mystargirl-interlude

[mystargirl-interlude]

think later - pt. 4

series masterlist

summary - y/n, formerly a pogue princess, finally had her big breakthrough and got signed to a record label in LA. little did she, her boyfriend rafe cameron and the rest of her friends know how things would really change as soon as she becomes famous.

anything in dark mode is rafe's phone!

authors note: last part for the week! see u all on monday xoxo song below for reference as well as a video showing the debut of y/n's single hehe. i do not own that video!

tw: swearing, drugs mentioned.

-

-

rafe. rafe. rafe. you fucked up BIIIIG time! he was creeping on her socials!! half of this part is literally off of his phone lol. ofc bc y/n is slaying. i'm obsessed with this part tbh, as always let me know what you think!

taglist: @yesshewrites1, @grapejuice32, @leotapes , @givemylovetoall

if you'd like to be added to the taglist please let me know

see y'all soon <3

xo,dylan

[mystargirl-interlude]

𝓼𝓶𝓪𝓵𝓵 𝓽𝓱𝓸𝓾𝓰𝓱𝓽𝓼 01

rafe’s smirk was pure arrogance, his dark eyes gleaming with self-satisfaction as he stepped back to admire his handiwork. your face was a canvas, streaked and glistening with thick ropes of his release, each trail shining under the dim light. he dragged a finger through the mess, smearing it purposefully across your cheek, chuckling at the way you held his gaze, utterly breathless.

“now that,” he drawled, leaning in close so his lips hovered just above yours, “is the kind of makeup i like to see on you. suits you, don’t you think?”

he tilted your chin up, forcing you to meet his eyes as he licked his lips, still flushed from the intensity of the moment. his thumb brushed over your lower lip, tugging it slightly as he smirked wider.

“perfect. a masterpiece. my masterpiece.” his voice was low, taunting, every word dripping with that signature cocky charm as his hand trailed down to your neck, his grip firm, claiming.

“you wear it so well, baby. almost like you were made for it.”

taglist: @namelesslosers @maybanksangel @averyoceanblvd @iknowdatsrightbih @rafesheaven @anamiad00msday @ivysprophecy @wearemadeofstardust0 @rafesangelita @sstargirln @rafedaddy01 @soldesole @bakugouswaif @skywalker0809 @vanessa-rafesgirl @evermorx89 @outerhills @ditzyzombiesblog @slavicangelmuah @alivinggirl

[mystargirl-interlude]

Nobody gets me like you (pt 3)

Rafe Cameron x Reader

Summary: y/n and Rafe have been best friends for years. They are completely inseparable. Everyone around them insists that there’s something more, but Rafe and y/n have an unspoken agreement that they won’t cross that line and ruin the friendship. When other people get involved that agreement gets harder to keep… will they be able to?

Taglist: @faephoria @aaronhotchswife @mattyskies @kaisgirlie @drewstarkeyzwhore @sereneera @sunmigs @mrsdrewstarkeyy @hypnotizedstarkey @madkohi @louxmcl @rafecameronsfucktoy @rafeswfnd @cyberkitty1 @mbella607 @flvredcas @rrosiitas @swagmoneydrew @itscaminow @raeven-marie43 @jelybely @inthelibrarybtw @frankoceanluvr11 @beavee11 @f4irywor1d @ethanthequeefqueen @givemylovetoall @livie4lifestarkeyblyth

[mystargirl-interlude]

i'm also sick of dimwitted people misusing tags for their little psa no one cares about yet here we are.

i’m talking about an important subject and it’s in those tags that i found fic with blasphemy! if you want to share your opinion don’t be scared and hide behind an anonymous ask.

answer to this post!

[mystargirl-interlude]

i’m so sick of people who mentions God in their fanfic especially in a bad way and don’t mention it in the warning, i’m sorry but i don’t want to read that. one time i was reading a fanfic and there was literally blasphemy, if you’re not christian it’s fine but please say it in your warning!🙏🏼

God loves you!🫶🏻

[mystargirl-interlude]

PILLOWTALK SMAU SERIES

part one - not-so-humble beginnings

series masterlist

a/n - officially the first part!! this is most likely gonna be a mini-series, but we’ll see how this goes!!

as a reminder, while there is no explicit 18+ content present in this series, there are many implications that rafe and reader had sexual relations with one another. therefore, I ask that anyone who interacts with this series be 18 or older. thank you!

deuxmoi’s new blind item!

texting: rafe cameron

texts: topper and rafe

taglist - @nemesyaaa @julie123456897 @mfdoomdickrider @grxnde-dwt @littlelamy @rafeeekam @xcinnamonmalfoyx

series tags - @ursogorgeous13 @scaroooos @mbella607

(if your username isn’t highlighted, please turn on mentions!)

[mystargirl-interlude]

ꫂ ၴႅၴ Chasing Ghosts.

Aaron Hotchner x BAU!reader (platonic)

Summary: Everything in your life is finally under control and almost perfect, but somehow chasing the ghost of Aaron Hotchner is still an obsession.

Words: 1,9k.

Warnings & Tags: angst WITHOUT a happy ending. hotch being an absent father figure. so much angst (yes, again). temporarily located after he leaves the FBI. same reader as in "tall child" but several years after that. so inspired by “like him” by tyler, the creator and all the edits with the song that I see. english isn't my first language (sorry for my mistakes, be kind please).

Note: I've been having trouble getting through the second part of "Tall Child" (if you're wondering if I'll write one, yep, and I hope to upload it soon but I'm so blocked:c). This idea came to me out of the blue because I, too, feel abandoned when I start watching the episodes after Hotch leaves<///3.

The quiet hum of the BAU filled the air, the same familiar rhythm of paperwork being shuffled, pens scratching against files, and the faint sound of voices from down the hall. The office you were in—Emily’s office now—still carried faint echoes of what it used to be. The desk was different, the decor had shifted, but the weight of the space hadn’t changed. It was still steeped in years of hard decisions, late-night strategizing, and memories that lingered even when the man who made them had gone.

Gone. Gone. Gone.

You sighed as you sifted through a stack of reports, scanning them for inconsistencies. It wasn’t even your responsibility—you were just helping out, filling a gap as the team caught up on their endless backlog. You’d been in this office countless times since Aaron had left, but it still felt strange. Like you didn’t quite belong. Like you were stepping on sacred ground that no longer had a place for you.

Being here without him was like being in a different place.

You’d been trying not to think about it, about how long it had been since he left. A year now, maybe more. You weren’t counting. Or so you told yourself for mental health. But in moments like this, standing in what used to be his space, surrounded by the echoes of his presence, it was impossible not to feel the sting of his absence.

You didn’t blame him for leaving—not entirely. Jack deserved his father, a life of peace away from the chaos of the FBI. You’d even admired his courage for walking away from something he’d dedicated his life to…You knew you would never do something like that; he was brave. But nothing of that softened the sharp edge of hurt that had been lodged in your chest ever since the day he said goodbye by a stupid piece of paper.

The truth was, he hadn’t just left the Bureau and all the atrocities that this entailed. He’d left you.

Your eyes flicked toward the desk, now Prentiss’s, and for a moment, your fingers brushed its edge. It was ridiculous how something as simple as the grain of the wood could bring back a flood of memories—of late nights, terse discussions, and the way his voice would take on that steady, commanding tone that somehow made you feel both safe and seen. The way he scolded you when you did things against protocol, the way he almost smiled when he thought you didn't notice, and most of all, the way he left overnight.

A soft knock at the door snapped you back to the present. You looked up, startled, to see Rossi leaning casually against the doorframe. His sharp eyes seemed to take in everything—the reports, your posture, the way your hand still rested on the edge of the desk, as though anchoring you to something unseen.

“Working hard, or hardly working?” he quipped, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation.

You mustered a weak smile. “Just helping Emily with the backlog. Thought I’d clear some of this off her plate.”

He nodded, his gaze drifting around the room. It lingered on the desk, the walls, and the chair before settling back on you. His expression was unreadable, but there was something in his eyes—something knowing—that made your stomach twist.

“You’re in here a lot,” David observed, his tone casual but laced with something deeper.

More than a lot for someone who was supposed to stop doing it on the advice of her therapist.

Because you don’t need to keep hiding you in work. Your life was good now, or so you kept telling yourself. You had settled into your role on the team, earned the respect of your colleagues, and built a rhythm that felt steady, even fulfilling. You went home to a warm apartment that didn’t feel so empty anymore, filled with little things that made you smile: books on the coffee table, cozy blankets, a half-dead plant you kept forgetting to water. You even start to have casual dates sometimes to open your heart to the world.

“Just helping,” you repeated, more curtly than you really intended.

“Hmm.” He crossed his arms, leaning against the desk. “You know, you’ve always been a terrible liar.”

“What?” you asked, your tone, again, sharper than you intended. The defenses around you were activating automatically.

He raised his hands in mock surrender, but the smirk on his lips betrayed him. “Nothing. Just…noticing things.”

Your jaw tightened. Working with profilers meant every word, every movement, was analyzed. You hated it so much in these moments.

“What?” You demanded, unable to keep the irritation from your voice.

He tilted his head, studying you with that maddening patience of his. “You make the same expressions he used to.”

No. No. No.

Do not mention him. Don't make even the slightest reference to him. Don't think about him. Don’t.

The air seemed to leave the room. Your heart clenched, and for a moment, you forgot how to breathe. “What are you talking about?” you asked, though you knew. Of course, you knew.

“The furrowed brow when you’re deep in thought,” he said, his voice softer now. “The way you purse your lips when you’re frustrated but trying to hide it. And now, in this desk…you’ve always been like him. Always will be.”

You’re just like him? You look like him?

A bitter laugh escaped your lips before you could stop it. “Great. I’ve picked up his bad habits too.”

“It’s not a bad thing,” Rossi said gently, his voice softer now. “It just means he left a mark.”

You turned away, pretending to focus on the files in front of you, but the words hit harder than you wanted to admit. Of course, Hotch had left a mark. How could he not? He’d been your anchor, your mentor, your constant—even when you were at odds. And then he’d left. He’d walked away from the BAU and from you as if you were disposable.

“Doesn’t matter,” you muttered, more to yourself than to him. “He’s gone.”

Rossi didn’t respond immediately. When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter, almost hesitant. “Still angry at him?”

The question hit you like a gut punch, and for a moment, you couldn’t respond. Your hands tightened into fists at your sides, nails digging into your palms as if the physical discomfort could drown out the storm in your chest. “I’m not angry,” you said, the words escaping your lips faster than your brain could catch them.

It was much more complex than that. Your feeling was more akin to disappointment than anger or rage because you knew you could never hate him.

He didn’t press further, instead leaning more comfortably against the desk, as if he had all the time in the world. “You know he wanted a life for Jack,” he countered, his voice measured. “You can’t blame him for that.”

“I’m not blaming him,” you said, though it felt like a lie even as you spoke it. “But I don’t get why he had to leave everything.” you snapped, the sharpness of your voice startling even yourself. You turned away, staring hard at the stack of files, though the words on the pages blurred into meaningless lines. “He could’ve stayed in touch. But he didn’t.”

Zero calls, zero messages, zero signs that at least you mattered to him.

Rossi sighed, his expression softening with something like sympathy. “Aaron’s always been good at one thing: convincing himself that distance is the best way to protect the people he cares about.”

You looked away, the weight of his words settling uncomfortably in your chest. It didn’t make it hurt your heart any less. Nothing could ever dispel the pain, nothing but the embrace of the same person who provoked it.

There was a long pause before he spoke again, his tone lighter, almost teasing. “You know, there’s a way to settle this.”

You frowned, glancing up at him. “What are you talking about?”

Without a word, Rossi reached into his pocket. The sound of his hand brushing against the fabric of his jacket broke the tension like a crack of thunder in the stillness. He pulled out a small card and held it between two fingers, his expression unreadable as he extended it toward you.

“What’s this?” you asked, the words coming out more hesitant than you wanted.

“His number,” he said simply. “It changed.”

Your eyes dropped to the card, to the string of numbers printed neatly on its surface. For a moment, all you could do was stare. It felt like the weight of the entire room had shifted onto that tiny slip of paper. Your fingers twitched at your side, aching to grab it, yet rooted to the spot.

“I’m not calling him,” you said, though your grip on the card betrayed your uncertainty.

David smiled knowingly, as if he’d already won. “I didn’t say you had to. But if you ever want to talk to him, you’ve got the number.”

You shook your head. “No. If he wanted to talk to me, he would’ve called. He hasn’t.”

“Maybe he thinks you don’t want to hear from him,” Rossi countered. “Maybe he’s giving you space.”

“Space?” you repeated, the word bitter on your tongue. “Is that what we’re calling it now? Abandoning people?”

“He didn’t abandon you,” Rossi countered firmly, though there was no edge in his tone, only understanding. “He left because he had to. For Jack. For himself. And maybe—just maybe—he thought you were strong enough to handle it.”

The words hit like a punch to the gut, and you turned away, blinking hard to keep the tears at bay. You hated how much they affected you, how much he still affected you. “Well, he was wrong,” you muttered, the words barely audible.

Rossi didn’t argue, didn’t press. “You don’t have to use it,” he said, his voice softer now, almost a whisper. “But if you do, maybe you’ll figure out that he didn’t leave you. He just…left.”

With that, he stepped back and walked out of the room, his footsteps echoing softly down the hallway until they disappeared altogether, leaving you alone in the thick, suffocating silence.

Your eyes fell back to the card on the desk. It seemed out of place there, too bright and clean against the chaos of papers and reports. You stared at it as if it might leap off the desk and demand an answer. But it just sat there, motionless, yet somehow unbearably loud.

Your grip tightened, the edges of the card biting into your palm. And then, with a sharp, decisive motion, you tore it in half. The sound was quick, final, like the snap of a cord that had been fraying for far too long. You tore it again, and again, the pieces falling to the desk in a jagged, fragmented pile. Each rip felt like releasing a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, like reclaiming some small measure of control over the chaos he’d left behind.

When the pieces were no more than scraps, you gathered them up and marched to the trash can. You dropped them in, the fragments fluttering down like ashes from a fire long extinguished. You stared at them for a moment, your chest heaving, your emotions still raw but now dulled by the act of destruction.

Turning back to the desk, you sank into the chair, forcing your focus onto the reports in front of you. The room still felt heavy, the ghost of his presence lingering in the corners, but you pushed it aside. There was work to do. There was always work to do.

And after all, you were just like him.

[mystargirl-interlude]

heyy everyone, i just wanted to come on here and say a few things regarding a lot of plagiarism that’s been going on, along with some other points that i feel inclined to speak out about. before i start this post, i just want to preface this by saying that i am in no way speaking about anyone in particular, this just applies to the general community, and i think it’s important to not be so divided, especially amongst each other. so many writers in this community are so incredibly talented that unfortunately, copying and stealing of work has become a regular occurrence. below are some topics that i believe needs to talked about and acknowledged in some way.

stealing of au’s and concepts + the claim on concepts and au’s that already exist:

there is a huge difference between creating an au and introducing something completely new that has never been done before in a fandom, or ever for that matter, vs. introducing a concept that has already been around and existed outside of a fandom and bringing popularity to it/making it more well known, thus, kind of lighting a fire and inspiring others to write for it as well. this goes for plot lines, !readers, different versions of !rafe (example: frat!rafe, dealer!rafe, etc..), prompts, and the list can go on. there’s so many original au’s and concepts out there, but there’s also a lot of stuff that’s already been done before that isn’t considered ‘original’, which means it would’t call for the need to be credited for in the first place.

the difference between being ‘inspired’ by someone else’s work vs. publishing a remake and often times NOT crediting the original writer:

no matter what the instance is; being inspired by someone’s work, or publishing your own version of the same original concept by someone else, YOU SHOULD ALWAYS ASK THE ORIGINAL WRITER FOR PERMISSION FIRST. if they tell you yes, CREDIT them, if they tell you no, COME UP WITH SOMETHING ELSE. if you’re ‘inspired’ by someone, your work should not be similar to theirs in a way that the plot, !reader, !rafe, prompt, etc.. is being used in the exact same way as their original work. you could only be ‘inspired’ so much before you’re just paraphrasing a fic, it truly gets to a point.

DIRECT communication:

this would fix most, if not all, of the problems in this fandom. feel like someone is copying you? (using exact, word for word, lines from your writing pieces?) DIRECTLY confront them. feel uncomfortable with the similarities between your work, or works, and another writer’s? DIRECTLY express your concerns with your valid proof. feel as if your layout is being copied and you’re not being given credit? DIRECTLY, kindly, ask for someone to start doing so. politely messaging someone will never make you confrontational or problematic, INDIRECTLY making rant posts that are throwing disses at someone without messaging them about the situation first is what does that. INDIRECTLY speaking out about someone hoping they’ll see it and know they’re the one being talked about doesn’t make the matter any easier when it really all could be resolved with a single message. PLEASE JUST TALK!! we are all (mostly) adults..

note: i say this with only one exception in mind; if you see anything like this and you make the active decision not to make shady posts, acknowledge the situation, confront a person, or simply just put your energy into something like that, and instead you just block the person and move on with your day, that is 100% your choice, and you don’t owe anyone an explanation for anything.

debunking the whole ‘this fandom isn’t welcoming to newcomers’ accusation:

this is not true in the slightest. if you’re a new writer in this fandom, and you’re not starting off by coming up with your own fics and ideas, but instead piggy backing off of others, stealing and not crediting, copying, etc.. you truly can’t expect others to want to interact with you if you don’t have the common decency to not do certain things. this is not just for this fandom, but any fandom that you may write in. think about it like this; if people and other writers are supporting a writer that you’re ripping off of, why on earth would they interact with you if they are already reading similar, if not the same, content from someone else? it’s not possible to establish yourself anywhere if you build your blog off of copying, that’s just the truth!

[mystargirl-interlude]

Surprise! (3)

Drew Starkey x fem!singer!reader

Summary: reader and Drew celebrate the release of the ‘Perfume’ music video!

Warnings: fluff, smut, oral (f receiving), praise, swearing, male masturbation, dirty talk, missionary position, sex on couch, daddy kink, protective piv sex, boob worship (?), drinking wine, fangirling

Part one, part two

taglist is full :(

Two weeks had went by.

Two long, busy weeks of you not hearing much from Drew, other than the promotions and photo stills you would send him.

It was finally the release day, and within 18 hours, the video had already reached 200 million views.

You were currently sitting on your light grey couch, flicking through Netflix movies when your phone buzzed with a notification.

Drew Starkey: Hey, congrats on the success of the video. I’m still very honored you wanted me to he apart of it. You still down to celebrate?

Oh.

In all honesty you were expecting Drew to stop talking to you after the shoot.

But within those two weeks, you were both extremely busy, so reaching out was hard.

That didn’t mean you two didn’t text at all, it was just two or three messages a day.

Drew was notorious for being a bad texter, not to mention how filled up his schedule was.

So you never took it to heart. Or, at least tried.

But seeing the notification that he actually still wanted to hang out, wanted to celebrate with you…

Your User: hi, thank you so much! i’m still so happy and grateful you said yes <33

Your User: and yes i’m still down to celebrate!! when are you free?

Maybe the double texting was too much, but you were already a glass of wine in, and texting your celebrity crush.

To your surprise, he replied pretty quickly.

Drew Starkey: I’m actually free rn surprisingly, are you?

Oh.

You were in fact free, but ready was the better question.

No, you were not ready to see Drew fucking Starkey, especially looking like how you were currently dressed.

Only wearing sweatpants, a shirt that is three sizes too big, fuzzy socks, and no bra was not exactly presentable to meet the love of your life.

Your User: yes, but i look absolutely horrible rn

Again, another quick response.

Drew Starkey: I doubt that. Can I come see you?

You typed out a message.

Your User: CNEOSHWOSHEODNEOWHSOWBSIFBEOSBAJDBDKDHOSBSKSBDJSHS😜✊👍😜🤭🔥🫶😩

That was what you really wanted to reply with, but instead went for something more nonchalant.

Your User: yeah, you want my address?

It was never good to share your address to anyone online, especially after only meeting in person twice.

But it was Drew Starkey. You would send anything to that man, no questions asked.

Drew Starkey: Yes please

You had spent the last 30 minutes frantically cleaning your apartment. Not that it was a complete mess, but you did want it to be cleaner than what it was.

A soft knock on your door was heard, heart pounding in your chest, hands shaking with nervousness.

Peeking through the peephole, seeing his familiar face was enough to make you almost back out.

Why did you have to be so fucking nervous? He was just a man.

Your fingers unlocked the door, opening it gently.

“Hey, Y/n.” Drew smiled warmly at you, holding a bouquet of flowers.

“Hi… come on in.” You grinned back, trying to hide the feeling in your chest.

Drew’s long legs guide him inside the apartment and he takes a second to look around.

It was cozy, and definitely you.

“I got these f’you.” He hums, holding out the flowers.

“Oh, these are my favorite flowers, Drew… you didn’t have to do that.” You awed, taking the bouquet as he practically handed it to you.

He knew they were your favorite flowers. He might have looked up y/n l/n’s favorite flower onto Google. Not that he would ever admit that, though.

“Really? Damn, lucky pick, I guess.” He chuckled, scratching the side of his neck a little sheepishly.

Putting the flowers in a vase, you realized that he was wearing sweats and a hoodie. It was 10:23pm on a Friday, and clearly you two were appreciating a night off.

It made you feel better about your outfit.

“Do you want anything to eat or drink? I have white or red wine, beer, vodka, soda, water…” You trailed off your options.

“What’re you drinking?” He hummed.

You nodded over to the coffee table, an open bottle of wine with a half filled glass on it.

“Wine.”

“I’ll just have some of that, then.” Drew murmurs.

You grabbed another wine glass and walked over to the couch, hearing his feet behind you.

Sitting down on the couch, you got all comfortable underneath the blanket again, then reached over to pour him a glass of wine.

“Cheers, to the success of ‘Perfume’, and to you.” Drew says softly, holding his glass out for you to clink.

Feeling your face grow a bit warm, you tapped your glass with his.

“Cheers to you being amazing.” You took a sip of the wine, your eyes locked onto his blue ones.

“You have a nice apartment, by the way. Forgot to say that.” He hums.

“Thank you, I wanted to make it as cozy as possible for those rare times I am at home.” You explain.

"Yeah, I get that. Life nowadays is just so hectic." He agrees, blue eyes trailing over your face, as if committing each feature to memory.

"Well, yeah. You're all big and famous now," you tease.

He chuckles sheepishly, his large hand running along the back of his head.

"You have any big plans coming up?" He asked you.

"Yeah, actually. I'm supposed to be preforming at the iHeartRadio Jingle Ball festival in a week," you nod.

"Really? Damn. That beats me, then." He joked.

"What do you have coming up?" You questioned.

"Variety is going to have Harris Dickinson and I do that Actors on Actors interview thing."

"Yeah? That sounds fun," you hummed.

The two of you spent an hour and a half talking about life, success, and just got to know each other.

You both finished the bottle of wine and were now onto your second bottle, the two of you tipsy as you giggled on the couch.

Your body felt warm and you weren't completely sure if it was from the alcohol or the fact that a beautiful man was sitting a foot away from you on your own couch.

Drew felt the same, and one specific joke you made had him laughing a little too hard. His eyes creased in the corner as he smiled, those pretty dimples on display.

But when his large hand went to rest on your knee, the wine in your system completely fought off your anxiety, making you more relaxed.

You found yourself leaning into his touch, your hand resting atop of his.

"Your laugh is so cute, Drew," you murmured.

"Yeah? You're cute," he responded.

You bit your lip, eyes locked onto his. "Is that the alcohol talking or you?"

He grinned, shaking his head.

"That's me talking."

Oh.

"You're sweet..." you trailed off, trying to ignore how butterflies filled your belly.

He just hummed, a comfortable, tension-filled silence falling between you two.

"So, you really had a crush on me for four years?" He teased, squeezing your knee a little.

"Oh, god. We're back at this now, huh?" You grumbled in embarrassment, although there was no real malice behind your tone.

He smirked, licking his lips. "We never left it."

"I certainly did."

"Yeah? You don't have a crush on me anymore?" He murmured, the playful tone in his voice making your stomach turn more.

"I didn't say that...." you trailed off, picking at the extra skin near your nails.

His eyes trail over your form again, taking in every inch of you he can see that's not hidden by the blanket on your lap.

"Hm? Sorry, I didn't hear you."

You rolled your eyes, face hot. "I'm sure you didn't."

He laughed, scooting a little closer to you so your legs were touching.

"'m just fucking with you," he said softly.

"I know..." you glanced over at him, eyes instinctively falling down to his pretty lips.

It had been too long since you felt them on you.

Maybe it was the wine, maybe it was the boost of confidence Drew had gotten, but he slowly leaned in, his free hand going to run his index finger and thumb on your chin.

"Is this okay?" He asked quietly.

"Yeah... yes..." you breathed out shakily, heart racing.

He hummed, gently connecting your lips to his own.

Feeling that familiar, addictive spark when his skin touched yours. You immediately kissed back, your left hand going to cup his jaw.

Kissing. You were kissing Drew fucking Starkey. And it wasn't for work, wasn't for cameras. He kissed you first.

Within moments, he was laying you back on the light grey couch, the fluffy blanket being left abandoned on the floor.

His tongue was in your mouth, sculpted body hovering over yours. Your thighs were spread for him to nestle in between, left hand still cupping his strong jaw, right hand in that soft brown hair.

On instinct you pulled a little on the strands, making him grunt into your mouth. He disconnected your lips, trailing sloppy, needy kisses down your jaw and neck.

Chests pressed together, it was as if you two couldn't get any closer.

"Mhmm... Drew..." you whimpered softly when he nipped at the skin of your pulse point.

"Yeah? That feel nice, sweet girl?" He murmured, voice muffled from his attention on your neck.

You nodded, legs squeezing him in between your body.

"Can I take your shirt off, baby?" He asked, not wanting to do anything you weren't desiring.

"Please.." you breathed out, heart racing, stomach flipping.

His large hand slipped the oversized fabric off and over your head, a small whine leaving him when he saw your pretty tits.

"Fuck, Y/n... you been hiding these from me?" He mumbled teasingly, continuing his line of kisses and nibbles down your collarbone, in between the valley of your breasts.

"All you needed to do was ask," you panted. Your back instinctively arched up, your chest needing some attention from his warm mouth.

He groaned at your answer, moving slightly down your body until he was eye level with your hard nipples. He swirled his tongue around the bud, blue eyes locked on your face when he sucked your nipple into his mouth.

Your body jolted a little, making him hold your side with his left hand, his right hand massaging the other stiffened bud.

He switched sides after a few moments, relishing in the sounds of your pretty moans and pants.

But something else was throbbing and aching, desperately needing his attention.

"Drew," you whined.

"Hmm?" He hummed, still worshipping your boobs.

"Need you."

"Yeah?" He cooed, reluctantly disconnecting his mouth from your right nipple as he continued to kiss down your stomach.

You nod, breathing short and needy. He got to the waistband of your sweatpants, looking back up at you.

"You can take those off too." You gave permission, already knowing what the man was going to ask.

He wasted no time in slipping the fabric down your legs, readjusting so his face was in between your spread thighs.

"Look how you ruined these panties, pretty girl... you're so needy f'me, huh?" He murmured softly.

All you could do was whine when he pressed a tender kiss to your clothed clit, the fabric absolutely soaked. It had been way too long since you'd had sex.

His large hand slid the fabric down your thighs, leaving you completely bare for him.

"So beautiful, baby. So beautiful..." he muttered, talking more to himself than you.

Your legs twitched when he flicked his tongue against your clit, hands digging in his hair.

"Drew--"

"I know, baby. Let daddy eat this pretty pussy, yeah? Just sit back and relax."

A needy whimper left your mouth, but you didn't respond. Not that you could, as he licked a stripe from your pulsating hole to the top of your clit.

He hoisted your thighs over his broad shoulders, moaning a little at your taste. His movements became more eager, beginning to lap at your cunt like a starved man.

Right hand in his hair, left hand gripping the couch. Your eyes rolled back, hips bucking up towards his face.

He made a grunt directly into your clit, another jolt of pleasure going into your body.

"Daddy... fuck..."

His piercing blue eyes were feeding off of your facial expressions, his cock throbbing in his own sweats.

He slipped two fingers into your cunt, focusing his mouth on your clit. His left hand slid down his own pants, beginning to palm his cock through his boxers.

"Yeah? Is daddy making you feel good, sweet girl?" He coos, whining a little as his own hips buck on the couch, desperate for more friction.

His noise and hips bucking made your cunt clench around his fingers, as if trying to pull him in deeper.

The knot in your stomach was already forming, almost embarrassing how quickly he turned you into a mess.

Legs trembling over his shoulders, hips rocking against his face and chin. You couldn't even announce you were coming, mind fuzzy from the pleasure.

He hummed when he noticed you releasing, continuing to lap up all your juices as he came in his pants.

When your body calmed down, he pulled away from your pussy and kneeled in between your legs.

He peeled his own hoodie off, revealing that perfect, toned body of his again. Your eyes drank in the sight, licking your lips.

“You’re so hot, Drew…” you murmured.

His ears were ringing, need coursing through his veins as he slipped off his sweats and boxers.

You had to physically hold back a gasp when you saw his cock for the first time.

People had always written it differently in all those guilty pleasure Rafe Cameron fanfics you would read when you couldn’t sleep.

But seeing it in person was just a whole new experience.

It was long and thick, which was to be expected. The man radiated big dick energy.

Pretty mushroom tip that was still leaking, his pubic hair slightly fuzzy as if he hadn’t shaved it in a week.

“Holy shit…”

“Mhm? Better than you imagined?” He asked teasingly, a smirk on his face as he grabbed a condom from his wallet.

You couldn’t help but playfully roll your eyes, a small snicker leaving you.

He rolled the condom onto his shaft, moving to hover over you again.

“Are you sure you want this, Y/n?” He asked softly, eyes gazing intently into yours.

“Yes… please fuck me, daddy.”

He let out a small groan, nestling himself in between your thighs. He used a long, strong arm to grab a couch pillow and tuck it under your hips.

You watched as he teasingly slid his head up and down your slit, tapping it against your throbbing bundle of nerves.

“Don’t tease me, please,” you beg.

Your pretty begging weakened his resolve as he slowly slid into you.

Whimpers and noises of pleasure left the both of you at the feeling, a course of energy being shared within your two bodies.

He kept pushing until he was all the way inside, giving you a moment to adjust as he captured your lips in his.

Your hands roamed over his biceps and back, loving the way the muscles flex against your palms. His skin was burning, adding to the electric feel.

When he felt you stop tensing around him, he began to slowly pull back, before pushing in, creating a delicious rhythm.

“Fuck… you feel so fuckin’ good, baby.” He moaned.

Your legs tightened around his hips, a noise leaving you as he rubbed right against that spongy spot.

“So deep, Drew… can feel you so deep,” you whined in between breaths.

“Yeah? You take this dick so good, pretty girl.”

His movements were getting a little rougher with every minute passing, both of you needing this.

Your crush on him for four years, the sexual tension you shared in the music video, the chemistry when you first met him on The Tonight Show.

It was all so surreal and felt like you were living straight out of a fanfic or dream.

His head dropped down to your chest, clearly having a thing for your hardened nipples as he nibbled gently.

Maybe one day Drew would fuck you without the condom and be able to feel your warm, velvety walls squeezing him without the protection.

He could dream.

“Shit, shit, shit.” You swore, the pillow under your hips allowing for his tip to kiss your cervix with every thrust.

“Mhm, yeah. Good girl.” He praised breathlessly, feeling a little lightheaded from everything.

The couch creaked a little beneath you two, your nails digging into his back.

He was already close, eyes fluttered shut as he lifted his head to press a kiss to your forehead.

His calloused thumb went to rub your clit, making your legs twitch around his sculpted hips.

Your cunt squeezed around his cock, your belly on fire with your building orgasm.

“You gonna cum f’me, sweet girl?” He choked out, hips snapping against yours.

“Y-yes!” You squeak, mind hazy, body trembling.

“Yeah… that’s it… let me feel you…”

His breathy words, deep penetration, and touch on your clit sent you over the edge again.

You moaned loudly, clinging onto his body as he talked you through your orgasm.

He was also talking himself through it, feeling his cock twitch as he spilled his seed into the condom.

His body was still against yours, both of you catching your breaths from the intensity.

He pressed a chaste kiss to your forehead again, his chest rising and falling.

“You okay?” He asked you softly.

“Mhm… ‘m good…”

You kissed his lips again, more gently this time. His nose brushed against yours when he pulled away, lips connecting to your cheek.

He reluctantly slid out of you, kneeling between your legs again as his blue eyes gazed down at your cunt.

“Did you bring any more condoms?” You ask after a few moments.

He looks at your face, then reaches over to grab his wallet. He pulls out two more condom wrappers.

You grinned, licking your lips.

“So are we going two more rounds or what?”

tags!!

@slut4you @sweetlike-sugarplum @snowtargaryen @fastlovela @christinechickiee @ahgrace6 @evermorx89 @loren8818181 @eddiemuns0nl0ver @sophiesmovingcastle5 @chimchimjiminie16 @amel1ee @reader1402 @tqd4455 @rxeae @caraxes-syrax @shrimpybbq @drewstarkeysbabe @rafeswhoooreee @meropeeonmee @rafeluvrr @marvelahsobx @raeven-marie43 @fallout-girl219 @brendazzlingg @10ava01 @secretsideofbree @drewstarrrkey @p0gue420 @gibson-g1rl @kiiyomei @spiderstyles04 @sexualparkour @vinaluvsu @domainexpandme @mariadu2 @toterry @taliawz @always-reading @angvl3tears @iloveoldermenn @aesthetic-lyss @lover-girl-estxx @cadhlabear @kaiparkerwifes @herbookgarden @luvleyshif4 @caraxes-syrax @mymultiveres @reader1402 @dinnodallas @darkreymbow @vinaluvsu @sarahskywalker-amidala @christinechickiee @hoelesslyt @tincanhat @scenesofobx @james-bucky-barnackle @angvl3tears @belledawnidk @millietozier @vrsluts @chimmysoftpaws @brathwaite444 @urmanicpixieangelgirl

[mystargirl-interlude]

homesick — rcm (18+)

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ smut, fluff, minors dni, pining, childhood romance, soft!asshole!rafe, very conflicting lol mb, rafe is an asshole with a soft spot for you, could’ve just said it like that sry, sex is slightly sweeter than what i’m used to writing, i know you don’t need me right now, to you it’s just a late night out

longing for something was the most painful thing you could go through. it was the gray area between loving something and obtaining it, more often than not leaning toward loving rather than obtaining. everybody longed for something, at least once in their lives. you knew you did. you longed for everything you once had, everything that slipped through the cracks of your fingers like grains of sand. sand.

you longed for the feeling of sand beneath your bare feet, the scent of saltwater colliding with a freshly opened bottle of sunscreen, for the feeling of the wind in your hair just one more time. today, you would stop longing for it. you would reach the end of the spectrum after twelve long years and pray it would feel the way it did when things were easier.

the car door creaked open, and you stepped out, blinking as the sun met your face. the morning light was blinding, casting a golden glow over the familiar yet unfamiliar streets. your legs ached from the long drive, but it was the dull throb in your chest that you couldn’t shake. something was brewing in the pit of your stomach, poisoning your soul and making your heart clench. nostalgia.

it coursed through your veins, a bittersweet sensation that left you teetering between comfort and pain. everything felt the same, but nothing didn’t look the same. the sun was just as bright, but maybe there were more people now than you’d anticipated. there were more shops lining the streets, more boats anchored at the docks. more had a knack for being better than less, but the difference didn’t sit well with you.

you locked your car, the sharp click echoing louder than you expected in the stillness of the early morning. you promised yourself you’d return for your things later. for now, you needed to jog your memory. the air smelled of salt and sunblock, a scent so ingrained in your childhood that it almost made you choke up. your feet carried you instinctively, down streets you didn’t have to think twice about, past houses that seemed to carry fragments of your past.

you loved your father, because he was so much more than your father. he was your hero, your role model, the man who checked for monsters under your bed and whispered bedtime stories when you couldn’t sleep. he had a quiet strength about him, the kind that made you feel safe no matter how chaotic the world around you became. he was patient, endlessly so, and always seemed to know exactly what to say, even when there were no words to mend the situation.

he had spent his entire life taking care of you, alongside your mother. together, they had built a world where you never felt the weight of their struggles, only the warmth of their love. your mother was the heart of that world, as much a protector as your father was. she had a laugh that could brighten even the darkest days, and a way of knowing what you needed before you ever said a word. you loved them equally, because there was no father who could do it without a mother there, and no mother who could do it without a father by her side.

but you also loved the outer banks. you loved the place you grew up in, the salty air that clung to your skin, the way the waves crashed against the shore in a rhythm that felt like home. you loved the endless summers, the laughter that echoed through the streets of figure 8, and the friendships that felt as unshakable as the tides. yet, when it came down to leaving it, you did what was necessary.

it was three weeks after your mother had gone on a business trip, one in charlotte, just a few hours away. three weeks. that was all it took for everything to unravel. your father had gotten the call two days before he told you, and you could see the heaviness in his eyes, the way his shoulders carried the weight of a decision he didn’t want to make. but he knew—he knew you couldn’t spare another second there. it was time to leave.

and when the time came, it was done quickly, like ripping off a bandage. nobody could hear of it. even if they did, there was nothing they could do about it. lord knows they tried. ward and rose were the first to reach out, their voices frantic, pleading for answers. you remembered the way your father’s jaw tightened as he ended the call, refusing to explain, to argue, to justify. you had been too young to understand, but old enough to sense the finality of it all.

the last you heard, their family had become somewhat of a mess. the perfect veneer of the camerons had cracked, exposing something raw and broken underneath. you tried not to think about it too much, but it seemed impossible. every street, every house, every crashing wave brought memories rushing back, unbidden and unstoppable. but you pushed them down, telling yourself there was no use in dredging up the past—not yet, anyway.

the houses you passed were a symphony of elegance and familiarity, each one a beacon of the wealth that had defined figure 8 for generations. they stood tall and proud, their façades polished to perfection. you could see the care etched into every detail—the manicured lawns with grass so green it seemed unreal, the trimmed hedges sculpted into geometric shapes, and the vibrant flowers lining cobblestone pathways.

the porches were wide and welcoming, adorned with rocking chairs and hanging flower baskets swaying gently in the breeze. some houses boasted wraparound balconies, their railings painted crisp white, while others had large bay windows that gleamed under the sun, curtains drawn just enough to reveal a hint of the lavish interiors within.

you noticed the details, the things you’d forgotten until now: the way the golden plaques glinted with family names, the faint sound of wind chimes echoing from porches, the occasional bark of a dog from behind wrought-iron gates. it was all so familiar, yet so distant, like a photograph you had stared at for so long that it felt unreal.

as you walked, memories followed, clinging to you like the humid air. they weren’t all of this place—most of them were of him. you had no issue remembering him. the problem was forgetting him, something you could never bring yourself to do no matter how hard you tried.

the memory struck you like a wave. You were six years old, standing in this very neighborhood. your parents had just moved in, and the camerons had wasted no time in welcoming you. you could still see it vividly: rafe, two years older than you, standing with his arms crossed, his nose slightly upturned like he was better than everyone else in the room.

you remembered the way you’d clung to your father’s leg, peeking out only to find his piercing blue eyes staring back at you with a mischievous glint. he was mean, even then. spoiled. his first words to you were, “your hair looks funny.”

your cheeks burned at the memory, the sting of his words fresh even after all these years. you could still hear your mother laughing softly, your father gently patting your shoulder, and ward scolding his son. but then there was sarah. sweet, sunny sarah, who had marched right up to her older brother and smacked him on the arm. “stop being mean, rafe!” she had said with all the conviction her five-year-old self could muster.

and then she turned to you, her eyes wide and sparkling with sincerity. “i like your hair,” she had said, her voice gentle, her small hand reaching out to yours.

“i like yours, too,” you had replied, the tears in your eyes disappearing in an instant.

“wanna be friends?” she asked, tilting her head.

“sure,” you had said, a grin breaking through your tears.

rafe had rolled his eyes then, muttering something under his breath as if he couldn’t believe the exchange happening right in front of him. now, as you walked, you couldn’t help but smile at the thought. it was so vivid, so alive, as if it had happened just yesterday. but you wondered—was he the same? had he changed at all, or was he even meaner now?

the shops along the way were a kaleidoscope of charm and nostalgia. their exteriors were bright and inviting, painted in pastel shades of pink, blue, and yellow, with hand-painted signs swaying gently in the breeze. glass display windows showcased trinkets and souvenirs—everything from handwoven baskets to seashell jewelry and t-shirts with “outer banks” scrawled across them in bold, faded lettering. the aroma of fresh pastries wafted from a bakery, mingling with the salty air and drawing a smile to your face.

you paused at a familiar ice cream parlor, its striped awning unchanged after all these years. the sight of children clamoring for cones, their faces smeared with chocolate and strawberry, made your chest ache. it reminded you of summers spent running through these streets, rafe and sarah in tow, chasing the melting sweetness before it dripped down your arms.

the path narrowed as you moved closer to the beach, the buildings giving way to sand dunes and patches of seagrass. the sound of waves crashing against the shore grew louder, accompanied by the cries of seagulls circling above. the salty air thickened, wrapping around you like an old friend. and then, as the beach came into view, the memory struck.

you had just turned seven, the world still a canvas of endless possibility. you were on the beach with sarah, the two of you crouched in the sand, determined to build the most magnificent sandcastle the outer banks had ever seen.

“we get to be the princesses, right?” you asked, your small hands gripping a bright red bucket as you filled it with wet sand.

“yeah! rafe can be the guard,” sarah replied, her tone decisive as she smoothed out the castle walls.

just a few feet away, rafe sat with his legs crossed, focused on his fishing gear. he had been trying to teach himself to fish, his brow furrowed in concentration as he prepared the bait. ward had given him some of his more expensive gear that morning, clearly hoping his son would find purpose in the sport.

you couldn’t help but frown, suddenly dissatisfied with the childish simplicity of your sandcastle compared to the serious task rafe was undertaking. “i wanna try that, too,” you declared, abandoning your bucket and scrambling toward him.

he barely spared you a glance, scoffing as he tied a knot. “as if. you don’t know how to fish.”

you planted your hands on your hips, standing beside him with a determined pout. “why can’t you teach me?” you challenged, tilting your head. then, with a sly grin, you added, “you don’t know either.”

that got his attention. he turned to you with a dramatic sigh, his face a mixture of annoyance and reluctant amusement. “i know how to fish,” he insisted, standing up and brushing the sand from his shorts. “fine, i’ll teach you. but don’t cry when you mess it up.”

he reached for your hands, his grip surprisingly gentle as he guided you toward the rod. his blue eyes softened, though his voice remained gruff. “first, you hold it like this,” he explained, positioning your hands on the handle. “not too tight, or you’ll mess up the cast. got it?”

you nodded eagerly, your small hands dwarfed by the rod as you mimicked his movements.

“now, watch carefully,” he said, stepping behind you to adjust your stance. his hands covered yours, steady and sure, as he helped you draw the rod back. “when i say ‘go,’ you flick it forward. like this—”

“go!”

the line soared into the water, the bait landing with a soft plop. your face lit up with excitement, and you turned to him, beaming. “i did it!”

he rolled his eyes, but the corner of his mouth twitched upward in a small smile. “barely. don’t get cocky.”

you laughed, unbothered by his tone. “thanks, rafey.”

“whatever,” he muttered, but there was a flicker of pride in his expression as he returned to his spot.

even then, he was a contradiction—tough on the outside, but with glimpses of something softer beneath the surface. as you stood on the shore now, the memory faded, replaced by the crashing waves and the unanswered question: had he changed? or had time only sharpened his edges?

the beach stretched out before you, golden and endless, shimmering beneath the late morning sun. the air was thick with the scent of salt and sunscreen, the sound of waves mingling with the occasional bark of a dog or the laughter of children playing nearby. seagulls circled above, their cries sharp but oddly soothing, a familiar soundtrack to a place you once called home.

you slipped off your shoes and stepped onto the sand, warm and soft, a sensation you hadn’t felt in years. the grains clung to your skin, and you let out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding. it was as if the beach itself were welcoming you back, whispering that some things never changed, no matter how much time passed.

a crowd had gathered in the middle of the shoreline, their figures blending together in the bright sunlight. you couldn’t make out any faces, but the hum of their voices and the sight of carefree movement filled the air with life. despite the busyness of the scene, the beach itself remained a sanctuary—a timeless, comforting space. the wind tousled your hair, and for a moment, you closed your eyes, letting the nostalgia wash over you. it brought you back to a day much like this one, years ago, when the beach had been alive.

your parents had joined ward and rose for a picnic, the two families spreading out a blanket beneath the shade of an umbrella. everyone had been vibrant, so alive. the adults laughed and chatted over glasses of chilled wine, while you and sarah shared slices of watermelon, sticky juice dripping down your chins. she had her head resting on your shoulder, her blonde hair tickling your cheek as you both giggled over nothing in particular.

“it’s really sweet,” you’d said, savoring another bite.

ward had turned to you with a smile, always proud of his ability to impress. “imported from south america,” he’d explained. “you like it?”

you and sarah had nodded enthusiastically, neither of you having a clue in the world what a south america was. the sweetness of the fruit a perfect match for the sunlit day. but as you turned your gaze toward the water, you noticed rafe sitting alone by the shore. he was quiet, his toes buried in the gentle surf, drawing patterns in the wet sand with a stick. there was a tension to him, a nervous energy that seemed out of place amidst the carefree atmosphere.

you set down your half-eaten slice and rose to your feet, brushing sand from your legs. “i’m gonna go check on rafe,” you told sarah, who only shrugged and returned to her watermelon.

as you approached, he glanced at you out of the corner of his eye, scoffing lightly. “you’re all sticky,” he muttered, the faintest hint of amusement in his voice.

you grinned, unbothered. “are you hungry?” you asked, crouching beside him.

he shook his head, the stick in his hand still tracing lines in the sand. you frowned, leaning closer. “what’s wrong?”

for a moment, he didn’t answer, his usual bravado replaced by something softer. finally, he turned to you, his blue eyes filled with a quiet uncertainty. “i have to tell you something,” he said, his voice low.

“what’s wrong, rafey?” you pressed, your concern genuine.

he fidgeted, the stick falling forgotten into the sand as he reached into his pocket. When he turned back to you, his hand was outstretched, holding a small metal ring. it was simple, almost too small, as though it had once belonged to a charm bracelet—or maybe it was something he’d found in rose’s jewelry box or bought with the few dollars he had.

“what’s that?” you asked, curiosity lighting up your face.

“i got it for you,” he said, his tone serious, almost awkward.

“why?”

his gaze dropped to the sand, his cheeks reddening. “because i’m gonna marry you when we grow up.”

you gasped, your excitement bubbling over. “really?”

“yeah,” he mumbled, looking at you with a mixture of pride and embarrassment. “so, here.”

without hesitation, you threw your arms around him, sticky hands and all. “thank you, rafey!”

“stop, you’re still sticky,” he protested, his voice muffled against your shoulder, but he didn’t pull away.

instead, you took his hand, tugging him to his feet. “come on!” you exclaimed, dragging him back toward the picnic.

as you reached the blanket, you held up the ring proudly. “rafe and i are gonna get married!” you announced, your voice loud enough to draw the attention of everyone there.

rafe’s face turned scarlet, his hands stuffed into his pockets as laughter erupted around you. even rose, who was usually so composed, chuckled warmly at the sight of her son’s flustered expression.

sarah ran to you, throwing her arms around your neck. “yes! you’ll get to be my real sister!” she cheered, her enthusiasm matching your own.

the memory made your chest tighten as you stood on the beach now, watching the waves roll in and out. how simple things had been then, how full of joy and possibility. the weight of the years since that day pressed down on you, and you couldn’t help but wonder: had rafe ever thought about it? had he ever remembered that promise?

the sound of the crowd jolted you from your thoughts, pulling you back to the present. laughter, cheers, and the unmistakable hum of engines filled the air, growing louder with every passing second. Intrigued, you turned toward the commotion, your curiosity outweighing the tranquility the beach had offered moments before.

you wove your way through the crowd, dodging elbows and shifting bodies as you tried to get a better look. the closer you got, the more the scene came into view. dirt bikes, sleek and muddied, were scattered along the sand, their riders gathered near the starting line. the crowd pressed in around them, forming a makeshift arena.

at the center of it all were three men who stood apart from the rest, their presence commanding attention. two of them were on one side, seemingly strategizing. one had curly hair that bounced with every movement, his wiry frame radiating energy. the other was blond and lean, his sharp jawline illuminated by the sunlight. a few feet away stood the third man, tall and broad-shouldered, his blond hair buzzed short. even from a distance, there was a quiet intensity to him that made him stand out.

you tapped the shoulder of the girl beside you, who was cheering loudly. “what’s all this?” you asked, your voice just loud enough to be heard over the roar of the crowd.

she turned to you, her eyebrows furrowed as if surprised you didn’t already know. “you’re not from here, huh?” she asked.

you hesitated before replying, “not recently.”

“it’s the kildare enduro,” she explained, a hint of excitement in her voice. “biggest race of the summer. you’re in for a show.”

the name didn’t ring any bells, and you realized this must have been something new, something that had started after you’d left. still, the anticipation in the air was contagious, and you found yourself eager to see what all the fuss was about.

engines revved, the sound sharp and exhilarating as the riders mounted their bikes. the crowd roared as the signal was given, and within seconds, the racers were off, their tires kicking up sand as they sped down the makeshift track.

the racers weaved skillfully around obstacles, their movements a blur of precision and daring. the man with frosted tips was quick, taking sharp turns with practiced ease, his bike seeming to glide over the sand. the lean blond wasn’t far behind, his focus evident in the way he leaned into every curve, his bike roaring as he pushed it to its limits.

but it was the third man who drew your attention most. he was fast, incredibly so, his broad shoulders steady as he maneuvered through the course with calculated aggression. every movement was controlled, deliberate, as though he knew exactly how far he could push the bike without losing control.

the race was a spectacle, a blend of more speed, less skill, and pure adrenaline. the crowd erupted into cheers as the racers hit the halfway mark, neck and neck. it wasn’t until the blond man attempted a daring jump over a dune that things took a turn. his landing was rough, causing his bike to wobble dangerously before he recovered. he seized the opportunity, pulling ahead with a burst of speed, but the tall blond wasn’t far behind. they pushed their bikes to the brink, sand flying in every direction as they closed in on the finish line.

just as it seemed the tall blond had the race in the bag, the one with frosted tips made his move, attempting to overtake him on the final stretch. their bikes collided briefly, sending both riders skidding across the sand. gasps rippled through the crowd as the tall blond man capitalized on the chaos, speeding past the lean one to take second place.

the race was over before it even started, but the energy in the air was electric. you found yourself pushing closer, eager to see the aftermath. the tall blond, covered in sand and visibly frustrated, rose to his feet. he glanced toward the lean blond, who was still brushing himself off, their exchange charged with tension. and then he turned.

for a moment, his piercing blue eyes locked onto yours. there was something achingly familiar about him—the shape of his jaw, the intensity of his gaze. it was as though you��d seen him before, in another life perhaps, but the memory was just out of reach. your heart raced as he continued to stare, his expression unreadable.

you hesitated as the scene unfolded before you, your gaze fixed on the lean blond. a group of people ran toward him, their laughter and shouts mingling with the lingering roar of the crowd. one of them threw their arms around him, but the others had snapped like a twig, shoving him, yelling at him. you couldn’t help but stare, curiosity hitting you.

the realization hit you—you stuck out like a sore thumb, gawking as if you didn’t belong, and you probably didn’t. you started to shift back into the crowd when a gentle touch on your shoulder jolted you. you spun around, your heart leaping into your throat, and froze.

she didn’t need a single word of introduction. the familiar honey-blonde hair, the sharp yet kind eyes, the bright smile etched into your childhood memories—it was unmistakably her.

“sarah?” the name tumbled from your lips before you could stop it.

her eyes widened, her hand flying to her mouth as if to stop herself from crying out. shock rippled across her face, her features softening and trembling all at once. she didn’t say a word, not at first. she just stood there, eyes scanning your face like she couldn’t believe what she was seeing.

then, suddenly, her arms were around you, pulling you into a tight embrace. “oh my god,” she breathed, her voice quivering with disbelief. her grip was strong, desperate, as though letting go would make you vanish again.

the eyes of her friends were on you, you could feel their curious stares, but you didn’t care. at least now, you knew it was really her.

“sarah,” you repeated, your voice cracking. the name felt strange on your tongue after so many years, but it was real. she was real.

“it can’t be you,” she whispered, her breath hitching. “it can’t be.” she pulled back just enough to look at you, her hands gripping your shoulders as tears pooled in her eyes. her gaze darted across your features, her trembling lips curving into a smile of disbelief. “it’s you,” she said again, shaking her head, her voice catching in her throat. “it’s really you.”

tears blurred your vision, your chest tightening as you threw your arms around her this time. you held on tightly, suppressing the sobs clawing at your throat. “sarah,” you said again, her name a lifeline tethering you to the moment.

“are you—are you back?” she asked breathlessly, pulling back just enough to search your face. her voice was thick with emotion, her words tumbling out in a rush. “are you back for good?”

“i am,” you managed, your voice shaky but sure. “i’m back, sarah. for good this time.”

she laughed through her tears, pressing a hand to her chest like she couldn’t believe it. “you have no idea,” she began, her voice breaking, “how much i’ve missed you. how much we’ve missed you.”

she turned then, gesturing toward her group of friends who had been watching the reunion unfold. “guys, this is,” She paused, the words catching in her throat as she turned back to you, her eyes still wide with disbelief. “this is my best friend growing up. this is—”

you gave them a nervous smile as sarah continued, her excitement bubbling over. she rattled off introductions, naming each of them—jj, the boy with the shaggy blonde hair who had lost the race; john b, whose gaze lingered on you with a kind curiosity; and a few others who smiled warmly despite the obvious confusion etched on their faces. they greeted you with nods and hesitant smiles, but you barely registered it. your heart was pounding, your focus still tethered to sarah.

then, almost without thinking, you asked the question. “is rafe here?”

sarah’s face shifted, a flicker of something unreadable crossing her features. you noticed jj and john b exchange a quick glance, something unspoken passing between them.

“he was just here,” sarah finally said, her voice quieter now, almost cautious. “racing.”

the realization hit you like a wave, the memory of the second racer—the tall blond with the piercing blue eyes—crashing over you. your breath caught in your throat as the pieces fell into place. the familiarity you’d felt, the tension in his gaze—it had been him.

you blinked, the realization sinking in deeper than you wanted it to. that had been rafe. older, rougher around the edges, but still undeniably him. you barely heard sarah when she grabbed your hand and said, “come on, let’s head back to john b’s. we can talk there.” her friends nodded, beginning to walk, and you followed them automatically, your feet moving on instinct as your mind raced. sarah walked beside you, her hand gripping yours like she was afraid you’d disappear again.

the walk to john b’s house stretched longer than you anticipated, the weight of sarah’s questions and the unfamiliar tension in her friends' eyes making the air feel thicker than it should have. the sound of your footsteps crunched against the gravel path, each step sinking deeper into the realization that you were walking into a life that no longer felt like your own. the salty breeze carried the faint scent of bonfires and ocean spray, and yet it did little to settle the nerves curling in your stomach.

sarah had stayed close, her hand brushing yours occasionally as if afraid you might disappear again if she didn’t tether you somehow. you glanced sideways at her, taking in the subtle changes in her features—she was still sarah, but her edges had softened, her face more weathered by years of joy and hardship than the carefree girl you’d once known.

when the small house came into view, you nearly stopped in your tracks. it wasn’t the grand estate where you used to sit on the veranda sipping iced tea or sneaking snacks with sarah when ward wasn’t looking. it was modest, its weathered exterior standing in defiant contrast to the glossy life sarah had grown up in. surfboards leaned against the porch, the peeling paint whispered of simpler days, and the scent of fried food wafted from an open window.

“this is where you live now?” you asked softly, unable to mask the disbelief in your tone.

sarah hesitated, then nodded. “yeah,” she said, her voice carrying a mix of pride and resignation. “it’s home.”

you didn’t say anything else, but you couldn’t help wondering what had happened to bring her here. what had pulled her away from the life you once knew?

inside, the house was alive with chatter and movement, the kind of casual chaos you could only find among close friends. jj had thrown himself onto the couch, beer in hand, while kiara rummaged through a drawer for something. john b stood by the kitchen, leaning against the counter, his eyes flicking between you and sarah as if trying to read the situation.

but sarah didn’t let you linger in the room’s atmosphere for long. she tugged you toward the porch, where the sound of the waves was clearer, the salty breeze brushing against your skin. you sank onto the steps beside her, the wood warm beneath you from the day’s sun. for a moment, neither of you spoke.

“how could you?” she asked suddenly, her voice breaking the stillness like a clap of thunder.

you turned to her, startled. “what?”

her gaze was locked on the horizon, her hands gripping the edge of the step. “how could you just leave? how could you stay quiet for twelve years?” her voice trembled, her pain spilling out in waves.

you swallowed hard, the knot in your throat tightening. “sarah, i—”

“you didn’t even say goodbye,” she interrupted, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “you just disappeared. do you have any idea what that did to me? to all of us?”

your breath hitched, and you looked down at your hands, unable to meet her gaze. “i didn’t have a choice,” you said quietly.

her head snapped toward you, her expression a mix of confusion and anger. “what does that even mean?”

“something happened,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “something horrible. and i couldn’t stay. i had to face it.”

her anger melted away, replaced by a sorrow so deep it made your chest ache. “what happened?” she asked softly, her hand reaching for yours.

you shook your head, biting back the emotions threatening to spill over. “i can’t talk about it. not yet.”

she nodded slowly, her fingers tightening around yours. “okay,” she said, her voice steady despite the tears in her eyes. “but promise me you’ll tell me one day.”

“i promise,” you said, your voice cracking under the weight of the moment. the silence returned, heavier this time, until you found the courage to break it. “what about rafe?”

her breath caught, and she pulled her hand back, folding her arms tightly across her chest. “what about him?”

“i need to see him,” you said, your heart pounding.

kiara’s voice cut in from the doorway, sharp and unflinching. “you don’t want to do that.”

you turned to her, frowning. “why not?”

“because nobody here is friends with rafe,” she said, her tone laced with bitterness.

you turned back to sarah, your stomach sinking. “what does she mean? what happened to him?”

sarah’s expression darkened, and she looked away, her fingers tracing invisible patterns on the wood. “he’s not the same,” she said finally. “he’s gotten into some bad things. drugs. crime. hurting people. he’s not the rafe you remember.”

the words hit you like a punch to the gut, the air rushing from your lungs. “no,” you whispered, shaking your head. “that can’t be true.”

“he tried to kill me,” sarah said, her voice trembling. “he’s different now.”

you stared at her, your mind racing, memories of the boy you once knew flashing before your eyes. without thinking, you stood, your chest tight and your breathing uneven. “i need a minute,” you muttered, stepping off the porch.

“wait,” sarah said, her gaze dropping to your hand. her brow furrowed as she leaned closer. “you still have that?”

you followed her gaze to the small metal ring on your pinky, its once shiny surface now dull and worn. “i haven’t taken it off,” you said quietly. “not once these twelve years.”

her breath hitched, and tears filled her eyes. “he gave you that,” she whispered, her voice trembling.

you nodded, your throat tightening. “he did.”

she reached out, her fingers brushing against the ring. “even after everything?”

you swallowed hard, the weight of the ring heavier than ever. “especially after everything.”

her tears spilled over, and she pulled you into a hug, her breath shaky against your shoulder. “we’ll find him,” she said softly. “we’ll fix this. somehow.” but as you pulled away, the doubt lingered in her eyes—and in yours.

your walk was slow, your feet dragging against the dusty path as your mind swirled with thoughts of what sarah had told you. the crisp evening air nipped at your skin, and the faint hum of crickets filled the silence. your fingers brushed against the cool metal of the ring on your pinky, twisting it around absentmindedly as you tried to piece together how everything could have gone so wrong.

the roadside bar loomed ahead, a place frozen in time. its weathered wooden sign creaked faintly in the breeze, illuminated by a flickering neon light that buzzed softly. this was a place your father and ward used to frequent, their laughter and hushed conversations floating in your memory like ghosts. you hesitated for a moment, gripping the ring tighter before pushing open the heavy door.

the smell of stale beer and cigarette smoke hit you first, the dim light casting shadows that danced across the scuffed wooden floor. the low murmur of voices and the crack of pool balls filled the room, but the moment you stepped inside, it felt like every pair of eyes turned to you. men leaned against the bar, their gazes lingering a little too long, and a few heads turned in the corner where a card game was underway. your pulse quickened, and you adjusted your stance, trying not to show the nerves that prickled beneath your skin.

you found an empty stool near the bar and slid onto it, the worn leather cool against your legs. the bartender, a woman with kind eyes and a bright smile, approached. she leaned slightly over the counter, her voice warm. “hi, sugar, what can i get you?”

her friendliness put you at ease, and you adjusted yourself on the stool, thinking back to the times you had sat on your father’s lap here as a child, the smell of whiskey and tobacco clinging to his clothes. you tried to remember what he would order, something simple, something that wouldn’t make you stand out.

“just a beer, thanks,” you answered, your voice steady despite the nerves fluttering in your chest.

she nodded and moved to grab a bottle, setting it down in front of you with a napkin. you paid, sliding the money across the counter, and took a sip, the bitter taste grounding you in the moment.

as you sat there, you let your thoughts wander. you thought about sarah’s words, about how rafe had spiraled into a person you could barely recognize. you thought about the ring on your finger, its weight heavier now than ever, and how you’d kept it on all these years as a symbol of a bond you once thought unbreakable. the sound of the door opening barely registered until you heard the voice.

“gin straight.”

it was deep, rough, and unmistakable. your stomach churned, your breath caught in your throat, and before you could stop yourself, you turned.

there he was, standing a few feet away at the bar, his profile sharp against the dim light. his buzzed hair was shorter than you remembered, his jaw more defined, but it was the same face that had haunted your memories for over a decade. he turned slowly, almost as if he could feel your gaze on him, and when his eyes locked onto yours, the world seemed to tilt off its axis.

it all stopped. the noise, the movement, the air in your lungs. everything came to a grinding halt as his piercing blue eyes met yours.

“rafe,” you exhaled, so quietly you weren’t sure if the word even escaped your lips, but it did.

his gaze stayed on you, unblinking, unreadable. for a moment, he didn’t move, as if frozen in place. then, hesitantly, he stepped closer. you held your breath as he reached out, his hand brushing yours as he lifted it to inspect the ring on your pinky.

he turned your hand slightly, his thumb grazing the metal as his jaw tensed. the silence between you was deafening, his face a mixture of disbelief and something you couldn’t place. but then, as quickly as he had reached for you, he let go, your hand falling limply to your side.

“rafe, please,” you said, your voice louder this time, tinged with desperation.

“no,” his response was barely audible, but the weight of it crushed you. he shook his head, stepping back. “no, you don’t get to do this.”

you blinked, your heart breaking at the quiet finality in his tone. “do what?” you asked, your voice trembling.

“you don’t get to come back after twelve years and act like everything’s the same,” he said, his voice low but sharp. “you don’t get to look at me like that.”

he grabbed his jacket from the stool beside him, abandoning the drink he’d ordered. you reached for him, stepping closer, but he moved away, his movements hurried, as if he couldn’t get out fast enough.

“rafe, wait!” you called after him, but he didn’t stop.

the door swung shut behind him, and you were left standing there, your heart in pieces on the scuffed wooden floor. you sat back down slowly, your hands trembling as you picked up your beer, the cool glass doing little to steady your nerves. tears pricked at your eyes, but you blinked them away, unwilling to break down in front of the strangers still watching you. the ring on your finger seemed heavier now, its meaning twisted and warped by the person rafe had become.

the world seemed to turn on you as you staggered along the dirt path, the alcohol buzzing in your veins far more than you'd intended. you cursed under your breath—why did you even drink in the first place? the bar was supposed to be a brief stop, a distraction. now, here you were, stumbling through the outskirts of town, hopelessly lost.

the cool night air pricked your skin, and you wrapped your arms around yourself for warmth. trees loomed overhead, their branches tangling into an almost suffocating canopy as you ventured deeper into unfamiliar woods. your steps were uneven, crunching against the dry leaves and snapping twigs underfoot. the stillness was eerie, broken only by the distant sound of crickets and the occasional rustle of something unseen.

you didn’t realize you had stopped until you heard faint voices carried on the breeze. they were low, hurried, almost conspiratorial. your muddled brain told you to turn around and leave, but something else—a mixture of curiosity and recklessness—drew you forward.

as you approached, the silhouettes of two figures came into view, faintly illuminated by the pale moonlight breaking through the trees. one was shorter, stocky, with buzzed, dark hair, a mustache, and a chain glinting around his neck. he was gesturing animatedly, his hands moving with the urgency of someone trying to make a quick deal. the other man stood taller, his broad shoulders stiff, his body language more guarded. it wasn’t until your unfocused gaze settled on his profile that your breath hitched in your throat.

even through the haze of alcohol, you could recognize him. the strong jawline, the tense set of his shoulders, the way he ran a hand through his short blond hair—it was unmistakable. but this rafe was different. the sight of him clutching a small, crumpled bag of powder made your stomach churn.

your eyes darted between the two men, trying to piece together the scene in front of you. money exchanged hands, crisp bills slipping from rafe’s grasp to the other man’s. the bag of powder followed, its stark white contents nearly glowing in the faint light. your chest tightened as the reality of what you were seeing hit you. a twig snapped beneath your foot.

both heads snapped in your direction instantly, their movements sharp and alert. rafe’s eyes widened, his entire body tensing as he registered your presence.

you took a step forward, anger and disbelief swirling together in a volatile mix. “really, rafe?” the words came out harsher than you intended, but you couldn’t stop them. “this is what you’ve been up to?”

the shorter man frowned, his expression shifting into one of irritation. “excuse me,” he said with a mocking edge, “this is a private transaction.”

you ignored him, your focus locked on rafe. he sighed heavily, dragging a hand down his face as if trying to summon patience. fully turning to you, his jaw clenched tight, he spoke with a tone that brooked no argument. “this doesn’t concern you.”

“who's this, country club?” the dark-haired man asked with an amused smirk. “got yourself a girlfriend?”

rafe didn’t answer, but the anger in his eyes was unmistakable. it wasn’t just anger—it was frustration, shame, and something deeper, something raw.

your own emotions bubbled over. “you know what? fine.” you reached into your pocket, fumbling for your wallet. “i’ll join the fun. i want some too.”

rafe’s reaction was immediate. he grabbed your wrist, his grip firm but not painful, his eyes boring into yours with a mixture of disbelief and fury. “what the hell are you doing?”

“what?” you shrugged, yanking your arm free as you pulled out a few bills. “you can have fun, and i can’t?”

he leaned closer, lowering his voice to a furious hiss. “you think this is fun?” his eyes darted to the other man, who was now watching with an amused grin, clearly entertained by the unfolding drama. rafe’s attention snapped back to you, his expression dark. “i’m dealing with shit, okay? now, i know you’ve been gone for a while, but this—” he gestured around him, his tone bitter—“this is the way things are now.”

you let out a hollow laugh, shaking your head in disbelief. “dealing with shit? this is your solution?”

rafe clenched his jaw, his hands flexing at his sides. for a moment, it seemed like he might say something, but instead, he abruptly slammed the small bag of powder onto the ground, startling both you and his associate. without another word, he grabbed your arm, yanking you away from the scene with a force that left no room for argument. the shorter man called after him, his voice dripping with annoyance, but rafe didn’t even glance back.

you wrenched your arm free from rafe’s grasp, the momentum staggering you backward a step. his grip had been strong, almost desperate, and as you finally stood still, you took him in.

the years hadn’t been kind, and yet, they had. he was sharper somehow, more defined. his jawline was stronger, his shoulders broader, but his eyes—god, his eyes. the bright blue you remembered so vividly had dimmed, clouded over with something you couldn’t quite name. he looked good, and yet, he looked like a man you barely recognized.

“what the hell is your problem?” the words slipped out before you could stop them, your voice sharp and cutting.

rafe was already pacing, his hands on his hips, his head tilting back as he let out a bitter laugh. he dragged his palms down his face, his movements frantic, unstable. “what’s my problem?” he repeated, his voice laced with mockery. “let’s see, what’s my problem?” he turned to face you, his expression twisted with something you couldn’t quite name—anger, hurt, disbelief, maybe all of it at once. “maybe it has to do with you, showing up after twelve years.”

his words hit like a slap, but he wasn’t done. “i mean, what’d you think? that we’d hug, hold hands, shed a few tears? that it’d be like old times?” his voice rose as he took a step closer. “after you left? after you left?”

the weight of his words made your chest tighten, guilt curling in your stomach like a living thing. you opened your mouth to respond, but he cut you off, his voice growing louder, more unstable. “you thought we’d just pick things up where we left off? are you that delusional?”

he leaned in close, his face inches from yours, and jabbed his fingers against his temple as if trying to make sense of it all. his words spilled out in a rushed, angry torrent, each one hitting you like a blow. “you left, and you stayed gone. you didn’t call, didn’t write. hell, you didn’t even think to check if i was still breathing.”

“she died, rafe,” you said, your voice cracking under the weight of your words.

the sentence stopped him mid-rant. his pacing halted, his brow furrowing as he turned to look at you, truly look at you, for the first time. “what are you talking about?” he asked, his voice quieter but no less intense. “who died?”

your chest tightened, and it took everything in you to speak the words aloud. “my mom, rafe,” you said, the pain evident in every syllable. “she died, and we had to go back. we didn’t have a choice. and when we did, we couldn’t face coming back here. it was too much—it’s still too much.”

rafe’s face crumbled, the anger draining from his expression as sorrow took its place. he ran a hand through his hair, his gaze dropping to the ground as he processed your words. your mom. the woman who had always cared for him in ways his own mother never had. the woman who had bandaged his scraped knees and made him dinner when rose was too busy entertaining guests. she was gone.

the silence stretched between you, heavy and suffocating. finally, rafe spoke, his voice softer than before. “why are you back?”

you swallowed hard, your hands trembling at your sides. “i came back for you,” you answered, your voice steady despite the tears welling in your eyes.

for a brief moment, something in his face softened—something familiar, something achingly rafe. but then he shook his head, his gaze hardening once more. “don’t,” he murmured, almost a plea. “i’m not the same person anymore, and i haven’t been for a long time.”

“i don’t care, rafe,” you shot back, your voice rising with desperation. “nothing could ever change the way i see you. please—”

“stop.”

“no,” you interrupted, your heart breaking with every word. “i know you, rafe. i know who you are underneath all of this. you’re still the same boy i grew up with, the same boy who—”

“stop!” his voice cracked, loud and raw, silencing you. he took a step back, his chest heaving as he struggled to keep himself together. “you don’t know me anymore. you don’t know what i’ve done, what i’ve become. you don’t want this, trust me.”

“i do,” you insisted, tears streaming down your face. “i want you. i came back for you because i never stopped caring. please, rafe, just—”

“i can’t,” he said, his voice breaking as he turned away. he grabbed his jacket from the ground, his movements hurried and clumsy. “i can’t do this.”

“rafe, please!” you called after him, your voice echoing through the trees. but he didn’t turn around. he walked away, his figure disappearing into the shadows, leaving you standing there, shattered and alone.

your knees gave out, and you collapsed to the ground, sobs wracking your body. the ache in your chest was unbearable, like someone had reached in and ripped your heart out. you buried your face in your hands, the cold dirt beneath you offering little comfort. your head throbbed, the pain sharp and unrelenting. the world around you spun, the trees and stars blending together into a dizzying blur. and then, everything went black.

rafe clutched the steering wheel with both hands, his knuckles white as he sped down the dark, empty streets. the tears that streaked his cheeks blurred his vision, but he didn’t care. he couldn’t stop the flood now. this was his only safe place to fall apart—behind the wheel, alone in the cocoon of his car, where no one could see, no one could judge. his chest heaved as sob after sob broke free, and the memories he had buried for so long clawed their way back to the surface. he could still see it, clear as day. the moment everything changed.

he had been eleven years old, standing on your porch, knocking on your door. it had been like any other day—he’d woken up with a plan to drag you outside and teach you something new. maybe you’d climb trees together, or he’d show you how to skip rocks at the creek. you always lit up when he taught you something; it made him feel like a hero.

but when no one answered the door that day, his excitement faded to confusion. he tried again, banging harder, calling your name. still, nothing. the house was eerily quiet, no muffled footsteps, no voices, no sound of the television in the background. he glanced around, noticing for the first time that your father’s car wasn’t parked in the driveway. his heart sank. something felt wrong.

he pushed the door open—it was never locked back then—and stepped inside. the air was still, heavy, as though the house itself had lost its heartbeat. “hello?” he called, his voice echoing faintly. othing. no one. rafe felt panic prick at the edges of his chest as he backed out of the house and ran down the street to his own. when he slipped through the side door, he heard voices. quiet, tense, the kind of voices that told him he wasn’t supposed to be listening.

he crept toward the living room, where his mother and father were standing close, their voices low and hurried. rose’s arms were crossed, her lips pressed into a thin line as ward leaned in closer to her, his face drawn with worry. sarah sat on the couch, her small shoulders shaking as she cried into her hands. rafe froze in the doorway, staring at them.

ward was the first to notice him. his father’s eyes softened, the corners of his mouth pulling into an expression rafe rarely saw from him—sympathy. “dad,” rafe said quietly, stepping further into the room. “she wasn’t home, so i came back.”

he glanced at sarah, confused and a little scared. “why’s she crying?”

rose and ward exchanged a look, a wordless conversation passing between them. finally, ward sighed, walking over to his son. he crouched down, his large hands resting on rafe’s small shoulders. “she’s not going to be home for a very, very long time,” ward said, his voice uncharacteristically gentle.

rafe frowned, trying to understand. “why not? where’d she go?”

ward didn’t answer. instead, for the first time in as long as rafe could remember, his father pulled him into a hug. a real hug, not the kind meant to placate or perform, but one that felt like comfort. one that made Rafe’s chest ache because he didn’t realize how much he needed it.

“i know it’s hard, son,” ward murmured against his ear. “but she’s gone now.”

rafe let his father hold him that day, clinging to the one solid thing he had as his mind raced to comprehend what “gone” meant. the realization hit later, slowly and painfully, when day after day, week after week, he knocked on your door and was met with silence. for a whole year, he went back, hoping, praying that one day you’d answer. but you never did.

and now, twelve years later, you were here again. like a ghost, like a dream he’d stopped believing in. rafe wiped his tears away with the back of his hand, pulling himself out of the memory as he glanced to the side. his heart clenched when he saw you slumped in the passenger seat, unconscious. your face was pale, your body limp, and the sight made him grip the steering wheel harder.

he took a shaky breath, his eyes lingering on you for a moment longer. you looked so small, so vulnerable, like the girl he used to know and the stranger you had become all at once. “i'm sorry,” he whispered, the words catching in his throat as he turned his gaze back to the road.

the world was hazy when you opened your eyes, the faint, warm glow of a lamp on the bedside table guiding you back to consciousness. your head throbbed, the dull ache intensifying with each second, and for a moment, you weren’t sure where you were. slowly, you blinked, your vision sharpening. the room around you felt familiar.

a large bed cradled you in its softness, the smooth fabric cool against your skin. the lamp’s golden light cast gentle shadows on the walls, illuminating a painting hanging across from the bed—a serene coastal landscape you swore you’d seen before. beneath the painting sat a neat stack of white drawers. the faint sound of cicadas chirping outside suggested it was night, but how long had you been out? an hour? two? you brought a shaky hand to your temple, pressing lightly against the pounding pain in your head as you tried to piece together how you got here. then you saw him.

rafe was sitting on the edge of the bed, his broad shoulders hunched slightly, his hands clasped together as if he were trying to hold himself together. his eyes, red and puffy, were fixed on you, his expression a mixture of relief, guilt, and something deeper—something unspoken. your lips parted, your voice faint as you murmured, “rafe.” the sound of his name felt foreign on your tongue, yet familiar, like a forgotten melody.

he didn’t respond immediately, just continued to watch you, his throat bobbing as he swallowed thickly.

“rafey,” you whispered, your voice cracking as your senses fully returned. the nickname slipped out before you could stop it, dragging you both back to a time when things were simpler, softer. a time when you’d tug on his sleeve and call him that, and he’d groan in mock annoyance, but secretly love it.

to your surprise, he smiled—small, fragile, but real. “you haven’t called me that in a long time,” he murmured, his voice rough around the edges but warm in a way that made your chest tighten.

you shifted, straightening your back and sitting up to get a better look at him. the movement made you grimace as your headache flared, but you ignored it. you couldn’t think about yourself right now—not when he was here, not when he was looking at you like that. you must be a mess, you thought. your hair was probably tangled, your makeup smeared, and your clothes wrinkled from sleep. but if rafe thought so, he didn’t show it. his gaze remained steady, unwavering, as though you were the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

“i’m sorry,” you blurted, the words escaping like they had a mind of their own. your throat tightened, and the floodgates opened before you could stop them. “i’m so sorry, rafe.”

your voice cracked as the first tear fell, and then another, until they were streaming freely down your cheeks. the weight of years of guilt and regret crushed you, leaving you breathless and trembling.

“please, don’t cry,” rafe murmured, his voice soft and pleading. he climbed into the bed beside you, reaching out to gently wipe your tears away with the pads of his thumbs. his touch was tender, careful, like he was afraid you might shatter. he had never enjoyed seeing you cry. not when you were kids, and certainly not now.

“i couldn’t have stopped it, could i?” you choked out, your voice trembling. “i could’ve helped you, but i wasn’t there. i left you, rafe. i left you, and look what happened.”

his hands cupped your face, tilting it upward so you had no choice but to meet his gaze. his blue eyes, raw and filled with emotion, bore into yours. “of course you could’ve,” he whispered, his tone tinged with something like sorrow. “nobody could’ve stopped me, but you.” your heart clenched at his words, the truth of them cutting deeper than any blade.

“but,” he added, his thumbs brushing away the fresh tears that streaked your face, “it’s not your fault you weren’t here. you couldn’t have known.” he leaned in slightly, his forehead nearly brushing yours. “you’re here now,” he whispered, his voice steady, reassuring.

you nodded, the lump in your throat too big to speak around. his warmth seeped into you, his presence grounding you in a way nothing else could. his arms wrapped around you, pulling you close until you were cradled in his lap. your head rested against his chest, the steady thrum of his heartbeat calming the storm inside you. for a moment, it felt like the world had stopped spinning. it was just you and rafe, tangled together, trying to piece each other back together.

he shifted slightly, his hand brushing against yours, and his gaze dropped. his fingers stilled when they grazed the small, tarnished ring on your hand. “i can’t believe you’ve kept it all these years,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

you looked down, following his gaze to the ring he’d given you all those years ago. it was simple, unassuming, but it had meant everything to you.

“it’s all i had left of you,” you admitted, your voice trembling.

rafe’s fingers closed around yours, lifting your hand to his lips. he pressed a soft kiss against the cool metal of the ring, then another against your knuckles. the tenderness of the gesture sent a fresh wave of tears streaming down your cheeks.

“you’ve got me now,” he said, his voice low and certain. he placed your hand against his chest, directly over his heart. your breath hitched as his gaze locked onto yours. his eyes flicked down to your lips, then back up, searching for permission. you gave it with a barely perceptible nod, and in the next heartbeat, he leaned in.

the kiss was soft, hesitant at first, as though he were afraid of breaking the fragile moment. but as your lips moved against his, the hesitation melted away, replaced by something deeper, something more desperate. his hands cupped your face again, tilting it just right as he kissed you like he’d been waiting twelve years to do it. and maybe he had.

your hands found their way to his shoulders, clinging to him like he was the only solid thing in a world that had shifted beneath your feet. his lips were warm and soft, moving with a purpose that made your heart race. time seemed to stretch, the rest of the world fading into nothing as you lost yourself in him. it wasn’t rushed or hurried; it was slow, deliberate, filled with all the emotions you hadn’t been able to say out loud.

the moment lingered, your foreheads pressed together as your breaths mingled in the quiet intimacy of the room. rafe’s hands stayed on your face, his thumbs gently stroking your cheeks as if he were memorizing every inch of you. his blue eyes burned into yours, filled with an intensity that made your heart race and your stomach flutter.

his lips brushed yours again—tentative, almost like a question. when you didn’t pull away, he deepened the kiss, the motion slow and deliberate. his lips moved against yours with a softness that contradicted the desperation in the way his hands held you, like you might disappear if he loosened his grip.

your fingers slid up from his shoulders, tangling in his hair as you tilted your head, giving him better access. he took the invitation greedily, his kisses growing bolder, more insistent. his hands left your face, one settling at the base of your neck while the other pressed gently against the small of your back, pulling you impossibly closer.

when he finally broke the kiss, you were breathless, your lips tingling from the way he’d kissed you like he was afraid it might be his last chance. but he didn’t go far. his lips found your jaw, pressing soft, lingering kisses down its curve. “rafey,” you murmured, your voice barely audible as your head tilted instinctively, giving him more room.

the sound of his nickname, the one only you were allowed to use, on your lips seemed to spur him on. his kisses trailed lower, down to the sensitive spot just below your ear, where his lips lingered, warm and soft against your skin. a shiver ran through you, and you felt his smile against your neck, like he knew exactly what he was doing to you.

“tell me to stop,” he whispered, his breath warm against your skin. but there was no hesitation in his voice, no real expectation that you would.

“don’t stop,” you replied, your fingers tightening in his hair.

he groaned softly, the sound low and rumbling, sending a wave of heat through you. his lips continued their journey, trailing down the column of your neck, his kisses deliberate and unhurried. he paused at the base of your throat, pressing a kiss there that was more reverent than anything else, like he was worshipping you.

your breath hitched as his lips moved lower, brushing against your collarbone. his hands shifted, one sliding to your waist, the other splayed against your back, keeping you anchored to him. his lips lingered on your collarbone, the warmth of his mouth contrasting with the cool air of the room.

“rafe, please,” you whispered again, your voice trembling.

he pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes dark and filled with something you couldn’t quite name. his thumb brushed against your cheek, his touch gentle despite the fire in his gaze.

“you’re so beautiful,” he murmured, his voice raw and earnest.

a tear slipped down your cheek, and he caught it with his thumb, shaking his head slightly as if he couldn’t believe you were here, in his arms, letting him hold you like this.

“you don’t have to cry anymore,” he whispered, leaning in to press a kiss to the corner of your mouth, then another to the opposite side. “i’ve got you now. you’re not going anywhere.” his words settled in your chest, a balm to the ache that had been there for years. you believed him. you felt it in the way he held you, the way he kissed you, the way he looked at you like you were his entire world.

his lips found yours again, this time softer, slower—like he was savoring you, trying to memorize the feel of you against him. his hand cradled the back of your head, his fingers threading gently through your hair as his other hand rested at your waist, keeping you steady.

you melted into him, your hands gripping his shoulders as his warmth enveloped you. he kissed you like he was afraid to rush, as though he wanted to take his time and show you everything he couldn’t put into words.

when he pulled back, his lips hovered just above yours, his breath warm and uneven against your skin. his thumb brushed your cheek, his touch impossibly tender.

“i’ve thought about this,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “about you. about us. for years, i thought i’d lost you for good.” his blue eyes searched yours, his vulnerability shining through.

“i’m here now,” you replied softly, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw. “and i’m not going anywhere.”

he let out a shaky breath, his forehead resting against yours as if grounding himself in your presence. “i don’t deserve you,” he admitted, his voice breaking slightly. “not after everything i’ve done, after the person i’ve become.”

your heart ached at his words, at the pain you could hear in his voice. you cupped his face in your hands, forcing him to look at you. “rafe,” you said firmly, your voice steady despite the whirlwind of emotions coursing through you. “you deserve love, just like anyone else. and i���ve always believed in you. always.”

a tear slipped down his cheek, and you caught it with your thumb, your heart breaking and mending all at once. he leaned into your touch, his eyes closing briefly as if he was letting your words sink in.

“i’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you,” he whispered, his lips brushing yours as he spoke. “if you’ll let me.”

you didn’t answer with words. instead, you closed the distance between you, kissing him with a softness that spoke volumes. he responded immediately, his hands sliding down to your hips as he pulled you closer. the kiss deepened naturally, his lips moving against yours with a newfound urgency, but still gentle—always gentle with you. his hands remained steady on your waist, grounding you as his lips traveled once more, pressing kisses along your jaw, down the curve of your neck.

you tilted your head, giving him more access as his lips found the sensitive spot beneath your ear. a soft sigh escaped you, and you felt his smile against your skin. “you’re incredible,” he whispered against your neck, his voice low and filled with awe. “every piece of you. i don’t know how i got so lucky.”

your fingers found their way into his shirt, tugging gently as his kisses trailed lower, to the hollow of your throat. his lips pressed there for a moment, lingering as if the feel of your heartbeat beneath his lips anchored him. when he finally pulled back to look at you, his eyes were darker now, filled with a mix of emotions—adoration, desire, and something deeper, something that made your stomach flutter.

“you have no idea how long i’ve waited for this,” he murmured, his hands sliding up to cradle your face again. “to have you here, to hold you, to kiss you. i thought i’d never get this chance.”

“you have me now,” you said softly, your voice trembling with the weight of the moment. “i’m yours, rafe. always.”

the words seemed to shatter something in him. he leaned in, capturing your lips in another kiss—this one more heated, more desperate, as if he was trying to pour every unspoken word, every unshed tear into the connection. his hands wandered to your back, pulling you flush against him as he kissed you deeper, his lips leaving no part of yours unexplored. when he finally broke away, his lips trailed along your jaw, to the sensitive spot below your ear, down your neck, and finally to your collarbone.

you shivered under his touch, your breath hitching as his hands skimmed your sides, his fingers brushing against your waist with a tenderness that made your heart ache. “you’re everything,” he murmured against your skin, his voice filled with reverence. “everything i’ve ever wanted.”

his touch seemed to grow bolder, his hands moving to the buttons of your blouse. you helped him, eager to feel the heat of his skin against yours. the fabric parted with a harsh tug, revealing the simple, lacy bra that had been hidden beneath. his eyes darkened as he took in the sight, his breathing growing ragged.

“so beautiful,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down your spine. his fingers traced the edge of the lace, his eyes never leaving yours. the anticipation was almost unbearable, your heart racing as you waited for his next move.

when he finally did, it was with a gentle touch that belied the intensity in his gaze. he cupped one of your tits, his thumb brushing against the nipple until it tightened into a peak. you gasped at the sensation, arching into his touch. his praises grew more fervent as he played with your sensitive flesh, his voice a soft, muffled whisper that seemed to wrap around you as he pressed the surface of his tongue alongside the valley of your boobs, making you feel desired in a way you hadn’t felt in a long time.

his other hand found the zipper of your skirt, pulling it down with a slow deliberateness that had you squirming in anticipation. the fabric fell away, pooling around your ankles, leaving you in just your panties and bra. the look in his eyes was one of pure hunger, but it was tempered with a love so fierce it stole your breath away.

he leaned in, his mouth capturing one of your nipples through the lace, his tongue teasing it into a hardened point. you moaned, your hands fisting in his shirt. you could feel the warmth of his breath against your skin, the wetness of his mouth, the roughness of the fabric against your sensitized flesh.

his hand slid down, hooking into the waistband of your panties. you lifted your hips slightly, allowing him to pull them down your legs. the coolness of the air against your bare cunt was an incredible contrast to the heat of his touch. you allowed him to pull your panties down, feeling exposed and vulnerable, yet safe in his arms.

his eyes traveled over your body, taking in every inch of you as if he were worshipping a goddess. his gaze made you feel powerful, beautiful, and utterly wanted. his hands found your hips, his thumbs digging in slightly as he tugged you closer to him. the fabric of his own clothes were rough against your skin, a reminder that this was real, that he was really here, touching you with a love that seemed to consume him.

his mouth moved down, kissing a path from your neck to your chest, pausing to worship each tit in turn. his teeth grazed the flesh gently, making you gasp as he sucked and nibbled. it was erotic, the way he took his time, savoring every moment as if it might be his last. you felt the ache between your legs, the wetness growing slicker with every kiss, every caress.

his hand slid down, his fingers slipping into your wetness, exploring your folds with a gentle yet firm touch. your eyes fluttered closed, your head falling back as he found your clit, stroking it with a precision that made your legs tremble. “fuck, rafe,” you moaned, your voice a breathless whisper.

he kissed you deeply, his hand never leaving your pussy as he began to rub circles around your clit, increasing the pressure with every pass. you could feel yourself getting closer, the tension building like the crescendo of a symphony. his thumb circled your clit as his forefinger slid into your wetness, the sensation sending waves of pleasure through your body.

his mouth moved to your ear, his breath hot and heavy. “i love you,” he whispered, the words sending a shiver down your spine. “i’ve loved you for so long. i wanna make you feel so good, to show you just how much you mean to me. can i?”

you nodded, unable to form words as the orgasm crashed over you, your body shuddering with the force of it. he didn’t stop, his hand moving faster, his thumb pressing harder until you were panting and trembling in his arms. when you finally stilled, he kissed you again, a gentle press of his lips to yours, his tongue sliding in to taste you.

his hands slid away, and you felt the loss acutely, but only for a moment. he stepped back, his own shirt and pants joining the pile of discarded clothes on the floor. his cock stood erect, showing you what you did to him in every sense of the word. you couldn’t help but stare, taking in the sight of him—his chiseled abs, the muscles in his arms, the way his chest rose and fell with every ragged breath.

“you’re so beautiful, rafe,” you whispered, your voice filled with awe.

his eyes never left yours as he stepped closer, his hands coming up to cradle your face again. “says you,” he murmured, the words a declaration that sent a thrill through your body.

his cock brushed against your stomach, hot and hard, and you reached for it, wrapping your hand around it. he groaned, his hips jerking slightly at the contact. you began to stroke him, your hand moving up and down in a slow, steady rhythm that had his eyes fluttering shut.

his hand slid down to your pussy again, his fingers finding your entrance. he slid one inside you, the sensation making you moan. he watched your face as he began to move it in and out, his thumb circling your clit. your breath grew shallow as the pleasure built again, your legs threatening to give out.

his eyes snapped open, a fierce love shining in their depths. “don’t think i’ll be able to stop myself,” he growled, his voice thick with desire. “are you sure you can handle it?” you nodded, unable to form words. your heart was racing, your body more than ready for him. he kissed you once more, his hand guiding his cock to your entrance.

the first push was slow, deliberate, giving you time to adjust to his size. he groaned, his eyes never leaving yours as he inched inside you. it felt like coming home, like the missing piece of a puzzle sliding into place. the feeling was so intense that you had to bite your lip to keep from crying out. once fully seated, he paused, his chest heaving against yours. “are you okay?” he whispered, his voice strained with restraint.

you nodded again, feeling a mix of pleasure and pain as he stretched you. you reached up, pulling his head down for a deep, desperate kiss. “i’m okay, fuck. make love to me, rafe,” you urged.

his eyes searched yours for a moment before a fierce smile spread across his face. he began to move, his strokes long and slow, each one driving him deeper. you wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him closer, your nails digging into his back. the room was filled with the sound of skin slapping against skin, your gasps and moans mingling with the crash of the waves outside.

his hand found your tit again, his thumb teasing your nipple as his hips rocked against yours. he picked up the pace, the friction building a delicious ache deep inside you. “you’re so wet, so tight,” he murmured, his voice hoarse. “feel so good, baby.”

the words spurred you on, your hips moving in sync with his. you could feel yourself getting closer again, the tension coiling tighter and tighter. “yes, rafe, yes!” you moaned, your voice echoing in the room. his hand slid down to your clit, his fingers moving in time with his thrusts. the sensation was almost too much for you to handle.

his strokes grew more erratic, his breathing more ragged, and you knew he was close. “gonna cum, baby,” he grunted, his eyes never leaving yours. “gonna fill your pussy up, make you mine forever.”

the raw possessiveness in his voice sent you over the edge. you came hard, your body convulsing around him as wave after wave of pleasure crashed through you. he followed soon after, his cock pulsing inside you, filling you with his warmth.

you held onto him tightly, your breathing matching his, as the world outside the mansion faded away. it was just the two of you, connected in a way you’d never been before. as the aftershocks of your orgasm faded, you felt his weight shift, his body collapsing slightly against yours. it felt like the end to a dream, to something you’ve been chasing after your entire life, but it was only the beginning.

he didn’t pull out, and he wouldnt for a while. instead, he looked up at you, pushing away the sweaty strands of hair that stuck to your forehead. as he did so, his gaze dropped to the ring wrapped around your finger, slick with sweat. “pretty cheap for an engagement ring,” he murmured. “you should throw it out.”

you couldn’t help but frown, “why?”

“so that i can get you a better one.”

⋆. 𐙚 ˚

a/n: ok guys yes im aware that canon rafe would NOT be this sweet lovey dovey hopeless romantic but idgaf i have free will and tumblr so grease my feet

[mystargirl-interlude]

The Phantom

Genre: Angst with a hint of fluff

Ship: Rafe x Pogue!Reader

Summary: The scene at the end of OBX 1 when things get heated in the Phantoms boat house. Rafe and readers secret relationship gets exposed and it ends with Kiara giving an ultimatum.

Not completely proof read

—

You and Rafe had a complicated relationship. As a pogue, you spent your days with John B and his group of friends, enjoying adventures and the freedom of the Outer Banks. Rafe, however, was a Kook Prince, benefiting from the perks of his status. You never really cared about the rivalry between Pogues and Kooks; in fact, you found it cringe. Still, you worried about the consequences if anyone found out about your secret romance with Rafe.

You were afraid, not because of what others might think, but because you cared about Rafe’s safety. You knew he would do anything to keep your relationship a secret because he worried so much about how his father would react. Rafe's fear was not about the opinions of the wealthy people in the Outer Banks; it was about the heavy expectations from his father.

Every moment you spent together was risky, and Rafe planned everything carefully. The secrecy of your relationship felt like a heavy burden, making him cautious. You balanced the excitement of your relationship with the fear of being discovered.

You, JJ, Pope, and Kie had been working on preparing Sarah and John B for their big escape to their new life. You had gotten food and fuel but were currently trying to get “The Phantom”, a boat that JJ’s dad owns, to the already decided departure location.

JJ raved on and on as the door of the building slide open and you finally got a good look at it.

“Jay this is a beauty right here,” You say gliding your hand along the side of the boat, there was a hint of sarcasm in your tone. It was pretty dusty and smelled of old salt water.

“Really, right in front of her,” He says motioning to the boat “You wouldn’t be smoking weed if it wasn’t for her,”

You just quipped a little ‘mhm’ before looking back at the boat. You weren't fully immersed in the wild drinking and smoking antics that the Pogues indulged in. You would if the day was stressful or in celebration, but you usually had work sooner than you would like and didn’t feel like getting fired in case they smelled anything on you. Most places wouldn’t care since almost everyone on the island participated in the usage, but the country club had stricter rules. Where you both fortunately and unfortunately worked at. It’s good money, but you had to deal with kooks all day.

As you, JJ, and Kie finally got moving the sound of tired screeching caught your attention.

“Pope. Finally” Kie runs towards the back entrance before quickly stopping.

Rafe walks in. You stand there in a mix of shock and annoyance, well, all three of you do. “Hey there, what’s going on? JJ?” Nothing is said for a beat or two until Rafe taunts again, “How are you guys doing?”

Your guys’ attention turns at the sound of a whistle. You watch as Barry rounds Kie’s car. He clears his throat briefly, and a cocky smirk appears on his face. “Well, well,”

You look back at Rafe as he creeps up behind you. So many silent words are shared when you lock your eyes. It’s mostly in the look you give him of “What the hell are you doing?” “You need to go home before the cops realize they got the wrong guy,” and “Please don’t.” He tried to ignore these messages as he looked away, but he knew deep down he should listen.

Your attention turns back to Barry as you hear a clicking of a gun. JJ’s hands immediately raise, and that same look of annoyance and shock graces his features.

“See, don’t think I forgot about you and me on the side of the road.” Barry steps closer. “I’m here because I want my motherfuckin' money.” He grabs the side of JJ’s neck and pushes the gun into him.

Kiara screams his name and steps closer, but Rafe picks her up. She kicks and thrashes, screaming almost incoherently.

There’s an internal struggle happening inside you about what to do. You could intervene in the situation between Barry and JJ, but that could put both of you in danger of getting shot. You could choose to do nothing, but that would make you feel like a bad friend and a coward. Finally, you could help Kiara. Rafe is unlikely to harm either you or her intentionally, making this the safer option. Ultimately, Rafe tends to listen to you in the end.

You turn to Kie and Rafe, Barry yelling at JJ as the blonde lays pinned to the floor by the brunette. You quickly move to intervene.

“It’s not you who we want Kie,” Rafe explains, “Where’s John B?”

You were currently between them trying to split them apart, which they both luckily complied with. If it were anyone else, you know Rafe would be so quick to get violent.

“I don’t know,” Kie yells before slapping him with on strike to the cheek.

You’re shocked, to say the least. There was only one word in your mind dumbass. You love Kie but you're not sure what she was trying to accomplish, she was just escalating the already escalated situation.

“I really wish you didn’t say that,” Rafe gently pushes your tight grip off of his shirt before stepping closer to her. You try to push yourself between them, daring you, but at least your friend will be okay.

“I know what you did,” Kie starts.

"Kie, please don’t," you whisper, glancing back at her with worry. You admire her courage as she speaks her beliefs, even when things are falling apart around her. But right now, her strong determination feels wrong to you. It makes you uneasy to see her standing tall, not aware of the possible consequences.

“What? What’d I do?”

“You murdered Peterkin!” she yelled, and fear flickered in Rafe’s eyes. Even Barry stopped his harassment of JJ at those words, but it was only for a brief couple of seconds.

He looked down at you, as if searching for something—anything—that might help him. He was looking for you to say the right words, words that could save him, anchor him, or perhaps help him forget the chaotic situation you were in. He was waiting for you to speak, but you couldn’t find the words. What could you possibly say that wouldn’t lead to something worse?

Something snapped in Rafe, and in that high-stakes moment, his movements felt faster than the speed of light. He shoved you aside, making you stumble into an open drawer filled with miscellaneous tools. It didn’t hurt, but a stinging sensation flared up on your side. In a swift motion, he had a grip on Kie’s neck, choking her. You’d never witnessed this kind of violence directed at someone so defenseless. Rafe could be a jerk, but he had always drawn the line at harming women and usually kept his acts of terror away from your watchful eyes.

You moved with a similar speed back to their side. His mind wasn’t in his usual state, You couldn’t treat this the same. It don’t matter if your friends knew anymore.

“Rafe, Baby,” You plea gently resting one hand on his bicep.

There’s pain in his eyes, and he quickly realizes what he has done. His grip loosens significantly, but he doesn’t step back. “Don’t you ever say those words again,” he warns. He loses the confidence he had before; it’s almost desperate as he yells, “Where’s John B?”

All the commotion in the room between Barry and JJ, as well as between Rafe and Kie, meant you hadn’t heard Pope arrive. However, he made his presence known as he struck Rafe’s back with a metal pole.

“Don’t touch her!” Pope yells trying to strike Rafe but this time he ducks.

Rafe lands a solid punch on Pope, knocking the pole from his grasp. However, Pope quickly regains his footing, dodging Rafe's follow-up strike, and counters with a series of hard punches to Rafe's face. Gripping Rafe’s grimy gray t-shirt, Pope relentlessly hammers his fist into Rafe, delivering blow after blow.

You try to get between it, not caring for your safety anymore but Kie holds your wrist as she finishes her last wheeze.

Barry notices that his “Boyfriend” isn’t winning his fight anymore and turns his attention from kicking Jay to a pulp to the commotion in front of you. JJ sees his window though and grabs Barry’s foot as he goes to intervene.

“Kie, Kick it!” JJ yells but to you it’s clouded by white noise as you watch Pope, your close friend who wouldn’t hurt a fly, beat the shit out of your secret lover.

“Pope!” You yell, finally finding your voice.

Your friends catch onto your efforts of bringing Pope back to reality and assist you.

A plethora of “That’s enough” “Pope” and “Snap out of it” are thrown but that still doesn’t stop Pope from grabbing nearby rubber and wrapping it around Rafe’s throat.

Your heart shatters into a million pieces. It’s like an alarm clock waking you from the trance you were in. You decide to get physically involved as you pull Pope back, it’s not until Kiara screams “Look at me” that he finally lets go of Rafe.

“Shit, oh, shit,” JJ mumbles looking down at Rafe. He’s wheezing and coughing on the concrete floor both covered and surrounded by his own blood.

Kie goes to comfort Pope while you drop to your knees, pulling Rafe into your arms. They just stare at you; it’s as if the world has gone silent.

“Baby,” you whisper softly, brushing his hair away from his face with gentle movements. “Shh… I’ve got you.” Tears stream slowly down your cheeks as you comfort him. Rafe’s hand lightly grips the side of your arm, not roughly, but as a grounding gesture. “It’s okay, Rafe. It’s going to be okay,” you breathe out, barely audible. One arm supports him while your other hand caresses the side of his face, being careful not to smear the blood.

It might sound cheesy, but it felt like you two were the only ones who existed. Even with your three friends watching and Barry listening in, whenever you and Rafe locked eyes, sharing that deep understanding, it always seemed like you were the only two people alive.

You weren’t worried about society anymore or his father, you wanted to protect him and love him.

It was probably only a minute but it felt like you were crying forever before Rafe’s breathing leveled.

Your friends around you just looked at each other, silently saying “what the fuck” in 82 different languages.

“Guys, we gotta go, like now,” Kiara rushed breaking the silence. Her and the other two followed her to the car so they could hook on the boat.

You stayed on the floor, ignoring her words. Only a couple beats passed before Rafe spoke, his voice strained from Pope’s earlier attacks, “Go,” he starts,”I’ll be fine, Baby,”

“But-“

“I know,” He cracks a small smile even if his words were a mix of sadness and disappointment.

You gave him a small sideways kiss on his lips, that only JJ saw out the corner of his eye. You whisper silent goodbyes before your stand, softly laying him on the ground below.

The other pogues were already in the car waiting for you. The air was tense the second you got in, they all stared at you.

“Y/N… wanna tell us what that was?” Kie said cautiously as you wiped a final tear from your eyes.

“I have no clue what you’re talking about,” you try to dismiss but you should’ve known they were gonna dismiss the subject that quickly.

“I don’t wanna hear that,” JJ starts, whipping his head toward you, “Why didn’t you tell us you’re fucking the kook prince?”

“Who said we were fucking?” I question with the same attitude.

“Oh please,” He rolls his eyes before raising his voice three octaves to mock me, “It’s okay Baby, I got you, I love you Rafe’s Poo,”

“I never said all that,”

“You didn’t have to, your eyes said it all,” Pope chimes in.

“I don’t wanna hear it,” I turn my gaze to the passing terrain as Kiara drives, “It’s okay when John B does it but it crosses the line when I do,”

“This is different, Y/N. Sarah never tried to kill us, that psycho you call baby makes it his goal everyday,” JJ explains.

They were right but even if you explained why you cared so deeply for Rafe they wouldn’t understand.

“Bros before Hoes, I don’t want you two seeing each other ever again,” Kiara orders, “Do you understand?”

“Yeah” I grumble, “You act like I don’t already followed that code.”

“Oh really,”

“Really, It’s not like I cheer him on when he’s beating your ass. I help you guys always. Sorry I comfort him when Pope decides to try and make his kill count one,” The amount of attitude dripping from your voice was almost sickening, you should’ve just left it at a simple “yeah”.

The car screeches and Kiara turns her whole body to face me, “Promise to never speak to him again or get out of my fucking car right now,”

———

A/N: if i’m being honest the last bit was just me winging it but I might make a pt. 2. Wait… why this lowkey cringe. YALL ELIMINATE ME.

SEND REQUESTS

Master list + More

[mystargirl-interlude]

i hate to be the bearer of bad news but @rafessangel is copying all your stuff. your usename, your layouts, and she has also stolen stuff from your descriptions for bambi!reader, bitchy!kook!reader, and i think your kook!sweetheart!reader. just thought you should know!

yikes.

as always; left side is mine, right side is the rip off <3

copying a layout is one thing, i won’t even call you out or confront you about that, i’ll just block you. but copying stuff word for word? good luck 🎀

[mystargirl-interlude]

                      Salt &&. Secrets (SMAU.ᐟ)

summary: what started as a fun hobby quickly became more when your anonymous gossip blog unexpectedly began gaining traction after "kook king" rafe cameron discovered your writings about him and publicly bashed you, vowing to discover your identity.

     NAV ! Part Twelve. Part Thirteen. Part Fourteen.

notes .ᐟ the guilt is hitting reader especially hard after this

taglist .ᐟ @kyranheyward @theeternaloptimistt @lovinqbella @glitterybombshell @thebumbqueen @zyafics @psychicnatural @fortheloveofwbb @a-lovers-card @rafesangelita @colbysbrocks @shincidios @memoirofasparklemuff1n @drwstarkeys @k-k0129 @lilithblackkk @hewwokitti @hwaaholic @loveu-always @ietss @cl4uus @blckbrrybasket @vanessa-rafesgirl @emmasclaws @fandomhopped @enthusiastms @writinqfever @whorelaud @frankoceanluvr11 @hadids-world @upsidedownjill @ditzyzombiesblog @wearemadeofstardust0 @bradshawed @slipawaylrh @lexvenuss @harrys-housewife @cometmultiverse @sage-burrow @rafesweetie @drewstarkeyzwhore @blushmimi @angelsbreath-1 @suniee3 @akobx @my-fabulousness-has-arrived

                                ୭ৎ

[mystargirl-interlude]

Bingo

Pairing: post-prison!spencer reid x gen-z!reader Warnings: basically crack fic, dialogue heavy, this is so unserious, not beta-d, canon typical violence, no gendered pronouns but fem!coded and bi!coded, age gap (spencer in his 40s, reader in mid 20s), mention of alcohol consumption, Christmas celebration, Lila Archer mention (Note: this was supposed to be uploaded before Christmas. apologies, everyone! life has been a little crazy. gonna catch up on my inboxes and reblogs this week!)

main masterlist / misadventures masterlist

summary: You are invited to the BAU's annual Christmas celebration at the Rossi mansion. Shenanigans ensued.

The sound of soft thuds and muffled yelling can be heard even down from Anderson's desk at the far end of the bullpen. JJ knows because she has been talking to the agent for the better part of the hour and has yet to stop hearing it. 

JJ walks towards Spencer, who seems engrossed in his laptop (his laptop!), not at all concerned with the noises. 

“How long has Buttercup been in there?” Luke asks, approaching them. 

JJ nudges Spencer. “Is Buttercup—”

Tara slides up on your empty desk. “It's December, ergo—the start of winter break, which means both our genius and our kid genius are—”

“Grading an obscene amount of papers,” Spencer finishes, closing the lecturer portal on his browser. “I can read 20.000 words per minutes and I use Penelope's AI detection app but Buttercup—”

“Fuck AI! Fucking fuck!” is heard faintly from the closed doors of Derek's old, now empty, office. “I swear next semester I'm banning fucking technology! If I have to read one more ChatGPT fake ass reference I will—”

JJ grimaces in concern. “Should we—”

Spencer shakes his head. “No.”

Luke tries to argue, “But it sounds like—”

“No,” Spencer says. “Trust me, the frustration needs an outlet.”

“Can I take Buttercup to the—”

“We are not letting Buttercup near a gun,” Emily chimes in from behind the group, followed by a grinning Penelope. “I don’t care that we work in a controlled environment designed for learning how to shoot guns.”

Penelope tilts her head, eyes quickly scanning Spencer’s open laptop before giving a nod of approval. “How do you think it’ll go when Buttercup meets Hotch and Rossi properly this weekend?”

“I think Buttercup is going to make them record a TikTok video.”

“There will definitely be some weird cocktail concoction introduced.”

“Fangirling over Rossi.”

“Definitely sexualizing Hotch.”

Emily shares a knowing look with her team, grinning. “Bingo?”

Luke grins, “Fifty bucks for the winner? Ten for each box?”

“Do we get doubles if we get another row within ten minutes of the first one?” Spencer asks. 

“Definitely,” Tara agrees. “Loser has to train Buttercup for the annual triathlon.”

JJ whistles in sympathy, taking out a bucket hat you had forgotten in your drawer to collect the money. “Should not have told the overachiever they couldn’t do something.”

It was Luke who came in late because he was training for the event, you made fun of him and his lack of cardio training, and he said that you couldn’t possibly beat him. The rest was history.

It is your first time in the Rossi mansion, your first time meeting David Rossi properly, actually since he decided to retire a week before you were supposed to start. If it wasn’t for the pacemaker they put in him after yet another stint with a bomber, you would have taken it personally. He blinks at you as you hold out a tray of homemade tiramisu in his doorway, Penelope grinning behind you. 

“This is the kid who solved the Rothschild case?”

“Yep,” Penelope nods. 

“The one who made Emily steal a first edition copy of my first book and blackmail me to sign it as a bribe to help him crack a case?”

You shrug. “I never said it has to be the first edition.”

David Rossi turns to Emily, who is standing behind him like she takes pleasure in watching him scrutinize you. “You see another version of Baby Reid and you just had to, don’t you?”

Emily grins, shrugging, proud of her choices. “Come on Baby Reid, let’s meet everyone.”

“Baby Reid?” You scrunch up your nose in disgust.

The Rossi mansion is huge and you can't help but be bitter for just a little. While David Rossi's books were the first source of your interest in criminology, you know now that he got this rich by capitalizing on victim's trauma. Granted, a lot of it was his, too, but his savior complex is his to work through.

You plaster a smile, though. Emily made you promise to be on your best behavior after Penelope pity-invited you when you told her you'd be spending Christmas alone as Carlos is volunteering back home in Columbia. 

Maybe you can pretend like you belong for tonight. Besides, free booze and food? You'll swallow your complaints for now. 

Throughout the evening, Penelope is busy pulling you towards everyone. And by that, you mean everyone. 

“Damn, you got a hot and broody Phil Dunphy and I’m just meeting him now?” You say, earning an eyebrow raise from the guy. You hear Penelope laugh as you eagerly shake Hotch’s hand.

“Hotch was a prosecutor before joining the BAU,” JJ explains, just for kicks, waiting for your reaction.

You take your hand out of his and whine, “Why do the hot ones always have to be the limbs of this fascist government?”

“What?” Hotch asks, confused. “What is happening?”

Emily pats his back. “Just let it happen, sir.”

“Baby girl, you did not lie when you said a cooler version of Reid,” another voice greets you. It’s Derek Morgan, whose office you had been using as your own personal padded room, and his wife Savannah, who was so hot you may have blacked out a little. 

“Hey!” Spencer protests as he passes your group to get a drink. 

You nod your head, “And hotter.”

Derek leans down towards Savannah. “I don’t know if I can agree. Is that weird? She’s a literal kid.”

Savannah shrugs. “I mean—”

“Savannah, come on!”

Emily pulls out her phone, scrolling deep into her gallery. She moves to stand next to you, tilting her screen to show you some pictures. You are immediately blinded by the brightness. 

“Your phone screen is brighter than my future,” you grumble, moving to lower it just a little. The sight that greets you is the bunch of them at a bar, younger, with eyes less sunken and smiles just a little brighter. They all had a flushed look on their face, safe for who you assume is Doctor Reid.

Doctor Reid, who is dressed in a sweater vest. In a bar. 

“Oh my god,” you say in disbelief, taking Emily’s phone from her grip. You glance towards Doctor Reid, now wearing a sports coat with a tie, not so different from his usual teaching attire, but a bit more relaxed, then back again to the screen. “No way. You used to dress like you just came out of The Big Bang Theory?”

Spencer throws his head back and groans, followed by the laughter from the rest of the group. 

“I mean, to each their own but that vest with a purple shirt? That’s just a crime,” you remark, before swiping to the next picture. Then, you gasp. “Is that a comme des garçons cardigan? And dude, is that Louis Vuitton speedy? With that outfit?”

“Yeah, pretty boy, I’ve actually been wondering about that as well,” Derek grins.

“Pretty boy?” You repeat in disbelief. “We will unpack that later.”

“No we won’t,” Spencer sighs, then adds quietly, “They were gifts.”

Now it’s Hotch’s turn to ask, “From whom?”

Spencer mumbles an answer.

“What was that?” Emily presses. 

“Lila!” He repeats, louder in resignation to the fact that they won’t let up. 

Penelope gasps. “Archer?”

You gasp. “You know the Queen, the Mother, the Blueprint, the hottest woman alive who aged finer than wine, Lila freaking Archer?”

“Okay, can we not talk about this?”

You raise an eyebrow. “Can we talk about the pretty boy nickname instead?”

“Don’t you have a TikTok video to film?”

You open your mouth to protest, but your brain catches up a second later. “I do, actually. Penelope, do you want to do it now while we’re still fresh?”

“Let’s go my little munchkin,” Penelope wraps her arm around you, leading you to the living room. She turns her head behind your back, looking at Spencer, mouthing, “Lucky.”

Spencer grins as he wiggles his fingers in a wave.

Hotch stands next to Spencer, leaning against the counter as he joins him in watching you forcing the rest of the team to make a TikTok video. You stroll in, wearing sunglasses you found somewhere in Dave’s house, mouthing the lyrics to a song. You meet Tara at one point, then moving out of frame, before taking the phone from Penelope’s hand so she can be in the video too. 

“You know, Emily recruits Buttercup because of the Rothschild case, and a case of a high school stalker spree back in September,” Spencer muses. “But every time we introduce Buttercup to someone, they introduce themselves as a ‘personality hire’ intern.”

“They’re not completely wrong,” Hotch points out, to Dave taking his sunglasses from you, and continues to lip sync to the lyrics of the song playing from your phone. “It’s nice to see some optimistic energy.”

Spencer snorts, thinking back to the times where you put your head on the table, whining about alpha males unsubs. “Right.”

Spencer can’t deny it. As much as he finds you annoying or such a pain in his ass, you are a good addition to the team. It gets his teammates to be excited to go to work, giving them a chance to be a mentor, too. Spencer won’t admit this to your face, but he too, is glad to get another chance to work with you, after you moved to Dr. Gallagher’s academic proverbial wings. 

Hotch nudges Spencer out of his stupor, pointing to the scene in the living room. “Is Buttercup—”

“Teaching David Rossi and Tara Lewis how to vogue?” Spencer finishes. “Yep.”

After dinner, the team gathers around Rossi’s kitchen island, getting their own choice of booze. Penelope’s spiked eggnog is being spread around, save for Spencer. They’re talking over the charcuterie board JJ had meticulously crafted. 

Spencer watches as you pour Irish cream on a shot glass, followed by Rossi’s top shelf amaretto, and cool whip, before taking a shot. 

“I’ve always wondered how a BJ would taste with expensive liquor,” you shrug when Spencer asks. “Probably should not have done that, though. Now I can’t go back.”*//

“I can’t believe you would use my six-hundred dollar, oak-aged, Disaronno amaretto for something called a BJ,” Rossi says, shaking his head.

You frown, “That’s like, half my rent!”

As you and Rossi argue, Spencer checks his Bingo card discreetly. He’s one box away from bingo and double bingo. He knows that you, out of all people, will not fangirl over Rossi. Spencer knows better than that. Instead, he puts ‘conspiracy theory drop’ and ‘teaching Rossi how to vogue’, putting him in the lead. 

Now, he just needs you to explain an internet lore to these BAU dinosaurs. 

Spencer decides to send you a text, knowing that you won’t open it until at least half an hour later. 

DR. SPENCER REID I’ll give you $25 if you explain an internet lore to Rossi 7.25pm BUTTERCUP (PhD Cand). ??? i  know for SURE the bingo prize is at least a fifty 8.01pm das right pretty boy ik bout that 8.02pm DR. SPENCER REID Okay. I’ll give you fifty. 8.10pm BUTTERCUP and? 8.10pm DR. SPENCER REID And what? What more do you want? 8.11pm The only copy of Lila Archer’s tabloid issue from 2006. 8.15pm With my face on it. 8.18pm BUTTERCUP bet 8.18pm

After the Secret Santa gift exchange where he got Penelope something called a Sonny Angel, and you got Spencer a matcha starter kit (“You got to cut out coffee, Doctor Reid, or you’ll get a stroke mid lecture”), you come in strolling into the living room with spiked hot cocoa in hand, taking the empty seat next to Spencer. He tries to catch your eye, but you don’t let him. Oh, you’re good. 

“Who’s the weakest link in cybercrime that I can seduce?” You ask casually, as if you’re just asking about the weather.

“Definitely Bora,” Penelope answers immediately, earning a sharp glare from Emily and a questioning one from Luke, followed by Derek Morgan’s laughter. “I mean, why do you want to know?”

“No, why would I tell you when I’m about to do something that’s probably illegal?”

Emily sighs. “Buttercup—”

“Okay, I’ll bite,” Derek grins. “What is it, kid?”

Your eyes move from Derek’s, to Emily’s, Penelope’s, then to Spencer’s. Game on.

“I just want to know how the Mr. Beast case is coming along,” you say nonchalantly. They all look at you expectantly, waiting for you to elaborate. You take a sip of your drink to hide a winning smirk. “Basically, Mr. Beast is the biggest YouTuber right now. He does crazy shit, and one of them was the extreme hide and seek in 2021 with a million dollar prize. Rosanna Pansino was an OG YouTuber who participated as a contestant—”

“Do we really need to know all of this?” Tara asks. 

“—She was edited out of the video despite placing third! She spoke up about it but people were like, ‘omg Ro, there’s people dying in Palestine’ but then she reported MrBeast to the FBI, a.k.a you guys, for pedophilic telegram chats,” you finish with a smile. 

Luke turns to Emily, “Oh, is that the high profile case the deputy director was telling us about?”

“Oh, fuck, that’s true!” Emily says. 

As the team discusses this lore you just dropped amongst yourselves, Spencer takes a screenshot of his bingo sheet, and sends it to the group chat. 

DR. SPENCER REID

Double B.I.N.G.O.

8.30pm

Spencer tries to hand you five ten dollar bills before you get into Penelope’s car. 

“What are those?” 

He raises an eyebrow, confused. “Your cut, as promised.”

“In cash?” you say incredulously. “I don’t carry cash. Can you venmo me or something?”

“What’s a venmo?”

[mystargirl-interlude]

I’m obsessed with the Spencer and mean girl!reader!, i was wondering if you could expand a bit more and show the time she does bite back at the team for being rude or teasing Spencer?

plus size mean girl!reader, wc: 565.

a/n: decided to reopen my asks because the ones that you guys are sending are just too good! this fic was lowkey healing because i HATE when the team cuts spencer off.

Being able to go out all together was an incredible feat.

Most of the time everyone’s schedules didn’t align, but in this instance, you were able to catch a moment of peace.

The bar was bustling, live with people as music boomed from the speakers placed miscellaneously throughout the building.

You’re cuddled close into Spencer’s side, practically sitting on his lap as your sides touch. Spencer had thrown his coat over your lap because, admittedly, the bar was kind of cold, and your skirt was way too short to handle the chill.

You should be dancing, but you’re rather buzzed, the need inside you quelled by his slack covered leg that provided you with much needed warmth. You nursed the fruity cocktail in your hand, the sweetness a pleasant taste. 

“Ugh,” Voiced JJ. “If I drink anymore, I think I’ll spontaneously combust.” Her sentence ended with a groan. Emily patted her shoulder sympathetically, though that didn’t stop her from taking another sip of her whiskey.

“Did you know that it’s scientifically proven that you can’t actually spontaneously combust due to an excessive amount of alcohol intake. It’s a myth that’s long been -”

“Spence,” JJ interrupted. “I know. I was just being sarcastic.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

Spencer’s face bloomed a normally endearing red, but this time you can tell that being cut off flustered him. Your hand that was clasped loosely in his tightened, and his body grew rigid as he felt your long acrylic nails dig into his skin.

“That was rude.” You said bluntly. That broke JJ and Emily out of their conversation.

The drunken smile on her face slowly fell at the sight of your serious demeanor. “I’m sorry?” She asked, giggling awkwardly.

“He was talking and you cut him off. It was rude.” You said simply. Spencer softly called your name from your side, “It’s fine.” He had said. 

“No, it’s not fine. Even if you already knew, you shouldn’t have been an ass and cut him off.” Her mouth fell open, stunted. “I…” Emily, bless her heart, was as shocked as her.

“It’s fine.” Spencer made sure to put the emphasis on ‘fine.’ 

You threw a look to him from the side before pouting your pink gloss covered lips, crossing your arms. “I’m just saying.” You said dismissively, as if you hadn’t just caused a scene.

“Uh -”

“More drinks, yeah?” Emily interrupted with fake cheerfulness. “JJ?”

“Yeah, yeah…” She got up and left with her with an uneasy grin on her face, leaving both you and your boyfriend at the table alone.

“Why would you do that?” Spencer asks with a deep, exasperated sigh. “Because they’ve been working with you for years, and yet they still find it okay to cut you off.”

“Yeah, but… If I was bothered by her cutting me off, I would have said something.”

“That’s the funny thing about it, Spence. You still find it hard to stick up for yourself, especially to people you respect. You shouldn’t just have to sit there and take it. You’re not a dog.”

You’re fully looking at him now, and he’s just… gazing at you. “What? Is there gloss on my teeth?” You run your tongue over them. “No,” He chuckles breathily with a shake of his head. “I just… thank you.” 

It’s your turn to fluster at the sheer admiration in his voice. 

“I - you already know it’s nothing.”

[mystargirl-interlude]

a/n: this is honestly a hot ass mess, and more like an info dump with some loose plot on the side. it's also ridiculously long because i have been wanting to write about this for so long, but i was lowkey too scared too. i also want to say that i don't condone the reader's actions, mean girls aren't cute nor are they funny, it's just for the morally gray plot 😭

i literally cannot stop thinking about what if Spencer Reid had a childhood best friend that was a mean girl.

realistically, i'm aware that spencer looks down on people like that, but for the sake of this au, imagine if the both of you grew up together, and you protected him from bullies and whatnot.

of course you're not a moral person, you're mean and you have a wicked tongue, and you're all around not nice, but spencer loves you.

i'm imagining a typical LA valley girl; that once you both get older, your clothing gets sluttier and you get meaner, while he gets nerdier.

your dynamic i imagine would be a really loose adaptation of the 'mean to everyone else but you' trope.

it's kind of funny to an outsider looking in, because you feel the need to protect your boy genius from people like you.

spencer helps to reel in the bitchy tendencies in you, because you typically lose your cool fast and say whatever's on your mind, which usually comes at a cost of the other person's feelings.

when you guys were younger, he was definitely scared of you.

though you were this chunky girl that should have been bullied right along with him, you were downright worse than what he had to deal with.

the poor boy nearly shit himself when you sat with him at lunch the day after you had saved him from getting his ass kicked.

he was too nervous to say anything, and you've never left him alone since.

now that spencer's older, he figures that your friendship kind of tracks; he always did attract trouble.

the strange part about it was that, yes, you were snappy, but you had never purposely tried to hurt his feelings.

he knows how you get, especially when you go on your tangents or if your buttons had been repeatedly pushed.

you lash out and say things you don't mean, then slink back into his arms with that charming pout on your face, and an apology thick on the tip of your tongue.

spencer sometimes forgets that people kind of fear you because you're sweet on him.

like let's be honest, you're a judgy bitch. no one likes those.

so when he's exposed to that side of you, he gets whiplash.

you took well to the team though, and i only think that's because you can tell how much they mattered to him.

your main thing had always been to try and defend him against people that have ill intentions.

so when see the sheer amount of camaraderie and familial energy that surrounds all of them, you ease up.

but not when they cut him off. that's when you get ugly.

you guys were in separate grades due to spencer jumping ahead, but you still hung out on a daily basis, you had heard his statistical chattering for the majority of your life.

so, you knew it was something he found pleasure in doing, and you'd be damned if someone upset him.

you really did try and bite your tongue! but sometimes morgan's ego was too big for his body, or maybe jj gave him one too many looks for your liking.

luckily spencer can catch the cat-fight bubbling in you from a mile away; he can see the way your eyes narrow first, a disbelieving smile on your face while your exceptionally done nails tap on the nearest surface in irritation.

have you ever seen a cat when its hair stands up on the back of its neck? yeah, that's you.

all it takes is a warm hand on your naked thigh and a small shake of his head to make you huff and cross your arms, the clinking of your bangle bracelets moving along with you.

of course he'll hear all about it on the ride home.

spencer's feelings for you had always been there, but there was a difference between you being his best friend and his lover.

and honestly? that grade school intimidation that he had felt would came back.

because at the end of the day you were you, and he was him.

it was a ridiculous thought, one that you had dismissed when you had confessed to him yourself.

"do you like me back or not, spence?" you had asked out of the blue one day. "because you keep looking at me and not doing anything about it. It's kind of pissing me off."

his wide, shocked eyes met yours, practically tearing his gaze away from the book he had been engrossed in.

"i... do."

"do what?"

"yes, i do like you back."

"good."

dating wasn't all that different than being your friend, he had come to realize.

the only thing that was different was that you were sweeter than ever.

always complimenting him and buying him shit, posting him all over your social media, and even making him your lock screen.

you were so proud to be his partner, that he had forgotten what being loved out loud had felt like.

your relationship came as a shock to no one, of course.

y'all are the epitome opposites attract.

your skimp wear compared to his cardigans, your bite to his soft ask, your scoff to his chuckle.

that's what spencer's come to love. the fact that you guys are so different.

yes, you're a handful, yes you're mean to him sometimes, but like i said before:

he loves you. and that's all that matters.

[mystargirl-interlude]

kildare nights. nine, don’t even care. previous ! next

gold at hand and no more treasures to hunt, the freshly graduated treasure hunters are left to deal with the simple life. as simple as a certain level of fame and millions of dollars in the obx can get you, at least.

an. filler chapter cause im sick and i cant talk or breathe through my nose………… I love you guys so much you don’t even get it thank you guys for reading and giving me ur cute thoughts i want to kiss all of you fr. to any of you who celebrate, merry Christmas!! happy holidays everyone!!! hope you all have a great time and have many more great years to celebrate

taglist. @sippinpeachtea @leather-n-velvet @beebeerockknot @star611 @emer-sonnn @miidollaasignnn @vrtualstar @rafecameronsloverrrrr @jeonjungkaka @amara-mars @chaoticroaddreamerpasta @yawnzshit @poppet05 @proxy-princess @zomb-1-egutzz @starsval @ethanthequeefqueen @moonssyrup @sarahmaybank @bilssturns @cakuqe @marleymarleymarleymarley @louxmcl @sheisntyou @always-reading @eitaababe @aesthetic-lyssa @carlandoxlestappen @acidfeens @aweasleyobrien @murdockcastleslut @k-k0129 @grapejuice32 @flvredcas @love-hs28 @lola11111111 @youtubewag @212-apricity @kittycatqueenie @anothertimegirl @mbella607 @wasiasproject @mirellef2001 @thereallifebambi @mymadokamagica @0800-thatbitch @haunteres @aariahnaa @sophielikesdeadmen @sluterainterlude @jjmaybankmylovee (send an ask or comment to be added to the taglist!)