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thinking about Carmen taking care of his girl sm he won’t put up with her spending any of her hard-earned money :(

After shutting your door for you, Carmen walks around the front of the car into the drivers seat, shuffling with the seatbelt as he turns the key in the ignition.

You hum to yourself in the meantime and find your lipstick in your bag—your new lipstick, a little more luxe this time, just the right shade to compliment your skin, a treat for yourself after finishing up a project at work. Just a little gift you deserved. You flip down the sun visor and open the mirror, making a pretty o with your lips to carefully apply it, stifling a smile when you feel Carmen watching.

“Where’s that from, baby?” he asks, a hand smoothing up your back.

“Hm?”

“The—the, uh—” he points to his own mouth while staring at your lips— “Lipstick, you call it?”

“Oh,” you smile. “Yeah, it’s new.” You hug his bicep, an affectionate squeeze before cradling the side of his face and toying with the tuft of hair by his ear. “You like it?”

He hums, “‘F course, ‘s pretty.”

But his smile falters, and it has you pouting.

“What?”

“Nothin’…” He shrugs. “Just don’t remember buyin’ it. You used my card, right?”

You shake your head. “No, I bought it myself. It wasn’t expensive, Carm, I promise.” Half true, at the very least.

“Yeah?” He let’s go of you only briefly to lift his hips and pull his wallet from his pocket, fishing out the wad of cash that’s accumulated there. “How much was it, baby? I’ll pay you back.”

“Carm, I didn’t ask you to do that.”

“Yeah, well, I’m doin’ it anyway.” He counts out one, two, three twenties—

“Carmen, put that away—”

He looks up at you, raises his brows, dishes out a fourth and a fifth. “What?” He doesn’t even flinch when he folds the bills in two and leans over the console to slip them in your purse, sneaking a kiss to your cheek as he does so, just because he knows it’ll distract you. A hand on the wheel now—a veiny, tattooed hand, enough to make you drool—with the other holding your jaw, he kisses you again, the corner of your mouth to keep your lipstick in tact. “Use my card next time, you hear me? Doesn’t matter what it’s for.”

You frown. “But I feel bad . . . I make my own money, y’know.”

“You’re not supposed to spend your money, baby, you’re supposed to spend mine.” Again, he kisses you, guiding you where he wants you with his thumb and index gently holding your chin so you can’t look away. “I got you, baby. Lemme take care ‘f you.”

And, well, when he puts it like that . . . it’s not so hard to oblige.

Watching Barbie watch as Ken takes over barbieland, takes her dream house and turn it into his own property, ruins her things whilst she cries in despair and suddenly I’m six years old again pleading my brother to be gentle with my toys as he throws them on the floor and against the walls. The hundreds of dollars in dolls that my parents spent for birthdays and christmas, told me to be careful with and showed me how to play nice destructed and destroyed as my brother grabs at anything and everything, tosses them around, stretches their plastic joints and pulls at their heads while I scream for him to stop seemingly wasted in seconds. He throws one down for another and I’m too small to grab them off of him. Easily toppled over as he pushes me aside and I’m wondering what I ever did to him to deserve it.

On top of it all, he’s still surprised when his torment breaks one of them, the legs snap out and he pauses as though he’s remorseful. I cry at the loss of my doll and despite how it was him who broke it. Him who threw it around. Him who pulled until the elastic snapped..

I am still told I should’ve been more careful with my toys.

It is literally impossible to be a woman. You are so beautiful, and so smart, and it kills me that you don’t think you’re good enough. Like, we have to always be extraordinary, but somehow we’re always doing it wrong. 

You have to be thin, but not too thin. And you can never say you want to be thin. You have to say you want to be healthy, but also you have to be thin. You have to have money, but you can’t ask for money because that’s crass. You have to be a boss, but you can’t be mean. You have to lead, but you can’t squash other people’s ideas. You’re supposed to love being a mother, but don’t talk about your kids all the damn time. You have to be a career woman, but also always be looking out for other people. You have to answer for men’s bad behavior, which is insane, but if you point that out, you’re accused of complaining. You’re supposed to stay pretty for men, but not so pretty that you tempt them too much or that you threaten other women because you’re supposed to be a part of the sisterhood. But always stand out and always be grateful. But never forget that the system is rigged. So find a way to acknowledge that but also always be grateful. You have to never get old, never be rude, never show off, never be selfish, never fall down, never fail, never show fear, never get out of line. It’s too hard! It’s too contradictory and nobody gives you a medal or says thank you! And it turns out in fact that not only are you doing everything wrong, but also everything is your fault.

I’m just so tired of watching myself and every single other woman tie herself into knots so that people will like us. And if all of that is also true for a doll just representing women, then I don’t even know

-Gloria’s monologue from the Barbie movie

So Gorgeous It Actually Hurts

notes Rafe Cameron x fem!reader + childhood enemies to lovers, the slowest of burns, an unbearable amount of pining, both parties in heavy denial for like 90% of the fic, Rafe’s a total douchebag but he can’t help it (you’re gorgeous), tw for angst, drinking, and drug use

wc 12.1k

a/n a labour of love that I am SO excited to share, I hope you guys enjoy this as much as I did writing it <3

Seven.

It’s the scraped knees and bruises age, popsicle-sticky fingers, monkey bar calluses and sneaker toe blisters. It’s the messy hair age, the bike riding age, the sugar-high at your first sleepover, the whispered secrets and pinky-promises under blankets age.

For you, it’s the age that summer changes forever.

When you’re seven years old, your father announces that he’s bought a beach house on the Outer Banks.

At the heart of an island, Kildare, with a funny sounding name and tonnes of roaming space, it’s big with a bigger balcony and a view of the sea, waves that crest and foam, seagulls with hungry beaks.

To seven-year-old you, the place has everything. Sunny weather, a shortcut to the beach, an ice-cream truck that circulates regularly. Hopscotch on the side-walk and a neighbourhood with kids your age, some freckled, some loud, one that you hate.

Seven is the age that you meet Rafe Cameron.

He’s a playground bully with blue eyes and overgrown hair, his makeshift throne at the very top of the jungle gym.

Back then, he doesn’t have as many inches on you as he does now, but Rafe Cameron is still bigger and older than you, the new girl.

When you tug on a bit of jungle gym rope and cause him to teeter, you don’t mean anything by it. You’re just trying to get his attention so you can climb up the throngs too, enjoy the ten-foot-high view alongside him.

He scowls down at you, all narrowed eyes and dangling limbs.

“Who’re you?” He accuses, not asks.

“Hi,” you greet brightly, pulling on the rope again. “I’m Y/n. Can I come up too?”

His features remain the same, hard and defensive, a nine-year-old that hasn’t learnt how to share. “You’re new,” he states plainly.

“Yeah!” You agree, nodding enthusiastically. “What’s your name?”

Rafe doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he braces his knees and jumps down, landing just short of your brand new sneakers. A cloud of dirt settles on the white tips.

“You can’t go up there,” he instructs. “Ever. It’s my spot.”

You frown. “Says who?”

“Says me,” Rafe answers firmly, folding his arms across his chest.

“And who are you?” You ask, folding yours in tandem.

“Rafe,” he says. His scowl hasn’t left his face yet, only deepening when your lips pull down and tighten. It’s a frowning contest of will, and Rafe’s never one to back down from a fight.

Neither are you, as he’ll soon come to realise. The only boy his age that’ll confidently jump the ten feet without a scratch, he’s fairly used to wearing his so-called spot like a bravery badge. There’s no way he’s going to give it up just like that, especially not to a girl who’s shorter than him, smaller with pigtails and frill-hem socks.

Even if she has pretty eyes.

“Well, Rafe,” you throw back, straightening to your full height, scowling some more. Intimidation tactics that are useless on she-has-pretty-eyes boy. “You’re not the boss of me.”

“Yes, I am,” Rafe insists, crossing his arms tighter. “I live here. You don’t.”

“Yes, I do,” you argue, pointing to a walk-way in the distance. “Through there. I do.”

Rafe turns to where you’re pointing, his bully scowl deepening. “You’re lying.”

“No I’m not.”

“Are so.”

“Am not.”

“You have to be. I live through there, and I’ve never seen you around before,” Rafe decides with finality, his shoulders square as he pushes past you. He has that, older-than-you air about him that makes you fume; there’s no way you’re letting him dictate how you live your life, especially not with a mean-spirited attitude.

You huff and lift your nose to the air, catching a hold of the jungle gym ropes. “Maybe,” you mutter, already climbing up them, “you should pay more attention then.”

It takes you the same amount of time to clamber your way to the top as it does Rafe to turn around, now an eye-squint away with features that you think look chastened. You can see far above him, over fluffy treetops and slatted roofs, toward the blue shimmer of a sea blessed by sun.

“Hey!” He yells angrily, running back over. “I told you not to —”

He reaches the bottom of the jungle gym alarmingly quickly, small hands with more force than you’re used to pulling at the ropes below you.

You teeter dangerously, lurching forward and losing your balance at the last minute. There’s a nosedive before a muffled thud; the boy who has caused you to fall has broken it too, his back splintered with bark and dirt, his eyebrows scrunched up.

“Hey!” You scrabble off of him with aching knees and grazes on your palms, bottom lip beginning to tremble. “You hurt me!”

“You fell on me,” Rafe groans, propping himself up on scrape-red elbows. “I told you not to go up there. That’s what you get for not doing what I tell you.”

“I — I… I hate you!” You sputter out as vindictively as you can, eyesight a blur, limbs shaking as you stand.

“Yeah? Well I hate you more!” Rafe throws back, standing up too. There’s a fleeting moment where your seven-year-old brain looks over his longer legs, the bark-stained rips in his jeans. They look like they hurt — why isn’t he crying?

You sniff loudly and turn on your heel, breaking into a run toward the walk-way you pointed out earlier. Past the salt boxes along your Cul-de-sac, with lungs bleeding and wind whipping by your ears. Past the ice-cream truck, past the other children that live here, past the large, Tannyhill Estate that sits beside your house.

And when you hightail it to the kitchen, freshly bruised with tears in your eyes, your mother asks you what’s wrong, and you say, “Rafe did it.”

The same Rafe you re-meet at a barbeque the next day, the hybrid of an introduction and a housewarming hosted by your parents.

His eyes are the same, cold blue that they were the day before, but he’s sporting a new haircut, a two girl posse of younger siblings.

“See?” You say by way of greeting, jutting out your bottom lip obstinately. After the initial pleasantries, your parents have taken theirs inside, along with his youngest sister, Wheezie. “I told you I wasn’t lying.”

“You still shouldn’t have done it,” Rafe argues back, scowling meanly. “That’s my spot.”

You huff dismissively, throwing your palm in his face. “Talk to the hand.”

And when you push past him, shoulders square as can be, you hear six-year-old Sarah giggling, the noise loud and obnoxiously giddy.

She peels herself away from her brother to fall into your step, instead, limbs the same length as yours, soft hair in the same pigtails. Your equal.

“Can we be friends?” She asks significantly, wide eyes looking over your features.

You grin wide, unabashedly pleased. It’s the first time Rafe’s ever seen you smile, and his stomach lurches like there’s something in there fighting to break free. He scowls some more.

“Of course we can!” You exclaim excitedly, extending your pinky finger. “Best friends forever?”

“Forever,” Sarah promises, twining it with hers and squeezing.

Rafe’s rooted to the spot, watching you from a distance away, a one-sided staring competition. You find a patch of grass to sit down on cross-legged, and it’s only when you begin plucking daisies that he acquiesces.

Over the course of the summer, you and Sarah make close to a thousand daisy chains, stems twined together with precariously held petals. Rafe finds them everywhere — playground ledges, dining room tables, the sand on beach days, the deck on days in. And when he does, he remembers you, and crushes them in his hands, monkey-bar calluses his only accomplice. He hates them the way he hates you; he sees them, and they have a Pavlovian effect.

One night, when you’re camped out in Sarah’s backyard, he storms over to your blanket fort and throws one down. The air is thick and treacly, heavied by the smell of marshmallows and coconut sunscreen. Purple dusk on a grey roof, a sea of fairy lights below him.

He makes furious eye contact with you, and crushes the daisy chain with his bare-foot. When you frown, an odd sense of satisfaction bubbles up into his chest, his lower lip curling triumphantly.

With the sliding door open wide the way that it is, your loud giggle can travel into the living room freely, a Rafe-specific, video game distraction. He’s lost three games of Call of Duty to it; his best friend, Kelce, is unperturbed and victorious, and Rafe can’t quite understand how that is.

Isn’t the sound of your laugh as evasive to Kelce as it is to him?

“Stop littering in my house,” Rafe demands, narrowing his eyes at you.

You duck out of the fort and stand up tall, crossing your arms across your chest defensively. “It’s Sarah’s house too. She wants them there.”

Sarah peeks around your ankles, poking her tongue out at her older brother. “It’s not littering. They’re pretty.”

“She’s a bad influence on you, Sarah,” Rafe chastises.

“No she isn’t.” Sarah scowls argumentatively, the spitting image of her older brother. “You just don’t like that she stands up to you.”

Rafe scoffs incredulously, feeling the tips of his ears burn. “Whatever.”

For years, he associates nine with jungle gym scuffles and daisy chains in odd places. And then there’s ten, with the infamous handball fight and sand-castle brawl, eleven and the mystery of the missing Harry Potter book.

Twelve is pretending he isn’t too old to play stuck-in-the-mud, brutal, one-on-one tag games that last all summer long.

It’s the year that Ward bestows him with real, older brother responsibility, forcing him to accompany you and Sarah wherever you go.

“Oi!” He trails behind reluctantly, hands jammed into his front pockets. “Don’t go out too far, I’m serious.”

You turn your head, poking your tongue out at him. When your hair lags behind, pretty, wind-mussed locks that shine in the sun, Rafe notices. He thinks this is something that everyone notices, the subtleties in your appearance, the way your nose scrunches up when you’re making a face at him. He doesn’t think he’s looked over at Sarah all day.

“And what if we do, Rafe?” You hedge, challenging him.

Rafe’s heart lurches violently. It doesn’t matter that you say it in that derisive, high-pitched voice, every time you call him by his name he feels a little funny.

“I’ll tell dad,” he says firmly, narrowing his eyes at you. “He put me in charge.”

“Of Sarah,” you argue, folding your small arms over your chest. “Not of me. You can’t tell me what to do.”

“Of both of you,” he corrects. “It’s not like you have an older brother looking out for you.”

Sarah makes a face. “You never look out for me.”

“You think I want to be out here, Sarah?” He throws his arms up in the air exasperatedly, making his way toward the two of you. “I should be at Kelce’s, playing COD on the new PlayStation he got for his birthday.”

You match each step of his with one of your own, backing away with an arm linked in Sarah’s. Rafe’s eyes fall in tandem with your movements, his eyebrows raised, a warning.

“If you want us to stay close,” you say, voice full of mirth. “You’re going to have to keep up!”

And with that, you break into a run, Sarah’s slower legs causing your elbows to untangle, a one girl game of catch-me-if-you-can.

Of course, Rafe’s bigger, taller. He catches up with you a mere, few feet away from his sister, taking a hold of your wrist and tugging you backward.

His pinky finger touches his thumb when he clasps it, and it occurs to Rafe how much smaller you are than him. How important it is for him to look out for you.

Keep your friends close and your enemies closer, he reasons, like this makes any sort of logical sense.

Like hating you is first nature and protecting you is second.

“Get off me,” you grumble, wriggling out of his grasp.

“Stay put,” Rafe instructs, sending you a stern glare.

“No.” You braces your knees, slapping his forearm before breaking into a run again. “Tag! You’re it.”

He tags Sarah, who tags Rafe, who tags you, him again. Everyone else gets tired of playing, but you and him continue into the night. And then, over several days, back and forth until you’re locking yourselves into bedrooms, doubting shadows on the pavement, walking around the house with backs pressed to the wall, praying for sweet solace.

Pretty soon, the rest of the neighbourhood bans the pair of you from participating in games. Everything from hide-and-seek to bull rush is off limits; your competitive streaks are unbearable, even more so when they clash with each other.

You’re a sore loser. Rafe’s even sorer.

He’s just grateful that you’re only ever here for the summer; he doesn’t think he could stand you in the Outer Banks all year round. Having to go to school with you, deal with four seasons of bickering… he shudders to think what he would have done with himself; two months is more than enough time in your presence.

For the past three years, you’ve left the Outer Banks on the exact same day, in the exact same way.

Skipping to his front porch with your big backpack swinging, where his younger sister Sarah awaits farewell with outstretched arms. A big, squeezing hug, promises to call, and then, you always whisper something imperceptible in her ear. Every year, without fail, and Rafe absolutely hates it — a little because he can’t hear what it is, a lot because he doesn’t know why he cares so much.

From the ages of seven to nine, you don’t bother to say goodbye to anyone else. But at ten, having mastered the art of antagonising Rafe Cameron, you decide to leave him with something worse than plain silence.

“Bye, Sar,” you whisper into her hair, pouting as you pull away. “I’m gonna miss you.”

Her lips pull down in tandem, arms still held out around phantom you. “I’m gonna miss you more. Don’t forget me!”

“Never, ever,” you promise earnestly.

You turn around and walk down the porch steps, the wood sun-faded, your shadow skating down each wrung.

“Rafe!” You call out once you reach the bottom, looking up at his cracked open window.

He almost jumps, the curtain shivering as he clutches it in surprise.

“What?” He asks, sounding irritated, busy, as if he hasn’t been lurking right behind it to eavesdrop.

The sun is directly above the estate when he ducks his head out, creating a flyaway halo of yellow hair. It’s always longer at the end of summer than it is at the beginning; he’s going to get it cut when you’re gone, grow another inch or four when you’re gone. Your stomach feels funny.

“Do me a favour,” you say, frowning sternly, “and don’t be mean to your sister while I’m away.”

Rafe snorts derisively. “Do me a favour,” he mocks, “and don’t come back next year.”

“Aww,” you return, smiling saccharine sweet. “I know you’re going to miss me.”

“When hell freezes over, train wreck,” he throws back wryly.

Your expression falters, the nickname rolling over your skin like a sunburn. “Don’t,” you grit out, “call me that.”

“What?” Rafe lips pull up into a satisfied smirk. “A big, ugly, train wreck?”

“I hate you, Rafe Cameron,” you call back spitefully, sending him a furious glare.

“Didn’t ask,” he returns coolly, already retreating from his window-site spot. “Don’t care.”

——

Eleven.

It’s the staying up past bedtime and writing in your diary age, chipped nail polish and stringy bracelets, neon colours on slogan tees. It’s the flip-flop tan age, the Chinese whispers age, watching High School Musical for the first time, the strange, butterflies-in-your-stomach age.

For you, it’s the age that Rafe goes from boy to boy.

At thirteen, the cusp of teen and almost-grown-up, he’s four inches taller with brand new jeans and larger shoes. His hands are rougher than yours are, limbs somewhere between lanky and long. You begin to doubt that you’ve grown the inch pencilled into your bedroom wall, a once-proud apogee that now feels small.

Oh, and he’s gorgeous. It makes you kind of furious.

On the first day of summer, you race over to Tannyhill the minute you’re home, a force of nature on its way to her best friend, Sarah. But when your knuckles rap the large door, head just short of the knocker, it’s Rafe looking down his nose at you, not her.

It takes him by surprise too, the height difference. Thirteen’s been stressful enough as is — growing pains and wardrobe changes, confusing, terrifying feelings for girls in his class — without him also feeling like a giant all of a sudden.

It occurs to him he’s known you almost four years, now. A third of his life. His palms grow sweaty.

And then, you open your mouth to greet him, and he realises his hands have no business being this clammy.

“What are you, big-foot?” You ask crudely, raising your eyebrows up at him.

Rafe doesn’t say anything at first, his features changing in subtle ways — colder eyes, tightened lips. A powerful emotion rises up in chest; it’s thick as molasses, fiery, that whisper of wistfulness long gone within him.

He turns around without another word, sliding his phone out of his front pocket.

“Sarah!” He calls out, a wry, almost bored edge to his tone. “Your loser friend is here.”

For some reason, his dismissal feels worse than an insult would. You stand just short of the door ledge, a little slack jawed, a lot chagrined, watching the back of him disappear up the stairs. There’s far more brown on his head than there usually is, and you realise he hasn’t had his start-of-summer haircut this year.

An odd, nostalgic ache springs forth at the revelation.

And then, as quick as it arrived, it’s gone; Sarah appears at the end of the hallway, and your elated smile is all you want to focus on.

“You’re here!” Sarah squeals excitedly, running up to you and hugging you hard, a long awaited reunion with wind-chimes cheering in the background.

Her hair’s a salt-matted mess, skin sticky and a little scratchy, a canvas of sand on coconut sunscreen glue. When she draws back, her cheeks are flushed. “I missed you, I missed you, I missed you!”

“I missed you,” you insist, and then you frown a little, faux-reproachful. “Kind of mad at you, though.”

“What?” Sarah’s eyes widen worriedly. “Why?”

“Because,” you say, making a face, “you didn’t open the door for me. Had to see him before I did you.”

Sarah grimaces, a sheepish, half-scowl that exposes her bottom row of teeth. “I was on my way, I swear,” she insists, squeezing your arm apologetically. “But he’s been sulking around all day. Waiting.”

“For me?” You ask, raising your eyebrows skeptically. “Yeah, right.”

“I don’t get it either,” Sarah agrees, sighing defeatedly. “He’s been so moody this year… way moodier than usual. Dad says it’s cause he’s a teenager…” she pauses, makes a face, “…whatever that means.”

You frown apologetically, linking your arm in hers. “Doesn’t matter,” you decide. “He isn’t going to ruin our perfect summer.”

And you’re right, he doesn’t — he has his own summer to ruin.

Eleven is the first and only year where the age gap between the two of you feels so apparent.

Thirteen, for him, is a set of diametrically opposed firsts — first fight and first kiss, first girlfriend and first break-up over text.

You’re having an underwater, hand-stand competition with Sarah when you meet Blake Somerset. She’s a pretty girl with wide, amber eyes and her hand in Rafe’s, his bicep to her shoulder in a trendy, Brandy Melville outfit. Everything you want to be at thirteen, everything that you aren’t at the moment, an eleven year old in a plain one piece and stupid-looking swim goggles.

She makes you self-conscious. You blame Rafe Cameron.

“Get out,” he demands wryly, sliding his sunglasses down the bridge of his nose to glare at you.

An angry, blanching, goggle-shaped imprint circles your eyes. “Why?”

Rafe scowls irritatedly. “You’ve had your turn. It’s ours now.”

At ‘ours’, he holds up Blake Somerset’s hand, forcing you to look up at the way their fingers intertwine. An ugly emotion grows within the chambers of your heart, making you frown.

“No,” you attest, standing your ground. “We just got here.”

“Besides,” Sarah adds knowingly, narrowing her eyes at her brother. “You and Blake never hang out here, anyway.”

Rafe balks. His eyes flit to yours for a split-second, heat spreading over his cheeks like an impromptu game of connect-the-freckles. With a line of fire. He clears his throat. “All the more reason to give us space to hang out here.”

Blake speaks up then, turning to you with a voice smooth as honey. “Hi,” she greets, smiling brightly, something contagious about it. This is a thirteen year old girl who has already discovered the wonders of pretty privilege. “I’m Blake!”

“Oh.” Your eyes widen, almost affronted by her kindness. “Hi. I’m Y/n.”

Rafe’s brow pulls down, a narrow-eyed warning. “Don’t bother, Blake,” he sneers, looking directly at you as he says it. “She’s only ever here over the summer, anyway. Not worth getting to know.”

“That’s mean, Rafey,” Blake says reproachfully, frowning at him.

“Yeah, Rafey,” you mock, raising your eyebrows at him. “That’s mean.”

Rafe scowls some more, dropping Blake’s hand to take a step closer to the pool. “Was I talking to you, train wreck?”

“You were talking about me, big-foot,” you bite back spitefully, scrubbing the goggle mark on your upper cheek.

“You know that you have a house too, right?” He asks testily. “You don’t have to be in mine every hour of every day?”

“It’s Mr Cameron’s house,” you argue, jutting out your bottom lip obstinately. “Not yours.“

Rafe shrugs a same difference shrug. “It’ll be mine soon.”

“Or Sarah’s,” you argue.

“I’m older,” Rafe returns angrily, an edge to his voice as his jaw clenches.

Your hand drops. His jaw loosens a touch.

“And somehow,” you shrug, “still dumber.”

Rafe scoffs indignantly, shaking his head in defeat. “Come on, Blake,” he says, turning around and throwing his arm over her shoulder. “It’s not worth arguing with her. She never learnt how to share.”

“Hey!” You call sharply, quick to rise to his bait. “That’s — no way. You’re — you’re the one who doesn’t know how to share, from the stupid jungle gym to —”

“We can go to the beach, instead,” he adds loudly, talking over you as he walks away. “More privacy there. No unwelcome guests acting like they own the place.”

“I — I hate you, Rafe Cameron!” You fume, cheeks splotchy with heat, sun on chlorine.

You don’t think he hears it, because he doesn’t say it back.

This hasn’t been possible since he was nine years old. No matter how hard he tries, your voice tends to find him, wherever he goes. It’s like his brain is primed to pay extra attention to it without meaning to — you’re everywhere all at once, and maybe that’s why he resents your presence at Tannyhill so much.

Later, when he’s lying awake and staring at ceiling shadows, he reasons that he didn’t say it back because he knows that you wouldn’t have heard it. The words would’ve fallen on deaf ears — a lone tree in the forest that hits the ground without making a sound.

That’s what you are to him, now, a series of stupid excuses and contradictory emotions.

Summer overflows, drowning the months of June and July before it begins to ebb, leaving you a fresh repertoire of insults by the time August comes around.

The week before you’re set to leave the Outer Banks for another year, the dusk air cools, molasses-thick heat replaced with something more tepid. You’ve come to call this diminution six-day-long-sleepover weather.

On one such night, you find yourself alone in Tannyhill Estate, frozen just short of the kitchen where’s Ward’s voice keeps you rooted.

Sarah’s still in her room under a mountain of plush blankets, having declined to head downstairs for a glass of water with you.

Rafe’s on the other side of the door. Eleven is age that you come to find out how much braver he is than you’d once imagined.

“I mean — you’re thirteen, now, Rafe!” A frightening sound, like a hand making contact with the marble counter, hard. You realise that you’re holding your breath. “I expect more from you — from the name I’ve given you. Cameron. Do you know what that name stands for, what it means to the people on this island?”

“Dad, I…” The shake in Rafe’s voice makes you flinch.

“Get out,” Ward instructs sternly, a dangerous edge to his voice. “Clean yourself up before your sisters see you. I mean — honestly… is this the example you want to set for them, Rafe? Getting into fights and coming home way past curfew?”

A pause. You think you hear Rafe swallow thickly, before you realise that it’s your own throat that’s shifting, a nervous tick.

“ANSWER ME!”

“No — I… no,” Rafe stutters out quietly.

There’s deafening silence, before the dull thud of retreating footsteps. A few feet away, an aperture above the stairwell channels a silver neck of moonlight to the ground, a ceiling-to-floor beam.

It’s dim edges illuminate you in the shadows, not quite hidden.

Although, even if you were, you have a funny feeling Rafe’d spot you anyway.

When he does, he stumbles back in surprise, doleful features hardening. There’s a split second where his armour of austerity wavers.

“Eavesdropping too, now?” He accuses, folding his arms across his chest defensively.

Your eyes fall to his knuckles, reds that graze and purples that bruise. There’s a split-second where your hands ache, as though you’re hurt too.

“Getting into fights too, now?” You counter, equally-defensive, raising your eyebrows up at him.

He averts his gaze, jaw clenching. His eyes tremble with unshed tears, and it terrifies you. “None of your business, train wreck,” he mutters, hiding his hands in his armpits urgently. There’s a cut on his lower lip that’s crusted over, the tell-tale maroon of blood that’s earned it’s place.

A beat. You wait for Rafe to push past you, mutter something derisive and walk away. He waits for you to do the same.

Neither of you move.

“I wasn’t trying to eavesdrop, you know,” you say quietly, the tension in the air palpable.

You think Rafe’s expression almost softens. It makes your palms sweat.

“It’s fine,” he dismisses roughly, running his fingers through his hair. “What did you want from the kitchen? Water?”

You clasp your hands behind your back, and they slide over each other, all warm and clammy. “You know,” you mumble, feeling brave. “It’s okay if you’re upset about what he said. I won’t tell anyone, I promise.”

And just like that, the thaw halts and reverses, re-freezing double time.

If there’s one thing Rafe won’t have, it’s you — this loud, unabashed, strong-willed girl — feeling sorry for him. If you’re loud and unabashed, he needs to be louder, bolder, with miles more will and enough self-assurance to outdo you. He needs you to think that nothing could ever phase him.

Not the taunting, not his father, not even you.

“I’m not upset,” he says fiercely, glaring at you. “And I don’t want your shitty promise. You — you don’t know me.”

Your earnest expression falters, replaced by something cruel, spiteful. “I don’t want to know you either,” you bite out, pursing your lips. “I — I was just trying to be nice, but I should’ve known that you wouldn’t know how to deal with it.”

“Yeah, I don’t,” Rafe says flatly, pushing past you. “We aren’t friends.”

You let out an indignant scoff, whirling around angrily. “And I don’t want to be, either. Ever.”

Rafe doesn’t bother turning around. His knuckles burn, his split lower lip too, and now, because of you, he has to deal with this funny ache in his chest on top of everything else.

“Good.”

“Good.”

——

Fourteen.

It’s the wispy mascara and strawberry chapstick age, thready crop tops over swimwear, sausages-or-legs Instagram stories on sun loungers. It’s the ripped denim age, the caramel Frappuccino age, going to your first, red solo cup party, the getting hit on by guys that are older than you age.

For sixteen-year-old Rafe, it’s the age that you go from girl to girl.

Fourteen and a little taller, a little more mature; he’s created a tradition out of opening the door for you before his sister can, and it’s the first year that he’s the one balking at the threshold, not you.

Suddenly, he doesn’t remember you being any other age. You look airbrushed around the edges, bruise free with enough exposed skin to make him sweat a little. He scrambles for purchase on something that he knows, something that he hates — the fact that your dress is too short, the fact that your lips are too soft.

If it isn’t already obvious, he thinks that you’re gorgeous. It makes him furious.

“Are you going to let me in, big-foot?” You ask, raising your eyebrows impatiently.

The taunt brings about a predictable scowl, his surprised expression slipping. With callous features hardening the way that they are, you’d never guess that his last thought was: have her eyes always been this pretty?

“Good to see nothing’s changed, train wreck,” he returns wryly, placing his hands either side of the doorway to prevent entry.

You roll your eyes at him, ducking under his bicep and forcing your way in. Despite growing a few inches over the course of the year, Rafe still towers over you, a solid wall of hatred and obstinance and muscle. A lot of muscle.

“And it never will,” you throw over your shoulder easily, not bothering to look back at him.

“Do you not have any other friends or something?” He goads, sauntering behind you. “Other families on this island to leech off?”

You whip back around angrily, arms crossed, nostrils flared. “Do you have any friends at all, Rafe?”

Rafe furrows his brow mockingly, pretending to look confused. “Oh yeah,” he sighs out, non-existent realisation dawning on his features. “You’re not actually from here, so I’ll explain —”

“Except,” you interrupt, irritation piquing, “that I didn’t ask, and I don’t care.”

“Basically, everyone here worships me,” he clarifies faux-sombrely, ignoring the sentiment. “So if I were you, I’d probably apologise and fall in line, princess.”

You scoff incredulously, sending him a glare. It occurs to Rafe that a part of him antagonises you for all this fierce, soul-deep eye contact.

“Worshipping you?” You echo, making a face. “Not only are you a total douchebag, but you’re also somehow delusional?”

“Aw.” Rafe clutches his chest dramatically, pouting down at you. “You think I’m a total douchebag? I’m touched.”

“Don’t get it twisted,” you say, narrowing your eyes warningly. “I don’t think about you, Rafe Cameron. I know that you’re a total douchebag as a fact.”

“You know what else I am?” Rafe asks, trying for disdainful as he looks you up and down. He lands somewhere between impassive and slack-jawed. “Bored of this conversation.”

He moves past you and toward the kitchen, and to the back of him, you say, “Oh how I’ve missed our little chats.”

Rafe knows you don’t mean it like that. His pathetic pulse lurches anyway.

“Yeah?” He asks.

“Yeah,” you reply dryly, turning away from him. “They serve as a good reminder of why I hate you so much.”

You leave no space for him to throw the words back at you, already checked out of the conversation and halfway up the stairwell.

Not that he’d ever do so, anyway. Where you’d brushed past him, the fabric of his t-shirt still smells like crisp bergamot, the sweet vanilla notes of your new perfume.

It’s all he’s able to focus on for the rest of the day.

Upstairs, Sarah squeezes you tight, and demands that the pair of you take a walk along the beach.

It’s how you find yourself on Theo Deverell’s radar that summer, find yourself receiving an invite to his party a few weeks later.

A handsome junior with a skateboard under his arm and ashen hair that hasn’t been cut in a while, he’s confident and kind, his sweet-talk thick molasses.

Like a flytrap.

Along with an invite to his party, Theo innocently requests that you arrive alone and not-so-innocently buys you handful of white claws. Unfortunately for him, he doesn’t take into account the fact that someone else at this party might see you, recognise you.

Know you better than they know themself.

Rafe hears your laugh before he does your voice. It has that same, unabashed timbre it did when you were kids; loud and too-familiar, distracting. It first found him at nine years old and hasn’t left him since.

When he follows the sound to you, there’s a white claw in your hand, and Theo Deverell’s arm around your shoulder. If it wasn’t for that fact that this meant extenuating circumstances, he’s sure that he would have stolen a few more moments to look you over.

All of you, from your kind eyes to your pretty smile, the light skating along the column of your throat, the expanse of glowing skin between your singlet and raw-hem denim shorts.

Bare glowing skin. Kind eyes on scum of the earth, Theo fucking Deverell, pretty smile like a sunflower leaning into the wrong rays of sun.

Rafe’s jaw clenches like clockwork. You have no business being here — not with his friends, the people in his year, not in that outfit and definitely not with a white claw in your hand.

He asserts that it isn’t jealousy.

After all, his line of reasoning doesn’t touch the Theo Deverell effect at all; he’s just being protective over you, covering all of his bases.

If something happens and you get hurt, he’s the one that everyone will blame. Rafe decides to ignore the fact that when it comes to you, he’s his own harshest critic.

“Y/n.” He says your name like it’s an accusation, something rough, callous in his tone.

Your shoulders tense. The grip you have on your white claw tightens to a blanch, the muscles that move your jaw, too. When do you finally look over at him, he’s closer than his voice was, taller with broader-set shoulders, an angrier frown.

He tugs off his backwards cap distractedly, and your eyes move to his fabric mussed hair, longer than you remember. It suits him.

“What?” You defend coolly, narrowing your eyes at him.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he states, pinning you with a glare. Body heat and cologne rolls off his skin, cedar-wood with something spicier hidden within it. Cinnamon, you think.

“Why?” You argue, nostrils flaring. “Last I checked, this is Theo’s party, not yours. He invited me.”

Rafe’s gaze cuts to the aforementioned boy for the first time that night, a split-second power struggle. There’s an undercurrent of steel to his eye contact that makes Theo sweat a little.

“I’m taking you home,” he says resolutely, grasping your wrist. “Now.”

“What?” You scoff incredulously, quick to break free. “No fucking way. I’m staying.”

Keeping your eyes on his, you tip back the white claw and gulp down half the can. It doesn’t make your insides burn the way everyone says alcohol should; like a drink of soda, it slides down your throat with ease.

Your throat. Rafe’s gaze falls, the unmarked skin making him falter. Bathed in lemon-yellow light, your silver necklaces winks up at him, a taunt.

It makes him fucking mad.

“Whatever,” he mutters spitefully, downing his own drink just as easily. “Your fucking funeral.”

You roll your eyes, looking up at Theo and smiling your sweet, sore-cheek smile. For some, perplexing reason, this makes him even madder.

“Can I have another?” You ask, using a pleasant voice Rafe hasn’t heard before.

Theo nods without question, pulling open the fridge and handing you another. For a split-second, Rafe considers the consequence of giving him a shiner in his own kitchen.

Then, he goes back to channeling all of his anger onto you.

Since this definitely isn’t jealousy, he has no business being mad at Theo, even if said boy’s arm around your shoulder is begging to be broken. It’s you that’s at a party you shouldn’t be at, you drinking a white claw, you with the pretty smile — the siren smile.

The smile he’s never been on the receiving end of.

His head hurts. He crushes the can of beer in his hand like it’s nothing, and as he stares at you, disappearing onto the deck with Theo Deverell, you stare at everything but him.

It’s the first time since he was nine years old that he’s felt that ugly bubble of hatred in his gut. Not for you, though, of what he can’t have, even if he’d deny this if anyone were to ask.

It’s an hour before he finds you next.

There’s an alcohol induced slowness to his limbs by then, but his mind is sharper than ever, miles ahead of yours.

Skin warm and dew-damp, you’re sprawled out on the grass. Above you, the sky spins, a kaleidoscope of purple and indigo, darker streaks of dusk. And then, Rafe’s face.

He’s scowling, the way he always is. You’re alone.

“The fuck?” He loops an arm around your waist, yanking you up in a single, sweeping motion. “Why are you out here?”

Alone, he wants to add. It’s all he can focus on.

“The fuck?” You mock, words liquefying around the edges. “Why d’you always talk like s’that?”

“For fuck sake,” he mutters, cringing at the way your voice slurs. “How much have you had?”

You raise your eyebrows comically high, pretending to zip your lips and throw away the key.

Silence. Rafe’s rough fingers hold firm on your waist, all of your weight pushing into his forearm as you angle away. There’s a lot more skin-on-skin body heat this close, a lot more cologne and fierce eye contact than you can handle.

The closeness is burning hand-shaped holes into your skin. Large hand-shaped holes.

“Alright,” he announces firmly, straightening and pulling you up with him. “We’re leaving.”

“No,” you argue, more for the sake of it than anything else. “You’re leaving. M’staying.”

“Y/n,” Rafe warns, clenching his jaw. “You’re not staying here by yourself. You’re drunk.”

You make a face. “Why d’you care?”

Rafe chooses to ignore this question. A little because his focus is trained on moving your dragging feet forward, a lot because the answer to it is something that absolutely terrifies him.

And makes him furious. Amongst other things.

“Rafe, stop,” you whine, voice all messy and loud. “You — you’re not the boss f’me.”

“Didn’t ask.” He’s already shifted you from the backyard into the kitchen with surprising ease, rough hands on skin like a nectarine — soft and bare and easy to bruise. “Don’t care.”

Once inside, he pushes you toward the sink, reaching for an empty solo cup.

“Here,” he demands, thrusting it into your chest. “Have some water.”

He’s caging you against it with arms either side of you, your dim, kitchen window reflection making the proximity apparent. It makes you dizzier than the alcohol in your veins does, streaks your throat with the taste of bile.

“Don’t wan’t any,” you argue, frowning stubbornly.

“I’m serious,” he warns, turning the tap on and filling it to the brim.

“So m’I,” you throw back.

“Drink,” he instructs firmly, holding it out in front of you. Your eyes fall to it, faucet ripples making your face all soft and blurry.

And as you begin to shake your head at it, an acid-sour trill of vomit rushes out of your mouth, forcing Rafe to drop it back into the sink.

“Fucking hell,” he mutters exasperatedly, one hand steadying your waist, the other holding your hair back. There’s something to be said about the fact that Rafe hasn’t run for the hills at the sight of your puke; his broad torso hides you from view, a shield of armour hiding behind so-called hatred.

He adds, voice still low, “You really are a train wreck, huh?”

It’s the only sentence you remember of your conversation the next morning. Maybe this is because it’s the first time he’s used the insult in an affectionate way.

What you think is an affectionate way. All that booze on an empty stomach has probably messed with your naïve brain.

When you wake, it’s in your own bed with curtains drawn. The comforter you’re snuggled under smells of him, soap and musk pheromones that make your insides tumble. You feel sick.

There’s a note tucked under a glass of water on your bedside table, a blister pack of aspirin alongside it. It reads: for once in your life, can you just fucking do what I tell you to?

You feel sicker.

Like poison, it’s thrown directly into the bin. Like the plague, you avoid Rafe Cameron for the rest of summer break.

——

Sixteen is the first job age, branding you a visor-wearing cart girl on the Island Club green.

Having graduated from the Academy this year, it’s also the last summer before Rafe moves for college. You aren’t sure what this means for him, whether the frat he inevitably joins will lead him elsewhere for subsequent breaks.

Away from you. The thought makes your heart feels too heavy for your ribcage, tight and wrung through, a sinking deadweight.

When eighteen-year-old Rafe first sees sixteen-year-old you, he’s on the course with his best friend, Kelce. You’re manning the drinks cart a distance away, laughing this high-pitched, saccharine sweet laugh as an older man exchanges beers for some cash. It’s a new sound falling from lips he’s known half his life, a fresh coat of gloss making them shine. Your skin looks fresh, sunscreen soft.

“Oh shit!” Kelce exclaims, following Rafe’s gaze to your figure. “Isn’t that Y/n?”

He jogs toward you without waiting for an answer, forcing a reluctant Rafe to do the same.

“Guess they’re just hiring anyone nowadays, huh?” He calls out a little urgently, winning the race for your attention Kelce didn’t know he was participating in.

You turn toward him and your customer service smile slips, pretty features hardening to a scowl.

“Find another cart girl,” you demand, folding your arms across your chest. “I’m not serving you.”

“And I’m not giving you any of my service,” Rafe scoffs, halting in his tracks too close, the way he always does.

It makes him difficult to ignore, which you hate. Your gaze skates over his broad shoulders and chiseled torso, sleeve-taut biceps that become solid forearm, rough hands in rougher golf gloves. His blue eyes are unblinking, fierce, bright as the sun despite his cap shielding from it.

Your gaze shifts to Kelce in a hurry.

“Hey, Kelce,” you say amiably, smiling at him. “Anything I can get you?”

“Your number?” Kelce jokes, grinning back.

Rafe’s jaw tightens, an unnameable emotion rearing it’s ugly head. As his younger sister’s best friend — as a girl that he hates — you’re strictly off limits to him.

By proxy, you’re also strictly off limits to his best friend.

“When did you start, anyway?” He cuts in furiously, glaring down at you.

You sigh warily, sending Kelce an apologetic look.“Last week,” you say in a clipped tone.

“Why?” Rafe demands.

“What do you mean, why?” You throw back, scoffing indignantly. “Because I’m old enough to get a job, now? Because I wanted some extra cash?”

“What?” Rafe hedges, raising his eyebrows. “To go shopping with your one friend on the island?”

Outrage rolls over your skin like a heatwave, making your cheeks burn. “What do you care?” You return angrily, nostrils flaring. “This doesn’t concern you in any way.”

It does when your presence is capable of throwing him off his game. It does when he has to watch you flirting for tips everyday.

Besides, why would you possibly need a job, anyway? Theoretically, Rafe could pay for everything that you wanted and then some.

“It does if you refuse to serve me when I’m here,” Rafe says.

You falter, clenched jaw acquiescing by a margin.

“Right,” you reply curtly, plastering on a smile. “Was there anything you wanted, Rafe?”

“Aw.” Rafe pouts mockingly. “The waitresses at the Club normally call me sir.”

Your smile tighten to a grimace. “Don’t fucking push it, Cameron.”

“Mr Cameron,” Rafe chastises, biting back a smirk. “I’d love a beer, princess. Think you can manage that?”

“And I’d love for you to leave me the fuck alone,” you snarl back, forced pleasantries long forgotten. “But unfortunately, we don’t always get all the things we want in life.”

“Now, now.” Rafe raises his eyebrows warningly, his gaze cascading over your features without meaning to. “You wouldn’t want me to go inside and complain about the gorgeous cart girl with no manners, would you?”

You blink. “Gorgeous cart girl?”

Rafe’s expression falters, his slanted jaw slackening. “Cart girl,” he amends quickly, almost tripping over his words. “I said cart girl.”

“Whatever,” you mutter, ducking your head awkwardly. “If you aren’t going to buy something I can actually sell you, I’m leaving.”

You turn around and climb into the driver’s seat of the drinks cart, switching on the ignition and leaving the two boys in your dust.

When you do so, Rafe realises a few things.

The first, that not letting his eyes stray from your pretty face to your cleavage is an invaluable lesson in self-control. The second, that you’re the same height as his heartbeat, your smaller hands the size of a single chamber within it. The third that your ass looks fucking criminal in a golf skirt, and the fourth? That you’re beginning to make him furious for the all wrong reasons.

Kelce breaks the silence first.

“Holy shit,” he wolf whistles, “when did Y/n become such a baddie?”

“Never,” Rafe grits out, cutting him a stony glare. “Don’t let me hear you say that shit again, Smith. I’m not fucking playing.”

“Woah, relax tough guy,” Kelce replies, raising his eyebrows knowingly. “I’m just stating facts. You know that I’d never actually go there.”

“Good,” Rafe says grimly. “Because she’s off limits.”

“Right.” Kelce eyes Rafe warily. “The real question, though… when are you going to make a move on her?”

“What?” Rafe’s head shoots up in a panic, his expression somewhere between helpless and incredulous. “The fuck are you talking about?”

Kelce scoffs. “The fact that you’re in love with her, obviously.”

Rafe’s heart lurches.

“You’re delusional,” he mutters, shaking his head exasperatedly.

“Whatever you say, bro,” Kelce responds with a shrug. “She’s fucking hot. If I were you, I’d be tying her down before some other guy on this island gets the chance.”

Though the mere thought of this has him seething, he attests that it isn’t jealousy.

Just self-preservation, or something. He doesn’t need some deadbeat with empty promises thirsting over a girl he’s known since he was a kid.

Over the course of the next few weeks, interactions with Rafe at the Club drop to a minimum. Though he’s often there when you are — his golf cap cycling between sitting forwards and backwards on his head — you always seem to catch him in the middle of a conversation. With his friends, other patrons, the waitresses that swoon over him in the break room. Everyone but you. You begin measuring the days apart with his hair, the length the tawny locks grow past the head of his cap.

Somewhere between long and overgrown, the tip jar begins collecting wads of cash with your name taped around them. At first, you think someone’s playing a prank with counterfeit bills; it’s only after they’re properly checked that you gratefully accept them.

To your chagrin, the waitstaff who know of the mystery tipper refuse to reveal their name. After a while, you begin taking the money without question; you presume it’s the old widower who meets you at hole nine every Friday, a little lonely, a lot wealthy. There’s no one else you know endowed with that much disposable income.

No one else apart from everyone in the Cameron family, anyway.

The next time you see Rafe, you’re trying hard to understand something that’s very clearly out of your depth.

“Trust me, darlin’, the clean’s real essential,” the mechanic continues seriously, overplaying the importance of a trivial add-on. “Without it, your car’ll break down within the year.”

“But…” you trail off, frowning bemusedly, “…I mean, my dad only bought it a few months ago —”

“These newer models,” the mechanic explains, raising his eyebrows haughtily, “they need more maintenance. Got bigger engines with —”

“Isn’t it a V Dub Golf, Cam?” Asks a voice behind you. “Shouldn’t need anything done to it for at least a few years.”

It’s deep, a little gravelly around the edges, with a subtle, Southern twang that’s so familiar it hurts a little.

Rafe’s always had this way of garnering the attention of a room without needing to raise his voice.

“Well,” the mechanic balks, scratching the back of his neck sheepishly. “Uh… shit, I mean, there’s been talk of the suspension on these Volks going bust —”

“Right,” Rafe says steadily, coming up beside you. “I think she’ll take her chances, though, bud. The service on its own should be fine.”

He folds his forearms over the front counter staunchly, an air of resolve to the way he holds himself. It makes you feel nervous and relieved at the same time, as if that’s in any way possible.

Oh, and furious. He’s a wall of body heat with one too many inches on you, his bicep knocking your shoulder, his sharp jaw shepherding your gaze. There’s a shadow of stubble that trails to his Adam’s apple, steely, blue eyes that almost have you drowning.

Your chin falls as you sink, hitting his forearm where it rests on the counter. The contact sends a shockwave-like jolt to your skin, and you shoot back up in a hurry, glowing with embarrassment.

Don’t drown, swim, you chastise in your head.

“At the end of the day,” the mechanic named Cam says, sending you a meaningful glance, “it’s up to you, darlin’. Did you want me to throw in the clean?”

You can feel Rafe’s eyes on your features, his closeness makes your heart stutter a little.

“Uh,” you pause, chewing on your bottom lip absently. “I — maybe not, anymore. Thank you.”

Rafe’s gaze slides to your mouth as it moves without meaning to. Your pretty mouth. He begins scrambling for an excuse to stay this close, this counting-your-worry-lines proximity for a little while longer.

“Alrighty then,” Cam agrees, his Southern drawl kicking in. “Should take two hours, ‘roundabout.”

You nod and smile swiftly, handing over your keys and watching him retreat. It’s only once he’s out of sight that you peel away from the counter, refusing to make eye contact with Rafe as you do so.

“I had that handled,” you say stubbornly, turning your back on him.

“You’re welcome,” he returns dryly, stepping in front of you so that you’re forced to look up.

When you do, a pause. Somewhere within your too-weak glare, Rafe swears he spots a gleam of something softer, diffident gratitude hidden within pretty irises.

It makes his bones ache.

He knows that he’s the one taunting a thank-you out of you, but the last thing on Rafe’s mind is actually getting any sort of credit. The only reason that he even stepped in in the first place is because that’s his job — your best friends older brother, and all of that. Not to mention, he refuses to watch someone else take advantage; he’s the only person that’s allowed to do that, make a fool out of you and be able get away with it.

“Whatever, Rafe,” you mutter, tearing your eyes away again. “What are you doing here, anyway?”

For a split-second, he seriously considers saying, kissing you.

And then you add, “Following me?” in this cruel, defensive tone that has him deftly swallowing the words.

“Newsflash, princess,” he chides, rolling his eyes. “You’re not the only person on the island with a car that needs servicing.”

“What?” You goad. “Your little douchebag patrol posse too busy to run this errand for you?”

“Nah,” he returns wryly, raising his eyebrows. “Gotta do this one myself, make sure they don’t get swindled the way you were about to.”

Your jaw tightens, eyes narrowing angrily. “Like I said, I had it handled.”

Rafe’s noticed, that when you fume, you step closer to him without meaning to.

So maybe he’s goading you on purpose. So what? One look over your pretty, up-close features and his chest is a mess.

“Honestly,” he tuts, shaking his head tiredly. “What would you do without me?”

You pretend to think. “Oh, I don’t know,” you say, knitting your brow mockingly. “Maybe like, be at peace?”

“I’m on your mind that much, huh?” He asks, pressing his tongue against his cheek.

You force a breath out through your nose furiously, attempting to push past him. But he’s taller than you, stronger, catching you wrist just short of an arms length away.

Where his personality is abrasive, his touch is anything but. It’s featherlight like he thinks he’ll ruin you if he holds firmer. Your soft palms sweat.

“Hey, relax,” he chides, not letting go. “You gotta wait here till your car’s done, remember?”

Normally, you’d scowl at his holier-than-thou tone, but the juxtaposition of his careful hands and sloven words has your mind veering off track.

“So?” You bite back, forcing yourself to pull away. “I’m not staying here with you. I’ll go on a walk or something.”

Rafe frowns. “No,” he instructs. “You stay. I’ll come back.”

“Stop doing that,” you reply frustratedly.

“Doing what?” Rafe asks.

“Doing…” you trail off, forcing another breath out through your nose, “…doing me all these favours I didn’t ask you to do. I don’t want to be indebted to you, okay? Fucking quit it.”

Rafe balks. An unreadable emotion flickers over his once-amused features, painting them a rueful shade of grey.

“I’m leaving for me, not for you.” A pause. “You’ve never owed me anything, Y/n.”

He’s gone before you’re able to decipher his expression, find the cause of his sudden change in demeanour.

He doesn’t come back, the way he said he would. It’s a week before he returns to the car mechanic at all, long enough for you to have forgotten about the exchange.

——

Seventeen is the first year that Rafe doesn’t have a date to Midsummer’s.

Maybe this is because it’s also his first year away from home — setting Rafe up has always been Ward’s prerogative, and without the face-to-face, manipulating his son is a little more difficult. Maybe it’s because Rafe’s finally standing up to his father — heir to the Cameron Development empire or not, he’s sick of every girl he takes out being a business transaction.

Or maybe, it’s something else altogether. Maybe turning nineteen and going to a college out of state has forced Rafe to re-examine how he feels about Kildare Island.

The people on it. Person.

On Midsummer’s day, the weather is faultless.

A big, yellow sun coasts over the horizon, irradiating rows of hydrangeas and buttery-white peonies, the brilliant decorations that bedeck the venue. Prematurely hung fairy-lights dangle from green trees, the bright glare making them shine.

Rafe arrives at the Island Club a little before you do, blue skies melting woven periwinkle onto his suit blazer. He knows, from a phone conversation he overheard between you and Sarah, that you’re probably going to be late, so he doesn’t bother searching for you when he does.

Not that he’d actually do anything if he found you, anyway. It’s just that the promise of your closeness keeps him sane.

There’s a time lapse between when you do finally arrive, and when Rafe realises that you have. He’s sneaking a second flute of champagne when he spots you; you’re outside, and he’s in, the crystal-clear sliding door a hindrance.

Seeing you is like having the wind knocked out of his lungs.

You’re wearing a pearly slip of paper-thin satin, the silky fabric cascading down your figure like a waterfall. A gleaming, silver chain loops around your neck, and in your hair, a ribbon of artificial daisies glow. Like when you were seven. Rafe’s poor heart stutters.

And just when he’s sure he can’t catch a break, his legs lead him to you of their own accord — two magnets sucked into a field of charge.

Of course, this makes him furious.

“Nice of you to finally grace us with your presence, princess,” he greets sardonically, halting just short of your figure.

You’re leaning against a tall pillar on the deck, its column bedecked with a garland of ruby roses. At the sight of him, you hurry to straighten, smoothing over the sides of your pearl-white slip.

“And here I thought,” you throw back, narrowing your eyes up at him, “that I’d be lucky enough to get through tonight without having to talk to you.”

“Who else would you talk to?” Rafe’s gaze falls, skidding at your pretty lipgloss, again where your silver chain kisses your neckline. “Me and Sarah are the only two people you know here.”

“How can you be so sure?” You argue stubbornly, folding your arms across your chest.

The barely-there fabric of your slip creases when you do so, enough cleavage spilling over to make Rafe balk a little.

He coughs. “I just am, alright?”

You scoff. “You’re so fucking full of it.”

“Aw,” he pouts, still looking over you absently. “You really think so?”

It’s your cat-and-mouse game on autopilot. Both of you take turns throwing glib insults at the other, stalling. Maintaining this maddening, look-don’t-touch inch between you.

“I would,” you answer, scowling. “Except that I don’t actually think about you at all.”

“Right,” Rafe says, raising his eyebrows. “Why were you late, anyway?”

You scowl harder. “How do you know that I was late?”

“Sarah was complaining about it,” Rafe lies. An inscrutable something flickers over his features, and you realise that he’s standing close enough for you to notice.

Even in heels, he has several inches on your figure, solid shoulders and chiseled torso in soft periwinkle that makes you falter. You swear, as he waits for you to answer, that the fingers in his right hand twitch forward and flex, dropping back down in a hurry.

A trick of the light, you suppose.

“Well,” you answer, jutting out your bottom lip. “It’s really none of your business.”

“Actually, since the event is honouring my father —”

“JJ!” You call out suddenly, forcing Rafe’s voice to break off mid-sentence. “What are you… how are you here?”

JJ? Rafe falters. As in the same, dirty-blonde deadbeat that’s pogue-side and fucking insufferable?

Before he can so much as open his mouth in protest, the younger boy enters Rafe’s peripheral vision. He’s wearing a waiter’s uniform on his figure and a grin on his face, his unkempt hair a wind-mussed mess.

You’re smiling in tandem. Rafe feels his throat close up.

“Shhh,” he hushes, his blue eyes full of mirth. “I’m ‘working’ the party, alright? Don’t worry your pretty little head about it.”

You laugh, and Rafe’s heart lurches. “Whatever you say, J,” you reply, shaking your head bemusedly. “A request, though?”

JJ mock curtsies, fixing you a faux-sombre look. “Anything, m’lady.”

“Can I come with?” You ask sweetly, eyeing Rafe warily. “Not in the mood to stick with present company.”

JJ turns to Rafe then, a silent but fierce battle of wills. “Of course,” he responds after a beat, knowing the older boy wouldn’t lay a hand on him with you around. “C’mon.”

The satin of your slip sways over your heels as you disappear, giving the appearance of a girl that’s floating out of sight, not walking.

A pretty girl, with wide, stubborn eyes and a frown that makes Rafe ache, in his stomach, in his bones, in the stupid, you-shaped cavity within his ribcage. He downs his flute in a single, deft gulp, tearing through the crowd in search of something stronger than champagne.

—

open the door

You’re already downstairs, filling a glass tumblr with water when your phone dings.

It’s the first anyone’s heard from Rafe since your squabble at Midsummer’s earlier that day; a little after 10 pm now, he’s hasn’t been accounted for for at least a few hours.

This realisation, paired with the laconic tone of his text, cloys with your stomach, a heavy vessel of cement. For the first time in your life, you don’t hesitate to do what he says.

When you creak open the door, Rafe’s figure is silhouetted by a moonless sky, dim, doleful stars your only source of illumination.

He can’t stand still. There’s a rumpled bow tie at his collar, sleeves pushed up and blazer thrown over his shoulder slovenly. Gel long gone, his hair’s a dishevelled mess — strands sticking up at odd ends, falling into his line of sight so he’s forced to blink them away.

Or try to, with these wide, all-pupil eyes that have your stomach dropping.

“You’re high.” Too harsh for a greeting, too weak-sounding for an accusation.

“Can I come in?” He asks, swallowing thickly.

You hesitate, gaze moving over his features tentatively. It occurs to you that, even on cocaine, that fond, attentive part of your brain still finds him attractive.

It’s infuriating.

You shake your head firmly, shooting him an exasperated look. “Are you kidding? No fucking way.”

When you attempt to shut the door in his face, he stumbles closer, barring you from doing so.

“Wait — no — shit, please?” He begs. “I — I’ll sleep on the floor. On the deck. Anywhere. I just… I had nowhere else to go.”

You sigh tiredly. “Your house is right next door, Rafe.”

Rafe falters, something harried, worrisome, washing over his face. “I can’t go there.”

A pause. The absence of light has your figure blurring around the edges, but Rafe has so much of you committed to memory that this fact is irrelevant.

You’re wearing PJs he hasn’t seen in years, this tired, out-of-reach glow to your limbs that has him reeling, struggling for air. Face scrubbed clean, exposed skin everywhere he looks, and this close, he swears he can see every frown line that etches your features.

It’s like you’re iridescent. He’s never used that word before, probably never will again, but in this moment, Rafe swears it’s the only one that makes sense.

You exhale again, stepping away from the door to allow him in.

“Fuck… thank you,” he mumbles sheepishly, his movements jagged, sloven. He follows you down the hallway and into the living room, collapsing onto the couch with sigh of his own.

You look him over with uncertainty, chewing on your bottom lip. “Do you need food, or something? Water?”

He lifts his head, parts of his face illuminated by the silver-white streak of the blinds, a barcode of guilt. “Go to sleep, Y/n,” he replies quietly. “I don’t need you worrying about me, on top of everything else.”

You scoff, folding your arms across your chest defensively. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”

A pause. “That you deserve better than that. Me.”

There’s dense, sludge-like tension in the air, rising to the ceiling like heat before dropping, slinking through the floorboards and pulling you down with it. More silence. You don’t realise you’re holding your breath until you open your mouth, your response to him a heavy whoosh of air.

“Why’re you high, Rafe?” You ask quietly.

His head drop agains. “Go to sleep, Y/n.”

“I’m not sleepy,” you lie.

“Neither am I.”

“Tell me,” you try again, a little firmer, a little more urgent. “You… it’s the least you could do.”

“Fuck, Y/n,” he groans out frustratedly, roughing his fingers through his hair. “You really wanna to play that game? Why were you hanging with those pogues the entire night?”

“I — huh?” You stutter, eyes widening in surprise. “What’s that got to do with anything?”

“Don’t do that.” You hear Rafe swallow again, his voice low. “You know exactly what it has to do with everything.”

Another beat. The sludge-like tension returns and roots you to the spot, preventing you from removing yourself from the situation.

Preventing you from moving closer, too. You murmur, “How come you didn’t go to Kelce’s?”

“Because,” he breathes out softly, like he’s only just admitted it to himself, “you’re the one that’s always on my mind, not him.”

Your stomach somersaults. “What?”

“Goodnight, Y/n.” Rafe turns away from you, pulling his legs up onto the couch and exhaling again. “I’ll be out of here before you wake up.”

He lets his eyelids droop and his breathing slow, and you stare at him until you’re sure he’s actually falling asleep.

As you watch him, a million different should dos whizz through your mind. You should get him a blanket, a pillow, move him into the guest room, you should stay.

You do none of them, nor do you get a wink of sleep the entire night. Somewhere between morning twilight and dawn, you hear him creak open the front door, leaving without a trace.

——

“Thanks, Rose,” Rafe hears you say, your sweet voice travelling over from the kitchen. “Yeah, no, I’m super excited about it. A little far from home, but it’s been my first choice since forever.”

“That’s wonderful to hear, my dear,” Rose’s voice answers pleasantly. “You’ll have to make time to visit when you can.”

“Yeah,” adds Sarah faux-sternly. “Just because your parents are selling the beach house doesn’t mean you stop coming here, okay? I don’t care if you’re going to a college across the country, you’ll always be an Outer Banks girl, whether you like it or not.”

It’s as though someone’s dropped a two-tonne rock into Rafe’s stomach. He begins to rush forward slovenly, his gait jagged, desperate to take him into the kitchen.

He walks into it just as you say, “I will, I swear,” in this soft, earnest voice that makes him honest-to-God yearn.

It’s enough commotion to garner your attention, your eyes growing wary as they look over his figure. “Oh,” you say, overplaying your disinterest. “It’s just you.”

For the first time in eleven years, Rafe Cameron doesn’t bite.

“Since when are your parents selling your house?” He demands, not asks.

A pause.

It occurs to Rafe, as he takes inventory of your features — all the smooth planes and pert ridges, the furrow in your brow, the shine of your lips — that he can’t remember a time where he hasn’t thought you were beautiful. He’s spent half of his life antagonising you, being antagonised by you, and it occurs to him that he can’t remember a time where he’s ever actually meant it.

You’re eighteen-years-old, now; he met you when you were seven. Something in Rafe’s chest careens. It occurs to him that it’s the same, heart-lurching feeling your seven-year-old smile had once given nine-year-old him.

You raise your eyebrows at him. Rafe decides in that moment that he isn’t going to bite ever again.

“Since last week?” You answer defensively.

“And when,” Rafe takes a steady step closer, “were you going to tell me?”

The pair of you glare at each other. In the silence, Sarah and Rose share a knowing look too, the pair of them peeling away from the kitchen table carefully.

“Sarah, sweetie,” Rose says, raising her eyebrows meaningfully. “Do you mind helping me sort through the washing?”

“Not at all,” Sarah answers quickly, springing into action.

They bee-line for the door before you can so much as protest, leaving a tension that’s palpable in their wake.

You swallow it down before forcing out a sigh, slipping out of your seat and moving past him. “Didn’t think I needed to.”

The side of your wrist nudges his, shooting tendrils of heat straight to your chest. And then, it’s Rafe’s touch making your skin burn, his rough palm making contact with yours.

“Y/n,” he murmurs helplessly, turning you back to him. “You can’t drop a bomb like that on me and just leave like it’s fucking nothing.”

Your breath hitches, gaze dropping to where your fingers are intertwined. “Like I said,” you say weakly, refusing to make eye contact. “Didn’t think you’d care.”

Rafe cares. Rafe cares a lot.

Rafe’s feels like he’s cared about you longer than he’s been alive.

“Do you care?” He asks quietly, dipping his head to eye level. “About moving, I mean. Do you care about the fact that you won’t be here next summer?”

With me, he wants to add. Won’t be here with me.

You swallow nervously, forcing yourself to meet his gaze.

He’s looking down at you with the same, ocean blue irises he had when you first met him. Eleven years on, several inches more height difference and several inches less personal space, you realise that they also still make the same, fond mess of your chest.

Your mind reels. You try to remember the conclusion of any of the arguments you’ve had over the years.

You can’t.

You realise that what you can remember are the small details, the subtleties anyone else would forget — the way his hair’s grown over time, the parts of his body most susceptible to a sunburn.

For Rafe, it’s the way your pretty smile’s gotten prettier. It’s the number of times your eyes have narrowed in an argument, the neckline of every single one of your dresses. He remembers the forgettable things — when you swapped out that Victoria’s Secret perfume for something more mature, when you first wore that lipgloss that smelled like peaches and vanilla.

When you smiled at him, for the first time ever. Rafe remembers the first time you called him by his name instead of an insult.

“Of course I do,” you mumble. “I’ve spent more summers here than I can count on both hands.”

“Do you care about the fact that I will?” Rafe steps closer. His hand is still in yours, refusing to let go. “The fact that we aren’t going to be in the same town at all, next year?”

Your heart stutters. “Rafe —”

“Because I do,” Rafe interrupts, his other hand moving up to your face. He cradles your jaw gently, reverentially, his rough skin at odds with his barely-there touch. “I care about the fact you won’t be in the Outer Banks and I fucking will. I mean… shit, Y/n, summer won’t be summer without you here.”

Your eyes widen, sitting somewhere between bashful and surprised. “What?” You ask weakly, feeling your knees buckle. “You… we — you hate me.”

“You can’t actually believe that,” Rafe says, a little exasperated.

“And I… I mean — we drive each other fucking crazy,” you add in a rush. His callused thumb swipes over your cheek softly, and you sigh. It’s a tired sound. Longest eleven years of your fucking life.

“It’s maddening,” Rafe agrees softly, drawing closer still.

Lips an inch from yours, now, less than, there’s cinnamon and cedar-wood everywhere.

“Makes me fucking furious,” you mumble absently. “You make me fucking furious.”

“Fuck, so do you.” His voice sounds rough around the edges, strained. Spearmint breath fans over your too-warm skin. “Do you have any idea the effect you have on me, Y/n?”

There’s a brush of lips on yours, just. You say, “Probably not.”

“All I’ll say,” he murmurs, this close to kissing you, “is that you aren’t the one that’s a train wreck, train wreck. It’s me.”

And then he’s pressing his lips to yours fully, urgently, his other hand finding purchase on your waist and squeezing hard. The way he pulls you to him is sloven, pleasurable, a teeth-scraping pressure that has you gasping for air. He backs you up against a wall like he’s afraid that you’re going to escape his grasp, sometimes hard, sometimes soft, so-called hatred melting into a fierce need for more.

Rafe Cameron kisses you like he’s wanted to do it since he was nine-years-old.

And when he drags his mouth along your jaw, down your neck, it’s to create a bouquet of careless, purple bruises — he needs everyone to know that you’re his, and he isn’t going to share, the same way he’d once refused you a spot on the ten-foot-tall jungle gym. His rough hands are worse, grappling for bare skin everywhere they roam, your own palms skating up his chest to his shoulders.

When he pulls away for air, you wrap your arms around his neck tightly.

“Right,” you murmur, smiling coyly. “You’re still big-foot though, big-foot.”

“Shit,” Rafe breathes out a laugh, his cheeks flushed, his lips bruised. “That nickname made me so fucking angry when we were kids.”

“You made me so fucking angry when we were kids,” you return.

“And how about now?” Rafe asks, his voice a little messy from all of the kissing. “How do I make you feel now, Y/n?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” A pause. You think he knows the answer to his own question before you even open your mouth. “Like a train wreck, Rafe Cameron.”

I mean yeah he’s evil and all but what if I were his favourite

THEO ENGLER IN ‘YOU’ SEASON 3.

Would you ever consider doing a 2nd part to wrong place at the wrong time?

i'm not rlly sure, maybe in the future some time :)

Credit:- @mo0n.light on Instagram

@maybankxstarkey @bigdrewenergy

Credit:- @artistsglee on Instagram

Wrong Place at the Wrong Time | OneShot

   Pairing: Rafe Cameron x reader

   Summary: Your ex-boyfriend confronts you

   Warning: Mentions of abuse, unwanted touching, mentions of alcohol and drugs

~

Keys jingling in your hand, you walked out the front door of Tannyhill, a small smile on your lips as you walked through the homes horseshoe driveway. In the distance you could hear Kelce and Topper whooping loudly, the sound of water splashing following their voices. It had been a good day at Rafe's house; it was Topper's birthday and it had been Rafe's idea to have his party in his backyard. "We'll make it a day to night thing," he had said to you and Kelce the week before, "Have it start at three, people won't show up until four, get people wasted at seven and they'll be outta my damn house by twelve or one." It wasn't a bad plan, especially since Ward and Rose's plane landed back in Outer Banks at 3pm the next day.

The day had went exactly the way Rafe said it would. Friends from high school you all had known for years and new ones from out of state colleges that were just on the island for the summer had come to wish Topper a "Happy fuckin birthday, dude; finally old enough to bang a country club milf." Your boyfriend's backyard had looked like a scene out of Project X; people were packed in their own little friend groups, random dance circles were created when one particular song came onto the speakers that was "too fire not to blast" and there were even teens on his family's dock, letting their feet sit in the water while they blew out clouds of yellow smoke. Drinks were thrown back and laughs were let out and by the time it was midnight, it was just you, Rafe, Topper, and Kelce sipping on seltzer's while swimming.

You were sitting on Rafe's lap when you remembered how far away you had to park your car. You had left to pick up Topper's two cakes, one of them being used specifically for a cake fight that had happened around nine-ish. When you had came back, the streets parking was minimal, forcing you to park a little farther down than usual. The blonde pinched your hip when you moved to get up, frowning at the distance. He was drunk, not messy drunk, but definitely drunk enough where he didn't care about putting on his tough facade in front of his boys as he whined at you to sit back down. "I have to move my car, I forgot I left it so far," you stumbled when you slid your sandals on, steadying yourself with a hand to Rafe's shoulder. He groaned, "Why?" You shook your head, "You know Rose will ask why my car is so far." Putting down his drink on the wooden table, he stood up with you. You quirked a brow, "Where're you going?"

He blinked at you, "With you?"

You shook your head, pushing him back down in the cushioned chair and putting his drink back in his hand. "It's right down the street, I'll just be five minutes, baby." He sighed, not thinking much about it when he agreed. You were on Figure Eight in his home; if it were anywhere else he wouldn't even have been so lenient, but he was as comfortable here as he was in his own skin. "Okay, hurry back." You pressed a quick kiss on his jaw, asking him to grab you a fruity drink before Kelce drank them all. The nineteen year old insisted that he liked a nice cold beer, but after knocking back shots Topper would pass to him when he couldn't drink them, he indulged in his guilty pleasure of colorful drinks.

Looking up from your feet and the cracks in the road, you spotted your white car, but when your slightly tipsy mind processed a man standing at the drivers side with his hands cupped around his eyes to look in the tinted window, you froze in your tracks. The sound of your keys in the air made the man turn around and you gaped at him. He seemed to be pleased with your reaction, clapping his hands in fake joy. "Just the girl I was looking for," he took a step forward and pressed his hand to his heart, faking hurt, when you took a bigger step back from him. "Awe, don't be like that, bunny." You flinched at the old pet name, remembering how he would call you that after you'd hit a bump, licking the white powder from nose playfully. You shivered at the way his blown out pupils trailed over you, wishing you had something else other than a swimsuit top and jean shorts on. "What're you doing here, (Y/EX'S/N)?" Your voice came out shaky and you fisted your hands when you realized how bad this situation really was. You straightened your shoulders, trying to seem less intimidated than you really were. "Heard you went full kook, got clean with the king of Figure Eight," his glossy coked out eyes looked at Rafe's house in the distance behind you and he scoffed, "Didn't think it'd be true. You run away and disappear from me, scare me half to death, and you think that's okay?" His voice was low with anger, and it scared you more knowing he was high, scared you to think that he convinced himself that that's what really happened. You wouldn't let him gaslight you like he had in the past before you built the courage to get away from him. Bringing your hand in the air, you dismissed him in pure disgust. "You're fucking crazy," you told him, taking in your surroundings and bringing your keys between the spaces of your fingers for a makeshift weapon. (Y/EX'S/N) caught you glance at Rafe's house and rose his brows at you threateningly when he watched you think through a hundred different scenarios. "Don't think about it, (Y/N)."

You knew you had no choice, knowing that he was bigger, stronger, and faster than you. As loudly as your throat could manage, you screamed Rafe's name, your terror laced voice cutting through the late night air for a couple seconds before (Y/EX'S/N) ran towards you, backhanding you, a pained yelp leaving you at the feeling of his nail scratching your cheek. Your elbow hit the ground, your keys falling out of your hand, but you didn't have time to register the pain before he grabbed your bicep, lifting you off the pavement roughly to throw your back against the side of your car, the back of your head hitting it at the same time. He pressed his hand against your throat, fingers holding down the sides of your neck as your nails clawed at his arm, desperately trying to breathe in air, but he was too high to feel how deep you scratched at his wrists. He probably wouldn't even remember this in the morning. He used to always question your bruises when he had come out of his high, and you had protected him by giving ridiculous excuses, never telling him he was the one that constantly hurt you. You lifted yourself to your toes, leaned your head back to escape the pressure of his hand but he just pushed up harder, lifting your body almost half a foot off the ground as he used his other hand to help himself choke you out. He was mumbling random nonsense to hisself; "You shouldn't have left" and "This is your fault."

The edges of your eyesight turned black and just as you felt yourself get too lightheaded to fight back, his hand was off your neck and you fell to your knees as you gasped loudly, coughing when you felt oxygen flow through you again.

Rafe couldn't explain the rage that went through him when he saw (Y/EX'S/N) above you in the road, having gotten up and leaving his backyard in record time after hearing your petrified scream in the distance, calling out to him for help. Topper and Kelce followed quickly behind him, disregarding the fact they were shirtless and barefoot as they went to aid you. Rafe didn't know how many times he had punched (Y/EX'S/N) at this point, he was so angry he didn't even remember ripping the junkie off of you. A loud ringing was present in his ears and a fury was in his eyes no one had ever seen before. Topper was making sure you were okay, using his body to block your eyesight of what your boyfriend and Kelce were doing to your old abuser. Rafe had heard stories of what (Y/EX'S/N) had done and every time he promised that it was "on sight" for him if he ever did see him. (Y/EX'S/N) was in the wrong place at the wrong time, and Rafe made sure to do the most to him in the moment while he could. The sound of you crying brought the blonde out of his stupor, and he looked down at the piece of trash under him, sweat on his forehead. (Y/EX'S/N) almost looked dead. Blood covered his face and neck, his nose was definitely bent in a way it wasn't supposed to and deep cuts from Rafe's ring were starting to look more gruesome by the second. Rafe gripped his shirt in his fist, pulling his battered body off the ground to make him look in him in the eye. His voice was clear with anger, "If you ever come near her again, I'll fucking kill you," he promised and with that shoved him back into the ground, turning to you and replacing Topper's spot, the other blonde joining Kelce to inflict their own share of pain onto (Y/EX'S/N).

Rafe's demeanor changed instantly at the sight of you. You were terrified, your body pressing into the side of your car to try and make yourself smaller. Rafe shushed you, gathering you into his arms and tucking your head into his neck to get you to avoid looking at the damage he had inflicted. Topper and Kelce stopped their fists from hitting (Y/EX'S/N) when he became unresponsive and through your panic you heard Rafe tell them to drive your car into his driveway, vaguely caught a glimpse of Kelce dragging (Y/EX'S/N) into a space between two bushes. Rafe whispered to you to calm down, pressing kisses against your temple when he stood up with your arms around his bare shoulders and legs clinging to his waist in fear. He felt blood drip from your arm onto his chest, the feel on it making him walk faster towards the front door of Tannyhill.

Your crying subsided by the time Rafe carried you through the doorway of his bedroom, but you clung to him tighter when you felt him place you on the edge of the bed. Rafe gently trailed his hands from your back to your wrists around his neck, whispering that you needed to let go so he could get the first aid kit. You complied, your tearful eyes opening and adjusting to the few light sources in the room, letting your hands sit numbly in your lap. Rafe came back into your line of sight with the white box in hand, and he sat down next to you, putting a finger under your chin to take in the damage properly. You had a long scratch from the corner of your eye to the side of your nose, thankfully not deep enough to leave any kind of permanent mark, but definitely enough for it to ache for a couple days. Your elbow was scratched up from the concrete, staining your skin with semi-dry blood. The worst of your injuries though was your neck. Rafe could already make out the bruise in the shape of a hand developing on your throat, and it took everything in him not to do the same to (Y/EX'S/N), but he knew he couldn't leave you right now, not when you were so vulnerable. He picked up the grey throw blanket on the corner of his bed to wrap it around your bare shoulders before his big fingers picked out the small antiseptic wipes. "This is gonna sting a little, I'm sorry, baby," he fisted the blue comforter next to your thigh. "I'm sorry, shoulda gotten there quicker-" You shook your head, pulling away from the little cloth to look into his sad blue eyes. "You got there as fast as you could," you reassured, pulling the blanket tighter around yourself, making sure to avoid staining the soft material with the blood from you elbow. "Please don't blame yourself for something you didn't have any control over," you mumbled quietly, not breaking eye contact with the man that was so obviously in love with you. He just nodded, interlacing his fingers with yours atop your thigh as he moved to wipe the blood off your arm.

A couple quiet minutes passed of Rafe cleaning up the cuts on you, being especially gentle when he wiped at your neck, a frown on his face throughout the whole process. Is this how you felt when he came home after the countless fights he'd been in? He hated how sick in the gut he felt, the thought that he should have gotten to you faster digging into his head. A knock rang through the room, and you looked up to see Topper and Kelce standing in the doorway, both having changed into sweats and t-shirts. "How you doin, (Y/N/N)?" Topper asked, his voice quiet to keep you calm. They walked in as you shrugged, accepting the cold water bottle Kelce had grabbed for you. Rafe used one hand to unscrew the lid for you, and you took a couple sips, not realizing until then how thirsty you were. You urged Rafe to drink some when you were satisfied and he did it just for your peace of mind, raising his hand to cup your cheek in his hand.

"Thank you, for saving me," you said, looking at your friends in the eyes before turning your gaze to Rafe, who was already staring at you. You turned your head to kiss his palm, bringing your hand up to hold it instead.

Kelce dropped his hand onto Rafe's shoulder, "The fucker's lucky that your man didn't kill him," he joked, looking pointedly at Rafe's split knuckles. Rafe flexed his fingers, scoffing lightly, "Motherfucker better not still be there in the morning, or I will."

Topper shook his head, running a hand through his hair. "I doubt he's that stupid, he got his warning." Rafe's simple last words to (Y/EX'S/N) ran through his mind again and he shook his head, exhaling a big breath as he stood up from the bed. "Y'all take your pick of a guest room, we're gonna head to bed," Rafe said and the duo nodded, telling you to feel better and rest up before leaving the room, Rafe's door shutting behind them.

You had opened another antiseptic wipe, unfolding it as you stood up to stand in front of Rafe. He held out his hands to you, already knowing the routine and used to the familiar sting as you cleaned his knuckles. He took the wipe from your hand when you were done and walked to the bed to grab the other ones, throwing them away in his little trash can before setting the first aid kit on his dresser. His hand found its place on your hip, pulling your body into his softly. "You wanna take a shower or wait until the morning?" He asked, dragging his palms up and down your bare back under the blanket soothingly. You were exhausted, and you didn't know how you were still standing. Rafe's bedside clock read 1:16am and the sight of it made your eyes feel heavier. Rafe nodded, not needing an answer, "Morning shower it is."

You felt his hand pull at the string holding your bathing suit top to your breasts, and you shrugged out of it, letting the blanket fall off your shoulders and onto the floor with the swimsuit as Rafe opened his shirt drawer, giving you the shirt he got at a surfing competition a year or so back. He knelt onto the floor to open your drawer, pulling out a fresh pair of underwear you stepped into as soon as you took off your shorts. "Go lay down, baby," Rafe whispered as he grabbed a pair of boxers to change into.

He joined you under the covers a few moments after you climbed in, clapping once to get the lights to turn off. You buried your head into his chest, placing little kisses to his shoulders and collar bones as your arm draped itself over his waist. He kissed your forehead, his muscles relaxing at the feeling of you pressed up against him. You looked up at him one more time, your eyes making out the outline of his face in the dark. His hand moved to cup your cheek, his fingers threading into your hair as he dipped his chin down to press his lips to yours delicately, as if you were a china doll that would break if he cradled you too tightly. You kissed him for a couple more seconds, pulling away and pecking him lightly before tucking your head back into the crook of his shoulder. "I love you," you mumbled tiredly, running your hand through the top of his hair.

Rafe admired you, moving his hand to rest on the small of your back. "You're my whole life; I love you too, (Y/N)," he whispered back before watching you fall asleep, him following right behind you.

•

TAGLIST: @rafeseggplant

Overdose

Summary: In which a traumatic accident causes Rafe want to change for the better.

Word Count: 4.3k

Trigger Warnings: Mention and depiction of drug use/addiction, overdose, depression and a little bit of violence.

Genre: Angst, fluff and a tiny bit of smut

The first time Rafe Cameron laid eyes on you was at the first party of the summer at Kelce’s. You were taking shots off of a random Kooks belly button before snorting a line of coke.

The crowd around the kitchen island continued to cheer as you repeat the actions you just did mere seconds ago. Rafe gulps looking you up and down, admiring how your shirt hugged your breasts perfectly and how sexy your legs looked underneath your short skirt.

Despite being surrounded by a group of people starring at you, you could feel a certain pair of eyes on you, basically burning into the back of your head. You look around the crowded room and your eyes meet Rafe’s blue ones in the living room.

You smirk at him, but due to Rafe’s drug induced state he was suddenly panicked that you caught him starring. The blue eyed boy quickly turns around in his seat and focuses on the pile of cocaine in front of him that he was dealing.

As Rafe cuts up a line for his next customer the empty seat beside him on couch dips, signifying that someone had sat down. Rafe glances over then back to the coke then back to you who were now sitting beside him.

Anxiety washes over him and he didn’t know why. “Can I?” You ask looking between him and the white line on the table in front of you two.

“Yea.” He says, his voice betraying him and cracking a bit.

You simply giggle and pick up the rolled up one dollar bill before bringing it to your nostril and snorting the white substance. You let out a few sniffs and put the money back onto the glass table. Rafe watches as you open up your purse, but for some reason he didn’t want you to pay, even though he would get in shit with Barry. Maybe it was because he was too high or maybe it was because you were the most intoxicating girl he has ever seen, despite just seeing you for the first time.

However, you don’t pull out money for the line you just snorted. Instead you pull out two little baggies each containing a different colour of ecstasy in it. “Pick your poison.” You say smirking at the boy in front of you.

Rafe gulps the part of him that had any bit of common sense left didn’t want him to take it. The last time he had ecstasy he tripped so bad that he almost drowned in Toppers pool, claiming he saw a mermaid in it.

Even though there was still a small sensible part of Rafe still in him, he couldn’t stop himself from pointing at the blue one which was shaped as a smiley face.

“Good choice.” You say putting the other one back into your purse and opening the small baggie. Rafe watches as the blue pill falls into the palm of your hand before you bring it up to your mouth where you place it on the tip of your tongue.

Rafe furrows his eyebrows at your actions, but his confusion goes away once you pull him close to you by the collar of his shirt and kiss him. You exchange the pill from your mouth to his before pulling away and biting his bottom lip softly.

Without saying another word you grab your purse and stand up, walking away. Leaving a very turned on Rafe.

Every time Rafe was at Barry’s he was slightly intimidated and nervous since he was out of his element, but his giddiness of getting his desired drug almost always over powered the negative feelings. Almost was the key word. Rafe was having a shitty day and he just wanted his fix when he ran into you for the second time, causing his heart beat to accelerate.

As Rafe walked into Barry’s chateau his eyes darted all around, trying his best to avoid the judgmental gazes from the Pogues inside. The hate filled gazes coming from the Pogues scattered throughout the shack continued as the Kook Prince walked down the hall towards Barry’s room.

“Yo Barry!” Rafe calls out once he was standing outside of the drug dealers room, he could hear voices coming from the other side.

Shock falls over Rafe’s face when the door opens revealing you and Barry. You wink at him before turning away from the door and back to Barry to continue your conversation.

The brunette watches from his spot in the door way as you pull out a small stack of cash from your purse. You count it and hand it over to Barry who quickly counts it himself. Once he calculated that all of the money was there he turns and opens his dresser drawer, pulling out a small ziplock bag containing 4 of the pills you gave Rafe the first time you met him and another bag of weed.

“Thank you.” You say taking it from him and putting in your purse. “But what happened to the free ounce of coke you usually give me for being a loyal customer?” You ask with a smug smile. Rafe furrows his eyebrows, he’s never gotten a free ounce of coke for being a loyal customer.

Barry chuckles and smirks at you. “You were a loyal customer, but your parents shipped you off to rehab after your last incident and this is the second time I’ve seen you since then.”

You roll your eyes and nudge him playfully at him bringing up your last overdose, causing Barry to laugh. Rafe has never seen Barry so care free as you two openly flirted.

“Well don’t be upset when I find a different dealer.” You say winking at him before turning on your heel and walking out of the room, passing by Rafe who was patiently waiting his turn. As you walk by the Cameron boy takes a quick glance at your ass.

“You wouldn’t dare, you already know I’m the best in the game!” Barry calls out with a smile on his face as Rafe walks into the room, the smell of your perfume lingered.

“Who was that?” Rafe asks after hearing the screen door shut signaling you left.

“That Rafe was Y/N Y/L/N. She’s trouble.” Barry whistles with a smirk on his face, while closing the drawer to his dresser and turning towards to the brunette.

After that it seemed as if you and Rafe ran into each other everywhere. You two would acknowledge each other, but every time Rafe built up the courage to talk to you it was like you disappeared. However, the start of your friendship was surprisingly at Midsummers.

Almost instantly Rafe found you in the crowd of Kooks when him and his family walked out of the country club and into the patio area. It was actually quite hard to miss you though.

You were wearing a long black tulle dress with poufy sleeves made out of the same light fabric. It had a square neckline that reached your bellybutton and on top of your head you adorned a crown with black roses which had long sticks similar to Rafe’s step moms, coming out of them. You were the only girl there wearing something so dark, but yet still classy.

Ever since Rafe met you he has always admired how you dressed. Everyone on OBX were beach kids. Meaning their style was laid back, and then there was you. You were challenging the norms on the island just from your fashion sense.

The whole night Rafe spent admiring you from afar, pretending to listen to Topper and his problems with his annoying sister. You on the other hand didn’t even notice he was there, after all you were on your phone texting one of your friends you met in rehab when the Cameron family walked in.

It wasn’t until later in the night you finally noticed the boy in the baby blue suit who was walking into the country club towards the bar. When your eyes laid on Rafe’s figure you had to admit he looked good, hell he always did, but you weren’t interested. Your life was already fucked up and at least you had the decency to not drag anyone down with you by creating meaningful relationships.

“Can I get an old fashioned.” Rafe asks leaning up against the bar. The bartender simply nods his head before turning around to make the drink. As he waits Rafe looks around at the basically deserted bar and sees you sitting a few stools down, nursing your lemonade. It was basically the end of the night and a lot of people had already left. His heart beat quickens, but he decides to finally talk to you, seeing there was no other distractions.

“Hey.” He says softly sitting down on the stool beside you.

You look over and perk up when you see Rafe, trying your best to ignore the butterflies in your stomach. “Hey.” You simply say, allowing an awkward silence to fall over you two.

After a few moments Rafe speaks up, his hands becoming clammy. “I’m Rafe. You’re Y/N right?”

“I know who you are.” You say making direct eye contact. A blush creeps it’s way across the boys face at your words and actions. Seeing your eyes he realized that you were high. “And I think you know who I am as well.” You say with a wink before taking a sip of your lemonade, ultimately finishing it.

Just as you finish your drink the bartender comes over and places Rafe’s drink down on top of a napkin. You request another drink, but ice tea this time as your eyes fall to the alcoholic drink in front of you.

“Why didn’t you get something else?” Rafe asks with a chuckle, acknowledging your interest in his drink.

“Cause that prick over there didn’t buy my fake id.” You say nodding over to the bartender that was busy getting your drink. Rafe smiles down at you. Of course you had a fake id.

“Well lets see if it’s obviously fake or not.” The brunette suggests. In high school Rafe and some Kooks including Topper and Kelce used to make fake id’s so he knew all too well how to spot a fake one.

You sigh opening up your clutch and hand over the small card to the boy beside you once you fish it out. As your hands briefly touch during the exchange a rush of heat washes over both of you, but you try your best to ignore it.

You watched intently while Rafe analyzed your id in his large hand. For some reason it made you nervous how close he was to you.

“Well for starters you can’t smile in the picture.” He says looking back up and handing the card back over. “And Annie Position? Really?” He says with a playful smile at the fake name. When he said it out loud it sounded like he was saying ‘any position.’

“Shut up. My parents found my old one and I haven’t had enough time to get a new one that’s good.” You say with a laugh as you sheepishly put your fake id back into your clutch.

Rafe looks up at the bartender to see if he was listening, but he was distracted by Topper’s mom ordering a drink. “Well, just between you and me.” He says leaning closer to you so only you could hear him. “I used to make those, but 100 times better. I can reopen shop for you if you’d like.”

“I do anything to make my parents mad so I’m in.” You say with a smirk. Rafe smirks back at you his eyes glancing down to your lips then back up to your dilated pupils. Rafe was planning on getting high tonight, but he never got the chance due to the fact he was busy admiring you from afar.

Without realizing your breath hitches and you lean in slightly, but you are pulled away when the bartender comes back and places your ice tea on the bar. Rafe internally curses to himself, now it was going to be awkward.

But to his surprise you grab your glass off of the counter and clink it with his for a cheers before bringing it to your mouth. The fact that you seemingly didn’t let the now awkward and sexual tension between you two made Rafe even more attracted to you.

You place your glass back onto the bar beside Rafe’s, the ice cubes clinking against each other. Rafe looks down the bar to see the bartender tending to Topper’s mom once again.

Seeing as it was the perfect opportunity the brunette slowly switches his glass with yours, glancing over his shoulder every now and then. You watch with a smirk on your face as he does this. Once his drink was now in front of you he nods towards it signaling you to drink it.

“You sure?” You ask with a raised eyebrow.

“Our drinks are the same colour how’s he supposed to know? And besides I saw you basically drooling at the sight of it when I got it.”

You nudge Rafe with your elbow as a smirk crosses your face. It was a sweet gesture done by the boy who was known for not being sweet. You bring the glass to your lips and the boy is surprised, but tries to contain his laugh when you down the liquid in one go.

With a sigh and lick across your lips you place the drink down on the bar before standing up and grabbing Rafe’s hand. He instantly obliges and allows you to take him where ever you wanted.

That night you two got faded with each other on your parents huge boat. After Midsummers you two started to hang out frequently. Thus creating your strong friendship that Rafe prioritized over anything, even drugs. It wasn’t until Halloween that you guys went from friends to friends with benefits and that was when Rafe realized his true feelings for you.

Being a Kook meant you had the ability to go all out for every holiday and Halloween was no exception. So that’s what Rafe did. Seeing that his dad and Rose were on a business trip and Wheezie was at a friends house it was the perfect opportunity to throw a party.

With time you were able to convince Rafe to dress up as shark boy since you were dressing up as lava girl. Little did you know Rafe had full intentions of being shark boy to your lava girl the moment you asked him, he just liked seeing you beg.

Both you and Rafe craved control desperately as Ward controlled him while your parents did the same. So when you two stumbled into his room after snorting lines and grinding on each other for the pass hour, both of you fought for dominance of the situation.

Rafe lightly pushed you onto his bed and started to rid his body of his costume, but you instantly lean up on your knees and pull him down onto the bed before straddling him. Before he had the chance to react you crash your lips against his in a needy and lustful kiss.

As your make out session deepened you two continued to fight over who was being on top, but Rafe ultimately gives in, being too turned on to keep your guys’ little game going.

A red tint covered Rafe’s face while you rode him, your fuchsia wig still on your head and surprising perfectly in tact. Your make up was smudged, but Rafe couldn’t care less.

The way you felt around his cock was intoxicating. He places his hands on your hips to help guide you while his back rested against his headboard, but Rafe forgot that you were the one in control.

Almost instantly you move his hands up to your exposed chest and he squeezes your breasts in return, causing a moan to fall from your mouth. Even though he wasn’t in control, hearing you moan still gave him satisfaction that he was helping you get off.

You keep your hands on top of his as you continue to bounce up and down, the headboard was hitting against the wall mercilessly, but neither of you two seemed to care. You lift up off of Rafe’s cock, leaving you empty before slamming back down and bouncing again. This causes you to throw your head back, a pornographic moan leaving your mouth while your one hand found it’s way around Rafe’s neck.

Squeezing slightly around Rafe’s neck you grind your hips back and forth. The combination of your pink wig, pink garters, your dominance and you choking him sent Rafe into over drive. He starts to thrust his hips up into you, meeting yours half way, causing your skin to slap together.

Both of you could feel the coils in your stomachs begin to snap and as they did Rafe seemingly had an epiphany while he watched you come undone on top of him.

He was in love with you.

Over the past few months Rafe became a frequent faucet at your house and you at his. With that being said it wasn’t a surprise when your older sister opened the front door to find Rafe on the other side.

“You know where she is.” Your sister says with an annoyed huff before returning to her kids that were painting in the dining room. Rafe knew what she meant and walked through the house to the door leading to the backyard.

Even though Rafe has only met your parents and older siblings a few times he wasn’t a fan of them. Not only did they remind him of his parents and sister they treated you like shit. You were the black sheep of the family compared to them. Although you have tried to clean up your act to appease them similar to the way Rafe has done before, nothing you did would make them happy. You were a failure in their eyes. But how could you compete when your siblings are so successful they could buy half of figure 8? Rafe knew the feeling of being the disappointment of the family all too well. That’s one of the reasons why you two clicked so well, you guys related to each other.

As he walked outside into the backyard he heard your sister talking to her husband about how you need to go to university or college. Rafe scoffs at this knowing that even if you did go to post-secondary school they would still find a way to ridicule you. It also didn’t help that you were home schooled most of your life.

Rafe mumbles to himself about how shitty your family is as he walks down to the pier and past your brother and dad talking about a business deal to where your family’s yacht was docked. You had the tendency of staying there when you’ve gotten into a fight with your parents or when you simply wanted to get high without being caught.

The brunette wipes his clammy hands on his pants as he steps on board. Every time he was with you, you had the same effect on him. He makes his way inside and instantly freezes once he walks inside.

On the ground in front of him you laid unconscious a package of coke scattered on the floor beside you. Immediately he rushes to your side and shakes you.

“Y/N wake up!” He yells, but you remain unconscious with your eyes closed and the dust of the white powder sticking to the skin around your nose.

Rafe continues to shake your seemingly lifeless body, but when he continues to get no response he runs onto the outside part of the boat to get help. “Help someone help!” He yells causing the vein in his neck to stick out.

The brunette quickly gets your dads and brothers attention and they’re making their way over when he runs back inside to you. Seconds later your dad and brother rush inside causing Rafe to turn to look at them.

“Someone call 911!” He yells as tears threatened to spill. Listening to Rafe’s commands your brother fishes his phone out of his pocket to call the emergency number while your dad joined Rafe on the floor.

Your father calmly moves your hair out of the way and places two fingers against your neck to find your pulse. Rafe watches intensely as he does this, it felt like an eternity later when your dad finally had a reaction to finding your pulse or not.

However, the expression that fell over your fathers face was not what he wanted. He slowly moves his hand away from your body with a deep sigh before bringing his hand up to cup his mouth. By now your mom, sister and brother in law had joined to see what all the commotion was about.

“What Mark?” Your mom screams and Rafe watches as your dad simply shakes his head no.

“She’s gone.” He says sadly, causing your mom to shriek while your sister began to be consoled by her husband.

“No no no!” Rafe yells turning back to you, caressing your cheek. “Come on Y/N wake up! You’re okay! Please wake up you’re all I have!” The Cameron boy cries as your mom and sister began to sob into each others arms.

As the paramedics came aboard the boat they escorted Rafe and your family out, but Rafe felt as if he was experiencing an out of body experience. This couldn’t be real, it had to be a fucked up dream he was having. Suddenly his breathing becomes laboured as he takes in the surroundings of your backyard. Your family huddled together as the paramedics prepared your lifeless body for the stretcher.

Seeing you be rolled out on a stretcher in a body bag sent Rafe over the edge. It was the last straw to cause his world to come tumbling down. Without thinking about the consequences of his actions Rafe storms over to your trembling father who seemed genuinely upset before punching him square in the face. The force of the punch caused Rafe’s hand to crack so he knew he did damage, but yet he still felt nothing.

Your family screams at him as your father, Mark stumbles back and clutches his now bleeding and probably broken nose.

“This is your fault! All of you! If you weren’t so hard on her she wouldn’t have turned to drugs. You guys killed her!” He yells his voice going hoarse as more tears streamed down his red face.

“What the fuck is wrong with you man?” Your brother in law asks standing up to Rafe, but the brunette doesn’t take this threat well and punches him in the eye causing him to stumble back much like your father mere seconds ago.

Tired of Rafe’s bullshit your brother leaves your dads aide and walks over to the young adult and punches him square in the nose, his knuckles grazing his eye. Rafe stumbles back and trips over a rock causing him to fall to the ground.

Rafe didn’t bother to get up, instead he remained laying on the ground with his tears and blood rushing down his face. He was familiar with feeling numb, but the numbness your death brought on could never amount to the emptiness he has felt before. This was a whole new ball park of feeling hopeless and empty.

-

A sigh escapes Rafe’s mouth as he sits in his parked suv. He looked at the building in front of him and debated on whether he should go in or not. The past few days have been extremely hard.

Your funeral was yesterday, but Rafe wasn’t invited after the stunt he pulled by punching your dad and brother law in the face. Because of that he stood from a far as your body was lowered into the ground. He wasn’t able to give you a proper goodbye, but the Pogues who barely know you and Barry the person who fed you the drugs were invited. And now you were laid to rest six feet under after your heart stopped working.

It wasn’t fair. Your parents and siblings are the reason why you turned to drugs. They always found a way to degrade you. Hell they were the reason for your first overdose. In fact the first time your plan was to not wake up. Rafe was seemingly the only person that understood you for who you were and still loved you unconditionally. And you did the same for him. The Cameron boy hasn’t felt that type of love from someone since his mom died when he was 10.

Rafe looks down at his hands in his lap, his wrist was adorned with one of the bracelets you made him. It was red and black, both of you guys’ favourite colours and you added beads that said ‘fuck buddies.’

With a sigh Rafe grabs his phone and keys before getting out of the car and walking into the building he has sat in front of for the last hour. He opens the large door, his hands becoming clammy and he wanted to turn back and leave, but he knew you would want him to do this.

The brunette is greeted by a kind and warm looking lady sitting behind a receptionist desk. “Hi, how may I help you?” She asks with a bright and welcoming smile. Her smile in a way reminded him of yours.

“Hi, uh this is a rehab facility for drug users right?”

“Yes it is. Do you or anyone one you know want to be admitted?”

Rafe stuffs his hands in his pants pockets and starts to rock back and forth on his feet. “I would like to please.”

drew starkey as rafe cameron in season two of outer banks   pt. 2.

oh my god. that's all i wanna do with rafe. shotgunning. pls especially if like you're enemies and someone dared y'all to do that together. pls.

the annual bonfire was something you loved doing in outer banks. it didn't matter if you liked the people going or not, you had fun with your friends and that was all that mattered to you.

you wore jeans and one of pope's button up vacation shirts with a bathing suit top underneath the one button. you held onto pope's arm and waved hello to some of your other friends as you all walked in.

"yln! you want a beer?" jj yelled and you yelled at him not to get too drunk and end up in fights. you look at pope and he smiles, telling you he was going to go get a drink and keep an eye on jj.

"be safe" he salutes and you stuff your hands in your back pockets, sitting in an empty chair around the fire. you rested your elbow on the arm of the plastic, biting your nail as you stared into the flames.

suddenly the leg of the chair was kicked out from under you and someone caught the chair before it fell to the ground. you panicked and huffed, widened eyes as you look up at rafe, who smirked down at you.

"you're in my chair, princess" you roll your eyes and jump off the chair, pushing it to the ground and stepping close to rafe.

"well now it can't be yours because you broke the chair, princess" you cross your arms over your chest and rafe smirks, and his height towering over you really did intimidate you, but you couldn't let him know that.

rafe bent down, face in front of yours and you narrowed your eyes. "it was funny watching you panic under me, honestly. you're lucky i was feeling nice and caught you. next time you're in my chair, i'm not going to catch you"

"back away, kook" you push his chest and he stumbles back, smirking at you. you walked past him, finding pope and he hugged you. "i hate that asshole"

"i think we all do, yn. don't worry, i got you" pope smiled at you and you calmed down a bit.

"thanks pope" you kissed his cheek and a whole group of people sat down around the fire, you and rafe sitting across from one another through the flame.

everyone started to play truth or dare, some people making out, stripping, jumping in the water. it was your turn, and it was kelce's turn to ask a question. "truth or dare, yn?" kelce smirked behind his beer bottle.

"dare" you drank the last of your beer and looked at kelce, who had a shit eating grin plastered on his face.

"i dare you to take that joint and shotgun with rafe cameron" he smirked and both you and rafe looked at him. "while sitting on his lap"

"no, no way" you refused and everyone booed.

"fine, then we throw you in the water in nothing but your bra and underwear" kelce took a swig of his beer and you huff, standing up. you walk over in front of rafe, who looked like he didn't want any part of this either.

you slowly straddled his waist, and he instinctively held your waist. you held the joint in between his lips and he inhaled deeply, keeping eye contact with you as he blew the smoke into your mouth. you inhaled and smile, leaning back and grinning at everyone who applauded.

you sat up and inhaled yourself, blowing the smoke into rafe's face. "if you wanted to kiss me so bad, cameron, you could've asked" you wink and let the blunt hang from your lips, moving your hips a bit before getting off his lap.

"oohh, rafe's got a boner for the pogue!" someone yelled and you look back, giggling at him and sitting next to pope again who hugged you into him. you looked at rafe through the fire, winking as you threw the roach of the blunt into the fire.

the night continued with truth or dare, dancing, drinking and smoking. you felt eyes on you the whole time, and you were right. you caught rafe staring at you from time to time, and really, you honestly wanted him to stare.

Beautifully Simple | OneShot

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x reader

Summary: You lose your favorite necklace

Warning: alcohol consumption, make out sesh, & mention of nicotine

•

To say Rafe's room was big was an understatement. The king size bed in the middle of it didn't even seem to take up space. It baffled you as got up from your knees, eyes scanning the bedroom again as you huffed in frustration. If it wasn't under the bed, you honestly couldn't figure out where else to look since you basically tore apart the bathroom looking for it. You did another perimeter check, walking to the door and scanning the room from a different angle. Maybe that'll work? Looking over his dresser, you shook your head. You already looked there practically a hundred times. You could have sworn you left it on your side of the bed along with every other piece of jewelry you had on before you showered. The Pandora bracelet with meaningful charms gifted from nearly everyone you knew was on your left wrist, the two rings from the same brand Wheezie got you with her birthday money on your index fingers, and lastly, the blue heart Gucci ring Rafe had given you for Valentine's Day a couple months back. You went over to Rafe's cluttered desk, biting your lip as your heart beat faster and tears welled up in your eyes. How did you manage to lose something so valuable?

You didn't realize how much you zoned out until you heard Rafe's door open, your boyfriend stepping into the room. He had a grin on his face and a beer in his hand and he looked like he was gonna tell you something before he noticed the state you were in. "Hey, hey," Rafe said, walking towards you with his brows pulled together. He sat his CoorsLite next to a stack of papers resting on his laptop before running his hand up your arm and turning you into his embrace. You were shaking. "What's wrong, baby? Why're you crying?" He asked softly and you grabbed onto the sides of his dark blue polo like a guilty kid. He moved his hands to cup your cheeks when you looked up at him, frowning at the sight of your tearful eyes and wobbling bottom lip. "I," you exhaled a big breath, trying to match your uneven breathing to Rafe's calm ones. "I-I can't find t-the necklace," you stuttered out, a tear falling down your cheek and into the crevice of your lip. You weren't one to cry about materialistic things, but this was important. It was the first gift Rafe had ever given you. He used his thumb to wipe it away, realization hitting him immediately and his eyes widened but you didn't notice, your own (Y/E/C) eyes switching between staring at his chest and hardwood floors. "The silver one with your name," you mumbled guiltily. You felt so stupid. Rafe bent his knees to get you to look into his eyes, and when you did, he had the biggest fucking smile on his face.

"What?-" you started but he just pulled you into his chest again, shushing you with a little bit of laughter. His hand cupped the back of your head while the other dug into his pocket. You felt heat rise to your face, whether it was from anger or embarrassment you didn't know. Why was he laughing? Getting another wave of frustration, you pushed at his chest, a deeper frown set on your face when it barely moved him an inch. "You jerk, what is so funny about this?" You began, but before you could get another word out, Rafe pulled his hand out of his pocket and opened it to show the expensive necklace resting in his palm.

You gasped, your eyebrows raising in shock as you reached for it immediately. Rafe smiled in amusement. "Where was it?" You questioned, holding it up between the two of you. You brought it to your chest in relief. Rafe rested his hand on your hip, pulling you between his knees as he leaned against his desk. "It was exactly where you left it," he explained, picking up your ring clad hand to press a kiss to the blue heart on your ring finger. "I brought it downstairs to clean it with Rose's jewelry cleaner. It's been a while and I wanted to do something nice. Sorry, baby, didn't mean to scare you," he finished with an apologetic kiss. "That's why I came up here, to give it back to you." His hands ran up the soft material of your strapless blue dress, before he dragged them back down to rest his hands on the small of your back.

You gave him another quick kiss, giving him the necklace and thanking him before turning around. "Put it on for me?" You asked. He did so and you turned around again, flipping your hair through the chain and behind your bare shoulders. Rafe couldn't help himself from dragging his eyes all over you. You had on little black heels with a strap at the ankle and that blue fucking dress that made him go nuts. He remembered the first time he caught you looking at it on one of the many shopping dates he took you on; you never let him buy you too much, much to his dismay, but when you were admiring it, you didn't think he was anywhere nearby as you had left him by the watches in the jewelry section. He remembered walking towards you as you lifted up the dresses tag, your mouth forming an "Oh" as you dropped the tag and tucked the dress back into its spot, shaking your head. He had snuck up behind you and plucked the dress off the rack, holding it in the air when you tried putting it back.

He smiled at the memory, raising his hands to straighten the necklace that rested between your collar bones. You leaned towards him, putting your hands on his jean clad thighs. It truly was a beautiful piece of jewelry, the simple cursive font with the diamond heart connected to the "E" matched you perfectly. Beautifully simple. You loved it almost as much as you loved him, and you never failed to wear it everyday. "So," you said, moving your hands to connect them with his and taking a step back, pulling him with you to the door. "You ready to go? Because that was the last thing I needed." He nodded, kissing your shoulder as you both walked down the stairs.

Topper and Kelce were sitting at the bottom of the steps, both holding beers and ripping Rafe's juul. They both stood once they heard the couple, Topper slurring, "Took you both long enough" as they both looked up to see Rafe help you down the last couple steps. Kelce whistled, "Damn, (Y/N/N), lookin good-" Rafe moved forward quick to smack the back of his head, Kelce dramatizing it and holding his head as if he'd been shot. "Ouch! Jesus, man, just giving your girl a compliment," he whined. Rafe rolled his eyes, pulling your laughing self under his arm. "Yeah, my girl, keep it respectful or keep your mouth shut, dude," Rafe said, chuckling to keep the air playful. Kelce was harmless, but Rafe meant what he said, didn't matter if it was his best friend or not. "Alright, alright, alright," Topper started walking towards the door. "Let's get this night started!" He hollered, chugging back the rest of his drink as he walked out the front door of Tannyhill, whooping loudly. Kelce grabbed the box full of beer, following the blonde out the door, almost dropping the alcohol when he tripped over his own two drunken feet.

"Fuckin' idiots," Rafe muttered, walking with you out into the night, locking his home behind you both. You laughed, and grabbed the collar of his shirt to pull him down for a kiss, tasting the beer on his tongue. It wasn't a short peck, like Rafe expected, but he wasn't planning on stopping your advances. He groaned into your mouth, his strong arms wrapping around you until his hands grabbed at your ass, pulling on the flesh as you sucked his tongue into your mouth. You pulled away just as he bit your bottom lip, moaning quietly when be pushed you closer to him. You could vaguely hear Topper and Kelce complaining about y'all from the car, Topper repeatedly trying to jiggle the door handle open to no avail while the keys to the vehicle rested in Rafe's pocket. Rafe grinned, tucking a piece of your hair behind your ear, his hand resting on the side of your neck. "What was that for? Not that I'm complaining," he said. You shrugged, grabbing his hand and walking towards the car, "Just another thank you," you smiled, giggling when Rafe moved you in front of him while walking, pressing your back into his chest. You could feel his excitement pressing into the small of your back and your hand flew up to cover your mouth when you laughed again, happy to see what you're able to do to him with a simple kiss. He sneakily grabbed at your ass again, groaning at the way it jiggled when he let his hand drop. "Oh, yea?" He asked. His imagination carried himself away as his hand traced up your figure. "You wanna thank me again later, baby?" He joked, giving you one last searing kiss before unlocking the car and opening the passenger door for you. Topper and Kelce fell into the backseat, the former still chanting how this was gonna be the night of their lives. Rafe shut the door, walking to the drivers seat with a smirk on his face. Rafe laughed to himself, he didn't know where the night would take the group, but he knew it'd definitely be one he won't forget.

plastic plants

summary: Trying to help him change was like watering a plastic plant

word count: 4.6K

pairing: Rafe Cameron x Kook!reader

warnings: canon Rafe things, ANGST, toxic relationships, mentions/implied/ drug use, manipulation, infidelity

a/n: i debated on posting this but i’m proud of my characterization of a mostly canon (with a smidge of fanon) Rafe and i’ve had friends of mine encourage me to post it. I don’t condone any of the events that happen in this story and if any of the tagged warnings effect you please do not read it.

Y/N AND RAFE WERE YOUNG WHEN they started this relationship. 

Y/n was still on the edge of fifteen when Rafe kissed her for the first time. She could close her eyes and see it like it happened yesterday. 

Y/n had always been shy, Rafe, on the other hand, was not and he ended up dragging her to a party at one of his teammate’s houses. She tried not to but she clung to him like the heat on a summer’s day. And somehow halfway through the night, the teens started a cliche game of truth or dare. Kelce dared Rafe to kiss the hottest girl in the room. And he kissed her. 

Things hadn’t always been so complicated. They used to be better, kinder. Rafe was never so mean to her, she used to not be so naive. They used to talk about their differences instead of offering up a victory to the one who could scream the loudest. They used to genuinely love each other. 

She hadn’t noticed when her Rafe slipped away, the change had been so subtle she hadn’t even realized he was slipping through her fingers until it was too late. He hadn’t always been so cruel, had he? Her head was pounding, questions swirling around her mind as Rafe slept soundly on her. His face squished into her chest as snores leak from his mouth and settle in her shirt. She runs a finger down his nose and over his cheekbones. 

“When did things get so hard, huh?”

Keep reading

Outer Banks s02e01-s02e03: “Ward, There’s Something Wrong With Him, Okay? You’ve Been Ignoring It Since He Was Ten, But There Is Something Wrong With Rafe.”

hichasestokes: So much love 4 these people. Our official wrap on szn2

Bubble | OneShot

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x Reader

Summary: You and Rafe have alone time before life completely changes.

Warnings: OBX SEASON 2 SPOILERS, SMUT (not that hardcore tbh) dry humping, mentions of choking. lil bit of fluff. hot rafe.

this is my first oneshot ever so yea, enjoy lol

•

You were glad to be the first one awake, despite the blaring horn of the Coastal Venture and the morning rays of sunlight peeking it's way into the small room and into your tired eyes, a small smile made its way across your face. You flipped onto your side and bent your elbow, resting your head in the palm of your hand to admire the man next to you. The blonde had moved positions in his sleep, his arm that had started around your waist was now under his head, his right arm spread out beside him with his head facing you. He was shirtless, his tanned back exposed from the blanket being pushed past both of your waists. Your hand went to his back, your fingers tracing the length of his spine and the dip of his shoulder blades, softly tracing invisible doodles until you watched your boyfriends eyes flutter open.

Rafe groaned a bit at the sun getting in his face when he flipped onto his side to try and fall back asleep, your hand moving from his back to his bicep, squeezing the muscle softly to let him know you were awake too. He groaned again, moving his body closer to yours, trapping your arms against his chest and putting his chin on top of your head. You giggled, eyes not tired anymore as you pushed his chest. "Rafe," you sighed, "It's almost eleven." The digital clock on the tiny bedside table read 10:47am. They missed breakfast. His bottom lip puffed out and he opened his eyes again, this time bringing his hand up to wipe the sleep out of them. He focused on you after, sighing quietly as he let his eyes adjust to the light in the room.

You were smiling, your (Y/E/C) eyes shining from the midday sun. Rafe couldn't stop his smile from showing up on his face at the sight of yours. You felt warmth flow through you when he copied your features, it'd been a while since you had seen him be happy. Yesterday was rough. You didn't know the full extent of what happened, all of it had been a blur, and being with Rose and Wheezie amongst all the chaos throughout the whole thing, you didn't really have a lot of information. "G'mornin babe" he said, this time flipping onto his back. You shuffled onto your stomach, crossing your arms over his pecs to rest your head on them. Your right leg swinging to rest over his. "Hi," you mumbled, staring at him. He stared back, bringing his hand up to run it through your hair, from the crown of your head to the ends of it. He repeated the action a couple times before stopping his hand to rest at your neck, his thumb stroking the little purple mark he made a couple days ago. You brought your hand up to hold his wrist, "So, what's the plan today?"

Rafe shook his head, leaning his head back on the pillow, his eyes on the ceiling while he contemplated. He blindly intertwined his fingers with yours. "We're gonna watch a couple movies and sleep and fuck-" You laughed loudly at his boldness, removing yourself from him and off the bed before he could prove his statement. He lifted his head, frowning at the loss of contact. "What?" He sounded genuinely confused. "It doesn't have to be in that order, I'm down for whate-"

"Rafe, it's almost noon, and Rose said yesterday we'd be at the port around three or four," you told him, standing in the doorway of the bathroom that was thankfully apart of the room. His eyes ranked over your body, from the tight tank top that hugged your chest just right to the cute black cotton boyshorts that had a little bit of your butt hanging out, it was enough to make him stir in the bed. He wasn't listening to you, he vaguely caught that you both had to get ready and visit Ward, make sure Wheezie didn't forget anything on board from her exploring habits. He hummed along though, just enjoying the view of his girl. His girl. Damn, he liked that; never got tired of it. Throughout your rambling he had gotten up from the bed and made his way behind you, wrapping his arms across your chest and tucking his face into your neck, dancing tiny kisses across your skin. His nose nudging into your hair when he went to suck another hickey behind your ear. You let him, knowing no one would see it, and not really caring because it felt good. "And," you kept going, turning around in his grasp, the small of your back pushed into the counter. "The faster we do that, maybe we'll have enough time to do whatever you want."

He feigned sadness, blowing out a dramatic breath, "What? You don't want to reenact movie sex scenes with me?" Another laugh came out of you, making him chuckle too. He was joking, he knew there was a lot to do today. The gold and the cross had to be moved, and with his father on bed rest, he'd be the boss of the operation. You would be helping Rose move into their new home. It was all just a couple hours away and he just wanted to live in his little bubble with you for a little while longer. He shrugged, "Fine, I get it. Whatever, guess I'm not hot enough for your nee-" You scoffed at him and without any warning you wrapped your arms around his neck, tugged him down to your level and pressed your lips against his. He grunted in shock before taking back control and lifting you onto the counter, spreading your knees with his hips and pressing his body into yours. You tugged at his hair at the nape of his neck, knowing it got him riled up enough to kiss you harder like you wanted him to. You pulled back too soon for his liking, he chased your swollen lips until your head hit the mirror softly, and you let him get another kiss in before pushing him away. You smiled and patted your hands against his chest, "You, Rafe Cameron, are definitely hot enough for my needs." He smirked with pride, playfully leaning his head down to get another kiss. "Damn straight," he mumbled, not moving away and instead dragging his palms up your body to cup your boobs, tweaking his thumbs against your nipples before pulling your shirt down to let your breasts spill over the material. You moaned loudly into his mouth, arching your back into his hands and grabbing at the waistband of his boxers, all thoughts of responsibilities leaving your mind. You could only think of him and his big hands and broad shoulders. Rafe, Rafe, Rafe. He pulled away to catch his breath, a sexy chuckle leaving him at how easy it was for you to give him what he wanted without asking. Such a good girl for him. He dragged his mouth down the column of your throat and pushed your body closer to the edge of the sink so he could grind himself into your heat. "Fuck," you gasped, moving your hips with him. You don't know how he did it; he was always able to make you feel good no matter what he was doing, kissing, fucking, and now, dryhumping like two desperate teenagers. "Just like that, oh my god," you threw your head back again, this time hitting the mirror harder than before but you didn't care, the pleasure Rafe was giving you overpowering the feeling of anything else. "Yeah?" He moaned with you, lifting one of his hands to grab your neck, "look at me, baby." His pupils were blown out, a sheen of sweat collecting on his forehead while he watched you work yourself over his bulge. He loved the sight of you, a mess just because of him. Your breath labored because of what he was doing to you. The look on your face when he made you cum under him, not breaking eye contact. That is the hottest shit ever. He followed after you, the sound of you gasping his name like it was a prayer making him fall apart. He hummed, pulling away with a champions grin, loving how you shook in his hold.

You shook your head at him, arms falling over his shoulders as you jumped down from the counter. He steadied you, your legs still shaking like a baby deer learning to walk. "You always get what you want, huh?" You laughed breathily. Rafe nodded, pushing back his hair from his face and jerked his chin towards the shower, pinching your waist. "Always, now lets shower. You were the one saying we have to get ready." You rolled your eyes, "Oh, my bad, now you want to get ready," you said, stripping out of your clothes, the wet spot on your underwear making you blush. Rafe peeked his head out of the doorframe, looking at the time, oblivious to your sarcasm. "Mhm, it's 11:30am," he shut the door, locked it, and leaned against it as he watched you get in the shower with his bottom lip between his teeth. "What're you waiting for, Cameron?" You teased, running your fingers down past your belly button. He followed right behind you, your laughter echoing through the shower when he almost tripped getting out of his boxers. "Ready for round two?" He teased back, grabbing at you again. He didn't think he could ever resist you. A little while longer in his made up bubble couldn't hurt.

Credit:- @drewstarkey on Instagram

I would give anything just for a LICK a LICK

help (r.c)

request: hiiii! can i please request a rafe x reader where both the reader and rafe consider going to therapy (mostly for rafe’s own good) but the reader loves him too much that she’s willing to put time money energy and effort in their relationship. You can choose the ending, it can either help rafe get better mentally or can completely be a waste!! I’ll leave it up to you! Thank you so much! I’m so excitedddd

masterlist.

warnings: angst!!!!!, therapy, mental health, substance abuse

you had this empty feeling in your chest. you could see the dying look in his eyes and the slight bags under his eyes. rafe looked burnt out, definitely more than usual. 

when you two got together you figured it was his partying habits and the clear pressure he got from himself and everyone as his father was ward cameron. but his stature was just as telling that it was something more. his pride, ego, and reputation were always on the line. 

“can you let me in?” you asked him softly, taking his limp hands into yours. he sat on the floor with his back to his bed, using the bed as a shield from the door. “i just want to know what’s going on up there…”

you saw his jaw clench and he squeezed his eyes shut, whether that was his way of keeping things in or pushing their way to get out it was straining on him. you sat on your knees and took his head in your arms so it would lay on your chest. you cradled him, hoping this would help control his breathing and his thought proccess. 

“rafe…my love. you have a lot going on within you and it isn’t fair to yourself to have to go through this battle alone. maybe you could talk to someone? we could talk to someone. i’ll be with you every step of the way or let you do this on your own. whatever you want. it just pains me to see you struggle and i can’t imagine how extremely tolling this is on you and your relationships with others.”

“with others?” he finally muttered out in a harsh tone that seemed more offended rather than defensive. you pulled away from him and tilted your head slightly, staring softly into his eyes.

“i just mean that, things used to be different. you aren’t at fault but wouldn’t it be nice to have just a fun and chill night with the guys again? or do something with wheeze? she’s young and i can tell shes concerned for you, whether she’ll say it or not. you’re her older brother.” you explained, rubbing your thumb back and forth on his hand.

you could see his eyes darting back and forth along the molding on his wall, his thought proccess obviously taking control. you took a slight breath, patience was what he needed at this time. you bit the inside of your lip, i want to be able to do more for him. 

“i know it’s a hard conclusion to come to, but i’ll be with you the entire time. money and time is not a problem.” you spoke softly and quietly. overstimulating with a loud and aggressive tone in this moment was not a good idea. you felt that you were on a good roll with his emotions controlled right now rather than him lashing out. 

you glanced back at his eyes and saw that they were darted into one spot on the ground, no longer taking this course along his wall. 

“so what (y/n)…you’re saying i’m the problem?” he basically spat back. you felt your heart sink as you knew this was not going to end well and this conversation was taken of it’s course. 

“not at all, rafe. my main priority is you and your happiness.” you responded, soflty. your hands made their way to cup his cheeks and crane his head to look at you. you glanced at his left eye, down to his lips, and back up to his right one in hopes of calming him down. “i love you.”

you could see his eyelids become less strained and go back to a natural state. “i love you too.’ you pulled him in for a kiss, letting your hands go to the back of his head and run through the tufts of his hair at the base of his neck. 

you both pulled away simultaneously and you helped him off the ground. he stood tall, regaining that tough guy stature which made your heart flutter. you went on the tips of your toes and placed a kiss on his cheek. 

“how about you head home, get dolled up, and i’ll pick you up for some ice cream in town?” rafe asked, running his hands through his hair and fixing up his appearence in the mirror. a smile made it’s way onto your face and you nodded.

“oh a date? say less.” you answered and giggled, heat creeping to your cheeks. you planted one more kiss on his lips before grabbing your things and heading home.

———-

you sat on the edge of your bed in a nice sundress and sandals, texting rafe.

ready whenever!! 8:06

did you leave yet? 8:30

hello?? did you forget the plans that you made??? call me 8:48

after countless more calls, you decided to take action and grab your keys to head to his house. he couldn’t just bail on plans that he made less than three hours ago. it’s not like he forgot. 

you felt the familiar bumps in his driveway as you pulled up behind his car parked in front of his front door. you also spotted up ahead another car. no fucking way topper and kelce are here right now. you glanced down at your phone and saw it read 9:17. hopping out of your car, you could basically feel the bass of music under your feet.

your eyes, with the help of your ears, came to the conclusion the music was coming from the druthers out on the water and you saw countless heads and lights. you felt your jaw clench as you marched your way over to the dock to take that timely walk down to the boat. inviting yourself onto the boat, you had to excuse yourself past some other kooks as you caught toppers eyes.

his eyes spoke for themselves. disappointment but also guilt. you slightly shook your head out of annoyance and even found your heart rate speed up a little more than it was. 

you opened a door that lead you to inside and was oddly not shocked at the sight you saw in front of yourself. that head of golden hair that you loved so much was face first into the table with a rolled up twenty between his finger tips, sliding across the table. kelce saw you immediately and hit rafe on the chest with the back of his hand.

you weren’t sure if the lump in your throat was anger or hurt. you were allowed to feel both so you just went with that. rafe wiped the tip of his nose as his eyes saw yours. 

those blue eyes that you loved waking up to some mornings were being taken over by his extremely dialated pupils from the coke and glossed over from the liquor. kelce and the other girl clearly felt uncomfortable and made their way out to the back deck as quick as possible. 

rafe let out a chuckle that seemed mixed with a scoff as a smirk rolled across his face. “you can’t help me. so lose the idea sweetheart.” 

you redirected your gaze to literally anywhere else on the boat right now as the sight of him hurt too much. that empty feeling in your chest came back from earlier along with the dying look in his eyes. tears burned your eyes, brushing them as quick as they came. 

you wiped the remaining coke off the table in front of him, ignoring his surprised outburts and made a b-line to the door. you didn’t even look back at him.

“call me when you’re sober. i can’t do this right now.” your spoke through gritted teeth, mainly to hold back anything you’d regret saying or simply just sobbing on the spot.

“with me every step of the way…huh?” rafe called out to you in spite, clearly high and drunk out of his mind. you told yourself you wouldn’t get through to him when he was in this state so you hopped back on the dock and headed back to your car. 

you loved him endlessly and as painful as it was, you had to keep walking. 

sorry for the ending, i knew it was going to have to be pretty angsty!!! hope u enjoyed!! xxx :) 

Feelings / Spock Imagine

Request: Hi, uhm can I request a headcanon with spock (star trek), and he is dancing with the reader (maybe they are confessing their feelings for each other) just if you want to write it 🙈😊

I’m sorry darling I know it’s not TOS Spock but I just had to use this gif!! @jackys-stuff-blog​ 😂 <3

(The song lyrics used are Wichita Lineman by Glen Campbell, one of my fave songs!)

If you enjoy, please comment, reblog and request!

As we probably all know, Spock isn’t the first person on the Enterprise you’d go to if you wanted to slow dance.

(Bones can throw some moves, that’s all I’m saying.)

But one night, after a particularly gruelling mission of dealing with Darvin and the Tribbles, poor McCoy had managed to drag Jim by the collar down for his ‘annual’ physical examination in the Sickbay. That left just you, Spock and a myriad of vast, glittering stars whispering to your heart through the glass of the Briefing Room.

Those little pearl pockets seem endless and unimaginable against the dark velvet of the Universe, and it takes you a moment to realise that Spock hasn’t retreated back to his quarters yet as well. Instead, he was still sitting at his desk, a slightly confused twitch at his eyebrows as he cocked his head and listened to the strange, old Earth music Jim had left blasting over the ship’s speakers. 

(Although later he would find out that it was Bones who had chosen the music to try and set the mood.)

‘I hear you singing in the wire…’

(To be completely honest, Jim and Bones had been planning getting the two of you alone for quite a long time).

They had spent the last few months sending each other sly looks, and a few smiles and gentle nudges. They had noticed the way Spock would observe you over his tray in the Mess Hall, eyes never leaving your frame as grasped every chance, every second he could committing you to his memory.

He was trying to figure out why his ears burnt, why the pit of his stomach felt as if it had been hit by blaster fire every time he saw you even in the periphery of his vision. 

For the first time since he was a child, he was scared to admit to himself that you were making him feel. It was illogical, overpowering, and still he found he didn’t want the feeling in his chest to go away.

After that, Jim would have to stop himself from smirking and giggling by the way Spock would always briskly walk over to you to check you over after a mission. He would annoy Bones to no end, bumping him out of the way with his shoulder so he could examine you instead.

Or, Sulu would keep tabs and report back on the amount of times he had seen Spock wandering down the corridors to your quarters at the end of the day, knocking on your door and waiting outside like a statue until your head poked around the hinges.

Sulu would start laughing as Spock stays silent for a second, realising there was no logical reason for him being there - he would start rambling off about how well you had done on the Diplomatic Mission that day, before turning quickly on his heels and walking off, leaving you slightly bemused by his actions.

It turns out, he just wanted to spend as much time as possible in your company.

And thus, Jim had finally convinced Bones to try and play match maker.

For a while Spock just sat there, pretending to be deep in thought, but you could see the way his eyes would flick over to you whenever he thought you weren’t looking.

And so, you took a chance and held out your hand to him.

He had seen the way Scotty and Uhura used to laugh, spinning around hand in hand during time spent on shore leave, and had been intrigued. He had always wanted first hand experience, to try and understand this human ritual. 

So your breath hitched, heart nearly leaping out of your throat when you felt his fingers reach up and grip around your own.

‘That’s it Spock. Just move from side to side, just like that.’

He’s surprisingly firm, stiff and poised as if he had been practicing the way in which a dancer holds himself. Yet he’s nimble, feet light as they sometimes awkwardly bump against your own, pushing you closer against his frame as he begins to move the two of you across the square of floor available. 

‘And I need you more than want you, And I want you for all time’.

You sigh wistfully, losing yourself in the song. In the way Spock’s hand clenches slightly against your back, as if he’s restraining himself from running his fingers over the dip of your spine. Of the way you can feel his warm breath against your cheek, not daring to believe that he had somehow just pulled you tighter against him.

After a moment of growing accustomed to the way his blue uniform shirt scratches against your own, you suddenly narrow your eyes in confusion at the way the tips of his ears had turned a bright shade of green.

That’s when you realise how tightly your hands had been clasped together, palm to palm.

And yet neither of you went to pull away.

He’s a little bit stiff in the hip area, but you drop the hand that had found its way to gingerly rest on his shoulder to instead stroke over his waist.

You have to stifle a laugh at the way his eyebrow hitches up at the touch.

You can feel his chin knock against your forehead as you sigh, deciding to take a leap and press your cheek against the cool material of his shirt. You nestle your side into the curve of his neck, shoulder firm and surprisingly warm against your skin.

His slender fingers dig into the muscle of your back, as if almost in surprise. Yet he finds it’s not an unwelcome one, as you feel his bangs brush against your head, tilting down to gaze at you with a surprised, but steady gaze.

‘I always knew you would be this comfortable’, you murmur against him, trying to duck further into him to hide the blush that warms your face.

He straightens back up at your words, his mind whirring in overdrive as his fingers dance over your own, whirling you out and back into his arms.

For a moment, the two of you are just standing in each other’s arms, the music muffling into the background as you look at each other.

Just two people, so madly in love.

The tension was palpable, your breath hitching as his feet drew to a stop. He seemed to be observing you, drinking in every aspect of your face, your smile, the way you held yourself, until he took a step towards you again.

‘I always knew you would be so beautiful up close. It is only logical, considering the parameters of your-’

You break off his rambling by reaching up towards him, and fervently pressing your lips against his own. You giggle at the way his eyes widen, afraid for a moment you had overstepped, until you notice the way his eyes fall shut and he leans into your touch without even registering it.

When you finally pull away, he gently presses his pointer and middle fingers against your own, letting his forehead fall against your own.

‘I really like you, Spock.’

You could feel the way he drew forward again, lips soft and supple against your own as he whispered back, ‘I too, am experiencing feelings of fondness towards you, Y/n.’

As much as you love Jim like a brother, you already make a mental note to get him back tomorrow, as you hear him and Chekov squealing from where they’re hiding in the elevator shaft.

When Spock walks you back to your quarters for the night, you bump into a very disgruntled and tired looking Bones, who grumbles about how the hobgoblin is going to get 100% more annoying now that he’s in love.

person: hey you ok?

me, dissociating: