after her then?” Bradley asked, voice genuinely curious, not teasing.

Mason flopped back into the chair she’d been sitting in, running a hand through his damp hair with a frustrated groan. “Because, genius… if I run after her, it’ll look like I care.”

Bradley raised a brow. “You do care.”

Mason shot him a look, defensive and smug all at once. “Yeah, well. She doesn’t get to know that yet.”

Downstairs, they could hear Catherine’s warm voice as Nora thanked her, the front door opening and closing gently behind her. Mason stared at the floor, lips pressed tight.

Bradley tilted his head, smirking just faintly. “You’re screwed.”

Mason smirked right back, all teeth. “No. I’m in love.”

[bbywhitefox123]

Heyyy can you write more about Rafe and Catherine officially dating but before their pregnancy?? I’m OBSESSED with them two and their family!!

Summary: it was supposed to be a friendly gathering at the cameron’s home teather but then rafe’s hand slipped over cath’s thigh under the blanket…

Warnings: NSFW (smut), exhibitionism, pda, fingering, handjobs, protected sex, rough sex, degradation, overstimulation, manhandling, hair pulling, spanking, headlock, missionary, doggy, spooning sex, rafe’s ego the size of the cameron estate, public teasing, dirty talk, choking, semi aftercare, pussy whipped jokes,

MASTERLIST

Everyone at Kook Academy knew Catherine Welch was off-limits the second Rafe Cameron hooked up with her. Not that she needed Rafe’s protection, but his brand of obsession meant that every guy who even thought about sliding into her DMs backed off immediately. It was a territorial thing, and everybody knew it.

What surprised them wasn’t that Rafe and Cath ended up together—rumors had been circling since they started hooking up behind JJ’s back—it was that Rafe hadn’t cheated or got bored and moved on to the next. Not once. He had a reputation, sure, but with her? He didn’t even fucking blink at another girl. Catherine was it. Sushi dates, sneaking into the Cameron pool at night, getting caught in his car at school—it was always her.

So no one was really shocked when, in the Cameron home theater, things escalated. The group had gathered with the excuse being movie night, but everyone knew it was code for getting high on Rafe’s stash and raiding Ward’s bar.

Kelce, Ruthie, and Max were sprawled on the floor against the couch, drinks in hand, half-watching the screen, more focused on their rolling papers than the actual plot. Sarah and Topper sat in the corner, picture-perfect couple mode, Sarah absently threading her fingers through Topper’s hair while he picked at the popcorn.

And then there was Catherine. Cross-legged on the couch under the blanket, pressed against Rafe’s side, her hand buried under his hoodie like she owned every inch of him—and she did. They were kissing like the movie was background noise, tongues wet and messy, the sound of it obscene enough to make Kelce groan under his breath.

“Jesus Christ,” Kelce muttered, taking a swig of his drink. “Get a room.”

Ruthie giggled but didn’t look back. Everyone was used to it. Rafe and Cath had zero shame when it came to PDA.

What nobody commented on, though, was how Rafe’s hand had disappeared under the blanket. His thumb stroked lazy circles up the inside of her thigh, higher and higher, while Catherine pretended to care about the scene on-screen. Her lips were swollen, gloss smeared, and when Rafe bent down to bite at her jaw, she tilted her head back willingly.

He murmured something against her skin—too low for the others to hear—but Cath’s sharp inhale gave her away. Rafe’s grin was wolfish, his fingers slipping beneath her skirt, not caring in the slightest that his best friends were two feet away.

Max shifted uncomfortably on the floor, realizing why the blanket had been pulled up so high. Ruthie passed the joint, oblivious, and Sarah only sighed like she’d seen it a hundred times.

Rafe’s fingers pressed firm against the heat between Catherine’s legs, the thin cotton of her panties no match for the deliberate pressure. He traced her slit slowly, dragging the fabric back and forth until it was damp, teasing her cruelly. She buried her face into his shoulder, her mouth open against his hoodie as her breath hitched.

“Mm,” she tried to smother it, but the whimper slipped anyway, vibrating against his collarbone.

Rafe grinned. “Scared of clowns, baby?” he murmured, loud enough for Kelce to roll his eyes but not daring to look back. The excuse was too perfect—Art the Clown flickered across the screen just as Catherine clenched her thighs around his hand. Every little gasp, every shaky inhale, he played off as her being terrified of the movie.

And the rest of them? They pretended to buy it. Pretended to believe Rafe Cameron wasn’t knuckle-deep in his girlfriend under a throw blanket while everyone else tried to get stoned in peace.

Her panties were soaked in minutes, the damp fabric sticking to her folds as Rafe dragged two fingers beneath the hem, hooking them inside her without hesitation. Catherine’s hips bucked up instinctively, grinding down against his hand like she needed him to ruin her right there on the couch.

“Easy,” he growled into her ear, the sound low and guttural, meant only for her. His teeth grazed her skin, sharp enough to make her shiver. “Sit still, or I’ll make you scream.”

She bit down on her lip so hard it almost hurt, muffling the broken moan threatening to spill, her nails digging into the meat of his thigh. Every curl of his fingers inside her had her unraveling, eyes fluttering shut, body desperate to chase the high he was dangling just out of reach.

And then Sarah shrieked. The jump scare landed—popcorn flying everywhere, kernels bouncing off the carpet as she clutched Topper’s arm. Catherine let out a moan at the same time, finally unable to swallow it down, and Rafe covered it perfectly.

“Fuck, Sarah! Let the movie do the jumpscares— What the fuck was that?” he smirked, eyes still on the screen as his hand never stopped working inside her.

Sarah didn’t notice a thing. Topper muttered something about the mess on the floor. Kelce laughed. Ruthie groaned about the popcorn in her drink.

But Catherine? She was already too far gone, grinding shamelessly against Rafe’s fingers, the blanket shifting with her rhythm while he dragged her closer to the edge with every slow thrust of his hand.

And Rafe looked smug as hell—like he owned her, owned this moment, owned the fact that everyone was just feet away while his girl came undone for him.

Rafe’s mouth was glued to Catherine’s ear, his breath hot, his voice nothing but filth.

“You’re fucking dripping, Cath. Can feel it soaking through my hand. All worked up in front of everyone? You like that, don’t you?”

Her answer was a shaky whimper, muffled against his shoulder, but her hips told the truth—grinding down on his hand, chasing the curl of his fingers. She slipped her hand under the blanket too, palming him through his sweats, stroking the length of him with desperate, clumsy movements.

“Shit,” he hissed, teeth scraping along her jaw as he bucked into her hand. “Keep touching me like that and I’ll ruin these fucking pants.”

She gasped, louder this time, her thighs trembling as his fingers fucked into her deeper, knuckles pressing hard. The sound of her wetness mixed with their breathing, obscene under the blanket. Her grip on his cock tightened as her release started to hit, and Rafe’s growl rumbled right against her throat.

“Come for me, baby. Right here. Let ‘em know who makes you fall apart.”

Catherine bit back a cry, her body tensing, then unraveling against him as she came hard under the blanket, her hand going slack on his cock while he kept stroking her through it. Her whole body shook with it, and Rafe kissed her like he was starving, swallowing her sounds until all that was left was her ragged breathing.

Across the room, Sarah screamed again at another jump scare, popcorn flying. Topper cursed under his breath. Ruthie leaned back on Kelce’s shoulder, stoned out of her mind. Max had checked out completely. And Kelce? He groaned dramatically.

“Bro, I swear to God, if you two keep this shit up, I’m leaving.”

Rafe ignored him. Instead, he slipped his fingers out of Catherine, slick and glistening, and shoved them into her mouth before she could protest. “Clean ‘em, baby,” he ordered, his voice rough with arousal.

She obeyed faster than usual, sucking his fingers, tongue curling around them, moaning softly at her own taste. Rafe watched her like she was the movie, his cock straining hard against his sweats.

Only when her lips released him with a wet pop did he smirk, lean forward, and reach lazily over the couch for Kelce’s bucket of popcorn.

Kelce yanked it out of reach. “Hell no.”

Rafe raised an eyebrow. “What?”

“I know exactly where those hands have been, man.”

Ruthie snorted with laughter, nudging Max as if to say did you hear that shit? Sarah still hadn’t turned around, too wrapped up in the gore on-screen, eyes wide, lips parted in a mix of terror and fascination.

Topper leaned down, whispering into her ear, “Babe, you need to loosen up. Movie’s making you all tense. You want me to loosen you?” His hand brushed her arm, tentative, like he wanted her attention on him instead of the screen.

But Sarah didn’t even look at him. “Shut up, Topp,” she hissed, eyes glued to the carnage on-screen. She flinched, cursed under her breath, clutching the popcorn bowl tighter like it was some kind of shield.

Topper slumped back, jaw tight, jealousy simmering beneath the surface. He couldn’t stand it—the way Rafe and Cath got away with everything, touching and teasing each other in front of everybody without shame. Meanwhile, he had to beg for Sarah’s time, lucky if she gave in once a week. Watching them was torture.

Rafe, oblivious or maybe just not giving a fuck, leaned forward, plucked the joint right out of Kelce’s fingers, and took a long drag. Smoke curled from his lips as he stood, tugging Catherine up with him. She followed easily, fixing her skirt with a little smirk that made Kelce groan again.

“Where the hell are you two going?” Ruthie asked, brows arched, joint halfway between her fingers.

Kelce shot her a look like she was the dumbest person alive. “Where do you think they’re going, Ruth?”

Rafe just grinned, that smug, infuriatingly hot smirk plastered across his face as he exhaled smoke and slung an arm around Catherine’s shoulders. “Sleep,” he said simply, his tone dripping with anything but innocence.

Catherine rolled her eyes but didn’t bother correcting him. Her cheeks were still flushed, legs shaky from what he’d already done to her.

Kelce reached for the abandoned popcorn, shaking his head. “Man, Cameron’s living in a whole different world.”

Topper clenched his jaw tighter, eyes flicking back to Sarah—who still hadn’t noticed a damn thing.

The door to the theater room shut behind them with a heavy thud, muffling the sounds of gore and stoned laughter. Rafe didn’t waste a second—he pressed Catherine up against the wall in the hallway, his mouth crashing down on hers, hands greedy on her hips.

“Rafe,” she hissed, palms pressed to his chest like she was half-trying to push him back, though her lips never broke from his. “The staff—”

He cut her off with a sharp kiss, tongue sliding against hers, his hand dragging down her thigh to hook her leg up around his hip. “Don’t give a fuck,” he growled against her mouth. “House is ours, baby. Dad’s in Raleigh, Rose too. Wheezie’s with them. Empty, Cath. Just you and me.”

She still glanced down the hallway, cautious, like a maid might round the corner and catch them— the last thing she wanted was to leave the impression that she was just one of Rafe's girls— but Rafe couldn’t have cared less. He deepened the kiss, sucking her bottom lip until she moaned, then pulling her toward the staircase, lips never leaving hers.

“Rafe,” she tried again, whispering now as his teeth grazed her throat, “someone will hear—”

“Good,” he muttered, nipping at her jawline. “Let ‘em hear. Let ‘em know who you belong to now.”

He pushed her against the banister halfway up the stairs, kissing her like he wanted to devour her, hands sliding beneath her skirt again like he couldn’t wait another second. Her fingers gripped the railing for balance as he rocked into her, shameless, hard through his sweats.

She broke away just long enough to glance down the stairs, breathless. “Rafe. Please. At least wait till we’re upstairs—”

But he just smirked, pressing his forehead to hers, his voice low and filthy. “I'm waiting, baby. This is me waiting.”

And then his mouth was back on hers, swallowing her protests, dragging her up the steps like she weighed nothing, their kisses messy, urgent, leaving smudges of gloss along his jawline. Every time she thought he’d slow down, he only got rougher, bolder, his hands slipping under her shirt as they stumbled toward his bedroom.

By the time they reached the top of the stairs, Catherine’s hair was mussed, her lips kiss-swollen, her legs already shaky. Rafe looked like sin incarnate—cocky, smirking, eyes burning with hunger. And the best part? He knew nobody was there to stop him.

Catherine had been in Tannyhill plenty of times before. Sarah’s room, the kitchen, the living room when she was close with only one Camerom. The carousel, back when sneaking around felt thrilling. But never here. Never his room.

The weight of that hit her the second Rafe kicked the door shut behind them. His space was so unapologetically him—dark furniture, expensive sheets, the faint smell of his cologne mixed with weed. She wasn’t one of those girls he’d drag up here, fuck, and send packing. She wasn’t disposable. She was Catherine Welch, and this was different.

Still, a nervous pang twisted low in her stomach. She hadn’t even met Ward or Rose yet, not formally. And even though she didn’t give a fuck about most people’s opinions, their opinions mattered. She wasn’t about to be written off as just another notch on Rafe Cameron’s bedpost.

“What are you thinking about?” Rafe growled against her mouth, like he could read every doubt on her face. His hands slid under her skirt, gripping her ass as he lifted her with ease. She wrapped her legs around his torso instinctively, arms snaking around his neck, their kiss filthy and desperate.

“Rafe—” she gasped, breaking the kiss as he pressed her back against the wall, grinding into her so she felt every inch of him straining through his sweats.

“Tell me,” he demanded, lips trailing hot along her throat, “he wasn’t like this.”

She knew exactly who he meant. JJ. Her ex. The boy she’d wasted too much time on.

“Ray—”

“Say it.” His grip on her thighs tightened, forcing her hips against him, his eyes blazing with something feral when he pulled back just enough to look at her. “Say I’m better. That he couldn’t give you this.”

She shuddered, clinging tighter to him, her pride warring with the way her body ached for him. “You know you are,” she whispered, her voice sharp but breathless. “Better body, bigger dick, more money—”

Rafe’s grin was wolfish, his ego drinking in every word.

“—and you actually take me places. Dates that don’t involve someone else’s cheap beer and a beat-up truck.”

That made him chuckle darkly, carrying her across the room without a hint of struggle. He kissed her hard, biting at her lips as he lowered her onto his bed, her back sinking into his expensive sheets.

He stripped her shirt off like it was nothing, hands roaming every inch of newly exposed skin, greedy, unapologetic. She tugged at his hoodie, pulling it over his head, fingers immediately tracing down his chest and stomach, nails grazing over muscle.

“Fuck,” she whispered, drinking him in, her confidence flaring again. “JJ never looked like this.”

That earned her another growl, his mouth crashing down on hers, his hands already tugging at her skirt as though he couldn’t wait another second to have her completely bare.

Rafe kissed her like he was starving, his mouth hot and wet against hers, tongue fucking into her mouth as if he owned every inch of her. He didn’t kiss to be sweet—he kissed to claim, to mark. His teeth dragged over her throat, biting hard enough to bruise, leaving red blooms down her collarbone so that when she left his bed, everyone would know.

Catherine tugged on his hair, nails scraping his scalp, and the groan he let out was guttural, his hips grinding down into hers. He liked it—liked the sting, the pull, the way she handled him rough. His cock throbbed painfully in his sweats as they dry-humped like virgins, her panties soaking, his hardness straining.

“Fuck,” he rasped into her mouth, rutting against her like he couldn’t stop. “You’re gonna make me lose it before I even get inside you.”

She smirked against his lips, tugging his hair harder until he moaned again. “Maybe that’s what you deserve,” she teased, eyes glinting wickedly. “Worked up over me like some desperate little boy.”

That snapped something in him. Rafe ripped himself away only long enough to yank open his nightstand drawer, grabbing a condom with shaking fingers. His eyes burned into hers, cocky and feral, as he shoved his sweats and boxers down, his length slapping hard against his stomach.

“Look at you,” he sneered, rolling the condom on with practiced ease, his chest rising and falling heavy. “Dripping for me. JJ ever had you like this? Begging? Soaking through your panties before I’ve even fucked you?”

Catherine arched a brow, bold even sprawled beneath him, her lips swollen from his kisses. “At least JJ didn’t make me wait so damn long.”

That earned her a sharp slap—his cock smacking against her soaked cunt, the sound wet and obscene. She gasped, hips jerking up instinctively. Rafe grinned darkly.

“You like that?” He slapped her again with it, slower this time, dragging the head against her clit, making her whimper despite herself. “Yeah, you do. You’ll never admit it, but you fucking love me like this. Ruining you. Making you mine.”

“You're too cocky, you know?” she muttered, though her back arched when he rubbed the tip against her clit in lazy circles, teasing, making her squirm.

“Not cocky,” he corrected, lining himself up, his voice dropping into a growl as he pressed forward. “Confident. ‘Cause I know I’m the best you’ll ever have.”

And then he pushed inside—slow, deliberate, savoring the stretch, his eyes locked on her face. His groan was deep, raw, almost broken as he bottomed out.

“Fuck, Cath. Look at you,” he panted, his hands gripping her hips to keep her still while he pulsed inside her. “Tightest fucking pussy I’ve ever had, and it’s mine. All mine.”

“All yours,” Catherine breathed, her voice ragged, her hands sliding from his abs up the planes of his chest, over his shoulder, until she was cupping his face. She pulled him down for a messy kiss, teeth clashing, moaning into his mouth as his hips snapped against hers.

Rafe groaned against her lips, his thrusts sharp, almost brutal, the sound of skin meeting skin echoing in his room. “Say it again,” he demanded, his voice low and dangerous.

“All yours,” she repeated, nails digging into his back as if to brand the words into him.

He smirked, pulling back just enough to watch her expression as he drove into her harder. She winced, gasped—her body struggling to adjust to his size, the stretch bordering on too much. But she met his eyes, bold as ever, and spat out, “It’s nothing I can’t handle.”

That made his cock twitch inside her, his ego swelling even bigger. “Yeah?” He slammed in deeper, making her cry out, his lips curling into a feral grin. “You can take it. You’re built to take me. Nobody else. Just me.”

She tried to match him, biting down on her lip until it hurt, moaning through the sting. “Fuck—you’re so big—”

“Say it louder,” he growled, one hand wrapping tight around her throat, the other pinning her hip to the mattress. He thrusted deep, unrelenting, watching her unravel beneath him.

“You’re so—big—Rafe,” she choked out, eyes rolling back as the tears pricked at the corners of her eyes.

“That’s my girl,” he snarled, leaning down to bite her shoulder, leaving another mark, one of many already painting her skin. “Pain’s good, yeah? Feels fucking good when it’s me stretching you out.”

She nodded desperately, her moans breaking, the mix of pain and pleasure overwhelming. “Yes—fuck—yes.”

He wasn’t satisfied. With a grunt, Rafe flipped her onto her stomach, pressing her face into the sheets, yanking her hips up so her ass was arched perfectly for him. His palm cracked against her ass, the sound sharp, before he slammed back inside her in one brutal stroke.

Catherine screamed into the pillow, clawing at the sheets, but her body pushed back into him, begging for more.

“Look at you,” Rafe hissed, grabbing a fistful of her hair and yanking her head back so her cries filled the room. “Can’t even take my cock without falling apart. And you had me comparing myself to that little pogue?”

Her lips curled into a defiant grin, even through the tears of pleasure streaming down her face. “Better—than—him,” she gasped, every word punctuated by his thrusts.

“Damn right,” Rafe growled, fucking her harder, his hips slamming into hers like he wanted to bruise her, mark her as his in every way. “He could never make you scream like this. Never make you mine like this.”

Rafe had her pinned, one hand fisted in her hair, the other flattening her into the mattress as he pounded into her from behind. Catherine’s cries were ragged, raw, filling the room along with the sound of his hips slamming against her ass.

“Listen to yourself, baby,,” he growled, voice hot against her ear as he bent over her. “Screaming on my cock. JJ ever make you sound like this? Huh?”

She shook her head desperately, her cheek mashed into the sheets, drool smearing across the pillow. “N-No—fuck—never—”

“That’s right. You upgraded, baby. Traded in cheap beer and backseat quickies for me—for fancy dinners, nice shit, yeah?” His laugh was dark, cruel. “You're getting treated right, yeah?”

"Say it,” he growled, slamming into her so hard the bedframe creaked. “Say you fucking upgraded.”

“R-Rafe—” she gasped, barely able to catch her breath.

He yanked her head back, forcing her cheek off the mattress, his lips against her ear as he hissed, “He was a boy. I’m a man. Say it. Tell me you’ll never go back to that loser.”

Her whole body clenched around him, betraying her even as she tried to form words. “You—fuck—you’re right—better—”

“Not better,” he snarled, pounding harder, his ego swelling with every whimper she gave him. “The best. Richer. Bigger. Stronger. Fucking everything. You left trash and came crawling to me, didn’t you? Upgraded to the top.”

“Yes!” she cried, voice breaking into a sobbing moan, hips trembling as her orgasm ripped through her. “Yes—yes—Rafe—”

His words pushed her over the edge, her hips trembling violently as she came, body clenching tight around him. Her cries spilled out unrestrained, high and broken, while her whole frame shook, collapsing forward onto the mattress.

But Rafe wasn’t done. Not even close.

Before she could catch her breath, he yanked her back by the waist, forcing her up on all fours, and slid right back inside her soaked cunt. She gasped, nearly sobbing at the overwhelming sensitivity.

“Rafe—please—”

“Shut up,” he hissed, already rutting into her rough, relentless. “You can take it. You always fucking take it.”

Her arms gave out, her cheek pressed back against the sheets, drool and tears mixing as he pounded her into the mattress. She was trembling, whimpering, every nerve in her body on fire, her legs shaking with the effort of staying upright.

And then his arm came around her throat, dragging her into a headlock, his bicep pressed firm against her neck while his chest crushed her back down into the bed. She was trapped under him, his entire weight on her, his cock still buried deep inside.

At that point he wasn’t even thrusting anymore—just humping into her, grinding his hips against her ass, using her wet, ruined hole like she was there just to feed his hunger. His breath was hot and ragged in her ear, every grunt vibrating against her skin.

“Fuck, Cath,” he groaned, his voice guttural, animalistic. “Look at you. Wrecked. Whimpering like a little slut for me. Can’t even fucking breathe without me.”

Her answer came out broken, half-sob, half-moan: “All yours—Rafe—yours.”

And that was all it took to send his ego soaring, his hips grinding harder, the bed shaking beneath them as he lost himself in her completely. Her trembling thighs, her broken please’s only pushed him deeper into that place where his ego and his lust blurred into one.

“Begging now, huh?” he taunted, voice dark and guttural against her ear. His arm stayed locked around her throat, holding her upright as his cock drove into her from behind. “Can’t take it but you want it. Greedy little slut.”

“Rafe—p-please—too much—” Catherine sobbed, her hands clawing at the sheets. Her body jolted with every thrust, overstimulated to the point of delirium.

“Look at me,” he ordered, yanking her head back until her teary eyes met his. “Look at who’s ruining you.”

She obeyed, her gaze hazy, pupils blown, lips parted as she moaned. He kissed her then, bruising and hungry, swallowing her cries while his free hand slapped her ass hard enough to make her jolt. The sharp sting bled into a deep ache as he squeezed her flesh possessively, his tongue forcing past her lips until he could taste her tears mixed with spit.

Rafe broke the kiss only to manhandle her sideways, flipping her onto her hip like she weighed nothing, his hands gripping her waist as he kept pounding into her. His chest pressed flush to her slick back, muscles straining, his breath ragged in her ear.

Her tits bounced with every rough thrust, perky and glistening with sweat, and Rafe angled his chin over her shoulder just to watch them. “Fuck—look at you,” he groaned, thrusting deeper, “all fucked out and still so fucking tight. Can’t even keep your eyes open.”

Her eyes rolled back as she whimpered so hard it almost broke into a scream, her whole body a trembling mess beneath him.

Rafe buried himself to the hilt, grinding in as his orgasm tore through him. He groaned loud, raw, the sound ripped from his chest as he spilled into the condom, every muscle in his body seizing with the force of it.

He collapsed back onto the mattress beside her, chest heaving, sweat dripping down his temple. For a man who spent hours in the gym, crushing weights and pushing limits, this felt like more than exhaustion—it felt like being hollowed out, every ounce of energy drained because of her.

Catherine lay there shaking, her cheek pressed to the sheets, lips swollen and wet, her body a wrecked mess he’d put there.

Rafe let out a hoarse laugh, his hand dragging down his face as he panted. “Fuck, Cath. That was harder than leg day.”

Catherine groaned as she tried to push herself up on shaky arms. Her legs felt like jelly, trembling uselessly beneath her. “Jesus Christ,” she muttered, her voice hoarse, hair sticking to her damp face. “I need another joint after that.”

Rafe hooked an arm around her waist and dragged her back down beside him before she could even make it off the bed.

Her eyes went wide, her throat tightening as panic flickered. “Rafe—no,” she whispered, almost a whine, her body flinching like he was about to roll her onto her stomach again. “I can’t—please, I really—”

He gave her a lazy grin, still flushed, his chest rising and falling heavy. “Relax, Cath. Not tryna fuck you again—yet. Just… lay down a bit.” He rested his head back on the pillow, pulling her into his side with a heavy arm slung over her ribs.

Catherine blinked, caught off guard. Rafe Cameron didn’t cuddle. He didn’t do soft. Everyone knew he didn’t go down on girls, buy flowers, give compliments, or do anything in exhcange to a pout and doe eyes— at least, not for every girl— too much of a hit to his ego. And yet here he was, holding her close, their bodies still hot and sticky, as if this wasn’t about to set his whole image on fire.

She scrunched her nose, pretending to be unimpressed even though her legs were dead weight and her body ached for rest. “You’re ridiculous. Acting like this isn’t cuddling when that’s literally what you want.”

“It's not cuddling,” Rafe muttered, his eyes narrowing, though his arm tightened around her waist all the same.

“Uh-huh.” She arched a brow, smirk tugging at her lips even though her eyelids felt heavy. “So what do you call it then?”

He didn’t answer, just grunted and pressed his chin against the top of her head like it was the most natural thing in the world.

And Catherine, for all her boldness and bravado, didn’t fight him on it. She wanted to—her ego hated the thought of being seen as a needy, clingy, helpless little thing. But right now, wrapped up against his chest with his heartbeat pounding steady under her ear, she needed it more than she could admit.

So they stayed like that. Rafe, stubbornly pretending it wasn’t cuddling. Catherine, stubbornly pretending she didn’t need to be held. Both of them secretly not wanting to move at all.

Eventually, they did drag themselves out of bed—sticky, exhausted, and in dire need of food. After getting cleaned, Rafe tossed her a shirt from his dresser, one of his worn tees that still smelled like his cologne, and a pair of boxers she had to cinch tight under her skirt. Her shirt was ruined, streaked with cum, and her panties were beyond saving—too wet, too obvious. Catherine didn’t even argue. She slipped into his clothes, rolled her eyes when he smirked at her in them, and followed him out.

The moment they stepped into the kitchen, Topper perked up like he’d been waiting for it. “Jesus, Cath,” he drawled, hand to his ear as he pitched his voice into a mocking falsetto. “‘Ohhh Rafe, harder, please, Rafe, I’m yours, all yours—’”

The group cracked up, Ruthie choking on her drink, Kelce wheezing so hard he coughed.

Catherine froze, then swung her gaze straight to Sarah, her cheeks flushing as she snapped, “Was I actually that detonated?”

Sarah— perched on the counter in sweats, popcorn bowl in hand—didn’t even try to soften the blow. She laughed, nodding. “Oh, one hundred percent. I thought the clown was bad, but you? I might have nightmares.”

“Wow, all of you are big fat liars,” Cath muttered, rolling her eyes. She cupped her hands around her mouth, faked the most porn-star moan she could muster, then aimed it right at Topper. “That’s how you do it, Top. Don’t put dirt on my name.”

The room howled. Even Sarah clapped, gasping through her laughter. Topper turned pink and threw a pretzel at Cath’s head.

Rafe didn’t even flinch through the chaos—he just smirked like he’d orchestrated the whole thing, slid an arm around her waist, and dragged her with him toward the fridge like she belonged there.

“Glad you missed the ending,” Sarah said once she caught her breath, pointing at Cath with a grin. “Seriously. You would not have been able to sleep after that shit.”

“Mm, yeah,” Rafe hummed distractedly, placing Cath in front of him and boxing her in against the fridge door. He rested his chin lazily on top of her head, eyes flicking over the shelves like he hadn’t just spent hours fucking her raw. “But you’ll sleep fine now, won’t you, baby?”

Catherine shoved her elbow back into his ribs, but he didn’t move—if anything, he pressed closer, smirk still curling his mouth. Rafe’s hands found her hips again, thumbs pressing into the waistband of her skirt. He tugged her back against him, guiding her hips in slow little grinds against his own while she peered into the fridge with a whine.

“There’s nothing to eat,” Catherine groaned dramatically, looking trough the shelves.

Behind them, Kelce made obnoxious gagging sounds, clutching his chest. “Bro, I did not come here to witness mating season in the wild.”

Rafe didn’t even glance his way, just lifted his middle finger at him. “Want me to order something?” His voice had that lazy, smug tilt, like taking care of her was second nature.

Catherine perked up, turning her head just slightly. “Yeah, baby—” She reached past his arm, reaching for the bowl of grapes on the upper shelf. “—You literally owe it to me after what you put me through.”

The hem of his shirt she wore rode up as she stretched, dragging the edge of her skirt with it. Just enough for the red waistband of his Calvins to flash.

Rafe’s eyes dropped instantly. The sight of his own boxers hugging her ass made something coil in his chest, and he had to bite back a laugh. He snatched the bowl and shoved it at her, jaw flexing.

“Here. Take it before I fucking lose my mind.”

Catherine only smirked around a grape she popped into her mouth, hips still brushing against him.

Kelce groaned again, flopping onto the couch. “I swear to God, y’all are sick.”

Rafe didn’t answer this time—his gaze was still locked on Cath’s ass, his shirt riding up over his boxers on her. The whole room could have vanished, and he wouldn’t have noticed.

“Don’t be sour just ‘cause you don’t get pussy,” Topper drawled at Kelce, grabbing another handful of pretzels like he owned the kitchen.

Sarah rolled her eyes so hard she nearly tipped off the counter, smacking Top’s arm. “You don’t either, dumbass.”

Kelce practically wheezed with laughter, doubling over. “God damn, bro. You were saying—?”

Catherine, bowl of grapes in her lap, slid up onto the counter beside Sarah with an amused little smirk. She crossed her legs, her skirt tugging higher, and Rafe—who had closed the fridge without a word—took the barstool directly in front of her, arm brushing against her knee as if it belonged there.

He pulled out his phone, not even looking at it, and tapped open the DoorDash app before handing it over to her. “Pick something.”

Cath didn’t hesitate, already scrolling. Rafe didn’t need to watch—he knew what she was gonna land on. Sushi. Always sushi.

“Jesus Christ,” Topper cut in, snorting as he leaned against the island, “you’re so pussy whipped, Cameron.”

The words barely left his mouth before Rafe flipped him off with one hand, voice calm, smug, almost conversational. “Cath burned some calories, she needs ‘em back so I’ve got something to spank later.”

Kelce spit out his drink. Sarah groaned. “Oh my god.”

Catherine blinked at him once, slowly, then made a face like she might gag. She swung her foot up and kicked him in the shin. “Say that shit again and see how fast I dump your ass, Rafe. Dead fucking serious.”

He just smirked at the sting in his leg, unbothered.

“And you—” Catherine turned on Topper, her voice sharp but her grin sly, “—‘pussy whipped’ is a compliment. Means he’s doing something right. Getting enough pussy to actually be whipped.”

Sarah snorted so hard she choked on a grape. Kelce slapped the counter, laughing hysterically.

Topper opened his mouth, closed it again, then muttered, “You were more bearable when you were just Sarah’s friend.”

Catherine didn’t even acknowledge him as she went back to ordering her sushi. Rafe, meanwhile, leaned forward on his barstool, chin resting briefly against her knee like he owned the space, like he owned her.

[bbywhitefox123]

Can you please do one of the kids walking in on Rafe and Cath doing it in the room and then asking what they’re doing and they have to come up with an excuse like we’re “play fighting”

Summary: rafe (23) and catherine (22) get caught up in a filthy, desperate moment in the laundry room. broken ironing board, rough sex, messy, filthy, and just when they think they can’t get interrupted, mason (4) shows up.

Warnings: NSFW (smut), oral sex, vaginal sex, rough sex, fingering, spanking, dirty talk, unprotected sex, voyeurism, power play, masturbation references, hair pulling, ass play, spanking, orgasm, choking, sexual frustration, exhibitionism, sexual coercion,

masterlist

A/N: the amount of reqs I have asking for rafe and cath to get caught during sex by their kids is insane lol

Catherine was halfway through folding Mason’s T-shirts when she felt him at her back — that familiar warmth, that way-too-close presence.

“Rafe,” she said without looking up, smoothing the shirt and stacking it neatly as if she knew exactly what he wanted. “The kids are still awake. And I’m folding laundry.”

“Mm,” he murmured against the curve of her neck, his voice low, rough, and already dangerous. “Laundry can wait.”

Her lips twitched, but she kept folding. “You’re impossible. Two more loads and I’ll be done—”

He turned her around before she could finish, leaning in until their noses almost brushed. “I can’t wait two more seconds,” he said, like it was a confession he couldn’t hold in. His hands slid to her hips, fingers curling, anchoring her against him.

“Rafe—” she warned, though her pulse was already betraying her.

“You think I’m gonna watch you stand here in that little dress, biting your lip like that, and just… wait?” His tone was almost a growl now.

Her resolve wavered. “We should—”

“We shouldn’t waste time,” he cut in, kissing her like he’d been starving for it all day.

The laundry pile tipped over somewhere between his hands tangling in her hair and her back pressing against the warm hum of the dryer. She was laughing breathlessly now, fingers curling in his shirt as he deepened the kiss, his restraint hanging by a thread.

The sound of a drawer slamming upstairs broke them apart for a heartbeat. Catherine tried to catch her breath. “Kids,” she reminded him.

“Then we’d better be quick,” he said with that wicked glint in his eyes, and she knew the laundry was about to be very, very forgotten.

The hum of the dryer filled the cramped laundry room, but Catherine barely noticed when Rafe pressed her back against the ironing board, his grip firm and unyielding. A surprised gasp escaped her lips, and she clutched at the edge for balance as he bent her forward.

The thin fabric of her dress slid higher when his hands found her hips, tugging the hem up until it bunched around her waist. His eyes lingered on the curve of her body, the shape of her beneath his hands, hunger sparking in his gaze.

The sharp crack of his palm meeting her ass made her bite down hard on her lip to keep from crying out. Heat bloomed across her cheek, stinging and delicious, her knuckles white as she clutched at the board.

“Stay quiet,” he murmured against her ear, but the smirk tugging at his mouth told her he knew how impossible that was.

His hand slipped lower, teasing her cunt, fingers sliding just enough to make her legs tremble. He watched her face turn over her shoulder, her expression hazy, caught between defiance and need.

Then Rafe sank to his knees behind her, dragging his mouth along the back of her thigh before settling exactly where she ached for him most. The position left her breath hitching, dress gathered above her, bent forward while his hands held her steady and open for him. The wet sounds and the way his tongue worked against her unraveled her restraint, and Catherine’s head tipped forward, forehead pressing into the fabric of the board as she fought to keep her voice down.

Her legs trembled, the ironing board creaking under her weight as she tried to brace herself. Every ragged breath came out shaky, catching in her throat when his tongue flicked just right. The heat rolling through her had her toes curling, knees threatening to give out, but Rafe’s grip on her thighs kept her spread open for him.

“Fuck, baby…” he groaned against her, voice muffled by the mess she was making on his mouth. “You’re drenching me.” His chin was slick with her, the steady drag of his tongue only pushing her higher. He pulled back just long enough to look up at her, blue eyes dark and glassy, lips wet. “You like this? Making a mess all over me?”

Catherine’s answer was a broken whimper, her fingers clawing at the edge of the board. Her hips shifted back against him without thought, desperate, grinding into his mouth. "Please... Rafe... Rafe..."

“Yeah, that’s it,” he rasped, shoving her thighs wider. “Push that pretty pussy on my face. Don’t hold back, baby—let me taste it all.”

The filth spilling from his mouth made her moan louder than she meant to, muffled by the sleeve of her dress when she tried to bite it down. He smirked against her, tongue plunging deeper, chin glistening as her slick coated him. Every shaky inhale from her only fed his ego, only made him hungrier.

When his hand slid up her back and pressed between her shoulder blades, pinning her harder against the ironing board, Catherine knew she wasn’t going anywhere. Her body shook as he devoured her from behind, and all she could do was hang on, helpless to the way Rafe Cameron ruined her.

Catherine was right on the edge, her thighs quivering around his face, when she heard the rasp of his zipper. She barely had time to glance back before the sound of denim shifting filled the room. Rafe freed himself, cock already hard and heavy in his hand, and he didn’t even stop working his tongue against her slick cunt as he lined himself up.

Her whimper broke sharp and high when he pushed inside, the sudden stretch stealing her breath. Her eyes squeezed shut, lashes wet, head dropping against the board as her body took him inch by inch.

“Goddamn, Cath,” Rafe groaned, voice low and guttural, his gaze locked on where her body swallowed him whole. Watching the slick drag of her around his cock had him losing control fast, hips bucking forward as if he couldn’t help himself.

She squeezed around him so tight he cursed, one hand gripping her hip bruisingly hard while the other slid up. His palm cupped her breast through the thin fabric, rough fingers squeezing until she gasped.

“You feel that?” he gritted against her ear, thrusting deep, his breath hot and ragged. “So fuckin’ wet for me—dripping all over my cock after begging on my tongue.” His words made her walls flutter around him, and he smirked, rutting harder, chasing the sounds he could drag from her.

The ironing board rattled under them with every thrust, Catherine helpless against it, every shaky breath betraying just how undone she was becoming in his hands.

Rafe’s thrusts grew rougher, the steady slap of his hips echoing in the tiny laundry room, mixing with the wet, obscene sound of her cunt taking him. Every time he pulled back, slick clung to him, every push inside met with a squelch that had his head tipping back, jaw tight.

“Fuck, baby—listen to that,” he groaned, eyes wild as he watched her swallow him whole again. “You hear how messy you are? That’s all for me.” He buckled forward, chasing the sound, chasing the way she clenched down on him like she never wanted to let him go.

Catherine’s body shook under him, her knuckles white on the edge of the ironing board, breath catching in broken sobs of pleasure. Her climax crashed over her hard, her cunt squeezing and fluttering until her legs nearly gave out.

Rafe swore loud and filthy, slowing just enough to watch. He pulled back and stared down at the mess between them—his cock shiny and dripping, creamy strings connecting him to her swollen pussy. The sight had his head spinning, his hips twitching forward like he couldn’t bear the space.

“Jesus Christ, look at you,” he muttered, voice hoarse, dragging his cock back to slap it against her ass. The wet smack echoed in the room, his hand pressing her lower back to hold her in place. He rubbed himself between her ass cheeks, groaning at the friction, the head slipping wetly against her folds.

Catherine whined, shaking her head, voice breathless but firm. “No, nope, we are never trying anal... ever again,” she gasped out, her words broken by the way he kept teasing her entrance.

Rafe let out a low, guttural sound, more animal than man, and shoved back inside her with one hard thrust. His hips snapped forward, burying him to the hilt. “Fine,” he growled against her shoulder, his teeth scraping her skin, “but I’m not done with that pretty cunt you've got on you, baby.”

Rafe was slamming into her so hard the ironing board rattled louder with every thrust. Catherine tried to hold on, her nails dragging against the thick padding, but the gold-painted legs finally gave way with a screech and a snap. The board collapsed under her, and she nearly went crashing forward, but Rafe’s arm shot around her waist.

“Got you, baby,” he growled, dragging her back against his chest, cock still buried deep inside her. He didn’t miss a beat, hips pounding into her from behind as he held her up, his other hand braced firm on her hip.

Now on her feet, she was helpless in his grip, her legs trembling, head lolling against his shoulder. His hand slid down, fingers finding her swollen clit, rubbing rough circles that made her cry out. His mouth latched onto her neck, teeth scraping, tongue soothing, his hot breath burning against her skin.

“Take it, baby,” he rasped against her ear, grinding deep with every snap of his hips. “So fuckin’ perfect—gonna make me lose it.”

She was a whimpering mess, voice caught between pleading and moaning, her body jerking each time his fingers abused her clit. Her tits bounced with the rhythm, and Rafe reached up to squeeze one hard, groaning at the feel of her through the fabric.

Then—voices. The muffled chatter of the kids. Catherine stiffened instantly, panic flashing in her eyes, but Rafe only pressed his hand tighter over her stomach, keeping her flush to him.

“Shhh,” he hushed against her throat, nipping at her skin. “They can’t hear us. Be my good little wife and take it.” His fingers never stopped tormenting her clit, relentless, dragging her higher and higher while he thrust into her with brutal force.

Her body betrayed her, climax tearing through her until she shook in his arms, clamping down around him so tight he cursed. “Fuck—” Rafe’s hips buckled, his thrusts sloppy, a guttural groan ripping from his chest as he spilled deep inside her.

He didn’t pull out. His forehead pressed into the curve of her shoulder, breath ragged, body trembling. He stayed buried inside, cock twitching as he milked every last drop into her. His hand flattened against her stomach, possessive, holding her tight against him.

“Baby, stop,” he muttered hoarsely, almost to himself. “ 'M not pulling out. Wanna feel you around me.”

Rafe was still buried inside her, catching his breath, when the sound of a door creaking open down the hall sent Catherine’s heart into her throat.

“Rafe—” she whispered harshly, trying to push at his arm, panic flickering in her eyes.

But before she could wriggle free, the laundry room door creaked open. Rafe’s reflexes kicked in—he yanked the hem of her dress back down over her hips in one quick motion, hiding the mess between them, though his cock still pulsed inside her. His grip tightened around her waist, holding her steady, lips brushing her ear in a hushed warning: Don’t move, I've got it handled.

Mason padded in, rubbing at his eyes, hair mussed from sleep. He squinted up at them with the innocent suspicion only a kid could have. “What was that noise, mama?” he mumbled, his voice thick with sleep.

Catherine froze, cheeks flushed, heartbeat pounding so hard she thought it would give them away. Rafe, though, didn���t flinch. His face smoothed into an easy, careless smile as if he wasn’t buried deep inside her.

“Hey, champ,” Rafe said, calm as ever. His tone was steady, smooth, like he was born to lie. “I was just…helping Mommy with the laundry. Ironing board broke, that’s all.” He chuckled low, as if it was nothing, giving Catherine’s side a reassuring squeeze.

Mason blinked slowly, too tired to question it. He yawned, swaying on his feet. “Oh.” Another rub of his eyes. “Can you tuck me back in, Daddy?”

“Yeah, champ. Gimme a sec,” Rafe said gently, hands weapped aeound Cath's waist as if he was hugging her from behind— which technically he was... “Go wait for me in your room.”

The boy shuffled off without another word, the door swinging shut behind him.

Catherine finally let out the breath she’d been holding, swatting at Rafe’s chest with wide eyes. “Rafe,” she hissed, mortified, “what if he saw something, he wasn't supposed to?”

Rafe just smirked, leaning in to kiss her temple as if he had no intention of pulling out. “Relax,” he murmured, filthy satisfaction in his tone. “Told you I had it handled.”

Rafe’s lips found their way back on her neck, teeth dragging over the flushed skin as his hips rolled slow and deliberate, his cock still buried deep inside her.

“Baby…” Catherine whispered, panicked but breathless, her body tightening around him anyway.

“Shhh,” Rafe hushed against her throat, giving a lazy thrust that made her knees buckle. “Where were we, huh? You were about to come on my cock again. Don’t think I forgot.”

Her head tipped back against his shoulder, a shaky moan slipping out before she caught herself. “Rafe—we can’t. Mason—”

“He’s fine,” Rafe muttered, grinding into her harder, his hand sneaking between her thighs to rub her clit. “He’s back in bed by now. Just let me finish what I started.”

Catherine’s hand went to grip the back of Rafe's neck, her body trembling, almost giving in to the sinful drag of him inside her. “You’re insane,” she whispered, voice breaking when he circled her clit.

“You love it,” he rasped, lips brushing her ear. “You love how fucking needy I am for you. Can’t even keep my hands off you in the damn laundry room.”

For a split second, she almost caved, her hips jerking against his hand—but she twisted, pressing her palm against his chest. “Rafe, stop,” she whispered firmly. “Go tuck Mase in and check on Bradley. They've been left alone for how long?”

Rafe stilled, his face contorting into the most tortured groan, forehead dropping against her shoulder. “Are you kidding me?”

“Rafe,” Catherine warned.

He pulled back just enough to glare at her, still holding her tight against him. “I cannot believe my own sons are cockblocking me.” His voice was half disgusted, half amused, the growl in his throat making her bite back a laugh.

“Don’t say it like that— gross,” Catherine hissed, swatting his chest though her lips twitched. “And get off me.”

Rafe groaned again, dragging himself out of her slowly, watching her shiver as he did. His eyes dropped to the creamy mess between her thighs, and he cursed low. “Fuck, look at that. You think I can just walk away from this?”

“Yes,” she snapped, cheeks burning. “Before Mason comes back.”

He sighed, dramatically tucking himself back into his jeans and smacking her ass once, sharp and possessive. “This isn’t over. I’m finishing this tonight.”

“Good luck,” Catherine muttered, straightening her dress, her face hot.

Rafe shot her a crooked grin as he headed for the hallway. “Little man’s got the worst timing…” he grumbled under his breath, loud enough for her to hear.

[bbywhitefox123]

young, wild, and free love love love it omg it has its upside and downside but omg what if she lost the baby like miscarriage or just git rid of it you think she'll even want to be with him?? I hope she gets rid of it

FIRST OF ALL TYSM<333

so if she gets rid of it i wouldn’t have my husband!rafe au lmao BUT if somehow they got rid of the baby i feel like catherine and rafe would still be together for a bit but after they part for college they’ll probably split bc of the distance or smth and their whole “young wild and free” phase would be some story they would maybe tell their kids in the future (kids from OTHER ppl bc i trully believe if it wasnt for the baby they wouldnt end up marrying or growing up into the ppl they are)

hope i didnt confuse you lol. i tend to ramble a lot

[bbywhitefox123]

Summary: rafe (18) is spiraling. he tried to force her into an abortion, threatened, lashed out, then backtracked with “i love you, but i can’t love the baby.” he can’t admit he doesn’t want her with anyone else (especially jj) but also can’t admit he’s terrified of fatherhood + ward cutting him off. the two fight brutally in his car until he kicks her out on the highway.

Warnings: toxic relationship, teen pregnancy, abortion talk, coercion, addiction (cocaine use), family pressure, gaslighting, emotional/verbal abuse, manipulation, fighting, abandonment issues, daddy issues, blood (nosebleeds)

Masterlist

She shouldn’t have come downstairs.

Should’ve thrown her phone across the room and cried into the pillow again, maybe even driven to JJ’s just to piss Rafe off in some childish way—except he didn’t get pissed off anymore. He didn’t react. Not to her, not to the pregnancy, not to anything. And that hurt more than she could explain.

Still… she stood in front of the mirror, lip-glossed and freshly changed. The old photos were still pulled up on her phone, the bear still tucked under her arm. She left it on her bed, like some kind of pathetic symbol of whatever they used to be.

Outside, the night air was humid, heavy with the sounds of someone’s music blasting down the street and the flicker of porch lights as bugs buzzed around them. Rafe was leaning against his car, arms crossed, hoodie pulled over his head even though it wasn’t cold.

She didn’t say anything at first. Just stood there at the bottom of the steps, arms folded, heart hammering. He looked up when he heard her.

Rafe blinked like he hadn’t expected her to actually come.

“I knew one day I’d break you,” he said, voice low, almost slurred. “And I wouldn’t even know it.” He shrugged, hands shoved into his hoodie pocket. “I think I just did.”

Catherine stared at him, lips parting slowly. “Are you high?”

He didn’t answer. Just gave her a lazy once-over, eyes lingering on the skirt. “You didn’t have to dress up.”

“Well,” she said flatly, “you didn’t have to text me.”

He scoffed. “Fair.”

Another awkward silence. He kicked a rock near his foot.

“I keep seeing you with him,” Rafe muttered, barely audible. “Maybank tra— JJ.”

Catherine rolled her eyes, she wasn’t going to talk about her ex with her other ex when they had a bigger problem than that.

“You told me to get rid of it. You didn’t text. You didn’t call. What was I supposed to do, Rafe?”

He didn’t look at her. “I didn’t think you’d actually keep it.”

Her chest tightened. “Why? Because you told me not to? Because it’d be inconvenient for you?”

“Because I’m not ready for this shit, Catherine!” He finally looked at her, eyes sharp. “I don’t even know what I’m doing half the time. I can’t be someone’s father. I can barely fucking function as me.”

“That’s your excuse?”

“No—it’s the truth.” His voice cracked. “And you’re not ready either. You can't be a mom, Cath.”

That hit her like a slap.

“Don’t you dare tell me what I can and what I can't be,” she hissed.

“I’m not trying to be an asshole—”

“Too late.”

“I’m trying to be real.” He stepped closer, brows furrowed. “You don’t even like kids.”

“And I didn’t ask to be pregnant,” she snapped. “I didn’t ask for you to fuck me without pulling out and then disappear like I was a bad dream!”

His face twisted. “You said you loved me.”

Her voice cracked. “And you said nothing.”

That shut him up. He looked away again, jaw tight.

“I still love you,” she whispered, bitter tears welling. “And that’s the worst part.”

“I don’t know how to do this,” he said softly. “With you. With a baby. With everything.”

“Then maybe don’t do it high,” she snapped.

Another silence.

“I miss you,” he said finally.

“You miss fucking me,” she corrected. “Not me. Not the girl crying over sushi and trying not to puke in the morning because she’s pregnant and alone.”

“I miss you.” He met her eyes again, this time honest. “But I’m scared shitless. And I don’t know what you expect from me.”

“I didn’t expect anything,” she admitted. “But I hoped. And that’s what keeps screwing me over.”

She turned to go.

“Wait,” he said, stepping forward. “Can we just… figure it out?”

Catherine stopped. For a second—just a second—she let herself believe. She turned, slowly, arms crossed over her chest, already building up walls she hoped she wouldn’t need.

“You mean actually figure it out?” she asked, voice cautious. “Like… us?”

Rafe nodded, running a hand through his hair. His eyes were bloodshot, but his expression was serious. “Yeah. Us. I want… I want to be with you.”

Her lips parted, a flicker of something hopeful sparking in her chest.

But then—

“And I want you to get rid of it.”

Just like that, it shattered.

Her arms dropped to her sides. “What?”

“You can’t actually want to go through with this, Cath. You’re smart. You’ve got a life ahead of you—you were gonna leave the OBX, remember?” He stepped closer. “Let’s go back to how it was. Just me and you. Fucking around. Shoplifting just ‘cause. Stealing my father’s money and blowing it on drugs… Just us.”

She stared at him, blinking slowly, like she’d misheard. “You’re asking me to kill the baby so we can play bonnie and clyde?”

He exhaled, frustrated. “Don’t say it like that. You make it sound like I’m some monster—”

“You are.”

He flinched.

And then, as if trying to bury the words he just said, he blurted, “I love you, okay?”

That made her chest seize.

It was the first time he ever said it.

But it didn’t feel like a gift.

It felt like a trap.

“You love me,” she repeated, quietly, eyes glassy. “But not the baby.”

“I can’t love the baby,” he said. “I don’t know how. I don’t want to. I’m not cut out for this shit, Cath.”

Tears spilled over, slow and silent. “Then you don’t really love me.”

“Yes, I do,” he said, voice tight. “But I’m not ready to ruin both our lives because of one night.”

She laughed, bitter and wet with disbelief. “You think I’m choosing this? That I wouldn’t give anything to go back to that night and think twice before I let you hit it raw?”

He swallowed, jaw clenched.

“I didn’t come here to fight,” he said.

“You came here to beg me to be yours, just without the parts that scare you.”

“I just want you,” he whispered.

She wiped her face, breath shaky. “Then you should’ve wanted all of me. Not just the parts that were convenient.”

She didn’t wait for a reply this time. She turned around and walked back up those steps, the same way she always did—alone.

🌩️

Rafe had already been on edge when he pulled up to the party.

His jaw still ached from clenching it through the fight with his dad. Ward had laid it out crystal clear before he left the house — either Rafe got serious about college and started showing up at Cameron Development again, or Ward would cut him off completely.

“Stop acting like a goddamn child, or I’ll treat you like one,” his father had snapped, tie already loosened, drink in hand. “You wanna live like some washed-up loser on the Cut? Go for it. But don’t expect a single dime from me.”

Rafe slammed the door before Ward could say more. He hadn’t stopped shaking since.

The party was supposed to help. It never did — but he kept hoping.

Music was loud, lights too bright, bodies swaying against each other like nothing in the world mattered. Rafe tried to disappear into it. Dropped onto a couch with a red solo cup in one hand and a line of coke in front of him. Kelce passed him the card and Rafe didn’t even hesitate.

Then he saw her.

Catherine.

In that tight little skirt, the one she knew made him lose his mind. Her hips rolled to the beat, eyes half-lidded as she danced — not even alone. Some guy was behind her, hands far too low, whispering something in her ear. She laughed.

Rafe’s vision blurred. His knuckles went white around the cup. Don’t care. Don’t care. She made her choice. You told her to abort it. You said you couldn’t do this. You told her to go.

He wiped the powder from under his nose and leaned back, trying to pretend it didn’t feel like she’d taken a knife to his chest.

Topper dropped down beside him, reeking of weed and tequila, grinning. “You heard about Cathy?”

Rafe didn’t look at him. “What?”

Topper laughed like it was some inside joke. “She’s knocked up.”

Rafe’s head turned.

Topper kept going, completely oblivious. “Yeah, dude. Heard it from Amber, who heard it from Sarah. Guess she rebounded fast. Slut’s not even saying who the dad is. Guess she was sleeping around after you two broke u—”

Rafe’s fist cracked across Topper’s mouth so fast the music hadn’t even drowned out the smack.

Blood spattered. Topper hit the floor, groaning, hand over his face.

“We didn’t break up,” Rafe snarled, looming over him “Idiot.”

Silence followed. The party paused. People stared. Rafe didn’t care.

His heart was pounding. His hands shook — not from coke this time, not from Ward, but from something he couldn’t admit out loud.

Because if she was pregnant…

And if it was his…

And he had told her to get rid of it…

Why the hell did he care?

Rafe didn’t think. He stormed through the crowd, eyes locked on her. Her smile faltered when she saw him coming — her hips still moving, lips parting like she was about to ask “what?” but he didn’t give her the chance.

He grabbed her by the wrist.

“Hey—Rafe!” she yelped, stumbling in her heels as he dragged her toward the door.

People looked. Someone laughed. Sarah called out after them, but Rafe didn’t stop until the music dulled behind the front door and the night air hit them both in the face.

He dropped her wrist like it burned him. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Catherine blinked, confused. “What are you talking about?”

“You’re telling people? At a party?” His voice cracked, venom trying to cover the panic. “Is that your way of punishing me? Letting everybody know you’re knocked up like— like you’re proud?!”

She crossed her arms, fire flashing in her eyes. “Oh, screw you.”

“You didn’t even talk to me. You just—you just went out there, danced on some guy—”

“I tried to talk to you, Rafe! Remember? You laughed. Then you told me to get an abortion. Then you disappeared for three days like a little bitch.”

“Don’t put this on me!”

“Man the fuck up!” she snapped, jabbing a finger into his chest. “You’re the one who didn’t want to wear a condom. You’re the one who said you loved me and then vanished the second shit got real.”

“I didn’t ask for this!” Rafe yelled, chest heaving. “I didn’t ask for a goddamn kid! I can’t even get through a week without Ward breathing down my neck, and now I’m supposed to be a dad?!”

Her jaw clenched. She blinked hard, like she wasn’t going to let him see her cry. “You didn’t ask for me, either. But you had no problem fucking me six ways Monday.”

That gutted him.

He looked at her — really looked — and saw the mascara smudging under her eyes, the trembling in her bottom lip she was trying to hide, the way she still hadn’t let go of the wrist he grabbed like she didn’t trust herself to.

He opened his mouth, but no words came out.

So he did what he always did when it got too much.

He ran.

He left her standing there in the cold, in a tiny skirt and too-high heels, with every part of her still breaking.

By the time he got home, Ward was waiting.

“Drunk again?” Ward asked, not even looking up from the bar cart. “Or did you finally OD?”

“Not now,” Rafe muttered, heading for the stairs.

“Oh no, no. You’re gonna stand there and listen this time.” Ward’s voice was like a loaded gun. “You get one more chance, Rafe. One. I find out you’re skipping the internship again, or flunking out, or messing with some girl and throwing your name in the gutter, I swear to God—”

“I said not now!” Rafe yelled, slamming the wall so hard a painting tipped sideways.

Ward picked the painting off the floor without flinching. He set it back straight and turned to Rafe, eyes cold. “So,” he said, voice smooth as ice, “did you handle that Welch girl?”

Rafe clenched his fists at his sides. His heart hammered so loud he was sure Ward heard it. “What are you talking about?” he muttered, head down.

Ward took a slow step forward. “Catherine Welch. The one you knocked up. I fronted you that money, didn’t I? To make sure you didn’t screw up your life.” He paused, letting the words hang. “Did she go through with it?”

Rafe’s throat closed. He’d spent that cash the night she turned him down—the same night he snorted so much coke he could barely see straight. Money meant for her abortion, gone.

He swallowed. “She—she changed her mind,” he rasped.

Ward’s jaw tightened. “Changed her mind? You gave her the money. You told her it was the only way.” He took another step, voice low and dangerous. “You spent it, didn’t you, Rafe?”

Rafe’s breath caught. He couldn’t meet his father’s gaze. “I—I thought she’d do it.” His voice cracked. “I thought she’d listen to me.”

Ward’s eyes went ice-black. “You thought you’d save yourself from this—” He gestured at Rafe’s chest, where guilt and fear and every mistake he’d ever made throbbed like a second heartbeat. “You spent the money meant to bury her mistake so you could chase your own oblivion.”

Rafe’s head snapped up, anger flaring. “You told me what I thought, Dad? You told me what I needed—”

Ward held up a hand. “Don’t. I gave you that cash because I wanted to protect you—from the scandal, from the responsibility. You wasted it on your poison, and now you’ve tied yourself to a whole different problem.”

Rafe’s jaw tightened. He swallowed the retort. There was no arguing with this man—this man who’d pulled every string in his life except the one that actually mattered: teaching his son how to own his mistakes.

Ward’s voice softened, just a fraction. “You can still fix this. You can talk to her. You can support her enough to get under her skin. You can do what the hell you were supposed to do in the first place. Or you can keep running—”

“I’m not running,” Rafe snapped, but it sounded hollow.

Ward shook his head. “You are. You’re running from your own life.”

He turned away, dismissing Rafe like a guest at a bad dinner party. Rafe stood there in the shattered quiet, chest heaving.

In his pocket, his phone buzzed once—a picture of Catherine lighting his screen.

He stared at it.

For the first time, he realized there were no clean exits from his mistakes. Only the ones you faced head-on.

With his father’s words burning behind his eyes, he walked out of the house for the second time that night—this time, determined not to look back.

He showed up again after midnight. The party was still loud, the music thumping, lights flashing over drunk teenagers and scattered beer cans. Catherine didn’t even see him walk in until he was standing in front of her, jaw tight, eyes wild.

“Come with me,” he said.

“Rafe, what—”

He didn’t wait. He grabbed her wrist, not rough but not gentle either, pulling her through the crowd. She protested once, but his grip only loosened when they were out the door. She tried to yank away when they reached his car, but he just opened the passenger side and said, “Get in.”

It was tense in the car, the air sharp with cold silence. He gripped the steering wheel with white knuckles, his jaw ticking as he pulled onto the road, deliberately speeding on a road 35mph was the limit. “You’re not leaving this car,” he muttered, “not until you agree to go through with it.”

Catherine’s spine stiffened. “What?”

“You heard me,” he said, speeding up. “You can’t seriously think this is a good idea. We’re not ready. You’re not ready.”

She stared at him like he’d lost his mind. “Slow down.”

“Not until—”

“I said slow down!” she snapped, fear creeping into her voice as the car swerved slightly. “Jesus, Rafe.”

Finally, he eased off the gas, the silence even heavier now.

Her voice broke the stillness, quiet but cutting. “It’s too late.”

He glanced at her sharply. “What do you mean?”

“I looked it up. I’m past the first trimester. I can’t just… make it disappear, Rafe. It’s not that simple anymore.”

His mouth opened, but nothing came out. He looked like he’d been punched in the gut.

She turned away, looking out the window. “You should’ve been here when it was still simple.”

Rafe’s chest felt tight, almost like it was constricting him from the inside. He wanted to tell her, to finally admit that it wasn’t just fear or anger—it was also jealousy, possessiveness, and something he couldn’t name without sounding weak. That the thought of another man, someone like JJ Maybank, being the father of his child made his stomach twist with rage he couldn’t control. But rage wouldn’t let him say that. He couldn’t admit it.

Catherine sniffled, turning her gaze away. “I get it. You’re not ready to be a father, you don’t want to be a father—but I… I need you to know that I won’t hold that baby against you. I won’t use our baby against you,” she whispered. “I won’t ask for money, for support, for anything—just… please, just let me have it. Don’t be against me in this. If you ever lo— cared for me, please… don’t make this harder than it already is.”

Rafe wiped at the blood trickling from his nose before Catherine could see it, cursing the faint sting in his skull from last night’s party. The addiction, the stress, the anger—it was all there, raw and ugly. But she didn’t need to know. If she did, he wouldn’t be able to control himself, wouldn’t be able to stop the words he wanted to throw at her, wouldn’t be able to stop the weight pressing down in his chest.

“And after you give birth… then what?” His voice wavered, low and uneven.

“I’ll look after the baby,” Catherine said softly, glancing out the windshield. “Rafe, if you’re worried that— Just, I’ll handle everything. I won’t ask you for anything. If you don’t want to see me after the birth… I'll leave, it's not like there's something to hold me here. Live with my grandparents, or somewhere else. You won’t even hear of me a—”

“Will you raise it alone?” His voice cracked, betraying a piece of the panic and anger he was trying to hide.

Catherine swallowed, her jaw tight. “I hope not,” she murmured, not meeting his eyes. She knew her parents weren’t fans of the Camerons—or the baby—but she was determined to try and make it work.

“So you’ll just… let another man look after my kid? After my—after you?” The words left his mouth sharper than he intended, and his chest constricted again, tight and raw.

Catherine flinched at the edge in his voice, but held her ground. “Rafe… it’s not about you. This isn’t about punishing you or proving something. I just… I want to do this.”

It was as if they were speaking two different languages, circling each other without ever landing on the same page.

“And who’ll look after you two?” he asked, voice low, his ego bleeding into every word. It wasn’t concern—it was possession, pride, fear he couldn’t name.

Catherine stammered, turning to look at his bloodshot eyes with her own tearing ones. “I-I don’t know. I hope I don’t need someone to look after me… but it would be nice if I didn’t have to do this alone—”

“Someone like that Maybank trash?” Rafe’s jaw clenched, knuckles whitening around the steering wheel as he fought the rising fury clawing at his chest.

“What?” Her voice broke, confusion painted across her face. She blinked at him, brows furrowed, as though he’d just spoken in a language she didn’t know. “JJ? What—what does he have to do with this?”

“Well, since the biological father won’t be in the picture, I’m sure you’d be down to get your ex back in the picture—” Rafe sneered, his lip curling, “it’s not like you wanted to break up with him in the first place—”

Catherine let out a sharp laugh, shaking her head in disbelief. “Are you hearing yourself right now?”

“Yeah, I do.” Rafe cut her off, leaning forward as if trying to convince himself as much as her. “I mean, if it wasn’t for me and my moral compass—”

“Your moral compass?” Catherine’s brows shot up. She almost burst into laughter at the irony.

“—yeah, if it wasn’t for me, you’d still be cheating on him with me. Maybe then the poor thing would’ve thought he was the father and shit—”

“Rafe, what are you even talking about?” Catherine snapped, her voice sharper now, cutting through his rambling.

Rafe looked around, running his tongue over his teeth before dropping the smirk. His face hardened, the words coming out heavier, almost like a threat. “You can keep the baby if—” he stopped himself, jaw flexing, because saying it out loud stung his pride. “—if that piece of trash doesn’t play daddy to my kid.”

Catherine froze, then raised her eyebrows, a bitter laugh spilling out despite herself. She couldn’t believe it. The same Rafe Cameron who’d told her to “just get rid of it” every chance he got was now calling it his kid. The hypocrisy was almost priceless.

“Are you being for real right now?” she asked, laughing in disbelief.

“Did it sound like a joke, or…” Rafe trailed, staring at her like she was the one losing her mind.

“You’re talking about JJ, right?” she pressed, just to be sure.

“If there aren’t any other exes I don’t know about—” he shrugged, mocking, “though you’re not really the break-up-and-find-another-dick type of girl. You’re more of a main thing and like five side dicks type of girl.”

Catherine’s jaw dropped before she let out a sharp laugh, this one edged with venom. “You sound really hurt right now, Rafe. Real hurt.”

His throat tightened, but his pride wouldn’t let him back down. “Maybe I am. Maybe I don’t like the idea of JJ Maybank—or anyone—thinking they get to raise something that’s mine.”

Catherine’s face softened for half a second, but she quickly pushed the sympathy down. “Then maybe you should’ve thought about that before telling me to kill it.”

Rafe’s hands clenched the steering wheel so tight his knuckles turned white. “Don’t twist this, Catherine. I never said I wanted it gone for you. I said I didn’t want it for me. There’s a difference.”

She scoffed. “You’re unbelievable. You don’t want the baby, but God forbid someone else steps up—because your ego can’t handle it.”

His jaw ticked. “It’s not about my ego.”

“It’s all about your ego!” she snapped, tears streaming hot down her cheeks. “You don’t want to be a father, you don’t want to love this baby, you don’t even want to admit you love me—but the second JJ’s name comes up, suddenly it’s your kid?”

Rafe slammed his hand against the steering wheel, the horn blaring for a split second. “Because it is mine, Catherine! You think I’m gonna sit back while you play house with some other guy? With him?”

“Then step up!” she yelled back, voice shaking. “If you care so much, then step up. But you won’t, will you? Because that would mean going against Ward. And we both know you’ll never do that.”

The words hit him like a blade. His throat bobbed, fury tightening his chest. “Don’t bring him into this.”

“Oh, I will,” Catherine hissed, her nails digging into her palms. “Because the truth is, you’re more scared of losing Daddy’s money than you are of losing me. He tells you to jump and you ask how high. He tells you to get rid of me and the baby, and you—”

“Shut the fuck up!” Rafe shouted, veins straining in his neck. His vision blurred red as he swerved the car toward the shoulder of the highway, tires screeching.

Catherine braced herself on the dash, heart pounding. “You can scream all you want, Rafe, but that won’t change the truth. You’d rather drown yourself in coke and your daddy’s approval than be a man for once in your life!”

That was it. The final cut. Rafe slammed the car into park, chest heaving, his face twisted in rage and something darker he couldn’t name.

“Get out,” he spat, his voice low, dangerous.

Catherine blinked at him, stunned. “What?”

“I said get the fuck out!” he roared, leaning over her and shoving the door open. “You want to play tough? You want to raise that kid all on your own? Fine. Do it.”

Tears stung her eyes, but she refused to give him the satisfaction of begging. She grabbed her bag with trembling hands, swung her legs out onto the cold asphalt, and looked at him one last time. “You just proved me right,” she whispered.

Rafe’s jaw clenched. He didn’t look at her, couldn’t. He slammed the door shut, revved the engine, and peeled away—leaving her standing on the side of the highway, headlights fading in the distance.

Catherine hugged herself, shivering under the night air in front of a liquor shop, her chest hollow. For the first time, she realized he’d rather destroy everything—her, their baby, himself—than admit he was scared.

And Rafe was scared.

The word alone made his skin crawl, but it was the truth pulsing beneath his ribs, choking him as surely as the blood dripping from his nose onto the sleeve of his hoodie. He pressed harder to the gas, speedometer needle climbing, headlights smearing into blinding streaks on the dark highway.

He couldn’t think about Catherine. Couldn’t think about the way her eyes had filled when she told him she didn’t need him, that she wouldn’t ask him for anything. Couldn’t think about the baby—his baby—that she was determined to keep.

No. He shook his head, knuckles white against the wheel. She wasn’t family. The unborn baby wasn’t family.

Ward was family. The Camerons were family. The legacy—that was family. That was what mattered.

“Stick to the plan,” Rafe muttered to himself, his voice raw, desperate. “Stick to the plan, don’t let her fuck it up.”

Ward’s voice echoed in his skull, cold and heavy like an iron chain: Handle it, or you’re cut off. Handle it, Rafe. Don’t embarrass this family.

He wiped at his nose again, smearing blood across his skin, chest heaving with every breath. It didn’t matter how fast he drove; the thoughts chased him like demons in the rearview mirror. Catherine’s laugh, her anger, her tears—all mixed up until he couldn’t tell which part of her haunted him more.

He hated her for getting under his skin. Hated her for making him feel like a coward, like a kid who couldn’t choose for himself.

But most of all, he hated the hollow ache in his chest that whispered the truth he refused to admit: He didn’t want to lose her. He didn’t want anyone else touching her. And he sure as hell didn’t want anyone else raising his kid.

The steering wheel rattled in his grip as the car hit ninety, his vision swimming.

“Fuck!” he shouted, slamming his fist against the dashboard. His whole body shook, part rage, part withdrawal, part grief he didn’t have the language for.

For the first time in a long time, Rafe Cameron felt like he was coming apart—and he didn’t know if there was any putting himself back together.

[bbywhitefox123]

r we getting anything else ab the cam family to read tdy, just asking bc I love reading them sm

i have something coming up in like an hour tops. just need to proofread it and fix the ending

[bbywhitefox123]

please more actress reader x drew, its so good…

Summary: chemistry readings and shared hotel rooms

Warnings: dialogue might feel cringey at times

MASTERLIST

Cass tried not to fidget as she sat in the waiting room outside the casting studio, knees bouncing lightly beneath the table. The call sheet had said chemistry test with Drew Starkey, and even though she’d told herself it wasn’t a big deal, her body clearly thought otherwise. First acting gig, first real audition, and she was being thrown into a room with Drew Starkey of all people .

She’d seen his face on her feed more times than she could count. Edits, thirst traps, slow-motion videos set to trap music. He was basically the internet’s favorite tall white boy with soft eyes and killer arms. And now she was about to go pretend to fall in love with him or break up with him or kiss him or — God, she didn’t even know what scene they’d throw at her.

The door opened and a woman in all black peeked out. “Cass? You’re up.”

Cass wiped her palms on her jeans and stood, forcing her shoulders back. This was just work. Just acting.

Inside, the space was warm, lights already set up, cameras idle. And then there he was — leaning against the wall, water bottle in hand, a little grin on his face that didn’t seem like it was trying too hard.

“Hey,” he said, walking over. “You must be Cass.”

“Guilty.” Her voice came out smoother than she expected. Good. Fake it ‘til you make it.

He stuck out his hand. “I’m Drew.”

She took it. His hand was big, warm, a little calloused. “Yeah, I know.”

He laughed at that, the sound low and easy. “Right. Forgot I’m the lead.”

“Forgot? That must be nice. My friend sent me a TikTok thirst edit of you yesterday with zero context.”

His brows lifted in amusement. “Was it the one where I’m shirtless on a dock?”

“It was three of them. You were in the same swim trunks. It’s like your fanbase is a cult.”

Drew tilted his head, still grinning. “You watched all three?”

Cass narrowed her eyes, not taking the bait. “Let’s just say I do my research.”

The director walked in then and handed them pages. “You two’ll read the breakup scene. Start from line 5. We’ll roll in five.”

Cass blinked. “Breakup?”

Drew leaned in, voice soft. “That means we were together first. Don’t worry, I’m great at fake dating.”

“Let’s see if you’re good at fake heartbreak.”

He raised a brow. “Challenge accepted.”

They stepped into their marks, and as the cameras started rolling, Cass felt a flicker of something — heat, nerves, whatever — crawl up her spine. Drew looked at her like he already knew the way she tasted.

She glared back, fully in it now.

This was going to be fun.

The clapperboard snapped shut with a sharp clack. “Scene four, chemistry read. Take one,” the PA called.

Cass barely heard the cue. The moment the red light blinked on, the room around her vanished. She wasn’t in a studio anymore. She was in their character’s apartment — the one they were about to blow up with a breakup.

She straightened, locked eyes with Drew, and when she spoke, her voice was low and even — not Cass, but her character, Lily, cold and controlled on the outside, seething underneath.

“You think this is about one night? That one night I didn’t answer my phone and suddenly I’m the villain?”

Drew’s jaw clenched, the shift immediate. He stepped toward her, eyes narrowing. “You disappeared. For twelve hours. I thought something happened to you.”

Cass scoffed, stepping back with the kind of precision that didn’t feel like a first-timer’s choice. “You don’t get to play the concerned boyfriend now. You don’t get to miss me when the only thing you’ve done for months is keep score.”

A flicker crossed Drew’s expression. Real hurt. Not the actor — the character. He shook his head, his voice quieter now. “That’s not fair, and you know it. You shut down first. You made it impossible to talk to you without feeling like I was stepping into a trap.”

Cass blinked slow, her posture straightening like a final wall going up. Her voice cracked perfectly on the edge of a whisper. “Because I was a trap. I was waiting for you to love me enough to fix me, and you couldn’t.”

Silence.

The room held its breath. Drew looked like he was about to break, and Cass just stood there — chest rising, chin trembling ever so slightly. And then…

“Cut,” the director said, voice almost reverent.

Cass blinked back into the present, all professionalism as she tucked the script under her arm again. Her heart wasn’t racing. Her palms weren’t sweating. She was good. She knew she was good.

Drew looked at her like he didn’t quite know where she’d come from. Still halfway in the scene, he let out a breath and gave a crooked smile.

“Shit,” he murmured, stepping closer. “That was—”

“Yeah?” Cass smirked, all confidence now.

He laughed, brushing a hand through his hair. “Honestly? I thought I’d have to carry the scene. But you—you just demolished me.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Surprised I can act?”

He held his hands up in surrender. “Surprised you can do it that well on day one.”

The director leaned around the camera, beaming. “Chemistry’s not a problem. That felt real.”

🎞️

The camera test was hours ago. Since then, Cass had been yanked from one end of the studio lot to the other — for hair trials, wardrobe fittings, and what she was pretty sure was a mild interrogation by the stylist about her “hair’s aura.” Whatever that meant.

She’d stood on a wooden box in a cold-ass room while someone wrapped a measuring tape around her inner thigh and called it “vibe checking the silhouette.”

She’d been shown mood boards with filtered Pinterest photos of people crying in bathtubs.

She’d had four different foundation shades tested on her neck and two wigs slapped on her head like a Barbie at war.

Now, finally, she was parked on the leather couch outside the production office, a half-eaten apple in one hand and The novel the movie was based on in the other. Her eyeliner was still slightly winged from earlier, and a rogue contour stripe hovered like a ghost along her cheekbone, but she didn’t care.

Her day was nearly done. All that was left was a ten-minute chat with the director about script changes.

And then she could get on the damn bus, meet the girls, and maybe eat something other than set fruit and nerves.

Cass turned the page just as someone’s shadow cut into her light.

She looked up.

Drew.

Walking like a guy who owned every hallway he was in, even with his hoodie on and his lanyard flapping like an amateur. His hair was flattened from the costume department and he had what looked like lipstick smeared on his jaw. Not his shade.

He paused when he saw her.

“Hey,” he said, hands in his hoodie pockets. “You’re still here?”

She bit into her apple, cool as hell. “Waiting to talk to the director.”

Drew frowned. “You didn’t hear?”

Cass raised an eyebrow. “Hear what?”

“The director left early. Emergency or something. Mario said she had to run. They’re rescheduling all her meetings.”

Cass blinked, slowly chewing, then swallowed. “So I’ve been sitting here like a dumbass for thirty minutes.”

He grinned. “You looked chill. I figured you were just… method acting as someone unbothered.”

“Thanks. I was going for hot and misinformed,” she deadpanned.

He laughed, leaning against the doorframe like a scene from a movie he knew how to steal.

“You walking back to wherever you’re staying?” he asked.

Cass narrowed her eyes. “Yeah. Why? You gonna call me an Uber on your actor salary?”

Drew snorted. “Please, I’ve been avoiding my manager for months. I can’t even get Uber Eats approved anymore.”

Cass stood up and dusted off her jeans. “Well then no, I’ll take the bus like the peasant I am.”

He tilted his head. “Peasant, huh?”

Cass shrugged. “What can I say? Me and my girls have 4£ in total.”

Drew blinked. “You’re serious?”

“Oh, dead serious. We’re fugitives with matching debts.”

That made him laugh again, really laugh this time, until he had to tilt his head back and compose himself.

Cass grinned, tossing the rest of her apple into the trash.

“I auditioned for this because it paid daily,” she said, gesturing to the lot, to the production trucks and chaos. “Thought I’d be a blurry background extra. Maybe spill coffee on you and get fired. Didn’t expect to actually be, y’know… Lily.”

Drew looked at her for a second, longer than before. “Well… you nailed her today.”

Cass blinked. Something warm and strange stirred in her stomach.

He stood up straighter, adjusting his hoodie. “Come on. Bus stops get sketchy after 8.”

“Are you walking me to my stop, Drew Starkey?” she asked, teasing.

“I’m protecting the studio’s investment,” he smirked. “You’re the lead, remember?”

Cass shot him a crooked smile, slinging her tote bag over her shoulder. “Aw, that’s sweet. Should I thank you now or wait until you demand credit in my Oscar speech?”

Drew scoffed as they made their way out of the lot, his hands deep in his hoodie pocket. “Definitely the latter. I want at least five seconds of screen time in the ‘inspirational montage’ video.”

They reached the street just as the bus turned the corner and disappeared into the distance, taillights flickering like a middle finger.

Cass blinked. “Wait—was that…?”

She whipped out her phone, tapping the transit app like a woman on a mission. Her brows scrunched. Then she muttered under her breath.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

“What?” Drew asked, leaning over to glance at her screen.

“That was the last bus,” she announced, showing him the app. “Apparently, I’m Cinderella and my carriage just dipped.”

He blinked at her. “Damn. You were cutting it close.”

“I thought I had another twenty minutes!” she protested. “How is it already almost midnight?”

“Probably the seven hours they spent gluing fake lashes to your face.”

“Please. Those lashes were a hazard. I could’ve taken flight.”

Drew chuckled, then reached into his back pocket and pulled out his phone. “Alright, I’m calling you a cab.”

Cass raised an eyebrow. “What, no chariot? No horse-drawn carriage? You’re slacking.”

He ignored her, already swiping through apps. “What’s the name of your hotel?”

Cass narrowed her eyes. “I know it’s a three-star and has continental breakfast.”

“That narrows it down to every hotel in London.”

“Rude.”

He grinned, then looked up. “You’re not staying far, right?”

Cass hesitated. “It’s, uh… like forty-five minutes out. Maybe fifty. If there’s no traffic. Which there won’t be, because it’s midnight.”

He gave her a look. “You’re telling me you were gonna take a night bus alone, across London, in this weather, dressed like that?”

Cass glanced down at her half-buttoned coat, ripped jeans, and graphic tee that said “Thirst Trap in Training.”

“…Yes?”

Drew exhaled through his nose. “Yeah, no. Get your ass in the cab when it gets here.”

“Wow, so bossy all of a sudden.”

“Just considerate of the studio’s investment,” he deadpanned.

She smirked again, folding her arms. “You’re really milking that line, huh?”

“Until it stops working,” he said, stepping closer, his voice a little softer now.

Cass rolled her eyes, not ready to acknowledge the shift in his tone. Instead, she pulled out her phone and started texting.

Cass: Yo where tf are u

Cass: Name of the hotel pls

Cass: HELLO. Cass stranded. SOS.

No answer.

She called. Straight to voicemail.

“Wow,” she muttered, tapping the side of her phone like that would change the outcome. “Useless bitches.”

“Problem?” Drew asked as the headlights of the taxi approached the curb.

“Just trying to get the name of my hotel,” she said casually, but there was a flicker of stress in her voice.

He tilted his head. “You really don’t know where you’re staying?”

“I know it has breakfast and a rude-ass concierge with a bad comb-over. That narrows it down to—like—five.”

The taxi stopped. The driver leaned over to unlock the doors.

Cass tried pulling up her card history, but then remembered the truth like a slap to the face. “Fuck—I paid in cash.”

“Why would you do that?”

“Because I’ve been living on coins and pity! And also,” she paused, “I might be on my parents’ shared bank account, and they think I’m in Moscow.”

Drew blinked. “What?”

“Long story. It involves Magic Mike, Harrods’, and no financial maturity.”

He didn’t even question it.

“Get in the cab,” he said, already opening the door.

Cass hesitated for half a second before sliding in beside him.

The driver looked in the rearview mirror. “Where to?”

Drew buckled his seatbelt and leaned forward. “Corinthia Hotel.”

Cass raised her eyebrows. “Oh, look at you, mister five-star luxury.”

“Don’t be mad at me just because your mystery breakfast inn vanished off the face of the Earth.”

“I’m not mad. I’m jealous.”

He smirked.

“Also, this doesn’t mean I’m staying at your hotel.”

“Sure it doesn’t.”

“I’m serious. I’m gonna sit in the lobby, drink water, and reflect on my life choices.”

“Be my guest.”

There was a beat of silence. Then Cass groaned and leaned her head back against the seat.

“How many minutes until we’re there?” she asked, voice already heavy, eyelids low.

The taxi driver glanced at his GPS. “About thirty-five.”

Cass groaned louder this time, straight from her soul. “Ugh. That’s basically a road trip.”

Drew smirked beside her, resting one arm across the back of the seat. “Tired already?”

“I’m gonna crash and snore like a cartoon bear in ten seconds if we don’t do something,” she muttered, then suddenly perked up and leaned forward between the seats. “Sir—can you play something? I don’t care what. Anything but silence. It’s a death sentence.”

The driver shrugged and flicked on the radio. A fuzzy station crackled through, then cleared up into some overly dramatic love ballad.

Cass blinked. “…Okay, not that.”

Drew laughed under his breath. “You’re so picky.”

“You wouldn’t be saying that if I started crying to this song like it’s prom night and I just got dumped.”

The driver switched stations again. This time, a bouncy throwback from the early 2000s came on. Something poppy and ridiculous.

Cass sat back. “Better. This’ll keep me mildly conscious.”

Then she turned to Drew with a smirk. “If I start singing, you’re legally not allowed to record it or post it online. I don’t trust your fanbase.”

“I would never,” he said with faux innocence.

Cass yawned, one hand flopping lazily onto his arm as her head tipped back against the headrest. “You better not. I’m a national treasure.”

“You’re something, that’s for sure.”

“Shh,” she whispered, dramatically placing a finger to her own lips. “Don’t ruin the moment.”

And with that, she closed her eyes and started mouthing the lyrics like she was a pop star in her own music video—half asleep, borderline delusional, but still Cass to the bone.

Then she startled awake with a sharp inhale, her eyes flying open just as Drew’s hands slid under her legs.

“What the hell are you doing?” she mumbled, flinching, still half-dreaming and blinking in confusion.

Drew froze, one arm already under her knees, the other bracing her back. “Jesus—you were dead asleep. I thought I’d have to carry you in.”

Cass squinted at him like he’d just offered to breastfeed her. “Carry me? What am I, a fainting Victorian housewife?”

“You groaned when I tried waking you up. Like, actual zombie noises.”

She rubbed her face and slumped forward in the seat, her hair a wild mess. “I thought I was in my bed. Then I thought I was being kidnapped. I was about to start swinging.”

Drew chuckled and got out of the cab, reaching back in for her bag.

Cass followed, wobbling a little as she stepped out. “Next time, just slap me.”

“Oh yeah,” he smirked, tossing her bag over his shoulder. “Let me try that and see how fast I get cancelled.”

They walked into the hotel lobby, fluorescent lights too bright, the air conditioning too sharp. Cass yawned again and glanced around, realizing the place was way nicer than anything she and her friends could’ve ever afforded.

She looked at Drew sideways. “If I were you I wouldn’t leave this place until I got my moneys worth.”

“It’s just a hotel, Cass.”

“No, this is capitalism with granite countertops.”

Drew pressed the elevator button and looked over his shoulder at her. “You want the couch or the bed?”

She blinked. “I’m not sleeping in your room.”

“You don’t even know the name of your hotel.”

“Doesn’t mean I��ll let you see me snore.”

He raised a brow. “You already did.”

Cass pointed at him, then at herself. “Fine. Couch. No funny business.”

“Define funny.”

“Drew.”

He smirked as the elevator dinged and the doors opened. “Alright, alright. Just don’t snore louder than the air conditioning and we’re cool.”

The elevator ride was quiet. Too quiet.

Cass shifted her weight from one foot to the other, her hands buried deep in the pockets of her hoodie as the soft hum of the lift filled the silence. The air was cool, sterile, and the overhead light cast an awkward glow over them both.

She stared up at the floor numbers blinking above the doors.

Then at the carpet.

Then at the mirror on the wall.

Mistake.

In the reflection, she saw herself—small, hunched in her coat, messy hair falling around her face—and then she saw him. Drew, tall and straight-backed, arms folded, muscles filling out his black hoodie like a damn billboard. His jaw was sharp even from the side, and his shoulders looked like they could bench press her entire wardrobe.

Cass blinked, glancing down at her own reflection.

Maybe I should hit the gym. Or at least stop skipping breakfast…

She cleared her throat. Loud in the silence.

Drew side-eyed her, like he could sense her overthinking.

“I’m just standing here,” she said quickly, as if that explained her entire mental spiral.

“Cool,” he said.

Cool.

They stood there in mutual silence, the tension as awkward as a church confession. Then, finally—ding. The doors opened.

Cass stepped out like she’d just been released from captivity, letting out a long exhale through her nose.

Drew led the way down the hallway, tapping a keycard against one of the doors. The little light flashed green. He turned the handle and held the door open for her, wordlessly.

She hesitated for a second, then walked past him inside.

“Wow,” she muttered, eyes scanning the room. Big bed. Floor-to-ceiling windows. Plush carpet that made her boots sink in a little. “So this is what ‘having a following on the internet’ gets you.”

Drew dropped the bags by the armchair. “Nah. This is what a good agent gets you.”

Cass scoffed under her breath. “Yeah, well… guess I should work on getting an agent before I start blaming one.”

She didn’t say it like she was embarrassed—just factual. Like someone pointing out the weather. Still, Drew’s brow twitched, just slightly, and she saw him glance her way with something that was almost concern.

She ignored it.

Instead, she walked over to the bed and sat down, bouncing a little against the mattress. It was soft. Too soft. Like the kind of bed that hugged you back.

She exhaled slowly, rubbing her hands over her face. Her makeup was probably halfway melted off, and her legs still ached from the shoot and the walk and the mental whiplash of the entire day.

“I’m gonna be real,” she said, patting the plush comforter under her. “I deeply regret offering to take the couch.”

Drew was halfway through grabbing a bottle of water from the minibar when he glanced over his shoulder, amused. “Then don’t?”

She blinked. “What?”

He straightened up, water bottle in hand. “Don’t take the couch. Just sleep in the bed.”

Cass raised a brow. “With you in it?”

“I didn’t say with me,” he said, unscrewing the cap. “I can take the couch if it really bothers you.”

“It doesn’t,” she said quickly, then paused. “I mean. It’s not like we’re strangers, technically. We’d, uh, have to fake-kiss in front of like thirty people. That’s basically second base, Hollywood-style.”

Drew laughed, head tipping back slightly. “True. And we’ve survived an elevator ride in awkward silence. That’s practically trauma bonding.”

Cass stretched out on the bed dramatically, sighing into the pillow. “Then it’s settled. We’re trauma-bonded co-stars who occasionally share hotel rooms. Very normal. Very adult.”

“Very professional,” Drew added with a smirk.

She grinned into the comforter, already feeling herself melting into the mattress. “God, this bed feels illegal.”

Drew stared for a second, water bottle paused at his lips.

Her shirt had ridden up, revealing the soft slant of her waist. She looked too comfortable—like she belonged there already. Dangerous.

He cleared his throat, trying to sound casual. “How do you sleep?”

Cass rolled her head to the side, peering at him through half-lidded eyes. “Like a rock, why?”

“No, I mean… like PJ-wise.”

She squinted at him, amused. “Are you asking if I sleep naked?”

He didn’t answer, just turned to his wardrobe with a shrug that wasn’t nearly as relaxed as he wanted it to seem.

Cass grinned into the comforter again. “You know, you could’ve just said that.”

“Trying to be polite.” He rifled through a drawer, pulled out a black t-shirt and a pair of boxers. “Here.”

She sat up, taking them from his outstretched hand. “What if I said I do sleep naked?”

Drew glanced at her, eyes sharp. “Then I’d say I’m being generous.”

Cass laughed, standing and heading toward the bathroom. “Relax, Drew. I’ll leave some mystery. For now.”

He watched her disappear around the corner, exhaling hard when the door clicked shut.

Inside the bathroom, Cass peeled off her clothes, tossing them into a pile. The hot water felt like heaven on her skin. She scrubbed off the long day—makeup, nerves, the accidental fame—and finally felt like herself again.

After drying off, she pulled on Drew’s shirt and boxers. The shirt swallowed her, hanging low on her thighs. The boxers were comically loose on her hips, but the cotton was soft and smelled faintly like his cologne.

She went to the sink and reached for the toothbrush without thinking. Midway through brushing, she froze. She stared into the mirror, foam at the corners of her mouth. “Well… too late.”

When she came out, towel in hand as she dried her wet curls, Drew looked up from his phone.

And stared.

The t-shirt practically swallowed her, slipping off one shoulder, and her hair was damp and wild from the shower. She looked fresh-faced and soft and somehow ten times more dangerous than she had in a crop top and eyeliner.

Cass noticed the look.

“What?” she asked, self-aware now as she toed the carpet.

Drew blinked, straightening up. “Nothing. Just… you clean up alright.”

She gave a mock curtsey. “Why thank you, kind sir.”

He shifted, trying to act casual, but the way his grey sweatpants sat low on his hips and the way his shirt clung to his arms made her forget how to be normal for a second.

She walked over to her side of the bed, fluffing a pillow. “You’re really committing to the whole internet’s boyfriend thing with that outfit, huh?”

Drew smirked but didn’t answer, turning toward the bathroom. Cass, lounging with her legs tangled in the blanket and her damp curls fanned across the pillow, called after him casually:

“By the way… I already used your toothbrush.”

There was a beat. Then from the bathroom:

“Ew! Are you serious?”

Cass snorted, flopping onto her side to face the door. “Relax. It’s not like I licked your armpit.”

Drew poked his head back into the room, toothbrush paused midair. His hair was a little messy from running a hand through it, and he looked scandalized in the most dramatic, boyish way.

“Cass, that’s personal hygiene!”

She rolled her eyes, smug. “Okay, grandpa. You do realize we’re literally going to have to kiss for the movie, right?”

He blinked, opening his mouth like he was about to argue—then shut it again.

She grinned wider. “What’s a little plaque exchange between costars?”

Drew narrowed his eyes, muttering something under his breath that sounded like “unbelievable”, then disappeared back into the bathroom.

Cass stretched smugly, folding her arms under her cheek as she stared at the ceiling. After a second, she called out, “Don’t pretend you don’t like it.”

From the bathroom: “I’m pretending so hard right now.”

Cass just smiled into the pillow. Drew came back a minute later, mouth minty, towel slung over his shoulder, eyes sweeping the room.

“Next time, ask,” he said, climbing into bed beside her.

The sheets were cool, the air conditioning humming softly, and the only light left was the faint blue glow from the TV remote across the room. Drew lay on his back, eyes fixed on the ceiling, trying not to make it weird.

But it was weird.

He glanced sideways, catching a glimpse of her silhouette under the blanket. She was still, maybe even asleep already. He let out a breath, unsure why this suddenly felt more intimate than it should.

Then she sat up.

Suddenly. Like she just remembered something urgent.

Drew flinched. “Jesus—what?”

Cass turned toward him, her curls a messy halo, her face mostly shadowed but her tone firm. “Do you have a girlfriend?”

He blinked at her. “What?”

“I just—look, I don’t want to share a bed with you if you’re taken, okay? I’ll go sleep on the couch. Like, in the lobby couch, not here. I don’t care, but I’m not about to get hate-DM’d by some celebrity girlfriend in the morning.”

Her words came out in a blur, fast and jumbled like she’d been holding them in the whole night. She looked ready to kick the blanket off and march straight downstairs in her borrowed boxers and oversized T-shirt.

Drew pushed himself up on one elbow, rubbing his eyes. “No. I don’t have a girlfriend.”

Cass squinted at him. “You sure?”

He let out a breath, half exasperated, half amused. “Yes, Cass. I’m sure. No secret girlfriend, no situationship, no ‘it’s complicated.’”

She stared at him for another beat, like she was measuring the truth in his face.

Then she relaxed, plopping back on the mattress and pulling the covers up to her chin.

“Okay. Good,” she said softly. “Just checking.”

Drew smiled to himself in the dark. “You always interrogate guys you sleep next to?”

“Only the famous ones,” she murmured.

He turned his head on the pillow, one brow arched, lips curling into that lopsided smirk girls lost their minds over on the internet. “Oh yeah? How many famous men have you had in your bed before me?”

Cass rolled her eyes, shifting onto her side to face him. “None,” she said dryly. “You’re the first.”

Drew made a mock gasp, pressing a hand to his chest. “I’m honored.”

She snorted. “Don’t be. I’ve only had like… two unfamous peasants in there before you.”

“Peasants?” he repeated, grinning.

She nodded solemnly. “Truly. One was a DJ who played at a bowling alley. The other one once told me his biggest dream was to own a vape shop chain.”

Drew burst out laughing, hand dragging over his face. “God, the bar is underground.”

Cass grinned, proud. “And yet somehow you still made it under.”

“That so?” he asked, stretching out on the bed beside her, careful to keep to his side—though that invisible line between them had been blurry from the start.

“Mhm,” she said, already yawning. “Don’t worry. You’re still my favorite underground discovery.”

Drew let out a soft laugh, shaking his head as he reached over to flick off the lamp. “You’re not gonna talk in your sleep, are you?”

“I only talk when someone’s worth talking to,” she murmured sleepily, already curling under the sheets like she owned the mattress.

🎞️

3:46 AM

Thud.

“Shit—” Drew groaned, arm hitting the floor first, then shoulder.

From above him, Cass mumbled something unintelligible and rolled further into the warm spot he left behind, sighing contentedly in her sleep.

He sat up slowly, rubbing his hip and glaring at her from the carpet. “Are you serious?”

Cass didn’t answer. Her face was buried in the pillow, hair a curly mess, her limbs sprawled like she’d won a war in her sleep.

He had tried. God, he had tried.

Every time he inched away, she’d unconsciously migrate toward him like a heat-seeking missile—an aggressive one, armed with sharp elbows and wild kicks. At one point she’d dead-legged him right between the thighs. He gave up.

Now here he was: pillowless, blanketless, dignity gone, and defeated on the floor of a luxury suite because some 5’something menace fought him like she was claiming territory.

He lay back down on the carpet with a sigh.

Around 8:11 AM Cass woke up to golden light seeping through the curtains and the scent of hotel sheets. Her body stretched like a cat, one leg slung over a pillow that wasn’t there. She blinked groggily, sitting up slowly, and looked around.

No Drew.

Until she leaned over the side of the bed and spotted him passed out on the floor, one hand flopped over his chest, the other still vaguely gripping the edge of the sheet she must’ve ripped away.

“Oh, no,” she whispered, covering her mouth.

She climbed out of bed, kneeling beside him, shaking his shoulder lightly. “Hey. Drew. Earth to floor prince.”

He stirred with a grunt. “Mmm?”

“I kicked you out of bed, didn’t I?”

“Repeatedly,” he croaked. “Like you were possessed.”

She snorted, laughing softly. “You should’ve pushed me back.”

“I tried,” he said, opening one eye. “You karate chopped me in the ribs.”

Cass clutched her stomach, giggling. “I’m so sorry.”

He sat up with a groan, running a hand through his messy hair. “You slept like it was a WWE match and I was the title belt.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” she smirked, getting to her feet. “You’re barely a participation trophy.”

Drew grinned as he stood, stretching his arms up until his shirt rode up, showing a flash of toned abs. “You owe me breakfast, by the way. For emotional trauma.”

Cass tossed him a pillow from the bed. “Fine. But only if you don’t sue me.”

“Tempting,” he muttered, following her toward the hotel bathroom. “But then I’d miss round two.”

She smirked over her shoulder. “This time I’ll aim higher.”

[bbywhitefox123]

hey ur so good at writing btwww 💞

hiii and tysm <333

[bbywhitefox123]

can u write something where rafe atleast suffer during cath's pregnancy? like the grovelling after what he put her through & trying to get her back lol

Summary: rafe (18) isn't handling this pregnancy any better than cath (17) and it only takes him to see her with jj (17) to spiral, overdose on the beach, wake up in the hospital only to see her soft-launching her new relationship on social media.

Warnings: drug use (coke, alcohol), overdose, addiction, nosebleeds, angst, family conflict, manipulation, mentions of abortion, toxic relationships, jealousy, rage, faint death scare, daddy issues,

MASTERLIST

Rafe woke up with his throat burning, head pounding, chest aching. The yacht again. Always the fucking yacht. Coke dust still smeared across the glass table. Bottles, wrappers, food he didn’t remember ordering. Someone’s dress on the floor. He didn’t bother trying to figure out who it belonged to. He didn’t care.

The room was trashed—like him.

Ever since Catherine had stood in Tannyhill’s dining room with Ward’s eyes drilling holes through her skull, voice trembling as she admitted she was seven weeks pregnant with his baby, Rafe had been waking up here. Alone. Hungover. Empty.

And aching.

He rubbed at his temples, forcing his brain through the static until it pulled up the one thing he wished it wouldn’t: why he ended up here last night.

This mornings around 2 a.m, he’d slipped into the Cameron kitchen, still half-wired from the night before, looking for food. Something to settle his stomach. Something normal. He thought the house would be empty. But Ward walked in, glass in hand, just as Rafe was shoving cold chicken into his mouth.

The silence hit first.

Then Ward’s voice—low, venom curling around the words.

“Look at you. My son. A junkie with a bastard on the way.”

Rafe swallowed too fast, choking, his throat closing. “Dad—”

“You think you’re a man because you can’t keep it in your pants?” Ward’s hand slammed against the counter. “You’ve ruined everything. Your future. This family’s name.”

“I’ll take care of it,” Rafe muttered, but his voice cracked. He knew how weak he sounded.

Ward sneered. “You can’t even take care of yourself.”

The shove came before Rafe could back away. A hard push to the chest, then a fist grabbing his shirt. Spit in his face. A blow to his jaw when he tried to shove Ward off.

Ward’s words hit harder than the fist did.

“You’re a disappointment. Always have been. Always will be. Get the hell out of my house.”

The next thing Rafe remembered was stumbling out, humiliated, shaking, and making a beeline for the yacht.

His phone buzzed on the nightstand, dragging him back. Topper. Blowing up his messages. Something about a fight Rafe started at a party. He squinted, tried to remember throwing a punch, couldn’t. Another blank space.

Checking the time, he figured Ward would be at Cameron Development. Safe enough to sneak into the house. He hated how cautious he’d become in his own home.

Now, the Cameron kitchen felt colder, sterile. He stepped in and froze when Sarah looked up from her bagel.

Her nose wrinkled. “Jesus, Rafe. You look like shit. You good?”

He ignored her, went straight to the fridge, grabbed a bottle of water like it was the only thing tethering him. He didn’t want to talk. He couldn’t.

“Seriously,” Sarah pushed, her voice softer this time. “What’s been going on with you?”

He twisted the cap off, drinking, silent. He thought if he just stayed quiet, she’d drop it.

Then her phone slipped from her hand, clattering on the counter. Sarah’s voice broke the silence again.

“Have you seen Cath?”

Rafe nearly choked, the bottle slipping in his grip. He masked it with a shrug, taking another swig. “Why would I care?”

"I don't know maybe because you've been fucking around?"Sarah frowned, searching his face. “Just, she’s been… weird. Canceling plans, bailing on the girls last minute. Two weeks straight. The last time I saw her, at that party? She didn’t even drink. Not a sip. You know Cath.”

He gritted his teeth. Yeah, he knew Cath. He knew why.

Sarah lowered her voice, the words cutting into him like knives. “I think she might be suicidal.”

The bottle slipped from his hand this time, water spilling across the floor.

And for the first time in weeks, Rafe felt something sharper than the numb ache. Panic.

Rafe sat at the counter, water bottle sweating in his palm. Sarah kept watching him like she could peel him open if she stared long enough. He hated it.

“So you’re still gonna stick tk the 'haven’t talked to her' bit?” Sarah asked carefully.

Rafe gave the laziest shrug he could manage. “Don’t see why I would talk to her.”

Her brows pinched. “Because she’s your—”

“Ex,” he cut in, quick. Too quick. He took another drink to cover it. “We’re done.”

He never told her that, though. Didn't do it over text, call— especially not in person. Not that he couldn't, but because that would be breaking no-contact. Or at least that's what he told himself before doing another line.

Sarah leaned back, frowning. “Funny, she doesn’t act like it. The last time we talked, she asked about y—”

Rafe’s stomach turned, but he forced a smirk. “That’s her problem.”

He pretended it didn’t sting, pretended he hadn’t been checking his phone every night, waiting for her texts he never answered. Pretended he hadn’t saved her voicemails just to hear her voice when he couldn’t sleep.

Sarah let out a sigh, like she was piecing something together. “You know, you don’t have to be a dick about it. She's acting like I broke up with her— At least tell her straight up. She deserves that. And I don't want her to punish me, too.”

He picked at the label on his water bottle. “Maybe. Doesn’t mean I will.”

Before Sarah could bite back, the sound of the front door opening froze Rafe’s spine. Heavy footsteps, then Ward’s voice, sharp against the silence as his phone rang in his hand.

Rafe nearly fell off the counter as he tried to stand up quickly. His father was supposed to be gone.

Ward’s eyes landed on him, and a slow, cruel grin spread across his face. He lifted his phone, flashing the screen. The name lit up clear as day: Charles Welch.

Ward barked out a laugh, mocking. “Would you look at that. Her daddy’s calling again. Eighth time this week.” He glanced between them, savoring the tension. “Guess your little girlfriend’s old man is real eager to get you married off.”

Sarah’s jaw dropped. She turned to Rafe, whispering like she was afraid to be heard. “You proposed?”

Rafe’s heart stalled. His throat worked, but no words came.

Ward’s laughter turned sharp, angry. He slammed the phone down on the counter, making Sarah flinch. “Worse,” he spat. His eyes cut to Sarah. “He got her pregnant.”

Sarah choked so hard she nearly fell out of her chair, coughing, clutching at her throat.

“Rafe,” Ward snapped, pointing. “Get her some water.”

Rafe scrambled, fumbling the bottle from his hand like a trained dog, shoving it into Sarah’s hand. His pulse wouldn’t settle, ears ringing with her wheezing breaths.

Ward leaned against the counter, expression cold, calculating. “Welch thinks he’s clever. Thinks a little mistake can buy his daughter a place at our table.” He sneered. “But I’ll be calling our lawyer. We’ll scare them into an abortion before I have to sue them for trying to trap you into marriage.”

Rafe’s stomach dropped so fast he thought he might puke. Marriage? Suing? A deal? He hadn’t even known. He’d been too busy running from it, too busy numbing himself to see what was happening behind closed doors.

And now Sarah was staring at him like she didn’t recognize him. Like he’d just set fire to her whole world.

Rafe opened his mouth, desperate, like maybe if he got the words out first it would soften the blow. “I’m not even— I’m not talking to Catherine,” he blurted, hands flexing uselessly at his sides. “Haven’t seen her. Haven’t called her. Haven’t—”

He thought it sounded good, thought Ward might take it as him handling the problem.

But Ward just laughed. A harsh, ugly sound that made Rafe flinch.

“Christ, you really think that helps?” Ward shook his head, almost pitying. “You think ignoring her makes the mess disappear? You’re dumber than I thought.”

Rafe felt the sting before he understood it. A slow trickle under his nose. He swiped at it with his sleeve and stared at the red stain.

Ward’s grin widened. “Clean yourself up. All that baby stress' catching up to you.”

The shame was louder than the pounding in Rafe’s head. He shoved the chair in front of him and walked out without another word, without looking back. He couldn’t stand another second under his father’s eyes.

Sarah’s chest still burned from choking, but she forced herself to swallow it down. Her voice shook as she turned to Ward.

“Was that true?” she asked, barely above a whisper. “Did Rafe really—did he really get someone pregnant?”

Ward didn’t even blink. “Yes.” His tone was flat, like it wasn’t worth emotion. Like it was just a nuisance. He picked his phone back up, scrolling, already moving on.

Sarah’s stomach twisted.

Ward glanced up, dismissive. “Go talk some sense into your idiot brother before we’re attending a baby shower and a law case at the same time.”

That was it. No softness. No concern. Just orders.

Sarah’s throat closed. She swallowed hard, grabbed her phone with shaky hands, and bolted out of the kitchen.

Her bare feet pounded up the stairs, pulse racing as she followed the sound of Rafe’s door slamming.

She didn’t even knock. She pushed into his room and froze.

Rafe was sitting on the edge of his bed, head in his hands, blood smeared across his sleeve, his whole body trembling like he couldn’t hold himself together anymore.

“Ray…” Sarah whispered.

He didn’t look up.

Sarah lingered in the doorway, heart thudding so hard she felt it in her throat. Rafe didn’t look at her, just kept pressing his palms into his face like he could block the world out if he pushed hard enough.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Sarah’s voice cracked before she meant it to. “Rafe… why didn’t you tell me Cath was pregnant?”

His head jerked up, blood smeared under his nose, eyes red and wild. “Because it’s none of your fucking business,” he snapped too fast, too sharp.

Sarah’s chest burned. “Not my business? She’s my best friend. You’re my brother. You both—” she cut herself off, shaking her head. “You both let me sit there like an idiot while I thought she was just… being distant. And all this time—”

“Sarah, stop.” Rafe’s voice broke, softer now, almost pleading. He rubbed his sleeve across his nose again, leaving a darker streak of red. “You don’t get it. You can’t tell anyone. Not Top, not your girl friends. No one.”

Her mouth fell open. “You want me to keep it a secret?”

“Yes,” he snapped, then lowered his voice, desperate. “Please. Just… don’t. If you care about me at all, you’ll keep your mouth shut.”

Sarah took a step closer, studying him, searching his face for the brother she remembered. “Rafe, you can’t even look at yourself. And you expect me to keep Cath’s entire life a secret? You got her pregnant—what do you expect me to do?”

His hands raked through his hair, tugging. “I don’t know!” His voice cracked, raw. “I don’t know what the hell I’m doing, okay? Dad’s already talking lawyers, Cath’s probably hating me, and I still lo—” He broke off, biting down hard on the rest.

The silence stretched, thick and heavy.

Finally, Rafe whispered, almost too low to hear:

“If you tell anyone, I’ll lose everything. Just… don’t, Sarah. Please.”

Sarah sat down beside him, the mattress dipping under her weight. She kept her eyes forward at first, like maybe if she didn’t look at him, the lump in her throat would go away.

“Is she… she keeping it?” Sarah asked quietly, almost afraid of the answer.

Rafe turned his head so fast she finally met his eyes. The look he gave her was flat, almost disgusted, like she’d just asked him the dumbest thing in the world.

“Of course she’s keeping it,” he muttered, voice sharp. “Why the hell do you think I’m not talking to her? Why do you think I’ve been—” He cut himself off, motioning vaguely toward his bloody sleeve, his shaking hands, the wreck he was.

Sarah’s stomach sank. Of course. Catherine had told her once—half joking, half dead serious—that she’d never let anyone pressure her into something she didn’t want. If she said she was keeping it, then that was it.

Sarah pressed her lips together, trying to focus on what mattered. But her gaze kept drifting back to him.

More blood.

It was dripping slow and steady from Rafe’s nose now, streaking down to his lip. He sniffed hard, wiped it away like it was nothing, but it smeared across his skin.

“Rafe…” Sarah’s voice wavered. “That’s not normal.”

He barked a laugh that sounded more like a cough. “It’s fine. It happens.”

Her chest tightened. “It happens? What does that even mean?”

“It means I’m fine,” he snapped, louder this time, his shoulders tense. “It means you don’t need to freak out, Sarah.”

But his words didn’t match the picture. The hollow under his eyes, the constant tremor in his hands, the way his breathing hitched like his chest was too tight.

Sarah swallowed hard, looking at her brother—the real him, not the mess he’d built around himself. “You’re not fine.”

For the first time, Rafe didn’t argue. He just stared at the floor, blood still slipping down, and let the silence eat the room.

The blood didn’t stop.

By the third day, it wasn’t just once or twice—Rafe would wipe his nose and come back ten minutes later with another tissue full of red. He’d wake up to crusted streaks and vodka bottles on his pillow. At first, he told himself it was nothing. Then, when Sarah started hovering, he told her she was overreacting. But deep down, he knew. His body was starting to turn on him.

Sarah had tried everything. Talking to him, pleading, yelling. She even went tried calling Catherine—her best friend since middle school—thinking maybe if Cath begged him, he’d listen. But Cath hadn’t said a word back. Then she blocked Sarah instead.

So Sarah was left with him. The brother she didn’t recognize anymore. The brother who shook in his bed at 3 a.m., strung out and wide awake because the second he let the high wear off, his brain went straight to Catherine. To the baby. To futures he didn’t want to picture.

One where he ended up like the pogue dads on the cut—kids everywhere, no money, no way out. One where he stayed with Catherine and let himself get chained to a life he couldn’t handle. Another one where he ignored her and the baby and pretended he could still be Ward’s perfect heir.

The coke quieted it. For a while.

But sometimes, even with powder in his veins, the noise broke through. And on those nights, he played Catherine’s voicemails.

Her crying voice filled the room like a knife twisting in his chest: “Rafe, please. I’m scared. I can’t do this by myself. I need you.”

Sometimes she cursed him, spat venom between sobs. Sometimes she just cried, her voice so small it made his skin crawl. But he’d listen anyway, headphones in, staring at the ceiling. Because at least then he knew she was still alive.

Sarah’s words haunted him: I think she might be suicidal.

The thought made his stomach clench, but he never called her back. Never texted. He should’ve blocked her number, should’ve cut it off completely. But then the messages stopped on their own. No more texts. No more voicemails. Just silence.

And somehow, that felt worse.

It took Sarah cornering him in the hallway, shoving a wad of bloody tissues into his chest, for him to give in.

“You’re going to the hospital,” she said, her voice shaking, her eyes wide and terrified.

“I’m fine,” Rafe muttered, brushing her off.

“You’re not fine,” Sarah snapped, louder this time. “You’re bleeding every damn day, you’re not sleeping, you’re not eating—you’re gonna die if you don’t stop.”

Rafe tried to laugh, but it came out cracked. “Maybe then Dad would notice I tried.”

Sarah’s hands flew to her mouth, her eyes wet. “Don’t say that.”

The silence after was so heavy it made him dizzy. He shoved past her, but she grabbed his arm.

“Hospital. Today. Or I tell Dad everything.”

That hit harder than any blow Ward had ever landed. If Ward learned it was cocaine that caused his nosebleeds, Rafe wouldn't just get a punch in the face.

So Rafe let her drag him there. Sat in the passenger seat, head leaned back, tissue clamped against his nose, the whole world tilting sideways.

For once, he didn’t fight her. Because maybe—just maybe—if he didn’t, she’d keep her word. About not telling their father about his addiction, not telling her friends about his baby. Just shutting the fuck up for once in her life.

The exam room smelled like antiseptic and paper. Rafe sat on the crinkling paper sheet, hoodie pulled low, arms folded, trying to look smaller than he was. Sarah hovered in the chair, her knee bouncing so hard it made the floor shake.

The doctor flipped through Rafe’s chart, humming. “So. You’ve been experiencing frequent nosebleeds?”

“Not that frequent,” Rafe muttered, shrugging.

Sarah’s head whipped toward him. “Every day. Sometimes twice.”

The doctor raised a brow, looking back at him. “Any chest pain? Shortness of breath? Difficulty sleeping?”

“No.”

Sarah cut in again. “Yes. He doesn’t sleep. He barely eats. He—”

“Sarah, shut up,” Rafe snapped, heat rushing to his face.

The doctor ignored the outburst, jotting notes. “Do you use any substances? Cocaine, for example?”

Rafe’s chest tightened, but he forced a scoff. “No. I don’t do that shit.”

Sarah made a strangled sound. “Are you serious?”

Rafe shot her a look that could’ve cut glass. His hands were clammy, his pulse racing. He knew the doctor didn’t buy it—knew Sarah definitely didn’t—but what was he supposed to do? Admit it? Admit that every line was the only thing keeping him from thinking about Catherine’s voicemails? About the baby he’d begged her not to keep?

The doctor sighed. “Well, I’m ordering some labs. Nosebleeds can be caused by dryness or stress, but given your symptoms, I’d like to rule out more serious issues.”

Rafe nodded quickly, desperate to get out.

The hallway felt colder when they left. Rafe shoved his hands into his hoodie pocket, head down, ready to bolt. But then movement caught his eye near the bathrooms.

He froze.

Catherine.

She walked between her parents, arms folded, face pale. She didn’t look like herself—dark circles under her eyes, frame thinner than he remembered. If anything, she looked like she was shrinking, cutting herself down. She wasn’t showing yet, but Rafe’s chest ached anyway, because he knew. He knew why she looked hollow. He knew what was keeping her up at night. Or at least he did when she used to leave him voicemails.

What he didn't know was thar her mother had insisted she see a doctor here—not at some luxury gynecologist in Figure Eight—because that would’ve drawn too many questions, too much attention. The irony was cruel: walking into the hospital flanked by her parents drew stares anyway.

Rafe’s heart slammed against his ribs. His palms went sweaty, his mouth dry. He couldn’t move.

And then Charles Welch looked up. His gaze locked on Rafe, hard and unflinching. That was all it took. Catherine’s eyes followed her father’s, and when she saw him—really saw him, not the instagram pics where he looked like the king of figure eight—the air went out of his lungs. They locked eyes.

Her face flickered—shock, hurt, something else he couldn’t name. Rafe took half a step forward without meaning to.

But before he could, Charles was already storming across the hallway toward him.

“Dad, don’t—” Catherine hissed, trying to grab his arm. But her mother caught her wrist, holding her back, voice sharp in her ear.

“Stay out of this, Catherine.”

Rafe’s stomach twisted.

Sarah noticed the shift in the air and followed his stare. When she saw Catherine, her chest lifted with something close to relief. She almost smiled. Her best friend. Finally.

But Catherine’s eyes flicked to Sarah, and when she saw her walking over, she spun around. She tugged at her mother’s arm, desperate to leave.

It was too late.

Sarah was already reaching for her.

And Charles Welch was already in Rafe’s face.

His hand clapped down on Rafe’s shoulder before he could step back. The older man’s smile was wide, but his grip was iron.

“Rafe Cameron,” Charles said smoothly, like they’d just run into each other at some charity gala instead of a hospital hallway. “What a surprise. Been a while since I’ve seen you.”

Rafe stiffened, throat tight. He expected fury, yelling. But instead, Charles leaned in with the warmth of a salesman.

“You look… well,” Charles added, even though Rafe’s hoodie was stained, his nose still faintly red from the bleeding. “You know, I’ve been meaning to call you myself. I think it’s important for us to talk about the future.”

Rafe blinked, heat prickling the back of his neck. “The future?”

“Yes.” Charles’s voice dropped just enough for it to sound like a secret between them. “You’re young. You make mistakes. But a mistake can be… redirected. Into something good. Solid. Marriage, for instance. A real partnership.”

The word made Rafe’s stomach twist. He almost shook him off, almost told him to go to hell. But Charles’s hand was heavy, his smile unrelenting.

A few feet away, Sarah reached Catherine.

“Cath—hey.” Sarah’s voice cracked with the kind of warmth she used to reserve for late-night sleepovers, whispered secrets under blankets.

Catherine’s body tensed, her hand tightening around her mother’s sleeve. She didn’t turn at first.

Sarah’s chest ached. “Why’d you block me?” she asked gently, pretending she didn’t already know, pretending the truth wasn’t already sitting heavy between them. “I mean—I thought we were fine. You just… disappeared.”

Catherine finally looked at her. Her eyes were bloodshot, rimmed with exhaustion.

“I couldn’t, Sarah,” she whispered. “I just… couldn’t.”

Sarah forced a small, wavering smile, like she was trying to make sense of it. “Couldn’t what? Couldn’t talk to me? I’m your best friend. You don’t have to go through—whatever this is—alone.”

Catherine shook her head, biting her lip. “You don’t understand.”

Back with Rafe, Charles gave his shoulder a squeeze, his tone still warm, almost fatherly.

“You’ve got potential, son. You’re a Cameron. With Catherine by your side, you’d be unstoppable. Two families, united. Everyone wins.”

Rafe swallowed hard, palms sweating. He didn’t miss the weight under the words—the deal being struck whether he wanted it or not.

But all he could think about was Catherine a few feet away, looking smaller than he remembered, talking to Sarah in a voice that sounded more broken than he’d ever heard.

And the guilt burned hotter than the coke ever did.

Sarah bit her lip, steadying her voice. “I just thought… you shouldn't take it out on me just because my brother broke up with you.”

Catherine froze. Her brows furrowed as she turned her head, eyes flicking over Sarah’s shoulder to where Rafe stood with her father.

“Breakup?” she echoed, confusion sharp in her tone.

The word landed between them like a brick.

Catherine’s chest tightened. She could’ve figured—Rafe hadn’t answered her texts, her calls, not even the voicemails where she’d begged him—but hearing it phrased like that, as if it had already been decided without her, made her throat close. He could’ve at least told her. Said it to her face like he did so many times with the abortion.

She glanced at her mother, silently begging for an out. Her mother’s hand was firm on her arm, pulling her back, lips pursed in warning. “We need to go, Catherine.”

But Sarah stepped forward, desperation spilling out. “No—we’re not doing this. I know.”

Catherine froze again, her pulse hammering. “Know what?”

“I know you’re pregnant,” Sarah whispered.

The world tilted. Catherine’s stomach dropped.

Meanwhile, Charles kept his smile pinned in place, though his grip on Rafe’s shoulder grew tighter. “You’re nervous. I get it. But marriage is the only way this ends clean. Protects you both, protects the families.”

Rafe’s jaw clenched. He couldn’t look at him, not with Catherine standing a few feet away, pale and exhausted. “You want my honesty?” he muttered. “Marriage isn’t the answer. She should… she should just get rid of it. That’s the only way either of us have a future.”

Charles blinked, his mask slipping for a fraction of a second. “Get rid of it?”

“Yeah.” Rafe’s voice hardened. “You think this baby’s gonna save us? It’s gonna ruin us. Her. Me. Everything. If you care about her future, talk her into an abortion.”

The smile vanished completely. Charles straightened, releasing his grip like Rafe’s skin burned him. For the first time, his eyes were cold, calculating in a different way.

And in that moment, Charles Welch realized there would be no alliance, no business deal. Just a Cameron boy trying to bury his daughter’s existence.

His lips curled. “You’re not coming near Catherine again.”

Charles’s polished shoes clicked against the floor as he strode back toward his daughter, his expression darker than when he’d left.

Meanwhile Sarah was clutching Catherine’s wrist, her words spilling out in a rush. “Cath, listen—he’s not okay without you. He’s spiraling. I swear to God, he’s a mess. I’m not making it up.”

Catherine’s eyes narrowed, exhaustion etched into the bruised circles beneath them. “Jesus, Sar... You don't have to lie.”

“I’m not.” Sarah leaned closer, lowering her voice. “Whether you keep the baby or not, you two should be together. Get through this together. Or—or at least don’t shut me out. Don’t cut me off, too. I’m still your best friend, Cath.”

Her mother’s sharp voice cut between them. “That’s enough.” Her nails dug into Catherine’s arm as if she could anchor her to her side. “The baby is being aborted. End of discussion. Catherine doesn’t need a manchild like Rafe Cameron, or a so-called friend who thinks encouraging her to throw away her life is helpful.”

Sarah’s mouth fell open. Shock burned across her face. “You—you can’t just decide that for her Mrs.—”

“Someone has to,” her mother snapped, tugging Catherine closer.

Sarah turned her wide eyes on Catherine. “And you’re just going to let her? Let her do all the talking for you? As if she even knows what’s really happening? She’s barely home, Cath! She doesn’t see you at three in the morning when you can’t breathe, when you’re—”

“Stop.” Catherine’s voice cracked, but she forced steel into it. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

Sarah’s heart sank.

That was when Charles reached them, his hand firm on Sarah’s shoulder as he pulled her bodily back from Catherine. His genial tone was gone, replaced with something colder, meaner. “You stay away from my daughter,” he told Sarah, then lifted his gaze to Rafe still frozen down the hall. “Both of you. No more manipulations. No more games.”

Sarah’s brows pinched in disbelief. “Manipulations?”

Charles’s jaw tightened. His earlier warmth had vanished completely, his voice sharp enough to cut. “Don’t think I don’t see what’s happening here. You’re not baby-trapping my daughter into your mess of a family.”

Sarah’s voice broke through Charles’s warning, sharp and defiant. “Funny, because I’m the last person to find out about any of this! Everyone knows—her, Rafe, you two—and I’m just standing here in the dark. And now you want me to stay quiet? No. I won’t.”

“That’s enough,” Catherine’s mother snapped. “You don’t get to insert yourself in our family’s decisions.”

“Decisions?” Sarah laughed bitterly. “It’s Catherine’s life, not yours. Or are you so busy settling back into your house that you can’t see she’s drowning?”

The two women squared off, Sarah trembling with frustration while Catherine’s mother’s face hardened with cold disdain. Charles cut in, his voice firm and final: “We’re not discussing this further.”

Catherine looked between them, her face burning as she realized a few elderly patients down the hall had turned in their seats, watching the scene unfold like it was a play. Humiliation swept over her. She didn’t say a word—just spun on her heel and stormed toward the staircase.

She passed by Rafe on her way out. For the briefest second her eyes flicked to his, unreadable, before she muttered, “You should help your sister.” Then she was gone, her figure swallowed by the stairwell before either parent or Sarah realized.

Rafe took one step after her, heart thrumming, but then stopped. His sneakers rooted to the floor. He let her go.

A week passed in silence. Catherine didn’t reach out. Neither did Rafe. And Sarah, wounded by the hospital debacle, all but buried the friendship she’d once treasured. Whenever Catherine’s name slipped into her mind, it came out of her mouth as a curse instead.

At Tannyhill, no one mentioned Catherine at all—not Ward, not Rose, not even Sarah when she was with her father. The only time her name surfaced was in hushed tones, murmured by Ward’s lawyer behind closed doors.

🌧

The heat clung heavy over the sand, the tide lazily lapping at the shore. Out by the beach bar, Rafe leaned against the railing with a bottle in his hand, sun glaring off the glass.

Sarah stood beside him, arms crossed tight, watching him tilt the bottle back. “You think that’s better?” she asked bitterly, nodding toward the drink.

Rafe smirked, holding the bottle up between them. “See? I’m off coke. You should be proud.”

But his voice was thick with sarcasm, and Sarah’s jaw clenched. She wasn’t laughing. Especially not with the memory of his tissues stuffed with blood, the way his nose hadn’t stopped bleeding this morning, too.

“Alcohol instead of coke,” she muttered. “Yeah, that’s real progress, Rafe.”

He only shrugged, another long pull from the bottle burning down his throat.

Rafe tipped the bottle again, the liquid sloshing inside. “You don’t need to babysit me, Sarah.”

“You think this is babysitting? This is me making sure you don’t kill yourself before you’re twenty-one.”

He rolled his eyes, smirking like her words bounced right off. “Relax. I’m fine. I don’t need a quick fix every second, alright?”

“You say that with a beer in your hand,” she shot back, arms crossed.

“Better than a rolled-up bill,” he muttered.

That jab only made her angrier.

Rafe raised his beer, smirking. “Y'know what, Sarah? You should learn to be grateful— I’m doing what you wanted. No coke. Just a drink.”

Sarah snatched the bottle out of his hand and set it down hard on the table. “You think drowning yourself in alcohol is any better?”

“Better than a nosebleed every five minutes,” he shot back, reaching for it again.

She blocked his hand. “You’re not funny, Rafe. You’ve been bleeding for weeks. That’s your body screaming at you to stop.”

He leaned back in his chair, rolling his eyes. “I think you're caring a little too much about my body, Sarah. It's starting to feel a little bit weird.”

Her jaw tightened. “You’re my brother. Who else is supposed to?”

He gave her a sarcastic grin. “Oh, so this is family bonding? Sitting at a bar, nagging me to death?”

“Better than watching you snort yourself to death.” She folded her arms. “You think I like being here? You think I don’t have better things to do than play nurse?”

“Then go,” Rafe snapped, grabbing his beer. “No one asked you to follow me around like some—”

“Some what?” she cut him off, voice sharp. “The only person who actually gives a shit about whether you wake up tomorrow?”

He tilted the bottle toward her, smirk twitching at his lips. “Newsflash, Sarah: I wake up fine. Every day. Don’t need you hovering over me like I’m ten.”

Her laugh was humorless. “Fine? You call bleeding out your nose and shaking at night fine? You’re delusional.”

“Yeah, well,” he muttered, taking a swig, “delusional feels a hell of a lot better than sober.”

Sarah stared at him, disgust and worry battling on her face. Before she could fire back, her phone buzzed in her pocket. She pulled it out and groaned.

“Don’t answer,” Rafe told her, voice flat as he read Topper’s name on the screen. He knew Top was going to ask about Rafe again.

But she was already walking away, lifting the phone to her ear. “Hey, Top.” Her voice grew faint as she headed down the beach.

Rafe turned back toward the bar, hands clammy. His throat was dry, chest tight. He slipped a hand into his pocket, tugged out the small plastic bag. He barely looked at the bartender as he spread it against the polished wood and snorted a quick line. The sting hit his nose sharp, familiar. Relief pricked at his veins.

When he turned, though, the world didn’t make sense anymore. For a second he thought it was the coke, thought maybe he’d finally pushed himself into a hallucination—or worse, maybe he’d died and this was his hell.

Because there she was. Catherine. Sitting only a few barstools away.

She hadn’t noticed him, too busy with her ex beside her. JJ Maybank leaned in, grinning like the fool he was, eyes glued to her face.

Rafe’s chest seized.

JJ’s voice carried over the low thrum of music and chatter: “So what’ve you been up to? You never called me back.”

Catherine’s lips curved into that lazy smirk she wore like armor. “I’ve been busy.”

“Busy, huh?” JJ chuckled, leaning closer. “Summer break’s coming up. Graduation’s a few months away. You’ll have time for me then.”

She laughed under her breath, that mean little kook-girl laugh, sharp and effortless. And JJ—dumb, funny, hopeless JJ—was still eating it up, leaning closer like he hadn’t learned a thing.

Rafe gripped his beer so hard his knuckles whitened. His pulse pounded in his ears. He wasn’t sure if he was going to explode or crumble.

JJ tilted his head toward her, grin lopsided. “C’mon, Cathy. Admit it. You missed me.”

Catherine’s nails traced the rim of her glass, cool and detached. “Maybe a little,” she teased, though her tone made it impossible to tell if she meant it.

Rafe’s jaw tightened. He was eavesdropping hard, every word between them landing like a blow. He lifted his beer, forcing it to his lips, trying to look casual, trying to remind himself he wasn’t supposed to care. He had no claim. He’d made sure of that.

But fuck, did he want to knock JJ Maybank straight off that stool. Just smash his smirking face into the bar and remind him Catherine wasn’t his.

Ex, his mind hissed, like correcting himself made it easier. It didn’t.

JJ leaned in even closer, his voice low but still audible over the music. “We had a good time back then. Don’t tell me you don’t think about it sometimes.”

Rafe’s knuckles went white against the bottle. He ground his teeth so hard his jaw ached. He tried not to move, not to twitch, not to give himself away.

So caught up in not throwing a barstool through JJ’s skull, he didn’t notice Catherine’s eyes flick over her shoulder. For the briefest moment, she froze—her gaze locking right on him.

But then she turned back like she hadn’t seen a thing. Like he wasn’t even there.

Her smirk sharpened as she set her drink down. “Alright, Jay. Tonight.”

JJ’s grin widened. “Knew you couldn’t resist me.”

Rafe felt the floor tilt beneath him, like the air had been sucked out of the bar. His chest burned, his throat tight.

He wasn’t supposed to react. He wasn’t supposed to care.

But fuck, she just agreed to go out with that Maybank trash.

And Rafe could feel the coke and the alcohol swirling with rage in his bloodstream, ready to detonate.

Rafe stood up so fast the barstool screeched against the wood. His chest felt too tight, like he couldn’t breathe, like if he stayed there another second he’d snap JJ Maybank’s neck in front of everyone. He grabbed his half-finished beer and stormed off.

“Hey! Can’t take that outside!” the bartender yelled after him, but Rafe didn’t slow. He didn’t care. The only thing he cared about was how his pulse thundered in his ears, how his palms were slick, how the world tilted around him.

He shoved past the door, nearly colliding with Sarah. She was still pressed to her phone, Topper’s voice spilling out faintly from the speaker. “Where are you going?” she asked quickly, frowning, but Rafe didn’t answer. Didn’t even hear her.

He stumbled into the sand and dropped down hard, straight into the middle of some kid’s half-finished castle. The little moat and towers crumbled under him, grains sticking to the sweat on his arms. He didn’t move. Didn’t apologize.

Instead he stared out at the water, waves pulling in and out, trying to sync his lungs to the tide instead of the pounding ache in his chest.

Why did he care?

He didn’t want to be a husband. He didn’t want to be a father. He wasn’t cut out for any of that. He’d told himself that a hundred times, made it his excuse for everything. So why the fuck did the thought of Catherine with JJ Maybank feel like it was tearing him apart from the inside out?

JJ wouldn’t want the baby. Catherine’s parents wouldn’t accept him, a pogue. And Catherine didn’t love JJ. She couldn’t. Because she’d said it to him. To Rafe. She told him she loved him, whispered it against his skin like it was the most natural thing in the world. She still did. Right?She still loved him. Only him. Right?

His stomach lurched like he might vomit right there in the sand. His hands shook as he pulled the little bag from his pocket, heart hammering. He bent low, snorting a line off the back of his hand before he even thought about it, desperate to shove the ache back down, to fill the empty places with numbness.

Her laugh echoed in his mind. The laugh she gave him. That soft, cruel, beautiful laugh that used to be only his—until it wasn’t. Until she’d given it to JJ too. Back when she cheated with him behind JJ’s back, when she was his secret. His girl.

Rafe’s chest heaved as he rubbed the residue from his nose, then bent down again. He needed more. Needed it quiet. Needed the storm in his chest to fucking stop.

He snorted another line. And then another.

Until all he could hear was the ocean and the blood in his ears.

He didn’t stop. One line turned into two. Two into three. His knees sank deeper into the ruined sandcastle as if the earth itself was swallowing him whole. His head throbbed, heart hammering so hard it hurt, like every vein was trying to split open under his skin. He groaned into the crook of his arm, a sound raw and broken, like he was begging the ocean to drown him.

Why couldn’t he breathe? Why did her laugh keep echoing, taunting him? Why did it feel like she’d ripped his heart out and left it there in the sand to bleed?

His palms were white with powder. His throat raw from swallowing it back. He didn’t know if he was punishing himself or just clawing for a fix. Maybe both. Maybe that was all he was—punishment and addiction wrapped in a Cameron name.

By the time Sarah finally noticed, stepping out from the bar, he was facedown in the wet sand where the tide met the shore, waves creeping up over his shoes, then his legs. She screamed his name, sprinted toward him, shoving his shoulder with both hands. He didn’t move. His skin was pale, lips cracked, powder clinging to his nose.

“Rafe! No, no, no, wake up! Rafe!” she shrieked, dragging him by the arms, the sea soaking her jeans. People on the beach turned to look. Someone called for help. But Sarah barely heard. All she saw was her brother’s chest stuttering for air, his body limp in her hands.

Meanwhile Catherine tilted her head back and laughed. JJ grinned, leaning across the bar table with that lazy Pogue charm, asking her what she wanted to do tonight. She smirked, twirling her straw. She said yes to dinner before she could think. Yes to seafood, yes to the escape, yes to pretending she wasn’t falling apart.

The world was white when Rafe opened his eyes again. White ceiling. White sheets. The sharp antiseptic sting of a hospital room. His head pounded, the ache worse than any hangover. His throat felt like sandpaper.

Voices murmured from the corner. His father, Ward Cameron, speaking in that low, firm voice he used for business meetings and bad press. “An overdose, you’re saying?”

The doctor hesitated. “He’s lucky to be alive.”

Rafe shut his eyes again, shame burning hot in his chest. He reached blindly for the table. His phone. He needed it. He needed her.

The screen lit up under his thumb, and before he could think about burners or hiding, he typed her name. Her profile popped up instantly. And right there—her story.

A candlelit table. Her hand in JJ Maybank’s. Both laughing, both glowing in that fake golden light. Across the picture, scrawled in bold white letters: The IT couple is back.

For a second, everything inside him went silent.

Then rage tore through him, so fast it made his whole body shake. His chest burned, his vision blurred, his breath came ragged. A broken sound clawed out of his throat as he hurled the phone across the room. It smashed against the window, screen splintering into jagged spiderweb cracks before clattering to the floor.

The doctor flinched. Ward turned, face darkening, but Rafe didn’t even see them anymore. He only saw her hand in JJ’s. And the taste of powder still in the back of his throat.

He got rid of her. He got what he wanted, but why did it feel like he lost her?

[bbywhitefox123]

Hii i think a fic where either rafe or catherine have a dream that the other cheated on them and how it affects them (or you could do each of their reactions) would be quite funny, you could involve the children too I can just imagine the dramatics in the house😭

Ps: I love your writing and thought you would eat at this💓

Summary: catherine and rafe spiral into mutual suspicion, both convinced the other is cheating. their paranoia bleeds into the household until a tense dinner turns into a brutal fight in the bedroom. insecurities and old wounds surface, but when rafe finally breaks, catherine comforts him. later, their son bradley overhears the argument and asks to sleep in their bed, grounding rafe in the family he fears losing.

Warnings: NSFW (smut), oral (f receiving), angst, marital conflict, insecurity, miscommunication, jealousy, fears of infidelity, references to past infidelity, brad overhearing parents fight

Masterlist

AN// did i eat? Also I still had stuff to write, but tumblr started lagging, so if the chapter feels half-done that's because it is

Rafe jolted awake, chest heaving. His skin was damp with sweat, the sheets tangled around his legs. His heart was still hammering from the dream — a fucked-up, vivid image of Catherine laughing in someone else’s arms, lips pressed to another man’s neck.

It wasn’t real. He knew that. But the knot in his stomach didn’t care.

Beside him, Catherine lay on her side, her breathing slow and steady. Her hair was messy, spilling over the pillow, her thin nightgown riding up just enough to reveal the curve of her thigh.

Rafe shifted closer, the heat of her body seeping into him, chasing away the cold twist of jealousy still coiled in his gut. He brushed his lips against her bare shoulder, lingering there.

She stirred slightly, mumbling in a sleepy voice, “You’re sweaty…” but she didn’t move away, just sighed and melted back into her dreams.

Rafe smiled faintly, his jealousy twisting into something darker, needier. He kissed her again, lower this time, letting his mouth trail down her shoulder to the smooth skin of her upper arm. His fingers toyed with the hem of her nightgown, pushing it up inch by inch.

Her skin was warm under his palms, soft, familiar, and his. He slid his hand between her thighs, finding exactly what he expected — bare heat, warm and already a little damp.

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, pressing a kiss to the back of her neck as his fingers teased her folds, spreading slickness over her clit.

Catherine let out a faint hum in her sleep, hips shifting unconsciously toward him.

“You’re mine,” Rafe whispered, his voice low and hoarse, slipping a finger into her tight warmth. She clenched around him instinctively, even in sleep, and it made his cock twitch hard against her.

He pushed the nightgown higher, baring her completely to him. His mouth trailed down her spine, open-mouthed kisses branding her skin as his fingers worked her slowly, deliberately.

When he finally slid down the bed and knelt between her legs, he spread her open carefully so she wouldn’t fully wake. He leaned in and dragged his tongue from her entrance to her clit in one slow, wet stroke.

She moaned softly, still half-asleep, her hips rolling back toward his mouth.

Rafe held her there, tasting her lazily, possessively, until the dream’s ugly residue was gone, replaced with the sweet, intoxicating reality of her.

Rafe stayed there between her thighs, his hands gripping her hips so tightly it was almost a warning. His tongue moved in slow, deliberate circles over her clit, stopping just to suck gently before dragging back down to taste her again.

In his head, the dream still flickered like an unwanted film reel — her laughing with someone else, touching someone else — and every lap of his tongue felt like reclaiming her.

No one else gets to taste you. No one else gets to make you sound like this.

She stirred above him, her thighs twitching slightly. “Mmm… too early…” she mumbled into the pillow, voice thick with sleep.

Rafe smirked against her, licking deeper. “It’s never too early to remind you who loves you, baby,” he murmured into her skin, before sealing his mouth over her clit and sucking harder.

She let out a soft, confused whimper, still not fully awake, hips shifting away only for his hands to pull her back against his mouth.

“That’s it… give it to me,” he whispered between licks, his voice dark and low. “You’re mine, Cath. Always fucking mine.”

His tongue pushed inside her, fucking her slow and deep while his thumb pressed against her clit. She moaned again, longer this time, the sound turning needy as her body started to wake up to the sensation.

Her eyes fluttered open, the blurry haze of morning clearing just enough to register the sight — Rafe Cameron between her spread legs, nightgown bunched up around her waist, his messy hair between her thighs as his mouth worked her like she was the only thing he’d ever need.

“Rafe…” she gasped, her voice breaking into a moan at the sight of him.

He looked up at her through his lashes, his mouth glistening with her, and grinned — dark, wicked, possessive. “Morning, baby,” he said, before going right back to devouring her, hungrier than before.

Her head fell back against the pillow, hips rocking helplessly into his face as he groaned against her, like her taste alone was enough to undo him.

Rafe’s pace quickened, his mouth working her clit in steady, relentless circles while two fingers slid inside her, curling perfectly to make her cry out.

Her thighs trembled, breath hitching as the heat in her belly coiled tighter and tighter.

“Rafe—” she gasped, voice breaking into a moan.

“That’s it, baby,” he growled against her, sucking harder. “Come for me. Right on my fucking tongue.”

The knot inside her snapped, her orgasm hitting hard. Catherine arched against him, a sharp cry leaving her lips as her body shuddered. Rafe didn’t let go — he held her there, mouth locked to her, swallowing every drop she gave him.

When she slumped back into the mattress, shaking, he kept licking her in slow, lazy strokes, cleaning her up. She whimpered, hips twitching at the sensitivity.

“Too much…” she breathed, her voice half-pleading, half-laughing.

He kissed the inside of her thigh, tasting the last of her release. “Never too much for me.”

Pushing her nightgown up further, he trailed open-mouthed kisses along her stomach, her ribcage, the dip of her sternum. She could feel his body stretching over hers, the mattress dipping as he caged her in.

When his mouth reached hers, he kissed her deeply, hungrily, letting her taste herself on his tongue.

Her eyes fluttered closed, the heat between them reigniting instantly.

“Mmm…” she hummed into his mouth, curling her fingers into his hair.

Rafe pulled back just enough to smirk, his breath hot on her lips. “Now you know how fucking sweet you are.”

Rafe didn’t break eye contact as he reached down, pushing his sweatpants low enough to free himself. He was already hard — painfully so — just from tasting her.

Her nightgown was bunched up around her ribs now, her bare body open and waiting for him. Still sensitive from her orgasm, Catherine’s thighs twitched as he guided himself to her entrance.

He rubbed the thick head of his cock against her folds, coating himself in her slick before pressing in.

She gasped, her body instinctively trying to stretch around him. “Rafe…”

“Shh,” he murmured, his voice low and rough, “You can take it. You’re mine — every tight, wet inch of you.”

He pushed deeper, her walls clenching around him, swallowing him in a way that made his jaw tighten. She was so hot and slick, gripping him like she’d never let go.

Rafe groaned, hips pressing flush against hers, buried to the hilt. “Fuck… no one gets to feel this but me.”

The words came harsher now, the dream flashing behind his eyes — her mouth on another man, her laugh, that look she gave him in his nightmare. It made something feral snap inside him.

He started moving harder, thrusts deep and sharp, his hands pinning her hips so she couldn’t squirm away.

“You think I’m letting anyone else touch you?” His voice was a snarl now, each thrust punctuating the question. “You’re mine, Catherine. Say it.”

She moaned, overwhelmed, the mix of intensity and his jealous heat making her head spin. “I’m y-yours, Rafe—”

“Louder.”

“I’m yours!” she cried, nails digging into his shoulders.

He leaned down, kissing her like he was sealing the claim, his tongue sweeping into her mouth as he pounded into her. The slap of skin, her breathless cries, and his ragged groans filled the room.

Her body tightened around him again, the overstimulation from her earlier orgasm making every thrust feel unbearable in the best way.

“That’s it, baby,” he growled against her lips, “Squeeze me just like that. Milk my cock. Show me no one else could ever fuck you like I do.”

She shattered under him, crying out as her release tore through her again, her walls clamping down on him so hard it nearly undid him.

Rafe’s thrusts turned erratic, his breath ragged as he spilled inside her, grinding deep to make sure she took all of it.

When he finally stilled, he stayed inside her, chest pressed to hers, his mouth ghosting over her ear.

“You’re never leaving me,” he whispered, voice dark and certain.

“Wasn’t planning to leave you,” she murmured with a small, sleepy smile, “but I do need to pee.”

Rafe smirked faintly, rolling to his side to let her slip away. He watched her tiptoe out of the room, the hem of her nightgown swinging around her thighs, bare and easy in her skin.

When she disappeared toward the master bathroom, he let his head fall back against the pillow. The dream tried to creep in again — her laugh, the way she’d looked at someone else in it — and he clenched his jaw, willing it away.

Catherine wouldn’t do that. She’s here. She’s mine.

But the thought didn’t fully stick. The doubt slithered in anyway, small and poisonous. Before he could talk himself out of it, he reached over to her side of the bed, where her phone sat plugged into the charger.

He unlocked it with practiced ease — she’d never hidden her passcode from him.

Her notifications were harmless. No flirty late-night texts, no secret threads. But when he opened her socials, the log of men following her and liking her posts was long. Familiar names, some not so familiar.

Rafe’s chest tightened.

He clicked into her gallery, scrolling through. It was almost jarring — no hidden selfies for someone else, no suspicious screenshots. Just pictures of the kids, blurry candids of Rafe himself, Catherine smiling in the kitchen, selfies of her in soft morning light.

Every image screamed home, family, them.

It should’ve eased him. Instead, he sat there holding the phone, jaw tight, trying to decide if the peace he felt was real… or if the dream had just gotten too far under his skin.

Catherine padded back into the bedroom, running a hand through her hair as she crossed to the dresser. She glanced at him on the bed, a soft smile tugging at her lips.

“Need something from my phone?” she asked casually, not thinking much of it.

Rafe didn’t even blink. “Just checking the time. ” The lie slipped out too easily, his voice steady.

Her gaze flicked instinctively to the nightstand — to where his phone sat, much closer than hers had been.

Rafe saw the glance, caught it before she even said anything. “It, uh… didn’t charge last night,” he added quickly, nodding toward his phone like that explained everything.

Before she could press further, his alarm blared — sharp, insistent, announcing the start of his workday. The sound cut through the moment, but not the look she gave him. Her eyes narrowed just slightly, curiosity sharpened into something closer to suspicion.

He swung his legs off the bed, stretching as if nothing was wrong. Catherine didn’t say anything else, but the air between them felt heavier.

That morning, after the lies and the weight of his nightmare, Rafe was different. He hovered closer in the kitchen while Catherine moved around, sliding pancakes onto plates and cutting up fruit for the girls.

“Here, let me,” he murmured, taking the jug of juice from her hands before she could pour. He pulled out chairs for Mason and Bradley, cut the butter without being asked.

Even the kids noticed. Mason shot Bradley a look over the syrup bottle, brows raised. Lara and Masie giggled at how quiet Rafe was, watching their mom instead of teasing them like usual.

Catherine noticed too — every small gesture felt like an apology he wasn’t voicing. And she couldn’t decide if it made him soften… or made him more suspicious.

They ate in a mix of clinking cutlery and light chatter from the kids. Rafe, however, kept steering every lull in conversation back to Catherine.

“So… what’ve you got planned today?” he asked, stabbing into his pancakes like it was nothing.

She glanced up from helping Lara cut her food. “Pedicure at ten, laser appointment after lunch.”

“Mm.” He took a sip of coffee. “Who you meeting for the pedicure?”

Catherine’s brow ticked up. “Just me,” she said, flipping another pancake onto Masie’s plate.

He didn’t let it go. “And the laser appointment? You going with someone?”

She looked at him, really looked, before shaking her head with a faint, almost amused exhale. “No, Rafe. Just me again.”

Before the moment could tighten further, Masie decided breakfast was over. She squealed, grabbed her plate with both sticky hands, and flipped it upside down.

Syrup, fruit, and cut-up pancake hit the table with a wet splat, dripping onto the floor.

Catherine started to push her chair back out of instinct. “I’ll—”

“Sit,” Rafe said firmly, already on his feet. He crouched beside the table, sweeping the mess into a pile with practiced ease. “I’ve got it.”

Masie giggled, kicking her feet, and Catherine stayed still, watching him.

It was such a small thing — but between his constant questions and his sudden insistence on doing the little chores for her, she could feel it. He was… watching her.

And she wasn’t sure yet if it was protective, or something else.

After cleaning up Masie’s mess, Rafe didn’t stop. He gathered the rest of the breakfast plates, loading the dishwasher himself instead of letting Catherine do it like usual.

When it was time to go, he kissed her goodbye at the door — longer than usual, his palm cupping her cheek, his thumb brushing over her jaw like he was memorizing her face. Then he pulled back just enough to murmur, “See you later,” before turning to the kids.

“Alright, get in the car,” he called, ushering Mason and Bradley toward the SUV.

Catherine lingered at the doorway, watching him as they left. Something about the kiss, about his questions over breakfast, still sat strange in her chest.

All day, she found herself replaying moments, wondering what was going on in his head. Was it something at work? Was it something about her?

She didn’t know that at the same time, Rafe was sitting at his desk, discreetly checking the clock against the schedule she’d given him that morning. Every half hour or so, he’d send her a quick text — What are you doing now? or How’s the pedicure? — as if confirming she was where she said she’d be.

When she finally sank into the chair at her pedicure appointment, the warm soak easing her feet, she decided to tell the nail tech about it.

“He’s been asking me about every little thing today,” Catherine said, leaning back. “Like who I’m meeting, where I’m going… even loaded the dishwasher before work."

The woman glanced at her with a knowing smile, shaking her head. “My ex-husband started doing the same thing before I caught him cheating. Got all sweet and helpful so I wouldn’t suspect a thing.”

Catherine blinked, the comment settling like a stone in her stomach. She tried to laugh it off, but the rest of the appointment, that thought sat there, heavy, feeding her own suspicion.

Catherine raised an eyebrow, letting out a short laugh. “Wait — so you’re saying being nice is suspicious now?”

The nail tech smirked, shaking her head as she adjusted Catherine’s foot in the basin. “Not always. But in my case? Oh, absolutely. He went from barely noticing the dishes to loading the dishwasher every night, bringing me flowers for no reason… Then I found out he was fucking some girl from his office.”

Catherine’s lips pressed into a thin line. “And here I was thinking I should just be grateful.”

“Listen,” the woman said, dipping her brush into the polish. “Sometimes men get guilty and overcompensate. They think if they smother you with attention, you won’t think to look at what they’re doing when you’re not around.”

Catherine tilted her head, trying to keep her tone casual. “Or maybe they just… feel like being helpful?”

The nail tech gave her a look over the rim of her glasses. “Maybe. But if he’s suddenly asking you where you are, who you’re with, what time your appointment is… that’s not just being helpful. That’s keeping tabs.”

Catherine’s stomach twisted, the words settling uncomfortably. “Yeah… he has been doing that,” she admitted quietly.

The woman hummed, brushing another stroke of polish on Catherine’s toes. “Could be innocent. Could be something else. My advice? Don’t ignore your gut. If you feel like something’s off, it probably is.”

Catherine stared down at the swirling water, her mind already turning over what Rafe had asked her at breakfast — and the way he’d looked at her before kissing her goodbye.

When Catherine left the salon, she slid into the driver’s seat and pulled out her phone. Her thumbs hesitated over the keyboard before she typed something vague:

Catherine: Running a little late. Might grab a coffee after.

She didn’t say where or with who — she wanted to see if he’d ask.

On the drive home, her mind replayed the morning like a movie on loop — the way Rafe had eaten her out with that deep, possessive hunger, how he’d loaded the dishwasher without her asking, cleaned Masie’s mess, kissed her goodbye like he was sending her off for a month instead of a day. And the questions… who she was seeing, what time her appointments were. The nail tech’s words came back to her. If you feel like something’s off, it probably is.

By the time she walked through the door, Catherine’s chest felt tight. She didn’t remember deciding to snoop — it just… happened.

She padded down the hall to Rafe’s home office, heart thudding. The room smelled faintly of him — his cologne, his aftershave, and old coffee. She glanced around: framed pictures of her and the kids on his desk, a few of Masie’s crayon masterpieces taped to the wall, the half-empty mug she’d brought him last night still sitting beside his keyboard.

She crouched and opened the desk drawers. More photos, receipts, a few scattered pens and paperclips. Nothing suspicious.

Still, her pulse wouldn’t settle.

She slid into his chair and woke his computer. Emails filled the screen — dozens of senders, some women, but all the subject lines looked like work: development proposals, property updates, financial reports.

The hotel receipts were there too — but they lined up perfectly with trips she knew about. She even recognized some of the cities from his calendar.

By all accounts, it all looked… normal.

But her gut still churned. The feeling wouldn’t leave. She told herself she was being ridiculous, that she’d find something if it were real.

And yet… her fingers lingered over his mouse, tempted to dig deeper.

At the office, Rafe sat at his desk, staring at the same email for ten minutes without reading a single word. His leg bounced under the desk, phone sitting screen-up beside him.

The nightmare was still there, vivid as ever — Catherine’s laugh, her hand on someone else’s chest, the way she’d looked at him in it like he was nothing.

It was a dream, he told himself for the hundredth time. It wasn’t real.

But the way she’d smiled at him this morning — almost… knowing — wouldn’t leave his head. She’d been calm. Too calm. And she hadn’t replied to his last text yet.

He glanced at the clock, then back at his phone.

What if she’s not where she says she is?

The thought had him gripping his pen so tight it almost snapped. He told himself to focus on work, but his mind kept looping back. Every time his phone buzzed with an email or group chat ping, his heart jumped, hoping it was her.

Back at home, Catherine sat cross-legged on the couch, laptop balanced on her knees. The cursor blinked in the search bar as her fingers hovered over the keys before typing: How to catch a cheater without them knowing

The results flooded in — articles, forums, advice columns.

She clicked one titled 10 Signs They’re Hiding Something. She read each bullet point, mentally checking them against Rafe. Overly attentive? Check. Asking too many questions? Check. Longer kisses? Maybe. The list only seemed to feed the knot in her stomach.

Her coffee sat untouched, growing cold on the table as she opened another tab: How to check if your partner is cheating on business trips.

The advice wasn’t anything she didn’t know — check receipts, track locations, look for changes in behavior — but it made her realize something. She’d already started doing it. The pictures in his office. The emails. The hotel receipts. She was looking for proof, even though part of her prayed she wouldn’t find it.

At the office, Rafe finally shoved his chair back with a frustrated sigh. He’d been staring at the clock for the past five minutes, willing the hands to move faster. Every second that passed without a text from her made his chest feel tighter.

Call her, he thought. Just call and hear her voice. If she sounds normal, you’ll know she’s fine. You’ll know she’s not…

He didn’t finish the thought. He just reached for his phone.

Across town, Catherine sat with her laptop closed, phone in hand. She’d just read another story from a forum — a woman swearing she’d only found out about her husband’s affair because she caught him in a “random” lie about where he was. The story left a sour taste in her mouth.

Call him, she told herself. If he’s busy and irritated, that’s one thing. If he’s flustered, maybe it means something else.

Her thumb hovered over his name in her contacts.

They both hit “call” at the same time.

Catherine’s phone buzzed with an incoming call as her own rang in Rafe’s hand. For a second, both just stared at the screens, almost startled, before picking up.

“Hey,” they said in unison.

There was a beat of silence — the kind where both were listening too hard to the other’s breathing.

“What’s up?” Catherine asked first, trying to keep her tone light.

“Just wanted to hear your voice,” Rafe said quickly, too quickly. “You busy?”

She glanced at the cold coffee on the table, at the half-open laptop that still had How to catch a cheater in the search bar. “Not really. You?”

“Nah. Just… checking in.”

Neither of them said what they were actually thinking — that they were checking up on each other.

“So,” Rafe said, leaning back in his chair and pretending like he wasn’t gripping his phone too hard. “You at home now?”

Catherine hesitated for half a second — long enough to make him notice. “Yeah… just got in.”

“Uh-huh,” he murmured, like he was filing that away. “Thought you said your pedicure would run longer.”

She forced a small laugh. “The place wasn’t busy. Got in and out.” Then, unable to help herself, she added, “What about you? At the office?”

“Yep,” he replied, his tone a little too clipped. “Where else would I be?”

She ignored the edge in his voice. “I don’t know… maybe grabbing lunch with someone?”

“Someone,” he repeated, like the word was a challenge. “You mean a client.”

Catherine leaned against the kitchen counter, tracing her finger over the marble. “If that’s what they’re called now.”

Rafe’s jaw tightened. “Funny. Guess I’ll start asking who’s in the chair next to you when you’re getting your nails done.”

Her breath caught — not because of the words, but because of the way he said them. Quiet. Almost dangerous. “The chair next to me was empty, Rafe.”

There was a pause. Long enough that she could hear the faint tapping of his fingers against his desk.

“You got plans for the rest of the day?” he asked finally, voice softened just enough to sound like he was back to casual.

“Couple errands,” she said, just vague enough to test him. “Why?”

“Just like knowing where my wife is,” he answered smoothly.

Catherine swallowed. “Right.”

They both stayed quiet for another beat — a silence so thick it was practically buzzing through the line — before Rafe said, “I’ll be home by six.”

“Okay,” she murmured, but when they hung up, neither felt reassured.

She threw herself into everything.

The laundry basket in the corner? Sorted by color, then by fabric type.

The flower beds in the back? Weeds yanked out one by one until her knuckles ached.

The banana bread in the oven? Perfectly browned, cooling on the rack next to a tray of lemon scones.

It wasn’t about needing to do these things — it was about not thinking. If she stopped moving, she’d start picturing Rafe leaning across his secretary’s desk, murmuring something in that low voice of his, the one that could melt her from across the room.

By the time she booked a massage and made it through an hour-long pilates class, she was sore, sweaty, and still no closer to shaking the image out of her head.

On the other hand, Rafe at Cameron Development wasn't doing great either. The conference room air was thick with tension.

“I asked for those numbers yesterday, not next week,” Rafe snapped, shoving a stack of half-complete reports back across the table. “If this was your best shot, you should’ve stayed home.”

One junior analyst cleared his throat. “Sir, the deadline was Friday—”

“Then you’re already late,” Rafe cut in sharply, his jaw flexing. “And if I have to remind you of the standard we operate at here, maybe you’re in the wrong damn building.”

He could feel the pulse in his temple, but the truth was, this wasn’t about the reports. It was about her.

And it didn’t help that Matthew — fucking Matthew — crept into his mind again.

A week ago Rafe had been unloading groceries from the trunk when Matthew strolled up the driveway like he owned the place.

“Afternoon, Cathy,” Matthew had drawled, his eyes unapologetically sweeping over her sundress as she knelt in the garden. “Looking gorgeous as always. You planting flowers or trying to make the rest of the neighborhood jealous?”

She smiled politely — too politely for Rafe’s taste. “Just getting some spring blooms in the ground, Matthew.”

Rafe’s hand tightened around the grocery bag handle until it crinkled. “She’s busy,” he said, stepping between them.

Matthew’s grin widened, like he enjoyed the pushback. “Just making conversation. Not a crime, is it?”

“It is if you don’t know when to quit,” Rafe shot back.

Catherine gave him that look — the one that silently told him to relax — but Matthew just chuckled, eyes lingering on her a moment too long before finally walking away.

Back in the present, Rafe stared at the stack of paperwork on his desk, his jaw clenched so tight it ached.

He hated that the dream, Matthew’s smug grin, and his own damn history all tangled together in his head like barbed wire.

By mid-afternoon, the entire office was operating under what one intern whispered as “code red.”

“Why is the Henderson file still incomplete?” Rafe barked from the head of the table. His sleeves were rolled up, tie loosened, but the energy radiating off him wasn’t relaxed — it was controlled aggression.

A senior project manager cleared his throat. “Sir, I was waiting on the final numbers from—”

“You were waiting?” Rafe leaned forward, eyes sharp. “Or you are still waiting? Which is it? Because last I checked, I’m not paying you to sit around with your thumb up your—”

“Sir—”

“Save it.” Rafe slammed the file shut. “I want this on my desk before I leave today. And if I have to repeat myself again, don’t bother coming in tomorrow.”

The room went dead silent. His assistant, Dana, shuffled in to hand him a fresh coffee and quietly retreated without making eye contact.

Rafe sipped it, but it didn’t cool the fire in his chest. All he could think about was that nightmare, Matthew’s too-familiar smirk, and the sick little voice in the back of his mind whispering, What if she actually did?

At the same time, Catherine was at the uptown shops. She told herself she was going out for groceries, but somehow, she ended up at the nicer end of town, drifting through boutique windows with her sunglasses perched on her head.

She tried to enjoy it — to pretend she wasn’t chewing on the thought of Rafe’s longer-than-usual goodbye kiss, his constant questions, and that lie about his phone. But the more she thought, the heavier her chest felt.

Inside a little home décor shop, a man in his late thirties with a too-white smile stepped into the same aisle. “Well, hey there,” he said, glancing at the vase she was holding. “That color would look great next to your eyes.”

She laughed politely, placing it back. “Thanks.”

He lingered, leaning slightly against the shelf. “Shopping for yourself or for… someone special?”

“Just me,” she said, brushing past him.

Two stores later, it happened again — this time a younger guy, maybe early twenties, while she browsed candles. “You smell that one?” he asked, holding out a jar. “It’s, like, dangerously good.”

She took it, gave a short sniff, and handed it back. “It’s nice.”

He smiled. “You local? I could show you the best coffee in the area sometime—”

Catherine hesitated, then before she could stop herself, she asked, “If you were going to cheat on your girlfriend… how would you do it?”

The guy blinked. “…Uh, what?”

“You heard me,” she said, tone calm but eyes locked on him. “Would you hide your phone? Change your schedule? Make yourself more… attentive at home so she wouldn’t notice?”

He gave a nervous laugh. “Uh… that’s… kind of a weird question.”

“Hypothetically,” she pushed, ignoring the heat in her cheeks.

“Well… I guess I’d, uh… yeah, probably hide the phone,” he said awkwardly, scratching his neck. “Be nice enough to keep her from asking questions… and keep my stories straight.”

She studied him, nodding slightly, though her stomach twisted. “Right.” Catherine tilted her head at him. “Okay, but say she’s suspicious — how would you cover your tracks?”

The guy shifted from foot to foot, glancing toward the cashier like he was searching for an escape route. “Uh… I don’t know. Maybe… keep my work schedule tight so she can’t randomly show up? Make sure my friends know not to say anything?”

She narrowed her eyes, her nails drumming against the candle in her hand. “And you’d just… go home and kiss her like nothing happened?”

He gave a short, uncomfortable laugh. “Lady, you’re kinda intense. Look, forget the coffee, okay?”

Catherine huffed and rolled her eyes, muttering, “Men,” under her breath. She dropped the candle onto the counter, paid for her items, and left without another glance.

Out in the parking lot, she slid into her car, cranking the AC as if it could cool down the heat building in her chest. She didn’t even realize how tightly she was gripping the steering wheel until her knuckles went white.

The day wasn’t going to pause for her paranoia, though.

An hour later, she pulled into the small lot outside Maisie’s kindergarten. Maisie came skipping out with her tiny backpack bouncing, her hair slightly messy from whatever mischief she’d gotten into.

“Mama!” she squealed, running straight into Catherine’s legs.

“Hey, bug,” Catherine said, smoothing her hair. “You have fun today?”

Maisie launched into an animated story about glitter glue and a snack mix that had “too many raisins.” Catherine smiled and nodded in all the right places, but her mind kept drifting back to Rafe’s face this morning — that split-second look before he lied.

From there, they drove to Lara’s school. Lara climbed in, tiara headband slightly crooked. “Mason wouldn’t stop making faces at me in lunch today,” she grumbled.

“He’s in another class, Lara.”

“Yeah, but he came over just to annoy me,” Lara said as if it were a federal offense.

Catherine chuckled, merging back into traffic, but in her peripheral vision she caught Maisie staring at her. “What?” she asked.

“You look like Daddy when he’s mad,” Maisie said simply, swinging her feet.

Catherine didn’t answer — she just gripped the wheel a little tighter.

Traffic was steady, the hum of the engine filling the quiet between Maisie’s chatter and Lara’s occasional sighs. Catherine’s fingers tapped the steering wheel before she finally spoke, her tone casual — or at least, she hoped it was.

“So… Daddy dropped you off this morning, right?” she asked, eyes fixed on the road.

“Yeah,” Lara said immediately. “He was weird.”

Catherine’s heart skipped. “Weird how?”

“He kept asking me if I liked my breakfast. Like, three times.” Lara leaned back in her seat, frowning. “And then he told Mason not to tell you about something.”

“What something?” Catherine tried to keep her voice light, but Maisie looked up from her snack cup with wide eyes.

“I don’t know,” Lara said, shrugging. “He just whispered it.”

Maisie piped up, swinging her legs. “Daddy was happy this morning. He even helped me put my shoes on, and he never does that unless we’re late.”

Catherine gave a small smile, though her stomach tightened. “That’s… nice of him.”

Maisie nodded, then added with innocent bluntness, “He kissed you for a long time, too. I saw.”

Catherine laughed under her breath, but it was hollow. She didn’t want to drag the kids into whatever was brewing in her head, but the words tumbled out before she could stop them.

“Do you think Daddy’s… hiding something?”

Lara scrunched her nose. “Like a surprise? I hope it's a vacation.”

“Yeah,” Catherine said quickly, clinging to the out. “Like a surprise.”

Maisie grinned. “Maybe he’s buying us a puppy.”

Catherine’s chest ached at that — because wouldn’t that be easier than what she was imagining?

She forced herself to nod. “Maybe, bug. Maybe.”

The rest of the drive passed in a haze, her smile plastered on while her thoughts looped like a broken record.

🌩

Bradley slid into the backseat with his chess set, the little black pieces rattling in their box as Rafe picked him up from the chess club meeting.

“Hey, bud,” Rafe said, pulling away from the curb. “How was the tournament prep?”

Bradley shrugged. “Coach says I need to think faster. He says I overthink.”

Rafe smirked faintly. Yeah, I know the feeling.

A beat of silence, then Rafe’s tone shifted — light, casual, but hunting. “So… mom seemed happy to you today?”

Bradley frowned. “I guess? Lara sent me a snap of them making muffins. Lara said she was being weird, though.”

Rafe’s knuckles tightened on the wheel. “Weird how?”

“She said something about asking questions about you,” Bradley said, leaning forward to buckle his seatbelt properly. “Like… if you do anything different lately. Why?”

Rafe forced a chuckle, but the sound felt wrong even to him. “Just wondering, buddy.”

When they reached the football field, Mason jogged over, helmet in one hand, cheeks flushed from practice.

“Hey, sport,” Rafe greeted, watching him toss his gear in the trunk. “Good day?”

“Yeah. We’re gonna crush next week.” Mason buckled in, still grinning from whatever banter he’d left behind on the field.

Rafe merged back onto the road, heart thumping as he repeated the same question. “Just to make sure, mom… she didn't seem upset about anything today, right?”

Mason’s brows knit. “Not really. She told me not to leave my socks on the floor.” He shrugged. “Why? You two fighting?”

“No.” The word came out too fast, too firm. “Just… want to make sure she’s happy, y’know?”

Bradley exchanged a quick glance with his brother, sensing something brewing. “Dad, you’re acting… suspicious.”

Rafe kept his eyes on the road, jaw tight. If only you knew, kid.

At home, Catherine was sliding the salmon into the oven, her phone abandoned on the counter, screen lit with a recipe. She could hear Maisie in the living room humming to herself and Lara flipping through a magazine. She almost grabbed her phone to text Sarah about Topper, but stopped herself, shaking her head.

God, what am I even doing? she thought, rubbing her temples. But still… the little voice whispered, If he’s cheating, it’s someone at Cameron Development.

The SUV hummed along the two-lane road, the late summer sun dipping low and painting everything gold.

Bradley leaned forward between the seats, fiddling with the strap of his backpack. “Dad… did you and Mom have a fight?” His voice was careful, but his eyes kept darting toward Rafe’s face in the rearview mirror.

Rafe shook his head, keeping his tone light. “No. Why?”

Bradley hesitated. “You’re… asking about her a lot. It’s weird. Like you’re… worried.”

Before Rafe could answer, Mason grinned from the passenger seat. “Ooooh,” he sang, drawing the word out, “Dad’s in trouble. Did you forget an anniversary? Or—” he gasped dramatically, “—did you buy another boat without telling her?”

Rafe’s lips twitched. “We have one boat. And I don’t forget anniversaries.”

Mason wasn’t letting up. “Then maybe she caught you eating her special chocolate stash.”

Bradley sighed. “Mase, seriously—”

“What? I’m just saying, if Dad’s acting all… sneaky, maybe it’s because Mom’s already plotting revenge.” Mason smirked. “Like, I don’t know… replacing his shampoo with hair dye.”

Rafe snorted, but there was an edge to his voice. “Nobody’s plotting anything. I’m just… checking in.”

Bradley sat back, still unconvinced. “Yeah, but you’re checking in a lot. Like… more than when she got thr flu from Maisie.”

That comment landed heavier than Bradley meant it to, and for a second, the only sound in the car was the hum of the tires on asphalt.

Mason finally broke the silence with a mock gasp. “Wait. Did you cheat?”

Rafe’s jaw locked, eyes fixed on the road ahead. “No.” It was flat, final.

Bradley immediately looked uncomfortable. “Mason, stop—”

“What? I’m joking!” Mason said quickly, though the grin had slipped.

Rafe forced a small laugh, but his mind was already spinning — If my own kids are wondering… what the hell is Catherine thinking right now?

Rafe’s chest was tight as he turned into the driveway, headlights cutting across the familiar shape of the porch.

The boys were out of the SUV before it had fully stopped — Mason with his water bottle dangling from one hand, Bradley clutching his backpack like it contained the nuclear codes.

“I’m gonna finish my math homework, don't disturb me!” Bradley called over his shoulder as he disappeared inside.

“It’s Tuesday,” Rafe muttered, killing the engine. “That kid’s got until Thursday.”

Mason lingered just long enough to say, “I’m starving,” before bolting in.

Rafe grabbed Mason’s football gear from the back seat and headed in, his mind a whirlpool of what-ifs and worst-case scenarios. He dumped the gear in the laundry room and moved toward the kitchen for his usual after-work kiss.

But when he stepped in, he froze.

Catherine stood at the counter, glass of red wine in one hand, her phone in the other. She was looking at the screen with that sharp, unreadable expression she got when she was deciding whether to confront someone or let them hang themselves.

She must have sensed him, because she quickly thumbed the phone dark and set it down.

“Hey,” he said, forcing a smile and stepping in to kiss her cheek. “Long day?”

She gave him a small smile that didn’t touch her eyes. “You could say that.”

“Wine this early?” he teased lightly, though there was a hint of wariness in his voice. “Must’ve been really long.”

“Maybe.” She set the glass down and turned to the oven. “Salmon should be done in ten.”

He lingered for a beat, wanting to push, but instead he said, “I’ll be in my office for a second — just making sure the interns sent me the files before I left them unsupervised for the night.”

She didn’t answer, already sliding an oven mitt on.

Rafe headed to his home office and dropped into the chair, firing up his computer. The second the desktop appeared, his stomach knotted. His calendar was open — but not how he’d left it.

Meetings were highlighted differently. Notes were expanded.

Someone had been in here.

She was looking when I wasn’t around, he thought, his pulse spiking. Looking for what? Looking to see when I was busy… so she could…

The image slammed into his brain — Catherine, finding a window of time when he was in a meeting or out of town, slipping away to someone else. His hands curled into fists on the desk.

Meanwhile, in the kitchen, Catherine pulled the salmon tray out and inhaled the citrus-herb steam. She reached for her phone on the counter, the one she’d quickly hidden from Rafe moments ago, and glanced back at the article she’d been reading: 10 Signs Your Husband is Cheating with his asistant and How to Catch Him.

“MOM!”

She jumped, heart skipping. Mason was standing in the doorway, smirking. “You almost dropped that.”

“You scared me,” she said, setting it down and putting down the tray. She quickly locked her phone and slid it screen-down. “How was practice?”

“Good,” he said, pulling open the fridge for a drink. “But Dad was weird on the way home.”

Her gaze sharpened. “Weird how?”

Mason shrugged, gulping from a bottle of water. “Like… he kept asking about you. If you’d been busy, stressed… I dunno. Like he was fishing for something.”

Her stomach dropped. “Fishing?”

“Yeah. Brad said he thought you guys fought or something.” Mason leaned on the counter, grinning faintly. “Did you?”

“No.” She shook her head quickly, but her pulse was in her ears. He’s been checking with the kids. Seeing if I’ve noticed. Trying to cover his tracks.

That uneasy feeling in her gut solidified into a cold, near-certainty. He’s cheating.

During dinner, the clink of cutlery was almost nonexistent — because no one was actually eating. Catherine sat at one end of the table, Rafe at the other, the two of them drinking more wine than either would admit was normal for a Tuesday. The salmon sat cooling on their plates, the herb crust untouched.

Maisie was the only one filling the silence, swinging her legs under her chair.

“I want a turtle,” she announced. “So I can teach it karate and make it a ninja.”

Bradley gave her a flat look. “That’s not how turtles work.”

“Is too,” Maisie said. “They just need a headband and swords.”

“Why couldn't I have a normal sister?,” Lara chimed in, frowning like a tiny parent.

Across the table, Rafe chuckled in a way that didn’t reach his eyes. “You’d need more than a headband for that, bug.” He looked back at Catherine deliberately, sipping his wine. “So… how was your day?”

Her fork twitched in her hand. “Fine. Ran some errands. Got my nails done.” She cut a small piece of salmon but didn’t lift it to her mouth. “You?”

Rafe swirled the wine in his glass. “Busy. Meetings all day.”

She hummed. “Anyone… interesting in those meetings?”

His eyes narrowed, but he forced a smirk. “Just the usual crowd.”

The air between them crackled. Neither broke eye contact, like they were both waiting for the other to blink first, to slip and give something away.

“Daddy,” Maisie said suddenly, leaning forward, “can my turtle live in the pool?”

Rafe tore his gaze from Catherine and smiled faintly at his youngest. “No, baby. Pools have chlorine. It’s bad for turtles.”

“But what if I make it a ninja and it can fight the chlorine?” she pressed.

Brad groaned. “That’s not how chemistry works.”

“Enough, kids,” Catherine said quietly, still looking at Rafe. “Eat your salmon.”

The older two barely touched their plates. Mason kept glancing between his parents like he was watching a tennis match. Bradley kept his head down, silently moving peas around with his fork.

Every time Rafe lifted his glass, Catherine did the same. Every time Catherine’s gaze flicked to her phone on the counter, Rafe’s jaw tightened.

It wasn’t dinner. It was a standoff.

Rafe cut into his salmon but didn’t eat it.

“You didn’t answer my text earlier,” he said casually, though the tone was tight enough to cut glass.

Catherine’s brow arched. “The one where you asked if I was home? I was busy.”

“Busy doing what?”

She set her fork down slowly. “Is there a reason you’re asking?”

“I’m just making conversation,” he said, sipping his wine, but his gaze stayed locked on hers.

“You’ve never cared about my errands before,” she replied, keeping her voice even. “Now suddenly you’re curious about every hour of my day?”

His jaw flexed. “Is it wrong to check in on my wife?”

“Depends,” she said lightly, even though her stomach was twisting. “Are you checking in… or checking up?”

The kids looked between them nervously. Mason broke the silence with a smirk. “Wow, this is awkward. Pass the bread.”

“Eat your food,” Rafe said sharply, eyes never leaving Catherine.

She leaned back in her chair, twirling the stem of her wine glass. “You’re acting strange, Rafe.”

“Am I?” He leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on the table. “Because I think you’re the one acting strange.”

Maisie raised her hand as if in class. “You’re both strange.”

Bradley nudged her under the table, whispering, “Shhh.”

Catherine ignored the interruption, her tone turning cool. “Maybe we’re both acting strange because there’s something we’re not saying.”

Rafe’s eyes darkened just a shade. “Maybe.” He took another slow sip of wine, then set the glass down with deliberate care. “And maybe that something should be said.”

Her lips curved faintly — not in a smile, but in something more dangerous. “You first.”

The tension was so thick Mason muttered, “Seriously, can someone just start a fight so we can get dessert?”

Neither parent even looked at him.

Catherine set her fork down for good, pushing her plate a few inches away. “I lost my appetite,” she said flatly.

Rafe’s brow creased. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means,” she said, standing to refill her wine, “you can clean the table after the kids finish eating — since you’re so concerned with errands and housework all of a sudden.”

Mason’s head popped up, eyes wide. “Ooooh.”

“Eat,” Rafe ordered without looking at him, his voice clipped.

Bradley, who’d been slowly cutting his fish into microscopic pieces, cleared his throat. “You guys… aren’t mad at each other, right?”

“No,” Catherine said quickly, not looking at Rafe.

“Not yet,” Rafe muttered under his breath.

Her head snapped toward him, eyes narrowing. “Excuse me?”

“I said, ‘Not at all,’” he replied with a smoothness that only made her blood heat.

Maisie’s fork clattered to her plate. “Are we still getting a turtle?”

“Finish your dinner,” Catherine said, forcing her tone back to even.

The silence after that was deafening, only broken by the scrape of forks on plates.

When the kids finally cleared their dishes, Catherine didn’t move to help. She topped off her wine again, eyes on Rafe as if daring him to make another comment.

He stood, collected the plates with more force than necessary, and carried them to the sink. The tension between them was so thick it clung to the air like humidity before a thunderstorm.

The kids’ footsteps thudded up the stairs, Maisie’s voice carrying about turtles until a bedroom door clicked shut. The house fell into an unnerving quiet.

Catherine bent to load the dishwasher, keeping her movements deliberate, controlled. She could feel him watching her from behind.

The moment she straightened, Rafe was there. Close. One hand braced against the counter beside her hip, the other on the cabinet above her shoulder.

“You’ve been off all day,” he said, voice low. “You want to tell me why, or do I have to keep guessing?”

“I’m fine,” she replied without meeting his eyes, sliding another plate into the rack.

“Bullshit,” he muttered, leaning closer. “You barely ate. You’ve been looking at me like I kicked your dog. And now you’re making little digs about errands and housework. What’s going on, Cath?”

She set a glass down harder than necessary. “Maybe I’m just… noticing things.”

“Like what?” His tone sharpened. “Go ahead. Say it.”

She looked at him then, really looked, her wine-bright eyes narrowing. “You’ve been asking the kids questions about me. Acting… different. And you’ve got secrets, Rafe.”

His jaw tightened. “Secrets?”

“Don’t play dumb.” She slid the dishwasher shut with a sharp click. “You’ve been on your phone, in your office, traveling all the time, overaffectionate and helping just so I don't notice. I’m not blind.”

He gave a short, humorless laugh. “You think I’m cheating?”

“I didn’t say that,” she said, though her voice had an edge.

“You didn’t have to,” he shot back. “I can see it in your face. Christ, Cath…” He dragged a hand through his hair. “You have no idea what’s going through my head.”

“Then enlighten me,” she challenged.

For a moment, he just stared at her, breathing hard like he was weighing something dangerous on the tip of his tongue. Then he stepped back, grabbing a dishtowel, muttering, “Forget it,” before drying his hands.

🌩

When Rafe stepped out of the en suite, towel still hanging from his neck, the sight stopped him cold.

A pillow. A folded blanket. Right there on the floor, neatly laid out at his side of the bed.

He looked up at Catherine, who was calmly applying night cream in front of the vanity mirror like this was completely normal.

“You serious?” he asked, voice low but sharp.

She didn’t glance at him. “You have two good arms and a healthy back. You’ll be fine for one night.”

“One night?” He took a slow step forward. “Cath—”

She finally met his gaze in the mirror. “Don’t make this bigger than it is.”

“It’s already big,” he said, jaw clenching. “You think you can just shove me on the floor like I’m some… stranger in my own home?”

She capped her moisturizer, stood, and walked to her side of the bed. “You’ve been acting like a stranger all day.”

“That’s rich, coming from you,” he shot back. “You’ve been—” He cut himself off, biting down on the rest.

“What?” she pressed, turning to face him fully now. “Go ahead, Rafe. Say it.”

His eyes darted to her phone on the nightstand, the same one she’d been glued to earlier. “You think I don’t know what you’ve been looking up? You think I didn’t notice?”

Her mouth tightened. “And you think I didn’t notice you grilling the kids about me? Running around like you’ve got something to hide?”

They stood there, only the hum of the AC filling the space between them.

Finally, Catherine pulled the comforter over herself and said flatly, “Floor’s right there. Goodnight, Rafe.”

He stared at her for a long moment, the muscle in his jaw twitching, before grabbing the pillow off the floor and tossing it down with more force than necessary.

Neither of them spoke again.

The clock read 12:47 a.m. Rafe lay on his back, one arm folded under his head, staring at the ceiling. Every time he closed his eyes, the nightmare replayed—Catherine laughing, leaning into someone else’s chest, her hand resting on another man’s knee like it had belonged there forever. And it didnt feel like just a dream anymore. It felt real. Like he was happening right behind his back. Maybe even in his house.

He could still hear the neighbor Matthew’s smug voice, “If you ever get tired of him, Cath, you know where I live,” followed by that infuriating wink. He hated that his brain was stitching that memory into the dream, turning it into something worse.

Up on the bed, Catherine shifted, her back turned to him. She’d been perfectly still for the first hour, but now she kept moving—adjusting the blanket, sighing quietly.

She wasn’t asleep either.

His phone was on the nightstand, just inches from her. She could feel the itch to check it, to prove to herself that Rafe wasn’t messaging anyone. But if she picked it up now, he’d hear, and then he’d know exactly what she was thinking.

Instead, she stared at the dark wall, replaying Mason’s words from earlier: “Dad kept asking about you, like if you were busy or stressed or something.”

She knew what that meant. He was checking for changes. Trying to see if she’d slipped up. That’s what cheaters did before their stories unraveled.

Down on the floor, Rafe finally broke the silence. “Can’t sleep?”

“No,” she said bluntly.

“Me neither.”

She waited for him to elaborate, but he didn’t.

“Maybe,” she said slowly, “if you just told me why you’ve been acting so weird, we could both get some sleep.”

He let out a humorless laugh. “That’s funny. I was gonna say the same thing to you.”

They fell silent again, the air between them thick enough to choke on.

Catherine finally turned over, propping herself on one elbow to look down at him.

“You’ve been watching me all day like I’m hiding something. So just say it, Rafe. Whatever you think I’m doing—spit it out.”

Rafe pushed himself up on his elbows, jaw tight. “You first.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Why me first?”

“Because,” he said, standing now, looming over the edge of the bed, “I walked into my office today and saw my calendar rearranged. I know you were in it. You checking when I’m busy so you can—”

Her breath hitched. “So I can what?”

He hesitated for just a beat, then dropped it. “So you can cheat, Catherine. Don’t play dumb.”

Her mouth fell open, disbelief mixing with fury. “Me cheat? You’ve been interrogating the kids about my schedule, acting paranoid, and now you think I’m the one sneaking around?”

“Yeah, because it wouldn’t be the first time you picked someone else over partner, would it?” Rafe shot back, his voice low but sharp, dragging the ghost of JJ Maybank into the room like a weapon.

Her hands balled into fists in the blanket. “And it wouldn’t be the first time you gave me a reason to want to be with someone else.”

The words hit him like a slap, and for a second, neither of them breathed.

Finally, he growled, “So who is it? The nail tech? Your Pilates instructor? Matthew next door?”

“Oh my God, you’re insane,” she said, throwing the covers back and standing. “If anyone’s cheating here, it’s you. And if it’s not, then you’re trying real hard to convince me otherwise with the way you’ve been hiding behind your secretary and your acts of service.”

They stood toe-to-toe now, voices low but venomous, the bedroom air humming with years of buried mistrust that the nightmare had dragged back to life.

“You think I’m hiding behind my secretary?” Rafe’s voice climbed, but it cracked at the edges. “You think I want to be at that damn office all day? You think I like coming home and feeling like I’m being judged for breathing?”

“Oh, please,” Catherine shot back, pacing toward the dresser as if putting distance between them could cool her temper. “You’ve been short with me all day, acting like I’m some criminal, and now you’re flipping it on me.”

“I’m flipping it because you don’t get it!” His voice boomed, echoing in the room before it dropped low again, ragged. “I had this dream, Cath. And it felt so real—like I could see you looking at someone else the way you look at me. And it didn’t feel like a nightmare—it felt like… a memory waiting to happen.”

Her anger faltered for a beat, but she stayed defensive. “Rafe, that’s not fair. You can’t—”

“I can,” he cut in, his eyes dark and tired. “Because I know what it’s like to not be enough for you. I’ve been that guy before. The one you passed over for JJ. The one who had to fight to prove he could even stand next to you without you second-guessing it. And yeah, maybe I’ve got the house, the business, the family now, but you don’t think I lie awake some nights wondering when you’re gonna realize you settled?”

Her chest rose and fell sharply. “Settled? Rafe, I—”

“Don’t.” His voice broke this time, the fight in him faltering under the weight of something heavier. “You don’t understand what it does to me when I see guys look at you. Even that idiot neighbor, Matthew. I see him staring and I think, ‘Yeah, why wouldn’t she? Why wouldn’t she pick someone easier, someone who doesn’t come with all the baggage I do?’”

Catherine’s hand gripped the edge of the dresser like she needed the anchor. Her voice softened, but only slightly. “Rafe, you can’t punish me for your insecurities. I’ve been here. I’ve stayed through things most women would’ve walked away from. I chose you—”

“And what if one day you don’t?” His voice was a raw whisper now. “What if one day you wake up and you want something else? Someone else?”

Catherine’s shoulders softened, the sharpness in her posture melting as she crossed the room toward him.

“Rafe…” she murmured, her voice losing all the bite it had before.

He kept his head down, jaw tight, as if bracing for her to tell him he was being ridiculous. But instead, she reached for his face, her palms warm against his cheeks.

“You are enough for me,” she said firmly, making him meet her eyes. “More than enough. You are my husband, the father of my kids, the man I chose when it would’ve been easier to walk away. You think I stayed because I had nothing better? No, Rafe. I stayed because there is nothing better for me than you.”

His throat bobbed, but the war in his eyes didn’t fully ease. “You say that now, but—”

“No,” she cut him off, her tone unshakable. “Not ‘but.’ This isn’t a bargain I made years ago that I’m waiting to undo. I’ve built a life with you, and I’m not looking for an exit. You have to trust that. Trust me.”

He let out a shaky laugh, part relief and part disbelief. “You don’t know what that dream did to me. I woke up, and it felt like losing you had already happened. And I can’t—”

“You’re not losing me.” Her voice broke then, but she still smiled at him. “Not now, not in ten years, not ever. And if you keep worrying about something that isn’t real, you’re gonna ruin the real thing we have right now.”

Rafe’s eyes glistened as he let out a slow breath, pressing his forehead to hers. “I don’t deserve you.”

“You do,” she whispered, brushing her thumbs along his jaw. “But maybe you need reminding sometimes.”

He nodded, swallowing hard, and when she pulled him into her arms, he held her like she was the only solid thing in the world.

They stood there for a long moment, just breathing in sync, neither of them moving to let go.

Finally, Catherine gave a small sigh and stepped back. “Alright,” she murmured, glancing at the ridiculous bed she’d made on the floor. “You’re not sleeping there. Get in our bed, Rafe.”

His brows lifted slightly, testing the waters. “So you do still want me next to you?”

She shot him a flat look. “Don’t push your luck.”

But when she crawled into her side of the bed, she lifted the covers enough for him to slip in. He followed without another word, lying on his back at first, stiff and unsure. She didn’t reach for him right away, and the air between them still hummed with everything they hadn’t sorted out yet.

Maisie’s laughter from earlier still echoed in Catherine’s mind, and she thought of how the kids had sat through dinner sensing the tension. That alone made her turn on her side toward him.

Her hand found his arm, light at first, then firmer as she slid closer. “We’re okay, Rafe,” she whispered into the dimness. “We just… need to stop making each other the enemy.”

He exhaled slowly, turning toward her. “I know. I just—sometimes it’s like my head’s still stuck in the past. Waiting for the part where you realize you could’ve done better than me.”

She shook her head, her palm resting over his heart. “The only thing I’d be doing better than this… is if you stopped doubting me.”

For the first time all day, his mouth twitched into the faintest smile. “Bossy.”

“Only because I love you.”

He tucked her against him then, their legs tangling under the sheets. "I love you," he said back and though they didn’t solve everything that night, the warmth of her body against his was enough to keep the nightmares away—for both of them.

The soft knock broke the silence of the room. Rafe stiffened, glancing down at Catherine’s sleeping face on his chest. She didn’t stir, exhaustion finally having won her over.

Another, quieter knock.

“Dad?” Bradley’s voice, small, tentative.

Rafe eased himself out from under Catherine, careful not to wake her, and padded to the door. He cracked it open, and there stood Bradley in his pajama shirt, hair mussed, his favorite stuffed dinosaur dangling from one hand. His eyes were wide, still glistening a little.

“Hey, Brad,” Rafe whispered, crouching down. “What’s wrong? Can’t sleep?”

Bradley shifted his weight. “I heard you guys yelling,” he admitted, voice low. “The white noise machine didn’t… it didn’t cover it. Are you and Mom… are you mad at each other?”

Rafe’s chest ached, the guilt sharp. He forced a gentle smile. “We were just… loud talking. Grown-up stuff. But hey—look at me.” He tilted Bradley’s chin up so the boy had to meet his eyes. “We’re okay. Mom’s okay. You don’t have to worry about us, alright?”

Bradley bit his lip, hesitating. “Can I… can I sleep in here tonight? Just to make sure?”

For a second, Rafe’s throat closed. His kid shouldn’t have to feel like he needed to protect them from breaking. But he nodded quickly, tugging him into a hug. “Yeah, of course you can. You’re always welcome, bud.”

They walked quietly back to the bed. Catherine shifted slightly but didn’t wake as Rafe lifted the covers. Bradley climbed in on Rafe’s side, clutching his dinosaur, pressing close like he used to when he was little.

Rafe wrapped one arm around his son, his other hand resting lightly on Catherine’s shoulder. His family—right there, within reach. He pressed his lips to Bradley’s hair, whispering, “Go to sleep, champ. Dad’s got you.”

For the first time that day, the knot in Rafe’s chest eased.

[bbywhitefox123]

I LOVE THIS SERIES SO MUCH!!! THEY'RE SO CUTE AND I JUST NEED MOREEEE!!!

teachers pet pt. 5

brothers best friend!rafe x thornton!fem!virgin!reader

cw — minors dni, loss of virginity, unprotected sex, praise kink, choking, fingering, oral (f receiving), handjob, rafe is the biggest yearner, mention of enzo, cheesy confession, reader is painfully oblivious

summary — after talking with your best friend and your brother, you solve the mystery and decide to apologize to rafe.

authors note — hey guys!! hope you are enjoying!! this is the last part of the main au but i’ll probably continue to write little blurbs to add on because i love bbf d1 yearner rafe :) it will be located under my au’s on my masterlist

part one | part two | part three | part four | part five

do not copy or post my work anywhere else.

the air was hot and gross in the thorntons backyard. the sun was beaming down, the pool filter was running softly, and the smell of tanning oil permeated the air. you and sarah were currently laid out on tanning chairs, her with a book in hand while you snacked on some fruit. it had been pretty quiet for a while. until it wasn’t. “rafe has been acting weird lately, don’t you think?” the blonde asked.

you glanced at her from the corner of your eye and adjusted your cap. “i haven’t really talked to him lately.”

unbeknownst to you, she began to smirk. “huh. that’s weird,” she said knowingly. “you haven’t spoken at all these last two weeks?”

“not really,” you said timidly, wondering if she was starting to get suspicious. “i’ve seen him in passing once or twice but i haven’t actually talked to him.”

she nodded slowly. the way she was so calm about it made your skin crawl. “interesting,” she muttered to herself. “he’s been moping around and being nicer to me than usual. he bought me breakfast a couple times without me even asking.”

you finally adjusted your cap and sat up to look at her a little better. “really? must have had a change of heart or something.”

“oh my god, girl. cut the crap,” she blurted out finally with a chuckle. “i know you two are a thing.”

a thick lump formed in your throat. you almost choked on it. “what? what do you mean?”

she smiled teasingly. “i came home for a minute that night i snuck out because i had forgotten something and i was looking all over for you. like, literally everywhere. and when i couldn’t find you, i went to rafe’s room to ask where you went,” she paused and raised a brow at her. “and there you two were, as snug as a bug together. in his bed. cuddling.”

“are you serious?” you mumbled, covering your face with your hands out of embarrassment. “it’s not even like that. we’re not really ‘a thing’ at all.”

she snorted. “it’s annoying how oblivious the two of you are,” she stated. “i mean, come on. be so serious. he’s literally in love with you. the two of you didn’t speak for a day and he started acting like his world had just come crashing down.”

“oh my god sarah, he is not in love with me,” you said with a soft laugh, shuffling so you could fully face her now. “he’s probably just upset because i kinda went off on him last time we talked for telling my brother about enzo.”

her eyes narrowed at you. “girl. actually be serious. do you really think he feels absolutely nothing for you?” she asked before waving off everything she’d just said. “actually, tell me about what happened with you, enzo, and rafe. no gross details or anything, i don’t wanna think about my brother like that.”

you and sarah told each other everything. every little detail. but you weren’t sure how she’d take hearing that you asked her brother to teach you how to be intimate. “i started talking to enzo about a month ago, as you know, and he kind of started hinting that he wanted to go further. you also know that i’m a virgin and i’m terrified of sex,” you started, cringing to yourself. “and i really didn’t want to make a fool out of myself with him.”

she nodded along, waiting for the catch. “okay,” she dragged out. “wait! oh my god… did my brother take your virginity?!” thankfully, she didn’t sound disgusted or mad. just curious and shocked.

“no! no, he did not,” you blurted out. “basically, i asked him to— kind of show me what to do. it sounds really bad saying it out loud but i just didn’t want to look stupid, you know? i wanted enzo to like me.”

“so then how far did you guys actually get?” she asked, brows furrowed slightly.

your gaze averted down to your hands as they fiddled with themselves awkwardly. “like, third base..”

she gasped and grinned big. “you dirty girl,” she teased playfully. “wow, that’s uh— just wow. so then what? topper found out about you and rafe?”

“no, he found out about me and enzo,” you clarified, looking back up at her. “but i only told you and rafe and i know you didn’t say anything.”

she chewed her bottom lip for a second, deep in thought. “you know, i heard he was at that party with them. maybe he got mad that you ghosted him and told topper?”

you felt like the biggest idiot in the world. that was totally something enzo would do. “oh my god,” you mumbled under your breath. “i feel really bad now. i don’t know why that didn’t even cross my mind.”

“don’t. i’m sure rafe is fine. just talk to him,” she said reassuringly. “he’ll be glad that you’re even speaking to him again.”

as if right on cue, you phone buzzed on the table between the two of you.

topper:

at the beach. can u pick us up? been drinking.

you shook your head and read the text to sarah. “i guess duty calls,” you mumbled. “you comin’ with?”

“i’ll go hang out with john b,” she said, a grin already working its way onto her lips as she wiggled her eyebrows. “you seem like you have some making up to do. maybe even some making out.”

your hand playfully smacked her shoulder before the two of you went your separate ways. you got into your brothers truck, not wanting to have sand in your own car, and headed down to the beach they typically went to. it was a lot more crowded than usual.

the car locked as you hopped out and began to search for the boys. the sun was still blazing down, the humidity rising, and the heat making your skin feel sticky. luckily, you still had your swimsuit on which allowed a little bit of a breeze to hit you. you adjusted your cap a little more to shield your eyes and took off your shoes to walk easier.

kelce and topper were the first ones you spotted. they were wearing their signature bright shorts with sunglasses rested on top of their heads. they were throwing a football back and forth at the shallow end of the water. you scanned the nearby area and found a familiar set of towels sprawled out.

there was jack, one of your brothers college friends, with all of their belongings. he was laid on his stomach with his arms under his head probably sleeping. ruthie was laid next to him tanning. you glanced around, attempting to locate the last one. and when you did, your heart clenched a little.

rafe was standing at the bar, leaned against the counter talking to the girl standing behind it. you recognized her instantly. her name was sofia. rumors spread last summer that they were a thing for a couple of months.

she had a wide, friendly smile on her face as she poured a drink into a glass cup. as if he could feel someone staring, he looked around, freezing when he noticed you. there was a moment where the two of you just stood still and stared at each other. then without warning, he left sofia and made his way over to you.

he pushed his sunglasses on top of his head and gave you a gentle smile. you were the first to break the silence. “hi,” you said softly.

“hi,” he repeated. he didn’t have that same softness or warmth in his tone. “so what? finally decided you wanted to talk to me?” his words were slightly slurred.

“you are really drunk, rafe,” you pointed out, eyes never leaving his. the blue in them was almost gone with how blown out they were.

he huffed out a laugh. “barely even had anything,” he said, though you both knew it was a lie. “why’d you come?”

“topper said you guys needed a ride,” you replied honestly. “i also wanted to apologize to you. we don’t need to have this conversation now though. we can wait until you’re able to think straight.”

“yeah?” he almost sounded sarcastic, but the bigger part of him didn’t want to make you feel any type of way. he was just happy to hear your voice again. “i’m fine. i’m practically sober.”

you nodded with a slight frown. “i’m sorry, rafe. i wasn’t thinking and topper had really hurt my feelings. i took that out on you and that wasn’t right,” you apologized. “i was also just scared because i’d never seen him that mad at me. either way, i still shouldn’t have blamed you.”

he carefully took in your words and nodded slowly, glancing around. “i jus’ don’t get why i was your first choice to blame. never once have i given you a reason to not trust me. why would i do some shit like that to you?”

your heart ached slightly hearing how upset he actually was. “i don’t know what i was thinking.” the tip of your nose started to burn, the feeling you always got before crying. “i’m really sorry. i do trust you and i do believe you. i overreacted and took out my frustration on you.”

there was another beat of silence, one that made your skin crawl and had you shifting your weight to one foot. “i forgive you,” he replied, voice unwavering and firm.

“what?” you asked before you could stop it from coming out. “you’re supposed to be more mad at me or something or tell me you hate me for treating you like that.”

a soft laugh escaped his lips. “i could never hate you,” he whispered, loud enough that you still caught it. “i really fuckin’ like you. not talking to you has only made that more clear. and hearing that you started talking to enzo? i felt like— like the biggest fuckin’ loser. and i lost you to some douche jus’ because i didn’t have the balls to tell you how i felt.”

your heart began to race in your chest at the confession. “rafe. i— you—“ you stuttered trying to find the right words. “you’re drunk right now. you don’t mean that. we should talk when tomorrow or something.”

and he was. he’d gone way past his limit that he tried to abide by any time he was out. “what if i do?” he muttered lowly. “i’m tired of jus’ acting like none of this means anything to me. and if you don’t feel that way, like you jus’ wanna be friends, that’s okay. i can do that for you. i jus’— i can’t go another year without telling you. it physically hurt to not have you these last two weeks.“

you bit your bottom lip as your eyes searched his. there was nothing in them but sincerity. doubt filled you as you began to think about what you’d seen when you first arrived. “but what about you and sofia?”

his face scrunched up in confusion. “me and—“ he thought for a second before shaking his head. his hands twitched at his side like he wanted to reach out and hold you. “no. there’s nothing there, hasn’t been in almost a year. i jus’ want you. it’s always been you. you have no idea how much you and the time we’ve spent together has meant to me.”

you didn’t even know what to say. the way he was staring at you, the look of love in his eyes as he loomed over you, it made your knees weaken and buckle slightly. “i like you too, rafe. a lot,” you admitted, heart thumping against your sternum like it was about to explode. “and i’m really sorry for ignoring you.”

his eyes lit up as his eyes scanned over you. he almost thought he was dreaming. you looked like heaven standing right in front of him. “i really wanna kiss you right now,” he muttered, eyes drooping slightly as he stared at you.

you chuckled softly, adjusting your hat so it’d cover your blush a little. “as much as i’d like that, you know we can’t. what if topper or ruthie sees?”

rafe shrugged as if it weren’t a big deal. “let ‘em.” he grabbed your hand eagerly and brought you away from the main beach area and closer to where snacks were sold. where there was a wall that would block the sight from your brother and his nosey girlfriend.

his hands found your waist, pulling your body flush against his and quickly pressing his lips to yours. he could feel you smile against his mouth and he leaned further into you, practically folding you backwards. his grip tightened on you before it slowly moved down to your hips, squeezing lightly. you gasped in surprise, allowing him to deepen the kiss and run his tongue over yours.

your hands rested on his chest and you stood on your toes in a useless attempt to match his height. you felt his hands travel down to the globes of your bottom. you giggled against his mouth and caught his wrists to stop his movements. “at least take me on a date first,” you joked in a whisper.

he pecked your lips again. his own were puffy and red, his cheeks flushed pink, and his eyes drooping slightly as he stared at you like you were the only person in the world. “done. i’ll pick you up at 6 tomorrow,” he mumbled, completely drunk off of you. “i’ll do whatever you want.”

“you planned it out that quick?” you laughed.

his head nodded, kissing down your neck lovingly and smiling at your infectious laughter. “mhm. got it all ready in my head. wear whatever you want, just make sure it’s something comfortable.”

you could feel butterflies swarm your stomach as you wrapped your arms around his neck and allowed yourself to relax in his arms. a content sigh left your lips just before he gave you one last soft kiss. “we should go back,” you muttered, your foreheads resting against one another.

he closed his eyes and nodded slightly. “yeah,” he agreed in a whisper. “i guess we should.” his lips pressed to your temple before letting you go and walking side by side with you over to where the two were laying.

topper and kelce noticed instantly and began to make their way back to the group. your brother immediately engulfed you into a hug. “you came!” he said happily, as if he wasn’t the one who’d texted you.

“wow,” you mumbled to yourself. “how much did you drink?” he could barely walk, his breath smelled of alcohol, his eyes were slightly red, and he had a permanent dopey grin on his face.

he waved you off and slung a bag over his shoulder carelessly. “obviously not enough if ‘m still walkin’,” he joked, words slurred and barely distinguishable. kelce wasn’t much better, he was just less vocal about it.

“have you put on some weight? i remember you looking better in a bikini,” ruthie blurted out, staring at you as you folded her towel up and placed it into her beach bag.

“dude. what the fuck is your problem?” rafe budded in, eyeing her with that quiet authority that made her shut up.

a slight frown etched into your lips. “no. i have not,” you deadpanned, fully ready to leave now.

she shrugged and gave you a fake smile before dropping it immediately and handing topper her stuff to carry. you began to lead them all to the truck, glancing behind you every now and then to make sure none of them fell over and knocked out.

when you finally arrived, they all threw their stuff into the bed of the truck and got in. kelce, jack, and topper sat in the back with ruthie on his lap, meaning rafe sat in the front with you driving.

it was quiet for the most part, all of them too tired and drunk to really talk about much. you listened to whatever playlist your phone decided to shuffle and lightly tapped along on the wheel. you couldn’t shake the feeling of rafe’s stare though.

“you know, you look really good without a shirt on rafe. you should keep it off a little more often,” ruthie said from the back out of nowhere.

topper let out an awkward chuckle. “yeah, it’s not like i’m sittin’ right next to you or anythin’ babe.”

“i’ve told you that you look hot without a shirt on plenty of times before,” she replied a little frustratedly. “i’ve never told rafe. i just wanted to let him know.”

you spared a quick glance at rafe but he looked unfazed. he didn’t even reply to her, just closed his eyes and tried his best to find sleep for the rest of the ride.

there was an awkward, tense silence for the remainder of the time spent in the car. and once you all got to your house, everyone went their separate ways. as in most of them falling asleep on the couch.

—

5:57 pm rolled around much quicker than you’d have liked. your nerves were going through the roof as you finished up your makeup and took the clips out of your hair. it was loosely curled with the front pieces perfectly framing your face. you wore a simple white dress with big orange and yellow flowers across it than ended just above your mid-thigh.

you had never felt more confident in something. it fit you perfectly, hugged exactly where it should to flatter your body, yet it still flowed towards the bottom to give your legs room to move. you paired it with some white wedged sandals and made your way downstairs.

6:00 pm and there was a knock on the door. it was like rafe to be this punctual. you opened it up and stepped outside. his jaw dropped slightly. it made you giggle. “wow. hi gorgeous,” he greeted with a smile, offering you a hand. he was wearing a simple white button up shirt with the first few undone, and khaki shorts.

“hi handsome,” you returned the smile and placed your perfectly manicured hand in his. he led you to his truck and opened up your door, waiting until you were secured in to close the door and hop into the drivers side.

a light blush coated his cheek as he put it in reverse and used one hand to turn the wheel while the other found its place on your thigh. the conversation flowed easily between the two of you. it covered various topics like how your day went, how you were feeling, what your thoughts were on the new show you’d started binging, anything that came to mind.

the route began to look familiar. he was coming close to the parking lot of the more expensive looking beach that most locals didn’t know about. a smile began to form on your lips as he pulled in and put the car in park.

he opened your door and grabbed your hand to help you out. “you look breathtaking,” he complimented, twirling you around before begin to lead you towards the sand.

“thank you,” you smiled. “you clean up nice yourself.”

rafe shrugged and grinned. “what can i say,” he said teasingly. “had to make sure i didn’t disappoint.”

you laughed and held onto his hand a little tighter to make sure you didn’t trip. “you? disappoint me? never.”

“that’s good to know,” he replied, smiling to himself as you two approached the cutest set up you’d probably ever seen.

there was a blanket laid out in the sand, string lights surrounding it, a small table in the center with flowers and plates, and some throw pillows perfectly arranged.

you stopped in your tracks, lips parting slightly in shock as you stared at it. he noticed immediately and paused along with you. he had a soft smile on his face as he watched your eyes light up. “do you like it?” he asked almost sheepishly.

you glanced at him then back at the setup. “rafe, this is the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me,” your voice cracked slightly.

he chuckled under his breath and moved to wrap his arms around you to keep you from crying and messing up your makeup. “you deserve it,” he muttered into your hair. “and so much more.”

his body felt warm against the slight breeze that washed over the beach as the sun began to set and cast a pretty glow over the sand.

once he was completely sure you weren’t going to break down in tears, he pressed a kiss to the side of your head and brought you over to sit on one of the cushions. he draped one of the blankets over your shoulders and sat across from you.

“this is really nice of you to take the time out of your day to do this,” you said gratefully. “i appreciate it more than i can even express.”

he waved you off. “you know i’d do anything for you.” his gaze was soft and fixed on yours. “you’re the most perfect person i’ve ever seen.”

your face blushed a deep red. “stop it.” you leaned forward and wrapped your arms around his neck, the fabric of the blanket keeping you nowhere near as warm as he did.

he gladly took you into his big arms, carefully flipping you over with ease so your back was against the ground and your head rested comfortably on a pillow. his weight leaned into yours as if he were your own personal blanket.

the two of you laid like that for a minute or two, just basking in the closeness of one another. “i wish things could be like this all the time,” you mumbled into the crook of his neck.

he pressed a kiss to your forehead and rolled off of you and onto his side so he could face you, his upper half propped up on his arm. “they could,” he said as if it was the most normal thing in the world.

your brows furrowed as you turned your head to look at him, a soft breathy laugh escaping your lips. “yeah right. if only it was that simple.”

he didn’t say anything for a minute. his gaze traveled down to his hands like he was nervous. “i told topper.”

your heart dropped to your ass. you were so fucked when you got home. “what?”

“i told topper about us,” he replied softly. “i don’t wanna hide anything from anyone. i jus’ wanna be able to be with you.”

a blush creeped up your neck at that, but the bigger part or you was still extremely anxious. “what did he say? was he mad?”

he shook his head. “no. even if he was, he’d get over it. he can’t really do anything about it since he dated sarah,” he reassured. “he basically said he’d rather it be me than anyone else.”

you couldn’t help but smile at that. thinking about no longer needing to hide your feelings from everyone. it felt amazing. “i’m surprised he didn’t throw a fit.”

“he almost did,” rafe chuckled softly as he thought back to it. “but then again, i didn’t say shit when he dated my sister. all he asked was that we keep the pda to a minimum around him. said he doesn’t wanna think about you doin’ gross shit.”

you chuckled. that sounded exactly like topper. “thank you for telling him,” you said gratefully with a smile. “and thank you again for setting this up. this is really beautiful.”

he brushed it off. “don’t need to thank me,” he mumbled before pressing his lips to yours. his hand found your hip, maneuvering so he was planked over top of you to keep himself from crushing you.

butterflies formed in your stomach as your arms wrapped around his neck and pulled him down a little further so he was closer.

his legs were slotted between yours and you could feel his hips pressing into yours. he swallowed down the soft whimper that escaped your lips.

he kissed you like he would die without you, like he was drowning and you were the only supply of air. it had your head spinning and your legs squeezing at his sides.

he pulled away for a moment to catch his breath. “i told top you were sleepin’ over at my place tonight.”

you giggled, both of your soft pants mixing. “a little presumptuous, don’t you think?”

he rolled his eyes at you. “get your mind out of the gutter, yeah?” he teased, though his words had no real bite. “jus’ thought we could have a movie night or something.”

“right,” you said playfully, pulling his back down to kiss you again. you knew this was a date and maybe there should be a little more talking, but all you wanted to do was just keep kissing him. one of his hands came up to cradle your jaw while the other came to rest under the back of your thigh, hiking it up over his hip.

your body tensed for a moment. you could feel every inch of him against your clothed cunt, making you hold onto him a little tighter and whimper into his mouth.

he swallowed it down again and pulled back once more. “baby, we gotta stop,” he muttered breathlessly, his pupils blown wide. within a second, he was crawling off and laying beside you.

you sat up quickly, thinking it was something about you. “what? why?” the concern was evident in your voice as you watched him. “did i do something wrong?”

“no,” he answered without hesitation. “no ‘s not you. i don’t think i’m gonna be able to stop if we keep going,” he admitted, still trying to catch his breath.

a subtle grin stretched across your lips. you felt a sense of satisfaction at that. “maybe i don’t want to stop,” you said sheepishly, part of you hoping he wouldn’t reject you.

he turned his head so he could look up at you. “what?” he asked, both shocked and in disbelief.

“i think i’m ready,” you replied just above a whisper. your fingers nervously played with your rings as his intense gaze bored into you. “i want it to be you.”

his eyes visibly lit up at that. “you sure, sweetheart? i don’t want you to feel pressured into anything.”

you nodded. “i know. and i don’t. i want this.” after he made sure you were serious, the two of you began to head towards the car.

wedges started to feel like a really bad idea now. the sand was making it harder to walk, the ties were cutting into your ankles, and the strap near your toes were rubbing uncomfortably against the side of your foot. it had you walking at the pace of a snail.

you stopped abruptly, rafe pausing with you immediately. “what’s up?” he asked, a hint of worry in his voice.

“my feet hurt,” you whined. before you could even lean down to take them off, he was already doing it for you. he carefully untied them and helped you step out of them.

and when he finally stood again, he held the shoes in one hand. “hold on to me,” he muttered, which you did. your arms wrapped around his neck while his free one slid behind your knees and lifted you up, carrying you bridal style all the way to the car with one arm.

the act alone made you think things that would probably have others thinking you’re insane.

the drive to his house felt like a blur. the only thing keeping you sane was his warm hand resting just above your knee and your favorite songs playing on the radio. he hadn’t spoken much the whole ride. his hand was evidently white-knuckling the wheel.

but once you got to his room and the door was locked, he was all over you. his lips were on yours in the blink of an eye and his hands slipped down behind your thighs to life you up so your legs could wrap around him.

he carefully and blindly navigated his way to the bed and slowly laid you down onto it without breaking the kiss. his lips pecked yours hurriedly before leaning up to take his shirt off, trying to keep himself from overheating, then leaning back down to kiss you.

your hands trailed down from to shoulders to gently trace over his defined abs. a soft groan slipped past his lips when your nails lightly scraped the sensitive skin.

the hem of your dress bunched at your hips, making is easier for him to slide it off of you and admire you for a minute or two. “you’re so fuckin’ perfect, baby,” he mumbled. except his eyes weren’t fixed on your body now, they were only on your face.

you could barely think straight, barely even register his words when he looked like a walking sin above you. and somehow, he was all yours.

his lips finally came back down to suck and kiss at your neck, leaving light purple marks so everyone knew you belonged to him. they’d only last a day or two, but he left them low enough they’d be hidden under the hem of a normal t-shirt. in a going out top? they’d be perfectly on display.

your hand trailed down to his shorts as you slowly began to palm him over the fabric. you could feel how hard he was already. that made you more aware of how your underwear was sticking to you uncomfortably.

a whimper echoed through the room when he sucked on your breast, his hand gently massaging the other. you were grateful now more than ever that sarah was out with john b.

you carefully slipped your hand beneath the waistband of his pants and boxers and began to slowly pump his length just enough to make his hips buck up. “shit, angel. feels so good. hands are so soft,” he managed to choke out.

a satisfied smile washed over your face. he was quick to wipe that look of your face when his hands ran over trailed down your stomach and into your underwear. you couldn’t help but moan, face scrunching up when he began to rub slow circles over your clit.

“not so cocky now, huh?” he teased low into your ear. the rasp of his voice made your stomach flip with something stronger than need.

this was now a competition between the two of you. your hand closed a little tighter just to add the slightest bit of pressure around him, making him let out the most heavenly sound you’d ever heard.

“got anything to say now?” you teased, lowering your voice like he did to sound as seductive as you could. it was cut short when one of his fingers breached your hole and his lips closed around your nipple. “oh fuck!” you cried out.

you could feel his smile grow against your skin and his fingers begin to pump a little quicker inside you, his thumb rubbing at your clit. “you don’t wanna play his game, sweet girl,” he mumbled, pressing one last kiss to your breast and pulling your arm away from him to pin by your side. “i’ll always win.”

his lips left tender kisses down your stomach and to the hem of your underwear. he eagerly dragged them down your legs and spread you open for him, throwing your legs over his shoulder and kissing at your inner thighs.

“stop teasing rafe. it’s not fair,” you pouted. your eyes were half-lidded and blown out with lust and love.

he chuckled softly. “whatever you want baby,” he rasped low before his tongue was lapping up your juices and sucking at your clit.

your hands instinctively flew to his head and bit your lip to keep yourself from being too loud. you could already feel your body begin to tense up as sparks ignited. “baby—“ you choked out when he gently pushed a finger inside you. “it’s too much— fuck, ‘s too much.”

“i know sweetheart, i know,” he cooed, the tip of his finger prodding at that sensitive spot deep inside of you. “jus’ gotta open you up for me. relax, ok?”

your back arched off the bed when his mouth was back on you and he was now pumping two fingers into you. your manicured hands scratched at his scalp. “oh my— oh fuck! ‘m so close, rafe. so so close,” you whimpered, eyes squeezing shut as a tear rolled down your cheek.

he didn’t stop. if anything, he began to pick up his pace. his free hand grabbed ahold of one of yours and intertwined your fingers so you could squeeze as hard as you needed to ground you.

you felt your stomach tighten almost instantly and your legs begin to shake. a borderline pornographic moan left your lips as you came undone, squeezing his hand hard and crying out.

once again, he didn’t stop. “such a good girl, takin’ it so well,” he mumbled before devouring your cunt again.

“rafe! baby— ‘s too much,” you slurred, completely drunk off of him and the pleasure he was giving you. another knot formed as quickly as it left. “please.”

you thrashed against his mattress but he used the hand that was holding yours and draped his arm over your hips to keep you pinned to the bed. “jus’ one more, baby. gimme one more.”

he coaxed it out of you within another minute. you were in full tears now, completely smudging your mascara everywhere. “no more. please, can’t take anymore,” you whined through sobs of pure pleasure.

he lapped up the last of your juices and carefully withdrew his fingers. “did so good for me,” he muttered as he kissed up your stomach and wiped at your tears. “y’look so pretty like this.”

you gazed up at him with wet eyes and a soft pout on your lips. your body was still shaking with the aftermath of the last two orgasms he’d brought you to.

your hands slowly trailed down to his waistband and tugged at it eagerly, hoping he’d get your message and fulfill your wish. thankfully he did and he tugged off his shorts and boxers.

“you sure you wanna do this?” he asked, his voice gentle and full of tenderness. “we can wait. whenever you’re ready, it’s completely up to you.”

you shook your head in response, thoughts consumed with him. his scent and the way he was looming over you was so intoxicating. “don’t wanna wait. i jus’ want you.”

he huffed out a breath of air and leaned his head into the crook of your neck to hide his blush. “can’t say shit like that, sweetheart.” he began to place more gentle kisses to the skin over your collarbone while one hand rested on your hip, his thumb rubbing comforting circles into it.

“please,” you begged, wanting him to stop playing games with you. part of you was terrified. the other was extremely needy for him.

he finally leaned back up and reached down between the two of you to take his length into his hand. your hips jerked a little when the tip of him ran through your folds and bumped at your clit. “need you to relax f’me ok?” he placed a kiss to your cheek.

you did everything but. you wanted this, of course you did, but part of you began to panic. “rafe?” your nails dug into his shoulders.

he halted his movements immediately. “yeah? what’s up?” he asked, voice soft and concerned. he had that same slight furrow in his brows whenever he thought too hard about something.

“is it gonna hurt?” you questioned quietly, like it was embarrassing to ask.

his expression softened and he gave you a reassuring smile. “maybe a little bit, but ‘m gonna try to make it as painless as i can. i promise,” he said before pressing his lips to yours to seal his vow. “sound okay?”

you nodded sheepishly. “i’m scared,” you whispered against his lips. your lip wobbled the slightest bit and you felt your heart pick up its pace.

“i know,” he replied with that same soft smile. “we don’t have to keep goin’ baby. nothing will change if we don’t do this.”

“i want to,” you confirmed for the last time. “i wanna do it, i’m jus’ scared.”

he pressed a long, loving kiss to your lips when he noticed your eyes gloss over. “i’m gonna take care of you, ok? you just gotta relax and trust me. i know it’s hard,” he whispered as if he didn’t want to break the peace around the two of you. “and if you wanna stop at any point, you tell me and i will. even if it starts to hurt a little, you tell me and i’ll try to make it better for you.”

“okay,” you smiled almost nervously and wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him down the slightest bit so you could reconnect your lips. the kiss was more delicate this time. he was no longer consuming you like you were his last breath, but instead, allowing his tongue to explore the wet cavern of your mouth and massage it with his own.

it was enough to distract you temporarily from the head of him prodding at your dripping hole. one of his hands was propped up by your head to keep himself up while the other that was just lining himself up was now rubbing slow circles over your clit. it made your legs twitch a little as sparks slowly ignited in your nerves.

you whimpered into his mouth when he slowly began to push inside of you, your arms tightening around him to hold his body closer to yours. it made you feel safer for some reason.

you pulled away to let out a choked gasp at the unconscious stretch. rafe was huge. you didn’t have much to compare him to but he was very obviously on the bigger side. even just the tip was enough to make a tear roll down your cheek.

he carefully wiped it away and kissed at the rosy skin there. “i know baby, i’m sorry,” he whispered sincerely. he rubbed a little quicker at your clit and pushed in a little more. “doin’ so good. takin’ me so well, angel.”

“hurts,” was all you could muster up. your teeth sunk into your bottom lip as your nails did the same to his back.

a groan rumbled in his chest as he nodded. “it’s okay. just keep breathing for me,” he cooed, gently pressing into you further. your eyes traveled down to where the two of you connected, but didn’t stay there long. “eyes on me, pretty girl.”

you could feel your legs tremble at how much he was stretching you. “you’re so big, rafe,” you whined.

he huffed out a small satisfied breath. “yeah?” he teased playfully. “feel so good around me. so fuckin’ tight and warm. you’re like heaven.”

a soft moan slipped past your parted lips. once he pushed in a little again, you could only feel the pleasure. “oh! more. please.”

he smiled and let his head fall to the crook of your neck, lightly sucking at biting at your pulse point. without warning, he slowly pushed his hips forward until they were flush against yours.

you gasped and raked your nails down his back. “fuck! babe—“ your legs began to shake and you squeeze your eyes shut. “you’re so deep.”

“doin’ okay?” he asked, peppering your face with kisses. you nodded eagerly and clenched around him unintentionally. he let out the most beautiful moan you’d ever heard. “holy shit. can’t do that to me sweetheart.”

you could feel the head of him bullying your insides and making a new home deep in your stomach. it almost felt like he was in your throat.

he slowly began to pull back a little just before sliding back into your tight heat. you could feel another tear escape and slide quickly down your hot skin.

once he was sure you weren’t in anymore pain, he began to speed up the slightest bit. “so fuckin’ tight baby,” he moaned against the shell of your ear. “what did i do to deserve you?”

on his next thrust, he hit a particularly sensitive spot inside you that had you squeezing around him so hard he thought he might come right then and there. with how hard you were scratching at his back, you were stunned there hadn’t been any blood yet. “i don’t— i don’t think i can take it.”

“yes you can, angel,” he muttered as he pulled out slightly and pushed right back in, slightly knocking the breath from you. “greedy little pussy’s just suckin’ me right back in.”

his hands found the back of your thighs and hiked you legs up over his hips to open you up more for him. the new angle literally had you seeing stars. he lifted his head for a moment to glance down at where the two of you connected but something else caught his eye.

“holy fuck,” he practically moaned. he grabbed your hand and dragged it down to rest over your lower belly where you could feel the head or him protruding under the skin there. “see that baby? so fuckin’ deep inside you i can see myself in your stomach.”

that pulled a whine from the depths of your throat out. “faster, rafe. please.”

he obliged almost immediately. he slowly worked up to a faster pace to get you used to the feeling. you could feel each inch of him, each vein, everything. it made the knot in your stomach form a lot quicker than you’d have liked. especially with his hand still rubbing at your clit.

“still with me, pretty girl?” he asked, leaning up so he could get a better view of you. when you didn’t answer, he placed his free hand around your neck and squeezing lightly to gather your attention again.

you nodded, hands coming to wrap around his wrist as a string of moans left your lips.

“use your words,” he muttered. it was extremely hard to when his cock when plunging deep inside of you over and over again. “need to hear you say it.”

“ye-yes! yes, ‘m here,” you babbled out, crying when he hit that spot again.

he grunted through his teeth when you squeezed around him, sucking him back in each time he pulled back. “feel so perfect. like this fuckin’ cunt was made for me.”

“oh my god— i can’t,” you squeezed your eyes shut and held onto his wrist a little tighter. your legs began to shake and his thrust sped up ever so slightly.

his thumbs pressed into the sides of your throat gently. “yes you can, baby. let go. let me feel it,” he whispered against your temple. “i’m so close. gonna come inside this little cunt, fill you up and keep you stuffed full of me. how’s that sound, baby? sound good?”

you nodded eagerly, barely even paying attention to anything. “so good. so so good.”

he laughed softly to himself. “look at you. can barely even think straight. am i fuckin’ you that good?” he teased as his hand went over your stomach and pressed down on the bulge that reappeared every time he thrust into you. “want you to feel me in here for days. wanna make sure you can barely fuckin’ walk.”

“yes! please!” your legs shook and tensed repeatedly as your high washed over you. a loud string of moans slipped through your ‘o’ shaped mouth, eyes squeezed shut, nails digging into his wrist, and your hole clenched around him.

“shit baby,” he moaned, his thrusts slowing just slightly as to not overstimulate you too much. “fuck. ‘m gonna come. gonna let me fill this pretty pussy up?”

you nodded eagerly, squeezing at his wrist a little tighter. “mhm. want it so bad,” you cried. tears strolled down your cheeks as he helped you ride out your high until his hips stuttered.

his lips parted, soft pants escaping as he pressed into you and emptied himself inside of you. “good fuckin’ girl,” he muttered. he removed his hand from your throat and used it to wipe at your tears. “takin’ it so well.”

he placed gentle kisses to your cheek, his heart pounding against his chest with a bit of exhaustion. he finally moved off of you after a couple of minutes so he could sit beside you. his head was leaned back against his headboard with his eyes shut.

almost instantly, you missed the warmth of his touch. you mustered up the strength to lift yourself from the bed and crawl into his lap with one leg on either side of each of his.

his hands came to rest on your hips like it was second nature. “feel okay?” he asked softly, pulling you in closer so your chest was flush against his.

you nodded with a dopey smile. “mhm. i’m great,” you hummed in satisfaction, your nails gently tracing shapes into his chest. you could feel him grow hard again beneath you.

“yeah?” he returned your smile and pecked your lips lovingly. “wasn’t too rough with you, was i?”

“no,” you replied honestly. “i liked it. everything.”

something along the lines of proud and a bit of pride bloomed in his chest. “good. i’m glad to hear it.”

with his length resting perfectly against your clit, you felt tiny shocks run through your bloodstream. it was making it extremely hard to focus. you sat up a little straighter and took him into your hand, lining him up with your entrance, then slowly sinking down onto him.

you let out a soft moan at the new angle. there was no discomfort this time. maybe because you’d already had him rearranging your guts. or because he was staring at you like you’d just hung the stars one by one.

“want you to be mine,” he muttered just before peppering kisses to your collarbone. “want you all to myself.”

you nodded, your bottom lip pulled between your teeth. “all yours, rafe,” you echoed.

there was something more tender about this than the last position. maybe because you’d already had guys were so close to one another. or because your hearts were practically against each other and beating in sync. or maybe because you two looked at the other with the same amount of love and affection.

things weren’t perfect, but with the way things were going, you were sure they’d get there. and for now, you were happy with things. it was your perfect little bubble.

you had rafe and he treated you like a national treasure. that was all you could ask for.

hey guys!! i’m so sorry for the like week long wait but i hope it was worth it!! i def wanna keep this au going with little blurbs and stuff but lmk if y’all are interested. i’m finally settled into school again so i’m back in business

teachers pet taglist —

@sublimepenguinpeach-blog @deeznuggetsbebussin @nonbeliever1 @elvislover1967 @strawberrymilk99 @hkhkhkhj @matthewswifeyy @hbuhhiumij @rafeysangelbaby @sophibennet @sweetnastybunny @cycloneperson @godsfavoritegirlll @ditzyrafe @lolasangelz @c1gsafterwhat @pretty-pink-princesss @str4wb3hrry @drewstarkeyswife-7 @livie4lifestarkeyblyth @lillell467 @isa172736637 @gethimbaby @fallout-girl219 @rafecameronswifey69 @yell0wjack3ts @xoxosblogsblog

[bbywhitefox123]

so guys, i've been wondering how you imagine cath and rafe's kids— like their aesthetics. And I'm reallyyyyyy curious so...

i'd really appreciate it if you could tell me or like make collages or anything really, i'm just curious, and i have trouble deciding what i want their personalities to turn into as they grow up bc i want to write some stuff in their teen years and early adulthood too and yeahhh

ALSO, thanks for all the love for the story<333 it's really motivating me to write more.

[bbywhitefox123]

maybe one with Catherine more dominant during sex?

Summary : catherine woke up desperate for rafe in the early morning.

Warnings: NSFW (smut), oral sex (f & m receiving), vaginal sex, rough/dirty sex, spanking, hair pulling, choking, dirty talk, edging, multiple orgasms, messy sex, non-consensual teasing (all between established partners),sexual domination and submission, voyeurism, morning sex, exhibitionism, public-adjacent sexual activity, partner teasing, sexual frustration, forced arousal, kitchen sex, cowgirl, doggy

Masterlist

It was too early for either of them to be awake, the bedroom still tinted with that bluish haze of dawn. Catherine stirred first, her lashes fluttering as she became aware of just how tightly she was wrapped up in him. Rafe’s arm was heavy around her waist, his palm splayed possessively over her stomach, her back snug against his broad chest. Every slow, even breath from him pressed his abs into her spine, but what had her biting down on her lip was the unmistakable hardness nudging against her ass.

He was hard—of course he was—and she could already feel herself slickening at the thought of him filling her before the day even started.

Usually they didn’t get mornings like this. The alarm always cut them short, leaving them half-dressed, frustrated from rushed quickies that never gave either of them what they craved—long, dirty, relentless rounds. But this morning, Rafe was still dead asleep, his jaw slack against the pillow, his hair mussed. Catherine shifted, testing. His cock twitched against her.

Her hand slid down his arm, dragging over the thick muscle, until she reached his big hand resting against her stomach. Her nightgown had already ridden up around her thighs, bunched around his wrist. She pressed his palm lower, urging, desperate for him to touch her where she needed him most. But he didn’t stir, only groaned faintly in his sleep, his breathing still slow.

Frustration twisted deliciously in her chest. Catherine ground her ass back against him, a soft gasp slipping out when his morning wood pressed harder against her bare skin. She dragged his hand up instead, slipping it under the thin gown until his palm was molded against her breast. Her nipple peaked instantly under his warm, rough hand. He didn’t squeeze, didn’t move—he was still lost in sleep.

She whimpered softly, heat pooling low in her belly. Her own manicured fingers slipped down between her thighs, parting herself with a shaky breath. She was soaked already, but it wasn’t the same. Her hand wasn’t his hand. Her mouth fell open against the pillow as she circled her clit slowly, needy and restless. Her hips shifted against his cock, seeking friction, desperate for him to wake the fuck up and take over.

Still, he didn’t move.

And so Catherine kept grinding her bare ass against his bulge while her own fingers teased her wet slit, her breath quickening in the quiet room. It wasn’t enough, not nearly enough—but maybe if she pushed him far enough, if she got him riled up even in his sleep, Rafe would wake and give her exactly what she was begging for.

Catherine groaned in frustration, grinding back and forth against him as her fingers stroked herself, but no matter how much she circled and teased, she couldn’t get herself over the edge. Just edging, always edging, and it was driving her crazy. She leaned down, pressing her lips against the warm skin of his neck, trailing soft kisses over his chest, hoping to spark something, anything.

But he didn’t move. Not a twitch, not even a sigh. Instead, Rafe rolled onto his back, pulling his hand with him so that his arm—her prop under her breast—fell lazily to the mattress beneath them. She froze for a moment, blinking down at him, incredulous.

“Are you serious?” she muttered under her breath, her hips pressing insistently against him anyway.

Catherine shifted, straddling his thighs as she pulled at the waistband of his sweats, tugging them down along with his boxers. Her mouth watered, heat pooling low as she stared at him. She couldn’t believe it—Rafe, the one with a literal unhuman libido, was still sleeping through her absolute neediness.

Her lips found him at last. She started low, licking and kissing, tasting the salt and heat of him. One hand gripped the base of his cock while her tongue flicked over the tip, her mouth sliding over him in slow, deliberate strokes. She hummed softly around him, teasing him, desperate to feel him twitch under her.

And then, finally, he stirred. Rafe’s eyes cracked open, still heavy with sleep, his voice rough as he muttered, “Wait… am I having a wet dream?”

Catherine’s lips glistened as she pulled back just enough to answer, her hand still stroking the thick length of him. “You wish,” she teased, her voice low and sharp, “but I’m right here, trying to get you to fuck me, and you’re too busy snoring.”

Normally, that tone alone would have him pinning her down, grinning wickedly as he reminded her exactly who she belonged to. So she leaned into his favorite kinks, her voice dripping with filth.

“Come on, daddy,” she whispered, dragging her tongue up his shaft slowly. “Don’t you want to breed me? Fill me up before work? You love when I beg for it—don’t make me say it twice.”

But instead of flipping her onto her stomach, instead of snarling filthy promises into her ear, Rafe just smirked and let his head fall back against the pillow. His cock twitched in her hand, yes, but his eyelids were still heavy, his chest rising and falling with sluggish breaths.

Catherine stilled, her jaw tightening. She was used to his endless stamina, his insatiable hunger for her. Him being too tired to even move? It was almost insulting.

“Unbelievable,” she muttered, straddling him fully now. She grabbed him by the base and pressed the head of his cock against her slick entrance, teasing herself until her thighs trembled. “You always want to fuck me raw, fill me up, ruin me… but the one time I actually wake you up begging for it—” she sank down on him in one slow, wet slide, gasping as she took him to the hilt—“you’re too tired?”

Rafe groaned, his hands twitching but not gripping her the way they normally would. His body arched instinctively, but he didn’t take over.

Which left her in control.

Catherine smirked darkly, planting her palms on his chest as she began to roll her hips, grinding herself on his cock with deliberate, hungry movements. “Fine,” she hissed, her breath catching with every drag of him inside her. “I’ll do it myself.”

She clenched around him, leaning forward until her lips brushed his ear. “Maybe I’ll make you my little toy today, hmm? Just a cock for me to use… since you’re too weak to fuck me like you should.”

His half-asleep groan turned into something deeper, throatier—like even in his exhaustion, her words were sparking fire.

Catherine bounced on him harder, her thighs burning, sweat prickling along her hairline as she fucked herself on his cock. Every time she thought she was close, she’d stop, grinding down against him, chasing friction. Then she’d move again, slamming down on him with a wet, obscene sound. Over and over.

But it wasn’t the same. Her own hand on his chest, her own rhythm—it only left her frustrated, aching, desperate for the roughness that only Rafe gave her. Instead, all she got was his body twitching beneath her, his cock painfully hard inside her while he groaned and shifted lazily, eyes barely open.

“God, Rafe,” she snapped breathlessly, rocking herself back and forth now, dragging her clit against his pelvis. “You’re so hard and you’re just laying there?”

He cracked his eyes open wider, catching sight of her—straddling him, blonde hair wild and falling over her shoulders, the straps of her nightgown slipped low on her arms, exposing her tits as they bounced with every movement. The picture of her above him made his throat tighten, his cock twitching deep inside her.

“Fuck…” he groaned, voice gravelly and raw, almost in disbelief.

Catherine’s lips curled into a sharp little smirk as she ground herself harder against him. “Yeah. Look at me. You’re so fucking lucky I even let you inside me while you’re half-asleep.”

Her nails scratched down his chest as she picked up her pace, hips rolling deliberately to milk every sound from him. His jaw clenched, his hands twitching against the sheets, but he still didn’t grab her. Still too tired.

Which only made her move harder, punishing him with every bounce, her wet heat squeezing him tighter each time she slammed down.

Rafe’s eyes finally focused on her, and a slow, crooked smirk curved over his lips. Even half-asleep, he still had that cocky edge.

“You’ve been at this how long now?” he rasped, voice hoarse from sleep, his gaze locked on the way her tits bounced in front of him. “And you still can’t cum?”

Heat flared in her chest at the mocking lilt in his tone, and Catherine’s hips stuttered. “You're not funny,” she snapped, though her breath hitched when his hand slid up the curve of her back.

Rafe’s big palm wrapped around the back of her neck, tugging her down until her lips collided with his. The kiss was rough, messy, his tongue forcing hers apart as he groaned into her mouth. Catherine whimpered, the angle suddenly shifting as her hips rocked down harder against him, the drag of his cock deeper, sharper.

“Fuck…” she gasped against his lips, her body shuddering as his grip on her neck held her in place.

His other hand came down on her ass, fingers spreading over the soft flesh and squeezing hard as he guided her rhythm. Her nightgown straps slipped further down, nearly falling off completely as her tits pressed against his chest.

Catherine rocked against him desperately now, her clit grinding against his pelvis with every motion. The kiss was dizzying, his mocking smirk swallowed into the hungry press of his mouth on hers, every groan vibrating into her lips.

“Yeah, that’s it,” Rafe muttered against her, his grip tightening on her ass. “Use me, baby. Make yourself cum on daddy’s cock.”

Rafe’s dirty talk always did unholy things to her. The moment his lips pressed against hers, his voice poured filth into her mouth between kisses, rough and sleep-drugged but still cocky.

“Look at you,” he rasped, his palm gripping the back of her neck as he dragged her down to him. “Bouncing on daddy’s cock like you can’t get enough. You’re so fucking needy in the mornings, huh?”

Catherine whimpered into his mouth, rocking her hips harder, clinging to him like every word made her hotter.

“You wanted me to fill you up before breakfast, didn’t you? Wanted to take it in the kitchen, maybe bend you over the counter while the kids were still asleep.” His free hand groped her tits roughly, tugging at the straps of her nightgown until her breasts spilled free. “But you couldn’t wait. You had to wake me up with that pretty mouth around my cock.”

“Rafe…” she moaned, her body shuddering as he pinched her nipple, rolling it between his fingers before sliding his hand down her belly.

“Oh, but you’re dripping for me,” he groaned, fingertips flicking over her clit, teasing her with barely-there circles. “You wanna cum, baby? Wanna cream all over daddy’s cock so I have to fuck it back into you later?”

“Yes,” she gasped, her hips jerking against his hand. “Please, please, I need it.”

Her desperation only seemed to rile him up more. He grinned against her lips, muttering filth with every thrust of his hips. “Say it louder. Tell me you want me to knock you up again. Tell me you want daddy’s cum.”

“God, I want it—I want you to breed me, daddy,” Catherine cried, grinding down frantically, the dirty words working her into a fever.

But instead of pushing her over the edge, all of it only wound her tighter. His hand was there, his cock thick inside her, his filthy voice filling her head—yet it dragged him closer instead.

“Fuck, baby,” he groaned, his voice breaking as he squeezed her ass with his other hand. “I’m gonna—shit, you’re too good—”

He came with a rough grunt, hot and deep, his hips jerking up into her. Catherine gasped, clenching around him, waiting for her own release to crash over her but it didn’t. She edged, trembled, waited—and nothing.

She collapsed against his chest with a strangled groan as he softened inside her. Her clit throbbed painfully, her body screaming for more.

Then his alarm blared on the nightstand, sharp and cruel. Rafe groaned, too, this time at the sound, dragging his hand over his face.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” she groaned.

They had no time left.

With a huff, Catherine pulled off him, rolling onto her side of the bed as she listened to him reach for his phone. Her thighs were sticky, her body still humming, her clit throbbing angrily. And now reality was waiting—she had to go make breakfast, Rafe had to wake the kids, and then she’d have to go through her entire day restless, aching, and unsatisfied. Even when he came home later, she’d have to wait until all the kids were asleep before she could have him again.

She didn’t tell him any of that, though. She didn’t tell him that she was burning, that he’d left her desperate, that she wanted to scream. Instead, she climbed out of bed, tugging her nightgown back over her chest, and muttered, “I need a cold shower.”

Still catching his breath, Rafe smirked as Catherine climbed out of bed. “We can manage a quickie in the shower if you're down?” he teased, his voice still hoarse from sleep.

Normally she would’ve rolled her eyes and gone along with it—taken him up against the tile with the water scalding hot, quick and dirty before the kids stirred. But she was too annoyed, still aching. “Not funny,” she muttered, disappearing into the bathroom.

They showered separately, brushed their teeth and got dressed. Rafe tugged on his suit while Catherine brushed out her hair, slipping into a dress. By the time he went to wake the kids, she was already in the kitchen, barefoot at the stove, the smell of bacon and eggs filling the air.

But her mind wasn’t on the pan in front of her. She imagined Rafe sneaking in, pressing her against the counter, that low voice in her ear as he lifted her dress and slid inside her. She whimpered softly, her thighs pressing together—then snapped out of it when she realized she was just scrambling eggs.

Breakfast was its usual chaos. Bradley, bright-eyed, couldn’t stop talking about his biology exam. Lara twirled in her chair, rambling about ballet after school. Maisie drowned her eggs in tomato sauce, her lips and hands a mess. Mason barely lifted his head, still half-asleep as he picked lazily at his plate.

Catherine smiled, but her mind wandered every time her gaze flicked toward Rafe—broad shoulders filling out his suit, tie knotted tight against his throat, the picture of composure. She squeezed her thighs under the table, biting her lip.

“Mom,” Bradley suddenly announced, “we’re gonna be late. Breakfast was amazing, thank you.”

He was the only one excited about school, practically vibrating with energy. He stood, leaned over to kiss her cheek, and then jogged off to grab his bag and wait in the car. Catherine kissed each of the kids in turn before Rafe leaned in for his usual quick peck.

But this time, when he went to pull back, she caught him by the tie, tugging him down into another kiss. It was deeper, hungrier, her body pressing into his as her cunt throbbed against his thigh. His hand moved on instinct, squeezing her ass through her dress. Catherine whimpered against his lips, and he smirked when he pulled back, seeing her pupils blown wide, the desperate little tremor in her voice.

She turned quickly to clean the table, cheeks flushed, as if that kiss hadn’t just given away everything she’d been holding back since dawn. Rafe left with the kids, ushering them toward the garage, getting them into the backseat of the car.

“Shit,” he muttered suddenly, patting his full pocket. “Forgot my phone.”

The kids groaned but didn’t question it, already strapped in.

Rafe shut the garage door behind him, locking it, making sure they wouldn’t wander back in. Then he almost sprinted back toward the kitchen, heat surging in his veins.

Catherine was bent slightly at the dishwasher, loading plates, when she heard the quick, purposeful steps behind her. She glanced over her shoulder just as Rafe reached her, his tie already loosened, eyes dark.

"Forgot something, baby?"

Rafe slipped in behind her, one hand already tugging at his belt, the soft clink of metal making Catherine’s breath catch. His zipper came down, and in a heartbeat he was pressing the hard bulge in his boxers against her ass. She gasped, straightening up, her hands braced on the counter as he crowded her body with his.

The kiss he caught her in was hungry, all tongue and teeth, the tie she’d yanked on earlier brushing against her cheek. Catherine moaned into his mouth, her thighs pressing together instinctively. She was still wet from that morning—aching, dripping—and when Rafe felt it through the thin fabric of her dress, he nearly groaned himself hoarse.

“Fuck, Cath,” he muttered against her lips, his hand sliding down to palm her. “You’ve been walking around like this trough breakfast? Soaked and needy?”

She whimpered, nodding, but didn’t get another word out before he spun her back toward the counter, pushing her gently but firmly against the cool surface. Her palms flattened against it as he dropped to his knees behind her.

Rafe shoved her dress up over her ass, and buried his face between her thighs without hesitation. Catherine let out a sharp cry, her hand flying to her mouth to muffle it. His tongue slid through her folds, lapping at her like he was starved, sucking at her clit until her knees shook.

“God, you taste so fucking good,” he growled against her, his hands gripping her thighs so hard she knew she’d bruise. He ate her out like a man possessed, licking and sucking until she was gasping his name in broken moans.

When she was trembling too much to stand, he pulled back, his mouth shiny with her arousal. He smirked at her bottom as he placed his hand over her lower back.

“Gonna give you what you need,” he muttered, lining himself up.

Catherine barely had time to brace herself before he slid inside her in one hard, wet thrust. She cried out, her nails scratching against the counter’s surface, her walls clenching around him instantly.

Rafe groaned, bending over her back as his hips pressed flush to her ass. “Fuck, baby—tightest pussy I’ve ever had, and it’s mine. All mine.”

He pulled back and slammed into her again, setting a brutal pace, the sound of skin meeting skin echoing in the kitchen.

Rafe’s thrusts were deep and merciless, every slam of his hips against her ass making Catherine cry out louder, her cheek pressed to the cool counter. He gripped her hair in one fist, yanking her head back so her back arched beautifully for him.

“You like this, huh?” he growled in her ear, breath hot against her cheek. “Getting fucked like a whore in the kitchen while the kids are waiting for their daddy to drive them to school?”

Her answering moan was wrecked, trembling, needy.

His palm cracked across her ass, the sting sharp and hot, making her clench around him. “So fucking needy,” he grunted, spanking her again as her body jolted forward. “Been dripping for me since morning and you couldn’t even wait ‘til tonight.”

“R-Rafe,” she gasped, her ass shaking with each thrust.

He tugged her upright by her hair, one hand slipping around her throat, squeezing lightly until her breath came ragged. With his other hand, he yanked the neckline of her dress down, pulling the fabric under her chest so her tits spilled free. He groaned, immediately cupping one in his palm, squeezing, pinching her nipple hard.

“God, these tits—made for me to ruin. Made for me to breed,” he rasped, groping her roughly as he pounded into her. “Say it, Cath. Say you want daddy to knock you up again.”

Her voice broke on a whimper. “I want it—fuck, I want it, daddy—fill me up!”

He choked her lightly, his cock hitting deeper at the new angle, and Catherine’s body gave out. She shattered around him, screaming his name, her pussy clenching so tight around him that Rafe snarled into her neck. Her nails dug into the counter as her orgasm ripped through her, her body shaking in his grip.

Rafe groaned, spilling into her with one final slam, hot and thick inside her, hips grinding to keep himself buried deep. He pulled her hair back, kissing her roughly as his cum leaked down her thighs.

But he wasn’t done.

Rafe dragged out of her slowly, smirking as she panted, trembling, against the counter. He turned her by the chin, guiding her to her knees. “Open up,” he ordered, his cock still dripping with her release and his cum.

Catherine obeyed, lips parting as he pressed his length into her mouth. “Good girl,” he groaned as she wrapped her lips around him, sucking him clean, her tongue swirling obediently. He held her hair in his fist, guiding her down until her throat swallowed him whole.

When she pulled back, lips swollen, chin wet, Rafe smirked down at her like she was his masterpiece. “That’s my perfect little wife.”

Rafe tugged her back up onto her shaky legs, his hands steadying her waist. Catherine wobbled against him, flushed and breathless, her chest heaving as he claimed her mouth in another kiss. This one was different—messier, filthy. She could taste him and herself mingling on his tongue, and the nastiness of it made her whimper, her knees nearly buckling all over again.

That sound—that broken little whine—was what Rafe wanted. He smirked against her lips before finally pulling back.

He grabbed a paper towel from the roll on the counter, wiping himself off with casual ease, then tucking his cock back into his boxers. He leaned in for another quick kiss as Catherine’s shaky hands found his zipper.

“Thanks,” she whispered, still flushed, pulling it up for him.

Rafe chuckled, his smirk wicked. “No, baby… thank you for the early lunch.”

Catherine laughed breathlessly, fastening his belt for him as he stood there with that cocky grin. He bent down to steal another kiss, squeezing her ass through her dress for good measure before stepping back.

By the time he walked out of the kitchen, he was already fixing his tie, his suit back in order like nothing had happened. Catherine watched him go, still trembling, then sighed as she tugged her dress into place and slipped off to the powder room. She cleaned herself quickly, freshened up, then headed back into the kitchen to clear away the mess.

Meanwhile, Rafe unlocked the garage door and slid back into the driver’s seat.

Bradley groaned from the front passenger seat, arms crossed. “We’re late. Again.”

Mason, Maisie, and Lara were half-asleep in the back, their heads lolling together, oblivious to the lost minutes.

Rafe only smirked to himself, tugging his tie straight with one hand as he started the car.

[bbywhitefox123]

Summary: After summer break, Lola returned to the Kook Academy with a swollen belly, with no other than the golden boy's, Rafe Cameron, locker engraved with the words - daddy cameron.

☆ Chapter 4 : the smell of cash ☆

After Rafe had a taste of Lola, he couldn’t stop. The money he’d usually blow on coke? Gone. Spent on her. On nights with her. Then mornings. Then afternoons. Again and again. Like clockwork, like addiction—just dirtier.

His texts to Katie, his girlfriend, had slowed to one-word replies. She asked what was wrong, if he was stressed. And yeah, he was—stressed that she couldn’t choke him the way Lola could. Stressed that Katie was soft, sweet, the kind of girl you introduced to your mother. Lola? She clawed his back like she wanted to wear him as a trophy. She spat in his mouth, rode him until he was half-dead, and told him to beg if he wanted more.

So when the cash ran dry, Rafe didn’t think twice.

He snuck into his father’s study at Tannyhill, opened the locked drawer with Ward’s old code, and took a few thick bills. Then a few more. Then a few thousand. All for her. All for the girl in the trailer, the one who wiped his cum off her stomach with an old hand towel and whistled while doing it.

He hated the Cut. Hated the trailer park, the broken mailboxes, the kids riding bikes barefoot, the grease smell in the air. He hated pogues. But God, he loved her bed. The reek of weed, the sound of her in the bathroom humming while he laid there, his muscles sore and a lazy grin on his face.

It wasn’t Cameron-like. It was filthy. Shameful. If Ward knew his golden boy was paying to fuck some pogue trash, he’d disown him. His friends would laugh—Topper would call it slumming, Kelce would probably try to get in line.

But Rafe didn’t care.

Because when Lola walked out of the bathroom in nothing but a thong and his Ralph Lauren polo, damp hair sticking to her neck and that smug look on her face, he felt like the king of something.

Then there was a knock on the door.

Rafe raised an eyebrow, not even bothering to move from the bed, one arm behind his head. “Another client?”

Lola didn’t answer right away. She grabbed her joint from the ashtray and lit it, taking a long drag before letting the smoke curl from her lips.

“You might want to get your Kook ass off the bed,” she said, smirking as she walked toward the front door. “I might need it.”

Rafe scoffed, eyes dragging over her legs, his fingerprints still faint on her thighs. “Yeah? He pay better than me?”

She turned her head, blowing smoke at him. “He doesn’t need to rob daddy’s safe to cover it.”

Rafe grinned, licking his bottom lip. “Cute. Just don’t forget who keeps the lights on in this dump.”

Lola raised a brow. “You think I’d let you on me if you weren’t paying?”

“I think you like it when I pay. Means you don’t have to pretend to feel anything.”

She shrugged, sauntering to the door in bare feet. “Maybe. Or maybe I just like seeing a rich boy crawl.”

“Sweetheart,” Rafe said, voice slick as oil, “you haven’t seen me crawl yet.”

She looked over her shoulder, that wicked smile tugging at her lips. “Give it a few more weeks, and I’ll have you on your knees.”

He laughed under his breath as she opened the door. Let her play her game. He liked it rough. Liked being used right back.

Hell, he’d even give her a tip for it.

But he should’ve probably saved that tip.

Because just as the buzz was starting to settle—his high, her skin still on his fingertips, the scent of weed and sex clinging to the walls—there was a knock at the door that didn’t wait for permission.

Lola opened it with a sigh already forming on her lips.

And then Barry walked in.

Didn’t ask, didn’t look her in the eye, didn’t even pretend to care who else was inside. He stepped into the trailer like he paid the rent, which he didn’t—but he sure as hell thought he owned everything in it.

Including her.

Lola’s body tensed the second she saw him. “Barry,” she said, annoyed. “You seriously showing up right now?”

“Didn’t realize there were office hours,” he shot back, pushing past her. “Figured with all the foot traffic you’ve been getting, there was cash lying around.”

“I don’t have it,” she said sharply.

“That’s funny,” Barry muttered, eyes scanning the cluttered room. “’Cause my boys been watching this place. And the amount of shiny-ass shoes walking in and out lately? You’re not exactly hurting for business.”

Back in the bedroom, Rafe didn’t even look up. He was on his phone, texting Katie back.

RAFE CAMERON: Yeah, brunch sounds good. Pick you up at noon.

He glanced toward the hallway, heard the voices rising, but didn’t care. He figured it was just Lola yelling at someone for weed or rent. She was like that—mouthy and defensive and full of fire. That’s why he liked her. That’s why he kept coming back.

He also figured he could stop by again tomorrow morning. Get his fix. Go take Katie out, smile for her parents, pretend he was the clean-cut son of the Cameron family name.

Easy.

But the moment he heard the drawer slam, followed by something hard hitting the floor—and Lola’s voice, too sharp to be playful—Rafe sat up.

And then he heard him.

“You wanna lie to me again?” Barry’s voice snapped. “You wanna pretend like you’re broke when you’ve got country club dicks walking in here every other day?”

Rafe stood, pulled his jeans on quickly, and walked out shirtless, barefoot, and half-wired from post-orgasm haze and sudden adrenaline.

The moment he stepped into the living room, he froze.

Lola was kneeling near a drawer she’d just opened, her hair falling in her face, one hand up defensively. Barry was standing over her with a gun—a fucking gun—held loose in his right hand, like it was just part of his outfit.

Rafe’s voice was low. Cold. “Put that down.”

Barry turned, grinned like they were old friends catching up.

“Well, look who it is. Country Club.”

Rafe’s jaw twitched. “Didn’t know you and Lola were… close.”

Barry raised an eyebrow, amused. “Close?”

Lola stood slowly, her body tense, her voice clipped. “Barry. Don’t.”

Barry didn’t take his eyes off Rafe. “You been tappin’ that, huh?”

Rafe narrowed his eyes. “None of your business.”

Barry laughed, shaking his head. “Oh, it’s my business, alright. She’s family.”

Rafe blinked. “Wait, what?”

Lola finally met his eyes, her jaw tightening. “He’s my brother.”

The words hit like a slap.

Rafe stared at her for a beat, then looked back at Barry. “You’re Lola’s brother?”

“Half-brother,” Lola corrected quickly. “Different moms. Same drunk piece of shit for a dad.”

Barry’s voice turned sharper. “Still makes her blood. And blood owes me.”

“Since when does family point a gun over pocket change?” Rafe snapped.

“That you ask your daddy,” Barry replied smugly, never lowering the gun.

While the two boys squared off, Lola slipped down the short hall to her bedroom. She flipped the mattress, yanked out the plastic bag taped beneath the box spring—five grand, thick, crisp bills. Four thousand of it was Rafe’s. The rest came from a couple of Kook Academy kids and some of Barry’s own customers. She peeled off one grand, tucked it into the waistband of her panties, then shoved the fat bundle into her Converse, hiding it deep in the toe. A hoodie was thrown on top to cover her tracks.

Back in the living room, she held out the lone stack. “Here,” she said, her voice flat. “Slow week.”

Barry snatched the bills, thumbed through them, then sneered. “Slow for who?” He jabbed the gun at her chest. “You skimping on your own family?”

Rafe, exasperated, rubbed his temple. “Can we not do this bullshit?”

Barry looked between them. “Looked to me like Cameron here hadn’t paid up.”

Rafe raised his hands up “Don’t mix me in the family bullshit” before he stalked off toward her bedroom without another word. In the hallway, he glanced at the ratty dresser, then at the floor where a hoodie lay crumpled. He picked it up to put it on but then one shoe tipped over, the corner of that plastic bag peeking out. He put the hoodie on and fished it out, braced himself for coke, ripped it open only to find wads of cash.

He smirked, stuffed the lot into his back pocket. He stepped back into the living room, cool as ever.

Lola watched him, brow raised. Barry lowered the gun, folding the lone grand into his jacket pocket.

Rafe crossed his arms, beefing up his shoulders in the hoodie. “You got plans tomorrow?” he asked Lola, his voice deceptively light.

She met his gaze, a spark flickering in her eyes. “Maybe,” she said. “You?”

He let that hang—knowing he would be back. After all, now he had more money to spend on her.

Rafe walked out the front door without another glance back, the screen slamming shut behind him as rain still drizzled over the Cut.

Inside, Lola stood in the middle of the living room, bare legs peeking from beneath Rafe’s polo, her arms crossed tight over her chest. Barry pocketed the stack of bills she’d handed over, watching her with that familiar mix of disappointment and smugness.

“You’re playing with fire, Lo,” he muttered, slipping the gun back into his waistband. “Cameron’s money ain’t free. You know that, right?”

Lola rolled her eyes, though her jaw tightened. “Don’t act like you’re some saint looking out for me. You don’t give a shit how I get it, long as you get your cut.”

Barry smirked, tilting his head. “True enough. But Country Club? That boy’s trouble. He’s reckless. Only a matter of time before his daddy finds out his golden boy is slumming it in a trailer park.”

She smirked right back, biting her lip. “Then I guess I’ll make sure it’s worth the risk, won’t I?”

Barry shook his head, half amused, half irritated. “You think you’re clever, but you’re just digging yourself deeper. You keep letting him come around, it ain’t just gonna be me knocking at your door.”

Lola’s expression didn’t falter, though a shadow passed in her eyes. “Let me worry about my clients,” she said sharply.

Barry studied her for a beat longer, then finally turned toward the door. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

When he was gone, Lola leaned against the wall, breathing out slow. Her mind was already wandering to tomorrow—because she knew Rafe would come back, and when he did, she’d be waiting.

< >

[bbywhitefox123]

rafe came home late from work and catherine getting mad so rafe has to sleep on the couch

Summary: cath (19) and rafe (20) are stuck in a tiny, shitty apartment with their baby, mason. after a long night of rafe disappearing into old habits—drinking, coke, partying with topper—the tension finally explodes into a massive fight. broken furniture, yelling, accusations, and raw emotions fill the apartment until cath threatens to leave with mason.

Warnings: NSFW (smut), mentions of drug use (cocaine), alcohol abuse, addiction, domestic arguments/fights, swearing, angst, post-fight intimacy, messy living conditions

Masterlist

Catherine knew. She always knew. Rafe had been taking double shifts for weeks, stacking cash like it mattered more than her, more than Mason, more than anything. And he always came home before ten. Always. So when the clock screamed one a.m., her chest tightened in that way that only betrayal could cause.

She didn’t have to wait long. The door banged open, just enough for the stench to hit her first. Alcohol. Strong, expensive, clinging to him like a second skin. His pupils were blown, dilated and wild, the kind of look that used to make her excited when he’d just smoked a little weed. But this wasn’t weed.

“Rafe,” she started, voice sharp and low, trembling with anger and fear. “Where the fuck have you—”

“I was at work,” he slurred, swaying slightly, but his words didn’t match the chaos in his body, didn’t match the fuckin’ smell of it.

Her hands clenched, nails digging into her palms. “Work? Is that what you call whatever this is?” She gestured vaguely to his entire aura of fucked-up-ness, the way his hair was plastered with sweat, the way he smelled like sin and alcohol. “You promised me. You promised me you’d get clean!”

He looked away, guilty. Or maybe just scared. “I—Cath, it’s nothing, I—”

“Nothing?!” she yelled, voice cracking. Mason’s soft breathing from his crib in the other room made her stomach twist further. “You’re lying to me. Again. How many times, Rafe? How many times are you going to make promises and then come home like this, smelling like Topper’s couch and whatever else?”

Rafe flinched but didn’t deny it. He never did when she cornered him like this. He just looked like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar, but it was more than cookies this time. It was coke.

“I just… I needed—” His words slurred, stopped, failed him.

“You needed what? To drink yourself into oblivion? To pretend you don’t have a life with a kid and me waiting up for you?” Her chest heaved. She could feel Mason stir in the next room, like he could sense the storm ripping through his parents’ home. “You don’t just fuck around with drugs and alcohol and lie to me and then—then expect me to just… hug it out like nothing happened!”

Rafe ran a hand through his hair, frustrated, ashamed. “Cath, please… I’m sorry, I—”

“No! I’m done with your sorrys!” she screamed, and the air between them was heavy with heat and rage and exhaustion. “You want to party? Go party. Leave me and Mason out of it! But don’t lie to me. Don’t come home smelling like negligence and expect me to pretend I don’t see it. You’re breaking me. Do you even see what you’re doing to me?”

He just stared at her, mouth opening and closing like he might say something, but nothing came out. And that’s when she realized… she hated him. Not entirely, not fully—but a part of her did, a part that wanted to scream and hit and run and never look back.

And still… she loved him. God, she loved him.

But love wasn’t going to save them tonight.

“God, I hate this place,” Catherine spat, the words sharper than glass. The shitty beige walls seemed to close in tighter, the air stale from being shut up all day. “I hate this apartment. I hate being stuck here day and night with a baby while you’re—” her voice cracked before it turned into a shout, “—while you’re back to your old life like none of this even matters to you!”

Rafe’s eyes narrowed, his mouth pulling into that half-smirk he did when he didn’t want to admit she was right.

“You’re so fucking immature, Rafe,” she went on, pacing in front of him like she couldn’t stand still or she’d collapse. “You think your addiction is some cute little personality quirk? It’s going to ruin us. Again.”

“Cath—” he started, voice low, almost pleading.

“Don’t,” she snapped, shoving at his chest with both hands. “Tell me the truth—did you blow all the cash you’d been saving up? Did you fucking spend it on coke?”

His jaw clenched, but the silence said enough.

Her hands flew out, knocking an empty glass off the counter. It shattered against the tile, the sound ricocheting through the room. Mason stirred in the bedroom, a soft, muffled cry floating into the fight like a warning siren.

“Cath, I’m sorry—” Rafe stepped forward, hands raised, trying to close the space between them. His voice had gone soft again, but it was too late.

“Sorry? You’re sorry?” she yelled, shoving him again. “That’s all you ever fucking are—sorry after the damage is already done!”

“Cath—”

“No, fuck you, Rafe! I’m not going to watch you kill yourself and drag me down with you!”

The coke in his veins was starting to buzz loud enough to drown out his guilt. His chest heaved, and something in his face hardened.

“You think I don’t deserve to have any fun?” he shouted back suddenly, the shift in tone so sharp she froze. “I’m working my ass off for you and Mason, taking double shifts, busting my back, trying to get a degree so maybe we don’t live in this fucking shoebox forever—and I’m taking the fucking bus every day, Cath! But yeah, God forbid I go out for one night.”

“One night?” she laughed, bitter and ugly. “You’re never just ‘one night,’ Rafe. You’re three nights and an empty wallet and a hangover so bad you can’t look your kid in the eye.”

He stepped closer, and she didn’t back away. His voice rose again, both of them practically vibrating with rage.

“Maybe if you didn’t spend every second bitching about this place and what we don’t have, you’d notice I’m trying, Cath! I’m fucking trying—but it’s never enough for you!”

Her breath came in ragged bursts, anger still scraping her throat raw. Mason’s cries punched holes straight through her chest, but she didn’t look away from Rafe.

“You’re right,” she said finally, voice low but shaking, the words tasting like acid. “It’s not enough for me.”

Rafe’s mouth twitched like he didn’t expect her to say it out loud.

“Maybe you should go back to your daddy,” she went on, stepping closer, her words deliberate. “Let him raise you into a man, since I’m clearly wasting my time here. Or sleep on the couch. I don’t care.”

She brushed past him, her shoulder knocking into his, and went into the bedroom. Mason’s face was blotchy and wet, his little fists flailing in the crib. The sound of him crying cut through every layer of her anger and left something heavy and guilty sitting in her stomach.

She hated that her baby was feeling the weight of this. She hated that she was feeling the weight of this. That she could hold so much rage for someone she loved enough to build a life with.

Her hands were soft when she scooped Mason up, rocking him, murmuring nonsense against his hair. She didn’t hear Rafe come in until she felt him standing in the doorway.

“I’m not sleeping on the couch,” he said, his voice still rough from yelling.

She didn’t look at him. “I’m not asking you to.”

“Good,” he muttered, stepping further into the room, his shadow stretching over her and the baby.

Catherine didn’t turn to face him. She just kept rocking Mason, whispering soft apologies meant for the baby but loud enough for Rafe to hear.

“Get out, Rafe,” she said finally, her voice quiet but laced with steel.

He frowned, stepping closer. “Not happening.”

Her jaw tightened. “Then I’m leaving. With Mason.”

He scoffed. “Where the hell would you even go at—”

“JJ’s,” she cut in, her voice a knife. “If I have to.”

That name landed between them like a bomb. Rafe’s eyes went cold, and the muscle in his jaw ticked. “Don’t fucking say his name to me right now.”

She turned then, Mason clinging to her shoulder. “I’ll say whatever I want. You think I won’t do it? You think I won’t pack up and walk out that door?”

“Over one bad night?” His voice was low, dangerous. “You’re gonna take my kid to your ex’s place because I made one mistake?”

“One mistake?” she repeated, laughing bitterly. “You’ve been making the same mistake since I met you, Rafe. This is just the first time I’m willing to walk away from it.”

The air was electric, every breath too heavy. Rafe stared at her, chest heaving, and for a second it looked like he might blow up again. But instead, he yanked a pillow off the bed, tossed it to the floor, and dropped down onto it like it was the most stubborn act of defiance he could think of.

“Fine,” he muttered, lying back on the floor and folding an arm under his head. “I’m not leaving. You’re not leaving. Say whatever you want—do whatever you want—but we’re not going anywhere.”

Catherine turned her back to him, pressing her cheek to the top of Mason’s head, breathing in the warm, baby-powder smell until her pulse slowed enough to stop shaking.

She laid Mason back in the crib, brushing his hair away from his damp forehead. His eyes fluttered shut, trusting that the world would be quiet again. She wished she could believe the same.

Behind her, the sound of Rafe shifting on the pillow filled the silence—fabric scraping against carpet, the faint exhale of someone pretending to be at ease. She knew he wasn’t. Rafe Cameron never did stillness well.

“You’re really not gonna say anything?” he muttered from the floor.

She stayed quiet, tucking Mason’s blanket around him.

“Cath.” His voice was sharper now.

“What do you want me to say, Rafe?” she snapped, turning to face him. “That I forgive you? That I’m okay raising a kid with someone who can’t keep himself clean for more than a month?”

He sat up on his elbows, meeting her eyes. “I told you, I’m trying—”

“You’re not trying hard enough,” she cut in, her voice shaking again. “And I’m not sticking around for Mason to grow up thinking this is what love looks like.”

His gaze flickered—hurt, then something darker. “You think I’d hurt him? You think I’d be like my dad?”

She swallowed hard, because she hadn’t said it out loud, but maybe she had been thinking it. “I think you’re on your way there.”

Rafe’s jaw worked, his hands flexing against the carpet. “I’m not him. I’m never gonna be him.”

“Then prove it,” she said flatly.

The room went still again, just the quiet hum of the baby monitor in the background. She turned away, sat on the edge of the bed, and tried to focus on her breathing.

Rafe didn’t move back to the pillow. Instead, he stayed sitting there, watching her like he couldn’t decide whether to reach for her or walk out.

Catherine climbed into bed without another word. The mattress felt too big without him beside her, but she wouldn’t admit that to herself tonight. Rafe stayed on the floor, sprawled out with his arm over his face like he could block her out entirely.

After a while, the sound of his breathing evened out. She rolled onto her side, eyes drawn to the floor where he lay. He looked younger like that—mouth slack, hair falling over his forehead, all the sharp edges gone. She hated that it made her chest ache.

Quietly, she slid off the bed, grabbed the blanket from the end, and draped it over him. He didn’t stir.

She lay back down, staring at the ceiling, the weight of the night pressing on her ribs. What am I doing wrong? she wondered. She tried to count her breaths, but sleep wouldn’t come.

After what felt like hours, she gave up and padded to the kitchen for water. The apartment was dark, except for the weak glow from the fridge. She took a sip, leaning against the counter, her bare feet cold on the linoleum.

Footsteps came from behind her. She turned to see Rafe standing in the doorway, hair a mess, eyes still heavy with sleep.

“I’ll get clean,” he said, voice low, almost hoarse.

She blinked, caught between wanting to believe him and knowing she shouldn’t.

“I mean it, Cath,” he went on, stepping closer. “No more coke. No more drinking. I’ll go to meetings, whatever you want. Just… don’t leave me.”

The fridge hummed. Her glass felt heavy in her hand. She didn’t answer right away.

Rafe stepped closer until the faint scent of sweat and stale cologne mixed with the cold air from the fridge. His voice dropped, the words slower now, like he was forcing himself to be careful.

“Top offered me one line,” he said. “Just one. Said it was to celebrate the fact I was… you know… working for the first time in my life.”

Catherine frowned, confused for a beat, until it clicked. “I thought no one knows you’re not at Cameron Development anymore, don’t they?”

He shook his head. “No one did. They still think I’m at Tanny Hill doing rich boy shit.” He leaned on the counter beside her, his shoulder brushing hers. “Two weeks ago, I told Top I started on a construction site. Told him I needed the work. Told him the truth.”

Her eyes searched his face, but he didn’t look away. “And you weren’t embarrassed?” she asked quietly.

“I was,” he admitted, his mouth tugging into something small, tired. “But not enough to lie about it.”

The confession sat between them, heavy but not sharp this time. She could see the dirt still caught under his nails, the faint lines on his palms from the tools. It was such a different picture from the boy who used to step out of his dad’s Range Rover smelling like expensive cologne and bad decisions.

“You think I don’t care, Cath,” he said, softer now. “But I’m trying to be better for you. For Mason.”

She swallowed, the glass still cool in her hand. Part of her wanted to believe him so badly it hurt. Part of her didn’t trust herself to.

Catherine set her glass down on the counter, fingers lingering on the rim like she needed something solid to hold on to.

“I don’t think you don’t care,” she said finally, her voice low. “I think you don’t know how to care without wrecking yourself in the process.”

Rafe’s eyes flickered, and for once he didn’t have a quick answer. He just nodded slightly, like maybe he’d been waiting for someone to say it out loud.

“I know I fucked up tonight,” he said. “I should’ve come straight home. Should’ve said no.” His jaw worked. “But I didn’t, and I’m sorry. I’ll fix it.”

She looked at him then, really looked at him—messy hair, faint bruise blooming on his knuckle from some careless fight he hadn’t mentioned, the worn t-shirt that smelled faintly of sawdust. Not the boy she’d met years ago. Not exactly the man she needed yet, either. But something in between, trying to claw his way forward.

“Why’d you come after me?” she asked quietly.

He shrugged, a little sheepish. “Couldn’t sleep on the floor. Not with you in here, not talking to me.” His lips twitched into something almost like a smile. “Felt like shit, Cath.”

Her chest tightened, and she hated the part of her that softened. “You should feel like shit.”

“I do.” He stepped closer until the counter was at her back and his warmth was in front of her. His voice was quieter now, not pleading—just steady. “But I don’t want to lose you over this.”

Catherine leaned against the counter, shoulders tight, trying to steady her breath. She wanted to step back, to remind herself of the fight, the lies, the nights ruined—but something in the way Rafe was looking at her made her pause. Vulnerable. Real.

“Rafe…” she started, her voice barely more than a whisper.

He leaned closer, slow, careful, and she could feel the heat radiating off him. “Don’t,” he murmured. “Don’t push me away right now. Please.”

Her heart thudded against her ribs. The anger, the exhaustion, the worry about Mason—all of it—was still there, but beneath it was something she couldn’t ignore. Something that had always been there.

He hesitated for a heartbeat, then his hand brushed hers, fingers tentative. “Cath…” His voice was low, raw.

She swallowed, and before she could second-guess herself, she tilted her face toward his. The first contact was slow, cautious—lips brushing.

Then it deepened. Her hands found his shoulders, gripping, holding on. His hands moved to her waist, drawing her closer, grounding them both.

It was messy and desperate, the kind of kiss that tasted of anger, relief, longing, and a lifetime of wrong choices. She could feel his pulse against hers, his warmth, and for a moment the fight and the apartment and the world outside faded completely.

When they finally pulled back, breathing hard, foreheads pressed together, she whispered, “What the hell are we doing?”

Rafe smirked, just a little, despite the exhaustion. “Exactly what we shouldn’t… but can’t stop.”

Rafe’s hands were firm on her waist, guiding her backward until her back hit the couch cushions. Catherine’s breath hitched, caught somewhere between frustration and longing.

“Rafe…” she murmured, but he silenced her with a look—a mix of apology and something darker, hungrier.

His lips found hers again, harder this time, pressing insistently as he eased her down onto the couch. The cushions groaned beneath them, the only sound besides their ragged breathing.

Her hands tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, desperate to feel him, to know he was still here, still real. His mouth moved over hers, hot and demanding, while one hand trailed down her side, gripping her hip.

She tried to pull away, the rational part of her screaming, you shouldn’t, but his lips were everywhere, his hands grounding her, and she couldn’t. She didn’t want to.

“Cath,” he breathed against her lips, voice low, rough. “Don’t kick me out from my only home. Please.”

She shivered at the intensity in his words, the way his body pressed against hers. The fight, the lies, the fear—they were still there, but right now, in this moment, all that mattered was the heat between them, the desperate need to hold onto each other.

He leaned down further, lips trailing over her jaw, neck, shoulder. She arched toward him, letting herself get lost in the closeness, in the messiness of it.

It was reckless. It was raw. It was exactly what they both needed and maybe didn’t deserve—but they didn’t care.

Minutes—or maybe hours—passed in the haze of heat and whispered names. Their bodies tangled, pressed close, and somewhere between the fevered kisses and quiet sighs, the anger and fear that had filled the apartment began to soften, if only slightly.

Eventually, their movements slowed, the urgency giving way to exhaustion. Rafe brushed a strand of hair from her face, his fingers lingering against her cheek, tracing her jaw with a tenderness that made her chest ache.

“We should… go to bed,” she murmured, voice hoarse but soft.

Rafe nodded, one hand still resting on her waist. Without breaking contact, they shifted together, crawling across the floor to the bedroom. The small apartment felt impossibly large in the darkness, but in each other’s arms, it was enough.

Once on the bed, they curled together, her head resting on his chest, his arms wrapped protectively around her. The fight, the lies, the apartment, the world outside—they faded into the quiet rhythm of their breathing.

Catherine felt the steady thump of Mason’s heartbeat echoing in her memory, the soft rise and fall of her own chest, and finally, the tension in her shoulders began to ease.

They fell asleep there, tangled together, exhausted and messy and imperfect, but together—finally letting the small peace of the night settle over them.

[bbywhitefox123]

Can we get more case and rafe with their kids? I think their family dynamic is sooo cute 🥰

Summary: mason cameron (14) gets grounded for sneaking out + vaping and is forced to do math homework every night with cath and bradley. unfortunately for them, mason is basically an escape artist and invents his very own guide: escaping math with mason 101.

Warnings: underage swearing, family chaos, mentions of vaping, MATH, light suggestive rafe/cath flirting, overall domestic crack

Masterlist

Catherine knew the day was going to be bad when the principal’s number lit up her phone that morning.

“Mrs. Cameron, I’m calling to inform you that Mason hasn’t turned in a single homework assignment this school year.”

Freshman year. Fourteen years old. Not one single assignment. Not a worksheet. Not even the stupid “get your syllabus signed” paper.

By the time dinner was over that night, the kitchen table looked like an academic hostage negotiation. Mason sat slouched in his chair, arms crossed, while Catherine leaned in like she was questioning a suspect.

Rafe sat across from their son with a pencil in hand, a look on his face — the one that meant I’m trying so hard to be patient but this kid’s about to make me lose it.

The rest of the house was business as usual. Lara was sprawled on the living room couch watching some GRWM video on YouTube, giving running commentary about the influencer’s skincare routine like she was a beauty critic for Vogue. Maisie was under the coffee table with crayons and math worksheets, humming to herself like this was a perfectly normal evening in the Cameron household.

Back at the table, it was Algebra War.

“Okay, so… x plus five equals twelve,” Rafe said, writing it out. “You just—”

“Divide,” Mason interrupted.

“No,” Rafe said flatly.

“Yes, you do.”

“Babe,” Catherine interjected, “don’t you divide?”

Rafe turned his head slowly. “No. You subtract first. That’s why you failed math, Cath.”

“Excuse me?” she shot back. “I didn’t fail. I just… strategically avoided math.”

Mason, smirking, leaned back. “Guess it runs in the family.”

Rafe slammed the pencil down. “No. This is not genetics. This is you not turning in one single homework assignment since August.”

Catherine tried to take the soft approach for once. “Mase, we just need to catch you up. Your teachers think you’ve been abducted or something.”

“They probably think I’m mysterious— Girls dig that,” Mason muttered.

“You’re about to be mysteriously grounded for the rest of the year,” Cath said without missing a beat l.

By the time they finally solved for x, it was 9:47 PM, Catherine had two Tylenol in her system, Rafe’s degree in economics had been called into question twice, and Mason had agreed—under extreme parental pressure—to turn in at least one assignment a week.

Mason leaned back in his chair, stretching like he’d just finished a marathon.

“You know what I probably need? A hot tutor.”

Rafe’s mouth twitched, the start of a laugh he was trying and failing to hide.

Catherine smacked his arm without even looking at him. “Don’t encourage him.”

Rafe raised his hands innocently. “I didn’t say anything.”

“You almost did.”

“Still counts,” Mason muttered.

Before Catherine could launch into a lecture about respecting women and algebra, Bradley wandered into the kitchen, glasses slipping down his nose, Kindle in one hand, grabbing an apple with the other like he was just passing through on his way to cure cancer.

Catherine watched him leave, marveling. How had she birthed both a literal child prodigy and a human experiment in academic negligence?

Rafe, meanwhile, was staring at Mason like he’d just discovered a new species. “Honestly, I don’t even know how you made it to high school.”

Bradley paused mid-bite, glancing over his shoulder. “Oh. That’s easy. I used to do his homework for fun.”

The room went silent. Mason’s eyes widened. “Traitor.”

Catherine blinked at Bradley. “You—what?”

Bradley shrugged, unbothered. “It was easy. And, like, mildly entertaining. But I stopped after seventh grade.”

“I still wonder why,” Mason muttered.

Bradley grinned. “Because watching you fail is way more fun.”

Rafe leaned back in his chair, finally laughing. “He’s got some Cameron in him, after all.”

Catherine sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “You’re all grounded.”

Rafe groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Why am I grounded?”

“Because you laughed,” she shot back.

Mason, grinning like this was the best night of his life, leaned on the table. “Well, I mean… Mom graduated without ever learning math, sooo technically I don’t have to try either.”

Catherine’s head snapped toward him. “Excuse me?”

Rafe coughed into his fist, trying not to smirk. “He’s got a point.”

She smacked his arm again. “Not. Helping.”

Mason shrugged. “Just sayin’. Family tradition.”

Bradley, still chewing his apple, muttered, “Pretty sure that’s not how tradition works.”

From the living room, Lara’s voice floated in without looking up from her phone: “Can we not pass down failing math like it’s a family heirloom?”

Maisie popped up from the dining room door, connected both to the kitchen and the living room. “I like math!”

Four pairs of eyes turned to her.

“Give it time,” Mason said.

The next night after dinner, Catherine was already at the kitchen table, pen in hand, algebra book open like she was gearing up for round two of academic warfare.

From the fridge came Mason’s groan — deep, dramatic, and entirely over-the-top.

“Oh my God, another one?” he muttered, staring at yet another one of Bradley’s perfect exam papers magneted to the door. This one had “100%” circled in red at the top like it was taunting him.

He opened the fridge, grabbed a soda, and muttered, “Show-off.”

Before he could take a sip, Rafe strolled in, snagged the soda right out of his hand, and taking a sip.

“Came in with a volunteer,” Rafe said. “Bradley’s helping you.”

Mason blinked. “Helping me what? Lose my will to live?”

“Nah,” Rafe smirked. “Homework. He’s way more patient than I am.”

Bradley appeared in the doorway at that exact moment, pushing his glasses up with one finger like a pint-sized professor. “That’s true. Also, you don’t understand how fractions work.”

Mason pointed at him. “I do understand fractions.”

Bradley tilted his head. “Then why’d you write that ½ plus ½ equals 3?”

Catherine didn’t even look up from the textbook. “Sit down, Mason.”

Rafe leaned against the counter, grinning like this was the best show on TV. “This is gonna be fun.”

Bradley sat across from Mason, setting his notes down like he was about to conduct a very serious business meeting.

“Alright. Let’s start with something easy.”

Mason slouched in his chair. “Define ‘easy.’”

“Something even you can do without embarrassing yourself,” Bradley said flatly.

Ten minutes later, Mason was arguing about the point of algebra.

“Seriously, when am I ever going to use this in real life? Like, ‘Oh no, my house is on fire, better solve for x.’”

Catherine pinched the bridge of her nose. “Mason, if you don’t stop whining and focus, I’m hiring a real tutor.”

That got his attention. He straightened up, smirking.

“Fine. But if you do, I want her to be hot, blonde, and wearing one of those little skirts.”

Bradley froze mid-pencil stroke, face twisting in horror. “Oh my God, you’re disgusting.”

Catherine stared at her eldest like he’d just grown a second head. “That’s your first thought?”

From the counter, Rafe didn’t even look up from his phone. “What? The kid’s got good taste.”

“RAFE.”

He looked up, trying not to laugh. “What? I’m just saying—”

“Out,” Catherine ordered, pointing toward the hallway. “You’re as bad as him.”

Bradley shook his head, muttering, “Can’t believe I share DNA with either of you.”

Mason grinned, leaning back in his chair. “Thanks, Dad.”

“Don’t thank him,” Catherine snapped. “He’s not helping.”

Rafe finally bailed on the kitchen, shaking his head like he’d just escaped a warzone. He wandered into the living room, where Maisie was on the rug attempting something vaguely resembling the splits.

“Dad, look! I’m almost all the way down!” she grunted, wobbling.

“Atta girl,” Rafe grinned, crouching to give her a high five. “Don’t hurt yourself, though. I don’t need your mom yelling at me and Mase tonight.”

On the couch, Lara was curled up in a blanket with her iPad, the Met Gala livestream playing. “Come sit, Dad. You’re gonna die at these outfits.”

He sank down next to her without hesitation, one arm thrown across the back of the couch. “Alright, hit me.”

The screen lit up with a celebrity in an outfit that looked like it had been made from grandma’s curtains.

Rafe winced. “No. Absolutely not. Burn it.”

Lara cackled. “Right?! That’s what I said!”

They fell into an easy rhythm—Rafe critiquing the fits like he was Anna Wintour’s secret twin, Lara showing him her favorites, and Maisie popping up every so often to demand attention for her “almost splits.” Rafe was a total girls’ dad—he spoiled them rotten and never pretended otherwise.

Meanwhile, back in the kitchen, Mason leaned back in his chair with a dramatic sigh. “I’m just saying, maybe I should focus on my strong subjects—like football. And girls. Not math.”

Bradley didn’t even look up from the worksheet he was grading for him. “Neither of those are subjects, you moron.”

Mason scoffed. “Yeah, well, they should be.”

Bradley slid the paper across the table, all wrong answers circled in red. “You’d still fail.”

Mason groaned like he’d just been mortally wounded.

“Okay, Mason,” Catherine said, pointing at the problem. “If x plus four equals nine, what’s x?”

“…Thirteen?” Mason guessed.

Bradley groaned and slapped a hand over his face. “Oh my God.”

“It’s five,” Catherine said sharply. “We just did this one!”

Mason shrugged. “Maybe you explained it bad.”

Bradley shot him a look. “Maybe your brain is bad.”

“Hey!”

“You got thirteen from x plus four equals nine! I rest my case.”

Catherine rubbed her temples. “Brad, stop roasting him and help me.”

“I am helping,” Bradley muttered, circling the number five three times on the paper.

In the living room, Rafe had completely checked out of the academic meltdown happening ten feet away.

The Met Gala coverage ended, and Lara hopped off the couch, smoothing her leggings. “Wanna see what I learned in ballet today?”

“Obviously,” Rafe said, getting up like she’d just asked him to attend the Oscars.

She demonstrated a careful pirouette, arms raised perfectly. Maisie, of course, immediately tried to copy her, wobbling so hard she almost fell.

“Hold up,” Rafe laughed, kneeling down to adjust her hands. “Like this, princess. You gotta keep your balance.”

Maisie tried again, her tiny face scrunched in concentration.

“Better!” Rafe cheered. “Alright, now let’s add some confidence.”

Five minutes later, they weren’t just practicing ballet—they were dancing around the living room in a ridiculous mash-up of spins, hops, and dramatic bows. Lara was giggling, Maisie was squealing, and Rafe was laughing right along with them, dipping them like they were princesses at a royal ball.

From the kitchen, Catherine could hear them, and for a split second, she almost forgot Mason’s refusal to learn math. Almost.

Bradley had taken over again, scribbling furiously on the paper. “Alright, so if the slope is m and the y-intercept is—”

“Hold up,” Catherine interrupted, brow furrowed. “Where did the negative sign go?”

“It cancels out,” Bradley said confidently.

“Does it? Because I’m pretty sure it doesn’t.”

Mason’s eyes lit up like he’d just smelled blood in the water. “Ohhh, Mom’s right. That’s definitely wrong.”

“It’s not wrong,” Bradley snapped.

“Totally wrong,” Mason said, leaning back smugly. “See, Mom, this is what I’m saying—math is flawed, the system is flawed, I shouldn’t even be here—”

“Be quiet,” Catherine and Bradley said in unison, both now leaning over the page to figure out where the mistake was.

“Wait,” Bradley murmured, erasing. “Did I…?”

“You did, baby,” Catherine confirmed, satisfaction creeping into her voice.

Mason grinned. He had successfully sowed chaos. And now—time for the great escape.

While they were hunched over the worksheet, debating coefficients, Mason quietly pushed back his chair. No one looked up as he slipped to the counter, snatching his phone.

A second later, he was in the hallway, sliding on his sneakers and grabbing his keys from the hook.

By the time he shut the front door behind him, he was already calling his friends.

“Yo, what’s the plan tonight?”

Somewhere behind him, in the kitchen, Catherine was still saying, “See? I told you the negative didn’t cancel out.”

Mason just smiled and kept walking.

It wasn't until Maisie came bouncing into the living room mid–dance session, panting from twirling around, that they realized Mason was missing.

“Daddy, I’m thirsty.”

Rafe ruffled her hair. “Alright, princess. Let’s get you some water.”

They headed into the kitchen, where Catherine and Bradley were still hunched over the worksheet like they were prepping for a NASA launch.

Rafe grabbed a glass, filling it from the tap. “Hey, where’s Mase?”

Bradley froze. Catherine blinked. Then they both looked toward the empty chair at the table.

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me,” Catherine groaned, standing up so fast her chair screeched.

Rafe immediately started laughing. “No way. He ditched math night?”

“Ditch?!” Catherine threw her hands up. “He escaped like some kind of fugitive! I swear, I’m homeschooling him. I’m getting ten tutors. And a nanny. He can do math all day until his brain explodes.”

Bradley groaned, leaning back in his chair. “I offered to be the one homeschooled years ago.”

Rafe raised a brow. “When?”

Bradley shrugged. “When I was embarrassed to be known as the brother of the kid who set off the fire alarm after he got caught vaping, panicked, and gaslit the whole school into thinking the building was on fire.”

Catherine’s head whipped toward him. “Mason vaped?”

Rafe suddenly became very interested in pouring Maisie’s water, eyes darting anywhere but his wife.

“Bradley,” Catherine said sharply, “did Mason vape?”

Bradley’s eyes widened. “Oh—uh—” He clamped a hand over his mouth, realizing what he’d just done. “Crap—I mean—uh, shoot—I wasn’t supposed to—”

“Bradley!” Catherine barked.

Rafe bit his lip, shoulders shaking with silent laughter.

Bradley sank into his chair, muttering, “I’m so dead.”

☁️

For the next week, Mason was officially grounded.

Not the light kind of grounding, either. The full, soul-crushing, “you breathe wrong and I’ll take your door off its hinges” kind.

The charges?

Sneaking out during math night.

Vaping.

Lying about vaping.

Existing just slightly too smug about all of the above.

His new routine was brutal: come home straight after football practice, shower, dinner, then homework and math with Catherine breathing down his neck. Every. Single. Night.

But Mason was nothing if not resourceful.

By Wednesday, he’d developed a strategy. He even named it.

Escaping Math with Mason 101

Step 1: Look too sick to do math. The key here is timing. You can’t start coughing before dinner—it has to happen right when Mom sits down with the algebra book.

Mason waited until Catherine pulled out her pen and said, “Alright, page 137—”

He leaned back in his chair and let out the fakest cough in human history.

“Kh-hhhhhhuhhh,” he hacked, clutching his chest for dramatic effect. “Man… I think something’s wrong with me.”

Catherine frowned. “What’s wrong with you is that you didn’t bring your math binder to the table.”

“No, seriously.” He laid a hand on his forehead. “I’m burning up.”

Bradley, seated at the other end of the table, didn’t even glance up from his Kindle. “You’re fine. I saw you chug a Gatorade five minutes ago.”

“I was hydrating,” Mason said weakly, as though the Gatorade was his last connection to life itself. “I think my vision’s blurry. Mom… if I pass out, tell Coach I loved him like a father.”

Catherine raised an eyebrow. “Do you think I was born yesterday?”

Mason squinted at her. “Maybe not yesterday… but definitely before algebra was invented.”

“Mason.”

“Okay, okay.” He coughed again—louder this time. “Wow, that feels bad. Real bad. I think I might need to lie down.”

Bradley muttered under his breath, “I think you might need acting lessons.”

Step 2: The “Accidental” Spill. If Step 1 fails (and it usually does when Mom’s immune to your fake coughing), it’s time for the backup plan: sabotage the homework.

Catherine was mid-lecture about “building good habits” when Mason reached for his water glass.

“Yeah, no, I totally get it, Mom,” he said, nodding solemnly. “Habits are, like… important.”

He tilted the glass just enough for a single drop to hit the corner of his worksheet.

“Oh no,” he said in a flat voice.

Catherine didn’t even look up. “Don’t you dare—”

But it was too late. The “oops” face was on. Mason flailed his arm like he’d been startled by a ghost, knocking the entire cup over. Water cascaded across the table, drowning not just his homework, but two unopened mail envelopes and the corner of Catherine’s grocery list.

“Mason!”

“I panicked!”

Bradley pushed his chair back with a sigh, lifting his Kindle out of the splash zone. “Panicked over what? You weren’t even doing anything.”

“I… thought I saw a bug,” Mason said, eyes darting to the window like the bug might still be there.

Catherine was too busy blotting the papers with a dish towel to notice Mason sliding his soaked worksheet into the trash.

“Guess I’ll have to redo it tomorrow,” he said, trying to look disappointed but not too disappointed. “Such a shame.”

Bradley gave him the deadliest side-eye imaginable. “Unbelievable.”

Mason just smirked and mouthed, Step two, baby.

Step 3: The “Go Check on Maisie” Diversion. If the water trick doesn’t buy you a full escape—because, inevitably, Mom will finish wiping the table and remember she was supposed to be torturing you with fractions—it’s time to deploy Step 3.

Mason waited until Catherine had just sat back down, fresh worksheet in front of him, pen in her hand.

“Alright,” she said firmly. “Let’s try this again—”

“Wait, wait, wait.” He held up a hand, looking toward the living room. “Do you hear that?”

Catherine paused, listening.

Bradley frowned. “Hear what?”

“That noise. Like… something falling over. Or… or someone choking.” He shot up from his chair. “I should go check on Maisie.”

Catherine gave him a look. “She’s probably fine.”

“Probably?” Mason gasped, already halfway out of his seat. “What if she’s, like… tangled in the curtain or fell behind the couch? You’d never forgive yourself.”

Bradley narrowed his eyes. “You are so full of—”

But Mason was gone, disappearing into the living room with the speed of a man escaping prison.

In the living room, Maisie was perfectly fine—lying on her stomach coloring in a unicorn. Mason plopped down beside her like he was her personal security detail.

“Hey, if Mom asks, you were about to choke on a crayon or something, okay?”

Maisie blinked. “Why?”

“Just… trust me.”

Back in the kitchen, Catherine’s voice rang out: “Mason! Come on, the math isn’t going to do itself!”

Mason winced. Busted.

But hey—he’d bought himself at least three extra minutes.

Step 4: Rope Dad Into It. When all else fails, get Dad involved. He’s the ultimate distraction—especially if you can get him talking about football, or literally anything that isn’t algebra.

Mason slid back into the kitchen just as Catherine was muttering to herself over the worksheet. She looked up at him with narrowed eyes.

“Finally. Sit. Down.”

He obeyed… for now.

The sound of Rafe’s laugh floated in from the hallway, and Mason’s plan locked into place.

“Actually,” he said casually, “maybe Dad should help. I mean, he played football, he understands how my brain works.”

From the door, Rafe called back, “That’s not—what does football have to do with—”

“Rafe!” Catherine shouted, cutting him off. “Come here. Your son can’t focus.”

Rafe walked in, wiping his hands on his sweatpants. “What’s up?”

Catherine gestured at the math sheet. “Make him do these. He’s in another world.”

Rafe leaned over Mason’s shoulder. “Pfft, easy. Okay, Mase—”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Mason interrupted. “Before we start, Dad, did you see that new play Kansas City ran last weekend? I swear, if Coach let me—”

Rafe’s eyes lit up instantly. “Oh, yeah, that was wild. You see how the tight end—”

“Rafe!” Catherine snapped. “This is exactly why he’s failing. Stop talking about football and make him write the answer!”

Mason tried to hide his smirk, but Rafe caught it and smirked right back.

Mission accomplished.

The football detour worked like a charm as Catherine got up to do the dishes.

Within minutes, Mason had Rafe sitting at the table with him, the math worksheet pushed conveniently to the side. They were deep into an animated conversation about next season’s stats, potential trades, and—of course—girls Mason claimed were “totally into him.”

From the kitchen sink, Catherine called over her shoulder, “As long as you’re working while you’re talking, I don’t care what you discuss.”

“Totally, Mom,” Mason said without even looking at her—because there was zero work happening.

Bradley had already escaped upstairs to do his own homework, muttering something about “not being part of this circus.” Meanwhile, Catherine finished up the dishes, wiped down the counters, and then went into the living room to pick up Maisie’s crayons, her tutu, and the two random socks she’d somehow left in different corners of the room.

For at least twenty glorious minutes, Mason was in the clear.

But then—disaster.

Catherine reappeared in the doorway, drying her hands, eyes narrowing at the sight of a completely blank worksheet in front of her son.

“Alright,” she said, walking over. “Fun’s over. Back to work.”

And that’s when Mason deployed his most cunning move yet—

Step 5: The Bradley Distraction.

“Actually,” Mason said quickly, “I was just about to help Bradley with his homework. You know, be a good bug brother. He’s got that big project coming up.”

Catherine tilted her head, suspicious. “Bradley doesn’t need help with anything. He’s in AP everything.”

“Exactly,” Mason said smoothly. “That’s why I’m helping him—he’s always helping me, so I figure it’s my turn.”

For a moment, she actually looked… touched. “Well… I guess helping your brother is important too.”

Mason grinned. “Thanks, Mom.”

The second she turned to grab her phone from the counter, he was out of his chair and halfway up the stairs.

Rafe shook his head, chuckling under his breath. “Kid’s a menace.”

From upstairs, Bradley yelled, “He’s not helping me!”

“Brad,” Mason’s voice floated down, “play along, man!”

And that’s how you escape math with Mason Cameron. Because the sixth step is the most important one: leave Mom alone with Dad.

Upstairs, Mason sprawled across his bed, phone in hand, scrolling through TikTok like he’d just pulled off the greatest heist of the century.

From the desk across the room, Bradley didn’t even look up from his laptop as he said, “You know, if you put this much energy into actually learning math, you’d know it by now.”

Mason smirked. “Yeah, but then I wouldn’t get to practice my craft.”

Bradley rolled his eyes. “Your craft is being annoying.”

“Exactly,” Mason said, grinning.

Downstairs, Catherine was finally sinking onto the couch, exhausted from the dishes, the cleaning, and the endless homework battle.

Rafe leaned over the back of the couch, dropping a kiss onto her shoulder. “You know… I think I deserve a reward for dealing with him earlier.”

Catherine gave him a side-eye. “Oh, you ‘dealt’ with him? You mean you let him distract you with football while I did all the actual work?”

Rafe smirked, brushing her hair back. “Guilty. But I can make it up to you in other ways.”

She rolled her eyes, but her lips were already twitching.

Step Six always worked.