Omg I Have A Stomach Ache For Gigi Not People Saying He Cheated On Her With Sydney

omg i have a stomach ache for gigi not people saying he cheated on her with sydney 👀

okay who else has seen the video of glen and sydney

imagine seeing rumours of yourself getting cheated on and everybody is cheering them on saying hollywood is back😭

okay who else has seen the video of glen and sydney

stop this line stole my heart soul and body, grumpy rafe turning soft is everything to me actually 🥺

favoritism - rafe cameron

request: reader is playing golf with rafe, topper and kelce. topper suggests what they should do next, to which rafe responds in a snarky way, but when reader suggests the same thing, he thinks it is a great idea and wants to do it right away.

pairing: rafe cameron x fem!reader

warning: mention of food

it was supposed to be a boys' hangout only, like very other sunday. rafe had been planning to go golfing with topper and kelce for a few days now and he insisted that you came with him.

"it will be fun, baby." he persuaded you, passing his calloused fingers on your bare legs.

and that was the reason why you were sitting on the white sofa sipping on your drink, all dolled up just how rafe liked it.

you gave up on playing with the guys after a few failed attempts, even though rafe insisted that it was normal to miss a few hits on the first try.

you were fine with it, you liked sitting there and gaze not so discreetly at rafe swinging his golf club.

when rafe turned around he caught you soundly asleep, face deep in his sweater, that he previously wrapped around your trembling shoulders.

"can we get something to eat, i'm fucking starving." topper complained, to which rafe rolled his eyes.

"shut your loud ass mouth." he gave him a pointed glare before walking towards you.

"hey, baby." his irritated tone was replaced with a much softer one "wake up, we gotta go."

you blinked your eyes open when you heard rafe's deep voice and wrapped your arms around his neck, wanting to be carried.

when you felt his arms lifting you up gently, you let out a satisfied hum.

"you're disgusting." kelce said but you could see it in his eyes that he didn't mean one word, unlike topper that didn't even try to hide his repugnance, earning a light punch from rafe.

"what do you want to eat, sweetheart?" rafe murmured against your temple, his firm arms making sure you didn't fall.

"i'm craving pizza from ben's." topper replied instead, massaging his stomach.

"screw you and your disgusting pizza from ben." rafe retorted, not sparing him a single look.

you glanced up and gave him a sheepish smile, one that didn't go unnoticed by rafe.

"what's the matter, sweet girl?" he raised an eyebrow and prompted you to speak up.

"uhm," you started, trying to find the right words "i was also thinking that we should get some pizza. maybe, if you want." you quickly added.

and who was rafe to deny his best girl what she wanted.

"i think that's an amazing idea, baby. let's get some pizza and feed your tummy." he said, leaning in to give you a sweet kiss.

"what the fuck," topper complained, completely astonished "i proposed it first!"

rafe walked away, pretending not to hear his best friend's protests.

"can we get ice cream later?" you fiddled with rafe's shirt, giving him pleading eyes to which he had never said no.

"of course, sweetheart. whatever my baby wants." he said in response, while he helped you buckle your seatbelt.

"what?" you heard topper's loud screech from outside the car "you have never gotten me ice cream! we've known each other for our whole life."

before topper could keep rumbling on how unfair it was, rafe pressed the engine and drove away, unconcerned about his friends yelling his name.

"so baby," he placed one hand on your knee, eyes fixed on the road "what pizza do you want to eat?"

SHE IS JUST LIKE ME BECAUSE I WOULD ALSO TAUNT RAFE CAMERON INTO FUCKING ME

friends, families and an enemy (rafe cameron x reader)

parts 1 2

content: nsfw 18+, fem reader, drug + alcohol use, a lot of sexual references, degradation, slut-shaming, plenty of arguing

word count: 4.4k

summary: Everyone's asking how you got the extra drugs from Rafe, but you're asking why.

If you couldn’t feel Rafe’s biceps through his polo, you might consider leaving his grip. He’s got you held tight between his arm and chest, truly delusional in his thoughts that your sweaty slapping of limbs against each other left you with anything beyond regret.

He knocks on his sister’s door. “Sarah?”

You pray she’s out. Extending your play with a higher power a touch further, you hope that Tannyhill is completely empty. If no one ever knew what you’d just done—if Rafe defied all odds and kept his mouth shut—you’d still be grappling with the past hour for a while to come. Adding more voices into the mix only served to spin your head about.

Rafe’s voice lowers. “Where the fuck is she?”

He barely pauses before pounding on her door. Fuck, you hope those prayers hold some weight.

“Sarah?” His loud call held no concern for your ears.

“Fuck this.” Rafe pushes the door open, and the room is empty as you should have predicted.

Rafe barges forward, leaving you behind at the start of his rampage. He flings drawers open, with no regard for privacy or personal space.

“If I was a makeup bag, where would I be?”

Musing to himself, he makes his way over to the bedside table. He shoots you an irritated look as he passes you. You’re standing still, trying to stay out of Rafe’s way (and after all this, his life).

“Are you going to help?” It clearly wasn’t the right move.

“I’m not going through Sarah’s shit.”

“You’re so fucking precious, my god. You piss me right the fuck off.” It was good to know there were parts of your partnership that he wasn’t looking at changing. “I’m doing this for you. Besides, she’s my sister. She shouldn’t have shit if she doesn’t want me to see it.”

You point in the direction of his bedroom. “Does that rule apply to all your fucking coke in there? Can I call Sarah over, invite her to go through it?”

Rafe sneers. “Her and those fucking Pogues probably already have. If that Maybank fuck doesn’t have them on meth or some shit.”

His scavenging stops in its tracks, and Rafe slowly turns to you, still crouching in front of the drawers. “Y/N?”

You hum.

“Do you always try and piss people off who are doing you a favour? I know I called you pretty, but you are not hot enough to justify this attitude.”

“I care a little about ethics. I know it’s foreign to you.”

“Ethics?” He throws his head back, and you’re suddenly transported back to sophomore year and Rafe’s masculinity won’t let you criticise the concept of war. “You are so fucking delusional. You just fucked me for some drugs. Where’s the morality there?”

He’s so close to getting it, but you don’t think spelling out coercion will do you any good.

“Can you just grab me that concealer? I don’t want this to be a whole thing.”

Rafe takes a deep breath. “You don’t want it to be a thing?” He closes the drawer, standing up to loom over you. “I don’t want it to be a thing either. I want you to wear that mark, loud and fucking proud, letting everyone know what I did to you.”

The door swings open, and you and Rafe both twist your heads. “What the fuck are you doing in my room?”

It takes Sarah a moment to see you. “Y/N?”

It’s somewhere between a greeting and a question. You awkwardly drag out your “hi.”

“What are you guys doing in here? Are you up to something?” You don't think she’d be so playful if it was Rafe alone.

“I wanted to see if I could borrow some makeup—I would’ve asked but I didn’t think you were home and Rafe just—“

“She needs some concealer.” Rafe’s dead eyes are complimented by a subtle smirk.

“Oh, sure! It’s in there, behind you. Wait, let me grab it for you.”

It takes Rafe a moment to move out of his sister’s way, giving her just enough time to notice the tight proximity between you and her brother.

She hands the palette over with a smile. “There you are.”

You meet her with an appreciative look. “I’ll just…”

You don’t know where to go in the Cameron’s house, only being familiar with outside and Rafe’s room. You could stay, rely on Sarah’s presence to pacify Rafe (hopefully he'd at least drop the sex angle), but you didn’t want to take advantage of her kindness—or force her to deal with the shit you were.

“Where’s your bathroom?”

“There’s one just down the hall.”

Rafe chimes in, finishing Sarah’s sentence. “C’mon, I’ll show you.”

His arm snakes around your shoulders, and he walks you out as you promise to only be a second.

—

The colour you chose in the palette didn’t look right against your skin. You blamed Rafe. You’d asked him for his opinion, needing one thing from him. All you got was, “I don’t know this kind of shit. You pick. Or go ask Sarah—“

He knew you weren’t asking Sarah.

“Are you really going to cover it up? Pretend this never happened?”

You’re focused on the task at hand. “Yeah.”

“Ash knows.”

“Ash doesn’t know shit.” Your venom is more his style. “All that happened is she called you.”

“And all I talked about was you. That isn’t weird to you?”

You rub the makeup into your neck. It’s worse for the end result, but you’re in dire need of an emotional outlet. “I don’t know. Maybe you’ve been in love with me this whole time or something.”

Rafe snorts. “You’re cute when you project, princess.”

—

“Who are you going with tonight?”

You’re not in the mood for conversation as you walk through Tannyhill’s hallways.

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know? Yes, you fucking do.” His head jerks towards you. “Don’t start with me now.”

You sigh. You weren’t even sure if you were going now. Participating in Rafe’s mental exercises had worn you out like nothing else.

“It’s none of your business.”

“I’m just trying to keep you safe, princess.”

The door is in sight and the sheer relief might give you the orgasm Rafe didn't.

Easy chatter bleeds into the hallway, and Rafe’s head turns towards a nearby arch. “Wait. Give me a second.”

He tightly squeezes your wrist before half-turning into the dining room. You hear a few pleasant greetings, and you’re about to book it to the front door.

Until Rafe takes advantage of the loose hold he has on your wrist, pulling you into the dining room.

Rose waves, and Ward’s eyes widen. “Y/N, hi! It’s nice to see you. How are you going? How’s the family?”

The more you spoke, the less time there was to obsessively fixate on appropriate body language. “I’m—I’m doing good.” You were doing good until about twenty minutes ago when your stepson used me for my body and nothing else. “They’re doing really good. Um, I saw you got that property up Corolla way. Mum told me there was a real bidding war.”

Ward sighs. “Do not get Rose started on that. She’ll take you through a minute by minute play.”

Rose takes a sip from her rosé. If you chose that instead of whatever vodka you’d likely opt for tonight, maybe you could drink yourself to feeling better. Or wine could leave you convinced that you still had class, and your poorly considered relations with Rafe didn't impede on your Kook reputation.

“Oh, you should have seen it. It’s a hell of a house, got tons of history behind it.”

You’d ask for more information—anything to edge Rafe out of the conversation—but Ward’s playful insistence you not delve into it seemed to have some truth behind it and he takes the topic elsewhere. “What are you two up to?”

Your mind tries to brainstorm a logical answer. The truth of the drug deal was obviously out of the question. Removing that turned this afternoon into nothing but a hook up, which made you sick. You’d rather lie blatantly and extremely, telling them you were doing crack with Rafe or something. You could say you left a jacket at a party and were going to pick it up—if you had enough clothing on that suggesting you arrived with less wasn’t highly controversial, if not illegal.

“I was just walking Y/N out.”

“Yeah, I forgot a necklace so I just came by to pick it up.” Oh god, would they think you left it here after hanging out with Rafe for no reason other than to… hang out with Rafe? “I left it at a party and he grabbed it for me.”

“Oh, aren’t you a gentleman,” Rose comments.

“You could say that,” Rafe replies and you eye him in annoyance.

“Did you want to sit down, have some lunch with us?”

Ward’s trying to be nice, but you needed him to do anything else right now. Rafe sits his hand between your shoulder blades. “Yeah, come sit down, have lunch with the family.”

He knows exactly what he’s implying, hinting that this was the first step on your relationship itinerary.

“Thank you, but I better not. I’ve got some stuff to do, so I really better get going.” It takes everything you’ve got to stop you from gritting your teeth.

“Friday afternoon? You should relax, take a break.” She didn't have bad intentions, but Rose had clued into the drama and was feeling her way to a conclusion.

“Got to get ready for tonight, don’t you?” Rafe twirls a strand of your hair, and you want to hit him away.

“A party,” you explain any assumptions away, “I’ve got a party tonight.”

Rose raises her glass. “You want to get an early start?”

Ward laughs. “Don’t be a bad influence.”

“I’ll get going. Rafe’s right, I better start getting ready.”

You go to leave the room, but Ward calls out. “Are you going to this party too, Rafe?”

“Yeah?”

“You do remember I was taking you to the mainland tomorrow, right?”

Rafe draws his eyebrows together, relaxing them before he spins around.

“I’ve got a deal to make, you wanted me to show you the ropes.”

“Yeah, the mainland. No, no, I remember.”

“And you’re going out?”

His jaw tenses. “Yeah, Dad. I’m going out. Look, I’ll be back tomorrow morning.”

“Tomorrow morning? Jesus. You can’t be serious.”

“Ward,” Rose warns.

Rafe and Ward are both eerily still, waiting for the other to pounce.

“Okay. But if you’re not here tomorrow morning—“

“You don’t have to worry about that.”

The tension in the room barely fades away.

Rafe asks the question, but only says it so Rose and Ward hear. “You’ll stay next time, yeah?”

There’s only one answer you’re allowed to give. “Yeah. Of course I will.”

—

Snort. Swallow. Sniff. Wipe tears from your eyes. Cough and smile. Wait for the others to laugh.

It was all so fucking boring. You didn’t get how they went hours doing this shit. You made the decision to stay sober tonight. You knew exactly why, but you weren’t going to dwell on it. Instead you were going to vacate your mind, moping on the corner of the sofa about nothing.

“Are you sure you don’t want any?” Ash asks.

You shake your head. “No. I’m good.”

Henry pipes up. “How’d you bag these extras anyway?”

“On account of my kindness and good attitude.”

Everyone laughs, and you’re not sure whether to be offended. “I’m not trying to be rude, but you and Rafe can’t stand each other.”

“I’d think you were a dick if you suggested any different.”

Ash clues into the passion behind your voice. You’re not in tears or anything, and you’re not having a good time anyway, so what’s the harm in asking?

“What did you actually do?”

“Picked up the drugs from Rafe. Like you asked.”

“Yeah, but,” she second-guessed whether to spill her intel, but your circle was all close enough, “what was that phone call about?”

“He’s just playing mind games with you. Lying. We all know Rafe. Are you really going to start trusting the shit he says now?”

You don’t want to hear anymore. “He owes me more. If I go get it, can we not mention his name again tonight?”

Ash grins. “Whose name?”

—

Rafe’s sitting with his usual posse, smugly grinning as he takes cash from the occasional partygoer.

“Rafe,” you greet, “Topper, Kelce.”

Rafe’s engaged in conversation with a “highly valued customer”, so you exchange pleasantries with the other two. You laugh about an earlier scene you saw with Kelce: a fellow Kook overestimating her pre-game abilities and coming to regret it no more than an hour into the party.

Rafe finally gives you something besides a side-eye and a smirk. “How can I help you?”

“Can I cash in my cheque?”

Rafe sighs. “I don’t know. I’m actually like, super comfortable here—“

“Where do you have your shit? I’ll go grab it, get out of your way.”

“That’s the last thing I want, princess.”

He lifts himself up, resting his hand against the small of your back. “I’ll get you what you need.”

—

Rafe closes a spare bedroom’s door behind him. “Drugs aren’t helping your attitude?”

“Seeing you cancelled out their effects.” You’d rather him think you were going absolutely wild than sitting around, too angry at yourself to have a good time. If Rafe knew he had any impact on you, if it came out that he was affecting you so deeply you were wasting a perfectly good night…

“That’s a shame. Seeing you, thinking about earlier, that’s helping my high plenty.”

He kicks under the bed. “It’s down there. You can grab it.”

You frown. “I’m not doing that. I’m the customer, you need to give me a good experience.”

“I gave you a hell of a fucking experience.”

You dryly laugh. “I said good.”

“I’m doing you a favour. You’re not a customer, Ash is my customer. You’re my charity work. I’m satisfying you for the greater good of humanity.”

“The last thing you’re doing is satisfying me.”

“See? I can’t stand this. You stand there, all high and mighty, like you weren’t moaning for my cock a couple hours ago. But you’re droning on and on about this satisfying shit.” He walks closer to you. “If you really didn’t want me, you wouldn’t come up for the drugs.”

He inspects your face, throwing his head back with a brief grimace. “You wouldn’t come up here sober for the drugs, I’ll tell you that much. And all alone. What, are you hoping something will happen so you can't blame yourself for what the big bad Rafe does to you? You're here, begging me for an orgasm. You think I don’t see it, think I don’t see how badly you need that release? Going on and on about this 'satisfying' bullshit. You’re so spoiled, thinking you can get whatever you want.”

“I don’t need a fucking orgasm.”

“I beg to differ.” His hands reach for your shoulders, and you hit them away. “You’re all tense. It’s a multi-step process, remember? Be real stupid to back out now.”

You take a step closer. “You’re going to give me the drugs you promised me, and I’m going to leave.”

Rafe eyes you over. He’s thinking, and this is all transpiring less pornographically than it did in Tannyhill, where everything worked in his favour.

A knock on the door stops the cogs in his brain. “Rafe? You in there?”

“Yeah, man.”

The door handle shakes, and you’d unlock it if Rafe’s eyes weren’t piercing into you.

“Let me in. I need to cop.”

“Alright, man. One second. I’m finishing up with something.”

Your face scrunches up. “Something?”

“Relax. If you don’t want this to be a thing, you can be something instead of someone whose back I just blew out.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

“Listen, princess,” he walks backwards, crouching next to the bed, “we can stop pretending like you won’t be back. You almost came for me once, you know I can make you feel real fucking good. And when that happens, you can be someone again.”

He passes you the baggie, and you’re grateful you got out of this without any real bullshit attached. “Hey, make sure you take some this time. Don’t want everyone taking advantage of your kindness, remember?”

You huff and leave the room, refusing to make eye contact with the partygoer at the door.

—

The rhythm of everyone ingesting was giving you a headache. In a weird way, you kind of liked it. If your head was full of banging, there was no room for thinking.

“Are you really not gonna have any? I feel bad.”

“No, it’s fine. Seriously. I had a shit day—“ You cursed yourself for giving any intel, however brief. “I feel awful. I don’t want to mix drugs with it.”

“That’s their whole point,” Jasper adds.

Ash snorts, hitting him on the shoulder. “For you, maybe.”

“So we shouldn’t send you to Cameron’s again?”

“What’d you say about Cameron?”

Kelce had walked over, and you’d forgotten about the fresh more-than-situationship-not-quite-relationship he was in with one of your friends.

“Nothing,” you answer. You could sense that the rest of his crew weren't far off.

“Y/N’s acting like she went through the seven circles of hell to get some free drugs off Rafe.”

You shoot Jasper a vicious stare. “There’s nine.”

“That’s a little dramatic, don’t you think?” Your internal countdown stopped. You felt like your heart was setting off its own kind of car alarm. “Maybe seven circles of heaven.”

Some of the guys snort. “Aren’t you gonna say hello?”

You refuse to turn around. “Why the fuck would I say hello?”

“If she won’t for us, I’d like to thank you for tonight’s supply, Rafe.”

“Don’t mention it. All Y/N. She’s a great friend, you know? I’d say you guys should start repaying her for all this. Here, princess, I’ve got a start.”

He leans over you, passing a can of Smirnoff into your hands. “I don’t want it.”

Rafe climbs over the couch, squeezing into the space next to you. “Jesus, lighten up. I’m not that bad.”

His thigh presses against yours, skin coated in a thin layer of sweat. He was seasoned, but still not invincible to his product's side effects. It sends you straight into flashbacks of Rafe’s legs slapping into you as you were on all fours, your bodies melting into one.

“If you want something else, I’ll send Top to get you some.” Rafe earns an annoyed look from Topper on the assumption he’d do his bidding. “They have some seltzer shit, White Claws if you’re really a pussy. They have shots out too.”

If you didn’t give him anything, maybe he’d go away.

“Fine then. I’m not letting you waste a perfectly good drink.” He reaches onto the coffee table, grabbing his gifted can from you.

—

The inclusion of Kook royalty didn’t make the circle’s conversations anymore bearable. You either needed new friends, or to only leave your house if you were comfortable with fast approaching a state of inebriation.

Rafe circles his hand around your back. It’s better to not react. You don’t want to give Rafe anything, and you don’t want it to look like anything happened between you two.

He laughs at a stupid joke, then briefly turns his head to you. “Are you determined to be a bitch?”

You huff, and decide the night’s soon drawing to a close.

Rafe directs his query to the group. “Has Y/N really not had anything?”

“Nah, man,” Henry answers, “she’s being a good girl.”

Rafe laughs. “I bet she is. Go on, loosen up. I mean, you bagged all this extra shit for everyone. Least you can do is partake.”

“Look, I’m really not in the mood.”

You’re met with two choruses: one asking if you were really sure, and another labelling you boring for opting out of the night’s activities.

You feel the need to defend yourself—an intense desire that’s haunted you for hours. “I’m just a little sick, guys.”

“Yeah, you look flushed.” Rafe rests his hand against your forehead, and you lean away from the touch.

You weren’t gonna let Rafe take everything from you, no matter how hard he tried. There was a single option that wouldn’t lower your resolve.

“Does anyone have a cigarette?” You can’t cope with no aid anymore.

You’d been so out of it in your self-pity, that you hadn’t noticed the host joining the circle. “Don’t smoke that shit in my house.”

You sense some dissonance as you watch lines being taken off the coffee table.

A girl you kind of knew passed you one. “Any chance I can borrow your lighter?”

Rafe looks towards her. “Don't worry. I’ve got one.”

Fuck. You saw it earlier, in his drawers. This was a punishment from God for going back on your prayer.

“You look really flushed, princess.” He has the courtesy to lower his voice, if only a little.

He turns around. “What do you think, Ash?”

“Yeah, you don’t look too hot. Did you want me to take you to the bathroom?”

“No, I've got her. It's all good.” Rafe stands up. “Here, I’ll take you outside.”

All eyes are on you, and the easiest thing to do is oblige.

—

At least the party hasn’t overtaken outside.

Rafe doesn’t miss the cooler sitting at the door, its position poorly optimised for crowd control. “Are you sure you don’t want one?”

You lean against the wall. “I told you. I feel sick.”

“Don’t bullshit me, princess. I know you better than them.”

“That isn't true.”

“I know your cunt better than them.”

“And that’s all I am to you?”

“Don’t start. Here you are, acting like you want nothing to do with me, then you’re throwing a pity party because I’m not treating you like you want. What do you want, the boyfriend experience?”

Rafe places his can on the pavement and fishes a lighter out of his pocket. He rips the cigarette from your fingers, placing it between your lips. You snarl. “Fuck, you’re useless.”

His hands hold your hair back, and you don’t fight it. “You need me to tell you to inhale too?”

“No.”

Rafe stares at you, silent for a moment before returning with his typical ferocity. “Can you make up your fucking mind?”

“About what?”

“You’re acting like nothing happened.” He reaches for your neck and your life flashes before your eyes for a second—but he only wipes the concealer off. “But you’re still coming up to me, pouting when you think I’m being mean.”

“Nothing happened. I mean, nothing notable.”

“If you're still cut about that fucking orgasm—look, I had shit to do, okay? And it’s not like you deserved one, let’s be real fucking honest. You’ve been a bitch for years and I don’t see you letting up.”

You laugh. “What, lost faith in your 'multi-step process'? Your dick not solving problems like you promised?”

“If you’d stop being such a bitch, we could keep working on it.”

“You know what I think it is, Rafe?” You spin so you’re in front of him, and let your half-smoked cigarette drop onto the pavement. “I don’t think you can make me cum. I think it’s that simple. You talk yourself up like some big thing, and pussy out when it comes down to it.”

“You’re used to that, aren’t you? Fucking guys who can't give you pleasure. I know you’ve hooked up with half the guys in there.” He nods towards the door. “Weren't you with Jasper?” Your lack of response is one in itself. “But it never lasts.”

Both of you can feel the other’s hot breath. “I’ll tell you something, princess. I had you screaming from my cock, without an orgasm. You’re not used to getting dick like mine, so you think you have the right to act the way you do. Maybe with those fucks you do. But I can make an allowance to teach you something, keep going with my charity work. Get you apologising underneath me, screaming out “sorry” with my tongue on your cunt.”

Rafe points to a series of lounge chairs. “I’m going to do whatever I want to you in that chair—“

“Oh my god, see? Even my orgasm, it’s all about you! I know you can’t make me fucking cum, and you’ve got no reason to make me other than to feed your macho ego. You want to what, make me fall apart there, just so your friends see what you can do to a bitch?”

“If anyone walks out, we can act like you’re sick. I’ll play the boyfriend-girlfriend game, act like I’m just helping you and you’re really out of it.”

You feel like you’ve been really out of it all day. “You got a fetish for girls who are out of it? Is that why you got into this business? Didn’t need to, with daddy’s money behind you and all—“

Rafe grabs your wrist. “You’ve got a thing for guys you hate? You could’ve spent the afternoon in your nice mansion, painting your nails with all your friends, but you fucked me for drugs you aren’t even taking.”

You’re exactly where you were this afternoon and you realise it wasn’t the drugs that would have betrayed you. It was your own fucking mind.

You can’t take him treating you like an object to push around, and your hand presses against his cock. “Maybe I do. As long as you have a thing for girls you can’t stand.”

“Of course I can stand you, princess. There has to be something there for me to hate.”

"So I'm nothing to you? That's fucking rich. What are you, someone else's money?"

"You're a perfect set of Kook holes."

It’s you who reaches for his throat. “Get that chair away from the fucking window.”

Rafe smiles. “Convince me.”

queen of angst how do you make me feel every single emotion on the spectrum with one fic,the last scene totally did not make me clutch my heart how dare you write such a good piece of work while im supposed to be sleeping (i love you for it tho)

ri you will never fail to amaze me😩

i’m dyinggggg to know more about the sgiah jealous angsty bonfire at sixteen!!!! 😩

changed some things bc I rewrote this bonfire scene into Do I Wanna Know, hope u enjoy anyway 🫶

I Almost Do

And I wish I could run to you / And I hope you know that every time I don't / I almost do

Rafe’s pretty sure, a kaleidoscope of drunken clamour in his ears and a slowness to his limbs, that he’s too drunk to care about anything at this stage.

He’s had just enough alcohol for his vision to blur around the edges, ceiling lights like stalactites, the heavy bass making them vibrate. The living room is a body heat furnace. On the deck, an out-drinking competition disguised as a game of beer pong ensues. A deep, velvet sky oversees the carnage, full moon astray and bright stars shrouded.

Your skin glows anyway.

Rafe hears you before he sees you, the way he always does, the way he’s been doomed to since the sound of your laugh first struck his poor, nine-year-old heart.

You’re arm in arm with Sarah at the kitchen door, bright eyes full of mirth and lips pursed as you shush someone behind you. Usually, Rafe’d be able to exercise a little more self control when you’re this close, this touchable, but he’s more than a little drunk and feeling disinhibited as a result.

Besides, your skin is glowing. He’s had so much alcohol tonight that he almost forgets to be mad at you for it.

Almost.

“Oi!” He calls out roughly, too eagerly, making his way toward you. “Last I checked, neither of you made it on the invite list.”

Sarah’s pleased expression falters, her brown eyes narrowing. “Last I checked,” she counters, folding her arms across her chest. “You aren’t the only person who lives here.”

“Yeah.” Rafe’s gaze moves to your face without meaning to, falling over your pretty eyes, the shine of peach-scented gloss on your lips. The few seconds he’s stood in front of the pair of you, avoiding eye-contact that he’s knows will turn into a staring match, has been strain enough on his self-control. “The only person who matters, though.”

You scoff wryly, raising your eyebrows at him. “You fucking wish, big foot.”

Behind you, someone sniggers. They’re a careful, few feet away and cloaked by darkness, their muffled display of amusement a poor indicator of their identity.

All Rafe knows is, the sound is deeper than it should be. Suddenly, he no longer feels too drunk to care about anything.

He takes a step closer, the number of inches between being able to ignore his cedar-wood cologne and being forced to breathe in the citrus notes hidden within it.

And it makes you furious, how easily he looks over your forehead, how his assessing, blue eyes gain a laser-vision sort of steeliness. He’s so much taller when he’s standing up straight. His dirty blonde hair is longer than it usually is, sun-bleached and floppy where it falls over his forehead. Not to mention, you’re making eye-contact with too much muscle, feeling entirely too much body heat on your already warm skin. Thinking about how angry this makes you—how angry he makes you—whilst having a heart attack about the implications of such close proximity.

Of doing something stupid, like pulling him even closer than he already is.

So maybe you’re a little drunker than you should be, too.

Your mind whirs until everything’s blurry and out-of-focus, and you have to actively remind yourself that the boy in front of you isn’t someone you’re allowed to be in love with.

“And you’re definitely not allowed any plus 1’s, by the way,” Rafe adds firmly, narrowing his eyes at the darkness ahead of him.

It takes a second for his gaze to adjust to the dim light, another before a muscle in his jaw tenses.

He reaches out to catch hold of the doorknob, rough knuckles blanching from his iron grip. “Especially,” he continues, “fucking pogues.”

“Whatever, Rafe,” Sarah responds dryly, rolling her eyes at him. She turns and sends John B and JJ a reassuring smile, ducking past her older brother to permit them entry.

“Sarah.” Rafe clicks his tongue impatiently. “I’m serious.”

“They’re my guests,” she argues, grabbing a hold of your wrist. “Our guests.”

That gets his attention. His eyes shoots to your features with enough force to warrant whiplash, a cold, accusatory something brewing within their depths. So deeply blue that you’re a second from drowning, and that same, terrifying emotion that had your head spinning when he’d first walked over here.

You swallow.

“Yeah,” you affirm, narrowing your eyes at him for good measure. “Run along.”

“I’m sorry,” Rafe replies, furrowing his brow in mock confusion. “I missed the part where I let you call the shots.”

You roll your eyes—big mistake, because the alcohol in your veins and Rafe in your ribcage is already making your head hurt—and turn away from him, looking over at John B and JJ instead.

“C’mon in, guys,” you encourage, eyes dropping to Rafe’s grip on the half-closed, back door. Without thinking, you reach out and place your hand over his, attempting to pry his fingers free.

It’s surprisingly easy to do so. There’s a split second where your hands are suspended in mid-air, your sweaty palm pressing into the bulging veins on his arm. It’s large where yours is small, hot where yours almost burns, the sort of rough that makes you think stupid, irrational things — building-things-with-his-bare-hands hands, the kind of hands that could take care of a family.

Your cheeks warm. You pull away in a hurry.

Rafe coughs. He hopes to God you didn’t feel the way his poor pulse lurched when you touched him. He retrieves his hand too and runs his callused fingers through his hair, trying not to think about how chaste yours are in comparison.

Trying. Failing. He fights the sudden, overwhelming urge to reach for your hand and hold it for real. There’s something about the soft on rough juxtaposition that makes his stomach do an infuriating little somersault.

“Only,” Rafe warns, eyeing John B and JJ warily, “if you guys stay away from the living room and deck.”

“Like we’d want to hang out with you and your friends,” you bite back.

“Careful,” Rafe chides mockingly, raising his eyebrows. “The only reason you even have a job is because of them.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You argue, folding your arms across your chest.

“You really think the Club needs cart girls, train wreck?” He asks, scoffing exasperatedly. “You’re only there because rich people like looking at pretty things.”

You blink. “Pretty things?”

Rafe balks, his poor heart lurching in a panic. He’s this close to back-tracking when the alcohol he’s consumed pipes up, convincing him that it’s fruitless — you have to know that you’re attractive.

How couldn’t you? There has to be some part of you that looks that pretty on purpose.

You know, because you like antagonising him. He says, “C’mon,” and then scoffs exasperatedly, rubbing the back of his neck. “You can’t actually think the amount you get tipped is a coincidence.”

“I’m an expert drink maker,” you argue weakly.

“You’re a flirt,” Rafe counters.

“Being nice,” you correct, frowning up at him, “isn’t flirting.”

“Then what is, princess?” Rafe throws back, rolling his eyes. “Being a bitch?”

A pause. You think it dawns on him the same time it does you.

You swallow nervously. “Of course no—” you rush out, in unison with Rafe as he adds, “That’s not what I—”

“Fucking hell,” Sarah interrupts, looking between you and Rafe tiredly. “Can you two give it a fucking rest?”

You clamp your mouth shut abashedly, an equally chagrined Rafe ducking his head and turning away from you. His signet ring gleams as the kitchen light folds over it.

“Whatever,” he mutters, running his fingers through his hair. “Just… don’t let me see you in the living room, or on the deck, alright?”

His gaze flits to you as he says it, a fleeting farewell, though he regrets it upon realising that he no longer has your attention.

Someone else does. A dirty-blonde someone else donning a frayed tee and old, backwards cap; he hasn’t seen JJ since the Midsummer’s mishap, hasn’t seen your fond smile since he’d taken you from him that night.

He feels his jaw clench again, his fist too when his eyes drop, when he finds your fingers intertwining JJ’s and guiding him through the back-door.

The same, soft fingers he was agonising over a few minutes ago.

Rafe Cameron hates feeling pathetic. He hates it almost as much as he hates you, hates this thick, cloying anchor of helplessness in his gut.

“Relax, big-foot,” you say dismissively, letting your hand drop as you brush past him. “We’re going upstairs.”

Upstairs? With JJ fucking Maybank?

The anchor begins to sink. Suddenly, keeping you away from the party he’s throwing feels less important, not important in the slightest; he needs you an arms length away in order to keep an eye on you.

And, you know, any guy that you end up kissing.

“No way,” he says, tugging JJ back by the collar.

“Dude,” JJ frowns, shaking him off, “don’t do that shit.”

Your expression hardens as you register the rough display, bright eyes narrowing and nostrils flaring. “Rafe,” you warn. “Don’t be a dick. I’m serious.”

A pause. There’s a split-second where Rafe wonders how it’d feel to be in JJ shoes, right now.

“Look,” he sighs out after a beat, shaking his head. “If you think I’m just going to let you guys have a little, four-person party upstairs —”

“We’re just hanging out, Rafe, Jesus,” you interrupt exasperatedly, throwing your hands in the air. “We can’t exactly do that down here, can we?”

“You’re going to mess the place up,” he argues lamely. “And dad’s gonna make me clean it up.”

“So… what?” You ask, scowling indignantly. “You want us to fucking leave?”

“Just… whatever, you can chill in the living room, alright?” He answers in an even tone, maintaining a feigned sense of disinterest. “As long as you don’t fucking interact with anyone.”

“Right.” You make a face. “Because we totally love hanging around a bunch of trust fund babies.”

Rafe looks over your features slowly, agonisingly slowly, as though he’s trying to memorise every faint crease and soft ridge. It makes your skin burn.

“Don’t be a train-wreck, train-wreck,” he murmurs.

You try for fire, but the blue in his eyes leaves only embers. “Don’t tell me what to do, Rafe Cameron.”

—

It’s difficult to focus on JJ’s hands on your waist when Rafe’s quiet glare is burning a hole in the middle of your cheek.

He’s looking over the forehead of a pretty, blonde Kook who’s clinging to his shoulders; swaying a few feet away, he’s a dart with jagged edges, you the out-of-reach bulls-eye on a small dartboard.

It’s clear that neither of you are particularly interested in the person you’re dancing with. The night has progressed as a series of stolen glances and longing stares, a maddening, close-but-not-too-close distance that seems to grow every time you catch a furious glimpse of him and her together.

Not that you’d ever admit it. Your eyes drop to Rafe’s sturdy palms squeezing the flesh of her hips, and you find yourself pulling JJ closer on instinct.

“Kiss me,” you say suddenly, tearing your gaze away from Rafe.

JJ’s eyes widen, his loose grip on your waist tightening. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you affirm with a quick smile, sounding more distracted than you want to. “Kiss me.”

And he does, of course he does, soft and a little tentative as he presses his lips to yours. No fire. It’s a barely-there pressure that’s feels unsure of itself, less ardent and more tender as whispers of it wash over you. No fire. JJ kisses you slowly, gently, and you find yourself wishing for something quicker, rougher.

Something with more fire.

Your eyes snap open as if out of a trance, finding Rafe’s just as he leans in and kisses the blonde girl. Almost alacritous with the way he presses his lips on hers — harder, longer, and the tension in the air suddenly feels too heavy.

You pull away from JJ in a hurry.

“Sorry,” you mumble, avoiding eye contact as you remove his hands from your waist. “Need some air.”

You think, as you tear through the crowd, away from him, that Rafe’s probably too busy with the blonde girl to notice your absence.

If only you’d stayed put, waited another split-second. You would have seen Rafe pull away right after you did, discard the bemused girl and disappear into the opposite direction.

rafe cameron obx 3.02