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itneverendshere · 29 days

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erase all of my memories without you - rafe cameron.

part 2 of can't remember anything before you.

pairing: rafe cameron x thornton!reader; brother's best friend! trope or best friend's sister! trope lmao; fem!reader.

word count: a lot??

WARNINGS: boyfriend!rafe <3; rafe being the biggest lover boy; tooth-rotting fluff if im being honest; topper's a dick but just for a sec; rafe is down bad; so cute.

“rafe, i told you, no hickeys!”

“can you blame me?” he has that mischievous gleam in his eyes, like he's testing just how far he can push your boundaries. “you’re just so pretty, baby.”

you roll your eyes, trying to maintain a serious tone despite the playful grin pulling at your lips. “shut up.”

being with rafe cameron was not on your yearly plans, but every single day, you thank your lucky stars for finally doing something right. he's a total game-changer, your personal slice of heaven.

who would have thought the universe had that kind of surprise up its sleeve?

he leans in closer, breath warm against your ear, arms wrapped securely around your waist, and you feel a shiver run down your spine. "i should visit more often if that’s how you’re going to greet me each time.”

you can't help but lean back into his embrace, savoring every moment of closeness.

"you should." you reply, your voice barely above a whisper, your fingers gently tracing circles on his hand. “wouldn't mind that at all."

you’d been together ever since that fateful night in your garden, months ago.

sneaking around had its thrills, especially with your brother always lurking nearby, but nothing compared to the challenge of a long-distance relationship. late-night calls, stolen moments of intimacy over video chats, and endless messages are your lifelines.

so when rafe finally stepped through the door of your new york apartment last night, after weeks apart, it was no surprise that you couldn't help but pounce on him, eager to make up for lost time. his slutty grey sweatpants, his choice of comfortable for a flight, were imprinted into your brain.

“so, so pretty." he murmurs, lips brushing against your earlobe, “y'know i can't resist leaving my mark on you."

you playfully swat at him, a grin spreading across your face despite your half-hearted protest, “topper would kill you."

rafe snorts, the sound traveling through your body as he presses a kiss to your temple, “he can try.”

you can't help but feel a twinge of guilt at the thought of keeping your relationship with rafe under wraps. it’s not like you don’t want to make it official, god, you do. but you’ve spent the last four months having him all to yourself, you don’t want other people to butt in and ruin everything with their unsolicited opinions.

being with him feels right. he's your rock, your constant in a world that's always changing.

“can we go back to bed now?” rafe’s warm breath tickles your ear as he speaks, his voice laced with a hint of grogginess, sleep still clouding his brain, “it’s fucking freezing.”

you chuckle quietly at his sleepy request, the sound mixing with the gentle hum of the heater as it struggles to combat the winter chill.

“course." you murmur, unwrapping yourself from his arms to press a tender kiss to his cheek, "let's get you warmed up."

his fingers don’t let you move an inch away, circling your wrist to pull you closer against his chest again, big cheeky smile on his face as he looks down at you. “you gonna warm me up, peach?”

"i might." you reply with a sly smirk, trailing a finger down his shirtless chest. "but you might have to work for it a little."

rafe's eyes widen with mock surprise. "is that so?" he asks, his voice low and husky as he pulls you closer. “well, lucky for you, i’m up for a challenge."

you’d never felt butterflies in your tummy until you started dating this man. he has you wrapped around his fingers, and you don’t want out. it physically hurts you to even think about a time when you didn’t have rafe like this.

you can't imagine being anywhere else but here, wrapped in his embrace.

with a playful giggle, you give him a knowing look. "’m counting on it," you murmur, as you pull him closer. you stand on your barefoot tiptoes, arms lacing around his neck. “really missed you.”

rafe's arms tighten around you as he pulls you impossibly close, his warmth enveloping you like a cozy blanket. his gaze softens, filled with a tenderness that makes your heart flutter even faster.

“missed you too, more than you know." he murmurs, his breath mingling with yours as he leans in to press a docile kiss to your lips.

“always thinking about my girl.”

as his lips meet yours, a wave of warmth washes over you, melting away any lingering traces of cold or distance. fuck, you’re in love with him and if he keeps kissing you like this, you might confess earlier. you’re way in over your head.

you sigh contentedly against his lips, savoring the feeling of being so close to him after being apart for so long. his touch, his scent, his presence—all of it feels like home to you. breaking the kiss reluctantly, you rest your forehead against his.

“stop staring at me like that peach.” he scolds, but there’s no bite to his tone as his fingertips brush your cheek lightly. “gonna end up buying this fucking building if you keep that up.”

you smile again, that’s all you seem to do around him anyway, as his beautiful eyes sweep up from your lips to meet your own. “rafe cameron living in new york? i’d pay to see that.”

rafe chuckles, the sound rumbling through his chest and sending pleasant vibrations through your body. his fingers trace lazy patterns along your cheek, his touch sweet and affectionate.

“you'd pay to see it, huh?" he teases, a playful glint in his face as he leans in closer to you, his breath warm against your skin. “’m that good of an investment?”

you can't help but laugh at his playful banter, shaking your head. you love that you get to see this side of him, how soft he is with you, only you.

“you’re alright cameron.”

"jus’ alright?" he feigns offense, his hand moving to rest over his heart in an exaggerated manner. "take it back.”

“nop.”

rafe lets out a dramatic sigh, pretending to be wounded. "no?”

you can't help but giggle at his theatrics, finding it endearing how he always manages to lighten the mood.

"you big baby." you tease, poking him playfully in the side.

“oh, i’ll show you big.”

before you can even wrap your brain around his innuendo, you’re being thrown over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. he does it so effortlessly you almost swoon.

you squeal in surprise, the sudden movement catching you off guard. "rafe, what the fuck?" you laugh, squirming slightly as he carries you effortlessly across the room. “what are you doing—hey!”

his palm smacks against one of your cheeks, covered by nothing except a pair of his ralph lauren boxers. “taking you to bed, where you belong.”

you play along, pretending to protest even as you secretly enjoy the attention.

"and what if i don't want to go to bed?" you retort, trying to sound defiant.

rafe stops in his tracks, his grip tightening around your legs. "oh, trust me, peach," he says, his tone turning serious for a moment, "you definitely want to go to bed."

“hmm, not sure.”

“it’s okay brat, you’ll be sure soon enough." he teases, deep voice making you want to do the most immoral things on every single surface of your apartment.

a repeat of last night.

you play along, feigning uncertainty as he deposits you gently onto the queen-sized bed, his stare burning with desire as he hovers over you, thick arms caging you in. one of your hands wraps around his bicep, nails grazing the skin as you glance up at him, head tilted to the side.

rafe’s eyes instantly move to your neck as your hair slips behind, tongue poking out to wet his lips, "i don't know, baby, might have to convince me."

he leans in closer, his breath warm against your skin. "consider it my pleasure." he murmurs, his lips brushing against yours in a tantalizingly gentle kiss.

you feel a shiver run down your back as rafe's lips meet yours, his kiss sending a surge of electricity through your body. you’ll never get used to this. his touch is both tender and assertive, his lips moving against yours with a practiced finesse that leaves you breathless.

it's like every nerve in your being wakes up, responding eagerly to his touch.

as he deepens the kiss, his hands roam over your body, tracing the curves of your waist and hips with a possessive urgency, with a sense of familiarity as if committing every curve to memory. his fingers tangle in your hair, pulling you closer as he deepens the kiss even further, his tongue tracing the seam of your lips before delving into your mouth in a hungry, desperate kiss. you melt against him, surrendering.

you feel a surge of heat pooling in the pit of your stomach, your breath catching in your throat as he explores you with a hunger that leaves you trembling.

“better than alright?” he mumbles against your lips and you find yourself unable to resist the pull of his touch, arching against him in silent invitation. his lips trail a path of fire along your jawline and down your neck, leaving a trail of kisses in their wake, “lost your voice, huh?”

he’s so addicted to sucking harshly on your skin, nibbling it playfully to drag out and elicit the sweetest sounds from your mouth. a melodic moan escapes your parted lips.

“you’re such an asshole.”

“there she is.” rafe's husky chuckle fills the air, sending pleasant vibrations through your body as he continues to pepper kisses along your neck, each one igniting a fiery trail of craving in its wake. “’m your asshole though.”

“not if you keep teasing.”

his lips pause their trail, hovering just above your skin as he looks up at you, one of his brows raised, "teasing?”

before you can protest his lips are on yours again, hungry and demanding. his hands roam over your body with a newfound urgency, tracing every corner and eliciting a gasp of pleasure from your lips. he has the audacity to hush you when he pins you harder with his hips, clothed cock rubbing perfectly against you.

your nails can’t help but dig into his shoulders, pulling at the skin. the way he's moving against you makes you feel like getting on your knees and letting him do whatever he wants to you, for however long he wishes to.

but then, your stupid intercom is buzzing.

you both freeze, caught in the throes of passion interrupted. rafe drops his head on your shoulder, groaning.

"seriously?" he mutters, his voice tinged with frustration as he rolls off you, giving you space to sit up.

“it’s probably breakfast.” you’re smoothing out your rumpled clothes— if you can call an oversized tee and boxers an outfit.

rafe lets out an exaggerated sigh, flopping back onto the bed, “’m so hard it hurts.” he whines, throwing an arm over his face.

“you’ll be fine.”

“can’t even see you right now, might cum in my sweats.” he mutters, his voice muffled by the fabric of your pillows.

you stifle a laugh, shaking your head at his melodramatic response.

"you're ridiculous." you tease, moving to sit beside him on the bed.

rafe peeks out from under his arm, giving you a glare, his bottom lip jutting out in a comically exaggerated pout. “and you're making me harder, stop touching me and go get the door.”

you lean in to press a quick kiss to his cheek, feet planted on the ground as you attempt to get up, but he’s quick to pull you down again. his beefy arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you back on top of him.

“rafe.”

“gimme a kiss before you go.”

“though you didn’t want me to touch you.” you tease, leaning down to press a short kiss to his lips. it's meant to be quick, just a peck, but his hand snakes up to the back of your neck, deepening the kiss. settling on your lower lip, he draws it into his mouth, sucking lightly, pushing you even closer. he runs his hands along your sides, one stopping just below your covered breasts—

“the door,” you manage to stutter out between kisses, “behave.”

when he finally pulls away, both your lips are slightly swollen, red and you’re both breathless.

"there," you say as you push yourself off the bed once more. but this time, rafe lets you go without protest, admiring you with a lazy smile as you make your way to the door.

when you moved back to new york three months ago, you chose to do it independently. while your parents owned at least three penthouses in the city, you needed something smaller. what was the point in living alone in such big apartments? you’d be miserable and alone most of the time.

you chose a smaller studio, fancy enough to be your type, but cozy enough to make you feel at home, even though you were miles away.

as you reach the door, you glance back to see rafe still lounging in your bed, arms crossed lazily behind his head. you shake your own, turn back, and open the door.

your heart immediately falls through your ass.

“topper?!”

he ignores you, pushing you aside to enter as he focuses on removing the thick scarf around his neck, struggling to get it off as he rants.

“about damn time, you know how long i was outside?! swear to god i hate this city, it’s freezing for no reason and—is that rafe fucking cameron on your bed?!”

you freeze in place, feeling a knot form in your stomach as you watch topper's reaction unfold. rafe, ever the cool customer, sits up in bed, a smirk playing at his lips as he meets your brother’s incredulous gaze head-on. you can feel a headache forming in the back of your head.

"hey, top." rafe geets, his tone casual as if he's just encountered an old friend. which he has because that’s his best friend. "long time no see?"

topper's eyes narrow as he takes in the sight of rafe lounging on your bed, “okay, okay. what the fuck is going on?”

he's going to freak out on you.

you clear your throat, trying to find the right words to explain the situation, “he’s visiting.”

top nods, not leaving his best friend out of his sight, “clearly! why are you in my sister’s bed, cameron?”

“was i supposed to sleep on the floor?” rafe replies, tone nonchalantly as he shrugs casually.

you’re going to kill him.

topper's jaw clenches as he shoots rafe a glare, clearly unimpressed by his answer. "you know damn well what i mean." he says, his voice menacing, so different from what you're used to.

rafe's smirk only widens, “relax, man," he says, his tone dripping with casual indifference. "we were just hanging out."

and about to have sex, but your brother doesn’t need all the details.

topper's expression darkens further at your boyfriend’s flippant attitude, and you can practically feel the terrible outcome.

"in her bed?" he asks, his voice dangerously low.

you step forward, hoping to defuse the situation before it escalates any further.

"topper, it's not what you think," you begin, but your brother holds up a hand to silence you.

“and why are you wearing his clothes?”

you glance down at your choice of outfit, flustered, you try to come up with a plausible explanation, “uh—well—it's a funny story, i-i'm out of clothes actually, who knew doing your laundry took so much work?”

his attention flickers between you and rafe, suspicion evident in his expression. you can practically see the gears turning in his head.

"out of clothes?" he repeats, his tone incredulous. "and you decided to borrow his?"

you shift uncomfortably under his scrutinization, trying to come up with a better explanation, but you can’t. “yeah?”

he squeezes his eyes shut as if he’s in pain, “please tell me my sister isn’t fucking my best friend.”

you swallow hard, feeling the weight of his scrutiny bearing down on you, but rafe speaks before you can conjure the words.

“your sister isn’t fucking your best friend, happy?”

you shoot rafe a warning look, silently pleading for him to play along and not make the situation worse.

you step forward, again. “topper, please, it's not what you think,” you say, your voice tinged with desperation. “rafe just came to visit, that's all.”

topper's stare softens as he contemplates, but his expression remains guarded. “and you didn't think to tell me?”

you bite your lip, feeling guilty for keeping your relationship with rafe a secret from your brother. “i wanted to, i just... didn't know how.”

rafe interjects, his tone more serious now. “top, i know this probably looks bad—”

“it looks really bad,” topper interrupts, his frustration evident.

“but nothing's happened,” rafe continues, ignoring the interruption. “we're just friends.”

but your brother is still inspecting you. and it’s only when his eyes descend to your neck, you realize what he’s looking at.

“is that why she got at least three hickeys on her neck?”

you feel a flush rise to your cheeks as topper's accusation hangs heavy in the air. you stare nervously at rafe, hoping he'll come up with a believable explanation, but he just shrugs nonchalantly, as if the hickeys are no big deal.

“they’re not hickeys, i burned myself with my curling iron.”

“yeah and i’m fucking adriana lima on my spare time.”

“okay?” you quickly turn your head back to the wall because you think you're about to puke up everything you just ingested.

"oh fuck, not you." top groans in frustration, seeing where rafe googly looks are directed, “not you two! you can't be serious?! that's my sister, dude; come on!"

rafe finally stands up from your bed, his tone is firm, his expression serious as he steps closer to your brother, his hands held out in a placating gesture. “it’s not like that.”

topper glances back and forth between you two, focusing on the blush of your cheeks and the adoration in rafe’s face now that you are looking back at him. a sick, knowing feeling had been building inside of him since he walked through the door.

“i can’t fucking believe this.”

“it’s not like that,” rafe repeats, walking to your side, hating the way your eyes are starting to water. he keeps his hand on your arm, thumb brushing circles over your cold skin, “we’re together. and watch your fucking tone when you speak to her.”

“don’t tell me how to speak to my sister!"

rafe's jaw clenches, a muscle ticking in his cheek. despite that, his hand remains steady on your arm, offering you a silent anchor of support. you feel a knot tighten in your stomach as you testify the tension between the two most important men in your life escalates.

"guys, please," you interject, your voice trembling, "this isn't helping anything."

“you’re in love with her, cameron?”

topper’s question makes you want to dig a hole in the middle of your studio and run.

what the hell?!

he can’t just barge in and make everything a mess. this is what you were afraid of, people meddling with your relationship. you and rafe haven’t discussed it yet. yeah it’s clear you’re in love with him, but you want to be the one to tell him and vice versa. you don’t want him to feel pressured to do it.

rafe's hand tightens on your arm, anchoring himself with the feeling of you beneath his fingertips. his eyes search yours for guidance. you can see the conflict in his expression.

he doesn’t shy away from the question, and his gaze never leaves yours. he traces every line of your face, “yeah, i am.”

the words hang in the air, a declaration that changes everything and nothing all at once. then time stops. your stomach turns unhelpfully, and you feel your skin turn clammy.

from the corner of your eye, you see the shock register on your brother’s face before he can hide it. strangely, he seems to understand now, perhaps more than you realized he would. for a moment, there's silence in the room, the weight of rafe's confession settling over all of you. but then topper lets out a heavy sigh, his shoulders sagging with the weight of understanding.

"okay," he says, his voice softer now, lacking the edge of anger from before. "okay."

you let out a breath you didn't realize you were holding, feeling a sense of relief flood through you. despite the uncertainty of what comes next.

rafe's hand finds yours, intertwining his fingers with yours in a silent gesture of solidarity. you squeeze his hand, feeling the warmth of his touch grounding you.

"thank you," you say to topper, your voice barely above a whisper but brimmed with gratitude.

he nods, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "just... take care of each other, okay?"

“can you leave now?” rafe all but interrupts the sentimental exchange, “kinda need to properly confess.”

topper raises an eyebrow at his abrupt request, clearly caught off guard by the bluntness. but after a second of hesitation, he nods, pushing himself off the wall where he's been leaning.

"yeah, sure," he says, giving you a meaningful look before turning to leave. "just... be careful, both of you. i’ll stop by later for dinner."

you offer him a small smile in return, feeling a shit ton of emotions swirling inside you as you watch him go. once he's out of sight, you let out a sigh, the tension in the room finally dissipating.

rafe releases your hand, moving to close the door behind topper before returning to your side. his expression is softer now, focused solely on you.

"you okay?" he asks, his voice soft as he brushes a strand of hair away from your face.

you nod, offering him a shaky smile. "yeah, think so. that was... unexpected."

rafe pulls you into his arms, holding you close as if he never wants to let you go.

"m’ sorry peach," he murmurs against your hair, his voice filled with regret. "didn't mean to drop that bomb on ya like that."

you sink into his embrace, finding comfort in the warmth of his body and the steady beat of his heart. "t's okay," you whisper, your voice barely audible as you nuzzle into his chest. "just wish it had been different."

he presses a kiss to the top of your head, arms tightening around you protectively. "i know," he murmurs, his voice a soothing balm to your frazzled nerves.

then, as if a floodgate has opened within you, the words spill from your lips, raw and unfiltered. "i’m in love with you too, rafe."

his arms around you tighten, as if to reassure himself that your words are real.

"i love you," he murmurs against your hair, "more than anything."

you feel tears prickling at the corners of your eyes, “you’re gonna make me cry.”

he pulls back slowly, cupping your face in his hands and wiping away the tears that have started to fall. "hey now, no tears, baby. only happy ones, yeah?"

you nod, sniffling but managing a watery smile. "yeah, happy tears. because i love you, rafe cameron."

he smiles back, a gentleness in him you've never seen before.

"and i love you, more than anything in this world."

you can't help but lean into his touch, feeling the warmth of his palms against your cheeks. his stare is full of tenderness, his thumb gently brushing away the last traces of tears.

"you're everything, y’know that?" he murmurs, his voice overflowing with sincerity.

you nod, feeling a lump forming in your throat at the depth of his words. "yeah, i do. and so are you.”

he leans in closer, lips capturing yours in a sweet kiss. he moves against you with a gentle fervor, his hands cradling your face as if you're the most precious thing in the world to him. and in that moment, you know without a doubt that you are and as you pull away, breathless yet content, you rest your forehead against his, savoring the closeness and the warmth that surrounds you.

"i love you," you whisper.

"i love you too, always," rafe replies, his voice a gentle caress against your skin.

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uchispeach · 2 months

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Crazy Over You (One-shot)

Pairing: Dark! Reader x Dark! Rafe

➥ Warnings: Explicit sexual content, rough sex, violence, death, toxic relationship, dark! reader…

➥ Main Masterlist

“Would you kill for me?” The blond looked at you through his sharp eyes, a cloud of smoke appearing around him as he gave your shared joint another drag.

You laid on your back, eyes on him as you admired his rough features under the fluorescent light.

At the lack of reply, the back of his palm impacted against your stomach. “Answer me” You barely registered the hit, too enticed with his presence.

“I guess” You giggled, grabbing your chest as if it was about to explode.

The whole situation felt like a fever dream, mind too faded to scrutinize everything that came out of your mouth. “Yeah, without a doubt” You reaffirmed lazily, reaching out for Rafe’s face.

You gave his cheek a light squeeze before letting out a lighthearted chuckle. The Cameron boy found it contagious, chest rumbling in uncontrollable laughter.

(…)

You weren’t lying. You wished you were, but you weren’t; and the pained moans from a dying woman were there to prove it.

The now empty gun slipped from your frail grip, bouncing a few times before finally laying a few meters beside you.

“Y/N!” Your boyfriend raised his voice while approaching you with heavy steps. Still, you remained frozen -no reaction as Rafe continued to call out for you-.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” You could see him waving his arms right in front of you, cursing under his breath as he went back and forth.

“Huh?” His strong palms held onto your shoulders, weighing you down as he shook you violently. Your body moved in an aggressive motion, but your brain continued to go at a slow pace.

“I had no choice” Your whisper was barely audible. Wide eyes focused on the specks of blood on the floor. “I had no choice” This time the words came out in a rush.

“Rafe, I had to do it…” Hands touched his broad shoulders, an action made to reciprocate him. “She…She was going to kill you” You finally faced him, blown pupils looking straight at him.

The Cameron boy seemed disturbed, brows furrowed in a deep scowl. Strands of dirty blond were all over his front, covering his face.

Your delicate fingers reached out for his frame, getting between his hair and pulling softly at it. Once it was cleared, you squeezed his cheeks together while getting extremely close.

Your warm breath hit his lips as you opened your mouth once again, “I saved you” without noticing straight away, tears started falling out -soaking your skin-.

His breathing became faster and heavier while he put his hands above yours, gripping them tightly, so tightly it hurt.

“Fuck!” He spat out, getting rid of your hold as he made his way towards the corpse.

Mrs. Limbrey’s cold body rested peacefully, the revolver still in her bony digits.

Rafe groaned in frustration as he carried the old lady on his back, kicking the weapon to the side before throwing her mindlessly in the truck’s cargo bed.

Your lover turned his back on you as he frantically closed the padlock. The movement was fast, but not fast enough for you to not catch a glimpse of the other dead body.

Carla and his brother were now resting in peace on the back of the vehicle, alongside the gold cross.

That damned cross. The relic’s value wasn’t totally on the monetary side, it also relied on the rotting greeed it caused in everyone who set their eyes on it.

You had seen it, the blond had become fixated on bringing it home and calling it his. Even dragging you with him in his exhausting search.

You followed him because you trusted him wholeheartedly; the Limbrey siblings on the other hand, you had suspected them since the first encounter.

When strong arms wrapped around your waist, you barely reacted; allowing the blond to push you against a metal door.

“Hey” He looked for your gaze, unsuccessfully. “Hey!” The screaming went accompanied by a slap to the face.

The sting came later than it should have, cheek starting to bloat at Rafe’s harsh methods.

All you did was flinch, no real defense put up against him.

“We’re gonna get on that damn car and I’ll drive us to the swamp” Violence had slightly pulled you out from the initial state of shock, so you nodded. “I need you to act fucking normal” He shook you against his arms, sort of allowing you the comfort of his chest’s warmth.

You nodded frantically, wanting to comply in hopes of a better treatment. Not long after, you wiped away any residue of your tears.

With a blurred vision, you saw your boyfriend moving to the side while opening the door for you. A sneer was your only warning before you were shoved into the passenger's seat.

The sound of your nape hitting the seat was alarmingly loud. Still, all you could think of was the clear annoyance that reflected on the boy’s face.

(…)

Getting rid of the bodies wasn’t as difficult as you thought, all Rafe had to do was throw both of them into the cloudy water and wait for the crocodiles to do the rest of the job.

No more than a couple of minutes have passed when they were completely devoured. So, you couldn’t quite understand why the Cameron boy continued to look exasperated.

“It’s over” You tried to reassure him with a hand on his forearm, but he remained stoic, gripping the steering wheel with an unhealthy force.

“Rafe, we have the cross…nothing else matters” You whispered sweetly into his ear, leaning towards his side; the blond didn’t appreciate that, because mere seconds after you pronounced those words, you felt the truck giving a violent turn.

“Rafe!” Your body bounced against the door, a pained gasp left your lips at the last impact.

You felt a slight ringing on your ears as the vehicle completely stopped. You tried to incorporate, looking at your surroundings before being held back by a brute force.

“Ra-” You were interrupted by a harsh squeeze. “Shut up!” Rafe’s eyes were dark, a kind of darkness you’ve never seen on them.

His rings buried themselves on your soft skin. He shook you by the neck, a series of muffled whimpers barely leaving your throat.

“You fucked us!” He spat on your teary face. “Shit!” The blond’s frustrated scream had been almost drowned by the overwhelming sound of the horn.

His knuckles looked all red and bloodied now, still, the aggressiveness didn’t cease.

Your lungs burned in desperation while you put your smaller hands on his, dragging your nails along his skin. “Please” your voice was barely audible.

“You killed a Limbrey…we’re screwed” Your boyfriend was now all over your face, sweat on his forehead as he slightly shook in rage.

He cursed you out when a particular deep scratch was given. The burning sensation of open cuts made him retreat, allowing you to free from his lethal hold.

The coughing was uncontrollable as you massaged your bruising throat Still, you managed to speak in between coughs “She was pointing a gun at you” Your voice was deeply hoarse.

“I fucking saved your life!” Your neck stung as you lifted it up, looking at the blond behind your messy hair.

Rafe stayed back as he saw you crawling towards him. Cold palms positioned on his hard chest. Your eyes held a pleading eagerness on them.

The blond didn’t react when your trembling lips covered his stiff ones, neither when your breasts rubbed slowly against the fabric of his shirt.

“I love you…” A sweet whisper in between dainty pecks. Your hands roamed from his clavicle to his abdomen, stroking in constant circles just as he liked.

His eyes scanned over your frame in growing temptation. Either way, he held back -grabbing both of your wrists to stop them from wandering around-.

Ignoring the burning sensation of his grip, you begged in a sultry voice. “We’ll figure it out…together”

You pushed back, shoving your face onto Rafe in a heated kiss. Your mouth moved impatiently against his, hips bucking rhythmically in hopes of creating a pleasurable friction.

You could feel him growing under his expensive pants. At the same time, his breathing became messier.

You recognized the containment on his voice when he groaned at a particular deep thrust.

Even though you dragged your head back in search of oxygen, a line of saliva still connected both of your mouths.

“Relax” You twisted your wrists, little whines protesting to be set free. Rafe complied, licking his lower lip when dropping your arms around his nape.

Your fingers intertwined with his silky hair, pulling aggressively at it to get extensive access to his neck. A trail of wet kisses was left from his chin to his chest; you made sure you lick his sensitive spots, warm tongue making small circles on the exposed skin.

His hips became alive, crashing against yours in order to appease the boiling need on the pit of his stomach. You continued sucking on that specific spot that had him hoarsely groaning.

It didn’t take long before he reached out information his best, slowing down your brutal pace in order to free the tent on his pants. You stood still for some torturous seconds, pupils blown as you saw him taking out his lengthy shaft.

Now out of its confinements, the boy’s cock stood proudly at your button belly’s height. You were quick to wrap your hand around it, giving it a few slow strokes before finding a continuous pace.

One hand on his groin and the other in his shirt as you made a painful hickey right above his clavicle. Your tongue moved expertly until it was interrupted by a mean grip.

Rafe’s eager fingers had your jaw stinging with a harsh squeeze. He basically forced you away, just to pull you immediately back with a bite to your plump lip.

He dragged his tongue above the open cut, making you taste it as he shoved the wet muscle inside your mouth.

The blond couldn’t resist tugging your hair, finding satisfaction in the way your jaw opened wider at the hurt gasps.

His free arm got lost under your jeans, dragging his hand to cup your sex. You moaned sweetly at the feel of his freezing palm in contact with your wam entrance.

Rafe smirked while rubbing a digit between your wet folds. “This pussy’s all mine” You nodded, mind already dizzy by the blond’s consuming heat.

Keenness got the best of you as you clumsily undid your jeans; the blond helped you to get rid of them, practically tearing them from you before throwing them carelessly to the back.

You were about to take your underwear off, but the Cameron boy was ahead of you. A loud snap had you flinching, surprised to see a shredded piece of lace landing on the passenger’s seat.

The cold breeze made your nipples harden under your blouse. Your boyfriend seemed to notice it, forcing the piece of clothing out of your body.

His eyes darkened in hungry anticipation, eyeing your perky mounds with pure lust.

His teeth felt overwhelmingly good when they sinked on your breasts. Lovely redness covered your entire chest after a couple minutes of rough treatment.

The blond was unstoppable, viewing your flesh as a blank canvas he was entitled to paint.

Your whines and cries sent him into a state of frenzy -yearning to taste more of you-.

“Fuck me already…shit!” You jumped at a particular rough bite. He simply chuckled, lifting you by the hips to comply with your desperate request.

His veiny hand stroked his erection; thick cock shining with pre-cum. His tip got close to your entrance, not before collecting some of your juices.

His mouth opened in delight when you started sinking yourself down on his dick. Your gummy walls squeezed tightly around him.

You went slow, mindful of the stinging stretch. Eventually, the blond got too impatient, pushing you down in a swift move.

You cursed under your breath, feeling him deep in your guts. Rafe didn’t give you a break, encouraging you to ride the pain away.

(…)

Your knees were in constant friction with his strong

thighs as you swayed your hips with aggressiveness.

The horn was a background noise at this point, your main focus being the squelching of your cunt as Rafe met your thrusts.

You had been at it for a while, the sweat on your foreheads a proof of it.

A knot tightened on the pit of your stomach, begging to come undone. You could tell Rafe was feeling the same, as his movements got sloppier.

You grinded on him way slower this time, too overstimulated from previous releases.

The blond breathed heavily onto your ear, burying his fingers deep into your waist as you lazily rode him. A few more strokes was all it took for you to reach your peak -moaning shamelessly when you felt your wetness releasing all over the boy-.

“I-I love y-you” you struggled to say, still agitated by Rafe’s incessant pace. “Fuck!” He finally stopped -head thrown back as he felt himself becoming undone-.

You felt a hot liquid filling you up, thick splurts being released in the deepest parts of your womb. “You…” The Cameron boy had a hard time speaking while simultaneously climaxing, still, he finished his sentence, “you are fucking crazy, Y/N.”

A/N: I wanted to build more tension but my horny ass didn’t have enough patience. Anyways, let me know if you liked it! 🤍

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blue-sadie · 7 months

Text

.Random.

.Request Page.

A place for my different fandoms brain rots

Platonic = 🌼 Fluff = 🌺 Smut =🌹 Lime = ⚘️ Angst = 🥀 Yandere = 🍁

Anime

Imagines.

(H) kakeru Sengoku - Her Little Merman 🌺

(H) Keishin Ukai - Assistant Manager 🌹

(HMC) Howl Pendragon- A Thing Of Beauty 🌺

(LOK) Mako & Bolin - Brothers Charm 🌹

(MHA) Katsuki Bakugo - Silly Nicknames 🌺

(MHA) Shota Aizawa - Villainous Love 🌹

(MHA) Shota Aizawa - Little Helper 🌹

Combo.

Incorrect Quotes.

Drabbles.

Oneshots.

(H) Asahi Azumane - Pregnant Hungry 🌺

Different Aus.

Headcanons.

NSFW/SFW Alphabet.

Animation

Imagines.

(QFC) Garrett Touch Says All 🌺

Combos

(A&TAE) Dimitri & Cale Tucker - The Tucker Twins 🌹

Incorrect Quotes.

Drabbles.

Oneshots.

Different Aus.

Headcanons.

Nsfw/SFW Alphabet.

Celebritys

Imagines.

Hayden Christen - Yn Moment 🌺 Jamie Flatters - Admiring The Interviewer 🌺

Henry Cavill - Distraction 🌺

Oscar Isaac - Wavering 🌺

Combo.

Jamie Flatters,Tedros Pendragon,Neteyam - One Room 🌹

Incorrect Quotes.

Drabbles.

Oneshots.

Jack Champion - Past Experiences 🥀🌺

Jamie Flatters - Attention Thief 🌺

Jamie Flatters - Bakery Girl 🌺

Jamie Flatters - When Fate Intervenes 🌺

Stephen Lang Hard At Work. Prt 2 🌺

Combos.

Avatar Cast - Dream Come True 🌺

Different Aus.

Headcanons.

NSFW/SFW Alphabet.

Games

Imagines.

(BG3) Astarion - Love From Cold Lips 🌹

(BG3) Astarion - For Your Pleasure 🌹

(BG3) Astarion - Flaunting Treasures 🌹

(BG3) Astarion - Sweet As Sugar 🌹

(BG3) Astarion - Red As Cherry 🌹

(BG3) Halinsin - Size Difference 🌹

(HL) Sebastian Sallow - Dazzling Smile 🌺

(TLOU) Joel Miller - The Tiredness 🌹

Combos.

(BG3)Astarion & Halsin - Vampire And The Bear ⚘️

(BG3) Astarion & Gale - Love From The Gods 🌹

(BG3) Astarion & Harleep - Jealous Much 🌹

(HL) Sebastian & Ominus - Bros Before... 🥀🌺

Incorrect Quotes.

Drabbles.

Oneshots.

(BG3) Ascended Astarion - Truly Broken 🥀

(BG3) Astarion - My Darling Baker 🌺

(HL) Sebastian Sallow - Lace Me Up 🌺

Combos

(BG3) Astarion & Halsin - Lust Filldd Touches 🌹

Different Aus.

(BG3)God Astarion & God Gale -Praises From The Gods🌹

Headcanons.

NSFW/SFW Alphabet.

(BG3) halsin - NSFW

Movies

Imagines.

(HP) Draco Malfoy - A Bubbly Companion 🌺

(It) Bowers Gang - Plaid Skirts 🌹

(MR) Newt - Second In Command 🌺

(MR) Gally - Soft Spot 🌺

(RH) Prince John - Fall From Grace 🌺

(T) Paul Lahote - Second Head 🌺

Incorrect Quotes.

Drabbles.

Oneshots.

(A) Kane - Stop Your Breath 🌺🌹

(FG) Walter Mckey (keys) - Cuter Then Puppies 🌺

(MR) Newt - Glow Of Embers 🌺

(TF) Santiago Garcia - Friend Of A Friend 🌹

Combos.

(TF) Santiago Garcia & Frankie Morales - Movement Of The Hips 🌹

Different Aus.

Headcanons.

NSFW/SFW Alphabet.

Series

Imagines.

(F) Savitar - A New Day Has Dawned 🍁

(OBX) Rafe Cameron - Uncontrollable??? 🌹

(SN) Dean Winchester - Jealous Much 🌹

(ST) Billy Hargrove - Addicted 🌹

(ST) Eddie Munson - Something A Bit More 🍁

(TVD) Stephen Salvatore - The Classics 🌺

(T) Jason Todd - Cold Stares 🌺

(TW) Derek Hale - Big Bad Werewolf 🌹

(VK) Ivar Ragnarsson - Tracing Tattoos 🌺🌹

Combos

(OUAT) Peter Pan & Felix - Princess Treatment 🌹

(ST) Billy Hargrove & Eddie Munson - High And Mighty 🌹

(TW) Stiles Stilinski & Scott Mccal - Rain Check 🌹

(ST) Billy Hargrove & Steve Harrington - You Wouldn't Dare🌹

(T100) Bellamy blake & John murphy - little convincing 🌹

(TVD) Damon and Stephen - Elana Really... 🌼🌺

Incorrect Quotes.

Drabbles.

Oneshots.

Combos.

(911) Eddie Diaz & Evan Buckley-Something To Look At 🌹

Different Aus.

Headcanons.

NSFW/SFW Alphabet.

Tag.List

@sweetirilly @neteyamyawne @greekgods15 @laylasbunbunny

#random fandom x reader #random fandoms x reader #random fandom thoughts #fictional characters x reader #fictional crush x reader #fictional characters #tv show fanfiction #movie fanfiction #video games fanfiction #fanfic #anime x reader #game characters x reader #movie characters x reader #celebrity x reader #celebrities #series x reader

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fanfic-fanatic-2024 · 20 days

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I should be studying. I’m not. I’m rereading my favourite Rafe Cameron and Eddie Munson fics. These men have rotted my brain, but I love it

#rafe cameron #eddie munson #obx #stranger things

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outerbankspov · 2 years

Text

Bail me out. (Rafe Cameron)

Summary: underage party gets crashed by the police resulting in the reader being arrested by the cops and the “bad boy” bailing her out for no reason he would admit. (Past history)

Warning: underage drinking. Kissing. Tap of fluff.

- requested & plot (my sister)

The party was a full blast, I’m saying bodies to bodies and the smell of liquor lingering through the air. Everything was perfect and everyone was enjoying their selfs until the cops… I was sitting down with my legs crossed while drinking this awful liquor that JJ decided to bring to the party. That’s when the police came in and everyone ran.

“Who’s responsible for this underage party” the sheriff spoke who happened to be ward Cameron. God he’s annoying and so is his son, he walks around like he owns figure 8 and he clearly hates me. (Secretly I like him-)

Everyone pointed to me, I was in shocked- what the fuck I didn’t even start this party, it was that bitch Lesley who has the biggest crush on Rafe.

“Alright come on let’s go” he grabs me and cuffs me. “Are you serious? This wasn’t me!”

“Tell that to your parents”

_____

An hour of laying in this cold cell expecting my parents to get me they don’t. “Y/L/N your free to go.” An officer tells you. You lay up and pulls your top down and walk out. Thinking to see your parents no- it’s Rafe Cameron??? Why is he picking me up.

“Thank you chad I’ll take it from here. Don’t tell my father” he slips the officer a 100 and I role my eyes at how he just throws money away. Walking to his car was pure silence until we sat in his car. “Why’d you do it?” I break the silence.

“What?” He looks at me and I’ve always noticed how sharp his jawline was or how gorgeous he was but this time he seems so much more handsome. I role my eyes and slouch down on the seat.

“You could’ve let me rot in that cell until my parents decided that they should do good for public and bail their straight A student daughter out of jail.”

“I just wanted to bail you out, I know you didn’t start that party.” His voice was gentle and he looks at me with care in his eyes.

“Am I supposed to thank you?” You laugh.

“Y/n stop being a stubborn bitch please. You should thank me.”

“Okay. Thank you Rafe was saying poor helpless Y/N from jail. Oh that makes up for crushing on you all through high school. Happy?” You run your hands through your hair and realize your brain disconnect from your voice in that moment.

“Y/n/n? You had a crush on me” he gives you a cocky smile and you bite your lip and looks away.

“Yeah so what?” Rafe watches you and smirks.

“Now tell me why’d you bail me out. Your the so call bad boy so why bail me out? Has to be a reason”

“It’s what friends are for.” He shrugs his shoulders and you didn’t believe it not one bit.

“I thought you hated me.” Voice was low and soft. Almost confused.

“How can I ever hate you y/n” you’ve never turned your head so fast before.

“What?” You say softly.

“I like you a lot okay. Happy?” You smile at him and tells him to stop the car and he does on the side of the Road.

“You like me.” You smirk.

“I do now get over here.” He leans over and grabs your face and softly kisses you lot a man’s starve.

“God y/n I’ve liked you since high school.” He gently kisses your bottom lip and pulls away. You look at him and smile thanking the dark nights because if it was light he would see the deep red blush on your heated face. “Now can I take you home ?” You nod and grabs his hand. “Take me to yours” he looks at her in silence and nods with a smirk. “Will do.”

••••••

#outer banks #obx #drew starkey #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x smut #rafe cameron #rafe cameron x y/n #outerbanks rafe #rafe cameron outer banks #i love this

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moremaybank · 8 months

Note

No but, being in a secret relationship with rafe and being a pouge🤭 BUT the other pouges suspect of you being with some one and they manage to get your phone and find ummm a video(hopefully yk what I mean)😺😝😋🤌 lol hope it’s okay if I request this

Also, Something about being in a secret relationship with this man really gets me going idk why😭💀

secret relationships with this man...think about all the unspeakable things we could do...(18+ themes)

The pogues have noticed that you've been cagey lately. You're always sneaking off to meet someone but you're never too keen on mentioning who that someone is. To say their suspicions were growing would be the understatement of the century.

They'd all tried their hand at investigating, but they can never get further than hearing that you're going to work, or that you have to help your parents with dinner, or whatever excuse you manage to muster up at the drop of a hat.

Until today, that is. This time, Kie had a plan.

"Hey, can I send myself the pictures we took today from your phone? I'm planning my post for Sarah's birthday," she asks, motioning over to the device in your hand.

Without suspecting anything, you nod and hand it over to her. "Knock yourself out. I gotta pee."

Kie watches as you scurry off to the bathroom, and once you're inside the chateau and out of earshot, she summons the group over hurriedly. "Okay, she's gone! Hurry!"

The group begins to scroll through your camera roll, but is severely disappointed when all they can find are pictures of you and them, the scenery of the island, food, and a whole bunch of miscellaneous screenshots.

But just as they think all hope is lost, they come across a video. The screen is almost pitch black, but they can make out two figures.

"Well, turn the volume up," Pope says. "If we can't see anything, maybe we'll be able to hear who's with her."

Kie does as he says, and the sounds of skin slapping fills their ears. "Oh— oh my god."

"Yeah? You like that, princess? You like filming while I fuck you?"

"Hold up," JJ says. "Is that—"

"Yes. Yes, I like it. Fuck, harder, Rafe!"

"Ew, ew! Turn it off!" Sarah exclaims. She's visibly disgusted and petrified all at the same time as her hands shake vigorously in the air.

"Shit, say my name again, baby. Love the way you scream for me."

"Rafe. 'M so close. Don't stop. Don't fucking stop."

"Oh my god, ew! I said turn it off!" Sarah yells. Kie swipes out of the video, and the entire group is slack-jawed by the time you come back from the restroom. Your eyes find all of theirs, and your brows furrow with confusion.

"Woah, what's going on? Why does it feel like you're about to give me an intervention?"

"You're fucking Rafe?!"

concepts

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yellowlaboratory · 1 year

Text

obx + parallel plot lines

hello and welcome to my Annie Brain Rots On Main post. I hope this is a series of only one (1) post but the next few months before obx s3 are gonna be long so who knows how many think pieces you’ll have to endure.

anyway, last night, somewhere in between simultaneous breakdowns with @falseungodlyhours and @alphinias, I started thinking more about s3’s arc and what conclusions we can draw from s1 and s2. stick with me as I word vomit through my theory (also be warned that i mention some bts spoilers for s3 in here)

s1 is John B centric. I know that he is still the main character even in s2, but s2 does not revolve around him in the same way s1 does. the main storyline in s1 is the Pogues rallying around John B to help him through a conflict that involves his family (I’m wording this weirdly to keep it general because it’s going to be a recurring theme lmao). the conflict revolves around his dad being lost at sea, and most of the main characters are tied up in this conflict whether they are trying to help John B (the Pogues, Sarah) or trying to hinder his search (Ward). and, on top of that, last night i got to thinking how much of John B’s story paralleled his father’s.

first off, it only takes an episode for the show to establish that John B is on the search for his dad, but none of the Pogues really believe he’ll find him. Kiara is the only one who even pretends to play into it, but it’s clearly something she’s only doing out of guilt and she believes that Big John is most likely dead. So - John B is on the search for something, and the people closest to him don’t believe he’ll find it. Big John is on the search for the gold, and John B doesn’t believe he’ll find it. you see what I’m saying? by some miracle and against all odds, both Rutledge men find something, but not exactly what they were looking for. Big John finds the Royal Merchant, but not the gold. John B finds the gold, but not his father. then, immediately after their big discoveries, both of them are nearly killed by Ward Cameron. The ensuing events are actually almost exactly the same: following the confrontation with Ward, they both very nearly die, get lost at sea, are declared dead, but actually survive and escape to a Caribbean island. AND THEN, despite being alive, neither of them let their loved ones know right away. Big John takes far longer to get in contact, but even John B waits to contact the pogues for a month a day ? how does time work in the obx a while. there are probably more parallels I’m missing but the point is John B’s storyline paralleled his dad.

then, we end up in s2, and the driving force in s2 is Pope. with their backs against the wall and shit on the line, the Pogues rally around Pope to help him through a conflict that involves his family (see what I said about recurring theme. i promise i’m only kind of crazy.) Pope’s conflict has to do with Denmark Tanny, and protecting his legacy. once again, most of the main characters in s2 are entangled in this conflict, with the Pogues helping Pope, and Limbrey, Renfield, and Rafe trying to stop him. and, once again, there are parallels between Pope and Denmark’s storylines.

first and foremost, the central antagonist in both Denmark and Pope’s storyline is a Limbrey. Captain Limbrey is the slave holder who won’t free Denmark’s wife and daughter, and Carla Limbrey is trying to steal the treasure that belongs to Pope’s family. The Limbreys are both categorized by their greed, their wrath, and their willingness to do anything to get what they want. In the immortal words of Kiara Carrera, “it was a Limbrey stealing shit again.” In both cases, Denmark and Pope are out for something much more important than money – Pope’s mee-maw sums it up pretty well when she says “family is all we got” and that is exactly what drives both Denmark and Pope’s actions, whether they are trying to reunite their family or avenge their legacy. more so than this, both Pope and Denmark see the gold cross as a symbol of freedom. I mean, Denmark literally builds it into the walls of Freedman’s Church, and as Pope gets ready to take the cross back on the Coastal Venture, he says “the time where people do shit to us and we just sit back and take it is over.” once again, I’m probably missing so many parallels, but you get the gist.

so, in summary, whether it is intentional or not (and isn’t that always the question with the boat show lmao), a pattern has begun to develop. even though there is a shit ton of stuff going down each season, there are two major factors that define and drive the story:

a family-centered conflict that one of the Pogues faces while the other Pogues rally around them

the parallels that exist between said Pogue and members of their family

if this pattern actually exists and i’m not just talking out of my ass, that means there are three possible driving forces for s3 – either JJ, Kiara, or Sarah. (side note: I don’t think we’ve had enough time for Cleo to be the center point of the season-wide conflict yet, but with more seasons, I think we’ll get there)

Sarah’s familial conflict feels different than the rest of the Pogues, and I don’t think it could be the center point of a single season as it currently stands. conflict with Ward is a theme for the entire show, and rededicating a season arc to it when it’s already a series-wide arc doesn’t seem plausible to me. on top of that, I don’t really think we’ll be seeing the same kinds of parallels between Sarah and Ward that we’ve seen between John B/Big John and Denmark/Pope. I think a Sarah-centric season would be REALLY interesting if we ever find out what happened to her mother, and if we see the parallels between Sarah’s conflict with Ward and her mother’s conflict with Ward (i’m assuming there’s conflict there because …. well, of course there was. it’s ward.) Unfortunately, due to what I know from bts and casting calls, I don’t think we’re meeting Sarah’s mother yet, and I don’t think an exploration of that conflict is going to happen in s3.

similarly, I don’t think it’s JJ’s season quite yet. another little bts spoiler, but we’ll likely only see Luke in the very last episode, and as much as I hate him with every fiber of my being, he’s a major part of JJ’s characterization. I truly believe that we can’t get a well-rounded JJ-centric season without tying up the loose ends with Luke, and the send-off scene in s2 was never going to be enough. The single episode we’ll likely see him in during s3 is also not going to be enough to wrap everything up, and it’s sure as hell not going to be enough to drive the whole season (unless Luke actually comes back earlier, or JJ’s mom makes a reappearance but, once again, based on the stuff I’ve seen, I don’t think that will be the case in s3).

So, that leaves Kiara. Between her parents cracking down on her even harder, the threat of Blue Ridge hanging over her, and the fact that she ended the season by undermining her parents to sneak out and go missing for an undetermined amount of time, I think Kiara is perfectly set up to be the center point of the conflict for s3 - and the bts i have seen and some of the casting calls all seem to line up with the theory of a Kiara-centric Season 3

coming right back from Poguelandia, I don’t think Kiara’s parents will threaten to send her to Blue Ridge right away (or at least i hope they won’t akdjfhas I know I have some misguided faith in them), but I’m kind of thinking there might be a time jump, and I wouldn’t put it past the Carreras to threaten Blue Ridge a few weeks/months after getting Kiara back. While there’s a non-zero chance the Pates might introduce a third (literal) pot of gold that somehow relates to the Carrera family fortune, I’m actively hoping, wishing, and praying against it. So, the option most likely to maintain my sanity for the next few months is the central conflict of the season revolving around Kiara and her parents. This is what the Pogues could rally around – keeping Kiara from Blue Ridge. That leaves the question, who could Kiara parallel in her s3 arc?

Enter Anna Carrera.

Anna would be in the unique place of being both the antagonist and the foil to Kiara’s story, but it seems like the most logical choice. There’s already a built-in parallel there – a Kook girl running around with Pogues? we’ve heard this one before. Taking this even further, we know that Anna fell in love with a Pogue, chose him over her family, and risked her entire future for him. She might not act like it now, but a few years back, Anna was in the same exact position as her daughter. Since we know s3 is going to explore Jiara (thank you Josh Pate for confirming that so early on and quelling the insanity of my mind for at least a little bit), isn’t that the perfect way to create a parallel?

then, with Luke coming back into the picture late in s3, we have the opportunity for a JJ-centric s4.

anyway. let me lose my mind over this for the next few months.

#outer banks #obx #jiara #obx spoilers #kind of?#i don't know anything i'm just making shit up lmao #but there is some talk of bts in here so #season 3 spec #annie rants #i don't know anything #anyways #this is an official manifestation for an s7 wheezie centric season #this post is all over the fucking place adskjfhlaksdjf my train of thought is a rollercoaster #i promise i thought i had a point when i started this but now it's just word vomit #am i reaching with most of this? yeah yeah I am #but don't worry i stretched before the reach #i think thematically it would have been easiest to make season 2 the JJ centric season since the build up with his father was all there #i kind of appreciate that they didn't do that in a weird way #as much as i want to see the jj/luke conflict play out #and as much as i really think they didn't do that conflict justice in s2 #Pope needed that development and it need to be personal for him #and I firmly believe we'll revisit jj/luke in s4 #also this whole thing just makes me so excited for kiara hours #s3 is always the best season of a show #and if the s3 prophecy holds it's weight with obx....... wooo #best girl best season? count me in #anyways it's also interesting to note that both pope and john b ultimately failed at their goals #john b didn't get the gold or his father back pope didn't ge the cross #does that mean Kiara's gonna end up at Blue Ridge? idk #I don't want her at Blue Ridge but there's a part of me that has accepted it as inevitable

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lewsnumerounofan · 2 months

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rafe groaned too this time, corded neck falling back as you dragged over his crotch. you couldn’t help yourself—you let your lips fall to his tan skin, kissing and sucking below his ear as his hips began to meet yours.

he jolted, as if shocked, at the warm press of your tongue. hands on your hips now, he guided them forward and back, heady, desperate moans canting from his red mouth.

you were crazy. seeing him like this, hearing the low, urgent sounds from his throat: you felt powerful. for once in your relationship you felt in control. drawing back enough to watch the way his steel blue eyes fluttered you tsked at his heavy breathing.

“that feel good baby?”

the sound that left his parted lips would haunt you for the rest of your life. his hips stuttered, pupils wide as they watched you. like a fucking puppy.

you let your nails rake over his scalp, tugging his head to one side so you could kiss up his throat, his bobbing adams apple. at his ear you whispered, “you look so pretty like this, rafe.”

~ little excerpt from childhood friends to lovers angst fic coming soooooon ;) lmk if u wanna b added 2 taglist

#brain rot.#rafe cameron #rafe cameron smut

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sandwich2451 · 1 month

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"I'm taking care of my own shit, okay?" - said by Rafe Cameron, who very much does not have his shit together

so i'm watching season one of Outer Banks, and Rafe and Sarah Cameron are so interesting to me. I mean, there you have two kooks, both filthy rich, the one the golden child and the other an irresponsible drug addict who can't pay his dealer. now, the question: how did this happen? to me, the cameron children are siblings who use two aspects of the Big Life, and the side they choose decides everything about them. or maybe everything about them chooses the path? i'm not sure. anyway.

sarah cameron is the golden child, the younger sister - she's pretty, she's clever, she does what's expected of her. she is, pretty much, perfect. until she starts hanging out with pogues, who show her a new life. the thing about her is that she spends her time with pogues, broadens her horizons, but it's still a feather-down pillow she sleeps on when she comes home every night. and that combination makes her so versatile. it's the same with kiara, but kiara has been with pogues since forever, she's never fit in with the kooks, she's always been certain of where she stands. but sarah - no, sarah was probably prom queen, she's the kook princess, she's the popular girl who decides to hang out with the 'peasants' - she thrives because she knows both of those worlds so well. she decides to use the access she has - chapel hill, maps, letters - to improve not her own, but her friends' life. to help her boyfriend find the gold, because she cares - it's not completely selfless, but it's pretty damn altruistic

rafe, on the other hand, is a trainwreck of a person. so far (and i have the brain to realize that his psyche won't improve much, if his financial situation does) rafe has proven himself to be discriminatory to the lower social class, to be a complete drug addict, to be completely mentally unstable - and that's because of how completely blind he is to the world of the pogues. he is immersed into the Grand Life - beating the 'peasants' up his sister hangs out with, drinking way too much alcohol, snorting cocaine every chance he gets - and he's into deep shit for it. i mean, he can't pay for the coke he snorts, and somehow he thinks he's still talking about 'fixing' his problems when he's just making other peoples' lives messes. a trainwreck, is what he is.

sarah and rafe, two sides of that rich, kook family - and why sarah thrives, and why rafe sits in his own rot? because sarah has perspective. she's cunning enough to realize blows can't always decide. she has a foot in both worlds, and she has sympathy - seems that sarah cameron is the golden child for a reason

#outerbanks #obx #sarah cameron #rafe cameron #i started watching this yesterday #yes i'm already on the eighth episode #who knows what that says about me #but coming from the hatchetfield fandom i expected more essays #literally this is exclusively a hellscape of smut and that's. it.#so i've decided to be the essayist of this fandom myself #so uh. be afraid

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ageofstarkey · 2 years

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this headcanon has been rotting my brain since the concert i went to on wednesday, so here’s the result;

rafe cameron but he’s the drummer in a pop-punk band — a very specific moodboard

#it also could be drew if you want but #i just love fanon!rafe #so it’s fanon rafe #rafe cameron #fanon rafe #rafe outer banks #rafe x reader #rafe cameron headcanon #outer banks #obx #ageofstarkey drew <3 #band!rafe

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prpfs · 1 year

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🏝️ hey! i'm 25+ (prefer partners to be 21+) and on my outer banks brain rot rn i really really want to play against a rafe cameron with my kiara carrera or sarah cameron over discord. my style is semi-lit to lit with replies ranging from one long paragraph to multi/novella style depending on muse or what i have to work with, would also like 70/30 nsfw to plot with dark, mature and taboo involved. preference is over discord, so like and i'll get back to you!

give a like and anon will get back to you

#outer banks roleplay #outer banks rp #fandom roleplay #fandom rp #hot

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jupitercomet · 1 year

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Well, good luck with your driver's license then!

And ah, I'm happy that you're not strong enough to handle Tafe looking like that, too, because sometimes I'd just think about how big he's and immediately get flustered.

Okay...

The hem of his chino pants stops a few inches above his white converse and you’re reminded again just how tall Rafe is. And big. Rafe is very big. Your eyes catch sight of the silver fraternity ring on his finger and you can almost feel the ghost of it against the back of your thigh from when he had carried you with one hand.

Yes! That's what I'm talking about! I'd literally go through my day and remember how big that man is, and my brain starts rotting, stuck on chanting "Rafe big 🤤"

Part of you assumes that Rafe didn’t, he and Sarah aren’t exactly the closest siblings. But he also isn’t that close with you and here he is asking you on dates and bringing you flowers, so your current perception of what’s true in the world of Rafe Cameron is a little up in the air.

No, because the way Sunshine knows this isn't Typical Rafe Behavior™ and still wonders what to think while I'm perfectly aware that he's convinced that he's pretending and this will end badly for her just breaks my heart!

“You wanna try drinking something, you ask me,” Rafe continues, his index finger coming under your chin to tilt your head up to meet his gaze. “And I’ll take care of it. But I don’t want you taking drinks from anybody else, okay?”

I'm sorry, let me just go swoon somewhere. Bugs, ngl, a bit unfair to make him so damn charming when he's gonna break our hearts. At least jtldm Bradley was an asshole to Dove from the start.

Rafe’s already in a sour mood when students start filtering into Sigma Chi and they all already know to give him a wide berth. Topper laughs it off somewhat awkwardly and then everyone is distracted by him, rolling their eyes at his over-fascination in the stock market. Rafe just gets up with a huff, making his way into an emptier room of the house.

Finance bro Topper 🥰

Rafe can’t believe this either. It’s like everything in the universe is somehow perfectly aligning in order to make sure he dates Makayla. While he first saw it as a negative, you being Sarah’s best friend means that he’s guaranteed to have you with him for the whole summer. It’s a lot easier to keep a girlfriend when she’s two doors over. And while he thought Sarah herself would be an obstacle, somehow he’s gained her approval without even trying.

Poor boy. He's completely misinterpreting the Universe's signs.

“You said I have this look. When I like a girl,” Rafe explains. For some reason he needs to know the answer to this. “When did I do it?”

I absolutely can't wait for Sarah to kick his ass when he breaks Sunshine's heart, knowing that her big brother is an idiot despite being in love with his best friend for real.

Assuming Landon will be the same, you turn back to the cooler. You’d have to let someone in Sigma Chi know that their Sprite supply is severely lacking. As you continue pushing through the melting ice, you realize that Landon has yet to leave.

I'm sure Rafe would be one of those boyfriends that would just stack his girl's favorite snacks and drinks at their home. And so will be Topper.

The way Rafe feels touched when Sunshine asks him about football. 😭 He really should have higher standards if he's impressed by basic human decency.

(I literally had so many more parts of this chapter I wanted to talk about, but my clipboard screwed me over, and now I'm confused 😭)

summary - Topper didn't really believe in summer love—summer flings sure, lasting romance though? Not a chance. But one conversation with you has him eating his words because Topper doesn't really know what else to call the fact that he looks for you at every party, and watches shitty romance movies to impress you, and wants to spend his whole summer just talking to you. You're perfect for him, Topper's certain of it. If only your shitty "best friend" would get out of the way.

Hehe, I'm totally not going feral over this at all. I absolutely don't have a visceral need to know what's the deal with the "best friend."

thank you, I am doing my best so we shall see

no I physical cannot think about Rafe too long, I get overwhelmed 💀

the big Rafe agenda will be a theme, I can promise you that haha

ugh, yeah... is it actually fluff if we know it's a lie?

no because Rafe was acting real boyfriendy on their impromptu date and I don't think it was on purpose 😳 does that make him worse than Bradley? or better? or are they both just the same and need that sweet, sweet, redemption arc?

finance bro Topper will be making many appearances before his spin-off I am very excited for him to be my go-to comedic relief 🤪 and Rafe is totally misreading the universe, where's Topper's astrology gf when you need her?

I have a feeling that Sarah will not be kicking his ass alone and, in fact, much of bugsington will be helping her

and, I mean, he did get her a Sprite... had to get that bad boy from somewhere...

"he's impressed by basic human decency" I am sensing a theme 🤔

and mayhaps Bit has a best friend who firmly believes that he's "in the friendzone" and not, ya know, just a friend, but who knows........

#wyws— asks #acatwriteshere #what's up doc

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homebody-nobody · 4 years

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touch me someone

HIIIII it’s your favorite fic writer back from the dead with TWO whole fics real close together maybe I’ll finally become a consistent publisher?!? we can dream. Anyway. JJ and Kiara are my new Bellamy and Clarke I guess so enjoy this VERY angsty smutty hurt/comforty poetic nonsense the idea for which would not leave my brain til I wrote it. Please for the love of god read this bc I actually kind of love it and need validation or concrit or literally any feedback at all bc my none of my irl friends like this show so pls interact/comment

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ao3

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He pulls away from her, and his eyes are wide but dry as his chest heaves. He looks wild, uncaged and raw, the moonlight turning his blond hair white and his blue eyes into pools of silver. Tragedy and shock have destroyed him, the chains he’d wrapped around his brash, heedless, unending want twisted into shards by an explosion of hurt and grief. He has always been the victim, the boy left behind in empty rooms with nothing but loss and bloody fragments, told to piece himself back together. Finally, they’ve taken the last thing. When he told John B they had nothing to lose, they still had each other. And now, he doesn’t even have that.

But she’s still here.

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Touch me someone

I’m too young to feel so

numb, numb, numb, numb

You could be the one to

Make me feel somethin, somethin.

The Phantom went down around 8:30 PM. Or maybe 10:30. Kiara doesn’t remember. She only knows that the hours between then and now have felt like a lifetime and also no time at all. Like she’ll turn and John B will be there, behind her shoulder, laughing at something JJ said, Sarah hanging off his arm; but also like the world is dark and will be dark and has been dark forever. Like the sun will never rise after this. Like the storm took the light and heat from the world just like it took her best friend.

Later, she’ll learn that John B’s official time of death is listed as 8:34 PM, when they stopped trying to establish radio contact with him and Sarah. Later, she’ll watch news stories about the manhunt for Rafe Cameron and the scandal of Ward Cameron’s property being left to his second wife, rather than his remaining daughter. Later, she’ll get an email from an internet cafe in Bermuda and her whole world will flip upside down one more time.

But now, she is laying in her four-poster bed, watching the ceiling fan lazily trawl the same, tired circle, listening to the pull-chain tap not-quite-silently against the glass fixture. Now, her hair still damp from the shower that her mother made her take, eyes stinging from sharp wind and tears not yet shed, the inside of her mouth shredded and sore from the hours she spent chewing on her lips, the world is too quiet, too peaceful. The crickets outside sing soft and gentle, just like they have every night her whole life, and the texture of her comforter, the quiet harmony of the night, the soft click and whoosh of the fan -- it all feels so chokingly familiar, like spiralling back down to earth after spending weeks dipping in and out of orbit.

She wants to scream until her throat is raw, sob and fight and unleash herself on every single adult that hurt John B, that brushed him off or refused to help or wouldn’t listen to him. She wants to gut Ward Cameron for ripping everything away from John B, first his father, and then the gold that was his by right. The gold that was theirs. She wants to rip off Rafe’s skin piece by piece until he’s in shreds at her feet. She wants to eviscerate his father with the same gaff hook he used to rip apart those two mainlanders and ruin John B’s life. She’s so full of hurt and grief and anger that her fists keep clenching white-knuckled in her blankets and she wants to bring down the sky itself. But at the same time, she’s haunted by that same emptiness that followed her after Sarah’s childish betrayal, like she’s watching it all from the outside.

She can’t sleep. She won’t. Sleep is just an escape, a place to forget, and she’ll have to wake up and remember what happened all over again, remember the rush of hope and the hours of adrenaline and apprehension that ended in a tragedy none of them could have ever predicted. What child foretells death?

Rolling over, she presses her face into her pillow, smothering herself until her lungs force her to turn her head for air. She opens her eyes, no less heavier than they were hours ago. Her throat tightens like tears are about to well up, to spill over and stain her sheets, but they don’t come. Itchy and claustrophobic, she throws back the sheets and paces over the smooth boards of her room, bare feet making soft noises over the lacquered wood. She has to get out, to make sure that she didn’t dream up the whole goddamn thing.

She dresses quickly, throwing on denim cutoffs and an old drug rug that cycled its way through at least two of the boys’ wardrobes before landing in hers. She doesn’t know where she’s going, doesn’t know what she needs, but she throws her wallet, her charger, a flashlight, and her water bottle in her beat up backpack, and, on second thought, a toothbrush and some deodorant. She picks up her keds and tiptoes down the stairs, avoiding the creaky eighth stair.

The key rack is empty, and, chastising herself for believing her parents would leave the car keys out after everything she’d pulled in the last few days, she rocks on her heels, assessing her options. The most prudent one is probably just to go back to bed, given the usual risks of going out at night as a teenage girl, the massive punishment that looms in her future, and, now, the lack of a vehicle. But the thought of returning to her stale room, skin crawling and mind racing at a standstill, makes the decision for her. She slips out the back door, making sure to catch the screen door before it slams, and digs out her bike from next to the garage. The tires could use air and the gears are misaligned, but it still rides, and it’ll get her… somewhere else.

Her original intention is to go to Pope’s house, mostly because it’s closest, but then she thinks about how she kissed him earlier that afternoon -- and God, was that just this afternoon? There’d be implications, now. Showing up in the middle of the night, throwing pebbles at his window -- it would mean something. So she stands up on the pedals and pushes past his street, floating like jetsam through the night.

She ends up heading for the chateau, which is where she was going all along. After her family moved to the outskirts of figure eight just before high school, it was the only place that felt like home anymore. She cruises deep into the cut, where even the smell of the air changes, from freshly mowed grass and chlorinated in-ground pools to gasoline and oil, rotting seaweed and the salt marsh.

The little house sits in the reeds, ramshackle and welcoming as ever, tired and reaching under the moon. It’s empty and forlorn, alone on the edge of the edge, out past the main cluster of the cut, pushed past the tideline, separated from the rest of the flotsam by a freak wave. The Routledge boys never fit in, even with the outcasts, and they made their home like they knew it. Skidding to a stop in the gravel driveway, the sting of tiny rocks against her bare ankles is the only thing she’s really felt in hours. Her heart picks up, skipping over itself as her memory stumbles over all the years seeping out of the wind-weathered boards and the sinking foundation.

Again, it feels like this would be a moment for tears, like the sight of John B’s house, the memory of Big John’s booming laugh and all the bonfire-scented nights on that sagging porch should mean enough to make something in her crack, to finally shatter the glass walls of shock and let the grief come pouring in. But it doesn’t. She just stares up at the chateau, one part of her aching for the ease of a found family she’ll never get back, the other dreading the fate of the little house.

The breeze changes directions as she stares up at the rickety shutters and holey screens, bringing with it the tinny sound of music played out of a cell phone in a solo cup, a noise she knows well. Her stomach drops to the hard-packed dirt, crashing there with her bicycle and sending up a cloud of dust. Maybe John B survived. Maybe he made it back to shore, and he’s laying low, doing that stupid, chivalrous thing he does, trying to protect them by not letting them know. Maybe he’s out by the shed in that old metal lawn chair, Sarah in his lap, exhausted and defeated and alive. But as she gets closer, the moonlight glints off tawny waves crusted with sweat and salt, and the momentary, wild hope crashes and ebbs away from the shore.

JJ hears her, of course, sitting up in the hammock and turning toward the sound of her flat-soled sneakers slapping the dirt. “Hey,” he says, his expressive face, for once, inscrutable.

“Hey,” she says, slightly out of breath from the sprint. “I thought you were…” she trails off, because he knows. Because he’s the only one in the whole world who can look at her and understand the cathedral dreams and vaulted memories crashing down in her chest.

“I’m not,” he says, an answer that belies more than either of them knows. JJ gets this look, when he’s seconds away from doing something particularly concerning (and usually criminal). Manic energy lights up in his blue eyes, burning anywhere from mischief to stubborn determination to full-tilt rage. The well-developed muscles in his shoulders and arms refuse to relax, and his hands get so fidgety they lose the coordination it takes to flip the zippo lighter between long, practiced fingers. His face fights with itself, half already spitting with well-steeped anger, the other tired, and broken, and grieving.

“I noticed,” she responds. She drops her bag on one of the metal folding chairs, dooming it to a coating of flaky, faded paint. Crossing the grass, hoping her broad strides will disguise the rattling breath in her chest, the shake in her hands, she moves to sit next to him in the hammock, and he shifts his weight to allow her.

There’s no verbal communication, no squabble about personal space or indignant demands she find her own seat. There never is, not with her boys. The Pogues. It seems so silly now, hiding behind that name for themselves, a name she’d never really belonged to, anyway. He’s holding a lit joint in one hand, a bottle dangling from the other, and he offers her one while swigging from the other. The old favorites of a Maybank in crisis. She takes it.

He falls back next to her, sending the hammock swinging as he gazes up at the stars. Sarah had known the most about constellations, of the five of them, but JJ knows a fair amount, too, some of the only memories of his mother the nights when she would hold him under the stars, tracing the designs across the sky, her hand wrapped around his tiny one. His eyes keep drifting off the sky and landing on Kiara, eyes distant, bathed in moonlight.

“He’s not dead,” JJ says, surprising himself as much as her. He sits up, and she follows. He stares at his feet for a while, and she thinks about putting her arms around him. “I --” he picks his head up to look at her and stops, voice stolen by the hope in her eyes. “I’d feel it,” he finishes lamely, and watches the spark die.

“The first stage of grief is denial,” she says, and it’s supposed to be at least slightly lighthearted, but it falls cruelly to the crabgrass.

“You sound like Pope,” he counters, and there’s too much weight to that name to throw it around for long. They’re both thinking of Kiara kissing him, and the memory is pleasant to neither.

She doesn’t really know why she did that. Maybe it’s because he’s everything she’s supposed to want, intelligence and ambition and ingenuity, everything she tells herself is important in a guy. Maybe because he’s in love with her. Maybe because she’s definitely in love with one of her best friends, and he’s the one who makes sense. She takes another hit and hands the blunt back to JJ.

“I’d know,” he repeats, and she knows it’s not her he’s trying to convince. He lays back in the hammock, putting the blunt between his lips and dragging deep before tilting his head back and blowing the smoke into the tumultuous night. She looks back over her shoulder, watching his jaw and the movement of his throat as he exhales. Laying back next to him, she tries not to think about the warmth of his skin against hers, the strength of the body pressed to her side. It’s only JJ, the same reckless, stupid asshole who carried that damn pistol everywhere all summer and has a talent for getting into trouble. He’s not giving her butterflies with his proximity, and she’s not thinking about reaching down and lacing her fingers through his.

Eventually, JJ flicks the roach into the darkness and stands as quickly as he can without tipping Kiara out of the hammock. She starts, not realizing she was dozing on his shoulder until it’s gone. “It’s late,” he says.

She stands as well, tucking her hands into the pocket of her sweatshirt as he kicks at the dirt. “I don’t --” she starts, and the hesitation makes him stop his nervous movement, meeting her eyes. “I don’t want to go home.” He opens his mouth to say something, but she interrupts him. “I can’t go home.”

“Okay,” he says, after a second. He doesn’t want to be alone, either. She nods, and walks past him, picking up her bag. He follows her up to the house, and they stop at the foot of the stairs to the porch, staring at the buzzing light. JJ takes a stuttering inhale Kiara pretends not to hear, and he goes up the stairs first, wrapping a shaking hand the handle to the screen door. He pauses before going in, frozen, and it isn’t until she lays her hand on his shoulder that he summons the courage to push the door open.

They knew the place was going to be tossed, but it still hurts Kiara and kills JJ, to see the overturned table and scattered papers, the couch cushions scattered on the floor and the coffee table flipped. He tries to shuffle backwards, to run from the sharp, fresh grief and the deep, familiar ache of loss and violation, but Kie is in the way, and when he turns to escape she catches him, her arms around his shoulders, his clutched around her waist. “I can’t --” he chokes, his face pressed to her neck, “It’s not --” his breath speeds up, his shoulders shaking. “They --”

“I know,” she says, swallowing down tears, herself, in that same small voice from the night in the hot tub. She knew JJ was broken, on that deep, fundamental level that, intellectually, she could conceptualize, but she could never feel. But that night, seeing the bruises on his ribs, damning as fingerprints, the ghost of his pain, the whisper of breath knocked out and the brush of betrayal, turned her chest inside out. This feels the same way, watching him lose the last shred of some semblance of home to the same kind of mindless anger and selfish authority that claimed the first one. “I know.”

But she’s still here. “Kie…” he breathes. She opens her mouth to reassure him again, but then his hands are on her face and he’s kissing her, deep and rough and desperate. She bursts into flame underneath him, paralysis broken, stupefaction overcome, as the glass walls she’s been watching through crack and shatter at her feet. JJ’s hands wrap around the back of her neck and spread across the small of her back, pushing her up against the door, and she twists her hands into his shaggy, sun-streaked hair. Every desperate question is met with his touch, and she chases it, even as he pulls away in horrified shock.

“Fuck,” he gasps. “Fuck, Kie, I’m so sorry --” He tries to shove himself away from her at the instant she curls her fists in his shirt, and it almost rips as she pulls and he slams back into her. Teeth clash and noses bump and it’s not perfect or soft or loving, but passion born from desperation and terror of what it would mean to stop. Putting his hands on the door on either side of her face, he pushes himself off of her, even as she tries to yank him back. “What are we doing?” he asks, in a voice that won’t like the answer.

“JJ,” she gasps, pushing her fingers back up to tangle in blond, salt-sticky waves. “Shut up.” Pulling his mouth back down on top of hers, she gasps into him as his hands come down and frame her ribs, one of his arms sliding around her waist and the other pushing back up into her hair.

“Don’t you think --” he tries, even as he leans over her, their breathing ragged, his knuckles white in her impossibly soft curls. His forehead is pushed to hers and he can’t pull away any farther, sucked into her gravitational field, helpless to it.

“I don’t want to think,” she insists. “I want this, I need this,” This momentary pause is already too long, and if he stops kissing her, stops touching her, the tears she’s been holding back will crash over her and they won’t stop. The dark room is loud with heavy breathing as she catches the scent of him, salt and sweat and smoke. “I need you.”

His grip falters and the momentary relaxation has her pressing herself against him. “Are you sure?” he asks, and this is a choice, now. This isn’t something that either of them can pawn off as a mistake made in the heat of a desperate moment. He wants this, has wanted it, ever since he met her, but he won’t be a decision half-made, won’t take advantage of vulnerability only to become a regret. He’s giving her a way out, knows her pragmatic nature and her anxious need for well-thought plans. He wants her to think, even if she’s desperate not to.

He’s right, when he almost never is, but she knows that if she waits too long or lets in the doubt that expects her, she will break. “JJ,” she gasps, “Please.” His name, she knows, he can’t resist, not when paired with urgent pleading, and in this way, she makes her choice. He surrenders to her.

They fall onto the creaky pullout, still set up from JJ’s most recent stay, not minding the sheets and blankets wrought asunder by the angry police search. He can’t let go of her, his hands pushing up her sweatshirt, dragging over her sides and up her thighs, tangling in her hair like he’s drinking her in with his touch, intoxicated with the smell of peach in her hair and the taste of sweat on her skin. Kiara lets herself get lost in him, ride the wave of desire pushing through her, moans and gasps when he hits the right spots and closes her eyes as he lifts her shirt over her head and attaches his lips to her neck, his hands finally coming up to cover her tits, and the long careful fingers she’d spent so many afternoons watching prove adept at twisting and pinching her nipples and leaving her begging for him.

She almost rips his t-shirt off, pulling his bare chest against her own and letting the feeling of skin on skin light her up, setting fireworks off behind her eyelids. Wrapping one hand around the arm holding him up, she can feel his teeth on her neck, and she knows he’s leaving marks, and, for once, it doesn’t feel like she’s being claimed. She knows what it is -- proof this is happening, that they’re alive and feeling and crashing together again and again. She sinks her nails into his bicep as his fingers skim below the waistband of her shorts, and feels him smirk against her lips.

“Yeah?” he asks, and the teasing in his voice is tortuous and reminiscent of his old, humorous self, just enough to make her sad for a moment, and when she nods quickly in return, it’s a bid to forget that sadness. His fingers flick open the button of her shorts and as his fingers dip lower, the only thing she can think about, the only thing she can feel, is his touch, his all-consuming presence, radiating heat. The bastard takes his time, her only gratification the press of him against her hip, hot and hard. He teases her through her underwear, and she can’t say she doesn’t enjoy it, arcing into his touch, shocks of pleasure building in incredible anticipation, but he’s going too slow, and he’s wearing too many clothes, still, and the intense want gnawing at her has too much potential to turn into grief.

“Would you just --” she grunts against his mouth, cut off on a moan as he presses his fingers against her clit. “Fucking -- ah,” he works slow, hard, circles, enjoying himself as she tries to form sentences with his hands on her. “Fuck me already!” Because even this can’t be easy, not between the two of them. Because she’ll always be fighting with him, even with her bare chest pressed against his and his hand down her pants.

JJ grins, scraping his teeth over her ear. “What,” he says, still teasing, still bittersweet, as he finally pushes his hand into her underwear, “aren’t you enjoying this?” Slowly, much too slowly, his fingers part the lips of her cunt, pressing down over her clit before finding the wetness further down. JJ practically growls as his middle finger dips between her folds and he finds her soaked, dropping his forehead against the forearm braced above her head. “Fuck, Kie,” he moans, and he can’t disguise the wasted crack in his voice. “God, you’re so fucking wet.” He’s already drunk on her, every new sensation dragging him deeper.

“Your fault,” she stutters as he puts his hands, lean and strong and practiced, to good use, dragging slick fingertips back up to her clit and teasing small circles, rough, calloused skin creating delicious friction. And this -- this is what she was so desperate for, to feel only his touch and the way he pushes her higher, closer to an edge far away from the bleak grief of their every day world. He moans, too, as he dips his middle finger into her and she keens into his mouth, and she’s not thinking anymore, only chasing heat and skin and pleasure, the rest of the night foggy and distant, moonlit and blurred.

She doesn’t even know how much time passes before he’s kissing his way down her body, only that he’s fucked her so well with his hands he has three fingers inside her and she’s asking for more. He pulls his hand away and she lets out an embarrassingly high-pitched noise at the loss of contact, only to end on a gasp when she opens her eyes to see that he has his fingers curled around the waistband of her shorts and his face is hovering near her hips, pupils blown wide as he looks up at her. He asks her something, but blood rushes in her ears as her heart pounds and her chest heaves and it isn’t until his tongue darts out to wet his lips that she realizes what he’s saying.

“Fuck, yes, please,” she whines, and it feels like less than instant before her shorts are on the floor and his head is between her legs, his tongue on her clit, and she screams, pushing her hands into his hair as his mouth launches her higher and keeps her there, wave upon wave crashing over her until her legs are shaking, and when she feels the pull deep in her stomach and he takes half a second to breathe, she has enough presence of mind to yank him back up, slamming his lips down onto hers, tasting herself there.

“Inside me,” she gasps, ragged and raw and scraping. “Now.”

“But you haven’t --” he breathes, and she reaches down, shoving past the waistband of the shorts he’s still wearing, her hand on his cock stopping him dead.

“Now,” she repeats. And then, leans up to kiss him, slightly softer than before, as if in apology for being so rough, but more as a distraction as her hands unbutton his shorts and shove them down his thighs, her hands finding him again and stroking his cock until he’s gasping into her mouth. “Unless,” she says between short kisses, trying to keep her tone light, even as her cunt aches for him. “You changed your mind?”

He scrambles out of his shorts and boxers so fast it’s almost funny, but the laugh falls out of her chest as he braces his forearms on either side of her face, pushing her hair back from her forehead and looking at her so carefully it almost hurts. “I don’t have a condom,” he says, uncharacteristic worry trembling in his voice.

“I’m clean,” she says, her hands reaching up to tangle in his hair once more, to ground her, and disguise their shaking. “You?”

He nods. “What about --”

“I have an IUD,” she says, more grateful than ever for her liberal mother and her own presence of mind.

He licks his lips again, eyes dropping to her mouth before flicking back up to her eyes. “Last chance,” he says, like she’s going to change her mind and push him off of her, run off into the night and leave him here, disgraced and embarrassed. “Still sure?” he asks, like he’s expecting her to say no. She nods without hesitation, caught in his blue eyes, turned cobalt in the half-light. He kisses her one more time, and it’s laden with years of things he hasn’t said, and she surges up with urgency, not ready for the tenderness in his touch. JJ tries to slow her down again, to revel in the moment of bare skin and vulnerability, no matter how guarded it may be, but she reaches down, wrapping her hand around his dick, guiding him closer to her, and he’s falling into her touch, into her orbit, helpless.

She draws him inside her, his forehead dropping to her shoulder with a forsaken, heavy breath. It’s too soft, this moment before he moves, too easy to break, every sense on fire. The air is too close to her skin, too tight around her arms, like she could rip the fabric of it with the barest movement. She wants to be lost in him again, to feel separate, far away and floating above herself, not so torturously in her body, JJ trembling and present above her. “JJ,” she says, opening her eyes to find his, a split-second mistake, the next word hitching on its way out of her chest. “Move.”

He does, mercifully lowering his face to press against her neck, the eye contact too substantial, too burdensome to hold. The bubble surrounding them expands as he works her up to that blissful edge with ease, his mouth letting out a stream of filthy words about how good she feels surrounding him. Closing her eyes, she tilts her head back, letting her hands have free reign over his back, his shoulders, his arms and up into his hair, every place she wants to touch him when she watches his ridiculous muscles ripple under his young, tan skin. He shifts his weight, hooking her knee over his hip so his cock hits exactly the right spot with every thrust, and she cries out, racing higher.

She should have expected that JJ likes to run his mouth -- she only catches parts of what he’s saying, things like ‘so fucking hot’ and ‘sound so fucking good’ and ‘so fucking wet for me’ and as her moans increase in pitch and volume, he growls “c’mon, Kie, cum for me,” and she falls apart. He fucks her through the aftermath and she barely knows what noises are coming out of her mouth, her nails digging angry welts in his back. Just when she thinks she can’t take anymore, he tenses and spills inside her on a half-broken sigh.

Her vision sharpens as he rolls off of her, collapsing on the squeaky bedsprings, and the house is too quiet all of a sudden, the air once again too close. Her breath slows, the sweat cooling on her skin in the soft breeze pushing through the wooden walls, the still-open front door. Neither of them says anything, and Kiara can feel him looking at her, his blown out smile too loud in the fallout. She sits up, almost flinching at the light touch of his fingers on his spine when he picks up a strand of her hair. “I’m gonna pee,” she says, finding her underwear and pulling them on, and then, after half a moment, pulling his discarded t-shirt over her head.

Her head echoes as she steps over the scattered mess to get to the bathroom, like she’s walking through a tunnel. Her legs ache and tremble, and she wraps her arms around herself, numb and falling. She fights tears as she washes her hands. The bathroom is, as always, a deplorable mess, products everywhere and hair all over the sink. Her green bikini top is still on the floor from when she’d forgotten it just the other day, and that girl feels impossibly far from the one staring at herself in the mirror, wearing her best friend’s shirt while he’s naked in the next room. There’d be shame, and guilt, too, if the smell of John B’s deodorant didn’t choke her with overwhelming loss. Bracing her hands on either side of the sink, she can’t hold it back anymore, and sobs spill out of her, harsh and echoing in the small space.

JJ is behind her an instant, half-dressed in basketball shorts and drawing her into his arms, tucking her close to him, her tears hot on his skin. “He’s gone,” she whimpers. “He’s really gone.” He doesn’t say anything, just guides her back to the pullout and straightens the blankets enough for her to fall in. She curls up on her side, crying so hard she can’t breathe, and he climbs in across from her, pushing one arm under her neck and using the other to pull her against him, his lips pressed to her forehead.

Tears leak out of his own eyes, silent and soft to her earth-shattering grief. “It’s gonna be okay,” he reassures her, fighting the quiver in his own voice, his chin shaking with the effort of it. He stares into the empty darkness above her head, every jerk of her prone body another crack in his breaking heart. “He’s coming back,” he says, more to himself than her. “He’s coming back to us.”

When she finally quiets down, the betrayal of dawn is beginning to lighten the sky, the moon fading, and the idea of this night being over feels impossible. For a short while, they breathe each other in, her forehead pressed to his collarbones, his hand trailing up and down her spine. Her head aches and her eyelids fall heavy over gritty, exhausted eyes, but she still fights sleep, stubbornly resisting another day, the beginning of a life without John B and Sarah. “I can’t stay here,” she says, finally, pushing back from him. “I should go home.”

He reaches up to catch her chin as she watches her hands curled close to his chest, reluctant to go. “Kie,” he murmurs, lifting her gaze to meet his. He moves forward to kiss her, and she flattens her palms against his skin, stopping him even as her eyes fall to his lips.

“JJ,” she says, an exhale more than his name. “We -- I mean, I --”

“Shit,” he sighs, and it almost sounds like a laugh, formed from expectations he wished hadn’t come true. “Okay.” His eyes flutter close, and she watches him draw back into himself, close all the doors, like he wants to turn off the lights and pretend he’s not even here. But then, he looks at her again, gently smoothing a curl behind her ear. “It’s just --” he starts, and inhales again, wetting his lips as he struggles to keep his eyes on her deep brown ones. “Can we go back to normal tomorrow?” Her eyebrows push together a fraction of an inch, and he focuses on the wrinkle there, a thousand times easier than holding her gaze. “Please,” he says when she inhales to say something. “I don’t want to be alone.”

It’s the first time either of them have been completely honest all night, and the most he’s said in hours. “Yeah,” she says, agreeing without thinking. Making it about him instead of admitting to herself that she wants to stay, that she doesn’t want to be alone either. “Yeah, okay.” She allows herself to be kissed, to be held and kept softly. JJ twists his fingers in her curls, skims his lips over her hairline before pressing his forehead against hers.

He tucks his hand against the side of her neck, his fingers spanning from her ear to the juncture of her neck and shoulder. “It’s gonna be alright,” he promises, and they both pretend he’s saying it to her. She’s seen JJ cheerful and stubborn, breaking and angry, seen him a thousand different ways. But never like this, kind and soft, quiet in the grey, grieving dawn. Eventually, she falls asleep under his touch and reassuring whispers.

The morning is just as sticky and unforgiving as every other that summer, and she wakes up damp and sticky with sweat. JJ is stretched out on his stomach, arms tucked under his head, mouth slack and hair falling over his eyes. Her head still hurts, and now so do her back and thighs, and she stretches her hand out across the rumpled sheets, tracing the red lines she’d left down his back. He blinks awake, closing his mouth and freezing when he feels her touch on his skin.

“Hey,” she murmurs.

“Hey,” he replies.

She waits for him to say something, but he just watches her, his clear blue eyes unflinching. She bites her lip. “I should get home,” she says, keeping her eyes on the knuckle tracing over his back, his gaze too heavy to hold.

“Yeah,” he says, “okay.” Neither of them move. The world waits on a hair trigger, and JJ’s more familiar with this kind of silence than she is. She wants him to break it first, to be the impulsive hothead he always is, to make the choice for both of them. But he doesn’t, and the moment crumbles, and she sits up and goes in search of her clothes.

He doesn’t say anything until she stoops to pick up her bag, sweatshirt in hand, ready to shove it into the biggest pocket. “Kie,” he says, and she stops dead, looking up at him. She doesn’t know what she wants him to say, but she deflates anyway when he just asks “my shirt?”

She’d forgotten she was wearing it. Pulling it off, she feels his hungry eyes trace up her bare chest as she untangles the drug rug before pulling it down and arranging it around her hips. She tosses him the shirt, and he holds her gaze as he flips it right side out and tugs it on. They stand on either side of the disheveled living room, daring the other person to say something, move, do anything first. He knows what he wants, what he can’t have, what he’s convinced himself he never will. She remembers the line she drew, the boundary she’d very clearly set. He chooses to respect it while she waits for him to break the rules.

Birds sing in the unflinching morning, and a breeze stirs the hair around her face. She slings her backpack over her shoulder. The sun blazes as gulls call and waves lap against the dock. He tilts his chin back, like he always does just before a fight. She turns to go.

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