sweetcherrybby

[sweetcherrybby]

DUE DILIGENCE ~ CHAPTER EIGHT

wallstreet!rafe x assistant!reader | warnings: some inaccuracy (fbi caller id), graphic depiction of murder (via security footage), emotional distress / panic attack, vomiting, obsessive relationship dynamics, morally gray decision-making / complicity in crime, implied psychological trauma, murder, breaking and entering, stalking

at first, the footage doesn’t show much. just grainy parking garage stillness. a concrete mausoleum. the timestamp glitches in the corner. then there’s movement. the elevator doors yawn open and connor steps out, earbuds in, backpack slung. he moves like he always did—half-distracted, underdressed, unaware of what’s coming. the camera stutters as he crosses the frame.

a car waits, already parked. matte black with tinted windows. the familiar vehicle doesn’t move, doesn’t flash its lights. it waits. then the back door opens and he’s thrown into the car. you can’t see much at first—just flickers of motion through the fogged glass, shadows wrestling in silence. the camera angle doesn’t catch faces, only outlines. a blur of movement. a body slams sideways against the seat. then stillness.

for a second, you think it’s over. then it starts again, and it’s sharper this time. it’s all sudden jolts and fast movements. a head snapping forward. a knee jerking up into someone’s ribs. your stomach drops. you know that shape. that precision. rafe doesn’t just beat him—he takes his time. efficient, deliberate—the kind of violence that isn’t chaotic, but clinical.

you press pause because you know what happens next. you know what’s already happened. the image freezes on a body slumped against the car door. no blood visible from this angle, but you feel it anyway. like it’s under your nails and on your skin. you close the laptop with shaking hands. but the image doesn’t leave. the screen burns into your brain. you knew. you knew. but seeing it…it’s different.

a cold sweat crawls down your back. you eject the drive with shaking hands, yank it from the port, drop it like it burned you. it clatters to the floor. you back away like it might explode.

you move fast. the flash drive goes in the garbage disposal. the laptop is off, battery yanked. you grab the external hard drive you’ve been using for backup and smash it once, twice, three times against the kitchen counter until plastic cracks and pieces scatter.

you don’t stop until your legs give out. you throw up in the sink, you shake, and you cry. you stare at your reflection in the oven door and see someone you don’t recognize. mascara smeared. lip trembling. half in love, half in hell.

your fingers fumble for your phone. you don’t remember dialing. you don’t remember breathing. it’s just ringing. “hello?” his voice slices clean through you.

“rafe,” you choke out. it’s not even a sentence. just his name, wet and broken.

a beat of silence on his end. “what happened?” concern drips from his voice.

your mouth opens, but nothing comes out. you’re standing in the middle of your kitchen with vomit in the sink and plastic shards at your feet. your lungs squeeze. your throat closes. “i—i saw it.”

“what?” his voice drops. now he’s more awake than anyone should be at this hour. “what did you see?”

you press your palm to your stomach like you can hold it all in. like you can keep yourself from unraveling. “it was a flash drive,” you whisper. “the parking garage. connor was,” you can’t even finish your sentence. “i—i saw you.”

another silence. this one worse. “jesus christ,” he mutters. not angry. not even shocked. just…broken.

your hand grips the counter. you squeeze your eyes shut, like maybe that’ll rewind it, unsee it, undo it. “i destroyed it,” you say quickly, like that matters. like it fixes anything. “i destroyed everything. i just—i couldn’t-”

“baby.” the word catches on his tongue. soft. like he’s afraid to use it but more afraid not to. “breathe.”you do. it’s a gasp that hurts more than it helps. your body trembles. “you shouldn’t have seen that,” he says. “fuck. you weren’t supposed to-”

“i know what you did,” you whisper, like saying it louder might break something between you. “and i still-” your voice cracks. “i don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

“nothing,” he says. fast, fierce. “nothing is wrong with you. do you hear me?”

you nod even though he can’t see you. the line feels too thin, too fragile. “i’m scared,” you admit. it’s the first time you’ve said it out loud. your voice is paper-thin. “i don’t know what to do. i can’t stop shaking.”

he exhales into the phone. it sounds like he’s pacing. like he’s trying not to put a fist through something. “i’m coming over.”

“rafe-”

“don’t argue with me,” he says, quieter now. lower. not commanding but pleading. “just keep the door unlocked. keep your phone on. keep breathing.” your throat burns. your knees threaten to give again. “i’ll be there in ten,” he says, like a promise. like a threat to the rest of the world. “don’t hang up.”

so you don’t. you sit down on the kitchen floor with mascara on your cheeks and blood on your conscience, and you wait for the man who killed for you. the man you’re still going to let in.

the knock comes before the door even clicks open. just one, firm and low. he doesn’t want to scare you. he’s asking permission even though he could rip the damn thing off its hinges if he needed to. you stand—slowly. everything in your body feels like it’s filled with glass. not broken, just waiting to be.

you open the door. rafe’s in a black hoodie and sweats. no coat, no umbrella. his hair’s damp from the rain, curls sticking to his forehead. but his eyes, they search you like he’s counting bones. he needs to make sure you’re still real or he’ll break.

“you okay?” he asks.

you shake your head and that’s all he needs to moves. there’s no hesitation, he just crosses the threshold and folds you into his chest like he’s been dying to. your body crumples against his on instinct. the tremble in your limbs has nothing to do with the temperature.

he doesn’t shush you. doesn’t offer you a lie. he just holds you. it’s not the possessive kind, not the way he grabs your hips when he’s kissing you or the back of your neck when he’s pissed. this is different. this is the kind of hold that says i’m sorry. i’m still here. i’d undo it if i could.

you sob into his shirt. your fists curl against his chest like you might try to hit him, then loosen like you’re too tired to try. mascara smears into cotton. your knees wobble again. he catches you before you fall. “hey,” he murmurs, guiding you down to the couch, keeping you flush to him the whole way. “i’ve got you.”

you curl into him, tears staining his hoodie. and for a long, quiet stretch, he just breathes with you. his hand rubs slow circles into your back. his lips brush the crown of your head repeatedly. eventually, your cries fade into something softer. you’re not better—not even close—but you’re breathing. the pieces have stopped shaking long enough to settle.

“i didn’t want this for you,” rafe says finally. voice rough. “any of it.” you nod into his chest. his hand strokes your hair. “i didn’t know what else to do,” he adds, quieter. “he made you look weak, and you’re not.”

your fingers tighten around his hoodie. “it wasn’t about me,” you whisper, silent tears slipping down your cheeks.

“everything is about you.” the words fall out of him like gravity pulled them. no heat, no drama—just truth. it’s always been that way.

you pull back, just far enough to see his face. his hands cradle your jaw, careful like you’re glass now, too. you watch him scan your features like he’s memorizing them all over again. not lust or rage, just awe.

he leans in. it’s slow because if he moves too fast, he’s afraid you’ll vanish. his lips brush yours. it’s a warm embrace. a promise without the ring. a confession without the words. you kiss him back. it’s not hungry. not frantic. it’s just two people on the edge of something massive, trying not to fall unless they’re falling together. when he pulls away, he keeps his forehead pressed to yours. “you need to eat,” he says, barely audible. you nod, too dazed to argue. he brushes a thumb under your eye, catching the last streak of mascara. “i’ll be back in twenty.”

“rafe-” you whisper, fingers catching his sleeve. “you’ll come back?”

his eyes flick down to your hand, then up. “always.” he doesn’t ask for forgiveness and you don’t offer it.

you don’t move for a long time. the couch still holds his warmth. his scent lingers in the air. his scent used to be foreign. something you’d smell but not know who it belonged to. now it’s home.

you tell yourself to get up. wipe your face. wash the blood off your hands, metaphorical or not. but your limbs feel heavy, boneless. you curl in on yourself and burn holes into the wall.

time melts. it’s been ten minutes, maybe thirty. the rain picks up again outside, ticking softly against your windows. you used to like the rain. that’s another thing new york ruined for you.

suddenly, a sound. your front door creaks open. you blink, dazed, your body tensing before your mind catches up. you exhale too soon, too fast. “rafe?” your voice is hoarse, but steady.

no answer.

the door shuts again. those don’t sound like his footsteps. your breath catches. you rise to your feet, barefoot on the hardwood, every nerve lighting up like a match. “rafe?” you try again, voice pulled taut like piano wire. but it’s not him. he steps into view from the kitchen. he’s tall, scrawny, and familiar—but wrong…too wrong.

you know his name. you think his name is ben, or maybe bryan—you’re not sure. you’ve seen him in the bullpen. third desk from the back. junior analyst. the kind of guy who never made eye contact unless he thought you weren’t looking. always wore a wrinkled tie. always lingered just a little too long by the break room when you were pouring your coffee.

you freeze and he smiles. it’s tight, crooked, not kind. “hi,” he says like you’ve just bumped into each other in the elevator. “you left your door unlocked.”

you open your mouth, but the words get caught in your throat. your chest rises rapidly. “i didn’t mean to scare you,” he adds, eyes falling to your barely exposed chest, stepping further inside. “i just,” he chuckles, though it’s not strong. its nervous. “i had to make sure you saw it.”

your stomach drops. the flash drive. “it was you.” your voice is flat. you don’t ask, you already know.

he nods, still smiling like this is some sort of sick meet-cute. he’s planned this. probably thought of this moment in his head a million times. “i’ve been trying to help you.” your feet stay planted. your fingers inch toward your phone on the coffee table. he notices. tilts his head. “don’t.”

you pause. your pulse is a drumline now. “you deserve to know what he really is,” he continues. “everyone’s afraid of him, but not me. i’ve been watching. since your first week.” his voice dips, something reverent and rancid beneath it. “you’re smart. so fucking smart,” he bites his lip and your stomach churns. “but he’s going to ruin you.”

“get out,” you whisper.

his smile falters. just slightly. “he’s manipulated you. he’s not capable of-” he cuts himself off, jaw twitching. “you don’t have to pretend. i know he scared you. i saw your face when you left the office that day. i saw you cry in the hallway. i wanted to say something then.” you flinch. he steps closer. “he doesn’t see you. not really. but i do.”

“you need to leave,” you say again, louder this time, your voice cracking.

he shakes his head, a sick kind of softness in his eyes. “i waited-i waited so long for you to figure it out. to come to me. i didn’t want it to be like this, but you didn’t give me a choice.”

your mouth opens, but the lock turns. the front door swings open again. his hair’s wet from the rain. a paper bag in one hand from the hotdog stand down the street. he freezes in the doorway. his eyes land on you first—wide, white, panicked. then on the man standing too close. his face doesn’t change—not visibly—but the room shifts like gravity broke. “step away from her.” it’s not a request.

the analyst—ben, bryan, whatever—laughs. nervous. “this isn’t what it looks like. i was just-”

“i said,” rafe cuts in, dropping the bag to the floor. “step. away. from her.”

the guy takes a step back. rafe moves in a blur. you don’t even hear the sound of the punch—just the crash of the coffee table as it shatters under the weight of a body. rafe’s on him in seconds. fists, knees, elbows. not like the tape because it’s not clean or calculated. this is rage—this is personal.

your mouth hands agape, but you don’t scream. you don’t make a noise until rafe grabs the broken shard from the glass table. “rafe!” you shriek, but it’s too late. he’s already driven the sharp edge into the man’s throat. blood pools around the wound while tears spill from your eyes. you try to pull him off, but he doesn’t stop. not until the guy is still. his shirt soaked red.

your apartment is silent. blood drips onto the hardwood. you’re shaking. your hands, your lips, your world. rafe looks up at you. he’s breathing hard. jaw clenched. soaked in someone else’s life. but you don’t run. you just back up until your spine hits the kitchen counter and slide down, legs folding under you.

he follows. he sinks to his knees in front of you. doesn’t touch. just watches and waits. you meet his eyes. your voice is barely audible. “i’m not afraid of you.”

your phone rings. screen cracked, light flickering.

FBI

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[sweetcherrybby]

OPPOSITES ATTRACT? ✮

✮ pairing: nerd!rafe x pervert!reader

✮ summary: agreeing to go to a party with you and meeting your friends for the first time causes rafe to have insecurities and doubts.

✮ warnings / tags: angst. fluff. hurt and comfort. punching someone. insecurity. nudity. them being ridiculously perfect for each other. wc: 2k

✮ author's note: what’s been up with me making these two suffer lately… tbh i just wanna deepen their emotional bond!! but dw i have freaky smut coming up for them soon!!

PERVERT MASTERLIST ✮ 5K MASTERLIST

people say that opposites attract, and that saying was a fact when it came to you and your boyfriend. you and rafe were like day and night; all the bouncers at all the clubs and bars within a five-mile radius of your university campus knew you by name, meanwhile every professor on campus knew your boyfriend by his name, all of them delighted whenever they found out they got to teach him. sometimes, a single outfit of yours had less fabric than one piece of rafe's outfit. rafe did more studying in one weekend than you did in a month. he was a virgin when you started dating, and you were... experienced.

and your boyfriend was definitely not a party animal.

"c'mon..." you coaxed, "i can't go alone. besides, i want you to meet my friends!" you whined, "your friends are gonna hate me." rafe deadpanned, his brows raised. "no they won't. so what if you're different from them? i'm sure you can find something to talk to them about." "like what? shoes and purses?" "like how much you adore me." your lips quirked up into a grin and you pressed a soft kiss on his cheek, "pleaaase?"

honestly, rafe's assumption wasn't that far from the truth; when you'd first told your friends that you were dating him, they all looked at you like you'd grown a second head. but it never mattered to you; you adores rafe, and even though you two sometimes got strange looks from people and your friends got weird whenever you mentioned him, it never bothered you.

"pleaseeee?" you stuck out your bottom lip, doing your best to put on a 'sad puppy dog' look. "fine." rafe grumbled, running a hand over his face, "only because you're cute."

"this is gonna earn you a reward..." you giggled, biting down on your lower lip and running your manicured finger down rafe's chest, the suggestive tone of your voice and the feel of your long nail against his muscles through his shirt causing his own voice to go hoarse, "i didn't... didn't even ask for that." "don't care." you give rafe a quick peck, "good boys get rewarded."

you'd told rafe that it'd take you around an hour to get ready, but the two of you had finally gotten to the frat house nearly three hours after you'd told rafe it'd take you an hour, but you'd just mumbled, "fashionably late..." into his ear.

but once you got to the frat house the party was being held at, you got past with ease... but the random dude at the fraternity door who acted as the bouncer looked at your boyfriend up and down and let out a disgusted 'eugh', making rafe look down at the ground, his cheeks starting to redden as he switched from one foot to the other, the other boy letting out a belittling chuckle, "sorry, but you're gonna have to ditch him."

you could see your boyfriend's face fall and him starting to step back, only for you to pull rafe back to you and looking at the boy standing at the door with the bitchiest smile you could muster up.

"he's my boyfriend." you said as calmly as you possibly could, even though you truly wanted to punch the living hell out of that dude, "and if you don't want him inside, it's gonna take me about two minutes to get every girl at your shitty ass party out." you smiled widely, "so, if you want a sausage party, then go ahead."

the boy's gaze went over rafe once again, a small groan leaving his lips. "alright, go in…" the faux-bouncer mumbled, and your smile widened as the boy stepped aside, making sure to bump into his side as you passed him.

"you didn't have to do that… i could've just gone back to the dorms." rafe leaned closer to you so you could hear him through the blaring music, only for you to take his hand in yours and squeezing it, "please. like i'd let someone get away with talking to you like that." you smiled up at him, "should we go find my friends?" rafe took in a deep breath before turning to you with a tight-lipped smile and nodded.

rafe felt out of place. when you'd introduced him to your friends with a cheerful, "this is my boyfriend, rafe." and brought his hand to your mouth, pressing a kiss on the back of his hand that left a glossy imprint there.

after your friends had awkwardly introduced themselves to rafe, looking at him up and down the same way the guy outside had, they went back to how they'd been before; chattering about something had no understanding of, with you joining in while your friends acted like he wasn't there.

lately, he'd been noticing all the ways you were different in. you went out nearly every weekend while rafe stayed in his dormitory either studying, reading, or gaming. you felt so confident you brightened up every room you walked into, meanwhile he felt like he was nothing but a dark cloud that followed you around. you seemed to get along with everyone, being able to make a friend in almost any setting, meanwhile most of his friends were ones that he'd met online.

even now, with the two of you being surrounded by crowds of sweaty people pressed to one another, music blasting so loudly the floors sticky with spilled booze were shaking, you looked like there was nowhere you'd rather be; meanwhile rafe's flight instinct was kicking in.

he leaned close to your ear and quietly said, "hey, i'm gonna go to the bathroom." pulling back and trying to give you a convincing smile. "okay." you nodded, and when he freed his fingers from your own, you reluctantly let go of his hand, watching as he made his way through the crowd, a small frown on your lips.

rafe gripped the bathroom sink, his knuckles turning white as he took tried to steady his breathing, his heart beating to the rhythm of the bass he could hear through the bathroom door. "get it together..." he mumbled under his breath. rafe took off his glasses and placed them down, turning the faucet on, splashing cold water on his face, wishing it could wash away all the thoughts plaguing his mind.

all the thoughts about how much happier you'd be with someone who you didn't have to beg to come out with you. all the thoughts about how much your friends would be more accepting of someone they thought was more suitable for you. all the thoughts about how he wasn't good enough for you. how he would never be good enough for you.

rafe was startled by someone beating their fist against the door, swiftly turning the faucet off and drying his face on a towel before turning to the mirror, "just be normal. just... be normal." he mumbled, putting his glasses back on.

the boy spotted you almost immediately as he was making hi way through the crowd, recognizing the outfit you'd spent too much time choosing, but it seemed like you hadn't spotted him. rafe's brows furrowed as he got closer to you, a dark-haired guy leaning close to you, a cup in his hand, his other hand on your arm, your jaw clenched.

"c'mon. we had fun last time, didn't we?" rafe overheard the guy say, almost as if he was boasting, deciding to stop a small distance away to see how the situation would play out. "let's just ditch the party and go to my room."

"that was ages ago. i have a boyfriend, thomas." "so?" the boy laughed, "your little einstein doesn't need to know. everyone knows you're just dating him so you can better your grades." "you think i'm that big of an idiot that i need to date someone to get better grades?" you scoffed, shaking your head, "then, what's it for? you pity him because he has like three friends?"

"i know this concept might be strange for you, but some people actually like others because of who they are and not just because of their bodies." you remarked,

"well, you weren't like that before." thomas rolled his eyes while you narrowed your eyes, "what do you mean by that?" you asked, cocking your head to the side. "i mean, you used to fuck anything that moved, fucking slut. now you're just with some nothing loser who probably doesn't know how to fuck." thomas laughed, rafe's jaw clenching, intending to interrupt until—

THUMP!

your fist made contact with thomas's face, the drunk boy falling to the ground as you took in a sharp breath, shaking your hand with an 'ouch'. "just so you know," you look down at him, your words coming out slightly clumsily, "he's better than you. and bigger. take that." you turned to walk away from thomas, but when you noticed rafe standing there with a stunned expression on his face, you froze, looking like a deer in headlights. "rafe."

but rafe simply chuckled, taking the hand that hadn't just greeted thomas, pulling you through the crowd, hurrying you outside.

you were breathing heavily, goosebumps forming on your skin from going from the hot, packed party to the chilly outside air, looking up at rafe, "rafe, i can explain, i know i shouldn't—"

but you were silenced by rafe leaning down, pressing his lips on yours, his large hands going to cup your cheeks, and as his lips moved on yours, he hoped it conveyed everything he thought, everything he worried about, and everything you somehow managed to make him feel.

when rafe pulled away, he tucked a strand of stray hair behind your ear, his thumb going to stroke the soft skin of your cheek. "weirdly, that was the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me." rafe looked down, gently taking the hand that you'd punched thomas with as a hiss left your lips, the boy noticing some bruising on your knuckles, a few of them even bleeding, "let's get back to my dorm and fix this up, yeah?"

every time the antiseptic made contact with one of the cuts on your knuckles, you let out a quiet hiss, each of them sounding unfairly adorable to rafe.

"this is the cost of punching dickheads." he jokingly mumbled, "well, i had to protect your honor." you shrugged, making rafe furrow his brows as he applied lotion onto the cuts, "my honor?" "he called you a nothing loser. i'm not gonna let that slide."

"i thought you punched him because he called you... that." "oh, no. i've heard it many times. if they wanna shame me for liking sex then they can go ahead and do that. but i'm not gonna let them say something like that about you."

your words made rafe's lips quirk up a little, "so, are you my knight in shining armor?" "only if it's one of those ridiculously skimpy armors they give to female characters in games." you grinned, rafe shaking his head. once your boyfriend had applied band-aids onto your knuckles, he pressed a kiss on each of them.

it wasn't long until the two of you were under rafe's blanket, your naked bodies pressed together, rafe holding the hand he'd patched up, "you know, sometimes i worry that i'm not good enough for you." he mumbled, "why would you think that?" "i'm... i'm not like guys you've been with before. i'm not into parties, i'm not cool and confident..." "you're also not a total dickhead." "yeah, that." rafe chuckled softly, "i don't know. what if you were happier with someone more like you?"

"the thing is... i think you are like me, rafe." "how's that? we're... so different." "yeah, we have different interests, we have different personalities..." you bring your hand to rest over his heart, "but when i'm with you... i feel connected to you in a way i haven't before. like we're one."

"that's weirdly poetic." rafe chuckled softly, "i think you're secretly a sap." "shut up." you rolled your eyes, "but i know what you mean. like we're two sides of the same coin."

"yeah. and for me, that's better than anything or anyone else. i don't care if i could have the world's most perfect person. because they'll never measure up to you. i wouldn't want to love anyone else but you."

rafe smiled, bringing his lips to your forehead, "no one else." he whispered, pressing a kiss there.

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[sweetcherrybby]

you're gonna go far | 01 - the boneyard

SERIES MASTERLIST pairing: rafe cameron x pogue!reader

summary: where Rafe who hates pogues has a soft spot for one, who couldn't care less about him, she's too independent and too focused on graduating college and making it out of the Cut to pay attention to him or where they say they don't like each other yet for a reason they are always at the same place at the same time, him making time for her and her never pushing him away but again they don't like each other. word count: 3.2k content: alcohol consumption, angst, cursing, pogue/kook talk, rafe being an asshole, classism, superiority complex authors note: they are back! my angsty babies. we'll see where this one goes. If you read it the first time around, pretend you didn't 😂

01 | 02

Another Boneyard party. Pogue territory, your territory, not his. Yet he found himself at another party there. The excuse he gave everyone, even himself, was that he would never miss a party and needed to keep an eye on Sarah, his very grown sister, whose business was anything but important to him. But he needed something to justify his presence instead of just accepting the truth about why he always wanted to be there.  

The truth didn’t make sense to him. It was not who he was. Rafe hated pogues, even though he wouldn’t use the word hate out loud; his actions spoke louder than words. He never wanted to be around them, not until he saw you. Sarah had invited her new friends over to a party after a few months of dating John B. He had probably seen you around a few times, but you had never caught his attention. You had been like another person who blurred into the background until that night. There was just something about you that had him immediately hooked. From that point on, he looked for you everywhere; he wanted to know you. He wanted to know a pogue, and that threw him off balance more than he liked to admit.  

Your existence alone made him lose his mind, but other things drove him crazy and made his skin crawl. Like the fact that you weren’t afraid of him, you stood up against him when he messed up with your friends, and you were there to witness it. Whenever he was an asshole, you were there calling him on his shit, and he hated it but not as much as he pretended to. He hated that you could see right through him, but he loved how much he could also push back at you. There was just this pull about you that he couldn’t resist.  

So, there he was again at another Boneyard party, even when he wasn't really in the mood; he was there only to see you. As much as he tried to ignore you and pretend not to care for you, he couldn't, and that's how he ended up going back to his car to grab his jacket and make his way to you. The party was in full swing, but you needed a break, so you were sitting alone on a blanket over the sand, looking at the ocean and hugging yourself. For a mid-June night, it was cold—too cold; probably a storm was coming soon, or the weather was just acting up.  

As if it were heaven-sent, a puffy jacket wrapped around you. "You'll get sick," he said. You looked up to meet Rafe's stoic face, as if what he had just done was nothing. "It's freezing," he added before sitting next to you.

"I'm going to be fine," you said. 

As much as you wanted to take the jacket, your pride was bigger, so you started to take it off to give it back, but he stopped you by putting it back on. He scoffed before answering. 

"Right, like you're not trembling. Just take it." You didn't fight him; it felt good, but you weren't going to admit it to his face. 

"What about you?" You turned to look at him. He didn't appear cold, but still, you asked. 

"I'm fine. You need it more than I do." His eyes darted over to your body, a strange feeling forming in his chest at the sight of you enveloped in something that belonged to him. 

“I'm not going to die from being cold.” You glared at him, putting your arms into the jacket. It looked like his jacket had swallowed you up, and he smirked at the sight.

"Yeah, I know, but you were shaking, and I'm not."

"Right..." Rafe being nice to you wasn't new, but with him, you were always waiting for the other shoe to drop. He was never nice just to be nice.

"Thanks," you said softly as you looked around. Everyone was enjoying the party; it was one of those moments when you wondered why you were there. You could be doing anything else. Rafe interrupted your thoughts when he cleared his throat.

"Aren't you going to go back to everyone?"

"Not right now. Why?" You turned to look at him with a confused expression. You wanted to go home, but if you didn't stick around a little longer, your friends would ask, and you liked to avoid the questions. 

"Just asking… I don’t get why you hang out with them." The other shoe dropped. You wondered if it was physically impossible for him to keep his mouth shut. 

"Around who? My friends?” you asked. "Yeah, I don’t see the appeal of hanging out with Pogues.” You rolled your eyes.

“You are hanging out with one right now,”  you quipped back, and he rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, but this is different,” he said as if he were stating something obvious. 

"Oh, and why's that?" Rafe was the perfect example of why you didn’t like kooks; it was like they inherently needed to be right or have the upper hand in anything they did. 

"Because I’m not hanging out with you, I’m just sitting here,” he scoffed. He had a way of getting under your skin that no one else had. It was infuriating. 

“If you were just sitting there, you wouldn’t be talking to me.” 

“Whatever, one pogue is not the whole Cut,” he said gruffly. 

“Yes, because God forbid you’re a decent person toward the rest.”

“Again with that?” 

“You’re the one who started this.” He knew it was true. 

“I just don’t get why you willingly decide to hang out with them. They don’t care about anything, look at them…” he made a hand gesture to point at your friends. 

“It’s a party, they are having fun.” 

“I’m just saying you shouldn’t be around them,” he shrugged. 

"And what makes you think I will listen to you?" His face contorted in annoyance.

"I'm just trying to look out for you, Pogue. " The way he said 'Pogue' with such disdain just reminded you of his hate for you and your friends. You also hated him, even if the current situation didn’t look like you did. You didn’t take off his jacket. The cold weather was making you do stupid things. 

“You hate Pogues,” you stated. He huffed, almost as if it’s amusing to see you mad. 

“Usually I do; all of them are annoying, but…” he pauses for a second, thinking as if it’s a good idea to continue talking. “You just… you’re different.”  

“And that’s supposed to mean something?” You didn’t know how to take that coming from Rafe, of all people.  

“It means you don’t annoy me as much as they do, and I don’t particularly want to see you getting hurt because of whatever the Pogues do.”  

“Getting hurt? How would my friends hurt me? Last time I checked, you were the one doing the hurting to them.”  

“They are them, and you’re…” he trails off. “I just don’t get how you can hang out with them.” His irritation was growing; you noticed it, but you didn’t care.  

“There’s nothing to get; they are my friends. Maybe you don’t understand because the concept of considering your friends family is foreign to you.”  

“Oh, I don’t get that they’re your little family? That you love hanging around The Cut?” he said in a condescending tone.  

“I’m a Pogue! The Cut is my home,” a home that you didn’t like. Pope was the only one who knew how much you wanted to just get out and how hard you were working to actually make that happen. “That’s my life!”  

“A hell of a life you’ve got then; you could do better than that.” As much as you didn't like it there, it was still your home. He didn’t have the right to comment on it. He had barely set foot in, and he didn’t get it. He was never going to get it. “Living there doesn’t mean you have to hang out with them.”  

“And what? Get kook friends that don’t understand how hard it is to live on the Cut? They get me; we have been through a lot together.” His chest feels tight all of a sudden. He studies your face, trying to think of what he can say next.  

“You could do better. Go find new friends, some that won’t drag you down with them.” You stare at him, looking for a trace of it being a joke, but he is serious. He seriously thinks your friends are not good for you. You laugh bitterly.

“I don’t need new friends… I don’t want new friends. They aren’t dragging me down; they push me to do better and, most importantly, they don’t make me feel like trash.” Rafe goes silent, his jaw clenching in annoyance. He knew he treated your friends like that most of the time and hated that you were right about it.  

“I don’t think you’re trash,” he groans in frustration. “This is just about having better company, people that don’t get you into trouble.”  

“I don’t need better company. What aren’t you getting? They are important to me, and I care for them. We stick by each other, and we push each other to do better because we want out; we do not want to stay in The Cut forever.” You didn’t. A part of you knew that JJ and John B didn’t care. Yes, they wanted better, but that didn’t necessarily mean getting out of The Cut.  

Then there was Kie, who was a kook and preferred the pogue life. A part of you was angry at Kie; she had the privileges you would kill for, and she took them all for granted. You loved her, but still, it frustrated you.  

He scoffs; he hated the tone you were taking. Yes, it’s the same tone he’s giving you, but he doesn’t like it when it’s aimed at him and coming from you. If it had been any other pogue, he would’ve either fought them or ignored them, but it was you.  

“Oh, you don’t?” he said, faking disbelief. “I don’t think having them around is going to make things easier. Almost no one makes it out of The Cut. What are you going to do? Work for minimum-wage jobs?”  

“You think I’m not aware it’s hard? I know how things go, Rafe.” You were trying to remain calm; he was getting on your nerves. You had heard that a thousand times, but coming from him right there felt somehow even worse. Not even a few minutes ago, he had given you his jacket, but just like that, he was back to being an asshole.  

“Well then, I don’t think you’re trying that much. The Cut is like a black hole that swallows people, and you can never escape. If you do, I doubt it's going to be with your friends next to you.” You had enough. He had the nerve to say all that when his father came from The Cut and made it out. You didn’t really like Ward Cameron; granted, not a lot of people did, but you had to give him that. He made it out, and he wasn’t the best person, but he was all the proof you needed to know it was possible.  

“Yeah, well, your dad made it out of that black hole.” You saw him tense up at the mention of his father; well, now you knew how to piss him off. You regretted using his dad as an example since it was a sensitive topic for him, but you tried to convince yourself he deserved it.  

You didn’t like confrontation, but with him, every word flew out of your mouth without hesitation. It made you feel good, like you were brave enough, and in the eyes of many, you were. After all, it was Rafe Cameron you were standing up against. Deep inside him, he respected that you would run your mouth at him, even if it made you the most insufferable girl he knew.  

“My dad was different; it was a rare thing, like winning the lottery, you know?” you huffed under your breath, looking at the sand. Of course, he was going to be an asshole about it. But he saw your reaction and felt the need to comfort you.  

“What I’m saying is…” He didn’t know if he would say the right thing; he sucked at comforting people. “You’re going to have a hard time getting out of there. If you want to stay with your friends, then maybe you’re better off staying in The Cut and accepting that reality.”  

You looked at him; if you could strangle him with a look, you would’ve done it. You scoffed, biting the inside of your cheek. “You know what, Rafe? Fuck you! You don’t get it!” You stood up, took his jacket off, and threw it at him before walking away.  

“Hey! Wait, where are you going?” He stood up, calling you out and grabbing his jacket, but you were already walking as fast as you could to get away from him.  

“This girl…” he muttered. You annoyed him so much, yet he felt bad. The look on your face before leaving, the words—it had affected him more than he liked to admit. Watching you go directly to JJ after it just made it worse. You had heard him, but you ignored him. What made him think that any of what he said was okay?

—

When you finally made your way back to your friends, you regretted throwing his jacket back; you were cold again. “Ah, she's back! Where were you?” JJ piped in first as he watched you sitting near the bonfire. You weren’t going to tell them you were with Rafe, so you avoided the question the best way you knew how.

“Just taking a break from all this,” you nodded, hugging yourself. You thought about going back just for the jacket, but you would rather freeze to death than face Rafe again. 

“You’re cold? There’s a hoodie on the Twinkie; you can grab it,” JJ said as he walked to grab another beer. You nodded and decided to go get it, and maybe even stay there. You made your way to where the Twinkie was parked.

—

Rafe didn’t leave the party even after what had turned out to be a fight with you. He kept an eye on you from a distance, and he did that far more often than he liked to admit. He decided to follow you wherever you were going. You were about to put on the hoodie when Rafe showed up.  

"You know you can always have this back." He lifted his hand, where he held his jacket. You rolled your eyes as you put on the less-warm hoodie.  

"I don’t need or want your help; maybe you should accept that reality too," you said bitterly, referring to what he had told you earlier.  

He rolled his eyes, feeling guilty for what he had said, but it was done, and he was trying to make it better without even saying sorry. "You don’t let things go, huh?"  

"You’re an asshole to me, and then you want me to be okay with it? Things don’t work that way; at least acknowledge that what you said was wrong." You crossed your arms over your chest and stared at him. He knew he was in the wrong; he felt bad about it, but he wasn’t going to apologize or acknowledge it because every word you said spiked his irritation in a way only you could manage.  

"If being wrong is stating facts, then yeah, I’m wrong," you groaned in frustration. You wondered why you even indulged him when you knew how he was. It was like you were being pulled to him; as much as you knew you could just stay quiet, you never did with him. You didn’t like him having the last word.  

"You’re an asshole. You come here saying stuff when you don’t even have a clue what it’s like to live in a place you hate, but it's still your home." He felt a sudden anger bubbling up. Oh, he was familiar with hating the place where he lived. It wasn’t the same way you did, but he knew the feeling all too well.  

"You’re so infuriating. First, you say I’m too much for the Pogues—newsflash, I’m one! You say they hold me down, but when I tell you I want to do better, you say I should give up?" You groaned in frustration and ran your hands through your hair.  

He stared at you; you looked pretty even when you were angry at him. He shook his head, focusing back on his irritation. "You done with your tantrum?" He knew that would only make you more upset, and maybe he wanted to see how far he could take it. As much as he was different from you, he still was Rafe—the cocky kook asshole who thought everyone should listen to him. You clenched your jaw.  

"What, you didn’t like what I said? Sorry, I was just stating facts." You lifted a brow, testing him in return. You weren’t afraid of him; your friends had told you multiple times to be careful, that you didn’t know who you were messing with. But nothing ever happened to you, besides the same old Pogue comments, and as sad as it was, you were used to them. They did hurt sometimes, but nothing worth crying over. It just fueled you to prove to everyone—and him—that you could do the things he never thought you would.  

"Do you ever know when to shut up?" he huffed, and you felt a pang of hurt in your chest. Out of all the things he had said, this is what ended up hurting you? You swallowed and looked up at him. "Oh, you do know when to shut up." He smirked with his stupid, smug face. Why did he have to be like that?  

"Do you ever know when to stop?" you pushed past him. You knew why this had hurt more than the other things, but you chose to ignore it; you could deal with that later, or just shove it down. You turned around to walk back to where the rest of the people were.  

"Wait!" He yanked you back. "You don’t get to tell me what to do." You looked at him, frustrated. You closed your eyes and took a deep breath to try and calm yourself down, but it was useless.  

"Neither do you!" You pulled your arm from his grasp. "Never touch me again. I don’t want to see you around. Stick to the words you’ve said to my friends a thousand times: stay on your side of the island, kook!" You used the word with the same distaste he used for "Pogue."  

You were done; he had made you feel horrible twice, and you had allowed it. You stormed off, and this time he didn’t stop you. The words kept ringing in his head until Topper called him out. They were ready to leave, and at the same time, you convinced JJ to take you back to your house. Rafe looked from a distance, anger bubbling up inside him, but there was nothing he could do about it. 

He left the party not long after you did, parts of the conversation still replaying in his head.

taglist: @starkeyvhs @oxpogues4lifexo @persiar9 @lenasvoid @angelicameron @purplerose291 @davinashifts333 @hannieskzzz @rafesdrew @icopewithfanfictions @pogueprincesa taglist is open! if you want to be added send an ask or comment! :) follow and turn on notifications on @inthelibrarybtw-notifs to get updates on everything i write.

REBLOGS, COMMENTS AND LIKES ARE ALWAYS WELCOMED

INTHELIBRARYBTW ✧.*

[sweetcherrybby]

— bf!rafe just being protective of his girl ୭ ˚. ᵎᵎˎˊ˗

night life in the obx was kind of… boring. so when rafe offered to take you, sarah, and kie to the mainland for a night out, you didn’t hesitate. his one request? bring some guy company. you knew he meant topper or kelce, but instead—

“yeah, john b and jj can come too,” you grin, fully aware he barely tolerates them.

he opens his mouth to protest but just sighs and bites his tongue.

i mean, you did give in to the request. fair trade, right?

the club you were heading to was throwing a costume party. you didn’t have much to work with, but you pulled something together: cat ears, a black corset, the tiniest matching skirt, and thigh-high boots. not a cutesy black cat—the hottest black cat. kind of like catwoman.

rafe never cared much about what you wore. you always asked if it was too much, if he even liked it. his answer never changed. “it’s all good, baby. i can fight.” followed by kisses and an endless string of compliments that made your head spin.

after a long, cramped drive...

you’re squished in the backseat of rafe’s truck between sarah and kie. sarah’s deer antlers keep bumping the roof, and kie won’t stop adjusting her mario overalls.

everyone cheers when the club finally comes into view—then groans in sync at the sight of the massive line out front.

rafe pulls into a lot across the street, parking like a man on a mission. in the passenger seat, jj straightens his green luigi hat, while john b’s camo vest is already halfway sliding off.

you lean forward between the seats, resting your chin near rafe’s shoulder. “hey, do you guys mind waiting in line while we fix our makeup and hair?”

he hands you the keys without looking. “yeah, yeah. we’ll be watchin’ ya,” he mutters.

he’s not really in costume—just his usual kook attire: dark slacks, a fitted black polo, and a sleek watch.

“i told you to be batman,” you tease, eyeing his outfit.

he shrugs. “what? i am batman. bruce wayne.”

you roll your eyes. he smirks, knowing he wins.

the boys get out first, stretching and grumbling about the cold. john b and jj are shirtless under their costumes—something about it being more the vibe. jj swings open the door for you girls to get out after. the second they leave, you all dive back into final touch-up mode.

you check your reflection in the rearview mirror, fixing your cat ears with a smirk. “can’t believe we actually pulled these together last minute…”

“jj literally had mario and luigi hats lying around his house,” kie says, blotting her lip combo.

“my deer antlers are from a costume i wore when i was thirteen. space buns just make it look a lot less tragic,” sarah adds, dusting more highlighter across her cheekbones.

you finish with your powder and everyone piles out of the truck.

as you’re heading toward the club line, a random guy with a mini mic and a cameraman stops in front of you.

“hey! can i ask you a few questions for a youtube video?” he grins, mic already up.

ooo this oughta be fun, you think. “sure,” you nod eagerly, glancing back at sarah and kie, who are already giggling.

“what’s your name?”

you tell him, and he repeats it before moving on. “what’s something you wouldn’t want your future husband to know about you?”

you smile confidently, tilting your head. “nothing, ’cause i’m perfect. beautiful. and amazing.”

kie laughs in front of you, and sarah whistles.

you don’t even notice that rafe and jj have wandered on over until rafe speaks up.

“yo, what’s this?” he asks, stepping up next to the youtuber.

“just an interview,” the guy says quickly, eyes going wide as jj joins him, arms crossed and unimpressed.

you open your mouth to say something else, but then rafe’s hand slides across your chest— landing just over your breast. not groping, just possessive. casual, almost, like it belonged there. he uses the motion to guide you away, hand lingering just long enough to make a point.

“yeah, just doing an interview…” the youtuber repeats nervously, looking at jj.

“mhm. okay.” rafe gives him a tight smile and nod. he then pats the guy’s chest twice—firm but not too aggressive. just enough.

jj claps the cameraman’s shoulder and steers sarah and kie away too. rafe slides his hand into yours as you walk toward the line.

“you were really going to flirt just for content?” he mutters, though there’s no real heat in it.

you glance up at him, grinning. “not seriously, but maybe just a little.” he squeezes your hand, shaking his head with a soft laugh.

you all rejoin john b at the end of the line. the music’s thumping from inside the club already, lights pulsing across the street, and your cat ears catch the glow from a passing car. rafe stands behind you, resting his chin on your shoulder, arms wrapped lazily around your waist.

bruce wayne, you think to yourself, smiling. yeah, sure.

—

—

a/n: made this based off a reel i saw the other day, just gave it a little more thought. i. must. write. more. pogue. content. like or reblog if you likeyyy 🤙 and what you’d like to see!

[sweetcherrybby]

AFTERCARE

summary: aftercare with soft!rafe.

Your body collapsed on top of his, your breathing heavy, against his chest. His hand reaching over and and gently moved some strands of hair from your sweaty face, his touch feather-light and full of care.

“You’re amazing, baby.” he said softly in your ear, his voice low and soothing. as he held you close to his chest, his cheek resting on top of your head.

His arms tightened around you, holding you close to his chest as if to shield you from the rest of the world. His cheek rested on top of your head, and you could feel the warmth of his skin against yours.

Your fingers lazily traced patterns on his chest, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat grounding you in the moment. Rafe’s hand slid down your back, his thumb rubbing gentle circles into your skin to soothe any lingering tension.

You sighed softly and closed your eyes. "Have some water," he said gently, kissing your temple softly.

He shifted slightly, reaching over to the nightstand with one hand and grabbing a water bottle. Unscrewing the cap, he held it up to your lips. "Drink," he commanded gently

Your lips parted as you took a long sip of the water.

He smiled and ran his fingers through your hair with a soft smile. "You feel okay?" he asked. You nodded, "Mhm," you hummed, "All good." You smiled back.

You put the water back down on the nightstand, and he pulled you back on top of him. You shut your eyes peacefully and cuddled close to him.

⸝⸝⸝ @marrykisskilled @chrislilcumslvt @sosasturns @cyberskulzzz @slut4chris888 @waitforyrlove @sturnioloangell @slctsblogana @anyaa2s @emely9274 @shadowthesim @frankoceanfanpage @mrsarnold @freshloveee @t0riiiis @jetaimevous @sturn777 @sturniologirlzz @venusbabysblog @ch6rm @sturniolossss @mattsbrowser @sturnlsstuff @chrissweetheart @lizzyzzn @sophand4n4 @st6ined

[sweetcherrybby]

killing me softly | extra ☆

━━━━ ✿

rafe has a solo session in his room thinking of you 18+ // mdni

━━━━ ✿

K M S M A S T E R L I S T | <- C H . 2 0 | C H . 2 1 ->

✿ C O N T E N T W A R N I N G ✿ EXPLICIT content (18+ MDNI), smut, strong language, male masturbation, needy!rafe, slight possessiveness, imagined scenarios [oral & handjob (m receiving), inexperienced / kinda soft dom reader], hints at praise kink & sub!rafe, reader implied but not present, viewing her from slightly sexualized to pure yearning, post nut clarity hitting this boy hard (me too after writing this lmfao)

✿ W O R D C O U N T ✿ 2.3k

✿ A / N ✿ kinda wanted to drop this without saying anything bc EMBARRASSING but yeah. that's like my 3rd smut fic in my whole life so hahahhaha and i only proofread like twice so maybe this is complete nonsense and i feel fucking weird for making my smut fics so long and detailed help. ok. haha. enjoy. feel like i ruined kms!rafe with this BUT WELP, too late now. if you feel comfortable, lmk what you think (comment or ask idc) <3 xx ᓚᘏᗢ

✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿

As soon as the front door of Tannyhill shut behind him, Rafe went straight upstairs. The faint sound of some awful drama series coming from the living room—probably Rose staying up late, sipping on her third glass of wine (sure, yeah, of course, what fucking else was his dad’s wine cellar for if not that).

Whatever.

He didn’t care about saying hi to that bitch. As long as Rafe could avoid her, he would.

Completely wrecked from this crazy-ass day, he let the door to his room fall shut behind him, letting out a heavy exhale. Keys, phone, and wallet landed on his nightstand with a dull thud, the silence in his room almost immediately suffocating him without any kind of background noise around.

No annoying people arguing about annoying shit. No shitty movie blasting in the background. No soft giggles or amused scoffs, no teasing chuckles or dumbass jokes. No laughter. No soft jingle of a bracelet.

No one here to fill this gut-wrenching silence that felt like a deep low after a coke-induced high.

Fuck.

He’d said goodbye to you what, ten, maybe twenty minutes before ordering a shitty Uber to get home (the same old lady driving as earlier), and he already wished your presence back.

You’d offered to drive him home but he’d seen the sleepiness in your pretty half-lidded eyes. Shit, Rafe was dead tired himself, and still, he could’ve spent the whole damn night with you awake, driving around, letting you babble about shit that excited you, and just enjoy you being there with him.

He’d even joked about you coming home with him to continue your bonding session over here (no sketchy intentions, alright), but you’d just laughed in that sweet way of yours and rolled your eyes, hugging him goodbye, not realizing that—yeah—Rafe had meant it.

Whatever he’d felt with you on that shitty lounge bed tonight... he didn’t even have the words. It had felt like the best parts of weed and coke combined—deep relaxation, and yet, such a rush of euphoria and energy.

Your warm body pressed against his, your sweet scent lingering between you, the way your hand had rested on his stomach, your head on his chest. The way you’d kept glancing up at him with that cheeky smile of yours while rambling about something.

The fact you’d chosen to stay with him. Twice.

Twice, you’d made the decision to stay, and twice, Rafe had felt like he’d won the damn jackpot. And then, a third time, you’d picked him out of everyone else to spend the rest of the night with.

And now that warmth of your body was gone, your perfume left behind at your place, your head now resting on a pillow instead of his chest.

Shit. Rafe wanted you back.

He didn’t even fight the feeling, that pull. Why the fuck should he? He liked you. Being around you felt good. Feeling you close felt good.

Shit, it felt right.

And now he wished he hadn’t turned his desire for you to stay over into a joke but instead voiced it like an actual invitation.

Fuck. But that would’ve been so fucking pathetic and embarrassing, and you’d probably think he just wanted to hook up with you, or worse, that he was some kind of loser who couldn't be alone. Especially after he’d begged you not to leave him during that argument in the parking lot.

Thing was, he didn’t even need you curled up against him. Just... just be there. Lying next to him. Hearing the sound of your breathing as you slept a few inches away, feeling how the blanket rose and fell with every inhale.

Just feel your presence. Knowing you were there. Maybe, one more time, hearing you say that you’d work things out with him. That you’d figure shit out together.

That you wouldn't leave.

Shit, seriously, though, what the fuck was up with him that he was so needy all of a sudden?

Ugh, he was too tired to even question it.

Rafe let out a heavy breath, ran a hand through his hair, and undressed. Polo and shorts tossed onto the desk chair, socks on the floor. Too tired to even brush his teeth or wash his face, let alone take a shower. He'd do that shit tomorrow morning.

So, he just slipped under the blanket big enough for two, and leaned back against the bed, resting his head against the frame.

This fucking day had drained everything out of him.

Nah, psycho bitch Ruthie had.

Shit. Eugh. Fuck, no. He didn’t want to waste a single more thought on this crazy bitch.

So, maybe he could... nah, that was crazy.

But the sudden urge to call you hit him hard. Just hear your voice, your giggle, maybe even see your pretty face and smile on FaceTime one last time before falling asleep, and--Fuck.

The thought of you picking up, lying in bed in some cute little pajamas, braless underneath... shit, maybe you even slept naked—who the fuck knew—didn’t even matter.

Because, now that the image was in his mind, right now, he didn’t just want to hear or see you.

He needed to feel you.

Your body against his, clinging to him like earlier, spending him warmth and comfort as you were pressed against him in whatever clothes you'd decided to sleep in.

Or not sleep in.

Fucking shit. Rafe could already feel his blood rushing downward again.

And then, the image of your dress riding up your thighs earlier popped up in his head. The way it had revealed that soft skin underneath, the way your knee had found his when you were pressed close, and by God—your tits.

The way they’d pressed against the side of his chest while you were babbling about something he couldn’t even remember anymore, some shit about how to handle the Ruthie situation or whatever, and—

Too late.

His cock had already finished the thought, now pressing tightly against his boxers.

Fuck.

You'd made him hard again. For the second fucking time tonight.

But before he could second-guess or talk himself down from this sudden wave of need, he shifted downward into a more comfortable position, buried his head in the upper half of his pillow, and pushed his boxers down past his ankles.

Shit, what, he didn’t even need the lube in his nightstand—precum already gathered at the tip of his hardened length, the tension of today catching up to him. The need right there.

The moonlight cast soft shadows over his abs through the large windows behind him as Rafe spread his legs slightly, shifting them upward a little while he threw off that fuckass annoying blanket in frustration. One hand came to rest on his bare thigh, while the other wrapped around his already throbbing member.

Okay, fuck it.

As he closed his eyes, he let his head fall back against the pillow, letting out a deep tensed breath, and began moving his hand—slowly, instinctively—stroking up and down, spreading the already collected fluid over his tip and along his length for better glide.

His mind jumped from one image to the next, trying to find some kind of girl he could think of, some hot chick he'd already had beneath him, or hell, shit, maybe even fucking Megan Fox in that Transformers movie.

Yeah. Yeah, why not. The way she'd looked in that way too tight jeans shorts, bending over one car, and--

Shit.

You.

Without warning, his entire mind flooded with images of you, washing away every image or hint of any other girl. Instead, a kaleidoscope with snippets of you flashed in his head.

Your pretty face, those beautiful eyes, your addictive smile, and god—those lips he’d stared at way too often today.

Shit.

He could only wonder how those same lips might feel wrapped around his length. Warm and wet, those pretty eyes looking up at him, shy and embarrassed, probably wondering if you were doing a good job, eyes widening a little as you slowly took all of him in.

Fuck.

Rafe had to bite down on his lip to stifle a groan, his breathing now shallow, movements more deliberate.

Shit, just the thought of you trying to get him off, sitting all awkward in front of him, unsure of what to do, how to even place your hand. And how sheepishly you’d chuckle, face flushed, eyes wide and uncertain as your fingers hesitantly wrapped around his hardened length, softly stroking up and down, nervously asking things like, “Am I doing it right?” or “Like this?” and fuuck, yeah—Yeah! Exactly like that.

This time, Rafe couldn’t hold back the quiet groan that escaped his lips as he kept moving his hand, hips twitching upward for a second, his rhythm now quicker.

Fuck, honestly? Just the idea of you touching him in any way made his heart race like crazy. Not just sexually, shit no, it felt like, with you, Rafe craved a deeper kind of touch.

And tonight—you clinging to him like that on the lounge bed, all cozied up to him—that had awakened this crazy kind of longing. This insanely deep feeling in his chest Rafe didn't even know existed.

Shit, he didn’t even know, he just—

He just wanted to sink into you. Bury his face in your neck and forget everything else. Wanted you to hold him like that forever. Stroke his hair. Tell him he didn’t have to be anything but this.

So, a different kind of scene appeared in his head.

Your hands on his biceps as you sat on his lap (clothed or not, he couldn’t care less), legs resting on either side of his hips. Your fingers traced over his collarbone, drifting down his chest and abs, brushing gently over his skin as a warm laugh slipped from your lips. Your breath ghosting across the skin of his shoulder as Rafe pulled you closer by the waist, pressing soft kisses to your collarbone, breathing in that goddamn addicting scent of yours, head buried in the crook of your neck while your arms slung over his shoulders.

A quiet whimper left Rafe's lips at the thought of you hugging him close like that, soft fingers brushing over the bruise on his cheek, carefully and gently, and how you'd kiss the very same spot afterward, once, twice, twenty times, whispering that everything was okay.

Sliding your fingers through his hair as you told him once more that everything was fine, that you were there for him, that he wasn't alone in this new fucked up situation. That you were staying no matter what, no matter how much he'd fuck up.

That he was good despite how many things seemed to be wrong with him.

Shit.

Another low groan slipped out, Rafe's hand now desperate and more deliberate, slowly massaging the tip of his cock as his breathing came in shallow gasps, his mind hazy as the slick sound of his movements faded into the background.

“Shiit.”

He was so fucking close.

And then. His mind went back to the image of your hand around his length. You sitting between his legs on this bed, warm hand slowly working him, loving and gentle, your pretty eyes watching him watch you, lips swollen from how hard you’d been biting them out of nervousness and awkwardness, letting out soft, embarrassed giggles as he begged you to keep going.

And all the while your hand kept moving—up and down, sweet and gentle—that little bracelet around your wrist would jingle, those tiny metallic charms clinking together softly. A quiet reminder to anyone that you were Rafe’s girl--!

Friend.

That he was the one who'd given you that bracelet. That he was the one you'd chosen to lay with tonight, cozy up to, and press your body against.

Him.

Rafe.

Holy. Fucking. Shit. And then another quiet groan left his lips as he thought about every time you’d said his name tonight in that sweet voice of yours. And each time, he'd felt his heart skip a beat when those four letters had left your mouth as if his name purely existed to be called by you.

Shiiit.

He bit the inside of his cheek, trying to stifle a moan, legs tensing while the build-up threatened to tear him apart. But somehow he couldn’t push himself over the edge.

Why the fuck was he holding back? Why the fuck couldn’t he just— Why did he feel so fucking ashamed of getting off, no, shit—finishing to the image of you?

Fuck.

God, this felt so wrong. So horribly wrong and twisted. And yet—fuck, his head was filled with you and your stupidly pretty face, that sweet smile and teasing glimmer in your eyes, and Rafe couldn’t stop. He ached for this.

For your body, your face, eyes, smile, laugh.

You.

His toes curled as he pushed his head back deep into the pillow with a quiet whimper, breathing so uneven, fingers slick, just trying to relieve this pressure that you had caused.

“Oh fuck,” he groaned as low and quiet as he was capable of, trying hard not to make a sound that might carry through the walls, his other hand digging harshly into his thigh.

And then his mind went back to earlier.

Your upper body—your boobs—pressed up against his side as you looked at him, all sheepish and smiley. Face so close. Lips right there.

He could’ve just leaned in—just a little—or, fuck it, let his hand slip to your neck, thumb grazing your jaw as he pulled you toward him, giving in to the need to feel you close. Lips barely brushing yours, aching for the shape of your mouth, your taste.

Another whimper slipped past him as he thought of the surprised giggle you'd make when your chest pressed flush against his while he pulled you closer at the waist.

God, and the way your hands would clutch to his polo, a sweet and shy chuckle spilling into the kiss while his hands would find your butt to heave you onto him, your his bracelet jingling around your wrist in that movement.

And now, you fully seated on his lap, butt pressed on his crotch while you leaned forward, soft hands finding his cheeks as you pressed gentle kisses on his jaw, cheek, lips, and—

His hips jerked, legs tensing as a low, groaning “Fuuck” escaped his mouth, face twisted with release as it rushed right through him.

Warm seed spilled onto his lower stomach while his hand worked out every last bit of this insane climax. His cock twitched as his thigh muscles clenched, deliberately trying to massage the last bit of release out of him.

Finally, Rafe let out a heavy exhale, his clean hand going through his sweaty hair, the other slipping from his length and falling to the mattress as his length slowly softened against his stomach, twitching one last time.

Shit. He hadn’t even lasted five minutes.

And then, it hit him.

Almost instantly, shame and guilt crashed over him like a dark, heavy suffocating wave. As fast as the high had come, it had also faded just as quickly, replaced by a sick twisting feeling in his gut. Now all he felt was hollow. Gross. Like he’d crossed some invisible line.

Rafe just lay there, chest rising and falling, one hand sticky, his heart pounding like crazy—but for all the wrong reasons now.

The fact that he’d actually used you to get off—his new friend—to relieve this awful pressure.

Fuck.

Those images while being around you were already overwhelming, but doing this to those thoughts?

It just felt wrong. Shit, no, fucked up.

Yeah. Fucking great. Post-nut clarity hit him like a fucking truck.

And the worst part?

That pressure Rafe had believed to be just sexual tension—just pent-up frustration from not hooking up with some chick in a while—it hadn’t lifted at all.

Yeah, sure, great, the physical tension might’ve been gone for a little while now. But everything else?

That pull toward you. That need to be close to you. That aching desire to have you back against his body, hugging him close like there was no one else you'd rather be with than him.

Still very much fucking there.

And truth be told, even worse than before.

✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿

K M S M A S T E R L I S T | <- C H . 2 0 | C H . 2 1 ->

✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿

T A G L I S T F O R M (taglist for this series is CLOSED but you can sign up for my other stuff through this link)

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[sweetcherrybby]

corruption 001. 𓍯𓂃 rֶָ֢ cameron

rafe cameron x shy!reader

𝜗𝜚 Summary : rafe finds sarah's best friend sitting in her room after she sneaks out to see her boyfriend, topper, and offers to keep her busy while teaching her something new.

𝜗𝜚 words : 2.5k

𝜗𝜚 c!w : weed, smoking, drvgs, suggestive.

part 2. part 3.

by the time sarah had re-entered her own bedroom, you were laying on your back across her bed, twisting your hair above your face, absentmindedly playing with the strands.

"i have a favour to ask." upon hearing your best friend's voice, you turned so you were laying on your stomach.

you liked having sleepover's with sarah but sometimes, she wasn't all that reliable. "m'kay." though you already had an idea what following words would pass her lips.

"i just got off the phone with topper and he wants me to go meet him." she settled herself against her drawers. "but my dad'll kill me if i stay out past curfew. think you could cover for me?"

you batted your lids at the girl, frowning for various reasons. you'd brought all your stuff so you and sarah could hang out, you were getting a little tired of her using you as an excuse to see her boyfriend and you were downright petrified of ward cameron. there was something awfully frightening about your friends' parents.

but you didn't like to be troublesome. so a small "okay." passed your lips with a thin smile.

it took sarah less than twenty minutes to get ready and before you knew it, you were waving goodbye as she snuck out the window.

she left the tv on so you could watch one of your shows but you were much more inclined to reading the book in your bag. at this point, you'd grown accustomed to sarah leaving you during the middle of your sleepover's, you had to come prepared.

the reason she invited you over and snuck out was because she knew ward wouldn't dare go near her room when she had a friend over. none of her family did.

well, none aside from one.

"sarah!" you heard a familiar voice from behind the door followed by a bang against it that rafe cameron would later excuse as a 'knock'. "listen, i know you took my fuckin' charger, so give it ba―oh."

rafe was sarah's older brother, you'd seen him around plenty of times and he'd surely seen you. at this point, you practically lived in the house. many times you'd sat across from him at the dinner table or sat on the beach chairs with sarah while he was in the pool. though you didn't often speak to him.

perhaps that was your fault more than it was his, though.

"you're here." he stated, glancing around the room for the white charger he was missing.

rafe often initiated conversation with you but it was only in your shy nature to nod after he said something and use less than two words to communicate before scurrying down the hall after sarah.

this time, she wasn't here to be your human shield.

"uhm, yeah." you sort of just squirmed, hoping he didn't ask about why you were in here alone.

but you didn't often get what you hoped for. "where's sarah?" snatching up the charger. upon his question, you blinked at him, a stretch of panic flashed across your face. you didn't even need to say anything, your look gave it all away. "snuck out with topper, huh?"

your top lip snuck your bottom teeth in. "please don't tell." you weren't used to being so confined with rafe. sure, you'd been in a hallway with him before but come to think of it, you weren't sure you'd ever been in a small room like sarah's, alone, with the door shut.

"wasn't going to." he counters. his eyes pass over the room, raking down to you. you were sitting on the bed with a little book in your hands, pink bookmark sticking out from the page you left it on. "you don't need to be sittin' pretty in here all alone, though." he approached the door before turning to face you. "you comin'?"

it was as if he'd expected you to follow. you hastily stood, pink blush across your cheeks. "where are we going?"

he shrugged. "my room." as if it'd been obvious.

a nervous pit swirled in your stomach. you hadn't spent enough alone time with rafe to be invited into his bedroom. sarah was the one out of the two of you who talked to many guys. you kind of just stood idly by, a nervous look on your face as you bit your bottom lip and angled your head to look at the ground. you supposed rafe wasn't so bad, though.

after all, you practically grew up with the boy.

but that didn't make it any easier.

"so, uh, how's school?" he sniffed, inviting you into the room before shutting the door closed.

you'd been around sarah and her friends long enough to know that the smell swirling the room was weed. something you'd never so much as touched. the room also had a smell of some expensive cologne, the same one you often detected from rafe.

"it's okay." you offered, standing idly near his dresser, hands messing with the hem of your shirt. "what about you?"

a soft sort of smirk fell across his face. "i'm not in school anymore." he reminded you before taking a seat on the bed, taking something out from the beside table's drawer.

"i knew that, sorry." you felt your face flush. you hated this, always making yourself look silly when you spoke to rafe. it was why you avoided him in the first place. you wanted nothing more than to run out of the room to where you came from. but sarah was gone, meaning you had nobody to use as an excuse or a getaway.

you'd merely have to endure.

he didn't say anything, only offering a humorous huff from his lips.

"you mind?" your eyes trailed down to what was in his hands, the source of the smell you'd detected earlier. "asked you a question, sweetheart."

"oh, uhm." your eyes snapped up to meet his, head feeling floaty at the name. "i don't mind if you smoke. it's you're room."

again, he offered no response but continued to take out his pieces. he was currently in search of a lighter. "what are you standin' all the way over there for? sit down. i don't bite." but there was a quirk to his lips when he said it that made you think he did bite.

"sorry." you mumbled before shuffling to the bed to sit on the furthest edge you could.

you didn't miss the way rafe rolled his eyes. he looked back at you, studying your features. "split one with me?" he was testing the waters. he knew you enough to gauge assumptions about you. asking him? you didn't drink, didn't smoke, didn't have sex. you were the type of girl who stayed in your friends bedroom reading a book while they snuck out to meet their boyfriend.

he wanted to see if you'd give in.

your eyes were watching his hands, the way he rolled paper between his fingers. "uhm, 've never smoked."

ding ding ding.

he cocked his head. "want to try?" he could see immediate panic flash across your features. in a way, it was exactly what he wanted. he wanted to soothe you into this, not for you to instantly kneel at his every command. he knew you weren't easy. "c'mon, baby, 's just me. promise i won't let anything happen to you."

"i don't know." you shook your head slightly.

you were no stranger to the names he used on you. he often spoke them in a soft yet playful voice, especially around sarah. you just thought he liked seeing his sister get angry, tossing a pillow his way and telling him to stop treating you like one of his 'notches on his belt' but if he was only keen on making sarah angry, then why was he calling you such things while you were alone, sarah nowhere in sight?

"how long have you known me?" since you were very, very young. "one can't hurt. you trust me?" you slowly nodded, eyes still wavering to his hands. "so what'do you say?"

you knew you shouldn't. if your parents ever found out, they'd kill you with their bare hands and rafe would be next in their death note journal.

but there was something about the way he was looking at you that had your stomach folding in two.

besides, you never did like upsetting people.

if you didn't say yes, rafe would think that you didn't like him. he would be upset that you'd be so mean to refuse such a kind offer.

so nonetheless, a small squeak of an "okay." left your lips.

"atta girl. c'mere." he gestured down and you blinked at him confusedly. was he asking you to sit in his lap? you swallowed thickly. "c'mere." he repeated, this time between a soft chuckle. he reached out for you, helping you to sit flush against his lap.

instantly, you swore you had never been so red in your life.

your eyes were all wide and embarrassed, cheeks flaming red hot while you tucked your bottom lip under your top one again. a habit you supposed you'd die with. to say you were shocked to feel his hand against your face was an understatement. his thumb pulled at your lip from between your teeth, securing it away from harm. "don't do that." he mumbled. "you know how to take a pull?"

awkward and embarrassed were two words you swore were forgetting their meaning. this was above and beyond that. "you just... suck, right?" you squirmed in his lap at your own words.

"inhale, sweetheart." he moved the rolled blunt up to your lips. "open." you complied and he stuck it between the two, lifting the lighter to set the top to a low burn. "don't try to keep it in, 'kay?"

you nodded, inhaling the blunt and finding a strange sensation fill your mouth.

you'd never smoked a cigarette before, much less a blunt.

it was a weird feeling but you did what he said, you didn't try to keep it in. you moved the blunt from your lips with your fingers and didn't feel the need to couch heavily. you just blew the smokey air back out.

"good girl." the soft pads of his fingers trailed softly against your bare thighs below your sleep shorts. you felt your stomach do flips at the praise. "did so well. you sure you haven't done this before?"

you nodded with a slight giggle. "'m sure."

you watched as he lifted the blunt to his lips, taking a drag, then another. he didn't seem as phased as he did. "mm, don' know if i believe you on that one, princess."

"i haven't!" your hips gently reached up against his own. "swear." before simmering back down.

he lifted the blunt to your lips. this time, he didn't need to tell you to part your mouth, you just did it. "cross your heart 'n hope to die?"

he was staring at you so intently that you swore you'd never seen anyone's eyes so vividly, never been more interested in the squiggles of blue in someone's iris or the way his pupils slowly began expanding.

all you could offer was a slow nod as he watched you take another inhale of the blunt, eyes suddenly now steady on your lips, watching you stain the end of the paper pink with lipgloss.

a smirk fell on his lips as he leaned back onto the headboard. one minute, you were too shy to leave sarah's room, now you were sitting on his lap, smoking a blunt with him.

rafe merely had a way with women.

"so what, you feel like 'm corrupting you yet?" his steady smirk and sly hand trailing up your thigh.

a giggle passed your lips as you shook your head. "no."

he hummed. "plenty of time for that." you weren't too sure what he'd meant, though you hadn't actually asked him either.

it didn't take long for you to get high. rafe realised this within less than a few minutes. your pupils had turned wide, eyes gone glassy and suddenly you couldn't stop licking your already wet lips. you were staring at him, a little too much, not that he was complaining. he'd spent too long waiting for you to shyly meet his eye. with the weed in your system, you couldn't seem to look away.

"can i ask you something?" his voice was low, hardly a whisper as he spoke now, as if afraid he'd awake something and the room would turn to dust, the moment would fade from his memory and this moment would dissappear.

"uh-huh." you were busy looking at him, downright gawking. your eyes were shamelessly staring right at his lips.

he wasn't as buzzed as you. but to be honest, he'd been doing this a long time before you. "have you ever been kissed?"

it was his turn for his eyes to advert to your lips. all glossy and wet. for the thousandth time, your tongue peaked out, wetting them again before biting your bottom lip.

he couldn't get you to stop biting it, no matter how hard he tried.

he'd merely have to train you, when the time came.

"mm-mm." you shook your head at him. finally, your eyes broke from his lips and looked up at his eyes. he could see now, how truly buzzed you were. your eyes were all red and glassy, it was almost as if he could feel you floating. you tilted your head at him. "are you gonna kiss me?"

his hands ran up and down against your skin. "do you want me to?" a hesitant nod followed his question. "say please." pulling the blunt up to his lips for another drag. it was almost out now.

it was a mindless tease but he felt you squirm in his lap again. "please, rafe." voice but a whiney murmur.

he blew the smoke out from his lips and watched it fall into your own parted mouth.

your eyes fluttered shut and he didn't give you a chance to think, his lips replacing the smoke. his were hungry, your's were soft, inviting. and he took the invite as soon as it'd been handed to him. his hand ran up your back, shoving your body as close to his own as he could. he wanted the heat to envelope him, wanted your skin against his own. wanted so badly to rip off every piece of clothing that tainted you. wanted you to be his for the taking.

but the way you suddenly pulled back, those doey, bloodshot eyes and fearful voice murmuring the words, "you're not gonna tell sarah, are you?" told rafe exactly what he already knew.

he need to be patient with you. take his time unravelling you until there was nothing left.

he shook his head, fingers soft against your face, running across your cheek.

"don't worry, sweetheart, your dirty secret's safe with me."

[sweetcherrybby]

you're gonna go far | 01 - the boneyard

SERIES MASTERLIST pairing: rafe cameron x pogue!reader

summary: where Rafe who hates pogues has a soft spot for one, who couldn't care less about him, she's too independent and too focused on graduating college and making it out of the Cut to pay attention to him or where they say they don't like each other yet for a reason they are always at the same place at the same time, him making time for her and her never pushing him away but again they don't like each other. word count: 3.2k content: alcohol consumption, angst, cursing, pogue/kook talk, rafe being an asshole, classism, superiority complex authors note: they are back! my angsty babies. we'll see where this one goes. If you read it the first time around, pretend you didn't 😂

01 | 02

Another Boneyard party. Pogue territory, your territory, not his. Yet he found himself at another party there. The excuse he gave everyone, even himself, was that he would never miss a party and needed to keep an eye on Sarah, his very grown sister, whose business was anything but important to him. But he needed something to justify his presence instead of just accepting the truth about why he always wanted to be there.  

The truth didn’t make sense to him. It was not who he was. Rafe hated pogues, even though he wouldn’t use the word hate out loud; his actions spoke louder than words. He never wanted to be around them, not until he saw you. Sarah had invited her new friends over to a party after a few months of dating John B. He had probably seen you around a few times, but you had never caught his attention. You had been like another person who blurred into the background until that night. There was just something about you that had him immediately hooked. From that point on, he looked for you everywhere; he wanted to know you. He wanted to know a pogue, and that threw him off balance more than he liked to admit.  

Your existence alone made him lose his mind, but other things drove him crazy and made his skin crawl. Like the fact that you weren’t afraid of him, you stood up against him when he messed up with your friends, and you were there to witness it. Whenever he was an asshole, you were there calling him on his shit, and he hated it but not as much as he pretended to. He hated that you could see right through him, but he loved how much he could also push back at you. There was just this pull about you that he couldn’t resist.  

So, there he was again at another Boneyard party, even when he wasn't really in the mood; he was there only to see you. As much as he tried to ignore you and pretend not to care for you, he couldn't, and that's how he ended up going back to his car to grab his jacket and make his way to you. The party was in full swing, but you needed a break, so you were sitting alone on a blanket over the sand, looking at the ocean and hugging yourself. For a mid-June night, it was cold—too cold; probably a storm was coming soon, or the weather was just acting up.  

As if it were heaven-sent, a puffy jacket wrapped around you. "You'll get sick," he said. You looked up to meet Rafe's stoic face, as if what he had just done was nothing. "It's freezing," he added before sitting next to you.

"I'm going to be fine," you said. 

As much as you wanted to take the jacket, your pride was bigger, so you started to take it off to give it back, but he stopped you by putting it back on. He scoffed before answering. 

"Right, like you're not trembling. Just take it." You didn't fight him; it felt good, but you weren't going to admit it to his face. 

"What about you?" You turned to look at him. He didn't appear cold, but still, you asked. 

"I'm fine. You need it more than I do." His eyes darted over to your body, a strange feeling forming in his chest at the sight of you enveloped in something that belonged to him. 

“I'm not going to die from being cold.” You glared at him, putting your arms into the jacket. It looked like his jacket had swallowed you up, and he smirked at the sight.

"Yeah, I know, but you were shaking, and I'm not."

"Right..." Rafe being nice to you wasn't new, but with him, you were always waiting for the other shoe to drop. He was never nice just to be nice.

"Thanks," you said softly as you looked around. Everyone was enjoying the party; it was one of those moments when you wondered why you were there. You could be doing anything else. Rafe interrupted your thoughts when he cleared his throat.

"Aren't you going to go back to everyone?"

"Not right now. Why?" You turned to look at him with a confused expression. You wanted to go home, but if you didn't stick around a little longer, your friends would ask, and you liked to avoid the questions. 

"Just asking… I don’t get why you hang out with them." The other shoe dropped. You wondered if it was physically impossible for him to keep his mouth shut. 

"Around who? My friends?” you asked. "Yeah, I don’t see the appeal of hanging out with Pogues.” You rolled your eyes.

“You are hanging out with one right now,”  you quipped back, and he rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, but this is different,” he said as if he were stating something obvious. 

"Oh, and why's that?" Rafe was the perfect example of why you didn’t like kooks; it was like they inherently needed to be right or have the upper hand in anything they did. 

"Because I’m not hanging out with you, I’m just sitting here,” he scoffed. He had a way of getting under your skin that no one else had. It was infuriating. 

“If you were just sitting there, you wouldn’t be talking to me.” 

“Whatever, one pogue is not the whole Cut,” he said gruffly. 

“Yes, because God forbid you’re a decent person toward the rest.”

“Again with that?” 

“You’re the one who started this.” He knew it was true. 

“I just don’t get why you willingly decide to hang out with them. They don’t care about anything, look at them…” he made a hand gesture to point at your friends. 

“It’s a party, they are having fun.” 

“I’m just saying you shouldn’t be around them,” he shrugged. 

"And what makes you think I will listen to you?" His face contorted in annoyance.

"I'm just trying to look out for you, Pogue. " The way he said 'Pogue' with such disdain just reminded you of his hate for you and your friends. You also hated him, even if the current situation didn’t look like you did. You didn’t take off his jacket. The cold weather was making you do stupid things. 

“You hate Pogues,” you stated. He huffed, almost as if it’s amusing to see you mad. 

“Usually I do; all of them are annoying, but…” he pauses for a second, thinking as if it’s a good idea to continue talking. “You just… you’re different.”  

“And that’s supposed to mean something?” You didn’t know how to take that coming from Rafe, of all people.  

“It means you don’t annoy me as much as they do, and I don’t particularly want to see you getting hurt because of whatever the Pogues do.”  

“Getting hurt? How would my friends hurt me? Last time I checked, you were the one doing the hurting to them.”  

“They are them, and you’re…” he trails off. “I just don’t get how you can hang out with them.” His irritation was growing; you noticed it, but you didn’t care.  

“There’s nothing to get; they are my friends. Maybe you don’t understand because the concept of considering your friends family is foreign to you.”  

“Oh, I don’t get that they’re your little family? That you love hanging around The Cut?” he said in a condescending tone.  

“I’m a Pogue! The Cut is my home,” a home that you didn’t like. Pope was the only one who knew how much you wanted to just get out and how hard you were working to actually make that happen. “That’s my life!”  

“A hell of a life you’ve got then; you could do better than that.” As much as you didn't like it there, it was still your home. He didn’t have the right to comment on it. He had barely set foot in, and he didn’t get it. He was never going to get it. “Living there doesn’t mean you have to hang out with them.”  

“And what? Get kook friends that don’t understand how hard it is to live on the Cut? They get me; we have been through a lot together.” His chest feels tight all of a sudden. He studies your face, trying to think of what he can say next.  

“You could do better. Go find new friends, some that won’t drag you down with them.” You stare at him, looking for a trace of it being a joke, but he is serious. He seriously thinks your friends are not good for you. You laugh bitterly.

“I don’t need new friends… I don’t want new friends. They aren’t dragging me down; they push me to do better and, most importantly, they don’t make me feel like trash.” Rafe goes silent, his jaw clenching in annoyance. He knew he treated your friends like that most of the time and hated that you were right about it.  

“I don’t think you’re trash,” he groans in frustration. “This is just about having better company, people that don’t get you into trouble.”  

“I don’t need better company. What aren’t you getting? They are important to me, and I care for them. We stick by each other, and we push each other to do better because we want out; we do not want to stay in The Cut forever.” You didn’t. A part of you knew that JJ and John B didn’t care. Yes, they wanted better, but that didn’t necessarily mean getting out of The Cut.  

Then there was Kie, who was a kook and preferred the pogue life. A part of you was angry at Kie; she had the privileges you would kill for, and she took them all for granted. You loved her, but still, it frustrated you.  

He scoffs; he hated the tone you were taking. Yes, it’s the same tone he’s giving you, but he doesn’t like it when it’s aimed at him and coming from you. If it had been any other pogue, he would’ve either fought them or ignored them, but it was you.  

“Oh, you don’t?” he said, faking disbelief. “I don’t think having them around is going to make things easier. Almost no one makes it out of The Cut. What are you going to do? Work for minimum-wage jobs?”  

“You think I’m not aware it’s hard? I know how things go, Rafe.” You were trying to remain calm; he was getting on your nerves. You had heard that a thousand times, but coming from him right there felt somehow even worse. Not even a few minutes ago, he had given you his jacket, but just like that, he was back to being an asshole.  

“Well then, I don’t think you’re trying that much. The Cut is like a black hole that swallows people, and you can never escape. If you do, I doubt it's going to be with your friends next to you.” You had enough. He had the nerve to say all that when his father came from The Cut and made it out. You didn’t really like Ward Cameron; granted, not a lot of people did, but you had to give him that. He made it out, and he wasn’t the best person, but he was all the proof you needed to know it was possible.  

“Yeah, well, your dad made it out of that black hole.” You saw him tense up at the mention of his father; well, now you knew how to piss him off. You regretted using his dad as an example since it was a sensitive topic for him, but you tried to convince yourself he deserved it.  

You didn’t like confrontation, but with him, every word flew out of your mouth without hesitation. It made you feel good, like you were brave enough, and in the eyes of many, you were. After all, it was Rafe Cameron you were standing up against. Deep inside him, he respected that you would run your mouth at him, even if it made you the most insufferable girl he knew.  

“My dad was different; it was a rare thing, like winning the lottery, you know?” you huffed under your breath, looking at the sand. Of course, he was going to be an asshole about it. But he saw your reaction and felt the need to comfort you.  

“What I’m saying is…” He didn’t know if he would say the right thing; he sucked at comforting people. “You’re going to have a hard time getting out of there. If you want to stay with your friends, then maybe you’re better off staying in The Cut and accepting that reality.”  

You looked at him; if you could strangle him with a look, you would’ve done it. You scoffed, biting the inside of your cheek. “You know what, Rafe? Fuck you! You don’t get it!” You stood up, took his jacket off, and threw it at him before walking away.  

“Hey! Wait, where are you going?” He stood up, calling you out and grabbing his jacket, but you were already walking as fast as you could to get away from him.  

“This girl…” he muttered. You annoyed him so much, yet he felt bad. The look on your face before leaving, the words—it had affected him more than he liked to admit. Watching you go directly to JJ after it just made it worse. You had heard him, but you ignored him. What made him think that any of what he said was okay?

—

When you finally made your way back to your friends, you regretted throwing his jacket back; you were cold again. “Ah, she's back! Where were you?” JJ piped in first as he watched you sitting near the bonfire. You weren’t going to tell them you were with Rafe, so you avoided the question the best way you knew how.

“Just taking a break from all this,” you nodded, hugging yourself. You thought about going back just for the jacket, but you would rather freeze to death than face Rafe again. 

“You’re cold? There’s a hoodie on the Twinkie; you can grab it,” JJ said as he walked to grab another beer. You nodded and decided to go get it, and maybe even stay there. You made your way to where the Twinkie was parked.

—

Rafe didn’t leave the party even after what had turned out to be a fight with you. He kept an eye on you from a distance, and he did that far more often than he liked to admit. He decided to follow you wherever you were going. You were about to put on the hoodie when Rafe showed up.  

"You know you can always have this back." He lifted his hand, where he held his jacket. You rolled your eyes as you put on the less-warm hoodie.  

"I don’t need or want your help; maybe you should accept that reality too," you said bitterly, referring to what he had told you earlier.  

He rolled his eyes, feeling guilty for what he had said, but it was done, and he was trying to make it better without even saying sorry. "You don’t let things go, huh?"  

"You’re an asshole to me, and then you want me to be okay with it? Things don’t work that way; at least acknowledge that what you said was wrong." You crossed your arms over your chest and stared at him. He knew he was in the wrong; he felt bad about it, but he wasn’t going to apologize or acknowledge it because every word you said spiked his irritation in a way only you could manage.  

"If being wrong is stating facts, then yeah, I’m wrong," you groaned in frustration. You wondered why you even indulged him when you knew how he was. It was like you were being pulled to him; as much as you knew you could just stay quiet, you never did with him. You didn’t like him having the last word.  

"You’re an asshole. You come here saying stuff when you don’t even have a clue what it’s like to live in a place you hate, but it's still your home." He felt a sudden anger bubbling up. Oh, he was familiar with hating the place where he lived. It wasn’t the same way you did, but he knew the feeling all too well.  

"You’re so infuriating. First, you say I’m too much for the Pogues—newsflash, I’m one! You say they hold me down, but when I tell you I want to do better, you say I should give up?" You groaned in frustration and ran your hands through your hair.  

He stared at you; you looked pretty even when you were angry at him. He shook his head, focusing back on his irritation. "You done with your tantrum?" He knew that would only make you more upset, and maybe he wanted to see how far he could take it. As much as he was different from you, he still was Rafe—the cocky kook asshole who thought everyone should listen to him. You clenched your jaw.  

"What, you didn’t like what I said? Sorry, I was just stating facts." You lifted a brow, testing him in return. You weren’t afraid of him; your friends had told you multiple times to be careful, that you didn’t know who you were messing with. But nothing ever happened to you, besides the same old Pogue comments, and as sad as it was, you were used to them. They did hurt sometimes, but nothing worth crying over. It just fueled you to prove to everyone—and him—that you could do the things he never thought you would.  

"Do you ever know when to shut up?" he huffed, and you felt a pang of hurt in your chest. Out of all the things he had said, this is what ended up hurting you? You swallowed and looked up at him. "Oh, you do know when to shut up." He smirked with his stupid, smug face. Why did he have to be like that?  

"Do you ever know when to stop?" you pushed past him. You knew why this had hurt more than the other things, but you chose to ignore it; you could deal with that later, or just shove it down. You turned around to walk back to where the rest of the people were.  

"Wait!" He yanked you back. "You don’t get to tell me what to do." You looked at him, frustrated. You closed your eyes and took a deep breath to try and calm yourself down, but it was useless.  

"Neither do you!" You pulled your arm from his grasp. "Never touch me again. I don’t want to see you around. Stick to the words you’ve said to my friends a thousand times: stay on your side of the island, kook!" You used the word with the same distaste he used for "Pogue."  

You were done; he had made you feel horrible twice, and you had allowed it. You stormed off, and this time he didn’t stop you. The words kept ringing in his head until Topper called him out. They were ready to leave, and at the same time, you convinced JJ to take you back to your house. Rafe looked from a distance, anger bubbling up inside him, but there was nothing he could do about it. 

He left the party not long after you did, parts of the conversation still replaying in his head.

taglist: @starkeyvhs @oxpogues4lifexo @persiar9 @lenasvoid @angelicameron @purplerose291 @davinashifts333 @hannieskzzz @rafesdrew @icopewithfanfictions @pogueprincesa taglist is open! if you want to be added send an ask or comment! :) follow and turn on notifications on @inthelibrarybtw-notifs to get updates on everything i write.

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INTHELIBRARYBTW ✧.*

[sweetcherrybby]

sfw masterlist (contains no smut but may still have mature themes, please heed any warnings!)

a place we could escape sometime words: 2k

rafe being an aggressive lover headcanons words: 800

before dinner words: 350

birthday morning words: 300

crybaby words: 400

drunk words: 700

fruit stand words: 1.2k

hoodie words: 1.1k

jealous words: 200

just friends words: 3.1k

legacy words: 4k

locked in words: 1.7k

m.i.a. words: 900

office hours words: 1.4k

pretend words: 1k

redemption words: 1.2k

savior words: 500

t-ball words: 1k

nightmare words: 350

only a little jealous words: 700

apocolypse words: 3k

the very first night words: 700

reluctant friends to lovers words: 1.3k

second chance words: 800

how you get the girl words: 900

childhood friends to lovers words: 800

a collection of soft moments with rafe words: 2.4k

live like a kook words: 5.2k

sleepy reader request words: 700

just not home words: 1k

black eye words: 500

talk to me words: 800

party's over words: 1.1k

savior words: 1.1k

who did this to you? words: 1.4k

defending you words: 1.9k

silent treatment words: 900

broken words: 500

emergency words: 1.2k

grilled cheese words: 300

everybody wants him, that was my crime words: 2.1k

wisdom teeth words: 1.1k

bad dreams words: 400

kook princess words: 3.3k

dealbreaker words: 500

love tested words: 1.1k

stupid baby words: 600

orange peel theory words: 1k

grumpy words: 400

i am a rich man words: 1k

girliest girly girl words: 800

destruction words: 1.5k

little protector words: 800

good boys words: 1.5k

tatted words: 1k

girls night guardian words: 1.3k

safe words: 1.1k

the pogues and the princess words: 1.8k

gamers words: 800

the compound part one words: 2k part two words: 2.6k

pink unicorn words: 600

chew toy words: 600

babys first flight words: 1.3k

vodka red bull words: 300

sanctuary words: 900

just add water words: 5k

babysit words: 300

w for wheezie words: 1.5k

out for a run words: 900

keeping secrets social media au

pizza night words: 2.2k

tee time words: 1.5k

deliveries words: 1.2k

separate lines words: 600

followed (part one) words: 1.2k accused (part two) words: 1k

in sickness and in health words: 1k

your friendly neighborhood spiderman words: 3k

finding freedom words: 4.2k

sunny words: 500

vip section words: 400

wax words: 400

yoga words: 1.2k

first moments words: 1.5k

hormonal hunch words: 800

tracked words: 1.5k

eventually words: 700

favorite girl to see words: 700

healing touch words: 700

range words: 700

never truly gone words: 2k

bodyguard words: 2.1k

over the clouds words: 1k

slap words: 1k

escape from isla nublar words: 2.6k

crash words: 2k

gone wrong words: 500

gold ring words: 1.3k

5 acts words: 2k

[sweetcherrybby]

─── SHOW-OFF ♡

♡ pairing: ex-husband!rafe x married!reader

♡ summary: your ex-husband outshines your current husband at your birthday.

♡ warnings / tags: fluff, smut, unprotected piv, cheating, car sex, reader having an asshole husband. MDNI! wc: 1.5k

♡ author's note: another 5k fic!! it’s been a while since i wrote them… oops!

RAFE MASTERLIST ♡ 5K MASTERLIST

"awww, thank you!" you exclaimed when your husband handed you the glimmering silver bracelet. even though every piece of jewelry you owned was golden, you couldn't fault will too much; he was a busy man, it was understandable that he wouldn't spend his time paying attention to something as silly as what your jewelry looked like.

leo looked over the necklace with a critical eye, narrowing the blue eyes he got from your ex-husband, his little nose turnt up at the velvet box, "that looks cheap." the little boy stated, his arms crossed. "what?" your husband scoffed as if the young boy had personally offended him, "you're a kid, you don't know about things like this, leo." one tug on the sleeve of your blouse and your attention was back on your son, the little boy clad in a button-up shirt, looking so much like his father..

"leo." you let out a quiet sigh, looking around at the crowd around you, your birthday party in full swing, not wanting to make a scene. you brought a hand to rest on top of leo's head, stroking his hair. " that's not a kind thing to say."

"daddy would've gotten you a better gift." the little boy grumbled, haughtily looking between his stepfather and the gift he'd just given to you; you couldn't help the way your lips twitched up slightly; the older he got, leo started reminding more and more of his father, and it seemed that included having expensive taste.

"i love it." you smile, taking will's hand into yours, a cocky smile taking over his offended expression, "i'm glad you do, baby."

you'd been socializing with your guests, thanking them for coming and accepting 'happy birthday's, until the bustle of the party was interrupted by the sound of the doorbell, your brows raising in surprise, only for your young son to make his way to the front door, exclaiming "i'll get it, i'll get it!" over and over again while you went to will, your dear husband sporting surprised look on his face, not too different from the one on yours.

you felt your breath get stuck in your throat when the man who gave your son his steely, blue eyes was standing next to him, a smile on his face as he held up a present.

“happy birthday.”

you hadn't seen rafe since your... slip-up a month ago; whenever you were supposed to take leo to his father, you'd asked the girl who occasionally babysat for you. now, here he was, standing right in front of you, and you couldn't stop thinking of his limbs tangled with yours on the bed you shared with your husband, of his lips all over your body, of him inside of you-

"rafe." you mutter weakly, "what... what are you doing here?" "oh." rafe's hand went to scratch the back of his head, the man's golden wedding band still on his ring finger, whereas you now wore a ring given to you by another, "i guess... i guess leo was lying when he told me you'd asked him to invite me, huh?"

"yes, he was." will said with a cold, defensive voice, his hand possessively tugging you into his side, "you should probably leave."

"rafe, can i talk to you?" you detached yourself from will's grip, turning to him with an apologetic look, "this'll just take a minute." you mumbled, before going over to rafe and wrapping your hand around his wrist, pulling him into the other room as onlookers exchanged curious, conspiratorial looks.

"why are you here?" you ask once you've tugged rafe into the kitchen, pulling the door closed behind you. "i told you, leo told me-" "oh, i know you didn't believe a word he said. he's not that good of a liar." you crossed your arms in front of your chest. rafe sighed, bringing his calloused hand to trail the soft skin of your arm, goosebumps appearing on your skin in the wake of his touch.

"you keep avoiding me." rafe mumbled almost pleadingly, "we slept together and now you pretend i don't exist." "that-" you gritted your teeth, looking away from him, "that was a mistake. that should've never happened, and it's never gonna happen again."

rafe let out a low chuckle, pressing close to you, "you don't really believe that, do you? 'cause if you did... you wouldn't be avoiding me. but you are, because you're afraid that when we're alone..."

rafe brought his lips close to your ears, his words turning into a husky whisper, "you're gonna end up in bed with me again. and again. and again."

rafe pressed his lips on your cheeks for an almost chaste kiss before pulling back, yet you could still feel his heat surrounding you. he took your hand, pressing a gift box on the palm of your hand.

"if you're so sure that nothing's ever gonna happen between us again, you should come see me tonight." rafe tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear, a fond, challenging smile on his lips "how about you wear that red set you know i love, hm? i'll park across the street at 12."

you felt your cheeks warm up even as rafe pulled away and walked out of the kitchen. you opened the gift box, revealing a golden locket. when you opened it, you felt your heart squeeze in your chest. it was a picture of you, rafe, and leo while you and rafe were still married.

how did he manage to get your to heart to flutter no matter what he did?

you leaned on the doorway, clad in your silky pink nightgown, listening to the soft snores your husband let out. you rubbed your calf with the back of your foot, massaging moisturizer onto your hands, your brows stuck in a furrow, deep in thought. you could get into bed, snuggle up to your husband, go to sleep…

you looked to the alarm clock on your bedside table. five minutes past midnight. five minutes after twelve. you looked to your dressing table, at the golden locket, your mind drifting to the way rafe had looked at you, the way he smiled at you…

you shouldn't. you should go to bed. next to the husband who loves you. you shouldn't put on the locket your former husband gave you. you shouldn't pull on the robe that matched your nightgown and rush downstairs and put your shoes on.

and you most definitely shouldn't rush outside and make your way to the range rover you knew belonged to rafe. but before you could even question the commands your heart were giving you, your body had decided to dismiss the advice your brain was trying to give you, and you found yourself straddling rafe in the backseat of his truck, the car filling with the sounds of your heavy breathing mixing in with his, rushed hands working to undress one another, until you finally felt the head of rafe's cock being pressed against your clit, the sweet friction causing pleasure to pool in your lower stomach.

your hand found his when rafe positioned his cock at your entrance, fingers intertwining the moment you let yourself sink down on his cock, a loud moan leaving your lips.

thunder roared outside of the car but the sounds of rafe's lips on yours was somehow louder, "i knew you wouldn't be able to resist..." rafe breathed out, a whine leaving your lips as he moved you up and down on his cock, your walls practically molding themselves into the shape of his cock. "fuck, always feel so good..." rafe whispered, "like you're made for me..."

you continued riding him, chasing the pleasure that only rafe managed to give you, enjoying the feelings only he managed to tease out of you. "god, rafe..." you let out breathlessly.

"come on, baby..." rafe's hand slid down to your clit, drawing patterns on the throbbing bud with his thumb, "tell me you're only made for me... tell me you want me and no one else..."

rafe's thrusts grew more intense, more purposeful the longer you were quiet for, his cock kissing your cervix as if it would draw those words out of you, until finally he stilled his hips inside of you and paused the movements of his finger, a loud whine leaving your lips. "tell me..." he mumbled against your swollen lips, "tell me, or i'm not gonna keep going..."

"i'm made just for you..." you brought your lips to his for a gentle peck, "i don't want anyone else but you..." "yeah, you're all mine..." rafe mumbled against your lips, his hips starting to thrust up into you all over again.

and thirty minutes later, when you slipped into the bed you shared with your clueless, sleeping husband, looking to the man with rafe's cum still inside of you after he'd fucked it up into you, whispering about how it was proof you're all his, you couldn't help but think that the words were true.

TAGLIST: @raahosh @nemesyaaa @purpleplumpudding @littlelamy @dollyfiles @esotericcangel @mattyskies @bakugouswaif @nonietosay @my-name-is-baby @tinythebunni @fratbrochrisgf @ariieeesworld @silkylovey @izumis-salty-penis @flow33didontsmoke @cameronsbabydoll @love-ella333 @haylorbestie @k4yr14 @harringtonsbowgirl @lacelottie @st8rkey @lunaleah @cicicavill7 @lillied31 @doremimosasol @lerclec @deeninadream @digitaldiary111 @constantsadness

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[sweetcherrybby]

can you please write a rafe fic based on the song “back to friends”?

like they were exes turned to strangers but there’s sooo much tension and they’re obviously still sooo in love with each other. just angst vibes with maybe some suggestive fluff? idk

just a suggestion though totally understand if it’s too specific for you!

yes! when you sent this in i had no idea what song you were talking about LOL but now ive heard it and it’s so good. love this prompt!

BACK TO FRIENDS — RAFE CAMERON ONE SHOT (18+)

SYNOPSIS you and rafe have been broken up for months, and despite not seeing him since, you haven't stopped thinking about him. then, out of the blue, he's suddenly there at one of your parties: coy yet shy, a presence yet a ghost, looking at you as if he's never seen anything prettier. and all you can think is: what the fuck?

WARNINGS aaaannnngst (miscommunication tendencies is very high here, they’re both idiots), fluff, suggestive content and descriptions of smut. post-grad au, living in a city of your choice. ex!rafe is fun to write, but apologies because this isn't super edited.

WORD COUNT 8.1k.

SONG OF THE CHAPTER back to friends by sombr

You've been single for six months.

Has it been easy? Absolutely not. Was it necessary? That's a bit subjective depending on who answers on the matter, but - of course - most of the time you'd argue no. Your ex would argue yes in a self-depricating sort of way. Part of you knew it was coming to a close in those final weeks, taking into account the way you drifted apart as one of life's natural tendencies.

You were heading in one direction. He was heading in another. There are so many things that he probably thought that he never spoke, especially with the way he hinted towards not being good enough for you, not being good enough to follow you into the next stages of your life. You, of course, knew that wasn't true, that it was his mind sending him into a spiral, not his heart. It ruptured your soul when the last image of him was his back towards you, not even having the gall to face you as he said goodbye. You never thought you'd see him after that.

So why the fuck is Rafe Cameron standing in your living room right now?

He looks good. Too good. The long locks that you used to toy with between your nimble fingers are gone, replaced with a slightly grown out buzz that suits him, makes him look more mature and grounded. A simple t-shirt adorns his torso, snug tight at the seams around his biceps, looking a little bigger than you last saw. He's clean cut, sleek in a way that makes your heart pound, and a head taller than everyone around him, commanding the room without even meaning to.

But his eyes tell a different story.

When those pretty blues meet yours, you see what he really feels: an emptiness and search for something to fulfill his soul, radiating a sadness to them that emulates the look of despair he had the last time you were with him. No one notices. He hides it well. But you were always able to read him like a book, to be able to pin point his emotion like it was your day job, to know how to approach him through various emotions to get him to feel better.

You, apparently, still can.

It's absolutely debilitating when you lock eyes across the room, and you can't even describe the weird feeling that settles in your gut. Is it anxiety? Dread? Excitement? It's a kettlebell in your stomach that only weighs more and more the longer you look at him, the more you register that Rafe Cameron, your ex and probably the only person you'll ever love, is standing in your living room in a state you never thought he'd be in with people you never associated him with.

First you feel shock. Then confusion.

How the fuck is he here? Who does he know? Did he - somehow - stumble upon this party in a stroke of pure luck and humiliation (on your part) or is this intentional? Does he know this is your apartment? Did he recognize the same decor that you had in your old place? Smell your favorite candle? See the furniture and overall mood of the house and think of you? Did he even know? How could he have?

It isn't until (some) of your questions are being answered when you spot another friend of yours, Wyatt, clap Rafe on the shoulder and whisper something in his ear, nodding in your direction and tugging him towards—

Fuck.

Tugging him towards you.

You wish you could move. Or do anything. Pretend to be caught up in a conversation with a friend or sneak out onto the fire escape that you can only access through your room. Anything would be better than this: simply standing in place and waiting for the inevitable. You're angry. Yet sad. Confused. You're mad that he's still looking at you like he's in love with you. You're sad that he's still looking at you like he's in love with you. You're confused that he's still looking at you like he's in love with you.

Before your brain can turn on and make a move, Wyatt's suddenly there with an audacious hand clapped on Rafe's shoulder and gently shaking it to emphasize the presence.

"Honey!” Wyatt chirps brightly (curse his ability to literally befriend a brick wall, and curse the fact that you can't hate him for doing this to you right now if you tried). "This is Rafe, the friend from Coastal that I was telling you about."

"Honey?" Rafe murmurs in surprise, and you nearly stop breathing at the fact that you're hearing his voice again. "This is Honey?"

Before your friend can explain the horrifically embarrassing story as to how you got that nickname that your friends use more than your actual name, you miraculously find your voice.

"And this is the friend from Coastal you were telling me about?" Your tone matches your ex's of surprise.

If Wyatt notices the clear apprehension between you two, he either doesn't notice or simply doesn't care enough to address it. With some sort of magic, he manages to smile wider.

"Yeah! Figured since you both went there, you might know the same people?" He offers innocently, darting his gaze cheerfully between you as if he's waiting for something magical to happen.

But it...doesn't.

Because you fucking laugh.

Right in Rafe's face. And it's out of disbelief (and slight drunkenness) that this is actually happening right now. Your good friend is introducing you to your ex, the same ex that you haven't spoken to (or much less heard from) in six fucking months. The same ex that you've been absolutely devastated over losing. The same ex that you've been attempting to find fragments of in different people, yet coming up short every single time and thus ruining the progression of your love life.

It's comical, really, it is. Because what are the odds of this happening? Of Rafe Cameron standing in your apartment, in a place you thought hidden well enough to shield you from the ghosts of your past? Of the mere concept that this is how you're seeing him again: flushed and drunk and having a great time at a party you organized. It's out of left field, completely throwing you off your game (if you even have one).

"Yeah," you manage to get out, "we know of each other."

Wyatt beams, and Rafe frowns, portraying the happy-sad theatrical masks to a fucking T.

Yet your friend takes that as a cue to pat Rafe's back, sending another knowing glance your way as if to say you're welcome! before disappearing into the party, chatting up another group of friends as if he didn't just cause a rapture in your brain. You let your gaze settling on your friend morphing into the crowd before glancing back at your ex.

Who's staring right at you.

The seriousness in his expression makes you falter slightly, not because of the intensity of it but because you just...miss him. You haven't seen him in so long, haven't been this close to him. If you wanted to, you could reach out and grab him, tether yourself to him, cling onto a bicep like you used to love doing, or sit snug under his arm and relish in the warmth he always unintentionally provided. But you can’t. Not anymore. He made that clear when he ended things with you: he wants nothing to do with you anymore, and that includes your touch.

"Why did you say that?" He asks gently, as if it's plaguing him. "Why didn't you tell him?"

Your expression must look whack, because you manage a confused smile and an arched brow, as if it's obvious. "Because I'm not about to re-hash the semantics of our break up in the middle of the function right now?"

The tone isn't nice, but it isn't mean either. It is indifferent. Tired. As if you've just picked up the pieces of your heart that shattered with him leaving you, only to have the cracks form again and threaten to burst through the seams of the fragile tape you used to stitch your heart back up. It's a bit crazy for him to ask that, you think. Because why would you bring it up? Wyatt doesn't know any better, as the faux introduction was done out of pure innocence, so why damper the mood with the truth?

Rafe pauses at your words, and the longer he's silent the more you feel stupid. You feel stupid that you're essentially backed into a corner, drawing shapes in the wooden floors with the tops of your toes to keep from slipping, swishing around a drink that has one small sip left in it. It's almost worse that he's silent. You want him to scream. To get mad, for whatever reason. Because then it'll be easier for you to pull away, to detach, to fucking move on.

But he doesn't. He's gentle with you. He always was. Never raised his voice or acted out. He was just...Rafe.

He still is, apparently.

"How have you been?" He manages to ask after a moment's silence, opting for the safe choice of not going on a tangent based on your snotty response.

What do you think? You want to snap.

But you don't. You simply shrug. "Fine. You?"

Rafe furrows his brows, as if his answer is obvious yet prolonging the response to see if you really know, or are asking out of courtesy. You're asking because it's the script you normally follow, when someone asks how you are you typically ask them back. It's not rocket science. It doesn't need to be complicated. God, why is he making it complicated?

Why is he looking at you like that?

"Are you going to answer, or..?" You trail off, searching his eyes for any sort of answer but coming up short.

Your tone is detached, as if you're talking to an old friend who you can joke and kid around with. Not the guy you've loved for years. The wince on his face reminds you of that, that you’re not joking around with just anyone. You’re with him. You’re acting like nothing is wrong, like these past few months have been a walk in the park. It’s funny that you’re going at him as if you haven’t shared your deepest vulnerabilities with him beneath soft sheets that smell of him.

Although Rafe has absolutely no room to guilt trip you right now. He orchestrated this. He wanted this. Not you.

You speak before tears can start brimming your waterline. “Whatever. See you around.”

You’re quick to duck around his audaciously broad figure, beelining towards…anywhere that isn’t here and anywhere that doesn’t have him infiltrating your senses, dulling you down. A flicker of anger crosses across your heart, because how dare he? How dare he show up here (even if he didn’t actually know this is your place, the meaning still applies) and send you all these weird signals? How dare he look at you as if he’s in pain?

Because this is his fucking fault. He broke it off, he separated himself when he didn’t need to, he lost faith in himself as a partner. You loved him through his faults, and you still do, yet that still wasn’t enough to make him change his mind. All him. Not you.

Rafe says your name quietly.

Like an idiot, you turn. Despite the thumping bass and the high pitched laughter wafted through each room, you hear him loud and clear. His blue eyes are too pretty, too intently focused on you, too…everything. It’s almost painful to look at, to see the reminder that you lost him, you lost the privilege of staring shamelessly at those pretty, pretty blues.

“You look beautiful,” he says ardently, low in a tone just reserved for you.

But it only upsets you further, makes your heart split in quarters after he split it in half six months ago. You hate how sincere he sounds, as if he’s been itching to say it all this time. Instead of a compliment, it comes across as a reminder that he left.

All you can do is shake your head. “Fuck you, Rafe.”

And you’re disappearing into the party before he can object.

You’re grateful that your room is somewhat secluded from the communal spaces.

It’s especially forgiving in this instant, when you’re cozied up alone on the fire escape that someone can only access from your bedroom, hugging your knees and staring out onto the cityscape with a scowl so deep one may think the horizon wronged you. A joint that was supposed to calm your racing heart lays untouched next to your lighter, and you don’t even have the gall to light it and try and forget about the events of tonight. Knowing yourself and knowing your brain, the weed will only tenfold the nagging emotion.

You fucking miss him. And you fucking hate him. And you fucking love him.

It caught you immensely off guard to see him again, much less standing in your living room and talking with your new friends without them even knowing who he is, without knowing what he did. The result in your brain is immediate: you miss him. You didn’t realize how much you did until you saw him.

You miss the way he’d always wake up before you, either getting up to brew your favorite coffee blend or simply waiting for you to wake in his arms, tracing idle fingertips along your smooth skin or kissing your hairline. You miss how he always made you laugh, no matter how grumpy or irritated you were at him or at the world. You miss his charm, the way he’d always flirt with you regardless of how long you’d been together, pretending to not know you in public just to ask you out all over again. You miss how he knew you, how he knew your favorite things and brought you your favorite foods and candies, how he’d buy you silly trinkets he saw in a store window simply because it reminded him of you, how he’d know how to approach you when you’ve had a bad day. You miss how he loved you, like there was nothing else around him worth his time.

The tears don’t come. They almost do, but when the time comes for them to fall, they just…don’t.

Perhaps it’s because you’ve already used all of them on him. Or because you’re tired. Or because you’re simply sitting with a pit in your stomach about the fact that he’s here, he’s actually here, probably making friends and slowly integrating himself in the life you wanted him to be in from the start.

God, feelings fucking suck.

“Hey.”

The voice (the all too familiar voice) startles you, snapping you out of your thousand yard stare to whip your head around to face the culprit. You blink dumbfounded when your eyes meet his pretty blues, yours definitely blown wide simply at the mere thought of someone disturbing your fire escape time, a fire escape hidden from the party.

Of course, it’s him. How did he even find you?

You didn’t even hear the window crack open. Nor your bedroom door. You didn’t think someone would have the audacity to enter someone else’s bedroom without knocking, or perhaps he did and you simply didn’t hear it. Regardless of the way in which the events played out, he’s still leaning through your window frame and still too fucking close to be considered apprehensive.

At your silence, Rafe clears his throat with a cautious glance. “Can I sit?”

I don’t know, can you? You almost snap childishly, disastrously still wanting to put on the front you had on earlier to attempt to show him your indifference, but it proves unlikely that you’ll have an ounce of that spark you had from before.

Because now you’re just tired. Worn out mentally. Re-hashing the details of your breakup over and over and over in your head to torture yourself. You have little fight left in you, and the mere thought of trying to stay strong only settles more of a kettlebell in your gut.

Wordlessly, you nod.

It’s a bit awkward when he actually realizes you’ve said yes (gestured it, actually), registering that you’ve given him the green light instead of the red that he had been expecting, especially since your venomous words about an hour ago. His limbs are long and lanky, and it takes him a bit of time to actually situate himself next to you and find a position comfortable enough to accommodate his stature. It’s not the most forgiving fire escape, but you’ve gotten used to the harsh ridges and crates that are now a source of comfort.

Rafe notices the unlit joint. “Were you gonna smoke?”

You shrug, because you don’t even know. You brought it out here just to have some sort of outlet in the beginning, but realized it actually might make your spiraling worse, so you left it untouched. Perhaps for later. You didn’t even bring your phone out here.

The stubborn silence coming from you makes him antsy, you can tell. Because there’s one thing that always made him nervous, and that was when you shut down. When you closed yourself off and drifted into the confinements of your mind that aren’t forgiving. When you are silent, because he’s said before that he loves your words, and life without them always hurt no matter what. He dealt with your quiet as best as he could, and for the most part he always handled it well.

Obviously, his method of coddling you back into speaking isn’t going to work now. So instead he sits, picking at his nail beds that confirms he picked up his bad habit again. You almost instinctively reach out to get him to stop, but catch yourself before you can further embarrass yourself.

“You can have it, if you want,” you offer tiredly, voice quieter than you intended.

But despite the volume, his shoulders visibly relax at the sound of your voice.

“No, I’m…” Rafe clears his throat. “I’m okay. Thanks.”

Then, more silence.

He’s so close yet so far, just barely brushing shoulders and you almost don’t want the connection because it’ll simply remind you of how good it feels to touch him. You don’t want to know it again only to have the rug swept out from beneath you once more. So instead you keep your distance, and don’t lean into him as your heart achingly wants you to do so.

You speak before you make a stupid decision. “How’d you find me?”

In your peripheral, you see Rafe’s head tilt quizzically towards you as if he wasn’t expecting you to speak, to initiate the conversation after the drought. He’s quiet for one, two beats, finally registering that, no, he didn’t imagine it, you asked him a question.

“Wyatt,” he responds simply. His eyes feel like lasers boring into your profile, but you don’t give in, keeping your gaze solely on the city. “Gave me directions.”

You hum. Of course.

“This is nice,” Rafe adds after a few moments. “The place and the…view.”

Again, you hum, ignoring how he’s only looking at you.

“What’re you doing here?” You ask gently.

His brows raise at you bringing out the one million dollar question earlier than you both anticipated, but of course it’s the only one that’s been on your mind for the better part of an hour. He’s here, in the place you initially planned for you two to be in, the place he said he couldn’t follow you to because he didn’t want to bring you down. It feels like one big joke, as if your breakup meant nothing because, despite it all, he’s here.

“Wyatt’s helping me get on my feet,” he answers quietly. “Dad cut me off.”

That piques your curiosity, facing him briefly. “He did? Why?”

Rafe almost looks relieved you’re meeting his gaze. “Backed out of the family business.”

“What?”

He nods. “Put myself in it for a few months and it…” He sucks in a harsh breath. “Fuckin’ blowed. I freaked out, got in a huge fight with him and he just…kicked me out. Cut me off. Told me to go do whatever it is I wanted to do without him.”

Your face must be puzzled as all hell.

He…stepped away from his father’s company? The business he’s been groomed to rule his entire life? Every single major step of Rafe’s life was done to accommodate his eventual take over once his father passes or retires. He majored in business and commercial real estate. He picked up ungodly hours during the holidays or whenever he went home or even logged in from miles and miles away from home to help his dad out with a deal. It’s the only path he’s ever known, only thing he’s ever planned for, only subject he’s been focused on since the responsibility of being a predecessor was high.

And now he’s not doing it anymore?

You want to pry, of course you do, and ask if he’s alright after suddenly dropping the one thing his life seemingly amounted to for the entirety of college. You’ve seen how stressed it made him, how business deals tampered with his mental health and the fear of fucking up weighed on his conscious. More so the fear of disappointing his father.

But Rafe looks content…relaxed, even. It’s as if a massive weight has clobbered to the ground off his shoulders, giving him a newfound lightness to him that you haven’t seen before. Sure, his eyes still brim with a hurt that yours surely reflect, but there’s an easiness to his posture and overall demeanor. It’s almost foreign to see on him.

“And what are you doing now?” You ask incredulously, still wrapping your head around the fact that his life has completely flipped.

Rafe looks down briefly, at the ring you still wear that he gave to you on your birthday one year.

“Working at Wyatt’s dad’s construction site.”

Your brows skyrocket.

He laughs boyishly. “I know. Totally rogue, right?”

Despite it all and despite your aching heart, you manage to laugh with him.

“Rafe Cameron in construction?” You joke. “Never thought I’d see the day.”

He hums low and amused, eyes trained on you. “Me neither. But it’s been good. Steady. Keeping me busy enough so I can save up for school.”

You furrow your brows at him for the umpteenth time. “You’re going back?”

Rafe confirms your suspicions when he nods slowly, earnestly. “Hopefully next fall.”

The words ring through silence for a few moments as you study him, really study his face. It’s soft, still laced with the etches of hurt that isn’t seeming to go away anytime soon, but there’s a firmness to his expression that encapsulates his goals for his future. He looks certain of himself, unsure of himself emotionally, but focused with the way he’s talking about his future.

Because he never really had to deal with that uncertainty. Rafe was always going to move back home after graduation and work with his dad. That was always the plan, nothing more or less to it. He never gave second options a chance and always chased the noble pursuits that would aide him in his future with the company.

But now he’s… free? If that’s the right term for it?

You remember how he used to talk about it sometimes as if it was a prison, as a wheel he’s caught on and never not spinning away from his actual dreams and desires. It was always his path, so Rafe never wanted to think about the possibility of doing something different, because it felt like a lost cause. He’d never be able to leave, so why day dream about doing so? It would only hurt his soul.

Now he’s freed from the burden. And he’s never looked more content.

“That’s…” You try and find the right words. “Good for you.”

You say it as genuinely as you mean it, one hundred percent earnestly. Because he does deserve it, the chance to find himself outside the confinements of what he was bred to be.

But it still doesn’t answer the grand scheme of questions, the big kahuna that’s been plaguing your conscious. Not the question of how he found your room, or your private rooftop, but more so you. Your apartment. Your city. You.

“Why here?” You ask gently. “Out of all the places to start over, you…”

You came to me, you almost say.

But refrain. Because that’s fucking stupid to assume.

It must be a coincidence, no? He has friends here, people to fall back on and places that someone else can introduce him to. He’s not completely alone in his endeavors, like he’s said that Wyatt is helping him get back on his feet. That’s no reason for you to assume that his presence, his uproot, is all because of you. You can’t. Because you’ll spiral more than you already are.

And his answer is worse.

“Because you’re here,” he says simply as if it’s law.

Wh—?

You can barely respond. “Bec—because I’m—?“

Rafe laughs quietly at your befuddlement. “I didn’t know you’d be here literally. Wyatt never told me your name when he told me about the party, only called you Honey. So that was…unintentional.” He hums. “What does Honey mean anyway?”

Your panic spikes. “Uh, nothing. It’s not— There’s no reason to— Semantics.” You’re still trying to wrap your head around the fact that he’s here for you. “You’re here— You— For me?”

When he nods, it literally sucks the air from your lungs.

“It’s strange,” he says quietly after a moment of relishing in your panicked demeanor. “Seeing you with people who are calling you a different name. Seeing pieces of you around the apartment. I knew as soon as I walked in, it just…fucking killed me.” His fingers twitch in your direction, as if his body is involuntarily drawing himself to touch you. “I didn’t realize it would hurt so fucking bad.”

You can’t help but frown. “You’re the one who did it.”

Rafe squeezes his eyes shut, almost pained. “I know. I know.”

“It’s not fair.”

“I know, baby,” he says, the name slipping out like a second nature that stabs your gut. “None of what I'm doing is fair, I- it's selfish. I know that. But I..."

Rafe trails off, scoffing at his own inability to form the words he wishes to speak. You can recognize that, understanding the frustration is not with you but rather the internal turmoil in his own mind. He's constantly fighting with himself, teetering between what feels wrong and what feels right and almost always self destructing in the end.

Words never came easy to him. It's something you learned early on with him, realizing that his actions spoke a lot louder than he ever could. At first, you thought he was odd for shutting down after arguments with his father or after the two of you would disagree on something. But once you saw the laundry neatly folded after one of your classes or the fridge restocked without you asking, you realized that this, the wordless acts, were his versions of mending broken amenities.

You also know that Rafe was probably never taught to properly emote. Orchestrated by the faults of his father.

So you wait patiently. You let him take time to find his words. You allow him to make up for the blunder of his break up.

Playing with the ends of your hoodie (you changed into comfort clothes an hour ago once you promptly decided you will not be returning to the party), you watch as Rafe studies the ring on your finger, brows knit as his eyes narrow in an attempt to ground himself, to focus his thoughts carefully and calculate what he wants to say, how he wants to say it. Trying really, really hard to articulate his bubbling feelings.

"There hasn't been a day that's gone by where I don't think about you," he starts slowly, tone low to articulate his seriousness. "Every fucking day, all I can see is how I hurt you."

The instinct to say something, to say anything, is stronger than you've ever felt. But you hold back, you bite your tongue, instead sucking in a deep breath with the anticipation that whatever he's about to say is going to fucking hurt. Not because you've already been through this before, but because he's probably about to break your heart without even knowing.

He continues. "It wasn't— When you told Wyatt we knew of each other, I... To look at you and pretend you were someone I've never met as if you aren't the only thing keeping my life together at this point.”

Rafe trails off, squeezing his eyes shut momentarily to avoid going on a tangent, to focus on what's important to him in this moment, to not get hung up on semantics from earlier when you were being an asshole.

With another deep breath, he continues.

"I thought I was doing what was right by distancing myself from you, because I knew I'd be suck at home working a job that would've made me miserable, and I..." He sucks in a harsh breath, shaking his head.

But you're yearning for an answer. For anything. "You what?"

Rafe briefly meets your gaze, almost shyly, because you're still here hanging onto every single one of his words. And the look on your face is fucking killing him, because you only look more hurt than before yet prettier than ever.

He swallows harshly. "I know what I'm like. Especially around my old man, and I didn't want to subject you to that."

"Rafe."

It's said as a plea, so earnest and heartbroken that he didn't think you would stand by him, through his wide range of emotions. Because you love him. You know the mental struggle he deals with whenever his father is involved in anything, and you knew that going into your post grad lives. Still, you were going to stick by him, no matter what.

Rafe says your name quietly. "I don't like who I am when I'm around him. I'm mean, and self destructive and...and a total fucking head case."

You whisper his name once more.

But he only shakes his head. "Please, I—I know it sounds stupid, alright? I just didn't want you to see that, to see that part of me. The thought of being long distance with you already fucking killed me, and I didn't need my temper adding onto it."

Rafe's eyes leave yours and settle downwards on the metal crate you're practically both sitting on. His fingers immediately fly to his hand, incessantly picking at his nail beds as a tell that he's on edge, close to panicking. He probably doesn't even realize he's doing it, but his eyes dart back on forth as he shakes his head, almost to himself, as the gears in his mind turn and turn and turn to desperately search for something more to say.

The act is muscle memory when your hand goes to cover his, stopping his bad habit immediately.

His head whips up to meet your gaze, jolted by the contact he surely was not expecting.

But you hold your own, gazing at him gently to stop the horrific insecurities you know he's spewing to himself in his head. For once, you need him to stop listening to himself and listen to his heart, listen to you, to stop trusting the devil on his shoulder and self sabotage in fear of others doing it first. You'd never. Not with him. He must know that.

"I know you," you say quietly. "And I know you would never hurt me without meaning to."

He winces.

Yet you continue. "I know you push people away before they can do it to you. But you need to understand something, Rafe, that I wasn't going anywhere. I'm not going anywhere now. When will you let yourself believe that?"

Rafe frowns impossibly deep, brows furrowing at the notion that you're still here. Despite everything he's done to you, said to you, made you think, you're still here. Wanting him. Caring for him. Being too damn sweet for your own good as you always were. And still are. You're still you, through fragments and a smile that doesn't reach your eyes quite yet, but you're still you. Looking at him like you still love him.

When your hand leaves his to cup his jaw gently, it feels like he can breathe again.

Holy fuck. You've almost forgotten what it's like to touch him. To feel him. To run your fingers along the smoothness of his skin and ground him to a moment so emotional that it nearly sends you flying away. Your palm is practically molded to the sculpture of his bone structure, as if it's been without a puzzle piece for so long, spending so much time incomplete and half of a whole.

Subconsciously, he leans into your touch.

"It feels wrong," he murmurs, eyes boring into yours so deeply that you're getting whiplash. "Having someone care about me like you do. It's not... No one has ever... I don't know how to deal with it."

"By talking," you hum low. "By telling me how you feel. Telling me what you need." Your thumb rubs an absentminded circle over his cheekbone.

He nearly sighs at the sensation. "I don't want to be a burden."

If possible, you frown even more than before. "You're not— Why would you say that? You're not a burden. At all."

Rafe doesn't answer you immediately. His brows pinch at the concept, as if it's foreign, as if what you've said is two plus two is five. His cheek is hot under your palm, hot with nerves and vulnerability that makes him temporarily speechless, and all you do is watch him. You wait for him to come to you. You've said (partially) your piece. His mouth opens and closes once, twice, as if the words are on the tip of his tongue but he refrains last minute, recalibrating his thoughts into something more cohesive.

"My worst fear is disappointing you," he says after a moment of considering your words. "Bringing you down with me. I can't... I won't let that happen."

"You're not," you say almost immediately.

"But I—“

"Do you remember the first week we met?" You blurt out suddenly, rudely interrupting him.

Confusedly, Rafe's head tilts slightly at the anecdote. Nonetheless, he nods slowly, almost egging you to continue.

And you do. "When I cancelled the dinner date at that fancy restaurant you set up? Because I had the flu?"

It was only one of the worst days of your life. Bedridden. Immobile. Practically death without the actual dying part. Too frail to even pick up a water bottle and too stubborn to ask for help. Teetering between being buried under six blankets to cranking the AC on full blast. It was grueling. Debilitating. You missed a plethora of assignments and social gatherings (despite it only being a few days).

He says your name gently. "What's this got to do wit—"

Again, you interrupt him. "You dropped everything, and I mean everything, to take care of me. And then you spent so much time with me that you fucking got sick too," you reminisce, adding a soft chuckle at the end when you think back on the don't be mad text that came from him just days after he was with you.

But he's still not getting it, blinking wordlessly at you in hopes you'll tell him what you mean, why this story has something to do with anything that's going on right now. What he doesn't realize, though, is that it is exactly the kind of thing he sees past. He probably doesn't know how much that meant to you, despite it probably being mindless for him.

How could he even think of himself as a burden? As wasted air? When all he's done is loved you in every way he knows how? How could he even think he's disappointed you when his love has been unlike anything you've ever experienced before? How could he think that low of himself?

"You could never disappoint me," you continue to further add your point. "Never. When all you've done was love me."

“I still do,” he answers almost immediately. “I haven’t stopped.”

You’re moving forward before you both can process it.

Wrapping your arms around his neck, your body is instantly taut to his, chest to chest and cheek to cheek as you find your mold against his body. It’s familiar yet agonizing, almost mind blowing that you’ve gone so long without him, without his touch, without his embrace that you quickly grew to love the first time he held you. You feel like you can finally breathe, finally remember the beautiful feeling after losing it.

Rafe’s nearly — if not more — relieved than you are, wrapping his arms around you immediately with one hand butterfly splaying on your back and the other on the back of your head, keeping you close. The deep exhale that emits from his mouth tickles your ear, and you let yourself close your eyes at the warmth of him, of how he smells the same.

“Fuck,” he murmurs quietly, almost to himself. “I missed you. I missed you so fucking much.”

Tears brim your waterline. You’ve been without him for so long, loving a shadow of a man without ever seeing or hearing from him. You wanted to be angry, to hate him, to say fuck it and move on with your life. But you couldn’t. Not when he’s the only one who has ever made you feel alive. Not when he’s been hurting in his own quiet way and self sabotaging at the fear of hurting you.

Rafe sucks in a large breath and, with that, his chest bumps impossibly taut to yours. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I made a mistake.”

“Don’t leave,” you plead, your voice ghosting the shell of his ear that makes the hair on his arm stand up. “Please. Not again.”

“I won’t,” he answers immediately, sounding absolutely wrecked. “I won’t, baby. I promise. I’m here. Not going anywhere.”

You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding, readjusting your grip around him to pull tighter — if possible — and practically seating yourself in his lap. It’s not comfortable at all, and you can’t imagine it’s comfortable for him against the grate-like fire escape. But it’s when you need, it’s what he needs, and neither of you can fathom how long you spent away from each other, almost like a sick joke.

And you just stay like this for a bit, holding onto each other as if you’re gripping onto a balloon threatening to float away. Despite his shorter, new hair, his cologne is the same as you first met him. The ring adorning his finger, the family ring, is missing from his hand, instead replaced with a similar looking one. The shirt is sleek and thin and you can feel the ridges and hills of his muscles underneath it. He may look a little different, more mature and in different clothes, but he feels the same as he’s always been, he’s still the person you know through and through.

“Inside,” you say after a while. “Please?”

“Yes,” he whispers immediately, certain. “No need to beg, baby. I’ll do whatever you want.”

When you untangle limbs, it’s slow, calculated, appreciative. His hands linger on your body longer than they should, mapping regions he hasn’t touched in months, re-familiarizing himself with the dips and crevices of your body. You do the same, pressing the pads of your fingertips along his shoulder blades and on the columns of his neck, skimming gently over the single earring adorning his left ear that definitely wasn’t there before. His skin is hot, almost burning for you, yet inviting in a way that makes you never want to let go.

It takes a little while to mobilize. You’re so caught up in feeling each other that you don’t realize how much time has passed. Not that it matters anyway. Because all you can focus on is the man in front of you, putting his heart on a silver platter and serving it to you hot. It’s all limbs and incoordination when climbing back through your window, soft laughter echoing off the alley walls and reverberating into your bedroom. His hands attempt to help you, drifting down to your waist as you climb through and you assume it’s a gesture just for him to cop a feel. But you don’t mind. You’ve missed it. You never want his hands away from you again.

When you change into pajamas and you slither into bed, your eyes brazenly watch him. The way he peels his t-shirt off his body, or unbuckles his pants to leave him solely in his boxers, in his preferred sleep wear. Yet he does it because he knows you: he knows you don’t like “outside clothes” in your sheets, wordlessly respecting your wishes without even being told so.

Rafe climbs under the sheets like he owns it, and you’ve already designated that side of the bed to him long ago, so seeing him here doesn’t feel so foreign. It’s muscle memory when his hand seeks refuge on your waist, shamelessly settling under your sleep shirt to let the pads of his fingertips dig into your flesh to almost stake a claim, but also to tether himself.

Your hand, on instinct, ghosts the skin of his chest, palm skimming over his heart. Despite not pressing fully, you can practically feel how fast it’s beating, how hard it’s thrumming against his ribcage. Though his content expression is a contrary to the feeling, looking more relaxed than ever.

The sensation makes your lips twitch. “Your heart is racing.” You let your palm press gently onto the rhythm.

His smile is impossibly bright.

“Remember when I kissed you for the first time?”

“I remember you being so nervous that you missed.”

“Alright.” Rafe laughs. “Not what I was referring to, but I guess.”

It’s devastatingly refreshing to see his smile, almost forgetting how pretty he looks like this: happy, unguarded, mind quiet of its vulnerabilities and allowing him to enjoy the moment, to slow down and indulge in the simplicities yet complexities of love.

“Then what?” You hum teasingly, his blue eyes piercing despite the dim lighting. “If not that?”

The laughter dies down. His gaze softens. His thumb traces shapes on your skin.

“Thought my heart was gonna burst out of my fuckin’ chest,” he murmurs casually as if that doesn’t make yours skip a beat, even more so when his hand comes up to caress your face, thumb skimming over your bottom lip. “Every single time.”

“You should probably see a cardiologist.”

“Don’t need a diagnosis, baby. ‘S just you.”

You try not to smile. You really try. But it’s really fucking difficult when he looks so pretty, staring at you like you’ve hung the stars yourself and holding you here in place so firmly yet gently at the same time that you couldn’t move if you tried. And he knows it. He knows you’re trying not to give into his charm, the same charm that you’ve been falling for for as long as you’ve known him.

“And now?” You dare, pressing your hand into his beating heart. “How’s it feel?”

“Like it’s gonna burst outta my chest,” he says before kissing you.

Instantly, you’re arching into his body, palms pressed firmly on his chest as a feeble attempt to ground yourself, to remind yourself that this is happening and, no, you’re not dreaming. Rafe’s here, in your bed, kissing you like his life depends on it (and it probably does). Your brows pinch even though he can’t see your face, furrowed in focus to narrow in on the passion.

Rafe makes a noise. A sigh? You think. Regardless, you reciprocate and deepen the kiss by slightly parting your lips, allowing him the access he’s been craving. And he takes advantage in less than a second, a large hand splayed on the column of your neck to keep you here against him, feeling the way your jaw slightly opens to accommodate him.

“I love you,” he praises between breaths as if it’ll kill him if he doesn’t. “I love you, I love you, I love you.”

You say it back. He says it again. You tennis-match the phrase over and over and over until the phonetics are burned into your tongues. He murmurs it against your skin against your lips, you beck, your chest, your stomach, the inside of your thighs. You whisper it into the air as if it’s prayer, an incantation that, strung together, produces a spell unlike any other.

And he’s hypnotized. It isn’t until you finish twice on his tongue that he’s even thinking about himself, and it’s only when you, in a daze, paw at his chest as ask for him, for all of him. He nearly double takes, caught up in the moment of simply pleasuring you, and if you hadn’t stopped him, if you hadn’t asked so sweetly, he would’ve went down on you ‘til sunrise.

The whole ordeal is slow. Unhurried. Deep and sensual that rattles your bones to shake. When he slips inside, it’s fucking euphoric, with an overwhelming sense of longing, nostalgia that causes a pleasure tear to slip from your eye, a tear that falls without you knowing. Not until he brushes it away with the pad of his thumb, anyway.

You’re sure you’re a babbling mess, spewing out incoherent sentences and mumbles of an I love you that probably don’t make sense. But he hears you all the same, going as far as repeating the phrase over and over against your skin like a mantra, telling you how nice you feel, that you’re made for him, how beautiful you are despite probably looking like a hot mess.

When all is said and done, Rafe is right there to tend to your needs. He’s kissing your stomach as he cleans the mess from your inner thighs. His thumb is smoothing over the hickies he peppered over multiple regions of your body, praising how beautiful you look, how good you were for him. He patiently waits for you to go to the bathroom and get ready for bed before he’s welcoming you back with open arms, and you’re not hesitating to fall into them. His embrace is warm and familiar, and you find it easy to breathe, to feel like you can relax. Rafe must feel the same, because his breathing is deeper, more evened out. Calmer and more sure of himself. Content.

“Stay the night,” you plea gently as you’re halfway to falling asleep.

You know it’s pathetic to ask, that he probably was going to anyway. But there’s that small sliver of doubt, the tiny voice in the back of your brain that’s haunted from the first time he left, driven to separation by his insecurities. You say it to be sure he knows, that he could stay for the rest of your life and you wouldn’t mind.

“I’m not leaving,” Rafe reassures against your hairline. “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere. Not again.”

And you fall asleep like that: entangled limbs and sharing the same pillow despite a whole arm’s length of space. Your even breaths are what lure him to sleep, waiting for the crazy thumping of his heartbeat to die down before you can wake up to it. He relishes in the sensation of your breathing, how your chest rises and falls against his, and how you practically nuzzle into his embrace that confirms that you missed him just as much as he missed you.

Rafe pulls you a fraction tighter, refusing to let you go again. It’s a wordless promise that he’s going to try to be better for you, to stop listening to the vulgarities of his mind and listen to his heart. He’s going to allow himself to be loved by you and he’s going to let himself believe he deserves it.

Because if you say it? It’s as good as law.

© salem-s please do not copy or replicate work unless given permission.

notes hope this request is what you envisioned???? hope you enjoyed!!

[sweetcherrybby]

can you please write a rafe fic based on the song “back to friends”?

like they were exes turned to strangers but there’s sooo much tension and they’re obviously still sooo in love with each other. just angst vibes with maybe some suggestive fluff? idk

just a suggestion though totally understand if it’s too specific for you!

yes! when you sent this in i had no idea what song you were talking about LOL but now ive heard it and it’s so good. love this prompt!

BACK TO FRIENDS — RAFE CAMERON ONE SHOT (18+)

SYNOPSIS you and rafe have been broken up for months, and despite not seeing him since, you haven't stopped thinking about him. then, out of the blue, he's suddenly there at one of your parties: coy yet shy, a presence yet a ghost, looking at you as if he's never seen anything prettier. and all you can think is: what the fuck?

WARNINGS aaaannnngst (miscommunication tendencies is very high here, they’re both idiots), fluff, suggestive content and descriptions of smut. post-grad au, living in a city of your choice. ex!rafe is fun to write, but apologies because this isn't super edited.

WORD COUNT 8.1k.

SONG OF THE CHAPTER back to friends by sombr

You've been single for six months.

Has it been easy? Absolutely not. Was it necessary? That's a bit subjective depending on who answers on the matter, but - of course - most of the time you'd argue no. Your ex would argue yes in a self-depricating sort of way. Part of you knew it was coming to a close in those final weeks, taking into account the way you drifted apart as one of life's natural tendencies.

You were heading in one direction. He was heading in another. There are so many things that he probably thought that he never spoke, especially with the way he hinted towards not being good enough for you, not being good enough to follow you into the next stages of your life. You, of course, knew that wasn't true, that it was his mind sending him into a spiral, not his heart. It ruptured your soul when the last image of him was his back towards you, not even having the gall to face you as he said goodbye. You never thought you'd see him after that.

So why the fuck is Rafe Cameron standing in your living room right now?

He looks good. Too good. The long locks that you used to toy with between your nimble fingers are gone, replaced with a slightly grown out buzz that suits him, makes him look more mature and grounded. A simple t-shirt adorns his torso, snug tight at the seams around his biceps, looking a little bigger than you last saw. He's clean cut, sleek in a way that makes your heart pound, and a head taller than everyone around him, commanding the room without even meaning to.

But his eyes tell a different story.

When those pretty blues meet yours, you see what he really feels: an emptiness and search for something to fulfill his soul, radiating a sadness to them that emulates the look of despair he had the last time you were with him. No one notices. He hides it well. But you were always able to read him like a book, to be able to pin point his emotion like it was your day job, to know how to approach him through various emotions to get him to feel better.

You, apparently, still can.

It's absolutely debilitating when you lock eyes across the room, and you can't even describe the weird feeling that settles in your gut. Is it anxiety? Dread? Excitement? It's a kettlebell in your stomach that only weighs more and more the longer you look at him, the more you register that Rafe Cameron, your ex and probably the only person you'll ever love, is standing in your living room in a state you never thought he'd be in with people you never associated him with.

First you feel shock. Then confusion.

How the fuck is he here? Who does he know? Did he - somehow - stumble upon this party in a stroke of pure luck and humiliation (on your part) or is this intentional? Does he know this is your apartment? Did he recognize the same decor that you had in your old place? Smell your favorite candle? See the furniture and overall mood of the house and think of you? Did he even know? How could he have?

It isn't until (some) of your questions are being answered when you spot another friend of yours, Wyatt, clap Rafe on the shoulder and whisper something in his ear, nodding in your direction and tugging him towards—

Fuck.

Tugging him towards you.

You wish you could move. Or do anything. Pretend to be caught up in a conversation with a friend or sneak out onto the fire escape that you can only access through your room. Anything would be better than this: simply standing in place and waiting for the inevitable. You're angry. Yet sad. Confused. You're mad that he's still looking at you like he's in love with you. You're sad that he's still looking at you like he's in love with you. You're confused that he's still looking at you like he's in love with you.

Before your brain can turn on and make a move, Wyatt's suddenly there with an audacious hand clapped on Rafe's shoulder and gently shaking it to emphasize the presence.

"Honey!” Wyatt chirps brightly (curse his ability to literally befriend a brick wall, and curse the fact that you can't hate him for doing this to you right now if you tried). "This is Rafe, the friend from Coastal that I was telling you about."

"Honey?" Rafe murmurs in surprise, and you nearly stop breathing at the fact that you're hearing his voice again. "This is Honey?"

Before your friend can explain the horrifically embarrassing story as to how you got that nickname that your friends use more than your actual name, you miraculously find your voice.

"And this is the friend from Coastal you were telling me about?" Your tone matches your ex's of surprise.

If Wyatt notices the clear apprehension between you two, he either doesn't notice or simply doesn't care enough to address it. With some sort of magic, he manages to smile wider.

"Yeah! Figured since you both went there, you might know the same people?" He offers innocently, darting his gaze cheerfully between you as if he's waiting for something magical to happen.

But it...doesn't.

Because you fucking laugh.

Right in Rafe's face. And it's out of disbelief (and slight drunkenness) that this is actually happening right now. Your good friend is introducing you to your ex, the same ex that you haven't spoken to (or much less heard from) in six fucking months. The same ex that you've been absolutely devastated over losing. The same ex that you've been attempting to find fragments of in different people, yet coming up short every single time and thus ruining the progression of your love life.

It's comical, really, it is. Because what are the odds of this happening? Of Rafe Cameron standing in your apartment, in a place you thought hidden well enough to shield you from the ghosts of your past? Of the mere concept that this is how you're seeing him again: flushed and drunk and having a great time at a party you organized. It's out of left field, completely throwing you off your game (if you even have one).

"Yeah," you manage to get out, "we know of each other."

Wyatt beams, and Rafe frowns, portraying the happy-sad theatrical masks to a fucking T.

Yet your friend takes that as a cue to pat Rafe's back, sending another knowing glance your way as if to say you're welcome! before disappearing into the party, chatting up another group of friends as if he didn't just cause a rapture in your brain. You let your gaze settling on your friend morphing into the crowd before glancing back at your ex.

Who's staring right at you.

The seriousness in his expression makes you falter slightly, not because of the intensity of it but because you just...miss him. You haven't seen him in so long, haven't been this close to him. If you wanted to, you could reach out and grab him, tether yourself to him, cling onto a bicep like you used to love doing, or sit snug under his arm and relish in the warmth he always unintentionally provided. But you can’t. Not anymore. He made that clear when he ended things with you: he wants nothing to do with you anymore, and that includes your touch.

"Why did you say that?" He asks gently, as if it's plaguing him. "Why didn't you tell him?"

Your expression must look whack, because you manage a confused smile and an arched brow, as if it's obvious. "Because I'm not about to re-hash the semantics of our break up in the middle of the function right now?"

The tone isn't nice, but it isn't mean either. It is indifferent. Tired. As if you've just picked up the pieces of your heart that shattered with him leaving you, only to have the cracks form again and threaten to burst through the seams of the fragile tape you used to stitch your heart back up. It's a bit crazy for him to ask that, you think. Because why would you bring it up? Wyatt doesn't know any better, as the faux introduction was done out of pure innocence, so why damper the mood with the truth?

Rafe pauses at your words, and the longer he's silent the more you feel stupid. You feel stupid that you're essentially backed into a corner, drawing shapes in the wooden floors with the tops of your toes to keep from slipping, swishing around a drink that has one small sip left in it. It's almost worse that he's silent. You want him to scream. To get mad, for whatever reason. Because then it'll be easier for you to pull away, to detach, to fucking move on.

But he doesn't. He's gentle with you. He always was. Never raised his voice or acted out. He was just...Rafe.

He still is, apparently.

"How have you been?" He manages to ask after a moment's silence, opting for the safe choice of not going on a tangent based on your snotty response.

What do you think? You want to snap.

But you don't. You simply shrug. "Fine. You?"

Rafe furrows his brows, as if his answer is obvious yet prolonging the response to see if you really know, or are asking out of courtesy. You're asking because it's the script you normally follow, when someone asks how you are you typically ask them back. It's not rocket science. It doesn't need to be complicated. God, why is he making it complicated?

Why is he looking at you like that?

"Are you going to answer, or..?" You trail off, searching his eyes for any sort of answer but coming up short.

Your tone is detached, as if you're talking to an old friend who you can joke and kid around with. Not the guy you've loved for years. The wince on his face reminds you of that, that you’re not joking around with just anyone. You’re with him. You’re acting like nothing is wrong, like these past few months have been a walk in the park. It’s funny that you’re going at him as if you haven’t shared your deepest vulnerabilities with him beneath soft sheets that smell of him.

Although Rafe has absolutely no room to guilt trip you right now. He orchestrated this. He wanted this. Not you.

You speak before tears can start brimming your waterline. “Whatever. See you around.”

You’re quick to duck around his audaciously broad figure, beelining towards…anywhere that isn’t here and anywhere that doesn’t have him infiltrating your senses, dulling you down. A flicker of anger crosses across your heart, because how dare he? How dare he show up here (even if he didn’t actually know this is your place, the meaning still applies) and send you all these weird signals? How dare he look at you as if he’s in pain?

Because this is his fucking fault. He broke it off, he separated himself when he didn’t need to, he lost faith in himself as a partner. You loved him through his faults, and you still do, yet that still wasn’t enough to make him change his mind. All him. Not you.

Rafe says your name quietly.

Like an idiot, you turn. Despite the thumping bass and the high pitched laughter wafted through each room, you hear him loud and clear. His blue eyes are too pretty, too intently focused on you, too…everything. It’s almost painful to look at, to see the reminder that you lost him, you lost the privilege of staring shamelessly at those pretty, pretty blues.

“You look beautiful,” he says ardently, low in a tone just reserved for you.

But it only upsets you further, makes your heart split in quarters after he split it in half six months ago. You hate how sincere he sounds, as if he’s been itching to say it all this time. Instead of a compliment, it comes across as a reminder that he left.

All you can do is shake your head. “Fuck you, Rafe.”

And you’re disappearing into the party before he can object.

You’re grateful that your room is somewhat secluded from the communal spaces.

It’s especially forgiving in this instant, when you’re cozied up alone on the fire escape that someone can only access from your bedroom, hugging your knees and staring out onto the cityscape with a scowl so deep one may think the horizon wronged you. A joint that was supposed to calm your racing heart lays untouched next to your lighter, and you don’t even have the gall to light it and try and forget about the events of tonight. Knowing yourself and knowing your brain, the weed will only tenfold the nagging emotion.

You fucking miss him. And you fucking hate him. And you fucking love him.

It caught you immensely off guard to see him again, much less standing in your living room and talking with your new friends without them even knowing who he is, without knowing what he did. The result in your brain is immediate: you miss him. You didn’t realize how much you did until you saw him.

You miss the way he’d always wake up before you, either getting up to brew your favorite coffee blend or simply waiting for you to wake in his arms, tracing idle fingertips along your smooth skin or kissing your hairline. You miss how he always made you laugh, no matter how grumpy or irritated you were at him or at the world. You miss his charm, the way he’d always flirt with you regardless of how long you’d been together, pretending to not know you in public just to ask you out all over again. You miss how he knew you, how he knew your favorite things and brought you your favorite foods and candies, how he’d buy you silly trinkets he saw in a store window simply because it reminded him of you, how he’d know how to approach you when you’ve had a bad day. You miss how he loved you, like there was nothing else around him worth his time.

The tears don’t come. They almost do, but when the time comes for them to fall, they just…don’t.

Perhaps it’s because you’ve already used all of them on him. Or because you’re tired. Or because you’re simply sitting with a pit in your stomach about the fact that he’s here, he’s actually here, probably making friends and slowly integrating himself in the life you wanted him to be in from the start.

God, feelings fucking suck.

“Hey.”

The voice (the all too familiar voice) startles you, snapping you out of your thousand yard stare to whip your head around to face the culprit. You blink dumbfounded when your eyes meet his pretty blues, yours definitely blown wide simply at the mere thought of someone disturbing your fire escape time, a fire escape hidden from the party.

Of course, it’s him. How did he even find you?

You didn’t even hear the window crack open. Nor your bedroom door. You didn’t think someone would have the audacity to enter someone else’s bedroom without knocking, or perhaps he did and you simply didn’t hear it. Regardless of the way in which the events played out, he’s still leaning through your window frame and still too fucking close to be considered apprehensive.

At your silence, Rafe clears his throat with a cautious glance. “Can I sit?”

I don’t know, can you? You almost snap childishly, disastrously still wanting to put on the front you had on earlier to attempt to show him your indifference, but it proves unlikely that you’ll have an ounce of that spark you had from before.

Because now you’re just tired. Worn out mentally. Re-hashing the details of your breakup over and over and over in your head to torture yourself. You have little fight left in you, and the mere thought of trying to stay strong only settles more of a kettlebell in your gut.

Wordlessly, you nod.

It’s a bit awkward when he actually realizes you’ve said yes (gestured it, actually), registering that you’ve given him the green light instead of the red that he had been expecting, especially since your venomous words about an hour ago. His limbs are long and lanky, and it takes him a bit of time to actually situate himself next to you and find a position comfortable enough to accommodate his stature. It’s not the most forgiving fire escape, but you’ve gotten used to the harsh ridges and crates that are now a source of comfort.

Rafe notices the unlit joint. “Were you gonna smoke?”

You shrug, because you don’t even know. You brought it out here just to have some sort of outlet in the beginning, but realized it actually might make your spiraling worse, so you left it untouched. Perhaps for later. You didn’t even bring your phone out here.

The stubborn silence coming from you makes him antsy, you can tell. Because there’s one thing that always made him nervous, and that was when you shut down. When you closed yourself off and drifted into the confinements of your mind that aren’t forgiving. When you are silent, because he’s said before that he loves your words, and life without them always hurt no matter what. He dealt with your quiet as best as he could, and for the most part he always handled it well.

Obviously, his method of coddling you back into speaking isn’t going to work now. So instead he sits, picking at his nail beds that confirms he picked up his bad habit again. You almost instinctively reach out to get him to stop, but catch yourself before you can further embarrass yourself.

“You can have it, if you want,” you offer tiredly, voice quieter than you intended.

But despite the volume, his shoulders visibly relax at the sound of your voice.

“No, I’m…” Rafe clears his throat. “I’m okay. Thanks.”

Then, more silence.

He’s so close yet so far, just barely brushing shoulders and you almost don’t want the connection because it’ll simply remind you of how good it feels to touch him. You don’t want to know it again only to have the rug swept out from beneath you once more. So instead you keep your distance, and don’t lean into him as your heart achingly wants you to do so.

You speak before you make a stupid decision. “How’d you find me?”

In your peripheral, you see Rafe’s head tilt quizzically towards you as if he wasn’t expecting you to speak, to initiate the conversation after the drought. He’s quiet for one, two beats, finally registering that, no, he didn’t imagine it, you asked him a question.

“Wyatt,” he responds simply. His eyes feel like lasers boring into your profile, but you don’t give in, keeping your gaze solely on the city. “Gave me directions.”

You hum. Of course.

“This is nice,” Rafe adds after a few moments. “The place and the…view.”

Again, you hum, ignoring how he’s only looking at you.

“What’re you doing here?” You ask gently.

His brows raise at you bringing out the one million dollar question earlier than you both anticipated, but of course it’s the only one that’s been on your mind for the better part of an hour. He’s here, in the place you initially planned for you two to be in, the place he said he couldn’t follow you to because he didn’t want to bring you down. It feels like one big joke, as if your breakup meant nothing because, despite it all, he’s here.

“Wyatt’s helping me get on my feet,” he answers quietly. “Dad cut me off.”

That piques your curiosity, facing him briefly. “He did? Why?”

Rafe almost looks relieved you’re meeting his gaze. “Backed out of the family business.”

“What?”

He nods. “Put myself in it for a few months and it…” He sucks in a harsh breath. “Fuckin’ blowed. I freaked out, got in a huge fight with him and he just…kicked me out. Cut me off. Told me to go do whatever it is I wanted to do without him.”

Your face must be puzzled as all hell.

He…stepped away from his father’s company? The business he’s been groomed to rule his entire life? Every single major step of Rafe’s life was done to accommodate his eventual take over once his father passes or retires. He majored in business and commercial real estate. He picked up ungodly hours during the holidays or whenever he went home or even logged in from miles and miles away from home to help his dad out with a deal. It’s the only path he’s ever known, only thing he’s ever planned for, only subject he’s been focused on since the responsibility of being a predecessor was high.

And now he’s not doing it anymore?

You want to pry, of course you do, and ask if he’s alright after suddenly dropping the one thing his life seemingly amounted to for the entirety of college. You’ve seen how stressed it made him, how business deals tampered with his mental health and the fear of fucking up weighed on his conscious. More so the fear of disappointing his father.

But Rafe looks content…relaxed, even. It’s as if a massive weight has clobbered to the ground off his shoulders, giving him a newfound lightness to him that you haven’t seen before. Sure, his eyes still brim with a hurt that yours surely reflect, but there’s an easiness to his posture and overall demeanor. It’s almost foreign to see on him.

“And what are you doing now?” You ask incredulously, still wrapping your head around the fact that his life has completely flipped.

Rafe looks down briefly, at the ring you still wear that he gave to you on your birthday one year.

“Working at Wyatt’s dad’s construction site.”

Your brows skyrocket.

He laughs boyishly. “I know. Totally rogue, right?”

Despite it all and despite your aching heart, you manage to laugh with him.

“Rafe Cameron in construction?” You joke. “Never thought I’d see the day.”

He hums low and amused, eyes trained on you. “Me neither. But it’s been good. Steady. Keeping me busy enough so I can save up for school.”

You furrow your brows at him for the umpteenth time. “You’re going back?”

Rafe confirms your suspicions when he nods slowly, earnestly. “Hopefully next fall.”

The words ring through silence for a few moments as you study him, really study his face. It’s soft, still laced with the etches of hurt that isn’t seeming to go away anytime soon, but there’s a firmness to his expression that encapsulates his goals for his future. He looks certain of himself, unsure of himself emotionally, but focused with the way he’s talking about his future.

Because he never really had to deal with that uncertainty. Rafe was always going to move back home after graduation and work with his dad. That was always the plan, nothing more or less to it. He never gave second options a chance and always chased the noble pursuits that would aide him in his future with the company.

But now he’s… free? If that’s the right term for it?

You remember how he used to talk about it sometimes as if it was a prison, as a wheel he’s caught on and never not spinning away from his actual dreams and desires. It was always his path, so Rafe never wanted to think about the possibility of doing something different, because it felt like a lost cause. He’d never be able to leave, so why day dream about doing so? It would only hurt his soul.

Now he’s freed from the burden. And he’s never looked more content.

“That’s…” You try and find the right words. “Good for you.”

You say it as genuinely as you mean it, one hundred percent earnestly. Because he does deserve it, the chance to find himself outside the confinements of what he was bred to be.

But it still doesn’t answer the grand scheme of questions, the big kahuna that’s been plaguing your conscious. Not the question of how he found your room, or your private rooftop, but more so you. Your apartment. Your city. You.

“Why here?” You ask gently. “Out of all the places to start over, you…”

You came to me, you almost say.

But refrain. Because that’s fucking stupid to assume.

It must be a coincidence, no? He has friends here, people to fall back on and places that someone else can introduce him to. He’s not completely alone in his endeavors, like he’s said that Wyatt is helping him get back on his feet. That’s no reason for you to assume that his presence, his uproot, is all because of you. You can’t. Because you’ll spiral more than you already are.

And his answer is worse.

“Because you’re here,” he says simply as if it’s law.

Wh—?

You can barely respond. “Bec—because I’m—?“

Rafe laughs quietly at your befuddlement. “I didn’t know you’d be here literally. Wyatt never told me your name when he told me about the party, only called you Honey. So that was…unintentional.” He hums. “What does Honey mean anyway?”

Your panic spikes. “Uh, nothing. It’s not— There’s no reason to— Semantics.” You’re still trying to wrap your head around the fact that he’s here for you. “You’re here— You— For me?”

When he nods, it literally sucks the air from your lungs.

“It’s strange,” he says quietly after a moment of relishing in your panicked demeanor. “Seeing you with people who are calling you a different name. Seeing pieces of you around the apartment. I knew as soon as I walked in, it just…fucking killed me.” His fingers twitch in your direction, as if his body is involuntarily drawing himself to touch you. “I didn’t realize it would hurt so fucking bad.”

You can’t help but frown. “You’re the one who did it.”

Rafe squeezes his eyes shut, almost pained. “I know. I know.”

“It’s not fair.”

“I know, baby,” he says, the name slipping out like a second nature that stabs your gut. “None of what I'm doing is fair, I- it's selfish. I know that. But I..."

Rafe trails off, scoffing at his own inability to form the words he wishes to speak. You can recognize that, understanding the frustration is not with you but rather the internal turmoil in his own mind. He's constantly fighting with himself, teetering between what feels wrong and what feels right and almost always self destructing in the end.

Words never came easy to him. It's something you learned early on with him, realizing that his actions spoke a lot louder than he ever could. At first, you thought he was odd for shutting down after arguments with his father or after the two of you would disagree on something. But once you saw the laundry neatly folded after one of your classes or the fridge restocked without you asking, you realized that this, the wordless acts, were his versions of mending broken amenities.

You also know that Rafe was probably never taught to properly emote. Orchestrated by the faults of his father.

So you wait patiently. You let him take time to find his words. You allow him to make up for the blunder of his break up.

Playing with the ends of your hoodie (you changed into comfort clothes an hour ago once you promptly decided you will not be returning to the party), you watch as Rafe studies the ring on your finger, brows knit as his eyes narrow in an attempt to ground himself, to focus his thoughts carefully and calculate what he wants to say, how he wants to say it. Trying really, really hard to articulate his bubbling feelings.

"There hasn't been a day that's gone by where I don't think about you," he starts slowly, tone low to articulate his seriousness. "Every fucking day, all I can see is how I hurt you."

The instinct to say something, to say anything, is stronger than you've ever felt. But you hold back, you bite your tongue, instead sucking in a deep breath with the anticipation that whatever he's about to say is going to fucking hurt. Not because you've already been through this before, but because he's probably about to break your heart without even knowing.

He continues. "It wasn't— When you told Wyatt we knew of each other, I... To look at you and pretend you were someone I've never met as if you aren't the only thing keeping my life together at this point.”

Rafe trails off, squeezing his eyes shut momentarily to avoid going on a tangent, to focus on what's important to him in this moment, to not get hung up on semantics from earlier when you were being an asshole.

With another deep breath, he continues.

"I thought I was doing what was right by distancing myself from you, because I knew I'd be suck at home working a job that would've made me miserable, and I..." He sucks in a harsh breath, shaking his head.

But you're yearning for an answer. For anything. "You what?"

Rafe briefly meets your gaze, almost shyly, because you're still here hanging onto every single one of his words. And the look on your face is fucking killing him, because you only look more hurt than before yet prettier than ever.

He swallows harshly. "I know what I'm like. Especially around my old man, and I didn't want to subject you to that."

"Rafe."

It's said as a plea, so earnest and heartbroken that he didn't think you would stand by him, through his wide range of emotions. Because you love him. You know the mental struggle he deals with whenever his father is involved in anything, and you knew that going into your post grad lives. Still, you were going to stick by him, no matter what.

Rafe says your name quietly. "I don't like who I am when I'm around him. I'm mean, and self destructive and...and a total fucking head case."

You whisper his name once more.

But he only shakes his head. "Please, I—I know it sounds stupid, alright? I just didn't want you to see that, to see that part of me. The thought of being long distance with you already fucking killed me, and I didn't need my temper adding onto it."

Rafe's eyes leave yours and settle downwards on the metal crate you're practically both sitting on. His fingers immediately fly to his hand, incessantly picking at his nail beds as a tell that he's on edge, close to panicking. He probably doesn't even realize he's doing it, but his eyes dart back on forth as he shakes his head, almost to himself, as the gears in his mind turn and turn and turn to desperately search for something more to say.

The act is muscle memory when your hand goes to cover his, stopping his bad habit immediately.

His head whips up to meet your gaze, jolted by the contact he surely was not expecting.

But you hold your own, gazing at him gently to stop the horrific insecurities you know he's spewing to himself in his head. For once, you need him to stop listening to himself and listen to his heart, listen to you, to stop trusting the devil on his shoulder and self sabotage in fear of others doing it first. You'd never. Not with him. He must know that.

"I know you," you say quietly. "And I know you would never hurt me without meaning to."

He winces.

Yet you continue. "I know you push people away before they can do it to you. But you need to understand something, Rafe, that I wasn't going anywhere. I'm not going anywhere now. When will you let yourself believe that?"

Rafe frowns impossibly deep, brows furrowing at the notion that you're still here. Despite everything he's done to you, said to you, made you think, you're still here. Wanting him. Caring for him. Being too damn sweet for your own good as you always were. And still are. You're still you, through fragments and a smile that doesn't reach your eyes quite yet, but you're still you. Looking at him like you still love him.

When your hand leaves his to cup his jaw gently, it feels like he can breathe again.

Holy fuck. You've almost forgotten what it's like to touch him. To feel him. To run your fingers along the smoothness of his skin and ground him to a moment so emotional that it nearly sends you flying away. Your palm is practically molded to the sculpture of his bone structure, as if it's been without a puzzle piece for so long, spending so much time incomplete and half of a whole.

Subconsciously, he leans into your touch.

"It feels wrong," he murmurs, eyes boring into yours so deeply that you're getting whiplash. "Having someone care about me like you do. It's not... No one has ever... I don't know how to deal with it."

"By talking," you hum low. "By telling me how you feel. Telling me what you need." Your thumb rubs an absentminded circle over his cheekbone.

He nearly sighs at the sensation. "I don't want to be a burden."

If possible, you frown even more than before. "You're not— Why would you say that? You're not a burden. At all."

Rafe doesn't answer you immediately. His brows pinch at the concept, as if it's foreign, as if what you've said is two plus two is five. His cheek is hot under your palm, hot with nerves and vulnerability that makes him temporarily speechless, and all you do is watch him. You wait for him to come to you. You've said (partially) your piece. His mouth opens and closes once, twice, as if the words are on the tip of his tongue but he refrains last minute, recalibrating his thoughts into something more cohesive.

"My worst fear is disappointing you," he says after a moment of considering your words. "Bringing you down with me. I can't... I won't let that happen."

"You're not," you say almost immediately.

"But I—“

"Do you remember the first week we met?" You blurt out suddenly, rudely interrupting him.

Confusedly, Rafe's head tilts slightly at the anecdote. Nonetheless, he nods slowly, almost egging you to continue.

And you do. "When I cancelled the dinner date at that fancy restaurant you set up? Because I had the flu?"

It was only one of the worst days of your life. Bedridden. Immobile. Practically death without the actual dying part. Too frail to even pick up a water bottle and too stubborn to ask for help. Teetering between being buried under six blankets to cranking the AC on full blast. It was grueling. Debilitating. You missed a plethora of assignments and social gatherings (despite it only being a few days).

He says your name gently. "What's this got to do wit—"

Again, you interrupt him. "You dropped everything, and I mean everything, to take care of me. And then you spent so much time with me that you fucking got sick too," you reminisce, adding a soft chuckle at the end when you think back on the don't be mad text that came from him just days after he was with you.

But he's still not getting it, blinking wordlessly at you in hopes you'll tell him what you mean, why this story has something to do with anything that's going on right now. What he doesn't realize, though, is that it is exactly the kind of thing he sees past. He probably doesn't know how much that meant to you, despite it probably being mindless for him.

How could he even think of himself as a burden? As wasted air? When all he's done is loved you in every way he knows how? How could he even think he's disappointed you when his love has been unlike anything you've ever experienced before? How could he think that low of himself?

"You could never disappoint me," you continue to further add your point. "Never. When all you've done was love me."

“I still do,” he answers almost immediately. “I haven’t stopped.”

You’re moving forward before you both can process it.

Wrapping your arms around his neck, your body is instantly taut to his, chest to chest and cheek to cheek as you find your mold against his body. It’s familiar yet agonizing, almost mind blowing that you’ve gone so long without him, without his touch, without his embrace that you quickly grew to love the first time he held you. You feel like you can finally breathe, finally remember the beautiful feeling after losing it.

Rafe’s nearly — if not more — relieved than you are, wrapping his arms around you immediately with one hand butterfly splaying on your back and the other on the back of your head, keeping you close. The deep exhale that emits from his mouth tickles your ear, and you let yourself close your eyes at the warmth of him, of how he smells the same.

“Fuck,” he murmurs quietly, almost to himself. “I missed you. I missed you so fucking much.”

Tears brim your waterline. You’ve been without him for so long, loving a shadow of a man without ever seeing or hearing from him. You wanted to be angry, to hate him, to say fuck it and move on with your life. But you couldn’t. Not when he’s the only one who has ever made you feel alive. Not when he’s been hurting in his own quiet way and self sabotaging at the fear of hurting you.

Rafe sucks in a large breath and, with that, his chest bumps impossibly taut to yours. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I made a mistake.”

“Don’t leave,” you plead, your voice ghosting the shell of his ear that makes the hair on his arm stand up. “Please. Not again.”

“I won’t,” he answers immediately, sounding absolutely wrecked. “I won’t, baby. I promise. I’m here. Not going anywhere.”

You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding, readjusting your grip around him to pull tighter — if possible — and practically seating yourself in his lap. It’s not comfortable at all, and you can’t imagine it’s comfortable for him against the grate-like fire escape. But it’s when you need, it’s what he needs, and neither of you can fathom how long you spent away from each other, almost like a sick joke.

And you just stay like this for a bit, holding onto each other as if you’re gripping onto a balloon threatening to float away. Despite his shorter, new hair, his cologne is the same as you first met him. The ring adorning his finger, the family ring, is missing from his hand, instead replaced with a similar looking one. The shirt is sleek and thin and you can feel the ridges and hills of his muscles underneath it. He may look a little different, more mature and in different clothes, but he feels the same as he’s always been, he’s still the person you know through and through.

“Inside,” you say after a while. “Please?”

“Yes,” he whispers immediately, certain. “No need to beg, baby. I’ll do whatever you want.”

When you untangle limbs, it’s slow, calculated, appreciative. His hands linger on your body longer than they should, mapping regions he hasn’t touched in months, re-familiarizing himself with the dips and crevices of your body. You do the same, pressing the pads of your fingertips along his shoulder blades and on the columns of his neck, skimming gently over the single earring adorning his left ear that definitely wasn’t there before. His skin is hot, almost burning for you, yet inviting in a way that makes you never want to let go.

It takes a little while to mobilize. You’re so caught up in feeling each other that you don’t realize how much time has passed. Not that it matters anyway. Because all you can focus on is the man in front of you, putting his heart on a silver platter and serving it to you hot. It’s all limbs and incoordination when climbing back through your window, soft laughter echoing off the alley walls and reverberating into your bedroom. His hands attempt to help you, drifting down to your waist as you climb through and you assume it’s a gesture just for him to cop a feel. But you don’t mind. You’ve missed it. You never want his hands away from you again.

When you change into pajamas and you slither into bed, your eyes brazenly watch him. The way he peels his t-shirt off his body, or unbuckles his pants to leave him solely in his boxers, in his preferred sleep wear. Yet he does it because he knows you: he knows you don’t like “outside clothes” in your sheets, wordlessly respecting your wishes without even being told so.

Rafe climbs under the sheets like he owns it, and you’ve already designated that side of the bed to him long ago, so seeing him here doesn’t feel so foreign. It’s muscle memory when his hand seeks refuge on your waist, shamelessly settling under your sleep shirt to let the pads of his fingertips dig into your flesh to almost stake a claim, but also to tether himself.

Your hand, on instinct, ghosts the skin of his chest, palm skimming over his heart. Despite not pressing fully, you can practically feel how fast it’s beating, how hard it’s thrumming against his ribcage. Though his content expression is a contrary to the feeling, looking more relaxed than ever.

The sensation makes your lips twitch. “Your heart is racing.” You let your palm press gently onto the rhythm.

His smile is impossibly bright.

“Remember when I kissed you for the first time?”

“I remember you being so nervous that you missed.”

“Alright.” Rafe laughs. “Not what I was referring to, but I guess.”

It’s devastatingly refreshing to see his smile, almost forgetting how pretty he looks like this: happy, unguarded, mind quiet of its vulnerabilities and allowing him to enjoy the moment, to slow down and indulge in the simplicities yet complexities of love.

“Then what?” You hum teasingly, his blue eyes piercing despite the dim lighting. “If not that?”

The laughter dies down. His gaze softens. His thumb traces shapes on your skin.

“Thought my heart was gonna burst out of my fuckin’ chest,” he murmurs casually as if that doesn’t make yours skip a beat, even more so when his hand comes up to caress your face, thumb skimming over your bottom lip. “Every single time.”

“You should probably see a cardiologist.”

“Don’t need a diagnosis, baby. ‘S just you.”

You try not to smile. You really try. But it’s really fucking difficult when he looks so pretty, staring at you like you’ve hung the stars yourself and holding you here in place so firmly yet gently at the same time that you couldn’t move if you tried. And he knows it. He knows you’re trying not to give into his charm, the same charm that you’ve been falling for for as long as you’ve known him.

“And now?” You dare, pressing your hand into his beating heart. “How’s it feel?”

“Like it’s gonna burst outta my chest,” he says before kissing you.

Instantly, you’re arching into his body, palms pressed firmly on his chest as a feeble attempt to ground yourself, to remind yourself that this is happening and, no, you’re not dreaming. Rafe’s here, in your bed, kissing you like his life depends on it (and it probably does). Your brows pinch even though he can’t see your face, furrowed in focus to narrow in on the passion.

Rafe makes a noise. A sigh? You think. Regardless, you reciprocate and deepen the kiss by slightly parting your lips, allowing him the access he’s been craving. And he takes advantage in less than a second, a large hand splayed on the column of your neck to keep you here against him, feeling the way your jaw slightly opens to accommodate him.

“I love you,” he praises between breaths as if it’ll kill him if he doesn’t. “I love you, I love you, I love you.”

You say it back. He says it again. You tennis-match the phrase over and over and over until the phonetics are burned into your tongues. He murmurs it against your skin against your lips, you beck, your chest, your stomach, the inside of your thighs. You whisper it into the air as if it’s prayer, an incantation that, strung together, produces a spell unlike any other.

And he’s hypnotized. It isn’t until you finish twice on his tongue that he’s even thinking about himself, and it’s only when you, in a daze, paw at his chest as ask for him, for all of him. He nearly double takes, caught up in the moment of simply pleasuring you, and if you hadn’t stopped him, if you hadn’t asked so sweetly, he would’ve went down on you ‘til sunrise.

The whole ordeal is slow. Unhurried. Deep and sensual that rattles your bones to shake. When he slips inside, it’s fucking euphoric, with an overwhelming sense of longing, nostalgia that causes a pleasure tear to slip from your eye, a tear that falls without you knowing. Not until he brushes it away with the pad of his thumb, anyway.

You’re sure you’re a babbling mess, spewing out incoherent sentences and mumbles of an I love you that probably don’t make sense. But he hears you all the same, going as far as repeating the phrase over and over against your skin like a mantra, telling you how nice you feel, that you’re made for him, how beautiful you are despite probably looking like a hot mess.

When all is said and done, Rafe is right there to tend to your needs. He’s kissing your stomach as he cleans the mess from your inner thighs. His thumb is smoothing over the hickies he peppered over multiple regions of your body, praising how beautiful you look, how good you were for him. He patiently waits for you to go to the bathroom and get ready for bed before he’s welcoming you back with open arms, and you’re not hesitating to fall into them. His embrace is warm and familiar, and you find it easy to breathe, to feel like you can relax. Rafe must feel the same, because his breathing is deeper, more evened out. Calmer and more sure of himself. Content.

“Stay the night,” you plea gently as you’re halfway to falling asleep.

You know it’s pathetic to ask, that he probably was going to anyway. But there’s that small sliver of doubt, the tiny voice in the back of your brain that’s haunted from the first time he left, driven to separation by his insecurities. You say it to be sure he knows, that he could stay for the rest of your life and you wouldn’t mind.

“I’m not leaving,” Rafe reassures against your hairline. “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere. Not again.”

And you fall asleep like that: entangled limbs and sharing the same pillow despite a whole arm’s length of space. Your even breaths are what lure him to sleep, waiting for the crazy thumping of his heartbeat to die down before you can wake up to it. He relishes in the sensation of your breathing, how your chest rises and falls against his, and how you practically nuzzle into his embrace that confirms that you missed him just as much as he missed you.

Rafe pulls you a fraction tighter, refusing to let you go again. It’s a wordless promise that he’s going to try to be better for you, to stop listening to the vulgarities of his mind and listen to his heart. He’s going to allow himself to be loved by you and he’s going to let himself believe he deserves it.

Because if you say it? It’s as good as law.

© salem-s please do not copy or replicate work unless given permission.

notes hope this request is what you envisioned???? hope you enjoyed!!

[sweetcherrybby]

OVERPROTECTIVE! — RAFE CAMERON (smut 18+, mdni.)

pairing; dealer!rafe cameron x toppersister!reader

summary: when your friend dragged you to the cut of one of the pouges infamous keggers, you didn't expect to be dragged home by your brothers dealer best friend.

warnings: kinda innocent!reader, talk of drugs, partying and drinking. smut 18+ only please please! (haven't proof read...)

"this is such a bad idea" you murmured quietly, glancing across at the boneyard from your friend kate's pristine white jeep.

"oh cmon, it'll be fun. and anyways, how could your brother find you all the way out here. he would rather die than set foot on the cut" kate rambled, yanking out of the car while her heels made a crunching sound against the gravel of the carpark.

on the ride over from figure eight, you had gnawed at your bottom lip so hard you wouldn't be surprised if you drew blood. topper would have actually killed you if he found out what you were doing.

you had been to parties on your side of the island before, and even those made your brother mad, but never had you stepped foot at a kegger on the cut.

but, here you were at 11:15 on a saturday night, about to 100 per cent regret every decision you had ever made that led to this. but it was your senior year! and you were sick and tired of letting topper dictate what you did and didn't do.

you had come to the realisation that you weren't really sure why topper cared so much about what you did. i mean sure he was your twin brother, who would never make you forget how he was in fact 2 minutes older, but he had never really cared what you did before.

i mean sure, you guys were close and he cared if you were safe or not, but it was only really until he became closer with his friend rafe that he started getting really, really overprotective.

rafe had been lurking around your house since you were little, always bossing topper around and annoying that absolute shit out of you. but never saying any more than one word to you before pulling topper into any mess he was about to get into.

"cmon cmon, lets go party!" kate exclaimed, pulling you out of your thoughts and also onto the soft sand of the boneyard.

it was safe to say that this party was far from the ones you had witnessed before. there were people do coke on any surface you could see, the distinct smell of weed filling your nostrils and kegs upon kegs lined up against the fallen branches.

"miss thorton! what brings you around my neck of the woods!?" you hear a voice yell behind you before an arm is slung quickly around your shoulder.

"shush jj! im undercover" you joke, pushing your perfecting manicured finger against your lips. "whoops! my bad princess" he slurred, swaying against your body as he pushed more and more of his weight onto you.

you giggled, swiftly setting him down on the sand before he made you topple over. "he'll be fine, just needs a little rest" john b beams to you, passing you a red solo cup full of suspicious liquid before you could decline.

you smiled at him and held the cup weighing heavily in your hand, noticing kate was long gone from your side. you looked around nervously, what were you doing?

you didn't drink, you didn't do drugs, you didn't party.

you were the classic good girl of kildare county, and your skirt was way to precious to you to get anything spilt on it. but you were here, so why don't you just enjoy yourself right?

you looked down at the liquid in the cup, it fizzing and foaming as it stared back at you. you took a cautionary sip before nearly gagging, the acid making its way down your throat.

"yuck!" you whispered to yourself, pulling a face as you rested the cup down on a branch so someone could pick it up later.

the music pumped in your ears, people dancing and swaying on the shore of the beach as the lights of the street only dimly lit the area up.

you heard your name being yelled behind you as kate embraced you in a hug, swaying and smelling of weed. "i have to introduce you to someone, apparently he sells the best weed on the island! why don't you try some! but shush let's not tell your brother" she slurred her words as she rambled on, pulling you across the sand into the crowd of people.

"you know kate, i don't think this is the best idea" you muttered, letting her guide you where the music was louder and the smell was far more intense.

"it will be fun! and we can tell him its your first time! i mean apparently, he is not a nice guy but you have a knack for changing that about people!" you rolled your eyes at her babble, your feet suddenly stopping once you had arrived at your apparent destination.

you were still hidden behind kate as she approached the man sitting on a broken branch, his legs spread wide and hands sifting through money.

"hey! my friend really wants to try your stuff, think you could help us out?" kate asked, pulling you out from behind her as a small gasp left your lips.

"y/n? what the fuck are you doing here!" rafe spat, gathering all his cash and baggies and stuffing them in his pocket. "you two know each other?"

you shifted your eyes from his angered face, jaw clenching and fists bunched tightly together.

"yeah, and you're an idiot for bringing her here. get the fuck outta my face. cmon" rafe gestured to you, taking your hand in his and leading you to the car park.

you looked back at kate before staring at rafe in front of you, unable to fight against his grip. you had been at this party all of 20 minutes and all you had done is be dragged around before having to go home!

"rafe stop!" you exclaimed as he pulled you up the beach and towards his blue truck in the car park.

how did you not notice that?

"what the heck are you doing?" you asked, him swinging the passenger door open for you as you stared at him like he was an idiot.

"get in." he said, running lifting his arms up to run his hands through his hair as you noticed a gun tucked into his waistband.

what in the actual fuck was happening?

"what! no way! since when do you deal drugs and carry guns? i don't even know who you are anymore and there is no way i'm getting into your car with you."

he rolled his eyes at you statement, putting his ringed hands against your waist and lifting you into his car effortlessly.

you huffed as he smiled at you sarcastically before closing the passenger door and jumping into the driver's side.

he looked at you expectingly as you stared at his face, his eyes a beautiful shade of blue and his lips pink. he rolled his eyes once again before reaching over and doing up your seat belt for you, his touch making goosebumps on your cleavage as he fastened it.

you sat in silence for a second before he started driving in the direction of figure eight, his large hands gripping tightly on the wheel.

"what were you actually fucking thinking? going to a party on the cut, who knows what could have happened to you if i wasn't there" rafe spat, taking his eyes off the road momentarily to look at you before turning his head back.

"what does it matter to you rafe, i just wanted to have fun and i don't regret it. so tell topper i don't care." you huffed, sinking into your seat, not even believing the words coming out of your own mouth.

"like topper would care anyways" he stated, clenching his jaw so hard you thought it would actually break. "what?"

"toppers not the one that cares." you looked at him dumbfounded, taken aback by his statement. "what do you mean rafe?"

he ignored your statement as he kept driving into the night, the uneasy silence resting heavily in the air. you tapped your fingers against the armrest, watching the trees blur into a haze of green before tannyhill came into view.

"i thought you were taking me home?" you asked, your question again going unanswered until the car came to a halt.

"you're staying at mine, get out." he huffed, walking around the car before swinging your door open and helping you down.

"why would i stay at yours? you're my twin brother's best friend. stop being an idiot rafe" you huffed, halting your movements and staying right out the front of his door.

"you're not the one to be calling shots" rafe said, once again pulling you by the hand up to his room. before you could think he sat you down softly on his bed, kneeling down to look you in the eyes as if to see if you were high or not.

"go away, i'm not high. and you do not have the moral high ground right now"

"shut up" he sighs, resting his large hands down on your bare thighs. "what?" you gasp, ready to smack his touch away the second you could bring yourself to do it.

"do you actually not know how much you drive me crazy?" rafe asks, his stare almost burning holes in your eyes as he looked at you. "i've had my eye on you since we were 3, making sure you never came to me asking for coke or weed, because you know what i would do if anything happened to you? i would go fucking insane."

"rafe..." you sighed, bringing your hand up to his warm cheeks and he leant into your touch. "no. no, don't say anything, i don't wanna hear it-"

he was cut off by your lips touching his, your hands lifting to feel his spiky buzz cut underneath your fingertips. he immediately starting kissing you back as if before this he had never taken a breath before, and you were his oxygen.

his searing touch made its way under your shirt and up to the bottom on your bra, running his hands up and down as he pushed you back so you lay on his soft sheets.

you felt him pull at the hem of your cami, the dainty pink fabric peeling off swiftly as you were left in your bra and skirt. he looked up at you with love-drunk eyes, pupils dilated and black while he started kissing down your neck.

"wait- rafe, no. we can't. topper." you gasped as you somehow leaned even more into his touch as the words came out of your mouth. he halted his actions for a moment, pulling back so he could look at you.

"fuck topper" he spoke as he pulled his shirt off swiftly, his perfect tan skin and abs making you bite your lip. you squealed as he picked you up and brought you to the top of his bed, leaning your head softly against the pillows.

"you're so pretty, so so pretty baby" he uttered, unzipping your skirt and pulling it down your soft legs. "we don't have to do this yeah? only if you want."

you didn't think you could actually adore this man more, but he surprised you every word he spoke.

"please rafe" you whined, dragging your acrylics against his abs as you watched the goosebumps from your touch.

he let out a quiet "fuck" as he smashed his lips onto yours once more.

you reached down to the waistband of his pants feeling around before pulling back as you felt an unfamiliar metal-shaped object.

he looked down at your movements as you stopped "whoops, my bad ma." he pulled the gun out of his waistband and tucked it under the pillow you weren't resting against, going back to kissing you as you giggled.

he undid his belt swiftly, pulling down his pants and boxers until his hard member came into view. you didn't even have time to think of how massive it was as he went down to kiss you once more, pulling your panties aside and entering a finger into you.

"shit, you're so fucking tight." he sighed against your lips.

you whined in response, reaching down to his cock and pumping it in your hand. "can't wait any more rafe."

"its ok baby, i've got you"

you gasped loudly as he first entered into you, the large intrusion making you whine in both pain and pleasure.

"yeah, cmon. you can take it baby. you can take it"

his strokes were slow and powerful, filling you up until you felt as though you would snap. his groans soon filled the room as he pounded into you.

"you're so so good to me baby, can't believe we haven't done this sooner. gonna make you mine ma" he moaned, that statement bringing you over the edge as you came around him with a moan.

"thank you thank you thank you" you chanted, your acrylics surely making bright red scratches to his muscly back while you came.

"no, baby. thank you."

[sweetcherrybby]

੭୧ ⋆｡ bsf!rafe see's your scars

It’s well past midnight, the kind of hour that feels a little outside of time. Your room is dark except for the soft golden spill of your bedside lamp, and Rafe is here again—spread out on your bed like he belongs there, like he always has.

You’re curled up with your legs tucked beneath you, a book balanced loosely in your hands, though you haven’t read a single word in the last ten minutes. Rafe's lying on his stomach beside you, face half-buried in your pillow, his arm slung across your lap. His other hand dangles off the edge of the bed, fingers twitching slightly like he’s dreaming even though he’s awake.

The silence is warm. Heavy in a good way. The kind of quiet that doesn’t press, doesn’t ask you to fill it. His thumb brushes over your knee. Then a little higher. You tense before you can stop it.

His touch pauses. Then slowly continues, brushing over a cluster of scars just above the curve of your thigh. those soft silvery streaks you’ve spent years hiding beneath longer shorts and self-deprecation.

❝What’s this?❞ he murmurs, voice hushed, like the question itself might break something. You pull the blanket up instinctively, heart skipping. ❝It’s nothing. Ugly, I know.❞ He exhales sharply, but not in frustration. In disbelief. Rafe shifts to sit up, leaning on one elbow, his eyes dark and unreadable in the low light. His hand finds yours, his thumb brushing slowly over the back of it.

❝You think anything about you could be ugly?❞ His voice is low, a little hoarse, like it caught on something in his throat. ❝You know how many times I look at you and forget to breathe?❞ You try to look away, but he catches your chin with his fingers. Gently. Always gently.

Then he dips his head and kisses the inside of your thigh, right where your scars bloom like faded lightning. Another kiss. And another. Soft as moth wings. ❝You’re not broken.❞

❝You’re not too much.❞

❝You’re not a mistake.❞

Each whisper is matched with another kiss, his mouth reverent, like he’s learning a language only you speak. Like your skin is holy. And all at once your throat aches. You’re not crying, but you could. If he asked. If he said your name just once more like that.

He lies back down eventually, cheek against your stomach now, arms looped lazily around your waist. He exhales into your shirt, grounding himself in you like you’re the only thing that makes sense. ❝You don’t ever have to hide from me, okay?❞ he murmurs.

Your fingers slip into his hair, slow and absent. Your heart feels too big, too swollen in your chest. Outside, the sky is navy and velvet. Inside, he breathes you back into softness. You don’t know what this is between you and Rafe—not really. But his weight against you, the way he touches you like you’re fragile and valuable all at once, makes you feel like maybe being loved by him wouldn’t be so impossible after all.

taglist ୧ ˚.

@raefluv . . . 2025 do not copy or take inspiration from my works

[sweetcherrybby]

JOE BURROW — this is me trying

summary — life isn’t always easy. it rips and it tears and has no mercy. Joe is there to help her rummage through the pieces and put her back together.

warnings — fem!reader, mentions of anxiety/depression, fluff, angst, language, not proofread

requested by — @megantmerritt-blog

note — everyone experiences depression and anxiety differently. i’m drawing on my own personal experiences and what i know. if anyone is struggling, please know that there are people who love and care for you (including me!) I’m always here for any of you who need it <3

tags — @willowsnook @joecoolburrow @iosivb9 @softburrow @wickedfun9 @starsinthesky5 @joeyburrrow @hannahjessica113 @irishmanwhore @hotburreaux @blairsworld22 @burrowdarling @joeyb1989 @joeyfranchise @ebsmind @sportyphile @kazsbrckkers (comment/send an ask if you wanna be added!)

IT COMES IN WAVES. Some days, the waves are gentle. They let her work and they let her love, other days they pull her into their riptides, spinning her around without mercy. She never dies, but those waves make her wish she didn’t struggle so hard.

Her eyes peeled open, the tap of the rain against the roof gently pulling her from sleep. Her body felt heavy, her heart beating slow, hard beats. She doesn’t look over at her boyfriend, whose arms were wrapped around her waist. He was worried for her, struggling to understand why she was having a bad day all of a sudden.

last night

Distraction. That’s what she needed. Something to do while her chest tightened, something to focus on while her stomach was tied into knots. So, she busied herself with changing the sheets of the bed. Her hands shook, violently, her breaths uneven and shallow.

But she promised Joe she’d do them.

She didn’t know what brought on the panic. She’d had a good day so far; finished a book, baked her favorite cookies, even got her nails done. Something snapped, and through the wall of her antidepressants, something snuck through.

“Babe?” Joe called, padding from his office. He’d been watching film, routes and plays burned into his retinas. He wanted to spend some time with his girl, but when he walked into their bedroom, he didn’t see the relaxed woman he came home to a couple hours ago.

“Baby,” he called again, stopping her hands from trying to fold the fitted sheet, “what’s wrong?”

“I hate fitted sheets,” she spoke, her voice shaky, “why do we need them if they can’t fucking fold?”

Joe knew better. He knew that she wasn’t being dramatic. Her hands shook, they were clammy and cold. Her hands didn’t stay in his for long.

“It makes sleeping more comfortable, love,” he replied gently, letting her have her space. Joe knew better than to constantly barrage her with questions. He could see it written all over her face; she was on the cusp of an anxiety attack.

“But if we can’t fucking fold them then why do we bother washing them?” she replied, her breaths shallow. Joe was a blurry figure in front of her, her mind refusing to compute that Joe was trying to help her.

“Baby, look at me,” he encouraged, and when she didn’t, he felt his chest tighten, “Y/N,”

Her eyes flicked up. He went in and out of focus, her body nearly collapsing in on itself. The unknown of what was causing her panic threw her even further, making her heart beat faster in her chest.

So fast her Apple watch buzzed against her wrist. Her heart rate was too high.

“Talk to me,” Joe urged. He hated seeing her like this, her body caving in on itself. He hated watching her spiral, and he could see it. The gloss over her eyes, the way her hands were clawing at her chest as if it would allow her to breathe.

It scared him.

“Baby,” Joe grabbed her hands, kneeling in front of her, “focus on me,”

“I-I,”

“Just breathe,” he told her, mimicking deep and careful breaths. Inhale for 3 seconds. Exhale for 5. Over and Over again. Joe held her hands, trying to quiet the subtle shake in them. His heart rapidly thudded against his chest, his own anxiety rising.

After a few minutes, her eyes still hazy, she finally snapped out of it. Her breaths were deep and ragged, her eyes barely staying open. Joe wanted to embrace her, he wanted to bring her into his arms and hold her.

But he knew better. She didn’t want to be touched after a panic attack.

“I’m here, okay?” He nodded, his eyes staring holes into her body. He needed her to believe that he was there for her. She nodded, continuing to monitor her own breathing.

present day

Her eyes watched as the rain pattered against the window. The soft hum of the AC accompanied the rain, relaxing her muscles. She was sore, her muscles the same consistency as jello. She slid her arms under her satin pillow, the coolness of its underside making her melt.

She still felt the lingering effects of last night’s panic attack. The silence. The soreness. The deep breaths every other breath. She was exhausted, her bones begging her to stay in bed.

Joe shifted, his arm tightening around her. His face was plastered against her back, his head dipped between her shoulder blades. Even dead asleep, he held onto her. He didn’t want her to disappear on him.

Some days, she did want to disappear. As she laid in his arms, a physical reminder of his never ending love, she couldn’t help but drift. He could have chosen anyone, yet he settled for her. Her friends all hate her because she spends so much time with Joe. Joe hates her because she wants to make it up to her friends. She’s not good at balancing, so maybe things need to end anyways.

The lies she told herself made her eyes water. It made her spiral, but she forced herself to relax. She wasn’t going to have another panic attack. Her body was too tired, too battle ridden.

She pulled from Joe’s grasp, letting his arm fall onto the bed. She tugged herself off of the bed, the heaviness in her bones causing her to shuffle to the bathroom. The door softly shut behind her, and when she saw herself in the mirror, she inhaled deeply.

Messy. Tired. Ugly.

“Fuck,” she whispered, shaking her head and brushing her teeth. She had to do something to keep her mind from further damaging herself. Brushing her teeth was a menial task, but it felt like she was moving mountains doing so.

She spat out the toothpaste, wiping her mouth. She didn’t bother to wash her face or brush her hair. It could wait. She opened the door, expecting to see Joe still asleep.

He wasn’t.

“Shit,” she jumped, his upright position on the bed scaring her, “didn’t think you’d be awake,”

“You left,” he noted, his voice scratchy from sleep, “of course I woke up,”

Joe couldn’t sleep without her. His deepest sleep, snores and all, was when she was right next to him. Away games made for hell. He’s had to get used to it.

“I’m sorry,” she sighed, padding back over to her side of the bed. She didn’t slide back in. Not like Joe wanted her to.

“It’s okay,” he shook his head. He crawled over, tugging at her hand. His blue eyes were wide, flicking over her face. He could see the inner turmoil, the struggle still deep within her bones.

“Lay with me,” he urged. She hesitated, even as his fingers tugged at her hand like a toddler trying to get their mom’s attention. She eventually gave in, sitting down in her spot. Her legs crossed under her, the weight of her body making the bed dip.

Joe noticed. He always did. The crease of her forehead. The way her fingers played with a loose thread of her shirt. Her cuticles were raw from how much she’d twirled that thread around her fingers, digging the little knot into her skin. He wanted to know what was going on in her head. He wanted to know what was ailing her.

“Y/N,” he sighed, “sweetheart, please. Talk to me,”

She inhaled deeply, poking her tongue out to moisten her lips. Joe would never judge her. He’d never think she was being over dramatic.

“I’m overthinking again,” she confessed, chewing on the inside of her cheek.

“Okay,” Joe sat up, crossing his legs under him. He scoot closer to her, but not too close.

“What’s your head telling you?” Joe added, his eyes locking with her side profile. Her jaw clenched. Her nostrils flared. Her eyelashes caught the little light coming through the window.

“It’s stupid,”

“No,” he shook his head, “no, it’s not. There’s a reason you’re thinking these things, and your mind has lied to you,”

He’s right. He always is.

“My friends hate me,” she started, “I’ve tried reaching out to them, asking to hangout, and they’re always busy. I mean, it’s always reasonable stuff like a pilates class or work, but I feel tossed aside,”

Joe listened, his eyes flicking across her face. She believed her words. Joe didn’t, but that’s because he saw what she sometimes couldn’t see.

“But then,” she added, “then I start to wonder if you hate me when I hang out with my friends. That you’re getting tired of me, that-that-”

She could feel her chest tighten, this time the threat of tears boiling in her body. She turned her face away from his, feeling his eyes bore into her. Joe’s heart clenched in his chest, and he reached out to tug on her arm. She fell against him, and he held her in his lap.

“I just feel like a bad person,” she sniffled, “My friends are always annoyed with me, you’re always annoyed with me. I cant put it into words,”

“Baby,” he hummed, kissing the top of her head, “no one is annoyed with you. Your friends are busy, but they want to hang out with you. They want to text you back. And my love, I could never be annoyed with you,”

His words soothed her, a balm to her wounded soul. She melted into his arms, the side of his head pressed against the side of hers.

“I love you,” he hummed, “which means all of you. Your triple texts, your passionate rants about college football, your pickiness when it comes to food. I love all of you, every part that you love and consider a flaw I adore,”

He hugged her tighter, pressing a gentle kiss to her cheek. She melted, dissolving into the plush of his embrace. He was a cold pillow after a hot day, a refreshing cup of water. He was always there for her in ways she never understood.

“I don’t-”

“Yes you do,” he interrupted, “you deserve the world and all its treasures,”

She couldn’t help but smile. She could be so predictable. He knew her like the back of his own hand, every bump and every smooth line. She was his girl, the love of his life.

“You’re not annoying,” he added, “you’re passionate and lovely. Don’t let anyone convince you of anything else,”

She wouldn’t. In that moment, she let him ease away her anxieties and her despair, his touch a grounding force. She curled into his lap, watching as the rain streamed down the window. Finally, for once, the rain meant new beginnings and fresh life. It didn’t mean despair and depression, it meant reprieve.

[sweetcherrybby]

boyfriend!rafe serenades you ୨ৎ ♡₊ ⊹ ⊹

more of this au here

tap. tap. tap.

you blink, looking up from your phone. it’s almost midnight. you tiptoe toward the window, already having a feeling you know who it is. you look down your window, and there he was. rafe. hair a bit messy, his red guitar slung over his shoulder like some lovesick movie boy.

“rafe?” you whisper-shout, cracking the window open. “are you seriously throwing rocks at my window right now. what are you doing?”

he grins up at you like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“singing to the love of my life,” he says, and strums the first few chords, nervous, a little shaky, but so sweet you feel your chest ache.

his voice slips into the night air, low, warm, just like him.

“why you standing all by yourself? those shoes were made for dancing with someone else…”

"why don’t we move over to that empty space? i bet you twenty bucks i’ll put a smile on your face…”

you cover your mouth, already grinning. “you’re such an idiot,” you whisper, but your heart’s pounding.

he keeps going, softer now, smile curling at the corners of his mouth.

“i know a place where we can dance the night away…”

you’re leaning out the window without even meaning to, hands braced against the frame.

“baby, we could try to make the world spin slower…”

he’s watching you now, like the song’s always been about you.

“we could take our time and get to know each other over cherry wine…”

“come in,” you murmur, biting back a smile. “before you wake the neighbors with your romantic nonsense.”

he climbs up the window, with the guitar slung over his back, hands steady as they catch your waist and pull you flush to him.

“told you i’d make you smile,” he murmurs, forehead to yours. “yeah you did” you whisper, breathless. “come dance with me, mr.loverboy”

he laughs, low and full of love. “okay, princess.”

his arms wrap around you without hesitation, pulling you close. your hands settle at the nape of his neck, the two of you start to sway, slow and gentle, like the world’s been waiting for this moment to catch up.

“did you like it?” he murmurs, voice brushing your ear. “my little concert?”

you tilt your head up, smiling “i loved it,” you whisper.

you lean in, resting your forehead against his. “i’m so lucky to have you,” you whisper, your breath warm against his skin as you press a gentle kiss to his cheek.

he smiles, eyes shining like he can barely hold it in. “you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” he says softly.

he catches your hand, brings it to his lips, and grins “and you’re stuck with me forever, love.”

you close your eyes for a second, heart thudding too loud in your chest. and then he gives you a little twirl, playful and soft, like he just couldn’t help himself. you stumble right into him again, giggling, your laughter tangling in his.

he hums, eyes flicking to the corner of the room. “we can’t dance without music, princess.” he walks to your vinyl player, flipping through your vinyl collection until he finds your favourite one. he places the record onto the vinyl player. the record plays, and the moment shimmers, like you’ve both stepped into a living fairytale moment. he turns back, hand extended, voice low. “may i have this dance?”

and then it’s just the two of you, swaying in the quiet glow of your bedroom, your shadows dancing on the walls.

the night outside stretches long and golden and quiet, like it’s letting you keep it.

just you. him. and a love that feels like music still playing.

[sweetcherrybby]

gonna need that Joey wearing glasses writing asap 🤓

author's note⠀⁎⠀domestic fluff, enjoy <3

read more⠀⁎⠀joe burrow masterlist / series masterlist.

There wasn’t so much a flinch tugging at the edges of Joe’s nerves. His breathing was even, a controlled, subconscious inhale and subsequent exhale that were more natural than second-nature. ‘Third-nature?’ She had offered once between bites of salted caramel ice cream shared on one single metal spoon. He had shrugged then, a golden brown curl bouncing against his forehead at the movement. ‘Sure, third-nature.’ He figured ‘third-nature’ held a certainty in its depth. A quiet kind of certainty that originated at the very root and blossomed in the space of a heartbeat, ever upwards, arching toward the sun.

She held the silver-tined blade steady in her hand, easing the blonde peach buzz off his jawline with a gentle scrape. The space between her eyebrows pinched together, that clinical concentration that seized her consciousness totally focused on getting the closest shave she could. The scent of his aftershave mingled with the mint of her gum in the air. He could feel her breath, warm and soft against his skin as she softly inhaled and exhaled through her nose.

He was torn between closing his eyes—his sensitive, dry, sky blue eyes shielded by prescription lenses—and continuing to stare at her. It was the hum under her breath. He thinks it’s a song by Solange. Solange? The passing thought of her correcting him in the instance he questioned what exactly the artist’s name was pushed a puff of amused air through his nose. It was the concentration in her gaze, her lips pressed into a serious line as she worked the razor, that made him smile. That and the fact that she didn’t realize she was doing it. Her eyes darted up to his, catching him mid-smile. She rolled her eyes, a silent laugh dancing across her lips, before they dropped back to his chin.

“Don’t do that, I don’t wanna nick you,” she murmured, her lips barely parting around the words. Her grip on his face tightened a pinch, her forefinger and thumb steadying his jaw as she shaved the last of the stubble.

He hummed a flat tone of submission, his hands finding the warm, exposed flesh of her thighs left uncovered by the men’s large shirt she plucked from his closet years before “Joe’s home” became “their home”. So too, the shirt had long shed its identity as “his shirt” and became “our shirt”, though Joe would be perfectly content if it became “her shirt”. Her legs dangled over the bathroom counter, parted wide to make space for Joe to slip between them, finding his place just as certainly as he breathed.

The near rhythmic tap, tap, tap of the razor against the sink allowed him the chance to push the shirt higher on her thighs. Cotton boyshorts were revealed to his gaze, a dusty pink that had faded from countless washes. He watched her rinse the razor under the stream of water, her eyes focused on the task at hand, oblivious to his roaming eyes. The water was warm, steaming slightly as it hit the porcelain. It reminded him of her in a way. Cool, collected, chill on the outside while bubbling with warmth beneath the surface.

As if third-nature, she reached for his hand when she turned to face him again. She squeezed, breathing a, “Wait,” before she was reaching up toward his face. Her hand disappeared over the top of his glasses, his understanding of her next course of action only made clear to him by the press of her thumb against his brow. She smoothed on, then the other, still humming that same song under her breath absentmindedly.

He recognized the gesture, a moment of still just so she could look at him for a little while longer. Anyone else would bring a fidget to his nervous system, a tick of his jaw, a flinch in his shoulders. But anyone else wouldn’t bring him to mirror the gesture. He indulged the chance to stare at her for a little while longer, to watch the way her eyes drifted over him with a fondness that made his chest swell.

“Thank you,” he said, one hand grasping hers, the other still settled on her upper thigh.

Her smile grew, her eyes meeting his, and she leaned in to kiss him lightly on the cheek. The feel of her soft, plump lips brushing fondness into his being. He turned his head to catch hers, deepening the kiss, their tongues brushing together briefly before she pulled away with a sigh.

“I’d do this everyday for the rest of our lives if you’d let me.” She replied, a smile tugging at the corner of her lips. Her fingers brushed his hair back, before curved down over the side of his face, then lifting the underside of his chin for another kiss.