#RAFE OBSESSED brain

[messylustt]

 ݁   𓂃 ៸៸៸ deer in headlights — rafe cameron + reader ( obx ) : when trying to help your sad friend at a party leads to an unexpected kiss from rafe.

contents : slight dick!rafe. nsfw intentions (not full on sex tho). slight dubcon (not heavy or roughly forced) tittie licking/sucking. tittie grab. kissing.

your eyes scanned the party mess. it had only been an hour or so. but more than likely people came drunk way before. most go from party to party, trying to find one that won’t get busted. we’ll see how long this one lasts.

girls yelping, some giggling, most a boy crazy mess. guys hollering, others giggling themselves, nearly twirling their hair at the bent over girls “enjoying” their drinks. you couldn’t help but smile. even though you never found yourself in the centre of it all, you were far from hating the experience.

but that’s when you spotted your friend, scarlet, bolt upstairs, pushing her sleeve down to her fingertips to wipe the mix of tears and mascara from her face. you stood up, tilting past the edge of the couch to reach her.

“scarlet!” you call, trying to quicken your steps. what had happened? she either ignores you or simply can’t hear over the drowning base of the music.

you follow her upstairs. “scarlet?” you call again. and this time she shifts her gaze, her head turning towards you.

“hey..” you smile softly reaching her side. “what’s wrong? why the tears?”

scarlets bottom lip quivers, even if she trying to force it down, while her brows remain furrowed and bent with hurt. she looks as though she wishes to say something, but then she gulps. her expression pales as she rushes into the bathroom, but not before she shuts the door stopping you from entering.

scarlet was always a little complicated. easily embarrassed despite her confidence.

there’s a moment where all you can hear is puking as you try to turn the handle finding that the door is locked. “no. don’t come in.” she says, breathless after a moment.

“scarlet—“ you say in protest, wanting to help. “no! please.” she replies, cutting you off.

you sigh, knowing she hates anyone seeing her puke. “i just wanna help.” you try.

“no I—“ you can hear her hiccuped breathing. “i don’t want him to know…” her tone is almost pitiful.

“who?” you ask standing by the door.

“kelce…”

“kelce?” your brows furrow before thinning out. “is he the boy you kept telling me about?”

she sniffles. “maybe..”

“scarlet…” you say softly “what happened?”

“it was a joke. all of it. ‘sleep with the slut’.” she scoffs. “just because i like boys…a lot of them doesn’t mean i’m some…look liking dick shouldn’t be some god awful issue.”

your brows furrow again, but this time in anger. you hadn’t known kelce that well. only through living on this island, like most. but you had thought he was merely a guy looking to stay ‘cool’ or ‘popular’, not an outright dick.

not like his friend, rafe. rafe cameron. now, if anyone was to easily be called a ‘dick’ it would be him.

“are you sure i can’t come in?” you ask. “please just…” she replies, to which you ease her. “it’s okay. just relax…let me go get you some water.”

you rush back downstairs, squeezing past the out of tuned drunks, and high teens. you head to the kitchen. but as you do, you catch a conversation going on in the hallway.

“i fucked her over man…” the voice, you can identify as kelce’s. “i…why did i do that?”

“hey, calm down. don’t get worked up alright?” the other voice…rafe’s.

“nah man..” kelce sounds stressed, almost on the verge of tears.

“listen to me man. it was a stupid joke. she shouldn’t have taken it to heart, yeah?” rafe’s tone is dismissing towards scarlet, which honestly doesn’t leave you very surprised.

“fuck..” kelce mutters “but now she doesn’t…want me…want anything to do with me most likely.”

“then move on.” rafe replies, speaking as though that concept is a breeze.

“move on…” kelce mutters, repeating slowly.

“yeah, move on. you’re at a party for christs sake. have fun. plenty of girls around.” rafe replies, hitting kelce’s shoulder by the sounds of it.

you peek slightly round the corner to watch them.

kelce sighs rubbing his head roughly.

“go get ‘em man. go on” rafe pats kelce’s back as he slightly pushes him towards the heat of the party. you quickly return behind the doorway as he passes.

you wait a moment before looking back to where they were talking to find rafe staring straight back at you. you pause, blinking. rafe’s head tilts, his expression not one of surprise, as if he had spotted you the moment your head poked out.

“you always eavesdrop?” rafe takes a swig from his beer. you step out, darting your gaze slightly.

“i was just getting some water…for my friend.” you reply as he begins to head over to you.

“yeah?” he hums nodding, as he stops a few step distances from you. “does that water trip include spying?”

“i didn’t catch much.” you reply.

“yeah, how much did you catch, deer?” he asks, his gaze darting over your face and down your body as if he’s trying to place you.

your brows furrow. “didn’t know you were one for…names like that.”

rafe scoffs “i meant ‘deer’ as in a deer caught in headlights, not the other ‘dear’.” he says tapping his beer bottle on your nose, gesturing to your round eyes.

your nose scrunches in response as you lean back, rubbing it. “i’m not ‘caught in headlights.’”

“no?” he replies. “or maybe you’re just starstruck.”

“by you?” you ask raising your brows. “i’m sorry, but you don’t have that ‘wonder’ to you, rafe.”

“a lot of girls think different.” he replies. “you’d look at me with ‘wonder’ if you’ve been seeing stars all night.”

you pause, staring at him, before his words register. “ew, rafe.”

“ouch.” he replies, completely unbothered, taking a swig.

“the majority of people who you make see ‘stars’ are those who have a ‘your-shaped-fist’ indent in their face.” you say edging back into the kitchen, preferring that this conversation ends sooner than later.

rafe scoffs, his face dropping, as he steps after you. “you’re not clever.”

“you seemed affected though.”

“re-size your brain, it ain’t that big”

you raise your hands in innocence, as you turn towards the sink, grabbing a clean empty glass. rafe leans up again the kitchen island, his legs planted in a slight spread.

you glance back at him, wondering why he’s still here.

he watches you.

“look, i’m sorry for eavesdropping. i only cared because…” you pause instinct telling you not to talk about your friend with the likes of rafe. but he clearly already knows.

“oh you got a reason? you’re not just simply…nosy?” rafe gives a fake-surprised look, as you stare blankly at him.

“you’re talking as if you know me.”

“i do know you.” he replies simply.

“no, um…you don’t.” you look confused.

“yeah…i do.”

“maybe we’ve had like…one proper conversation…” you say.

“nah, more than that.” why rafe is saying such simple sentences is a bother to you.

“alright, well…just because we’ve talked a couple times doesn’t mean you ‘know’ me.” you say filling the glass up with water looking back to the sink.

“you think I pay no attention to the people on this island?”

“yeah, sure, briefly. i do the same.” you reply shrugging. “you’re acting as though you know my favourite colour or something.”

“orange.”

you look to rafe, staring at him. “what?”

he crosses his arms, placing his beer to the side. “no, obviously i don’t know your favourite colour. i’m talking about behavioural observations, not stalker material, doll.”

“i thought you weren’t one for names like that.”

“i’m not.” he replies so simply again.

you look back to him seeing that he’s not going to explain any further. “okay…” you mutter moving past him with the glass of water.

“that for kelce’s fuck buddy?” rafe asks staying against the island.

you pause “I’m sorry?”

“what’s her name again?” rafe hums. “sophie?”

“scarlet.” you say with a frown. “and she was never kelce’s fuck buddy. she liked him.”

“yeah, most do like who they fuck.” rafe turns to you.

you narrow your gaze. “your buddy kelce may have thought of it like that, but she never did.”

“hearts break.” rafe states stepping closer “big deal.”

“yeah, it is a big deal. she’s hurt. and fair enough, cause if I got treated like that I’d react the same.”

“would you?” rafe asks. “have you?”

“gotten treated like that? luckily no. but it’s because she puts herself out there way more than me. she’s confident. actually gives it a go.”

“what a star.” rafe mocks.

“you’re all talk, rafe.” you say “because if a girl hurt you like that, I’d think you’d be worse.”

“really?” he looks down at you. “and what happened to not knowing each other that well?”

“you’re a loud bully. i’d have to be deaf not to easily hear about the things you’ve done.”

“you make it sound so dramatic.” rafe scoffs.

“you are rather dramatic.”

“look, doll,” rafe begins leaning down to level with you. “you can nurse sophie back all you want, comfort her, but you’re really not helping.”

“how so? do you have a better idea to help?” you ask raising your brows.

“yeah.” rafe says darting his gaze “enjoy the party. let them deal with it.”

“deal with it? you told kelce to go scout the girls here.” you say.

“yeah, and you actually think he listened to that? kelce is a bleeding heart. sensitive like a fucking kids movie.” rafe states. “no, he’s gone to talk to her. she’s crying in the bathroom right? i guarantee he’s there too.”

“and what makes you think she’d want to see him?”

rafe shrugs. “not our problem.”

“she’s my friend. of course it’s—“

but rafe cuts in, grabbing your shoulders. “not. our. problem.” he states slowly. “you think you rushing in there is going to help? they need to talk. kelce needs to talk.” rafe chuckles. “though if I were him, I wouldn’t bother, find someone new.”

“well thank god she didn’t sleep with you.” you mutter.

“jealous?”

“oh yes.” you nod sarcastically. “wouldn’t want her stealing you away.”

rafe’s lips quirk up. “yeah?”

“you look way too happy that i said that.” you eye him.

rafe grabs his beer off the kitchen island, bringing it between you both. “drink.”

you look at the bottle then back to his face. you shake your head. but rafe just nods, bringing the bottle to your lips. you lift your hand to protest but your glass of water spills a fraction making your hands pause, and giving him enough time to tilt the beer into your mouth.

you’re instinct is to swallow, before you step back, wiping your lips. “ew, rafe.”

“do you find everything disgusting or just when it involves me?” rafe asks taking a sip of his own from the beer bottle.

you meet his gaze staying silent, as he frowns.

“i’m not some troll.” he scoffs.

“could’ve fooled m—“

but rafe cuts in. “don’t finish that.”

you press your lips together, almost smiling, despite yourself.

“don’t smile either.” this time rafe looks disgusted. “you look demented…” he then pauses. “…or pretty, hard to say.”

you scoff “great save.”

“i try.” his lips quirk up again. he looks around a moment before his smile fades, finding a certain spot behind you.

you look behind you also seeing a girl who’s gaze is hardened on you both. you shift your gaze back to rafe but he’s far closer then before. you instinctively lean back.

“don’t be annoying now.” rafe says.

“i’m just moving back.” you reply, not seeing the problem.

“hm.” rafe hums, rolling his eyes. though that action doesn’t seem to be for you, but for the girl staring.

“katie, right?” you say in reference to the girl.

“ew.” rafe replies.

“ew?”

“i thought you were well aquatinted with that word?” he steps closer to you, glaring at the girl. “what a pest.” he mutters.

you look back to katie, who’s gaze hasn’t shaken. “you with her or something?”

“don’t ever say that again.” rafe says harshly. “little bitch doesn’t know when to quit.”

“it must be that ‘wonder’ you possess.” you say shrugging.

rafe looks to you, deadpanned. “funny.”

“i’m just saying. which is why i’m confused that you’re bothered.”

“when I kiss someone, i want to like it.” rafe states blandly. “i didn’t like it, so that’s why she’s not over here and instead over there.”

you stare at him. “okay. then have you talked with her about that?”

“uh huh.” rafe says. “in one ear and out the other.”

rafe then focuses fully on you, an idea almost displayed in his eyes. you look back at him confused, your eyes darting a little nervously at the intensity of his sudden attention.

“are you a good kisser?”

rafe’s question makes you pause, even more confused, your eyes widening a fraction. “what?”

“c’mere.” he murmurs, his finger curling into one of your jean loops at your hips.

“wow, wow—“ you rush out placing your hands on his chest as he tugs you closer.

“look convincing.” he hums tilting your chin up. his lips reach yours, stepping against you.

your eyes flutter shut at the closeness. his mouth moves against yours, finding your bottom lip as his tongue drags. the suddenness of it all makes your head spin.

rafe begins to smile against your mouth, either at katie’s reaction, or potentially yours. his tongue doesn’t let up as it slides between your lips, reaching your own. his hand grabs your glass placing it aside before he reaches for your hair sliding his fingers between the strands.

your lips feel wet now, swollen, as you clench at his shirt to breath. he lets up leaning back a fraction. you’re blinking, licking your own lips in shock. you knew they were now red.

“what…what was that?” you whisper. you pause then glance back to katie who’s gaze is like thunder but she finally looks away, heading outside to the busy pool. “oh...” you say. “to make her jealous? really?”

“no, to make her leave.” rafe replies, his tone almost distant, as his gaze is stuck on your mouth. he then leans down and kisses you again, stopping your tongue from dragging along your lip repeatedly. he was far too eager this time around.

and this time you step back.

rafe nearly follows your lips.

“rafe…she’s gone, you can stop now.” you mutter fixing your hair.

rafe then murmurs. “didn’t I say if i don’t like it leave?”

“which is rather rude when you’re actually kissing a girl.” you reply, a little flustered, as you reach for the glass.

rafe slides it away. “you kissed back.”

“i was surprised.” you say.

“glad you have that instinct then.” rafe muses. to which you turn away aiming to leave the kitchen.

but rafe steps after you. “what, going back to sophie?”

“scarlet.” you say. “and yes. I’ve left her for too long.”

rafe blocks your exist. “you don’t like me, i get that. but if you want to help your friend, let them talk. and in the mean time, enjoy yourself.”

“so you’re suggesting I go outside then? maybe to the pool.” you say, as he shakes his head.

“no idiot. here. with me.”

“now that’s the kind of name i thought you’d prefer saying.” you reply. “and…no…thank you.” you say trying to move past him.

“you’re a good kisser.”

“how sweet. move please” you say.

“my god, you really hate me, huh?” he chuckles

“i dont know you enough enough to hate you.” you say “but i do dislike you…so….close.”

“at least I’m not at the far end of the spectrum.” rafe hums, getting closer and fiddling with the end of your shirt.

“you’re close.” you say trying to move his hand away.

“but not there.”

“rafe, what do you want?” you sigh, looking up at him.

“i wanna see if you look more like a ‘deer’ when my hand is actually doing something.” he murmurs for your ears only.

“I’m sorry?” i stare at him, surprised as if he hadn’t just randomly kissed you before.

“relax.” rafe murmurs, pressing against you. “ease up, baby.”

all you manage to do is stare as your body registers the feel of his.

“yeah…” he hums, tugging at your hair slightly. “like that.”

“rafe…” you say, still confused by his actions.

“come on,” he chuckles lowly. “it’s a party. don’t tell me you don’t enjoy it?”

“i do, it’s just—“

but he cuts you off, his breath hitting your cheek. “then left your shirt up, lemme see…”

your stomach fills with butterflies, your eyes darting over his face.

“listen, I’m bored.” rafe says his lips now pressed to your ear, his hand squeezing your waist. “and…i liked the kiss. so I’m thinking I’ll like the rest of you.”

“you’re—you’re just overly horny.” you say.

“and who’s fault is that?”

“hey, you were the one who kissed me.” you say.

he smiled as his hand sunk under your shirt to your stomach.

“rafe—“

“shh.” he hushed, looking down at your shirt and his hand underneath. he lifted the material. you move to grab the shirt, embarrassed at the exposure.

“please, doll, just a quick look.” he says. “none of this has to mean a thing, i promise.” his hand grips your shirt.

and strangely, as he tugs you to a darker corner of the kitchen, his hands lifting your shirt to reveal your bra, and the hum that follows, makes you wonder if he really means that promise.

because as soon as his finger traces the cup before slipping inside, and brushing right over your nipple, the look in his eyes changes.

you can’t pinpoint what it changes to, but his following action, with the grip in your hair is clearly a new promise.

if he doesn’t like it he leaves.

but what happens when he does like it?

he grins nearly cooing at your concentrated face. “don’t think too hard.” he hums as he rubs your nipple and breast making your breathing hitch. “keep that head small for me, doll. you’re a very pretty deer when caught in headlights.”

“you just like me dumb.” you say, understanding his words.

his grin merely grows, as he pushes your bra cup aside completely holding and grabbing your breast. “well, when you’re smart you’d push me away.”

you nod, as he nods too, chuckling. he then forces you to arch against him, as he leans down, keeping eye contact.

he swirls his finger around your nipple. “should I turn this red too?”

the moment his tongue reaches your nipple, tingles run up your spine. and as he begins to suck, the tease in his voice leaves him as he murmurs a simple “fuck.”

your stomach churns, as he nods, almost answering himself with a name he claims to dislike. “yeah…baby, don’t move”

© messylustt.tumblr please don’t steal, copy or translate my work onto other platforms.

[coquetteletters]

It's actually not normal how every time I look at Rafe, I feel my eyes roll to the back of my head so far I swear I can see my brain. A gif where Rafe's all angry and psychotic? My eyes are rolling back like I'm in some freaking porno. Coming across s1/s2!Rafe on tumblr? All you'll be able to see is the whites of my eyes because this man has me on a chokehold. It's not okay, so insane. Rolling my eyes everytime I look at him not cuz he irritates me or some shit, but because he's so so hot and mean and crazy that he fr makes me feel so dumb and turns me on like it's insane how down bad I am for this man.

[bigblueworld]

im feeling so blue

⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆ nia, all the blues, arts, tv, music, lova girl, african american, animal lover, she/her, wlw, libra - im in my head all the time (in love with obx)

- links ⊹₊⟡⋆

⋆˙⟡ masterlist ⋆˙⟡

۶ৎ 𐙚 🫧𓇼𓏲*ੈ✩‧₊🎐🎧 anyone is welcome!! pls feel free to chat or send requests!!

[leftoversludge]

argggghhhhhhhuuuhhhhhhhggghhhh

[simpforboys]

frat!perv!manipulative!rafe who’s obsessed with topper’s dumb gf…

(warnings: shameless groping, dry humping, reader is innocent and ditsy, cheating (?))

series masterlist

Sweet Jesus, no way you were actually that dumb?

When Rafe walked into the dorm he shared with Topper at the Sigma Alpha Phi fraternity house, he wasn’t too shocked to see you. After all, you were with his best friend.

“Hiya, Rafey.” You sweetly called out to him, lying on your stomach and mindlessly kicking your feet behind you while you scrolled on Instagram.

“Mhm, hey, pretty girl. Whaddya doin’ here alone? Top ditch you?” Rafe questioned, throwing his backpack down on his side of the room.

“He’s in the bathroom.” You murmur, eyes still glued to your phone as a funny meme came up, and you couldn’t help but giggle at it.

Rafe hummed in response, a small smirk curling onto his lips as he took in your outfit. A mini denim skirt, babydoll shirt, and… white lace panties.

Rafe knew you weren’t the smartest or most aware girl in the world, but your sweet and bubbly personality made up for the lack of it. And he can’t say he minded, really. Not when he always got to see peeks up those little skirts you wore or your bra every now and then.

“Sweetness, y’know your panties are hangin’ out, yeah?” Rafe scoffed, walking the five feet over to your boyfriend’s bed.

His large hands moved to grip your soft cheeks, pulling them apart to see the white piece of fabric barely covering your cunt.

You peered over your shoulder, seeing Rafe squeezing and touching your butt. It wasn’t anything new, Rafe always touched you like that when Topper was gone. But you were okay with it, because he always assured you that he was just looking out for you as his best friend’s girlfriend.

“‘m sorry, Rae. Didn’t realize.” You mumbled, before turning back to scroll on your phone, genuinely believing Rafe was fixing your skirt for you.

He climbs up onto the lifted bed, knees on either sides of your hips. “This skirt s’so damn frustratin’… doesn’t wanna come down this pretty ass.”

“Fix it, Rae.” You huffed, adding another post to your close friends story.

Rafe rolled his eyes. Damn brat. But his cock was painfully hard against his shorts, and he knew Topper took forever in the bathroom. “Yeah, baby, ‘m fixin’ it.”

So, his hands lifted your hips a bit, presenting more of your (barely) clothed cunt and ass to him. He pressed his erection against it, grinding slowly at first.

You just kept scrolling, unaware Rafe was dry humping you shamelessly on your boyfriend’s bed — because he was fixing your skirt.

He had to bite down on his lip to keep a moan from leaving the back of his throat. Your pussy was so fucking warm against his bulge, the lace revealing most of it.

And every day Rafe hates himself for not getting with you before Topper did. But, some sick part of him also liked the thrill of doing this on his best friend’s bed, with your ditsy brain.

The adrenaline coursing through him was enough to make him throw his head back a little, sculpted hips moving a bit quicker as he let out a strangled whimper.

His bulge directly hit your clothed clit, making you gasp out. “R-Rafey, are you fixin’ it?”

“Yeah, sweetness. Jus’ hold still f’me…”

He grunted, hands digging into your hips. The sound of your gasp and the delicious — yet not enough, friction felt made his hips stutter, eyes squeeze shut, a small moan leaving him as he cums in his shorts.

He pants a little before he snaps out of it, and reluctantly pulls your skirt down to cover most of your ass. The tall boy then climbs off the bed, looking down at you, still giggling at some meme.

And then Topper finally came in, bidding his friend a “hey”, unaware that his roommate just dry humped his girlfriend.

[rafescherie]

✮⋆˙ rafe becomes possessively obsessed with the idea of breeding you.

warnings — 18+. MDNI. breeding kink, unprotected sex.

cherie's note — breeding kink rafe makes my brain go brrrr

every single one of his thrusts are calculated and methodical — like he’d spent hours researching the exact position he had you folded in, thighs pressed snug against your chest as he drives himself into your tight hole. his free hand finds your swollen little clit, the sensation mingling with the constant nudge of his cock kissing your cervix with each slow, purposeful push.

your thighs burn in the best way — muscles stretched and trembling as he holds your legs apart with firm hands, your body slack beneath him, completely pliant in his hold. eyes rolling, lips parted, the room is thick with every sinful sound — panting, whining, and the obscene squelch of skin meeting skin.

because rafe has one thing in mind — breeding.

and from this angle, it’s perfect, he can flood your fertile cunt with everything he has, a shameless, hopeful attempt to stuff you so full, your womb wouldn’t dare reject him. the thought alone is enough to keep him going — keeping you warm, swollen, and full of him.

it was ultimate ownership — and rafe, being the possessive little shit he was, that idea fit right in line with his vision for his future. everyone on the island would know who you belonged to, especially with a few babies identical to him on your hip, or running between your legs — ocean-blue eyes and dirty blond hair. nevermind the fat diamond ring on your finger, or the dark plum hickeys marked on the skin of your neck, you’d have no other choice than to keep him in your life — and selfishly, he wouldn’t want it any other way.

“want you swollen and round f’me, pretty girl,” he pants out desperately, the sound of skin slapping skin drowning out everything else. “gonna fill you up, give me a baby or two… make you my wife…”

your moan rips through the air, raw and breathless, your stomach tightening under the weight of his filthy promises. you’re already overstimulated, already ruined, and he knows it — which is exactly why he slows, savoring every reaction as your walls flutter and squeeze around him.

and when he finally spills deep inside of you, it’s not the end — not even close. he fucks it deeper with slow, dragging thrusts, like he’s trying to make sure every drop sticks. his thick cock drags against the sensitive walls of your pulsing cunt, driving in-and-out of you with determination.

“jus’ makin’ sure this one takes, baby,” he murmurs, breathless, pushing himself in to the hilt with every roll of his hips. “not done ‘til i know it took.”

and when he groans your name like a promise, it leaves no doubt — you were his to fill. over and over again.

[pencil-n-pen]

YOUNGBLOOD

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆ . ۫ ꣑ৎ . ⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

rafe x fem! black cat! pogue!reader

masterlist | kofi | next part

wc: 9.3k (sorry)

summary: summary: You’re the girl. Every guy who asks you out gets the same answer: No. You don’t do dating anymore. But as your reputation grows, so does the challenge. And when Rafe Cameron gets you in sights, he’s not about to give up.

cw: Rafe and reader are both assholes (hers is justified bc to me women are always correct) but it works out. oh also this one is a little spicy !! ofc not full smut but this is Rafe Cameron we’re talking about i can’t NOT include a LITTLE. ward jumpscare for like two seconds, references to past shitty relationships

tags/tropes: he falls first and harder (seriously he wants her BAD) black cat x doberman, kind of how to lose a guy in 10 days vibes, at first Rafe wants her bc of the challenge but eventually he just WANTS her, mild hurt/comfort, dom! rafe but also he does whatever reader wants (except stop trying to date her)

a/n: in this fic i imagine reader being one of those super fluffy feral black cats and then rafe is this doberman sitting behind her. walk him like a dog sis walk him like a dog

i’m so glad i finally finished this i’ve been writing it for ages but here it is !! hope u guys like it <3

EDIT 2: part two is up you heathens :) (affectionate)

songs i listened to while writing: Youngblood by 5 Seconds of Summer, Meddle About by Chase Atlantic, Champagne Coast by Blood Orange, Salvatore by Lana Del Rey, Brooklyn Baby by Lana Del Rey, Sad Girl by Lana Del Rey, sex money feelings die by Lykke Li, Angel by Massive Attack and Horace Andy

title taken from Youngblood by 5 Seconds of Summer aka this fics anthem

. ݁₊ ⚜️ . ݁˖

He meets you in, of all places, a fucking Barnes & Nobles.

There’s one Barnes & Nobles in the entirety of Kildare Island; it’s on the North side.

Rafe is only there because one of Kelce’s current flings is obsessed with reading those smutty books. Race doesn’t get the appeal. Apparently, the fling is at home sick and Kelce wants to get her something to make her feel better.

Rafe and Topper both think the partying might seriously be affecting his brain chemistry.

But anyway, Kelce asked Rafe to help because he’s “got a way with wooing women” and then since Rafe was going he said fuck it and invited Topper, who will surely be the voice of reason in all of this.

(He seriously doubts it, since Topper almost died in a burning building for the sake of his girlfriend, but whatever. Rafe just doesn’t want to deal with pussy-whipped Kelce by himself.)

They’re on their third go around the store and Rafe is beginning to contemplate the pros and cons of just grabbing the nearest book of the shelf and telling Kelce to just fucking pick something when he spots you:

Straining to reach a book on one of the top shelves. Looking perfectly and immaculately delicious.

“Yo,” He smacks Topper’s arm, getting his attention, “Who the hell is that?”

Topper follows his eyeline, landing on you.

“No fucking way, dude. No chance.”

He frowns, turning and looking at Topper, affronted.

Topper shrugs. “No offense, man. I tried once. All the guys in the island got this stupid-ass nickname for her, too.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“Mhm. The Pogue Princess. She’s turned down every single guy to ever ask her out. Even the Kooks.”

Rafe snorts. “So she’s arrogant?”

“I wouldn’t call it that. I totally thought she was a bitch when she turned me down, but honestly, it makes sense. People only ask her out because she always says no.”

“So?” He scoffs. “She’s fucking hot. She should be flattered.”

He looks her up and down again. “I’m gonna ask her.”

He can picture it exactly: having the one and only Pogue Princess hanging off his arm. The girl no other guy has banged— she’d be his, and his only. He’d have those lips and that face— he’d have you.

And you’d have him, of course. Not many girls can say that.

“Suit yourself man. Don’t come crying to me when she turns your ass down.”

He strides over to you, sidling up next to you, leaning against the shelf.

“Hey,”

“No.”

He blinks. “What?”

“No. No I don’t want your number, no I don’t want to sleep with you, no I don’t want to go out with you.” You say, not looking over at him once.

“Well, how come, doll?” He says, leaning down a bit so he’s closer to your height. “We could have a good time, you and me.”

“First of all,” You start, pulling a book off the shelf. “It’s a known fact that Rafe Cameron doesn’t date Pogues. Secondly, I can tell you exactly how this relationship would go. We’d date, and then after a few weeks you’d grow sick of my Pogue-ish ways or something like that. We’d break up, and then I would be seen as even more of a social pariah than I am now. I’d be unwelcome in Pogue spaces because I’d forever be the girl who dated Rafe Cameron just to get her heart broken like all the others, and I’m already a stain on this side of the island, but I’m willing to bet your groupies and fanclub would increase their ridicule if I was ever seen here. So no.”

He lets out a low whistle. “You’ve thought this out.”

“No I haven’t. It’s predictable.”

You re-shelf the book you were holding then walk away, stalking deeper into the store.

He looks back at Topper once, flashing his best friend that dangerous smile.

Topper groans in the distance, all too away of the effect a challenge has on Rafe Cameron.

—

You have to say. You’re a little surprised to feel his continued gaze on your back, even more displeased to hear his footsteps trailing behind you.

“You won’t better your chances by annoying me.”

“I haven’t even said anything.”

“You don’t have to,” You slow your walk, reaching out to tap your hand on the spine of a book you’ve been eyeing for awhile. “Your reputation precedes you.”

“And what does my reputation say about me?”

“That you’re an asshole and a heartbreaker,” You turn and look back at him over your shoulder. “You’re not exactly selling me, here.”

Your eyes latch on something tucked under his arm. It’s the two books he saw you eyeing. His gaze catches yours and he gives you a cocky smirk.

You roll your eyes and turn back around. “You’re going to have to try harder than that, Rafe Cameron.”

He trails after you the entire time you’re in the store, picking book after book off the shelf that he sees your eyes even linger on.

“What’s your plan here?” You ask, turning a book over in your hands and scanning the blurb on the back. “Buy the entire store? Woo me with your credit card? You’re not the only guy on the island with a piece of plastic.”

“Pretty sure I’m the guy with the most on his plastic, though.”

You sigh loudly through your nose. “I’m not interested in men who are only interested in me as an object. You want the trophy you get from ‘bagging the Pogue Princess.’ So fuck off.”

You’re so sick of this. Sick of every guy being the same— only being interested in you as an ego boost. No guy has ever been interested in you for you.

And they never will be, so long as you keep turning them down. Every man wants what he can’t have.

“You’re seriously not going to get anything?”

You pause in your storm off, turning around to look at Rafe. “What?”

His arms are laden with a thick stack of books, muscles flexed at the weight of the stack, straining at the sleeve of his t-shirt.

He gestures to the shelves around you. “You must have looked at the entire store. You’re really just going to leave?”

“I’m a Pogue, Rafe. You do the math.”

Your hands clench and unclench on the strap of your bag. You never thought you’d catch the attention of Rafe Cameron. If Sarah’s the Kook Princess, then he’s the Kook Prince. Dating him would give you some major points on the North Side of the Island.

…And ruin your relationship with 90% of the Pogue’s on The Cut.

Besides. Even if you did date him, he would stick around. No way in hell he would. And then you’d be back right where you started.

Your fumbling with your keys out in the small parking lot, groaning as your ancient beater car key once again refuses to turn in the lock when you hear footsteps behind you.

You rub a hand over your face and turn around.

“Can you please leave me alone? Seriously.”

He’s got that stupid smile on his face again and he’s holding something out to you.

A book. Just one.

You take it from his hands cautiously. “You had a whole stack. Why downgrade to just one?”

He clasps his hands behind his back. “Cause you looked at all those other ones once. You stopped at this one three times. Figured you might’ve wanted it.”

You chew your lip. “I’m still not going out with you.”

He shrugs. “Didn’t think you’d change your mind right now.”

He leans down, reaching forward, breath fanning your face. You screw your eyes shut, bracing.

A loud click behind you. He pulls away.

“But you will.”

With that, he turns, walking back into the store. At the doors, he flashes you one last smile.

You take one breath. Two.

You climb into your now unlocked car, tossing the book onto the passenger seat.

When you get home, you won’t be able to stop thinking about how in the moment, you kind of wanted him to kiss you.

—

He finds you at the Boneyard, because of course he does.

You’re sitting on one of the drift wood-slash-benches near the bonfire, pretending like you’re not shivering.

“You know, most people come to beach parties to let loose and have fun. That includes me. Having fun and letting loose does not include you.”

“Oh, come on. This is neutral territory, sweetheart.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“What am I allowed to call you?”

“Nothing. Go find another girl to stroke your ego. Or your dick. I don’t care either way.”

He leans down into your space. “You’ve got a mouth on you.”

“Fuck. Off.”

He raises his hands in mock surrender. “I only came over to give you this.”

This time, instead of holding out a book (that you had, in fact, read in a matter of days. It was as good as you’d thought it’d be) he holds out a jacket. One of those expensive North Face fleeces.

You scrunch your nose. “And why are you giving me that?”

“You’re cold.”

“So?”

“So, I’m being a gentleman.”

“Oh, sorry. I didn’t know you knew what that word was.”

He drops the fleece on your head. “Take the fucking jacket.”

You slide it off your head, putting it on and glaring at him all the while.

“I’m only putting this on because I’m cold.”

“Sure you are.”

“This has nothing to do with you. I’m still not dating you.”

“Mhm.”

“I hate you.”

He cracks the same smile he gave you at the bookstore. “Sure.”

He takes a swig of his beer, walking backwards towards his group of friends. “You look good in my clothes, princess.”

You flip him two fingers, and he flips them straight back.

You’ll deny it later that you smiled after the interaction.

—

He shows up at your job. This time, Topper’s with him.

You close your eyes and count to ten, mentally picturing fleeing the country and never having to deal with men again before speaking.

“You know, there’s a term for you right now.”

He smiles that same stupid fucking smile, tapping his fingers on the table of the cafe you work at. He’s seated outside in your section. You highly doubt it’s by mistake.

“Determined? Persistent?”

“A repeat offender,” You say flatly. “Now will you please order and get the hell out here?”

To his credit, Topper looks vaguely uncomfortable with his own presence. Though that might be because you did turn him down particularly brutally. You wince internally. It wasn’t his fault, per se. It was just… not a good day.

Rafe is perfectly capable of handling your top-notch bitch-ery, and secretly, you enjoy the chance to be as openly angry as you want to be.

Rafe pretends to read over the menu. You know he’s only pretending because you watched him read it for five straight minutes when they first arrived. He probably has it memorized.

“I’d like a blueberry muffin,” He says, still smiling. “Just one.”

You scribble it down on your order sheet, then turn to Topper. “And you?”

“Uh,” He clears his throat, “Just a water, please.”

You raise your eyebrows. “Seriously? You came all the way to my job to harass me and that’s what you order? One muffin and a water?”

You write the water down anyway, clicking your tongue. “And the asshole-ery continues.”

“And what would you have us order, then?” Rafe asks, eyeing you from his position at the table.

It’s scary how well he commands a space just by being— he’s Rafe Cameron and he knows it. He exudes power and control.

He’s the exact kind of man you turn down hard. No chance of anything.

“Something actually worth bothering me for,” You slip the notepad into your apron pocket and spin on your heel, “I have other orders and tables to wait. Don’t expect to get your muffin and water soon.”

As you wait and bus the tables that need to be dealt with before your orders are ready, you begin to wonder if you’re going too far.

This isn’t just any Kook. This is Rafe. He could completely and utterly destroy your life if he wanted to.

Maybe you’re better off agreeing to go out with him. Just to be safe. Women don’t turn a man like that down.

Finally, you get their orders out to them, setting them on the table a little less harsh than you were originally planning.

“There,” Can’t quite stop your mouth, though. “Do you want the check now?”

Rafe picks up his muffin, shrugging. “Sure.”

You slide them the bill— you had it ready the second you got the chance. You’d rather not have them here any longer than you have to.

It was hard enough to get a job outside The Cut. You don’t need to give your boss any more reason to fire you.

Rafe tosses a few bills onto the bill and you take it, counting the money.

“You overpaid.”

“No I didn’t.”

“Your total was nine dollars and twenty six cents. You just handed me two hundred dollar bills.”

He tilts his head at you like he’s confused. “I thought you were supposed to tip waiters and shit.”

You blink at the bills. “Yeah like, five dollars. Not two hundred. I don’t even think we accept hundred dollar bills.”

“Tell your manager I’m the one who paid. Can’t take issue with a Cameron.”

“You’re the worst,” You tell him, but take the money back to your manager. He isn’t happy, but like Rafe said— can’t take issue with a Cameron. He gives you the change you need and bores holes into your back with how hard he’s staring as you walk the money back.

“Here.” You thrust your arm out, handing him the change.

Rafe crosses his arms. “I said that was your tip.”

“I can’t accept this. I don’t accept pity money.”

He rolls his eyes. “It’s not pity money.”

“Then what kind of money is it? Cause it sure feels like pity money. Oh wait, is this you-owe-me-now money?”

He groans. “Can’t you just take the fucking money?”

“Not if there’s a consequence.”

If Topper looked uncomfortable before, he looks almost nauseous now. You kind of feel bad for him.

Rafe scrubs a hand down his face. “Will you just take it? No consequence.”

“Why?”

Topper chokes on his water.

“Why?” Rafe asks, a muscle in his jaw jumping. “Because it’s what I do. You’re the Pogue Princess, yeah? I’m giving you the princess treatment.”

“But why? What do you gain from this?”

“I’m just gonna go wait at the car,” Topper says, getting up so quickly he bumps the table.

Rafe’s eyes never leave you, the money still clutched in your hand. “You know what I get out of this? The prettiest girl on the island in my clothes. The prettiest girl on the island spending my money.”

The bills start to crinkle in your grip. “I’m a Pogue. You don’t date Pogue’s.”

He stands, pushing back his chair in a much more controlled manner than you were expecting, given the look on his face. “Have you ever considered that you’re the exception?”

“No, because I’m not. The only part of me that’s an exception is the challenge. That’s all you want.”

Something flashes in his eyes. His gaze is dark where it scans your features, something calculating in his eyes.

“Some guy fucked you over, huh?”

Your near full body flinch is a dead giveaway. “Fuck you, Rafe. You’re an asshole.”

He shrugs. “Maybe. Probably. But I’m gonna keep showing you what this,”

He gestures to the both of you. “Could be like. I’m not that kind of asshole. Not to girls who look like you.”

He stands, taking all the change out of your hand except the $100 bill.

“Hold onto that for me,” He says, voice husky as it brushes your ear.

His hand comes up for one second, two, and then he lowers it. Like he’d had to restrain himself ok touching you.

An involuntary shiver runs down your spine. He smirks at the reaction.

And then, he’s gone. Now you’re just some waiter standing at a table with a $100 clutched in your hand.

You shake yourself out of your stupor, getting busy bussing the table. You notice something fluttering under his plate.

An old receipt with a number scribbled on it.

And a $20 bill.

“Son of a—“

—

You’re having a really bad day. One of those thirty-million-minor-inconveniences-in-a-row days. With one last fuck you from the universe on top.

You couldn’t get your hair right no matter how many times you tried, your makeup is rushed and bad because you spent too much time on your hair, once again one of your neighbors pulled out of their driveway without looking and almost killed you, a guy tried feel you up during your shift and your manager told you it was your fault for wearing revealing clothing (you were literally wearing your uniform) and then top it all off, your car won’t start. It won’t even try.

You slam your head against the steering wheel. Your boss made you stay late because of the incident so it’s getting dark now. You’re not walking all the way back to The Cut. But you don’t know how you’re getting home. It’s not like you can just call a mechanic. None of your pogue friends have cars and only person who does you’d… rather not call right now.

So that just leaves one option.

A really, really, terrible option.

A horrific one.

You curse as you rifle through your purse, pulling out the old receipt. Your phone’s almost dead, so you have to make this count.

You dial the number, pulling your knees to your chest and sinking low in your seat.

“Hello?”

“Hello, Rafe.”

“I was wondering when you’d call me.”

“I’m sure you were,” You say flatly. “Listen I… I need a favor.”

“Spill.”

“I’m at work. My car won’t start. I just—“ You break off, frustrated tears welling in your eyes. “Can you please come pick me up?”

“I’m on my way. Sit tight.”

He hangs up the phone and you sigh, scrubbing your face and willing the tears to just go away. You press the heels of your hands to your eyes, probably smearing your makeup past the point of return, but you can’t find it with in yourself to care.

You sit there for what feels like minutes, hands pressed to your face trying desperately to stop the tears that keep flowing when you hear a car pull up next to you.

You sit up, hands lowered, eyeing the sleek Range Rover that just pulled up next to you.

You manage to climb out of your car, hugging your waist in an act of self-soothing and a sad attempt at getting warm. It gets cold in Kildare at night.

Rafe rounds the front of his car, expression pinched.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah. I’m fine, really, just…” You trail off, gesturing vaguely to your car. You sniff hard, rubbing the back of your hand across your face. “It’s just been a long day.”

He looks over your shoulder, assessing your car before looking back to you. “Get whatever you need from your car.”

You rush to gather the items from your car, piling them in the backseat at Rafe’s direction. You turn, facing him when something is thrown at your face.

It’s disturbing that you recognize it by deja vu alone.

“Rafe—“ You say, taking the jacket in your hands.

“You’re cold. Put it on.”

“But—“

“Listen, princess, I’m perfectly satisfied waiting here all night until you put that on.” He crosses his arms, leaning against the car.

You squeeze the jacket in your hand. “Why do you do that?”

“Do what?”

“That.”

“Mmm,” He hums. “That’s a tough one. Probably cause you look pathetic when you shiver.”

“I do not.”

“You totally do. You get all hunched. Like an old lady.”

“Is this your idea of flirting?”

He smiles. “Put the jacket on.”

You do. It’s just as warm as last time.

He nods his head towards the car and you climb into the passenger seat, clicking your seatbelt.

He climbs in after you, putting his seatbelt on and pulling the car out of the parking lot. After a moment, he reaches across the console, turning on your seat warmer and cranking the heat up.

“Thank you,” You say after a moment.

“I told you I’d show you what life would be like if you were mine.”

“Yours?”

“Yeah,” He says, fingers flexing on the steering wheel. “Mine.”

“So you’d have me, what? Caged? Chained to you.”

“Spoiled, is the word I’d used.”

“I’m not an object, Rafe. I’m not going to be some kind of kept woman.”

He snorts. “Who said anything about that?”

“That’s what you want, is it not? Want me to have no personality, no nothing. You want me to hang off your arm and laugh at everything you say—“

“Fuck no,” He says so vehemently you pause. “You’re so fucking mouthy. And stubborn. If I wanted some brainless fangirl, I’d go find one. I wouldn’t pick her up from her job and drive her home. Probably wouldn’t give her my fucking jacket.”

You look up at him. “You wouldn’t?”

He shrugs. “None of those girls tell me to fuck off.”

“So it is the challenge. That’s all.”

“That’s not all. You’re making shit up.”

“Am I?”

“Yes. Come on. No guy has ever given you his jacket? You seriously want me to believe you look like that no one’s ever spoiled you?”

“No,” You say curtly, “You want me to believe that every guy just enjoys spending a bunch of money on a girl?”

“Not a girl. Their girl. There’s a difference.”

“I don’t get it.”

“Cause it’s not your job to get it. It’s your job to be spoiled. Now where the hell am I going?”

You give him a vague address— just the street name and how to get there. You’re not stupid enough to give him your house address.

You don’t talk for the duration of the drive, you begin to shrug out of his jacket when a hand on your thigh stops you.

“Keep it. You can give it back to me the next time you see me.”

“There’ll be a next time?”

“If I have anything to say about it.”

You slowly put the jacket back on, then hastily climb out of his car, barely remembering to grab your stuff from the back.

You pause by the window. He rolls it down.

“Um. Thank you. Again.”

His lips twitch. “Don’t mention it.”

—

You don’t see him for a full two weeks after that.

After the first week, you figure he’s busy.

After the second week, you assume you scared him off.

You’re out on your old, busted kayak on the water, enjoying the early evening sun.

“Afternoon, princess.”

“Don’t call me that,”

You look over, eyeing Rafe and Sarah on one of the Cameron’s smaller boats. Sarah waves at you kindly. She’s always been fairly kind to you—

“Princesses have to stick together.” She’d said to you once, an easy smile on her lips, her face bathed in an orange glow in front of the bonfire.

A similar smile is on her face today. But the one on Rafe’s is nothing but mischief.

“Why don’t you come over here?” He calls.

You flip him a certain finger.

“Come on!” Sarah yells. “We’ve got beer!”

Well. Who are you to say no to free alcohol?

—

You should’ve said no to the free alcohol.

“You know what Rafe?” the words tumble out of your mouth, clumsy. “You’re really hot. It’s not fair. How am I supposed to hate you when you look so hot?”

You’re sitting on one of the benches on the boat, half leaning on the back of it and half leaning on Rafe.

You might have forgotten to take into account the fact that you’re a lightweight.

He raises an eyebrow. “How many beers did you have?”

“Don’t worry about that,” You slur, attempting to shush him but failing halfway through, your hand falling harmlessly into his lap. “I like beer. I like drinking. How come I don’t drink often?”

You pause, squinting at him. “How come you’re so hot?”

“Yeah,” He sighs, “You’re drunk.”

“Who cares? I like being drunk. Drunk me is fun. Like that one song. Release your in-hi-bitions— feel the rain on your skin!”

He gives you a pained look. “Please don’t try to start dancing. You don’t have the coordination for it, and I’m not going into the water when you tip overboard.”

“Pshhh, yeah you would. You like taking care of me. Cause you’re weird.”

You turn to face the other side of the boat, where Sarah is watching you with an amused expression. “Sarah! Did I tell you that he drove aaaaaaaallllllllll the way to my job to pick me up cause my car wouldn’t start?”

She tilts her head, looking at Rafe. “You told Dad you were going to go pick up Topper and Kelce from a party so they didn’t drunk drive.”

You make a so-so motion with your hand. “That’s like. Basically the same thing.”

“It is not. You really are a lightweight, huh?”

You squint at Sarah. “Did John B. tell you that?”

She splutters. “No, I—“

You cross your arms, frowning. Then you turn to look up at Rafe again. “I should’ve called John B. to pick me up, cause he’s the only Pogue I know who’s got a car. But I didn’t. I called you.”

“Mm,” Rafe says, his jaw tensing and un-tensing. “And why is that.”

“Cause he’s being a dick. He’s all upset ‘cause I’m hanging out with you, keeps telling me I’m gonna get hurt again and blah blah blah, but then, it turns out he’s been dating Sarah for weeks and he didn’t tell me! It’s the same thing! And we’re not even dating.”

Rafe looks at Sarah. “You’re dating him? That’s who you broke up with Topper for?”

She glares right back at him. “There is literally a Pogue in this boat right now who is only here because you want to date her. Don’t be a hypocrite.”

“She’s different.”

“How?”

“How?”

You and Sarah ask the same question at the same time. Rafe sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“She’s not just some random Pogue I picked up off the street.”

“I could have been.”

“You’re not helping.”

You frown, staring at your feet.

He gazes at you for a moment. “She’s just… different.”

You blink up at him through your lashes. “You should kiss me.”

“No.”

“Why not?” You whine.

“Because when sober-you remembers all of this, she’s already going to kill me.”

“Not to mention I would.” Sarah grumbles, taking a sip of her own beer. “Come on, Rafe. You should bring her home. It’s getting late anyway.”

“Mm,” He hums, glancing at you up and down. “You wanna go home?”

“No. There’s no beer and Rafe there. S’ boring.”

“I’m pretty sure sober-you likes it that way.”

“Then she’s boring,” You poke the muscle of his bicep. “Do you work out?”

“Yes.”

“Are you buff?”

“I’d like to think so.”

“Could you carry me?”

“Probably.”

“Hmm,” You sink lower on the bench, kicking your feet. “Okay. We should go home before sober-me figures out what’s going on.”

Sarah brings the boat back to their little dock while Rafe makes various attempts to keep you awake during the journey.

You whine, batting his hands away as he pokes your face.

“We’re here, so you’re gonna have to get up.”

You groan. “You’re a big strong man. Carry me.”

You hear a huff, a sigh, and then arms come around your middle and you let out a half-aborted scream as you’re hefted into the air, stomach landing on a muscled shoulder.

“I was joking,” You mumble, your arms dangling. “I think I’m gonna throw up.”

“I swear to fucking— here.”

He slides you off his shoulder and you wobble as you land, vision swimming.

“I think I’m a lightweight.”

“You’re just now figuring that out?”

“Why are you so mean?”

“I was told by a certain princess that it was my brand.”

“I wanna go home.”

He pinches the bridge of his nose. “Are you going to walk then? Towards my car? So you can go home?”

You turn (slowly) and squint at his car in the distance. “That seems really far away.”

“It’s not.”

“I don’t wanna walk that far.”

The muscles in his jaw jump. “Just this once, because I need to get you home, and you are drunk, I am going to offer you a piggy-back ride. Got it?”

“Hmm. Okay.”

He stoops a little so you can hop on, then hooks his arms under your legs with only a mild grunt, your arms crossing —not too tight— around his neck.

He makes his way across the deck and up the path, silently, your cheek pillowed on the side of his neck.

When he makes it to the car he opens the passenger side door and slides you into it, clicking your seat belt on when your fingers fumble with it.

He’s silent the entire drive, jaw clenched and hands white knuckled on the steering wheel.

The silence practically thrums with anger, the charged air prickling your skin.

“Are you mad at me?”

He works his jaw. “No.”

“It seems like you’re mad at me.”

“I’m not mad at you.”

“Then how come you’re upset?”

He sighs out through his nose. He doesn’t respond right away. Waits until he pulls over at the front of your street, sets the car in park. His hands don’t leave the steering wheel.

“You’re… squishier than I thought.”

“You think I’m fat?”

“No- fuck. I’m saying you’ve got a convincing stone-cold-bitch act. Then you go and get drunk and turn into this. Makes me feel like a piece of shit.”

You cross your arms. “You don’t like it. Me.”

He finally looks over at you, his eyes hooded. “I never said that. It’s one thing for us to have this back and forth assholery, as you put it. But now I know this is also who I’m being a dick to.”

You look down at your lap. “You know, I wasn’t always a stone-cold bitch.”

He cuts you a look. “Stop talk—“

“No, you shut up, I’m not that drunk anymore,”

You’re totally lying, which he knows, but he lets you talk.

“There was… this guy. I really liked him. He really liked me. Well, I thought he did. He was a Kook, too. Everyone warned me against getting with him, but I thought what we had was real,” You clench your hands on your thighs. “It wasn’t. Turns out his friends had dared him to sleep with ‘the prettiest Pogue he could stomach.’ That’s all I was. The only Pogue he could stand to fake it with. He told me the morning after. We broke up.”

“Who—“

“It doesn’t matter. I’m telling you this so you understand that I am a frigid bitch, but I’m also… this. So you better not fuck this up.”

He chuckles. “What do you want me to do, then?”

You shrug. “Prove me wrong. And I’m not made of glass. You just gotta… take it.”

Rafe raises a single eyebrow. “Take it?”

“Look, I already told you I think you’re hot. You’ve got a brain. Put the pieces together.”

He rubs a hand across his jaw. “And if I go too far?”

“I’m not that fragile.”

He crosses his arms, biceps flexing. “You sure about this?”

“Right now? Yes.”

He hums. “I should say no. You’re drunk. You’re not in the right mind to make these kinds of decisions.”

“But?”

“I’d rather test this and see,” He leans down, across the middle console, eyes hooded and hungry as he stares down at you. “You’re on, pretty girl."

—

When you wake (in your own bed, shockingly) it’s to the sound of a chainsaw right next to your ear.

Oh. It’s actually just your phone buzzing.

You hit the accept button and roll over onto it instead of doing all the effort of lifting it onto your face.

“H’llo?”

“Morning, princess.”

You groan. “Why the fuck are you calling me?”

“You don’t remember last night?”

“You’re on, pretty girl.”

You groan again, this one long and drawn out. “Why did you let me drink? You should’ve thrown me off the side of the boat after the first beer.”

You’re utterly mortified at how you acted. There’s a reason you don’t really get drunk anymore.

“And get rid of my free show like that? Please.”

You huff, head pounding at the effort of remembering the night before and speaking. “Why’re you calling me?”

“Had to make sure all that drinking didn’t kill you. We’ve got plans tonight.”

You sit up a little in bed. “No we don’t. I have work tonight.”

“That’s your only dispute?”

“I figured I didn’t have to state the obvious ones.”

“Come on. It’s just a little party—“

“I don’t do parties, Rafe.”

“I recall seeing you at the boneyard more than a couple times.”

“Bonfires on the beach don’t count as parties.”

“So you’d come if it was on the beach?”

“No, I—“ You tap the speaker button, dropping the phone into your lap. “What’s the point of this party, exactly? You want to be seen in public with me? Want everyone to know I’m off limits?”

“Yes,” He says it so easily, though his voice a little rough, a little gravelly, “But you also need to lighten up. I’ll pick you up from work. Bring clothes to change into.”

You open your mouth to respond but the hang up tone beeps steadily in your ear.

Of course you had to go blab your tragic backstory to Rafe fucking Cameron.

—

Work is long as usual, and you’ve contemplated quitting several times by the time you’re changing into your ‘party’ clothes in the bathroom, ignoring the fact that Rafe has definitely been parked and waiting for half an hour.

Your boss kept you late. Again.

You rush out to his car, cursing. He’s leaned up against the passenger side door, one hand in his pocket and the other holding his phone. He looks up when you approach, the corners of his lips twitching.

He pushes off the car, opening the passenger side door and nodding towards it.

“You look good.”

You pause, shouldering your work bag. “That’s it? I keep you waiting for thirty minutes and that’s all you say?”

“Did you want me to get upset?”

“Well, no, but—“

He shrugs. “Don’t care. Get in the car.”

He closes the door after you then climbs in himself, cranking up the heat and driving towards the boneyard.

You notice his eyes flicking down to your thighs every now and then. When picking an outfit for the party/bonfire/whatever, you’d decided to go simple. Having Rafe follow you around would be attention enough.

Still, the jeans you’re wearing are tight. A bit more form-fitting than your usual attire.

He seems to notice.

You shift in your seat, a little self conscious under the heat of his gaze crossing your legs and angling them towards the car door.

He sighs. “Mm-mm. None of that.”

He reached a hand across the console, deft, strong fingers effortlessly hooking and curling over your knee and dragging your legs back over and closer to him. Once he resituates you, his hand travels a little higher, squeezing and rolling the plush flesh there in his hand.

Your breath hitches. “What are you doing?”

“Taking.”

You swallow heavily, nearly choking on the lump in your throat. “You better not act like this at the boneyard.”

“And what if I do?“

“I’ll leave.”

He snorts. “I’m your ride. You gonna walk home? In the cold?”

“It’s not cold out.”

“It is to you. You’re always shivering. You better have brought the jacket.”

He doesn’t have to say which jacket for you to know which one he’s referring to.

You cross your arms, firmly ignoring the hand still intermittently squeezing your thigh. “I did. But i’m serious, Rafe. You have to back off when we get there.”

“Mm,” He hums. “Then at least let me have a little now.”

There’s something in the way he says it. The timber of his voice, the low, almost croon to his tone. He says it like you’re in control. Like you have power over him.

Even just the idea of it is exhilarating.

You push your thigh up into his hand, just a little bit.

“Only cause you’ll be insufferable if I don’t.”

He curls his hand under your thigh, palm pressed to the side and fingers pressing into the muscle through your tight jeans.

“Thanks, baby.”

“I’m not your baby.”

“We’ll see about that.”

You pull up to the beach, party already well under way.

People cheer as Rafe climbs out of the car, but he ignores them in favor of walking over to your side of the car and offering you a hand, which you swat away.

“I’m not an invalid.”

“Has anyone told you that you’re really hard to be polite to?”

“You’re just—“

“For the love of god, don’t start with that shit. Get over here.”

He snakes an arm around your waist, tugging you to his side. He starts towards the beach and you squirm, not wanting to be seen tucked under his arm.

This is the exact scenario you’d wanted to avoid with this whole thing. Showing up with Rafe Cameron —literally climbing out of his car— and having his arm around you is the perfect way to be ostracized by almost ninety percent of your circle.

“Will you chill the fuck out?” Rafe says, slowing to a stop a little ways away from the party, turning you to face him. “We’re just going to a party.”

You attempt to shrug his arm off your shoulder, but it holds fast. “You don’t get it. You have money, so you don’t need a community to fall back on. We’re poor. All we have is each other. So if I walk over there with you, i’ll lose it. I’ll be a traitor.”

His expression twists. “You’re blowing this so far out of proportion it’s not even funny.”

Anger begins stirring in your chest. “Rafe—“

“Who cares? No seriously, who the fuck cares? Everyone on this island is a piece of shit in their own ways. No one gives a shit if I got you under my arm. No one’s watching you. You’re not a fucking celebrity. You’ve got a reputation for turning down guys, you’re not fuckin’ Taylor Swift.”

The anger fades and your skin prickles in its absence. “I don’t think that I’m famous or anything.”

Rafe’s features smooth into something a little calmer. “I know, I know. Is this cause John B’s being a dick?”

“He has a point—“

“No he doesn’t,” Rafe snorts, “He’s dating my sister. He doesn’t get to say anything.”

You sigh. “They’re just worried about me making the same mistakes again.”

His arm leaves your side and you resist the shiver that threatens to overtake you at the sudden loss of the warmth and stability you hadn’t realized you’d been reliant on during the length of the conversation.

Rafe slides a gold ring off his pointer finger— the gold ring. The Cameron signet ring. The ring he never takes off.

He takes your hand, turning it palm side up, and drops the ring in it.

“There. My dad would probably murder me if anything happened to that ring. If I become a real and serious dick to you, chuck it in the fucking ocean.”

You stare down at it. “This is real gold. It’s a family heirloom. You can’t just give it to me.”

“I’m not,” He says easily, “This is a loan. When you decide that I’m not gonna fuck you over, you can give it back.”

You close your fingers around the ring, still warm from his finger. You tilt your back, looking up at him through your lashes. A small smile starts to spread across your face.

“I’ve really got you wrapped around my finger, huh?”

He huffs a laugh, tucking you under his arm again and walking you towards the party. “Took you long enough.”

The party honestly is fun after that. You drink (not much, Rafe carefully watches your alcohol intake and makes sure you toe the line of tipsy, but don’t fall over into drunk territory. He spends the night nursing one beer, claiming designated driver whenever someone gives him shit for it.

“Never stopped you in the past.”

“Didn’t have precious cargo before.”

He stays true to your earlier agreement and remains fairly hands off, but follows you around the party like some sort of guard dog, lingering just over your shoulder and successfully scaring off every guy who even looks in your direction.

Some of the pogues do give you the occasional glare or judgmental look or two, but Rafe was right. No one cares.

It’s… nice. For once you’re not hoping no guy approaches you or praying a Kook doesn’t start some shit with you. With Rafe trailing behind you, one hand in his pocket and jaw set, you truly are free to just enjoy the party, for the first time in your life. No one’s trying to hit on you, no one’s trying to making a spectacle of trying to convince you to date them, no one is making snide comments.

It’s weird, because you’re accustomed to a certain kind and amount of anxiety that comes with going to a mixed party, but everytime you start wondering how things are going to go wrong, Rafe is there with an arm around your waist or some stupid comment or other about somebody at the party whispered in your ear.

You manage quite a bit more socializing at the party than you usually do. Unfortunately, between this and the alcohol, you tire pretty quick.

You trip over your third stick when Rafe settles a hand on your hip with an “Think it’s time you went to bed.”

You groan. “But I’m actually having a good time for once.”

He steers you in the direction of the car. “Well, you’re in luck, cause if you think you’re going to parties alone from now on, you got another thing coming.”

Rafe at your side —a seemingly permanent arrangement now— you stumble your way towards the car.

“Isn’t that boring for you?”

“If it was, I’d say something. Besides. There’ll be different parties. Stop worrying so much about shit.”

His words seem harsh, but his tone is nothing other than low and fond.

“I’m cold.”

“I told you to grab the jacket—“

“I did bring it—“

“Then why aren’t you wearing it?”

“It didn’t match the outfit!”

“Are you being serious right now?”

"Is it a crime to want to look good at a party--"

He chuckles, fingers flexing on your hip as he tugs you closer to him. "You're so stupid."

"Rude."

"Not rude if it's true."

You elbow his side, but he just laughs louder.

Unsurprisingly, he warms the car for you when you get in.

—

Storms are a common thing in Outerbanks. Everyone's used to them. Monsoons, thunder storms, even the occasional hurricane. So you're not surprised to get the warning, not surprised when it hits.

You are a little surprised to wake up pelted with rain, a tree branch in your room, and part of the roof missing.

"Shit," You gasp, pushing the fallen debris off your body and rolling out of your bed to assess the damage.

It's bad. The branch is big and long, probably from that stupid tree your neighbors refused to cut down that you said was going to be a storm hazard. They'd refused, and now there's a huge tree branch that's caved in your roof and part of the wall that separates your bedroom from the living room.

No one is home but you. No one ever is, but right now it causes tears to rise to your eyes, because there's a branch in your room, and the roof is in pieces, and now that you've stopped moving, your legs and arms and torso actually hurt quite a bit, and something warm and wet is running down your temple and when you touch your fingers to it, they come away wet and scarlet.

You're out of your depth and you're scared. You can't stay here, obviously, but you don't know what to do. No one else is home. You don't even know who to call. JJ is out, because who knows if his dad is home and he doesn't even have a phone right now, Kie's out too because her parents didn't like that you were a Pogue with a reputation, you and Pope aren't that close, and John B is... John B. He has a car, at least, and you grew up together, so he'd probably overlook everything between the both of you if you're in danger.

You snatch you waterlogged phone off your dresser, shaky fingers scrolling through your contacts, thumb hovering over John B's.

You should call him. You've been neglecting your friendship with the group recently, working around the clock and Rafe whisking you away. Everyone's busy in their own way, what with the treasure and everything, so this could be a moment to reunite, bond over how shitty the storms make life on the Cut.

There's one other person you could call.

You shouldn't. Should stick to the friends you know, call John B.

But if you called Rafe, he'd come. He'd come get you, and probably take you back to his house and you wouldn't have to worry about anything, because for some reason, he's serious about doing that.

You could call him. He probably wants you to.

You press call before you can talk yourself out of it.

"Do you know what time it is--"

"A tree branch fell on my roof and now I don't have part of my roof and I'm really cold and wet and please come get me."

"Jesus— okay, yeah, yeah I'm coming. Shit, okay. Are you hurt?"

"My head is bleeding and I'm battered all over, but I don't think I need to go to he hospital."

"You're bleeding from your head and you don't think you need to go to the hospital?"

You can hear the sound of a car door slamming and an engine turning over.

"I don't want to go because then I'll be stuck in these clothes and they'll poke and prod at me and it'll take ages and—"

"Alright, alright. Calm down. How bad is the damage to the house. Look around for me."

"Um," You turn in place, scrutinizing the disaster and chaos around you. "I think most of the roof is intact, just the portion that covers my bedroom and some of the living room are uncovered. The branch took out most of the wall that seperates my room from the living room."

"Fuck. Okay, what about the rest of the house?"

"Um, I don't think I can get to it. The tree branch and other house... pieces are blocking my door."

"Can you get out? At all?"

"Yeah, I think through my window."

"Don't move. Take what you need from your room. I'll be there soon."

“Please don’t hang up.”

The line goes silent and you think he has hung up, that you didn’t say it fast enough or he just didn’t care, but then he speaks.

“Would you rather I sneak you in my house or walk in through the front door?”

“…What are the pros and cons?”

“Well, getting in the front door is easiest, but then you risk seeing my parents and my Dad won’t have questions, but Rose will, and I never want to answer her questions anyway.”

“She can’t be that bad.”

“She is. Sneaking you in is harder, but then we avoid conversations, but if we get caught, conversations will probably be worse. Might become a whole lecture.”

“They’d lecture you for taking in a girl who needs help?”

“Rose would.”

He keeps talking the entire way to your house, his voice speaking in low tones as you gather up the things you need to spend an indefinite amount of time away from home.

He eventually does hang up when he arrives, so you turn your attention to prying your window open and climbing out of it.

You can barely get it wedged open enough to fit through, so you toss your bag through first and shout a quick “over here!” before beginning to crawl through.

You hear footsteps slow to a stop in front of you. “You know, usually when this scenario happens, you’re facing the other way around.”

You swat at his leg. “You’re disgusting. And I’m not stuck. You just arrived at an in-opportune moment.”

He curls a hand under the window and pulls up, making the gap wider. At the sudden release of tension you yelp, tumbling out of the window.

“You’re such a mess.”

“You didn’t warn me!”

He helps you to your feet and leads you to his car, the hand on your waist keeping you distracted from the wreckage behind you.

—

You do decide in the end to just walk in the front door, because you’re cold and wet and tired.

Ward does wake up and meets you at the staircase (you’re pretending not to notice the sheer opulence of the house) looking rumpled and confused.

“Who’s this?” The man asks, gesturing your rather pathetic looking form.

“My girlfriend,” Rafe says smoothly, “Branch fell on her roof. Place is a mess.”

You wave hello. “Sorry for waking you, Mr. Cameron.”

His gaze flicks to you for a second, then back to Rafe.

“Girlfriend?” His tone sounds… off. “How long has this been a thing?”

Rafe shifts, squaring his shoulders and stepping a little more in front of you. “A little while.”

Ward hums again, eyes flitting to you, taking in your appearance.

“Make sure you get the first aid kit. That head wounds looks nasty.”

Rafe nods. “We got it. Thanks, Dad.”

Ward just dips his head once, then steps back into the bedroom.

You let out a long sigh, pressing a hand to your chest.

“I thought he was going to throw me out.”

“He wouldn’t. I wouldn’t let him, anyway.”

You snort. “Yes, yes, you’re a big strong man. Can we attend to my wounds now? And get some dry clothes?”

Cleaning your wound doesn’t take long, mostly because your head is the only one that really needs cleaning. The rest is taken care of in the shower. The most luxurious and amazing shower of your life. Seriously. You didn’t even know showers could be this relaxing.

The warm water soothes your aching muscles, and Rafe has weirdly good taste in bodywash.

He’d left you a change of clothes and a spare towel even though you said you brought your own.

You change into his anyway.

They’re more comfortable. Better quality than your ratty pajamas.

Your underwear is a different matter. Your dresser is old and broken —as most things in your house are— and the drawer you picked to store your underwear in doesn’t close all the way. This normally isn’t an issue, but when your roof is suddenly no longer attached, it means the a good portion of your underwear got soaked and muddy.

Except the ones at the bottom of the drawer. So the only underwear you had to bring to Rafe’s that was clean and dry is the tiny, lacy stuff you bought from Victoria’s secret and only wear when you’ve taken an everything shower and need a little pick-me-up. When you want to feel like a hot piece of ass. Girl things.

So you look at yourself in the mirror, clad in your own tank top (it’s actually warm enough in his house to wear a tank top to bed) and a pair of his pajama pants, the draw-string pulled tight, the fabric sagging low on your hips, showing off a thin little strip of lace.

Your face flushes. You look like his girlfriend. Dressed in his clothes, lacy underwear peaking through, skin freshly washed and smelling of his body wash.

When you step out of his bathroom, old clothes clutched in your hand, he stills.

He sits back on the edge of his bed, leaning back on his elbows as you slowly saunter over, steps quiet.

His eyes flick down to the lace, pauses on the sight, then back up to your face.

The air is charged, thick with tension.

You pull away from it, tossing your clothes in your backpack and ignoring the heat of his gaze on your back.

“Come over here.”

You straighten, hands behind your back as you walk to him.

“Closer.”

You step forward, now standing between his legs.

His hands come up to the back of your thighs, tightening, before moving to your hips. His thumbs ghost over the edge of the lace, and he rumbles something deep in the back of his throat.

“I like these.”

“Do you?”

“Mhm.”

He presses his face forward, pushing your tank top up with his nose pressing his lips to the now exposed skin of your stomach.

You gasp, then feel him smile against you. He tugs you closer, face pressed to you and hands gripping your sides, just above the edge of your ribcage.

Tentatively, you reach a hand down, sliding from the top his head, down the side of his face, then slowing to a stop at his jaw, pushing your palm up. His head lifts, his eyes a little glassy, chin resting on your stomach.

“You introduced me as your girlfriend.”

“As far as I’m concerned, you are.”

“I am?”

You stroke a thumb over his face, sweeping over his cheekbone and under his eye. He leans into the touch, pliant.

“You think I let just any girl in here? You think I give any girl my clothes?”

“Yes?”

“Come on, baby. We’ve been over this.”

He presses another kiss to your stomach, mouth hot and lips firm.

He lifts his head up again. “You can make me yours anytime you want. Just say the word.”

“I’m scared,” you whisper, words barely even a breath.

“Mm,” He hums, hands running up and down your sides. “You think too much.”

You pause for a few moments, taking everything in.

You grab his hand, leave it palm side up in front of you, then reach into your pocket and drop something into it.

The ring. His ring.

He stares at it for a beat, then closes his hand around it, slipping it back onto his finger.

“Yeah?”

You nod. “Yeah.”

He grins.

Your drop your hands around his neck and he moves his hands to the back of your thighs, effortlessly lifting you onto his lap, wrapping your legs around his middle.

He doesn’t waste any time kissing you. It’s hot and full at first, a roaring flame licking in both your chests, like he’s been holding himself back all this time and finally let it all out. He pushes up into you, and the kiss deepens before it mellows out, slowing down to a few cracking embers.

He pulls back, your noses brushing. “Been wanting to do that since the fucking bookstore.”

“That long?”

“Mhm. You were wearing those cute little pants and you couldn’t reach the top shelf. Wanted to have you right there.”

“You’re insatiable.”

“Mm. Only when it comes to you.”

You fall into each other again, and again, and again.

“Baby.”

“Hm?”

“I really like you in lace.”

˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊

[rafeslittlepup]

— thinking about gf!reader's dynamic with wheezie

at first, wheezie's is suspicious. who is this giggly, sparkly girl always hanging off rafe's arm? too perfect. too pink. but the more time she spends around you, the more she likes you. you treat her like a little sister, bringing her cute gifts, teaching her how to blow out her hair in big soft waves, and letting her raid your closet.

rafe pretends to be pissed about you guys hang out too much.

"she's gonna rot your brain, wheeze", he would say, but he's kind of obsessed with it.

watching you nurture someone, even his bratty little sister, just feeds into his "you're made to be a mommy" fantasy. he loves when you go to sephora together and end up buying her olaplex kits, laneige lip masks, three different dior lip oils. or when she teaches you how to play some video game that you absolutely hate.

[cameronsbabydoll]

pervy!loser!rafe headcanons

rafe gets weird about you real fast. like not just "i wanna fuck her" but "i need her or i'll die" levels of obsession. thinks about kidnapping you when he’s high. imagines you tied to his bed in his shitty frat house, crying but still looking pretty, still his.

he watches you sleep sometimes. not even by accident. like you fall asleep on the couch at a party, curled up in a hoodie, and he just sits there staring. hard the whole time. thinking about sneaking his hand between your legs and seeing if you’re wet even in your dreams.

he follows you home after parties. parks down the street. jerks off in the backseat of his truck while he watches the lights go off in your bedroom. says your name under his breath while he cums all over his hand.

steals gross little things from you. a chapstick. a sock. a hair tie you left behind. keeps them in a drawer in his room like trophies. sometimes puts them under his pillow at night and humps the mattress like a desperate, sick puppy.

tries to gaslight you into thinking you’re into him. like corners you at a party and murmurs, "don’t gotta be shy, baby. i see the way you look at me. fuck, you’re makin' me crazy, playin’ hard to get like that. just let me have it, i’ll take good care of u, promise."

fantasizes about breaking you in. not even gently. wants you sobbing, trembling, clinging to him because you’re scared and too sweet to tell him no. thinks about stuffing your mouth full of his fingers so you can't say anything when he ruins you.

leaves bruises on you on purpose. little ones. grips your wrist too tight when he’s drunk and giggling. presses his fingers into your hips when he hugs you goodbye. stares at the marks later and jerks off to the memory, thinking, "mine, fuck, she's mine now."

goes crazy if he sees another guy even look at you. literally loses it. might grab you by the back of your neck at a party and whisper all nasty, possessive shit like, "who's fuckin' girl are you, huh? better fuckin' say it before i make a scene, baby. better say it now."

talks about you like you’re already dating when you're not. calls you "my girl" to his friends. posts blurry pictures of you on his story without tagging you. writes your name on his desk during lectures like a psycho.

secretly dreams about knocking you up. about trapping you. about you getting full with his kid and crying and begging him to take care of you. and he would. he’d be so sickly sweet while he rubbed your belly, whispering about how he’s gonna take care of you forever, how you're never getting away now.

rafe doesn’t just want you. he needs you like a drug. gets shaky and sick without you. thinks about taking you every night, pressing a pillow over your face to muffle your cries while he pushes in raw, whispering, "shhh, it's okay, baby, it’s just me, just makin’ you mine."

fantasizes about catching you drunk and sleepy at a party, scooping you up like a doll, carrying you upstairs and locking the door behind him. stripping you clumsy and rough while you whimper and twitch.

he wouldn’t even wait. he’d be huffing, panting, stuffing himself inside you while you begged him to stop, too high and weak to fight.

he gets hard at the idea of you crying. like not just crying — sobbing, hiccuping, clutching at his shoulders while he fucks you through it. it makes him crazy, makes him kiss your wet cheeks and coo, "feels good, huh? see, baby, your pussy knows who owns it."

he doesn’t use a condom. never would. never even thinks about it. in his sick little brain, you belong to him, and that means filling you up. stuffing you full until you're dripping down your thighs, knocked up, ruined for anyone else.

he presses his hand over your stomach after he cums inside you, panting into your hair, whispering, "gonna get you pregnant. fuckin' breed you like you’re supposed to be. nobody’s ever gonna touch you but me."

he says it over and over until you stop fighting. until you start crying softer. until you just lay there and let him do it again.

would tie you to his bed if he had to. wrist and ankle. keep you there for days. bring you water, kiss your forehead, tell you how good you’re being while he uses your pussy like it’s his personal toy.

gets mad when you cry too much. like after the third or fourth time he’s cum inside you and you’re still sobbing and begging for your mommy or daddy.

grabs your chin rough and growls, "nah, baby, you ain’t got a daddy anymore. you’re mine. i’m the only one that’s gonna take care of you now."

he records it. keeps videos of you broken and shaking and begging. watches them when he’s lonely. jerks off to them with tears in his eyes, swearing he loves you, that it’s real, that you’ll love him back eventually.

in his mind, this isn’t rape. it’s destiny. it’s love. you were just too stupid to see it. but that’s okay. he’ll fix you. he’ll make you understand!!

[islandheartprincess]

bully!rafe cameron x reader ˖˚⊹ ꣑ৎ‎

part 1 ✧ part 2 ✧ part 3

summary: rafe hated you, but he mainly hated how obsessed he was with you. placed during senior year of HS. both are of age

warnings: smut, swearing, masturbation (m), reader catching rafe masturbating, bullying, 18+ mdni

pairing: bully!rafe x reader

rafe cameron made sure to make your life at school a living nightmare. he went out of his way to trouble you, and despite your best efforts to ignore his childish behavior, you just couldn't seem to get him to lay off you. it was odd, the way he found pleasure in making you angry, or uncomfortable.

you never knew why he only treated you like this so consistently. you knew that he was in no means a kind person in general, other than the girls he often hooked up with and led on, but he never hung on to someone the way he did with you.

you weren't some annoying, loud, pogue. you kept to yourself on most occasions and found yourself finding peace alone and reading books, or hanging out with your small but close-knit friend group. you honestly couldn't wait till summer, or just graduation in general.

rafe cameron hated her, or so he wanted to. he hated the way she made him feel, vulnerable, and unlike his usual cocky self.

maybe it was the way she kept her calm, when anyone else would've ran away crying? or maybe it was the way she would look up at him, with her doe eyes, a slight glimmer that just told him how she could read through his arrogant front easily. she knew what he was. he hated, hated, that.

why couldn't he just forget about her? why did he find himself thinking about her at the most unconventional times. and why, when her face came up in his mind, he felt his body grow hot and an uncomfortable tightness in his pants. god, when it would happen, often so, he never felt more embarrassed. he was rafe cameron, he could find any dumb cheerleader at the school to fuck and throw away.

yet he found himself yearning after the girl in the back of the class, quiet, smart, and mature. in all his best efforts to make himself forget about her, he only made his obsession worse, and her hatred for him deeper.

rafe cameron was your worst enemy. you couldn't think of a more emotionally immature person than him. you heard the stories about how he ghosted this girl, or cheated on his girlfriend, or hooked up with his best friends ex.

you found yourself having to remind yourself how much of a horrible person he was. it was just that, when he would make fun of you, you'd look at him. really, look at him. you saw his insecurities, his vulnerability.

gosh, was he good looking though. you understood why so many girls at your school pined after him. when he would make fun of you, you felt a lot of things. you felt upset, mostly at yourself due to the wetness you could feel between your thighs. you didn't like how your brain heard his words, but focused on his distracting eyes, and smooth lips.

you wanted him to stay away from you. mostly, you just wanted the uncontrollable needy thoughts to stay away. you knew he would never, ever, be attracted to a girl like you. of course, that's why he hated you, right? he thought you were ugly, and a bother, that had to be why.

you were at your locker, as unbothered as anyone could be. until your locker slammed shut right in front of you, revealing nonetheless then rafe cameron.

this time, he didn't say anything immediately. his mouth opened, but shut after he eyed you up and down. his eyes trailed over the stockings you had decided to wear today, which you couldn't have regretted more in the moment. you squeezed tightly onto your books, just wanting to hear whatever snarky comment he had to make and get it over with.

"really? nice choice of clothes, you going for a degree in slut?" he laughed, and walked away. you were thankful he quickly left so he didn't see the way your face turned red. if only you knew the reason he left in a hurry was to avoid you seeing his rising boner, on a rush to the bathroom stall.

you knew you had to go neaten up, get yourself together. your panties felt damp, your shamefulness deepening. haven being so deep in embarrassment, you didn't notice the boys restroom sign when you walked into the bathroom.

looking into the mirror, you took a deep breath, brushing the loose strands of hair out of your face, until you heard a noise from the end of the bathroom. the bell had rung, so the stalls were all empty, except one. the one all the way on the end of the hall, which you thought you could've heard a small noise from.

taking a step closer with caution, but almost choking on your spit when you heard... a moan? you halted yourself, and your assumptions were true. you wondered who on earth would be jerking off in a bathroom stall, waiting for the next noise to try and recognize the voice.

rafe quickened his pace, feeling himself reaching his climax. he knew the bathroom was empty, but he still tried his best to control his voice. it almost made him mad how desperate he felt thinking about fucking you with those stockings on, or you sucking him off while looking up at him with your gorgeous innocent eyes. it was hard to control his voice thinking about you, so he naturally loudened his moans a little.

oh my god. it all clicked with you. you accidentally walked into the boys bathroom, and rafe cameron was in the stall jerking off. your throat closed up, mind unable to process how this was real. all you were able to do was slap your hand over your mouth to cover your gasp. until you heard- "fuck, y/n." how'd he- oh gosh. correction, rafe Cameron was jerking off, thinking about you. you froze, but knew you had to get out of there before he caught you.

coming down from his high, rafe cleaned himself up, his breathing raggedy. he was ready to get out of this stall, act like it never happened, and go back to class. until, his heart dropped at the sound of the bathroom door shut. no way someone was in here, how'd he not hear them? whatever, they probably didn't even know it was him.

@anitalenia for the borders! ♡

part 2 , part 3- follow for more (⁠◕⁠ᴗ⁠◕⁠✿⁠)

[littlelamy]

rafe’s panty obsession

it wasn’t supposed to be like this. rafe cameron didn’t do infatuation—not like this, not this utterly consumed way where the line between obsession and desire blurred until it was just... madness. he had meant to just grab one pair of your panties, a stupid, reckless thrill to satisfy the darker corners of his mind. just one, and he’d be done.

that was five trips ago.

now here he was, sneaking back into your house again, his chest tight and pulse racing. it was the fifth time this week, and rafe couldn’t stop himself. not even a stern talk in the mirror about how insane this was had deterred him. it wasn’t like you didn’t like having him over; you practically glowed whenever he swung by, which only made it worse. you thought he just enjoyed hanging out at your place, enamored by your sweet personality or the way your laugh lit up the room.

and okay, yeah, rafe did like those things. but they weren’t the reason he kept coming back. no, the reason was tucked away in your hamper and drawers, lacy and delicate, scented faintly with your arousal. he was utterly hooked on the thought of you wearing them, of the intimate glimpse they gave into your world. and it wasn’t just about the panties—though, god, they made him lose his mind. it was you, the sweet innocence you exuded, that made his obsession spiral.

if only he knew you weren’t as innocent as you seemed.

you had noticed rafe’s peculiar behavior weeks ago. at first, you brushed it off as just him being rafe—arrogant, charming, always lingering too long in your personal space. but then, you’d caught him red-handed, fumbling with your drawer when he thought you were in the shower. he hadn’t seen you peek around the corner, hadn’t noticed the way your jaw had dropped when he slipped a pair of your panties into his pocket and left like nothing had happened.

it wasn’t disgust you felt, surprisingly. it was pure lust.

instead of confronting him, you decided to watch. you started paying closer attention to his movements when he was over, strategically leaving him alone in your room just to see if he’d do it again. he did. every single time. and you, instead of stopping him, started taking pictures. at first, they were innocent enough—just snapshots of him rummaging around like a guilty little boy. but then, the photos became something else. you began capturing the way his brows furrowed in concentration, the way his jaw clenched when he held your panties to his nose and inhaled like a man starved.

you couldn’t explain why it turned you on, but it did.

now, weeks later, you had a collection of photos hidden in your phone, and the sight of rafe in your room no longer shocked you. tonight, he was particularly bold. you had invited him over for dinner, and he had made some excuse about needing to use the bathroom. you knew better. quietly, you followed him up the stairs, camera ready, as he slipped into your bedroom.

rafe’s hands shook as he opened your drawer. he hated how addicted he had become to this. it was like his brain short-circuited every time he got close to your stuff. he grabbed a pale pink pair this time, the fabric soft and delicate between his fingers. his imagination ran wild—thinking about you wearing them, thinking about peeling them off you.

“you really can’t help yourself, huh?”

rafe froze. his blood ran cold, the pink panties still clutched in his hand as your voice broke the silence. slowly, he turned around, his face flushing a deep crimson when he saw you standing in the doorway, phone in hand, a knowing smirk on your lips.

“y/n,” he stammered, his voice thick with panic. “i—this isn’t—”

“oh, don’t even bother lying,” you interrupted, stepping into the room and shutting the door behind you. “i’ve known for weeks, rafe. you’re not exactly subtle.”

his mouth opened and closed, but no words came out. you held up your phone, showing him a picture you’d taken just days ago of him with your lacy panties in his hand, taking a deep inhale of the seat.

“i have a whole collection,” you teased, your smirk growing wider. “you’re not the only one with a little... obsession.”

rafe’s eyes darkened at your words. “what are you talking about?” he asked, his voice low and edged with something dangerous.

you shrugged, moving closer. “i’ve been watching you. taking pictures. at first, i thought it was just funny, you sneaking around like a kid caught stealing candy. but then...” you trailed off, tilting your head as you met his gaze. “then i realized i kind of liked it.”

his breath hitched. “you... like it?”

“maybe,” you said coyly. “but i also like idea of you pleasuring yourself to my panties.”

rafe swallowed hard, his heart pounding in his chest. he felt trapped, exposed, but the way you were looking at him—with a mix of amusement and something far darker—made his blood heat. “so, what now?” he asked, his voice thick with tension. “you gonna tell me to get out? call the cops?”

you laughed, a soft, melodic sound that made his stomach flip. “no, rafe. i’m not gonna kick you out. but i think it’s time we stop pretending.”

“pretending?”

“that i’m this innocent little thing you’ve built up in your head,” you said, stepping closer until you were just inches away. “i know what you’ve been doing, and i let you. hell, i wanted you to. but now, i think it’s time you earn what you’ve been sneaking around for.”

rafe’s mouth went dry. “what does that mean?”

you smiled, reaching out to pluck the pink panties from his hand. “it means,” you said, your voice dropping to a whisper, “you don’t have to steal anymore.”

his heart was a drum in his chest, loud and erratic, drowning out the world around him. your words hung in the air, daring him to cross the line he’d been skirting for weeks. your lips curved into a teasing smile, your gaze unwavering as you stepped even closer, close enough for him to feel the warmth radiating off you.

“y/n,” he murmured, your name barely audible over the pounding in his ears. his hands clenched at his sides, torn between pulling you closer and keeping some semblance of control.

“what’s wrong, rafe?” you asked softly, your voice dripping with challenge. “you were bold enough to sneak into my room. now you’re scared to touch me?”

his restraint snapped. in a swift motion, his hands cupped your face, and his lips crashed against yours. the kiss was messy, heated, and filled with weeks of pent-up frustration. your hands flew to his chest, grabbing fistfuls of his shirt as you kissed him back just as fervently. his tongue slid against yours, claiming, searching, as if trying to drink in every bit of you he could.

you moaned softly into his mouth, and rafe swore he saw stars. his hands roamed down, gripping your waist and pulling you flush against him. the pink panties you’d taken from him fell to the floor, forgotten in the heat of the moment.

when you finally broke apart, your breaths mingled in the small space between you. your lips were swollen, your cheeks flushed, and your eyes sparkled with something that made rafe’s knees weak.

“guess you’re not as shy as i thought,” you teased, your voice breathless.

“you drive me insane, y’know that?” he muttered, his forehead pressing against yours. his thumb traced your cheek, softer now, though the fire in his eyes hadn’t dimmed.

“good,” you said, smirking as your fingers toyed with the hem of his shirt. “because i’m not done with you yet.”

rafe’s grin mirrored yours, all sharp edges and wicked intent. “oh, trust me, neither am i.”

taglist: @namelesslosers @princessslutt @averyoceanblvd @iknowdatsrightbih @starkeysprincess @sixrosberg @anamiad00msday @ivysprophecy @wearemadeofstardust0 @kissrotten @rafesangelita @sstargirln @rafedaddy01 @soldesole @bakugouswaif @skywalker0809 @vanessa-rafesgirl @evermorx89 @aariahnaa @outerhills

[girlinterupptedsblog]

Too Tight

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x virgin!Reader

Warnings: NSFW/18+, first time/virginity loss, explicit sexual content, fingering, intense foreplay, failed penetration attempts, slight pain, overstimulation, frustration, mild dirty talk, soft dom Rafe, emotional tension, mentions of dick pics, obsessive behavior, praise, minor degradation, eventual penetration, language

You were only a few weeks into being Rafe Cameron’s girlfriend when he started really pushing for it. Not just teasing or talking dirty like usual—no, Rafe was begging.

Late night texts. Grabbing your hips every time you kissed too long. Sending you unsolicited, shamelessly proud pictures of himself when he was hard, usually captioned with some version of “this is what you do to me” or “need to be inside you, baby.”

He’d gotten his fingers in you a few times, carefully, slowly. It always ended with you whining and squirming, thighs trembling as he pressed kisses to your cheek and muttered, “not yet, huh?” Even then, you felt too tight for one, let alone something as thick and hungry as Rafe’s cock.

He was obsessed with the idea of taking your virginity—talked about it constantly. “Wanna be the one to ruin you,” he’d whispered once with his lips against your neck, “wanna make you mine, all the way. You don’t even know what you’re doin’ to me.”

And now, here you were. In his bed, his hands gliding up your sides as you laid beneath him—nervous, trembling, but nodding anyway.

“I want to,” you whispered. “Tonight.”

Rafe went still for a second, like his brain glitched.

“You serious?”

You nodded again, heart pounding.

He grinned—no, beamed—and kissed you like he couldn’t hold back. “Fuck, baby. I’ve been waiting for this—been thinking about it nonstop.”

He didn’t just jump into it. As much as he was dying for it, Rafe took his time.

He kissed every inch of you. Whispered praise, filth, sweet nothings. His fingers dipped between your thighs and worked you open again, soft and slow, curling up inside you while you moaned into his mouth.

But still—he could feel it. How your walls clamped down on him. How your hips twitched and legs shook.

“You’re still so tight, baby,” he murmured, brows furrowed in focus as he worked his fingers inside. “Fuck. Might have to take it real slow with you.”

You nodded, chewing your lip. “I’m okay. Just do it.”

He grabbed a condom from the drawer—already prepped and ready like he’d been waiting for this night—and rolled it on, biting his lip with an eager little grin.

But the second he lined himself up and started to push in, he hissed.

“Shit. Baby... squeezing me so goddamn hard.”

You whined beneath him, clinging to his shoulders. It hurt. Not terrible, not unbearable—but there was pressure, stretching, and your pussy just couldnt take him.

Rafe cursed under his breath and pulled back. Tried again.

Same thing.

He thrust slowly, carefully—but your muscles locked down like a vice.

“You gotta relax for me, bunny,” he said, voice strained. “You’re too tight—I can’t even get the tip in.”

“I’m trying,” you gasped. “I—I don’t know why I can’t—”

“Hey, it’s okay. You’re doing fine. But fuck—” He gritted his teeth and stared down between your bodies, watching as your slick coated his length but your walls refused to give.

He tried again. A shallow push.

You clenched.

He groaned—frustrated, hard as hell, sweating.

“This is fucked up,” he muttered. “I’ve never wanted anything so bad and your pussy just—won’t let me in.”

“I want you in,” you whimpered, tears welling. “I really do.”

Rafe leaned down and kissed your jaw, then your cheek. “I know. I know you do. I’m not mad. Just—fuck—I’m so hard I think I might die.”

You laughed a little through the sting of it.

He kept fingering you in between tries, kept whispering praise, kept trying to push inside—and kept getting squeezed out like your body refused to give him that final inch.

Eventually, he grabbed your hips with trembling hands, kissed you again, and pushed slowly, deeply, breathing hard through his nose.

And this time—it worked.

Barely. Painfully. Inching in, bit by bit.

“Fuuuck, finally,” he groaned. “So fucking tight tight, but I’m in.”

You were whimpering, nails digging into his arms, every muscle clenched. It hurt. Not in a terrible way—but enough to make your eyes water.

Rafe kissed the tears off your cheeks. “I’m sorry, baby. You’re doing so good. So fucking good. Just let me stretch you, alright? Gonna make it feel good soon.”

His thrusts were slow, shallow, careful. Still, you could feel how close he was already—how wound up and desperate he’d been for this moment.

He kept muttering under his breath—praise, filth, broken words.

“So tight—fuck—you’re choking my dick, baby. Gonna cum so fast, god, it’s embarrassing.”

But still he held on. He waited. He made sure you were okay before losing himself in the heat of your body, finally buried deep inside after weeks of begging, teasing, and obsessing.

Eventually, your body started to give. The pain dulled, then melted. The stretch became bearable. And Rafe’s groans turned into full-body shudders as he fucked you for real, panting, needy, almost overwhelmed by it.

“Pussy feels as good as i imagined it" he whispered against your lips. “Gonna ruin it"

[moondustbaby]

Yours Without Asking

Bsf!Rafe Cameron x Bsf!Reader

Summary: Rafe’s always acted like you’re his—stealing your snacks, tugging you close, tracing circles on your skin like it’s second nature. But when people start questioning what you really are to each other, the line between best friends and something more starts to blur. One quiet night, tangled in his hoodie and his arms, he finally says what he’s been showing you all along, you already belong to him.

⸻

You really start to notice it one night when he shows up at your place unannounced.

You open the door in sleep shorts and a hoodie (his, obviously), and he doesn’t say anything. Just hands you your favorite candy, brushes a loose strand of hair from your face, and walks in like he lives there.

He kind of does.

He drops onto your bed like it’s his, sprawls out, and pats the space beside him with that smug little smirk that means don’t make me ask twice. You roll your eyes, but your feet are already moving before your brain catches up.

“You know,” you mumble as you crawl under the blanket with him, “people keep asking if we’re together.”

Rafe hums, like it’s not news. His hand immediately finds the hem of your sleeve, tugging at the thread there like always. “And what do you tell them?”

“That we’re not.” You shrug. “That we’re just best friends.”

He snorts under his breath. “‘Just best friends,’” he echoes, mockingly. “You say that while wearing my hoodie, laying in my arms, eating candy I brought you.”

You nudge him in the ribs, laughing. “Shut up.”

He doesn’t. Not really. He just shifts a little closer, his hand moving from your sleeve to your waist, fingers splayed like he’s trying to anchor you to him. And then he’s quiet.

You feel him playing with the drawstring of the hoodie, like always, and you glance down to catch him staring—not at the string, but at you.

“What?” you ask, suddenly shy under the weight of his gaze.

He shrugs, his voice soft now. “I think I’m done pretending this is just best friend stuff.”

Your heart stumbles a little. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He hooks his finger in the band of your sleep shorts without thinking, like muscle memory. “You belong to me anyway.”

You blink. “Excuse me?”

He leans in, lips brushing the side of your temple like it’s the easiest thing in the world. “You heard me.”

And just like that, everything that was normal between you two suddenly feels brand new.

But maybe it’s been there the whole time.

A/N: Ahhh okay this is my first post in a looooong time so please lmk what you all think :) Also i’m just like so obsessed with best friend Rafe 😭

[hearts4hughes]

ex!bf rafe sleeping with reader on the same bed/ room as his sleeping new gf 🙈

warnings: explicit smut, cheating (rafe has a fling), voyeurism (she’s asleep in the same bed), degradation, possessiveness, obsessive behavior, toxic relationship themes, unhealthy coping mechanisms

you’re not sure how you ended up here—on his porch at 2am, mascara smudged, hoodie zipped halfway up, thighs bare and shaking with every gust of cold air. you could’ve been at home in a bubble bath, sipping rosé, and forgetting he ever existed.

but there was an ache. low and slow, like something smoldering. something shameful. something only he could ruin properly. you hate it—hate him—but you knock anyway. the porch light flickers above you like it’s judging. you cross your arms. shift your weight. tell yourself this is a mistake—but your body knows better. it remembers his filthy words and even filthier touch.

a minute passes and your leg bounces up and down. another minute passes and you’re checking your watch. he always answers. then the door creaks open. he’s shirtless. sweatpants hanging low. sleepy eyed and annoyed and still the most dangerously beautiful thing you’ve ever seen.

his jaw ticks and his eyes widen. “what are you doing here?”

you exhale sharply. “don’t act surprised.”

he leans against the doorframe, arms crossed over that smug, sculpted chest. “you drunk?”

“no.”

he exhales, pinching the bridge of his nose. “what’s wrong?” he melts in your gaze. the cold exterior that he can never keep up long around you crumbles like sand.

you swallow, eyes memorizing the crack in the tile. “i don’t,” you stutter, rubbing up and down your sweatshirt clad arms. “i just…” you look up to meet his eyes. “i need you.”

a beat passes. his lips part just enough that you can hear his breathing increase. a flicker of something vicious and victorious crosses his expression. he shakes his head. voice low. “you shouldn’t’ve come.”

ice flows through your veins. you raise your brows. he never turns you down. no matter what time, what place, he always falls into your trap.

“just,” your cheeks are pink and not in the way you wanted them to be, “just let me in, rafe.” you try to move past him, but his hand slams the wall. his heart races.

“baby, wait—”

“don’t call me that.” your mouth tastes like metal. “fuck this.” you shove past him anyway, shoulder catching his ribs, nails curled into your palm so tight they leave little crescent moons.

but then you see her. she’s curled up under his sheets, dead asleep in his bed, and something feral twists behind your ribs. freshly blown-out hair and sunkissed skin. the kind of effortless put-togetherness that doesn’t know what it’s like to sob into his shoulder, to throw things, or to scream until you’re hoarse. the kind of girl who doesn’t know what he looks like when he’s on his knees.

“oh.” your voice cuts the air. your throat constricts and your entire body feels itchy. “i see.”

rafe steps in behind you, and suddenly he’s not smug anymore. “she’s just staying over,” he mutters, like that makes it better. “it’s not—”

“not what?” you turn, teeth bared. “not serious? not real?”

his hand finds your waist like it still belongs there. like he doesn’t care if she wakes up or not. “i don’t want her like i want you,” he says quietly. “i only invited her over because she reminded me of you.” his forehead rests against your shoulder. he litters kisses along your skin.

you freeze because that’s it—despite everything, despite the history and the heartbreak and the shit he said when he thought it was over, you still want him too. even now—especially now. especially when he backs you into the wall and kisses you like she doesn’t exist.

his mouth is desperate, rough, and devouring. your fingers are already pulling his belt loose before your brain can catch up. “she’s right there,” you whisper against his lips.

“then stay quiet.” he shoves your sweatshirt up to your ribs, one hand dragging down your stomach, two fingers finding you slick and throbbing heat.

“fuck,” he breathes, “already dripping?”

“shut up.” you mutter, looking back to see her peaceful figure. she doesn’t have a clue in the world.

his eyes darken. he yanks your underwear down your thighs and sinks to his knees like it’s nothing. like worship and vengeance melted together. he doesn’t tease. he drags his tongue through you like he needs it. he’s starving and the girl in his bed didn’t suffice. he fucks his tongue in and out of you while his hookup sleeps ten feet away.

your back hits the wall and hand clutches his hair hard enough to make him moan. your legs shake so hard he has to hold them apart with both hands. he groans into you when you cum, relishing in all of it.

when he pulls back, you’re panting and wrecked. eyes blown wide and hair tousled. he kisses you again and you taste yourself on his tongue.

“get on the bed.” he mutters against your lips, hands kneading your ass.

you swallow, forehead creasing at the command. “rafe-”

“shh.” he presses his chest to your spine and dips his mouth to your ear. “you said you needed me.” his voice is low, breath hot. arousal pools in your core. “so be good and lie down.”

the mattress creaks beneath your weight. her breath doesn’t hitch—she’s still asleep. though, your pulse isn’t.

he slides between your thighs with a groan and kisses your inner knee like he’s sorry for what he’s about to do. but he’s not. not even close. his cock presses to your entrance—hot, hard, familiar. he pushes in slow, as if he’s trying to memorizing every ridge inside of you. you feel every agonizing inch of him.

your hand fists the sheets to keep from moaning. his teeth graze your shoulder. “quiet, baby.” you nod. your throat burns with pleasure. he starts to move. hips rolling smooth, deep, possessive. his hand finds your throat and squeezes just enough to make your lashes flutter. his lips at your ear again, “feel her breathing next to us?”

you turn your head to see her—still resting and at peace with the world. and somehow it makes everything worse. yet, you clench around his cock. he groans, deep and guttural, and begins fucking you harder, deeper, like he doesn’t care anymore. your face is buried in the pillow. the sheets smell like her conditioner. and you cum like it’s the last time you’ll ever be allowed to.

rafe doesn’t stop. he fucks you through it, hand over your mouth now, his body caging yours. when he cums—hot and possessive—he stays inside you, holds your hips still, and empties inside of your womb.

you both lie there for a moment. both a sweaty, shaking, and ruined. you look at the curve of her shoulder, the slow rise and fall of her chest. rafe presses a kiss to your spine. “you win,” he murmurs.

you don’t say anything. because you’re not sure who lost.

taglist ~ @ren-ni @bungurus @kayperrysinging @cupids-diner @mojitrvo @babygirlboeser @makiplan @ladyatwalmart @qversazex @favbrnette @nothingtosee333her @soft-starr @f10werfae @bibissparkles @brennanyay @grungefck @kravinoffswife @restinpaece @illumoria @meetmeintheemeraldpool @miaaaoa @imtalkinnonsense @strawberrymilk99 @angel06babysworld @rafesteddy @drewrry @urcoolgf @thegirlnextdoorssister @sydneysslove @dsfault @missabsey

[itneverendshere]

little miss perfect - r.c - introduction & masterlist

pairing: siren!reader x rafe (non-fantasy). they grew up side by side—her, the golden girl; him, the reckless heir. their dads were old money best friends, bound by business and legacy, blind to the games she played. she was always the favorite; he, the scapegoat with a temper. everyone saw her as sweet, perfect, untouchable—but rafe saw through the act. to him, she’s just the siren: made to ruin him. warnings: suggestive, +18 themes, future smut.

Rafe opens the door to find you already in the kitchen—barefoot, in white linen shorts and one of his old t-shirts you’d probably stolen years ago and somehow still owned.

You’re halfway through his dad’s bourbon cherries, pretending to inspect a cookbook you weren’t reading.

“Don’t you have somewhere else to be?” He mutters, brushing past you.

You don’t look up. “Missed you too, Rafey.”

He tenses.

That voice—sweet as honey with arsenic under the tongue.

You’ve been using it against him since you were eight and blamed him for breaking the Cameroons’ pool table. Somehow, even now, even after all these years, everyone still believed it when you batted your lashes and said, "Rafe did it." 

Of course they did.

You were Daddy’s little darling, picture-perfect in pastels, and he was the one with skinned knees and a short fuse.

Once, you switched out the detergent in the Cameron’s laundry room with something that reeked like gasoline. His dad lost it when his suits came out ruined.

Guess who got blamed? He got grounded for a week, you cried to your dad and got ice cream.

He used to pray for the day you'd grow out of being a little shit.

Instead, you just got better at it.

Siren.

That’s what he calls you in his head, has since you were kids. Evil, always singing some sweet lie to drag him into hell. 

“I told Dad you were excited I was coming,” you add, looking up at him now, wide-eyed. “Said you were asking about me.”

He scoffs, leaning against the counter. “You’re insane.”

“And you’re obsessed.” You pop a cherry into your mouth, your tongue catching the syrup. “Kinda cute.”

That sets him off. 

When you both hit high school, the game changed.

You started flirting. Not cutesy, nor shy—calculated. What made it all worse, unbearable, was that you were fucking gorgeous. Everything about you looked like it was designed specifically to fuck with his self-control.

You’d lean in at family barbecues, whisper dumb shit like, “You’ve got a little something…” and swipe your thumb across his mouth slowly.

You’d wear the shortest skirts when you knew he’d be at the club, then dance like you forgot your daddy was on the board. 

At one Fourth of July party, you cornered him in the pool house and said, “You ever wonder what it’d be like if I weren’t so good?” before walking out like it was nothing. Leaving him there with wet swim trunks and a hard-on, he had to drown in beer and denial.

That was always the worst part—you never let it go anywhere, never gave him what he was sure you knew he wanted.

“Still running your little games?” He sneers in disgust. “You’re not ten anymore. Nobody’s falling for that good-girl bullshit.”

“Oh, Rafe…” You tilt your head. “They don’t have to.”

Summer’s back.

You’re here, in his house. Wearing his shirt.

Sleeping one hallway away, still smiling like the devil incarnated. 

He hates you, he does. But every time you sashay into the room, all slick lipgloss and wicked grins, his brain fries more. He wants to shove you against a wall, yell until you cry.

He wants to break you. Most of all, he wants to know what it looks like when you finally drop the act. When the fake angel burns.

He watches the way you eat that cherry, knowing what you’re doing. You want him to look. You do—of course you do, you're doing it for him. The T-shirt hangs loose on you, but he knows it’s not an accident.

You have that fucking smile again—you’re winning.

Rafe forces himself to look away, opening the fridge for something, anything, to focus on that isn’t you sucking cherry syrup off your fingers like you’ve got no fucking manners.

“You ever stop talking?” He peeks into the fridge.

“You ever stop being so grumpy?” you counter, lazy and sweet, your warm poison. “You used to be fun, you know.”

“I was never fun around you.”

“Sure you were,” You hum. “That one time I flashed your friend Kelce. You grabbed my wrist so hard I bruised. Still have a picture of it somewhere. Kinda hot.”

He slams the fridge shut.

You flinch, but you’re grinning, you love this. 

“You think this is cute?” He grinds out. “Trying to get a rise out of me like you’re twelve?”

“Works, doesn’t it?”

That’s the last straw.

Rafe stalks toward you and you don’t move, you never fucking do.

You want him mad and he doesn’t know if he wants to scream or kiss you just to shut you the fuck up.

He stops a foot away, looking down at you.

Your eyes are bright, shining with mischief, biting your cherry-stained lip like it’s the funniest thing in the world that he looks ready to murder you. Or fuck you. Or both.

You’re poison wrapped in sugar. Fucking Siren. Every goddamn year, worse than the last.

“You know what’s crazy?” he says low, cold voice. “Every year you get worse.”

You blink innocently. “Worse?”

“Worse,” he spits. “Worse at pretending you don’t love this. Worse at hiding how much you want me to snap. And one day—”

He leans closer, so close his breath hits your cheek.

“One day, you’re gonna push too far.”

You look up at him—sweet little mask slipping enough for him to see the devil underneath.

Then you say, syrupy, “I hope so.”

You step closer, enough for your breath to ghost across his neck.

Rafe has to close his eyes, he’s not overwhelmed per se, but if he looks at you for one more second, he might do something stupid, something that proves you right. Your fingers graze his jaw, feather-light, enough to make his skin prickle.

You tilt his face toward you like he’s yours to taunt, to toy with. You’re still smiling when his eyes snap open. He’s glaring at your mouth, the gloss is sticky, red from the cherries, shining like sin.

You lean into the counter, thighs brushing his hips. Your legs part to invite him in, offering him hell on a silver platter.

And then— “Is anyone home?”

Sarah’s voice.

You don’t flinch. Of course you don’t.

Rafe, though, jerks back like he’s been shot.

His sister stands in the doorway, brows pulled together, looking between the two of you.

You let out a soft giggle.

“Sorry, Sarah. Rafe’s such a messy eater.” You pick up the cherry bowl and lick syrup off your thumb—deliberately. “He got juice on his face. I was helping.”

Sarah squints. “Seriously, Rafe?”

You blink at her all wide-eyed and saintly.

“He went through half the bowl. You’d think he was starving.”

Rafe says nothing. He can’t. His jaw is locked so tight it might crack.

Sarah shakes her head and sighs like she’s the older one—even though she’s eighteen and you’re both older than her.

“Dad’s gonna flip if you eat his stash again, dumbass.”

You hum. “I’ll tell him it was an accident. He believes me.”

Sarah disappears back upstairs, muttering about boys and stains and god-knows-what. The second she’s gone, Rafe turns to you—rage curling under his ribs.

“You think this is funny?”

Your lips twitch. “I think you’re funny.”

Then you pop another cherry between your lips, wink, and glide past him—brushing his shoulder. For the second time in five minutes, he’s left standing in the kitchen, rock hard, breathless, and burning.

He hates you. He does.

So why the fuck can’t he stop chasing the high of you ruining him?

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

masterlist⍣ ೋ

.*. ⋆1st dinner of the season*. ⋆

*. ⋆pool day for us!. *. ⋆

*. how do i look?*. ⋆

*. ⋆hole in one. *. ⋆

*. ⋆girl who cried wolf. *. ⋆

*. ⋆exes and oh's!*. ⋆

*. ⋆boy who made a mess*. ⋆

. *. ⋆the perfect dip*. ⋆

*. ⋆payback's a bitch*. ⋆

[simpforboys]

Frat!perv!manipulator!Rafe that finally gets a taste of topper’s dumb gf…

(Warnings: oral f receiving, manipulation, drunk/dubcon, cursing, praise, fingering, cheating)

series masterlist

Fuck.

Is all Rafe could think of when he saw you, wearing that white shirt that had your tits spilling out and showing off your tummy.

Not even mentioning that denim skirt you always seemed to wore. All he wanted to do was fold it up and dry hump the shit out of you like he did two weeks ago.

How was Topper such a lucky bastard?

You had a warm smile on your face, a red solo cup in your fingers as you giggled at something your boyfriend was drunkenly rambling on about.

It was a big party night at Outer Banks University, specifically for Alpha Sigma Phi. One where every frat guy got laid, except Rafe tonight. He couldn’t care less about the other girls’ eyes on him.

Not when your eyes weren’t on him.

Rafe was tipsy. He would prefer to be drunk, but he knew he should probably be somewhat aware of his actions. Especially since you were dressed so fucking deliciously.

As soon as Topper left your side, though, Rafe stalked over to you like a predator.

“Hi, sweetness.” He coos, blue eyes locked on your tits before flickering back up to that pretty face he’s so obsessed with.

“Hi, Rafey.” You drunkenly giggle, barely standing on your own two feet.

“Y’look like a mess, baby.” He teases, his big fingers moving to gently poke where the fabric of your shirt is exposing your soft tummy.

You squirmed a bit at the action, almost falling over. Which, Rafe clearly planned for, since his big arms caught you.

“Woah, y/n. Maybe I should take ya upstairs, huh? Back t’mine and Top’s room?”

He was acting like a concerned friend, but in reality, he wanted to get you away from all the prying eyes. Alone.

“Uhmm…” you just hummed unsurely, but didn’t protest when Rafe wrapped his arm around your waist and started guiding you through the crowded house, all the way upstairs into his and Topper’s shared bedroom.

He helped you slip your shoes off, your legs stumbling over to your boyfriend’s twin xl bed before Rafe’s big hands lifted your hips to set you down carefully on it.

“There ya go, good girl.” He murmurs softly, although his cock is painfully hard in his jeans.

“Thank you, Rafey.” You mumble out drunkenly, laying back on the mattress, angling your head so it’s not propped up against the wall while your hips still face the side of the bed.

“Anythin’ f’you, sweet girl. Y’know that.” He coos, his perverted eyes automatically drifting down to where your thighs are spread a bit, revealing a damp spot on your pretty panties.

“Oh, babygirl… look a’ya. All wet ‘n needy f’me. S’your boyfriend takin’ proper care o’ya?”

His thumb came over to start rubbing against your clothed clit, blue irises flickering back up to watch your face.

“A-ah, Rafey.” You mewl softly, lifting your head to watch with half-lidded eyes.

“Shhh, be a good girl f’me, yeah? Rafey s’jus’ helpin’ ya out.”

He gently grasps your thighs and pulls them to where he’s standing next to the side of the bed, fingers hooking into the cotton material of your panties as he tugged them down your legs.

You just laid back against the shitty mattress, mind spinning. But you trusted Rafe. He is your boyfriend’s best friend, after all.

Rafe almost came in his underwear at the sight of your drenched pussy. How long have you been left aching during the party? His poor girl.

He’s had so many wet dreams and fantasies about this moment, and it takes everything in him to not pull his own pants down and fuck you senseless on Topper’s bed while there’s a party downstairs.

But, somehow, he refrains as he spreads your thighs a bit more as he leans down a bit, resting his toned chest against the edge of the mattress.

“S’pretty… such a pretty baby.”

You went to respond, brain fuzzy from alcohol. But then a warm, wet tongue met your bare clit, and the only thing that escaped you was a soft moan.

“Fuckkkkk…” Rafe grunted, already leaking precum in his boxer briefs just from his tongue flicking out to sample your hardened bud.

Just the little taste already had him even more addicted.

He couldn’t help himself, he’s been fucking his fist to this thought for months. His mouth latches onto your drenched cunt, tongue swiping through your folds and over your clit.

“R-Rafe!” You cry out, fingers digging into your boyfriend’s sheets.

“Shh, sweet girl. Shut up.”

He lifted two fingers and slid them through your parted lips, your mouth instinctively starting to suck on the long digits. His cock twitched at the sight and he let out a small moan against your pretty pussy.

He watched you suck on his fingers for a minute before he reluctantly pulled them out, a string of saliva connecting your lips from his soaked digits.

“Good girl, baby. Such a good girl f’Rafey.” He praises softly, his middle and ring finger gently sliding into your quivering hole.

“A-agh…” was all that left you, unable to form words in your drunken, pleasure-filled mind.

He swore under his breath again, watching how your greedy cunt swallowed his fingers. He looked back up at you as he began to slowly slide his fingers in and out, his tongue moving back to slide circles around your throbbing clit.

You were panting, back arching, hips bucking. All for him.

“Such a sweet cunt, babygirl. Knew I called ya sweetness f’a reason.”

He crooks his fingers against that spongy spot inside of your walls, his own stomach feeling warm when he heard you whimper out.

“Rafey…”

Rafe felt like such a fucking loser, because all it took was you moaning his name before he’s cumming in his underwear, sensitive cock completely untouched.

“Shittt, y/n. G’nna let m’eat this pussy whenever I want?” He practically whimpers.

Your tummy was feeling tight as the pleasure was getting overwhelmingly good, better than any time Topper tried to eat your cunt.

He could feel your walls fluttering around him, your eyes squeezed shut, pretty lips parted.

“Cum f’me, sweet girl. Cum all over Rafey.”

His command was enough to send you over the edge, soft mewls and noises leaving you as your body trembled for a good ten seconds.

Which sent Rafe into another orgasm, his underwear and jeans completely ruined from his sticky, leaking cock.

And Rafe has never been able to cum without getting any friction on his dick before, but here you were, making him cream himself twice back to back while he ate you out.

“S’good… S’good.” He coos softly, lapping up your release, his own legs shaking a bit.

He was feeling overwhelmed, beyond grateful his chest is leaning against his best friend’s bed.

You let out another little whimper when he pulled his fingers out of your cunt, your eyes still fluttered shut.

Rafe sucked on his own fingers, feeling his dick twitch again at your addictive taste.

And there was no way Rafe was going to be able to last much longer before he fucked your perfect cunt.