stylestarkey

[stylestarkey]

A Night In Rome

Pairing: Harry Styles x Reader

CW: Alcohol consumption, public intoxication, suggestive sexual behavior in public, light dominance/submission dynamics, clingy Y/N.

Synopsis: A night in rome with a very drunk clingy Y/N.

You were wearing a white lace dress, with your hair tied loosely back, a few strands slipping free to frame your flushed face. The streets hummed around you, but you weren’t really paying attention to anything except Harry, well, Harry and the icy drink in your hand.

The cobblestone streets of Rome glistened under soft amber lights. It had rained briefly earlier that evening, just enough to coat the city in a sheen that made every step feel cinematic.

You were tipsy. Gloriously, gigglingly tipsy.

Harry leaned back against the wall of the trattoria you’d all just left, the collar of his blue shirt slightly undone, the hem of his trousers brushing his ankles. He was sipping slowly, his other hand tucked into his pocket, eyes watching you with that amused, adoring little smile.

Alessandro Michele was standing nearby with an arm lazily draped around his partner. He was telling some story to the group gathered around, all talking over one another.

But you were entirely fixated on your boyfriend.

You took a sip of your cocktail, lips pursing. “Why is this so good?” you said, stumbling a little as you reached Harry. You clung to his side, wrapping your free arm around his waist like you needed him to stay upright.

Harry chuckled, low and patient. “Because it’s your fourth one, bunny.”

You smiled dreamily. “It’s not my fourth.”

“It is.” He slid your glass gently from your hand. “And that’s enough, lovie.”

You blinked up at him, swaying just slightly on your feet. “You’re mean.”

“I know.” He leaned down and pressed a kiss to your forehead, then your cheek. “But you’ll thank me in the morning.”

You wrapped your arms tighter around him, hands gliding over the silk of his shirt, and buried your face in his neck. “You smell so good,” you whispered, then nuzzled in deeper and left a slow, open-mouthed kiss just beneath his jaw.

He didn’t flinch. Didn’t pull away or tell you to behave. Just let you nuzzle and nip at the soft skin beneath his ear, your lips brushing just beneath his jaw as if you were trying to memorize the shape of him with your mouth. You were delicate at first, barely-there kisses, your breath warm and sweet against his skin, but then your teeth grazed him, playful and a little greedy, and he made a low sound that barely passed as a laugh.

Still, he didn’t stop you.

His arm wrapped more securely around your waist, hand warm and steady against the small of your back, his thumb drawing slow, grounding circles. He was still listening to Alessandro and laughing softly with the others, nodding along, but every now and then, his hand would slide just a little lower, soothing, steadying, as your lips trailed along his neck with lazy devotion.

You kept going, half-draped over him, mouthing at the skin above his collarbone, barely noticing how your lip gloss had smudged just a little. You pressed another kiss to the side of his neck, then did it again, just because you could.

Harry tilted his head to the side slightly, offering you more space, still not saying anything. He didn’t need to. His body was so relaxed, like this was just second nature, letting his tipsy girl crawl all over him in the middle of a Roman alley while he chatted with old friends.

Every now and then, his fingers would tighten at your waist, squeezing gently when you got a bit too close to his collar or a little too sharp with your teeth. But he didn’t move you away. He just kept talking.

At one point, Giovanni, Alessandro’s partner, caught Harry’s eye and raised a brow with a knowing smirk.

“She’s had fun tonight,” Harry said smoothly, not missing a beat. He kissed the top of your head without even looking. “Haven’t you, bun?”

You hummed in reply, completely blissed out against his neck, lips still grazing skin as if it was the only thing tethering you to the ground.

Then you said softly, right against his skin: “You taste good too.”

That was when Harry finally blinked and let out a quiet laugh.

You kissed him again, then again, sloppier this time, hot lips dragging across the column of his throat. “Can we go back home?” you murmured.

“Not yet, bun.”

“Wanna be alone with you.”

“I know you do.” His voice was still gentle, but there was a warning edge to it. You’d pushed past that edge.

Your hand slid down, tracing the front of his shirt, nails dragging lightly, until you reached the waistband of his trousers. You giggled, brushing the heel of your palm over the slight bulge in his pants.

His eyes widened. “Jesus,” he muttered, laughter bursting from him as he quickly grabbed your wrist and pushed your hand away. “You’re gonna get us arrested.”

“But it’s Rome,” you whispered with a giggle. “They’re romantic here.”

“Yeah, not that romantic,” he said, still laughing.

You pouted, leaning up to kiss him again. This time it was full-on, your mouth open, messy, hungry.

Your lips found his like it was the only thing in the world you could focus on. You tilted your head and opened wider, tongue brushing his, fingers tangling into the collar of his shirt as you pressed up on your toes to reach him fully.

Harry let you kiss him. Let you take and take, groaning softly into your mouth as one of his hands came up to cradle the back of your head, steadying you. His other arm stayed looped around your waist, keeping you anchored, flush to him. His fingers curled at your lower back again, a slow, reassuring stroke up and down, up and down.

Around you, no one paid much attention. The group had splintered into smaller conversations, Alessandro now theatrically reenacting something with wide hand gestures, everyone too caught up in their own tipsy laughter and stories to care that you were practically devouring your boyfriend in the street.

You whimpered softly into his mouth, angling yourself closer, knee slipping between his, and Harry chuckled again, deep in his chest.

“You’re a menace tonight,” he murmured against your lips.

But he still didn’t stop you.

You were about to say something, something about how warm he was, or how you wanted to crawl into his shirt and live there, when a sudden arm slung casually around your shoulders from the side, pulling you back slightly with affectionate force.

“Alright, bambini,” Alessandro grinned, standing between you and Harry now like a human barrier, one arm still draped across your shoulders, the other flung around Harry’s. “Save some of that passion for behind closed doors, hmm?”

Harry threw his head back and laughed.

You blinked up at Alessandro, dazed and pouty, but didn’t resist his grip. You stood there for a moment, swaying a little under the weight of his arm, then slipped out from under it with a tiny huff and wandered toward the table nearby, sinking into one of the wrought iron chairs with a sigh.

Your cheek smushed against your hand, elbow propped on the table. You kicked your feet slightly under the chair and started humming to yourself, some soft, dreamy tune you couldn’t quite remember the name of. Probably something Harry had played for you once, or something Alessandro had blasted through his villa speakers.

Your dress caught the light every time you shifted, your flushed face dreamy and content as the night swirled on around you. People talked and sipped and smoked and laughed, and you just hummed and watched Harry from your little spot, like he was the center of your universe.

Because he was.

You kept humming, now swaying slightly in your seat, arms folded on the table in front of you. The streets had grown quieter now, just the low hum of traffic in the distance, a few passing voices, the clinking of ice in glasses.

You closed your eyes for a moment, feeling the breeze slip past and cool your flushed skin. You imagined Harry’s hand instead, those warm fingers tracing down your back, over your thighs, up the inside of your—

“Bun,” came his voice suddenly, close.

Your eyes fluttered open to find him crouching beside you, glass of water in one hand and that soft, bossy smile on his face.

“Drink this,” he said, nudging it toward your lips.

You wrinkled your nose. “I don’t want water.”

“I know,” he said gently, tilting the glass anyway. “Be a good girl, yeah? Just a little.”

You let out the tiniest whine, dramatic and pouty, but opened your mouth. He helped you sip, watching you the whole time, free hand rubbing your thigh slowly under the table. You finished a little less than half before turning your head dramatically into his shoulder.

“There,” you murmured. “I’m healthy.”

Harry laughed, soft and warm. “You’re getting healthy. One more sip, bunny.”

“This is so entertaining,” Alessandro said suddenly, perched across from you both with a smirk on his face, chin in hand, elbow propped on the table, as you glared at him.

Harry smiled down at you, ignoring them entirely, lifting the glass once more.

“You gonna finish this for me?” he asked sweetly.

You stared at him. “If i get a kissy after.”

He smirked. “Deal.”

You took another sip, then immediately threw yourself at him. His arms came around you instinctively, laughing into your shoulder as you tried to kiss his cheek, his jaw, his mouth.

“Christ,” he muttered, letting you do whatever you wanted, still smiling as he glanced back toward Alessandro. “She’s relentless tonight.”

“Let her be,” Alessandro said.

“C’mon, time to go.” Harry said after a while.

You blinked. “Already?”

“It’s nearly two,” he said gently, crouching slightly so you were eye level. “I thought you wanted to go home?”

You pouted again. “No, I like it here.”

“I know, lovie,” he said, brushing his knuckles against your cheek, “We’re gonna come again tomorrow, right now you need sleep.”

You giggled and let him pull you to your feet.

Your legs wobbled a bit, and Harry steadied you immediately with both hands around your waist, then leaned in to kiss the tip of your nose.

“I want pizza,” you said dreamily as he wrapped an arm around your shoulders and guided you back to the group.

Alessandro gasped. “Finally, someone says what we’re all thinking!”

Within minutes, the group was making their way down the winding street toward a place Alessandro swore had the best late-night margherita in the entire city. You walked with Harry, arm wrapped tightly around his middle, your body practically glued to his side.

You kept kissing his shoulder as you walked. His arm never left your back.

“You know how much I love you?” you asked, not quietly.

Harry glanced down at you with a soft laugh. “How much, bun?”

You stopped suddenly in the middle of the street. “This much,” you declared, stretching your arms wide, nearly twirling in your spot.

He caught you before you could wobble too far and kissed your forehead, tucking you safely back under his arm. “That’s a lot.”

“You’re my favorite person,” you whispered into his chest.

He squeezed you closer. “You’re mine, too.”

Eventually, the group stumbled into the tiny pizza shop Alessandro had spoken of, and you curled up beside Harry in the booth, half-asleep on his shoulder by the time your slices arrived. He fed you bites between sips of water and whispered something against your hair that made you giggle again.

And when you finally left, the cobblestone streets still warm beneath your sandals, Harry wrapped his jacket around your shoulders, held your hand tightly, and guided you all the way back home.

[stylestarkey]

𝐍𝐨 𝐆𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐁𝐚𝐜𝐤

Description: friends don’t kiss like that… and they definitely don’t spend the night tangled up in each other, learning what it sounds like when years of tension finally snap. But here you are. In his bed. Breathless. Wrecked. His hands shaking on your skin like you’re the only thing he’s ever wanted. And you both know—there’s no going back now.

Warnings: smut, pining, begging, creampie mention, friends to lovers, feelings finally surfacing.

Word count: 6,090.

author note: hopefully you’ll love this one; I had a writer’s block trying to finish this one up 🥺

Main Masterlist

Marked by Midnight’s Masterlist

***

It's the same Friday night ritual you've fallen into for years now—predictable in a way that should feel boring by now, but somehow never does. You don't remember when exactly it became your thing, but you know it started sometime after his last relationship went up in flames. Somewhere between his dry, sarcastic text—"bring snacks or don't bother showing up"—and the way he always leaves the door unlocked when he knows it's you coming over. You don't knock anymore. Haven't in ages. You just toe off your shoes by muscle memory, drop your bag on the little hook by the door he hung there for you a year ago, and slip into your usual spot on his couch like it's second nature. It is, really.

Tonight's no different. The air smells like leftover pizza and the two cheap beers you grabbed from his fridge on your way in. You're half-curled under one of his worn-out throw blankets, your legs stretched long across the couch, your bare feet pressing into his thigh like they always do. He doesn't even flinch when you do it anymore. Just rests his warm palm on your shin absentmindedly like it's the most natural thing in the world. It's reckless, really, how easy this all is. How dangerous it feels sometimes when he doesn't pull away.

The TV's playing something you've both seen a thousand times—something neither of you are really paying attention to. The real entertainment, like always, is the stupid conversation unraveling between sips of cheap beer and leftover takeout. He makes a joke about your taste in men, you roll your eyes and throw one right back at him. The back-and-forth feels sharper tonight though, like you're both playing closer to some invisible line neither of you have dared to cross. Not really.

You don't know what makes you say it. Maybe it's the second beer loosening your tongue, or maybe it's the way his laugh curls in your stomach when you throw your head back against the cushion and groan dramatically. You mock the high-pitched whine one of his exes once made you promise not to bring up again. You pitch your voice higher on purpose, pressing the heel of your hand to your forehead in the most ridiculous overacting you can manage.

"Oh, Harry... oh my God... you're so—so loud—" you gasp, drawing the word out, clutching your chest like you're seconds away from fainting.

You expect him to laugh. That's how it always goes. You take the piss, he rolls his eyes, throws something back, and you both move on. But tonight... tonight he doesn't laugh.

Instead, he goes still. His palm on your shin tightens just a little—barely noticeable, really, if you weren't suddenly hyperaware of every inch of his skin touching yours.

He tilts his head, eyes narrowing, and for the first time all night, you swear the air between you crackles like something you shouldn't touch.

"You really wanna keep pushing, sweetheart?"

The words come out low. Thicker. Not playful like they should be.

And your mouth goes dry.

Because that's not the kind of thing he says to you. Not like that.

You blink, heart stuttering, trying to laugh it off, but it comes out wrong—too breathless, too tight. "What? I'm kidding. Relax."

But he doesn't.

He leans back a little, his arm curling casually along the back of the sofa like he's suddenly aware of how close you are, how easy it would be to pull you closer. His jaw flexes as he swipes his tongue across his bottom lip, like he's thinking too hard about something he shouldn't say.

And then he does.

"Maybe you should find out for yourself before you start laughing."

You freeze.

So does he.

The silence that falls between you isn't the usual kind—the one you fill with easy shrugs or dumb jokes. This one feels loaded. Heavy. Like you've both been balancing on this stupid little edge for so long you didn't even realize how close you'd gotten until you both looked down.

He swallows hard, flicking his gaze to your mouth and back up again so fast you almost think you imagined it.

You could laugh. You should laugh. That's how you survive this. You let it roll off your back, you change the subject, you make another joke and pretend you didn't hear it like that.

But you did. God, you did.

And something in your stomach twists.

Your voice comes out quieter than you mean for it to. Barely above a whisper. "What if I did?"

Harry's breath catches. You feel it more than hear it—right there where his palm is still pressed to your leg, fingers curling in slow motion like he's grounding himself. His mouth opens and closes again, like he's trying to figure out if you're fucking with him, if this is just another game.

You're not sure what kind of answer you're expecting—some dumb, cocky retort, maybe, or worse, a nervous laugh to remind you this is all one big misunderstanding. But when he finally speaks, it's nothing like that.

"Then you're gonna have to come over here and show me."

It knocks the air clean out of your lungs.

Because that's not a dare. Not a joke. Not something he can walk back if you say yes.

His hand slides a little higher on your shin, thumb dragging slow and steady like he's making sure you feel it. His gaze doesn't drop this time. Doesn't waver.

"C'mon, love. What's stoppin' you?"

You've never moved so slowly in your life. Shifting your weight, setting your half-finished beer down on the coffee table like you're moving underwater. Your heart's thundering so hard you're half-convinced he can hear it. You swing one leg over his lap, knees sinking into the sofa on either side of his hips until you're straddling him, palms braced on his chest to steady yourself.

And he's just... looking at you. Like you're the fucking answer to a question he didn't know he was allowed to ask.

"Hi," you whisper, suddenly breathless, nerves crashing over you in one dizzy wave.

The corner of his mouth twitches like he wants to laugh, but he doesn't. His hands find your waist, curling slow and careful, as if he's terrified you'll shift back and realize this is a mistake.

"Hey."

It's the softest thing you've ever heard from him. No edge, no teasing, just quiet and wrecked and right there between you like you've already passed the point of no return.

His thumb drags along your waist, and you swear you feel his hands tremble just a little.

"You gonna kiss me or what?" he whispers, voice cracking on the last word like it's killing him to hold back.

There's a second—just one—where the fear kicks in. Not the bad kind, not really. It's more the holy-shit-what-are-we-doing kind, the one that flickers right behind your ribs like a warning bell that's come a little too late. Because this is Harry. Your Harry. The one who steals your fries without asking and makes you playlists when you're having a bad day. The one who's held your hair back when you've had too much to drink, who's let you crash in his bed more times than you can count without ever once making it weird. He's always been safe. Uncomplicated. Yours in every way that didn't require you to risk everything by leaning in and closing the gap.

But now? Now his breath fans across your cheek, his hands tense on your waist like he's waiting for you to change your mind, and you know there's no coming back from this if you do it. No pressing rewind. No laugh-it-off in the morning.

And still—you lean in.

You don't even really kiss him at first. It's slower than that. Softer. Like you're both testing the weight of the moment, hovering close enough that you could pull back if you had to. You feel his breath catch when your nose brushes his, feel the tiniest tremor run through him when your fingers curl tighter in the worn fabric of his t-shirt. His lashes flutter against your cheekbone when you tilt your head, nudging your mouth toward his. And just when you start to wonder if he's going to make you do all of it—if he's going to sit there and let you chase the whole thing all the way down—he meets you halfway.

It starts careful. Almost clumsy with how long you've both tiptoed around this. His lips part slow, brushing yours once, twice, barely there. You almost pull back to say something stupid like "was that okay?" but then—God—he makes that sound.

Low in his throat, wrecked and quiet and so fucking real it short-circuits every rational thought you have left.

You melt.

The second time you kiss him, it isn't careful at all. You tilt your head, fingers sliding up into his curls like they've always wanted to, pulling him closer, chasing that sound like it's oxygen. He groans again, louder this time, and you feel him sink under you like his whole body's giving out.

"Fuck," he breathes, muffled between kisses, hands flexing tighter on your waist. "Fuck, baby, you're gonna ruin me."

The word baby snaps something loose in your chest, like you've just unlocked a part of him you never knew you were allowed to touch.

Your breath stumbles out in a shaky laugh, your lips brushing his as you gasp, "You really are loud."

He freezes for half a second like he's about to pull back, but you barely give him the chance. You roll your hips over his, testing the friction, chasing the heat, and it punches another groan right out of him—louder, needier this time.

"Yeah?" he pants, teeth scraping your jaw as he pulls you closer, rougher, like he's trying to fuse you to him. "You like that? Huh? Wanna keep mocking me, baby? Gonna let you hear it all fuckin' night if you let me."

You suck in a sharp breath, fingers tightening in his hair.

And God, you should stop. You should slow down, give yourself half a second to think this through, to figure out what the hell this means. But his mouth finds that spot under your ear that makes your whole body jolt, and suddenly you don't care about what tomorrow's going to feel like.

You rock against him again, chasing the pressure, the heat curling low in your belly. He hisses, dragging his hands up under your t-shirt like he's starving to touch you.

"Tell me to stop," he whispers, voice cracking like he already knows you won't. "Tell me right fuckin' now if this isn't what you want."

But you don't. You can't. Not when you're already dizzy with it. Not when you've wanted this longer than you've let yourself admit.

So instead, you lean in again, brushing your mouth against his ear until you feel him shudder under you.

"I don't want you to stop."

His breath hitches, hands curling tighter like he's barely holding himself back.

"You sure?" he rasps, nose brushing along your jaw, voice so wrecked it makes your chest ache. "Tell me you mean it. Tell me this isn't just the fuckin' beer talking, baby, 'cause I swear to God—"

You pull back just enough to look at him. Really look at him.

He looks wrecked already. Like this is costing him. Like this has been sitting on the tip of his tongue for longer than you've even dared to hope.

And you swear something inside you snaps.

"It's not," you breathe, shaking your head as you cup his jaw in your hands. "Swear it's not."

He curses under his breath, dragging his hands down to your thighs like he's grounding himself, like he's trying to keep himself from breaking.

"Jesus fuckin' Christ," he whispers, pressing his forehead to yours, eyes screwed shut like it physically hurts to keep his hands from sliding under your shorts. "Need you to tell me what you want, baby. Please."

And it's there, on the tip of your tongue.

The thing you swore you'd never risk saying.

But it's too late now, isn't it? You've already crossed the line.

So you whisper it like a secret, like it's been sitting there in your chest for years.

"I want you."

It happens fast after that. Like the air finally snaps between you and there's no holding it back. One second you're still hovering, trembling with it, your hands on his jaw like you're terrified he's going to pull away—and the next, you feel him exhale the most broken sound you've ever heard from him, his grip tightening on your thighs like he's lost the battle with himself.

"Come here," he groans, breath hitching, voice barely holding together, and before you can even blink, he's dragging you closer—sitting up straighter, chest pressed to yours, his mouth finding yours again like he's starving.

This time, it's different. Hotter. Desperate. There's no hesitation now, no teasing, no careful second-guessing. It's messy, frantic, like you've both finally stopped pretending this wasn't inevitable. His hands are everywhere—sliding up under your shirt, fingers dragging across your skin like he's trying to memorize every inch of you. You gasp into his mouth, shivering when his palms flatten against your back, pulling you flush to him, your thighs tightening around his waist instinctively like you can't stand even an inch of space between you.

You swear you feel him shudder under you, like you've knocked the breath clean out of him.

"Fuck, baby," he pants, dragging his mouth across your jaw, leaving open-mouthed kisses on your neck that make your whole body jolt. "Feel that? Feel what you fuckin' do to me?"

You do feel it—hard and hot between your legs, pressing up through your thin shorts—and the realization knocks every ounce of breath from your lungs. You roll your hips without thinking, grinding down with more pressure this time, and you feel him stiffen, hear the sharp curse tear from his throat.

His head falls back, curls brushing the back of the sofa, and you watch the muscles in his throat work as he swallows hard, jaw so tight you can see the effort it's taking him not to lose control right there.

"Jesus Christ, you're killin' me," he groans, one hand sliding up to fist in your hair, tugging just enough to make your breath hitch. "Tell me what you want, baby. Say it. Please."

You don't even hesitate. You can't. You're already shaking with it. Already soaked in it. Your voice comes out as more of a gasp than a whisper, breathless and messy against his jaw.

"Want you to touch me. Want you so bad it hurts."

The groan he lets out sounds like it physically knocks the breath out of him.

Before you can process it, he's moving. One strong arm sweeps under your thighs, the other curls tight around your back, and you let out a squeak of surprise when he stands, lifting you off the couch like you weigh nothing.

"Harry!" you gasp, clinging to him, laughing breathlessly as he stumbles toward the hallway.

"Shut up," he breathes against your neck, mouth dragging hot along your skin, "Not lettin' you go. Not now. Not ever."

You swear you feel your heart split in two right there.

By the time your back hits his mattress, you're trembling with it—skin buzzing, breath catching, heart pounding so hard it almost hurts.

He doesn't move for a second, just hovers over you, curls falling into his eyes, his chest heaving like he's trying to memorize every inch of you before he ruins it.

"Tell me again," he rasps, voice cracking. "Please. Need to hear you say it's not just the beer talkin', baby."

You sit up on your elbows, heart swelling so painfully full it feels like it might burst, and reach for the hem of your shirt.

"It's not," you whisper as you pull it over your head and toss it somewhere over the side of the bed. You're trembling a little now, but you don't stop. You meet his eyes—wide, glassy, hungry—and you nod, slow and certain. "It's me. I swear."

His eyes drop to your bare skin, and he drags his hand through his curls like he can't fucking believe this is happening.

"Jesus," he breathes, crawling over you again on his forearms like he's scared to crush you. "You're perfect. So fuckin' perfect."

You barely recognize the sound you make when he kisses you again—somewhere between a gasp and a whimper, like your body is short-circuiting under his hands. You've kissed him before—drunken pecks on the cheek, playful lips pressed to his jaw when he made you laugh too hard—but never like this. Never with the weight of every line you've tiptoed around collapsing all at once between your bodies.

His hands are greedy now, trembling just slightly as they trail along your sides, slipping under the curve of your ribs like he's afraid to rush, like he wants to memorize every inch of skin he's never dared to touch. He dips his head, pressing slow, open-mouthed kisses down your throat, sucking softly at the base of your neck, and you swear your back arches off the bed all on its own.

"So fuckin' soft," he murmurs under his breath, voice low and rough and right against your skin like it's a prayer you weren't meant to hear. His hands slide higher, fingertips brushing the underside of your bra, hesitating just barely like he's giving you that last out.

You nod before he even asks.

"Please," you whisper, breath catching, "I want you to touch me."

He groans like you've wrecked him completely, leaning up just enough to tug the fabric over your head and toss it aside with your shirt. The moment your chest is bare to him, he just... stops. Stares. Like you're the first thing in his life that's ever left him speechless.

His palms come up slowly, reverently, cupping you like he's terrified you'll vanish if he blinks too long. His thumbs brush over your nipples and your whole body jerks with the heat of it, breath spilling out in something dangerously close to a moan.

"Fuck me," he whispers, pressing his forehead to your shoulder, like he's trying to keep himself from coming undone too fast. "You're... fuck, you're unreal."

You can't stop yourself—you hook your legs tighter around his waist, grinding up into him again, desperate to feel all of him. His breath stutters, hips jerking like he can't help himself.

And then he's moving again, dragging his mouth down your body—slow, lingering kisses pressed to every inch of skin he can reach. Down your ribs, over your stomach, pausing just above the waistband of your shorts.

He looks up at you from there, lips pink and swollen, curls a mess, chest still heaving.

"Can I take these off, baby?" he asks, voice so thick and wrecked it makes your stomach clench. "Wanna see all of you. Need to."

You nod so fast it almost embarrasses you, lifting your hips for him without a second thought. He drags your shorts and underwear down slow, eyes never leaving yours as he bares you completely.

The air feels electric on your skin. Too much and not enough at the same time. You feel exposed, trembling, but the way he looks at you—like you're the only thing in the world that matters—makes you feel like you could fall apart right there and he'd hold every single piece.

He sucks in a sharp breath, dragging his hand through his hair again like he doesn't know what to do with himself.

"Jesus, you're beautiful," he whispers, voice cracking, like it's physically painful to hold back. "Can't believe I get to touch you."

You reach for him again, curling your fingers into his shirt, tugging at the fabric until he gets the message. He peels it over his head, tossing it somewhere behind him, and when his bare chest presses to yours, skin to skin, you swear you could die from how right it feels.

"Please, Harry," you breathe, burying your face in his neck, rocking your hips up again without thinking. "Need you so bad it hurts."

He shudders, dragging his mouth back to yours, kissing you slower this time—deeper, like he's trying to pour every unspoken word into you.

"Gonna take care of you, baby," he whispers between kisses. "Promise. Gonna make you feel so good."

And you believe him. God, you believe him with every shaking breath you take.

You barely register the way your breath shudders in your throat when his mouth finds yours again. It's slower now. Deeper. Less frantic, more certain—like every kiss is meant to make you feel it. Like he knows you already do. His weight settles a little heavier on top of you, hips sinking between your thighs, skin hot and slick where his chest presses to yours.

You can feel him—all of him—hard and thick, pressing right where you need him, just separated by the thin fabric of his boxers. The pressure makes your breath catch, makes your hips tilt up instinctively like you're chasing something you're both too far gone to slow down for.

He groans into your mouth, one hand sliding down your side to grip your thigh, pulling it higher up his waist like he needs to feel closer, needs to make sure you know how badly he wants this. How badly he wants you.

"Fuck," he breathes, voice cracking as he drops his forehead to yours, hips rocking forward once—slow, steady—grinding into you just enough to make your whole body jolt. "Baby... I—"

He doesn't finish. Doesn't have to. You already feel him shaking above you, like he's holding himself together by the thinnest thread.

"Harry..." You can't even hear your own voice, breathless and wrecked, but you know he hears it by the way his grip tightens on your skin. "Need you. Please."

He pulls back just enough to look at you, wide green eyes flicking between yours like he's trying to memorize every single thing about you in this exact second.

"You sure?" he whispers, voice barely steady. "I don't—fuck—I don't wanna do this if you're not sure, baby."

You almost sob. "I've never been more sure of anything."

His face crumples like you've broken him, lips crashing onto yours again with so much force it steals every bit of air from your lungs. You feel his hand slide between you, pressing low over your stomach, slipping down until his fingers brush over the slick heat of you.

You let out a noise that sounds nothing like you—high and desperate, something you'd be embarrassed about if you weren't already too far gone to care.

"Jesus fuckin' Christ," he groans, pressing his forehead to your shoulder, voice shaking like he's seconds from losing control. "You're so wet, baby. All for me, yeah?"

You nod frantically, clinging to him, your nails digging into his back as you roll your hips into his touch.

"All for you," you whisper back, voice cracking, "Please, Harry, just—please."

He shudders so hard you feel it in your bones, his breath spilling hot and shaky over your skin as his fingers slide through the mess between your legs, circling your clit so slow you could scream.

"Gonna take my time with you," he whispers, "Wanna feel you come on my fingers first. Wanna feel you fall apart for me."

And God, the way he says it—wrecked and hungry and like it's the only thing he's ever wanted—you don't think you've ever wanted anything more in your life.

You try to brace yourself. You know you should. But it's useless the second his fingers slip lower, dragging through your folds like he's already memorized every part of you. He's so gentle at first, so fucking careful, like he's afraid to hurt you or rush it. Like he's determined to make this the best thing you've ever felt.

Your body arches off the bed before you even realize you're moving, a broken moan catching in your throat when his fingers find that perfect spot again and again. It's slow, torturous, the way he circles your clit—light at first, just a tease, until your hips are chasing his touch, until you're gasping his name like you've forgotten how to say anything else.

"That's it, baby," he murmurs, breath hot against your jaw as he keeps moving, building you higher with every slow stroke. "You're doin' so good for me. Sound so fuckin' pretty when you fall apart, you know that?"

You dig your nails into his shoulder, gripping him like he's the only thing keeping you from slipping under. You've never been this sensitive, never been this wound up, like every nerve in your body is buzzing under his touch.

You try to warn him—you really do. But the words die in your throat when he adds just a little more pressure, a little more speed, his mouth pressing hot kisses down your neck while his fingers work you open.

"C'mon, baby," he breathes, "Wanna feel you let go for me. Been dreamin' about this for fuckin' years, swear to God—"

You cry out, hips stuttering, body shaking as the pressure coils tighter and tighter until it snaps, crashing over you so hard it nearly knocks the air from your lungs.

You feel yourself clench around his fingers, feel him groan right against your ear like he feels it too, like he's just as wrecked by it as you are.

You're still gasping, still trying to catch your breath, when he pulls back just enough to cup your face in both hands. His lips are pink, swollen, his hair a complete mess. But it's his eyes that leave you breathless.

Wide. Shiny. Like you've just torn him to pieces and he doesn't know how to put himself back together.

"Baby," he whispers, voice breaking like it's too much, "Need to be inside you. Please. Please tell me you want that too."

You don't even hesitate. You reach for him, curling your fingers in the waistband of his boxers, dragging them down until you feel him bare and hot and thick against your thigh.

You look up at him, heart in your throat, and whisper the only thing that's been sitting on your tongue since the moment this started: "I've always wanted you."

And you swear, in that split second before he sinks into you, he breaks all over again.

You feel him hesitate just for a breath—just long enough to make sure you don't change your mind. His forehead presses to yours, his nose brushing yours softly, like he's checking again without needing to ask out loud.

You slide your hands up his back, nails scraping lightly across his skin, and whisper the only thing you know will tip him over the edge.

"Please, Harry... I need you inside me."

The groan that rips out of him sounds almost pained. His fingers curl tighter around your waist, pulling your body up to meet him, and when you feel the thick head of him nudging at your entrance, you nearly stop breathing altogether.

He moves slow. So slow it's almost unbearable—like he's savoring every inch, dragging it out just to make you feel it. You gasp, clawing at his shoulders, your body stretching around him inch by inch until you're completely full, until there's no part of you that isn't pressed to him, surrounded by him.

"Fuck—" his voice cracks, shaking like he's seconds from losing it. "So fuckin' tight... Jesus Christ, baby, you feel... you feel like heaven."

You're trembling beneath him, breath stuttering out in little gasps you can't control. You feel stretched, full, claimed in a way that makes your head spin. Your nails dig deeper into his skin, grounding yourself against the overwhelming ache and pressure that feels like it's going to swallow you whole.

"Move," you gasp, hips tilting up to meet his, "Harry, please— need you to move."*

He groans again, low and wrecked, and finally—finally—he starts to move.

Slow at first. Barely pulling back before pressing right back in, hips rocking steady, grinding deep like he's tasting you from the inside. You cry out, biting your lip to muffle the sound, but he shakes his head, catching your chin between his fingers, forcing you to look at him.

"No," he pants, voice thick and ruined, "Let me hear you. Don't fuckin' hold back, baby. Want everyone to know how good I'm makin' you feel."

You let go of the breath you've been holding, head tipping back as a moan rips from your throat, loud and broken and real. His hips snap a little harder, a little faster, and the sound of it—skin on skin, your name falling from his lips like it's the only thing he knows how to say—makes you feel like you're coming undone all over again.

He presses his mouth to your ear, breath hot and shaking as he fucks into you harder, deeper, each stroke dragging a wrecked little whimper from your lips.

"Tell me this is mine now," he growls, voice pure filth in your ear. "Tell me no one else gets to touch you like this, baby. Ever again."

You can't think, can't breathe, can barely get the words out between gasps.

"It's yours," you choke out, clinging to him like your life depends on it. "Only you, Harry. Fuck—only you."

You don't know how he manages to keep it together. You're falling apart with every slow, deep thrust—clutching at him like you'll float away if you don't anchor yourself to his body. He's everywhere. Filling you, surrounding you, breathing you in like you're the only thing keeping him alive.

His hands frame your face like he needs to feel all of you to believe this is real. His thumbs swipe at the damp skin under your eyes, like he's trying to catch the little gasps and wrecked sounds falling from your lips. His mouth finds your jaw, your throat, dragging open-mouthed kisses down your skin as he groans, low and breathless.

"You feel so fuckin' good," he pants, hips rocking harder now, the bed creaking with every deep push. "Could stay right here all fuckin' night, baby. Stuffed full of me... takin' every inch so good... fuck— look at you."*

His voice hits something deep in you—something raw and helpless—and your back arches off the bed like your body's chasing every word.

"You're killin' me," you gasp, barely able to hold yourself together. "Harry— please—* harder, I—fuck, I need—"*

You don't even finish. He growls, actually growls into your neck, like you've snapped whatever restraint he had left. He pulls back, grabs your hips, and slams back into you, so deep and rough you choke on a cry you can't hold in.

"Like that?" he rasps, voice shaking as his hips piston faster now, driving into you like he's making up for every second you both wasted pretending you didn't want this. "S'that what you fuckin' need, baby? You need me to ruin you properly, huh?"

You nod, tears pricking at the corner of your eyes—not from pain, not even from pleasure—but from the way he's looking at you like you're his entire fucking world.

"Yes," you whimper, breath catching on a sob you didn't know was there. "Please— ruin me—* all yours—* always—"

He groans again, shaking above you, forehead pressed to yours like he's trying to climb inside your skin. His breath fans hot across your mouth as he slows just a little, grinding deep again, hips rocking in filthy little circles that make your whole body lock up.

"That's it," he pants, "Let me feel you again, baby. Wanna feel you come all over my cock. Can you do that for me? Huh? Wanna hear you fall apart one more time."

You can barely nod, already so close you could taste it. You grab at his back, wrapping your legs tighter around him, pulling him deeper, faster, until you can't even think anymore.

"Harry— I—* fuck—* I'm gonna—"*

He doesn't stop. Doesn't let up. He keeps fucking you steady and deep, his hand sliding between your bodies, finding your clit again, rubbing fast messy circles that destroy you.

You come hard, stars bursting behind your eyes, your whole body locking up under him as you cry out his name loud enough to echo through the room.

You hear him groan so deep it's almost a snarl, feel him jerk, hips snapping faster now, losing his rhythm like he's chasing his own release.

"Where— fuck—* where do you want me, baby? Tell me—* fuck—"

Your head spins. Your body's still shaking, still buzzing, but you manage to drag him down, mouth at his ear, whispering the filthiest thing you've ever said in your life.

"Want you inside me... fill me up, Harry... please— want all of you."

He loses it. Full-body shuddering, hands gripping your hips so tight you'll probably bruise, burying himself deep with a wrecked cry as he comes inside you, hips rocking through every last pulse of it until he finally collapses on top of you, shaking and breathless.

Neither of you moves for a long time.

His body is heavy on top of you, but you don't care. You wrap your arms around him tighter, as if letting go might shatter whatever spell has just woven itself between your ribs. His breath fans hot and uneven across your neck, every exhale trembling like he's still coming down from it—like he doesn't quite know how to land.

You feel him shift slightly, just enough to brace his weight on his elbows again, careful not to crush you. His nose brushes yours as he pulls back to look at you, curls sticking to his damp forehead, cheeks flushed, lips swollen. You've never seen him like this before. Wrecked. Fragile. Wide-eyed and terrified in the best possible way.

He blinks, searching your face like he's waiting for you to wake up and realize this was a mistake.

"Are you okay?" he whispers, so quiet you almost don't hear it.

Your throat tightens. You reach up, cupping his jaw with both hands, pulling him closer until your lips brush softly over his.

"I've never been better," you breathe. "Promise."

You feel him sigh, like you've just cut every string holding him together. His forehead presses to yours again, eyes squeezing shut like he doesn't know how to say what he needs to say without falling apart.

"I—" His voice cracks. He pulls in a shaking breath. "I don't wanna ruin this. Don't wanna fuck this up."

Your heart breaks a little at how scared he sounds. Like you could somehow forget what just happened. Like you haven't already fallen so far there's no way back.

You trace your thumb along his jaw, tilting his face until he's looking at you again.

"You couldn't ruin this if you tried," you whisper. "I'm yours, Harry. I've been yours for so fucking long."

He lets out the softest sound—somewhere between a breath and a laugh—and leans in to kiss you again. This one's slower, softer. No heat, no urgency. Just yours. Just his.

You don't know how long you lie there tangled together, skin sticky, hearts pounding in sync. Long enough for the air to shift. Long enough for the weight of it all to settle over you both in the best kind of way.

When he finally rolls to his side, pulling you with him, tucking you into his chest like you belong there, you hear him murmur against your hair:

"You're not leavin' me after this, yeah?"

You smile, nose brushing his throat as you snuggle closer.

"Not a chance."

And you swear you feel him smile against your skin, arms tightening around you like he's never letting go.

Not tonight. Not ever.

***

@cloudyluun @gem1712 @dipmeinhoneyh @idk1990 @harrrrystylesslut @sparxx27 @likea-silhouette @fangirl509east @starryhaze-crystal @mads3502 @run-for-the-hills @twinklaei @belgianblondee @pbandnutella @maudie-duan @cat-loves-music @harrysgirl2003 @harrystyleshotwife @secretands-blog @dutchtheatrelore @angeldavis777 @idkidcfuboh @maddiesalvatore1839

[stylestarkey]

mutual friends who don’t get along fics until they do? kind of enemies to lovers but not exclusive to that could just be not knowing eachother very well and not being able to catch a vibe and preferably ending in smut

this is all i could find, i’m sorry :(. if i find anything else i’m gonna add it

FRENEMIES TO LOVERS

Enigma by @heartateasee

Harry and Y/N are in the same ballet class, and they hate each other part 2 part 3 part 4 by @jawllines (this mini series isn’t quite what you requested, but i think it’s kind of fitting)

Dentist the bad boi by @muffindaddystyles

Y/N and Harry hate each other, until they don’t part 2 by @harrys-titties

Kiwi part 2 by @sweet-creature101

harry finds you annoying and snaps at you by @havethetimeofyourstyles

[stylestarkey]

EX-BOYFRIEND!H

don’t break my heart this year by @finelinevogue

something in the orange by @finelinevogue

better now by @bopbopstyles

reconnect by @soysauceharry

baby, it’s cold outside by @havethetimeofyourstyles

[stylestarkey]

“Enigma”

friend(or ex-friend?)!harry x you

Word Count: 7.1k

Warnings: Angst (Harry’s a bit of a dick 🥴), a reveal that proves lies were told among friends, oral (f receiving) and fingering

Plot: You and Harry belong to the same friend group, but at one point, you thought the two of you could be more than just that - friends. After Harry ghosts you on the night you were supposed to have your date, you learn that he had a girl over instead of being with you. Since that night your relationship with him hasn’t ever been the same.

Quick A/N: I just wanted to make note that I’m very much aware of the anonymous messages that have been sent out about me over the last few months. I’ve made the posts I feel are necessary to address the context of said messages, and they’re all still up on my blog if you wish to look into it. The reason I’m bringing this up is because if you have your anon feature on, and you interact with this post, you’ll more than likely end up receiving one (or many) because it seems like whoever is sending these is just going through the list of people who like/reblog my most recent posts. I’m so sorry to anyone who may receive, or has been receiving these messages, just because they interact with a post. As always, my messages are open if anyone wishes to discuss further 🫶🏻 I love you all, and I hope you enjoy ‘Enigma’!

• • • • • • • • •

It was Saturday night and you were meeting up with your friend group at the local pub. These meet-ups were bitter sweet for you. Sure, you absolutely adored your friends, and you loved spending time with them. But spending time with them also meant spending time with him.

Harry.

You had known Harry for a little over a year now, having been introduced to him through your friend, Misha. Harry fit right into your friend group, and about eight months into your friendship, the both of you had let it be known to each other that your feelings were teetering on more than just friends. The two of you agreed that you wanted to see where things could lead. Harry asked you on a date after that, and you were thrilled to finally get to know the sweet man you’ve become such good friends with on a deeper level.

On the night of your date, you arrived at the restaurant ten minutes prior to the reservation time that Harry had given you because you were just so excited. Harry was hands down one of the nicest people you had ever met, and the thought of delving into a new type of relationship with him sparked something inside of you. It was something you had never felt before.

The host had led you to the table, and you remained there - waiting for him. 

You waited for him there for almost an hour, and after a few text messages to him that went unanswered, you determined he wasn’t coming. You tried to give him the benefit of the doubt. Maybe he forgot, or maybe he got hung up at work and didn’t have time to let you know. Harry was a big time contractor. You knew that sometimes he ended up getting caught in contract conversations with clients from time to time. From what he had told you in the past, it seemed like those could set him hours behind in his day.

As you walked out the restaurant and towards your car, you dialed Harry’s number. It rang out and went to voicemail, but you didn’t bother leaving a message. What would you have said?

Instead, you decided to call his roommate, who was also a friend of yours, Reagan. 

Your heart sank to your stomach when Reagan told you that Harry had brought a girl home just half an hour ago, and that they were currently hooking up in his room. Reagan then asked why you wanted to know Harry’s whereabouts, and you decided to lie. You told him that the two of you had talked about going to a new bookstore that had opened up. You didn’t dare tell him you had just waited by yourself in a restaurant alone for Harry.

Ever since then, Harry treated you differently, and you weren’t sure why. 

He was no longer friendly towards you, and for the most part, he ignored your existence when you were out with your friends. There was a part of you that wanted to ask him what happened so badly, but you were too embarrassed to do so, and quite frankly, you weren’t sure if you could hear the rejection actually fall from his mouth.

So going forward, you tried your best to keep your distance, as it seemed like just the mere presence of you pained him. You didn’t want to cause a riff amongst the lot of you. You all had already had your fair share of shock when it turned out Reagan was stealing from Harry right underneath his nose. Thankfully Harry was able to break his lease, and since he had finally found his footing with contracting, he was able to get a place of his own.

As you stepped into the pub, you were immediately met with the laugh that belonged only to your friend, Elizabeth, and you glanced over to see your group. You smiled as you walked over to them, and Yvette’s face lit up once her eyes landed on you.

“Y/N!” She squeaked as she stood up from the large booth everyone was occupying.

You wrapped your arms around each other, Elizabeth following suit afterwards, and then you made your rounds to both Misha and George as well. There was a bit of relief that settled in your chest when you noticed Harry wasn’t there. You secretly hoped that he wouldn’t be joining you tonight. It would be nice to have a one evening where you didn’t feel so on edge by being around him.

Once you went up to the bar to order yourself a beer, you came back over and sat down at the outside end of the booth with Yvette in the middle and Misha on the other side of her. George and Elizabeth sat across from you as you all carried on about your weeks. 

After finishing your first drink, you and Yvette decided to go use the restroom before grabbing another round. You both freshened up in the bathroom, and when you walked back out, you could see that everyone by the booth was now standing. Your eyes landed on Harry, and it caused your pulse to quicken just a bit.

You really hoped you had been right in thinking he wasn’t going to be coming.

You grabbed a fresh pint before heading over to the booth, and you and Yvette took your previous seats - now causing Harry to be across from you since he had joined everyone.

For a brief moment, your eyes met one another, but you quickly looked away and cleared your throat.

“So, Harry, you’re hosting our monthly movie night next Friday, right?” Elizabeth asked, and he nodded in response while taking a sip of his beer.

“That’s the plan,” he licked over his bottom lip. “What’s everyone in the mood to watch? Horror, drama, romantic comedy?”

“Well, we are deep into spooky season,” Misha piped up. “How about horror?”

“I can make a little poll to send to the group chat at the beginning of the week with a couple of options. Keep it fair like we usually do,” Yvette offered as she grabbed a handful of the trail mix in a bowl on the table.

“I’ll uhm…” you swallowed harshly as you kind of regretted what you were about to say before you had even said it. “I’ll see if I can make it. I might be going on a date.”

It wasn’t a lie. There was a guy, William, you had run into a couple of times at your local coffee shop in the morning, and after joining him at his table a few times so that you could eat your morning croissant when all the other tables were full, he asked if you wanted to go out with him sometime. You had agreed and exchanged numbers, and it just so happened that he was free next Friday.

His job required him to go out of town on the weekends a lot, so next weekend would be the last one he had off for a while.

“And you let this mystery man steal you away on movie night?” Elizabeth pouted as she slumped against the bench. “No one has ever missed one.”

“I know,” you shook your head. “His work situation is a little complicated. If we don’t do it next Friday, it’ll be a few more weeks before we’re able to. He’s a really nice guy.”

“Hope that means you’ll stop sleeping around then.”

Quiet immediately fell over the table, and everyone turned their attention to Harry once the words left his mouth.

“Excuse me?” You asked with a harsh laugh. “Where the hell did that come from?”

“Well you know, usually when you agree to go on a date with someone, you either stop sleeping around, or you at least tell said person that you’ve still been seeing other people,” Harry continued, and you could feel your cheeks flush as everyone at the table looked at you.

You and Harry hadn’t told your friends about the date you once had planned. The two of you wanted to decide what it all was for yourselves first before letting anyone else in on it.

The date with William would actually be your first one planned since the one you were supposed to have with Harry.

“I’m sorry. I’m not sure I’m following.”

“Of course you’re not,” Harry’s tone was sarcastic as he responded to you, and you soon felt extremely uncomfortable being around him.

You weren’t sure what he was playing at here. 

Is that what he thought you had been doing around the time of your date? Is that why he ghosted you?

“Well, I think something a bit worse than that would be sleeping with someone the same night you’re supposed to be going on a date with someone else.”

If he was going to come at you with some wild claim, then you’d come back with something that you knew to be true.

Harry’s eyes widened as you stood up, and you chugged down the rest of your pint before grabbing your purse - slinging it over your shoulder.

“I’ll see you guys later,” you told the table as you started to make your way towards the entrance of the pub, and you could hear Yvette’s sharp voice ripping into Harry just before you walked outside.

Once on the street, you closed your eyes and sucked in a deep breath to soothe the ache in your chest. You jumped as you felt a hand on your shoulder, eyelids snapping open to see Elizabeth and Misha standing next to you.

“Y/N, are you alright?” Elizabeth’s face had concern written all over it as Misha rubbed his hand up and down your back. “I don’t even know what happened in there. Yvette is currently giving Harry the third degree.”

“It’s nothing,” you whispered while shaking your head. “I don’t…I don’t really know either.”

“I’ve never seen him act like such a dick before. I mean, I can tell that you two don’t really get along, not like you used to at least,” Misha’s eyes scanned over you before continuing. “Did something happen between the two of you?”

“Are you trying to say it’s her fault for him acting like that?” Elizabeth snapped, and Misha’s lips parted. “Why is it automatically her fault?”

“No, that’s not what I’m saying. I’m just trying-”

“Sounds an awful lot like you’re trying to get Y/N to admit something to justify Harry’s behavior.”

“I’m right here, you know?” you huffed out as you crossed your arms over your chest. 

You figured now was as good of a time as ever to come clean about what you had been keeping from everyone. You were sure Harry was probably telling Yvette and George already anyway. 

“Harry and I were supposed to go on a date a few months back, but he ghosted me. He didn’t answer my texts or my calls, so to make sure he was okay I called Reagan. Reagan told me Harry was busy hooking up with some girl in his bedroom.”

Elizabeth’s mouth gaped at your confession, and then you watched as her brows narrowed. “Oh, he’s in for it.”

“Lizzy,” you rolled your eyes at her as she turned to Misha again.

“See! If anyone should be a dick, it should be Y/N! Who does Harry think he is treating her like that after what he did to her?”

“Okay, but what’s the whole thing about sleeping around? Were you doing that when you had agreed to go on a date with Harry?” Misha asked, and you shook your head.

You knew he was asking from a place of wanting to understand, and not a place of judgment, so you weren’t angry with him for it.

“I wasn’t,” you told them honestly. “I didn’t…I didn’t want anyone but him, and I hadn’t even had him yet.”

“Can I ask why you haven’t told him that then?” Elizabeth tilted her head to the side, pulling her coat tighter around herself as a chill breeze came through. 

“I didn’t know that’s what he thought until tonight. I didn’t say anything to him about the ghosting because I was so embarrassed. I couldn’t imagine just walking up to him and asking what happened to end up being rejected even more than I already had been.”

Misha sighed as he walked forward and pulled you into his chest for a tight hug. “I think the two of you desperately need to have a conversation to clear some things up.”

“Doesn’t matter. Regardless of if he thought that, he still ghosted me to sleep with someone else without speaking to me first. I don’t want to be with someone who would do something like that as some weird sort of revenge.”

The three of you didn’t speak anymore as Misha continued to hold you, and finally you pulled away.

“Please just…don’t say anything to him,” you tucked your hands into the pocket of your coat. “Let me think over how I want to approach the whole thing - if I even choose to.”

The two of them nodded as you gestured down the sidewalk with your elbow. “I’m going to head home now. I’ll let you guys know about next Friday.”

“Okay, please text me or call me if you need anything,” Elizabeth said, and you could tell she was upset about what she just found out.

“Same here,” Misha chimed in, and you sent them both a soft smile before heading off down the street where you had parked your car.

• • • • • • • • •

“Y/N, you made it!” You heard Vyette exclaim once Harry had opened the door to his loft.

You watched as Harry’s eyes ran over you, and he didn’t make any movement to step aside and out of the doorway.

“Thought you had a date,” his voice was rough as his jaw twitched, and you shook your head.

“He couldn’t do this weekend. Switched to another day.”

It was then you saw Elizabeth appear over Harry’s shoulder, and she immediately nudged her way forward to have him stepping to the side. “Let her in, Harry,” she said before grabbing your hand - pulling you inside.

This wasn’t the first time you had been over to Harry’s loft since everything happened, but this was the first time you were seeing him again after your little tiff last Saturday. Elizabeth took your coat from you so that she could hang it in the closet with the others as Misha popped up from the couch to greet you.

“Hey, Y/N, how are you feeling?” He asked, giving you a strong hug.

“I’m good. How about you?”

“Good, good,” he pressed a kiss to the top of your head. “We were just about to get the movie started. Do you need me to get you something to drink?”

“No, that’s alright. I’ve got it,” you gave Misha a soft smile before heading towards the kitchen, and your eyes wandered over the options that were laid out before you.

Just as you went to grab the bottle of bourbon, a large hand grabbed it from in front of you. Looking over, you saw Harry standing there - his eyes drilling into yours as he set his glass down on the counter. You didn’t look away from him while he pulled the cork out of the bottle to pour more of the dark liquor into his glass, and when he put it back in, you expected him to hand it over to you. Instead, he placed it back down on the counter where it originally was, and moved around you to reach the fridge to grab a mixer.

“If you don’t want me here, I can leave,” you told him.

Harry stopped moving for a moment, his back to you as he closed the fridge, and you could tell he had let out a deep breath. “Like any of them would let that happen. You’re already here - let’s just get tonight over with.”

“I wasn’t sleeping around with anyone, Harry. I only wanted you.”

Your mouth was open, the words almost slipping off your tongue before George spoke up in the living room. “Hey, you two,” you looked over to him to see his arm around Misha’s shoulder, the two of them cuddling up on Harry’s large couch with Yvette and Elizabeth on both sides of them. “Are you coming or what? Elizabeth is chomping at the bit here to start Barbarian.”

“Yeah, sorry,” you tried not to stammer as you quickly grabbed a glass from the counter top, and you walked over to the fridge to get ice. “Just making a drink. You guys can go ahead and start once Harry sits if you want.”

Harry rolled his eyes at you as he left the kitchen area of his loft, and you watched as he sat down in an armchair that was on one end of the couch. That left the other armchair open for you, furthest away from Harry on the opposite side, and that granted you some relief when it came to your anxiousness.

Once you finished your drink, you joined everyone and curled up in the open chair - keeping your glass between your hands as George finally started up the movie. You hadn’t seen this movie before, but you knew that Bill Skarsgård was in it, and that was enough to sell you on it.

The movie had managed to give you a couple of jumpscares, and you refilled your drink twice to deal with the nerves that were still nestled into your stomach - ones that were showing no indication of leaving. As the credits began to roll, a loud crack of thunder clapped outside, and that caused you to jump harder than the movie had.

“Oh shit, we better get going before it gets really bad,” Misha announced as he stood up, extending his hand out for George to take. “Sorry to cut this short you guys, I didn’t realize the storm was going to be this bad, and we’ve got a bit of a drive.”

Misha and George always took turns drinking on movie night so that someone was always the DD. Tonight, it was Misha who would be taking home a fairly drunk George. George wasn’t the biggest fan of scary movies, and neither was Yvette, so in order for the two of them to cope, they had been indulging in several shots throughout the night.

“Can I come with you guys?” Yvette pushed herself off the couch and stumbled into Misha’s side as he quickly wrapped his arm around her waist. “George and I have been having so much fun being drunk buddies tonight, and I wanna keep partying.”

Misha rolled his eyes playfully, but you knew that he loved it as George was only introduced to all of you a couple of years ago when they started dating. You could see in his eyes just how happy it made him to see his best friends getting along with his boyfriend.

“Sure, sure,” Misha nodded as George finally stood up as well. “You can sleep in the guestroom too, if you want.”

“Sleepover!” Yvette giggled as they began to collect their things.

After saying their goodbyes, you and Elizabeth moved around Harry’s loft to help tidy things up. This was something you did for whoever held movie night, and even though you still weren’t on the best terms with Harry, you were going to stick to your tradition - especially if Elizabeth was here to also help.

“Do you need a ride?” Elizabeth asked as she dried her hands off after washing them. 

Elizabeth lived at least twenty minutes away from Harry, just like you, however, you lived in the opposite directions. If Elizabeth took you home, that would end up being a forty minute commute, and you weren’t going to have her do that in this kind of weather. You peeked out the window to see that the storm had gotten even worse, and you shook your head.

“No, it’s okay. I’ll grab another Lyft,” you sent her a smile as the two of you wrapped your arms around each other by Harry’s front door. “Please text me when you get home, alright?”

“Will do,” Elizabeth said, giving you one more squeeze before looking over at Harry as she grabbed her keys. “Don’t be an asshole while she waits for her ride or else you’re in for it the next time I see you. Got it?”

Harry scoffed as he crossed his arms over his chest - leaning against the island in the middle of his kitchen. “I’ll try to be on my best behavior just for you, Lizzy.”

Elizabeth quickly held her middle finger up at him before looking over to you - blowing one more kiss as she walked out the door. You stared at it for a moment, keeping your back to Harry as you sucked in a deep breath. The two of you hadn’t been alone together in quite a long time, and uneasiness was spreading over your body even more.

You patted your back pocket for your phone, and you brows narrowed when you didn’t feel it. Looking over to the chair you were sitting in, you could see it had fallen into one of the cracks on the side. You walked over to it and pulled the Lyft app up with your bottom lip tucked between your teeth. The closest ride was almost twenty-five minutes away, but you kept your expression neutral as you requested it.

“I’ll just grab my things and wait in the lobby,” you told him as you retrieved your coat from the closet - shrugging it onto your shoulders. “Thank you for allowing us to have movie night here tonight.”

You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him as you grabbed your purse from the small table by his door, but before you could grab the doorknob, another clap of thunder ricocheted outside. A gasp left your lips as the lights in Harry’s place went out, and you quickly placed a hand against your chest as the two of you were now consumed in almost total darkness.

“Just fucking great,” you heard Harry mutter, but you were frozen in place as you could barely make out the silhouette of the door that you stood in front of.

Your fingers brushed against the knob that you were looking for, and when you turned it, the lights in the hallway of the complex were also out. It looked like the abyss out there, and you quickly slammed the door before backing away.

“Here,” Harry’s voice was closer to you now, and you turned around to see him holding not only his phone with the flashlight on in one hand, but a small LED lantern as well that was lighting up the living room area of his place quite nicely. “I have a couple of other lanterns and some candles as well.”

You couldn’t find it in yourself to speak as you took the lantern, so you just nodded in response as you walked back over to the chair you had been occupying all night - fishing your phone out to turn on your flashlight as well after placing the lantern in the middle of the coffee table. When your phone buzzed in your hand, you looked down to see that your Lyft ride had canceled, and you were sure it had to do with not only the storm, but how far they’d have to drive in the storm to get you home.

Your hands began to shake as you pulled the map on the app up again, and you could see there were no current drivers available.

“This should help a bit more,” Harry commented mindlessly, and you looked over to see him lighting candles around his kitchen, and sure enough, the space began to brighten up. “I know you don’t like the dark.”

Hearing those words leave his mouth surprised you. All of your friends knew how much you didn’t like the dark, but they had known you forever. You weren’t sure if Harry would’ve retained that information. 

“Thanks,” you cleared your throat as you stood up - turning the flashlight off on your phone before tucking it in your pocket. “Uhm, my driver canceled, and there’s no other drivers available right now. I’ll keep checking, and as soon as one pops up, I promise I’ll be out of your hair.”

Harry’s eyes trailed over you in the lightly illuminated room before he turned away and back towards the liquor that was still on the counter. “You can just stay here. I checked the weather app and it doesn’t look like it’s going to calm down until the early morning. Even if you did get a driver, I’m sure you’d be without power at home too. I’ll give you my bed, and I can sleep on the couch.”

“Harry, that’s not really-”

“Y/N,” the glass that he had retrieved from the cabinet above him clinked loudly against the counter as he did his best not to slam it down on the hard surface. “Just take the fucking offer.”

You swallowed harshly at his tone. You didn’t want to be here, but you knew he was right. Your apartment was more than likely without power, and staying there in the dark by yourself seemed even worse than this.

“Okay,” you whispered as you fiddled with your fingers behind your back. “Thank you.”

It was a minute before Harry started to move again, and you heard him let out a heavy sigh. “Drink?”

“Sure.”

Walking back into the living room, you decided to sit down on the couch instead of the chair again, and you curled your legs up into your chest. You wrapped your arms around your shins - resting your chin on your knees as you watched the aggressive storm from outside the window.

“Here,” Harry extended a rocks glass of bourbon on ice out to you, and you took it from him with both hands.

“Thanks.”

It was silent as he went and sat down in the chair he had been sitting in as you all watched the movie. The clinking of the ice in your glasses was the only thing that could be heard for a few minutes before you looked over to Harry. He was staring down into his glass as he rested it on the top of his knee with one hand - his other hand tucked inside his short curls as he leaned against his elbow on the arm of the chair.

“Why did you do it?” You asked, the question escaping you before you could stop it. You knew it was probably the buzz from the liquor in your head having it slip out, but deep down it was clear to you that the conversation needed to happen. “Why did you bring that girl to your place the night of our date?”

Harry lifted his head and looked at you with an expression you couldn’t read, and when he didn’t speak, you continued.

“I waited at the restaurant for you for almost an hour. I was so excited and then…you never showed up.”

“I didn’t have another girl over that night,” Harry stated, his tone calm. “But I had no intention of showing up to our date.”

“And you couldn’t have just told me that? If you had changed your mind, that’s fine, Harry, but ghosting me? I thought we were closer than that.”

“The second I found out that you were still continuing to sleep with other people while leading me to believe you wanted something more between us - that’s when I made the decision to not go on the date. As harsh as it sounds, I didn’t feel like you deserved an explanation from me as to why I wasn’t going to show up.”

“What are you talking about?” You gulped down the rest of your drink before dropping the glass onto the coffee table. “I wasn’t sleeping with anyone, Harry! I haven’t slept with anyone in almost a year.”

“Come on, Y/N, don’t continue to lie to me. Reagan told me-”

“Reagan told you? But he told me that…”

Silence came over the two of you again, and you raised your hand to your mouth as you realized what had happened. Reagan had lied to the both of you. You knew that Reagan had a thing for you. Even before Harry came into the picture he had told you he had a little crush, but you didn’t feel the same way. You were more than gentle in letting him down and assuring him that it wouldn’t change anything on your end in regards to your friendship. He had never acted differently towards you after that, so you didn’t think anything was wrong.

Now it had become apparent that he was secretly angry with you over it, and although you and Harry had decided to keep the date between just the two of you in case things went bad, you couldn’t blame him for confiding in Reagan about it. He was his roommate, and you were sure that if you had one, you would’ve done the same.

“He lied to us,” you whispered, shaking your head.

“But why?” Harry asked, and you looked over at him again to see another unreadable expression.

You’re sure he was feeling what you were feeling right now. Anger, regret and probably a good sense of guilt washed over him for how differently he had treated you. You had never been nasty to him. Even though it had broken your heart when Reagan spewed his lies, it just wasn’t you to be mean. 

“He liked me,” you sighed as you wrapped your arms around yourself. “I never told anybody about it because I didn’t want to embarrass him, but he told me once that he wanted to take me on a date. I had to let him know that I didn’t feel the same way. He seemed fine afterwards, but now it’s pretty obvious it was still eating away at him.

“He probably stole from you for the same reason. He could see that I wasn’t over you. I talked to him about not being over you, and how hurt I was about everything. He was probably pissed that I still couldn’t move on even though he made me believe that you hurt me. He was jealous that some part of you still had me even though he tried to tear us apart.”

Harry remained silent as he reached forward and placed his empty glass on the coffee table just like you had a few seconds prior. He now rested both of his elbows on his knees while running his hands over his face. 

For a little over four months now, the two of you hadn’t been the same. Seeing this reaction from Harry, it was clear now that the whole situation had the same effect on him as it did you - even if he didn’t show it. The two of you were trying to figure out how things had gone so wrong. He was wondering how you could’ve hurt him all while you were wondering how he could’ve hurt you.

“This is so fucked up,” Harry whispered, shaking his head. “So fucked up.”

“It is,” you swallowed the lump that started to form in your throat due to the array of emotions you were feeling. More than anything you just felt angry. Angry at Reagan for taking away something that you knew probably could have been so good for you if it hadn’t been ruined before it was even started. “He made you hate me.”

You choked on the last word before dropping your forehead against your knees - hands tightening around your shins as you tried to keep yourself from crying.

“Y/N,” Harry said your name but you didn’t look up.

Although Reagan lied to you both, you still had to blame each other for the lack of communication. If Harry had just asked you if what Reagan had told him was true, you could’ve shot the lie down immediately - before it found a way to burrow itself right in between the two of you. You were also angry at yourself in that aspect. If you had just asked Harry why he ghosted you, maybe you would’ve gotten this answer sooner, and again, all of this could’ve been shot down before it grew into what it is now.

“Y/N,” Harry repeated himself, and you could tell that he was closer.

Lifting your head, you looked down to see him on his knees on the couch next to you. He hesitantly stretched his hand out to rest on top of one of yours, and you let him ghost his fingertips over the top of it.

“I should probably go, Harry,” you told him as you shuffled around on the couch - turning to face him which caused his touch to abandon you. “I think it’s best we just sort through this alone.”

“Please don’t go,” he reached out and placed both of his palms over your knees. “I need to apologize to you. I fucked up. I fucked up so bad and I…oh my god.”

Harry shook his head as he tilted his head down - chin meeting his chest. 

“I wish I had just talked to you,” he said softly as his thumbs stroked over the insides of your lower thighs. There was nothing sexual about it. You could tell he was looking for a sense of comfort among the emotions firing throughout his body. “I should’ve just talked to you. I should’ve been better than that. I think I just felt really betrayed because I thought you really liked me. So to hear Reagan say you had still been seeing other people…multiple people. It hurt me.”

It was clear you were both too afraid to speak up to get hurt even further. You didn’t want to ask him about being ghosted because hearing him verbally reject you would’ve been too painful, and he didn’t want you to ask you about the other people for the same reason. If it had been true, hearing you admit it would’ve made it worse.

“I’m sorry that I didn’t speak up either. I just couldn’t imagine hearing you tell me that you weren’t interested anymore, and that you had found someone else to occupy your time that night,” you reached a hand out, pausing for just a moment before you lowered it to run through the top of his cropped curls. “I didn’t want anyone else, Harry. You had me even before we had admitted our feelings to each other.”

Harry slowly lifted his head to look at you, and your hand dropped to rest against the side of his neck now. “I wish I still had you, Y/N. This whole thing is so fucked up. I should’ve…after I knew Reagan was stealing from me, I should’ve realized he had probably lied to me about many other things, but especially you.”

Bringing your other hand down, you cradled Harry’s jaw in your palms - pulling him up a bit more so that he sat higher on his knees. “Make it up to me.”

You watched as Harry’s eyes darted over your face in the soft candlelight mixed with the glow of the LED lantern behind him. His large hands rubbed over the tops of your thighs as he moved a bit closer so he was now properly slotted between your legs. Tilting your head to the side, you dragged the pad of your thumb over his lower lip.

“Make it up to me,” you said the same phrase again, but lowered your tone as you let your lips ghost along his.

Harry didn’t hesitate this time, and he quickly angled his head up to meet your mouth. You couldn’t help but to immediately moan as his hands journeyed further up to grip to your hips - the tips of his fingertips indenting against the skin of your lower back underneath your t-shirt. Your hands journeyed down to fist the front of the jumper he had on so you could pull him closer to you, and you arched your back to have your pelvis flush against his. Although you had alcohol in your system that was causing your head to feel a bit floaty - you knew this was what you wanted. You needed him.

His tongue slipped out to run across the seam of your mouth before you parted your lips. You rolled your tongue over his own as he rocked his growing erection that was straining against the zipper of his jeans along the inside of your thigh. It didn’t take long for you to feel the damp spot starting to form in your underwear while his tongue began to explore every bit of your mouth.

“Y/N,” the rasp of Harry’s voice sent a shiver down your spine. “I want to taste you.”

That earned him another moan from you as you nodded, and he pulled back a bit to reach for the waistband of your jeans. You allowed him to take the reins as you leaned back and lifted your hips while he unbuttoned and unzipped the denim clinging to your body. Once he had those properly undone, he yanked them down your legs - fingers wrapping around your underwear along the way to pull them all down in one go.

Although you were pretty confident in yourself when it came to the bedroom, it had been so long since you had even been partially naked like this in front of someone. You watched as Harry raked his eyes over your exposed lower half before shaking his head.

“So fucking beautiful,” his lips grazed along the inside of your thigh before planting a kiss right against your pubic bone. “You promise you’re comfortable?”

His eyes peered up into yours and you nodded while cupping your hand against the back of his head. “I promise,” you assured him. “Now have a taste.”

Harry ducked his head down to run his tongue through your drenched slit and you threw your head back at the sensation. You didn’t bother trying to conceal the noises that left you as he trailed his tongue up to your clit - lapping over it a few times before sucking it between his lips.

“That’s it, Harry,” you whined as your tossed your legs over his shoulders, and he pressed his palms against the inside of your thighs to spread you just a bit further.

“You’re so fucking sweet, Y/N,” he pressed kisses against your throbbing bud - your hips jumping right in time each one. “I’ll make it up to you every single day if it means I get to have you like this.”

“That’s to be determined,” you puffed out a small laugh as your fingers gripped to his hair. “Depends on how hard you make me come.”

Harry couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped him at your words, and he took a minute to look up at you again. “If I could stay here all day, suffocating between these beautiful thighs of yours while licking at this sweet pussy - making you come again and again? I would fucking do it.”

His words caused your cunt to clench around nothing, and you mewled out at just how hot and bothered that got you. “Well, show me just how good it can be, and I’ll let you know if you’ve got the job.”

The crooked grin that stretched over Harry’s lips, causing that sweet dimple to indent into his cheek, had your heart fluttering in the midst of you being turned on beyond belief.

“I’ll show you, baby, and then you’re going to be begging for more.”

Getting right back to work, Harry began to properly take his time with you. He licked at your folds, sucked on your clit, and when he knew he had you so perfectly worked up, he plunged his tongue inside. You gasped as you stared up at the ceiling - feeling the thick muscle pulse in and out as you rutted your clit along the bridge of his nose.

“Yes,” you sighed happily, shutting your eyes as the corners of your lips twitched up into a smile. “So good.”

He kissed his way back up to your clit, beginning to suck again before slowly inserting his middle and ring fingers into you. Your back arched even further, and given that you hadn’t had any contact like this in so long, you knew that you’d be coming sooner rather than later.

“You like that, Y/N?” Harry’s sultry voice started to ring in your ears. “You look so amazing like this. Got me fucking addicted and I’ve only had a little taste.”

“It feels…shit,” you could feel your thighs starting to tremble once Harry curled his fingers - the tips of them rubbing across your sweetest spot. “Oh my god, Harry. You’re going to make me come.”

“Come on,” he coaxed you, putting his head back down. “Come on my fingers. Come on my tongue. Let me taste you completely.”

Once his tongue found your clit once again, you knew you were done for. He sucked it between his heart shaped lips as he thrusted his fingers in and out of your soaked cunt - your heels digging into his shoulder blades.

“Harry,” you moaned deliriously. “I’m…oh my fuck - I’m coming.”

Your walls closed in completely around Harry’s fingers as he continued to pulse your clit into his mouth. It was euphoric. It was everything. Your body tingled from the tips of your toes to the top of your head, and even when he pulled away from you entirely to massage your thighs - you still weren’t coming down.

“Y/N,” his muffled voice filled your senses. “Open your eyes, baby. Look at me.”

Following his directions and blinking your eyes open, you focused on the ceiling before looking down at Harry. You smiled wide at the sight of him. Your orgasm was still glistening on his lips, and his touch was so soft.

“Come here,” you pulled him back up like you had before - having him be level with you again once you sat up straight.

Your lips found his once more and you indulged in a short makeout session before pulling away.

“Did that make up for it?” Harry asked with a small laugh as you played with the curls at the nape of his neck.

“It did…for now,” you said while knocking the tip of your nose against his with a smirk. “I want a proper date. Next Friday. Then we’ll go from there.”

Harry’s eyes met yours, and he smiled wide - bunny teeth on full display for you to see before he responded with a nod.

“It’s a date.”

• • • • • • • • •

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[stylestarkey]

More Than Enough

Summary: You and Harry are best friends, when he's too involved in his school work, you offer to help him take a break.

Word Count: 4.5k

Warnings: smut, nerdrry, college Harry and reader, virgin Harry, nervous Harry, slight sub? if you squint hard enough

Harry sat hunched over his desk, surrounded by piles of textbooks and notes. His glasses sat on the tip of his nose, the glow from his laptop reflecting off the lenses as he typed away furiously.

Suddenly, interrupting the tapping of his computer keyboard, there was a knock at the door. Harry glanced at the clock. It was almost midnight. Who could it be at this hour? He cautiously approached the door and peered through the peephole, his breath catching in his throat when he saw Y/N's tear-stained face. He quickly unlocked the door, allowing her to stumble in, her eyes red and puffy from crying.

"Hey, are you okay?" Harry asked with genuine concern, taking in her disheveled appearance. Her normally bubbly demeanor was nowhere to be found.

Y/N sniffled, her voice trembling. "Jake...he was such a jerk again," she said, her words heavy with emotion.

"What happened?" Harry questioned, his heart sinking as he led her to his bed, where she immediately hugged him.

"It's nothing. I just need to get away," she murmured into his chest, her breath hot and shaky. The weight of her body against his was comforting, and Harry wrapped his arms around her instinctively. They sat in silence for a few moments, her trembling gradually subsiding as she took deep breaths. The room was quiet except for the occasional sniffle from Y/N. Harry felt her warmth and the softness of her hair under his chin.

"You can talk to me, you know," he offered gently.

Y/N pulled away and looked at him, her eyes glistening. "We had sex last night," she began, her voice barely a whisper. "And he was just...an asshole afterward."

The words hit Harry like a ton of bricks, a pang of jealousy shooting through his chest. He had known for a while that she and Jake were intimate, but hearing it from her lips was something else entirely. He had had a crush on her since they were children, and the thought of her being with someone else was like a knife twisting in his heart. He had always been too shy to tell her how he truly felt, afraid of losing their friendship or making things awkward.

Y/N noticed the sudden tension in Harry's body and paused. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to come here so late," she said, her voice thick with apology. "It's just that he didn't care about me at all. He didn't even give me any aftercare. When I brought it up he started screaming at me...and I didn't want to be alone."

"You can always come to me," Harry replied, his voice tight. He didn't know what to say next. He had never been in a relationship, or had sex with anyone, so his knowledge on advice to give was limited.

Y/N looked up at him, her eyes searching his. "Could I...spend the night here?" she asked tentatively. "I just want to hang out and forget about everything for a while."

"Of course," Harry responded without hesitation, his heart racing at the thought of her being so close to him all night. He knew he had a big project due at the end of the week, but he'd manage, for her. "I just have to work on a project, but I'll be really quiet. You can sleep if you want."

Y/N managed a small smile, wiping away the last of her tears. "Thanks, Harry," she whispered, sliding into one of his oversized t-shirts that she found in his drawer. It smelled faintly of him, and she liked it. She slipped under the covers, leaving a space for him.

A couple hours went by and Harry had gotten to a point where he felt too tired to continue working.

He walked to the bathroom to prepare for bed. When he returned, Y/N was curled up, fast asleep. He set the water on his nightstand and took a moment to admire her. Her hair spilled across the pillow, and her bare legs were tangled in the sheets. Her face was serene in slumber, all traces of the pain from earlier gone. He felt a surge of protectiveness towards her.

He gently took off his glasses, placing them on the nightstand, and slid into bed next to her. Her eyes remained closed, but she snuggled closer, as if she knew he was there.

For a while, Harry simply watched her sleep. The soft rise and fall of her chest, the gentle way she breathed, it was mesmerizing. He had seen her in various states of dress before, but there was something so vulnerable about her now that made his chest ache. Her beauty was not just in her looks, but in the way she made him feel. The way she looked at him with those big eyes, the way she laughed at his nerdy jokes, the way she sought comfort in his arms. He knew he loved her, and the realization hit him like a punch to the gut.

For the next couple days, she stayed in his dorm, rambling to him as he worked on his project. He didn't mind at all, he loved hearing her voice as he worked.

Y/N pouted, sitting up on the bed. She leaned back on her elbows, the t-shirt she was wearing riding up to expose her smooth stomach. Harry's eyes followed the movement, and he felt his cheeks grow hot.

"You're no fun when you're working," she said with a teasing smile. "How about a little break?"

Harry sighed, glancing over at her. "I really need to finish this," he replied, his eyes lingering on her.

Y/N giggled, rolling her eyes playfully. "Come on, Harry," she said, swinging her legs over the side of the bed and walking over to him. "Just a couple minutes, please? You need a little break."

When she climbed off the bed, Harry couldn't help but steal glances at her as she approached. She leaned over his chair, her chest brushing against his shoulder, her perfume filling his nostrils.

"Come on, Harry," she whispered, her breath hot against his ear, "just five minutes."

Her hand slid onto his shoulder, gently massaging the tension out of his muscles. Harry's eyes darted to the screen, then back to her. She leaned in closer, her breasts pressing against his arm as she traced her fingers along his neck. He swallowed hard, trying to focus on his work.

"You're so tense," she murmured, her voice like a siren's song. "Let me help."

Her fingers moved down his neck, tracing the line of his collarbone before sliding down to his chest, her touch light and teasing. Harry's heart thumped in his chest, his eyes darting from the screen to her face. She looked down at him, her gaze filled with mischief and something more...something that made his stomach do flips.

"You're always so worried about school," she said, her voice dropping to a seductive purr. "You need to relax, Harry."

He chuckled nervously, his cheeks flushing deeper. "I'm fine, really."

Y/N leaned closer, her eyes twinkling. "No, Harry, you're not fine. You're stressed to the max," she said, her voice a silky caress. "You know what you need?"

"What?" he asked, his voice cracking slightly.

Y/N's smile grew more playful. "Some mind blowing sex" she whispered, her eyes dancing with mischief. "It's time you had some fun, let off some steam."

Harry's cheeks turned a deep shade of red as he stuttered, trying to form a coherent response. "I-I've got it under control," he said, his voice barely audible.

Y/N's hand didn't stop its gentle exploration of his chest, her touch sending electrifying sparks through his body. She leaned closer, her lips dangerously near his ear. "I'm sure I could find someone who'd love to take care of you," she whispered, a teasing lilt to her voice.

Panic shot through Harry like a lightning bolt. He had always feared this moment, the moment when Y/N realized his feelings and set him up with one of her friends. It would be humiliating, a clear sign that she didn't return his feelings. His heart raced as he tried to think of a way to divert her attention back to his work, anything to keep her from setting him up with someone else.

Before he could form a coherent thought, she took the matter into her own hands. She straddled his lap, her legs curling around his waist as she sat down, her eyes never leaving his. "Or, I could help you relax," she murmured, her voice softer than a whisper. "I find it hard to believe you're not roaming around campus, being a ladies man."

Her warmth engulfed him, and Harry's breath hitched in his throat. He could feel the heat from her body, the softness of her thighs pressed against his own. His body seemed to have a mind of its own.

"You know I'm not..." Harry stuttered, shelled her eyes, her hands moving to his chest.

"I know girls are throwing themselves at you...I think you just don't see it," Y/N whispered, gently bringing a hand up to his cheek.

Her touchsent a spark through his body. He closed his eyes, his breathing ragged as he felt her lean in closer, her soft curves pressing against him. His heart hammered in his chest, the reality of the moment slowly setting in.

"Is this okay?" she whispered, her breath warm against his mouth. Y/N's eyes searched his face, looking for any sign of protest.

"Yes…but–," Harry replied, his voice trembling with a mix of desire and fear. "I've never...you know."

"I know, Harry," Y/N said with a gentle smile, her eyes filled with understanding. "You're perfect, Harry," she assured him, her hand sliding up to cup his cheek. "You're kind, you're smart, you're..." she trailed off, her voice filled with emotion.

He took a deep breath and nodded, his eyes meeting hers. He leaned in and rested his forehead on hers "Okay, 'm just nervous I won't be good enough for you." he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

Y/N chuckled gently, her thumb brushing against his cheek. "You're already more than enough, Harry," she assured him, her voice filled with sincerity. She leaned in and kissed him, her lips soft and gentle. It was a kiss filled with warmth and comfort, the kind of kiss that told him she didn't care about his lack of experience, that she was here for him, with him.

Without another word, she stood up, taking Harry's hand in hers and leading him over to the bed. She sat him down on the edge, her eyes never leaving his as she knelt between his legs. The anticipation was palpable in the air, a delicious tension that made his heart race even faster. He watched as she reached for the hem of his t-shirt, her eyes never leaving his as she lifted it over his head. She gave him a seductive, cheeky smile.

Y/N leaned in and kissed Harry's chest, her lips warm and soft against his skin. He gasped, his hands reflexively reaching out to grasp her shoulders. She giggled against his skin before moving lower, her breath hot against his abs. Harry's stomach tightened, his body responding to her every touch. When her kisses reached the waistband of his sweatpants, she looked up at him again. "Can I?" she asked, her eyes gleaming.

He nodded, his throat dry with anticipation. She hooked her thumbs into the waistband and slowly pulled them down, revealing his erection. Harry couldn't believe this was happening, his best friend, the girl he had loved for so long, was about to give him his first blowjob.

Y/N took him in her hand, stroking him gently as she licked her lips. She leaned in, her breath hot on his skin as she kissed the tip, and then took him into her mouth. Harry's eyes rolled back in his head, his body trembling with pleasure. She was surprisingly adept, her movements smooth and confident as she took him deeper, her tongue swirling around him. He had read about this, watched it in porn, but the reality was so much more intense, so much more overwhelming than he could have ever imagined.

Her eyes locked onto his, watching his reaction, her own excitement clear in the way her pupils dilated and her cheeks flushed. He was lost in the sensation, his mind a haze of pleasure as she worked her magic on him. He didn't know how long it lasted, but it was like nothing he had ever felt before. Her hand cupped his balls, rolling them gently as she took him deeper, her throat tightening around him.

As Harry's breath grew more ragged, Y/N sensed he was close and she picked up the pace, her mouth moving faster and faster. He could feel his orgasm building, his body tensing as he tried to hold back, not wanting this moment to end. But it was too much, too intense. He came with a gasp, his body arching off the bed as she swallowed every drop, not breaking eye contact.

For a moment, there was silence, just the sound of their breathing in the quiet room. Then Harry looked down at her, his face flaming red. "I'm sorry," he mumbled, his voice thick with embarrassment. "That was...quick."

Y/N looked up at him with a knowing smile, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "It's okay," she said, her voice low and throaty. "It's your first time. Plus, it tells me that I did a good job." She cheekily chuckled

Her words made him blush even deeper, but she didn't let him dwell on it. She stood up, her own shirt sliding off her shoulders with a smooth grace that left Harry's mouth watering. Her bra followed, revealing breasts that were full and perfect, with perfect nipples that were already hard with arousal. He had seen her in a bikini before, but this was different. This was intimate, this was real, and it was just for him.

"Let's not worry about that," she said, her voice a soft purr as she stepped closer to him. "Let's just enjoy each other, okay?"

Her words washed over Harry like a warm wave, and he nodded, unable to speak. Y/N leaned in and kissed him again, her tongue slipping into his mouth, tasting of him. Her breasts were soft and warm against his chest, and he couldn't help but cup them, she moaned into his mouth.

"I can...eat you out," Harry murmured, his voice filled with a need that surprised even himself. "of course, if you want...I want to make you feel good...only if you want me to."

She chuckled as he stumbled over his words and simply placed a finger on his lips to quiet him.

"Shh, Harry, it's okay," she murmured, her eyes full of affection. "I want you to eat me out," she replied, Harry's heart stopped, hoping that he could be good enough."But not tonight, I need to ride you." Her voice thick with desire.

Her words sent a fresh wave of excitement through him. Harry nodded, his hands shaking slightly as he helped her out of her panties. He took a moment to admire her, her legs spread before him, the smooth skin of her inner thighs begging for his touch. He had never seen anything so beautiful.

Y/N straddled him, her knees on the bed on either side of his hips. She took his face in her hands, looking into his eyes with a fierce determination. "You're going to love this," she whispered, her voice low and seductive.

With that, she positioned him at her entrance, the tip of him nudging against her slick folds. Harry's heart was racing, his entire body tense with anticipation. He could feel the warmth of her, and it was all he could do not to thrust upwards and take her in one go. Y/N moaned loudly at just the feeling of his tip at her hole.

Slowly, she lowered herself onto him, inch by agonizing inch, her eyes never leaving his. Harry's eyes rolled back into his head as he felt her tightness enveloping him, her wetness coating him as she slid down. It was like nothing he had ever felt before, and he had to bite his lip to keep from crying out. She was so warm, so wet, and so tight around him. It was almost painful in its perfection.

Y/N began to move, her hips rocking back and forth in a slow, deliberate rhythm. Harry's eyes widened, his hands gripping the bed sheets tightly as she took control. He could see the desire in her eyes, the way they filled with lust, it was like watching a wild animal.

Her breasts bounced with every movement, and Harry couldn't help but reach out to cup them, his thumbs brushing over her nipples. She gasped then smiled at his now boldness. Her hips buckled slightly at the contact. He watched as she threw her head back, her hair cascading over her shoulders.

He watched her, her body moving in a rhythm that was both mesmerizing and overwhelming. He had never felt anything so intense before. The way she took him in, the way she moved, it was like nothing he had ever imagined.

Y/N leaned down, her breath hot against his ear. "You like that, Harry?" she whispered, her voice dripping with seductive sweetness. "You like feeling me tight around you?"

Her words sent a shiver down his spine, and Harry could only nod, unable to form coherent sentences. He had never heard anyone talk to him like that, especially not her. It was like something straight out of a porno, and he was living it.

"Tell me," she whispered, her eyes staying on his, "Tell me what you want to do to me."

Harry couldn't resist. "I want to fuck you," he murmured, his voice barely audible. "I want to make you scream."

Y/N stopped her movements, his words stopping in her tracks, but turned her on incredibly. She could feel his cock pulsing inside her, and she found herself even more turned on by his unexpected assertiveness.

"I want you to fuck me too."

He sat up, lifting her with him so that she was straddling him as he leaned back against the headboard. His hands found her hips, and he began to guide her movements, his thrusts growing more forceful. The sound of their bodies colliding filled the room, mingling with their gasps and moans.

Her nails dug into his shoulders, her movements growing more erratic as she approached her climax. Harry watched her face, the pleasure etched into every line and curve, and knew he was giving her what she needed. Her eyes squeezed shut, her mouth opened in a silent scream as she came, her body spasming around him.

"God, Harry...your'e so fucking good."

Y/N's eyes snapped open, her cheeks flaming red as she looked down at him. The words had slipped out, unbidden, and she felt a thrill of excitement at his raw desire for her. She had never seen this side of Harry before, and she liked it. A lot.

With a sudden shift, she pulled away from him. Harry's cock slipped out of her, glistening with her juices, and she stared at it for a moment, feeling a sudden rush of power. He looked up at her, his eyes filled with a mix of confusion and hope.

"Did...did I do something wrong?" he asked, his voice thick with arousal and a hint of vulnerability.

"No," Y/N breathed, her voice laced with wonder. "No, Harry, you didn't." She took a moment to compose herself, then leaned in and kissed him hard, her tongue delving into his mouth, tasting him deeply. When she pulled away, her eyes searched his, looking for any signs of doubt.

Her hand slid down to his cock, stroking it gently. "You just made me feel so good," she murmured, her voice thick with satisfaction. "I thought maybe you'd want to get a better angle."

With a naughty smile, she climbed off his lap and turned to face the end of the bed, getting on her knees in front of him. Harry's eyes widened as she leaned forward, her round ass in the air, presenting herself to him. He had never seen her like this before, so open and willing, and the sight was almost too much to handle.

Y/N glanced over her shoulder, her eyes meeting him with a sultry. "I thought you wanted to fuck me?"

Her question was all the invitation Harry needed. He moved behind her, his hands on her hips as he aligned his cock with her wet entrance. She gasped as he pushed in, filling her completely. The new position was intense, and Harry took a moment to adjust, his hands tightening on her waist as he found his rhythm.

Y/N looked over her shoulder, her eyes dark with need. "Yes, Harry, just like that," she encouraged him, her voice a breathless whisper. "Fuck me hard, baby."

Her words encouraged something primal in Harry. He gripped her hips tighter, his thrusts becoming more powerful. Her encouragement was like a drug, pushing him to give her what she wanted, what they both needed. Her moans grew louder, filling the room, and Harry knew he was giving her exactly what she craved.

"Yes," she hissed, her voice low and needy. "Just like that, Harry." He could feel her tightening around him, her muscles contracting as she approached another orgasm.

The feeling was too much for Harry, the way she responded to him, the way she begged for more. His own climax was building, a pressure that threatened to overwhelm him. He watched her in the mirror, her breasts swinging as he fucked her, and he knew he couldn't hold out much longer.

As she came again, her muscles tightening around him, it was like a trigger for Harry. He thrust into her one last time, feeling the warmth of her cum around his cock. He couldn't hold back anymore. He exploded, his orgasm ripping through him like a wildfire, his vision blurring as he filled her with his seed. Y/N's cries of pleasure only served to heighten his own release, her body milking him for every drop.

When the waves of pleasure finally subsided, they both collapsed onto the bed, panting heavily. Y/N rolled onto her side, her body a warm, sweaty mess against his. She looked up at him with a satisfied smile, her eyes gleaming. "That was...amazing," she murmured, her voice filled with awe.

For a moment, Harry just stared at her, his heart racing. Then, it dawned on him. He had just had sex with his best friend, and she had liked it. No, she loved it. The realization washed over him like a warm, comforting blanket. He leaned down to kiss her, his hands stroking her hair gently.

"Thank you," he murmured against her lips.

Y/N giggled, the sound light and airy. "Feeling less stressed?"

"Much," Harry managed to breathe out, his chest still heaving. He couldn't believe what had just happened. It was like a dream, a fantasy come to life. He looked at her, her hair a mess around her flushed face, her body glistening with sweat, and his heart ached.

Y/N propped herself up on one elbow, her hand reaching out to stroke his cheek. "You okay?" she asked, her voice filled with genuine concern. He nodded, his eyes never leaving hers.

For a moment, they just laid there, their breathing heavy and ragged. Then, she leaned in and kissed him again, a soft, gentle kiss that spoke of affection and care. She pulled back, a mischievous smile playing on her lips. "You know, Harry," she said, her voice teasing, "that was your first time. You're supposed to get all the aftercare."

Her words brought him back to reality, and he remembered the conversation from earlier. Jake had been cruel and had denied her what she needed after they'd had sex. Harry felt a surge of protectiveness. He sat up, his eyes searching hers. "Did Jake never...you know, take care of you after?"

Y/N's smile was sad, a little wistful. "Not really," she said, her voice a soft sigh. "But that's not what tonight is about. Tonight is about you."

"No, no, I want to care for you."

Y/N's eyes lit up at Harry's insistence, and she couldn't help but smile. Despite his inexperience, he was eager to learn, eager to ensure she felt loved and satisfied. She laid back, allowing him to hover over her, his eyes filled with a mix of curiosity and concern. He kissed her forehead, her cheeks, her neck, his soft touches leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake.

He slid off the bed and walked over to the sink, his body still shaking with the aftermath of their passion. He grabbed a wet washcloth, his movements a little awkward, his cheeks reddening at the thought of what he was about to do. He returned to her side, his eyes meeting hers with a tentative look.

"Let me," he murmured, his voice soft and gentle. He reached out with the washcloth, touching her gently, carefully cleaning her up. His touch was featherlight, almost as if he was afraid she'd break. Y/N watched him, her heart swelling with affection. He was so sweet, so considerate, and it was clear that he was trying his best to take care of her.

As he wiped her thighs and her inner thighs, his eyes met hers again, filled with uncertainty. She reached up, taking the washcloth from his hand, her fingers lingering for a moment before she placed it on the nightstand. "You don't have to," she said softly, her voice filled with emotion. "You've already done so much."

But Harry was insistent, his eyes determined. "I want to," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "I want to take care of you." He took a deep breath, his hands shaking as he gently parted her folds, using the cloth to clean her up. He was clumsy at first, but she didn't care. The way he looked at her, like she was the only person in the world that mattered, made her feel cherished.

She leaned forward, grabbing his forearm and kissed him. "I love you, Harry," She pulled away and stared deep into his eyes. "Thank you." They had said it a million times before, I love you, but the way she looked at him made him feel like this time was different, like she meant it more than ever before.

Harry felt his heart swell with emotion, "I love you too, Y/N." He whispered, his voice hoarse. He kissed her again, this time more tenderly, savoring the taste of her on his lips.

tag list !

@mema10 @lizsogolden @harrrrystylesslut @tulips4harry @cloudyluun @dipmeinhoneyh @tchlamqtsgf @maudie-duan @gilwm @mads3502 @girlslovejahseh

[stylestarkey]

✨️ my favorite harry styles smut blurbs ✨️

yeah, i'm reposting all my lists. so pleaseee reblog and like them.

@jarofstyles

messy throat fucking

dom!harry knowing someone can hear

thigh riding

dom!harry talking dirty at dinner with their friends

“that’s my spot”

mean daddy!harry size kink

ex lovers kiss

cock warming

“were you just…. masturbating?”

jealous fwb fratrry

“if you’re going to act like a little brat, i’m going to treat you like a little brat.”

“come on. take it all on your own like a good pet.”

taking photos post orgasm

sucking off gamer!h during a game

exhibitionism in italy

bff!h jealousy kiss

mean dom!h ignoring

mean!dom can’t swallow

soft!dom x pillow princess

marks

teaching

[stylestarkey]

LOVED YOU AT YOUR WORST - r.c series - FOURTEEN

pairings: ex!sweethearts; rafe x thornton!reader; rafe x sofia. chapter warnings: angst; mentions of panic attacks and anxiety.

The party was in full swing, you were mid-conversation with Sarah, a half-empty champagne flute in her hand, an amused expression on her face as she listened to your rundown of some ridiculous thing Cleo had done earlier. Across from you, Cleo herself was grinning, nodding, because she already knew the punchline.

You gestured with your glass of water, “I don’t think you can classify a boat as ‘commandeered’ if you return it two hours later with a note.”

“It was in the spirit of the sea,” Cleo countered, “Besides, I left it better than I found it.”

John B chuckled beside her, shaking his head as he took a sip from his glass. “Yeah, I don’t think the yacht's owner saw it that way.”

Sarah smirked, “How did you even get past the security?”

Cleo shrugged. “Caribbean charm.”

You rolled your eyes, but you were smiling. The banter, felt like home, nights like these were fleeting, precious, something to hold onto for as long as you could.

Your hand absentmindedly pressed against your dress, where the smallest swell of your stomach remained unnoticed. It was still early enough that no one had outright asked, though you caught the occasional double take from someone who knew you well enough to suspect. Sarah noticed, of course, squeezing your wrist lightly.

“You okay?”

You nodded, “Yeah, just tired.”

She let it go, turning back to the others as Cleo launched into a new story about an argument she’d had with a dockhand last week.

The night carried on, you had just started to relax, but you felt it before you saw him lie always. A ghost passing through the room, a presence you were attuned to even when you didn’t want to be.

Rafe.

He hadn’t seen you yet, standing just on the other side of the crowd, back partially turned as he spoke to someone you didn’t recognize.

He looked... different. Not in a dramatic way—his hair was still neatly styled, despite being so short, his suit tailored perfectly to him—you couldn’t pinpoint what is was. You’d seen him not that long ago anyways.

Sarah must have followed your gaze because she exhaled sharply.

“I didn’t think he was coming.”

“Me neither.”

John B had stiffened beside Sarah, his eyes tracking Rafe, waiting for something to happen. Cleo glanced between you, trying to gauge the situation.

“I’ll go say something,” Sarah started, but you stopped her with a light touch to her arm.

“No,” you said quickly. “Let him be.”

She hesitated, then nodded, though you could tell she was still uneasy.

Rafe still hadn’t noticed you, which you weren’t sure if you were relieved about or not. Instead, he was talking to someone older, maybe a family friend, nodding along politely.

There was a restlessness in him that you recognized all too well even from afar. As if he felt you looking, his gaze flicked up and you never looked away so fast in your life.

Cleo let out a low whistle. “That wasn’t dramatic at all.”

You ignored them, your focus jumping back to Rafe, who thankfully, had already turned back to his conversation. Your hands felt clammy as you curled your fingers into your palm. Should you talk to him? Tell him you had another ultrasound this week?

That would be stupid, you’d be opening a locked door and watch everything you’d built to keep yourself okay collapse. You forced yourself to take a sip of water, just to do something with your hands.

“You sure you’re okay?” Sarah asked again, quieter this time.

You swallowed. “Yeah.”

The thing about Rafe was, he had a way of getting under your skin without even trying. Even after everything, even after you told yourself you were done with the version of him that kept breaking things—you still felt that pull.

You didn’t get much time to dwell on it, though.

Ten minutes later, you were mid-conversation with Sarah again when Pope shoved through the crowd, looking half-panicked, his chest rising and falling from the running he was doing.

“It’s Rafe.”

Your stomach dropped.

Automatically, your brain filled in the blanks. Drunk, high, spiraling, maybe all three, of course he was about to ruin the night. You didn’t need details, you knew exactly how this would go. He seemed fine just ten minutes ago, but you knew how quickly he could go from zero to a hundred.

That’s what he did, wasn’t it? Made messes, pushed the self-destruct button and let the rest of you deal with the fallout. And on tonight of all nights? At this gala? Honoring the research your sister had worked her ass off for—had fought for.

Yeah. You weren’t doing this.

You remembered the pattern too well, how bad it used to be, back when he was eighteen, running on coke and manic energy, eyes blown wide, jaw grinding, always one wrong word away from swinging on some innocent bystander. 

Ward had died, the coke had been gone by then. The pills too. But the drinking got worse, sneakier, slower. He wasn’t throwing punches so much, but a couple of drinks turned into a bottle turned into blackouts, turned into calls you didn’t want to answer because you already knew what you’d hear on the other end.

Sarah was already stepping forward, but you grabbed her arm before she could go too far.

“No,” you said, shaking your head.

She turned, blinking at you. “What?”

“What do you think you’re gonna do? Talk him down? Fix it? It’s the same shit every time.”

You knew exactly how this would go. Rafe fucks up, one of you swoops in, and for what? So he could apologize and then do it again next week? You weren’t signing up for that.

“It’s different.”

You scoffed. “How?”

“Wheezie told me he’s been sober. Going to therapy.” She hesitated, then added, “Even though he won’t tell any of us.”

Sober? Therapy? No, that didn’t track.

That wasn’t Rafe, at least not the one from the past two years.

Rafe didn’t go to therapy, he didn’t believe in therapy. He called therapy bullshit when Ward died while throwing back tequila and insisting he was fine, okay? 

Rafe didn’t change, not for you, his sisters, or anyone.

You could recall the last time you let yourself believe in him, that quick period after Ward died when he seemed like he was getting better. He wasn’t using, wasn’t picking fights, even talked about leaving the island, and getting a fresh start.

Except, he couldn’t. He never could.

You had no idea what to say, because none of this made sense, it didn’t fit with the version of him that lived in your head nowadays—he was reckless, self-destructive, incapable of being anything else.

“Since when?” you finally forced out, your voice disbelieving.

Sarah gave you a look, “Since he found out.”

You wanted to call bullshit, that he wasn’t capable of change or being the person he was trying to convince you he wasn't anymore. If it was true—if he really had been trying, if he was sober, if he was sitting in a therapist’s office and talking about anything—then what did that mean?

Sarah must’ve seen the hesitation on your face, because before you could say anything, she squeezed your arm.

“You should stay.”

She still wanted to believe he was salvageable, you wished you could believe it too.Your stomach flipped, not sure if it was the baby or the nerves.

“What?”

“Stay,” she repeated, “I don’t know what he’s gonna be like right now, and I don’t want you stressing yourself out.”

By stressing she meant, the constant war in your head between missing him and wanting to forget he ever existed. You weren’t sure which side was winning tonight.

Still, something about the way she said it made you defensive.

“Sarah, I’m not gonna—”

“It’s not just about you anymore,” she cut in. Her eyes dropped—for a second—to the still-small bump beneath your dress, the one people still missed even if they looked up closely.

You clenched your jaw, instead of being grateful, you should’ve let her go and not think twice. Too bad you already knew you weren’t going to listen. Your swollen feet were already itching to move, body and mind at war with each other. 

You should stay.

But you didn’t.

Sarah was halfway across the room when you exhaled sharply, scrubbing a hand down your face, and turned to follow.

Or at least, you would have, if Pope hadn’t stepped into your path.

Your head snapped up. “Move.”

Pope didn’t budge. His brows were furrowed, the way they always were when he was trying to decide if he should talk you out of something, you could tell he was about to try his best.

“You’re freaking out,” he said, voice calm, “Sarah’s got this. Just let her—”

If you could just turn it off—flip a switch and erase every part of you that still cared, you would. God, you would. You still remembered the boy he used to be, who swore up and down he’d never be like his father, even as he went down the same road.

“How did he look?” you cut in.

He hesitated.

“Pope.”

Then, honestly, he admitted, “I could hear his breathing from the other side of the balcony.”

Your stomach twisted. Shit. Shit, shit, shit.

You weren’t sure if you could stomach knowing he was having a panic attack, needing to see which version of him was waiting for you tonight. But Pope had grown to know you well enough to see that war playing out on your face, and he sighed, bracing his hands on your shoulders.

“I get it, okay?” he said. “Whatever’s happening with him, it’s not your problem anymore.”

Not your problem anymore. Your eyes were still locked on the exit Sarah had disappeared through.

You remembered last week, how your breath had been coming in short gasps, too ragged when you saw Topper standing there, how you’d let your rage and panic mix so quickly inside you that you weren’t sure which one would win. You remembered your hands had shook like leafs from restraining yourself to do some real physical damage, two seconds away from tearing into him, from saying something you couldn’t take back—and then, Rafe had been there.

He didn’t yell, or fight, just put a hand on your skin, he spoke quietly, called your name so softly that it cut through the bloodbath in your head. And when you’d finally snapped out of it shoved him off and been mean and cruel and cold—he still stayed until your breathing was normal again.

You think that’s why you were already moving now.

You wanted to believe it, that he was trying, that here was something still there to save, that you weren’t an idiot for still feeling so much.

Rafe had been yours once and you weren’t sure you could ever be the kind of person who stayed behind while he hurt, even if he hurt you for so long. Stupid. Stupid.

You were going to regret this, you already knew that.

You bit the inside of your cheek hard enough to hurt, huffed out an exhale through your nose, annoyed at yourself.

When you finally found them, Rafe was sitting on the ground, his back against the railing, head tipped back against it, trying to focus on breathing. His eyes were shut tight, brows drawn together in pain, chest rising and falling too shallow.

Sarah was crouched next to him, a bottle of water in one hand, a small packet of sugar in the other, rubbing slow circles on his back, murmuring something that you couldn’t hear.

It was like being yanked back in time, to the night you found him outside Tannyhill, after the funeral, hands gripping his hair so tight it looked like he wanted to rip it out. His mom had been gone for two days by then, but he was still shaking.

You remembered how helpless fourteen year old you felt.

She turned her head at the sound of your footsteps, and the second she saw you, you knew she disapproved. But she didn’t say anything, just pressed her lips together, passed you the bottle of water as she stood, understanding you were going to do this your way no matter what she said.

You took her place without a word, sliding down onto the floor beside him, setting the water down at your feet before you could talk yourself out of it. Y

ou were just as weak as you’d always been when it came to him.

After years, of fighting, of hurting you in ways you never thought he would—you were back here. You hated that it felt familiar, it felt safe, even now.

Rafe was still breathing too fast, lost in his head—until the second your palm pressed against his back. You think his body recognized you before his mind did, then almost immediately, the tension in his shoulders dropped. His breath hitched, then stuttered, then—very slowly, he exhaled.

He knew your touch, your skin, your hands—better than he knew panic, better than he knew hurting. A choked, broken sound—loud enough that you heard it, felt it under your palm, the way his shoulders shook, his whole body seemed to curl in on itself, making himself smaller. You moved closer, pressing your side against his while your hand slid from his back to his shoulder, then up to the back of his neck.

His head tipped forward slightly, forehead brushing your shoulder. You felt the way his jaw moved under your palm, the war he was fighting just to breathe.

“Hey,” you murmured.

His breath stuttered again, but his body still melted against yours, fingers twitching against his knee, then curled into his palm.

You hadn’t seen him like this since his mom, not even when Ward died, when everything went to shit. That scared you more than anything.

“Breathe,” you whispered, because you didn’t know what else to say.

He wasn’t good at talking when it mattered, bu his body always told the truth. Despite everything, this was still second nature, your body angling toward his without thinking, your fingers sliding against his jaw the way he always liked.

His eyes fluttered open, unfocused, more red than blue.

Your lips parted, but before you could say anything, his voice—hoarse— “You’re here.”

It wasn’t a question, more of a disbelieving, almost broken fact, you shouldn’t have, and maybe last month you would’ve never given it a second thought. 

Your fingers pressed against the back of his neck, “Yeah.”

Rafe exhaled through his nose, the answer knocking the air out of him. His hand tightened in your dress, making sure you were real, his voice was quieter when he spoke again.

 “Didn’t want you to see me like this.”

You inhaled, because it felt like an entirely different kind of confession, even if he told you he was still in love with you just days ago. You turned your head, let your forehead press against his temple, instinct, muscle memory.

Call it what you want.

“I’ve seen you like this before.”

Seen him worse, even, but before, he had been yours, you could have held him without hesitation, whispered things into his skin. His breath ghosted against your shoulder, uneven, and you hated that you knew the sound so well, that your body still reacted to it, that the part of you that should have been hardened against this—against him—was the softest part of all.

You shouldn’t have come. Should’ve let Sarah handle it, and reminded yourself of all the ways he had failed you. 

His fingers curled even tighter in your dress, desperate, knowing this moment was borrowed, you weren’t supposed to be here.

You squeezed your eyes shut, wishing you had an answer.

“Breathe,” you reminded him again, unsure if you were saying it for him or for yourself at this point.

He let out something close to a laugh, “T-that’s the problem.”

You understood what he meant.

“Did you drink?” you asked quietly, not accusing, just needing the truth.

He shook his head against you.

“No. I wanted to. I almost— I was halfway to the bar, and then I saw you and I couldn’t breathe.”

That, more than anything, broke something open in your chest. He didn’t spiral because of you, stopped because of you.

“I shouldn’t be—” His voice cracked, so quiet you barely heard it. He swallowed hard, shaking his head, “Shouldn’t be doing this.”

Your brows knit together. “Rafe.”

His throat bobbed. “It’s your night.”

You should’ve expected that, where his mind would go—he was always his own worst enemy, the first to punish himself before anyone else could.

His breath stuttered eyes squeezed shut again, “I—I didn’t mean to ruin it,” he rasped, “I was fine, I swear I was fine, and then—” He broke off, chest rising and falling too fast again, shaking his head.

“You didn’t ruin the night.”

His laugh was bitter. “Don’t lie.”

You swallowed. “I’m not.”

He shook his head again.

“You should be in there.” His voice was worn, “Celebrating with them, not—” A sharp inhale. “Not sitting on the fucking floor d-dealing with this.”

There it was. Then—so soft, so broken, you almost missed it.

“You should be thinking about the baby.”

You gave him a look, small, wry. “Too late.”

If he only knew that stress was the last thing that could hurt you or the baby inside you. If he understood what was happening inside your body, what you were carrying, would he still be worried about ruining your night?

Without thinking, you grabbed his hand, and guided it to your stomach. His whole body went still, eyes dropping to where his palm was pressed flat against your stomach, fingers twitching against the fabric. It was small but it was real, you knew he could feel it once his breathing slowed.

“You’re not ruining anything,” you reassured him again, even as something in your chest twisted violently. “And if you think you are, then you can make it up to me by breathing properly, okay?”

His throat bobbed, you could feel him trying, his body painfully, forcing itself to calm, his palm still warm against your stomach.

A tired laugh escaped him, humorless.

“I’m trying,” he said. “I swear to God, I’m trying.”

“I know.”

You reached up, and wiped the corner of his eye with your thumb, just like you used to.He did something that made your brows pull together, blue eyes flickered up, unfocused but searching, and then—

“Four things,” he nodded to himself.

You frowned. “What?”

His gaze darted around the balcony. “Uh… the railing. The—the lights.” Then, quietly, “You. Three things I can hear,” he went on, eyes shutting for a moment as he listened. “The music inside. The ocean.” Another pause. “You breathing.”

It was the way he said it—flat, automatic, exactly you used to recite it when your therapist had made you do the same exercise in every appointment. Your stomach twisted violently, because there was no way Rafe knew this offhand, you’d never done it in his presence.

No way he just stumbled onto it by accident. Which meant—he was indeeed, in therapy. The boy who’d been taught to despise any help from outsiders, was in therapy. 

Your fingers squeezed against his skin, for the first time in a long, long time, you didn’t see the Rafe who hurt you, who destroyed himself, who burned everything he touched.

You forced yourself to swallow. “Two things you can feel.”

“The floor,” he said first, a little strained. Then his gaze moved to where his hand was still fisted in the fabric at your waist. His voice dropped even lower. “You.”

A slow exhale left his lips, and his fingers relaxed a little.

“One thing you can control.”

His throat bobbed. His lips parted like he was going to answer, but no words came. You squeezed the back of his neck, “Rafe.”

His breath hitched, but then—shakily— “Myself.”

“Do you want me to call a driver?”

“Why?” His voice was raw in a way you hadn’t heard in years.

“So you can go home.”

He squeezed his eyes shut. “I—”

You shook your head. “Don’t.”

“Please,” Rafe’s voice cracked. “Don’t go yet.”

You bit your lip so hard it hurt, your eyes closed, tears burning without falling. Where even was home for him now? Tannyhill was just walls and memories of ghosts who didn’t love him enough to stay. You hated that you still felt him, your heart still recognized his even after he’d shattered it.

“Sorry.”

The words were right there, behind your teeth, pressing against your tongue, desperate to be spoken.

It’s a boy.

You could see it so clearly—the way Rafe’s breath would catch, his entire body would go stiff. You knew what that meant to him.

A son.

You already knew where his mind would go, straight to Ward, to every cruel word, the gruesome lessons, every scar that wasn’t visible but still sat deep in his bones. The nights spent trying to be better only to end up like him, the last name that never felt like it belonged to him.

Did he deserve to know? No. You shouldn’t tell him. But you also knew it would pull him out of his head in a way nothing else could, the panic, the guilt, it would all be replaced by that.

The realization, the responsibility. Would it make you weak if you gave him something he didn’t deserve? The truth sat bitter on your tongue, not sure which part of it was worse, carrying a baby who might not make it or that, before the anemia—before the doctors and the blood tests and the warnings—you weren’t keeping it.

He doesn’t know that.

You thought about how much it would hurt—him, everything—if the baby didn’t make it. You still weren’t sure if you wanted this, but Rafe—he would. You couldn’t tell him, he wasn’t ready. You weren’t ready.

If you gave him another piece of this—it would be over. His mind worked differently from everyone else, he latched onto things, onto people, building his whole world around the things he was scared of losing.

A baby boy? He’d never let go, he’d obsess, he’d tie himself in knots over the idea of raising a son—his son—without turning into Ward. He’d convince himself he wasn’t good enough, that he’d fuck it up before he even got the chance to try. He’d make it about you, the baby, being better for someone else. And if he was gonna get better—if he was gonna change, you needed it to be for him, not for a baby, not for you, like you wished he would months ago.

You pressed your fingers against his hand, still resting against your stomach, feeling his breath hitch in his throat. 

“I’m gonna call a car, okay?”

His blue eyes were glassy, rimmed with red, searching your face like he was trying to make sense of what was happening, of why you were here, why you hadn’t left yet.

"Y-You don’t have to do this.”

Sit here? Hold him together? Pretend like this wasn’t killing you, too?

“I mean it,” he rasped. “I don’t—I don’t want you to feel like you owe me anything.”

“I don’t.”

“Okay. I’m sorry.”

Apologies didn’t fix things, but maybe trying did. This version of Rafe, scared and vulnerable and not pretending to be anything else—was the closest thing to trying you were ever going to get.

You nodded, fingers slipping from his skin, from his everything, because you had to.

"Are you gonna be okay alone?"

A slight nod. “I’ll be fine,” he mumbled, “Jus’ need a minute.”

He didn’t look fine, but you couldn’t be around him for any longer without losing your composure. You forced yourself to step away, heels carrying you inside, toward the crowd. You found Sarah near the edge of the room, eyes scanning the area for you before landing on your face.

She took one look at you and her brow furrowed.

“Hey,” she started, walking toward you, “What happened?”

She could always tell when things were off with you, but it was different tonight

“He’s... still not okay,” you confessed,“I don’t think he should be alone.”

Her chocolate brown eyes softened, “You’re sure you’re okay?”

You nodded, but it felt shaky at best. “I’m fine. I just— I don’t want him to go home alone. Not like this.”

You hated asking her this, their sibling relationship was strained, at best. Years of resentment and old wounds that never quite healed. 

“Can you drive home with him?” you asked, hating the desperation. “Please. He’s too... out of it. I can’t let him go with some random driver.”

“I’ll drive him.”

You gave a grateful nod, knowing it wasn’t easy for either of you to be around Rafe when he was like this. She knew better than anyone what he could do to a person, take up all the space in your chest even when you swore there was nothing left of him in you.

“Thank you.”

“He’s still my big brother.”

The stupid pregnancy hormones made everything intense, and right then, you had to fight the tears growing in your eyes.

This wasn’t the moment for that. 

Something about the way she said it—you knew what it meant.

No matter how fucked up everything had become between them, she still saw him for who he once was—her big brother. You remembered the little sister who had once looked up to him, who had wanted to believe he could be the brother she’d always needed. 

As Sarah walked away, your body tensed again as you pressed your fingers against your eyes, scolding yourself for being so weak. You had come too far—pregnant, sure, but with so many other things to focus on. 

You turned away from the crowd, not wanting to stay here anymore, in this place—you didn’t belong here anymore.

The night wasn’t supposed to end like this.

It was stupid of you—thinking you could step into this world again, even for one night, and not have him be a part of it somehow. 

You needed to stop, he wasn’t your responsibility or your problem.

You checked your phone, pulling up the car service app, but your fingers hesitated over the screen. The sound of tires crunching against gravel pulled you from your thoughts.

A sleek, dark car rolled to a stop a few feet away, the headlights casting shadows across the pavement.

Sarah must’ve called ahead.

The driver stepped out, moving to open the back door for you. You slid inside, the leather seats cool against your skin as you pulled the door shut. You should’ve felt relieved, getting away, creating space, but all you felt was exhausted.

You held a hand against your stomach, a part of him and a part of you. Your eyes fluttered shut, exhaustion pulling at you, but then—

"Two at least."

You could hear her voice so clearly, your sister had always known what she wanted.

"Four?" You had laughed, sprawled out beside her on the sun-warmed dock, bare feet dipping into the water. "Why not just one?"

"Because," she had said, as if it was obvious, "babies need a sibling. Like us. You wouldn’t survive without me."

You had rolled your eyes, but she had only grinned. "And a shit ton of cousins, too. Big family, holidays packed, the works."

It had felt like a given—that you’d grow up, build something ike that, the two of you would always be around to make it happen.

Now, she was gone. They all were, while you turned into someone else. Someone who wasn’t sure who she was anymore, or what she wanted, or what she could even have.

"You know what Mom used to say?" your sister had murmured once, curled up beside you on the couch, your childhood home quiet around you.

"What?"

"That being sisters means never being alone in the world."She had nudged your arm, smiling. "Even when I’m pissing you off, you know I’d do anything for you. No one else gets to mess with you. That’s my job."

You had laughed then, shoving at her playfully. "I know."

You needed to stop thinking about it, about him.

You shouldn’t have been out there with him in the first place, letting him touch you, reaching for him like it was instinct, allowing yourself get pulled under by the sound of his voice, the way he said your name, the way he—

You inhaled sharply, blinking up at the ceiling of the car. You didn’t owe him anything, you repeated it in your head over and over, hoping that it would start to feel true again.

The car slowed to a stop in front of your place, and you let out a breath before stepping out. Inside, the house was quiet, you hadn’t been spending much time here, you’d forgotten the last time you slept here, you'd been crashing at the pogues for way too long.

You slipped off your heels, letting them drop onto the floor as you stepped further into the space. It still didn’t feel like home, not really.

But then again, nowhere did after you crossed that invisible line back at the party. Being done with Rafe had never been as easy as walking away when you had a whole history tangled up in his, when there was a part of him growing inside you.

You had no idea what the fuck you were supposed to do about that. 

The sound of your phone buzzing on the coffee table made you jump. You reached for it, expecting Sarah, maybe, or one of the pogues checking in.

Rafe: Thank you.

What were you supposed to say? You’re welcome? Take care of yourself? Don’t make me regret this? You locked the phone without replying and set it face down.

You’d unblocked his number last week.

Not because you wanted to talk or because you’d forgiven him, mainly because on those lonely nights—lying in bed, hands shaking, every part of you fighting not to call him—you couldn’t stand the thought of him not being able to pick up if you ever did.

You told yourself it was about control, keeping the upper hand, proving that you could still have him at arm’s length. 

Rafe: Are you home? I need to see you. Please.

Short, desperate, please. That word—please—it wasn’t something Rafe used carelessly. Or something you were used to hearing from him without a fight, not without blood or breaking or both. But lately you’d been hearing it every time your paths crossed.

You shouldn’t even have him unblocked. 

You blamed those nights spent curled up on your side, fighting off sleep because it always came with dreams of him, had a you breaking down every rule you swore you’d follow.

Truth was, you just didn’t want to feel that kind of alone.

You stood up, phone abandoned, and padded into the bathroom, stripping off the dress, wiping off the makeup, avoiding the mirror.

You knew what you looked like: a girl who still hadn’t figured out how to stay away from the one person she swore she was done with.

You crawled into bed, cold sheets wrapping around you, and curled onto your side. The tears were quiet at first, only slipping down your cheek, collecting at the corner of your jaw, soaking into the pillow, then your chest started to shake, you buried your face in the blanket and let it happen.

What else could you do?

You turned onto your back, eyes blurry as they stared up at the ceiling fan spinning slowly above you. You reached for your phone again, not to text him, but just to look, his name still sat there at the top of your messages, unread.

I need to see you. Please.

You tossed it down on the bed like it was poison burning through your skin if you let it linger in your palm for one more second. But your eyes flicked back toward it. Still lit up, waiting.

You shouldn’t text back, you shouldn’t.

You were weak tonight, and lonely, missing him in a way that had nothing to do with the baby and everything to do with how it used to be, how he used to hold you, touch you, kiss you.

You pulled your knees to your chest and rested your forehead on them, trying to remember all the reasons you’d built this wall in the first place. You missed all of him, even the parts that broke you.

You picked the phone up again before you could talk yourself out of it. Typed out a reply, deleted it, typed it again. You hated how fast your thumbs hovered over the keyboard, how easy it still was, how your body wanted to pull toward him like gravity.

Yeah. I'm home.

You didn’t send it, only stared at it, fighting yourself, hating how badly you wanted the door to open, feel his presence in your space again. The cursor blinked, against every instinct, every promise you made to yourself—you closed your eyes.

Counted to three.

You hit send.

[stylestarkey]

✿ killing me softly ✿

∎ M A S T E R L I S T ∎

✿ G E N R E ✿ she fell first, he fell harder; fluff with hints of angst; drama; no explicit smut

!!! image is not depicting reader’s appearance (no faceclaim whatsoever) !!!

✿ P A I R I N G ✿ rafe cameron x fem!introverted!kook!reader

✿ G E N E R A L C W ✿ swearing, suggestive language, lots of overthinking/embarrassment from reader's side, hints at anxiety

✿ S Y N O P S Y S ✿ it's the last year of high school and you were paired up with rafe cameron for a 2 week long project in art class. this wouldn't be a problem if you weren't awkward as hell and well ... if there weren't your big fat crush on him. could this be the beginning of a friendship or maybe even more? one thing was certain: rafe cameron was intense, impulsive, and complex in ways that weren't always for the better, and your mind? that shit was even more tangled. but you hadn't spent all these years crushing on him from a distance just to let this chance slip through your fingers ... right?

✿ A / N ✿ this doesn’t necessarily fall under the slow-burn genre bc reader’s already crushing on him but i still wanna try doing things organically. this fic will include fluff but also some anxious/jealousy/etc. scenes

+ at some point there’ll def be some mildly suggestive scenes and hints at intimacy but probably nothing too explicit (i’ll def put a cw or try to make it skippable if it does happen);;

+ i’ll try to post regularly (currently always uploading on sundays)

+ i can't tell how many parts this series will include as i have no specific ending point in sight but in my estimation, there'll be a minimum of 20 parts

+ it's mostly written story with some smau elements (text messages)

✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿

✿ P A R T O N E

✿ P A R T T W O

✿ P A R T T H R E E

✿ P A R T F O U R

✿ P A R T F I V E

✿ P A R T S I X

✿ P A R T S E V E N

✿ P A R T E I G H T

P A R T N I N E (presumably 6th April)

...

[stylestarkey]

♡ covering stepbro!rafe’s mouth while you ride him

warnings: rafe lecturing you lol, unprotected sex, groping, spanking, hair pulling, biting, teasing (?), cream pie

a/n: inspired by this p!link ૮ . . ྀིა⁩ send me a message or an ask if you’d like an invite to join my private community!!

“what the fuck are you doing?!” rafe rolled over upon hearing his bedroom door open, his eyes widening when he saw you walk in completely naked. “what?” you pouted, crawling into his bed. “you can’t just walk around like that, are you crazy?!” he shot up, making sure his door was locked before pinching the bridge of his nose. “our rooms are right next to each other.. no one saw me if that’s what you’re worried about.” rafe scoffed, shaking his head before grabbing ahold of your arm. “it doesn’t matter! anyone could’ve walked out of their rooms, and then what?!” you swatted his hands away, rolling your eyes.

you always found it ironic for rafe to act like he didn’t want you in his space, considering he had no problem taking up all of yours. “are you really gonna act like you don’t want me in here right now?” you batted your eyelashes at him, trailing a hand up his forearm as he sighed in defeat. “i just wanted to see you..” rafe blinked slowly, his eyes catching the way you bit your bottom lip as you palmed him through his underwear. you made things so hard for him, it was impossible to resist you. “please, let me use you, my fingers aren’t enough, ray,” rafe groaned, imagining you touching yourself next door, “i’m so wet already, you don’t have to do anything..”

like always, rafe let you have your way, both of you now laying in his sheets as you lined him up with your entrance. “you can’t make a sound, i mean it this time— holy shittt.” you smiled when rafe cursed under his breath, his hands resting in the curves of your hips as you sunk down onto his cock. pressing a kiss to the underside of his jaw, you clamped a hand over his mouth as you started a steady pace, both of you moaning in unison. you were clenching around him so tight, rafe swore he could empty his load right then and there. “looks like you’re the one who has to be quiet—”

as if on cue, you shrieked when rafe thrusted into you from below, your clit pressing against his pubic bone as he wrapped a fist into your hair. knitting your eyebrows together, your mouth fell open as he started slamming his hips into your own. sitting up and pulling you up along with him, you bit into his shoulder as he locked your hands behind your back, prompting you to sit helplessly as he fucked you into oblivion. rafe ignored the sting of pain shooting up from his shoulder to his neck, the tension in his stomach threatening to release with every cry of his name.

you two were so fucked already when it came to keeping your depraved little ‘arrangement’ a secret, rafe knew it was pointless to shut you up even if he tried. landing a harsh smack to the flesh of your ass, he groped you in the same spot until you kissed him sloppily, your own high hitting you with an unforgivable force. rafe’s face scrunched up as if he was in pain even though he was experiencing anything but, and finally let go, his cum spurting inside of you as your walls fluttered around his length.

pulling out hastily, you gasped when he pushed you onto your back, both of you looking down as you two watched his seed dribble out of your glistening cunt. running his tongue over his bottom lip, rafe held your thighs open as he used his cock to gather his cum and glide it up and down your pretty folds. sighing contentedly, you looked up at rafe and felt your stomach erupt in butterflies when you saw that he was already looking at you. “you’re nothing but trouble, you know that?”

[stylestarkey]

in the alley, in the back, in the center of this room - r.c (+18)

pairing: kelce's sister x hockey!rafe warnings: smut

You hadn’t seen Rafe in a week. 

Seven whole days without him hovering over you, being annoying, or sneaking his hands under your shirt when no one was looking.

You sexted, of course, sent a few pictures. Okay, more than a few, but it wasn’t the same. You could tell he was getting frustrated, too, hitting you with the “wish I was there” and “gonna make you pay for that when I see you” texts.

You missed him. Ugh, you hated that you missed him. You weren’t supposed to—Rafe wasn’t your boyfriend, but you were spoiled, used to having him whenever you wanted.

You found out the hard way that he was back, sitting in the library, drowning in microeconomic equilibrium theory you didn’t understand, when someone suddenly gripped the back of your chair, leaning so close that you nearly jumped out of your skin.

“Missed me, princess?”

Your hand flew to your chest. 

“What the fuck?!” You whispered-yell, glaring up while he grinned.

He reached out to tug on a curl like he had the right to. Your first instinct was to slap his hand away, you hated when people touched your hair without permission, it made your skin crawl, made you want to ask who the hell raised you?

Rafe however...He always did it like it was just something he got to do. Your body let him. No flinching, side-eye, or glare—just the sharp inhale you tried to hide and the way your lashes fluttered before you could stop them.

Shit.

You liked when he did it.

His hair was still damp from a shower, curling at the ends. His eyes flicked over your face, and you wondered if he could tell you were staring. The last time you saw him, he was between your thighs, mouthing at you like he was getting paid to. That was his send-off, his “see you later” gift, and the way he looked at you then had been haunting you all fucking week. 

“Aw, did I scare you?” Rafe slid into the chair next to yours. “Whatcha doing?”

You gestured at your laptop, your notebook, the complete disaster that was your study space. “Dying.”

He dragged your notebook toward him, ignoring your protests as his eyes scanned the mess of numbers and half-baked notes. “You’re doing it wrong.”

You exhaled, frustrated. “No shit.”

He pulled his chair closer—so close your knees knocked together.

“Why didn’t you ask for help?”

You rolled your eyes, deadpaned. “Too busy staring at your dick pics, sorry.”

Rafe’s grin stretched wider, “Yeah? Got you that distracted?”

You clicked your tongue in annoyance, flipping a page in your notebook. You did spend the entire week in a foul mood, throwing an internal tantrum about not getting laid whenever you wanted, completely forgetting you even had a quiz coming up until the last second. You’d spent more time thinking about him than you’d ever admit, rereading his texts like a loser

That wasn’t like you. 

“Pay attention,” He jokingly scolded, tapping the page with his pen as he caught you ogling him like some desperate, touch-starved idiot.

Your brain wasn’t cooperating, but in your defense, you’d been thinking about that night before he left. He started writing. Fast, neat, too efficient for someone who spent most of his time being a brute on the ice. That was almost worse than the teasing. 

You knew Rafe was smart, but seeing it up close? Watching him put your mess of half-assed equations into something that made sense? It was so hard to listen when he was right there, warm, smelling so good. He explained things easily, it almost sounded like this shit wasn’t complete gibberish. 

That did things to you.

Your legs pressed together under the table, mortified at yourself. Because, wow, this was bad. You were so weak, this was a new low.

Blah, blah, supply and demand, blah, blah, equilibrium. You tilted your head, watching the way his lips moved, the crease in his brows when he was focused. You must’ve been staring for a good while, because he turned, catching you mid-fantasy, bottom lip stuck between your teeth. 

Rafe’s lips twitched, as he leaned in, pressing a peck to your lips.

You jerked back, scandalized. “We’re in public.”

He shrugged, utterly shameless. “No one saw.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Don’t care.” He leaned in again, brushing your cheek. “Can’t help it. It’s been a week.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, knowing no good ever came from his teasing. “Behave.”

“Make me.”

His knee bumped against yours again, and his fingers started tracing little circles on your thigh, skimming your skin where your skirt rided up.

You swatted at his hand without looking. 

“Pay attention,” you mocked, throwing his words back at him.

Rafe hummed, flipping the page in your notebook like he was being helpful. Then he reached over, lips brushing the shell of your ear.

“You start paying attention,” he murmured, voice low “Or you’re staying celibate until you’re done with the quiz.”

 “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” He leaned back, amused, after dropping the most devastating sentence you’ve ever heard. “You study, you pass, you get what y’want.”

Oh, that little— You refused to give him the satisfaction of a reaction, even if the memory of him—his hands gripping your hips, his voice all wrecked while you rode him into the mattress—was currently frying your brain.

He thought you were just gonna sit here and let him dangle sex over your head like some kind of academic incentive.

“That’s cute,” you forced a sweet smile. “You think you can tell me what to do.”

“Know I can.”

You rolled your eyes, tapping your pen against your notebook. “I’ll just find someone else to get the job done.”

“Who?” he asked, voice all amused. “Limp dick? The one I had to beat the fuck up on the ice ‘cause he was talkin’ shit about you?”

You should’ve known he’d bring that up again.

You refused to give him the satisfaction of a reaction. But Rafe was already grinning, he wasn’t dumb, you weren’t going to mess around with anyone else. He could tell that even when you tried to get under his skin, you weren’t serious.

“Right,” he nodded, playing along like you had options. “Yeah, no. You’re not fuckin’ him. Or anyone else.” 

You scoffed, “And who said I wanted you?”

He pretended to think it over, fingers rubbing his chin, “Man, I don’t know. You looked real desperate in that one video you sent—”

You immediately slapped a hand over his mouth, warmth already making you squirm in your seat, “I will kill you.”

Rafe chuckled against your palm, eyes glinting as he peeled your hand away with ease, gripping your wrist. “Y’know, the one where you were moaning my name?” His voice was just loud enough to make your stomach drop, “With your fingers—"

Your eyes widened in panic as you shot a glance around the library. 

“Rafe,” you hissed, smacking his arm.

“What? M’just saying, you looked so needy. All spread out, fingers deep—”

You slapped your hand over his mouth again, his voice muffled against your skin, absolutely loving how flustered you were.

That’s why this was fun—because you knew Rafe and he knew you, neither of you were fucking around with other people. That’s why you didn’t use condoms, why he finished inside every time without either of you even thinking twice about it.

“Shut up,” you attempted to keep your laughter at bay because fuck, he was annoying.

Rafe pushed your hand away again, “Bet you watched it back, huh? Wishing it was me instead of your fingers?”

You glared, smacking his chest.

“I leave for one week and you lose all self-control.”

You shoved at him, harder this time, but he just squeezed your side gently. “Don’t act like you didn’t ask for it.”

“Nah, nah, I’m just saying—" He dropped his voice an octave, mimicking a breathy little moan, “Rafe, please—”

“Oh my God.” You lunged at him this time, hand slapping over his mouth in pure desperation.

He was full-on shaking with laughter against you, his shoulders bouncing. His eyes crinkled at the corners, blue as ever, absolutely fucking delighted with himself. You could feel his lips still moving under your hand, he was trying to keep going just to piss you off more.

“You are such a child,” you gritted, pushing down harder like you could physically mute him.

You shot another panicked look around, losing it over the idea of someone overhearing this bullshit. But the library was still pretty empty—except for a couple of freshmen in the corner, who thankfully weren’t paying you any attention.

“You wish I was that desperate,” you shot back, flipping your notebook shut because there was absolutely no way you were studying now.

Rafe scoffed, leaning back in his chair, spreading his legs, “Open it.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “What?”

“Your notebook. Open it.”

You crossed your arms. “Why?”

Rafe reached over and flipped it open himself, plucking your pen from the table, and spinning it between his fingers like he had all the time in the world.

“You’re gonna sit here, take notes like a good girl, and pass your quizz—” He leaned in, voice dropping to a drawl. “—then I’ll fuck you so good you’ll forget all about how much you hated studying.”

You swallowed, your thighs closing instinctively. Son of a bitch, he was really going to make you study. You snatched your pen from his hand with a glare, turning back to your notes.

His free hand landed on your knee, thumb rubbing circles.

"Good girl," he praised.

Fucker.

You huffed, shoving his hand away—not that it did much, since he just put it right back. 

“This is stupid.”

“And you’re real fuckin' cute when you’re mad at me.”

His eyes dropped to your lips for a second before he sat back, physically stopping himself from kissing you, tapping the page.

“Try it now,” he said, mocking.

You blinked at the page, trying to refocus, but fuck, your brain was not cooperating, all you could think about was how badly you wanted to get under this fucking table. You inhaled sharply, forcing yourself to look at the notes he so generously organized for you, but all the numbers and words blurred together.

“You’re not even trying.”

“I was trying before you showed up.”

Rafe chuckled. “No, you weren’t. You were pouting. Probably about me.”

“As if.”

He tilted his head, unconvinced. “Mmm. What were you thinking about, then? You looked really…” He licked his lips, eyes moving down your body before dragging back up to your face. “Focused.”

Your fingers twitched where they rested on the table, gripping your pen. You weren’t going to answer that when you had been thinking about him

You weren’t admitting shit.

 “Shut the fuck up.”

He laughed, absolutely delighted, reaching over and twisting your pen right out of your grip, tucking it behind his ear.

You stared at him, exasperated. “Are you serious?”

He shrugged, unbothered. “Maybe if you ask nicely, I’ll give it back.”

You pursed your lips, “Give me my pen.”

“Say please.”

You made a grab for it, but he was faster, pulling back just out of reach, the movement making his shirt lift, high enough for you to catch a sliver of tan skin, the cut of his abs—You forced yourself to look away before you did something embarrassing, like drool.

Rafe saw, his smirk turning downright filthy.

“Eyes up here, princess.” He tapped his own chin. 

You inhaled through your nose, willing yourself to stay calm. “Rafe.”

“Yeah?”

“Give me my fucking pen.”

“C’mon,” he drawled, spinning the pen between his fingers. “You can do better than that.”

You leaned in, glaring at him. “I’m going to stab you with it.”

“See? That’s not very nice.”

If he wanted to play games, you could play, too.

You tilted your head, softening your gaze, letting the tiniest smirk curl at your lips. “Rafe,” you murmured, reaching out and skimming your fingers over his wrist, featherlight. You watched his throat bob as he swallowed, his arrogant expression faltering.

You hardly touched him, leaning in close enough that your breath tickled his ear, letting your nails trail up his forearm, watching in satisfaction as goosebumps prickled in their wake.

This was too easy.

“Please, Rafe,” you murmured again, barely brushing your lips against his jaw this time, just the softest ghost of a touch—

And boom.

The pen hit the table with a clatter.

Your lips curled against his skin, gotcha. God, that was satisfying. You leaned back, slow, picking up the pen like nothing happened. 

“See?” You grinned, twirling it between your fingers. “That wasn’t so hard.”

“You know what else is hard?”

Your pen slipped, the tip dragging a line of ink across the page.

“You should fix that. Can’t have sloppy notes, princess.”

You rolled your eyes, his knee touched yours again, his fingers flexing over your thigh, fingertips teasing at the hem of your skirt.

“Rafe,” you hissed in warning.

“C’mon, no one’s looking.”

Your eyes darted around, but the library had emptied. The couple of freshmen in the corner were suddenly gone. It was late, and the space had gone quiet, save for sound of the AC and the occasional rustle of paper.

His hand slid higher, his breath warm against your jaw. “Been thinkin' about you all week.”

“Not here,” you gulped, even as your thighs parted automatically.

Rafe hummed in approval, his lips grazing your temple. Then, he was grabbing your wrist, yanking you up so fast you barely had time to shove your laptop closed, tripping over your own feet.

“Rafe—!”

He didn’t listen, steering you between the bookshelves with ease, deeper into the back corner of the library. It was dimmer here, the overhead lights flickering slightly.

“Relax,” he murmured, spinning you until your back hit the shelves. His hands found your body, holding on to your curves. “Wouldn’t let anyone see you like this.”

You protested, but it melted into a sigh when he nipped at your lips, trailing soft kisses down your neck. “You’re the worst tutor ever.”

His mouth was on yours then, stopping the scolding, his hands skimming your thighs, teasing the edge of your underwear. His fingers ghosted over your core, feeling the damp fabric.

“Missed this,” he confessed against your skin.

You sucked in a sharp breath when he hooked a finger under the thin strip of lace, dragging it to the side, baring you to him, sliding against you—and oh, fuck.

Your grip tightened on his shirt, hips jerking involuntarily into his touch. His breath came out in a sharp exhale, his forehead dropping to yours. 

“Goddamn,” he muttered, voice all wrecked. “You missed me too, huh?”

You wanted to tell him to shut the fuck up, but your brain, your entire body was betraying you as his fingers molded themselves to you, spreading you open, sliding through your slick with an arrogance that made you want to smack him. Or, maybe, fuck him right here.

Your head thunked back against the bookshelf. “Rafe,” you gritted out.

“What?” He tilted his head, “Somethin’ you wanna ask me?”

You glared at him. “If you don’t fucking move—”

“Been thinking about me?”

You bit your lip, refusing to answer, but then he flattened the tip of his finger inside, teasing, “Haven’t exactly had a choice,” you admitted, voice breathy.

 “Yeah? Kept you up, didn’t I?”

You hated how well he knew you.

He laughed under his breath, but listened, finally sliding one finger in, all the way to the knuckle, slow enough to make you feel every inch of it.

His forehead fell against yours as gently as possible, feeling you squeeze around his finger was testing his patience. “Been dreamin’ about this all fuckin’ week.”

He started moving, curling his finger inside you, hitting that spot that made your thighs tremble. His thumb dragged over your clit, featherlight at firsst, only enough to make your hips jerk, slipping in a second, the stretch making your breath stutter, your nails sinking into his shoulder.

You could hear how wet you were, the sound of it filling the tiny corner of the library. It should’ve embarrassed you, but all it did was make Rafe groan under his breath.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered, his hand tightening on your hip. “Y’hear that, baby? How fuckin’ wet you are for me?”

Your thighs squeezed around his hand, your breath turning uneven.

“You always get this messy,” His tone was smug, pupils blown wide, like he was drunk on you. “Couldn’t even focus all week, could you?”

You swallowed, knowing you couldn’t lie and in return, he pressed closer, thumb rubbing tight circles over your clit. 

“Say it.”

Your head dropped back against the shelf, a whimper slipping out before you could stop it.

"Uh-uh," he tsked, dragging his fingers up, agonizingly so, “C’mon.”

You exhaled sharply, “T-thought about you every night.”

Rafe groaned, fingers fucking into you faster, rougher. “That’s it,” he murmured, forehead pressing against yours. “That’s what I wanted to hear.”

You bit down on your bottom lip, barely stifling your cry, thighs trembling against his hand. You were looking up at him with those big, pleading eyes, already knowing you had him right where you wanted him.

He let out a quiet, almost amused exhale, shaking his head. “Fingers or cock?”

Your breath hitched. “What?”

“You heard me,” he murmured, his lips ghosting over your ear now. He wasn’t teasing—wasn’t gonna make you beg.

Your answer came quick, needy. “Cock.”

His fingers continued to work you open first, thorough, making sure you were ready—though you were already soaked, whining his name. And fuck, you need to feel him, to sink into him.

He pulled out, only to replace them with his cock, burying himself deep in one smooth thrust, groaning at the way you clenched around him. His forehead dropped to yours, breath ragged, hands gripping your thighs, legs wrapped around his waist.

You swore he felt even more solid than before—broader, stronger. A week away at training camp, skating, lifting, and it showed. It wasn’t fair that he could come back after a week and feel like this, move like this, take up so much space and attention like he always did.

“Told you I was gonna make you wait,” his voice was strained. “Guess I lied.” Rafe’s fingers dug into your thighs, pushing you harder against the bookshelf, words spilling out between thrusts. “Goddamn—Like I never even left."

You felt every inch of him stretching you out, as always, never fully getting used to how good it felt. The bookshelf behind you rattled with every movement, joining your breathy gasps, the wet slap of skin on skin.

He bit down gently on your neck, soothing the sting with his tongue, “You missed me,” he sounded delirious, dragging his lips down your throat, letting his teeth graze your skin before sucking. “Bet you were fuckin’ yourself stupid thinking about this, weren’t you?”

The thought of him had kept you up all night, fingers buried deep, wishing it was him instead. You couldn’t even deny it, your hips jerking to meet each thrust, desperate to get him even deeper.

Rafe chuckled darkly at your silence, dropping his forehead against yours, breath ragged, “Came thinking about me fillin’ you up, huh?” His hands tightened on your thighs, adjusting his grip, the angle making you gasp. “Fuck—tell me.”

Your hands fisted in his hair, your walls clenching around him, making his rhythm stutter. You swallowed, throat dry from all the garbles you kept letting out. “Wanted you—fuck, Rafe—I wanted you so bad.”

 “Yeah? Think about me stretching this pussy out?”

A ragged moan slipped from your lips, and he caught it, swallowing it down with an open-mouthed kiss. His knees buckled when your walls fluttered around him, fingers digging into your thighs as he tilted your chin up, keeping your lips fused to his, tongue sweeping against yours, licking into your mouth like he couldn’t stand not tasting you.

“You feel so good,” he rasped, kissing you through every thrust, his lips dragging over yours between moans, biting your bottom lip before soothing it with his tongue. “So fuckin’ good, baby—”

Every time you moaned, he was there, stealing it with his lips, his tongue sweeping into your mouth, kissing you through it. Rafe hissed when you bit his lip, dragging him impossibly closer, gasping when he hit that spot. His forehead pressed to yours, mouth brushing yours.

“Keep kissing me,” you panted.

His answering growl vibrated against your lips before he obeyed—his mouth slanting over yours again, licking, sucking, drowning in you as he fucked you right there between the bookshelves.

Your head thunked back against the bookshelf, and Rafe chased after you, hand bracing on one side of your head as he devoured you. It made your thighs shake where they were wrapped around his waist, your heels digging into his back.

“Look at you,” he murmured, lips brushing against yours, diving deeper just to watch you. Your breath hitched, eyes fluttering, but he didn’t let you look away.

“Fucking ruined for me,” he breathed, lips still grazing yours with every panting breath.

Your hands fisted in his shirt, clinging to him as he pounded into you, desperate now.

“C’mon,” he rasped, his voice all beautifully wrecked against your cheek, his thumb slipping between you to take care of your clit, his other hand gripping your jaw, keeping your lips right there—teeth scraping over your bottom lip, his tongue following right after, kissing you through it, swallowing your scream as your body went taut, your orgasm hitting you so hard your vision went white for more than ten seconds.

Your fingers tangled in the hair at the nape of his neck, holding him close as his thrusts turned sloppier. Rafe groaned, light-headed at this point, stuttering as you clenched so good around him, dragging him with you. He swallowed your gasps, moaning into your mouth as he buried himself deep, coming inside, filling you up just like always.

Your hands roamed, slipping under his shirt, feeling the hard planes of his stomach, his muscles twitching under your touch. You traced up his ribs, nails raking down his back, and Rafe groaned against your lips, his cock twitching inside you.

You pulled back, just enough to whisper against his mouth. “You’re still hard.”

Rafe huffed a laugh, “Yeah. Wonder why.” His fingers flexed on your hips before sliding up your back, curling around the back of your neck.

You whimpered, pressing closer, rolling your hips instinctively, “’M sensitive.”

“Payback.”

You smacked his shoulder weakly, still trying to catch your breath. “Shut up.”

He grinned, fixing your skirt, not before getting a good handfull of your ass, “Mmm, love when y'get all bratty after I fuck the attitude outta you.”

Your legs were wobbly as you adjusted your skirt and tried to make yourself look somewhat presentable, while he tucked himself back into his jeans, his hands moving with an infuriating ease.

“Asshole,” you muttered as you straightened your top, smoothing your hands over your thighs. “You should probably go first. Before someone sees us.”

Rafe tilted his head, studying you. “You care that much?”

You frowned, glancing around the library. You weren’t embarrassed, but there was something about the way he asked the question that made you hesitate.

This was fine, just a thing, a very casual thing. No big deal.

You hated the way his words affected you though. “Rafe—”

“Relax, princess.” He smirked, but there was something in his tone that made you wonder if he cared as much. 

He stepped closer again, his fingers moving along your jaw before he pressed a slow, lingering kiss to your lips—and when he pulled away, his lips brushed against your temple, fleeting.

Alright, stay cool. No need to overthink it.

“I’ll email you my notes from last year,” he murmured, his breath fanning over your skin. “Should help with your quiz. I’ll see you later.”

And with that, he turned and walked off, leaving you standing there.

You exhaled, leaning against the bookshelf, knowing you were a little mean for no reason, you were protecting yourself. You were supposed to be able to separate this shit. It was just sex.

Why couldn’t you keep it like that? What the hell happened to the girl who told herself she wasn’t gonna get emotionally attached? 

Oh! That’s right, she was emotionally attached before this shit even started. You were smarter than this, knew how to act detached.

Why did have to be him? You sat down, staring blankly at your laptop, but your mind was a fucking mess.

Because no matter how hard you tried to ignore it, no matter how much you told yourself that it was just sex—You had a quiz to study for. That was the whole reason you were here in the first place, right? Not to get fucked stupid against a bookshelf by Rafe Cameron.

A frustrated groan slipped past your lips, and you sank further into your chair, rubbing a hand over your face. This was so fucking bad.

You liked him.

You’d always liked him, that was the problem. Maybe he didn’t know how much—maybe he didn’t realize that he already had you wrapped around his finger.

[stylestarkey]

masterlist for frat!perv!manipulator!rafe x topper's dumb gf

summary: Rafe is just obsessed with his best friend’s girlfriend… and it only gets worse when she’s constantly in their shared room. Luckily, she’s always willing to be his helper.

warnings: manipulation, dubcon (?), cheating, ditsy/dumb!reader, kissing, dirty talk, praise, swearing, oral (f+m), handjob, unprotected piv sex, dryhumping, fingering, groping, lmk if I miss anything

𝗽𝗮𝗿𝘁 𝗼𝗻𝗲

𝗽𝗮𝗿𝘁 𝘁𝘄𝗼

𝗽𝗮𝗿𝘁 𝘁𝗵𝗿𝗲𝗲

𝗽𝗮𝗿𝘁 𝗳𝗼𝘂𝗿

𝗽𝗮𝗿𝘁 𝗳𝗶𝘃𝗲

[stylestarkey]

fuck valentine's day

genre: one shot, angst but happy ending, no explicit smut

pairing: taken!s4!rafe cameron x fem!bsf!reader

cw: strong language, angst but happy ending, suggestive language, major argument, mention of substance abuse (alcohol and coke), emotional distress, toxic relationship (not with you tho hihihi) and manipulation, brief mention of physical violence (just a punch), mildly suggestive scenes and hint of intimacy but no explicit smut, my reccomendation: 16+

summary: After the death of Ward Cameron, Rafe starts to reclaim his life, becoming more grounded and family-oriented. However, his close friendship with you slowly crumbles after Sabrina, his seemingly perfect girlfriend, enters the picture. You, grappling with suppressed feelings for Rafe, try to step back, but Sabrina's manipulative nature causes tensions to rise. On a stormy Valentine’s Day, a broken-down car leads to an unexpected confrontation between Rafe and you where emotions spill over. As truths are revealed, your complicated relationship takes an intense and transformative turn, forcing both to confront what you truly mean to each other.

word count: 8.3k

a/n: this is the most i've ever written in ONE day (yes i spent the whole valentine's day writing this lmao) and i put my whole soul into it, and i know it's LONG but i promise i tried my best to make it work. so anyway happy very late valentine's day to everyone, hope you enjoy this little one shot <3 maybe it's a little cheesy, cringe and cliche (especially at the end) but i guess that's what this day is about. and i really enjoyed writing it hihhi + would love to hear your thoughts on this one (would mean a lot)

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Ward Cameron’s death was, in your eyes, the best thing that could’ve ever happened to Rafe. He was finally free from the toxic relationship with his father. Free from years of manipulation, being pushed around, and constant disregard.

Of course, it hadn’t happened overnight. The first step had been taken long before Ward’s death, back when he fell into a coma and Rafe was suddenly thrust into the role of being the man of the house. It was during that time Rafe realized the family and their business could function without Ward Cameron at the helm.

Ward’s death was simply the final key that unlocked Rafe’s cage. And as he let go of his father, he also let go of a significant part of his old life.

He became more grounded, business-minded, and above all, family-oriented. He kept talking about fixing things with Sarah and pulling Wheezie away from Rose’s grip.

Rafe Cameron genuinely wanted to become a better man.

Watching him finally blossom as a person was so incredibly beautiful to witness. And yet, it shattered your heart into a thousand pieces knowing you weren’t the one standing by his side as it happened.

Sure, you had been there for him during his darkest, most destructive moments. You had stayed by his side when he said and did things that were nearly impossible to take back. He had hurt people close to him—you included—and yet, you had never left.

Deep down, you knew that underneath all the frustration and rage was a broken boy who just craved love and recognition. And no one had ever given him the chance to show that part of himself.

That’s exactly why you'd never dared to confess your feelings to him. He deserved love but there had never been a time when he was truly ready for a serious relationship.

Telling him about your feelings, purely out of selfishness, would’ve led to one of two outcomes: either an unstable relationship where he clung to the idea of being loved without genuinely loving you back, or the deterioration of your friendship due to his fear of commitment.

So, you suppressed your thoughts, feelings, and the love you held for him. You preferred to love him from afar as your best friend rather than risk dragging him into a formless relationship during his unstable state.

Tragically, that mindset became deeply ingrained in your brain. Even after Ward’s death, when Rafe visibly began to change for the better and showed clear signs of looking for something serious, you stayed silent. Not out of fear of losing him but out of sheer stubbornness, waiting for the “right moment.”

And that hesitation cost you your chance: another girl got there first and won Rafe’s heart.

Sabrina Anderson—he met her at a charity gala. She was stunningly beautiful, wealthy, had an excellent academic background, and everything about her screamed “old money.” She was the picture-perfect Kook girlfriend.

Everything Rafe thought he wanted in a woman.

And, for fuck’s sake, it felt like the universe was punishing you for your patience. Normally, you would’ve accompanied Rafe to his important events as his support but this one time, this one fucking time, you had canceled because you’d promised Topper you’d help him move into his stupid new place (yeah, he had finally gotten his act together and left his toxic family’s home). And like the idiot you were, you completely forgot the gala was happening that day.

“Shit, I’m so sorry. You know I usually write this stuff down in my calendar but I must’ve missed it somehow,” you said the night before the gala while helping him pick the perfect outfit.

Rafe just waved it off with a cheeky grin as he unbuttoned his shirt. “I’ll survive one evening without your bad jokes and complaining about the tiny dessert portions.”

“They are tiny portions. I think they’re expecting a bunch of kids as guests,” you retorted, your eyes flickering briefly to his sun-kissed, bare chest. You quickly averted your gaze and handed him a new shirt. “I think this one works better. Next time, I’ll be there—promise. Even if Topper’s new place is on fire.”

Rafe nodded, amused, as he slipped on the new shirt. “That’s not even unlikely with his mom around. That woman’s straight-up on ‘psycho mom marries son’ type shit.”

A laugh escaped your lips. “Don’t say that—next thing you know, it’ll be on TLC or some other trash TV channel.”

And so, you spent the rest of the evening together.

Rafe tried on a few more suits, all of which looked amazing on him (and in every single one of them, you wanted to rip the clothes right off him, though you'd never say that out loud).

You baked a pizza together, watched some movies in his bed, and every time you showed him one of your dumb, brain-rotting reels, he rolled his eyes—but every so often, he sent you one of his own because, deep down, he probably loved how much they made you laugh.

At some point, you fell asleep in his bed, and Rafe brought you an extra blanket. The next morning, he drove you home and wished you luck at Topper’s move.

Had you known that would be the last night the two of you could act like that, you would’ve told him everything.

But how could you have known that the next night, a new girl would enter his life? How could you have known that Sabrina Anderson would sweep him off his feet in a way you never could? And how could you have predicted that she would endanger your entire friendship so deeply that within a few months, you and Rafe were little more than acquaintances?

At first, everything seemed fine. Rafe told you about the gala, about Sabrina, and about how perfect she was. Of course, it broke your heart, but the way he spoke about her helped heal it again because he was genuinely smitten with her.

They started texting, going on dates, and Rafe did things for her he’d never done for anyone else. He bought her the most beautiful flowers, spoiled her with the most expensive jewelry, and gave everything to be a good boyfriend.

And so, their relationship grew more serious, and eventually, he introduced her to you, Topper, and Kelce at a party at Tannyhill.

That’s when everything went downhill.

Topper and Kelce obviously thought she was hot, of course—those idiots were just guys, after all. They couldn’t see past her perfectly shaped breasts and the cute ass hidden under a stylish dress.

But for you, alarm bells were ringing. Something about Sabrina just felt... off. Sure, she was incredibly sweet and nice but whenever she looked at you, there was something darker lurking beneath her gaze.

You dismissed it immediately, assuming you were just biased because of your own feelings for Rafe. A part of you simply couldn’t accept that another woman was making him happy.

Besides, you were still his best friend. You’d been through thick and thin together, and nothing could tear the two of you apart. Not even a girlfriend.

Sure, Sabrina would be part of everything from now on but the chemistry between you and Rafe... that was something special, and even an idiot could see it.

So it wasn’t entirely surprising when Sabrina cornered you in the kitchen later that night, a sweet smile plastered on her face. “Oh, hey, Y/N. Needed a little breather too?”

You were pouring yourself another drink, and even though she gave you a weird feeling, you smiled back at her. “Yeah, when Kelce DJs, it tends to get loud.”

Sabrina nodded in agreement but the smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. “True. Rafe seems to have some... interesting friends.”

The way she said it, while looking directly at you, should’ve been enough for you to go straight to Rafe and tell him something about Sabrina wasn’t right. But you just shrugged as you added vodka to your cup. “Kelce’s a bit weird but he’s cool once you get to know him. And Topper’s always reliable when it counts.”

“And you?” Her innocent look didn’t match her tone.

You raised your eyebrows slightly. “What about me?”

“When Rafe mentioned he had a girl best friend, I didn’t think that...” She paused, tilting her head with a bemused smile. “Well, you know, that she was his ex.”

What the fuck?

Your eyebrows shot up, and you shook your head in confusion. “I’m not his ex. Where did you get that from?”

Sabrina let out a soft giggle, as if your reaction had been overly dramatic. “You don’t have to get so defensive. I just thought, well, you two seem so close, and the way you look at him... it’s only natural I’d have a few concerns, right?”

You shook your head again, though you couldn’t stop the faint blush creeping across your cheeks. “We’re just friends, Sabrina. You don’t need to worry about me.”

“So... just to be clear, you two never had anything going on? You know, slept with each other or something?” She still wore that fake innocent smile.

What a bitch.

“No, of course not,” you replied dryly. “It’s always been purely platonic between me and Rafe.”

Sabrina let out a relieved sigh. “Oh, that’s a relief. Then I guess you’re basically like a little sister to him.”

Whatever that was supposed to mean. You shrugged. “I guess."

This time, Sabrina’s gaze darkened, though her facade still didn’t slip. “Good. I mean, I���d just like to think siblings behave a little more... appropriately.”

You only smiled in response but in that moment, the first brick of a massive wall between you and Rafe had been laid.

Because deep down, as much as it ate at you, Sabrina was right. It had never been an issue before if you shared a bed with him, wore his clothes, kissed him during one of Kelce’s stupid Truth or Dare games, or hung on him like a lovesick monkey when you got too drunk.

You had been both single and the flirty banter between you had always been just that—a few dumb words or gestures, nothing more.

But now Rafe had a girlfriend. He was taken. And all those things were no longer okay. And even though he was your best friend and hadn’t yet drawn those boundaries for the sake of his new relationship, you did.

At first, it was a slow process. Movie nights turned into movie afternoons, and instead of laying in his bed, you suggested the couch because it was cozier… right? And even though he still preferred you as his plus one for events, you started declining, insisting Sabrina would probably appreciate it more. Wouldn’t she, Rafe?

You also pulled away from hugs quicker than before, drank less at parties to avoid doing anything dumb around him, and when it came to games like Never Have I Ever or Truth or Dare, you became a mere spectator. What used to be teasing touches were reduced to the bare minimum.

Your friendship began to waver and Sabrina kept Rafe so busy—dragging him from one date to another, satisfying him in ways you could only dream of—that he barely noticed how far the two of you had drifted apart.

Of course, the others around you weren’t stupid. Topper and Kelce immediately noticed the strange new tension between you and Rafe. Even fucking Ruthie, Topper’s girlfriend—and the two of you were definitely not on good terms—pulled you aside one evening.

However, you knew she didn’t do it out of concern for you. No, Ruthie felt threatened by Sabrina’s presence just as much as you did.

“Are you seriously going to let her walk all over you?” she asked, cornering you outside the bathroom at a beach party. “That bitch is a manipulative snake.”

God, you wanted to agree, to vent to Ruthie about how much Sabrina pissed you off. But for Rafe’s sake, you bit back the words and said instead, “If you want, I can let him know how you feel. I’m sure he’ll love to hear it.”

Ruthie, unimpressed, just smiled. “Oh, please. When’s the last time you two even talked alone?”

That stung because it was true.

Three months into his relationship with Sabrina, she’d already built a thick wall between you and Rafe. These days, you only saw each other at parties or when the group hung out—and even then, getting a private moment with him was rare. Sabrina clung to him like a shadow, always watching, always there. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d done something together, just the two of you. He barely seemed to have time for anyone else anymore, not even you.

And that was the problem. Rafe was so terrified of letting this chance at a “perfect” future with someone slip away that he clung to Sabrina just as tightly as she clung to him. Because even though Ward Cameron was no longer alive, one thing had stuck with Rafe: the idea of family.

That was what Ward had valued above all else, and Rafe thought he’d finally found that dream with Sabrina Anderson.

And even though it tore you apart, even though it cost you sleepless, tear-filled nights, you couldn’t bring yourself to talk to him about it. It was so incredibly wrong and cowardly, especially because you KNEW what kind of person Sabrina was. You KNEW that, eventually, her controlling nature would probably drive a wedge between Rafe and the rest of the group—Topper, Kelce, everyone. But in that moment, he seemed happy.

And you couldn’t be the one to take that happiness away from him, even if it meant losing him in the process.

It was unbelievably stupid, and deep down, you knew he deserved better. But the real problem wasn’t Sabrina—it was you.

No matter who stood at Rafe’s side, any girl would have reacted the same way Sabrina did. Maybe they wouldn’t have been as cunning about it, but no girl would have been okay with the bond you shared with Rafe. Some might’ve confronted him directly, others might’ve gone after you like Sabrina had, and some would’ve just given up and broken things off immediately.

And Rafe had realized that too, in his own way. The connection between you and him... it wasn’t a normal “best friends” kind of thing. You were probably the most important person in his life—until Sabrina showed up. But Rafe had been too blind, too scared, to admit it to himself.

Or worse, to admit it to you.

Because the truth was, Rafe had feelings for you. He wasn’t stupid—how could he not have fallen for you? You’d stood by him during his darkest moments, even when he confessed to you about killing Peterkin. Hell, you would’ve followed him to Barbados if he hadn’t insisted you stay behind, where you’d be safe.

But Rafe also knew how messed up he was. He knew there was something deeply wrong with him. He was loud, impulsive, and reckless. At his worst, he’d nearly been willing to kill Sarah and his own father.

Rafe Cameron was a deeply unstable wreck and the last thing he wanted was to drag you down with him.

You deserved someone better. Someone kind and loving, someone who didn’t have anger issues or a fucked-up mind like his. Someone who knew their limits and respected others’.

God, how many times had he sat next to you at parties, with you drunk or high, leaning against him, your big, tired eyes looking up at him like he was the only person in the world that mattered? It had taken every ounce of self-control not to press his lips to yours right then and there, to carry you upstairs to his bed and forget about the party downstairs.

And the worst part? The thought of all the times you’d actually fallen asleep next to him in his bed. How badly he’d wanted you then—to kiss you, to love you, to feel you. Not in the way he'd done with random hookups in the past. God, no. What he felt for you ran so much deeper, more primal, than that. It was like hunger, like thirst. He didn’t just want you. He needed you—every piece of you, your whole being.

So, as time passed and you remained distant, Rafe Cameron broke under the weight of the wall between you.

But while you hid away in your room, drowning yourself in movies, shows, mindless phone games, loud music, and lonely nights, Rafe fell back into old habits.

Not all at once, but slowly—quietly—in a way that would destroy him eventually. More empty whiskey bottles started showing up around the house. The occasional bag of coke appeared in his drawers again. And when he came home from parties with Sabrina, it was rarely without a bruise or a bloody nose.

And when he fucked her afterward, it wasn’t out of love. It was out of frustration and anger—anger at himself for losing you. And every time a soft moan left Sabrina’s lips, it wasn’t her he thought of.

It was you.

Of course, you heard about all of this—not because you were there to witness his behavior (you avoided any place Rafe might show up these days) but through Topper and Kelce. They’d call or text you constantly, begging you to make up with Rafe. Because it wasn’t just you they were losing from the group—it was him too.

One night, Rafe even punched Topper, giving him a bloody nose, after Topper had the guts to bring up the whole situation. It wasn’t the complaints about Sabrina that set Rafe off—no, it was when your beautiful name had left Topper's lips.

Because Topper was right: Rafe had screwed it all up.

But he was too angry, too broken, to believe he could ever fix things with you.

Of course, he was Rafe Cameron. If Sabrina actually broke up with him, he’d just find someone else—at least, that’s what he had told himself for a while. But whether it was out of habit, some deeper fear, or simply the thought of losing someone again, he couldn’t deny it: he didn’t want to lose her. So, when Sabrina made it clear she was serious this time, he tried to do better.

Especially because deep down, Rafe wasn’t sure if he had the energy—or the patience—to let someone new get that close again.

No, he couldn’t let her go. He wouldn’t.

And what better day to secure her forever than Valentine’s Day?

Rafe wasn’t exactly a romantic but for this occasion, he had it all planned out: He’d take Sabrina out, spoil her with whatever she wanted, treat her like royalty. Dinner at the most expensive, exclusive restaurant, a private balcony lit by candlelight. Then, when they got back to Tannyhill, he’d carry her inside, through a house decorated with rose petals, scented candles, and heart-shaped balloons.

He’d take her to their shared bedroom, hold her close, and tell her how much he loved her—that he couldn’t imagine his life without her. And then, he’d drop to one knee, pull out the most extravagant, glamorous ring she could dream of, and ask her to marry him. He figured she’d probably say yes. After all, despite everything, she knew Rafe would do anything to keep her, and being a Cameron opened doors that her own name couldn’t.

And later, as he bent her over in the rose-adorned bed, he’d remind her how perfect she was. Though in truth, he’d be convincing himself that losing you had at least brought him this.

But, as if the universe was punishing him for his past and future mistakes, the weather had other plans. A torrential downpour hit the island, complete with strong winds and relentless rain. Leaving the house was impossible—any attempt would’ve ended in getting drenched or worse, an accident.

So, Rafe had no choice but to scrap his grand plans and stay at Tannyhill with Sabrina. Unfortunately, he’d already teased her days in advance about the “special surprises” he had in store.

In short: Sabrina wasn’t happy. She was upset about the weather, frustrated that Rafe’s plans had fallen through, and irritated with him by association.

It took everything Rafe had to hold his temper and avoid a full-blown argument. But he was determined not to screw this up. He cooked for her, gave her massages, played the music she liked, and later that evening, he drew her a luxurious bath to unwind.

That seemed to calm her, at least a little.

So, while Rafe stayed inside, trying to salvage the day, you were spending your Valentine’s with your grandmother. (It wasn’t like you had a date anyway, so why celebrate it?) She lived about an hour outside the Outer Banks, and you’d spent the day catching up with her, enjoying the quiet.

But as someone who rarely paid attention to her phone nowadays and definitely didn’t check the weather, you had no idea about the storm brewing in the area.

It wasn’t until you started your drive home that you realized just how bad it was. The rain came down in sheets, so thick it was nearly impossible to see more than a few feet ahead. The roads were slippery, the wind was howling, and you found yourself gripping the wheel tighter than ever.

“Okay,” you told yourself, “just go slow. Better to get home late than not at all.”

That was the plan, anyway—until your dad’s expensive Bentley decided to give up on you in the middle of an empty back road. No houses nearby, no streetlights, and definitely no one around to help.

You sighed, muttering a curse under your breath. Okay, it’s fine. Probably just a fluke. You tried turning the key in the ignition again. Then again. And again. Nothing.

Alright, not so fine.

Panic began creeping in but you forced yourself to stay calm. You couldn’t fix the car, and stepping out in this weather wasn’t an option. Your only choice was to call someone for help.

Your grandmother was already asleep by now and you didn’t want to worry her. Your parents were out of town for the weekend, so they were off the table, too. That left Kelce and Topper.

You tried Topper first but he sent you straight to voicemail. You were pretty sure Ruthie had something to do with that. Kelce picked up but the loud music and slurred tone on the other end told you he was having way too much fun at some club to be of any use.

“Great,” you muttered under your breath.

You scrolled through your contacts but nobody else seemed like a good option. Sure, you had other friends from your years at high school but who would actually drive half an hour in this weather on Valentine's Day just to pick you up?

Your thumb hovered over Rafe’s name. Your chest tightened.

The Rafe you used to know would’ve come for you in a heartbeat—rain, wind, storm, volcano, it wouldn’t have mattered. He would’ve been there, no questions asked. But now? You hadn’t spoken to him in weeks, and you weren’t even sure if he still had your number saved.

Besides, you didn’t want to ruin his Valentine’s with Sabrina. Topper had mentioned things were rocky between them for a while but apparently, Rafe had gotten things back on track.

So, that left… what? Spending the night in the car and hoping Kelce or Topper would sober up enough to rescue you in the morning? Not exactly ideal.

You glanced around nervously. You didn’t know this area well and the heavy rain pounding against the roof wasn’t helping your growing unease. It was dark, the only light coming from your phone which was now dangerously low on battery.

Great, you thought, sinking back into the seat. Just perfect.

Yeah, fuck, you were scared.

You bit the inside of your cheeks, your fingers hovering over Rafe's number. He probably wouldn’t even pick up—most likely cuddled up with Sabrina on the couch.

He’s not going to answer anyway, you thought to yourself, swallowing the lump of guilt forming in your throat. Then, you hit call.

Not even two rings later, he answered. “Y/N?” His voice sounded confused but also alert.

A lump formed in your throat at the sound of his familiar voice and only then did you realize how much you’d hoped he would actually answer.

“Rafe…” Your voice was quiet, slightly shaky, given the situation you were in. “I... I’m so sorry to bother you. I know it’s Valentine’s Day, and I wouldn’t be calling if it wasn’t—”

“What’s wrong? Are you okay?” His tone shifted immediately, sharper now, filled with concern.

“Yes! No! I mean… no,” you stammered, struggling to get the words out. “I was just at my grandma’s, and my dad’s Bentley broke down. I already tried calling Kelce and Topper, but—”

“Where are you?” he interrupted, and your heart clenched.

“Rafe, you don’t have to—I just thought maybe—”

“Y/N.” His voice was firm now, leaving no room for argument. “Send me your location. I’ll come get you.”

You hesitated, then muttered, “I really don’t want to ruin your Valentine’s Day.”

“Fuck Valentine’s Day,” Rafe said, frustration in his voice but also unmistakable concern. “Send me your location, and tomorrow morning I’ll beat the shit out of Kelce and Topper for not answering.”

Despite the tension of the situation, despite the fear and guilt gnawing at you, a laugh escaped your lips. For a moment, you paused, then sent him your live location.

“I’ll be there soon. Stay in the car, lock the doors, and don’t open up for anyone,” he instructed.

You barely managed to thank him before he hung up. And despite the guilt weighing heavy on you, an immense wave of relief washed over you.

Rafe was in his closet, pulling out two jackets and a hoodie, when Sabrina walked out of the bathroom, her cheeks flushed pink from the steam and a towel barely wrapped around her, exposing her still-damp legs.

She frowned. “What are you doing?”

“I’m picking up Y/N,” he said, slipping on one of the jackets. “Her car broke down in the middle of nowhere.”

A flush of red rose to Sabrina’s pretty face, her brow furrowing deeply. “And she called you?”

Rafe shrugged, sitting down on the edge of the bed to pull on his boots. “No one else picked up. I’ll be back in an hour—”

“Are you serious, Rafe?” Her voice sharpened, rising in pitch. “It’s Valentine’s Day. You’re driving out in this weather for HER, but you couldn’t even take me to dinner in town?”

Rafe grimaced, but his voice remained calm. “Like I said, I’ll be back soon. Don’t make this into a big deal.”

Sabrina scoffed, crossing her arms. “A big deal? You think I am the one being dramatic? Y/N is a grown woman. She knows we’re spending this evening together, and she still called you?”

"She called because she needs help, not because she’s trying to ruin your night or some shit," Rafe said, his tone making it clear she was being ridiculous. Still, he didn’t want to push her any further. He ran a hand over his face and sighed. “Look, baby—”

But Sabrina just shook her head in irritation. “My night? What’s that supposed to mean?! This is our night, Rafe. And now you’re ditching our night for her?!” She stepped closer, her voice rising. “I’ve always known she was a threat to our relationship.”

“A threat?” Rafe raised his brows in disbelief as he stood. “Come on, Sabrina, that’s insane. Just drop this bullshit.”

Her face flushed a deep, angry red. “I—excuse me? Do you even hear yourself right now? She hasn’t called you in weeks, Rafe. Weeks. And the second she does, you’re running off like some pathetic, lovesick puppy? It’s so embarrassing. For you, and for me.”

It took everything Rafe had to keep from completely losing it. Her words hit a nerve, and deep down, he knew she wasn’t entirely wrong. You had pulled away from him—hell, both of you had.

His blood was boiling, but all he could think about was you, sitting alone in that damn car in this awful weather.

Rafe took a step toward her, towering over her. Maybe he could control his words but he couldn't control his voice, now loud and frustrated. “Tell me then, what the fuck do you want me to do, huh?! Leave her stranded out there all by herself?”

Sabrina nodded as if it was the most obvious answer in the world. “She’ll figure it out, it’s just one night and—”

“Okay, that’s enough.” His voice was dangerously calm now. “Pack your things and get the fuck out of my house.”

For a moment, Sabrina stared at him, stunned. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” Rafe said, his gaze cold and full of suppressed disdain. “Get dressed and leave.”

She let out an incredulous laugh. “Are you kidding me? You’re being crazy, you—”

“If you’re not out the door in five minutes, I’ll make sure to throw you out myself.”

Sabrina blinked, her face twisting in disbelief. “You can’t just kick me out. It’s pouring outside, Rafe—it’s Valentine’s Day!”

Unbothered, Rafe shrugged, mimicking her earlier words. “You’re a grown woman. You’ll figure it out.”

And as the leech that called herself Sabrina Anderson finally disappeared from Tannyhill, Rafe climbed into his SUV and took off.

His chest felt tight, his mind racing, yet at the same time, he felt an overwhelming sense of relief. You were the only thing on his mind right now. He didn’t even try to put into words the heavy, suffocating feeling that lingered.

He’d messed up again—this time with Sabrina. But there was no regret, no sadness, nothing. If anything, it felt good to finally be rid of her. It wasn’t until halfway through the drive that he realized how much of a blind idiot he’d been. On some subconscious level, he’d been waiting for a moment like this, a reason to cut her out of his life.

For the first time in months, he could breathe freely, without her breathing down his neck. And as the last few months replayed in his mind, it hit him—she’d been a parasite, manipulating him, controlling him, molding him to fit her needs. Maybe he’d known all along but he hadn’t wanted to admit it.

Breaking free from her was almost as hard as breaking free from his father. And, apart from Topper—who’d earned himself a punch to the face—no one had called him out. No one had tried to wake him up.

Not even you.

He shook off the thoughts as he spotted the silhouette of a dark car up ahead. His heart sank, thinking about how you must be feeling—completely alone on that pitch-black road.

Pulling up behind the Bentley, he grabbed the umbrella and jacket he’d thrown onto the passenger seat and stepped out into the pouring rain.

The umbrella didn’t do much—his jeans were soaked through almost immediately. But he didn’t care. He knocked on your car door, and the look of relief on your face when you unlocked and opened it almost made his chest ache.

Then he noticed the redness in your eyes and a heavy feeling settled in his stomach. “You okay? Here, take the jacket.”

Shivering, you hesitated but took it anyway, the relief coursing through your body almost enough to keep you warm.

“Rafe…” you started as you stepped under his umbrella but he shook his head.

“Don’t,” he said, his hand resting gently on your back. “Let’s get you out of this weather.”

His touch sent a shiver down your spine but you didn’t argue. You hurried with him to his SUV and he opened the door for you, waiting to make sure you were inside before tossing the umbrella into the backseat and climbing in himself.

For a moment, the only sound was the pounding rain against the roof. Rafe gestured to the hoodie on the dashboard. “Put that on—you’re just in shorts.”

Still, you hesitated. It felt wrong somehow. The familiar scent of his car—of him—was already too much.

“Jesus Christ, Y/N.” He grabbed the hoodie and draped it over your bare knees. “Stop being so stubborn.”

You didn’t know what to think or say. Rafe had come out here for you in this weather, left Sabrina behind, and… while you were endlessly grateful, you couldn’t shake the guilt.

As he started the car and pulled back onto the road, the guilt churned in your chest again. “Rafe, I’m really sorry. If I’d known it was raining like this, I would’ve stayed at my grandma’s, I—”

“Drop it,” Rafe cut in, his eyes fixed on the road. “You needed help, and I came. That’s all there is to it.”

You glanced at him, noting the tension in his jaw, the way his profile seemed sharper in the dim light. Hesitantly, you asked, “And Sabrina… how mad is she?”

It surprised you that she hadn’t insisted on coming along.

“She’s gone,” he said, still staring straight ahead.

Your heart sank to your stomach. “Gone? I… what do you mean, gone?”

“I threw her out.” His tone was blunt, almost defiant. He finally looked at you, his expression a mix of frustration and exhaustion.

For a moment, you didn’t know what to say. “What—why? What happened? Is it because I called? I—”

“Because she’s a fucking bitch,” Rafe cut in flatly. He dragged a hand down his face before turning back to you, his tone softening as he caught the shock in your eyes. “I should’ve done it a long time ago. I just… I was too blinded by all her fake bullshit.”

Your fingers clenched into the fabric of his hoodie on your lap, your thoughts spiraling. “Rafe, I’m really—”

“No, Y/N,” he interrupted again, his brows pulling together. “I swear to God, if you say you’re sorry one more time, I’ll throw you out too.” There wasn’t an ounce of seriousness in his voice, though. He sighed heavily, the frustration evident. “It’s all just… so fucked. Everything about this. It pisses me off. I really thought she was the one, and I was so blind to all her flaws.” He let out a bitter laugh. “Jesus, Y/N, why didn’t you say something?”

You blinked, taken aback. “What?”

“Don’t ‘what’ me,” he shot back, the frustration he’d been holding back now bubbling to the surface. “It’s obvious she came between us. I was too stupid—fuck, I was too into her to see it. But you…” His voice faltered, and he seemed to collect himself. “You’re not stupid. You’re always the first one to spot red flags in people. Hell, even Topper eventually figured it out.” He shook his head, clearly frustrated. “I don’t get it. Why didn’t you say anything? Why did you let her play her stupid little games?”

You couldn’t tell if he was angry at you, Sabrina, himself, the situation, or all of it combined. “I…” But what could you say without revealing too much? “I thought she made you happy and I didn’t want to be the one to ruin that. I didn’t think it would turn out like this.”

“Bullshit.” The sharpness in his tone made you flinch. “You were my best friend. You’ve never had a problem speaking your mind when something bothered you. And now you’re telling me you let that bitch silence you?”

There it was—you were his best friend. Hearing it from his mouth shattered something deep inside you that you thought was already broken.

“That bitch, Rafe,” you snapped, a sharp edge creeping into your own voice, “was your girlfriend, just so you know. So, yeah, fine, I’ll admit it—when you first introduced her, every alarm bell in my head went off. Is that what you want to hear? I knew, and I didn’t do a damn thing about it. Boo-fucking-hoo. But you know what? You let it happen just as much as I did.”

And in that moment, you realized just how angry you were at Rafe. Sure, he’d been infatuated but was that really an excuse? He was just as much to blame as you were for all of this.

Rafe scoffed bitterly as he turned onto the main road leading into Figure 8. “I don’t get it. Did she say something to you? Is that why you pulled away? Shit, did she have something on you? Nudes or some shit like that?”

“What? No!” You stared at him, equal parts exhausted and horrified. You were cold, hungry, and overwhelmed by a storm of emotions boiling beneath the surface. You didn’t even know where to start. “Let's drop this, I'm tired. Please just take me home.”

But when he drove past your street without even slowing down, you frowned at him in disbelief. “What--”

“We’re talking this out,” he said flatly, eyes fixed on the road ahead. “If I drop you off now, nothing’s gonna change, and I’m so done with this shit.”

You opened your mouth to argue but when his tired, frustrated eyes met yours, the words caught in your throat. “Afterward, I’ll drive you home, and you can sulk in peace if you want,” he added, his tone softer but firm.

You stayed silent and turned your gaze out the window. You knew him well enough to realize there was no point in arguing. When Rafe set his mind on something, there was no swaying him.

By the time the SUV pulled up to Tannyhill, the storm had mostly passed, though the occasional raindrop still pattered against the windshield. The two of you climbed out in silence. Despite the light drizzle, Rafe grabbed the umbrella from the backseat and opened it over you both as he walked you to the house.

The door clicked open with a soft push and Rafe let you step inside first. As the door shut behind you and the warm glow of the entryway light filled the space, you were suddenly hit by an overwhelming, almost suffocating sense of unease.

The walls were lined with red heart-shaped balloons. The faint scent of roses lingered in the air, mingled with something sweeter you couldn’t quite place. Blown-out candles dotted every available surface, and the staircase was covered in a delicate carpet of red rose petals leading to the next floor.

It was… perfect.

Your stomach twisted as you took it all in, the earlier argument momentarily forgotten. Still staring at the carefully arranged display, you spoke softly. “You did all this for her?”

Rafe let out a bitter laugh. “Shit, I was even gonna propose to her tonight.”

Your heart stopped. A proposal? He’d been that serious about Sabrina? You felt like throwing up. This was all too much to take in.

“I’m glad you called,” he said after a moment, his voice softer this time, carrying an edge of something almost vulnerable.

You pressed your lips together and turned around.

Now, under the bright light, you could finally see just how much this relationship had drained him. The dark circles under his eyes, the pallor of his skin, the way his cheekbones stood out more sharply than they should—it all painted a picture of someone who had given too much and gotten nothing in return.

And then the dam broke. All the emotions you’d suppressed over the past few months—the frustration, the sadness, the guilt, and the fear—boiled down into the rawest form of emotion: anger.

“She’s a stupid fucking whore,” was all you managed to get out.

Rafe raised an amused eyebrow, caught off guard by your reaction. “What?”

You shook your head, struggling to put your swirling thoughts into words. “She’s a stupid, arrogant, deceitful, manipulative bitch who doesn't deserve you. I mean, seriously, she ruined this,” you gestured between the two of you, “us. She tore us apart. You were my best friend, Rafe. There were times when we’d spend an entire week together, just the two of us, rotting in bed and sending Kelce and Topper stupid snaps, and then she came along, and… and everything changed overnight.”

Your brows furrowed deeply. “She’s such a disgusting person—no, scratch that—a creature. A monster. On the very first night I met her, she came up to me, and she had the nerve to question my relationship with you. Like, she thought our friendship was too intimate or some bullshit like that. And I don’t know, I guess it got to me. What if she was right? I didn’t want to be the problem. I didn’t want to be a threat to your relationship with her. So, I backed off.”

You groaned, frustration evident in your voice. “God, I could just rip my hair out. I should’ve said something. To her, and especially to you! But I was so afraid that I was wrong about her. That I was blinded by my…” Feelings. You stopped yourself, the word stuck in your throat. “By my worry for you. I mean, at first, it seemed like she was good for you, so I stayed quiet. But by then, the damage was done and…” Your voice softened, almost like a question. “At some point, I thought, maybe if it was so easy to build a wall between us, then maybe our friendship was doomed to fail anyway.”

And there it was. You’d said everything you’d bottled up, and yet, there was still so much left unsaid. But you were exhausted, done with all of this, your chest rising and falling as you struggled to catch your breath.

Rafe stared at you, his expression unreadable—was he stunned, irritated, frustrated? You couldn’t tell.

Finally, after a moment of seemingly endless silence, he spoke. “Shit, this bitch has been right all along.”

His words hit you like a lightning strike. Before you could ask him what he meant, Rafe closed the distance between you and his hands cupped your face as he pressed his lips to yours as if they were the only place he ever belonged.

Frozen, overwhelmed, and confused, you stood still as a thousand questions and emotions surged through you. But in that moment, you pushed them all aside and sank into it. Your fingers clung to his shirt, afraid to let go.

His kiss was raw, desperate, hungry as if you were the only thing that could satisfy the emotions he’d been holding back. Rafe’s hands slid to your waist, pulling you closer as he deepened the kiss. Every pent-up feeling from the past few weeks poured out through the way his lips moved against yours.

And god, you felt so good. Your soft lips on his, the warmth of your body pressed against his. Shit. Even though he’d had Sabrina beneath him night after night, fucking her mindlessly, in this moment, he felt so endlessly touch-starved.

Not for the empty satisfaction of release, no.

For you.

When he finally pulled back, both of you were breathless, your foreheads resting together as you tried to steady yourselves.

Your lips were swollen from the kiss, and you were too scared and stunned to say anything, afraid that speaking would shatter the moment.

“I’m such a fucking idiot,” Rafe finally said, his thumb tracing soft circles on your cheek, his voice low and raw. “It’s you. It’s always been you, Y/N. Fuck, it wouldn’t have mattered if it was Sabrina or any other brain-dead girl. If you called, I would’ve come running every single time. And I almost lost you because of all her bullshit." He sighed, lowering his eyes for a second, trying to grapple his words. "I think, somewhere in my head, I convinced myself I wasn’t good enough for you. That you deserved better. So I went for girls like Sabrina. Girls who are... Shit, I don’t know, polished and perfect on the outside but completely empty on the inside. The kind of girl I thought I was supposed to be with.

“But she’s not perfect." He scoffed. "Holy shit, not even close. She’s pretentious and selfish, and she made me feel like I had to change just to fit into her world. But you?” He let out a nervous laugh, meeting your eyes again, and there was a vulnerability in his tone that you’d never heard before. “You’ve never wanted me to change. You’ve always let me be ... me—even when I’m a complete fucking idiot. You’re the only person who’s ever made me feel like I’m not too much. Like I don’t have to prove anything.”

For a moment, his words hung in the air, sinking in. Your brain needed a second to fully process everything he’d just said.

His blue eyes bore into your soul as if he were anxiously waiting for your approval as if the way you returned his kiss hadn’t been answer enough. As if your next reaction would determine his entire life.

And then you laughed, a sweet and soft sound escaping your lips, cheeks burning, still hyper-aware of the feel of his lips on yours. Overwhelmed, exhausted, and struggling to find the right words, you let your instincts take over. Your hands softly found his cheeks, pulling him back to your lips.

Rafe didn’t hesitate. He took it as an invitation, wrapping his arms around you completely. His hands slid from your waist down to your hips, then lower. When he lifted you effortlessly, your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist, your hands finding his neck.

This time, the kiss was slower, deeper—like both of you were trying to savor every second, afraid this moment might slip away the very next.

He pressed you gently against the wall, and the cold surface sent a shiver down your spine.

Your body's reaction made him smile into the kiss before pulling back slightly, his forehead resting against yours. “This isn’t exactly the most comfortable spot, huh?”

A soft laugh escaped you. And with that sweet little sound, the last stubborn traces of tension melted away. The days, weeks, months—all those nights spent alone in your bed, frustrated and hurt by this whole... fucked-up, messed-up situation.

And hell, you didn’t have, shit no, you didn’t want to waste a single ounce of energy or thought on that time anymore. So all you said was "Please, I’m used to your lumpy mattress.”

“Yeah?” His eyes sparkled with playful mischief and his hands gave your butt a teasing squeeze. “Well, so far, all you’ve done is sleep in it.”

Heat rushed to your face, and before you could say anything, he adjusted his grip on you, holding you like he was afraid you might slip away. Your heart was racing, tumbling over itself in your chest, as he carried you upstairs, his arms steady but his pace a little too eager, a little too desperate, like he’d been waiting for this just as long as you had.

When he reached the top, he nudged the door open with his foot, and it felt like the rest of the world disappeared. No noise, no distractions, just you and him, in the quiet of his room, where nothing else mattered.

He set you down gently, his hands lingering on your waist like he couldn’t bring himself to let go. His lips found yours again—not rushed, not frantic, but slow and deliberate, like he was making up for every second you’d been apart.

You felt the weight of it all in every kiss—the weeks, months, maybe even years of feelings neither of you had dared to name. His hands moved over you like he was memorizing you, tracing your body in a way that was equal parts hesitant and hungry, like he didn’t want to scare you but couldn’t hold back anymore.

Your fingers softly moved over his buzzed hair, pulling him closer, and he let out a low, almost broken sound against your lips that sent a shiver through you. His breath was warm as his kisses trailed down your neck, and it was overwhelming but in the best way possible.

That night, the room was filled with quiet laughter and soft murmurs, the sound of his name slipping from your lips like it was meant to. Rafe's touch was gentle but sure, every movement unspoken proof of just how much he'd missed you. The hours blurred together, and for once, nothing else mattered—just the two of you, tangled up and lost in each other like this was where you were always supposed to be.

And even though all of it—the candles, the balloons, the rose petals, a ring that never found its finger—had been meant for a manipulative bitch called Sabrina Anderson, she was already forgotten in both of your heads.

Erased by this moment. By you.

Because, like Valentine’s Days, she had always been all surface: Pretty words, empty gestures, and nothing real beneath it.

And if you both were being honest, this cheesy day was overrated anyway. Like Rafe had said: Fuck Valentine’s Day.

And sometimes, fuck the person you end up confessing your love to at the end of it. Even–and maybe especially–if they were your former best friend.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

[stylestarkey]

Fake It Till You Feel It - Rafe Cameron Series Masterlist

Summary- You arrive at Topper Thornton’s party, expecting a fun night with friends—until you see Alex with a new girl wrapped around him. The same Alex who told you just weeks ago he “wasn’t ready for a relationship” after you had slowly started to fall for him. The betrayal stings, but what hurts more is how easily he acts like you never happened.

Mutual friend Rafe Cameron is dealing with his own issue—Amelia, a girl who refuses to take the hint that he’s not interested. When you and Rafe start talking about your current situations, Amelia interrupts your conversation. You impulsively pretend to be Rafe’s girlfriend to get her to back off. To your surprise, it works. You also notice Alex looking pissed. After Amelia leaves, you and Rafe strike a deal—pretend to date until both Alex and Amelia get the message. Simple right?

However, longer the deal goes on, the more the lines blur between what’s real and what’s not.

••••••••••••••• •••••••••••••• ••••••••••••••

Part 1- The Beginning of a Game

Part 2- An Unspoken Routine

Part 3- The Rescue Mission

Part 4- Two Can Play This Game

Part 5- Blurred Lines

Part 6- Mixed Signals and Missed Chances

Part 7- (coming soon)

[stylestarkey]

rafe Cameron has started blowing off gf!reader to hangout with his friends like cancelling plans last minute, leaving in the middle of a date, and just ignoring/neglecting her when all she wants is to just spend time with him. And it makes her so sad and insecure and she finally confronts him when he tries to leave their plans and she says "if you don't want me anymore please just say it and stop stringing me along" and just breaks down and he feels terrible, she's the love of his life and he didn't realize what he had been doing and makes it up to her with cuddles gifts breakfast in bed and maybeee some smut

strung along the line.

pairing — rafe cameron x fem!reader

word count — 1.2k

warnings — lotta hurt lotta comfort, near-break up, make-up, fluff

synopsis — after rafe stops putting in enough effort into your relationship, you confront him about stringing you along.

notes — ugh my heart. why are boys so stupid sometimes.

the first time it happened, it stung a little, but you were sure it wasn’t on purpose. rafe didn’t show up to the date, leaving you to sit in the parking lot of the restaurant, tears streaming down your cheeks. it was more disappointment than anything else, but rafe chalked it up to getting caught up with topper and kelce at the paintball place, the date completely slipping his mind. 

you left it at that, opting to give him another chance. he missed that one too, his excuse being something to do with ward and some kook bullshit you didn’t understand. the last time, however, was different. 

the two of you were in the middle of dinner at your apartment. you’d made a home-cooked meal you found a recipe for online, and the two of you sat at the couch, about an hour into a movie you’d been begging him to watch for weeks. he was there, but mentally he was somewhere else. 

it felt like every minute on the minute he was checking his phone or texting someone. as the movie progressed, you became more and more fed up. then you watched him send a text and then look at you, face screaming i hate to do this, but. 

“you’re leaving, aren’t you?” the words only amplify your anger. 

“yeah, the boys wanna go try out topper’s new wave-runners, can we take a raincheck?” it’s almost as if he has no idea how much this hurts. or maybe he just doesn’t care. 

you scoff, shaking your head as you stand from the couch. you pick the plates up from the table and walk into the kitchen without saying a word. you rinse the dishes and place them into the dishwasher, dropping a pod into it and hitting the start button. 

“babe? is it cool if i dip? they’re blowing up my phone right now,” he reiterates from the couch, brows raised expectantly. 

“whatever, rafe,” you shrug emotionlessly as you make your way back to the living room. you curl into yourself on the opposite side of the couch, wrapping yourself in one of the throw blankets as you back out of the movie and put on the show you’d been binging recently. 

“you mad at me?” he asks, confused. 

you let out a wry laugh at that, cutting a glare at him. “what do you think, rafe?” 

“i don’t get why you’re mad, though?” 

“i’m not mad, rafe,” you look at him, eyes watering, “if you don’t wanna be here anymore i’m not gonna hold you hostage.” 

“what?” he cocks his head back at that, “what are you talking about?” 

“dude,” you scoff, “it just feels like you want nothing to do with me anymore. like every time we have a date or try to hang out you either leave early or just don’t show up and i just-” you can't help the way your voice cracks, “i just can’t keep waiting around for you all the time, rafe. this is killing me, so if you don’t wanna do this anymore just tell me now, okay? stop stringing me along, please.” 

rafe’s face falls with realization, his heart clenching at the look on your face alone. “oh shit, babe,” he starts, expression riddled with regret and agony. “fuck, i’m so sorry, i-i’ve been such a terrible boyfriend lately. it’s not you, i promise you that, i don’t know why i haven’t been putting in enough effort, i just have been so carried away with kelce and topper that i haven’t even noticed what i’ve been doing to you. i’m so sorry, baby. i do wanna be here, more than anything, i want to be with you more than anything.” 

his words send you spiralling a bit, tears flowing more freely now. you sob softly, hands flying up to cover your face. “i just don’t know what to do anymore.” 

“i know, baby,” he can't help the way his own voice cracks this time, “i never meant for it to be this way, please, please just give me one more chance. let me make it up to you, okay? i promise i’ll be a better boyfriend.”

“i wanna believe you, rafe, i really do,” you sniffle, shoulders falling in exhaustion, “but i just don’t think I can anymore.” 

rafe drags his hands over his head anxiously, “c’mon, baby, please. i swear to god, if i fuck up again you never have to see or talk to me again, okay? just let me prove it to you?”

you gnaw at the inside of your cheek for a bit, eyes locked on his bright blue irises. “fine. but don’t make me regret this, okay?”

“i swear i won’t,” he holds his pinky out to yours, waiting for you to link your own pinky with his. once you do, he brings your hand up to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss against your soft skin. 

he texts topper and kelce, telling them to fuck off since he’s at dinner with his girl, and puts his phone on do not disturb. he cuddles into you on the couch, pulling your head onto his chest while his ringed hand rubs soft shapes onto your back. “i love you,” he hums into your scalp before pressing a kiss onto the hair.

“i love you, rafe,” you mutter back, heart panging at his words but aching to believe that it’s true. “more than anything.” 

“more than everything,” rafe retorts before pulling you tighter into his chest, nearly suffocating you in a hug. “i really am sorry.” 

you nod against his chest, feeling the tears well up in your eyes again. you desperately blink them away, hand gripping his t-shirt tightly as you control your breathing. 

you aren’t entirely sure when you fell asleep, or when rafe moved you to your bed. you woke up to the smell of bacon, eggs, and maple syrup. you pulled the charger from your phone and checked the time, a glaring 7:45 shining back at you. 

you scrolled on your phone for a few minutes before rafe made his way to the room with a tray of fruit, tiny pancakes, bacon, and scrambled eggs, just like you liked them. he even went to the store to get you more of your favorite breakfast drink; cranberry juice. 

“bon appetit,” he grinned at you as he placed the tray in your lap. 

“oh my god, rafe, when did you have time to do all this?” you look at him tenderly, heart fluttering at the time and energy he put into your meal. 

“i couldn’t sleep so I went to the store and got some stuff for breakfast,” he shrugs, scratching at the back of his neck awkwardly. “it’s no biggie, plus I know you don’t eat unless someone feeds you most of the time.” 

“that’s an exaggeration,” you huff, “i'm just not hungry most of the time.” 

“yea, well, you still gotta eat, babe,” he shrugs again as he scooches in next to you. “how is it?”

“it looks amazing,” you can practically hear your stomach growling at you just from the smell of the food, much less the sight. after taking a bite of everything on your plate, you look at him, nodding in approval, “it’s delicious.” 

“good,” rafe smiles at you, “i’m glad.” 

once you finish the meal, rafe takes your dishes from you and spends a few minutes in the kitchen as he cleans his mess. once he comes back, he gets comfortable next to you, this time letting you lay your head on his lap as he turns your favorite show on. 

“thank you, rafey,” you hum happily. 

“of course, baby,” he gives your bicep a tender squeeze, “anything for my girl.” 

-> back to masterlist.

rafe cameron taglist -> @lanasb0ngwater @wintersoldierenthusiastt

[stylestarkey]

OHHHHHHH my bad it’s been so long i forgot how fine he is

[stylestarkey]

texts between u and rafe part 3