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saltystarkey · 3 months ago

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TRACK 2 ☆.ᐟ

“I’m not here to gawk at Drew Starkey—no, I’m here to work.”

In which M/N’s loft, full of weed smoke, Modello cans, and loud music, sets the stage for a conversation about his future. Odessa pushes him to audition for the iconic role of Pinhead, which M/N initially resists. But after learning Drew Starkey will star alongside him, M/N’s nerves shift to excitement. Can he handle the pressure of playing such a legendary character, and how will he handle playing along Drew?

Warnings: Hellraiser mention, pinhead mention, horror movie? Drew Starkey being sexy as Trevor, sex scene mention lol that’s all yo

The evening in M/N’s loft was thick with the heavy aroma of weed and the sweet scent of Modello, which rested in the cold hands of both him and Odessa. The apartment had the quintessential New York grit to it—grunge, art, and a whole lot of attitude. The air was thick with the remnants of cigarette smoke, some incense lingering in the air, and the ever-present hum of music blasting from an old record player that seemed to know more about life than most people.

The walls of the loft were decorated with a chaotic mix of vintage posters—some featuring classic rock bands, others showcasing models lounging on hot cars, and a few of old-school mechanics bent over vintage engines. The colors were muted, but the posters provided bursts of bright neon yellows, reds, and blues.

On one side of the room, a mechanic’s workbench sat, the worn leather tools hanging in every crevice, the space usually where M/N tinkered with motorcycles or threw around the tools he used to get his hands dirty. The other side was home to an old sofa covered in patched-up denim and vintage band tees, which had long ago become the place for hanging out and having deep, sometimes too loud conversations with friends, or for nights like this—just him and Odessa.

M/N leaned against the island in the kitchen, his body effortlessly relaxed. He was dressed in his usual low-key but alluring look—black shorts that hung low on his hips, just enough to hint at his V-line and show off a little happy trail. No shirt. He didn’t need one. His tattoos peeked out from his arms, chains and bracelets dangled from his wrist, and a low-cut chain rested against his chest, the perfect touch to complete the ensemble.

“Seriously, you have to do it,” Odessa’s voice cut through the smoky haze, her tone persistent yet gentle. She leaned back into the threadbare couch, kicking her feet up on the edge, a joint between her fingers as she exhaled slowly, the smoke spiraling in the dim light.

M/N took a long drag off his own joint, letting the smoke roll out of his mouth in slow, heavy rings. “Nah, Odessa,” he muttered, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. His eyes shifted to the cluttered loft, avoiding her gaze. He wasn’t going to be swayed. He couldn’t be. “I’m good. I’m not… I’m not cut out for something like that. Pinhead? That’s—nah.”

Odessa clicked her tongue, shifting her weight so that she was facing him directly, eyes narrowing with her usual knowing smile. She let the joint fall from her fingers and into the ashtray with a soft sizzle. “You don’t get it, do you? This is it. This is your shot.” She ran a hand through her messy hair, looking at him like he was an idiot for not seeing the obvious. “You’d kill it. I’ve seen the way you transform, how you throw yourself into a character. This role… you’re perfect for it, M/N. And they know it. I know it.”

M/N didn’t respond right away. He ran a hand through his unkempt hair, still trying to avoid eye contact. He wasn’t convinced. He couldn’t bring himself to take that leap. The thought of filling such legendary shoes made him feel like an imposter. He wasn’t sure if he could live up to expectations.

“Pinhead?” he repeated, his voice soft, like he was trying to convince himself more than her. “I mean… that’s a huge role. That’s not just some random character. It’s Pinhead. The one everyone knows. The one that… everyone remembers.” He shook his head. “I don’t think I can do that. I don’t think I’m that—”

“Don’t sell yourself short.” Odessa’s voice was sharp, and her eyes were intense now, the playful, carefree vibe of a moment ago now replaced by a serious tone. She sat up straighter, putting the joint down for a second and staring him down. “You have something that a lot of people don’t, M/N. You’ve got range. You’ve got depth. And you—” She leaned forward, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “You have the presence. I’ve seen it. And trust me, this is your chance.”

M/N met her eyes now, but the uncertainty was still in his. He let out a long, frustrated sigh, running his hands through his hair again. “You really think I could pull it off?” His voice cracked slightly, his usual bravado faltering. There it was—the vulnerability that only Odessa ever saw.

Odessa leaned back again, her smile returning, though it was softer this time. “I do. I know you can. And I haven’t even told you the best part yet.” She paused for a moment, giving him a knowing smile, before letting the suspense build.

M/N raised an eyebrow, curiosity piqued despite himself. “What’s the best part?”

She grinned, leaning closer to him. “The cast. Specifically, one of the lead actors. Drew Starkey.”

The name hit him like a jolt of electricity. M/N’s eyes widened, his mind scrambling to put the pieces together. He’d seen Drew in a few films—that guy was hot. And not just physically. Drew had that quiet, effortless cool, that kind of unshakable confidence that made it impossible to ignore him when he was on screen. M/N didn’t talk about it much, but Drew Starkey was one of the few actors M/N had actually admired from a distance.

M/N shifted uncomfortably, the heat of the conversation making his already sweaty palms feel even worse. “Wait… Drew Starkey is gonna be in it?”

Odessa’s grin widened, eyes gleaming with mischief. “Yeah. And you’re gonna get to see him in person. Just imagine it—the chemistry between you two. It’ll be electric.”

M/N’s mind immediately started racing. The thought of being in a film with Drew, of sharing the screen with him, made his pulse quicken. He wasn’t sure if he was ready for that level of attention or pressure, but the idea of working with someone like Drew was… well, it was thrilling. Could I really do this?

“Damn,” M/N muttered under his breath, the wheels turning in his head. He looked away for a moment, his mind already making up scenarios, wondering what it would be like to be next to Drew on set, what it would feel like to be in the same space as someone he admired so much. “I’m not sure if I’m ready for all that. Drew Starkey, man…”

Odessa chuckled, taking a long drag from her joint and blowing the smoke out slowly. “You’re more than ready, M/N. I told you, this could be your big break. Don’t let it slip away.”

M/N stared at her for a long moment, the weight of her words pressing against his chest. He thought about what it would mean, what it would take. The pressure of living up to the role. The pressure of standing next to someone like Drew Starkey, someone who made everything look so effortless.

After a long silence, M/N finally sighed. “Fine. Fine. I’ll do it. I’ll audition.”

Odessa’s eyes lit up, her grin widening as she sat up in excitement. “Yes! I knew you’d get it.”

He ran a hand through his hair again, now feeling the excitement and anxiety bubbling in him all at once. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you,” he added, with a cocky grin that was starting to make its way back into place. “If I fail, this is on you.”

Odessa just laughed, the sound ringing out through the room. “You won’t fail, trust me. Besides, I’ll take the blame. But you’re not gonna fail, M/N. You’re gonna own it.”

M/N nodded, a little more confident now. He took a long sip from his Modello and glanced at the door, his mind already racing with thoughts of the audition. The conversation shifted, but one thing was clear—this wasn’t just about acting anymore. This was about him.

And maybe, just maybe, this could be the start of something even bigger than he’d imagined.

⸻

Modelo Addict 🤪🍻

Yo. You’re not gonna believe this shit.

Pussy Master 3000 🫡💪🏼👅

LMAOOOO if this is about how you ate 5 hot wings in 5 seconds last night, I’m gonna lose my mind.

Modelo Addict 🤪🍻

No, you psychotic fuck. I GOT THE ROLE.

Pussy Master 3000 🫡💪🏼👅

WAIT. HOLD ON.

Did you just say what I think you said??

Modelo Addict 🤪🍻

I just got a call from the casting director. I’m gonna be fucking Pinhead. Like, Pinhead, Pinhead.

Pussy Master 3000 🫡💪🏼👅

M/N… M/N… YOU’RE FUCKING PINHEAD. THE FUCKING LEGEND. I CANNOT BREATHE.

I NEED A MINUTE.

I KNEW YOU COULD DO IT, YOU SEXY GOD.

Modelo Addict 🤪🍻

Stop calling me a sexy god, I’m gonna get weird about it.

Pussy Master 3000 🫡💪🏼👅

Nope. You’re a SEXY GOD now, bitch. Just embrace it. I told you you had it in you. I’m gonna make you a crown to wear with that leather suit.

Modelo Addict 🤪🍻

What the actual fuck is happening right now?

This isn’t real.

Pussy Master 3000 🫡💪🏼👅

It’s real. It’s SO real. But seriously, I am literally jumping up and down right now. You’re gonna be on the fucking big screen, you’re gonna be ICONIC.

Who knew Pinhead would be this hot?

Modelo Addict 🤪🍻

Don’t make this weird. I already feel weird enough.

Pussy Master 3000 🫡💪🏼👅

It’s too late for that, my friend. You’re gonna be covered in prosthetics and I’m the one who gets to say, “I know that guy.”

Also, you better be prepared for all the ‘I’m a huge fan of your work’ comments from Drew Starkey, cause you know he’s gonna be all over you. 😏

Modelo Addict 🤪🍻

Oh hell no. Please don’t say that. Drew Starkey’s gonna think I’m some freak.

Pussy Master 3000 🫡💪🏼👅

Said the guy who just got cast as a horror movie villain. I’m just saying. You two are gonna hit it off like a match made in creepy, beautiful hell.

Modelo Addict 🤪🍻

Stop. I literally just got cast. I haven’t even met him yet. I’ve only seen him from a distance on set. Now I gotta actually talk to him?

Pussy Master 3000 🫡💪🏼👅

I mean, yeah? You’re playing opposite him. But hey, maybe he likes a little mystery? Especially when you’re dressed like a satanic rockstar.

Modelo Addict 🤪🍻

Are we really having this conversation right now??

I feel like you’re setting me up to fail, Odessa.

Pussy Master 3000 🫡💪🏼👅

Nope. I’m setting you up for superstar status. Don’t fuck this up, or I’ll haunt your ass from across the country.

But seriously… you’re gonna kill it. I’m SO proud of you.

⸻

The set of Hellraiser was bustling with energy, filled with the chaos of makeup artists, crew members adjusting lights, and the ever-present hum of anticipation. The air was thick with the smell of latex and the low murmur of people discussing the next scene. M/N felt the excitement coursing through him, but also a heavy knot of nerves. He was about to step into the iconic role of Pinhead, and the pressure of filling such a legendary part weighed heavily on him. What if he couldn’t live up to the expectations? What if he wasn’t good enough?

But then, his eyes landed on Drew Starkey.

From across the set, M/N caught sight of him—him, the guy whose performances made M/N appreciate the craft in a way he never had before. Drew stood with his back to him, laughing at something one of the crew members said. Even from a distance, M/N could see the way his shoulders relaxed, his easy smile, the kind that could melt anyone in a five-mile radius. There was something about him—God, there was a lot about him—that had M/N both in awe and a little bit in lust.

Drew’s hair was shaved in a buzzcut that almost had M/N drooling. The black T-shirt clung to his body in a way that suggested he’d spent some time in the gym. The jeans… well, the jeans were perfectly fitted, making M/N’s eyes linger a little longer than necessary. Drew was effortlessly cool, like he didn’t care who noticed or who didn’t. It was the kind of charisma that just radiated off of him, pulling everyone in.

M/N caught himself staring a little longer than he should have, his heartbeat picking up pace. He forced himself to look away, mentally scolding himself. “Come on, get it together,” he muttered under his breath. He wasn’t here to gawk at Drew Starkey—no, he was here to work. He was about to be part of something huge, a reimagining of a horror classic. It wasn’t just about Drew, even if he did look like he had just stepped out of M/N’s very specific almost pornographic day dreams.

Still, it didn’t hurt to appreciate the view, right?

His eyes wandered back to Drew for just a second, this time a little more daring. Drew’s jawline was sharp, eyes gleaming with the glint of something mischievous, like he was always in on some secret that nobody else was privy to. His hands, rough and calloused, moved as he spoke, and M/N couldn’t help but imagine what it might be like to hold those hands.

He sighed to himself, a quiet, frustrated noise. The nerves, the attraction—great combo.

“Seriously, M/N, you good?” Odessa’s voice cut through the haze of thoughts running through his head. He flinched, his heart racing as if he’d been caught doing something embarrassing. Odessa, of course, was just now noticing the dazed expression on his face.

“Huh?” M/N blinked, forcing himself to snap out of his internal spiral. He tried to smile, hoping he hadn’t been caught drooling.

“You seem a little out of it. You okay?” Odessa raised an eyebrow, but her teasing tone suggested she was more amused than concerned.

M/N cleared his throat, his cheeks warm. “Yeah, I’m fine,” he lied, shoving his hands into his pockets to avoid any telltale signs of his embarrassment. He casually turned his head, but Drew was still there, talking to someone across the set. The immediate temptation to go introduce himself was almost overwhelming.

“Well, come on,” Odessa said, dragging him away before he could even contemplate making a fool of himself. “Let’s go meet the team and see how everyone’s doing. Oh, and don’t stress about the role too much, you’re gonna kill it as Pinhead. You’re perfect for it.”

M/N smiled at her reassurance, though the nerves didn’t entirely go away. Pinhead was such an iconic role, one that had haunted people’s nightmares for decades. And here he was, about to embody the character himself. The idea of stepping into those shoes was both exhilarating and terrifying. But at least he had Odessa’s support—she believed in him, even when he had his doubts.

“Yeah, sure,” he muttered, trying to keep his focus. But as they walked past Drew’s direction again, his eyes flickered back over to the man, taking in his broad shoulders and that lazy, confident grin. He was so goddamn attractive, M/N thought, biting the inside of his cheek to hold back a groan.

“By the way,” Odessa added, “You’ve got to meet Drew. He’s a cool guy, and I know you two would get along. You’d hit it off.”

M/N chuckled nervously. “Right. Sure. I mean, yeah, who wouldn’t? He’s, uh—he’s Drew Starkey.” He didn’t even need to finish the sentence. They both knew what Drew was—an undeniable presence. He was the guy in the industry right now.

“Well, he’s been asking about you,” Odessa continued, clearly oblivious to the way M/N’s heartbeat seemed to double at her words. “He’s kind of excited to meet you. I told him you were perfect for the role.”

M/N was trying to hide the fact that his face had gone slightly red, his fingers itching at his sides. Drew had heard of him? That was both exhilarating and terrifying.

Before he could answer, Odessa led him off toward the set, his eyes involuntarily trailing Drew as he walked. This was really happening. Drew Starkey would soon know who M/N was. And M/N… well, he couldn’t decide if he was more nervous or excited about that.

But all he knew was that the day he met Drew was one he’d remember for the rest of his life.

———

Filming Hellraiser was a strange experience for Drew Starkey. The set was drenched in fake blood, eerie lighting, and enough unsettling sound effects to make anyone’s skin crawl. But the weirdest part? Having a casual conversation about someone’s friend while filming a sex scene.

The sex scene was in full swing. Odessa, playing her part with a sultry confidence, had just finished a take when she lounged against the elaborate bed setup, catching her breath. Drew, still in character from his adjacent scene, paused in the background. As the crew began repositioning lights, Odessa, ever the blunt friend, leaned toward Drew and said with a mischievous smirk, “You know, you’d hit it off with my friend M/N.”

Drew arched an eyebrow, his tone laced with incredulity even as he delivered his lines for the next shot. “You’re seriously telling me about a friend of yours while we’re in the middle of filming a sex scene?” he replied dryly, half-amused, half-baffled.

He scoffed, running a hand through his shaved buzz. “Jesus. And why exactly would I hit it off with this guy?”

“Because he’s funny, a little weird, and he can handle sarcasm, which—let’s be real—you need,” she teased, pointing at him. “Oh, and he’s Pinhead.”

Drew blinked. “Wait. What?”

Odessa smirked. “Yeah. M/N’s playing Pinhead.”

Drew leaned back against the pillows, processing this. “The dude in prosthetics? With the pins in his skull? The one who literally looks like a nightmare demon?”

“Yep.”

“Huh.” He thought about it for a second, then shrugged. “Alright. Maybe I’ll say hi before he drags me to hell.”

⸻

For weeks, Drew only saw M/N in full costume. Every time he caught a glimpse, it was the same eerie figure—leather-clad, ghostly pale, unsettling as hell. They’d exchanged some playful banter between takes, but he had no idea what M/N actually looked like under all that.

Then, one afternoon, everything changed.

Drew was heading toward his trailer when he passed by one of the makeup removal stations. He almost didn’t recognize him at first—the guy wiping black and red makeup off his face, dressed in grungy, oversized clothes, an old band tee hanging loosely over sweatpants. His hair was messy, a few strands falling over his forehead as he dragged a baby wipe down his jaw.

And Drew? Damn near lost his mind.

He stopped in his tracks, blinking hard. “Holy shit.”

M/N glanced up, raising a brow. “What?”

Drew’s mouth opened, then closed. He had no words. Absolutely none. How the fuck had no one warned him about this?

M/N, completely oblivious to Drew’s mental breakdown, crumpled up the baby wipe and tossed it in the trash. “Didn’t recognize me, did you?”

Drew cleared his throat, forcing himself to not look too long at M/N’s exposed collarbone. “Not even a little.”

M/N smirked. “Yeah, well. Hard to be hot when you’re a literal hell priest.”

Drew muttered under his breath, “Debatable.”

M/N paused. “What?”

“Nothing.” Absolutely nothing.

M/N just laughed, stretching his arms over his head, revealing the faintest hint of a V-line above the waistband of his sweats. Drew physically looked away before he lost whatever grip on sanity he had left.

This was not what he had expected. At all.

⸻

Drew spent the next few days trying to get a grip.

M/N was too easy to be around—sarcastic, sharp, quick-witted in a way that kept Drew on his toes. And now that he knew what he actually looked like? Game over.

The only thing he didn’t know? That M/N had been crushing on him for years.

One night, after a long shoot, they found themselves alone outside the trailers, beers in hand.

M/N leaned against the railing, looking up at the sky. “You know… when Odessa told me to audition, I kind of jumped at it.”

Drew glanced over. “Oh yeah?”

M/N smirked. “Yeah. Because I already knew you were casted.”

Drew paused, processing that. “Wait. You knew me before this?”

M/N chuckled. “Saw one of your short films with Rudy. Thought you were good. Thought you were hot.”

Drew nearly choked on his drink. “Excuse me?”

M/N gave him a lazy grin. “What? You’re not the only one with eyes, Starkey.”

Drew huffed a laugh, shaking his head. “Jesus Christ. And here I was, struggling to act normal around you.”

M/N raised a brow. “You? Struggling?”

Drew leaned in slightly, his voice lower now. “You have no idea.”

And just like that, the teasing, the glances, the tension that had been building for weeks finally snapped.

Drew smirked. “So… you gonna do something about it, Hell Priest?”

M/N just grinned. “What do you think?”

—

lol insert another lol piece of notebook paper mane, 2 in one day bro? Everybody mf JUMP!!! No but fr I’ve been on my Drew Starkey shit so don’t mind me lmk if y’all liked it it what

#bxb #x male reader #drew starkey x male reader #drew starkey #obx x male reader #obx smut #rafe obx #rafe cameron drabble #drew starkey drabble #rafe cameron blurb #drew starkey blurb #drew starkey x reader #hellraiser #hellraiser 2022 #trevor hellraiser #outerbanks imagine #rafe outer banks #outer banks

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saltystarkey · 3 months ago

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TRACK 1 ☆.ᐟ

“You beat up Pope fucking Hayward?!”

in which M/N and Rafe Cameron have been best friends since childhood, despite M/N being a Pogue. When M/N finds Pope beaten and realizes Rafe was behind it, years of friendship, frustration and desire explode into something reckless and inevitable.

Warnings: 18+, smut, arguments, confrontation? lol yeah thats all b (song at the bottom of chapter)

The Outer Banks had a way of making everything feel almost perfect—like the humidity wasn’t suffocating, like the salt in the air didn’t stick to your skin, like the line between Kook and Pogue wasn’t drawn in fucking stone.

M/N walked with an easy stride, surfboard tucked under his arm, the waxy surface damp against his fingertips. His chain was warm from the sun, glinting in the harsh daylight as it rested against his collarbone. His jean shorts, slung low on his hips, brushed against his thighs, frayed at the edges from wear. He was already anticipating the rush of the waves, the kind of peace that only came with drowning out everything else—the bullshit, the expectations, the constant balancing act of being too much of a Pogue for the Kooks and too close to a Kook for the Pogues.

It was supposed to be a good fucking day.

And then he saw Pope.

At first, he almost didn’t recognize him. The kid was limping down the dock, head down, shoulders drawn tight like he was holding himself together by sheer will. His shirt was dirty, sticking to his back, and there was something off in the way he moved—like every step sent a shock of pain up his spine.

M/N slowed.

His pulse kicked up, a dull thrum in his ears as his gaze locked on the split skin along Pope’s cheekbone, the darkening bruise blooming across his jaw. His knuckles were scraped raw, and the way he held his side—it didn’t sit right.

M/N swore under his breath.

“Pope?”

No response.

Pope just kept walking, his jaw clenched, fists curled tight at his sides. M/N’s brows furrowed, irritation creeping in. He picked up his pace, stepping around Pope to block his path.

“Yo, Pope, what the fuck happened?”

Pope barely spared him a glance, his face twisting in something unreadable—anger, frustration, maybe even disappointment. But he didn’t stop. M/N reached out instinctively, fingers grazing Pope’s arm. “Dude, seriously—” Pope slapped his hand away.

“Don’t fucking touch me.”

M/N recoiled slightly, more from the venom in his voice than the actual shove. He let his arm drop, eyes narrowing. “What the hell’s going on?”

Pope exhaled sharply, shaking his head. His laugh was bitter, humorless, the kind that made M/N’s stomach twist. “You don’t know?”

M/N’s jaw locked. “Would I be fucking asking if I did?”

Pope scoffed, eyes dark and sharp as they met M/N’s. “Are you seriously playing dumb right now?” His voice had an edge to it, barely restrained anger bleeding into his words. M/N ran a hand over his face, his patience wearing thin. “What the fuck are you talking about?”Pope took a step forward, tension radiating from his frame. “Rafe.”

M/N stilled.

His grip on his board tightened, pulse thudding against his ribs.

“What about him?”

Pope’s expression twisted. “Your best fucking friend just jumped me.” M/N’s stomach dropped. “Took a goddamn golf club to my ribs.” His chest tightened.

“Stole my shit.” The heat of the sun suddenly felt suffocating.

“And you—” Pope’s voice wavered, just for a second, before he shook his head, stepping back like the sight of M/N alone pissed him off. “Fuck, I should’ve known. You were probably right there.”

That hit harder than M/N expected.

His heart slammed against his ribs, a mix of guilt and anger pooling in his gut. “What the fuck?” His voice was sharper now, edged with something defensive. “You really think I’d be a part of that?”

Pope let out a sharp breath. “I don’t know, M/N. You spend all your time with him, defending him, acting like he’s not a fucking psychopath—so yeah, maybe I do.” M/N felt his fingers twitch.

He wanted to argue. To tell Pope that he wasn’t blind to Rafe’s bullshit, that he knew exactly what kind of person his best friend was. But it wasn’t that fucking simple. It never had been. Because Rafe was his best friend.

Since they were six years old, since before the Kook and Pogue divide meant anything. Since before Rafe started spiraling, before the coke, before the fights, before the fucking rage that made him unpredictable.

And yeah, maybe M/N had spent too much time pretending he didn’t notice the cracks forming in Rafe’s foundation. Maybe he told himself, over and over, that it wasn’t his problem to fix.

But this?

This was different.

“You think I’d fucking let that happen?” M/N’s voice dropped, low and rough.

Pope’s jaw clenched. “I don’t think you stopped it.”

That shut him up.

For a second, the only sound was the water slapping against the dock, the distant hum of conversation from people who didn’t have a fucking clue about what was happening right here, right now.

Then, Pope exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. “Keep Rafe the fuck away from me.” His voice was quieter this time, but the weight of it pressed down on M/N’s chest.

“And do me a favor?” Pope added, taking another step back, his expression unreadable.

“Stay away too.”

M/N’s breath caught.

He wanted to argue.

He wanted to fix it.

But Pope was already limping away, not sparing him a second glance, like M/N wasn’t worth the effort anymore.

And that—that was the part that pissed him off the most.

His fists clenched, his teeth grinding together. The words burned in his throat, but he swallowed them down, pushing the frustration to the pit of his stomach.

Because now, all he could hear was Rafe’s voice from earlier.

“Me and Top? Might hit the course later.”

M/N inhaled sharply, his chest tight, his mind already racing.

Rafe had some fucking explaining to do.

His feet moved before his brain could fully catch up, his body running on pure adrenaline, pure rage.

By the time he hit the pavement, heading straight for Rafe’s house, he knew one thing for certain.

This wasn’t going to end well.

⸻

M/N slammed the door shut behind him, the sound reverberating through the lavish, sterile space of the Cameron household. His chest was heaving, heart pounding, the rage from what he’d seen at the docks still coursing through him like wildfire. Pope—his friend, his fucking friend—had been beaten by Rafe. And that wasn’t something he could ignore.

He stormed through the entryway, not bothering to care about the pristine décor that he knew Rafe had no respect for. His feet carried him straight toward the kitchen. The only thing that mattered right now was finding Rafe and making him answer for what he’d done.

As he entered the kitchen, his eyes locked onto Rafe immediately. The older Cameron was standing by the island, one hand lazily wrapped around a beer bottle, a smug grin playing on his lips like he didn’t have a care in the world.

“Are you fucking serious?!” M/N’s voice erupted, full of venom, as he slammed his fist onto the countertop, his anger so thick it was practically palpable. “You beat up Pope Hayward? Are you a fucking idiot?”

Rafe didn’t even flinch. He took a slow sip of his beer, raising an eyebrow at M/N’s outburst. A smirk crept onto his lips. “Oh, you care about Pope now? Thought you were one of us, man.”

M/N’s eyes narrowed, a mix of hurt and fury flashing in his gaze. “Don’t you dare try to turn this shit on me. I care because Pope’s my friend. He doesn’t deserve to be treated like that. You don’t just go around hitting people for no fucking reason, Rafe!”

Rafe set the beer down with an almost deliberate slowness, the sound of glass against marble punctuating the tension between them. He leaned against the counter, looking entirely unbothered. “Maybe you’re just soft, M/N. You used to get it. Used to be fun. What happened?”

“What happened?” M/N’s voice was incredulous, disbelief choking his words. “What happened is you’ve got your head so far up your own ass you can’t even see straight anymore. “You think your daddy’s money gives you the right to treat people like shit? To beat the crap out of someone just because you feel like it? People who don’t have the luxury of your rich, pampered life?” He scoffed.

Rafe’s jaw tightened, his blue eyes flashing dangerously. The air around them seemed to crackle with the raw energy of their confrontation. “Don’t act like you’re better than me,” Rafe spat, his voice low and dangerous now, his stance widening as if ready for a fight. “You think you’re above it all? I’m doing what I have to do to survive. I’ve been fighting my whole life to keep this family together, to keep this damn house running. You wouldn’t understand.”

M/N’s chest tightened, the words cutting deep. But his anger didn’t waver. “I don’t understand? Really? You think because you have money and a fucking name, you’re untouchable? You’re just scared, Rafe. Scared that all this shit’s going to come crashing down, and you won’t be able to hold it together.”

Rafe’s face twisted, the simmering rage finally bubbling over. “You don’t know anything about me. You think it’s all just about money? About status? Try living in my shoes for a day. My father’s a fucking nightmare. You think I’m not under pressure?” His voice was rising now, the anger in his words matching the growing storm inside him. “You think I don’t have to do this shit because I’m weak? I have to do it because no one else will!”

M/N took a step forward, refusing to back down. “That’s your excuse for everything? You’re justifying hurting people because your life’s not perfect? How much longer do you think you can hide behind that? How much longer do you think people are going to let you get away with shit like this?”

Rafe’s eyes locked onto M/N’s, and for the briefest of moments, M/N saw it—an unfamiliar flicker of vulnerability. But it was gone in an instant, replaced with pure disdain. “You don’t get it, M/N. You don’t understand what it’s like. You’re just the same as the rest of them. You act like you’re above all this, like you’re not one of us. But you are, and you always will be.” His voice dropped to a venomous whisper. “You can’t escape who you really are.”

M/N’s breath hitched, something sharp cutting through him. But he wasn’t going to let Rafe have the satisfaction of seeing him crack. “Maybe I’m not like you, Rafe. And maybe I don’t want to be. You can keep pretending that you’re some fucking king of the world, that everything’s fine, that you’re in control. But deep down? You’re nothing but a scared little boy who’s too afraid to face who he really is.”

Rafe’s face turned crimson with rage, his hands balling into fists. “Shut the fuck up!” he roared, slamming his fist into the counter, rattling the glassware on the shelves. “You think I’m scared? You think I’m afraid of anything? You’ve known me my whole life, M/N. You know what I’m capable of. Don’t think for a second I’ll hesitate to bury you if you keep pushing me.”

M/N’s heart pounded in his chest, but his voice didn’t waver. “Go ahead, then. Do it. Because this—” He gestured between them. “This is the real problem, Rafe. It’s not Pope. It’s not the Pogues. It’s you. It’s us. I don’t know when you became this version of yourself, but I’m done pretending it’s okay. I’m done being your fucking punching bag.”

Rafe’s eyes narrowed to slits. “You’re not my punching bag, M/N,” he said, each word sharp enough to cut through steel. “But you’re making this worse. You’re making everything worse. And for what? So you can play the hero? So you can get on your high horse and pretend like you’re above it all?”

M/N’s chest was heaving, anger, hurt, and something else—something deeper, more painful—swelling in his chest. “Maybe I am above it. I’m not the one who hurts people for fun. I’m not the one who’s scared of losing everything so I try to destroy everyone around me.” His voice cracked, just a little, as he took a step back. “But that’s your choice, Rafe. Always has been.”

Rafe didn’t say anything, his gaze dark and heavy, the weight of their words hanging between them. The tension stretched on, thick and suffocating, neither willing to back down.

Finally, M/N spoke again, quieter now, though the anger was still there, simmering beneath the surface. “I used to think you could be better. That maybe you’d snap out of this… whatever the fuck this is. But I don’t think you will. Not unless you wake up and stop being such a coward.”

Rafe was silent, his fists still clenched, but something had changed in him. The rage was still there, but it was muted, replaced by something deeper. Something M/N didn’t know how to handle.

M/N turned, his heart heavy, the weight of everything—of the years of friendship, the lost time, the wasted potential—crushing him. “I’m done, Rafe,” he muttered, before walking out, leaving Rafe standing there, alone in the silence of his own choices.

—

The night had dragged on longer than M/N would’ve liked, but nothing had felt quite right. His head was still buzzing from his argument with Rafe. Pope’s face, bruised and limping, kept flashing in his mind, and he knew he couldn’t just let it go. But there was also something gnawing at him—something about the way Rafe had acted that night, something he couldn’t quite shake off. He’d never seen his best friend like that, not even when they were kids and Rafe would throw tantrums, angry at the world for things he didn’t understand.

But tonight? Tonight had felt different.

M/N was half asleep when the sound of a car engine roaring up the gravel driveway jolted him awake. He sat up, rubbing his eyes, the dread curling in his gut. He knew exactly who it was. No one else would show up at his house in the middle of the night, certainly not with the aggressive rev of a car engine.

It was Rafe.

M/N dragged himself out of bed and stumbled toward the front door, throwing it open before Rafe even had the chance to knock. There he stood, barely upright, a mess. His usually immaculate hair was disheveled, his shirt untucked, and his eyes were glassy, distant. There was a twitch to his movements, a telltale sign of something else besides alcohol. Rafe was absolutely plastered, high as a kite.

M/N stood there, his body tense, every muscle screaming at him to walk away, but he couldn’t. Not when Rafe was standing in front of him like this, broken, messed up beyond recognition, and yet somehow still so goddamn familiar. He didn’t know what the fuck he was supposed to do. Rafe was his best friend, the one person he’d spent almost every goddamn day with since they were kids. But now? Now he couldn’t even recognize the person standing before him.

“Are you fucking serious?” M/N’s voice cut through the air, low and dangerous. “You beat the shit out of Pope fucking Hayward, and you think you can just waltz in here like nothing happened?”

Rafe didn’t flinch. Didn’t even look remotely ashamed. Instead, he shot M/N a grin—something twisted and dark. “Yeah, I beat him up. What of it?”

The words felt like a punch to M/N’s gut, but he didn’t back down. Not this time. He was sick of it. Sick of watching Rafe destroy everything, including himself.

“You’re such a fucking hypocrite, Rafe,” M/N spat. “You walk around acting like you’re better than everyone, treating people like shit, and for what? So you can feel better about your shitty life? You’re not better than anyone. And you’re sure as hell not better than Pope. Newsflash: your shit stinks too, Rafe!”

Rafe took a slow, deliberate step forward, closing the space between them. His eyes were dark, burning with something M/N couldn’t quite name. Maybe it was anger. Maybe it was guilt. Or maybe it was something else—something deeper, more complicated.

“Pope?” Rafe sneered, the words coming out like venom. It seemed as if that one had struck a nerve. “You really think I give a shit about Pope? He’s a fucking Pogue, M/N. Just like you.” He paused, his voice lowering, cold and bitter. “What’s the fucking difference between me and him, huh? Why do you care so much? Why the hell do you even give a shit?”

The question hit M/N harder than he wanted to admit. His hands clenched into fists, nails digging into his palms. He wanted to scream, to punch Rafe, to do something. But the words wouldn’t come. Instead, M/N found himself staring at Rafe, trying to understand him in ways he never had before.

“You don’t get it, do you?” M/N’s voice was shaking now, raw, the anger bubbling up inside him. “You don’t get why I care. You never do.” He took a step forward, forcing Rafe to meet his gaze. “I care because I’m not some fucking asshole who can just walk over people. I care because Pope’s a good person, and he doesn’t deserve that. And you sure as hell don’t deserve to treat him—or me—that way.” He scoffed shaking his head, it was irritating him that Rafe couldn’t understand why he was wrong.

Rafe’s eyes flickered, something shifting behind them. But it was gone just as quickly as it had appeared. He laughed, low and bitter. “Oh, so now you’re the fucking moral compass, huh? You’re the one who’s got it all figured out?”

“No,” M/N said, shaking his head, trying to keep his voice steady, “I’m not the fucking moral compass. But I’m not gonna sit here and watch you burn everything to the ground while you act like it’s all fine.”

Rafe stared at him for a long moment, then finally, his shoulders slumped slightly, like all the fight had drained out of him. “You don’t know what it’s like, M/N. You don’t know what it’s like to have everything you fucking love shoved in your face and taken away, piece by piece. To have everyone tell you you’re not good enough, no matter what you do.”

M/N’s heart twisted at the rawness in Rafe’s voice, but he couldn’t let it break him. Not now. Not after everything Rafe had done.

“I’m not your fucking therapist, Rafe,” M/N snapped. “You don’t get to keep throwing shit at me and expect me to feel sorry for you.”

But the vulnerability in Rafe’s eyes—it made M/N hesitate. For just a second. Because Rafe wasn’t the monster M/N had made him out to be, not deep down.

“Why do you care, M/N?” Rafe whispered, his voice cracking just slightly. “Dude, w the fuck do you care?”

It was a question M/N didn’t have an answer to. Not one that made sense.

“I don’t know bro,” M/N muttered, voice thick with frustration. “But I fucking do.”

For a moment, the air between them was thick with silence, heavy and thick as molasses. Neither of them moved. Neither of them spoke. But it felt like the weight of everything between them was suffocating, like it was all finally coming to a head.

Then, Rafe did something unexpected. He reached out, grabbed M/N by the collar, and pulled him close, their bodies crashing together. M/N’s breath hitched, but before he could pull back, Rafe kissed him. It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t soft. It was messy, desperate, raw.

And M/N didn’t push him away. He didn’t even try to.

He kissed Rafe back, hard, like he had been waiting for this moment his whole life. Maybe he had. His fingers fisted in Rafe’s shirt, pulling him closer, their bodies colliding with a force that felt like the entire world was crashing down around them.

The anger, the frustration, the hurt—they all melted away in that kiss. For one moment, everything was just them, tangled together in the chaos they’d created. The line between hate and love was so thin, so blurred, and neither of them knew where one ended and the other began.

But it didn’t matter. Not then. Not when Rafe’s hands were sliding down his body, pulling him closer, like they were trying to become one, like they needed each other in ways neither of them could fully understand.

M/N’s heart pounded in his chest, the blood rushing in his ears. He could feel Rafe’s desperation, feel the way his hands shook as they moved over him. It was intoxicating. It was overwhelming. And god, it was fucking dangerous.

But M/N didn’t care anymore. Not about the consequences. Not about the aftermath. He was done holding back. He was done pretending he didn’t feel the way he did about Rafe.

And for the first time in a long while, Rafe didn’t look like the asshole he had become. He looked like the boy M/N had always known, the one he had been in love with for so long, the one who was just as lost as he was.

The kiss deepened, Rafe’s grip on M/N tightened, his fingers digging into his shirt like he was afraid to let go. His breath was heavy, uneven, and M/N could feel it ghosting against his lips as Rafe pulled him even closer.

“Tell me to stop,” Rafe muttered, voice rough, like he was barely keeping himself together. His hands were trembling, but his grip was firm, like he was anchoring himself to M/N.

M/N didn’t say a word. He could have. Maybe he should have. But instead, he just stared into those wild blue eyes, the ones that had haunted him for years, the ones he hated and craved in equal measure.

And then he pulled Rafe back in.

The kiss wasn’t gentle. It was messy, desperate—years of frustration, anger, and unspoken words crashing together all at once. Rafe took control instantly, shoving M/N back against the couch, his weight pressing down like he was trying to consume him.

M/N barely had a second to catch his breath before Rafe’s lips were on his neck, biting, sucking, leaving marks that wouldn’t fade for days. His hands roamed, possessive, rough, sliding under M/N’s shirt, his nails scraping against warm skin.

“You piss me off so fucking much,” Rafe growled against his throat, his voice raw and uneven. “Always running that damn mouth, acting like you’re better than me. But look at you now—” He bit down hard, making M/N suck in a sharp breath. “—you don’t want me to stop.”

M/N’s head was spinning, the heat of Rafe’s body pressing against his sending electricity down his spine. His nails dug into Rafe’s back, yanking at his shirt. “Shut the fuck up,” he shot back, voice breathless, but his hands were saying something else, pulling Rafe closer, needing more, more, more.

Rafe chuckled darkly, but there was something in his eyes—something almost vulnerable beneath all the arrogance, all the chaos. He was coming apart, but he wasn’t alone. M/N was unraveling with him.

He yanked M/N’s shirt over his head, his gaze darkening as he took in the sight of him. His hands trailed lower, teasing, testing, watching M/N’s reaction with a smug smirk that made M/N want to punch him and pull him in all at once.

“You wanted this,” Rafe murmured, voice dropping lower, more dangerous. “All this time, you wanted me.”

M/N didn’t answer. He didn’t have to. The way he grabbed Rafe, the way he pulled him back in, crashing their lips together with bruising force, said everything.

As Rafe's hands roamed M/N's body, his fingers touched every inch of skin he could find. M/N's nails dug into Rafe's back, pulling him closer as their tongues tangled together. The air was thick with tension, the desperation and intensity between them palpable

It only took Rafe seconds to dip his hand into M/N’s loose plaid pajama pants, roughly yanking his boxers down. “You're so tight," Rafe whispered, his voice low and menacing as he prodded at M/N’s entrance. “I'm going to have to break you in."

M/N's eyes flashed open, his pupils dilating as he felt Rafe's words wash over him. "Shut up bro.” M/N shot back, his voice breathless. "You're not gonna break shit.” He tried.

Rafe chuckled, his lips nipping at M/N's ear, before running his tongue up his neck, something that made M/N shiver. "Oh, I'm going to break you," he whispered. "I'm gonna break you in so good, you'll be begging for more."

M/N's hands slipped into Rafe's hair, pulling him closer. "I'm not gonna beg for shit Cameron," M/N whispered back, his voice matching Rafe's intensity.

Rafe's fingers trailed down M/N's chest, tweaking his nipples and making him gasp. "Yeah, ok, keep talking baby," Rafe said, his voice dripping with confidence.

As Rafe's hands slipped down M/N's body, wrapping around his hips and pulling him closer, his nails digging into the sun kissed makes skin, M/N's legs spread wide, inviting Rafe to take him. Rafe's cock pressed against M/N's ass, and M/N's eyes flew open as he felt Rafe throb against his entrance, his gaze locking onto Rafe's.

"You're really gonna do this," M/N whispered, his voice barely audible.

Rafe's lips nipped at M/N's ear. "I'm gonna fuck you so good, you'll hardly be able to breathe sweetheart ," he whispered, the nickname making M/N’s face burn red, he let out a small moan just at that.

M/N's nails dug into the couch, his body shuddering with pleasure and pain as Rafe's cock slid into him.

“Fuck! Shit, that fucking burns.” He huffed, his eyes squeezing shut as Rafe paused.

“Want me to w-“

“No, fuck. Dude keep going, please. I can take it.” He grounded out on clenched teeth as Rafe picked up the pace. The sensation was intense, the friction building as Rafe's cock slid in and out of M/N's ass.

"Ah, fuck," M/N whispered, his voice barely audible.

“You feel so good~” M/N let out in a guttural moan.

Rafe chuckled, his teeth biting at M/N’s neck. "You said you could take it," he whispered. “You’re so fucking tight, fuck.”

M/N's eyes flew open, his gaze locking onto Rafe's. "Holy fuck, mhm, do that a-again” he stuttered as Rafe hit a spot that made him let out a pathetic moan.

As Rafe's cock slid in and out of M/N's ass, the sensation built to a crescendo. M/N's body was shuddering, his nails digging into the couch as he tried to hold on.

"Fuck-“ he cut off as Rafes hips snapped up in angle that had M/N choking out moans. “More," M/N whispered, his voice barely audible. "I need more."

Rafe's tongue stopped just under M/Ns jaw before nipping at it, his voice dropping an octave. “You want more?" he whispered. "You want me to fuck you harder?"

M/N almost whimpered as his gaze locked onto Rafe's. "Yes," he whispered back, his voice matching Rafe's intensity. "I want more."

Rafe searched the younger males eyes, before letting out a small grunt as his cock wildly slammed into M/N's ass, the sensation intense, the friction building to a crescendo. M/N's body was shuddering, his nails digging into the couch as he tried to hold on.

"Ah, fuck," M/N whispered, his voice barely audible. "Fuck, I’m gonna cum-“ he gasped as Rafe pounded him harder, the sound of skin slapping and breathless moans was all that could be heard.

Rafe's voice was shaky as he spoke, his hands digging into M/N’s hips, his pace not slowing. "Cum for me baby," he grunted. "Cum all over my cock."

M/N's body shuddered, his cock erupting as he came all over Rafe's stomach. Rafe followed, his cum spilling into M/N's ass as he came with a low grunt, his chain dangling over M/N’s face as the two met eyes.

The sensation was intense, the pleasure was still stinging M/N’s body as his chest heaved up and down.

"Fuck," M/N whispered, his voice barely audible. "That was so good."

Rafe huffed into M/N’s ear, still trying to catch his breath. "I told you it would be," he whispered. "You're mine now, best friend or not.” He let out, sweat dripping from his scalp down to his nose, something about it turned M/N on as he clenched around Rafes sensitive dick. The older male sucking in a breath as his hand came up to grip M/N’s throat bringing his face closer. “Don’t test me, I could do this all night.” He hummed, now sobered up from moments before.

M/N's eyes flew open, his gaze locking onto Rafe's. "Maybe I want to ," he whispered back, his voice raspy and tired from the moaning and screaming.

The kiss that followed was soft, gentle, and intimate. It was a kiss that spoke of secrets, of hidden desires, and of a passion that would not be denied. As they broke apart, Rafe's eyes locked onto M/N's, his gaze burning with a fire that would not be extinguished.

In that moment, they both knew that nothing would ever be the same again. They had crossed a line, a line that could never be uncrossed. And as they gazed into each other's eyes, they knew that they would never be able to go back to the way things were before.

—

Insert lil piece of notebook paper lol yoo okay so ik this one was dramatic as hell but like what kinda comeback would it be if it wasn’t dramatic yfm? Anyways lmk what y’all think and request something if you wanna

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