warriorblu

[warriorblu]

Love him!

💭 thinking about pillow princess!reader x rafe…

him not wanting you to do anything, not even lifting your hips to meet him, not even letting you rub your clit while he fucks you, he wants complete control.

“don’t move. don’t touch. don’t even think about helping me,”

he’s possessive in that entitled way, like your body was made for him to use, and you letting him use it is the highest form of obedience.

he drags his cock along your slit slow, teasing, “just lay there, baby. be good, be mine,” staring at your face the whole time — watching for that little shiver in your bottom lip, your breath hitch, the glaze in your eyes. he wants to feel how much you want him, how much you’re holding back.

and when he finally slides in, slow and deep, both hands holding your thighs wide open like a ceremony, he almost moans at the sight of your helpless little expression.

“fuck��� look at you. not even trying to take it, and you’re still perfect,” rafe grunts, eyes glued to where his dick is disappearing inside you, wetness pooling out of your little cunt coating him completely.

you’re gripping the sheets so tight your knuckles ache. moaning without moving, crying without resistance, “this is all i ever fucking wanted. you like this, huh? don’t lie, you love being my little pillow princess, don’t you?”

he loves it, gets meaner the prettier you look beneath him. one hand on your throat, and the other hiking your leg up, his hips pounding into you like he’s proving something.

[warriorblu]

THE ANGST!!! stop he needs to win her back !

you find it in your mailbox. no note. no return address. just a heavy black box, the kind that whispers luxury in a language only the haunted understand. you know before you open it. you know it like you knew the curve of his back in the mornings, the slant of his eyes when he was lying, the cadence of i'll never stop loving you—so natural it stopped sounding like a promise and started sounding like a prayer.

your hands don't shake. you won't give him that. the velvet cracks open like a confession. the ring is platinum, round cut with a delicate pave band, tiny diamonds woven like breathless apologies. the same design as the last one. and the one before that. and the one before that.

this is number four. you'd told him to stop after number two. “i’m not yours anymore," you'd said. voice cool and even. you managed to keep your back straight, eyes dry. "you don't get to promise me anything." but rafe has always been bad at endings. he doesn't know when to let go.

the first ring had come two weeks post-breakup. the day after he saw you at that party on figure eight, laughing too loud, pretending you hadn't cried in his truck bed for an hour the week before. the second came a month later. after he showed up drunk at your apartment, fists curled around nothing, mouth forming your name like it was the only thing that ever fit right in him. the third—the one with the inscription—arrived on what would've been your anniversary.

"mine, still."

you didn't wear that one, but you didn't throw it away, either. you kept it in your desk drawer, top right corner, next to old polaroids and ticket stubs and the blurry picture of him sleeping on your chest. you told yourself it meant nothing. but you still opened the drawer, sometimes, when the ache got too loud.

and now here's number four, you stare at it too long. it stares back. it's the ghost of your relationship. a ghost of the love that used to linger within the space between you and him. a ghost of everything you put your soul into. you sigh, slipping the ring on your finger and closing your eyes. in the silence that follows, you realize…some hauntings don’t want to be laid to rest.

taglist ~ @ren-ni @bungurus @kayperrysinging @cupids-diner @mojitrvo @babygirlboeser @makiplan @ladyatwalmart @qversazex @nothingtosee333her @soft-starr @f10werfae @brennanyay @grungefck @kravinoffswife @restinpaece @illumoria @meetmeintheemeraldpool @miaaaoa @imtalkinnonsense @strawberrymilk99 @angel06babysworld @rafesteddy @drewrry @urcoolgf @thegirlnextdoorssister @sydneysslove @dsfault @missabsey @ivysturnss @kisses4rafey @katiebby04 @kelbrave @bebebambs @leviathan0000 @yolgart @jkmylove97 @blushhbambi @lightreadingty @bewitchedarchive @yelqze @sexybr9nette

[warriorblu]

Ohhh he’s down bad and I love it!

✮⋆˙ . rafe and reader sneaking around during family vacation behind their families' backs.

warnings — 18+. MDNI. unestablished relationship (somewhere between best friends, and friends with benefits). semi-public sex.

cherie’s note — requested here! thank you nonnie (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶). i kind of strayed from the plot, i can't lie... but i hope you like it! literally had me blushing n shii writing it, i swearrr.

everyone was inside by now — dinner had finished, drinks had been poured dry, board games were beginning to be pulled out from dusty cabinets and bookshelves, each of your families gathered around the circular coffee table to participate in family game night. laughter echoed faintly from the living room, dimly lit with the soft golden glow of the cottage lamps.

you and rafe had locked eyes the second dessert was cleared.

he'd been sitting across from you at the table, one leg lazily bouncing under his chair, fingers drumming, jaw tight. every so often, he'd lick his bottom lip or run a hand through his hair, looking borderline bored. but you knew that look — you'd grown up beside rafe cameron. you knew what that twitch in his jaw meant. months of sneaking around behind your parents backs, you were starting to understand what he looked like when he wanted to fuck you.

and right now, he looked like he was seconds from dragging you out by your wrist.

so when you stood, yawning dramatically and mumbling something about needing fresh air, rafe was quick to follow — barely giving anyone a chance to ask where you were going.

the pool was quiet, tucked behind the cottage and hidden from the back windows by the hedge of trees.

you were halfway down the stairs into the shallow end when rafe grabbed you — arms around your waist, pulling you back against him. you gasped, but it turned into a giggle when his hands slid over your bikini top.

you could feel him — already achingly hard through his swim trunks, pressing into your lower back with no shame. his free hand cups your breast, thumb brushing the fabric over your nipple gently, while the other slid down to play with the flimsy waistband of your bottoms.

he nudges your legs apart with his knee, his hands roaming your waist, tightening every time you squirm in his hold. he’s already pushing your swimsuit to the side before you can protest, and suddenly, the head of his cock is pushing inside — slow, steady, dizzying — and your hands clutch at the pool like it's the only thing keeping you grounded.

"keep quiet," he'd whispered the second he pushed in, pathetic little whimpers falling from your mouth at the growingly familiar feeling of the stretch. "you wanna get caught, that it?"

you shake your head — frantically, breathless — but you can't even pretend to care. not with the way you grip the tile for leverage against the steady rock of his hips, knuckles white from the strength.

you bite your lip hard enough to bruise as he fucks into you, slow and deep. not rushed. not sloppy. his hips hit your ass with every soft slap that gets swallowed by the ripple of water, but every time he bottoms out, it's a fight not to moan.

the water disguises everything but the rhythm of your shaky breaths.

"you're so obvious, you know that?" he murmurs, one hand sliding beneath the surface of the thin fabric of bikini bottoms, calloused finger finding the sensitive swell of your clit. he rubs slow, barely there circles against it, your body shuddering under the feeling. "dragging me out here, all quiet, pretending like we're just friends."

"i didn't drag you," you whisper, glancing nervously toward the patio. "you were practically eye-fucking me across the table—"

one sharp thrust, and the thick head of his cock nudges against the soft, gummy spot within you. your knees buckle, and rafe scoffs against you. "come again?"

"fuck you," you breath, eyes screwing shut at the feeling.

that one garners a real laugh from him — a sharp, exhale of air. his hand slides up your stomach, until it's wrapping around your throat, his other hand gripping against the soft flesh of your hip, using it as leverage to continue his movements against you. "y'already are, sweet girl."

your friendship with rafe had always been like this — playful, teasing flirts back and forth, disguised under the premise of just being 'friendly banter'. everyone around you could see it, the tension was as clear as day — and maybe, that's why your family always decided to invite the camerons for vacations, no matter the destination.

your breath hitches when his hand tightens around your throat, not choking, just there — reminding you who's in control.

the salty pool water laps softly around your thighs, the warm summer night wrapping around your bare skin, but all you can feel is him. the way he pushes in deeper like he's trying to leave something behind. the heat of his breath at your ear, the rough scrape of his fingertips digging into your hip.

"still pretending?" he murmurs, dragging his teeth over the curve of your shoulder, pressing a gentle kiss against the skin to sting. "that this doesn't mean anything?"

you try to shake your head, but your brain's gone soft — everything dissolving under the heat curling in your gut, under the press of his body behind yours.

he makes a sound low in his throat, something like amusement. "that's what i thought."

his thrusts get a little meaner. not faster — he doesn't need to fuck you fast to make you fall apart. but more deliberate. more calculated. he knows exactly how to angle his hips to keep hitting that same spot again and again, your breath hitching every time.

"bet you're gonna be real quiet tomorrow at breakfast, huh?" his lips brush the shell of your ear. his tone drips with smug satisfaction, pulling a desperate whimper from your throat. "sitting across from me like this didn't happen. like i didn't fuck you in your parents' pool while they played charades inside with mine."

"rafe—"

he growls your name low and sharp, hips stuttering as your cunt clenches around him. "say my name like that again, and i'll cum inside you."

your breath catches, thighs clenching instinctively.

his fingers slip back down, brushing at your clit again. "no one can see us, baby," he purrs against your ear, cruel and sweet, all at once. "let me feel you — remind me how much of a mistake it was, not fucking you years ago."

cherie's taglist <3 — @sexybr9nette, @fawnfate, @bonjourjiminie, @bunniecouture, @kaydennnn, @rafessbaby, @girldisrupted, @vunhun, @mattyskies.

[warriorblu]

I LOVE THIS RAFE

Juice Box Party

summary: “Yeah. You’re done sharing that smile with everyone else.” characters: frat! rafe. elementary ed! reader warnings: mentions of alcohol word count: 1.0k

"Did Miss Recess just walk into a frat party?"

Rafe's voice cut through the bass-heavy hum of the backyard speakers, low and teasing as he leaned against the deck railing. He had a Solo cup in one hand, backward cap casting a shadow over his smug, sun-kissed grin as he stared straight at you like you were a UFO landing on the lawn.

You blinked up at him, cheeks already warm-not from the tequila spritzer in your hand, but from how out of place you felt.

“I don’t just live in the education building, you know,” you chirped, holding your drink like a peace offering. “I’m multifaceted.”

Rafe snorted. “Yeah, and your drink’s in a damn juice box.”

You looked down at the bright pink box-strawberry lemonade spiked seltzer-and shrugged, sipping like it was apple juice during snack time. “It’s cute.”

He tilted his head. “You’re cute.”

You giggled, missing how his gaze lingered a second longer than it should’ve. Always did. And you never seemed to notice.

The thing about you was that you weren’t meant to be here.

You wore flower-embroidered denim shorts and a yellow tank top, your hair in a loose braid, earrings shaped like little daisies. Your nails were glittery. Your phone case had a cartoon avocado on it. You greeted everyone like they were old friends-even when you didn’t know their names.

Rafe had never seen someone turn down beer pong to compliment a girl’s shoes and ask if she wanted a Rice Krispies treat you’d brought “just in case people got hungry.”

Who brings snacks to a kegger? You did.

And every time you smiled at someone-eyes wide, voice high and sugary-Rafe felt his jaw tick.

Because people were noticing.

Especially when Topper started making you lemon drop shots.

One.

Two.

Three.

You were giggly now. Touchier. Your arm kept looping through strangers’ elbows. You were telling a group of guys that your favorite animal was a duck because “they look like tiny soldiers with their little waddles,” and Rafe was this close to losing it.

“Kelce,” he growled under his breath, eyes locked on you like you were a butterfly trying to land in a lion’s den. “If one more guy gets near her-”

“She doesn’t even know they’re flirting,” Kelce replied with a laugh. “It’s like watching a kitten try to cross the freeway.”

“Exactly,” Rafe muttered, already moving.

He wasn’t even subtle about it.

The next time some sophomore tried to offer you a drink, Rafe stepped right between you. Just-appeared. Eyes sharp. Shoulders squared.

“She’s good,” he said flatly. “Back off.”

The guy blinked. “I was just-”

“I said she’s good.”

When he turned back to you, you just smiled, completely unaware of the tension.

“Oh! That was nice of him, he was trying to give me a-”

“No, he wasn’t.”

You blinked. “Huh?”

“Nothing.” He handed you a water instead. “Drink this. You’re starting to get wobbly.”

You took it happily, wrapping both hands around the bottle like it was precious cargo. “You’re such a worrier.”

Rafe stared at you. At your scrunchie around your wrist. At the pink flush in your cheeks. At the sparkle in your eyes.

Worrier?

Maybe.

Or maybe he just didn’t like that people were looking at something that had started to feel like his.

“You know,” you went on, twirling a strand of hair around your finger. “You’re not so scary when you smile.”

Rafe didn’t smile.

Not tonight.

Not with half the frat house watching the way your tank top dipped slightly when you leaned down to fix your shoe. Not with some dude in a jersey still sneaking glances even now.

“I’m not smiling,” he muttered, pulling his hoodie off and draping it over your shoulders without asking. “And we’re leaving in ten.”

You blinked again. “We are?”

He just nodded.

And this time, even your sunshine couldn’t melt the steel in his voice:

“Yeah. You’re done sharing that smile with everyone else.”

[warriorblu]

after your everything shower

rafe absolutely loved when you took everything showers, every sunday night without fail he would sit on the bed and watch you in the bathroom.

watching as you put your hair up in a clip after putting some fancy hair mask in it, you shaking your legs precisely, smiling at the way your tongue pokes out between your lips as you concentrate.

he silently pats his lap when you come out, skin lathered in a sweet moisturiser that matches your body lotion with your hair freshly blowdried.

you climb onto his lap and straddle his thighs, letting out a soft sigh as you lean against him, the labours of your self care making you sleepy.

as rafe gently rubs your back, he presses soft kisses down your freshly exfoliated arms, his thumb rubbing over your knuckles as he holds your arm out,

“i love when you’re all sleepy and fresh…” he groans, burying his face in your neck, wrapping his arms around your waist tightly and pulling you into him. “such a pretty, sweet smelling girl…” he hums, running his hand over your soft hair.

his hands trail down your thighs and his lips curve into a small smirk when he feels your body getting heavier against him.

“you falling asleep already?” he teases you, tilting his head to look at you and poking your cheek gently. you hum in response and bury your face into his neck.

rafe’s hand slips under your pyjama shirt and rubs your bare back, enjoying the feeling of you all soft and sleepy against him, the weight of your relaxed body on his giving him a small sense of comfort.

“did you shave everywhere?” he queries with a soft smile, his firm hand continuing to rub soothing patterns along your skin.

“yeah…” you hum, shifting into a comfier position before settling again. rafe kisses your neck softly, his breath fanning over your perfumed skin.

“i would say let me see but you look to cozy… i’ll just wait until tomorrow…” he tells you as you look up at him, squinting your eyes.

“the rafe cameron being patient? are you feeling okay?” you mock, your hand coming up to rest on his forehead as if checking his temperature.

“shut up…” he scoffs and moves your hand away from his face, his hand gently against yours.

~ for more of my work, request a fic or browse my masterlist ~

© ⊱angelluvsrafe

[warriorblu]

I thought, you thought, we all thought, sorry. 🫢

[warriorblu]

This man smirking watching it happens. There’s no coming back from this, he’s insane !!

Baby daddy Rafe x shy reader

Warnings: toxic relationships, cursing, past trauma, pregnancy, possessiveness, narcissist, mean girl vibes, Abuse, physical and mental abuse, mentions of blood, weapons, Ward Cameron (yes he’s alive in this story 🥴, past drug abuse, mentions of drugs, rehab, alcohol, being drunk/high, teasing/ poking fun of friends, Mentions of cheating, mental health mentions, anxiety, angst, crying, vomiting ( I’m sorry 😣) smut 🙂‍↕️

Part 3 2/2

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You were sitting on a towel, sunglasses on, legs stretched out in front of you, letting the sun warm your skin while Kie and Sarah passed around the sunscreen and Pope cracked open a cold drink next to you.

That’s when you saw Keegan.

He was standing near the cooler at Rafe’s setup, holding a juice pouch, his tiny head scanning the beach until he spotted you. He smiled big, dropped his juice in the sand, and started waddling across the sand toward you.

Your heart jumped. He didn’t even hesitate.

But before he made it ten feet, a large hand gently caught his arm.

“Hey, bud,” Rafe said, crouching beside him.

Keegan pointed at you across the beach, “I wanna go see Mommy.”

Rafe’s jaw clenched. “You’re already with Daddy, remember? We’re having fun here.”

“But I wanna see her,” Keegan said, trying to wiggle his hand free. “Please?”

Sofia stepped in, brushing the hair from her face. “Rafe… he just wants to say hi.”

Rafe didn’t look at her. He just picked Keegan up, sitting back in a beach chair with his son in his lap, holding him a little too tightly.

“He’s fine. He can wave from here,” Rafe muttered, eyes locked on you now.

You watched from across the sand, heart twisting. You’d seen Keegan make that run before—his little feet sprinting over to you like you were his whole world. But now he sat in Rafe’s lap, confused, fidgeting, and trying not to cry.

“Rafe,” Sofia said softly, “he’s gonna start getting upset. Just let him go say hi for five minutes—”

“I said he’s fine,” Rafe snapped, low enough not to draw attention but sharp enough that Sofia took a step back.

She crossed her arms. “You’re not punishing him just because you’re pissed at her.”

Rafe took a slow sip of his beer and finally looked at her. “I’m not punishing anyone. My son’s spending the day with me. He doesn’t need to go running off every time he sees her like he’s picking sides.”

“He’s not picking sides,” Sofia said, voice barely above a whisper. “He’s five, Rafe.”

Keegan looked between them, frown deepening, starting to sniffle.

You stood up instinctively, watching from your spot, already taking a step forward—but Kie grabbed your arm.

“Don’t. He’s trying to get a rise out of you.”

“I’m not gonna just stand here while my baby cries,” you muttered, jaw tight.

You saw Sofia kneel beside Keegan now, whispering something in his ear. He nodded, wiping his nose on his arm.

He didn’t try to run again.

Rafe leaned back, proud of whatever power move he thought he pulled, sunglasses still aimed directly at you.

You forced yourself to sit back down—but your chest felt like it was caving in.

Because Keegan hadn’t stopped looking at you. Even as he sat on Rafe’s lap, head resting on his dad’s chest, he kept glancing your way.

He didn’t understand the game being played. But he knew who was missing.

Rafe still hadn’t moved from the beach chair, a beer in one hand, Keegan sitting a little slumped in his lap. The kid had quieted down, but the light was gone from his eyes. He wasn’t laughing or chattering the way he usually did. Just picking at the corner of the towel and occasionally glancing toward your side of the beach.

Topper walked over, tossing a football between his hands.

“Yo, Rafe. We’re starting a game—come play. Let the kid hang with Sofia for a sec.”

Rafe didn’t answer at first, eyes still locked on you. You were now helping Sarah reapply sunscreen on her back, laughing at something Pope had said.

“Come on, man,” Topper urged. “You’re not gonna mope in a chair all day. Let’s go.” He tossed the ball at him, and Rafe caught it one-handed, exhaling hard through his nose.

“Fine,” Rafe muttered, gently shifting Keegan off his lap. “You good with Sof?”

Keegan nodded quietly, rubbing his eyes.

Sofia stepped in immediately, scooping him up onto her hip and brushing the hair from his forehead. “We’re gonna go look for shells, okay?” she said sweetly, glancing once at Rafe to make sure he didn’t suddenly change his mind.

Rafe didn’t say anything. He was already jogging toward Topper and the rest of the guys, tossing the ball back and forth like none of the earlier tension had even happened.

Sofia took Keegan’s hand, and they started walking down the shoreline together.

“Hey,” she said, crouching next to him. “Wanna help me dig the biggest hole on the beach?”

Keegan’s face lit up, just a little. “Can we find crabs?”

“Only the scary ones,” she teased, poking his side. He giggled for the first time all day, his little hand tightening around hers.

You noticed them from across the way—Keegan running ahead to the wet sand, dropping to his knees, already digging with both hands. Sofia sat close by, pulling seaweed out of the way, laughing with him.

He looked okay again. Like a normal kid on a beach day.

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding.

Kie nudged you gently with her hip. “He’s good. He’s got someone watching him.”

You nodded, but your eyes didn’t leave him. Not yet.

Not until you were sure he was really smiling again.

You were finally letting yourself relax—warm sand beneath your towel, sun on your shoulders, and the faint sound of Keegan’s laughter drifting over from where he played near the shoreline with Sofia. For the first time all day, things felt okay again. He was smiling. He was safe.

Then you heard it—

A sharp, high-pitched scream.

Your heart stopped.

You sat up fast, eyes scanning the beach, lungs tight.

Then you saw him—Keegan—crying, his tiny face twisted in pain, cradled in Sofia’s arms as she crouched beside him. Her hands were on his, trying to soothe him, but he was sobbing, holding up one of his fingers like it was on fire.

You didn’t even think.

You were already sprinting across the sand, heart pounding so hard you couldn’t hear anything else.

“Keegan! Baby!” you called, your voice cracking.

Sofia saw you and stood quickly, still holding him as he cried against her chest.

“He’s okay,” she said quickly, rushing to meet you halfway. “A crab pinched him—he just got scared.”

But Keegan was already reaching for you through his tears.

“Mommy!” he cried, wriggling toward you.

You scooped him up instantly, holding him tight, checking his hands, kissing his forehead. His little body was trembling against yours.

“I’ve got you, baby, I’m here,” you whispered, over and over. “You’re okay. Mommy’s got you.”

Sofia hovered nearby, visibly worried. “It wasn’t too bad—he was digging near the rocks and didn’t see it. Just scared him, I think.”

You looked up at her, breathing heavy but thankful. “Thank you… for being with him. I just—I saw him crying and—”

“It’s okay,” she said softly. “He wanted you right away. I figured you’d be running over.”

You nodded, holding Keegan tighter as his sobs finally started to slow.

His tiny voice, muffled against your neck: “I don’t like the beach anymore.”

You smiled, even through the aftershock. “That’s okay, baby. We’ll just sit together, okay?”

He nodded. Sofia gave you both one more glance before backing away slightly, giving you space.

And from where he was playing football, Rafe had stopped. Staring.

Watching how tightly Keegan clung to you, like nothing else in the world could make him feel better.

Like his mother always would.

You sat back down in the sand with Keegan in your lap, his tiny arms wrapped tight around your neck. His face was still blotchy from crying, his little sniffles slowing down as you gently rocked him side to side. You kissed the top of his head, whispering, “It’s okay. You’re okay.”

Sofia had retreated a few feet away, standing off awkwardly between the two groups—half watching you, half not wanting to upset Rafe.

You were surrounded by the kooks’ beach setup now, not really thinking about where you ended up—just following Keegan’s needs. But that didn’t go unnoticed by him.

Rafe had seen everything.

He’d watched his son cry for you. Cling to you. Reject Sofia’s comfort. And now here you were, sitting with Keegan nestled into your chest, not even looking at Rafe like he existed.

That didn’t sit well.

The football game fizzled the second his ego got bruised.

He tossed the ball at Topper without warning and stalked across the sand, his jaw clenched tight, expression unreadable behind his sunglasses. The Pogues noticed immediately. From their setup farther down the beach, they all stood up—watching.

“Here we go again,” JJ muttered, already pacing.

Sarah grabbed John B’s arm. “Stay here… let’s see what he does first.”

You saw Rafe’s shadow before you heard his voice.

“What happened?” he said flatly, arms crossed, towering over the both of you.

You didn’t look up right away—still brushing Keegan’s hair out of his face. “He got pinched by a crab. He was scared.”

Rafe’s brows lifted, like he was trying to downplay it. “A crab?”

“He’s okay now,” you added, tone cool but measured.

Rafe’s eyes dropped to Keegan, who was still curled against you, not even acknowledging his father’s presence.

“He didn’t want Sofia,” you said before Rafe could say it himself. “He wanted me.”

That sat in the air between you for a second too long.

Rafe’s jaw flexed again.

“Yeah, well,” he muttered, “he should be with me. That’s why I brought him today.”

“He is with you,” you replied sharply, finally looking up at him. “He just got hurt. He needed comfort, and I gave it to him.”

Across the sand, the Pogues were clearly on edge—JJ had the bat again. Pope had his arms crossed. Even Cleo was leaning forward like she was ready to jump in.

You looked back down at Keegan. “Do you want to go back and play, baby?”

He shook his head. “No. I just wanna stay with you.”

That hit Rafe harder than anything you could’ve said.

Sofia walked up slowly, sensing the rising tension.

“Rafe,” she said gently, placing a hand on his arm, “he’s fine now. Let them sit for a bit.”

He pulled his arm away.

But he didn’t argue.

He didn’t say anything else, actually—just stood there, seething quietly, before turning and walking away. Sofia hesitated, giving you a quiet glance before following him.

You looked down at Keegan again. “Still okay?”

He nodded into your chest. “I’m okay now.”

You held him close, knowing that your very existence just bruised Rafe in a way he wasn’t going to let go of any time soon.

And from a distance, the Pogues still stood frozen—waiting to jump in, just in case he came back.

You’d only been sitting there for a few minutes, brushing the sand off Keegan’s legs while he munched quietly on the snack you gave him. His cheeks were finally less red, his eyes less watery. You were just starting to feel your own heart slow down when you noticed Rafe pacing by the cooler.

He kept glancing over. Then checking his watch.

Then staring—long and hard—at you and Keegan like you were stealing something from him.

You didn’t even react.

You weren’t there to cause drama. You were just calming your son.

But Rafe didn’t care about logic. He cared about control.

And right now, he didn’t have it.

That was driving him insane.

Sarah came walking up from the direction of the Pogues�� setup, barefoot in her bathing suit, her hair still wet from the water. “Hey,” she said gently, kneeling in front of Keegan. “You good, bud?”

Keegan smiled and nodded. “I saw a crab!”

“Oh yeah? Was he big?”

Keegan held his fingers up to show a very exaggerated size and laughed when Sarah made a silly scared face.

That was it for Rafe.

He stormed over with his beer still in hand, dropping it in the sand by his feet.

“Alright, that’s enough,” he said, not even trying to hide the attitude.

You blinked up at him. “He just stopped crying.”

“Yeah, and now he can go play. With me,” Rafe snapped, holding his hand out.

Keegan looked up at you, confused, but you smiled. “It’s okay, baby, go with Daddy.”

He nodded and slid off your lap, wiping his hands on your leg before Rafe scooped him up.

“You good now?” you asked, smoothing the hair back from Keegan’s forehead one last time.

He gave you a happy little “mhm” before Rafe turned away, already walking off with him like the conversation was over.

Sarah stood beside you, arms crossed, watching her brother with a tight jaw.

“Rafe—” she started.

He turned on her fast. “What are you doing over here anyway?”

Sarah’s brows lifted. “Checking on them after your son screamed bloody murder.”

“Oh so now you care? Thought you were too busy playing barefoot housewife with the pogues to give a shit about your actual family.”

You stood up now, your body tensing. “Rafe—”

“Don’t,” he snapped at you without turning around. “You had your time. Don’t push it.”

Sarah’s mouth dropped open. “Wow. Really? She helps your son stop crying and you talk to her like that?”

Rafe just laughed under his breath, that arrogant smile creeping onto his face. “Yeah, well… being a mom for fifteen minutes doesn’t make her a hero.”

Your blood boiled.

You watched him walk off, Keegan chattering in his arms, completely unaware of the venom in his dad’s words.

You stood there frozen, Rafe’s words echoing louder than the crashing waves behind you:

It didn’t even hit you all at once—just settled like lead in your stomach. Cold. Heavy. Disrespectful in a way that dug deep.

You blinked, stunned into silence for a second, your jaw tightening before the anger finally caught up with you.

“Are you serious right now?” you said, your voice low, not yelling—but razor sharp.

Rafe didn’t stop walking. Didn’t look back.

“You don’t get to say that,” you called after him.

That made him pause.

You took a few steps forward, heat rising in your chest as Sarah stood beside you, dead silent, eyes wide.

“I’m the one who wakes up with him every single morning. I pack his lunches, I fold his little socks, I kiss every scrape, I stay up all night when he’s sick—me. You get him for weekends. You play dad when it’s convenient.”

Rafe turned his head slightly, sunglasses still on, unreadable. But his jaw clenched again.

You kept going, hands shaking at your sides. “So don’t you ever say something like that again. Don’t you ever disrespect what I do just because it bothers you that your son cried for me instead of you.”

That one landed.

You could tell by the way his body shifted—how he didn’t have some smug comeback locked and loaded.

Sofia was standing a few feet away with Keegan, whispering something to him, clearly pretending not to hear the exchange. But her eyes were flicking toward you, toward Rafe, every few seconds.

Rafe finally turned fully around. “Yeah? You want a gold star for doing what you’re supposed to do?”

“No,” you said calmly, even though your voice trembled. “I just want you to stop pretending like I don’t matter. Like I’m not the reason our son is even okay when you pick him up on Fridays.”

Sarah looked from you to her brother, and her expression said it all—disgust, disappointment, disbelief.

“Get over yourself, Rafe,” she muttered under her breath. “You’d drown in your own ego if she wasn’t out here keeping your kid afloat.”

Sarah looked from you to her brother, the disgust plain on her face.

“Get over yourself, Rafe,” she said, sharp and cold. “You’d drown in your own ego if she wasn’t out here keeping your kid afloat.”

Rafe snapped.

He spun around, yanking his sunglasses off and stepping forward, voice already raised. “You think you know anything about how I raise my son?”

Sarah folded her arms. “I know what she does. Every single day.”

“Oh, here we go,” Rafe laughed bitterly, glancing between you and Sarah like it was a joke. “You think just because Keegan lives in a house with those Pogues, they’re suddenly some kind of family? Please. They’re roommates. Nothing more.”

His eyes locked on you now. “I’m sick of them calling themselves his aunts and uncles like it’s cute. Like that’s earned.”

You blinked. “They love him. They take care of him.”

“They can’t even afford to feed themselves,” he snapped, venom in his voice now. “And they’re trying to play ‘family’ with my son? No. Absolutely not.”

You took a slow step forward, jaw tight. “You think being broke makes someone less of a parent figure? At least they’re there. They’re not dragging him to parties or using him to piss me off.”

Rafe scoffed. “Don’t act like you’ve got this perfect little setup. He’s in a house full of people who hate me, who’ve got no structure, no money, no future. That’s not family. That’s chaos.”

Sarah stepped in again, voice steady but harsh. “It’s more family than you ever gave him. Or me.”

That shut him up for a second.

Just a second.

Then he tilted his head, smirking. “Right. Because JJ teaching him how to steal and John B playing wannabe dad of the year is better than me. Got it.”

“You don’t even know what they do for him,” you said, your voice shaking now. “You don’t ask, you don’t show up, and when you do, you act like he’s your prize.”

Rafe took a breath, eyes narrowing. “He’s not a prize. He’s my son. And don’t ever forget—he’s a Cameron. He’s mine, not theirs.”

Then he turned and walked off.

Sarah let out a slow breath. “I can’t believe I’m related to him.”

The tension in the air hadn’t settled—it had just thinned, stretched taut like it could snap any second. After your blow-up with Rafe, everyone silently agreed: it was probably best to pack it up and leave. The vibe was off, and the Kooks were only getting louder, more drunk, and more obnoxious by the minute.

You grabbed towels, shook off sand, packed up the half-full cooler while Pope started loading boards into the Twinkie. The sun was still blazing, but the day felt heavy now—like something mean was lurking just under the surface.

your eyes drifted across the beach. That’s when you saw her.

Ruthie.

Topper’s girlfriend was crouched beside Keegan, who was poking a stick into the sand, lost in whatever story he was telling himself. Ruthie was saying something to him, lips curled in a fake sweet smile. Too fake. You started to move, but you didn’t have to.

Rafe got there first.

He strode over fast, beer still in hand, jaw tight as hell. “Back up,” he barked, barely keeping his voice low.

Ruthie blinked, caught off guard. “I was just—”

“I don’t give a shit what you were just,” he snapped, positioning himself between her and Keegan without hesitation. “Don’t talk to my kid.”

Her face dropped. Her mouth opened like she might argue—just for a second—but then she closed it. Everyone on that beach knew better than to square up to Rafe Cameron when he was like this. Especially Ruthie, after what she said at the party Friday night. She was lucky he hadn’t gone off harder.

She stood up slowly, brushing invisible sand off her thighs, cheeks flushed from embarrassment. Instead of saying sorry or even walking away quietly, she locked eyes with you from across the beach as she retreated toward her circle of drunk, laughing Kook girls.

Then both middle fingers went up.

“Fuck you dirty pogue bitches! Stay off our beach!” she shouted loud enough for the whole damn coast to hear.

You froze. JJ dropped the folding chair he was stacking. Sarah stepped forward like she might lunge, but Cleo grabbed her wrist. Everyone on your side went silent. Everyone on theirs laughed.

Across the way, Rafe didn’t even look at Ruthie. He just shook his head slowly, rubbing his hand over his buzzcut with a low smirk like he’d seen this exact version of her too many times to care.

Kie, though? Kie didn’t hold back.

She raised her middle finger high and clear in Ruthie’s direction and shouted across the beach without hesitation:

“Fuck you, you plastic Barbie hoe!”

That cut through the laughter like a knife. The Kooks’ giggles faltered, a few of them looking around to see if anyone was going to react.

Ruthie’s mouth dropped open, her face going red. She took one step forward like she might say something else—but Rafe finally turned his head toward her, that same cold look in his eye he gave to anyone who didn’t know when to quit.

That made her stop.

Topper grabbed Ruthie’s arm lightly, trying to play it off like a joke. “Let it go, babe. Not worth it,” he said under his breath, but loud enough for some of you to catch.

Ruthie stood there fuming, lip twitching, mascara probably melting in the sun.

Topper was clearly over it, already halfway through another beer when Ruthie came storming back from her little outburst.

“You really need to chill,” he muttered as she grabbed her bag and stomped toward his Jeep.

But Ruthie had other plans.

“Nah. I think it’s time those pogue bitches learned who they’re messing with.”

She jumped into the driver’s seat of Topper’s Jeep before he could argue. “Let’s go,” she barked. “I’m gonna make them regret fucking with me.”

A few of the Kooks started cheering her on, drunk and eager for a show. “Yeah, Ruthie! Teach ‘em!” someone slurred.

Rafe didn’t even look up—he was leaned back in a beach chair, sunglasses on, Keegan crouched in front of him, playing in the sand and telling him an animated story about crabs and sea monsters. Sofia was kneeling beside Keegan, helping build the walls of a little sand fort, acting like she didn’t hear the commotion behind them.

Topper dragged his feet walking toward the Jeep, sighing hard. “Ruthie, just drop it. You’re doing too much right now.”

She glared at him like he’d just betrayed her. “Wow. What, is my boyfriend a pussy now?” she snapped.

Topper said nothing—just climbed into the passenger seat, rubbing his temples.

You and the Pogues were still standing around, finishing the last of your drinks, when the sound of tires crunching sand made everyone’s heads turn.

The Jeep was coming back.

Fast.

Kie and JJ were on the edge of the setup when Ruthie pulled up, tires kicking up little clouds of grit.

“What the hell do you want now, bitch?” Kie called, folding her arms. “You should probably get off the beach. All that plastic in your face isn’t great for the sea turtles.”

That made everyone laugh. Even Pope snorted into his beer.

Ruthie’s jaw dropped like she couldn’t believe Kie had the audacity to say that out loud. Her face twisted, red with rage.

“You fucking bitch!” she screamed—and without warning, hurled her drink straight into Kie’s face.

Kie stumbled back, soaked in whatever sugary cocktail Ruthie had been drinking, gasping, “Oh, hell no—”

Before anyone could move, Ruthie slammed her foot on the gas.

The Jeep jerked forward hard—spinning into a sharp turn to make a U back toward the Kooks’ side of the beach, but not before she gunned it for just a second, angling straight toward JJ and Kie like she was gonna hit them.

Everyone started yelling.

“Kie! JJ—move!”

They both jumped out of the way at the last second, JJ grabbing Kie by the waist and spinning her clear of the wheels as the Jeep tore past, sand spraying into the air.

“Fucking psycho!” JJ yelled after her, arms up.

Topper’s voice could barely be heard over the engine, but it sounded like, “Stop the damn car!”

Ruthie didn’t stop.

She kept going all the way back to the Kooks’ setup, screeching the Jeep to a halt as some of them clapped and laughed like it was the most entertaining thing they’d seen all day.

You turned and locked eyes with Rafe across the beach—he hadn’t moved the entire time. He was still in the chair, hands on Keegan’s shoulders, sunglasses on. Watching.

Just watching.

And then he smirked.

[warriorblu]

LMAOOO the ghost hand is crazy

Rafe who always has his hand on your boob, like literally all the time

you’re brushing your teeth when he sneaks up behind you. his shirtless, warm, and smug body joins your reflection in the mirror. he doesn’t say anything, just plants a palm flat on your boob like it’s a normal way to say good morning. you pause, toothbrush mid-cheek. “…seriously?”

“what?” rafe says, muffled through a yawn, face buried in your shoulder. his hand doesn’t move. “it’s where it belongs.”

you glare at him in the mirror, toothpaste foam halfway to rabid. “you just woke up.”

“and already i’m being accused.” he squeezes gently, like it’s proof of innocence. “this is comfort. this is affection. this is how i center myself.”

you spit into the sink. “you’re disgusting.” he grins. kisses your jaw. doesn’t remove his hand. if anything, he gets more comfortable, leaning all his weight into you until you’re bent over the counter, laughing and annoyed and half tempted to elbow him in the ribs. “rafe.”

“baby.”

“do you ever, like…not grab my boob?”

he pretends to think. like it’s a real philosophical question. “no.”

“ever?”

“maybe when i’m dead. but even then i’ll haunt you with ghost hands.” you roll your eyes so hard they almost fall out. but when you nudge him away, he just groans, kisses your bare shoulder, and mutters, “fine. but i’m holding it in the car later.”

you shake your head. “you’re impossible.”

he smirks. “i’m in love.”

taglist ~ @ren-ni @bungurus @kayperrysinging @cupids-diner @mojitrvo @babygirlboeser @makiplan @ladyatwalmart @qversazex @nothingtosee333her @soft-starr @f10werfae @brennanyay @grungefck @kravinoffswife @restinpaece @illumoria @meetmeintheemeraldpool @miaaaoa @imtalkinnonsense @strawberrymilk99 @angel06babysworld @rafesteddy @drewrry @urcoolgf @thegirlnextdoorssister @sydneysslove @dsfault @missabsey @ivysturnss @kisses4rafey @katiebby04 @kelbrave @bebebambs @leviathan0000 @yolgart @jkmylove97 @blushhbambi @lightreadingty @bewitchedarchive @yelqze

[warriorblu]

Oh I don’t think he’s ever letting go

++ can i pls req something with rafe taking readers virginity but he’s SOOOOOOOO condescending and mean and doesn’t care if it hurts

Rafe takes reader virginity!

Cw: mean, slightly possessive rafe

You knew Rafe wasn’t sweet — not the kind of guy who asked twice, or softened just because you were nervous. But nothing prepared you for how cruel he looked tonight, looming above you like he owned the air you breathed.

"Spread your legs," he said lowly, voice soaked in venom and heat. "Don’t make me say it again."

You hesitated — and that was enough.

He grabbed your face, fingers digging into your cheeks, eyes dark and unforgiving. “You’ve been begging for this with those looks. Always hanging around, acting innocent. So why are you shaking now?” His lips twisted into a smirk. “Thought I’d be gentle?”

He didn’t wait for an answer.

Every touch was rough, like he was punishing you for letting him take your virginity to open you and forcefully snatch your innocence from you — like your body was a warzone and he was here to destroy it.

Your whimpers only made him harsher. He liked the sound. Fed on it.

“Hurts?” he murmured in your ear, voice thick with mock concern. “Good. Maybe you’ll learn not to give yourself to a man like me.”

You clawed at his shoulders, not to stop him just to ground yourself. He leaned in, teeth grazing your jaw, and spat the next words like poison.

“Don’t you get it dumb girl? No one else gets to touch you. No one else gets to ruin you like this.” “Why are you pushing me?”

“Do you think another man will take my leftover “ he groaned as he slid inside your virgin warm walls ,instantly widening from the sudden force of him

He kept slamming and sliding on you , kness almost touched your ears , using his full force to shove his cock inside you, His pace didn’t slow until your breath hitched body too sore, brain too hazy. And even then, he stayed on top of you like a threat, hand circling your neck, pressing just enough to make your pulse spike.

“You asked me to take your virginity right?,” he growled. “Don’t cry now.” He panted slowly sliding again in you

“You knew it will hurt”

You didn’t know if it was the ache between your legs or the burn in your throat from trying not to cry, but everything felt raw. Rafe hovered over you, chest heaving, his eyes never leaving your face. Not in worry — no, not Rafe. He watched like a man surveying damage he’d done on purpose.

Your lip trembled. His gaze dropped to it.

“Don’t pout,” he said coldly, wiping his thumb over your mouth, not gently. “You begged for this. You could’ve said no. You didn’t.”

You didn’t answer couldn’t. You weren’t even sure you could move.

“My name isn’t the safe word baby”

His hand slid down your face to your neck again, fingers brushing that bruised spot he kept claiming, over and over, like he wanted his name written in your pulse.

“That’s why I didn’t stop,” he muttered, more to himself than you. “You take it. Even when it hurts.”

He leaned in then — mouth brushing yours, not a kiss, just contact — and you thought, for a second, he might shift. Show softness. Regret. Anything.

Instead, he gripped your jaw tight, forcing your head back.

“You don’t cry unless I say you can,” he hissed. “You don’t feel unless I allow it.”

Tears threatened anyway.

He sat back, looking at your body marked up, trembling, used. A slow, satisfied breath left his lungs. You hated that part of you lit up under that gaze.

“You look ruined,” he whispered, voice low and sickly proud. “Good.”

Rafe stood up, towering over the bed, stretching his arms like he hadn’t just broken something inside you. He reached for his shirt — tugged it back on — then looked at you again, expression unreadable.

“You’re not going home tonight,” he said. Not a question. Not a suggestion. Just fact. “You can’t even walk. And I’m not done.”

You blinked up at him, lips parted, trying to catch your breath.

He tilted his head.

“What? You thought that was it?” His laugh was bitter. “That was just the first round, sweetheart.”

He turned and walked into the bathroom, tossing a towel on the bed behind him without looking back.

“You’ve got ten minutes to stop crying,” he called over the sound of running water. “Then I’m coming back. And you’re gonna thank me.”

[warriorblu]

🥹🥹 this is so cute

Rumored Heartbreak

Rafe Cameron x Reader

Summary: After Ruthie makes her believe her relationship with Rafe was all a bet— she runs. But Rafe catches up.

She had only just started seeing Rafe—barely two weeks ago. It was new, a little strange, but in a way that kept her curious. Nice, even. Fun in a way she hadn’t expected from him of all people.

Because Rafe Cameron wasn’t exactly known for being soft. He had a reputation that stretched longer than his shadow—fights, flings, short tempers, and even shorter attachments. He was the kind of guy people whispered warnings about, especially to girls like her. Sweet girls. Trusting girls. The kind of girl who always tried to see the best in people, even when it was buried under layers of smoke and sharp edges.

But this version of Rafe was… different.

He stayed up with her at night, texting until their phones overheated and the sun started to rise. Not just surface-level stuff either—real conversations. He remembered things she told him. Asked follow-up questions the next day like he actually cared, like he wanted to know what made her nervous or excited or sad. And when she rambled—about books, or her favorite kind of music, or random childhood stories—he didn’t tune out. He listened. Really listened, eyes on her like she was saying something that mattered.

And maybe that was what caught her off guard the most.

Because people didn’t believe it. Not her friends. Not even strangers who’d overheard his name. They all said the same thing: Rafe Cameron didn’t do real feelings. He didn’t get attached. He partied, he played, and he left.

They didn’t believe the soft glances he gave her could mean anything. Told her he was probably bored or playing a game or waiting for her to fall first so he could disappear like he always did.

But when he pulled her in a little closer during their late-night talks, when he looked at her like she was something fragile he didn’t want to break—she believed him.

It felt real.

Seemed real.

And maybe that was reckless. But she didn’t question it. Not yet.

The sharp buzz of her phone cut through the quiet, pulling her from a light sleep. She blinked groggily at the screen, disoriented for a second, then fumbled to answer as it rang again.

“Hello?” she murmured, voice still laced with sleep as she brought the phone to her ear.

His voice came through, smooth and familiar. “Were you asleep?”

Her spine straightened instinctively, a sleepy smile tugging at her lips. “No. Why?”

Rafe chuckled—low and amused. “Pretty sure you were. I called you twice and got ignored. Sounds like nap time to me, pretty girl.”

She rolled her eyes, biting back a grin. “Okay, maybe I was. Barely. What’s it to you?”

“Just makin’ sure I’m not boring you already,” he said, clearly grinning on the other end.

She looked down at her hands, admiring the fresh paint on her nails, and tucked her feet under her on the couch. “You’re not. You’re just calling at the most inconvenient times.”

He made a thoughtful sound, the kind she’d already learned meant he was choosing his words carefully. “So what you’re saying is I should’ve come over instead of calling.”

Her laugh was soft. “You would’ve woken me up either way.”

A pause.

Then his tone shifted—still him, still confident, but a little more careful now. “Hey, uh… there’s this dinner thing tonight. At my house.”

She perked up slightly, surprised by the change in energy. “Dinner?”

“Yeah. Just some of the boys, their girls, nothing huge. My dad’s making a whole thing of it, I don’t know. But…” He exhaled, the faintest hint of hesitation in his voice. “I thought maybe you’d come.”

Her heart skipped. Not just because he was inviting her into his world, but because for a second—just a second—he sounded nervous. And Rafe Cameron didn’t get nervous.

“You want me to meet your friends?” she teased gently, but the blush was already creeping into her cheeks.

He scoffed, but it lacked his usual bite. “Don’t say it like that.”

“Like what?” she grinned.

“Like I’m soft or something.”

She let the moment breathe, heart fluttering. “I’d love to go, Rafe.”

Silence hung for a second, almost like he was caught off guard. Then he cleared his throat. “Cool. Yeah. I’ll pick you up around seven.”

“Cool,” she echoed, still smiling when the line went quiet.

And even after the call ended, she sat there for a moment—phone still in hand, nails still drying, butterflies doing laps in her stomach. Rafe Cameron wasn’t soft, not with most people. But maybe that was starting to change.

⸻

As Rafe’s truck eased into the long, winding driveway, her stomach twisted. The house—more like a statement piece perched on the edge of the island—was already lit up and buzzing with movement. Music thumped from somewhere inside, and the soft glow of string lights danced off the parked luxury cars lining the property.

People were already milling about the porch and spilling out onto the front lawn—men in stiff button-ups talking with glasses of bourbon, girls with glossy lips and fake laughs, and groups that clearly knew each other in a way that made her feel immediately out of place.

She inhaled slowly, trying to hide the nerves pulsing beneath her skin.

Rafe stepped out first, rounding the truck to her side and opening the door with ease. Always smooth. Always collected. That signature half-smile was already plastered on his face—his “showtime” look, the one he wore when he had to be the version of himself people expected.

He reached for her hand, linking their fingers casually as if to anchor her as they walked in.

The house smelled like cologne, catered food, and money. Laughter echoed through the open rooms. There were faces she recognized from magazines, from news articles, from whispered gossip—but none she knew.

She stayed close behind Rafe as he navigated the crowd effortlessly, greeting people with nods and sharp grins, tossing a quick joke here and there. She could feel the eyes on her. Curious. Judgmental. Measuring. She wasn’t wearing anything special—just a simple dress and her best attempt at looking polished—but she suddenly felt like a fish out of water.

Then she spotted her—Ruthie.

Leaning against the wall, red cup in hand, that smug grin already pulling at her mouth the moment she laid eyes on them.

It wasn’t friendly.

It wasn’t welcoming.

It was the kind of grin that made her pulse tick up—like she knew something she didn’t.

Her fingers tightened slightly around Rafe’s, but he didn’t notice. Or if he did, he didn’t show it.

He led her into the living room, where a few people were lounging with drinks and music played low in the background. With a gentle tug, he gestured for her to sit on the edge of the deep leather couch.

“I’m gonna go grab us some drinks, alright?” he said, voice low, like it was just for her. His thumb brushed against the back of her hand before slipping away.

“Stay here?”

She nodded, even though her stomach gave a little dip at the idea of being left alone in a room full of strangers.

“Be right back,” Rafe promised, flashing her one last grin before disappearing into the crowd like he belonged there—because he did.

She exhaled slowly, running her hands down the front of her thighs as if trying to shake off the nerves. Her eyes flicked around the room, scanning for a familiar face. There was none.

The cushion beside her shifted slightly, dipping under someone’s weight. She barely registered it at first, still trying to settle the nerves in her stomach, until a voice broke the silence beside her.

“Hey,” the girl said casually. “You’re Rafe’s… well, you’re with Rafe, right?”

She blinked and turned her head, offering a hesitant smile when she realized it was Ruthie. Topper’s girlfriend. Always perfectly dressed, always perfectly smug.

“Uh—yeah,” she replied, unsure where the conversation was headed. “I came with him.”

Ruthie tilted her head, her glossy lips curving into a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. It was sweet, but too sweet—like candy laced with something bitter.

“That’s what I thought,” she said, her voice light but laced with something she couldn’t quite place. “So how’s that going? What’s it been—like, a month?”

She shifted uncomfortably, brushing invisible lint off her dress to keep her hands busy. “It’s going good. Almost a month, yeah.”

She tried to sound friendly—open, even. Maybe this was Ruthie’s way of being nice. Maybe she just wanted to talk. Might as well make some friends while she’s here.

But Ruthie just gave a soft, humming laugh and leaned back against the couch like she’d just been let in on a private joke.

“If I didn’t already know about the game him and Topper have going on…” Ruthie paused, eyes scanning her face like she was watching for a reaction, “I would’ve thought he was, like, head over heels for you.”

Ruthie laughed again, but this time it was low and chilling—like she was amused by something only she could see.

The words didn’t make sense at first. They hung in the air for a second too long, sticky and cold, like a drink spilled down her back. Her brows furrowed as she tilted her head, trying to make sense of Ruthie’s strange tone.

“I’m sorry,” she said softly, her voice laced with confusion. “I—I don’t know what you mean?”

Her eyes searched Ruthie’s face, hoping for a smile, a laugh, something to suggest it was a misunderstanding. But Ruthie just looked back at her with that same unreadable expression—half amused, half pitying. Something about it made her stomach twist.

Ruthie smiled, but it wasn’t kind. It was sharp at the edges, like she enjoyed watching her squirm. She tucked a piece of hair behind her ear, tone light like they were discussing something casual—harmless. But the words that followed hit anything but soft.

“You know…” Ruthie began, drawing it out like she was savoring it. “The bet that the two of them have going on? Rafe and Topper?”

She blinked, not following.

Ruthie tilted her head, eyebrows raised like she was surprised she had to explain. “To see how many girls Rafe can get to fall in love with him.”

Silence.

For a moment, the noise of the party faded. The music, the laughter, the crackle of the fire—all of it turned into a distant hum in the background. Her heart was suddenly loud in her ears.

Ruthie shrugged one shoulder, like it was no big deal. “I mean, I’m honestly surprised you haven’t told him you know yet. Most girls figure out it’s not worth their time.”

Her chest tightened. She blinked again, but this time it was slower, like she was trying to reset reality. “Wait… what?” she whispered, her throat tightening. “What are you talking about?”

The word bet echoed in her mind, over and over, like it didn’t belong there. Like it had no place near the version of Rafe she knew—the one who rubbed circles into her back when she was nervous, who whispered compliments just loud enough for her to hear, who kissed the inside of her wrist like it meant something.

Ruthie leaned in a little, voice lower now. “You really didn’t know?” she said, with a glint of something cruel in her eye. “Rafe made this whole thing with Topper, like… months ago. Some stupid game to prove he could get any girl to fall for him. Doesn’t matter who she is. How sweet she is. How real she thinks it all feels.”

Her stomach dropped. Cold swept over her skin. “That’s not—” she started, but her voice cracked before she could finish.

“Oh, don’t get me wrong,” Ruthie went on, like she was doing her a favor. “You’re the longest one yet. So, props for that. I think you might actually be winning him the whole thing.”

Ruthie was still talking, but her voice had become a distant hum—background noise to the way her world suddenly tilted. The living room seemed to blur around her, the laughter and music muffled beneath the roar of her own heartbeat pounding in her ears.

A bet?

Her mind reeled. Every look Rafe had given her. Every lingering touch. The way he whispered her name like it meant something. Like she meant something.

All of it… fake?

A tightness gripped her chest as realization hit. None of it had been real. Not the quiet drives, not the way he tucked her hair behind her ear, not the way he smiled when she laughed. It was all part of some sick game—another round in whatever twisted competition he and Topper were playing.

Money. Pride. Ego.

Not her.

Not them.

“I—I’m sorry,” she breathed, voice trembling as she rose to her feet, legs unsteady beneath her. “I need to leave.”

She didn’t wait for a response. The room spun as she pushed through the crowd, her hands trembling, eyes burning. She didn’t even realize she’d started crying until the cool night air hit her skin and tears slipped down her cheeks.

The front yard was dimly lit, but she welcomed the quiet. The heavy bass of the party dulled behind her as the door shut, leaving her alone with the crashing weight of betrayal.

Her hand instinctively reached for her phone, desperate for comfort—something familiar, something safe. But when the screen stayed black, her stomach dropped. Dead.

Of course.

She cursed under her breath, pressing her fingers to her eyes for a moment to hold herself together. She’d ridden here with Rafe. The one person she couldn’t face right now. The one person she’d trusted.

She scanned the street, thinking quickly. Her friend lived in a neighborhood not far from here—ten minutes by foot, maybe less if she walked fast.

Heels dangling from her fingers, she padded barefoot down the driveway, gravel biting into her skin with each step. She didn’t care. Not about the dirt on her dress or the chill in the air or the tears still falling.

She just had to get away.

From the house.

From the party.

From him.

From the lie she’d been living without even knowing.

⸻

Rafe weaved through the crowd, careful not to spill the two drinks balanced in his hands. The music thumped around him, bodies brushing past as people danced and talked, but his mind was somewhere else—on her.

A soft smile tugged at his lips, rare and unguarded. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt this light, this grounded. She was different. She didn’t flinch at his past or look at him like a ticking bomb. She laughed with him. Talked to him like he mattered. For once, it felt like he didn’t have to perform.

He stepped into the living room, expecting to see her curled up where he’d left her on the couch, maybe talking with someone or scanning the room with that quiet curiosity he found so damn adorable. But the spot was empty.

Rafe’s smile slowly faded.

He blinked, shifting the cups in his hands, then turned, scanning the room. Maybe she got up to use the bathroom. Maybe she ran into someone she knew. But a strange knot started to form in his chest as he checked the kitchen, then the hallway, then the stairwell. No sign of her.

His pace quickened, shoes thudding softly against the hardwood as he made his way through the house.

He pushed open the sliding door to the back porch and spotted Kelce and Topper standing in a cluster near the railing, beers in hand, talking with Ruthie. He walked over, the red Solo cups still in his grasp.

“Hey,” Rafe called, voice steady but clipped. “Have you guys seen her? She was just—” He glanced back at the house. “She was just inside.”

Kelce shook his head. “Haven’t seen her, bro.”

Topper mirrored him. “Nah, she dipped?”

But Ruthie let out a quiet, smug little laugh that made the hairs on the back of Rafe’s neck stand up.

“Oh, she left,” she said casually, swirling her drink. “Guess she finally figured it out.”

Rafe narrowed his eyes. “Figured what out?”

Ruthie shrugged like it was obvious. “The bet, Rafe. The one you idiots made? To see how many girls you could get to fall for you? You know—the one you’re winning.”

Rafe’s brows furrowed. “What the hell are you talking about?” His voice was sharp now, the drinks in his hands suddenly feeling like dead weight.

She rolled her eyes, tone airy. “Don’t play dumb. She knows. I might’ve mentioned it. Oops.”

For a second, Rafe just stared at Ruthie, expression unreadable, like he couldn’t quite process what she’d just said. Then, slowly, he turned to Topper—his eyes narrowing when he saw the guilty look already plastered across his friend’s face.

“What is she talking about?” Rafe asked, voice low but laced with sharp agitation. “What bet?”

Topper sighed and dragged a hand through his hair, visibly squirming. “Look, man—don’t freak out, alright? But I… I might’ve told Ruthie that me and you had this bet going. To see who could pull the most girls.”

The silence that followed was heavy.

Rafe’s jaw tightened, a muscle ticking as he took a step back, his grip on the solo cups tightening until the plastic crinkled. “Why the fuck would you say that?”

Topper rubbed the back of his neck, avoiding Rafe’s eyes. “So she’d start going out with me,” he mumbled. “Dude, she wasn’t taking me seriously. I thought if she thought we were playing around, maybe she’d let her guard down.”

Rafe stayed silent for a couple of seconds, letting Toppers words register. His chest heaved as the weight of it sank in. The girl he’d been falling for—hell, maybe even in love with—had left his house tonight thinking she was just another name on some imaginary scoreboard. All because Topper wanted to impress someone.

“You better pray she lets me explain,” Rafe muttered under his breath, eyes still locked on the front door. “Because if she doesn’t…I swear to God, man…”

He didn’t finish the sentence. He didn’t have to.

Without another word, he shoved the untouched drinks into Topper’s hands and stormed off through the house, heart pounding, desperately hoping it wasn’t too late.

⸻

Her feet throbbed with every step, the unforgiving pavement digging into her soles. She hadn’t realized just how long the walk would be—or how painful. Blisters had already started to form, and she hadn’t even made it out of the neighborhood. Her heels dangled uselessly from her fingers, no match for the jagged road beneath her, and every breath came out shakier than the last.

Tears slipped down her cheeks, hot and silent. She didn’t bother wiping them away. Embarrassment burned in her chest, tangled up with anger and something even heavier—shame. Everyone had warned her. Everyone. And she hadn’t listened. She had wanted to believe he was different. That Rafe was different.

A sudden, cold drop landed on her shoulder. She froze, tilting her head up to the sky just in time for another to splatter across her cheek. Then another. And another. Within seconds, a soft rain had started to fall, peppering her skin, her arms, her bare, aching feet.

She let out a disbelieving huff, the sound breaking halfway into a sob. Of course. Because somehow, heartbreak wasn’t enough—it had to rain, too. She wrapped her arms around herself, trying to shield against the chill, but it was no use. The tears kept coming, blending with the rain, soaking into her hair and slipping down her neck.

She felt stupid. Used. And worst of all, completely alone.

Cars zoomed past her, their headlights blinding and cruel in the rain, casting fleeting shadows across her soaked frame. Her steps had slowed to a miserable shuffle, the pavement digging into her her blistered feet. Every part of her ached—physically, emotionally. All she wanted now was to disappear, or at the very least, be home. Be with him.

But that wasn’t an option anymore. Not after everything.

Another engine grew louder behind her, creeping closer than the rest. She instinctively shifted to the very edge of the road, expecting it to pass like the others. But it didn’t.

The car came to an abrupt stop, tires hissing on the wet asphalt.

The door flew open with force and slammed shut again almost immediately. Her heart stuttered in her chest as she turned, eyes wide, breath caught in her throat.

It was him.

He was storming toward her, his strides long and urgent, a mixture of panic and sorrow carved into every angle of his face. His jaw was tight, clenched so hard it looked like it hurt, and his suit jacket—once perfectly tailored and dry—was now completely soaked, clinging to his frame as the rain poured harder.

“Are you kidding me right now?” he barked, not with anger, but with fear—fear layered beneath his voice like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. “What the hell are you thinking, walking out here like this?”

Before she could answer, his hands were already on her, pulling her into his chest like he couldn’t stand the space between them for even a second longer. His grip was tight, too tight, but she didn’t move. Not yet. Not when it felt so good to be wrapped up in him—even if it was just for a moment.

And then the moment broke.

She started to cry again, shoulders shaking, her sobs barely muffled against his shirt. The pain in her chest swelled because she knew this—this—wasn’t real. It couldn’t be.

With trembling hands, she shoved against him, creating space where warmth had just been.

“Don’t do that,” she choked out. “Don’t pretend, Rafe. Don’t pretend you care about me.”

The words hit him like a slap, and he staggered back half a step, blinking through the rain that streamed down his face. He looked at her like she’d just taken the air out of his lungs.

“Don’t pretend?” he echoed, breathless. “You think I’m pretending?”

His voice cracked, just slightly, as he stepped closer again, slower this time—like he was afraid she’d disappear if he moved too fast.

“I care about you,” he said, low and rough. “I care about you so fucking much it makes me feel insane sometimes. And whatever Ruthie said—whatever bullshit about some bet or game—it’s not true. It was never true.”

His hand twitched at his side like he wanted to reach for her again, but didn’t know if he was allowed to anymore. His eyes searched her face with quiet desperation.

“I would never do that to you,” he said, voice breaking. “Not you.”

She shook her head, backing away from him, the cold rain soaking her clothes and hair until she was trembling. “I heard her, Rafe. I heard everything,” she whispered, voice cracking. “You don’t have to lie.”

But Rafe didn’t flinch. He stepped toward her again, hands out like he was scared she’d disappear if he moved too fast. His chest was rising and falling rapidly, breaths shallow like he’d been running. Maybe he had. “You didn’t hear me,” he said, softer now. “You heard Ruthie twist shit like she always does. But you didn’t hear me say it, because I didn’t. I never said anything like that.”

She looked down, arms still crossed tightly over her chest. Her lip quivered and the ache in her throat grew heavier. “Why would she say it then? Why would she—why would anyone think it was a joke? That I was a joke?”

Rafe looked like he was in pain—like the words themselves had hit him. His jaw clenched again, but not in anger this time. In guilt. “Because people suck,” he said, almost brokenly. “Because I never should’ve brought you around them. I should’ve known better. I should’ve protected you.”

She let out a bitter laugh, tears still streaking down her cheeks, mixing with the rain.

His face twisted like he wanted to argue but couldn’t. He dragged a hand down his face, pushing wet hair off his forehead. “You have no idea how much I care about you,” he said again, more desperate now. “You think I’d chase you down in the middle of a storm if this was a game to me?”

She chewed on her lip looking down. His hand landing on her waist pulling her closer.

“And if I had—if I had heard her say that shit to your face, I swear to God I would’ve lost it. I would’ve. You know me.”

She blinked, hesitating. She did know him. She knew that flash in his eyes. She knew the unfiltered honesty in his voice when he was like this—raw, heart on his sleeve, drenched in rain but still more focused on her than anything else.

“I don’t care about Ruthie,” he said, stepping even closer now, gently wrapping his hands around her arms. “I care about you. I’ve never brought anyone into my world the way I brought you in, and maybe that’s why they didn’t take it seriously. But I did. I do. I fucked up not noticing sooner, but don’t tell me I don’t care. Because I do. So much that I can’t even think straight when you’re not okay.”

She looked up at him through soaked lashes, her heart pounding, unsure if it was from anger or sadness or the overwhelming relief threatening to crack through her.

He exhaled shakily, brushing a wet strand of hair from her face. “Please don’t walk away from me like this.”

She sniffled, her lip trembling as fresh tears welled in her eyes, and before she could talk herself out of it, she threw her arms around his neck and held him like she never wanted to let go. Like he was home.

Rafe didn’t hesitate—his arms wrapped tightly around her waist, pulling her into him with a desperation that matched her own. His suit jacket was soaked through, rain clinging to every inch of them, but he didn’t seem to care. He buried his face in the crook of her neck, inhaling the scent of her through the storm. She still smelled like something soft and warm—like comfort—even in the middle of all this mess.

“I’m not walking away from you,” she whispered after a long, shaky moment, her breath brushing his ear.

He pulled back slightly, just enough to see her face, and she rested both hands gently on either side of his jaw. Her palms were cold, but her touch was tender, grounding him. Her thumbs brushed along his cheeks as she looked up at him, eyes wide and sincere.

“I believe you,” she said softly, her voice thick with emotion. “And I’m sorry… for running. For not asking you. I should’ve talked to you—”

“Don’t apologize,” he cut her off gently, shaking his head as his hands slid to the small of her back. “You were hurt. I should’ve protected you from all of that before it even got to you. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

His voice was hoarse, low and rough from the lump in his throat. The space between them buzzed with everything unsaid. Her fingers tightened slightly on his face, eyes flicking from his to his lips—just once, just enough to make his heart stutter.

And then he leaned in.

Slow at first, like he was giving her the chance to pull away. But she didn’t—she only leaned up to meet him halfway, her breath catching as his mouth finally pressed to hers.

It wasn’t rushed. It was gentle, aching, full of emotion that neither of them had been able to put into words. Her hands slid into his damp hair, and his grip on her tightened like he was afraid she’d disappear again.

There, in the middle of the rain-soaked road, under the gray sky and headlights of his still-running car, they kissed like they meant it. Like it wasn’t fake. Like it had never been a question.

And now it never would be.

[warriorblu]

THE ART OF SABOTAGE ♡

♡ pairing: nerd bsf!rafe x girl next door!reader

♡ summary: your best friend has been in love with you for as long as he could remember, and he'll do anything to make sure you're not taken away from him; including ruin your relationship.

♡ warnings / tags: manipulation. jealousy. sabotage. suggestive. MDNI!

♡ author's note: combining two of my favorite things to write... bsf!rafe and nerd!rafe... hehe. should i make this a permanent AU?

RAFE MASTERLIST ♡

rafe knows that he should be ashamed of the kind of thoughts he has about you, the kind of thoughts he's had about you for as long as you've known each other, and he is, he really is. you were the only one who had always been nice to him; he'd never quite fit in with the others when he was a kid, meanwhile it seemed that everyone adored you, but you had a rule; if the kids who wanted to play with you didn't include him, you refused to be friends with them.

that's one thing that never changed between you two. no matter how old you got, if the people you hung around with didn't accept rafe, you had no interest in being their friend.

but something did change. the way he felt about you.

sure he'd always thought you were pretty, but the older the two you got... for some reason, it got deeper. your hair, your eyes, your lips, your body, the softness of your skin, the way your perfume smelled of a mixture of honey and flowers... you were the only thing he could think about, to the point that rafe felt guilty whenever he got hard, because he knew he couldn't get himself to come if he tried to fist his cock to something other than you.

when you got your first boyfriend. the first time you told rafe about 'jason', rafe felt... betrayed. he was supposed to be your favorite. he was supposed to be your boy.

it all came to a head the first time you cancelled plans with rafe to hang out with jason, around six months of dating him.

"hiii, rafe." you'd started the call with, like nothing was wrong, "hi. is everything alright? i was about to head there. i'll pick up snacks on the way." "about that, rafe..." he could already make out an apologetic tone in your voice, "i actually promised to my mom that i'd watch my sister." "well, that's fine. it's been a long time since i saw her, we can watch a child-friendly movie instead of horror. maybe coraline, i feel like that still fits the theme."

"i'm sorry, but my mom said i shouldn't have anyone over because of the stomach flu that's been going around." "but we always have a horror movie night on fridays..." "i'm sorry, i feel terrible. but we'll do it next week, okay?" "okay... bye..." "bye, rafe! you're the best."

later on, it was two in the morning, rafe was only slightly bummed over being ditched now, and requiem for the phantom was reflected on his glasses when rafe got an instagram notification on his phone.

JASONTHEMAN01 posted a story.

rafe didn't want to seem interested in the comings and goings of someone so intellectually inferior to him as jason and the group of idiots that were your other friends, but he still wanted to know what they were up to, just so he could look out for you. so maybe he had created a burner instagram, just to keep an eye on them.

but when rafe saw what jason had posted, it felt like someone had carved rafe's heart right out of his chest.

it was a picture taken of you and jason, the boy's arms around your waist while your arms were around his neck, the two of you locked in a heated kiss while something that looked llike a houseparty was going on behind you two.

that wouldn't work. jason was clearly isolating you from your only real friend. he probably manipulated and guilted you into ditching your plans with rafe for the party. yes, that was it. jason had to go. he was no good for you, didn't deserve you. he was taking you away from rafe.

luckily, rafe had made his burner account look like any average girl, using the pictures of some wannabe-influencer with less than twenty thousand followers to make sure it was more authentic.

rafe didn't even need to do anything complicated to get jason's instagram password; he decided to try different common password combinations; password123, password2001, jason123, jason2001, even your name and birthday (his own password) until rafe finally struck gold with the password 'lucky2001', the name of the golden retriever jason owned that you'd told rafe about.

remotely, he logged jason out of his own account, before getting to work. rafe created a lengthy text exchange between jason and 'jenna', his burner account. the messages start off as innocent, becoming flirty (initiated by jason) until it turns into 'jenna' sending jason nudes rafe had gotten from twitter and reddit, jason encouraging it.

the final blow? rafe wrote a long message as jason confessing his love for jenna. it wasn't difficult for rafe to change the dates of the messages. now he had a loaded gun, just waiting for the right time for him to set it off.

the day came sooner than he could've hoped for.

when rafe had asked you to go to the movies, you'd let him know in that you'd be going over to jason's, promising to go to the movies with rafe tomorrow.

you'd been at jason's house for thirty minutes, the two of you cuddling on his bed until jason needed to go to the bathroom, pausing clueless. your phone pinged with a notification, and you thought it was a message from your best friend at first, but it said that you'd gotten an instagram DM from someone named 'jennaabaker'.

'hi girly, i know you don't know me, but i think we've been having a thing with the same guy :/ i had no idea that jason had a gf, if i had i would've blocked him immediately. i'm so sorry, i never meant for this to happen.'

it felt like your heart shattered in your chest when you saw the screenshots; multiple conversations between jason and this jenna girl, flirting, all sent while he played the doting boyfriend to your oblivious face.

you clenched your jaw when you heard the toilet flush, putting your phone away.

"hey, baby." jason grinned as he returned to the room, pressing a quick kiss on your lips, "you wanna continue the movie?"

"let me see your phone."

"huh?"

"i wanna see your instagram. show it to me."

"alright, alright. geez, woman." jason cleared his throat, unlocking his phone and going on instagram. after logging on, he handed it over to you like he had nothing to hide.

there it was, clear as day. jason's conversation with jenna. and as you scrolled up, you could see it went back months. you scoffed and shook your head, "you fucking asshole. who's jenna, huh?" "what? jason furrowed his brows, "i don't know." "oh, yeah? then what's this?"

you handed your phone back to your boyfriend, jason starting to go through the messages with increasing confusion, "babe, i swear, i have no idea what this is, i've never even talked to this chick."

"i should've believed my friend when he said you were nothing but a fuckboy." you shook your head. "babe, i swear, i don't know who this is!" "do you think i'm an idiot?!"

rafe was laying in his bed reading the eighth volume of jujutsu kaisen when the constant ringing of the doorbell started echoing across tannyhill. the boy furrowed his brows, it was almost ten in the evening. abandoning the manga on his bed, rafe got up and left his room.

"who is it?" wheezie peeked her head out of her room, "do you think someone's breaking in?" "if someone's breaking in, they wouldn't ring the doorbell." rafe rolled his eyes, the younger girl still unconvinced as she closed the door.

rafe was halfway down the stairs when whoever was behind the door started banging on the door. the boy rolled his eyes and let out an exasperated breath, but when he pulled the door open, you were standing there, mascara running down your cheeks, sobs leaving your lips.

"wh-"

before rafe could even get a word out, you'd thrown your arms around rafe. he was surprised at first, but he closed you into his embrace as you squeezed him.

"jason... sniff... cheated on me..."

"oh, fuck." rafe sighed, glad that you couldn't see the smile on his lips, his large hand going to stroke your head. "he's an asshole."

that night, rafe listened as you'd cried in his arms, telling him all about jason and jenna, about how you two had fought for hours with jason trying to tell you how he didn't know the girl.

after a while, though, you finally fell asleep in rafe's bed with your head in rafe's lap, wearing one of rafe's hoodies, nuzzling into the fabric as the boy stroked your hair. it had broken his heart to see you cry, to see you that sad over some dickhead who didn't deserve you, but not even a single part of his body regretted what he had done. jason didn't deserve you, and it was just a matter of time before he'd hurt you. the sooner, the better. him being your favorite, him being your boy, was just an added bonus.

"i'll do whatever it takes to protect you." rafe whispered, pressing a kiss to the side of your head.

TAGLIST: @raahosh @nemesyaaa @purpleplumpudding @esotericcangel @mattyskies @bakugouswaif @nonietosay @my-name-is-baby @tinythebunni @fratbrochrisgf @ariieeesworld @silkylovey @izumis-salty-penis @flow33didontsmoke @cameronsbabydoll @love-ella333 @haylorbestie @k4yr14 @harringtonsbowgirl @lacelottie @st8rkey @lunaleah @cicicavill7 @lillied31 @doremimosasol @lerclec @deeninadream @finnickodairslut @constantsadness @drewsephrry @rafemeow cont. in com.

join the taglist! ♡

[warriorblu]

This is so cute and my favorite trope!!!

hii! i absolutely loved the last fic based on back to friends and it made me think abt all the angsty rafe fics.

i was wondering if you could do a fic where rafe and reader are best friends but reader is in love with rafe but rafe openly calls her his best friend so reader moves on and rafe yearns for her?

YUP. love this. love angst. awesome.

I'VE ALWAYS LOVED YOU, JUST NOT LIKE THIS — RAFE CAMERON ONE SHOT

SYNOPSIS you’re rafe’s best friend. always have been. have you wished the two of you were more than that? only everyday since junior year of high school. but when he calls you his best friend, the mocking title you wear with a court jester hat, you come to the conclusion that that’s all you’ll ever be. so, you’ll start putting yourself first.

WARNINGS fluff, obbbvviously angst (miscommunication, two idiots not knowing how to emote properly, self sabotaging behavior), mentions of underage drinking/smoking, suggestive content but no actual smut. all that. bsf!rafe is so special to me. he’s such an idiot. not edited literally at all.

WORD COUNT 7.8k. very description heavy so sooooorrrry.

SONG OF THE CHAPTER infrunami by steve lacy

You've loved Rafe Cameron all your life.

The two of you have been attached to the hip since you were kids, play fighting and emulating Smackdown in the backyard and scratching up knees and elbows, triple-dog-daring each other to bridge jump in the middle of the night as rebellious teens, sneaking through each other's windows for impromptu sleepovers where you'd stay up until the crack of dawn talking about nothing and everything at the same time, mingling with your separate friend groups at parties but always finding your way back to each other by the end of the night.

You patched up his bloodied lips and iced his bruised knuckles. He opened doors for you and scared off any guys who came a little too close. From a young age, you knew you loved him. He was your best friend, the person who knew you like the back of his hand and still stayed despite your flaws. It never crossed the line. Ever.

But the moment you realized you were in love with him, all you could do was hyper-fixate on the fact that all you'll ever be is his best friend.

It wasn't a grand realization with confetti and sickly sweet hearts as an aura around his head.

You were seventeen, drunk at prom, and crying in the sand dunes after your date — Matthew from the lacrosse team who you'd been pining over for a year — stood you up to shack up with Natalie who you used to do Girl's Scouts with. No one noticed you slip out, as you were subtle and sneaky and frankly so fucking embarrassed that you wanted nothing more to do with the night. Everyone had been drinking or smoking too much anyway, and you sought that out as the perfect time to dip, pour your emotions out on the dunes of solitude, then mosey on home in hopes of forgetting about the whole thing.

But, of course, Rafe always kept tabs on you.

He found you not even five minutes later, knowing exactly what happened when he caught a glimpse of Matthew leading Natalie upstairs by the hand with you nowhere in sight. In an instant, he was sitting beside you a little too close (as usual) and slinging an arm around your shoulders, pulling you taut to his chest. And he simply let you cry, murmured sweet nothings in your ear on how that prick didn't deserve you anyway, holding you in a way he has a million times before.

But something in your heart clicked that night. Because you realized two things: that no one will ever know you the way Rafe Cameron does. And that you were in love with him.

Ever since then, all you've pinpointed is the fact that you'll only ever be his best friend.

You were his best friend throughout childhood, throughout high school, through graduation and the slobbery crying mess of a goodbye when you both left for different colleges, during semesters over the phone and even more-so when you came back for breaks, through his ups and downs of relationships with girls that weren't you, through all of it.

So when you overhear him tell someone at a party that "She's the best friend anyone could have," you pointedly decide to yourself that your heart has had enough.

You have to stop seeking his traits in other guys. You have to stop pretending that there's any kind of world that would sustain this giant, stupid, debilitating crush you have on him. You have to stop living in fantasy land and wake the fuck up, because it's not gonna happen and it never will.

You'll always love him, there's no doubt about it and there's no way you can remove him from your life (not that he'd even let you if you tried), but Project Fall-Out-Of-Love, FOOL for short, commences the moment the words leave his mouth. That night, you stay in the joint-rolling corner with your friend group, not finding solace under his arm or texting him five min break? halfway throughout the night to debrief. After all, he doesn't question it, probably thinking you're too engrossed with your friends as that happens from time to time.

But when you start relying less and less on him, Rafe spirals.

Of course, he doesn't outwardly bring it up, because the vulnerability would absolutely kill him and his dignity. But he notices small things here and there that simply don't add up: you've slowly stopped texting him when you're bored at home with nothing to do and simply go out alone instead, stopped hanging around him at parties or even sitting next to him on the couch when your and his friends get together for a chill night in, stopped throwing your legs over his lap or leaning your cheek on his arm or grabbing his hand when walking through a crowd.

The first couple of times you pull away, he finds himself making up for the absence subconsciously. When he gets himself a drink, he's automatically getting you one and bringing it to you without you having to ask just as an excuse to insert himself in the conversation at your side. When you're walking to your favorite breakfast spot to pick up your coffee, he's got a hand on the small of your back when you weave through people on the sidewalk. When you have an eyelash on your cheek, he's brushing it off with his thumb. When your necklace is off center, he's fixing it without a word. You never say anything and carry on with your day as usual.

He doesn't realize that his hands linger longer than they should when yours stop touching him.

And for the life of him, Rafe can't figure out why. He can't conjecture why you're the same... just without your hands. Instead of mussing your hands through his hair, you're telling him to fix it. Instead of fixing the collar of his shirt or adjusting the buttons of his button-down, you're giving tips on how to make it look sharper. Instead of pawing at his back for a piggy-back ride on your walk home from the bar, you're asking your friend. You're still you, laughing and poking fun at him and getting into all sorts of trouble like the two of you normally do. But he can feel a shift, a change, as you don't look at him longer than you need to and only touch him when it's necessary.

After a month of dancing around your change in demeanor, Rafe bites (more-so nibbles) at the topic.

"Feel like I haven't seen you lately," he murmurs one night, trying to keep his voice even and uninterested even though his heart is pounding.

The two of you are sitting on the couch in your apartment, on opposite ends which is unusual for you to create so much distance, watching an older movie with subtitles that he has a hard time focusing on. You, on the other hand, are intently paying attention, brows furrowed as you pluck popcorn one by one into your mouth, appearing as if nothing is wrong (and for all he knows, nothing is wrong, but you've stopped touching him for whatever reason and he's going crazy over the considerable amount of physical space you've put between you over the past month).

When you think you hear his voice, you glance his way only to be met with his stare.

"Hm?" You hum sweetly, almost startled. "You say something?"

Rafe opens and closes his mouth, darting his gaze between your eyes and hating how far away you feel.

But he's not ready to admit that, so instead he shakes his head.

"Didn't catch that last line," he says on the spot. "They're talking too fast."

Your brows raise. "Oh? Wanna put something else on, then?"

What he wants is for you to come and curl up next to him like you've done for every single movie night since the two of you were nine, to nuzzle against his side and end up falling asleep on top of him like you always end up doing by the end of the film, to feel you next to him and most likely fall asleep too, to know that he's going to wake up next to you and start his day with you.

However, Rafe doesn't say any of that.

Instead puts on his trademark smirk that stands more as armor than it does pleasantries. "Finally, thought you'd never ask."

The only time you touch him that night is when your fingers graze his when you hand him the remote, still flashing your sweet smile and rolled eyes at his prince-like behavior, something you've always poked fun at him for. The contact feels like a cruel joke, because your hand pulls away as fast as it came and suddenly he's tethered to nothing once again.

And it only gets worse.

The next week, you're late for the unplanned-planned hangout with all your friends in your living room.

Every first Friday night of each month, his friends and your friends come together to hang at someone's apartment - this night it being yours - and drink, play cards, be stupid and laugh about shit that doesn't matter. It's easily his favorite night of the month, one because he gets all of his friends in the same place but also because he gets to see you in your lax state, more often than not in your pajamas where he'll usually crash at your place or you'll crash at his. That's usually what ends up happening.

But not tonight, because you show up thirty minutes behind the unofficial meeting time looking prettier than ever.

At first, Rafe assumes you had a late presentation at work or some special affair that causes you to look so nice. But when you come closer and put your bag down and slip your shoes off, he notices a little bit of gloss on your lips and a smidge of glitter on your eyelids. Your shirt's a little more provocative than usual and you're sheepishly smiling to all of your girl friends' knowing looks across the room, widening your eyes slightly in warning as a I'll tell you later look.

It dawns on him that you were on a date.

Rafe can simply tell, and he suddenly hates that he can. He hates how he can notice your suppressed smile as if you're fighting a blissful grin. He hates how you're so dressed up and showing off your pretty to someone else, someone that isn't him, someone that probably doesn't deserve to see the real you. He hates how you seemed to tell everyone but him, and that breaks his fucking heart. Why wouldn't you tell him? Why aren't you telling him anything anymore?

When most of your friends leave and it's just you, your two roommates, and him, he bites.

"You went on a date."

It's a little silly, the timing of it all, because he feels a stupid sitting on the couch with you and your two best girl friends sipping cheap wine and gossiping about your love life. If his friends saw this set up, saw how much he cared and how he's practically in on girl talk, he'd never hear the end of it and that's a fucking promise. But Rafe can't seem to care, not in the slightest, because the question is detrimentally important that you could've put a face mask on him and that stupid headband you use, and he wouldn't say anything, only as long as you answer the question.

You quirk a brow at him, legs tucked underneath you that causes your dress to ride up a little. "Who told you?"

He ignores the looks from your roommates. "No one. Tell me."

Before you can answer, one roommate interrupts. "Tell us. How'd he pick you up?"

And to Rafe's horror, you tell everything.

You give a very detailed rundown of the entire night. How he picked you up with flowers, how he opened the car and restaurant door for you, how he paid for the meal and the drinks you got at the bar around the corner, how he wrapped his arm around your waist and asked to kiss you goodnight on the doorstep, how he asked to see you again this weekend and how you said yes.

He wants to leave. He wants to run out the fucking door and pretend he didn't hear any of it. But he can't, he's glued to the couch with an agape mouth and spiraling brain as he listens to you speak, watches how you smile, pays attention to what details you cling onto. The feeling in his chest is tight, too constricting and it's making him claustrophobic. His heart thumps erratically, threatening to burst through his ribcage the more you talk about your night.

"So? That's it?" Your one roommate Ainsley asks. "Just a kiss? Not even an ounce of fondling?"

You shrug and shake your head. "Maybe he's saving it for next time?"

"Hopefully it's a little more than fondling," your other roommate Cora muses, lips brimming the rim of her wine glass as she pointedly glances at you. "You deserve at least three orgasms. Minimum."

The image makes Rafe grimace.

Of course, you notice and laugh so fucking sweet that it does something weird to his chest. "Oh, please. You know how many times I had to hear about you fucking girls from the back in places AI couldn't even make up?"

Rafe knows he's overstaying his welcome and definitely intruding on girl talk. But he couldn't care in the slightest. The scowl is permanently etched on his face at the thought of you touching, let alone by touched, by someone else. It's selfish, he knows that much, but frankly he really doesn't want anyone to know you the way that he knows you. He knows your coffee order, your pet peeves and deepest secrets, your menstrual cycle for fuck's sake, the name of your first pet and the things you do when you're upset.

"That's different," he mumbles, downing the rest of his drink.

"It's really not," you argue playfully, eyelids slightly low with your drunken buzz. When you poke his thigh with your toe he nearly jolts, shocked at the first bit of contact you've initiated in what feels like forever. "It's just payback for all the times you made me listen to the intricate details of your hookups. So pour another glass and kick back, Rafey."

Despite the weird lurch in his gut, Rafe does what you say because it's frankly impossible to say no to you.

He doesn't even know why he's getting so worked up. Perhaps it's because you're physically pulling away from him since you're seeing other people. But he still doesn't understand: you've had boyfriends, you've told him about bad and good hookups and still never stopped touching him, never stopped doting on him and carrying on your friendship as normal. Why now? What's the difference between two months ago and now? What changed?

The thought keeps him awake. Rafe left your apartment hours ago and he still can't stop thinking about it, thinking about the strange sense of dread in his chest and how it feels like the end of the world when you talk about the possibility of being with someone else. He's lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, blinking the minutes away until the sun rises.

And when it hits him? It's all he can think about.

Because Rafe has loved you all his life.

He's cared about you more than he has anyone else, because you're the only person who was never afraid of him, who saw him through his brutal insecurities and helped him become a better version of himself. You held him when things got too loud and calmed him down when his mind was running amuck. You bandaged his cuts and bruises but not without a good scolding. You had no mercy tackling him in beach football every weekend in the summer. You told him when he was acting stupid and made sure he fixed up his act. He values you more than anything else.

But the moment he realizes he's in love with you, Rafe doesn't know how to act.

All it took for him to realize was your physical absence. Because perhaps he's been in love with you all this time, but could never distinguish it from that best friend admiration he's had for you his entire life. He gushes about you to others, how you're the best friend anyone could have, how smart and funny you are and how you always keep him on his toes and keep him in check.

Now, it’s all he can think about.

How your eyes light up when you laugh, how the sound of it immediately brightens a room, how you put everything to the side to help someone, how you know the way all of your friends like their eggs without even having to ask, how you can be the sweetest and funniest in the same breath, how you go through life making the flowers bloom at your feet with every step.

But there’s another added factor. More so a disadvantage. Because now his eyes linger in places they shouldn’t. When the loose collar of your shirt dips down over your shoulder, his breath hitches at the sight of your bare collar bone. When you wear dresses in the summer breeze, he can’t help but stare at your legs, and he has to force himself to look away when the hem rides up to further expose your thigh. When you speak to him, he fixates on the way your lips move, and he finds himself wondering how sweet you’d taste. He wants to worship you, kiss the ground you walk on, let his hands appreciate every dip and crevice of your body in the way he knows you deserve.

It haunts him. Plagues him. Rafe can barely sleep at the realization, at how disgusted he is with himself. You’re his best friend, for fuck’s sake, the girl who has been with him through it all. You’re someone he cannot lose, because if he did, he doesn’t know what he’d do.

“Rafe? Did you hear what I said?”

Your sweet voice startles him, knocking away his grueling thoughts with a simple sentence.

You’re cooking lunch with added ingredients to accommodate his spontaneous arrival. Sleep deprived, Rafe finds it difficult to be alone with the confinements of his mind, especially now, so he went for a walk to take advantage of the nice day. However, in the hopes of clearing his mind, his feet decided otherwise, and subconsciously walked himself to your apartment. You, being so kind, offered to make him a meal, saying that you were making one anyway, what’s one more?

So now he’s sitting at your kitchen island, twirling the family siglet ring on his finger in an attempt to calm him down, watching your back as you stand over the stove. But it’s proving less of a relaxing afternoon when all he can stare at is the planes of your shoulders exposed in a tank top. Every time you laugh, it makes his chest constrict. When you turn to meet his eye briefly to make a point, he finds himself automatically smiling regardless if you're berating him or not. He has to fight the urge to stand and hold you.

"Hm?" He hums distractedly, almost sheepish that he got caught in a daze. "What'd you say, pretty?"

Whether you hear the nickname, you don't comment on it, nor do you turn around. "I asked if you could save me some of Sarah's cookies when you go over tonight."

Rafe frowns. "Wait, you're not coming?"

You make a noise that resembles a snort and a laugh. "Do you ever listen to anything I tell you?"

A response rises and dies in his throat, because, yes, normally he does, he always tries to hang onto every word out of your mouth. But sue a guy if he was too busy admiring your pretty for a moment.

"Uh, that seems like a trap," he muses, trying to appear playful but frankly you're avoiding his question. "Not trying to be on your bad side."

"Smart."

"Never answered my question."

You shake your head to yourself as you add ingredients to the pan. "I have another date tonight with that guy. Nosy."

Rafe's heart drops. "You— I— What?"

The stuttering must amuse you, because you half turn around to sneak a peek at him, taking in his furrowed brows and parted lips as he stares at you with those bright blue eyes, looking confused and almost panicked. It's as if you told him two plus two is five. And even though you just said something to flip is world upside down, he can't deny how fucking pretty you look right now: face bare with the scent of your freshly washed hair filling the kitchen with a citrus aroma, clad in a tank top and boxer shorts that he's pretty sure are his.

The sight of it makes him go crazy.

"You know," you say pointedly, shrugging nonchalantly as if his gut isn't sinking to the earth's core. "The guy I was telling you and the girls about the other night?"

He blinks stupidly. "Wh— Yeah, I know. But you’re… He’s… Another one?”

“Are you okay?”

No, he thinks immediately. How could he be?

“Yeah,” he drawls out unconvincingly. “Why’re you seeing him again?”

You fully turn to face him, leaning against the oven handle, eyes searching his for an answer to his strange behavior. “I like him. Why does it matter?”

How long do you have? Rafe snorts to himself.

But all he can do is shrug, trying to dance around the obvious answer. “Because this guy could be a creep. You don’t know him.”

You roll your eyes. “Yeah, Rafe. That’s literally the point in dating someone. You get to know them.”

“I don’t like that.”

“You don’t have to?”

Rafe stares at you for a moment, blue eyes almost glossed with worry, desperate to say anything to get you to not go, regardless of how pathetic it makes him look. And you simply stare back accusatorially, quirking a quizzical brow and waiting for his response, curious to see what kind of excuse he’s going to come up with to get you to not go.

Where this sudden apprehension is coming from, you have no idea. He’s never been this invested in your love life, never been this forward on getting you to not date around. It’s comical, almost, to have him practically begging, but you can’t find the gall to laugh. Not when you’ve been craving this sort of attention for years, not when you’ve been wishing it was him all along for as long as you can remember, not when he’s looking at you right now as if his life will fall apart if you go.

The sizzling of the food on the pan interrupts your staring contest, and with a dejected sigh, you spin back around to tend to your meal.

“He’s not a creep, if it makes you feel better. He’s one of Ainsley’s coworkers.”

Rafe sucks in a breath. “So?”

You add more ingredients to the pan. “So,” you drawl out, “she can vouch for him. And I trust that.”

When you don’t hear an immediate response, you assume he’s seceded and dropped the topic. The sizzling of the pan fills the gap of silence, and you internally praise that your hands are busy so you can’t examine the way they’re shaking subtly at the practical confrontation.

Why now? Why does he give a shit now? When you’ve just started to get over him? It’s not fair, how he constantly pulls you back in just when you think you’re in the clear, out of the abyss that is your infatuation, until he’s saying something sweet or hugging you close enough to get your heart pounding all the same again. It’s a curse, loving him is the tide, pushing and pulling and pushing and pulling. All day. Every day. All the time.

“Don’t go.” You hear from behind you. “Please.”

You frown even though he can’t see your face, blinking stupidly at the pan as you decipher his words, hear the emotion in his plea, picture the look on his features. You don’t turn around. You can’t. You can’t have him pull you in again just to date someone else the next week. You can’t keep doing this to yourself. He has to know that, right?

“Rafe—“ You start quietly.

But the door swinging open interrupts you, both you and Rafe whipping your heads to find the culprit.

It’s Cora, one of your roommates, slugging two full bags of groceries and slapping them down onto the counter with a loud sigh, unknowing of the thick tension brewing in this kitchen right now. Rafe's eyes are solely trained on you, on the words that linger in the air and itching to know what you were about to say. You meet his gaze for one, two seconds before pulling away, looking back to your roommate slipping her shoes off.

“Smells good!” She chirps innocently, unloading her bags. “Whatcha cookin’?”

Despite his protests, you go on the date.

The night is fun, don't get yourself twisted, because Nate — who's all bright smiles and light laughter and honestly a nice breath of fresh air — takes you to a nice outdoor pavilion with food, drinks, miscellaneous activities such as mini golf and wine tastings and shopping for clothes that are way out of your pay grade. You hold his hand when you walk around the area and laugh when you're supposed to, drink the beverages he buys you and say your pleases and thank yous.

But you can't help the nagging feeling in your heart.

And you hate yourself for it, because Nate's great. He's charming, funny, easy-going, and someone you can definitely see yourself being with or being friends with. However, the entire time, all you can think about is your exchange with Rafe in your kitchen, how wrecked he looked when you told him about the date, the desperation in his eyes when you told you not to go, the way his fingers twitched in your direction as if he was itching to hold you.

It's delusional. You know. You know because you've been feeding them to yourself for years.

Your lips are still tingling from when Nate kissed you goodnight, trudging up to your apartment with a heavy heart and a befuddled brain.

Your mind spins. You want to like Nate. You want to dive off the deep end and forget all about Rafe Cameron, forget about how many years you've wasted pining over him knowing it was never going to be mutual. You want to look into Nate's eyes and not wish they were Rafe's. You want to be with someone without constantly comparing them to your best friend, which is something you've found yourself doing subconsciously. It's a plague eating away at your heart, chipping pieces away one by one until you're left with nothing.

It only proves more difficult when you turn the corner only to discover the one person you don't want to see.

He's leaning against your door frame, picking incessantly at his nail beds which is a habit you've tried time and time again to help him stop. A graphic t-shirt snugs his torso, the arms shaping the outline of his biceps as sweatpants hang low on his hips, as if he rolled out of bed to come and wait by your door. As to how he got in the building, you have no idea, but you wouldn't put it past him to have somehow found a mischievous way.

The click of your heels alert him, and Rafe snaps his head up.

You try to ignore his wide eyes and how he almost looks relieved that you're alone, eyes scanning quickly over your pretty dress before darting up to meet your gaze.

"Hey," he says gently, "how as it?"

You open your mouth to respond, but no words come out as you stand there puzzled. A million questions rise and die in your throat, mind reeling at the concept of him sitting here and waiting for you. He was supposed to see his sister tonight, another friend of yours, yet instead he's leaning on your door for support as he looks at you in a way that makes your heart thrum.

"Good,” you respond meekly, still desperately confused of his presence. "I thought you were sleeping at Sarah’s?”

He shrugs, but offers no words.

You catch a glimpse of his nails beds, red and irritated as you can put two and two together and guess that he’s been picking them all night. His hair is tousled, as if he’s been tossing and turning and fighting sleep and didn’t bother looking in the mirror before he ventured here. Sunken from exhaustion, his blue eyes simply stare at you with a softness you’ve only seen from him a few times, usually when he’s trying to butter you up with an apology, or when he’s deep in thought, or when something’s really bothering him and he’s internally building up the courage to say something.

You bite. “What are you doing here?”

“I just…” He starts quickly, but trails off with uncertainty, as if his mind is trying to catch up to his words. “Do you like him?”

“Wh— Nate?”

“Sure,” Rafe says immediately. “If that’s his name. Are you into him?”

You furrow your brows, taking a step closer to really see the desperation behind his expression. Your confusion morphs into compassion.

“Rafe, are you okay—“

“Will you just—“ He sucks in a particularly harsh breath and squeezes his eyes shut, as if he’s composing himself to refrain from crashing out. “Please. Answer me.”

It takes everything in your power to prevent yourself from reaching forward to grab him, to rub a palm up and down his bicep or squeeze his hand to give a gentle reminder that it’s just you, that he has no reason to be panicking right now and committing acts of high treason against his nail beds. You fight the urge to brush his hair back out of his face and smooth down the wrinkles by the collar of his shirt.

But you don’t. You can’t touch him, as an ode to your dignity, and keep yourself at a respectable yet comforting distance. It’s not much, but to you, it’s progress of attempting to move on.

“I don’t know,” you mumble confusedly. “I…guess? I think so. He’s nice.”

Rafe furrows his brows through your spluttering. “You guess, or you think so?”

You groan, digging your key out of your purse and pushing forward towards your door. “I don’t know, I’ve met him twice. What’s with the interrogation?”

“I’m…curious,” he mumbles unconvincingly.

Moving to accommodate you unlocking your door, he shifts his weight between feet, and it’s daunting when you can feel his piercing eyes on your profile. You swear you hallucinate when you catch a glimpse of his hands twitching in your direction in your peripheral, as if he’s itching to grab you.

Delusional, you spat to yourself. Stand up.

“Are you gonna see him again?”

The door creaks open, and the sound of it mixes with your scoff of disbelief as you yank your key out of the lock with a particularly harsh tug. It’s no surprise that when you enter your apartment, he’s hot on your tail.

You slip your heels off. “Maybe?”

“Maybe?”

“He asked me to drinks this week.”

“What did you say?”

Stopping abruptly, you spin on your heel in the middle of your apartment to stare at him incredulously, even going as far as jutting your hip out for emphasis of your irritation.

“What has gotten into you?” You ask quietly, but he hears you all the same.

You cannot deny how fucking wrecked he looks, especially under the bright kitchen lights. It’s only now that you can fully grasp the desperation of his expression, how he looks at nothing but you, focuses on nothing but you standing in front of him. Slowly, but surely, Rafe begins shaking his head, body moving before he can even get the words out.

“Don’t go out with him,” he practically begs.

The breath momentarily leaves your lungs. “Why not?”

Rafe’s mouth opens and closes, gears turning in his head on figuring out what to say. But the words don’t come, instead he shakes his head, almost at himself, and scoffs as if the notion of you asking why is absolutely audacious, as if the answer is obvious.

But it’s not. Not at all. He’s throwing you for a loop. A long, windy, emotional strung out loop that never seems to end with him. You used to pride yourself on being able to read his mind, to be able to decipher his emotions as if you were reading a children’s book, but now, as he stands in front of you seemingly dripping in frustration, you can’t help but feel lost.

“You can’t just do that,” you say tiredly. “You can’t show up at my door in the middle of the night and ask me not to see someone without providing an explanation—“

“Because I’m in love with you,” Rafe interrupts gently, “and the thought of you being with someone else is fucking killing me.”

You falter.

Did you...hear him right? You couldn’t have, because how could the words you’ve been yearning to hear for years came and went as quickly as the tide? Spoken in one soft breath with a cadence of honey, of honesty, of desperation. He says it so surely, as if it’s law, as if nothing else in the world matters besides this, besides his feeling, besides this pull that he has towards you.

Rafe almost looks as shocked as you that he blurted it out. Well, you can’t imagine your expression, probably a humiliating mix of disbelief, shock, uncertainty, but it’s safe to say his brows are raised in surprise only for a moment, before settling on a softer gaze as he tries to read your reaction, takes in your befuddlement.

You suck in a harsh breath when he takes a step closer.

“I couldn’t figure it out,” he murmurs, eyes trained on you. “I thought I did something wrong when you stopped touching me, or sitting with me, and you were...you were still there but not where I was used to having you."

All you can do is stand frozen, watching him inch closer and closer.

Rafe sighs quietly. "But after you came home from the first date, I couldn’t shake this weird feeling. Couldn't sleep. Couldn't even fucking eat without feeling sick. It almost felt like I was losing you, like I’d fucking die if I couldn’t have you.”

Another step.

“Then it hit me. I—I tried to push it down because you’re my best friend and I couldn’t have you thinking I was just…lusting after you, because it’s not…"

He trails off, shaking his head lightly almost at himself and darting his gaze away momentarily, as if he's gathering his thoughts, calculating his response. And you don't dare make a sound, move a muscle, even hint towards doing anything that will drift his focus and make him lose what he's trying to say. It's agonizing, really, standing as still as a statue and holding your breath as if the world itself will fall apart if you do so.

The words he speaks almost make your knees buckle.

"A part of me has always loved you, just not like this, like—“ He takes a deep breath. “Like how I don’t want anyone else to know you the way I know you.”

Rafe stands inches away.

He takes in all your pretty, admiring you for a moment before settling for another long breath, figuring out his words with a newfound patience he’s never been prided for. And you almost laugh at the irony of it, of how his entire life he's been branded as the hot-headed basket case, the guy whose temper could implode at any moment, someone who was prompt and to the point and never saw the ideal in dancing around the subject. Now, it's entirely different, as he's apparently the epitome of I've got the time today.

“It’s selfish, I know,” he whispers softer than you’ve ever heard him. “But it’s true.”

When his palm experimentally hovers over your cheek, you don’t pull away, and rather stand frozen in your spot as all you can do is blink stupidly at him, digesting his words, digesting the moment. Then, gingerly, he allows his hand to cradle your jaw, holding you so delicately in place as if you’d break if he pressed any harder.

Sure, he's touched you before and more intimately like this. But now it holds a different meaning, the implication you've been wanting it to mean for so long. He's always held you in a way that almost grounds himself, though in this moment, as he skims the pad of his thumb just below your bottom lip, it's almost as if he's doing it to ground you.

“Breathe,” Rafe says gently.

You let out a breath you hadn't realized you'd been holding.

The weight of the moment, of his confession, starts to sink in as you blink at him. He loves you. He loves you. He loves you. You can't move, stuck in place as your mind runs awry as years and years of silently pining over him, once thought to be a fruitless attempt, now comes to laugh in your face. It's almost comical, almost, because there was a point in time where you never thought he'd ever feel the same, never thought he'd see you as something more than the girl he skinned knees with play-wrestling in the backyard, covered in dirt and grass stains and sweat.

"Tell me you don't want this," he adds after a minute of you finding the ability to breathe again, "and I'll walk away. I won't ever bring it up again."

You swallow thickly. "I— You— How come—?"

Stifling a soft smile, Rafe's fingers skim your hairline, eyes following his movements before darting back down to meet your gaze. "Easy. Take a second. It's just me."

One, two beats.

Finally, you find your (relative) footing. "You love me?"

"I'm in love with you," he corrects immediately.

"You—" You suck in a harsh breath. "Okay. Alright."

It's no secret you're short circuiting, brain blowing fuses left and right still trying to comprehend everything that's going on. But it's proving difficult with his hand caressing your jaw, the intrusion of his cologne, how fucking good he looks like this, soft and unguarded and letting nothing distract him from you, you, you.

"Are you okay?" He asks, half concerned half amused.

You nearly laugh out of disbelief. "Am I—" You scoff. "Am I okay," you mimic mockingly, adding a self deprecating laugh. "Seventeen year old me is freaking out right now."

Rafe immediately frowns, and you instantly regret saying that.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

"What?"

You blink stupidly, adding a nervous chuckle to attempt to steer the conversation. "Uh, what?"

His brows furrow. "What do you mean?"

"What do you mean?"

Rafe says your name firmly, low and baritone as if in warning.

A flicker of panic makes your heart thump wildly, taking in his confused expression mixed with his bubbling impatience. His palm presses a tad harder into your jaw, a gentle emphasis to keep talking, to answer his question, because if there's one thing Rafe Cameron hates, it's being left in the dust, being unanswered.

But you can't respond, not when you're cursing yourself in your head, calling yourself stupid, stupid, stupid in every single language with all synonyms you can think of. Really? Are you kidding? That's what you say? That was something you agreed to yourself that you'd never tell him, never tell anyone and have them see the light of day, and with the way he's staring at you right now, you wish you could shrink in place and bury yourself in a hole. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

"Seventeen?" He adds incredulously, tone dripping in desperation. "Did you—? Since we were—?"

"Yes," you answer meekly, and your cheek feels hot under his touch, instantly heating up at the notion of exposing yourself.

Rafe looks absolutely wrecked as he shakes his head at you. "Why didn't you— You never said anything. Why didn't you say anything?"

For a multitude of reasons, you think immediately. He had a girlfriend, you were seeing someone, you both left for different colleges, and a plethora more. It never felt right, there was never a point in time where you thought, wow, I'm actually going to tell him. Because it was a secret you tried to bury so deep, push and push away with the fear of fucking everything up. You never banked on the possibility of him telling you first.

You attempt to respond. "I couldn't lose you."

Rafe curses as if he's been stabbed in the heart. "Baby..."

Squeezing your eyes shut, you refuse to see his look of compassion, because honestly you won't be able to discern it from pity. Besides, the foreign pet name does absolute wonders to the kettlebell in your gut, as in making your heart feel ten tons heavier than it feels in this given moment. You've heard him call other girls the good stuff, the babe, sweetheart, honey once, but knowing you're on the reciprocating end makes your chest feel funny.

"Don't—" You start, but take a deep breath to regulate your emotions. "It's fine. It is. Honest."

"It's not." His response is immediate. "Look at me."

With a shroud of bravery, you slowly blink your eyes open.

And Rafe's looking at you so intently, so ardently, that it nearly makes your knees buckle.

"Listen to me," he says quietly yet firmer than ever. "There's no one on this planet that I'd rather be loved by than you."

You frown, but more-so in a way to regulate your quivering lip.

"I'm sorry it took me so long to catch up," Rafe murmurs, thumb ghosting over your bottom lip that tingles with anticipation. "I know it's not much, but I'm here now and I'm not going anywhere." He pauses, brows furrowing for a split second. "That is, if you want."

Despite your trembling lip, despite your erratic heartbeat, despite the way you're nearly a puddle of a mess in his hold right now, despite it all, you manage a soft, ragged chuckle.

"Rafe Cameron," you playfully scold despite the waver in your voice. "You always have the worst timing."

His palm presses further into the curve of your jaw, reciprocating your laugh and smiling so fucking soft that it makes your heart melt. The dimples you know and love are on full display, pearly whites shining bright and you can't help but wonder what he tastes like.

"Sorry, baby," he murmurs in response, not sounding apologetic in the slightest. "Let me make it up to you, yeah?"

You're not sure who leans in first. Maybe it's you, pent up from years silently pining over a guy you never thought you could have. Maybe it's him, feeling a new rush of emotions and eager to act on them as soon as he possibly can. But, regardless, you meet in the middle and kiss him like your life depends on it.

Rafe's hands are suddenly everywhere: your jaw, your neck, your back to pull your body taut to his, your waist, looooooow on your hips with the pads of his fingertips digging into the soft flesh of your ass. The noise he makes when he kisses you back, fervently than ever, makes your heart flutter, and you can easily confirm he tastes better than you imagined, his hands feel sensational venturing into uncharted territory.

Your hands hesitantly place firmly on his chest, slowly sliding up his torso the more you test out the waters. They soon seek refuge on his shoulders, skimming your palms over the hills and ridges of his muscles almost in admiration, before sliding up to clasp around the back of his neck.

When you gently tug the ends of his overgrown hair, Rafe groans into your mouth.

"Fuck," he says absolutely wrecked, chest practically heaving as he rests his forehead against yours. "I can't— I wanna do this right, but you're—"

"I'm what?" You challenge breathlessly, realizing you sound equally as fucked out.

He groans. "You're killing me. I need to— Fuck— I can't just— and you—“

When your hands slide down the slope of his torso slowly, his breath hitches, and his eyes follow the way your fingertips ghost the waistband of his sweatpants. You glide them over the fabric as if you're admiring the topography of a map, and when your nails lightly graze the sliver of skin exposed between the waistband and his t-shirt, Rafe nearly flinches.

"You can't—" He tries to hold his ground as his grip tightens on your hips.

But he lets out a shaky breath when you dip your fingers under the waistband.

"I can't, what?" You ask innocently. "Wanna make you feel good."

Suddenly, his nimble fingers encase around your wrist and yank your hand out of his pants, much to your dismay, and hold them in place when you try to dive back in.

But you can't be mad. Not in the slightest. Especially at his next words.

"You first," Rafe nearly orders, tone firm as his palms lay refuge on your hips and push you to move backwards, down the hall towards your bedroom. "I don't feel good unless you do."

And as he guides you into the bedroom, lies you down gently on your back and kisses up and down your body as if he's admiring a timeless piece of art, you can't configure any sort of argument, any kind of retaliation that would get him to stop what he's doing. There isn't a muscle, inch of skin, crevice on your body that goes unnoticed, as his hands and lips make you feel appreciated, worshipped, loved before he even considers thinking about himself. It's intoxicating, and the years spent wondering what kind of lover he really is is disproved yet confirmed all the same in the matter of minutes. Safe to say Project FOOL was a bust.

Rafe shows you how he's infatuated with you, for hours at best, making the softest love he knows how within the four walls of your bedroom, entangled within cotton sheets with whispers of sweet nothings ghosting the shell of your ear.

And you figure you can get used to this.

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

notes not enttttttiiiiirely proud of this but i hope this is what you envisioned for the prompt anon. hope you enjoyed!

[warriorblu]

Oh is he going to flip his shit when he sees a man at her door and even worse going inside?!?

when rafe insists on helping you…

one shopping bag in your hand, car keys between your teeth, and a latte in your other hand. you sighed, you’d have to come back for the other two bags, and you underestimated how long the walkway up to your house was.

“need some help?” rafe calls out, leaning against the columns of his portico. arms crossed over his chest, amused.

“no!” you yell back, although quick to close your mouth before your keys slip out. determined, you keep your head down, away from rafe as you walk up the path to your door.

before you can even reach it though, a hand steals the bag from your grip into theirs, along with the other bag in that hand and the final one in his other.

taking the car keys into your hand, you mutter, “i said i didn’t need help.”

rafe shrugs, devilish grin. “figured i’d help you out anyways..’s what husbands are for right?”

“ex-husband, and no. you’re looking like the type of person i’d give a restraining order to right now.” you trudge up the path next to him, rafe carrying the grocery bags with ease.

“well i moved here first,” he states. “so shouldn’t i be making that restraining order?”

you roll your eyes, anything to distract yourself from how his muscles flex when he holds the bags. or the lack of strain on his face. that calm cockiness you’re somehow a fool for.

shoving the keys into the door, you stop rafe before he can step inside. “leave the bags at the door.”

he tilts his head past you, looking inside the house. he’s not smiling, or teasing. dead serious. like he’s checking for something..or someone. snapping your fingers in front of his face you ask sharply, “what are you looking at rafe?”

“i’ll bring the bags in..” he murmurs, ignoring your request. or actively defying it. the latter, most likely.

“no– rafe, it’s best if you–“

“carry them inside,” he interrupts, his voice evidently more demanding than anything else.

you sigh, shift to the side. “be quick.”

he steps through immediately, eyes flicking through every open door. staking a claim he has no right to. hunting for some non-existent prey. he sets the bags down in the kitchen, does one final circle around with his eyes.

you clear your throat, “okay, you can go now.”

he turns to you, bites the inside of his cheek. “hm..sure i can’t get a house tour?”

“no.”

“worth a shot..can i get a thank you at least?”

“i didn’t actually ask you to—“

rafe raises his eyebrows.

“thank you.”

“i guess i’ll get that tour another day..” he brushes past you, uttering the words into your ear as he passes. leaving you standing there, in your kitchen, entirely worried for what rafe has planned.

“shit..” you mutter to yourself when you step out the door a week later. sprinklers across your lawn. you’d bought them when the Homeowner’s Association Board (which you recently joined) told you it was good for your lawn. good for neighbourhood appearances. they set it up. but it was drenching the path to your car, and you needed to get to work.

rafe’s stuck in conversation with a one night stand, giving him the ‘can’t we be something more?’ speech. then he sees you. acting like a cat despising a bath, scared to step through the sprinklers. he’s excusing himself, albeit rudely, a hurried ‘sorry’ before he runs over to the house next door.

getting soaked in the process, he gets to your sprinklers and turns it off, cursing at the stubborn mechanism. the water subsides and you’re left standing in the protection of your porch, blinking at the ease with which he turned it off.

rafe’s shirt is completely wet, clinging to every muscle and you have to force yourself to stop staring. “uh..thanks?”

“yeah the mechanism was crap..HOA make you get that?”

“yeah..” you nod.

“hm..i’ll find you a better one, same make as mine, i can teach you how to use it, it’s easier.” it’s a promise that he’s going to speak to you again, find another reason to involve himself in your life. you know better than to argue.

“rafe i think–“ you cock your head at the angry blonde, huffing by his car.

“oh god..ignore her..” he grumbles, wringing the corner of his shirt.

you nod, slowly. you can’t say it doesn’t make you..satisfied, in a way, to see him ditch some random blonde to come help you.

you know it shouldn’t.

but it does.

[warriorblu]

I love this!

being best friends with rafe cameron includes having scary dog privileges — if you have any trouble with anybody, he’s there the moment you ask. on command.

it means if anyone gives you a look you don't like, he's already clocked it (i don't think it's clocking to you, that i'm standing on business) before you even say a word.

it means you're never alone at parties. he stands a little too close, eyes scanning the crowd, beer or solo cup in hand, but he's watching — always watching. and if a guy gets too bold? tries to flirt? tries to touch? rafe's suddenly there, all sharp jaw and mean eyes, a lazy arm around your shoulders and a voice low and condescending: "she's not interested, bro. move along."

it means late-night calls when your ex texts you something gross, and rafe shows up at your door five minutes later, hoodie slung over his shoulder, all quiet rage and tension under the surface. "you okay?' he asks, but he's already planning what he's gonna say if he runs into them.

it means you're never scared to walk home alone — because rafe will always offer to drive. or wait on the line until you're inside. or pull up in his truck without you even asking, headlights sweeping the street like some feral guard dog looking for a reason to bark.

and it doesn't matter if he's tired. or pissed. or hungover. if someone hurts you, scares you, talks sideways — he's there. no questions. just fury and loyalty and the kind of quiet protection only rafe can offer.

you've got scary dog privileges.

and rafe cameron?

he bites.

[warriorblu]

Lowkey love this Rafe

OMG IM OBSESSED WITH YOUR NEW POST

Pls can you write something about being at a party with bsf!s1!rafe and him constantly staring and getting jealous of any other guy. I love your writing sm 💖

✮⋆˙ jealous s1!rafe can't seem to control the possessive feelings he has for his bestfriend!reader.

warnings — none, really! possessive and jealous bsf!s1!rafe. mentions of drinking.

cherie’s note — ilysm thank you for the request! so sorry it took me so long — been super swamped with irl stuff as of late. i hope you enjoy, cutie!

you didn't even like the guy that much.

he was cute enough, sure — tall, clean smile, backwards cap in that frat-boy kind of way — the kind of guy who had probably excelled in lacrosse in high school and still bragged about his winning goal. but he was charming in that performative, bro-ish way, leaning just a little too close when he talked, fingers brushing your wrist when he handed you his drink so you could "smell how strong it was."

you laughed at something he said — something that definitely wasn't that funny — and the sound came out louder than it should have, especially over the blaring music, and the thumping against the floor boards. a little forced, a little flirty. he grinned like he'd won something, stepping in close enough that his arm grazed your waist, thumb brushing the exposed skin near your hip as if it were casual.

you didn't notice it right away — but rafe did.

he saw everything from where he stood across the room, absentmindedly listening to topper and kelce argue over which preppy boat was superior, solo cup hanging loose in his hand. the flash of your smile. the way your body tipped toward the guy, even if it was just from the loud music, struggling to hear each other properly. the hand on your waist.

yeah — that was it.

he took one, final slow slip from his cup, jaw flexing, tongue pressing to the inside of his cheek as that familiar burn settled deep within his chest.

muttering something under his breath, he excused himself from conversation with his best friends.

and then, he was moving.

the small, forced grin on your face faltered the minute you noticed rafe standing behind the boy, one hand on his shoulder as he effortlessly spun him around where he stood.

"yeah — nah. she's good," rafe said casually, stealing a lazy sip from his cup in that arrogant way you'd grown to recognize. his eyes flickered to the guy once, slow and dismissive. "find someone else to bother."

the guy gave a half-laugh, confused, but didn't push it. just held up his hands in surrender, and backed off.

you blinked up at rafe, startled, heart still skipping from how fast it all happened.

he didn't even look at you — not at first. he stood where the boy had been just seconds ago, taller, broader, his body cutting off the space around you like a wall. the scent of his cologne mixed with the faint smoke of marijuana, and something faintly sharp — whatever cheap liquor had been in his cup — surrounded you now. familiar.

he took another sip, lips curling around the rim in that unbothered, cocky way he always did when he was pissed but pretending not to be.

"we're leaving," he said finally, voice low and flat.

your brows pinched. "what? why?" you shifted your weight, suddenly uncomfortable with his possessive tone.

"'cause i said so."

you scoffed, "you can't just— rafe, i was talking—"

"yeah?" his brow ticked, voice all lazy venom. "looked like he was doing more than talking."

you swallowed — hard, dryly.

"don't argue," he spoke smoothly, not even lookin at you. his hand was already sliding around your wrist, firm and final. "let's go."

he didn't let go of your wrist until the cool-night breeze bit against your skin.

and when the front door slammed shut behind you, you weren't sure if you were more angry with him... or at yourself for always going. always listening.

[warriorblu]

I think I would have crashed out….so she found the ring but still going around celebrating with him?!? Ugh Rafe grow a pair, 🙄

Rafe getting engaged to Sofia but the ring was not for her

This one has been sleeping in my wips for over two months (I apologize). I have more Rafe wips, do you want them?

—

The news was on everybody’s lips at the country club: Rafe Cameron and Sofia were engaged. According to the whispers, he proposed yesterday afternoon.  

‘’He’s been with her for a couple of months and is already proposing,’’ Sabrina said after taking a sip of her mimosa. ‘’If her family had money, I would suspect a business deal, but her parents struggle with their bills. They have nothing to offer the Camerons.’’ 

You forced a smile. ‘’Love makes you do crazy things.’’ 

Before you, Sabrina raised an eyebrow. ‘’You think he is in love with Sofia?’’ 

You knew it would happen someday, but it hurt to see your ex boyfriend moving on and getting with someone else. Loving someone else. 

‘’Why else would they get married?’’ 

You filled your pain — and jealousy — with a piece of pancakes. 

‘’You were together for two years and he never got down on one knee,’’ the blonde pressed. 

Her words were a stab in the heart from an old rusted knife. But she wasn’t wrong.

Everyone on the island knew Rafe as a kook douchebag who’s bodycount was higher than a working salary’s digits. He was selfish, reckless, conceited, and didn’t do dating. He was a parent’s worst nightmare for their daughter. Not that anyone would dare saying that out loud. The Camerons were a respectable family. 

A lot of girls would say you pulled the lucky straw. Rafe chose to break his ‘no dating’ rule for you. 

But that’s not how the story went. You didn’t fall for his charm and pretty smile, you didn’t eat in the palm of his hand.  If he wanted you, he had to do more than flash his signature grin and show off his daddy’s dollar bills.

He rose to the challenge — and he was damn proud to call you his girl.

He took you out for lunch at the country club, made you his official passenger princess, and occasionally left on his boat for a whole afternoon, just the two of you. He introduced you to his family, to his colleagues and business partners at function events. 

You were it for him. 

No one had expected to see the day Rafe Cameron would fall in love. It was a surprise to many, but one of the reasons your relationship worked — other than love — was because you challenged him. You were the only one brave enough to stand your ground when he was wrong, to call him out. You handled his temper.  You stayed when things got ugly and he hit the ground with his coke addiction. He trusted you with his whole heart. 

Until he called it all off. 

‘’People change, Brin,’’ you said.

You remained silent for a moment, then Sabrina’s eyes lit up. ‘’Maybe he got her pregnant?’’

If you hadn’t known Rafe so well, you would have believed her and choked on your food, but getting a girl pregnant was something that terrified him. You had one pregnancy scare and you’ll always remember the look on his face when you told him. 

You shook your head. ‘’Unlikely. Rafe is careful about that.’’

Being careful didn’t mean he couldn’t make a mistake though.

—

The country club was the last place you wanted to be tonight, but you got dragged there anyway. 

You’ve been there for twenty minutes and you were already on your second glass of champagne, unable to watch Sofia and Rafe together. The way she would hold his arm as they were talking to the guests, smiling up at him like he hung the stars. She touched his chest when she laughed, her silky orange dress flowing with the coastal wind.  

Every fiber of your being screamed for you to leave, to walk away and spare yourself the agony of watching Rafe and his fiancée together, but you stayed rooted to the spot per your father’s request. Being a kook sucked sometimes.

‘’That’s a massive downgrade from you,’’ Topper said as he approached, his eyes on his best friend. 

You always tried to be humble, but this time you had to agree with Topper. Sofia was a girl from the Cut, and it showed. You could see it in the way she behaved around other kooks, but also the way she dressed. She was trying so hard to fit in, to be accepted by the higher class community, but no matter how hard she tried, she would never fit in.

‘’I don’t know what’s gotten into him lately. Last week, he told me was thinking of ending things with Sofia, and now… I don’t get it,’’ Topper continued, a frown between his eyebrows.

You took another sip of champagne just as Sabrina found you, a little late as always. ‘’Sorry I’m late. The pink dress I wanted to wear broke and I had to change. Hopefully I can get it fixed because that’s a really pretty dress.’’ She then turned to Topper, acknowledging him. ‘’Hey Top.’’

Topper’s eyes fell on Sabrina, and he began to vomit compliments at her. Unfortunately, she slammed the door in his face at his flirting tactics. You usually found them amusing, but tonight you didn’t have the heart to laugh. 

Without saying a word, you walked away and went inside the club. You promised yourself not to cry over Rafe anymore. You thought you had healed from your breakup. Why was it hurting so much?

The door down the hall echoed as it shut, and Rafe appeared as he rounded the corner of the corridor. His white button up was undone at the top, showing off the white gold chain around his neck. You remember helping him decide which one to get at a jeweler in Charleston. To thank you, he got you a bracelet that matched. Not because he wanted to mark his territory, make it known you were his, but because he loved to buy you little things with a secret meaning for just you and him to know.

Rafe halted when he saw you, pausing mid-step. His eyes raked over you, taking in each and every detail of your appearance — the way your hair was pinned away from your face, the dress that hugged your body without being tight, the luminous pink on your cheeks that matched your lips. 

His gaze lingered longer than it should have, catching him staring.

‘’Congratulations on the engagement,’’ you said, the bitterness in your voice sharp and deliberate.

Rafe groaned quietly, walking over to you. 

You let out a cold laugh. ‘’Don’t be too enthusiastic, Sofia might think you’re gonna ditch her down the aisle.’’ 

“Can we not talk about her?” he asked, low and tired.

‘’She’s going to be your wife, Rafe,’’ you reminded him. ‘’She’s gonna become Mrs. Cameron—’’ 

“I don’t want to talk about her,” he snapped, his voice echoing in the small room. “Not with you.” 

His tone softened and his eyes lowered to find yours. He reached out to touch your arm, his fingers following the path down to yours and taking your hand in his. He knew he should not be touching you when he was engaged to another woman, but he couldn’t stop himself.

The gesture was simple, but set your skin on fire, bringing back memories of better times. You  tried to retract your hand from his, but he didn’t let you. ‘’Rafe—’’ 

‘’The ring was not for Sofia.’’ 

The moment the words left his mouth, you held your breath.  Rafe continued, digging his grave deeper as a fiancé. ‘’She found it in my office drawer and assumed it was for her. It wasn’t. It…it was for you.’’

—

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[warriorblu]

IM SCREAMING!!! Love her for this!! I feel like “she wasn’t random” triggered something in her. Ah, can’t wait for him to be begging when she has someone new 😂😂

❝ If payback is a bitch and revenge is sweet. Then you’re the sweetest bitch he’ll ever meet… ❞

Best Served Sweet

Rafe Cameron x bitchy!reader | 18+ smut

Saw @zyafics mrga campaign & wanted to join!

Two can play that game.

If he wanted to play, you could play too.

And better.

You can feel him watching you from across the room, his piercing blue eyes burning a hole into you as you dance on some cute guy at the party. It’s his friend’s party, but you're here dancing with someone who isn’t him. He finds that very disrespectful. Normally, you wouldn’t be doing something so brazen like this, but right now, there’s nothing more you want than to make Rafe mad. To give your on again, off again boyfriend a taste of his own medicine. From the look on his face right now, you’re giving him the perfect dose.

It was one week ago when you and Rafe got into a fight that led to another breakup. You were always breaking up, then making up, and repeating that same toxic cycle. You knew you should’ve left Rafe for good a long time ago, but something always kept you there. Love? Good dick? Stupidity? Probably all three. One thing was always clear, though. Rafe was no Prince Charming, and there was no question that you knew you could do better.

The other day, you heard that he hooked up with some girl at Topper’s pool party. Some slut that he fucked right in his friend’s bathroom. How tacky. It wasn’t even a week after you broke up and he was already banging somebody else. You guessed it was payback for breaking up with him and not going right back. At first, you felt hurt, but you wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of ever knowing it. No, your days of crying over Rafe Cameron and going back to him were over. If he wanted to hurt you, you would hurt him right back. Right where you knew it would hurt him the most.

His ego.

Everyone in Kildare knew you were Rafe’s girl. That meant you weren’t supposed to be seen with anyone else. You were his. Like he owned you. Like you were some kind of property. You hated it. Rafe could do whatever he wanted, whoever he wanted, but you were expected to be his good girl and stay with him no matter what. Fuck that. He could get a damn dog if he wanted unwavering loyalty.

You were done.

Back at the party, the little denim skirt you’re wearing is riding up your thighs as you grind against the cute guy. His hands slide from your waist down to your hips and you bite your lip, enjoying the show that you’re putting on. There isn’t anything innocent about the way you’re dry fucking him in the middle of the room for everyone to see. Rafe is standing with his friends watching your every move.

“Damn, Rafe, look at your girl,” you hear one of them say.

He’s pissed and his anger is growing more as he watches your ass move on someone who isn’t him. He can’t believe that you’re doing this. How fucking dare you. When he sees the guy drop his hands lower and move along your thighs, he shoots you a death glare that almost makes you think twice about what you’re doing.

Almost.

You grind against him harder.

Rafe pushes off the wall and walks in your direction, moving closer and closer until you feel his hand close around your arm, roughly yanking you away.

“What the fuck? Get off me, Rafe.”

“Let’s go,” he says calmly.

It was too calm.

And he isn’t giving you the same death glare that he was just a moment ago. His expression has changed to something that’s almost a smile. Rafe Cameron suddenly smiling at you when you know he’s livid…

That’s dangerous.

You wanted to make him mad, but now you’re wondering if maybe you pushed too far. You don’t think that he would actually hurt you, but Rafe can be unpredictable when he gets angry. Although it’s never been you, you’ve witnessed others experience his wrath.

You try to free yourself, but he only tightens his grip on your arm and leads you into one of the bedrooms. The sound of the door slamming and the lock clicking makes you flinch. You’re more nervous than you want to admit. But you can’t let him know that.

“I have nothing to say to you, Rafe.”

He doesn’t say anything. Just stares.

“We’re done.”

More silence.

“Do you hear me? I said we’re fucking done! Over.”

He smiles. “I hear you.” He walks over and stands behind you, his hand pushing your hair aside as his fingertips brush against your neck. “But hear me when I tell you that will never fucking happen.”

He lowers his head and presses a kiss on your neck, his hands sliding down your waist before settling on your ass. You hate how his touch instantly makes you hot. Hate how your pussy instantly gets wet.

“You embarrassed me tonight,” he says, still kissing your neck. “Coming here and letting some dude feel you up in front of all my friends. In front of me… acting like a fucking whore.”

You scoff and abruptly pull yourself away from his grasp. “Says the whore who fucks randoms in bathrooms.”

“She wasn’t random,” he says in a way that’s meant to get under your skin.

It does.

“Oh? So you’ve fucked her before then?”

“No,” he smirks. “But I could’ve. She’s been wanting me.”

Asshole.

You let out a sound of disgust. “She can have you.”

“I don’t want her.”

“And I don’t want you.”

Without another word, Rafe lifts you up and places you on the nearby dresser. You know you shouldn’t let him, but it seems that your voice has forgotten how to speak now. His hand eases between your legs, tracing over the curve of your thigh before slowly moving up to your panties. You’re dripping, just like he thought.

“That’s a lie,” he says smugly. His hand slides under the wet fabric and strokes your pussy. “Look at how wet I make her.”

The pleasure hits you instantly and you hold back a moan as he swiftly slips a finger, then another, inside you. Part of you wants to scream for him to stop, but the other part wants him to be so deep inside you that you’re screaming don’t stop. You wish it didn’t feel as good as it does. Wish you could push him away, leave, and never go back to him like you promised yourself. But to your dismay, you close your eyes and let his fingers fuck you until you don’t even have a coherent thought.

You hate it.

This isn’t supposed to be happening.

And yet, it’s happening.

“Rafe, please I—”

He puts a finger to your lips, silencing you. The same finger that’s now slick with your wetness and traces it over your bottom lip.

“You taste how good I make you feel?”

You nod as you softly suck his finger, tasting yourself, feeling your control slipping more. He’s about to have you so gone, and you want to curse yourself for giving in so easily.

“I’m sorry,” he says next. “I was mad at you. I didn’t mean to hurt you, baby.”

And just like that, those words flip a switch in you. They're the same words that you’ve heard so many times before. Every time he did something wrong and wanted your forgiveness. Every time you foolishly forgave him. Every time he promised he would never do it again, only to keep doing it.

“Your days of crying over Rafe Cameron and going back to him were over…”

You’re quiet for a moment before you say, “I forgive you, Rafe.” You lean in and whisper. “Go lay down.”

Rafe quickly strips down and does as he's told while you stand at the edge of the bed, looking at how ready he is for you. Slowly, you remove your skirt and panties and crawl up to him.

You press a kiss just below his navel, feeling his muscles jump beneath you. “Did you miss me?”

“You…” Rafe sucks in a breath. “You know I did.” It’s getting harder for him to speak now as you press soft, teasing kisses along the sensitive skin of his inner thighs.

“How much?” You wrap your hand around him, stroking him slowly as you look into his eyes.

“So much, baby.”

He wants you so bad that you can feel it in every breath he takes. His dick is so hard, it’s begging for your mouth. You run your tongue up his length with a long, slow lick. He shudders. You smile. You love Rafe like this. So vulnerable. So desperate for you. You slowly take him into your mouth and quickly remind him of one of the reasons why he loves you.

“Fuck…” he groans and the sound is music to your ears.

You know you have him right on the edge. From the way his breaths turn to low, needy moans to the way his hand tightens in your hair as you take him deeper. Your mouth feels so good to him that if you asked him for the moon and the stars right now, he would try to get them for you. With each lick and the deeper you take him to the back of your throat, you can feel him losing a little more control.

You have him right where you want him.

Time to ruin him now.

You straddle him and guide his hands to your hips, watching him watch you as you take him in inch by inch. The feeling is just as good as it’s always been. Your pussy hugs him tight as you start to ride him so good that his head falls back against the pillow.

“Feel good, baby?”

You know it does, but you want to hear him say it.

“So fucking good,” he groans, barely holding it together as you wreck him.

Big Bad Rafe all fucked out.

There’s truly nothing better than having him completely in your control. You can tell he’s getting close, and you start moving faster and harder, every one of your movements working to give Rafe the best fuck of his life. To ruin him for anyone else. To make your pussy the one he can still feel in his dreams.

As you ride him to completion, you feel that familiar feeling inside you growing more intense, building higher and higher until you can’t hold back anymore. You tremble as your orgasm rocks your body, but you don’t stop. You can’t stop. He’s almost there.

A little faster.

A little harder.

A little more.

“Fuck, baby, I’m about to��” He doesn’t even get the rest of his words out as you clench around him tightly and a rough groan rips from his throat.

There’s a satisfied smile on your face as you watch him fall apart under you. You keep riding until his warm cum is filling you up, spilling deep inside you. You take a moment to gather your breath before you slowly ease up from him.

Without a word, you quickly put your clothes back on and walk to the door.

Rafe is visibly confused. “Where are you going?”

“I’m leaving,” you smile sweetly. “I hope you enjoyed that because you’ll never get it again.”

You leave without even bothering to close the door behind you.

You actually are done with Rafe Cameron.

Give him the best sex of his life and then leave his ass? Sure did.

Nothing felt sweeter.