rafeownsmyspine

[rafeownsmyspine]

CHAPTER 2: “you always ruin it”

(pairing: Rafe Cameron x fem!Pogue!Reader)

warnings: language, hangovers, jealousy, Rafe being delusional in love, reader being in denial, Kiara knowing too much

The first thing you felt was the morning light on your face, it was attacking you aggressively, pushing through your eyelids as if it had a personal vendetta against you, your head was pounding in that “I definitely drank cheap beer near rich people” kinda way, then your mouth started tasting like stale beer and full-on betrayal. Mornings always felt heavier after Figure Eight parties. Like all the fakeness in the air stuck to your skin overnight and left you feeling sticky.

The second thing was your spine absolutely being violated by Kiara’s knee.

“Ow. Do you sleep like a pretzel on purpose?”

“It’s called cuddling. You were cold.”

“I was dying.”

“Honestly, relatable.”

You blinked crusty eyes open, face buried in a pillow that smelled like strawberry shampoo and girl drama.

The worst part?

You still heard his voice echoing in your brain like it paid rent:

“You’re the only one here worth fighting for.”

Be serious. Why would he say that. With a straight face. Knowing full well it would make you emotionally unstable for the next two days?!

You let out the loudest, most melodramatic sigh imaginable.

Kiara, still half-asleep, cracked an eye. “…Uh-oh.”

“Don’t start.”

“Was that the ‘I’m overthinking a hot guy saying something intense last night’ sigh?”

“It wasn’t that deep.”

“You only sigh like that after emotionally raw Rafe moments and season finales.”

You groaned into the pillow like it might swallow you whole.

“He was being WEIRD.”

“He’s always weird.”

“He said I’m worth fighting for.”

“Oh.”

“OH???”

“No like—OH. That’s fanfic behavior. That’s enemies-to-lovers, one-bed-trope, he-loses-it-if-you-talk-to-another-guy type behavior.”

You sat up.

“Do you want to date him?” You said scrunching your face up

“I mean… if you’re gonna waste it.”

Thirty minutes later, you were brushing your teeth with your finger (you had forgotten your toothbrush, like always.) and drinking sink water like a raccoon, spiraling.

He didn’t mean it right?

But what if he did?..

Kiara peeked in, scrolling on your phone. “He texted you.”

You paused mid-rinse. “Don’t.”

“He said ‘you good?’ which is basically ‘I miss the sound of your laugh and would commit light arson to hear it again.’”

“It’s three words.”

“Exactly. Which means it took him thirty minutes to decide if that would scare you away.”

You faceplanted onto the counter, groaning dramatically.

Gas station trip.

You wore sunglasses inside like a celebrity going through a public divorce, which was accurate because emotionally? you were not okay.

“I just need Hot Cheetos and peace,” you muttered.

Too bad fate hates you, because guess who was posted up outside the gas station looking like a Tormented Bad Boy #6 from a Wattpad cover?

Rafe.

Leaning on his truck. Hoodie up. He was on his phone but his smirk was definitely visible from 300 ft.

“Nope.”

“Yup,” Kiara whispered.

“NOPE.”

“He’s walking over.”

“I’m walking straight into traffic then.”

⸻

“Look who survived the rich kid Hunger Games,” Rafe said, smirking like he didn’t cause 90% of your mental breakdown.

You rolled your eyes. “Look who still thinks being cryptic is a personality.”

“You looked ghostly last night.”

“That’s just my face.”

“Noooh. Like… haunted. Victorian child vibes.”

“Okay Edgar Allan Poe.”

“You left the party real fast.”

“Yeah. I hit my emotional limit when you said THAT by the fire.”

He stepped closer. You didn’t move. Mistake #1.

“You remember what I said?”

“Unfortunately.”

“And?”

“And I think you should write Wattpad for that line.”

He just smirked. Which was rude because he knew it made your stomach do that stupid little flip flop gymnastic cartwheel thing.

Inside, Kiara was pretending she wasn’t watching from the chips aisle like this was Love Island: Outer Banks Edition.

Just buy the damn Gatorade, Kiara.

but like why is his face so close tho.

“You do this thing,” you muttered.

“What thing?”

“The thing where you act like you don’t care and then look at me like I’m your oxygen.”

“Because you are,” he said, voice way too soft for a gas station parking lot.

Seriously? Right infront of the circle k? (pls get this reference 🥗)

“You can’t keep playing like this,” you told him, backing up a half step. “We’re just friends.”

“Says who?”

“Says literally everyone.”

“Then ‘everyone’ is blind.”

You blinked. Way too fast.

Like your brain started to reboot and your mouth glitched.

⸻

Back at the chateau, you collapsed on the couch like life had personally beef with you.

Kiara was sorting Cheetos by size (why), and Rafe? He sat next to you.

Not across.

Next to.

Like it was normal. Like he always did that. Like your thigh touching his meant nothing. (honestly it did mean nothing but also no)

“You never answered me,” he said.

“About what?”

“Why you pretend I don’t matter to you.”

You didn’t answer.

“You always ruin it,” he muttered. “Before I get the chance to.”

You froze.

The words hit like a slap and a hug at the same time.

“That’s not fair,” you said. “I ruin it because if I don’t, you will.”

His eyes softened. Just for a second. And that was worse.

You tossed him the remote.

“Here. Watch something. Ruin someone else’s night.”

But you didn’t move away from him.

You just sat there.

Two idiots.

Emotionally allergic.

Cursed with tension and matching trauma.

EW I HATED WRITING THIS CHAPTER😞😞

[rafeownsmyspine]

genuinely going to cry because i was writing chapter 2 then it deleted ☺️☺️💔💔

🔫🔫🔫

[rafeownsmyspine]

💻

about this blog!

hiiii! I LOVE LOVE LOVEEEE to write messy love, delusional obsession, slow burns, and toxic dynamics that are hot in fiction but would get blocked IRL 😞😞

this is a rafe cameron x reader hellhole but other delusional men/women may appear

i’m a shifter + subliminal maker, a SUCKER for tension that makes 10 chapters to break, and i will neverrrr shut up about reader girls with attitude and oblivious of people liking them.

❗what i write:

✔️ slow burn

✔️ angst & emotional tension

✔️ toxic codependent romance

✔️ light degradation (ex: brat, teasing)

✔️ size kink / praise kink / obsession

✔️ dom!character x bratty/sarcastic reader

✔️ rafe cameron supremacy

✔️ smart girls who act clueless but aren’t

✔️ WLW, idk how to write mlm but i’ll try 😭

🚫 HARD NO’S (aka don’t ask me for this)

✘ incest

✘ religious smut

✘ non-con / CNC

✘ anything involving real trauma i don’t mess with

✘ pet play / age play / anything involving ddlg

✘ anything against boundaries or that gives ick vibes

🎧 you’ll like this blog if you:

• romanticize being the only person he’s soft for

• believe love should be a little unhinged

• want him to lose his mind over you but you’re kinda ignoring him

• like fire pit conversations that end in silence and 10k word chapters with no smut 😉

• have main character syndrome in the best way

🖤 extras

• subliminal posts & shifting stuff coming soon

• fanfic recs + aesthetic edits

• delusional but respectful

[rafeownsmyspine]

⚠️ WARNINGS:

language, mentions of drinking, class divide (pogue vs kook tension), mutual pining, Rafe being a little emotionally unstable™, mild angst, tensionnnnnnnnnn (capital T)

(no smut in this chapter or anytime soon — slow burn babes stand up!!)

rafe is down bad. like “hold your purse at the bonfirelevel bad.”

cw: reader is in denial. rafe is about to lose it. we are so back.

CHAPTER ONE: FIGURE EIGHT FIRELIGHT

It was always Figure Eight parties that made you feel like a ghost, like you were just lingering. Unseen, see you could see everyone else but nobody could see you.

Everyone’s teeth were always too white, their laughs were too loud, and their outfits looked like they came with trust funds sewn into the seams. You didn’t belong here—and you didn’t want to.

But Kiara dragged you here anyway, swearing “it’ll be fun, just one night, maybe punch a frat boy.”

But the night always ended up being the same, Kiara being wasted, you standing in the corner bored, watching Kiara let loose.

You were three minutes in and already holding a cup of warm beer, staring at some guy named Carson or Carter or something else that screamed “mommy issues.”

“You gonna sulk the whole time, Muddy?”

The voice behind you sent your whole spine into a no thank you reflex. You turned, eyes already rolling.

“Oh great. The poster child for unprocessed rage.”

Rafe grinned, lazy and smug, leaning on the fence like he owned it. He probably did. Or his dad did. Same difference.

“That’s rich coming from a girl who almost hit her teacher with a stapler in 10th grade.”

“Well in my defense, he gave me a C on a paper he didn’t even read! LIKE YOU DON’T EVEN KNOW WHAT THE THIRD SENTENCE READS?!”

“You wrote it in pink gel pen.”

You shrugged. “Yea because it’s iconic duh?”

The corner of his mouth twitched. You hated how nice it looked when he smiled at you. Or maybe you hated how rarely he smiled at anyone else.

“What are you even doing here?” you asked.

“Same thing you are. Avoiding people I don’t like. Drinking shit beer. Trying not to start a fight.”

You sipped your drink. “Not doing great on that last one.”

He stepped a little closer, eyes sharp. “You wanna start with me, Muddy?”

“Always.”

You said it too fast, too easy, and you didn’t mean it to sound like that—but something flickered across his face. Hunger. Confusion. That look he always gave you when he thought you weren’t paying attention.

You were.

But pretending not to made things easier.

You turned your back away before he could.

You weren’t sure if it was the alcohol coursing through your body or the way he was staring at you like you hung the stars, but your skin felt too hot. Your face, too readable.

“Whatever, Rich Boy,” you muttered, taking a step back toward the house. “Go start a fight with someone who actually cares.”

“You’re the only one here worth fighting for.”

You froze. Just for a second.

Like the walls you’d built all your life just… cracked.

“That sounded better in your head, huh?”

Rafe chuckled behind you, low and breathy. It sounded like smoke and secrets and stupid mistakes.

You didn’t wait for a comeback. You just walked.

The fire pit was still glowing, the soft noise of embers cracking in the fire pit. Half the crowd either passed out on pool chairs or pretending to like EDM in the living room. Kiara was supposedly “getting more snacks”

You sat at the edge of the circle, staring off and dropping your half-full red solo cup in the grass and letting your boots press into the dirt.

Carson-or-Carter was trying to freestyle about crypto two feet away and you were dangerously close to committing a felony.

Then the space beside you shifted.

Rafe sat down, stretching out his legs like he owned the ground under them.

“You follow me?” you asked, turning your head to face him.

“You walk like a cartoon character. Hard not to.”

“You got a staring problem, too?” You said, raising your eyebrows at him

“Only with you.” He said with that smirk. That damn smirk.

You didn’t answer. Just stared at him

The fire cracked between you. His shoulder barely grazed yours, and he didn’t move. Neither did you.

“Why do you always do that?” you said after a beat.

“Do what?”

“Act like you don’t care about anything, but then show up like a damn lapdog anytime I exist.”

He scoffed. “Lapdog?”

“You literally followed me out here.

Like a stray.”

“I’m not a stray,” he said, low. “I just don’t like people talking to you.”

“Why?”

Another beat.

The fire popped.

“Because they don’t know you like I do.”

[rafeownsmyspine]

CHARACTER INTROS FOR: mud on my boots, blood on your jacket

KIARA CARRERA

Your bestfriend, and even though she was technically a kook, she HATED being lumped in with their pastel-colored garbage.

JJ MAYBANK

JJ had kissed you once at a party and puked five minutes later, which pretty much summed your love life, and therefore came the revolutionary idea of “no pogues macking on other pogues rule”

POPE HEYWARD

You and Pope are the brains of the pogues, literally what would they do without you guys?BUTTTT… Pope was the only one who knew that Rafe used to let you copy his math homework in middle school.

RAFE CAMERON

and rafe? the walking red flag your mom told you to stay away from.

BUT..

too bad he carried your books for you in ninth grade.

too bad he always showed up when your car broke down.

too bad he knew your Starbucks order. by heart.

too bad he payed for your nails when you didn’t have the money.

and too bad you never noticed how hard he was trying not to look at your lips every time you laughed.

[rafeownsmyspine]

TITLE: mud on my boots, blood on your jacket

PAIRING: RAFE CAMERON X FEM!POGUE!READER

GENRE: slow burn, bestfriends to lovers trope, mutual pining, smut later 😉😉

WARNINGS: language, tension, rafe being delusional in love, reader being oblivious to the fact he’s CRUSHING HARDDD

SUMMARY: you and rafe grew up COMPLETE opposites. he’s a kook with a short temper and a $600 jacket on a yacht, you’re a pogue with muddy boots and a smarter mouth. you don’t like kooks, and he doesn’t like anyone. except you. he always has.

(this is lore, skip if you want, but like… why would you??)

Living in the Outer Banks meant you picked a side.

Kooks lived on Figure Eight and played golf with their trust fund baby friends. They had vacation homes in other countries and their cars were paid off by junior year.

Pogues lived on the Cut. They worked two jobs, made out behind convenience stores for fun, and didn’t have reliable cell service anywhere.

There wasn’t supposed to be any crossover.

Except for you.

And Rafe.

He was in your class back in first grade, lived three streets down. He called you “Muddy” for years because you always had dirt on your boots.

You called him “Rich Boy” because his mom would yell at him for scuffing his shoes or coming home with sweaty hair after recess. She once screamed,

“I WASTED TWENTY MINUTES ON YOUR COMBOVER, RAFE!”

and you never let him live it down.

He got in fights.

You got detentions.

He smoked weed under the bleachers.

You stole test answers and sold them for fifty bucks a pop.

He hated pogues.

You hated kooks.

But you didn’t hate each other.

Not even close.

OKKK GUYS THIS IS MY FIRSTIME WRITING ONN HERE I HOPE YALL LIKED IT THIS IS JUST LIKE AN INTROO IM MAKING IT A SERIES!!

[rafeownsmyspine]

I love rafe cameron fanfics and smut but like… clutching my pearls and side-eyeing my own curiosity (cuz sometimes you be scrolling like “oh this is spicy” then halfway through you realize she said “no” 7 times and he said “shhh” 8 times and suddenly you’re sitting there like why is my stomach hurting).

BECAUSE ITS SOOOO CRAZY HOW FAST IT ESCALATES

like you’re just trying to read some spicy makeout stuff, and next thing you know it’s “she forgot how to form full sentences because he dicked the thoughts out her head” and you’re like 😃😃😃 “okay let’s log off now before i lose my mind AND my morals.”

AND ITS NOT EVEN AN EXAGGERATION ITS GROWN ASS PEOPLE WHO HAVE KIDS! LIKE NO SHAME IF YOURE WRITING OR READING SMUT BUT R@P3 PLAY?

LIKE ILL JS BE SCROLLING ON RAFE SMUT AND THEN 3POSTS LATER it’s “here’s the types of collars your dom would make you wear in public so you forget your own name :)” and everyone’s reblogging it like “this is so me omg.”

LIKE??? NO ITS NOT BABES. U HAVE A JOB. U HAVE KIDS. YOU DROVE A MINIVAN TO TRADER JOES THIS MORNING.

and those comments be REAL too. like grown women in the notes talkin bout

“i left the back door open, please god let him find me”

MA’AM????

HELLO????

THAT IS A CRIME. A FELONY. MULTIPLE!!! and the craziest part? the way they say it so ✨casually✨ like it’s just another Wednesday night craving.

like “mmm i could go for a snack or some light home invasion r@p3 🥰”

girl what do you mean?!? it’s genuinely scary sometimes bc it’s not even fantasy for them anymore it’s like they wanna manifest it. and the way they frame it like “omg i’m just so ✨submissive✨ and he knows what’s best for me teehee” like NOOO?! that’s. called trauma and unsafe coping mechanisms ☺️☺️ and i swear the “boyfriend brain” stuff starts out cute (like “omg he makes me forget my password” ok cute whatever) but suddenly you reading: “i haven’t spoken in days because he doesn’t let me and he feeds me in a highchair now”

and the comments be like “i need this.”

🚨CALL FOR HELP???🚨

like i’m all for spicy fanfic and weird little fantasies but there’s a POINT where it stops being sexy and starts being a LITERAL CRY FOR HELP that everyone’s just ignoring 😭

AND AGE PLAY!!? like you wanna crawl around in a onesie and call him daddy in the privacy of your own weird lil trauma bubble? go off. but the moment you’re sippin juice out of a sippy cup at Olive Garden talking about “no big girl words” I’M OUT. i’m LEAVING my breadsticks behind and everything. semi-public sex smut? discreet? understood. but full-on baby bimbo in aisle five at Target?

girl no. i got secondhand embarrassment from reading it. the size kink, dom/sub dynamic? yes, there’s nuance! i love the “he’s 6’5 , i have to look up to speak to him , he flips me over like a doll” energy. absolutely. but some of these writers take that and run into the woods never to return. and then add hypnosis??? no plot, just vibes and consensual brain removal surgerylike the way you blink and suddenly you’re reading:

“my brain is too heavy so he took it from me. now i smile and say thank you with my legs open :)”

I BEG YOUR PARDON????

WHAT IN THE BLACK MIRROR IS THIS

and then the comments?

“omg i’m drooling this is everything i want”

“i need someone to delete me like this fr”

it’s literally like… some of those blogs feel like a government experiment to see how far the human mind can go into unwell territory with zero regulation.