#kook!sweetheart!reader

[rafescherie]

SALT IN THE SUGAR BOWL — RAFE CAMERON

pogue!rafe decides to end things before either of you get too attached — but it's already passed that point, for the both of you.

salt in the sugar bowl miniseries | you are currently on part one — part two - part three |

cherie's note — heavily inspired by letthespiceflow on c.ai c: been using that bot a bit, and wanted to write a fic based off of the intro of the bot! press here for the link to the bot!

rafe had never been one for the kook life — fancy boats, and stupid polo shirt outfits. more than one hundred spent on an outfit and it became one for 'special occasions', otherwise it would be covered in the filth of the garage floor, and deep obsidian motor oil. his hands were already stained, not something unusual for his line of work. despite his resentment for the kook life, and everyone on the other side of the island, they paid him a hell of a lot of money for the work he did — and he did it well. it had only been a few years since he had opened his own mechanic garage, months worth of projects to work on since the very first day. he was always kept busy — whether it was with upgrading a vehicle, or fixing somebody else's, he always had his hands full.

that's how he met you. so generously, he had offered to tow your vehicle back to the shop upon discovering it moiling the smoke from under it's hood — like your guardian angel sent from heaven, it was the least he could do for a pretty girl. his mother had taught him better, always trying to be a gentleman where he could be.

until today. this morning was different — the air hung thick with the aftermath of the hurricane in his brain from the night prior. he knew he needed to act on his thoughts, and do what was best. but he absolutely dreaded seeing the look on your face, and watching it completely shatter your heart.

"need the wrench, angel." he requested from beneath the heavy vehicle, grease smothered hand appearing from below to extend an open palm. bounding almost excitedly off of his leather-worn workbench, you placed the cold steel tool in his hand.

"so uh, listen," a grunt escaping his lips, absentmindedly going back to working on the vehicle. his muscles tensed with every torque of the wrench, biceps shining with a mixture of grease and sweat. the unmistakable sound of heavy bolts hitting the cold cement of the locally-owned garage rang through the bay, the hum of rock music playing throughout the shop.

his heart thundered against his chest — he felt like such a dickhead. it had only been a few months since the both of you had started seeing one another, and he was already planning on ending things. it wasn't something he wanted to do: it was something he needed to do. he hated knowing he was the reason you held yourself back from the possibility of college. no matter how much he had stressed to you that your schooling was important, especially given the opportunity of growing up on figure eight, it never seemed to stick with you. all you wanted was to be around him, and as much as he adored having you tag along every day, he didn't want to be the reason you would ruin your future.

"been thinking... maybe we should, cool things off, a bit."

the words stuck in your head for a minute, heart racing over the sentence. had you heard him right? there was certainly the possibility you had misunderstood. "what is that supposed to mean?"

rafe sighs, audible even from beneath the heavy vehicle he had been working on the last few months. the last thing he wanted to do was look at you, speak directly to you — the hurt in your eyes would eat him alive like no other, as if the guilt wasn't already working towards that alone.

"you know.." he starts, voice tame despite the race of his emotions, "you an' me."

you furrow your eyebrows, confused on the sudden shift. he had been so sweet just yesterday — peppering you with so much love you were sure you would have fainted on the spot. but maybe that was his attempt at sweethearting you — trying to help soothe the mental turmoil he was experiencing for ending things so suddenly with you. "what, why?"

he shakes his head, wishing you'd just drop it. but an explanation was what you deserved, after all. it was the least he could do. he drops the wrench onto the cement beneath the car, sliding out from underneath to kneel in front of you. he runs his tainted hand over his buzzed hair, another deep sigh falling from his nostrils.

"you're a smart girl, sweetheart. think about it — you're a kook, and i'm a pogue. you come from the rich side of the island, and i come from the cut. it wouldn't work," he starts, wanting nothing more than to wrap his arms around your fragile body, reassuring you it wasn't your fault, "besides, last thing you need in your life is someone who dropped out of high school, 'specially since you're headed to college in the fall."

ouch.

"rafe..." you trail on, biting the inside of your cheek in any sort of control against the tears that threatened to spill onto your flushed cheeks. "i- i thought you didn't care for all that?"

"i don't," he replies, ocean blue eyes looking around the shop in a desperate attempt to avoid eye contact.

"so where is this coming from?" you ask, heart thundering against your ribcage. desperation was laced within your voice, soft and trembling at the realization of the news you were being hit with.

he let out a sigh, hesitating before he opened his mouth to speak. there was no easy way to say this, so he opted for brutal honesty. his eyes never left yours as he said the words he dreaded most.

“it’s dangerous,” he started, his voice low as he slowly stood up in front of you. “it’s just asking for trouble. people would have my head. not to mention what your parents would say. we just…we can’t do this anymore.”

none of this was fair — neither to you, or to him. but there was no turning back now, the words had already popped out of his mouth, and the inevitable damage was already done. the look on your face was like a gut punch to his stomach, making him feel dizzy and sick all at the same time. he hated himself — really, he did.

one thing you knew for sure about rafe — he either didn’t care at all, or he cared too much. he always told you it didn’t matter what your parents thought or how anyone else would react; he promised he’d always take care of you. but as reality crashed down on you like a ton of bricks, that promise felt like a slap in the face. you hadn’t even realized you were crying until the hot tears streaked down your flushed cheeks, landing on the bare skin of your shoulders, exposed by your tank top.

"it's for the best, baby."

the oil on his hands smudges onto the cotton fabric of his wrinkled, disheveled shirt before he lifts them to cup your face in his palms. his blue eyes search yours, the sting of salty tears making it harder to hold his gaze. but you don’t let him linger — you swat his hands away and turn for the exit, your footsteps heavy against the garage floor.

you stupidly wish to hear his footsteps trailing behind you as you walk back to your parked car — but they never come. how foolish, how naive, to think he would follow. even after he fell in love with you. even after he let you fall in love with him.

[heavensdollface]

Dare I say. . . She is me. . . ?૮꒰˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶꒱ა

₊˚⊹♡ rafe and kook!sweetheart!reader’s insta posts of each other:

[maybankslover]

should've known - rafe cameron

rafe cameron x highschoolsweetheart!reader

warnings: angst. mention of a dead parent.

summary: he wishes he could let go but it's never easy when it comes to love.

playlist: you're losing me by taylor swift

oh that first love, the one you hoped it'd last forever or the one you knew it wasn't meant to last.

somehow they were both. sixteen year old teenager's who were friends since they were kids to young adults that didn't know how to stop the cycle.

it all started when, at eighteen, she decided to go to vanderbilt university instead of unc chapel hill almost eight hours away from where he would be studying bussiness.

"i don't understand why you can't go to chapel hill like we used to talk about." rafe huffed once again.

"and why can't you come with me to vanderbilt, you were accepted baby." she said looking at him from her spot on his desk's chair.

"you know why." he breath out. his father.

"fuck him. fuck what he has to say rafe." she walked to him and sat on his legs. "build a life for yourself, you already have a position there that he can't take away from you."

"it's not that easy and you know it." he laid his head on her shoulder. "i'd love to but he won't pay for it if i don't go to chapel hill."

"we'll make it work then." she kissed his forehead. "i already know i don't have classes on monday."

"and i have virtual classes on friday afternoon." he smiled softly at the kiss. "can drive to you after my last class at five pm on thursday's every two weeks?"

"and then i can do the same sometimes." they really thought they could pull it off, they did at least for almost two years.

"you promised you'd come." his brows frowned and she felt guilty.

"i know honey but."

"no honey no but, you always do this y/n/n. you know it's important and then something else comes along." she watched as he picked on his nails.

"the professor organiced this out of the blue." it wasn't a lie but it was something she was told she could skip.

"yeah sure. talk to you tomorrow or wherever you'll be free to speak to your boyfriend." she, once again, had let him down.

"c'mon i'll go next weekend." she insisted.

"next weekend there won't be any games because it' the final this weekend and i told you a hundred times." he nodded no. "doesn't matter anymore, goodnight." the facetime ended and she was left alone with her reflection on the black screen.

text

y/n 'i'm sorry'

y/n 'i'll make it up to you'

y/n 'i love you'

rafe 'i don't want you to make it up, i want you to show up for me the same way i do for you'

he didn't do anything else from going to class then to practice and going back to his room after. he didn't know how to stop feeling so blue, she had never been the one to make him feel unworthy but now she was turning into someone he didn't really recognised anymore and he hated that feeling.

she had kept texting him but only received short answers back.

saturday afternoon rolled around and championship was won by chappel hill basketball team.

text

y/n 'saw the game baby'

y/n 'i'm proud of you. best player as always'

y/n 'i love you'

rafe 'thank you'

rafe 'me too'

he was getting tired and she knew it, he had the right to and she knew that too.

on friday night a knock on his door made him roll his eyes.

"I'm not going out topper." he loudly said and sighed when his door opened anyway.

"not topper." his girlfriend made her way in and closed the door behind her. "hi."

"hey." he sat up. "what are you doing here?"

"making up for last weekend." his eyes scanned all over her. "I'm sorry baby."

"yeah you already said that like a hundred times actually." he was still mad. "needed you last weekend not this."

"I know but."

"no, I'm done with the but actually you know." he scoffed. "because I've always been there, every single time and I know we have separate lives right now but when it's something as big as it was the game for me I expect you to be there for me."

she stared at him like a deer in headlights surprised at how he was talking to her because never in all the years they had been together he used that firm tone.

"I still expect my girlfriend to be there and you weren't, everyone had their people there and I didn't." he roughly cleaned a tear that made it's way down his cheek. "I'm actually tired so if you're going to stay there's the bathroom and turn the light off when you come to bed."

she was losing him.

he wasn't asleep when she came to bed so he felt how she wrapped her arm around him and kissed his shoulder repeatedly murmuring small I love you's onto his skin.

it made him want to cry because he felt anything but feeling loved by her.

next morning as he was awoken by the sun that reflected in the window, he was confused for a minute by the feeling of a warm body against his before realising she was actually there. her head rested on his chest with a leg interlocked with his and arm drapped over his stomach.

saturday morning was rather quiet in the frat house he shared, most of them either asleep or out on whatever thing they had going on. he touched the side of her face with his index finger admiring how beautiful she was even while sleeping.

he wondered how many more times he would be able to do this to have her like this before it all blew up in the air. his heart wrecked everytime he thought about a life without her even when he suspected her's didn't broke in the same way his did.

"hey." she murmured. "good morning"

"morning" he replied and pressed a kiss to her scalp.

"missed this." she snuggled even more onto him. "missed you."

"yeah me too." he sighed. "me too."

she looked up fixating her gaze on his closed eyes and how the sun illuminated his freckles. the one's she had fallen in love with as a child.

"want me to make breakfast?" she said, placing little kisses on his skin.

"nah there's this place about 10 minutes away by the lake. you'll like it." she smiled at the thought of him going somewhere and thinking she'll like this. she had to be better for him.

he watched as she got ready and while on their way to the lake everything seemed to be the same it felt that way. her hand always reaching for his and the soft kisses on his bicep.

"how's everything going back there?" he asked before taking a bite of his breakfast.

"good the classes are so intresting and when we have debates i feel so excited like that's what i've wanting to learn for years." he smiled at the happiness she expressed it with. "party's are alright nothing particular. janett keeps insisting i should go out more but i don't really find it as fun if they're without you."

"you should, college experience and all." he chuckled.

"already told you, it's not that fun without my bodyguard with me." she smiled at him and he hummed. "rafe c'mon baby I'm trying here."

"I'm trying too, sorry I'm still hurt about my girlfriend not being there for me." he leaned back on his side of the booth and ran his hands across his face. "I love you so much but you shouldn't have come because I'm so mad at you, I've been mad for a while and what happened last week was the last straw."

"baby please." she tried but he didn't let her talk.

"no y/n, no baby, no please, no nothing." he took a deep breath in. "just stay the weekend because it's going to rain until thursday afternoon and I won't let you drive eight hours in the bad weather."

"rafe honey." she got up from her seat and sat next to him fast to hold his hand.

"you know how awful it's to feel you're stopping loving me?" he avoided her eyes, feeling like a child begging for love. "to me you're everything, everything I've ever wanted, everything I ever seen for my future."

she squeezed his hand.

"and I don't think you want the same thing you once did with me." he closed his eyes, afraid of what would happen if he continued expressing what he was thinking but did it anyway. "I don't think you're accepting something you already know. you don't love me the way you did before and I won't beg you to love me but I'll beg you to let me go."

"no." she let go of his hand and both of her's went to hold his face making him look at her. "I love you more than I love anybody else, I hate myself for making you feel this way. you're the love of my life." he still didn't look her in the eyes. "I've neglecting this, us. I realise it now but I don't want anyone that isn't you."

she kissed his nose repeatedly just like she used to do when they were kids.

"I want to believe you but there are not any proof of it anymore." he gently pushed her hand away from his face and stood up. "let's go."

the drive back to his place was awfully tense, a folk playlist playing really low. she looked at him from time to time as she took in the words he had said.

she was losing him.

everyone said hi to her as they entered the place but at the sight of rafe's expression they collectively decided on their minds to not say anything and just let the couple go to his room.

they had fights before, but this wasn't a fight, this was him letting her know he was defeated.

"gonna shower, there's my laptop if you want to watch something." he mumbled taking some clothes from his dresser and dissappearing inside the en-suit bathroom.

she sat on his bed staring at the halfway shut door, the sound of the water falling and a groan from him that let her know the water was way too warm.

five minutes later she entered the bathroom.

"rafe?" she almost whispered.

"yeah?" he knew what she was going to ask and he knew he was going to say yes.

"can I come in with you?" he sighed before saying yes.

he didn't turn around when she entered. her right cheek placed on his back and her arms came to hug his front.

"I love you." she placed smalled kisses on the skin she promised her lips missed the most and repeated the words a few times.

his head hung low.

"I love you too but i need you to stop hurting me because i know you know you hurt me everytime you break a promise." he didn't intend for his voice to break but it did anyways. "and you know i can't handle that type of rejection, if you want to leave just do it but don't punish me emotionally."

"baby turn around." she said and looked into his eyes when he did, baby blue eyes that were red from trying to hold the tears. "i never wanted to be the one making you feel like this." her hands placed on his cheeks made him feel safe and he was starting to hate it, starting to hate how vulnerable he actually was with her and how it had never been an issue until now. "I'll be better for you, for us." he nodded and leaned down, resting his head on the crook of her neck while her arms moved to keep him close to her body.

they spent a quiet weekend, tangled sheets and lunch for breakfast. he felt so empty as he saw her drive away.

"finally out of your room." topper teased him. "good weekend?"

"sure." his friend now wore a confused look in his face.

"sure? that's it?" topper sat infront of rafe. "c'mon man what's going on?"

"i don't know top like i genuinely don't know." he sighed. "she says i love you and i feel like she's lying to my face."

"y/n/n? there's no way, you two have been obssesed with the other since kindergarden." he tried to make a joke but rafe was too zooned out to catch it. "everything will be alright, don't worry about it."

and things were back to normal for two or three months.

"i won't be going home for thanksgiving." he chuckled at her words.

"should've known." he already knew her next words 'baby please' 'rafey i'm sorry' 'i promise i'll make it up to you' and like clockwise she repeated the sentences.

"baby i promise i'll make it up to you rafey." he looked up at the ceiling of his room trying to ignore his girlfriend's face on the screen of his phone while he decided his next words.

"i think i need a break."

"a break? from what?" her pulse started racing.

"this, us. you." he clenched his jaw. oh how he hated this. "this isn't working anymore, it hasn't for a while and i've been trying to ignore it just like you ignore every signal i give you."

"no no no rafe, there's no way." her eyes filled with tears.

"i'm tired of trying to make you see me, of trying to make you see how this has become a sad song with no fucking return y/n." he couldn't stop himself from crying. "and don't come home because this time i don't want to see you, don't come now that you know it's done when you had other plans."

"but i don't want this." she exclaimed. "i don't want the break."

"i do." he nodded. "and for the first time in a really long time i'll prioritize how i feel instead of the fear i feel of losing you because let's be honest, you know you were losing me and you didn't really care."

she stayed quiet for a bit.

"i never wanted to make you feel like that." she mumbles and pulls the sleeves of one of his old jerseys down covering her hands. "i love you."

"it doesn't really have any meaning now coming from you." he wasn't saying it to hurt her, he really meant it. "i have to go, i'm driving home tonight."

"rafe no please, there has to be another way." he shook his head. "don't do this to us."

"it wasn't me, it was you." his hand moved up and down on his face. "take care."

he ended the call. and both of them stared at their own screens.

"fuck." he screamed and punched the wall beside him.

he was once again alone. alone without the one who held him when his mom died, the one that had always made him feel loved. the one he never thought would stop loving him.

lilah, her roomate, rushed to her room as she heard the horrible sob coming from it.

"hey hey hey." she kneeled beside her. "what happened?"

"he-he broke up with me." her tear stained face made her roomate feel bad for her but lilah knew why rafe broke up with her.

"oh honey." she wrapped her arms around the crying girl. "i'm sorry."

rafe was glad topper was the one driving, he was in no state of mind to do it. he had already told sarah what happened and asked her to let the rest of the family know.

no one believed sarah's word until the saw him enter the place, dark circles under his eyes and a gray cloud around him that they hadn't seen in a while.

wheezie hugged him and told him she had miss him a lot, his dad came to give him a short hug and said 'glad to have you home son' while sarah waited until he was up in his room to see him.

"hey, can i come in?" she opened the door a bit peaking inside.

"yeah." he sighed.

"wanna talk about what happened?" he nodded no. "want to watch a movie?" she received the same nod.

"i just want to sleep sar, sorry." she gave him half a smile and kissed his forehead just like he did when she was sad.

"i'm next door if you need something." he thanked her and watched as she left his room.

text

y/n 'i know you don't want to talk to me but i just want to know you got home alright'

rafe 'topper drove, already home'

y/n 'thank you <3'

he stayed a another week at home after thanksgiving break ended.

once a week she reached out with the hope he would answer her.

text

a week in

y/n 'just want to know how are you'

two weeks in

y/n 'i miss you please answer me'

when he went back it was as if another soul had taken over his body. drunk every weekend, making out with a different girl at every party but he never took them to his bed. that was a step he wasn't ready to take yet, one thing was a kiss and another was someone seeing him in a way only she had had him.

three weeks in

y/n 'i feel like i'm going insane please'

maybe it was petty to want her to feel ignored the same way he felt, maybe he wanted to be the best thing at a party. a party she no longer had access to.

a month in

y/n 'just a message'

instead of a message she saw topper's instagram story, rafe seemed to be having the time of his life there.

topperthorton via instagram stories

tagged: rafecameron

a month and a half in

y/n 'please'

y/n 'i need to see you'

y/n 'i can't keep going like this, without you. i miss you'

rafe stared at his phone not knowing what to do. she was the love of his life but he didn't want to keep getting hurt.

text

rafe 'i miss you too'

his cell rang, a photo of her showing up. the sun all over her face smiling at the beach, it was his favorite one.

"hey." he picked up the call and heard what seemed to be a sigh.

"hi." street noises were at the background but he decided to not pay much attention to it. "how are you?"

"i'm alright, you?" he was all but alright.

"i'm a mess." she chuckled. "never been better." her sarcasm almost makes him laugh.

"i get it."

"i miss you." she said as if it should be some kind of a secret. "i miss you so much."

"i miss you too." he hated how weak he became when it was about her.

"can't sleep, can't eat. can't do life without you." her voice cracked. "and i'm so fucking sorry this is my fault, i don't know why you picked up the phone when i don't deserve it."

"because i love you." he chuckled. "that's why."

"i love you too." she heard him sigh. "want to see you."

"why didn't you facetime me then?"

"cause i'm kinda outside already." he froze. "wanna open?"

"what do you mean outside?" he walked up to his window and there she was leaning against the hood of her car looking up at him. "the fuck are you doing here?" he threw his phone in the bed before going downstairs.

"what's got you in such a rush man?" one of his roomates asked as all the guys in the living room looked at him but he didn't answer.

instead he jogged to the door, opened it and walked up to her.

"you're here." he said as if it wasn't obvious once he got to her.

"yeah." she didn't wait for anything before wrapping her arms around his neck.

"what are you doing?" his arms hugged tightly her waist.

"what i should've done months ago. come straight to you and nothing else." she pushed back a bit to be able to hold his face, her eyes held back tears. "you're the only person that really matters, the one i love the most."

he looked all over her face as if he was trying to catch a lie in her words but he didn't find any.

"and i don't want lose you, not now not ever rafe." she cried. "i don't know and i don't want to live without you."

he held her close and kissed her temple.

"let's go inside. it's cold." she agreed with a nod and let him lead her inside, avoiding his roomates and going straight to his space.

they sat on his bed facing each other.

"i know you probably don't believe me from the amount of times i've said sorry and the repeated the same things i did before." she sniffled in between words. "but i'm sorry, i'm sorry i hurted you so much and that it took me this long to realise you could get tired of me and my behaviour."

he only stared at her and chewed his lower lip. he felt like a little kid.

"do you think you have it in your heart to give me another chance? a chance to make it right?" there were only a few times where she felt her heart beating how it was doing right now. all of them had to do with rafe but they had never been sad moments, the only sad moment rafe had given her was one she created herself.

he was that good of a boyfriend.

"how do i know once we're comfortable again you won't let me down?" he sounded defeated. "because i'd give the world for you and i can't do it again. i can't give you everything again and not get the same treatment back."

"because i'd rather give up everything, change schools and move right next to you than lose you." his eyebrows raised with surprise.

"won't let you give up your dreams." he sighed. "that's not what i want."

"i know but i'd give up everything just to have a life by your side." her hand covered his.

his sight drawn to the warm he now felt and closed his eyes. even if he wanted to say no to be stubborn, he wouldn't be able to.

everypart of him already said yes but his mouth didn't. he just extended his arms, picked her up and placed her on his lap allowing himself to soften inside the hug that held him tight against her.

"i love you." inhaling her perfume he felt at home. nothing could ever feel like she did. "can't let you go even if i wanted to."

"i love you baby so much." she whispered back.

in that moment, that night as he held her tight against his chest and felt under his hand the rise and fall of her back with every breath he actually prayed to whatever was out there for this to not be a mistake, that forgiving her wouldn't bring him more sorrow.

he prayed to be able to keep hearing their love in the silence that only the darkness in the sky and the late hours of the night can bring to you.

masterlist

taglist: @droppedyourhnd @congratsloserr @rafesbabygirlx @gillybear17 @theoraekenslover @silkylovey @frankoceanluvr11 @ethanthequeefqueen @chiaraanatra @chenslucy @ijustwanttoreadlols

[itneverendshere]

Just saw the new popular movie ’’This ends with us’’ and I beg of you to draw from the actual beautiful love story, so pure! So same concept of the love story: Pouge!Rafe has been kicked out by his mom and her abusive boyfriend, Kook!Reader sees him homeless & hiding. Reader does small acts of kindness, which builds up to a romance but they separate for whatever reason (could be because they get discovered, he joins the military, like the movie, or something different). It could also be reversed with Pouge!Reader instead being homeless, you pick! Years go by, Reader meets an abusive partner, she bumps into a now grown up Rafe. Lots of angst, lingering feelings and longing, he sees the signs of abusive and gets protective. But without the movie plots of reader getting pregnant and married) I adore and worship your writing skills, truly have a gift to make you feel all the emotions!! <3333333

INVISIBLE STRING - r.c series (one)

i loooove this request because pogue!rafe so i decided to turn into a mini series (two or three parts). im personally not a fan of it ends with us, but i love your requests bc it's still very different from the original plot.

pairing: pogue!rafe x sweetheart!kook reader. chapter warnings: domestic violence; absent parents; angst; fluff.

Rafe was born rough around the edges.

There was never any sugar-coating about it; with his hair always messy, sun-bleached and salty, and his hands perpetually stained with the grime of whatever job he'd taken up that week, Rafe Cameron had never known peace.

He was stray dog that had learned to fend for itself, his eyes always scanning for trouble. Most people kept their distance, and he liked it that way.

There wasn’t much softness in his life.

His mom tried her best, he supposed, but that wasn’t saying much.

She had a new boyfriend every few months, and they were all the same — mean, drunk, looking for a fight. Rafe learned early on that if you couldn’t fight back, you were nothing. 

So he fought. A lot.

He fought the men who walked into their house at night, stinking of cheap whiskey and cigarettes. He fought the kids at school who called him trash, who mocked the way his clothes never fit or how he always seemed a little too hungry. But mostly, he fought himself — every time he looked in the mirror and saw his father’s eyes staring back at him. The man who left and never looked back. 

Another piece of shit. 

He kept his head down, his hands busy, and his mouth shut unless he had something to say. He wasn’t nice.

Nice got you nowhere; nice got you used, broken, and left behind. He had seen it too many times to believe otherwise.

The world wasn’t a kind place, and he wasn’t a kind guy. 

Most days, he’d finish work covered in sweat and salt, with just enough money in his pocket to get by. He'd dropped out of school years ago and head to the docks, sit on the edge, and smoke a cigarette while the sun dipped below the horizon.

The only real moment of peace he had.

Rafe took what work he could find — fixing up old fishing boats for the few Kooks who’d dare come down his side of the Cut, pulling shrimp nets in the dead hours of the morning, his back aching and his muscles screaming at such a young age, but at least it was better than being home.

If he could call it that.

Home, where his mom was probably passed out again, where the latest loser she'd dragged in might be passed out on the couch or looking for a fight.

He could hear them shouting before he even got to the door.

His mom screaming her throat out, something crashing inside — a glass, maybe, or a plate. Then came the matching scream of the new boyfriend, Tony or Tommy or something — they all blurred together after a while.

Rafe paused on the porch, hand hovering over the door handle, debating whether it was worth going in at all.

Inside, she was standing in the middle of the living room, her face flushed, her blonde hair a mess. Tony stood over her, fists clenched, his face red and veins bulging in his neck. 

Rafe knew that look. He’d seen it before — seen it in a dozen men who thought they could push their weight around, thought they could break whatever they wanted.

“What the hell’s going on?” 

Tony turned, eyes narrowing. “None of your damn business, boy.”

Rafe took a step forward, his fists balling up instinctively.

“If it’s in my house, it’s my business.”

His mom spun around to face him, her eyes wild and desperate. “Just stay out of it, Rafe. You always have to make things worse!”

He should be used to it by now.

"I'm not the one who brought this piece of shit in here.”

That was all it took.

Tony lunged at him, shoving him hard against the wall, Rafe felt the air rush out of his lungs as pain flared in his back.

“You watch your mouth, punk,” Tony hissed, his breath a disgusting mix of beer and god knows what.

“Or what?” Rafe shot back. Tony’s eyes flicked to his mom, making a point. She stood there, watching.

Rafe had lost faith in her a long time ago but it still blew him away how she never lifted a finger to help him. 

“Get out,” she said finally, hand moving to point towards the bust-up wooden door.

“What?” Rafe blinked, caught off guard.

He must’ve heard her wrong.

“You heard me. Get out!” She was shouting now, her voice high-pitched. “I can’t have you here, always stirring things up! You make everything worse!”

It had to be a fucking joke. He was the only one bringing in money to pay the rent, the only one who kept the house clean enough so it wouldn’t look or smell like someone died in there. Paid the hospital bills when they hit her too hard. He did everything, always. 

Tony shoved him again, harder this time, toward the open door.

“You heard her. Get the hell out.”

Rafe stumbled backward, catching himself before he fell. He looked at his mom, his chest tightening in a way he hadn’t felt since he was a kid. “You’re really gonna choose him over your own son?”

She wouldn’t meet his eyes. “Just go, Rafe. I can’t do this anymore.”

He forced himself to nod. He almost wanted to laugh.

“Fine,” he muttered, pushing past Tony and heading for the door. “Don’t call me when he sends you to the hospital again.”

He didn’t look back. The moment he stepped outside, the wind hit his face like a slap, making his eyes sting. Things had never gotten bad enough to this point before.

He would’ve rather taken a beating instead of turning homeless.

Rafe walked, hands stuffed into his pockets. He didn’t know where he was going, just that he couldn’t go back.

He’d die before he begged his mother or Tony to let him in that shithole again.

His feet took him along the edge of town, past the marina and the fishing docks, and eventually, he found himself in the wealthy part of town, near Figure 8.

It was ironic, almost funny.

The Kooks lived here, the ones who wouldn’t give him the time of day if they saw him on their streets. And here he was, a beat-up pogue, walking right through their territory, angry and suddenly so damn tired.

He spotted an old, abandoned house, sitting at the end of a street where the mansions stood tall and proud. He had walked by it a few times before and noticed it had been empty for years, the paint peeling off in strips, the windows boarded up, and the grass overgrown. He crossed the street, glancing around to make sure no one was watching, and pushed the broken gate open. The hinges squeaked loudly, proving just how long it had been since someone had been there.

The front door was unlocked; it opened with the slightest push. Inside, it smelled of dust and mold, but it was dry, and it was quiet. It was enough. He made his way to a small room in the back, what must have once been a kitchen. There was an old sofa left behind, covered in a dirty sheet. He pulled the sheet off, threw it in a corner, and sank onto the sofá, finally breathing properly. 

He stayed there, staring at the cracked ceiling and the empty walls, wondering how the fuck he was going to get himself out of this one. 

For the two next days, he moved carefully, quietly, in and out of the house. He didn’t want anyone to know he was staying there. He wasn’t getting his ass thrown into jail again. He found a way in through the back window, kept to the dimly lighted areas, and avoided the main roads. He didn't have much — a few changes of clothes, some cash from odd jobs, and his dad’s old pocketknife, the only thing he had left of the bastard.

It was on the third day that he saw you.

He was sitting on the front steps, having a cigarette, when he heard the sound of a bike chain clicking. He glanced up, and there you were — riding a yellow bike, hair pulled back, and eyes glued to him as you pedaled down the street.

He stiffened, quickly stubbing out the cigarette, his heart rate picking up. You were one of them, a Kook, from one of the mansions just a block away. He’d seen you before, always biking around town, sometimes with friends, sometimes alone.

He didn’t know you, didn’t even know your name, but he knew the type.

You saw him, too, and slowed your bike. His first thought was to get up and disappear back into the house, but he knew that would look suspicious. So he stayed put, trying to look casual, as if he belonged there.

You stopped a few feet away, still on your stupid bike, one foot on the ground to steady yourself.

“You live here?” You asked, not in a mean way, just curious.

Rafe’s jaw tightened. “Yeah,” he lied, “Why?”

You shrugged, “Just… didn’t think anyone did. Looks pretty empty.”

He tensed, waiting for you to say something like, “I’m going to tell someone,” or worse, to start asking more questions. But instead, you just gave him another curious look, nodded, and biked away.

Weird girl.

The next day, you were back. This time, you had a bag with you. He watched you approach, wary. You stopped in front of the house and took something out of the bag — a sandwich, wrapped in paper, and a bottle of water.

You held them out to him, a gentle smile on your face, “Figured you might be hungry.”

He thought maybe you were just trying to make yourself feel better, some Kook guilt thing, like feeding the stray cat in the alley so you could pat yourself on the back for being such a nice person.

And he hated that. Hated you for even thinking he needed your stupid charity. So he gave you every reason to leave him alone.

When you handed him that sandwich, he barely even looked at you.

He just grabbed it and then turned his back, heading into the house without another word. But the next day, you were there again. And the next.

He started making it obvious he didn’t want you around. He’d grunt when you said hello, roll his eyes when you tried to make small talk.

One time, you offered him an apple, and he snatched it out of your hand without a word, just to see if you’d get annoyed enough to leave. You didn’t. Like some fucking saint.

Instead, you kept coming back, like some sort of annoying, persistent fly he couldn’t swat away. Every time, your smile was a little nicer, your eyes a little more curious.

He didn't get it. Why the hell were you still trying? Didn’t you get it? He didn’t want you here. Didn’t want to talk to you. Didn’t need shit from a Kook.

“What’s your problem?” he muttered one day when you showed up with a bag of groceries.

You blinked, “What do you mean?”

“You keep coming back here like I asked you to. I didn’t. I don’t need your charity.”

You raised an unimpressed eyebrow, still not leaving. “I’m not doing charity. I jut figured you could use a little help.”

He scoffed, turning his back on you again. “I don’t need anything from you, princess.”

You hesitated, then placed the bag on the steps anyway. “Well, it’s here if you do.”

He snorted, rolling his eyes again. “Great. Another pity gift from the rich kid. Thank you so much,” he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

You clenched your jaw, but still didn’t leave. He expected you to finally get the hint, but you just shook your head and walked away.

The next day, you there you were. And the day after that. Always bringing something, always with that same annoying, stubborn smile.

By the end of the week, he was done. You rolled up with another bag, and before you could even open your mouth, he let out a loud groan, throwing his head back. 

"For fuck’s sake, don’t you have anything better to do than bother me every damn day?”

That was it — you snapped.

Your eyes flared, and you stepped in closer, voice getting louder. "Will you just eat the damn food before I throw it in your face?" You shouted, cheeks going red with frustration.

He blinked, caught off guard. He didn’t expect you to clap back.

You’d been silent and too sweet for his liking. Most Kooks would’ve run back to their fancy houses by now, but you were still standing your ground, fists clenched, breathing heavy. Cute.

He almost laughed. Almost. “What’s your deal? You think you’re some kind of hero bringing food to the poor pogue? You think you're gon' save me or something?”

You glared at him “I’m not trying to save you, jerk! I’m just trying to be a decent human! Maybe you should try it sometime!”

He stared at you, face set in a deadpan, but he felt something— something he hadn’t felt in a while. Respect, maybe? But for some reason, he didn’t tell you to get lost.

Instead, he snatched the bag out of your dainty small hand. “Fine. I’ll eat your stupid food. But don’t think this changes anything,” he muttered.

You rolled your eyes, crossing your arms. “Oh, trust me, I don’t.”

You both stood there in this weird silence for a minute, glaring at each other. Then you shook your head, and smiled like you hadn’t read him to filth ten seconds ago. “See you tomorrow, Rafe.”

What? You knew his name?

He watched as you rode away and he realized he was grinning, just a bit. For the first time in weeks, he didn’t feel completely alone.

And somehow, that pissed him off even more.

Days turned into weeks, and you kept showing up, like a plague.

No matter how much Rafe grumbled, no matter how many times he rolled his eyes or muttered under his breath, you just kept coming back. It was always something small — fruit, a bottle of water, a warm meal in a container. Every time you showed up, you had that same stubborn look in your eyes, like you weren’t going to back down no matter how much he pushed you away.

He hated to admit it, but he started to look forward to your little visits. He hated even more that he noticed things about you. Like how your hair fell in your face when you leaned over to hand him something or how your laugh sounded when he said something sarcastic. He noticed the way you seemed to care, even when he made it clear he didn’t want you to.

One day, you showed up with a duffel bag. Rafe looked at you suspiciously as you parked your bike and slung the bag over your shoulder.

“What now?” he grunted, eyeing the bag like it might bite him.

He could tell you were nervous and that weirded him out even more. Since when could he read your mind? 

“I was thinking… maybe you’d want to come to my house. Just to shower and get some real rest. My parents are out of town, and y’know, you could use it.”

He stared at you like you’d grown another head. “You want me to come to your house?”

You nodded, looking a little unsure now, hands tightening around the bag’s strap, “Yeah. Just for a bit. I thought you might like a break from this place.”

He scoffed. “And why the hell would I want to do that? You think I’m gonna be some charity case you can parade around to make yourself feel good?”

You sighed, clearly getting frustrated. “No, Rafe. I just thought… I just thought you might want a hot shower. But if you don’t, that’s fine.”

He usually cleaned himself up near the docks, but the water was freezing during this time of the year. Every time it felt like his balls were going to drop to the floor. So yeah, a hot shower in a big mansion sounded tempting.

Even if he didn’t want to give you that satisfaction.

A hot shower… a real bed, even for a little while. He hadn’t had that in what felt like forever. He looked at you again, trying to figure out if this was some kind of sick twisted plan, but all he saw were those stupid glowing eyes staring him down like he’d be dumb to refuse you. 

“Fine,” he muttered, standing up. “But just for a shower. And if you try anything weird, ’m outta there.”

Your nose scrunched up, “As if.”

Your house was everything he expected from a Kook — big, clean, and way too fancy. He felt out of place the moment he stepped through the gigantic door, like he was tracking mud on a white carpet. You led him upstairs, pointing out the bathroom.

“You can use this one. Towels are in the cabinet, and I’ll leave some clothes outside if you want them.”

Rafe grunted in response, still unsure why he was even there. He went into the bathroom and locked the door, leaning against it for a moment. The place smelled like lavender or some other fancy soap he couldn’t name. He turned on the shower, and the hot water poured out instantly, filling the room with steam.

He stripped off his dirty clothes and stepped under the water, hissing as the heat hit his skin. But then he relaxed, letting the water wash away the grime, the salt, the exhaustion he’d been carrying for so long. He stayed under the spray longer than he should have, almost losing track of time.

When he finally got out, he saw the clothes you’d left outside the door — a plain t-shirt and sweatpants, nothing flashy, but clean. He put them on and headed back downstairs, finding you in the kitchen, making coffee.

You looked up when he entered, “Feel better?”

He shrugged. “I guess.”

You handed him a cup of coffee, and he took it reluctantly, still waiting for the catch. But you just sat across from him at the kitchen island, sipping your own cup, not saying anything.

He found himself watching you, noticing the little things again.

The way you tucked your hair behind your ear, the way your fingers tapped against the mug when you were thinking. He hated that he was noticing, hated that he found any of it interesting. He took a sip of the coffee and scowled when it tasted good, because of course it did.

“You do this shit for everyone?” he asked, breaking the silence.

You looked at him, “What do you mean?”

“This.” He gestured around. “Invite random guys to your house, make them coffee, act like you care.”

You laughed, a light sound that made his chest feel weird. “No. Just you.”

He didn’t know what to say to that, so he just looked away, taking another sip of coffee. He didn’t do nice. He wasn’t used to nice. This was weird.

You kept doing these little things for him — small acts of kindness he didn’t ask for and definitely didn’t deserve. You’d leave extra food by the house when you knew he’d be there, sometimes even a blanket or a pillow you said you didn’t need. You’d offer to let him use the house again, and every once in a while, he’d accept, hating how much he craved the simple comfort of a shower or a bed.

And all the while, he stayed the same — gruff, sarcastic, always trying to push you away with his attitude. But you didn’t go. You took his crap and came back.

One night, after a particularly rough day where everything seemed to go wrong, he found himself standing outside your house again. Your parents were out of town again, and he didn’t have anywhere else to go. He hated that he was here, hated that he needed this, but he knocked anyway.

You opened the door, your face lit up with that familiar smile. “Rafe,” you said, voice warm. “Come in.”

He liked the way his name sounded on your lips.

He hesitated, but he did. You led him to the living room, and he noticed a few things this time — the family photos on the walls, a vase of flowers on the table, the soft throw blanket on the couch.

Your home was nothing like his, but it felt… safe.

They sat in silence for a while, and he noticed how you didn’t bother him with questions, didn’t try to fix anything. You just sat there, close but not too close, letting him breathe. He found himself looking at you more, catching the way your lips curled up at the corners, how your eyes seemed to soften whenever they landed on him. He felt something strange, something he hadn’t felt in a long time.

He sat on that big couch, staring at his busted-up hands, trying to ignore the way his heart pounded in his chest. You were just a few feet away, eyes flicking over to him now and then, like you were waiting for him to speak. But he didn’t know what to say.

He felt… uncomfortable. Not because of the place, or you. No, never because of you. But because of this strange feeling that kept crawling up his spine, making him feel restless.

You were sitting on the arm of the chair, legs tucked under you, looking at him with that familiar, gentle expression that made him feel like maybe he wasn’t such a screw-up. He didn’t know what to do with that. You were the kind of girl who should have nothing to do with him. Yet here you were, again and again, showing up, like you didn’t know any better.

He cleared his throat, trying to push back whatever weird tension was building between you. “So… your parents,” he muttered. “They’re out of town a lot?”

You nodded, sighing, “Yeah. They travel for work. I’m used to it.”

“Must be nice,” he said, but his voice came out rougher than what he was going for. He didn’t know how to do gentle and he was still half-convinced you were going to kick him out or tell him you had enough of his crap.

“Sometimes,” you replied, “But it gets lonely, too.”

He wasn’t expecting that. He glanced at you trying to read you. He knew you weren’t looking for sympathy; you were just stating a fact.

He wasn’t sure what made him ask, but he did anyway. “Why do you keep helping me?”

You blinked, caught off guard. “I— I don’t know. I guess… I just see something in you. Something good.”

He scoffed, shaking his head. “There’s nothin' good in me.”

“There is,” you insisted. “I see it. Even if you don’t.”

He felt his chest tighten, and he had to look away. “You’re wrong.”

“Maybe,” you said quietly, “but I don’t think so.”

He feel your eyes on him, could feel the way his pulse was racing under his skin. He hated it. Hated that he wanted to believe you, wanted to feel whatever it was you seemed to see in him.

“You’re too good,” he muttered. “Too good for someone like me.”

You laughed softly. “You don’t know me as well as you think, Rafe.”

He glanced up, surprised by the boldness in you. You were closer now, leaning forward, eyes fixed on his. He felt that breathtaking tension again.

Before he could think better of it, he spoke, voice coming out meeker than what he was going for.

“You really think there’s somethin' good in me?”

You nodded, not taking your eyes off of him for a second, “Yeah, I do.”

He swallowed hard, his mouth suddenly dry. He didn’t know what he was doing, what possessed him, but before he could stop himself, he reached out, his hand finding yours.

You didn’t flinch in fear or scrunched up your nose in disgust.

Instead, your fingers tightened around his, and his breath caught in his throat.

“Why?” he asked again, desperate.

 “I just do.”

Something snapped in him then, hope, probably. He moved closer, his other hand reaching up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing against your delicate skin.

You didn’t pull away again.

He hesitated, just for a moment.

“I’m not— I-I’m not a good guy,” he murmured.

You smiled again, softer this time, the way he hoped you only did for him, “I don’t need you to be.”

He didn’t get it, but he didn’t have time to figure it out.

He leaned in and kissed you. It was clumsy at first — just a touch of lips, a bit hesitant. But then you kissed him back and suddenly he understood those stupid cliché novels his mom used to read when he was younger. He’d never kissed anyone before. 

He was too aware of how inexperienced they both were, of the way his lips barely brushed against yours. He felt stiff and unsure, like he didn’t know if he was doing it right. But it felt right. It wasn’t smooth or perfect — there was hesitancy and uncertainty, but it was real. He felt your hand touch his cheek, your fingers warm and trembling just a little.

His hand slid from your cheek down to your neck, pulling you closer, fingers curling into your hair. He couldn’t get enough. It was messy, frantic, his heart racing like it was trying to break out of his chest, and for once, he didn’t care. He felt your breath hitch against his lips, the warmth of you pressing into him, and all the walls he’d built up, all the reasons he’d given himself to push you away, disappeared. 

Your hands found their way to his chest, fingers gripping the fabric of his old shirt like you didn’t want to let go, and that did something to him. Made him feel more alive than he had in a long time. Every time he kissed you, it was like he was drowning in you, like nothing else mattered except for this — your lips, your skin, the way your body pressed against his.

He pulled away, just for a second, eyes wide and breathing heavy, like he couldn’t believe what had just happened.

He looked at you, cheeks flushed, lips swollen and wet from the kiss, and damn, you looked beautiful. More beautiful than he ever let himself admit before.

But then you smiled, that same heart-shattering smile, and it was like you were pulling him back in, “You don’t have to be afraid,” you whispered.

“I’m not…” he started, but even he didn’t believe it. Because he was. He was terrified as hell of this, of you, of the way you made him feel like he wasn’t a complete mess. But before he could say more, you kissed him again, and this time, he didn’t hold back.

He didn’t think about what he should or shouldn’t be doing, didn’t overanalyze the way his hands moved from your waist to your back, pulling you closer until there wasn’t any space left between you. You melted into him, your body warm and soft, like you belonged there and he felt like he was burning up from the inside out.

His hands roamed, exploring, memorizing the curve of your waist, the way your body fit so perfectly against his. Every little sound you made, every breathless gasp, made him feel like he was on fire.

You broke apart again, both of you panting, and he rested his forehead against yours, eyes closed, trying to catch his breath.

“This is crazy,” he muttered, his voice all shaky.

You giggled, the sound making his chest tighten in the best way.

“Maybe. But I don’t care.”

He opened his eyes, staring into yours, and he knew you meant it.

You didn’t care about the Kook vs. Pogue thing, about the stupid rules that had been drilled into them from birth. You just cared about him. He didn’t know how to let himself want something good, something real. But he wanted you. God, did he want you.

From that night on, everything changed. 

You started seeing each other in secret, meeting up when your parents were out of town or sneaking off to some hidden spot by the beach at night where no one would find you. Every time he saw you, it was like a high he couldn’t get enough of. You’d kiss, talk, hold each other like you were the only two people in the world, and he’d forget about all the shit in his life. Forget about the fact that he was supposed to be a screw-up who didn’t deserve someone like you.

You sat side by side at the dock, feet dangling just above the water, the tips of your shoes barely touching the surface. Something was calming about the sound of the gentle waves lapping against the dock, the world feeling small and distant for once, like it was just the two of you.

He leaned back on his hands, staring out at the horizon, not saying much. He’d been quiet today, more so than usual. You nudged him lightly with your shoulder.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

He snorted, shaking his head slightly. “You don’t want ‘em. They’re not worth much.”

You rolled your eyes, nudging him again. “C’mon. You’ve been quiet all day. What’s going on in that head of yours?”

He hesitated, glancing down at the water, his fingers curling into the wood of the dock. He was biting back whatever was eating at him. He wasn’t the type to open up easily, you knew that, but he wanted to, for you. You wanted to know him, all of him, not just the fake exterior he put up for everyone else to see.

“You ever think about… how different your life would be if shit didn’t go so sideways?” he asked, his voice low, almost like he wasn’t sure he wanted to say it out loud.

You frowned, turning to face him, “What do you mean?”

He exhaled sharply through his nose, running a hand through his hair.

“My mom, she… she used to date these losers. Real pieces of shit, y’know? Guys who’d roll through, thinking they owned the place, treating me like I was some kind of burden just because I was around.”

It wasn’t easy for him to say it, but he was doing it anyway, like the words had been stuck inside him for years.

“She didn’t really care what they did. As long as they paid for her booze, she was cool with whatever. They’d knock me around sometimes, tell me I wasn’t worth shit. But she never did anything about it.” He paused, swallowing hard, his gaze fixed on the water because he couldn’t look at you. “One of ‘em got real bad. Fucker hit me so hard one night, I thought I was gonna pass out. And when I told her… she didn’t care. Told me I was a liar. Said I probably deserved it.”

“Rafe…” you whispered, reaching out to take his hand. He didn’t pull away this time, just let you hold it, his fingers squeezing yours a little too tightly.

“I tried to stick it out,” he continued, his voice quieter now. “Tried to stay for as long as I could. But one day, she kicked me out. Told me I was too much trouble, and she didn’t need me around anymore.” He laughed, but it was hollow, bitter. “I guess I wasn’t worth the space I took up.”

You were quiet. He liked that about you, that you didn’t try and get his thoughts out of his head, just let him do his thing, on his own time. There was nothing that could make up for the kind of pain he’d been through. You just squeezed his hand tighter, and he just knew you wished you could take some weight off his shoulders.

“That’s why you were in that house?” You brushed your lips against his shoulder.

“Yeah.”

It was hard for him to talk about this stuff. Hell, it was hard for him to talk at all when it came to anything real. You just sat there, holding his hand, being there. That was what made you different. Most people didn’t wait for him. They’d get frustrated, give up, move on.

You just... stayed. And that scared him almost as much as it comforted him.

“You didn’t deserve that.”

He scoffed, shaking his head. “Doesn’t matter. Deserve’s got nothin’ to do with it.”

You shifted closer, your knees touching his now. “It matters to me.”

He didn’t understand how you could look at him like that, like he was worth something.

“You knew my name.”

You nodded, “You delivered fresh seafood to the house once.”

His eyes nearly popped out from their sockets, “I was fourteen.”

“Yeah?”

“And you remembered that?”

Your brows shot up like he’d said the dumbest thing ever. “Obviously.”

His breath caught, and before he could stop himself, he reached out, pulling you into his lap. His hands found your waist, desperate, almost frantic, holding onto you like you were the only thing keeping him grounded.

"You shouldn’t—" he started, but the words died on his lips because you were already kissing him, and it was like everything stopped. The world, his thoughts, all the shit that weighed him down. It was just you, your lips, the way your hands tangled in his hair, and the soft sounds you made against his mouth.

He kissed you harder, more urgently, like he was trying to prove something to himself — that he could have this, that he could deserve this. His hands slid up your back, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you. His lips moved against yours and he felt like he was falling apart and putting himself back together all at once.

When he pulled back, just enough to look at you, his chest was heaving, and you were looking at him with that same softness that made his stomach twist.

"How—How the hell did I get this lucky?" His voice cracked, just a little. He hadn’t meant to say it, but the words spilled out anyway. 

You smiled, brushing your thumb across his cheek, and he realized then that his face was wet. He hadn’t even noticed the tears slipping down, hadn’t noticed the way he was trembling.

"You deserve this" you whispered. 

That was it.

That was the breaking point. A choked sob escaped him, and before he could stop himself, he crashed his lips against yours again, kissing you so hard it hurt, but he didn’t care. He couldn’t get enough of you, couldn’t hold back the way he felt like he’d been waiting his whole life for this moment. For you.

His hands cupped your face, fingers trembling as he kissed you again and again, like he was afraid you’d disappear if he stopped. 

And as his tears mixed with your kiss, he realized that for the first time in his life, he wasn’t running.

He wasn’t pushing you away. He was falling, hard and fast, and he didn’t care. Because for once, he was exactly where he wanted to be.

[7-deadly-cats]

♡ buried down below ♡

// P A R T O N E

♡ G E N R E ♡ character portrait, angst but happy ending, hurt/comfort, this is for anyone whose favorite characters always happen to be poor little souls who crave comfort the most

M A S T E R L I S T | T A G L I S T F O R M | P A R T T W O (soon)

♡ P A I R I N G ♡ s1!rafe cameron x gentle!reader (f)

♡ C O N T E N T W A R N I N G ♡ LOTS of rafe angst, strong/suggestive language, substance abuse, coke addiction, rafe having intrusive/violent thoughts, childhood trauma/parental loss, mention of ward neglecting and abusing him (mostly emotionally but mention of mild violence), rafe experiencing a panic attack, unresolved grief and suppressed identity, symbolic depiction of inner death/ buried inner child, honestly just very angsty but bittersweet bc of gentle!reader, read at own caution

♡ S U M M A R Y ♡ beneath the heat, noise and mess of being rafe cameron, a boy is buried. he's been rotting down there for years, right next to the memories of his dead mother. neglected by his father, overwhelmed by grief, and eaten alive by how unfair the world feels, his anger turned outward into spite, recklessness, self-destruction, and a toxic idea of what affection is supposed to be like. but when he meets you at a party—the new girl in town—it hits him like a punch to the gut. something about you brings back the way his mother made him feel. loved. and for the first time in years, rafe is given a choice: leave the boy buried underground, or finally let him breathe again.

♡ W O R D C O U N T ♡ 8.7k+

♡ A / N ♡ this is my personal love letter to rafe cameron as a (comfort) character. an attempt to understand him. this is why this may feel somehow different from how and what i usually write. i'm genuinely sorry to anyone who just wanted the prompt they voted for. either part 2 or part 3 will include it, so you can skip to that part as soon as i've written them. those who still decide to give this one a shot, hope you enjoy and it would mean a lot if you decided to leave a comment <3

Rafe Cameron was not an easy person. That much became clear to anyone who's ever had the slightest interaction with him.

The impulsiveness, the bluntness, the recklessness, the aggression issues that flared up more or less depending on the day, his self-destructive tendencies—even the drug addiction—all of it was deeply ingrained in him.

These weren’t just traits, they were a heavy, embedded anchor that couldn't simply be ripped out.

And even if he ever managed to shed that unbearable weight, it was so deeply rooted, so firmly and wildly intertwined with who he was, that it would leave painful marks behind.

Ugly memories, emotions, and scars.

But to even begin moving that massive anchor, even by just a single inch, there had to be a willingness to change in the first place.

Because the anchor wasn’t just a part of Rafe. It was him.

The worst part? He had tried. He had wanted to change. He wanted to be the son Ward Cameron could be proud of. He wanted to make his dad happy. Fuck, he'd even wanted to protect him.

Rafe had gone so far in trying to reclaim his place in the family that he'd become a murderer.

Sheriff Peterkin—just shot. No second thoughts, no hesitation. Of course not, this was about his dad. He’d done it for him, right?

Taking the life of a stranger to save his father's... it had felt like the right choice. A simple one, even. For the family.

And for Rafe himself.

Because how the fuck was he supposed to go through losing someone else again? Someone he believed he was close to?

First his mom... and then his dad? Fuck no. No way.

Just thinking about his mother—his gentle, loving momma—made the hole in his chest feel even deeper. And honestly, he’d pushed those thoughts so far down, locked them away in some mental drawer, that if it weren’t for the pictures hanging on the big photo wall by the staircase, he could barely remember what her face even looked like.

It had been hard at first.

Seven-year-old Rafe, sitting on the couch with little Sarah one night as their dad knelt in front of them, taking their small hands in his, and telling them that their mom wouldn’t be tucking them in tonight.

Not tonight, not the night after that, never again.

She was gone. Dead.

An accident. Or some bullshit like that. Shit, Rafe didn’t even remember anymore. What did it matter anyway? What difference did the cause make?

His mom was dead.

And from that moment on, something in Rafe shifted. The routine in his life disappeared, that gentle, comforting presence that had always made him feel safe—eradicated.

And that kind of loss? That was worse than any kind of withdrawal could ever be.

At first, little Rafe had just been confused, overwhelmed, lost without the constant love and safety his mom had provided.

He couldn’t understand the why. He needed answers.

Naturally, he turned to the next person a kid his age would expect love and comfort from: his dad.

But Ward Cameron was drowning in his own grief. Haunted by guilt, rage, and a sorrow only he truly understood. For reasons he never spoke aloud, he seemed to carry a deep sense of blame for her death.

And every time he looked into Rafe’s eyes, he saw her. The same soft eyes that would grow cold in the years to come. The same smile, barely visible these days. That same curiosity about the world—a light Ward snuffed out before it could grow.

So Ward Cameron pulled away. Not from both his kids, no, just from his son.

While Rafe, desperate for love and a father’s attention, was left in the cold, Ward turned toward Sarah.

Fucking bitch Sarah—Daddy’s little favorite. Independent, headstrong, always standing up for herself. And while their mom had endless love to give to both her children, in Ward’s eyes, it had always just been his perfect daughter, Sarah.

Sarah, Sarah, Sarah.

That imbalance, or rather, that lack of love in Rafe’s life, quickly created a deep crack in the foundation of the whole family.

By the time he was eight, Rafe had developed a fragile sense of self-worth and, with it, an insatiable hunger for acceptance, understanding—a place to belong.

Even though his dad neglected him, treated him in ways no boy ever deserved, Rafe still chased after him. Craving his approval. Desperate for praise and love he never received.

And watching Sarah receive that care, that warmth, that affection he longed for, without even having to ask for it—it planted something in Rafe. A seed of rage, jealousy, and hatred so intense it cracked the bond with the one person he’d once truly been close to after his mother: his sister.

But it didn’t stop there.

That gnawing guilt, the haunting question of whether he was the problem—if he had done something wrong, if Rafe was the reason Sarah received more attention, if he was somehow responsible for his mom’s death—it started eating him alive.

And soon, all that pain started turning outward. It became this violent tug-of-war between retreat and explosion.

Locking himself in his room after Ward yelled at him, and beating the crap out of kids at school just to let the anger out. Running away from home when the memories and pictures of his mom became too much, and stealing a bottle of whiskey from some careless Pogue’s backroom stash just to drown it all out. Pushing away any closeness when little Sarah knocked on his door at night—just as scared, just as grieving—unable to bring himself up to open the door. Couldn’t trust himself not to hurt her.

That was the worst part of it all: the intrusive thoughts. Dark, sudden, terrifying. They scared the hell out of this little boy.

But the thing that really sent it all over the edge?

A stranger his dad brought home, not even three years after his mom had died.

Rose.

A pathetic, laughable replacement. Someone who was supposed to take his mom’s place.

But this stranger—this intruder in their house, in his family—was nothing like her. Rose wasn’t as kind. She wasn’t as soft. Not as understanding. She wasn’t her.

Shit, she wasn’t even a poor imitation, she was a clear sign of betrayal. His dad’s attempt to replace what could never be replaced.

You couldn't trade beautiful peonies with dirty weeds.

And ten-year-old Rafe wasn’t fooled by her fake kindness. He refused her food. Didn’t want her bedtime stories. Pushed her disgusting hands away when she reached out.

That’s how the bright, once-disciplined boy became a bitter wreck, full of deep, tangled complexes.

The fear of never being enough clashed violently with this growing sense of superiority, creating a fracture so sharp it split Rafe right down the middle.

And to cope with that ongoing inner war, he created a new kind of constant.

First, it was the wine and whiskey he’d sneak out of his dad’s cellar. Then came weed. Something he first tried from his new friend Kelce during his early high school days.

But weed wasn’t enough. It numbed things, sure, but Rafe didn’t want to be numb. Fuck no. He wanted to feel the high. He wanted euphoria. A way to fill the hole inside of him with something.

So at just fifteen, he spiraled deeper.

It happened at some shitty bonfire party, one of those nights where Kooks and Pogues mixed, and even a few annoying Tourons showed up. There was some greasy guy there selling the stuff.

“Makes you feel good,” the guy had said.

And fuck, that was exactly what Rafe needed.

For forty bucks, he bought a line. Snorted it right off the toilet lid in the beach bathroom.

And that—holy shit, that was the first time in years Rafe felt something real. Pure bliss. Energy. Confidence. Fucking power.

It was sick and hilarious at the same time. That one little line of white powder replaced everything he’d ever been missing.

So Rafe wasn’t a victim anymore. No, he was in control now. He decided when and how good he felt. If his dad started comparing him to Sarah again, throwing insults and pushing him away, no big deal. Rafe would snort a line or two, and suddenly, everything was fine again.

Better than fine. In that state, he felt like the only clear-headed one in a world full of hypocrites.

But it became obvious real quick: the high came fast and so did the crash, hitting even harder.

Rafe’s impulsiveness, irritability, and aggression only got worse. There was even a moment—just one tiny stupid moment—where he dared to raise a hand at his dad in a brutal argument. Just once. And never again.

The beating, followed by a tight embrace, was something he’d never forget.

That’s how Ward handled their relationship: he’d push Rafe away, tell him to get his shit together, to be more like fucking Saint Sarah, to finally pull himself together—and then, on other days, when he looked into Rafe’s eyes and saw his wife’s memory shining through, softened by nostalgia, his behavior changed.

Suddenly there were apologies. Praise. A pat on the shoulder. A smile. A hug.

It was a sick, toxic cycle, and it became Rafe’s understanding of love.

And if the universe had decided that this poor boy had endured enough, everything changed the night you came into his life. At Kelce’s first high school party of their senior year, to be exact.

Kelce had invited you because you’d just moved in next door and, well, he thought you were cute. Said you probably needed someone to “properly introduce you to island life, right?”.

You were a new face on Figure 8. Your parents owned a major fashion brand that had recently opened a branch in the Outer Banks. But what set them apart from the rest of the Kooks was the fact that they were pouring a chunk of their profit into a side project called OuterLabs—focused on research and preservation of the local flora and fauna.

Most Kooks saw this as a clever marketing strategy, to make them seem grounded and “caring.” But it was real. Their love for nature, and for people, was honest. And it showed, especially in their daughter.

Rafe noticed right away. That you were different, at least.

The first time he saw you was when Kelce introduced you to him and Topper at his party. “Y/N Y/L/N,” Kelce said. “Moved in last week. Figured I’d bring her around.”

You gave a soft laugh, sweet and warm, and it stirred something in Rafe. Something familiar his mind couldn’t quite place, making his chest clench painfully.

And then you looked at him with such warmth and kindness, the kind barely anyone in Figure 8 carried. You smiled, genuinely curious, and said something like, “Rafe? A sweet name. Is it short for Rafael?”

Kelce and Topper chuckled, clearly amused. That should’ve pissed Rafe off, but your voice, that name… it awakened something deep in him. Something that had been buried for years.

Because not Ward, not Sarah, not Wheezie, and definitely not that witch Rose, none of them ever called him by that name. They avoided it like it was cursed like it dragged up something painful that needed to stay buried.

And honestly? It did.

Because there was only ever one person who made that name sound like it meant something.

His mom.

To hear it again, after all those years, in such a gentle, warm tone, bittersweet didn’t even begin to cover it.

That setting, that party, three beers and a line deep, Topper and Kelce cracking jokes at his expense. And then you.

Smiling like that. So honest. So warm.

So intoxicating.

So fucking wrong.

Rafe’s brows furrowed. He shot his idiot friends a deadly look that shut them up instantly, shoved past Kelce’s shoulder, said something like "Fuck this", and stormed off toward the bathroom.

There were a few girls inside, comforting a crying friend. He threw them out. Slammed the door shut, not caring to lock it. And with shaky hands, he started prepping his second line of the night on the bathroom sink.

Because, fuck, what the FUCK was that just now? That pull in his chest, the bitter taste on his tongue, those memories?

So caught up in the noise in his head and the music outside, he didn’t even hear the knock on the door. Or the second one. Didn’t notice that you’d quietly slipped in behind him.

It was your concerned voice that pulled him out of his focused trance as he tried to shape a halfway decent line with his credit card.

"You okay?"

Rafe let out a startled breath, brows furrowing in pure annoyance as the precious powder scattered off the sink.

"Fuck." He straightened up, already opening his mouth to call you a dumb bitch, when you quickly moved toward him with a soft, "Oh no, I’m really sorry."

You dropped to your knees and—no fucking way—actually tried to scoop the coke up with your hands.

The sight was almost pathetic enough to amuse Rafe, and he found himself smirking, the anger slowly dissolving. "That’s fucked. It's a lost cause."

You shook your head, still focused on the floor. "It’s money."

"Not even a fucking Pogue would stoop down for that," Rafe muttered, amused at your stupid little comment.

Eventually, you stood back up, hands cupped together holding a sad little pile of white powder. "Here." Carefully, you let it fall back onto the sink, brushing the rest off your palm with your fingers.

Then your eyes met his again—warm, sincere, with that sweet little smile. "Earlier... did I say something wrong? I didn’t mean to upset you."

Rafe's expression shifted instinctively. You looked genuinely concerned but why the hell would some chick be nice to him without a hidden motive? Your family probably wanted to stay in Ward’s good graces. Or you just wanted to tell your new friends how you managed to suck Rafe Cameron’s cock on your very first party here.

Classic playbook.

He just shook his head, brushing you aside with a hand so he could check if anything from that powder-floor disaster was still salvageable. "Shit, don’t you have anything better to do? Go back to Kelce, I’m sure he’d love the attention."

You let out a soft chuckle and sat down on the toilet lid, hands folded in your lap. "Yeah, he seems like a very social guy. Full of energy." You watched him quietly as he started forming a new line. Then, calmer, "He also advised me not to go after you. But I think I said something I shouldn't have. I’m sorry about that."

God, how could someone be this fucking annoying?

Rafe didn’t even look up when he said, "Seriously, unless you’re gonna suck my dick, get the fuck out."

Then he bent down and snorted the line in one go. Straightening up, he felt that familiar kick hit him. Energy, euphoria, that brief moment of clarity.

Fuck, he felt good. Alive. Clear.

"May I ask why you’re doing this?" you asked softly. You still hadn’t moved an inch.

Rafe turned to you, pissed, pupils blown wide, eyes still red from the first line half an hour ago.

And then—there, under the harsh bathroom light—he actually saw you. Not just your soft eyes and pretty face. Your whole presence.

So calm and kind, with this sweet undertone of innocence. But not the naive or stupid kind he’d seen in almost every party girl desperate to feel something by sucking some random guy's dick and getting wasted.

No—there was something real behind your eyes. A curiosity. A warmth. Something human. Something that sparked a memory hidden so deep inside him it made his chest ache again.

And the worst? You looked at him like you saw him. Like you were trying to coax out the little boy he’d buried at seven years old and never looked back on.

But like always, when Rafe didn’t understand something, it made his head hurt, and that made him angry.

"Okay, what the fuck is this?" He tilted his head with an irritated smirk. "You playing fucking babysitter at this shitshow of a party? Or looking for some sad little girl talk moment or whatever? There’s plenty of bitches out there who'd love to listen."

And fuck, the way you didn’t react how he expected made his blood boil. That same annoyingly sweet smile still on your face.

"I don’t think you need a babysitter," you said, voice calm, almost playfully gentle. "And I could talk about a lot of things, for sure. The people here are pretty mixed. A little reserved around newbies, I’d say, but still very welcoming."

This bullshit? It made zero fucking sense to Rafe. Maybe you were just some naive little girl, clueless about what really went on in places like this.

He scoffed condescendingly, tapping his temples with both hands. “Jesus, did you pop something before coming here? These people are all fucking fake—posers.” He gestured toward the door. “You really think any of them give a shit about anything besides your fucking last name? Of course, they’re welcoming. That’s how this works. ‘Your daddy does business with my daddy, so let me kiss your ass until it bleeds.’”

He shook his head, running a hand through his hair, a light sheen of sweat on his forehead. “And that crap earlier?” He let out a bitter laugh. “Like—what the fuck even was that? If some bitch had seen you kneeling like that in front of me, your daddy would've had to hear all about his little whore of a daughter the next morning.” He lifted his hands in mock innocence. “But hey, if you’re into that shit—since we’re already here.”

Kelce had told you a lot about Rafe Cameron when he'd invited you to sit on his porch your very first day.

Big, bad Cameron who either tolerated your existence or made sure you knew how much he despised it. Rafe, who showed up at every party, every event, only to end up talking to Kelce or Topper, and maybe some girl that drove him crazy in all the right ways. Ward’s son, known by everyone as the black sheep—but no one dared say it to his face.

Rafe Cameron—someone even his closest friends couldn’t quite describe because he was too unpredictable, too impulsive. The kind of guy you approached carefully… or not at all.

But in his words, gestures, the fury in his eyes—in everything about him—you saw something else. Someone whose light once shined too bright and was burned by it in return.

A lone wolf, cast out by the pack or chose to walk away on his own, unable to track the scent that'd lead him back.

And it filled you with this aching kind of sadness, a quiet understanding. Not pity. Something deeper, almost instinctive. You just wanted to hold him, brush his hair back. To let him feel your presence and know it was safe.

Even though you didn’t know what pain he carried, even though you didn’t know his story, his reasons, or what kept him angry and guarded—it didn’t scare you.

You didn’t need to know his trauma to feel something real. A bond, raw and honest, only human to human could feel.

And it wasn’t some ‘I want to fix him’ fantasy. He wasn’t broken. No, people weren’t glass to be shattered and glued back together. That’s not how it worked.

No. This boy—this soul—wasn’t broken. He was misunderstood. Shaken. Confused. Carrying something heavy. And somewhere along the way, he’d learned to armor up so hard that everything tender in him had to come out as rage.

Like an animal that bared its teeth when it was scared.

And with an animal like that, you didn’t force your hand. You didn’t try to pet it. You didn’t reach out and hope to be the one it trusted.

You’d get scratched if you were lucky. Bitten if not.

But someone like Rafe—someone high, already teetering on that edge of a crashout—you knew one wrong move could end badly.

So all you gave him was a soft smile. A warm look. A small nod.

“You’re probably right. A lot of people here aren’t looking for anything real. That’s fine, though. Not everyone has to like you, right?" You tilted your head, keeping your gaze locked with his. “Still… I think it’s sad. That most people here are so scared of being seen, they pretend to be someone else. Maybe it’s all they know.”

Rafe scoffed harshly, clearly disgusted by your worldview—or maybe by the way your words hit something inside him he didn’t want to acknowledge. “Shit, if you actually believe that, you’re fucking naive. Is that your game or something? You think that fake-ass sympathy and hippie bullshit is how you bag a guy? Go try that shit on Topper. He eats up that empathy crap.”

And even though your curiosity burned hotter now, even though your mind wanted to dig deeper, to understand the beautiful chaos that was Rafe Cameron, you also knew not to corner a wolf when it was already baring its teeth.

So you stood up slowly, your eyes still soft as they studied him. You glanced down briefly at the sink, just where the line had been.

“You want to know what I believe?” You smiled gently. “You don't need this. I mean… doesn’t it just amplify what’s already there?”

Rafe’s jaw clenched hard. He wanted to tell you to shut the fuck up. To get the fuck out of here. That you didn’t know shit. That you were just another new bitch on Figure 8 trying to feel important.

But that warmth in your eyes… That fucking look...

Something inside him twisted again. Bitter and sweet, like a memory he’d locked up and tried to forget. Something that breathed light into the darkest drawer in his soul, the one he’d stuffed full of everything about his mother he couldn’t bear to feel.

You don’t need this.

Her voice. Soft and kind. A sound he thought he’d forgotten.

Hadn’t she said something just like that once?

When he’d fought back tears in grade school after studying for nights, trying so hard to make his dad proud.

And failing anyway.

Wasn’t it the same gentle look on her face, the one she’d had when she wrapped her arms around him when he’d broken down crying?

And who the fuck did you think you were, showing up to this shitty party, calling him by that cursed name, looking at him with those damn understanding eyes, feeding him those sweet little lies?

It felt like Rose all over again. Like someone trying to force their way into his life. Only, this time, there was no outer force. Just that pressure building in his chest and throat.

But Rafe knew: if he gave into it, if he let you in, as much as every part of him ached to—you’d be the one to push him away, to laugh it off, tell some bitch at the party all about it.

Fuck that.

But before he could open his mouth, you were already moving, stepping around him toward the door, still wearing that addicting smile. “Again, I’m sorry if I said something wrong or pissed you off. I’m not trying to be nosy or anything. I just... I can’t help it, being drawn to people, you know?”

Your smile widened, and your eyes lit up with that same warmth. “See you around.”

With a soft sound, the door clicked shut behind you.

Rafe just stood there. Staring at the spot where you’d just been, a bitter emptiness washing over him. That warm little spot he hadn’t even realized had been there, not until the clouds came rolling back in, bringing a cold wind with them.

There was so much churning in him. So much fucking chaos.

He didn’t understand the thoughts or emotions you’d stirred up in him. The memories you’d unearthed of a time he thought he’d buried for good. And as much as it pissed him off, as much as it confused and infuriated him, he wanted to chase after you.

Not to open up, fuck no. Just to be seen by that gentle kindness in your eyes again.

Because for one moment, he’d seen his mother in you. For the briefest second, you’d awakened something in the little boy deep inside him. The one who’d always longed for that soft warmth and love from a gentle woman.

But as his own thoughts echoed off the bathroom walls, and his pulse hammered in his ears, Rafe shoved that stupid little boy back into the dark hole where he belonged.

He stepped up to the sink, met his own blown-out pupils in the mirror, and saw only rage. Turning the faucet all the way to cold, he splashed water on his face—once, twice, four, five times. Washing off the sweat and thoughts. Washing you away.

Fuck, who even were you to shake him like that?

He grabbed a towel, dried his face, and tossed it onto the sink. Taking a deep breath, he rubbed his nose and clung to the high from the line.

Yeah. Better.

Rafe ran a hand through his hair one last time, then left the bathroom—back to this shitty party, the shitty music, and all these shitty people.

Two guys from the country club tried to pull him into a convo. Absentmindedly, he dapped them up but quickly waved them off afterward.

His eyes scanned the room without thinking.

For you, he realized irritated. For your warmth, that soft gaze. But you were either in another room or somewhere outside.

“Yo, bro, there you are!”

Rafe turned. His heart pounding louder than the bass.

Kelce grinned, all shiny white teeth, that cocky smirk in place. He slapped Rafe on the shoulder, a drink in his other hand reeking of Jäger and Red Bull. “Where’d you run off to, dude, huh? You’re not usually this shy when I introduce you to a chick.”

Oh, Rafe wanted to deck him for that. But the thought that you might see it? What the fuck?

Rafe just scoffed, irritated, slapped Kelce’s hand away, and shrugged. “Needed a line to survive your shitty party.”

“Ayo, without me?”

“Am I your fucking boyfriend or some shit that I gotta take you everywhere?”

Kelce chuckled, amused. “Man, you’re the last person with boyfriend material.” He took a sip from his mix, eyebrows raised all innocent. “Saw Y/N chasing after you. Pussymagnet without even trying. Damn.”

For some reason, that pissed Rafe off even more.

“Don’t fuck with me, Kelce.”

The idiot raised his hands like a saint. “Yo, why so salty? Mad she refused you head? Should’ve told you, man, I mean—”

“Jesus Christ, shut the fuck up already,” Rafe cut him off, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Go annoy Topper with your bullshit.”

“He’s busy railing your sister.”

Oh, fuck that.

The image of Topper all over Sarah triggered this sick, crawling feeling in Rafe’s chest like he suddenly needed to find them—but for what exactly? The fuck was he gonna do?

Let her hook up with every guy in school. He didn’t give a shit. Maybe then his dad would finally get it: his precious little angel wasn’t all that perfect.

Rafe dragged a hand through his hair. Everything—the bass, the shrieking giggles of drunk-ass girls, the smell of sweat, alcohol, perfume, and all kinds of cologne mixing into this disgusting cocktail—it had his nerves buzzing so hard he felt like puking.

But go home? Fuck no. That’d mean facing his dad and gold digger Rose. Poor Wheezie was the only one stuck with them tonight.

She was the only good thing Rose ever brought into their lives. Baby Wheezie made him used to think they were raising another Sarah over at Tannyhill.

Yeah, she could be a pain in the ass but she was the only person in his life who actually had some fucking sense. The only one Rafe ever made space for willingly.

Shit, if he'd felt like being responsible, he might’ve brought her here tonight. But playing babysitter? Nah.

So the only reasonable option?

“Let’s dip to your dad’s office,” Rafe said. “I’m done with this fucking place.”

Kelce grinned wider. “Damn, bro, you just had your second.”

Rafe’s fingertips tingled. If Kelce wasn’t such a suck-up with the loyalty of a stupid fucking golden retriever, Rafe would’ve smacked the shit outta him a dozen times by now. But he never did. Because Kelce was the one person who didn’t make a big deal out of shit. And Rafe respected that, at least.

So he just raised a brow. “You coming or what?”

“Damn, no need to ask twice.”

And that’s how Rafe spent the next two hours: chilling with the dumbest bastard alive on the stupidly comfy office couch, snorting three, four—fuck, maybe six lines (who was counting), ranting about bitch Sarah, witch Rose, and all the fucked up people at that party.

He bounced from one topic to the next, letting Kelce throw in his dumbass commentary, laughing whenever Kelce dropped an especially embarrassing story of his own. Rafe got up, paced the office, ranting about shit even he stopped registering—just trying to drown out the fucking rush in his head.

Those thoughts. Those images of you. That smile. Your eyes. Everything.

Why Kelce stuck around and listened to his rambling instead of trying to hook up with some chick, Rafe had no clue. But honestly, what greater honor was there than being friends with Ward Cameron’s son and doing lines with him in private?

Sometime around the sixth or seventh line, Rafe’s heart was pounding so hard it felt like his skull was shaking. His mouth was dry as fuck, jaw clenched, back slick with sweat. And his hands? Jesus, he couldn’t keep them still.

He was either playing with a lighter, gesturing like a maniac, or scratching at his chin, nose, neck—fuck.

Rafe needed to do something. Anything. He didn’t know what, just knew he had this deep, itching urge in his chest. He needed to act.

He snapped his fingers, brain jumping from thought to thought, nodding at whatever dumbass story Kelce was telling—and that’s when his eyes landed on a gleaming blade mounted on the office wall. He’d never noticed it before but now it looked like a damn spotlight was shining right on it.

“Ayo, yo, yo, dude, wait, what the fuck are you doing?” Kelce stood up, cutting off his whatever-the-fuck story. “That belongs to my dad.”

But Rafe already held the katana in his hand. He let out a low, amused laugh, brushing his fingers along the surface of the blade. “Shiiit, imagine doing a line off this thing.”

The thought—fuck—it lit something in Rafe. Shit, and honestly? It kinda turned him on.

“Do whatever, bro, but I ain’t paying for your second nose,” Kelce muttered. Rafe didn’t miss the nervous edge in his voice—and yeah, that just made it all the more fun.

Grip tight, he gave the blade a little swing through the air, soaking up the way Kelce laughed nervously.

Stupid idiot, always been a kissass.

Rafe's gaze landed on the little bead of sweat on Kelce's throat. If he wanted, one clean swing would be enough to—

What the fuck.

Holy shit, what the fuck.

Rafe took a step back, deeply irritated by his mind.

Cold horror spread through his already suffocating chest.

Had he overdone it? Taken one line too many? Fuck, fuckfuckfuck, or—worse—was the high starting to fade and he was—

“Yo, dude, your nose is bleeding.”

And right on cue, a deeply unsettling feeling started creeping through Rafe’s body.

And Kelce was here. He saw him like this. Fuck, this wasn’t an overdose, right? This wasn’t an overdose? fuckfuckfuck

He had to get out. Now.

The horror started eating away at his nerves.

He dropped the katana onto the desk, ignoring Kelce’s pissed-off yelling behind him, and bolted out of the room, clumsily wiping the blood off his nose on the way out.

Out into the hallway. Music. Loud. The bass. Fuck.

Rafe winced as the vibrations tore through his skull.

He looked for the upstairs bathroom door but a bunch of girls were giggling inside.

Annoyed, he rattled the handle but the giggling just got louder.

No other choice.

Unsteady, he gripped the railing tight and made his way downstairs.

But everything down there got worse. Louder. Overwhelming. From one of the side rooms, he heard Sarah’s stupid fucking laugh, and the sound shot pure adrenaline into his bloodstream.

Fuck, if that bitch saw him like this, she’d snitch to Dad and then—fuck. Fucking hell no.

Rafe moved on instinct, pushing past some guys and annoying chicks, making it to the bathroom door and—

Fucking hell.

Locked.

His heart pounded against his skull, head foggy and somehow way too clear at the same time. Shitshitshitshit.

He started banging on the door, twisting the handle, something awful churning in his gut.

“Fuck, come on, open up!” Rafe could swear he heard his own voice echoing. He almost said please, almost begged, but bit down on his tongue instead.

The taste of blood filled his mouth.

The horror surged like cold floodwater rising.

Fuck. Fuckfuckfuck. Holy shit. If he didn’t—

You.

Two gentle eyes met his as the bathroom door opened.

“Oh dear, are you okay? You don't look so well.” Your soft, concerned voice cut right through the chaos in his head, silencing the spiraling storm all at once.

For a second, he got lost in your gaze, your eyes, the scent of your perfume—something he hadn’t even noticed the first time you met. Sweet like an unspoken promise, floral in a way that was warm and full and—

A hammer slammed into his skull. A blade through his chest. A kick to the gut.

The boy inside him—he screamed, clawed at the coffin where Rafe had buried him. Right next to his mom, beneath the peonies.

That bittersweet scent triggered something awful in his stomach, every sense overflooded and raw.

Rafe’s brain didn’t even register how his body shoved the door the rest of the way open, pushed past you, dropped to his knees in front of the toilet, hands trembling on the rim—and puked it all out.

Once. Twice. Fuck, it felt like a thousand times. All the dirt, all the pressure, spilled out of him like poison.

Somewhere far away, he heard a voice—your voice—maybe the door opened or closed or maybe both, fuck, he couldn’t tell. At some point—seconds or minutes, he had no idea—he felt a presence beside him.

He thought he felt the warmth of a hand hovering just above his sweat-soaked back. Not touching, just there. Hesitant. And without even looking, Rafe knew it was you.

It should’ve pissed him off, made him snap, made him yell at you to leave, but the only thing racing through his mind, the only thing that truly panicked him was the thought of someone else coming in. If Sarah—

“The door,” he croaked out, wiping spit from his mouth with a shaky hand.

“It’s locked. Don’t worry.”

And just hearing that in your caring voice let a small breath of calm settle somewhere deep inside him.

Then you moved away from his side, and something tugged hard in his chest. The sound of running water next to him. A second later, you were back, and that ache disappeared.

“Here,” you said, handing him a damp towel.

Rafe didn’t dare meet your eyes. Swallowing his pride, he reached out and took it, wiping first his forehead, then his mouth.

Fuck, only now did he register that sour, disgusting taste on his tongue. His throat felt like the fucking Sahara.

Face twisted in a grimace, he tried to spit the bitterness out. Water. He needed—

“Wait. Rinse with this.”

This time, Rafe looked up, saw the red cup in your hand.

This was so ridiculous. So pathetic. Him, kneeling there in front of you—a sweating, fucked-up wreck, the stench of his own vomit still hanging in the air. And the fact that you’d caught him doing a line just a few hours ago.

He had to look like a fucking junkie to you. A disaster with no control over his life. And for some reason, that was so fucking humiliating it made him want to throw up all over again.

Still, he dared to meet your eyes. He had to. He needed to see it—that warmth. Right now, he was starving for it.

And all he saw in there was pure warmth and concern. No judgment. No amusement. No disgusting pity.

And that pissed him off. Because he didn’t fucking understand it.

Rafe took the cup anyway and forced himself to look away. Rinsed his mouth once, then drank the rest of the water.

You flushed the toilet. The sound thunderous in his head but he endured it.

“Why the fuck are you doing this?” he asked, letting the cup fall beside him, still leaning over the toilet.

You bent down and filled another cup. “Being here?” There was a sweet, honest amusement in your voice.

Rafe wanted to puke again but his stomach was empty. “What the fuck do you want from me?”

Any other girl would've left him here, disgusted. Left the door open on her way out.

Why didn’t you?

You sat down on the edge of the bathtub to his left and placed the cup next to him. “Nothing, I'm here to help.”

God, and the way you said it—so honest, so genuine.

Like his dad, after shoving him into a wall and pulling him into a hug right after.

You were probably gonna blackmail him later. Threaten to tell people. Shit, maybe you were filming him right now—had your phone set up somewhere he couldn’t see.

Rafe scoffed bitterly. Drank the second cup in one go, then somehow found the strength to turn and lean back against the toilet, knees up, shaky hands hidden in his lap.

Then he looked up at you. “Don’t bullshit me. What do you want? Some shitty-ass story to tell some girls about?”

Oh, and then your face did something weird. A tiny crease formed between your brows, just enough to bring a touch of sharpness to that otherwise soft face.

“Nothing. Why do you think I’d use you for this?” you replied—and fuck, there it was again. That honesty.

A part of Rafe wanted to believe you.

“I swear to god if you go out and tell anybody about this—”

“I won’t.” That crease between your brows vanished and a small smile appeared. “I promise. I just wanted to help. Do you feel any better?”

No, Rafe wanted to say.

He could feel that terrifying emptiness creeping in after the high—whatever the fuck he had just experienced. He could feel it now. The sharp claws around his throat, the cold breath on his neck.

And your question, it triggered something awful inside him. Like a tiny stone inside him dropped that really shouldn’t have.

His brows knit together, feeling that pull in his chest, that tightness in his throat, that sting in his eyes.

He was cold. Weak. And you? You were giving him this feeling of warmth and safety, and he didn’t even fucking know you. He’d met you today, and fuck, that confused the hell out of him. This whole thing—your honesty, you, whoever you were, Kelce with his dumbass party and having invited you, Topper probably taking Sarah's virginity right now somewhere, and Rafe being here, like this, exposed, seen—and then he thought of his mom again, and that’s when it all broke loose.

“FUCK.”

Rafe shook his head, fists clenched from still-trembling hands, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his palms.

His head was full of shit and he had no idea what the fuck to do, everything was just so—

“This pisses me off,” Rafe got out, his eyes still hidden behind his fists, not even sure what he meant or why he said it. “All of this fucking bullshit.”

“I can leave if you want,” you said softly, and Rafe's head snapped up in panic when he heard you shift to get up.

“No!”

And before he could stop himself, it was already out.

Fuck.

Rafe clenched his jaw, felt like a goddamn deer in headlights. Fuckfuckfuckufkc.

Why the hell had he said that?

But you just sat back down on the edge of the tub, that understanding smile on your face, and said, “Okay. I’ll stay.”

And just like that, some of the tension in his chest loosened. Unfortunately, it also knocked loose other shit that wasn’t supposed to move.

He shook his head again, eyes fixed on some dead spot in front of him. “I'm not like this, okay? This... I’m not some fucking junkie or whatever.”

That lie to you felt worse than lying to himself, and the shame clawed at his chest. He didn’t even want to look in the mirror—he had to look like fucking hell.

“It’s okay, you don’t have to explain yourself to me,” you said, and even without looking, Rafe knew you had that soft, warm smile on your face.

He let his hands drop onto his bent knees, still shaking just a bit. “Do you actually mean all that shit you say? All that... talk?”

“I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t. What makes you think otherwise?”

And when Rafe met your eyes—feeling that warmth—he let it in. Too tired to fight back.

His face twisted a little and he shrugged, voice low and bitter. “I don’t know, it’s just—fuck, I don’t know, it’s like...” Weakly, he tapped his fingers against his temples. “Something’s not right.” Then he scoffed, almost laughing at the ridiculousness of it all. “My head... it’s like there’s all this noise. Not voices or schizophrenic shit or whatever, just...”

“Too much.”

Rafe nodded. “Like a ton of shitty music playing all at once, all at different speeds and volumes.”

“Maybe the problem isn't your head but the DJ's taste in music at this party", you replied softly.

God. That smile of yours was way too sweet, and that stupid little joke you made about Kelce came out of you so damn sweet and gentle.

It made Rafe let out something close to a laugh. “Why’d you even agree to his invite?”

It didn’t make sense. You were soft. Warm. You had this calm vibe to you. And Kelce... he was fucking Kelce. Loud. Annoying. A dumbass. You two weren’t even in the same fucking solar system.

And the thought that maybe you did like the guy, that maybe that’s why you showed up tonight... Yeah. That pissed Rafe off for reasons he couldn't quite place.

You tilted your head. “He was really welcoming on my first day. His parents too. He had so much to tell. About himself, your school, the people here, you and Topper,” you chuckled softly, “I thought he’d never shut up. But I didn’t mind. Kinda sweet, isn’t it? Having that much good stuff to say. He’s always in a good mood, has a lot of positive energy. I like that.”

Rafe’s stomach twisted.

Now he really didn’t get why you were here. With him.

“Yeah, nah. I think he’s just trying to suck up to you,” Rafe said, not even trying to hide the annoyance in his voice. “Probably thinks a few nice moves will get you into bed.”

But to his surprise, you laughed again. Honest. Genuine. And Rafe couldn’t fucking place that tingling feeling in his stomach.

“Maybe,” you said, “but to me, it seems like he just enjoys meeting new people. He seems like someone who’s got a lot to give—and enjoys doing so."

Rafe frowned. “Yeah, well, maybe ‘cause he’s afraid of ending up like some lonely-ass loser.”

“There’s nothing wrong with not wanting to be alone.”

Jesus Christ.

Rafe was starting to think you had his mom’s soul tucked inside you or something. Because this? You? Everything about you reminded him of her, in the best and most cruel way possible.

Even though every part of him wanted to get up, leave, maybe snort the seventh or eighth line of the night and forget all of this, he was too fucking tired. Too pissed off with everyone out there.

And somehow, your calmness—no matter how bitter it tasted in his mouth—somehow it brought peace to him the same way only his mom ever could.

“I don’t fucking get you,” Rafe said, tapping his finger to his temple. “Are you like... some voodoo hippie eco crystal chick who’s all about good vibes and shit, or are you just fucking oblivious to the world?”

You gave him that honey-sweet smile again, and Rafe couldn’t help but wonder how soft your lips might feel.

“It’s true,” you said. “I try to see things—people especially—in the best light. Maybe that does make me blind to some stuff.” This time, your smile was almost sad, and something in Rafe tugged, hard. “People often tell me I’ve got a savior complex. That I shouldn’t try to be so caring. It'll eat me alive someday.”

Then, for the first time that night, your voice took on a serious tone. “But I’m not stupid. I’m not blinded by what I believe. I know there’s a lot of bad out there—in the world, and in people. And yeah, I know a lot of people still think I’m naive. But I can’t change that, and that’s okay. I’m not here to change anyone. All I can do is try to broaden someone’s horizon, maybe offer a different perspective. And if just one person ends up holding the door open for another because of that, maybe that inspires the next. And if not... that’s okay too.”

Your words did something weird to Rafe.

He could practically feel that little boy inside him clawing his way up from some deep, buried grave, pushing through thick layers of rotting dirt just to catch the smallest glimmer of light, just to feel one single sunbeam of your warmth on his skin.

Fuck. That pathetic little boy—he was starving for kindness, for a gentle smile, a warm hug, compassion. Love. For someone who made him feel like he was enough.

And from this point on, Rafe had two choices:

Push that naive little asshole back down, cement the grave shut and make damn sure he never even thought about gasping for air again.

Or let him.

Let him keep digging, let him breathe in that supposed fresh air. Let him come up—just once—after all these years.

But if he did, he’d be handing you the key to a drawer that was never meant to be opened. Its wood so dry and dusty and dark, a single spark could set the whole damn room ablaze.

But hadn’t Rafe always been the kind of guy to play with fire?

“You’re not stupid,” he finally said, shaking his head with a bitter little smile, more at himself than anything else. “Shit, and anyone who says otherwise is a fucking asshole.” Myself included. He let out a dry scoff and ran a hand through his sweat-soaked hair, disgusted with himself. “I don’t know where you lived before, doesn’t fucking matter. But this place? These people? That’s a whole different breed.”

Rafe braced himself on the edge of the bathtub and sat beside you, leaving a respectful distance. “They’re fucking sharks, okay? Just waiting for someone like you to get tossed in as bait. Fake-ass girls acting like they’re your bestie one minute and turning you into fucking gossip the next, or I don't know—some piece of shit guy who sees your kindness as an open invite to get you laid.”

You simply listened, brows slightly raised, your face calm. Then, for the first time, you looked away—something uncertain stirring beneath your composed exterior.

“This strong two-class thing here... you guys call it Kooks and Pogues, right? I noticed something was different here. I’ll admit it confuses me,” you said, your gaze finally finding him again. “But maybe I just need some time to understand it. The rivalry.”

A soft little chuckle left your lips. “It's kinda funny. Earlier, I was talking to a guy from one of your country clubs. We talked about this whole thing and I just said a Pogue isn’t really that different from a Kook, like—at the end of the day, we’re all just people, right? And the way he looked at me... I believe I’ve never been stared down like that in my life.”

And even though you said it so genuinely amused and lightheartedly, that sweet chuckle escaping your lips—

FUCK.

Something snapped in Rafe. Like he wanted to punch every single person who'd ever dared to look at you sideways.

And that fucking guy…

Rafe wouldn’t even eat at the same table as a Pogue himself, but fuck if he didn’t want to hunt this bastard down right now.

“But that’s okay,” you said, before Rafe could ask who this motherfucker was. “Some people just can’t be reached. That’s how it is.”

How could you carry that much understanding, that much warmth in you?

If Rafe didn’t know better, he’d think you were some kind of angel. A hallucination. Fuck, maybe he was still passed out on Kelce’s office floor with an overdose and this was some pre-death type shit.

But a knock on the door yanked him back into… fuck, he didn’t even know. He hadn’t realized he’d completely tuned out the party.

“Ayo, Rafe? You in there? You dead?”

Kelce.

This fucking idiot always had to stick his nose up shit. Especially Rafe's.

“What do you want?” Rafe called back, voice sharp.

Silence. Then: “You takin’ a shit?”

Rafe pulled a face, while you just let out a soft little chuckle beside him.

“Me and Markus still need two beer pong players, and you’re the only one who can land a damn shot,” Kelce continued. “Or you found someone to give you head in there?”

FUCK. What was happening? Rafe felt fucking heat in his cheeks.

“I’d love to join you,” you said quietly beside him. “If you also want to.”

And when Rafe looked at you, that sweet, innocent little smile almost tricked him into thinking you were just some clueless girl after all, looking for a good time. He nearly said, 'Down for what? Blowjob or beer pong?'—but holy fucking shit, he'd rather bite his damn tongue off than think of you like that one more time, even for a second.

And in just a few hours you'd proven him wrong. Shit, he even could’ve stayed right here with you forever. Drink in your warmth, gaze at your beautiful eyes and lips. But if you wanted to leave this room, then fuck, he was walking out with you.

Also, no way he’d let shitface Kelce catch him in here like some crying little loser.

So the only thing he shouted back was: “Five minutes.”

Whatever nasty, godless comment Kelce threw back, Rafe didn’t hear a word of it. Because all he could think about was the way you just chuckled, soft and sweet like you hadn't just been the target of some filthy joke made by the most annoying bastard on this planet.

And in that moment, Rafe realized, you were the only person at this fucking party whose presence he actually wanted by his side tonight.

And even though you lived barely ten meters away from Kelce, Rafe would damn well make sure you got home safe. He wouldn't be leaving until your front door had clicked shut behind you.

Then, he’d head back to the party and find that fucking country club motherfucker who'd dared to give you mean glances earlier because of the Kook vs Pogue topic.

If Rafe was in a good mood, he wouldn’t hit him that hard.

And tonight, thanks to you, he was.

So that asshole better fall to his fucking knees and say one hell of a thank you. Because you just might be the reason, he’d still have a jaw left to do it.

♡ A / N ♡

if you made it to to this point, thank you sm for taking the time and reading this. somehow i feel more self-conscious about this than the smut i wrote but i hope you enjoyed this (not so) little writing. and i'd LOVE to know what you think about it <3

M A S T E R L I S T | T A G L I S T F O R M | P A R T T W O (soon)

if your name is listed here, it's because you chose this genre on my taglist form. if you want to be removed, just fill out the form again. @my-name-is-baby @c1gsafterwhat @lunaleah @skinthatgodmade @akobx @drewstarkeyswife-7 @miaaaoa @kathryn-maraudersversion @setmefreemyg @brycesfav @emmiesummers @sfotiegiuls @jjasmiineee @ayy1234567 @rgeraldg @stanseventeen @drewstarkeysrealwife

[nativegirltapes]

how the !readers got asked to be drew/rafe’s valentine ♡

notes: scrounging this up bc i’m lacking valentine’s day content :( hopefully you guys like it! also introducing a new pairing kinda…. it’s basically just the pairing from my older toxic!rafe works i posted when i first started this account but i want to bring them back! not proofread ..

angel!reader + drew — drew can’t just ask you to be his valentine, there’s always gifts involved. “i got you something.” drew said the minute you hopped in his car. it was pink and white box with red ribbon, you looked at him with a huge smile on your face, just wondering what it could be. it was the new victoria secret set and underwear you’d really been wanting with a hand written love letter and the question ‘can i be your valentine this year?’ written at the end, of course with ‘XOXO your drew’.

tp!mom!reader + drew — drew isn’t only asking you, but he’s asking baby too. it’s a few days before valentine’s day; you and baby had plans at your friends house and when you guys come home drew is stood there with all you and baby’s favorite snacks and a big paper sign with ‘be my valentine?’ written across it. it’s simple, but you love it, you’ve never been asked to be anyone’s valentine before so you feel special and sooo loved. he even got baby a little teddy bear. baby isn’t really exactly sure what’s going on but she’s got the biggest grin on her face.

sweetheart!reader + drew — they’re a little more tame …. it’s not extravagant or anything, but you feel so loved and seen. drew doesn’t go all out, but it’s still cute. it’s exactly a week before Valentine’s Day and you were heading into your crafting room, where you found a mess you didn’t remember making. but the closer you got you seen paper cutouts of letters that read ‘be my valentine?’ your jaw literally drops, “drew!” you yell, but he’s already standing in the doorway. you jump in his arms “yes!”

wag!reader + basketballplayer!drew — drew’s got the average fuck boy proposal; asking you with a big sign and rose petals on his bed. you love it though, you two have come a long way. in previous valentines he wouldn’t even talk to you during the week of valentines, afraid that maybe you’d expect something romantic from him. but this year he’s beyond excited to ask you, he was even bragging to his teammates about you.

bisexual!reader + rafe — rafe doesn’t really ask you to be his valentine. it’s moreso just an agreement to hang out on the day of valentines. “you got plans on the 14th?” rafe asked, hoping you’d say no, and you did. “no, you?” you shut your phone off, you were both quietly doing your own thing while scrolling on your phones, weirdly tangled in with each others bodies; basically cuddling but neither of you ever called it that “no. you tryna come over then?” rafe asked. “yeah.”

bubbly!kook!reader + toxic!rafe — valentine’s day is always a rough time of year for you and rafe, simply because he’s always all over the place and you never know where your relationship stands. some years he’s absolutely head over heels for you, and then there’s some years where you haven’t even talked in weeks. but he shows up to your house with flowers and a bag of your favorite chips. “be my valentine?” he asks, you know you shouldn’t let him back into your life but you physically can’t stop yourself. you run into his arms and hug him, “yes rafey!”

[rafesslxt]

welcome – sweetheart!kook!reader

sweetheart!kook!reader who is about 20 years old when she comes from New York to outer banks, studying interior design and marketing.

sweetheart!kook!reader who only lives in obx during her holidays. As a birthday present, her parents got her, her own house on figure eight because she just loves the sun and the beach. They were there once on a little family vacay and since then she couldn't stop talking and thinking about the people and nature on it. And since she's the perfect daughter, she deserves anything.

sweetheart!kook!reader who is a real sweetheart to anyone and doesn't really has any problems with finding new friends. She's pretty fast aware of the pogue and kook thing, but try's to stay away from all of the drama there comes with it. Even tho she‘s a kook sweetheart!kook!reader chooses her friends by heart. Which is the reason why she got along with Sarah and Kiara at first when moved here.

sweetheart!kook!reader who loves animals and would love to buy a dog but knows that she can't because when she moves to college again after the holidays, she can't take it with her.

sweetheart!kook!reader who will do anything to reach her dreams. Working hard and stays motivated.

— post's —

Rafe Cameron

agony - coming soon

JJ Maybank

coming soon

[honeymoonrafe]

[ladielovette]

MASTERLIST

eventually it'll just be linked to the # but for now it's the intros for everyone besides cowgirl!reader

au's

meanlooking!sweetie

cowgirl!reader

spoiled!sweetheart

- other intro

clumsy pogue

- to be written

characters

SAM MONROE

- to be written

POPE HEYWARD

- to be written

JJ MAYBANK

- to be written

JOHN B ROUTLEDGE

- to be written

RAFE CAMERON

- to be written

ANAKIN SKYWALKER

- to be written

divider creds:

@dollywons

[rafescherie]

: ¨·.·¨ : `· . — KOOK!SWEETHEART!READER

KOOK!SWEETHEART!READER who is incredibly inexperienced & naive, easy to manipulate. choosing to keep a blind eye to the bad influences around her, nose deep within her school work or a cozy book, she has absolutely no second thought in the world when it comes to partaking in dangerous activities — monkey see, monkey do.

KOOK!SWEETHEART!READER who collects pretty flowers on the side of the road. she’ll stop everything she’s doing to crouch and pet the little stray kitty on the street. she collects animal themed stuffies and has hundreds littered over her bed. perfecting the art of doodling animals on all her school notes, she finds it heartwarming whenever someone sends her a cute animal picture and labels it 'this made me think of you'.

KOOK!SWEETHEART!READER who’s extremely clingy & needy. she’ll drop everything just to hang out with the ones she adores. rafe makes fun of her for it all the time — always sticking to his side, ready to go anywhere he goes. the dusted blush that floods her flustered face makes all the teasing worth it in the end.

KOOK!SWEETHEART!READER too sweet for her own good — kind to everyone, no matter the status. luckily, rafe is always there to help guide her and lend the way, what would she do without him?

bad reviews by sabrina carpenter now playing...

works including kook!sweetheart!reader

˖ ݁ 𖥔. bbf!rafe decides to lend you a helping hand relieving the stress of college. 18+

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ salt in the sugar bowl (mini-series) — pogue!rafe decides to end things before either of you get too attached — but it's already passed that point, for the both of you.

[nemesyaaa]

kook! sweetheart! reader PLSS I LOVE THIS SO MUCH ??

own lignerie line 👀 Rafe is lucky. yes she's volunteer ! i know she's like scouting

SHE'S SO FINE !! her core is really sweet, she's like a porcelain pretty princess

…INTRODUCING KOOK!SWEETHEART!READER

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹🍨♡

kook!sweetheart!reader is thee most fashionable girly in the obx and has her own lingerie line. along with scrapbooking, she loves to journal. carries a digital camera with her everywhere she goes. diy queen, she loves to make her own accessories. always donating to charity and offering a helping hand. values quality time with those that she loves.

kook!sweetheart!reader is definitely a secret girlblogger. gives the best advice, she’s like the wise older sister. ‘princess of figure eight’ is what everyone refers to her as. takes the best selfies, and has everyone drooling over her pics (especially rafe). even though she’s a sweetheart, she doesn’t let anyone walk all over her, and isn’t scared to defend herself.

kook!sweetheart!reader is a pink pilates princess, lululemon sets and all. she’s a socialite! you’ll catch her at every single event that’s thrown on figure eight. definitely admired by many, home and afar. it girl. her favorite top is a baby tee that says ‘stargirl’ in pink script. you will never catch her without her hair and makeup done.

[kill-carsons-wifey]

｡ﾟ☆ Navigation ౨ৎ

About me: ౨ৎ˚ Aloni ᠀°, she/her, virgo, American, booktok girly, nerd, let's be friends 📚

Dark Themes

Masterlist

A Dangerous Secret SMAU Masterlist

recent work- A Dangerous Secret Chapter 3

This post format was inspired by @rafesbuzzcutseason

[itneverendshere]

hey hun, idk if you taking any request but maybe you can make something about this. so you know sombr just released his song 'we never dated' and i was thinking if you can write something based on the song with rafe × reader, love you💖

a lil something i put together during my lunch break, enjoy 💘

he’s drunk again, the thinking-about-you kind.

his head tilts against the seat of the truck he hasn't driven in months, still parked in the beach house garage, waiting for something that’ll never come back.

rafe taps the red solo cup against his lip and closes his eyes.

it’s that song, the one wheezie showed him earlier, and he'd pretended to hate immediately.

"how come we never even dated but i still find myself thinking of you daily? why do you always leave me achin' when you were never mine for the takin'?"

rafe’s never wanted to punch a radio more.

it’s true, all of it. you never dated, but he loved you. that was the worst kind of heartbreak; he couldn't claim anything real, be angry or bitter or jealous. he couldn't point a finger in your direction and accuse you of breaking him because you never belonged to each other.

he never had the right.

you've always been too shiny for him. inherently good. more than a pretty face — though, yeah, you were that too and more.

rafe knew it before anyone else ever said it.

he knew you when you were still the skittish girl with lipgloss always smoothed over your mouth and that light blue cashmere sweater you wore every third thursday like clockwork.

you were sweet, but not naïve, you grew up learning how to smile through kook parents’ cocktail parties and could tell when a guy was trying to flirt or manipulate you in under three seconds.

rafe cameron wasn’t slick enough for you. he just happened to be there, at the right time, in the right places, saying the wrong things and hoping you'd want him anyway.

you did.

god, you did.

one summer, two friends who weren’t friends yet, thrown together because their parents played nice at yacht club dinners and pretended that the pogues didn’t matter as long as their kids stayed clean and polished.

you'd asked him once, on the beach at sunset, when everyone else was passed out or making out or passed out making out, why he always looked so angry.

rafe had blinked, caught off guard by your astuteness, replied with something stupid like, “m'not angry. don’t like people.”

you had smiled, close-lipped. “you seem to like me though.”

he hadn’t said anything, but you were right. he did, even when he shouldn’t have. especially when he shouldn’t have.

it got worse in senior year.

that was when he started noticing the finality of it. you were still walking around in ballet flats and sundresses and raising your hand first in ap lit — but it was all coming to an end, wasn't it? the idea of a you and him, the fantasy.

you were going places. real ones, far-far away, with brick libraries and stone archways and out-of-state dorms. you had a list, and rafe wasn’t on it.

he saw it coming the day you mentioned early decision.

“i’m thinking of brown,” you had confessed in a dreamy tone, chewing the end of your straw.

rafe had nodded, tossing a pebble across the dock water. “yeah?”

“you think I could get in?”

you could get into heaven if you asked nicely. instead, he shrugged again.

“duh.”

you laughed, that hiccup laugh that always made his stomach drop to the pits of hell, and leaned into his side for a second, enough to make him want more. that was the problem.

he always wanted more. of your voice, your time, skin against his. more jokes, more silence, more anything you’d give him. you were meant to leave and he was stuck in this fucking awful place, barely making it out of high school.

people talked about you two, always did.

assumed you were together, and he pathetically let them think what they wanted because it was easier than the truth: he was a guy in love with a girl he never kissed, too scared to try and pull you down with him.

rafe watched you date other people. preppy kooks with clean sneakers and trust funds and internships. it didn’t matter, it made sense, even when he drove past your house a little slower after those dates.

he always looked at you longer the next morning when you sat across from him in the café. sometimes, he swore you looked back.

the party your parents decided to put together that fateful night for you was too loud, or rafe simply grew to resent the sound of other people being happy.

he stood by the railing on the second-floor landing, a typical red solo cup warm in his hand, watching the celebration spiral out under the candle lights below. your backyard had been transformed, long tables dressed in linen, picture boards of you growing up, a cake with congratulations, brown university! piped in frosted gold, and people everywhere, drunk off champagne and privilege.

he hated it.

he'd been gawking at you laughing under those lights. you wore white tonight, tailored pants and some shimmery top that sparkled when you moved. your hair was half up, the way he always liked it.

you were leaving in two days. earlier than expected. the early admission program at brown, your parents were ecstatic, toasting to the future with rosé wine and proud tears.

rafe only found out three days ago, from wheezie, who overheard your mom on the phone ordering dorm essentials to be shipped ahead of time.

he didn’t possess the energy to be surprised.

that this was it, the last night. the last time he’d maybe ever see you outside of random instagram posts and christmas visits. the final hour of whatever not-thing they were.

you never promised him anything, and he had nothing to offer. only half-mumbled jokes and every piece of his heart that he tried not to hand over, one by one, every time you looked at him like he mattered.

he was drunk again.

he couldn’t say goodbye properly, or force himself to go down there and hug you like a normal person. couldn’t say, “i'm happy for you,” without gagging on the bitterness in his throat.

he did what he always did.

avoided the situation.

he was mad you were leaving, leaving earlier. you didn’t give him time to work up the courage to spit out the truth once and for all.

his legs carried him toward the kitchen, eyes on the floor, shoulders hunched.

“rafe.”

you voice was always soft with him.

you stood there in the hallway. fuck, you looked so pretty, unfairly so.

summer and home and everything he didn’t get to keep.

“i was wondering if you were gonna hide all night."

"wasn’t hiding.”

you raised a skeptical eyebrow. “right.”

rafe looked away first, he always did with you. you made him stupidly nervous, still.

"you’re mad.”

“’m not.”

“you’re mad i’m leaving.”

he scoffed. “you were always gonna leave. what’s the point in being mad about it now?”

your expression faltered, rafe hated himself for it.

“i thought… you’d at least say goodbye,” you whispered.

"didn’t think you’d notice if I didn’t.”

“rafe.”

he took a step back. he had to, orr he’d grab your hand and beg you to stay and make a fucking fool of himself.

“i can’t do this tonight,” he mumbled. “go back to your party, yeah?ivy league’s waiting.”

“wait a minute—”

“have fun up there, alright?”

perhaps, if he hadn't been too tipsy, he would've spotted the same ache in your eyes that was bleeding through his.

your jaw clenched, that twitch he caught when you were trying not to cry. shit, that was gonna fuck him up later. that look.

“you’re being such an asshole,” you bit out, quietly.

he huffed a laugh that wasn’t amused. “yeah. guess ’m just playing my part, huh?”

you blinked. “what does that even mean?”

“you—” he started, then cut himself off. shook his head. “you’re actin’ like this is some big surprise. you were always gonna choose that life. brown. new friends. better everything. that was the plan, right?”

“i never said that,” you shot back, voice trembling now.

you were all dolled up in a way he hadn’t seen before, sparkly earrings catching the kitchen light. you didn’t look like the girl he used to skip class with and lie on the pier beside.

but you were.

“you made your choice, didn’t you?” he muttered. “early program. gone before the summer’s even over.”

“i earned it, rafe. because i worked for it—”

“and what about me?” he snapped, suddenly. voice louder than either of you expected. “i bust my ass tryin’ to graduate with you. and you couldn't tell me this? i did it—for what? so you could feel sorry for me on your way out?”

that was new low. he regretted it the second he said it.

“that’s not fair."

“yeah? neither is you leavin’ me here and expectin’ me to clap for you.”

“i never asked you to wait for me,” you were pleading now, not accusing. “i never asked you to do any of that.”

“i know, god, i know,” rafe snapped. “that’s the problem. you never looked back, did you? not once.”

“that’s not true.”

“isn’t it?”

your hands curled against your outfit, wrinkling the fabric.

“i care about you."

he let out a breath through his nose, humorless.

“yeah?” he muttered. “i love you.”

real. pathetic, even. the most honest thing he’s ever said in his life.

your lips parted but he intervined before you could salvage his reputation.

“still not enough reason for you to stay, is it?”

your breath hitched, your eyes went wide. you weren’t expecting him to say it. the possibility had lived in the space between you two for so long, you thought it'd stay silent forever.

he had too. now it was out there, and you didn’t say it back.

“that’s what I thought,” he said, voice flat now.

you looked like you were about to cry. rafe looked like he already had.

“why are you doing this now?” your voice trembled with confusion. “i’m not leaving forever!"

you meant it, you thought a couple thousand miles and a new life wouldn’t erase this not-thing, wouldn’t bury him beneath everything you’d go off and become.

rafe, despite his many flaws, wasn’t stupid. hope wasn't a luxury he could afford.

he laughed, more of a breath than anything real.

“you might as well be.”

your brows pulled together. “what—”

“i never want to see you again,” he ripped the bandage off, even though it hurt more. “okay? just—just go. go to your early program, to your dorm, to your perfect fucking life with your perfect fucking people, and let me get over you in peace.”

your face twisted, the pain blooming across.

“you don’t mean that.”

“don’t i?” he snapped, stepping backward before he got close again, and broke completely. “what’s left of this, huh?”

he could only hear your shaky breath and the sound of someone laughing downstairs.

"so yeah, do me a favor — don’t text me when you miss home. don’t check in. don’t come back here thinking everything’s the same.”

you blinked, tears building in your lashes.

“rafe…”

he looked away, couldn’t watch you cry and still walk out of his life.

you can’t miss someone you never had, right? the only thing he had were his regrets.

[edwardslvrr]

RECOMMENDATIONS 𝜗𝜚 rafe cameron

HEARTBREAK: LIVE ⵌ @zyafics SMAU

⤷ Ex-bf!Rafe x Radio Host!FemaleReader | college au, footballplayer!rafe au

RED FERRARI CHASE ⵌ @zyafics SMAU & IRL

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LOVE YOU GOODBYE ⵌ @kissylec SMAU

⤷ rafe cameron x pogue!reader | forbidden love

LOVE ISLAND ⵌ @drewsephrry IRL

⤷ rafe cameron x fem!reader | reality show au

MANEATER ⵌ @bambiangels SMAU

⤷ tennis player!rafe cameron x tennis rival!reader

BELONG TO YOU ⵌ @rafeslvttygirl IRL

⤷ bsfbrother!rafe x fem!reader

LACHESISM ⵌ @rafeysbangs IRL

⤷ brother's!bestfriend!rafe x kook!female!reader

REDAMANCY ⵌ @lynnieverse SMAU

⤷ bsf!rafe cameron x silly!reader

BAD IDEA RIGHT? ⵌ @lynnieverse SMAU

⤷ rafe cameron x pogue!reader

LATE NIGHT TALKING ⵌ @lynnieverse SMAU

⤷ wrongnumber!rafe cameron x pogue!reader

WHO'RE WE TO FIGHT THE ALCHEMY? ⵌ @lynnieverse SMAU

⤷ footballplayer!rafe cameron x bookish!reader

I LOVE YOU I'M SORRY ⵌ @drewstarkeyluvbot SMAU

⤷ rafe cameron x kook!reader

PARTNERS IN LIES ⵌ @allertonhoe SMAU

⤷ model!rafe cameron x actress!reader

BAR DOWN ⵌ @rafescvntyclubgf SMAU

⤷ nhl!rafe cameron x popstar!reader

TROPHY WIFE ⵌ @rafesbabygirlx SMAU

⤷ baseballplayer!rafe cameron x trophywife!reader

CRIMINAL LOVE ⵌ @maybejj SMAU

⤷ rafe cameron x college!reader

NEWTON'S LAW ⵌ @bradshawed SMAU

⤷ F1!rafe cameron x reporter!reader

[ordinary-barbie]

warm enough for you outside, baby (tell me if it's warm enough here for you)

summary: Rafe is sick of watching you hopelessly pine for another guy, so he decides to take matters into his own hands.

word count: 2.2k

tags: mean!rafe, rafe is lowkey jealous, unrequited love, enemies (sort of) to lovers, pet names (princess, baby, sweetheart), au where jj is a kook, jj x kiara mentions, everyone is about 21 here, unprotected p in v, oral (fem receiving), fingering, mention of reader having periods, insecure!reader, creampie

note: title comes from Drew Barrymore by SZA!

Smut incoming under the cut—18+ only! Minors DNI!

You honestly made Rafe sick.

Every party, it was the same shit: you'd follow Jackson Genrette like a puppy, lapping up any crumbs of attention he gave you. Rafe thought things would be different once JJ started dating Kiara Carrera, but somehow, you got even worse. You'd show up to parties with friends but send him longing looks the entire time, as if Genrette could read your mind and run into your arms.

Rafe clenched his jaw as he watched you watching JJ and Kiara. The two of them were cuddled on the couch, Kiara's head thrown back in laughter as JJ whispered something into her ear. Did you seriously not see how pathetic it was to pine over someone interested in somebody else?

Rafe got up, ignoring the eager looks other Kook girls were sending him, and sidled up to you. You had absconded to an abandoned living room corner, gripping a cup of punch in your hand as you stared longingly at your crush and his girlfriend.

"You know he's never gonna look at you like that, right?" Rafe blurted, startling you. You turned to Rafe, frowning.

"You don't know what you're talking about," you muttered, trying to keep your composure.

Rafe snorted. "Princess, come on. You've been giving him the same 'fuck me' puppy dog eyes since high school. Just face it—he's not into you."

You huffed, scowling at Rafe. "You're such an asshole."

"So I've been told," Rafe replied, smirking at you.

"I honestly don't know why I can't get over him," you admitted, your lip wobbling. "He's just so...nice. And funny. It hurts that he only sees me as a friend."

Rafe couldn't help but feel a little bad for you, but a bigger part of him was so done with the moping over fucking Genrette of all people. Not like he was doing the same towards you, yearning from afar. That was totally different, obviously.

"Well, you know what they say—the best way to get over someone is to get under someone else," Rafe casually replied, his grin turning downright lecherous. You gulped, that smile sending a bolt of lightning straight to your core.

You rolled your eyes. "What are you even talking about, Cameron?"

Rafe chuckled. "I mean, why waste your time simping over Genrette when you have other options?"

You froze, not knowing what to say. Was Rafe Cameron, of all people, offering to hook up with you?

"If this is some weird pity fuck, you can forget it," you snapped. "I don't need you feeling sorry for me."

Rafe's smile grew lopsided. "Is it really that unbelievable that I would want to hook up with you, princess?"

You shrugged, fixing Rafe with a deadpan stare. "A little bit, yeah."

Rafe tsked at you, shaking his head. "You've been spending so much time making goo-goo eyes at him that you can't even see what's right in front of you, huh?"

He moved closer to you, brushing his lips against your ear. "Let me make you feel good," he murmured.

Your heart was racing. You got a whiff of his scent—an earthy, musky scent that made you want to bury your head in the side of his neck and inhale. You thought Rafe was cute—he may be a bit of a prick, but you had eyes, after all—but never would've imagined talking to him, let alone being with him in that way.

Fuck it. The boy you'd been crushing on since ninth grade would never return your affections, and at least Rafe was showing you some interest. You quickly downed your punch, letting the red solo cup drop to the ground with a thud.

"Make me feel good then," you said breathily, staring deeply into Rafe's eyes.

Rafe let out a low groan. "You're fuckin' killing me, sweetheart," he mumbled, before grabbing your hand and quickly leading you up the stairs of whatever Kook's house this was.

-

Rafe found a random room and kicked the door open before quickly locking it behind you. You wanted to look at the decor, but Rafe's lips were on yours before you could scope out the place. You supposed it didn't matter anyway, since Rafe would have you buried into the mattress soon enough.

You looped your arms around Rafe's neck, timidly kissing him back. You hadn't had much kissing experience besides the odd game of Truth or Dare or Seven Minutes in Heaven at a party, so you were a tad nervous. But then Rafe lightly bit your lip, enjoying your soft moan before sliding his tongue inside, and you found yourself passionately kissing him back.

"Take this off. Now," Rafe commanded, tugging at the hem of your blue sundress. You readily obliged, stripping down to just your underwear.

Rafe looked at you hungrily, eyeing your chest. "Fuckin perfect," he rasped. "Can't believe you've been hiding these tits from me."

He easily picked you up and threw you on the bed, shedding himself of his clothes save for his Calvin Klein boxers. Rafe climbed on top of you, burying his face in your chest and nipping at your breasts. You whimpered, which seemed to spur him on more as he soothed the bites with kisses.

He continued leaving a trail of kisses down your body until he reached your thighs. "Open up for me, princess," he murmured, running his fingers down your legs.

You tried to protest. "Rafe, I haven't shaved—"

"I don't give a shit. Lemme eat you out," Rafe demanded, his pupils blown out with lust.

You complied, spreading your legs open for Rafe. He pushed your panties to the side easily settled into his new position between your thighs, diving into your cunt like a starved man. He wrapped his lips around your clit, sucking it with a fervor that made you loudly gasp, bucking your hips.

"You're not going anywhere, sweetheart—you taste too fuckin good," Rafe mumbled, pinning your hips down with both hands. He flattened his tongue, lapping at your folds before lazily licking your clit. You whined, feeling a white-hot pressure down in your gut.

You felt Rafe's smirk against your inner thighs. "Gonna cum for me already?"

"Uh huh," you mumbled, too caught up in your pleasure to form a coherent response.

Rafe slid one of his hands down to your clit, pressing down on it and rubbing circles on it with your thumb. You moaned, arching your back off the bed and clenching your thighs around Rafe's head as you came undone for him.

Rafe removed himself from your cunt and sat back, licking his lips. "Goddamn, baby. Genrette is a fucking moron to miss out on this."

You looked up at Rafe, your eyes instantly drawn to the straining erection in his black briefs. "See something you like?" he asked cockily.

Your cheeks grew warm. "I mean—I guess so," you bashfully replied

Rafe chuckled lowly. "You're so shy, princess. It's adorable."

You rolled your eyes. "Just—are you gonna fuck me or what?" you grumbled, your core throbbing with pent-up frustration.

Rafe's grin was devilish. "All you had to do was ask, baby."

He tossed his briefs to the side, revealing his thick, throbbing cock, its tip flushed an angry red. Your mouth went dry as you gaped at Rafe, just in awe of how a dick could be so...pretty.

"Fuck, I gotta see where Chase keeps the condoms," Rafe said, dragging a hand over his face.

"No need—I'm on the pill," you said, smiling shyly.

"Oh shit, are you actually getting some? Maybe you're more of a freak than I thought," Rafe teased, his dick twitching at your confession.

"It's to help regulate my periods, you perv," you said sharply. "Unfortunately, I'm still a sad little virgin."

Rafe's cheeks turned pink. "'m sorry, I didn't mean to come off like an asshole," he mumbled, sounding contrite.

"I just always imagined he'd be my first. That's pathetic, I know," you admitted, laughing bitterly. "When we were, like, fifteen, he and I made this dumb pact that if we were both still virgins by the time we graduated, then we'd sleep together. Obviously, that didn't happen."

Rafe's jaw ticked. He'd never been Genrette’s biggest fan, but you'd given him even more reasons to dislike the guy. You were sweet and sarcastic and beautiful—how could he not see this? How could he casually offer to take your virginity, not realizing that you'd given your entire heart to him?

"Gonna fuck you so good, you forget his name," Rafe growled, pushing himself inside of you. You moaned, enjoying the feeling of his cock inside you, stretching you out.

Rafe began thrusting into you, brushing up against your clit with his tip and setting every nerve in your body alight. "Fuck, Rafe—feels so good," you gasped.

Rafe lifted up one of your legs and put it atop his shoulder, allowing himself to plow even deeper into you. You mewled, feeling his tip all the way in your cervix. Your body tingled, legs trembling, and you came apart for Rafe again, creaming all over his cock.

Rafe pulled out, panting, his eyes fiery with desire. "Turn around for me and show me that ass," he ordered. You rolled over on your stomach and he hummed appreciatively, smacking your butt. "Fuck. You're like a work of art."

Your cheeks grew warm again; you were still unused to being desired like this. In the past, JJ had told you you looked nice, and you'd held on to those casual comments like they were love letters. But Rafe? He gazed at you as if you were Aphrodite, ready and willing to worship at the goddess's altar. You knew you didn't need a guy's validation, but damn if Rafe didn't make you feel beautiful right now.

Rafe slid back into you, fucking you faster, and grunted when your pussy tightened around him. "You're so fuckin tight and wet for me, princess. i love this sweet little pussy."

Rafe gripped your hips, his cock throbbing inside of you. "Gonna cum," he warned. "You ready for me to fill you up, baby?"

You clenched around him again, and Rafe chuckled. "Oh, you like that, yeah? Such a good girl for me."

Rafe let out another grunt as he released inside of you, ropes of his hot cum filling your pussy. Rafe pulled out slowly, admiring the way his creampie was leaking out of you.

You and Rafe lay next to each other, your chests heaving as you recovered. "Hey—thanks," you shyly said to him.

"For what?" Rafe asked, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you to his chest.

"For the sex, of course," you joked, causing Rafe to snort. "But also for breaking that spell over me. I wasted so much time pining over someone who never saw me as more than someone to play Mario Kart with."

Rafe kissed your collarbone. "He's an idiot," he mumbled. "But I'm actually glad. Because it meant I finally got to do this."

You laughed, beaming at Rafe. "Rafe Cameron. Do you have a crush on me?"

Rafe lifted his head up, his ears flushing bright red. "Shut up. Maybe I do, alright? It's not a big deal."

You looked at Rafe fondly. "You're kinda cute. I guess I'll keep you around."

Rafe lazily smirked at you. "I'm all yours, baby."

You got up to clean yourself, but Rafe grabbed you by the waist. "Where d'ya think you're going, huh?"

"Gonna clean off all this cum, thanks to you," you quipped.

Rafe’s mouth curled into a smug grin. “Nah, put on your panties and keep it inside of you for the rest of the night. Want you to remember who you belong to.”

You shivered, weirdly loving his possessiveness right now. You got off the bed and pulled your underwear back on, moaning a little at his sticky cum in your panties. The thought of walking around all night, still stuffed with his load, made your pussy throb.

“Now, cmon,” Rafe said, jumping to his feet and putting his clothes back on. “Get dressed—there’s a whole party out there we’re missing.”

[amandabbbbb]

summary: rafe who protects maybank!reader from luke bc jj is too busy finding gold to protect his sister

tw: parental abuse, mention of drugs, rafes sweet but kinda demanding

word count: 526

you covered a shift working at the wreck because kie could never be bothered to take a shift at her dad’s restaurant, too busy running around the island trying to find whatever gold bullshit that john b has got your brother’s friends and him hung up on. you call jj, overwhelmed from the morning of dealing with your father luke’s fit of rage.

“are you gonna be home tonight? dad just bought a bunch of drugs from barry’s and i don’t want to be alone. i’m scared.”

“sis, you know i love ya, but do you want our lives to get better or not? i’m tryna get us out of this hell, alright? so just stay in your room and don’t come out. love ya, bye.”

he hung up before you could squeeze in another cry for help. just as your salty tears fall, rafe cameron motions you over to give him his bill. you wipe your tears away and give him the fakest smile. he orders you to sit in the opposite empty chair.

“are you alright, sweetheart? i heard that. you know, i know your dad’s a druggie dick. i’ve seen him at barry’s. I gotta get you out of that house. i see your bruises. you know all that makeup doesn’t cover it.” he grabs your arm and rolls up your sleeve, showing your bruise from your father. you, flustered, pull away as his tone was demanding.

before you could even respond, kie’s words ring in your ears: “rafe cameron wouldn’t be caught dead eating here, especially alone. he usually spends his time at the country club. to a kook like him, the wreck is a dump. but ever since you started working there, he always sits at the same table almost every day, staring at you your whole shift, and if you aren’t his waitress, he makes a huge fuss. he’s so sweet to you, always.”

“rafe, really, i’m alright. don’t worry about me.”

“stay at mine tonight, y/n. i’ll take care of you.” he sets 1000 dollars down on the table. he usually gives you a 100 or 200 dollar tip but never this much. you barely know rafe.

“rafe, no. i can’t take this. i don’t even know… uh, uh, rafe, i can’t.”

“stop mumbling and take it. your dad spends all his money on drugs and your brother’s too goddamn worried about god knows what to even be home to take care of you. so i’m going to man up and protect you, okay? so shut up.”

that night after your shift, you stay at rafe’s house. he lets you stay in sarah’s room since the camerons are away. for the first time in ages, you finally relax, safe from your abusive father. you fall asleep almost instantly, exhausted from the stress. rafe makes sure you’re comfortable, checking on you throughout the night. when you wake up in the morning, you find a note and breakfast waiting for you. the note reads:

“good morning, sweetheart. had to run some errands. i know we’re very different but i know what you’re going through. stay as long as you need. you’re safe here. - rafe.”