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octbrsaturn · 22 days ago

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₊˚⊹˚ 𐙚 WHEN YOU KNOW, YOU KNOW | TWO

a pogue!sweetheart!reader series by rafesangelita ©

SUMMARY: you were ecstatic when rafe told you that you two would finally be having dinner with his family, having been wanting to meet the people closest to him for months now. however, this so called ‘family dinner’ takes a turn when you and rafe are suddenly sitting at a table with ward who insists on interrogating you about who you are and what your true intentions are with his son..

WARNINGS: fluff, heavy angst, lots of arguing and shouting, ward being mean to you, mentions of drugs and addiction, rafe defending you like he’s your knight in shining armor <3, slight physical altercation..

AUTHOR’S NOTE: made myself cry while writing this. things get better i promise!

LINKS: series masterlist | prev chapter | next chapter

WORD COUNT: 4.5k

you knew something was weighing heavy on rafe’s mind when he walked into your camper, his usual smile now replaced with a tight line as he shut the screen door behind him. “what’s the matter?” you were quick to put your mixing spoon down, wiping your hands on your apron as rafe plopped down on the small couch in the corner. apart of him didn’t even want to entertain his dad’s obvious trap to corner you and put you in an uncomfortable position, but at the same time he wanted, needed, ward to know that he was one hundred percent all in with you. he needed ward to see that he was serious about all of this.

“wheezie told my dad about us.” your stomach was in knots at the mere mention of ward, and rightfully so. you were a witness as to what kind of person he was. while you and rafe had agreed to keep your relationship under wraps, word about you and him being together had spread across the island like wildfire. you hated the plummeting feeling in your chest whenever rafe talked about how his dad would do anything to sabotage the two of you if it meant saving his family’s bullshit of a ‘reputation’. sure, the kook spotlight was on the them, but would it really matter if rafe brought someone home from the other side of the island?

surely kildare couldn’t be that divided.. right? to the point where the financial status of your partner sunk the ship that was your family’s social relevance?

you were already thinking the worst, shame and guilt flooding your senses at the thought of being the person who would potentially contribute to their ‘downfall’. the idea was silly, but everyone on figure eight was so shallow and superficial, you had no doubt rafe’s own social status had been knocked down a few points ever since he was seen with you and it was revealed that you did not in fact live in a mansion with your rich, snobby parents. hell, you didn’t have parents at all.

“how did that come about?” you draped yourself across his lap once you got your apron off, the distressed look on his face making your own nerves come into play. as if it was second nature to him, he pulled you close against his chest, his hand resting reassuringly on your thigh. “well..” he sighed, relaxing against the cushions, “wheezie and her friend wanted to sneak out to a party, and at first i was super against it, but then she told me that i’m the only one she has now since sarah isn’t in the house anymore.” he explained.

“she said that she would need a ride, only to come and find out that the party she’s talking about was taking place all the way over here on the cut..” you listened to him, rubbing shapes into his chest over his t-shirt. “i freaked. i know that kook parties aren’t any better, hell, they’re probably worse, but the thought of her being around people that she doesn’t even know, super far away from home at that, it didn’t sit right with me if i just let her party with these pogues.” you blinked at the ‘pogues’ bit, rafe seemingly looking over at you just in time.

“i just mean the rowdy bunch, you know? the ones who don’t care about anything else or themselves.” you nodded. he did have a fair point. god knew the cut had too many youth already walking down the wrong path. “so i told her no way i was going to take her and her friend, and it just escalated from there. i guess my dad heard us arguing, and as soon as the door opened she had pushed me, and before i knew it we were both getting chewed out by my old man.” you cracked a smile as you imagined him and his little sister getting lectured.

“so i kinda told on her first..” your eyes widened as you slapped his chest playfully, “rafe!” your boyfriend was nodding like he knew what you were going to say already. “i— yeah, it was wrong, but i didn’t want to give her the idea that i was going to let something like that slide, okay? it came from a place of concern.” rafe sounded like he genuinely felt bad for going that low. “and then me and my dad kinda teamed up on her and kept telling her why the cut was no place for her, and then she just exploded.” he shook his head.

“you teamed up on her?!” you sat up, still stroking his skin. “i know! i had it coming. once she had heard enough from me and my dad, she yelled; ‘i don’t know why rafe is making such a big deal about me wanting to go on the other side of the island, he’s the one who spends most of his time there with his pogue girlfriend!’” you didn’t take anything she said to heart, having been kind of forced to defend herself with the one thing she knew rafe was sensitive to. “you should’ve seen the look on ward’s face when she said that. everything switched, and then i was the one being yelled at.”

you swallowed thickly, your heart thumping so hard in your chest, you wondered if rafe could hear it. “.. what did he say?” your voice was barely above a whisper as you spoke. “nothing that i’m going to repeat. it was all bullshit. every single word.” you could imagine the usual ‘gold digger’ line, considering you had already heard the awful rumor one day when you were selling cookies at the country club. you hadn’t told rafe about that incident, nor did you plan to do so anytime soon. “but he proposed something.”

at this, you met rafe’s eyes. “proposed something?” you repeated, your mind racing with all of the possibilities. while the suggestion made your heart ache, you wouldn’t be surprised if he told rafe to break up with you, or anything else of that nature. rafe could see the gears turning in your head, his thumb rubbing reassuring circles into your soft flesh. “family dinner.” your eyes lit up, rafe’s heart twisting at the sight. “dinner?! really?!” despite everything rafe just told you, you still looked like you were over the moon to meet the same man who had just insulted you mere hours ago.

“yes, but there’s some things you need to know about my dad, alright? i don’t want you getting too excited now..” you calmed down a bit, fiddling with the pendant on your necklace. “i feel like deep down he knows that we’re serious about each other, and for that reason alone he’s going to say things in hopes of making you feel bad about yourself, or make you have doubts about what we have. i don’t want you to believe a single word that comes out of his mouth. he’s bitter, and for some reason he believes i should be miserable right alongside with him.” you nodded, taking every word of his in.

“he’s cruel, and that’s me being nice.” it tore rafe apart to see the sparkle you had in your eyes suddenly disappear, a pout gracing your lips as you looked away from him. “if he’s so terrible, why does he even want to give me a chance to meet him? or the rest of your family for that matter?” you were trying to understand where ward was coming from, but it was really hard to do that when he seemingly hated you for no reason. “he was saying some downright awful things about you, accusing you of having some kind of ulterior motives for being with me.”

you swallowed the lump in your throat. “this is about money, isn’t it?” rafe has never lied to you in the four months that you two have been together, and he wasn’t going to start now. “yes, this is about money..” you bit your lip, looking around your camper.

has it always been this small?

how have you managed to live out of this thing?

why would rafe be here if he had somewhere where he could actually kick his feet up at?

“see— that right there!” rafe pointed at you, “that look on your face, that’s exactly what he wants.” rafe cursed under his breath. you blinked as rafe brought you out of your thoughts. “what?” trying to play dumb with the one person who saw through you like glass wasn’t smart. “you’re overthinking everything right now. stop it.” you chin wobbled, your hands covering your face as if to hide from him. “oh, baby,” he pulled you close, cradling your head against his chest, “fuck whatever he has to say, alright? we’re not gonna give him the satisfaction of going—”

“no, i want to!” you interrupted, “if i have to sit through an insufferable dinner to show your dad that he can’t scare me off as easily as he might think, then that’s what i’ll do. we can’t prove him right with this, rafe.” you sniffled, using the sleeves of your cardigan to wipe your tears. despite rafe wanting to reassure you and tell you that you two can do something better with your time, he knew you were right. ward wanted you to fold under pressure, ward wanted you to feel like you weren’t good enough to be with his son, and right now you hated yourself a little bit for letting him.

“when does he want to do it?” you asked, looking up at rafe with glossy eyes and tear stained cheeks. “he didn’t say, but most likely as soon as possible.. i think we should just get it out of the way.” you agreed, reveling in the feeling of rafe embracing you. “try for tomorrow, it’ll give me enough time to make something.” rafe looked down at you. “you’re really gonna do that?” obviously you knew ward didn’t deserve any of your acts of kindness, but these were still first impressions at the end of the day. “of course i am! i’m sure he’s expecting me to show up empty handed..”

rafe watched as you crawled out of his lap, your head held high as you tied your apron around your waist. “well, i guess that means i should get back to work.” you couldn’t even tell that you were crying in the first place, rafe staring at you in awe as he got up from his spot on the couch. caging you in between his arms, you let out a shaky breath as rafe rested his chin in the curve of your neck. “there’s nothing that he could say or do that will ever make me feel differently towards you. you’re it for me.” you smiled softly. rafe knew exactly what you needed to hear, when you needed to hear it.

scooping a ball of cookie dough onto a spoon, you popped the sweet mixture into your mouth as you hummed. “how did you read my mind?” you turned around in his hold, his cerulean eyes boring into your own. “cause i know you.” he took the spoon from your hands, getting his own little serving. wrapping your arms around his waist, you ran your hands up and down his back. it was hard to be sad around rafe, especially when he gave you all of the comfort one could ever need. no matter what, he always put you above everything without you having to ask.

“you read me too, you know,” rafe’s chest rumbled against your cheek, “you always have.” he added, mind reminiscing back to the night your paths had finally crossed. he remembered every detail. from the way you took take care of him, to the way you handled him so delicately as if he’d break. in a way he was already broken, but you had so selflessly put him back together again, he was so blindsided by your love, he couldn’t believe something so beautiful really existed. “no matter what happens tomorrow, i’ll be by your side the same way you were for me, i promise you that.”

after spending the next day worrying yourself to death and changing outfits at least three times before settling on a white dress and kitten heels, you and rafe were finally in his truck, a tub of brownies sitting in your lap. you had dressed rafe up in a white button down and jeans since he refused to wear something fancy just to sit in front of ward. “remember what i told you, alright? don’t believe a single word he says to you.” rafe couldn’t help but feel shitty for bringing you into all of this.

the whole ‘meeting the parents’ thing was supposed to be exciting, thrilling even. instead, you two were giving pep talks to each other like you were about to enter a warzone. it simply just wasn’t fair. as a way to try and ease your nerves, rafe put on some of your favorite songs, stroking your knuckles with his thumb as he drove you two across the island. “what do you think he’s going to say?” you peered up at him from through your eyelashes, squeezing his fingers as he spoke. “i have no doubt in my mind that he’ll be passive aggressive, ‘try to come off as the nice guy but still be a dick about everything.”

you swallowed thickly, jaw ticking as you looked out the window. you had no idea what to expect, the only thing you could do was be yourself, and hope that for ward that may just be enough. it wasn’t long before tanneyhill came into view, your stomach doing back flips as rafe pulled into the driveway. “you’re beautiful, baby, just wear a smile.” you leaned in, pecking rafe on the lips before he got down, rounding the truck and helping you out. he didn’t hesitate to carry the tub of brownies, his arm wrapping around your waist as he planted you on the ground.

“we’ll leave as soon as you want to, okay? just give me the word.” you nodded, allowing him to lead you to the front door. it was eerily quiet, not even the porch light was on. “do you think anyone is home?” you and rafe looked around, confused. just as rafe was going to get his own set of keys out of his pocket, the door opened and your heart fell to your stomach. “hi!” you were the first one to say something, the deafening silence becoming too much for you to bear. almost as if he was taunting you, ward let out a ‘hey, there!’ in the same high pitched tone.

rafe was already refraining from punching his dad in the face and you two had just gotten here. you caught on, ignoring the pang of hurt in your chest. “can we come in?” rafe asked as ward made no effort to move out of the doorway. “oh! yeah, what’s wrong with me?” ward scooted over, rafe taking your hand in his as he moved you to his side. “i didn’t make anything, so i hope you don’t mind that i got takeout instead.” rafe stopped dead in his tracks. ward didn’t have the decency to at least make something?

“i do hope that’s okay..” ward turned around, a smile playing on his lips as rafe’s fists clenched at his sides. glancing over at you, ward gave you a knowing look before you nodded. “of course it’s okay!” you chirped, giving rafe’s hand a shake. rafe felt like saying ‘fuck it’ and walking right back out the door. “it’s fine..” you whispered, giving him a little push so you two could sit down. ward looked irritated that he couldn’t get through to you two. plopping the tub of brownies down on the table, rafe moved your chair out for you, scooting you in before taking a seat next to you.

he sat close, his hand enveloping yours underneath the table. “uhh— where’s rose and wheezie?” rafe took it upon himself to grab the takeout plates, counting only three. “oh, i told them to get out of the house for a little bit. you know those two can shop.” you laughed softly while rafe scoffed. “some ‘family dinner’, huh?” ward narrowed his gaze at his son. “is there a problem?” oh, god, please not now. “yeah, there is,” rafe started, “you didn’t even take the time to make anything, which by the way, it could’ve been something quick and easy, you haven’t asked y/n for her name, and now you told rose and wheezie to leave when you knew she was coming over?”

you stared blankly at the table, your chest rising and falling as ward searched for his next words. “please, rafe.” you glanced up at him, your boyfriend shaking his head. “no, this is ridiculous.” he cursed under his breath. “so is this whole relationship.” and that right there was exactly what you were afraid of. it was as if the tension grew impossibly thicker, the energy in the room drastically shifting. “was this what you meant when you said you were going to give her a chance?” rafe laughed bitterly. “letting this pogue step into my house was me giving her a chance. she doesn’t even talk!”

you blinked away the tears, locking eyes with ward as you finally looked up from your lap. “thank you for inviting me into your home,” your voice was barely above a whisper as you spoke, “but if me being here stirs up trouble, then it’s best that i leave.” just as you and rafe were about to get up, ward stopped you. “hold it right there.” rafe was still moving when you froze. “my apologies if i made you feel like—”

“if?” rafe repeated, “you can’t say that when you’ve been acting like an asshole for the last ten minutes straight.” rafe was seething at this point, his cheeks flushed red as he pulled you up. “come on, you don’t have to deal with this shit, ‘over here being nice and he can’t even start up a real conversation.” ward laughed, the sound ringing in your ears. this is what he wanted. to scare you off, intimidate you into thinking that you didn’t have what it takes to sit here at this table. “no, we’re staying.” you sat back down, opening the takeout box.

rafe stared at you for a few moments, taking a breath before glaring at his dad. “nothing like a greasy cheeseburger and fries, right?” acting as if ward’s earlier comment didn’t affect you, he gritted his teeth as you smiled at him sweetly. “thank you for this.” you were way too nice for your own good. rafe pinched the bridge of his nose, half relieved that you caught on to what his dad was trying to do, and half pissed off that he made him contemplate leaving in the first place. just one more chance. ward only had one more chance to make you uncomfortable before he would be packing a bag and leaving with you until further notice.

“you’re welcome.” ward flashed you a fake smile. waiting for rafe to sit down, ward didn’t start asking any questions until he had both you and rafe’s attention. “i guess i can start off by saying thank you for coming, i wasn’t expecting you to go through with it if i’m being honest.” you and rafe knew that already. “where are you from, y/n?” you licked your lips, clearing your throat. “i was born here in kildare, and have been here ever since.” ward nodded, eyeing the tub of brownies. “i actually heard you were famous for your cookies,” he laughed, “are they really that good?”

you smiled shyly. “well, i wouldn’t say ‘famous’ per say, but i think they’re amazing, yes.” ward opened the container, taking a bite out of one of the brownies. you watched him intently. “oh my god,” he hummed, “yeah, these are amazing.” rafe blinked, unsure if you two were still in enemy territory. your chest bloomed with pride, your shoulders relaxing a little bit. “i’m sure you sell a lot of goods.. it only makes me wonder if you have a permit to distribute these..” and your wall was back up again. “i’m sorry?” rafe scoffed, tonguing his cheek as he leaned back in his seat.

“a permit, sweetie, you can’t sell food to the public without one.” you didn’t even know that existed. “uhm— well, i don’t use any nut products or gluten for that matter if you’re worried about someone becoming sick or having a reaction..” your hands were trembling, rafe taking notice right away. “you ought to get one.. ‘would be a real shame if someone reported you.” rafe took your hand in his. “oh, i wonder who what would be,” he rubbed your back reassuringly, “she’ll have one first thing in the morning, asshole.” ward laughed, holding his hands up defensively.

“woah, cool it with the names, son, i’m just looking out for the rest of the island.” you were trying your hardest to ignore the growing pain in your chest. “looking out for the rest of the island? since when do you care about anyone else except for yourself? you’re acting like she’s a serial killer or something.” ward shook his head, crossing his arms over his chest. “did i care about myself when i bailed you out of jail all those times? blowing money away on lawyers just for you not to show up to court the next day? was i selfish when paid for you to go to rehab not once, not twice, but three fucking times?”

rafe was waiting for ward to throw that in his face. “you wanna go there?” rafe’s jaw ticked, your eyes widening as he leaned forward in his chair. “have you ever thought that if maybe you got me help when i begged for it all those years ago that i wouldn’t have had a substance abuse problem at all?” you started to get the feeling that you were going to become the mediator here. “you’re a grown man, rafe, you’re fully capable of making your own decisions, and if you chose to snort coke to cope with your problems then that is fully on you.” you winced as if the words were directed towards you, your fingers squeezing around his wrist.

you knew this was hurting rafe. “did you know that, y/n? did you know he blew away all of his, my money, on drugs?” your jaw was set tight, your eyes meeting ward’s. he was trying to use this against his own son in hopes of making you run off since he couldn’t do it with his own selfish actions. “yes, i knew,” rafe looked down at you, “but do you know that your son has been clean for months now? he’s sober, ward.” at this, rafe felt his heart move in his chest. you never let that become a defining trait for him. addict or not, you saw him for who he truly was. you weren’t scared then, and you definitely weren’t scared now.

ward looked like he was at a loss for words. he hadn’t even taken the time to figure out and see with his own two eyes that rafe wasn’t on anything. gaze flickering over to rafe, ward inspected him carefully. long gone were the dark circles under his eyes, his face was more filled out, skin no longer dull, he had even packed on some more muscle over the last few months. he looked healthy. ward’s eyes watered for a mere second before he felt the familiar heat of rage swim through his veins. a pogue girl was able to aid in the shitshow that was rafe’s drug habits, and not him? you didn’t leave at the first sight of trouble.. but stayed?

“get out of my house.” it was quiet, the sentence alone making rafe sigh in defeat. “get out of my house!” ward shouted, slamming a fist down on the table before grabbing the tub with the brownies and tossing it in your direction. the container hit your arm with a thud, the small latch on the side scratching your skin. as if something snapped, rafe picked you up, shooting daggers at his dad as he took you out to his truck. “are you okay?” he hoisted you onto the passenger’s seat, his eyes wide with white, hot anger. “y-yes, i’m fine!” you reassured him, trying to soothe him before he did something he was going to regret.

“don’t go back in there.” you whispered, shaking your head as he draped the seatbelt over your torso, clicking it shut. “i’m just gonna get some clothes, alright? i’ll be right back.” he was frantic, pressing a kiss to your temple before shutting the door. you watched with worry etched into your eyebrows as rafe ran back inside. once you were out of his view, he didn’t give ward a chance to say anything before he pinned him to the wall by his neck. “if you ever do some shit like that again, i’ll fucking kill you.” rafe said through gritted teeth. “you understand that? you touch her, or even think about hurting her, it’ll be the last thing you do.”

it was in this very moment that ward knew rafe was never going to leave you alone. he was going to have to get rid of you himself. “you’re going to throw away everything i’ve built for you over a girl?!” ward shoved him in the chest, “we have a reputation to maintain, appearances that we must keep up with..” he explained. “appearances for who?!” rafe shouted, knocking over the chair inbetween him and his dad, “for figure eight?” he scoffed, “you think these people give a fuck? they would do anything to see you fall if it meant their family gets to be featured in a sorry ass newspaper article. it’s all bullshit, dad! how do you not see that?”

ward swallowed thickly. “bullshit?” he repeated. “this ‘bullshit’ is what pays for everything, this ‘bullshit’ is the only reason why you’re privileged. i came from the cut! i came from nothing so that you could have everything! how do you not see that?” ward threw rafe’s words back at him. “..so in your mind, you think that because i’m in a relationship with a pogue that i’m going to become one too? dad, this girl has elevated me! she has encouraged me, she has pushed me to be better. have you even seen the amount of money i’ve brought in since i’ve been with her? she pushes me to my limits and then tells me i could go further.”

rafe was on the verge of tears as he went down the list. “the same way you gave me everything, i want to do it for her, too. she’s not with me for superficial reasons the way you’re so adamant on her being.” rafe swallowed the lump in his throat. “the first night we met, she took me in and really cared for me, dad, blood and all.” he laughed bitterly at the memory. “i’m with her, like really with her. she may not be a kook, she may not have any family, but for someone who doesn’t have much, she’s rich. rich in a way that you can’t even begin to understand.” there was nothing that ward could say to rebuttal that.

“i’m gonna be gone for awhile. i’ll still be working from the work laptop, but don’t call me. don’t text me, don’t reach out to me. nothing. you’re a sad, miserable man, and right now it’s hard for me to believe that you’re even my dad.” rafe left him standing in the dining room, wasting no time as he shoved as much of his closet into a duffle bag that he could, grabbing both his laptop and its charger. by the time he threw his bag in the backseat, tears were streaming down his face as he punched the steering wheel. you didn’t say anything, except for a hushed ‘let’s go home, ray..’ before he nodded.

“yeah, let’s go home.”

taglist: @percysley @oceandriveab @archiveofvirtue @weirdowithnobeardo @mattyskies @ankoluvly @cnnamongrl @b3bybunny @littlelamy @nemesyaaa @lovinqbella @jeonmochi99-blog @corpsebridenightamare @whorelaud @mymvlody @idontknowwhyimhere33 @ursovaine @maybankslover @ilovefiction4lmen @rafesfavouritegirl @katekells @winnie1emon @sexysadie23 @hewwokitti @avvwritesstufff @purplerose291 @avengersgirllorianna @rafegf-real @impossibleturkeydiplomatghost @dearestjune @finnickodairslut @starkeysprincess

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octbrsaturn · 24 days ago

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HEARTBREAK: LIVE | Masterlist

Rafe Cameron's MASTERLIST | Social Media AU

Pairing — Ex-BF!Rafe x Radio Host!Female Reader

Summary — You and Rafe were the perfect couple. But after a mysterious breakup, you went off the grid. When your best friends pulls you back into the spotlight to host a on-campus radio show, you find yourself opening up to the world about your experience. This time, with everyone listening—including Rafe. And him? He wants you back.

Content — college au, football player!rafe au

NAVIGATION —

hb:l asks – hb:l thoughts – hb:l theories – hb:l analysis – playlist

TABLE OF CONTENT —

✶ Part 01 ✶ Part 02 ✶ Part 03 ✶ Part 04 ✶ Part 05

✶ Part 06 ✶ Part 07 ✶ Part 08 ✶ Part 09 ✶ Part 10

✶ Part 11 ✶ Part 12 ✶ Part 13 ✶ Part 14 ✶ Part 15

✶ Part 16 ✶ Part 17 ✶ Part 18 ✶ Part 19 ✶ Part 20

✶ Part 21 ✶ Part 22 ✶ Part 23 ✶ Part 24 ✶ Part 25

✶ Part 26 ✶ Part 27 ✶ Part 28 ✶ Part 29 ✶ Part 30

✶ Part 31 ✶ Part 32 ✶ Part 33 ✶ Part 34 ✶ Part 35

✶ Part 36 ✶ Part 37 ✶ Part 38 ✶ Part 39 ✶ Part 40

✶ Part 41 ✶ Part 42 ✶ Part 43 ✶ Part 44 ✶ Part 45

✶ Part 46 ✶ Part 47 ✶ Part 48 ✶ Part 49 ✶ Part 50

✶ Part 51 ✶ Part 52 ✶ Part 53 ✶ Part 54 ✶ Part 55

✶ Part 56 ✶ Part 57 ✶ Part 58 ✶ Part 59 ✶ Part 60

✶ Part 61 ✶ Part 62 ✶ Part 63 ✶ Part 64 ✶ Part 65

✶ Part 66 ✶ Part 67 ✶ Part 68 ✶ Part 69 ✶ Part 70

EXTRAS —

✶ when reader blocks rafe on all socials

✶ when it's 'national text an ex' day

✶ when reader posts about rafe on instagram

✶ rafe and reader's clay date night

✶ reader watching their football edit

✶ reader sending rafe a football tiktok

✶ reader and rafe doing a tiktok trend

✶ new chauffeur alert

✶ rafe carrying reader home

IMPORTANT INFO ABOUT TAGLIST AND UPDATES: if you want to be notified about all my fics and updates, follow @zyafics-library and turn on notifications! however, if you want to be added to this specific taglist, let me know (but to remain tagged, you must interact with the posts).

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octbrsaturn · 1 month ago

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but he’s the one I want

summary: All you needed was to see if your dad’s friend, Joel, had a spare key to your father’s house. Instead, you get railed within an inch of your life on Joel’s couch.

His brown eyes squeeze shut. “Lord help me,” he says under his breath. A second passes, and then he’s looking at you. “Fuck it—I’m already goin’ to hell.” Joel’s large palms grab your face, pulling you in to crush his lips against yours, muffling your surprised sound.

pairing: DBF!Pre-Outbreak!Joel Miller/College Student f!reader (no physical descriptions)

rating: E (18+!!! No y/n, DBF!Joel Miller, slightly possessive Joel Miller, pre-Outbreak, age gap, explicit consent, unprotected p in v (wrap it up!), creampie, oral sex (f receiving), vaginal fingering, dirty talk, size kink, praise kink, spit as lube, overstimulation, sex on stairs, body worship, slight body insecurity, getting caught, misunderstandings, angst with a happy ending, Die Hard is a Christmas movie debate)

word count: 11.5k+

a/n: Alexa, play “But Daddy I Love Him” by Taylor Swift. I don’t know where this came from (daddy issues), but I hope you enjoy it! Reader is freshly 21 in my head, Joel is 35 (it’s months before his birthday), and Tommy is 29. Let me know what you think! Big shoutout to @devineconjuring for going on this journey with me and betaing!

Thank you for reading! Comments and reblogs feed me. I’d love to know what you thought!

Main Masterlist

Knock, knock, knock.

It’s a Friday night; the sky is dark, but the porch light is on. You hug your jacket a little closer to your body to stave off the chill in the air as you wait outside the front door for someone to answer it. A masculine voice calls out, "Comin’!" Footsteps thud on the hardwood floor as they head your way.

Seconds later, the door is cracked open, and you’re met with the home’s owner, Joel Miller. Just the sight of him in his jeans and navy blue t-shirt has your heart rate picking up in speed, the man looking as handsome as ever.

His eyebrows furrow in confusion when he sees you.

"Hey," he greets. "What are you doin' here? Shouldn't you be in school?"

University of Houston—go, Cougars!

You smile. "Three-day weekend—I have Monday off. I thought I'd surprise my dad since it's his birthday."

The confused look doesn’t disappear. "I coulda sworn he told me they were goin' to Vegas to celebrate a few days ago." ‘They’ being your father, stepmother, and your teenage half-brother.

“Well, I guess it slipped his mind to tell me they were going out of town. He must be getting forgetful in his old age.”

The relationship you have with your father is… complicated. It’s not bad by any means—you get along and love each other. He just wasn’t very present when you were growing up—he lived in Austin while you were with your mom in Houston, only seeing him a few times per year. Now that you have a car and your mom moved out of state last year with her new husband, you occasionally made the three-hour drive to your dad’s to visit and do your laundry free of charge. It was also where you now stayed on your breaks from school.

Joel opens the door a little wider and crosses his arms over his chest, your eyes moving from his face to admire the broadness in his shoulders and the muscles in his forearms. Having his full attention on you makes the nerves in your belly flutter around like a bunch of butterflies were let loose.

“He’s not much older than me,” Joel says. His eyebrow lifts. “Are you callin’ me old?”

The man in question happens to be one of your father’s best friends—or so you’ve been told. In all of the visits to your dad’s growing up, you could count the number of times you saw Joel on one hand. Over the past year that you’ve been coming to Austin regularly, you’ve had much more interaction with him, which has led to you developing a little bit of a crush. Who can blame you, though? He’s gorgeous—the chocolate-colored eyes, the hair that looks so soft, that perfect nose, and those kissable lips.

“If the shoe fits,” you reply with a shrug and a smile.

“Kids these days,” Joel grumbles under his breath, shaking his head. “Did you come by just to call me old?” he asks.

“Oh, no. I was expecting at least one person to be at my dad’s, so I didn’t bother bringing my house key. I’m here to see if you possibly have a spare I could borrow—I would’ve called, but I don’t have your number.”

Maybe he’d give it to you now…

“I’m sorry, darlin’, I don’t.”

Hot and a sweetheart—how is he single? Is he single?

You frown, feeling annoyed that you drove all this way to Austin for no reason. You should’ve called ahead, but that was your mistake, assuming your family would stay in town for your father’s birthday. “This was a waste of gas,” you muse. “Love that for me. Well, it looks like I’m heading home, or maybe I’ll get a cheap motel room. Thanks anyway, Joel. Have a nice rest of your night!” You do a little wave at him.

You start to turn, but stop when he says, “Wait,” and you face him again. He opens the door wider. “It’s too late for you to be drivin’ all that way, and there’s no reason you should pay for a motel when I’ve got a guest room you can stay in. You can get a good night's sleep and leave tomorrow mornin’ when the sun’s shinin’.”

Again, a sweetheart—why hasn’t anyone snatched him up? Or have they?

“Are you sure?” you ask.

He finally offers you a friendly smile and moves to open the door all the way. “Yeah, it’s no problem. I was feelin’ lonely anyway with Sarah gone at a sleepover. It’ll be nice to have some company that isn’t my brother.”

Lonely? Nice to have some company? That sounds pretty single to you. Your night just got a lot more interesting. “Thank you so much! I’ll do my best to be better company than your brother.”

With that, you make your way inside, toeing off your shoes next to a pair of his work boots.

“That won’t be too hard,” Joel says as he shuts the door.

You stop in the entryway because you’re not quite sure where you should be going since you've never actually been inside his house. You only know where he lives because your father once asked you to drop something off here.

“Let me get your coat and bag.” You hand him your small purse, and he moves behind you, helping as you shrug off the long jacket you’re wearing, which he hangs up on a nearby coat hook with your bag. “Oh.” He stops in his tracks, and you look at him, seeing his widened eyes staring at your body. “Were you plannin’ on goin’ out tonight?”

You glance down at your outfit, and you can understand why he’d make that assumption at the sight of the cute little black dress you’re wearing—it only reaches mid-thigh and has a V-neckline to show off your breasts.

“Not going out—it’s laundry day. I do my laundry when I come to Austin, and this was literally the last clean thing I had.” Your eyes lift to see his glued to your chest, and you think that’s an interesting development. “I have spare clothes I keep at my dad’s that I planned on changing into.”

It’s the truth, and you’re a little thankful this was your last clean outfit. You can only imagine how embarrassing it would’ve been coming over here in a ratty old T-shirt, granny panties, and your Spongebob Squarepants pajama pants.

He clears his throat and looks away. A rosy blush appears on his cheeks as he scratches at the back of his neck. “I can put my jacket back on,” you tell him, not wanting to make him feel uncomfortable.

“No, no.” He meets your gaze, offering a reassuring smile. “It’s fine—do you need to use my washer and dryer?”

“You’re already being nice, letting me stay over. I can wash my clothes at the laundromat when I get home.”

“It’s really no big deal.”

“Thank you, but I’m good.”

“Okay.” His hands go in his pockets, and he seems to get very interested in the short console table against the wall, staring at the contents lying atop it—a stack of unopened mail and what you assume are his keys and wallet.

“So, what were you doing before I interrupted your evening?”

“Oh—” He looks at you again. “—I was watchin’ a movie. Would you like to join me?”

You smile. “Sure—lead the way.”

He takes you to the living room, where a movie is paused on the television, and lets you know you can sit anywhere. Your choices are one of two armchairs and a maroon leather sofa, and you choose the sofa while he heads for the kitchen.

“Would ya like a beer?” he calls out on his way to the other room. He doesn’t give you a chance to respond because a second later, he’s back at the doorway to the living room with a confused expression again. “Wait, are you old enough to drink…?”

The question makes you smile. “Yes, Joel. I’m old enough to drink.”

“Legally…?”

You giggle. “Yes. I can legally drink. You wanna card me?”

“No.” He runs a hand through his hair and sighs. “Beer?”

“Sounds great.”

“Okay.” He nods.

As you sit on the couch waiting, you become very aware of the situation you’re in. You’ve spoken to Joel one-on-one a handful of times over the last year, but it always happened at a barbecue or a holiday party—places where there were other people around—you’ve never been alone with Joel. This is new territory, and you’re not entirely sure what to expect, especially considering how he was staring at your chest.

Would you fuck him if given the chance? Yes, zero hesitation. Do you think you have a chance with him? Maybe, and that thrills you. Just two things are working against you: your age and the fact he’s your father’s best friend. Those are two hurdles you’re not entirely sure how to get over, but you’re definitely game to try.

Your conversations were always friendly in the past, and you’re proud to say you’ve made him laugh a few times. You think you could possibly charm him. What you know for sure is he’ll need to be very aware that you’re interested; otherwise, he won’t even fathom trying anything with you—thank god you’re wearing this dress. Nerves are swirling in your tummy at what could happen tonight, and you’re eager to see where things go.

Joel returns with two open bottles of beer, handing you one, and you thank him as he takes a seat right next to you. He leans forward to grab the remote and hits play before sitting back and taking a drink.

He’s so close to you that you get a whiff of his cologne—it has a spiciness to it and some citrusy notes that, when combined, smell amazing. It makes you think he took a shower when he got home from work today—and, suddenly remembering he’s a contractor, you imagine him shirtless and sweaty while using a hammer. The thought causes your mouth to go dry, so you lift your bottle to your lips for a sip, focusing on the TV.

It’s easy to figure out what he’s watching when you see Josh Hartnett in clothes from the 1940s.

“Pearl Harbor?” you ask, now holding your drink on your lap, picking at the label with your fingernail.

“Yeah.” His head turns your way, his beer resting on his thigh. “Have you seen it?”

Meeting his eyes, you answer, “Oh, yeah.”

He frowns. “Because it’s a girly movie?”

“Um, kinda? The guys are pretty easy on the eyes, and the story is interesting. I wouldn't say it’s super girly. Sure, it’s a romance, but there’s so much action and drama about the war in it.”

“The back of the DVD said nothin’ about it bein’ a romance.”

“Are you enjoying it, at least?” you ask.

He sighs and looks back at the television. “Yeah, I am.”

“Then enjoy it! If anyone asks what we watched, I’ll tell them Die Hard.” You lightly pat his thigh closest to you, feeling the muscles tense under your palm.

His gaze returns to you. “You’ve seen Die Hard?”

“Yes. A few times.”

Because it’s your dad’s favorite movie.

His upper body slightly turns your way, his arm going behind you on the couch. The closeness and the attention he’s giving you make your skin heat.

“I want you to settle somethin’ my brother Tommy and I disagree on—have you met Tommy?”

“Once.” At a barbecue. He didn’t catch your attention like Joel did. “What am I settling?”

“Do you think Die Hard is a Christmas movie?”

“What…?”

“Tommy is fuckin’ convinced that Die Hard is a Christmas movie, and I say it’s just another action flick. A good one, but definitely not a Christmas movie.”

It takes you a second to process what he asked.

“I mean,” you start, “it takes place on Christmas Eve, at a Christmas party, and I’d say it’s a Christmas miracle that John McClane happened to be there to save the day. So, yeah, it’s totally a Christmas movie.”

“You’re fuckin’ with me. Just ‘cause it takes place on Christmas Eve at a Christmas party doesn’t mean it’s a Christmas movie.”

You point the neck of your beer at him. “You forgot John McClane being a Christmas miracle. Makes sense to me that it’s a Christmas movie.”

He takes a deep breath. “So, are you tellin’ me that—what the fuck is that movie called?” His eyes leave you as he thinks, trying to remember the name. “Lethal Weapon!” He looks at you again. “So, you’re tellin’ me that Lethal Weapon would also be a Christmas movie? Have you seen that one?”

Yep, with your father.

“I have, and yeah, it’s a Christmas movie. You’ve got drug dealers using a Christmas tree business as a front, Christmas is mentioned all throughout, they use a bunch of Christmas songs, and it ends at Christmas dinner. Absolutely a Christmas movie.”

“Say you’re messin’ with me, darlin’. You know what a Christmas movie is, right?

“Yeah, you’ve got the heavy hitters—It’s a Wonderful Life, A Christmas Story, A Christmas Carol—then those stop-motion ones that are delightful. I’d put Die Hard and Lethal Weapon in the same category as Home Alone.”

“Why the hell do you think Home Alone is a Christmas movie?”

“It’s set during the holiday season, and there’s a ton of Christmas imagery and music. Plus, you’ve got Kevin going on a similar journey as the main character in It’s a Wonderful Life where, in the end, he realizes how much he loves and needs his family—sounds pretty Christmas-y to me.”

His jaw clenches, and it’s seconds before he inhales deeply and looks back at the TV.

“Son of a bitch,” he sighs, shaking his head. “They’re fuckin’ Christmas movies.” He takes a long drink of his beer.

You grin. “They are indeed,” you reply and pat his thigh again.

His bottle lowers, and he looks over at you. “Even though you somehow made a dumbass like Tommy make sense, you’re definitely better company than him. He’d never let me live this down.”

He’s visibly relaxed, and you have, too. The fact he’s enjoying you being there has calmed your nerves, and you’re having a great time talking to him. Plus, he’s nice to look at.

“Then it’ll be our secret,” you say. “Like how we’re totally watching Die Hard right now, and not—” Your eyes go to the TV, and they widen. “—the one sex scene in Pearl Harbor.” It’s nothing too risque and honestly kind of lame.

Joel looks, too. “They’re just rollin’ around on the ground…”

“It’s PG-13, Joel. I don’t know what you’re expecting from a movie where they can only say fuck once, and titties are prohibited.”

His head turns your way. “You’re somethin’ else, you know that?” he says, and when your eyes land on his, you find that he’s smiling—your heart skips a beat.

“A good something or a bad something?”

“A good somethin’.”

You share his expression. “You’re something else, too.”

“A good somethin’ or a bad somethin’?”

“A very good something.”

His eyes darken, and suddenly, his attention returns to the movie. Joel clears his throat, then chugs the rest of his beer, leaning forward to set the empty bottle on the coffee table.

When he sits back, his arm is still behind you on the top of the couch, and he scoots the tiniest bit your way to have your bodies touching.

It’s clear that there’s a shift to the energy in the room, and the tension becomes palpable—he likes you, and you think there’s a possibility he more than likes you with how close he is. The thought has your heart pounding, and you’re unsure what to do next. You’ve only been with boys your own age, and Joel is so much older and more experienced.

The panic has you blurting out, “Are you seeing anyone?” Then, backpedaling, “Not that it’s any of my business, so don’t feel obligated to answer.”

He looks at you, and you keep staring at the TV, almost wishing the floor would swallow you whole.

“Why do you wanna know?”

“I’m nosy.”

He huffs in amusement. “You only wanna know ‘cause you’re nosy?”

“That’s what I said.”

“No other reason?”

“Can’t think of any.”

“Okay—no, I’m not seein’ anyone. What about you? You got a boy back in Houston worryin’ about you?”

“Nope.”

“Really?” The genuine surprise in his voice has your head turning to see the matching expression.

“What’s so shocking about that?”

He frowns. “I beg your pardon, darlin’. It just doesn’t make much sense that someone as pretty and fun as you doesn’t have a line of boys waitin’ their turn to take you out.”

Those butterflies in your stomach are flapping around again.

“Not really.” You shrug. “Plus, the guys my age usually only want sex but aren’t very, um, giving, if you know what I mean.”

Now he looks grumpy. “Selfish boys,” he grumbles, and it makes you smile.

“So, not an issue with someone older like you. Good to know.” You squeeze his thigh and keep speaking so he can’t reply, “If you don’t mind me asking, why are you single?”

For some reason, he can’t look at you now, focusing on your hand. He reaches across his body to grab yours with his larger one, staring at your fingers. He lets out a long, weary sigh, his thumb rubbing against each of your dark blue-painted fingernails.

“Women don’t particularly like that Sarah is the most important person in my life and my top priority…”

“But she’s your daughter, she should be your top priority.”

“That’s the logic, but they want me all to themselves and don’t like sharing.”

“Joel?”

His face lifts to meet your gaze.

“Yeah?”

“You’ve dated some truly shitty women.”

He smiles. “I guess I have. It doesn’t matter anymore. I’ve given up on datin’. It’s just a waste of time.”

“That is such a shame.”

His dark eyes get even darker. “You’re trouble.”

“Why am I trouble?”

His eyebrow arches. “Your daddy would kill me.”

Your brain short-circuits for a second as you take in the statement—he’s into you, he’s really into you. Now, what are you going to do?

“Don’t you remember, Joel?” you ask and move to put your beer on the table. When you sit back, you cuddle a little closer into his side. “You were worried about me driving home in the dark, so you offered me your guest room—we watched Die Hard, then turned in for the night. You’re a stand-up guy for keeping your friend’s daughter safe.”

His eyes move from yours to your mouth, his hand coming up to cradle the side of your face—his palm is so big his fingertips almost reach the back of your head. He starts leaning in, your heart hammering in your chest at the thought that he’s going to kiss you, and you stop breathing when his lips are only a hair’s breadth away from yours.

And then he pauses.

“Tell me why you really came here tonight,” he rasps.

That confuses you, your brows pulling together, and you sit back to see his face. “I did? I needed to see if you had a spare key to my dad’s house.”

His eyes are on yours. “Bullshit—there’s no way this just happened to be the last outfit you had.” He looks directly at your tits.

“It is if you wait super last minute to do your laundry, and I told you, I have other clothes at my dad’s. Why do you think I came over here?”

His gaze goes back to yours. “With that dress you’re wearin’ and how you keep lookin’ at me, for a lot more than needin’ a key.”

“You thought I came over here to seduce you…?”

“Yeah…?”

“Wow.” You gently pat his cheek. “You think I’m way bolder than I actually am—me coming here and the outfit was not premeditated.” You shake your head.

His eyes round, and you’d think he was burned by how quickly his hand leaves you and how he moves away a little to put space between you. “Fuck, have I been readin’ this wrong?”

You scoot to have yourself against him again. “The assumption I came here specifically to seduce you was very wrong. But you’re right that I definitely want you to fuck me, Joel.”

“Shit,” he breathes out and scrubs a palm over his face. “You’re gonna get me in so much trouble.”

Turning his way, you rub your hand along his jeans-covered thigh. “No, I’m not,” you tell him. “Stop thinking, and kiss me.”

His hand lowers. “Not thinkin’ is gonna get me killed.”

“Not thinking is going to get you a blow job and pussy.” You press your palm between his legs over where you can feel he’s already hardening. “Hell, I’ll sweeten the deal—you can come anywhere you want.”

His eyes go wide. “Jesus Christ,” he whispers, and you smile. His reaction makes you brave.

“Tell me you don’t want this, and we’ll go back to watching the movie and pretend nothing happened. Or—and I like this option more—you kiss me, and we’ll go as far as you’re willing to go.” Your hand moves up to hold his cheek, and it’s a good sign when he leans into your touch as you stare into his eyes. “But I’m going to make myself crystal clear, Joel. I want you—badly. You’re beyond sexy, and the fact you’re older and have a lot more experience than me is a big turn-on. I’d love to know what good sex is like for once and maybe have you teach me some things.” You shrug your shoulder. “It’s up to you, though. Just know I’m more than willing.”

This kiss is unlike any you’ve experienced before. You’re used to overeager boys practically shoving their tongues down your throat the first chance they get, yet here’s Joel claiming your lips—you can feel his every want and his desire for you with how thoroughly he kisses you. The soft pillow of his mouth moves with yours, his scent filling your nose—hints of the beer he drank and his spicy cologne imprinting this moment in your mind. Your eyes flutter closed, and your head goes dizzy from the arousal igniting in your belly.

Just one kiss and you know you’re ruined for anyone else.

His arms go around you, and he mouths at your chin. “Come here,” he says against your skin. “Get in my lap.”

You do as you’re told, bunching up the bottom of your dress at your waist and moving to straddle his thighs. His hands go under your clothes to grab your ass, and he’s so surprised to feel bare skin he leans back with the confused expression you’re becoming intimately familiar with.

“You really didn’t come over just to fuck me?” he asks. His palms wander, and you know he’s discovered your thong when he hooks a thumb under its stretchy waistband—they were the last clean pair of underwear you had.

“I really didn’t.” You’re curious about something. “But if I had, what are the chances that I would’ve succeeded…?”

“With this dress and a little convincin’? Pretty good.”

You smile. “Really?”

“Yeah. You’re so fuckin’ beautiful and smart. I know this is a bad idea, and it’ll probably bite me in the ass later, but I’m so fuckin’ lonely, and you’re just too damn temptin’ to pass up.”

The truth is clear in his eyes and makes you kiss him—your fingers comb into the hair at the back of his head, finding it softer than you thought it’d be. It starts off slow and tender, just lips to lips, until Joel deepens it, the tip of his tongue making it past your lower lip. Hearing that he’s lonely tugs at your heart, and you want to do everything you can to make that loneliness disappear. Things start to heat up, and all you can do is follow his lead, moaning as he explores your mouth with his tongue. With his palms on your backside, he helps you rock your hips, grinding yourself against his hard cock beneath his jeans, rubbing your clit just right to fan the flames growing in your core.

When you finally need to come up for air, his hand grips your chin to turn your head as you pant, Joel kissing and nipping at your skin from the base of your neck up—tingles wash down your spine when he nibbles on your jaw. He gently bites your earlobe, and you gasp when his hot breath tickles your ear.

He huskily whispers into it, “You want me?” His hand fondles your breast.

“Yes.”

“I can touch you?”

“Anywhere.”

“I need you to be a good girl and tell me when you do and don’t like things—understand?”

“Yes.”

“Good girl,” he purrs.

The way those two words make your cunt clench has you moaning, ”Fuck.”

He easily unzips the back of your dress, tugging the garment up and over your head, letting it fall unceremoniously to the floor. You’re sitting astride his lap, the dark pools of his eyes taking in your mostly naked body, his big hands massaging your bra-covered breasts. It’s surprising that being under his gaze, you don’t immediately feel self-conscious, and you think that has to do with how he’s looking at you—the desire and appreciation clear as he admires you.

“Can I take this off?” he asks, nodding towards what he’s touching.

“Yes.”

He sits up straighter, and it’s quick work for him to get your bra off, it landing on top of your dress. He’s focused on your tits, holding them in his palms, weighing them. He leans forward, sucking your nipple into his mouth, and the sudden shock of pleasure has your breath catching in your throat, your fingers grabbing handfuls of his shirt for something to hold onto. When he grazes his teeth over the stiff bud, your entire body shivers—your panties have a wet spot from your pussy leaking your arousal for him. He gives your other breast the same attention, leaving your skin shiny from spit when he comes off of it with a wet pop to look at you.

“Lie down on the couch, baby.” He pats the empty seat next to him. “Your head all the way at the other end.”

He doesn’t have to ask you twice. You scramble out of his lap, the couch’s leather creaking as you crawl over to where he instructed and sit back on your elbows to see what’s happening. Joel grunts as he gets up to stand, watching in interest when he squeezes the noticeable bulge at the front of his jeans. His arm goes behind his head to grab his shirt, pulling it up and off of his body to bare his torso.

At seeing so much of his golden skin, your jaw goes slack—his freckled chest is so broad, tapering down to his trim waist, his abs showing a little bit of muscle definition you think is from doing manual labor and not working out. Your eyes fixate on the happy trail of hair below his belly button that disappears beneath the waistband of his jeans.

“Sure could get used to you lookin’ at me like that.”

That has your attention snapping up to his face, where you find him smirking, and you close your mouth.

“Sorry,” you apologize, your eyes darting away from him.

“Nothin’ to be sorry about, darlin’. Makes me feel pretty fuckin’ great about the shape I’m in.”

You look at him again. “Hate to break it to you, babe, but you’re in great shape and so hot—you’re really down to fuck me?” You point at yourself.

He kneels on the sofa by your feet, his hand on the back of it to steady himself.

“Darlin’, if I didn’t know your daddy, and you were a stranger I met in a bar, I’d bring you home in a heartbeat. I feel like a real lucky son of a bitch that someone as young and pretty as you has any interest in an old guy like me.” He lifts one of your legs and gently kisses the inside of your ankle, the sweetness of it making you melt a little.

“Oh, I’m very interested in you.”

“Is that so?” he asks and spreads open your legs. He crawls over you, and you lie back, Joel nestling his hips between your thighs for you to feel how hard he is as he dips his head, kissing up the column of your throat—the nerves in your stomach flutter wildly.

“Yes,” you whisper and need to touch him, wrapping your arms around his torso to press your palms against the warm skin on his shoulders—his body shudders, a rumbling groan coming from his chest.

You squeak in surprise when his lips are suddenly on yours, kissing you hard.

He takes over all of your senses—he’s all you see, he’s all you feel, he’s all you taste, he’s all you hear, he’s all you smell. It’s him, and him alone—his lips on yours, his tongue in your mouth, his weight on top of you. Your fingers thread into his hair, moaning as he takes over your very world, reveling in this feeling of being wanted.

His lips leave yours, both of you breathing a little heavier. His teeth gently sink into your chin before kissing along the underside of your jaw.

He speaks into your skin, his words muffled, “I’m very interested in you, too. I shouldn’t be, but I am.” His mouth ends up at your ear, and he quietly asks, “Can I eat your pussy?”

“Oh.” The question surprises you. “I’m usually the one who asks. Do you want me to blow you first?” There was always a quid pro quo when it came to oral.

His head lifts to look you in the eye.

“Darlin’?”

“Yes, Joel?”

“You’ve been with some truly shitty boys.”

It makes you laugh, and he smiles.

“Ain’t that the truth,” you reply.

“It should always be ladies first—may I?”

What a gentleman.

“Absolutely.”

“Good,” he says and pecks you on the lips.

He doesn’t immediately move off of you, and it catches you off guard. Instead, his mouth blazes a trail, kissing down your body—your neck, your chest, and your belly. This is when your self-consciousness rears its ugly head. Joel is getting up close and personal with your imperfections—your scars, stretch marks, cellulite, all those little details you normally kept hidden in the safety of dark rooms or under shirts when you hooked up with someone. Now, you’re basically naked, the lamp is on, and he can see it all, which makes you feel uneasy.

He kisses just above your belly button, then below it, going lower and lower until he places one last kiss on your panties, over your mound. He sits up on his knees, tracing the lines and curves of your thighs and hips with his large palms while he drinks you in as you lie there—you have to fight the urge to cover yourself, unable to meet his gaze.

The silence is broken when Joel speaks. “You’re so fuckin’ beautiful.”

Your eyes seek out his face where you don’t find any deception, but you have to ask, “Really?”

“Really.” He nods. “Fuckin’ gorgeous.”

His attention goes to the apex of your thighs, and the pink of his tongue swipes along his bottom lip as if he’s imagining how you’ll taste. He strokes the pad of his thumb over the visible damp spot on your underwear, his other hand squeezing his cock that’s straining in his jeans.

“I bet you have the prettiest pussy, too,” he says, and gets his fingers under the elastic waistband on your panties, pulling them down and off your legs, the air cool against your now bared skin. He shuffles back a little, then bends forward, spreading your lips open with two fingers as his face hovers over it. You think your heart might beat out of your chest with how fast it’s thudding, your skin feeling so hot. “I fuckin’ knew it, such a pretty pussy,” Joel murmurs. He circles your clit with his thumb, and the pleasure has every muscle in your body tensing and your eyes closing. “You’re gonna taste so good.”

He loudly groans as he drags the flat of his tongue along your cunt, wrapping his lips around your clit and sucking.

“Oh, god,” you moan, your body squirming at how good it feels.

Joel has to pin down your hips with an arm across them to keep you still, his face buried in your pussy. He goes straight to the source, lapping at your entrance to taste your arousal while the tip of his perfect nose rubs against your bundle of nerves, his facial hair prickling your skin.

Oh.

Oh no.

You’re fucked.

It’s not even a minute in, and you can already feel your orgasm taking shape low in your belly, the muscles beginning to wind up. If you thought the first kiss ruined you, you know you’re ruined by how eagerly he’s eating you out—who knew this could be so good? You have to wonder how you’ll ever be able to fool around with anyone else when Joel is all you’ll be able to think about or compare it to—this is the only moment doubt invades your mind. You feel like this is all a mistake, but it’s quickly squashed by how unbelievably horny and curious you are.

His mouth lifts, and you whine at its loss. “Gimme a second,” he pants. “I gotta see how tight you are.” That’s when one of his thick fingers presses to your soaked opening, and he slowly starts to push it inside.

The slight stretch makes you gasp his name, your fingers clawing at the sofa’s maroon leather.

“Christ,” Joel says. “You’re squeezin’ me. With how fuckin’ tight you are, I’d think this is your first time.”

You sit back up on your elbows and open your eyes to look at him.

“You just have massive fingers, and it’s been a while.”

His gaze meets yours as he smirks. “Well, I’m gonna loosen you up with my massive fingers, and I think you’ll enjoy it.”

He doesn’t wait for you to respond. His head dips, flicking his tongue side-to-side against your clit when you feel the sudden pressure of his second digit pushing into you—there’s even more of a stretch and the delicious feeling of being full. You fall back on the couch, tangling your fingers into the brown waves of hair on his head, moans falling unbidden from your lips. His digits crook as they pump in and out of you, sliding along your upper wall when they press into something that elicits white-hot pleasure, making you keen and wiggle under the hold he has on your lower half.

Yeah, you’re totally and completely fucked.

He’s relentless with his mouth and fingers as you careen toward your end, free-falling in the throes of pleasure. He’s really going to get you off, and you think you might be in love with him. Is that crazy? Falling for the guy you absolutely should not fall for—that you can’t even have any kind of future with—because it’d ruin both of your lives, especially his.

Why does that make you want him more?

You definitely understand now why Eve ate the forbidden fruit—the temptation leads to such sweet gratification when you give in.

He sucks your throbbing clit into his mouth, sweeping his tongue around it, and you can hear the wet squelch of him fucking his fingers into your cunt. Your thighs are trembling—you’re so close, the coil inside you winding tighter and tighter until it snaps, and you’re coming with an unintelligible cry. Your body seizes up, euphoria exploding out from your center, radiating to your fingers and toes. Joel removes his digits, his tongue taking their place to catch every bit of your slick he can get, groaning as he lets no drop go to waste.

You’ve never come so hard, feeling a little floaty as you ride out your high, your chest heaving heavy breaths. With how shaky your arms and legs are, you’d think you were out in the freezing cold.

Joel’s mouth comes off of you and he sits up, rubbing his hands along the outside of your legs.

“Such a good girl for me,” he says. “Was it good?”

“Was it good?” you parrot back at him and push yourself up into a sitting position. “It was more than good, Joel—oh my god, it was amazing.”

The bottom half of his face glistens in the lamplight, his shiny lips turning up in a smile.

“Yeah?”

“Yes.”

“You still wanna fuck?”

“I think I will die if you don’t fuck me.”

He chuckles, and that’s all the answer he needs. He’s off the couch instantly, and you watch as he hurriedly unbuckles his belt and gets his jeans undone, shoving them and his boxers down his legs so fast it makes you giggle. He’s balancing on one foot, peeling off his sock, and you finally get a good look at his dick—it’s hard and bobbing between his legs, the tip flushed red and shiny from precum, and your eyes round at how big he is.

“Second thoughts?” he asks, taking off his other sock.

Your gaze rises to his, seeing he’s frowning. “No.” You shake your head. “It’s more, ‘I sure hope that thing fits inside me.’”

He crookedly smiles, his chest puffing up a little. “It’ll fit—I promise.” And he has the audacity to wink at you.

Just as quickly as he got off the sofa, he’s getting back on it, kneeling in the space between your spread thighs. His attention is on your pussy, rubbing the tip of himself against your swollen clit and through your wetness. Nerves swirl in your belly, along with arousal, his free hand giving your hip a reassuring squeeze before he’s spitting on his fingers and slicking up his cock. He notches himself at your entrance, and your heart is in your throat as you hold your breath.

“Just relax, baby,” he says. “You can take me.”

He slowly starts feeding his hard length into you, making you gasp when the fat head breaches your slick cunt, your eyes squeezing shut, your fingers digging into the couch’s leather cushions. A groan rumbles from his throat, and you answer with a drawn-out moan as he burrows his thick cock deep inside you, your tight walls stretching to their limits to accommodate his size. Full doesn’t even begin to describe how stuffed you are—he’s hot inside you, almost searing, and you can feel him pulsing. He bottoms out and goes completely still, his hands on your hips in a bruising grip.

“Fuck, that’s good,” he rasps. “You okay?” His thumbs stroke circles on your skin.

“Yes.” It comes out as more of a squeak. “I just need a second.”

“Of course, sweetheart.”

Darlin’, baby, and now sweetheart when his dick is inside you? Is he trying to make you fall in love with him?

He bends at the waist, one hand on the couch holding up his weight while the other massages your breast, his lips wrapping around your pebbled nipple, the sparks of pleasure going straight to your pussy. Your fingers wind up in his hair; what he’s doing to you has you whimpering at how good it feels and only makes you wetter where you’re joined. He pulls each of your legs up to rest on his ribs while his mouth moves higher, kissing your sternum and up the arch of your neck, sucking on your pulse point and making you squirm underneath him.

His hands end up on either side of your head, his lips leaving behind a wet streak of kisses along the hinge of your jaw to finally ghost over yours—you can feel his breaths and smell your musk. He’s so close it wouldn’t take much more for your mouths to meet.

His nose nudges yours. “Need more time?” he whispers.

Enough has passed that you don’t feel as overwhelmed. You slide your palms up his back to his shoulders.

“No,” you answer just as quietly. “You can move.”

He pulls out almost all the way and pushes back in as his mouth claims yours, muffling your sounds when he sets up a rhythm of long, hard strokes. You’re gone—all rational thoughts go out the window, and the only thing you can think about is how his cock is moving in and out of you. It’s so distracting you’re having trouble kissing Joel back because your brain keeps screaming, ‘so big, so full, so good.’

You’re feverishly clutching at his shoulder blades, your nails leaving crescent moon imprints and scratches you’re sure will bleed on his golden skin, Joel moaning into your mouth. It surprises you when you feel the familiar tension of another orgasm making itself known deep in your core, the pressure rising with each thrust, the angle of them causing him to slide against spots you never knew existed, and you don’t ever want this to end.

His lips leave yours, pressing his forehead to your cheek. He’s breathing hard, sweat beginning to bead on his skin as he keeps the same pace.

“You feel so fuckin’ good,” he pants. “Fuck, I’ll never get enough of this pussy. Just wanna stay inside it until my dick is all it knows.”

Your legs are quivering, your body is burning up, and you can’t get enough of how fucking good this feels. One time—one time—and you’re addicted, you’re drunk on the pleasure and will do anything—anything—for this to happen again.

“It’s yours,” you gasp. “Oh, god, it’s yours!”

His lips move to your ear, huskily asking, “It’s mine, baby? Your pussy is mine? I’m fuckin’ ya that good?”

You’re so out of it and lost in the lust you start babbling, “Yes, it’s yours—fuck, ruin me,” you whine.

“That’s what you want, for me to ruin your perfect little pussy?”

“Please—make me feel it. Make me ache to have your cock inside me again. Make me yours.”

He growls, and you think you’ve said the wrong thing because he’s immediately pulling out, your eyes springing open in time to see him sit up on his knees.

His big hands grab hold of your waist. “Flip,” is all he says, and you find yourself getting manhandled onto your front, Joel tugging you up onto your hands and knees. He wastes no time sheathing himself back inside you, pushing in so deep that your eyes roll back in your head and your toes curl.

Joel’s hips are flush against your ass, the full length of him seated all the way inside of you—you can’t think, your mouth open in a silent cry. He’s filling you to the absolute brim, and it becomes evident your cup has truly runneth over.

He was right, though. It did fit.

A shuddery breath escapes you. He only allows you a moment to get used to the new fullness before he’s pulling out until just the tip of him remains and snapping his hips forward hard enough it knocks the air from your lungs—this is how you learn what it’s like to really be fucked, and fucked good.

His fingers dig into the skin on your waist, pulling you back as he thrusts forward at a pace that has you lightheaded, stars dancing behind your closed eyelids each time he presses against that heavenly spot inside you.

Warmth grows in your belly, the sounds from the TV overshadowed by the filthy cacophony of skin hitting skin and the audible wetness of his cock working in and out of your used cunt—he’s grunting with each stroke, your moans stuttering from the onslaught.

“Is this what you wanted?” he asks through gritted teeth, emphasizing each word with a hard thrust.

It’s a struggle to gather your thoughts and form a response with how good he’s fucking you.

A palm lands on the side of your ass in a loud smack, the sweet sting causing you to clench around him and whimper.

“Answer me, sweetheart,” he says. “Is this what you wanted?”

All you can gasp out is a single word. “Yes!”

“Am I fuckin’ you good?”

“Yes!”

He’s pounding into you at a near-brutal pace, the fire inside you only getting hotter as each second passes.

“Look at me,” he orders.

It takes everything in you to turn your head and look over your shoulder. Joel is a sight to behold—a flush rising from his chest to his cheeks, the sweat on his skin making it glisten under the lamp’s light, and his hair sticking wetly to his forehead. His eyes are heavy-lidded and glazed over, his jaw clenched.

He slows, his gaze on yours.

“You wanna be mine?” he asks.

“Yes.”

The moment your answer leaves your lips, he’s blanketing your back, holding himself up with a hand on the couch, the other going under you to palm your breast and tweak your stiff nipple with his fingers.

He lightly bites your earlobe, his facial hair scratching your cheek when he kisses it.

“I’m gonna make you come,” he says through heavy breaths. “Then I’m gonna fuck you full of me—you want that?”

A shiver moves through you, and you gulp.

“Yes.”

“Good girl.”

His hand smooths down your front over your stomach to between your legs, where he starts circling your clit with two fingers. It’s like a live wire along your spine, electricity sparking in your core—that added to the sensations of his cock splitting you open and pushing in and out of you has you rocketing toward your release.

“You gonna come for me?” His hot breaths fan over your ear. “You gonna let me feel you come all over my cock? Come on, let me have it—come for me.”

Joel’s bent over you, fucking into you harder and faster, his fingers deliciously swirling around your throbbing bud as he grunts in your ear with every thrust, all of it driving you higher and higher to your end.

You’re so worked up that it doesn’t take much to have you falling over the edge—the muscles in your belly pull tight, your orgasm ripping through you, gasping Joel’s name. He sucks in a breath when your pussy clamps down on him, then loudly groans, continuing to fuck you through your high, and doesn’t stop—his fingers keep up their assault on your clit, and his hips snap into you in quick, short bursts that extend your high. You come, and come, and come to the point your arms give out, and your body shakes and twitches from all of the pleasure coursing through it.

When you think you can’t take any more, relief washes over you that Joel follows suit. With one last thrust, he buries himself all the way to the hilt inside you as he falls forward, his front framing your back, his teeth sinking into the meat of your shoulder. He comes with a dirty, rumbling groan—you feel his dick thicken and pulse, hot spurts of his spend filling you. He grinds his hips, fucking it as deep as it will go, then stills.

The movie’s ending credits are playing, hearing the music and your and Joel’s ragged breaths as you both come down. He’s at the same awkward angle as you, with your hips up and your faces down—his sweaty chest is pressed to your back, your bodies sticking together everywhere they touch. It’s not the most comfortable position, but with how your limbs tremble, you’re not entirely sure you can even move.

You asked him to ruin you, and oh boy, did he deliver—you’re absolutely, positively ruined. It kills you that after whatever this night is, you’ll have to go back to subpar sex with guys who couldn’t find the clit if they were given a map and detailed directions. This is the second time tonight that you fear you’ve made a grave mistake hooking up with Joel, and the post-sex clarity is not helping the situation at all.

What were you thinking?

That’s easy; you weren’t. Or, at the very least, you weren’t thinking with your brain. Your pussy took the lead on this one, and it looks like she’s gotten you into a bit of a situation.

Your thoughts are interrupted when Joel’s arm wraps around your middle, and he turns you two onto your sides, the couch just barely wide enough to fit you both.

“Tha’s better,” Joel slurs, nuzzling his face into your hair. His hand over your stomach feels around until he finds your smaller one, lacing your fingers together and holding it to your chest—oh, he’s cuddling with you. It’s unexpected and nice. You close your eyes and enjoy this taste of intimacy.

Many minutes pass before he mumbles something you can’t make out.

“I’m sorry,” you start and are immediately embarrassed by how hoarse and scratchy your voice sounds from all the sounds you made tonight. You clear your throat and try again, “I’m sorry—what did you say?”

He turns his face so it’s out of your hair.

“I asked if you wanna stay over,” he says.

You smile. “Are you getting forgetful, Joel? You said I could stay over when I got here.”

“Fuckin’ smartass,” he grumbles, and you giggle. “What I meant was, do you wanna stay in my room? With me,” he clarifies.

“Only if you’re okay that I sleep naked—I’m not wearing my dress to bed.”

“Was kinda hopin’ you’d be naked.” He kisses your shoulder. “But if you’re more comfortable wearin’ somethin’, I can get you one of my t-shirts—it’s no big deal.”

“It baffles me that you’re single.”

“Why?”

“Uh, because you’re incredibly sweet, amazing in bed, a great father, very handsome, hardworking, and just an all-around catch. If I had the opportunity, and you know, there wasn’t the elephant in the room—” The fact he’s much older than you and one of your dad’s best friends. “—I’d date you in a heartbeat. If you ever give dating a shot again, you’re going to make one lucky woman very happy.”

“Fuck,” Joel groans, letting go of your hand to press his palm to his face. “What the hell am I doin’?”

That makes your stomach drop, and you frown—he’s regretting everything, and you can’t blame him. The post-sex clarity is a real bitch sometimes.

“Stressing for no reason,” you reply. You’re pretty sure you can walk, so you get up from the sofa, ignoring how wobbly your legs feel and his come leaking down your thigh. “Don’t you remember, Joel?” you ask, looking toward the floor for your clothes. “You let me stay the night ‘cause you were worried about me driving home in the dark.” You carefully bend down to pick up your thong, followed by your bra and dress. “We watched Die Hard,” you continue, straightening to stand. “Then turned in for the night to our respective bedrooms. You’re a real stand-up guy for caring so much about your friend’s daughter’s safety.”

You can’t even look at him, focusing instead on the TV where the Pearl Harbor DVD’s menu is on screen.

“Stop that.”

“Stop what?”

“Tryin’ to pretend nothin’ happened.”

“You clearly wish nothing happened, so nothing happened—where’s the bathroom?” You need to clean up, and you’re tempted to just leave altogether.

“Up the stairs, second door on the right—when the hell did I say I wished nothin’ happened?”

“You didn’t have to. Your ‘what the hell am I doin’?’ was enough for me to get it.” You hug your clothes closer to your body. “Anyways, thanks for tonight. I think I’m just gonna use the bathroom and get out of here. I don’t want you to worry, so I’ll stay at that cheap motel by the highway.” The sign said it was twenty-something dollars a night, and you can swing that. You start heading toward the stairs.

“Hey, stop.” You don’t. You keep walking, willing the unshed tears in your eyes not to fall.

Why are you so upset? You’re well aware that this can only be a one-time thing. It was something fun and sexy where you got to fuck the older, unattainable guy you’ve been crushing on for a while. It wasn’t anything serious, and couldn’t be anything serious, because there’s no future for you two together. Not when he’s a good friend of your father’s. That kills any chance of having a relationship with Joel.

What hurts is he regrets it and wishes it never happened—you’re a mistake, and who wants to be someone’s mistake?

His heavy footsteps sound behind you. “Darlin’, stop,” he says again, and you continue ignoring him. Fingers latch around your bicep and lightly tug. “Please, stop for a second. Talk to me.” Finally, you do as he’s requested, standing still in front of the staircase. He turns you to look at him in his big brown eyes, his hands holding your arms.

“I don’t wish nothin’ happened,” he says. “You were talkin’ about how if things were different, you’d date me, but since they are the way they are, you won’t. I was thinkin’ to myself ‘what the hell am I doin’ wishin’ you’d change your mind,’ when I know it’s for the best.”

“Oh—really?”

Hope swells in your chest, butterflies fluttering around in your tummy.

“Yeah.” He nods. “Tell me you want nothin’ more to do with me, and I’ll grab you a towel and some of my clothes so you can wash up and retire to the guest room unless you’re truly set on stayin’ in a motel. In that case, I’ll pay for your room somewhere safer and much nicer, so I know you’ll be okay. Or—and I like this option more—you kiss me, and I’ll take you up to my bedroom so we can shower, either together or separately, whatever you’re comfortable with. Then we can get into my bed where we can talk and figure things out.”

It sounds like he doesn’t want this to be a one-time thing, either, and that makes you so happy you let your clothes fall to the floor to throw your arms around his neck, crashing your lips to his. Joel groans, his arm sliding behind your back, hugging you closer to him, his other hand cradling your cheek. Suddenly, he’s backing you up until your heels hit the first step, and he guides you to sit on a higher one, Joel kneeling on a lower stair to be at the right height that his hips slot between your thighs when he lays you back. He licks into your mouth, deepening the kiss, your fingers digging into his shoulder blades.

With how good he made you feel tonight, how wanted, you need more of him. There’s a looming fear in the back of your mind that this is too good to be true—that you’ll never be with him like this again, which makes you desperate for him. Your hand snakes its way between your bodies, taking his half-hard cock into your palm, slowly stroking it—a low rumble comes from the back of Joel’s throat. He gets his hand to the juncture of your thighs, sliding his fingers through the puffy lips of your sex, gathering your arousal and his come on his fingertips to rub at your swollen clit.

“You’re mine,” he says into your lips.

“I’m yours,” you answer.

This is how you end up fucking on the stairs, Joel thrusting into you at a pace that has your toes curled and your fingers gripping his ass—your spine tingles from his mouth exploring your neck, mapping out the spots that make you gasp and moan, and you’re in heaven.

A door slams shut on the other side of the railing, and your eyes fly open.

“Hey, Asshole!” a man calls.

Joel’s hand covers your mouth, and you watch the intruder walk through the dining room to the kitchen without seeing you.

“I brought over pizza so you can stop bein’ a sad and lonely sonofabitch!”

Joel immediately pulls out and gets off you, using his strength to help you flip over. “Upstairs,” he whispers, tapping you on the hip, and you go as quickly and quietly as you can with Joel following.

You make it to the second-story landing, and he grabs your hand, tugging you all the way down the hall into what you know is his bedroom by how it smells like him. He closes the door and locks it before beelining to his dresser, roughly pulling out one drawer from which he grabs a burgundy t-shirt, then another that he gets a pair of stretchy gray sweatpants.

“Is this a dress?!” Is yelled from downstairs. “Do you have a girl over?! Who’d wanna fuck your sorry ass?!”

Surprisingly, the clothes in Joel’s hands are not for him; he shoves them into your arms and ushers you over to his bathroom.

“I’m sorry,” he says, flicking on the light, the fan automatically turning on. “It’s Tommy. Stay in here, and I’ll kick him out.” Obnoxiously loud footsteps are coming up the stairs, and he has to take a deep breath, his eyes to the sky like he’s praying God will smite his brother right this second. “Lord, give me strength,” he breathes.

“Where would you even meet a girl?!” Tommy asks from the hallway. “All you do is work—you never go out.”

Joel pecks you on the lips. “I’ll be right back—stay in here,” he tells you again, and this time, he leaves, shutting the door behind him.

There’s banging on the bedroom door, and your ears perk up as you put on the clothes.

“Go home, Tommy,” he says.

“Not until I know who this pretty dress belongs to.”

“Give me that—it’s none of your fuckin’ business. Leave.”

“Come on, Joel—we know the same people. Did you finally give in to Nikki? She’s wanted to go out with you for a long fuckin’ time.”

“No, and it’s still none of your fuckin’ business who I have in the house I pay for. So, get goin’, or I’m gonna make you go.”

“You can be a real dick, Joel. Why are you bein’ so fuckin’ secretive?”

“Do I ask about who you take home from the bar?”

“No, but—”

“Exactly,” Joel interrupts. “I don’t give a fuck what you do in your spare time, and I sure as hell don’t need to tell you what I do in mine, so leave, Tommy—I’m not in the mood for your bullshit.”

“With how fuckin’ grouchy you are, I don’t think you got laid at all—I’m gonna get goin’ ‘cause you clearly need the company of a woman. Bye, mystery woman with the pretty dress hidin’ in Joel’s bathroom!” he yells. “Hopefully you can cheer this fucker up! Enjoy the pizza!”

It goes quiet, and you think Joel left the room, too. You can’t go anywhere, so you decide to take in your surroundings—the bathroom is cleaner than you’d expect from a single man, you have to put the toilet seat down when you pee, and as you’re washing your hands, you notice there’s only one toothbrush in a cup.

You know you shouldn’t snoop, but you pull open the medicine cabinet and find an extra tube of toothpaste, some Tylenol, Ibuprofen, a thing of pain relief cream, then a shelf with a few medicine bottles that intrigues you—prescription pain pills, antidepressants, and heartburn medication. No red flags, but you’re a little worried about how much pain he’s in. You close the cabinet, and soft knocking on the bathroom door makes you jump.

“You can come out,” Joel’s muffled voice says. “He’s gone.”

Walking over to the door, you open it, Joel leaning against the doorframe in a white t-shirt and a pair of gray sweatpants he must’ve put on before talking to Tommy.

He sighs. “So, that was my brother.”

“Seems nice—if I remember correctly, he’s younger, right?”

“Yeah.”

“That explains how annoying he is.”

He smiles, and an amused huff leaves him. “Yeah, he’s annoyin’ alright.”

“We have the house to ourselves?”

“We do—I walked him out myself.”

You grin. “Wonderful.” You grab a fistful of his shirt. “Because I think you said something about us showering together, and I’d like to do that right now, then go eat pizza—I’ve somehow worked up an appetite,” you tell him and pull him forward; he happily comes your way with a smirk.

“Worked up an appetite, huh?” he asks, his eyes on your mouth.

“Yes. No clue how.”

He closes the distance, his lips almost touching yours, when he replies, “Let me remind you how,” and kisses you.

An hour later, you’re walking down the stairs clean and in your borrowed clothes.

“Can we eat then go to bed?” you ask, through a yawn. “I had classes today, and that long ass drive, plus all the sex. I’m so damn tired.”

Joel’s behind you in just his sweatpants.

“I’m fuckin’ tired, too. That sounds good to me.”

The only lights on downstairs are the lamps in the living room. You walk into the dark kitchen, Joel flipping on the light as he follows, and you head for the stove where the pizza is, popping open the box to see it’s pepperoni.

“I’ll grab us some plates,” Joel says, rubbing your upper arms. He kisses the top of your head before stepping over to a cabinet.

Turning around, you’re about to ask Joel where the cups are when the dining room light comes on, Tommy standing by the switch. You gasp in shock; Joel’s immediate reaction is to grab a knife from the knife block and get between you and the unwanted visitor—it takes him a second to recognize it’s his brother.

“Goddammit, Tommy!” Joel shouts and slams the butcher knife onto the countertop. “Are you tryin’ to get yourself killed?!”

“No,” his brother answers, shaking his head, and he looks a little too amused. “But you sure the hell are! Her?!” He points at you and has the audacity to laugh. “Oh, god, Joel,” he says through his glee and grabs the back of a chair, his other hand on his chest as he chuckles. “Her daddy is gonna kill you—you’re fucked!”

Joel sighs and runs his fingers through his hair, perching a palm on his hip. “Yeah, yeah, yeah, laugh it up,” he says. “I’m a dead man walking.”

“You are!” Tommy calms down, and his shit-eating grin annoys you. “What the hell were you thinkin’?” he asks. “I mean, I know what you were thinkin’. I just can’t get over you not only robbin’ the fuckin’ cradle, but bangin’ your best buddy’s daughter. How long has whatever this is—” He gestures at you both. “—been goin’ on?”

“It just happened tonight—I don’t need you lecturin’ me on right and wrong. I know it’s a fucked up situation.”

A fucked up situation? Ouch. The comment has you crossing your arms over your chest, staring at the floor.

“Fucked up is right, and I’ve got no fuckin’ idea how you’re gonna get out of it. Her daddy finds out about this, and he’s gonna shoot you deader than dead.”

“I told you I didn’t want you lecturin’ me.”

Tommy puts his hands up. “Hey, I’m not lecturin’. I’m just statin’ the facts. I wanna make sure you know this thing between you two could get you killed. You’ve got a daughter, Joel—what would you do in this situation?”

“Woah,” you interrupt, moving to stand beside Joel—Tommy’s comment about Sarah is a fucking nuke you need to try and hopefully defuse. “First of all, I just want to point out that I am a consenting adult and can fuck whoever I want. Second, I need to set the record straight and say that my dad isn’t going to kill anyone. He’ll be mad as hell if he finds out, but he isn’t going to commit murder because, truth be told, he’s never given a fuck about my life choices. I’d also like to add that this is kinda his fault for not having me visit more often because now Joel and I are pretty much strangers, and this whole thing isn’t as bad as it sounds.”

“It’s still pretty bad, honey,” Tommy replies, his attention turning to you, smiling.

“Maybe, but it’s also nobody’s business who I fuck.”

“Sure, but this person you fucked is one of your daddy’s best friends whose—no offense—way too old for you.”

“Why does everyone keep callin’ me old?” Joel grumbles.

Tommy looks at his brother. “‘Cause you are, you old man.” He suddenly looks like he just realized something. “Wait a goddamn minute,” Tommy says. “Joel, are you havin’ a midlife crisis? You’re around the age people have those, right? It’d make sense why you’d risk your life to fuck her.”

“Get out, Tommy,” Joel replies, pointing toward the front door. “I’ve had enough of you.”

His younger brother pouts. “‘Cause I called you old?”

“Out.”

“Fine.” He slowly starts walking toward the hallway that leads to the front door. “I’ll get out of your hair so the two of you can enjoy the rest of your night. Bye!”

The door loudly closes as he leaves.

Well, you’re not entirely sure what’s going to happen now. Between the comment about Sarah and the other things that had been said, you wouldn’t be surprised if Joel ends this. You might as well cut your losses and get it over with to save yourself from more heartbreak.

Your eyes are on the ground, the first tear falling down your cheek. “After all that, I know whatever this is is probably over,” you quietly say. “But is there a chance I can still sleep in your bed with you tonight? And if you’re willing, have you hold me?”

He turns and pulls you into his arms.

“Yeah, you can sleep with me,” he answers and kisses your hair. “But I’m gonna need you to stop.”

You lean back to look at him with watery eyes. “Stop what?”

A sad smile is on his lips. “Jumpin’ to conclusions without talkin’ to me. You’ve already got one foot out the door, and I haven’t even opened it.”

“It’s just everything Tommy said.”

He lightly squeezes your biceps. “Tommy was bein’ a little shit. You were right when you said this isn’t as bad as it sounds, but you gotta be honest with me about somethin’.”

“What?” you ask.

His hands come up to hold your face, his thumbs wiping away the tears that have fallen. “Are you positive your daddy won’t kill me? I’ve got Sarah to think about, and even though I like you a lot, I’m not gonna risk dyin’ to be happy.”

The sweetest man and the best father.

You think about it for a second, and the sad truth is you can’t imagine your dad killing anyone for you—he doesn’t love you that much. He doesn’t love you to the same degree that Joel loves Sarah. With how easily Joel grabbed a knife to protect you, there’s no doubt in your mind he’d kill for his daughter without hesitation.

“He’ll be pissed off, but he isn’t going to kill you. We also don’t need to tell him anything unless this turns into something. We can keep it to ourselves for now.”

He hums in agreement. “You know, if you wanted, you could start comin’ here to do your laundry...”

You smile. “How will you explain that to Sarah?”

“That I’m helpin’ you out, which is true. Plus, I’ve got the guest room.”

“Uh huh, the guest room that I’ll sleep in?”

“Yes.” He nods.

“Alone?”

“I sleepwalk.”

You snort. “Stop it.” You playfully push his chest. “Sarah is not gonna believe you sleepwalked into the guest room.”

He snatches your hand, bringing it up to kiss your knuckles. “Who said anythin’ about Sarah knowin’ I’m in the guest room, or you bein’ in my room for that matter, while she’s sleepin’? There are also nights like tonight she spends with friends.”

“You really want me to hang out here?”

“Yeah. It’s nice to have company that isn’t Tommy.”

“I believe that. As long as I’m not a bother, I’ll do my laundry here.”

He smiles. “Not a bother, and you can wash your clothes tomorrow and stay another night. You could even stay over Sunday, too, since you have Monday off—you’re more than welcome.”

You loop your arms around his neck. “Yes, Joel. I will spend my long weekend with you.”

He leans in, brushing his lips against yours. “Good.”

Main Masterlist

Thank you for reading! If you’d like to be tagged in my fics, please fill out the form in my bio, on my masterlist, or just let me know!

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octbrsaturn · 1 month ago

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rafe hates when you buy things without using his card

(do not copy or plagarize, original work) The Range Rover hummed quietly, its blacked-out interior wrapping you and Rafe in a cocoon of shadows and muted streetlights. It had been his idea to take you for a nail day—completely unprompted but not surprising. Rafe had a way of knowing when you needed a little spoiling, especially after the week you’d had. The air smelled like his cologne, something expensive and sharp, mixing with the faint scent of leather from the seats. You were reclined comfortably with both legs stretched out, your freshly painted white toes wiggling lazily as you scrolled through your phone.

Rafe sat in the driver’s seat, one hand on the wheel and the other resting on your thigh. His thumb stroked absentminded circles into your skin while his sharp blue eyes flicked toward the darkened street ahead. Traffic was crawling, a sea of red taillights stretching endlessly ahead. Rafe didn’t seem too bothered, one hand resting on the wheel while the other stayed on your thigh. His thumb moved in slow, hypnotic circles against your skin, his blue eyes flicking between the road and the glow of your phone screen. He was calm—you liked him this way.

“What’s got you so quiet, huh?” His voice broke the silence, smooth but with an edge that always demanded your attention.

“Just trying to check out before everything sells out,” you mumbled, barely glancing up. You were busy, furiously tapping away as you finalized your cart. The latest House of CB drop was a battlefield, and you weren’t about to lose.

“Lemme see.” He leaned closer, his sharp gaze cutting toward your screen. When he caught sight of the digits you were typing, his brows furrowed, his jaw tightening. “Wait, is that your card?”

You paused, immediately bracing for what was coming. “Yeah? Why?”

Rafe let out a short, irritated laugh, like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “You have all of my cards saved to your phone, and you’re using your own card? What the hell for?”

“It’s not a big deal, Rafe.” You kept your voice calm, like you weren’t trying to spark an argument in the middle of what was such a nice day. “It’s not like I can’t afford it.”

Rafe raised an eyebrow, his lips curling into a humorless smirk. “Afford it?” he repeated, voice tinged with a certain tone to it. “Sweetheart, I literally pay for your life. Why do you even have a card? For decoration?”

You glared at him, but the faint smile tugging at the corners of your lips betrayed you. “Rafe—”

“No, seriously,” he cut in, shaking his head as if the idea itself was absurd. “What are you holding onto that thing for? Just in case I drop dead tomorrow and you suddenly need it?”

You huffed an air of annoyance as a pout covered your slightly glossed lips and starred out the car window. The car filled with an almost unbearable silence. His hand, which had been rubbing your thigh, went still.

He turned to glance at you a few times before looking back at the road, the corner of his mouth twitching with a mix of disbelief and annoyance. “Afford-” he repeated again slightly scoffing, voice low and slow, like he was trying to decide if you were messing with him. “Do you even hear yourself?”

You rolled your eyes and crossed your arms leaning slightly closer to his natural warmth. “It’s not that much.”

“To you. To me, that’s pocket change.” His fingers drummed a little harder against the steering wheel now, a restless energy creeping into his movements more obvious than ever.

“Rafe,” you started to whine, but he cut you off, shaking his head.

“Nah. Don’t start.” He turned fully to face you now, his hand lifting to cup your jaw, gently but firmly enough that you couldn’t look away. “Why do you always make this a thing? Is it so hard to let me take care of you? That’s why I’m here. To take care of you. You’re supposed to let me.”

Your resolve faltered under his intense gaze. He wasn’t just irritated—he was hurt. His words were a reminder, the same ones he’d given you before. Rafe wasn’t just possessive for the sake of it—he hated seeing you stress over anything, especially when he had the means to give you whatever you needed, whenever you wanted it. He didn’t want you holding onto burdens you didn’t have to carry. He’d told you before how it made him feel when you refused to lean on him, how he hated the idea of you ever struggling when he had the means to make your life easier. Rafe always told you how much he loved taking care of you, he felt proud to. Anything you ever want, he would give you, plus more.

“I’m not helpless,” you said softly, and it sounded weak even to your own ears.

“Did I say that you were?” he shot back immediately, his sharp blue eyes flicking from the road to meet yours. There was no trace of anger in his voice, just a steady, unyielding determination. “I know what you’re capable of. But you don’t have to do it all alone anymore.”

He gave your hand a gentle squeeze, his gaze softening, though his tone stayed firm. “I’ve got you. I’m right here. You’re mine, remember? So stop making it harder than it needs to be. Let me do my job.”

Even while navigating the slow-moving traffic, his focus on you didn’t waver. His eyes flicked back to yours, holding them for just a second longer than he should have, but long enough to make your heart skip a beat. You felt the weight of his words settle over you, the quiet conviction in his voice leaving no room for argument.

“Rafe…” you started. You stared at him for a long moment before finally relenting, handing over your phone with a quiet sigh. “Fine. Just this once.”

He smirked, already deleting your card details and replacing them with his own Amex Black information. The confirmation dinged almost immediately, and he handed the phone back to you, smug satisfaction written all over his face. “There. Easy. Now you’ve got your shit, and I’ve got my peace of mind.”

“Thank you,” you muttered, cheeks warming as you avoided his eyes.

Rafe tilted your chin up, his fingers brushing against your jaw as he pressed a lingering kiss to your lips. “Don’t thank me, baby. Just stop making this harder than it has to be. Just let me take care of you?” A small pout covered your slighly glossed lips as you responded to him in a small voice, "Okay."

“That’s my girl,” He smiled and leaned back in his seat, hand returning to your thigh as he glanced toward the street, his usual sharp focus slipping back into place.

You smiled slightly, your frustration melting away as you leaned into him. Because no matter how stubborn you could be, you both knew he’d always win in the end. And deep down, you didn’t mind.

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octbrsaturn · 1 month ago

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OFF LIMITS – rafe cameron masterlist ¡

social media & irl AU !

“we shouldn't be doing this, rafe.”

“i was barely holding myself back, it's your fault for tempting me.”

pairing brother's best friend!rafe cameron x brat!reader

summary you slide into a random boy's dms on instagram, anything but expecting him to end up being your brother's best friend, let alone the person you'll be spending your summer vacation with. while resisting Rafe and his lingering gazes was an option, you found yourself in the constant loop of crossing the line; said line being your brother.

content forbidden love, slow burn (sort of), fluff, sneaking around, family friends, beach (lots of it!!), unresolved tension, slight angst, nsfw

a/n hiii!! wooo so excited for this honestly aahhh i hope you guys give it a chance i have so much plans for it ahaha!! let me know if you want to be tagged or if i should make a taglist in the first place (sigh idk how this works 😣)

chapter one

chapter two

chapter three

chapter four – coming soon !

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octbrsaturn · 1 month ago

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INVISIBLE STRING - r.c series (eight)

pairing: pogue!rafe x sweetheart!kook reader. chapter warnings: mentions of domestic violence; unhealthy relationships;

It takes another week for your bruises to disappear entirely and for you to get comfortable enough to join Rafe downstairs while he’s working away with Jerry.

He didn’t mind though, he liked watching you heal, loved seeing you devour whatever he cooked for you. It was almost like he was healing himself too.

Rafe glances up from under the hood of the Chevy, the clang of metal on metal breaking the heat of the afternoon.

He isn’t sure what draws his attention, but there you are, sitting on the porch steps with sunlight catching in your hair, watching him and Jerry work like it’s the most fascinating thing in the world.

It devastates him—how much happier you look. A week ago, you'd barely let him leave your side without that haunted look creeping back into your eyes.

You sit there comfortably, legs stretched out, looking eerily like the girl he remembered from so long ago. Almost.

He wipes his hands on the rag tucked into his pocket, taking a moment to breathe you in. Seeing you there, in his space, still feels unreal.

Somehow, the universe had given him a second chance when he’d never thought he’d get one, hee wants to keep you that way, safe, comfortable, smiling.

“Rafe,” Jerry’s voice pulls him back to work, and he tears his gaze from you reluctantly, not before he catches the way your lips quirk just a little more when you realize he’s been watching.

He ducks his head back under the hood, focusing on the busted engine. At least, that’s what he tells himself, but the truth is, he’s already planning what to make you for dinner. Maybe spaghetti?

You’d eaten three helpings of it the other night like you couldn’t get enough. He’ll make extra.

He grins to himself, a small, private thing, as he tightens the bolt on the alternator. He isn’t usually one for kitchen work but he’d been experimenting ever since you got here, he'd been cooking more than ever.

Figured out how to make pancakes the way you liked them, even if it meant burning the first couple batches, learned the trick to getting mashed potatoes just right, and spaghetti? He can make that blindfolded by now, if it means seeing you sitting, all full and satisfied, looking at him like he’s doing something right for once.

He peeks your way again, can’t help it.

God, he could write poetry about you if he had the words, if he was smart enough for that shit. Something about how your skin soaks up the sun like it’s meant just for you, or how you make the whole world quiet just by sitting there, looking at him.

You stretch, raising your arms over your head and his chest hurts so good. You don’t know what you’re doing to him, do you? You have no idea how much he wants to drop this wrench, cross the yard, and pull you into his arms, just to feel you against him, like the good old days.

“Rafe,” Jerry calls again, this time a little more assertive.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m here,” He mutters, running a hand through his hair, smearing grease. The old man shoots him a look but says nothing.

He blames you, how is a guy supposed to focus with you sitting there like that? Looking all pretty and sweet, like you belong nowhere else but on his porch, waiting on him to finish up.

He wonders if you’d blush if he told you.

Maybe later, at dinner, he’ll get you talking about something—something that makes your eyes light up and your hands move like they always do when you got excited. Not the whole thing, of course, not the part about how he wants to keep you here forever, how he spent the last week falling asleep next to you, scared out of his mind to wake up and you’d be gone.

He can’t say that, not yet.

He still doesn’t feel deserving, the years haven’t dimmed you a bit—if anything, you’re brighter, and stronger, especially after what had happened, after you showed up on his doorstep with bruises and trembling hands, you’re still here, looking at him like he’s someone worth trusting.

He can’t stop thinking about what your parents said, all those years ago. How they’d made him feel like the scum on their shoes, but he isn’t that same kid anymore, is he? He built a life here, fixed cars, learned to cook, stayed out of trouble. You came back to him.

The sound of pawsteps across gravel draws his attention before he even realizes he’s been listening for it. A familiar shadow pads around the corner of the garage—a big mutt with a patchy brown coat, floppy ears, and a wagging tail that never quits.

Rafe chuckles under his breath. “Look who finally decided to wake up,” he drawls, wiping his hands on his jeans as the dog, Ace, makes his way toward you, bypassing him completely.

Traitor.

You sit up straighter on the steps, blinking at the unexpected visitor, “Who’s this?”

“That’s Ace, the one I told you about,” He explains, leaning against the Chevy, arms crossed. “Sleeps in the garage most nights. Jerry feeds him scraps when he thinks I ain’t lookin’.”

“Bull,” Jerry mutters from under the hood, but Rafe just grins.

Ace stops a few feet away from you, his tail still wagging but slower now, careful, he sniffles the air, head tilting as if he’s sizing you up.

You extend a hand tentatively, and Rafe’s heart damn near fucking stops when Ace leans forward, his big nose brushing your fingers like he’s been waiting all his life to meet you.

“Oh,” you breath, your lips curving into a blinding smile as you tenderly scratch behind his ears. Ace practically melts, pressing his head into your palm like you’re the best thing that had ever happened to him and Rafe feels like someone punched him, at least a hundred times, square in the chest.

Even the fucking dog is in love with you.

“He’s sweet,” you coo as you stroke Ace’s scruffy coat. “Aren’t you, boy?”

The dog lets out a contented huff, flopping onto the ground at your feet like he’s ready to stay there forever, Rafe can’t blame him.

“He doesn’t warm up to folks like that,” He finds himself admitting, “Usually takes him a while to trust people. Guess he’s got good taste.”

You look up at him, and there it is—that little spark in your eyes that makes his knees weak. “He must take after his owner, then.”

He lets out a noise, between a laugh and a swallow, scratching the back of his neck, looking down at the ground because he knows if he looks at you too long, he’ll probably do something stupid, maybe kiss you right there in front of Jerry and the whole damn yard.

“Nah,” he concedes finally, “Dog’s got way more sense than me.”

You laugh, that sound was always better than any song he ever heard, even if you haven’t laughed like that in a long time.

“You’ve got your moments.” You tease, still scratching the mutt behind his ears.

“Moments, huh?” He smirks, slow and lazy, the way that always makes you blush.

Your cheeks are still flushed, just like he hoped they would, and you shake your head, but he doesn’t miss the way your grin only grows.

God, you’re so beautiful it hurts. He wants to bottle this moment up and keep it forever—the sun on your skin, Ace curled up at your feet, and that look in your eyes.

Jerry clears his throat loudly, and Rafe drags his attention away, turning back to the engine with a muttered, “Don’t you got somethin’ better to do, old man?”

Jerry snorts. “Not when you’re makin’ moon eyes at her like that, might as well sell tickets.”

He shoots him a glare, his ears turning pink, and you cackle again, a little louder this time. It’s worth the ribbing, worth all of it, just to hear that sound. Rafe sighs, long and dramatic. "Don’t you have a crossword or somethin' to keep your mouth busy?"

The old man sniggers, his laugh scratchy and full of life as you look between the two of them, enjoying the show.

“So,” you pipe up, resting your chin on your hand, comfortable enough around Jerry to finally ask, “How did you two meet? Officially, I mean.”

“Cameron didn’t tell you?”

He groans, already regretting everything. “Oh, come on—don’t—”

“Shut up, kid,” Jerry clicks his tongue, waving him off, turning turned to you, his eyes already sparkling with mischief in the late afternoon sun. “It was, what, five years ago? Somethin’ like that. I was in the middle of the hardware store, cussin’ out a kid who bagged up the wrong screws for me.”

Rafe ducks his head, mumbling, “It wasn’t that bad.”

Jerry ignores him, his hands moving as he speaks. “And here comes this scrappy little punk, all long limbs and attitude. He’s hanging around the counter, lookin’ like he’s ready to swipe somethin’. I figured, well, either he’s desperate or he’s an idiot, so I hollered at him.”

You raise an eyebrow, glancing at Rafe. “Scrappy little punk? I remember that.”

He sends a faux glare your way, “Don’t gloat him on.”

“Could’ve called the cops on him,” Jerry goes on, enjoying himself. “But I didn’t. Somethin’ about him looked...he just needed a break. I handed him a sandwich instead. Figured, worst-case scenario, he’d run off and I’d be down a couple bucks.

“But he didn’t.”

Jerry beams, “He sat right there on the curb and ate the whole damn thing like he hadn’t had a meal in days. Then, after he was done, he asked me if I had any work for him.”

You try to keep your expression even, but your throat tightens a little as you take a peek at Rafe’s reaction. He isn’t looking at you, his hands are busy wiping grease from a bolt that needs no more attention.

Your mind paints a picture you don’t want to see: him, still just a teenager, sitting alone on a curb in a strange town, starving, with no one to turn to. You remember the boy you’d known back then—the one who laughed loudly, talked too big, and held your hand like you were the only thing he had in the world.

The thought of him losing all of that, of losing you and ending up so desperate, breaks something inside you.

Jerry isn’t oblivious; he sees the flinch when he mentions Rafe’s first meal here. He catches how your shoulders tense, how Rafe avoids looking at you, the old man has a knack for reading people, so, still with a knowing smile, he pivots.

“Speakin’ of this kid’s early days,” Jerry claps his hands, “Y’know, I had half a mind to send him back to whatever dock he washed up from.”

His free hand dragged down his face. “C’mon, Jerry—”

“No, no, she’s gotta hear this,” Jerry insists, grinning again now. “You ever heard the phrase, ‘bull in a china shop’? That was this one.” He jerks his thumb toward him. “I handed him a wrench, told him to take off the oil pan on an old Ford. Figured, simple job, even he couldn’t screw it up.”

You tilt your head, curious despite yourself. “And?”

“The next thing I know, I hear this god-awful bang—like a car had fallen off the lift. I run over, and there’s Rafe, sittin’ on the ground, oil pan in one hand, half the damn exhaust in the other.”

You clap a hand over your mouth to stifle a giggle, your eyes widening. “No!”

“I was new!” he defends, albeit childishly, his neck turning a faint shade of pink. “I didn’t know cars back then, alrigh’? Boats are different.”

“Yeah, sure,” Jerry chaffs, “Different enough that I had to spend half my day puttin’ that exhaust back together.”

Rafe rolled his eyes, but there’s a sheepish tilt on his lips. “You’re lucky I didn’t quit after that.”

“You?” Jerry cackles, slapping his knee. “You were lucky I didn’t fire you!”

“Alright, that’s enough outta you,” Rafe grumbles, though his tone is more affectionate than annoyed. “She doesn’t need to hear every stupid thing I did.”

Jerry winks at you, “Stick around long enough, and I’ve got plenty more stories where that came from.”

Rafe sighs dramatically, shaking his head, he turns back to the car, he doesn’t mind being the butt of the joke if it makes you laugh.

You’re still petting Ace, murmuring something that he can’t hear, but it doesn’t matter. The way your lips move, the gentle tilt of your head—it’s enough to send his heart hammering.

He doesn’t know what he did to get you back in his life, but he’s sure as hell not going to mess it up. Not this time.

Ace moves at your feet, rolling onto his back, his tail thumping against the ground and you laugh again, that heart-wrenching melodic sound.

He doesn’t even care that Jerry caught him “makin’ moon eyes” earlier—because this is what love looks like, he’ll gladly wear the fool.

“Everything okay over there?” you call, a teasing tilt in your voice.

He clears his throat, coming up with something to say, “Yeah, just—uh, makin’ sure Jerry doesn’t mess up the alternator.”

Jerry barks a laugh from behind the car. “Kid, I’ve been doin’ this since before you could walk. Go ahead, tell her about the time you tried to put windshield wiper fluid in the oil tank.”

“Jesus Christ,” Rafe mutters as your snort spills out, unrestrained and perfect. He wants to record that sound, keep it for the nights when his demons get too loud.

Jerry pops back up, smirking as he wipes his hands on a rag. “She oughta know what she’s dealin’ with.”

He shakes his head, the faintest grin on his lips. “She knows enough. Don’t you, darlin’?”

The nickname slips out without him meaning to, but it feels right.

“Yeah, I do.”

Jerry slaps him on the back, pulling him out of his head. “Alright, kid. Let’s fire her up, see if she’ll run.”

He nods, tossing the wrench onto the workbench. “Yeah. Yeah, let’s do it.”

He steps around to the driver’s side, sliding into the worn seat, the key turns in the ignition, and the old Chevy grumbles to life, sputtering a little before settling into a steady rumble.

Jerry whoops, giving the hood an affectionate pat.

You’re clapping, beaming brighter than the sun dipping low on the horizon, the pride in your eyes, you’re looking at him like he just moved mountains instead of fixing an old truck—it’s overwhelming.

He kills the engine, stepping out of the car, wiping his hands on his jeans as he crosses the yard, Jerry mutters something about grabbing a beer and heads inside, leaving the two of you alone with the fading light and the lazy wag of Ace’s tail.

Rafe stops, suddenly nervous, scratching the back of his neck, his attention flickering between you and the ground.

“I like watching you work. You look happy.”

Happy, such a simple word, but hearing it from you feels monumental, you’re giving him something he didn’t even know he was missing.

“Yeah, guess I’m not used to having an audience,” he murmurs, his lips twitching into a small, sheepish grin.

You tilt your head, studying him and he feels completely exposed, knowing you remembre all the cracks, every scar, every damn thing about him, but instead of turning away, you lean forward slightly, resting your chin on your hand.

“You’re good at it, y’know.”

“At what?”

“Everything.”

He looks away, swallowing hard, “Already promised I’d make you that pasta again, don’t need to butter me up, princess.”

You roll your eyes, as you wave him off. “Don’t let it go to your head, country boy.”

He chuckles, the sound wrapping around you. “Too late for that.”

Ace stirs at your feet, letting out a happy huff as your hand absentmindedly scratches his belly. Rafe watches the way you’re with the dog, so effortless and full of love, and his heart swells.

“Y’know,” he says, his voice more serious, “it’s nice, havin’ you here. Feels... right.”

You brush a strand of hair out of your face, glancing down at Ace before looking back up at him. “It feels right to me too,” you admit.

Rafe’s breath catches, his hand twitching at his side like he wants to touch but doesn’t know how. Instead, he clears his throat, tilting his head toward the garage.

“Guess I should, uh, finish cleanin’ up.”

You nod, smiling a little. “Don’t let me stop you, grease monkey.”

He gives you a tongue-in-cheek smirk, the side of his cheek puffing out slightly, shaking his head as he stands, but not before he leans down, close enough that you can feel the heat of his body, and whispers, “Keep callin’ me that, and I might start likin’ it.”

He knows exactly what he's doing when your lips part in a gasp as he leans in, how your eyes widen before you try act unaffected—it’s like you’re both teens again. He didn’t mean to flirt, not at first, but the way you look at him, it’s impossible not to.

He pulls back, letting his smirk settle into place, giving you that lazy, self-assured grin you always pretended to hate when you were younger.

By the time you think of a comeback, he’s already halfway to the workbench, his smug grin unmistakable even from a distance.

Jerry returns with a beer in hand, catching the tail end of your flustered expression. “What’d he say this time?”

“Nothing,” you reply quickly as you scratch Ace behind the ears again.

“Uh-huh,” Jerry says knowingly, settling into his chair and shaking his head with a chuckle.

Dinner comes slow but is worth the wait.

The sun's long since tucked itself away, and by now, the house smells like garlic and tomatoes, the scent that makes you feel like you’re right where you belong.

Rafe stands in the kitchen, his back to you as he plates up the spaghetti he promised. He’s in a worn t-shirt and jeans, the grease scrubbed from his hands but still faintly streaked along his forearm.

He’d gone all out—spaghetti with his homemade sauce, garlic bread, and even a side salad, though he figured that would mostly be for show.

“Hope you’re hungry,” he calls, leaning on the doorframe as you appear from the hallway, fresh-faced and relaxed after cleaning up from earlier. You smile at him, and his heart stutters like it always does when you stare at him like that, turning with two plates balanced in his hands, “One gourmet pasta dish, comin’ up.”

You laugh, sitting cross-legged at the table. “Big words for a guy who learned how to boil water when he was seventeen.”

“Now, that’s just mean.” He sets the plates down with mock offense, but there’s a light in his eyes, the kind that only shows up when you’re here.

The first bite is heaven—simple, hearty, comforting.

You can’t help the little sigh that escapes as you twirl more noodles around your fork. He watches from across the table, leaning back in his chair, one hand loosely gripping his beer. He’s not subtle about it either, letting his eyes wander over you like he’s cataloging every detail.

“This is amazing,” you say after swallowing. “Seriously. You’ve been holding out on me.”

He chuckles, shaking his head as he takes a bite of his own. “Nah, just figured if I burned a few meals first, you’d lower your expectations. Keep the bar manageable.”

“If this is you being ‘manageable,’ I’m almost scared to see what happens when you’re trying.”

“Careful, princess,” he drawls, leaning back in his chair. “Might start thinkin’ you’re tryna keep me in the kitchen.”

“Well, you do look good in an apron,” you bite back a shit-eating grin as his face warms ever so slightly.

“Yeah, yeah,” he rolls his eyes, stabbing a piece of garlic bread and pointing it at you playfully. “Keep it up, see what happens.”

He takes a sip of his drink, watching the way your shoulders relax, and how you reach for another piece of bread without hesitation. It’s everything he wanted when he planned this—just to see you like this, comfortable, at home.

“You’ve gotten good at this,” you say after a moment, gesturing toward the food. “It’s kind of... surprising.”

Rafe shrugs, his lips twitching into a crooked smirk. “Figured it was time I learned somethin’ useful. Can’t live off fast food forever, y’know?”

You tilt your head, studying him. “You’ve changed.”

He doesn’t look at you right away, focusing instead on twirling his fork through his pasta. “Time does that, I guess. Sometimes it’s good, sometimes it ain’t.”

“I think it’s good,” you say, and the sincerity in your voice makes him glance up. Your eyes meet, and there’s something there—something that makes his chest feel all empty and full at once.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you confirm, “I like this version of you. Feels like you’re where you’re supposed to be.”

You talk about the past like as if it’s something distant, like it doesn’t still linger in the cracks of who you’ve become. He hates it—hates the way your voice wavers. Hates that, for five years, you’d been fighting to survive while he wasn’t there to stop it.

He should be grateful for the words, for the way you look at him like he’s the version of himself you can believe in. But all he can think about is how wrong you are. How he was supposed to be there—not here. If he says it out loud, the mood will drop, and the hope in your voice will disappear. He can’t take that from you—not when you’ve fought so hard to get here.

So instead, he swallows the words.

You’re still smiling and he lets himself pretend that this is how it’s always been—that you’ve never known anything but moments like this, safe and warm. The corner of his mouth twitches upward as he watches you, but that tightness in his chest refuses to ease.

“You’ve got something...” He gestures vaguely, and when you blink at him in confusion, he reaches for his napkin. “On your lip.”

You laugh, startled, and quickly swipe at your mouth with the back of your hand. “Did I get it?”

“Nah,” he says, smirking as he leans forward slightly. “Other side.”

You try again, this time swiping with your thumb, but it’s no use.

He chuckles low, shaking his head, his heart squeezing as he watches your eyes crinkle at the edges. He’d give anything to go back and rewrite the past, so you’d never know the pain you went through.

“C’mere,” he says softly, his voice warm like the honey he used to sneak into your tea.

Before you can whine in protest, he’s reaching across the table, thumb brushing gently against the corner of your lips. His touch stays a second longer than it should, his eyes locked on yours and he doesn’t pull back.

Instead, his hand moves to cup your jaw, his thumb tracing the edge of your cheekbone.

You don’t pull away, and that quiets the voice in his head screaming at him to back off, to give you space. The last thing he wants is to upset you. Your breathing hitches slightly, your attention flickering to his lips, and that’s all it takes to shake whatever restraint he has left.

“I shouldn’t,” he whispers, his voice hoarse, feeling a desperate need for your permission. “I’ll stop.”

You shake your head, just barely, the motion subtle but enough, “You don’t have to.”

Five years. Five years of silence, of distance, of trying to live in a world that didn’t feel like home without the other. He leans in slowly, giving you every chance to turn away. But you don’t—you couldn’t if you tried, not with the warmth of his palm against your skin, the way his breath ghosts over your lips.

And then, finally, his mouth meets yours.

The kiss is not as gentle as he expected.

It’s desperate like the years apart have snapped every ounce of longing into something unbearable. His lips move against yours with a reckless abandon, the kind that whispers I’m sorry I missed you and I never stopped loving you all at once. It’s messy and clumsy in the best way—you’re both trying to relearn the map of each other, chasing something you thought you’d lost forever.

The kiss deepens, the world falling away until all you can feel is him, and you wonder how you ever survived without this.

But as suddenly as it began, he pulls back.

Rafe’s breathing is uneven, his forehead resting against yours, his thumb still brushing over your cheek as if to soothe, his eyes searching yours.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, “for everything. For not being there. For—”

You cut him off with another kiss, softer this time but no less meaningful. It’s your way of telling him there’s nothing to forgive, that every broken piece led you back here, to this moment.

“You’re awful quiet,” he says, “That’s never a good sign.”

You glance back at the remnants of dinner. “Just thinking,” you reply, deliberately neutral, but it doesn’t fool him.

“About what?”

You hesitate, “About the first time we met.”

That catches him off guard. His eyebrows knit together, and he straightens slightly, “What about it?”

You huff out a chuckle, “I was just remembering how much of an ass you were. You were so mean.”

“You make it sound like I wasn’t justified.”

“You were so angry that day. You had this scowl—like you wanted to scare me off.”

“I did,” he admits, his hand dropping to the table, fingers brushing yours, “Didn’t work, though. You figured me out pretty quick.”

You're studying him like you’re reading the pages of an old, familiar book. Your fingers curl around his, “It’s easy when you find your soulmate.”

Rafe’s breath catches, his eyes searching yours like he’s looking for a sign that this is another one of your teasing remarks. But when he sees the sincerity in your face, the way your lips curve into a gentle, knowing smile, he feels a warmth spreading through his body.

“Yeah?”

You nod slowly, your fingers gently brushing his. “Yeah, don’t think I ever really had to figure you out. I just had to see you.”

He’s quiet, a little stunned, he knows you’re not just talking about the past, about that first meeting when he was all bitterness. You’re talking about the now, about who he’s trying to be, who he’s becoming. He presses his forehead to yours, closing his eyes for a second, just soaking in the feel of you—real and here and his.

He swallows hard, unsure how to express himself.

“You’re… you’re the love of my life,” he admits. It’s not a grand confession, there’s no dramatic buildup, no orchestrated speech, it’s just a simple truth, spilling from his heart like it’s always belonged there. His heart races under the look you’re giving him, “I know I screwed up. I know I’ve been a fuckin’ mess, but I never stopped loving you, don’t think I ever could.”

Your lips tremble eyes shining with something tender, as you reach out, your hand brushing against his clothed chest, feeling the rhythm of his heart beneath your palm.

“I’ve always known,” you say, your voice carrying every ounce of emotion you’ve kept buried. “I’ve always known, Rafe, even when we were apart. You’ve always been it for me.”

The words, the honesty in them, he’s suddenly overcome with a flood of emotions so intense, it’s almost overwhelming. He leans in, his lips pecking yours gently, over and over again, until you’re grinning from ear to ear again.

“You’re it for me, too,” he murmurs against your skin, “Always.”

Rafe doesn’t let you move far after dinner, you’re not even halfway to the sink with the plates before he takes them out of your hands, his skin brushing yours, lingering just long enough to make you shiver all over again.

“Don’t,” he scolds.

“You cooked,” you protest.

“I always cook,” he retorts lightheartedly as he sets the plates on the counter. “Doesn’t mean I’m letting you clean up. Sit.”

You fold your arms, leaning back against the counter instead, the stubborn tilt of your chin making him laugh. It’s not mocking—but he still shakes his head, muttering something about “always gotta have the last word”, you still let your elbow bump his every so often.

The simple domesticity of it catches you off guard, you never had it before, so it’s not something you would’ve associated with him back then—but here he is, sleeves pushed up, completely at ease. Five minutes later, he pushes off the counter and takes a step closer,

“C’mere,” he’s guiding you toward the couch with a hand at the small of your back.

Ace follows, tail wagging lazily as he flops onto the rug near Rafe’s feet. He usually doesn’t let him come up here, but you’d begged to prettily earlier, and he couldn’t say no to that face. You settle in first, tucking your legs beneath you, and he sits beside you, his arm draping over the back of the couch.

The night winds down slowly, and by the time you’re both settled, Ace is already sprawled across Rafe’s legs, you’re warm with spaghetti, affection, and a sense of belonging. He moves, his arm slipping around your shoulders as he tugs you closer, his cheek resting against your temple.

“This feels right, doesn’t it?”

You nod, leaning into him, “Yeah, it does.”

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octbrsaturn · 1 month ago

Text

INVISIBLE STRING - r.c series (seven)

pairing: pogue!rafe x sweetheart!kook reader. chapter warnings: angst; mentions of domestic violence; unhealthy relationships;

For the first time in years, you wake up peacefully.

No racing heart, no threats lurking behind your closed eyes.

Just... calm. The type of quiet that lets you sink into the warmth of the blankets without a single worry. You’re so cozy, so perfectly at ease, you almost forget where you are and what led you here.

For a blissful moment, all you know is stillness. But then it hits you—this isn't your bed. No footsteps are stomping down the hall, no harsh voices insulting you through your morning peace.

You blink your eyes open, and it’s a simple little room. Not much here but a heavy old quilt over you, a plain dresser, a lamp that looks like it's been there forever. A small window where the sun is streaming in, bathing everything in a golden glow.

It’s almost funny, you realize with a little smile. You ran as far as you could, with no real plan except to escape, and somehow, by some twist of fate, you ended up here.

And then you remember why it feels so familiar.

It’s Rafe’s.

Your heart flutters around like it’s waking up for the first time in a while, too. You found him—or maybe he found you. After all those years of wondering what happened to him, your first love, the boy with grease-stained hands and the brightest smile was back.

He still looked at you like he cared, that was a given after what he did for you yesterday, between taking you to the hospital and offering you a place to stay, as if the years hadn’t put a single dent in the way he used to see you.

You’d half-expected him to just...look through you like you were a stranger. But Rafe—well, he’d always been different, hadn't he?

You let out a small, relieved sigh and curl up a little tighter under the quilt, sinking deeper into it, because today, you don’t have to run.

Back then, everything about Rafe felt like some secret only you were lucky enough to know. The scrapes on his knuckles, the stains that never really washed off his clothes, the way he’d sneak you out to the pier after dark to talk under the stars like you were the only two people on earth.

The entire world disappeared when you were with him—the line between Kook and Pogue didn’t mean a thing.

You remember his laugh, this loud carefree sound that would just bubble up, surprising even him. He’d make fun of how out of place you looked on the back of his old bike, but then he’d smile in this crooked, lovestruck way and kiss you so hard it didn’t matter.

God, you were in so deep, and you didn’t care. All you knew was that he was yours, and you were his, and nothing else could touch that.

Your mind is a mess of memories, all those nights you used to slip out to meet him, sneaking around with this thrill in your chest, like you were getting away with something impossible.

It all changed so fast.

One night, he was there, laughing with you in bed and calling you "princess" in that teasing way only he could get away with. The next, he was gone. You had no warning, no explanation—just this space where he used to be. Your parents finally admitted what they'd done, talking about him like he was a problem they’d finally got to fix. They had tried to break him, ship him off to some military school hours away, like he was just… trash.

But Rafe had always been too smart for them. He ran instead, left everything he knew behind, including you, before anyone could try to cage him. You didn’t understand it fully at first. You couldn’t.

Before college started, you’d waited at all your old spots, hoping he’d show up, that he’d come to you in the middle of the night, even if it meant climbing in through your bedroom window just to say goodbye.

But he never did, when the days turned into weeks, then months, you realized he’d left for good.

You never let him go, not really.

While everyone else told you to move on, you dug in. You spent so much, countless weekends sneaking off with the cash you'd save, paying people in shady corners of town, anyone who might know where he’d gone. You chased whispers and rumors and stray leads, but none of them ever led you to him. You used to lie awake at night praying he was okay, safe, wondering if he was ever thinking of you the way you still thought of him every single day.

You can’t shake the déjà vu now, lying here in his bed, realizing that somehow, by some freak chance, the universe led you back to him.

You think about yesterday, the look on his face when he saw you in his shop, like he couldn’t believe it was real either. He’d dropped everything, no hesitation.

You call back to those years without him— you’d try to keep going, but every day was like you were carrying a dead weight no one else could see. Nights were the worst.

You’d lie in bed, staring up at the ceiling, replaying all those stolen moments with him, pieces of a dream you were desperate not to forget. It was like trying to hold water in your hands; no matter how hard you tried, bits of him kept slipping through, fading with time, until you started to wonder if maybe you’d imagined how it felt to be that close to someone.

And God, you tried to let go, eventually.

You told yourself over and over, it was time to stop chasing after someone who’d left without a goodbye, who didn't want to be found.

You even went on dates, pretended you could replace him, like it would be so easy to “find someone else.” But no one else ever remotely compared to him.

No one else ever made you feel seen like that.

Certainly not Frederic and it's like a stab to your heart to even think about it now.

You’d never planned to be with someone like him. He was handsome, polite when you met him; everyone around you liked him, and your parents might as well have handed you over to him in a silver platter the second he moved to town.

They’d called it “the perfect match”—his family’s money, your family’s reputation. They belived it would keep you distracted, and finally help you forget the boy they’d done everything to erase from your life.

You went along with it.

What choice did you really have? Rafe had been gone for almost three years, and you were supposed to move on, fit into this life they wanted for you. So you played along, smiled through dinner parties and gatherings, told yourself you could settle for this.

He wasn’t cruel, not in the beginning, just possessive. You’d told yourself it was almost flattering, that it meant he cared about you, wanted you to be his in some way.

Until the day he found that old picture, the one you’d kept hidden away in your wallet all those years.

That’s when everything changed and he never looked at you the same after that. Suddenly, each glance, every small thing you did, the little freedom you had was a threat to him. You weren’t allowed to go out without him or talk to anyone he didn’t approve of.

He made you feel like you were nothing but his property, something he could control and shape into whatever he wanted. He tore apart the dainty pieces of your younger self you’d managed to keep, as if any proof of the life you’d had with Rafe was something he needed to crush with his bare hands.

After a while, he didn’t even attempt to hide the anger.

The first time he hit you, you’d been shocked, unable to believe it was happening. He apologized right after, swore it would never happen again, but you knew.

It was only the beginning.

From that day on, you lived in fear, knowing that any misstep could set him off, that each move you made was a risk. You learned to stay quiet, to keep your head down, to shrink yourself into a pet that wouldn’t provoke him.

Nothing was ever enough.

He’d pick fights out of nowhere, accuse you of things that didn’t make sense, twist everything around until you couldn’t tell what was real anymore. But you kept that picture.

Even after everything, he’d broken down every bit of strength you had, but you wouldn’t let it go. It was the only piece of Rafe you had, it didn’t matter that it was just a scrap. When Frederic was away doing business, late at night, you’d pull it out and stare at it, trace the edges of Rafe’s smile with your thumb, wishing you’d get to live something as beautiful again.

You’d almost forgotten was being okay felt like, to be somewhere you weren’t afraid to breathe too loud.

You sit up slowly, the quilt sliding off your shoulders as you stretch your arms overhead, your stomach is already growling with anticipation.

Swinging your legs over the side of the bed, you take a micro second to breathe in the peaceful quiet around you, then, you shuffle to the kitchen, still half wondering if it’s happening, if Rafe is really back in your life after all this time.

As you enter the kitchen, your heart does a little leap at the sight before you. There, resting on the table is a plate piled high with pancakes, golden and fluffy, topped with a pat of melting butter and a drizzle of syrup.

It looks so delicious and so… thoughtful. It’s the kind of breakfast you’d imagined when you were younger, that felt like love poured into every bite. Next to the plate, there’s a note, scribbled in Rafe’s familiar handwriting, the same jagged loops and curls that make you smile like you’re seventeen again.

You pick it up, your fingers brushing over the paper as you read, “had to run to the shop, didn’t want you to wake up hungry. eat these and don't save some for me, okay?”. You tuck the note into your pocket, almost like a talisman, and turn your attention back to the pancakes.

You settle at the table, the chair creaking beneath you, and pick up a fork. The first bite is like heaven—soft and sweet, the syrup running down your chin as you take a big mouthful.

You can’t stop the giggles, remembering those late-night snacks where you’d sneak with him, trying to be quiet so no one would hear.

He always ended up with more syrup on him than in the bowl.

As you devour the breakfast he made, you envision how he must have stood there in the kitchen, mixing the batter and flipping.

It's fun to picture him humming to himself, the light from the window hitting his dark blonde hair just right, making him look like some sort of guardian angel. The thought sends butterflies fluttering through your body, and after years in the dark, you feel light.

After finishing the last bite you can’t help but smile at the empty plate in front of you. Rafe really outdid himself. You feel a little giddy, a warmth spreading through you that has nothing to do with the syrup or the comfort of the food.

With a little bounce in your step, you push back the chair and head to the sink, rinsing off the plate. You look around the cozy kitchen, taking in the mismatched mugs and the old-fashioned fridge that looks like it’s seen a hundred breakfasts. It feels lived-in and warm, like a home should, despite not being full.

You can picture Rafe here, maybe making his disgusting black coffee, playing music while he reads. You’d love to share that with him, even if it sounds silly.

You wander to the window above the sink, pull back the curtain and peek out.

Outside, the engine noises and clanking tools are a little noisy but better than the yelling you’re used to. You can see him moving around, his familiar silhouette bent over the engine of a car, grease smudged across his forearms, the sun glinting off his skin.

You’re chewing your lip to death while you admire him like he's the last man on earth. Rafe is dressed in a snug white tank top that hugs his muscular frame, the fabric slightly worn and smudged with grease from a long morning in the shop, showcasing his broad shoulders and the beefy muscles of his biceps.

His arms are covered in a light sheen of oil, making him appear even more rugged and, honestly, a little bit scrumptious. He looks so effortlessly beautiful even in the middle of a workday.

His hair is tousled, falling in soft, messy waves that occasionally cover his eyes, and you find yourself wanting to reach up and push it back just so you can see his gorgeous blue eyes fully.

This is what you’d dreamed about, all those nights, clutching that tiny picture of him to your chest. Just seeing him like this, working hard like he used to be when you’d sneak out to find him.

You feel bad though.

He’d stayed up late with you, sat with you for hours, listening as you poured everything out, even as you broke down, sobbing so hard you couldn’t breathe. He held you until you fell asleep in his lap, his arms wrapped around you. And now, here he is, working already, probably exhausted after getting barely any rest.

You move back to his bedroom, scolding yourself for wanting to go out there and warn him to take it easy, but you know him.

He wouldn’t listen.

And maybe a part of you doesn’t want him to, either, because having him there all night, knowing he was close by, made you feel content.

Rafe never did anything halfway, did he? Even back then, he was so… him, so all-in, with that devotion that used to leave you breathless and a little woozy.

Years later, he’s still giving everything he has to make sure you’re okay, he hasn’t changed at all in the ways that matter.

You close your eyes for a moment, just to savor it, to commit this peace to memory in case you need it again someday. You’re not naïve; you know there are things to figure out, talks that need to happen, but he didn’t leave this time, didn’t slip away in the middle of the night, no hidden messages or unspoken goodbyes.

He’s right here, where you can see him.

You're still lost in thought, when you hear the front door open.

You sit up, smoothing out your hair and trying not to seem as flustered as you feel.

Footsteps come down the hall, until Rafe appears in the doorway, leaning on the doorframe, one hand braced above his head, looking at you with this little smirk that’s shier than he’d probably ever admit.

There’s a smear of grease on his jaw, and his tank top’s even dirtier than before, he’s been deep in a car engine for hours already.

“Hey,” he says, his voice rough, that southern drawl warming you to your toes. “Just came in to, uh… check on ya. Make sure you ate and all.” He nods toward the kitchen, rubbing the back of his neck like he’s not sure what to do with his hands. His eyes move to the empty plate on the table, and he lets out a tiny chuckle. “Guess ya did.”

You can’t help but smile back, a little nervous, and shy. There’s this energy between you—it feels like you’re both walking on eggshells, not quite sure how to talk to each other now that the cards are all on the table.

“Yeah,” you nod softly, clutching the quilt closer. “They were perfect. Thank you.”

He clears his throat, color creeping up his neck as he shrugs. He looks at you like he’s trying to understand every part of you that’s been ripped apart, searching for the pieces of the girl he used to know, while still seeing the woman you’ve become.

Rafe shuffles his feet, his hand drifting to rub the back of his neck, “Sorry, I should probably clean up,” he mutters, glancing down at his hands. “Lookin’ like a damn grease monkey in here.”

You laugh, and the sound seems to surprise him, making him look up with this sheepish grin that’s just so… him. For a second, no time has passed at all, you’re both still seventeen and completely caught up in each other.

Rafe’s gaze lands on the spot where the blanket’s slipped, showing a faint bruise along your collarbone. His muscles tighten just slightly, and he exhales as he asks, “You feelin’ any better?”

You nod, but he’s already moving closer, crouching down so he’s at eye level, his expression creased with worry. He reaches out to touch you, then pulls his hand back, second-guessing himself.

“They, uh… they still hurt?” He nods toward the bruises, his eyes darting over them with a pained look, like he feels every mark himself. He starts rambling, “I got some ice packs in the freezer if you need ’em or I could go grab one of those heat pads, I dunno which one’s better, but we can try both if you need. I don’t want you just sittin’ here hurtin’.” He gestures vaguely, tracing every inch of your body with this helpless, guilty look, because if he could take them on himself, he would.

“And, uh… I mean, if you’re achin’ at all, I got some Tylenol in the cabinet—not the strongest stuff, but it might help a little. Or if you need anything else, I can just run out and grab it.” His gaze darts back to your face, and he adds quickly, “Only if you want, though! I know you’re… you’re strong and all, but don’t mean you gotta sit there and hurt, alright?”

You can't stop smiling, watching him try to take care of you in his own awkward, fumbling way. His shoulders are all hunched up, his fingers fidgeting against his jeans, and there’s that endearing tint creeping up his neck again.

“Rafe…” you cut him off, and he stops mid-ramble, his mouth half-open, looking like he just got caught saying too much.

“Yeah?” he murmurs, his voice dropping, afraid he might’ve overstepped.

“I’m okay,” you assure him, reaching out to squeeze his hand.

His fingers curl around yours instantly, holding on like he needs the contact just as much as you do. It’s the smallest thing, just the press of his hand against yours, but after so long of being handled like broken porcelain, it’s overwhelming.

“Really, and I’m—I’m sorry I dumped all of that on you yesterday.”

You hadn’t planned on telling him every detail of your personal hell, but he made it so easy.

You were never the best at thinking while under that gaze, it’s wrapped in old memories and hope, and it scares you just as much as it soothes you. He’s close, the scent of his aftershave and engine grease making you feel dizzy with the memory of each kiss, whisper, every reckless promise you’d both made once upon a time.

Rafe sequeezes your hand tighter, thumb grazing your knuckles.

"Don’t be sorry. Not for that.” It’s so like him, and it nearly breaks you right there. All that quiet loyalty, he doesn’t even know how much he’s giving, he thinks you deserve all of it without question. “You don’t have to go back, y’know. Not if you don’t want to.”

This is real, and he’s right here, asking you to let him in, to let him be the one who pulls you from the darkness. The hardest part is, you know he would.

He’d fight the whole world if he thought it would keep you safe, if it meant you could stay. It’s terrifying, to even hope that you could have this, have him.

You cover your mouth, maybe if you squeeze hard enough, you can hold it in, but a choked sob escapes anyway, desperate, in a way that embarrasses you. Your shoulders start to shake, and the tears just keep coming, slipping down your jaw and dripping onto your sweater, his.

You try to wipe them away with the back of your hand, but they keep coming, your breaths are turning into these broken gasps that make you feel exposed.

Rafe’s moving without a word, sitting on the edge of the bed and gently pulling you into his lap like he had last night. He wraps his arms around you, careful not to hurt you, and you let yourself fold into him, leaning against his chest, the most familiar place in the world.

He tucks your head under his chin, his fingers cradling the back of your neck, and as your tears soak into his shirt, he leans down, whispering, his breath warm against your forehead.

“I got you. ‘m right here. Ain’t lettin’ go of you.”

He doesn’t flinch; doesn’t make you feel ashamed for being so sensitive.

Instead, he brushes his hand up and down your back, whispering quiet reassurances, giving you all the time in the world. He waits until your sobs taper off, left with only the shudders and hiccupping breaths, and even then, he just sits there quietly, letting you be.

Then, almost like he’s talking to himself, he starts,“So… y’know, been kind of busy these past few years,” he says, glancing away like he’s embarrassed. “Kept up with a lot of late nights in the shop. Got good at fixing engines—real good, actually. Think I could probably fix just about anything, even if it’s been beat up and run-down more times than you’d think possible.”

Rafe’s fingers trace along your arm as he talks, and you know why he’s doing this. He’s looking toward the window, most likely remembering each late night he’s spent there alone.

“Didn’t make much of it at first—just me and Jerry. But folks kept comin’ in, one by one, and eventually, we hired a few guys to help out.” He pauses, swallowing, “Guess it’s sort of a thing now.”

You feel your lips tug up and he must notice because his grip on you relaxes, and he lets out this almost bashful chuckle.

“Got a dog, too,” he continues, scratching the back of his neck like he’s telling you something ridiculous. “Well, he just kinda showed up one day at the shop, but he kept stickin’ around, so I named him Ace. Big, goofy mutt—probably not as tough as he thinks, but he likes to act like he’s protecting the place.” He shakes his head, “You’d like him, I think. He’d probably love you more than he loves me the second you showed up, little traitor. He sleeps downstairs."

“But y’know, no matter how busy it got, or how many things kept changin’… didn’t really feel like home.” He pauses, his hand moving to brush away a stray tear that’s found its way down your cheek, “I thought maybe if I just kept busy enough, I’d stop thinkin’ ‘bout you. Thought it’d get easier with time. But…” He trails off, like he’s confessing a secret. “Turns out it didn’t. No matter where I went, or what I did, it was always just there. Missin’ you.”

You can feel the soft rasp of his thumb against your neck, “I’m sorry.”

“Hey now,” he clicks his tongue, tipping your chin up with a knuckle until your eyes meet his, blue eyes looking at you with a tenderness that almost makes you bawl again. “None of that. I told you, you got nothin’ to be sorry for.” His gaze sweeps across your features, “You been through hell and back. I know that ain’t easy to walk away from, not like that.”

His thumb brushes a tear from your cheek while you ask him, “What if he… what if he finds me?”

Rafe’s jaw tightens, and there it is—that old, familiar fire lighting up in his eyes. It’s the same look he’d get any time someone even thought about hurting you, he’d rather throw himself in front of a train than let anything happen to you.

“He’s never gonna touch you again, okay? Not as long as I’m around.” His voice is almost a growl, fierce enough that makes you believe him. “I won’t let him, I swear it.”

You can’t even speak. Your heart feels so full of gratitude, but you manage to force out a, “Thank you, Rafe.”

He pulls the hair back from your face, “You don’t gotta thank me,” he murmurs, “All I ever wanted was for you to be okay. That’s enough for me.”

You look up at him, fingers sweeping against his skin as you ask, “Tell me more? About everything? I feel like I missed so much…”

You attempt to keep your voice from quivering, but there’s this misery in your chest, a deep longing to know the parts of him you hadn’t been there to witness. You tilt your head, waiting for him to continue, and then he looks down, being reluctant.

“Yeah, uh… there was one time I went to your university,” he confesses, the words coming out hushed, he’s scared he shouldn’t be admitting this. “It was years ago, but… yeah. I went up there to see you.”

Your eyes widen, “What?” The word slips out in disbelief, and you lean in, “When? Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I don’t know what I was thinkin’. I just… I wanted to see you. Thought maybe I could run into you, or—” He pauses, looking down at his hands. “Maybe I was hopin’ I’d have the guts to actually talk to you.

Your brain can’t help but conjure up, what it might’ve happened if he’d just walked across campus that day, to you. The two of you in that place.

You picture yourself, sitting on one of those worn benches under the big oak trees that dotted the quad, maybe with a book open on your lap that you weren’t really reading, because all you could think about was him. It wouldn’t have taken much—the way his heavy boots hit the ground, the scent of his cologne. Would you have jumped up and hugged him? Or would you have sat there, staring at him, wondering if you were somehow dreaming it all up?

It’s a fantasy, you know that, but deep down, you wish that had been your reality—the two of you fighting for each other instead of letting the world and distance pull you apart. It hurts like a bitch, thinking of all those lost years, all the things that could’ve been different if you’d both just been a little braver.

“Rafe…” you breath, and there’s so much tangled in that one word.

The years, the heartbreak, the distance—you don’t even know where to begin, and yet, you don’t need to. He looks at you as if he understands every unspoken word like he’s been waiting just as long.

“I didn’t see you.”

“Hey,” he coos, pulling you just a little closer, his breath warm against your cheek. “It’s my fault, I was scared.”

You smile through the fresh tears gathering and he slants his forehead against yours, brushing one away with his thumb, his face close enough that you could count each freckle if you wanted.

“It’s okay."

“I missed you, so much.”

You hadn’t just missed him—you’d missed the way he made you feel.

Brave. Free. No matter what happened, it would be okay as long as he was by your side. He smiles, a little crooked like because he’s not used to hearing it, he feels like the lucky one here.

“You’ve always been my girl, y’know that? Ain’t nothing gonna change that. Not then, not now, not ever.”

Rafe’s slowly stitching up something inside you didn’t even know was still bleeding. You wonder if he knows that you're still shattered, that you’re not sure how to feel whole again, but you want to try, for him.

The way he talks tells you that he still can see you as the girl he fell in love with and it makes you hopeful that maybe she’s still somewhere inside you, waiting to be found.

Does he feel the same? Does he mean it, all this talk of missing you, of always coming back to you? Or is he just being kind, because he thinks you need to be treated like a wounded animal?

He’s got his own scars, things he’s carried, and he’s been hiding them just as much as you’ve been hiding yours.

You wonder what he’s not saying, if he’s afraid of hoping for too much, like you are. Perhaps he’s holding you like this because he’s still holding on to that invisible string that’s kept you tied to him all this time.

You close your eyes and rest your head against his shoulder, letting yourself breathe him in, feel him under your fingertips.

His lips pucker against your temple, “Don’t overthink, sweetheart. We’ll figure it out.”

But realistically speaking, how long can you run for before the monsters in your nightmares catch up to you?

497 notes · View notes

octbrsaturn · 1 month ago

Text

INVISIBLE STRING - r.c series (six)

pairing: pogue!rafe x sweetheart!kook reader. chapter warnings: angst; mentions of domestic violence; unhealthy relationships;

He blinks and rubs his eyes, thinking maybe the heat is messing with his head, but no. There you are, standing a few feet away, looking like you’ve been through hell and back. His heart starts pounding so hard he can feel it in his throat. He can’t think, can’t even breathe right.

You look different. Way different.

Long sleeves in this heat? And your face—there’s no mistaking the bruises, and purple and yellow patches on your cheek, jaw, even your neck. His eyes track the faintest shadow of a handprint there.

What the hell happened to you? How did you end up here?

He left the Outer Banks years ago to disappear, to put distance between you two. And now, after all that time, you just show up, beaten and in front of his garage?

The way you look at him like you’re shocked, almost terrified—it snaps him back to reality. But before he can take a step toward you, before he can get any words out, your eyes roll back.

“Shit!” He’s moving fast, catching you right before you hit the ground. He’s at your side in a second, kneeling, his hands hovering over you like he’s afraid to touch you, unsure what’ll hurt. “Hey, hey, c’mon, wake up—don’t do this.”

His voice is shaky, panicked. This wasn’t supposed to happen. He was supposed to be over you, supposed to forget all about you.

“Jerry!” he yells over his shoulder, “Call an ambulance!”

The old man sticks his head out from under the car, frowning.

“What’s goin’ on out there?”

Rafe doesn’t even look back, his focus on you, gently pressing his fingers to your neck to check for a pulse. You’re breathing, thank God, but you’re out cold. He’s torn between getting you help and the urge to just… hold you, and protect you from whatever did this to you. He cradles you in his arms.

“I said call!” he snaps, and Jerry curses under his breath, shuffling toward the phone.

Rafe doesn’t care. He’s too busy staring at you, brushing the hair out of your face, his thumb ghosting over the bruise on your cheek. What the fuck happened? Who laid their hands on you?

He holds you tighter, rocking just a little, “What the hell happened, darlin’?”

He leans closer, feeling the heat radiate off your skin. God, you look so fragile. He can’t shake the thought that he should’ve been there for you. He should’ve protected you from whatever led you here, from the bruises painting your skin.

Jerry returns, phone in hand, a frantic look on his face. “They’re on their way, kid. Just stay calm. They’ll be here.”

He kneels next to Rafe, checking your pulse, and Rafe holds his breath, waiting.

“C’mon, don’t do this to me,” he brushes your hair back again, fingers trembling slightly, “You gotta wake up.”

A part of him feels like a fool, holding onto a ghost.

You were supposed to be gone from his life, a chapter closed. But here you are, back in the worst way possible, and it’s tearing him apart.

Your eyes flutter open, just a crack, and he leans closer, hopeful.

“Hey… can you hear me?” He feels that familiar stretch in his chest like his heart is expanding in every direction possible.

You manage a little nod, but it’s shaky, and your breathing is still uneven. You blink up at him, confusion swimming in your eyes.

Your lip’s part, but nothing comes out, just a weak, ragged breath. Rafe’s heart twists. He can see the pain all over your face, doesn’t know if it’s more physical or emotional, and it’s killing him either way.

“Don’t try to talk,” he murmurs, his drawl softer now, coaxing. “Help’s comin’, just hang on.”

His thumb still traces the bruise, like he can smooth away the hurt if he just keeps touching you. Except, somehow, he knows this goes way beyond bruises.

Whatever you’ve been through, it’s bad. Worse than bad.

It’s a nightmare written in the way you look at him, like you can’t quite believe he’s real. He feels you tremble a little, and his gut knots up. He should say something more, something to ground you, but all he can think is that he failed you.

He ran. He left you behind. Now you’re back, but you’re broken

The ambulance sirens wail in the distance, getting louder, but to Rafe, it feels like everything's slowing down. He’s hyper-focused on you—your eyes, the bruises, your uneven breaths. He’s still holding you, rocking a little, like he can comfort you that way. It’s instinct.

Jerry’s back on his feet, shuffling out to meet the paramedics, but he doesn’t move. He can’t let go. The questions he wants to ask, the anger, the worry—it’s all eating him from the inside out.

When the paramedics rush over, he’s finally forced to step back, but not too far. He stays close, eyes never leaving you. They’re asking him questions—what happened, how long you’ve been out—he just wants to see you back on your feet.

All he knows is that he’s not letting you out of his sight.

They lift you onto the stretcher, strapping you in.

He should go with you, right? Shouldn’t he?

Or is that crossing a line? His mind’s racing, second-guessing every little thing. But when one of the paramedics glances his way, giving him that “Are you coming?” look, he’s already moving, climbing into the back of the ambulance without a second thought.

He’s by your side again, his knee bouncing as the doors close and the sirens blare to life. Leaning forward, he takes your hand—slowly, like he’s afraid you’ll break under his touch. “I’m right here."

And he means it. No matter what it takes, he’s staying this time.

The ambulance jerks to life, and Rafe grips the edge of the bench. Your hand in his feels too cold, limp, and that does something to him. His knee bounces faster as the paramedic starts rattling off medical stuff, checking your vitals, and asking him questions he can barely answer.

“I don’t know,” he mutters, voice tight. “She just showed up like that. Passed out before I could even talk to her.”

He keeps replaying the way you looked at him, the way your eyes rolled back before he could even say a damn thing. He swallows hard, staring at you, hoping you’ll just... open your eyes again, give him something.

The paramedic pulls out a flashlight, and shines it in your eyes, saying something about your pupils being responsive. Rafe clings to that word—responsive. That’s good, right? He doesn’t know much about this stuff, but responsive must mean you’re still fighting.

Somebody did this to you, he’s not sure what scares him more—the fact that he wasn’t there to stop it, or the fact that he might not be able to do anything about it now. “She gonna be okay?”

“Too early to tell,” the guy says without looking up, focused on the equipment strapped to you. “She’s stable for now, but we need to get her to the hospital. They’ll know more once we get her checked out.”

Stable. That’s not enough. Stable feels like a bandaid on a bullet wound.

Rafe squeezes your hand again, just needing to feel some kind of connection.

“You’re gonna be fine,” he’s trying to convince himself still, trying to will it into existence. “You hear me?” His voice cracks on the last bit, but he doesn’t care. You stir a little, just the faintest movement, and he straightens up. “That’s it. Just hang in there. We’re almost there.”

He sits back, trying to breathe, trying to keep his shit together, but it’s hard. It’s real hard. Everything’s too loud—the sirens, the paramedic moving around, the thoughts screaming in his head. He never should’ve left.

The ambulance slows down, and just like that you’re at the hospital. You’re almost there, almost safe.

The doors fly open, and the paramedics start moving fast, pulling the stretcher out with you strapped in, tubes and wires everywhere. Rafe’s out of the ambulance before he even realizes it, jogging to keep up as they wheel you inside. He doesn’t see anything but you as they push you through the double doors into the ER.

They stop him at the entrance.

“You can’t go in,” a nurse warns him, putting a hand on his chest to stop him from following you.

“What? No, I’m goin’ with her,” Rafe snaps, but the nurse shakes her head.

“You have to wait here. We’ll come get you when we know more.”

His hands flex into fists, but he knows he’s got to stand down.

“Fine,” he mutters, stepping back, watching helplessly as they wheel you away, disappearing behind the doors.

He stands there for a second, heart pounding, staring at the doors.

You’re gone. For now.

Rafe pulls out his phone, staring at it for a long minute, thinking about calling somebody, but who the hell’s he supposed to call? It’s not like he’s got anyone left in that town. Just you.

Sinking into a plastic chair, he drops his head into his hands, elbows propped on his knees again. But all he sees is you. All he hears is the quietness between you, everything unsaid. He leans back in the stiff plastic chair, then leans forward again, fingers running through his hair, pulling just enough to ground himself.

He hates it. Hates the helplessness, hates that all he can do is sit here while you’re in some back room, hooked up to God knows what. He looks around, eyes darting to the clock on the wall. Fifteen minutes. Felt like an hour.

What the hell’s takin’ so long? Rafe’s got an enormous space in his head right now, and every dark thought is creeping in—What if you don’t wake up? What if this is it? What if he loses you before he even has a chance to make things right?

He rubs his hands over his face, groaning low in his throat, trying to push all that out. You’re gonna be fine. You’ve always been tough, tougher than him most days, and you’d probably kick his ass for thinkin’ otherwise.

He thinks about it—some coward who thought they could lay hands on you, who thought they’d get away with it. No. Not if Rafe’s got anything to say about it.

The door to the ER swings open, and a nurse steps out, scanning the room. He’s on his feet in an instant, heart jackhammering in his chest.

“Hey—uh, is she—?”

The nurse glances down at her clipboard, nodding. “You’re here for her, right? She’s stable.”

He doesn’t even let her finish, relief hitting him so fast it almost knocks him over. He lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, shoulders sagging just a little.

“Stable?” he repeats, needing to hear it again.

“Yeah, she’s stable. The doctors are still running a few more tests, but she’s conscious now.”

Conscious.

“Can I see her?” he blurts, practically vibrating with the need to get to you.

The nurse hesitates, looking down at her clipboard again. “She’s still pretty out of it. I don’t think—”

“Please.”

She sighs, nodding toward the hallway. “Fine. But just for a few minutes.”

That’s all he needs. He follows her down the hallway, his pulse pounds in his ears as they stop outside your room. The nurse gestures for him to go in, and Rafe takes a deep breath.

You’re lying there, hooked up to machines, an IV in your arm, and though the bruises are still stark against your skin, you look… better.

Breathing easier. More color in your cheeks.

His heart? That’s still a mess.

He approaches slowly like he’s afraid to wake you, but when he gets close enough, he sees your eyes open.

Your gaze finds him. It’s just you and him, like before.

“Rafe?” Your voice is hoarse.

He never thought he’d hear you say his name again.

“Yeah,” he breathes, pulling up a chair next to your bed. “Yeah, I’m here.”

He watches your lips move, and it feels like someone’s driving a knife straight through his chest.

“Am… am I dreaming?” you ask, and the sound of it—so fragile, so full of disbelief—almost makes him break right there. His throat tightens, and he has to blink hard to keep himself from losing it.

He damn near sobs on the spot.

“No,” he reassures you, automatically reaching for you, “You’re not dreamin’. I’m here. I’m right here.”

His fingers wrap around yours, and for the first time in years, something inside him settles. He’s got you. You’re alive.

It’s not much, but it’s enough for now.

You look at him, eyes clouded with confusion, and pain. He watches the tears start to well up. He’s not sure what to do with any of it.

Everything feels so wrong and right at the same time.

He leans forward, his forehead pressing against the side of the bed, still holding onto your hand like it’s the only thing keeping him from falling apart. He should’ve been there.

“You showed up,” he recalls what happened just hours ago, “Just collapsed right in front of me.” He pauses, tracing the marks on your face, your neck. His blood boils just thinking about it. “What the hell happened to you?” He’s not mad at you—God, no. He’s mad at himself. Mad at whoever did this. Mad at the whole fucking world for letting it happen. “Who did this?”

You flinch, and immediately he regrets probing, his heart breaking all over again at the sight of your tears. You look so small, so broken, and it’s tearing him apart from the inside out. This isn't you.

“I—I don’t…” Your voice breaks. He wants to wrap you up in his arms, pull you close, tell you that it’s okay, that he’s here now. But he doesn’t know if it is okay.

You close your eyes again, like just keeping them open is too hard, and Rafe leans back, running a shaky hand through his hair.

His mind’s spinning, trying to piece it all together. He keeps seeing the way you looked at him before you passed out, the way your body just gave up, and it’s driving him crazy.

Just thirty minutes later, he still sits there, watching you sleep again, his mind in a thousand different places. He keeps asking himself the same question, over and over.

If he hadn’t left, if he’d stayed close, maybe you wouldn’t be lying here with bruises in every shade of misery painted across your skin.

His jaw clenches, teeth grinding together so hard it makes his head hurt. He’s furious—furious with himself, with whoever did this to you, and with the world for letting it happen. He’s realizing just how much damage he’s done by leaving.

He stares down at your hand in his, thumb absently brushing the back of it. There’s this constant torture inside him, like he’s gonna be sick if he doesn’t figure out who’s responsible.

A sudden knock on the door snaps him out of his thoughts. The doctor steps in, clipboard tucked under his arm, wearing that same calm look they all seem to have.

Rafe straightens up in the chair, not letting go of your hand. "How is she?"

The doctor looks at you, then back at him, sighing softly.

“Well, there’s no internal bleeding, which is good. We’re keeping her here for the night, just to check. A couple of the bruises are deep, though, and...” He trails off, flipping through the pages on his clipboard. “Some of the bruising looks... older. Different stages of healing.”

He blinks, hard, not sure if he heard that right. "Different stages? What’re you sayin'?"

"I’m saying it looks like this wasn’t a one-time incident."

His stomach drops. Suddenly it feels like he’s choking. He grips the arm of the chair. Different stages? What the hell does that mean?

Someone’s been putting their hands on you for a while?

“You’re tellin’ me this not the first time?” He’s on the verge of snapping. The doctor nods, just a small, grim acknowledgment, and Rafe fights the need to punch something. Or someone.

“She's lucky nothing’s broken,” the doctor continues, his tone too matter-of-fact for Rafe’s liking. “But she’s fragile. Exhausted. The best thing for her now is rest.”

Fragile.

He looks back at you, lying there, looking like you could disintegrate with just a touch. He feels like he’s been kicked in the chest, as if everything he thought he knew about you—about himself—is wrong.

And then, the doctor says it. "I think it would be best if we called the authorities, got a police report filed. This is clearly abuse, and—"

“No.” Your voice cracks through the air. You’re barely awake, but your eyes are wide now, desperate, “Please. Don’t.”

You look so fucking scared. He wants to hold you to his chest, to tell you it’s alright, but he can’t understand what the hell’s goin' on.

“No police,” you insist, like it’s the only thing in the world that matters. “Please.”

"What—Why the hell not? You need help, you need—” His voice rises before he can stop it, “Somebody did this to you.”

You shrink back, eyes running away from him. Rafe’s heart twists in his chest. He didn’t mean to scare you, but he’s losing his mind here.

“I can’t,” you mumble, voice trembling. “It’s… it’s complicated.”

Rafe leans forward, hands gripping the edge of the bed now.

"Complicated? What the hell’s complicated about getting the bastard who did this? We gotta do somethin’ about it!"

But you’re not looking at him.

You’re staring at the wall, eyes glazed over like you’re not even really here. His hand twitches at his side.

The doctor clears his throat, awkwardly, like he knows this is something way above his pay grade.

“I’ll give you two some space.” He turns to leave, and Rafe barely acknowledges him, too focused on you.

He lets out a long breath, "You don’t gotta be scared, alright? I’ll handle it. You know I will." His voice coaxing. “But you gotta let me. Just let me help you.”

You still don’t answer. Just keep staring at the wall like it’s easier than facing him.

That kills him more than anything else.

All he wants to do is pull you close and tell you that he’ll take care of everything, but the look on your face—the fear, the hesitation—tells him there’s a lot more going on.

He runs his thumb over the back of your hand again.

“I’m not gonna let anybody hurt you again,” he promises, “You hear me? No one.”

“You’ve never been good at keeping promises, have you?”

His breath hitches.

He stares at you, stunned. He doesn’t know what to say. You’re right.

You’re not still not looking at him—your eyes are stuck on the wall, your voice distant, almost like you’re talking to yourself.

He swallows hard, his hand slipping from yours as he sits back. Fuck.

He knows you’re right. You don’t have to say it, but you just did. He wasn’t there for you before, wasn’t there when it mattered. He ran.

“I…” He clears his throat as he looks down at his hands. “I know.”

Your eyes meet his for a second, and it feels like a lifetime worth of longing is trapped in there.

He swears he can feel every broken promise between you two and for once in his life, he doesn’t know if trying is enough.

The next day, you’re finally properly awake, and though you’re not saying much, you look better.

Less pale. More alive. The bruises are still there, but at least you’re moving.

Breathing.

Rafe's been thinking about what you said—about him not keeping promises. He's not gonna make the same mistake again.

When the nurse tells him you’ll be discharged soon, his first thought is your clothes—the ones you were wearing when you collapsed.

They’re ripped, dirty, and stained with too many bad memories.

There’s no way in hell you’re walking out of here in those. Without saying a word, he heads out. He doesn’t have to explain it to you, doesn’t even wait for you to ask where he’s going.

A little while later, he comes back with a bag of clothes in hand.

He didn’t waste time trying to pick something fancy or anything; just grabbed whatever looked comfortable. A pair of soft sweatpants, a T-shirt, and a hoodie. It’s warm outside, but he knows you—you like to cover up, especially now. He doesn’t say anything when he hands them to you, just sets them on the chair by your bed like it’s no big deal.

But the way you look at the clothes, then back at him—it’s like you can’t believe he thought of it. Like you don’t know him anymore.

You don’t say anything, either, just take the bag with a quiet “thanks.”

He nods once, stuffing his hands into his pockets, watching you for a moment before looking away.

When the doctor finally comes back, he rattles off a list of things you’ll need to do once you’re discharged.

“You need to rest. Take it easy. And most importantly, you shouldn’t be alone. Someone should stay with you, just in case there are any sudden complications—dizziness, headaches, anything like that.”

Before you can even open your mouth, Rafe speaks up. “She’s stayin’ with me.”

You whip your head toward him so fast, it’s like you’re about to snap your neck.

“What?” Your voice is incredulous like the idea is completely absurd.

“She’s stayin’ with me.”

The doctor just nods like it’s no big deal.

“Good. She needs to be with someone who can watch her closely for the next couple of days. Make sure she’s not exerting herself.”

You’re still staring at Rafe like he’s lost his damn mind.

“Rafe, I—” you start, but he cuts you off, not even turning to face you.

“You’re not going back,” he mutters, his tone final. “You’re coming with me, end of story.”

You sit there, lips pursed, stunned, unsure what to say or do.

He stands up, grabbing your things, already moving toward the door like it’s a done deal.

“C’mon,” he calls over his shoulder, “Let’s get outta here.”

The house is modest. Small kitchen, worn-out couch, and the faint smell of motor oil drifting in from the garage. It’s clear he doesn’t spend much time here—there’s hardly anything personal, just the basics. He drops the bag on the table and turns to you.

“You can take the bed,” he nods toward the back room. “I’ll crash on the couch.”

“I don’t need—”

“I’m not arguin’ about this. You’re takin’ the bed. End of story.”

You swallow the protest, nodding . Maybe it’s the exhaustion on your bones, or maybe it’s the realization that you don’t have the energy to fight him right now. Either way, you head toward the bedroom without a word, slipping out of sight.

Later, as you sit on the bed, your mind recalls the way Rafe didn’t even hesitate to help you, the way he’s been since you showed up at his doorstep looking like death itself.

He stills acts like Rafe you used to know, your Rafe.

And it’s messing with your head.

You hear him in the kitchen, the clink of dishes, the creak of the old floorboards under his boots. You wonder if he’s thinking the same thing you are. He appears in the doorway a few minutes later, leaning against the frame, arms crossed.

“You’re feeling better?”

You nod, though it feels like a lie. “Yeah.”

“Look,” he says, his drawl a little softer, less harsh than it was earlier, “You don’t gotta stay forever. Just ‘til you’re feeling better."

You glance up at him, searching his face for any sign of what’s going on in that head of his. But he’s hard to read.

You no longer have that kind of intimacy.

“You’ve been here this whole time?”

You’re not talking about the hospital.

You can’t believe that after everything, after all these years, you ended up here—in his house, in this random town that’s miles away from home, from where your lives used to be. It feels like some twisted, cruel joke. Fate playing games with you both.

“This place is eight hours from home,” you continue, more to yourself than to him. “And somehow, I end up here.” You look up at him, your eyes wide with disbelief. “With you.”

“Yeah,” he mutters, “Hell of a coincidence, huh?”

But it doesn’t feel like just a coincidence to you.

It feels bigger than that—like some bigger force, you can’t comprehend, pulled you back into each other’s lives when you least expected it.

After everything that happened, after he disappeared and you were left behind to pick up the pieces of your life, you thought you’d never see him again. But here he is. Here you are.

You can’t stop staring at him.

t’s like every time you blink, he looks different—familiar but new in all the ways that make you speechless. He’s shaved but you still spot his shaving shadow. His hair is longer, almost slicked back from how many times he’s run his hands through it.

The way it falls, messy but somehow perfect, makes you want to reach out and touch it just to see if it feels like you remember.

And then there’s the rest of him.

He’s filled out, broader in the shoulders, his arms stronger, more defined. You can see it all through the worn wifebeater he’s wearing. It hugs him just right, showing off muscles that weren’t there before.

It’s like he’s grown into himself like he finally became the man you always knew he could be.

You can’t believe it’s him—the love of your life. The boy you lost is standing right in front of you, but he’s not just a boy anymore. He’s a man, and it hits you so hard, you almost feel dizzy.

Rafe sits down next to you, close enough that your knees almost touch. His blue eyes peek to your face, then away, then back again, like he’s trying to figure you out. He exhales, jaw tensing as he looks down at his hands before glancing back up at you.

“You gotta tell me what happened.”

You swallow, your throat suddenly dry, and drop your gaze to your lap. How are you supposed to reveal any of this? How do you even start?

“I have a fiancé.”

His brows furrow together as he processes what you just said.

“A fiancé?” he repeats like he’s testing the word, trying to see if it’s as real as it sounds.

You nod, swallowing the sudden lump in your throat. It feels wrong to bring this up now, amid everything, but it’s the truth, and he deserves to know it.

“Yeah.”

“He did this?” His voice is weak, almost like he’s afraid to ask, but his eyes narrow into slits.

“No,” you say quickly, shaking your head. “It’s not like that. He didn’t—” You pause, the words dying in your tongue. You don’t want to defend him, not when Rafe’s just looking for someone to blame, but you can’t help it. “It’s complicated.”

“Complicated?” he echoes his voice rising a notch. “You’ve got bruises on your skin. Complicated’s not the word for it.”

You wince at his tone, “It’s just… it’s not all his fault. I thought I could handle it. I thought—”

“You thought what?” Rafe interrupts, with frustration. “You thought you could handle gettin’ tossed around like this? What the hell are you even sayin’?”

You close your eyes, wishing for just a moment of peace, something to stop the mess that your life turned into.

“I didn’t have a choice,” you confessed, barely loud enough for him to hear.

His head snaps back like you’ve slapped him. “What do you mean you didn’t have a choice? There’s always a choice.”

You shake your head, feeling the tears building. You’ve cried enough over this—over him, over everything you lost, and everything you thought you wanted. “Not for me, not back then.”

He blinks at you, confused. You can see him trying to piece it together, but it’s like the more you talk, the less he understands.

“My parents,” you explain, “They gave me an ultimatum—either stop looking for you or lose everything. My place in college, my future. They weren’t gonna let me keep chasing after you.”

This isn’t the way you thought this conversation would go, but now that you're here, with Rafe sitting right next to you, there’s no running from it.

He doesn’t say anything, just sits there in silence, staring at you, brows knitted together like he’s trying to piece the puzzle all together.

“You looked for me?”

It’s not an accusation, not exactly, but there’s this hint of doubt in his tone, like he can’t even wrap his head around the idea. His blue eyes search yours, and the intensity in them makes your chest hurt in that good way you missed. The only one you craved.

God, you don’t even know how to answer that. It’s like your brain’s screaming to hold back, to not let him in again, but your heart—it’s already crumbling at the way he’s looking at you.

You take a shaky breath, nodding once, “Of course I did.”

Rafe’s eyes shine with something restless, like he can’t decide if he should keep looking at you or anywhere but. His jaw tightens, and he bites the inside of his cheek, that familiar flash of frustration you’ve seen too many times. He lets out a sharp breath through his nose.

Then, he laughs, but it’s bitter and choked, barely more than a scoff. He’s looking at the ground now, his hands fidgeting with the hem of his shirt, knuckles white from the pressure.

“You looked for me?” he mutters again, like he’s grappling with the idea. His head snaps back to you, eyes wide, bewildered. “And I—I fuckin' left you.” He drags a hand down his face, fingers digging into his skin, exhaling hard. You can practically see the guilt attached to his entire being. His gaze darts around the room, his leg bouncing with that anxious energy. “I thought you’d hate me.”

“I never hated you. Not for that.”

At that, he flinches, eyes widening slightly before they narrow, like he doesn’t know if he should trust what he just heard. His lips part, then close, as if he’s trying to fathom that one simple truth. He runs his hand over his mouth, and he stares at you with that intense, almost unnerving gaze of his.

“W-What did they do to you?”

There’s fear in his voice—a desperate kind of fear, like he’s terrified of the answer.

“Rafe…” You sigh, your voice cracking on his name.

He lets out a sharp breath, clearly frustrated. His hand drags through his hair for the millionth time since you stumbled back into his life, tugging at the strands.

“Make me understand,” he says, his voice strained. “Because I’m tryin’ real hard here, all I see is you hurt—bruised—and tellin’ me I’m not supposed to be angry about it.”

You look away, blinking rapidly, trying to keep the tears at bay.

You don’t want to cry in front of him, not now. But the truth sits your chest, and you know there’s no avoiding it any longer.

“It wasn’t just him,” you finally admit, “It’s everything—my parents, the pressure, the expectations. I thought if I did what they wanted, if I played by their rules, I could fix it. I could fix me. But I was wrong. So wrong.”

Rafe watches you carefully, his leg still bouncing, his eyes searching your face trying to figure out why you ever thought you had to do it all alone.

“You didn’t think I’d be there for you?”

You let out a bitter laugh, shaking your head.

“You weren’t even there for yourself. You left. You ran. What was I supposed to do? I couldn’t find you. I didn’t know how.”

He winces, but you see it—the regret. “I didn’t know,” he tells you, “I didn’t know you were lookin’. I thought…” He trails off, his hand gripping the back of his neck, fingers pressing hard into his skin. “I thought you moved on. That you didn’t want me anymore.”

You can see it now—the broken pieces of the boy you used to love, the boy you never really stopped loving, sitting right in front of you.

“I could never hate you,” you confess, “Not after everything we went through. I was hurt, yes. Angry. But I never hated you.”

You don’t know why it feels so hard to say this out loud, but there’s something about being here with him, after everything that happened, that makes it feel even more impossible.

“My parents were really done with me by the time I hit my third year in college. They’d already threatened to cut me off a hundred times—made me choose between them or… or you.” You pause, swallowing the lump in your throat.

The memories flood back so vividly—their constant disapproval, the harsh words, the relentless pressure to forget about Rafe and focus on your “real future,” as they called it.

“They gave me an ultimatum—again,” you continue, the hostility creeping into your voice. “I was still trying to find you, still chasing every lead, every rumor, anything I could get my hands on. And they were fed up. They didn’t understand why I couldn’t just let it go, why I couldn’t just move on with my life.”

He’s letting you speak, letting you lay it all out in the open.

“There was this guy. His family had just moved to Figure Eight right after you left. He was nice, at first. He was everything my parents wanted—a good family, a stable future, perfect on paper. They practically forced me to start dating him.”

You feel Rafe stiffen beside you, but you can’t stop now. The words are coming out, faster than you can control them.

“At first, it was just to keep the peace, to get them off my back. I told myself it didn’t mean anything. But then, as the years went on, I don’t know. I was tired. Tired of fighting them, tired of searching for you and coming up empty every time. Tired of the pressure, of being the disappointment.”

You pause, your throat tightening as you remember the way your parents had pushed you, how they’d insisted that dating this guy was the only way to secure a “respectable future.” You’d been so worn down by then, so lost, that it seemed like the only choice.

“They convinced me it was the right thing to do. That this was my chance to finally move on, to stop chasing after something that wasn’t there anymore. They made it sound like it was the only way to get my life back on track.”

Rafe moves beside you, restless, “And you believed them?”

You wish you could stop here, leave it unsaid, but you can’t.

“It got worse.”

He turns to face you, a silent question in his eyes. He knows you’re about to tell him something bad—something he won’t want to hear—but he waits, giving you space to speak.

“I tried to make it work with him. I really did,” you almost let the tears drop right there and then, “But it was never right. He found a picture of us. From years ago. A photo I’d printed before you left. I don’t even know why I kept it, but I did. I kept it in my wallet, hidden away. I didn’t think it was a big deal, but when he found it…” You pause, the memory replaying in your mind. “He changed.”

His entire body goes still.

“He didn’t trust me after that,” you whispered the shame burning you alive, “He started questioning everything. If I talked to another guy, even just for a second, he’d lose it. I couldn’t leave the house alone anymore, not without him watching me. I couldn’t have a girls’ night or even go to the grocery store without him making some comment about who I might be looking at or who might be looking at me.”

You drop your gaze to your hands, gripping them tightly in your lap to stop them from shaking.

“I tried to tell myself it was nothing, that he was just jealous because he cared. But it got worse. He started getting angry, accusing me of things that weren’t even happening. And then he got violent.”

“What do you mean ‘violent’?”

You don’t want to say it. You don’t want to admit how bad it got, how trapped you felt. But the truth is there, in the bruises that are still fading from your skin, in the way your body recoils at the thought of him.

You can’t hide it anymore.

“He hit me. Every week, kept saying I was still in love with you, that I never got over you. He’d accuse me of cheating, of thinking about you. He didn’t trust me around anyone. And whenever he got worked up, he’d… he’d take it out on me.”

Rafe is breathing heavily now, his chest rising and falling at a fast pace. He’s trying to control it, but you can see it, the way his hands are shaking, the way his jaw clenches so hard it looks painful.

“How long?” he asks, his voice dangerously quiet. “How long has this been happening?”

You swallow hard, blinking back the tears that threaten to fall.

“Almost three years. Ever since he found that picture.”

Rafe curses under his breath, turning away from you, his hands gripping the comforter so tightly you think he might rip it apart.

“You couldn’t leave?” His voice is strained, like he’s trying to understand how things got this bad.

You shake your head slowly.

“I couldn’t. He wouldn’t let me. He controls everything. I wasn’t allowed to go anywhere without him. He’d keep tabs on me constantly. Make it ten times worse every single time. My parents think I’m doing this to myself to get away.”

He’s not just angry, he’s furious.

“I should’ve been there,” he scolds himself, “I should’ve been there.”

“You couldn’t have known,” You don’t want him to blame himself, not for this. “You left for a reason. I get that.”

But Rafe doesn’t seem to hear you. He’s pacing back and forth now, each step more agitated than the last.

“He hit you." He says it almost to himself, like he can’t fully comprehend it. He’s shaking his head now, breathing hard. “And your parents—they think you’re doin’ this to yourself?” His voice rises, disbelief dripping from every word. “What the hell kind of—” He stops himself, pacing faster. He looks like he wants to punch something, like he’s one second away from collapsing.

You wince at his anger, though it’s not directed at you, “Rafe—”

He turns abruptly, cutting you off, his eyes wild.

“No. Don’t ‘Rafe’ me, alright? You—” He gestures at you, his hand shaking as he points to the fading bruises. “This? This is bullshit. What, they think it’s your fault? They don’t get to do that to you. None of this is your fault, and you should never have had to deal with that piece of shit."

His words are not meant to hurt you, but hearing them shatters your heart in half, at least, what's left of it anyway.

Rafe seems to sense it, the way your body tenses, the way your eyes are avoiding his now. He stops pacing and moves closer, crouching down in front of you.

His movements are slower, like he doesn’t want you to ever feel scared around him.

“Look at me,” he almost begs you, “Just… look at me.”

Reluctantly, you meet his eyes and it’s like you’re seventeen all over again.

“I’m sorry. ’m sorry I wasn’t there. I should’ve been. I should’ve…” His voice cracks, and he quickly looks away, “I didn’t know. I didn’t know you were still lookin’ for me.”

“You couldn’t have known.”

“You’re not going back. You’re not goin’ back to him. Not after this.”

“I don’t have anywhere else to go,” you almost whimper in pain. It’s the truth, though. You’re trapped, and no matter how much he wants to help, there’s no easy solution to this mess.

“You do now,” he takes your hands into his, wondering if he’s still worth your touch. “You’re stayin’ with me. I don’t care what it takes. You’re not goin’ back there. Not to him, not to your parents. I’ll figure it out.”

There’s something about the way he’s looking at you now, like he’s making a promise—one he won’t break.

“I can’t just—”

“You’re safe now. I swear.”

You’re sobbing. It’s not the delicate, quiet kind of crying either—you can’t breathe, your chest heaving with every inhale, the sound coming out somewhere between a gasp and a whimper.

You cover your face with your hands, trying to muffle the sounds, but it doesn’t work. The tears just keep pouring out, endless, soaking your palms, dripping down your wrists. You’re shaking, your whole body trembling as years of pent-up hurt, exhaustion.

“I’m sorry,” you choke out between sobs, even though you’re not sure what you’re apologizing for. It’s like you can’t stop apologizing, like everything that's happened is somehow your fault. “I’m sorry—I—”

The sobs tear through you and Rafe moves without hesitation, just slides down next to you, pulling you gently into his lap. His strong arms wrap around you, cautious but firm. He’s mindful of the bruises he knows are there, his hand running up and down your back in the softest, most delicate way, almost like he’s scared to cause you any more pain.

You cling to him instinctively, burying your face into his chest as you cry harder, your fingers gripping onto his shirt. His scent is familiar—comforting—and it only makes you cry more.

“Shhh. It’s okay. I got you, baby. I got you.” His lips brush against your temple in the lightest kiss, over and over again, like he’s trying to kiss away the tears, the fear, the pain. “You’re okay now,” he murmurs, his breath warm against your skin. “Everything’s gonna be okay, I promise.”

You’re shaking in his arms, but he holds you tighter, rocking you while his hand continues its slow, careful path up and down your back.

“I’m here,” he reminds you against your hair, his lips pressing another kiss to your forehead. “No one’s gonna hurt you anymore. Not while I’m here. I swear.”

Even if just for this moment, you believe him.

505 notes · View notes

octbrsaturn · 1 month ago

Text

INVISIBLE STRING - r.c series (five)

pairing: pogue!rafe x sweetheart!kook reader. chapter warnings: angst

part one; part two; part three; part four

Rafe could still feel the salt air on his skin, even if he was a thousand miles away from that damn island. It sticks to him, the way the Outer Banks does. Like he could never really shake it off, no matter how fast he ran or how far he got.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Not for him, not for you.

The bus rattles down the highway, windows fogged up from the heat inside, condensation mixing with the dirt. It stinks—of sweat, of old clothes, of people trying to disappear. Like him. Rafe sank deeper into his seat, arms crossed over his chest, hat pulled low so no one got a good look at him.

He shouldn’t be here. He shouldn’t have to do this.

They were going to ship him off like a stray dog. Get him out of sight, out of mind.

And Rafe almost did it. For you. He was this close to turning back and going along with it, just to make sure you were safe, make sure your parents didn’t take it out on you. But he knew he couldn’t do it. Couldn’t let them win. Couldn’t let them pull him out of your life just like that.

The bus jerked as it hit a pothole, snapping him back to the present. There was an old guy sitting across from him, his head lolling to one side as he snored. People getting out, getting on, moving like ghosts through the aisles. No one looked twice at him, which was exactly how he needed it. He couldn’t take risks of someone recognizing him, not yet. Not while he’s deranged mother could still ship him back wherever she wanted.

You’d think he’d be scared. Rafe didn’t have a car, a plan, not even a place to sleep that night, or the next.. But scared? At this point, he was drained. Tired of running in circles, tired of people telling him who he was, and what he should be. Tired of feeling like he didn’t belong anywhere, except maybe with you.

But that was over now.

And fucking god, he hadn’t slept since. Not a minute. Not since he left. Every time he closed his eyes, all he saw was you. Lying there in his bed, so peaceful, so damn beautiful, tucked under his arm like you always did. You looked at him that night, just before you drifted off, and smiled like everything was fine. Like you had tomorrow. Like you had forever.

But Rafe knew. He knew it was the last night he’d hold you, the last night he’d wake up next to you. And he didn’t say a fucking word. Didn’t tell you he was leaving. Didn’t tell you that he had no choice but to go. He just watched you sleep, memorized every inch of you—how your hair fell across your face, the way your hand clutched his shirt in your sleep, the way you always stole the blankets.

He could’ve woken you up. Could’ve told you he was running, that he had to leave. But he didn’t. He couldn’t. Rafe just couldn’t watch your heart break.

He glanced out the window, watching as the big trees blurred past, the town behind him fading as the distance grew. He didn’t know where he was headed. The only thing Rafe knew is that he couldn’t go back. Police would be looking for him, no doubt. Tony would get them on his case, only for the sake of keeping the money from your parents. Your dad would find another way to keep him as far away from you as possible. He’d probably already planned to shut down any chance of you hearing from Rafe, anyway.

And your dad? He’s probably already planning to shut down any chance of you hearing from him.

Rafe shifted in his seat, pulling his hoodie tighter around him as the bus slowed down at another random stop. Somewhere off the highway, another town that looked just like the last one. The bus groaned as the doors creaked open, and a few people shuffled on. His stomach growls. Haven’t eaten since… well, he can’t remember when. But food wasn’t the priority right now. Staying off the radar for a while was. That, and trying not to think ‘bout you.

But you were all he thought about. All he could think about was you, still wrapped up in those blankets, still asleep, still not knowing it was goodbye. It was driving him out of his mind.

The bus shuddered to a stop again, and he saw a sign out the window. Lincolnville. Some small-ass town that probably only got one diner, one bar, and a bunch of people who didn’t care about strangers. Perfect.

Rafe grabbed his bag from the floor, slinging it over his shoulder as he made his way to the front. The driver gave him a half-assed nod as he stepped off the bus, gravel crunching under his boots. The air was cooler there, crisp and clean, like a different world from the sticky humidity of Kildare.

It was also quiet. Too quiet. Just the sound of the bus pulling away, leaving him behind with nothing but the clothes on his back and a couple of crumpled bills he saved up from work, in his pocket. He glanced down the road and spotted the diner. Neon lights flickering, the kind of place that was open 24/7 but never full. His stomach growled again, and he figured he might as well get something in him.

The bell over the door jingled as Rafe stepped inside, and it was exactly what he had expected. Old-school booths, sticky linoleum floors, and a waitress who looked like she had been working here since before he was born. She eyed him as he slided into a booth by the window, but didn’t say nothin’. Just grabbed a menu from the counter and plopped it in front of him.

“Coffee?” she asked, barely looking at him.

“Yeah, sure,” Rafe muttered, running a hand through his hair, after taking the hat off. “Black.”

She shuffled off, and he stared down at the menu. It was all the same greasy food he’d seen a hundred times before, but it’d do. He ordered a burger, something cheap, and leaned back in the booth, staring out at the empty street.

He thought about you again. Wondered if you were okay, safe. If you’d figured it all out by now. Maybe you did. You were the smartest person he’d ever had the pleasure of loving. The only one really. He wondered if you were still thinking about him.

The waitress sat the coffee down in front of him, steam rising from the cup. He took a sip, the bitterness waking him up just a little. But it didn’t stop the thoughts from spiraling.

Rafe would figure it out. He always did. And maybe, one day, when the dust settled, he’d come back for you.

Time feels different out here, like it slips through his fingers faster than Rafe can keep up. But maybe that’s just how it goes when someone is trying to leave their past behind.

He ended up in a place called Huntsville. It’s about as far from the Outer Banks as he could get without leaving the South. Small town, but big enough where people mind their own business. There’s something peaceful about that—being able to disappear into the background, no one asking too many questions. Just another face in the crowd.

He got a job working at a garage off the highway. Nothing fancy, but it pays the bills. He was lucky enough to find the place when he did.

The owner, Jerry, took him in because he had experience working on engines back home, thanks to his old boss’s obsession with boats and making him learn how to fix them. Jerry didn’t ask much, just showed Rafe what needed fixing and let him do his thing. He’s got a gruff way about him, but he’s fair. Sometimes, Rafe thinks he knows he’s running from something.

Most days, it’s just him and the smell of oil, grease, and old tools. He doesn’t mind it. It’s simple. Clear. He fix what’s broken, and it works again. Not like life. Not like the mess he left behind.

He lives in a run-down apartment above the garage, just a one-room deal with a bed, kitchen, bathroom, and a busted TV. But it his, you know? He doesn’t owe it to anyone. No one can take it from him. He makes more than enough to keep the lights on, and keeps some food in the fridge, and that’s good enough. He never needed much to survive.

He's changed. The baby face he used to have? It’s gone now. Got a scruff of a beard that he can’t be bothered to shave most days. His hair’s longer, falls into his eyes when he’s working. Somedays he feels like shaving the whole thing off, but it doesn’t really matter. He likes it that way—keeps people from getting a good look at him. He’s leaner too, but stronger. Not the gym kind of strong, just the kind that comes from hauling parts and wrenching on cars all day. His hands are even rougher now, calloused from hours of work.

Sometimes, Rafe catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror and hardly recognizes the guy staring back. It’s weird, though. He thought if he could change what he looked like, maybe he’d stop feeling like he was still stuck in the same old skin. But that shit doesn’t go away. No matter how much dirt you pile on top of it.

Every now and then, someone’ll ask where he’s from. He usually just says “down east,” keep it vague. The southern drawl gives him away, though. He can’t help it, still talks like he never left the island. He figured it didn’t really matter here—nobody was going to connect him back to Kildare. Back to you.

And that’s the part he still hasn’t shaken.

You. No matter how far he goes, no matter how many miles there are between you, you’re still there. In the back of his mind, in the dreams he has when he’s dead tired from a long day. He tried to let you go. He had to. But it’s like something inside him refuses to forget.

He tried to visit you once. Maybe a year and a half after he left.

You’d gone off to college like you always talked about, following your dreams, doing the things you said you would. He wanted to see you, just one last time, see if you were okay. He figured maybe he’d catch you on campus, just watch from a distance, y’know? See if you were still thinking about him, if you missed me like he missed you.

He didn’t tell a soul where he was going that day. He’d packed up early, threw on an old flannel and a baseball cap, and drove for hours. His heart felt like it was going to give out the whole time, like it was trying to talk him out of it, but he didn’t listen. He couldn’t. All he could think about was seeing you again.

He had to know.

He pulled up to your campus, parked the truck a few blocks away where nobody’d notice him. It was a hell of a lot bigger than he imagined, all these buildings, students walking around like they had somewhere important to be. He felt out of place the second he stepped foot there. His boots scuffed against the concrete, and all he could think about was how different your world was from his now.

He wandered around for a bit, keeping his head low, his cap pulled down over his eyes. He didn’t want anyone seeing him, didn’t want you seeing him. Not yet. He wasn’t ready for that.

Then he saw you.

You were sitting outside with some friends, books spread out on a table in front of you, the sun hitting your face just right. Your laugh carried over to him, soft and sweet, and jesus fucking christ, it was like a shot to his chest.

You looked... free. Like everything was finally falling into place for you. Like you didn’t have a single worry in the world.

He couldn’t move. Just stood there, hidden in the shadows of some tree, watching you. You were so beautiful it damn near took his breath away. You were smiling and it hit him then.

He’d been holding onto this idea of you—of who you were when you were together—but maybe that wasn’t you anymore. You’d moved on. You had a life now, one that didn’t have space for a guy like him.

You were really doing what you always said you’d do. Living your dreams. Being somebody.

He thought about what would happen if he stepped out from behind that tree, if you saw him. You’d probably cry, maybe even run up to him, throw your arms around him like old times. But then what?

He knew you. Knew how you were. You’d ask him where he’d been, what happened, and before he knew it, you’d be trying to figure out how to fix everything for him. That’s who you were. You’d sacrifice everything, drop all the shit you’d been working so hard for, just because you thought you could save him.

He couldn’t let you do that.

So he stood there, taking it all in—how happy you looked, how light you seemed without him. It hurt like hell, but a part of him was relieved too. You were okay. Better than okay.

You were doing fine without him. He could live with that.

He drove back to Huntsville that night, the road ahead of him hazy with tears he refused to let fall. By the time he got back, it was late, the town quiet, the lights in the garage flickering like they always did.

Rafe parked the truck, and just sat there.

He hadn’t seen you since. Never tried again. You were better off without him. Shit, maybe that’s what he needed to believe to keep going. Because if he didn’t, if he let himself think about how good it felt to see you again, even from a distance, he’d never be able to stay away.

And hell, maybe that’s why he’s been stuck here, never really able to shake it. Even now, when he closes his eyes at night, he thinks about what it would’ve been like if he’d stayed. If he’d found some way to fight instead of run. But he was too scared.

Scared that you’d grown to hate him for what he did.

He tried to move on. There’ve been other women. Just passing flings, nothing serious. They come and go, and none of them stick around long enough to really matter. Not that Rafe ever let them. It’s easier that way—keeping things light, keeping things simple. But every time he looks at one of them, he’s thinking about you. Every time they smile at him, he’s thinking about your pretty grin, about the way your eyes lit up when you two were alone, just you and him, like the world didn’t exist outside of those walls.

But he knows he can’t get that back. Fuck, maybe he doesn’t deserve to. He left. He ran. And that’s on him. He didn’t tell you, didn’t give you a chance to follow him.

The morning is already sweltering by the time Rafe gets to the garage. Another scorcher, sun beating down like it’s trying to fry him alive. Sweat clung to him before he even started working, so he decided to strip his shirt off, letting the heat hit his bare skin. His shoulders are broad now, tanned from long hours out in the sun, grease smeared across his chest and arms from a morning spent elbow-deep in some busted old engine. He runs a hand through his hair—it's shorter than the day before. He’d cut it himself last night and shaved the beard too.

First time in months he’d even thought about doing it. He grabs a rag, wiping the oil from his hands as he bends against the open hood of the car.

“Rafe!”

Jerry’s voice snaps him out of it, the old man waving him over from under the hood of another car. “Need a hand with this transmission. You gonna help me with this, or you gonna stand there daydreamin’?”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m on it,” Rafe mutters, shaking his head and bending back over the engine, grabbing a wrench from the toolbox and heading over. The work is good for him. Keeps his mind off everything, keeps his hands busy and his head clear.

Jerry grunts, sliding further under the car on the creeper. “Pass me that ratchet, will ya?”

He grabs the tool from the bench and hands it over. “Here.”

The old man doesn’t even look up. Just keeps working as he rambles away.

“Transmission’s shot to hell, but we’ll get it runnin’ again. Always do.” He grunts again as he tightened something, then mutters to himself, “Damn thing’s been makin’ more noise than my wife at a family reunion.”

Rafe can’t help but chuckle. “Yeah, well, you tell her that, not me.”

Jerry’s laugh rumbles out from under the car, "Boy, if I told her that, I’d be sleeping in this garage for the rest of my life."

Rafe smirks as he watches him work. Sweat trickles down his back, and he wipes his forehead with his arm. The summer heat’s brutal, like there’s no air left to breathe.

“Speaking of wives,” Jerry starts, sliding out from under the car, cleaning his hands on a dirty rag. “You ever think about it? You know, settlin’ down? Gettin' yourself a girl, maybe even kids someday?”

The question catches him off guard. He huffs out a breath, avoiding Jerry’s eyes as he fiddles with a wrench, trying to act like it doesn’t mean much to him. “Nah, not really.”

The older man raises an eyebrow, giving him one of those looks like he’s not buying it.

“Don’t gimme that. Every time we go down to Smitty’s for a drink, you start lookin’ all mopey. Especially after a couple beers. Start talkin’ about this girl you left behind.”

He tenses. He doesn’t like where this is going, and he sure as hell doesn’t want to talk about you. Not here. Not now. He sets the wrench down with a clink and leans against the car, crossing his arms over his broad chest. “That was a long time ago.”

“Maybe.” Jerry shrugs, grabbing a cigarette from his shirt pocket and lighting it up. “But from the way you talk about her, she still rattlin’ around in that head of yours.”

Rafe stays quiet, staring at the oil-stained floor, the cigarette smoke swirling in the humid air. He can’t deny it. You’re always there, no matter how far he runs, no matter how hard he tries to forget.

Jerry takes a long drag from his cigarette, exhaling slow, like he’s thinking about something “Look, I ain’t tryin’ to pry, but you ever think about goin’ back? Maybe fixin' things with her?”

He snorts, shaking his head. “Nah, she’s better off without me. She’s got a whole life now. College, friends, probably some new guy too.” His voice sounds bitter, even to him, but he can’t help it. “No reason for me to go screwin’ that up.”

“Maybe. But from the way you talk, sounds like she was pretty important to you. And if she was, maybe you oughta stop runnin' and try to figure out if there’s still somethin’ there.”

It’s not that simple. It’s never that simple. He left for a reason.

“Besides,” Jerry continues, a little grin tugging at his lips. “I ain’t never heard you talk about another girl the way you talk about her.”

Rafe shakes his head, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t talk about her.”

“Oh, you do,” Jerry chuckles, flicking his cigarette butt onto the ground. “You just don’t realize it. Especially when you’re a few beers deep. Start mumblin’ about ‘the girl.’ Always ‘the girl.’ Like there ain’t no other one that ever mattered.”

He’s never meant to say anything. Those nights at the bar, when the drinks start flowing and the memories start flooding back, he tries to keep a lid on it. But sometimes, it slips out. And it’s always you.

He pushes off the car, grabbing the ratchet again, trying to ignore the mess of feelings inside him. “That’s just the way it is.”

Jerry nods, but there’s a knowing look in his eyes. “Well, you do what you gotta do. Just don’t wait too long. Life’s funny like that—if you don’t grab what you want when you have the chance, sometimes it’s gone before you know it.”

He knows the old man’s right, but what the hell’s he supposed to do?

Show up at your door, after all this time, after all the silence, and what—ask you to throw it all away for him? For a guy who ran at the first sign of trouble?

They work in comfortable silence for a bit, the hum of the fans and the clang of tools filling the space. He likes it better this way. But then the sound of tires crunching on gravel gets his attention. A car pulls up outside, engine smooth as silk. Not the usual beat-up trucks or clunkers they got in this place.

Jerry’s voice is muffled, back under the car. “Go check that out. Might be my 4 o’clock appointment.”

He stands, stepping over some scattered tools as he makes his way toward the open garage door. “Yeah, I’m on it.”

As he gets outside, the sun hits him full force again, baking his skin. He squints against the glare, but his eyes are already on the car parked just outside.

“Damn,” he whistles, low under his breath.

It's nice. Real nice. Some high-end, foreign model he didn’t see around these parts. Glossy black paint, chrome accents. Clean, like it’d just rolled off the lot. Whoever owns it has money. More than anyone he has ever known in this town.

He steps closer, his eyes running over the curves of the car. He can almost feel the engine purrin’ from where he stands. He hasn’t worked on a car like this in a long time, not since—

But before he can finish the thought, he hears a voice.

“Uh, excuse me?”

It’s soft, hesitant.

Wait a fucking minute.

His body moves before he can think about it, and when he finally locks eyes with the person standing a few feet away, he nearly passes out on the spot.

He must be hallucinating.

It’s you.

417 notes · View notes

octbrsaturn · 1 month ago

Text

INVISIBLE STRING - r.c series (four)

pairing: pogue!rafe x sweetheart!kook reader. chapter warnings: terrible parents; angst;

part one; part two; part three

Rafe hadn’t expected it.

Hell, if you’d told him a month ago this was all the time he was going to get with you, he’d have laughed in your face. Called it nonsense.

He wouldn’t have believed for a second that it’d end like this. Never like this.

He thought he had time, you know? Figured there was always another day, another night. A part of him thought maybe, just maybe, the worst was already behind him. Like he’d gone through the storm and came out the other side, still standing, still Rafe.

And damn if it doesn’t feel like someone took a sledgehammer to his ribs, and splintered everything wide open. He wasn’t ready for it.

He hadn’t expected to feel this way—like his chest was cracked wide open. He thought the worst was over. But nothing could have prepared him for what came next.

The knock at the door was insistent, and Rafe’s body went stiff. He knew it wasn’t you. You would never knock like that. But before he could even take a breath, his mother’s voice cut through the silence, slurring.

“Rafe! Open the damn door!”

He groaned, already feeling the dread creeping up his body. Tony’s gravelly laugh followed her words, and Rafe felt his stomach twist. He didn’t need this—not now. Not ever, really. But he sure as hell didn’t need it tonight. He pushed off the beat-up couch, his hands curling into fists as he made his way to the door, the smell of stale liquor hitting him before his eyes even landed on her. His mother stood there, swaying on her feet, Tony leering over her shoulder with that same stupid grin on his face. Rafe’s stomach churned.

“Well, look who finally decided to answer,” she slurred the words tumbling out in a laziness. “You think you’re too good for us now, huh, boy?”

He bit down on his lip hard, jaw tight as he tried to keep his voice steady. “What the hell do you want?”

Her boyfriend chuckled, a sound that made Rafe’s skin crawl. “Ain’t no way to talk to your mama, son.”

His mother stumbled forward, her breath reeking of whiskey, and Rafe recoiled as the boyfriend leaned against the doorframe, a sneer plastered on his face. This wasn’t the time.

He was just trying to keep his head down, trying to survive one day at a time. He couldn’t handle their bullshit on top of everything else.

“Is that any way to talk to your mother?” she slurred, her words barely coherent. “We were just having a little chat with some very important people.”

He had a feeling he knew where this was going. His mother had a nasty habit of sticking her nose where it didn’t belong, especially when it came to him and you.

“We had a little chat with that girl’s parents. You know, the one you’ve been sneakin’ around with? Sweet little thing.”

He gripped the edge of the door so hard his knuckles turned white. Of course she’d drag you into this. Of course. He’d tried so damn hard to keep you out of this mess, keep you away from people like her and Tony. And here they were, running their mouths. No. No, they didn’t.

"Figured they should know who their little girl’s been runnin’ around with."

You didn’t deserve this. None of it. If your parents got wind of anything his mother and Tony said, it was over. He'd lose you for sure.

“She’s got some real high-class parents, doesn’t she?” Tony jeered, lighting a cigarette with the same nonchalance that made Rafe want to punch him the face. “And they don’t seem too thrilled that their little princess has been slumming it with a loser like you.”

Rafe’s jaw clenched so hard he thought his teeth might shatter. His mother’s eyes gleamed with a sick sort of satisfaction, watching him, waiting for him to break.

“What the hell did you do?”

His mother swayed closer, her smile cruel. “Told ‘em the truth. Told ‘em about you. And guess what? They ain’t too happy about their precious daughter runnin’ around with a nobody like you.”

Rafe’s pulse pounded in his ears. They couldn’t—this couldn’t be happening. His mother leaned in closer, her breath stinking of alcohol, her grin spreading as she saw the panic in his eyes.

“They gave us a nice little payday. Enough to ship your sorry ass out of here.”

Rafe stepped back. “What the fuck are you talkin’ about?” His voice was shaking now.

Tony exhaled smoke into the small space. “Maybe the military will straighten you out, huh? Or maybe some far-off place where no one gives a damn if you disappear.”

You. This was about you. They had gone to your parents. They’d ruined everything. Everything he’d been trying to protect.

“I didn’t sign up for this shit,” Rafe snarled, “You think I’m just gonna let you—let them—tear us apart? You can’t do this!” He shouted, his voice cracking. “You don’t get to control my life!”

His mother’s eyes gleamed with a twisted sort of satisfaction, the kind that only came when she knew she had the upper hand. “Oh, but we already did, baby. Your girl’s parents agreed, and you’re goin’. Ain’t no one fightin’ for you now, you’re still seventeen.”

His fists clenched at his sides, the muscles in his arms twitching with barely restrained anger. “I ain’t goin’ nowhere,” he hissed, stepping forward, his face inches from his mother’s. “You can’t just ship me off like some damn dog.”

Her smile faltered for a second, but then she laughed, “Oh, honey, it’s already done. You’ll be outta here by the end of the week.”

Her boyfriend grinned, stepping closer. “Ain’t no point in fightin’ it, son. She’s movin’ on with her life, and you’ll be just a bad decision she’ll forget about real quick.”

He felt like he was drowning, he couldn’t get his head above water. “I won’t let you do this.”

His mother’s voice softened, her southern lilt sounding almost sweet again. But the cruelty never left her eyes. “It’s done, Rafe. You’re leavin’. And she’ll forget all about you. It’s better this way, for both of ya.”

Rafe stumbled back, his heart pounding so hard he thought it might tear through his chest. He couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. He was losing you. And there wasn’t a damn thing he could do to stop it.

Hours later he stared at the phone in his hand, his grip tightening until his knuckles went white. His chest felt like it was about to cave in. Seventeen. That’s what this all came down to. Still under their control, still bound by the decisions other people made for him. He couldn’t stop this. He couldn’t fight it because, technically, they were still in charge of his life. And you—God, you had no idea.

How was he supposed to tell you? How could he look you in the eye and admit that this whole thing was out of his hands? That your parents were behind it, just like his mom? He couldn’t. He wouldn’t. He’d rather you hate him, think he gave up on you, than let you hate your own family. You had enough going on, and if he told you the truth...you were too sweet for the cruel truth.

Better it be him.

He sat onto the edge of the bed, rubbing a hand over his face, trying to get a grip, but it wasn’t working. The thought of leaving you—of never seeing you again—burnt him. How was he supposed to do this? How was he supposed to walk away from the only good thing in his life?

“Fuck…” Rafe muttered under his breath, running his hand through his hair, tugging at the strands like the pain might wake him up from this nightmare.

But it wasn’t a dream. It was real. And in two days, he’d be gone.

He stood, pacing the length of the small room, the room you’d spent so many nights in, sneaking in when no one was looking, your laugh filling the empty spaces that usually felt cold. He wanted to smash something, to break the caving walls, tear them apart, for ripping you away from him. He’d spent so long telling himself he wasn’t good enough for you, that you deserved better than a guy like him.

Now, it didn’t matter. You were getting ripped away, and he couldn’t even fight for it. Not really. All because they decided he was the wrong kind of guy. A problem they could pay off to disappear.

Rafe had always known the people around him didn’t think much of him, but hearing it from them, hearing that they were actually doing something about it, like he was trash to be thrown out—that was a whole other kind of hit.

He threw himself down on the bed, his fists pressing into his temples. His breath was coming fast, too fast, and he knew he was spiraling. He kept seeing you in his mind—the way you’d looked at him, like he was more than just some messed-up kid with a drunk mom and a loser life. Like you saw something worth keeping.

“Why you gotta be so perfect?” he muttered, voice cracking as he blinked up at the ceiling, jaw tight. He didn’t want to cry, not for this, not now, but it was damn near fucking impossible to stop the lump in his throat from swelling. The idea of never seeing you again, never feeling your fingers slip into his, or hearing that soft laugh that made all the shit in his life feel a little less heavy, it was killing him.

He wished he could blame you, blame anyone but himself. Maybe if he’d been different, if he’d tried harder to be someone your parents could accept, maybe then none of this would be happening. But he was who he was. And that wasn’t good enough.

He punched the pillow beside him, wishing it was Tony’s face, wishing it was something that could actually fix the mess he was in. But it didn’t matter. In two days, they’d be shipping him off to God knows where, far enough that he’d be out of your life for good. And by the time he came back—if he came back—you’d have moved on. You’d have forgotten him, found someone better. Someone you didn’t have to sneak around with. Someone who wouldn’t drag you into his mess.

Rafe sat up suddenly, his hands shaking as he reached for his phone. He had to see you, one last time, had to explain something, anything, before they took him away. He knew you’d hate him for not telling you the truth, but he couldn’t leave things like this. Not without seeing your face, not without hearing your voice.

His thumb hovered over your name, and for a second, he hesitated. Would it hurt more to see you now, knowing it was all going to end anyway? Was he just making things worse for himself?

He didn’t care. He needed you.

The phone rang once, twice, and his heart was racing so fast it felt like it might stop altogether. Then your voice came through the line, all soft and sleepy.

“Baby?”

For a second, all the panic, all the anger, melted away. Just hearing your voice was enough to make him breathe again.

“Can you come over? I just… I need to see you.”

“Are you okay?”

“No.” The word slipped out before he could stop it. “No, ’m not.”

You didn’t ask any more questions, didn’t push him for details. You just said, “I’ll be there in ten,” and that was it.

Rafe hung up and stared at the phone in his hand, feeling like time was slipping away, faster than he could grab hold of it. Ten minutes. Ten minutes before he saw you again. But this time, it wasn’t going to be like before. It wasn’t going to be a stolen moment between two people trying to escape their worlds for a little while. This was goodbye. Even if he couldn’t say it.

And he wasn’t ready for that.

When you showed up that night, Rafe almost couldn’t look at you. It felt like everything was making it impossible to breathe. You walked in, so soft and sweet, with that little smile like you’d been thinking about him all day, and it just about wrecked him right then and there.

He couldn’t tell you what was going on. Couldn’t stand to see that look on your face when you found out your parents had something to do with all of this. So, instead, he pulled you close, pressing his lips to yours like he needed it to survive.

"Rafe…" you murmured against his mouth, and that one word, just his name, it made him weak. He was already unraveling, already coming apart at the seams. You kissed him back, your hands slipping around his neck, and it was like nothing else existed but you. Just you.

He didn’t say anything when you both fell onto his bed. You didn’t ask questions; you never did when he got like this. Maybe you knew something was off, maybe you felt the tension in his body, but you never pushed him.

Rafe kissed you deeper, more desperate this time, hands touching all over your body like he was trying to commit every inch of you to memory. And maybe he was. Maybe he knew this was the last time, the last night he’d get to hold you like this.

When you whispered his name again, softer this time, he couldn’t hold back. His hands fumbled at your clothes, and soon enough, the two of you were tangled in each other, the room filled with the soft sounds of your breathing, your quiet gasps, and the low rumble of his voice in your ear.

He didn’t want it to end. He wanted to stay in that moment forever, with you. But nothing ever lasted for him. Not the good stuff, anyway.

Later, when your breathing had evened out, Rafe just lay there, watching you sleep. Your face was so peaceful, your hair spilling across the pillow like you didn’t have a care in the world. He wanted to keep you safe from all of this. From his world, from the shitstorm that was coming for him. That’s why he couldn’t tell you about what your parents did, or what his own mother was planning. You didn’t need that burden.

You were curled up against him, looking peaceful. He couldn’t believe how perfect you looked, even now, in this tiny, beat-up room that didn’t deserve to hold someone like you. This was the last night he’d get to hold you, to feel you this close.

Carefully, like he was afraid to wake you, Rafe reached out and brushed a strand of hair away from your face. His fingers lingered there, gently tracing the curve of your cheek. He wanted to stay. God, he wanted nothing more than to stay with you, to wake up beside you in the morning like everything was normal, like none of this was happening. But he couldn’t. He knew he had to go.

His hand moved, almost on its own, cupping your face with a tenderness he rarely let himself show around other people. His thumb brushed over your cheek, then down to your lips, tracing them softly like he was memorizing how they felt. You shifted in your sleep, but didn’t wake, and he let out a shaky breath, grateful for the moment.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. His eyes stung, but he blinked hard, refusing to let the tears fall. You didn’t deserve any of this—didn’t deserve to wake up in the morning and find him gone. But it was better this way.

He pressed a kiss to your forehead, lingering there for a second, and then he slipped out of bed, as quiet as he could. His heart was pounding like crazy, and he knew if he didn’t leave now, he might not have the guts to do it. He grabbed his backpack, the one he’d packed earlier when you didn’t see, and took one last look at you.

Rafe couldn’t let them take him away from you, not without trying to get out first. Running was the only option he had left, the only way to stay out of military school and out of their control. He wanted to go back, to hold you one more time, but he couldn’t. This was it.

When you woke up everything was quiet.

The first thing you noticed was the empty space beside you, where Rafe's body should've been. You sat up, blinking in the dark room. He wasn't supposed to work. He had the day off, and you always spent them together. But he wasn't there. He never left before you woke up. Never. You looked around, squinting into the corners, expecting to see him leaning against the beat up walls, a smirk on his face like he was just waiting for you to notice him.

But there was nothing.

The sheets were still tangled around you, the room so still it felt suffocating. You reached out, your hand landing on your side of the bed, and it felt cold. The kind of cold that told you he'd been gone for a while. That this wasn't some stupid joke or a dream you were about to shake off.

“Rafe?” You called softly, like saying his name out loud might conjure him back. But there was only silence. You pushed the sheets off, your bare feet hitting the floor as you stumbled to stand. Where was he? You scanned the room, feeling the first threads of panic tightening in your chest. His bag—God, his stupid beat-up backpack—wasn't there.

No. No, no, no.

You yanked the door open, half expecting him to be out in the hall, smoking or brooding like he did when something was eating him up inside. But the house was empty. Completely empty. The kind of empty that told you he was gone for good. You felt it in your gut.

Rafe wouldn’t. He wouldn’t just leave you. Not without a word, not without telling you where he was going. Your hands were trembling as you reach for your phone, the screen lighting up your face in the darkness. You went to Rafe's messages, scrolling, hoping—praying—that there was something from him. But it was empty. No calls, no texts. Just nothing.

You clutched the phone tighter, a small, desperate part of you wanting to call him, to hear his voice, to ask him why the hell he left you like this. But you knew he wouldn't pick up. Somehow, you just knew.

Rafe had told you to come over, and you hadn't given it a second thought. Because why would you? Why would you ever think that it would be the last time? The last time he'd hold you, the last time you'd kiss him like everything was going to be fine. You trusted him. You trusted him to let you in, to tell you what was going on.

But he didn’t. Rafe didn’t tell you anything.

A sob choked out of your throat, and you slammed the phone down on the counter, gasping for breath. How could he do this to you? He knew what he mean to you. He knew how much you—God, you couldn't even think straight. You wanted to scream. You wanted to cry. You wanted to rip this entire place apart until there was nothing left underneath the rubble and dust.

Because that’s what you felt like. Like rubble.

You swiped furiously at the tears that wouldn't stop falling, your vision swimming. Maybe he was just—maybe he was just out somewhere, needing time to think. Maybe he was coming back. You should've called him. You should've at least tried.

But your gut was still screaming at you, you already knew the answer. You felt it the second you woke up to that empty space in bed. Rafe was gone. Really gone. And you didn't even know where he went. Why he'd left. All you had was the cold emptiness of this room, the memory of his hands on your skin just hours ago, his voice in your ear saying your name, like it was the only thing that mattered.

Your phone pinged, and you jumped, heart leaping into your throat. You snatched it up, almost dropping it in your rush. But it wasn't Rafe. It was a text from your mom.

“Sweetheart, hope you’re okay. We should talk.”

Talk? About what?

But then it hit you. They knew. They knew, and they didn’t say a thing. They were part of this. You could sense it, you could see it all so clearly—the way they’d looked at you this past week, the tight smiles, the disapproval they didn’t even bother hiding.

The ache in your chest was spreading, morphing into something darker. They had done this. They did this. And Rafe let them.

You droped the phone. Fuck, he didn’t even give you a choice, did he?

Your hands were trembling again as you read the text over and over. "We should talk." Talk about what? About how they'd helped rip your heart out of your chest? About how they'd taken the one person who made you feel whole and sent him away like he was some kind of mistake?

You understood what had happened. Your parents must’ve paid him off, just like they’d done before with every other thing they didn’t approve of. Except this time, it wasn’t a broken curfew or a failed grade. This was your life. Your heart. If Rafe had been brave enough you would've protected him from them.

You wanted to hate him. You wanted to hate Rafe so bad for walking out, for letting them push him away. Butyou knew he hadn't wanted to leave. You knew him better than that. You could picture him, hurting just as much as you were. The way his lips had felt so desperate against yours last night—it all made sense now. He'd been saying goodbye, and you hadn't even known it.

You curled into yourself, arms wrapping tightly around your knees, wishing you could make this all disappear. Wishing you could wake up and find him next to you, smiling that cocky little smile he always gave you in the mornings.

But this was real. He was gone.

And you had no idea how to put yourself back together.

The only thing keeping you from breaking down completely when you get home, was your gut telling you that he didn't leave because he wanted to. You need answers.

Your parents were talking in the living room, like they hadn't ruined your life. When you walked in, they fell silent, both looking at you with expectant faces—too expectant, like they already knew what you were going to say.

“Sweetheart? What are you—”

“What did you do?” you snapped, your voice cold with fury.

She blinked, feigning innocence. “What are you talking about?”

“You know damn well what I’m talking about,” you growled, stepping forward. “What the hell did you do to Rafe?”

Your dad appeared in the doorway, his expression hardening when he saw the look on your face. “Calm down. We need to talk—”

“I’m not calming down!” you shouted, fists clenched at your sides. “Where is he? What did you do?”

Your mom’s lips pursed, and her tone turned that sickly-sweet kind that always made your blood boil. “Honey, we did what was best for you. That pogue—”

“Don’t you dare,” you cut her off, “Don’t you dare talk about him like that. You don’t know him.”

Your dad stepped in, his arms crossed over his chest. “We know enough. He’s trouble, and you were getting too involved. We spoke to his mother—”

“You what?” You could barely breathe. Your heart was hammering in your chest. “You went behind my back and talked to his mom? How could you?”

“Because it was necessary,” your motheer's voice was calm like she was talking to a child. “You couldn’t see what was right in front of you. He’s no good for you, and we couldn’t just sit back and watch you throw your life away on someone like him.”

“Throw my life away?” You felt like you were going to explode. “He’s not—he’s not some fucking charity case! You had no right!”

“Sweetheart, listen,” your dad started, his tone firm. “We were looking out for you. His family… they’re a mess. His mother agreed that it’d be best for him to get some distance. He’s not going to drag you down anymore.”

Tears stung your eyes, but you blinked them away, shaking your head in disbelief. “You think you can just decide that? For me? For him? You think that’s okay?”

“We didn’t decide anything,” your mom said softly. “We just helped things along. The military will give him some structure, and you… you’ll move on. You’ll thank us one day.”

“You’re unbelievable. You think you can just… control everything? This isn’t about protecting me. This is about you not liking him, not liking that he doesn’t fit into your perfect little world.”

Your dad sighed, rubbing a hand over his face like he was tired of this conversation. “You’re too young to understand—”

“Don’t.” Your voice cracked. “Don’t treat me like I’m a child. I love him. You had no right to take that away from me.”

Your mom’s face softened, but it didn’t make you feel any better. “We love you. We only want what’s best for you. And trust me, sweetheart, he isn’t it.”

“You don’t get it. You never have. And now… now he’s gone, and it’s your fault.”

Your dad didn’t flinch. “You’ll see. One day, you’ll understand why we did this.”

“I’ll never understand,” you hissed. “And I’ll never forgive you for this.”

311 notes · View notes

octbrsaturn · 1 month ago

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INVISIBLE STRING - SERIES MASTERLIST - r.c

synopis: after being thrown out by his abusive mother, rafe finds himself in harsh reality of living on the streets. that’s when he crosses paths with you, a kook who seems to have it all. against all odds, you offer him a second chance, pulling him into a world he doesn’t belong to—but your love bridges the gap between your worlds. with everyone rooting for their downfall, they must decide: can their love survive the weight of societal expectations, or will their differences tear them apart?

･῾ ᵎ chapter one⌇

･῾ ᵎ chapter two⌇

･῾ ᵎ chapter three⌇

･῾ ᵎ chapter four⌇

･῾ ᵎ chapter five⌇

･῾ ᵎ chapter six⌇

･῾ ᵎ chapter seven⌇

･῾ ᵎ chapter eight⌇

[more to come]

442 notes · View notes

octbrsaturn · 1 month ago

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[SUMMARY: Joel and you have a close friendship until Sarah’s mother returns and he rudely pushes you away. He never knew you were in love with him or that he himself was in love with you until Tommy wants to date you.]

Angst jealous Joel, mention of blood

“Joel can you pass the butter” Sarah’s mother could be heard in the background as Tommy and you were still sharing a small moment. Joel hadn’t taken his eyes off you not realizing that he was being called.

For a few years now you had grown to be a close friend to Joel and especially close to Sarah. Joel didn’t date much as he was strict on not bringing just any woman around his daughter. The two of you got close with you being his neighbor and you helping Sarah with things her father needed a woman’s help in. Sarah always teased her father about dating you, yet you having a bigger age difference than he was used to made him hesitate. Through it all Joel never suspected the feelings you had for him. Things always seemed good between all of you, that was until Sarah’s mother suddenly made a return.

There was an obvious difference since her mother had returned, you realized you hadn’t been seeing Joel or Sarah as much as you used to. The thought hurt you as he never knew the strong feelings you had for him yet you never found the courage to knock on his door like you used to.

That afternoon you caught Sarah coming out of the house and quickly called out for her to wait for you. Rushing back inside you bought out pastries you baked, pastries you knew Joel loved.

“Hey, I made these for you guys”

“Oh I haven’t had these in forever, you’re the best” she reached in for a hug.

“You should come over tonight, we’re having our usual movie night..”

“Oh, haven’t had one of those in a while. I’ll bring the popcorn” you smiled as she grinned when you were both interrupted by her mother.

“Sarah, let’s go!” The sound of her mother’s voice made you look up to find her in the passenger seat of Joel’s truck, you never realized she was there. She was a fairly attractive woman, you could see what Joel saw on her as hard as it was to admit.

She didn’t acknowledge you and so you didn’t say a thing to her but you noticed Sarah’s expression change.

“That’s my mom…I’ll see you around…” she walked away just as you heard the door behind you open, Joel stepped out.

“Joel” you stood as he greeted you with a smile.

“It’s been a while” his eyes wandered over your features.

“Yeah, it has been huh” you nodded as he smiled at you. Joel missed having you around, he missed your company but he knew how Sarah’s mother would feel and so he tried to keep his distance. The only reason he seemed to be working on things with Sarah’s mother was because he thought it was what his daughter deserved…her parents together, not knowing her true feelings towards her mother.

“Well any ways, I left Sarah with those pastries you guys always love. Hope it’s enough for all three of you. Sarah just invited me tonight, so I guess we’ll catch up later?” Joel’s expression changed to something you couldn’t quite understand but he nodded before her mother called out once again.

“Joel hurry up!” She yelled from the car honking the horn.

“Yeah, I’ll see you tonight. Thank you, darlin’” Joel got in his truck immediately sensing an attitude from Sarah’s mother.

“What was that girl on about?”

“She baked us some dessert and-“

“I invited her to movie night tonight!” Sarah exclaimed.

“Excuse me?” Her mother turned to her.

“Y/n usually joins us for family night” Joel attempted to explain.

“She’s not family” Joel looked back at her not liking her tone.

“She’s been like family to us” he tried to explain but she wasn’t having it.

“Well she’s not, so tonight it’s just gonna be us three. Got it?” She turned looking out the window as Joel looked at the rear view mirror and could see Sarah’s disappointment.

After dropping Sarah off at her friends, Joel felt it was the perfect time to have a bigger conversation about Sarah’s relationship with you.

“Listen, about y/n…you gotta understand she’s been there for Sarah for a long time now,-“

“So, it’s not like she’s her mother”

“Dammit, I know that but to Sarah she’s been everything” Sarah’s mother crossed her arms looking ahead.

“Well Sarah better get rid of any attachment to that girl, she’s nothing to anyone.”

“That woman has done more for her than I could say” Joel pushed the argument.

“Joel, I said it’s done. I’m her mother, not her nor anyone else and Sarah just needs to understand her place. She’s the child and has no say-“

“I haven’t raised her that way-“

“Well things change. Besides, that girl shouldn’t be so close to Sarah. It’s not good for our daughter, she’s getting attached to someone that won’t always be around. I think you should cut it” Joel narrowed his eyes on her.

“You do it or I will. You want Sarah to get her heart broken when that woman has her own children and forgets about her?” Joel looked away continuing to drive knowing she had a point not knowing more than anything she wanted access to all Joel had. Since she had last seen him, he was successful with his own home and money that she wanted a part of.

“Unless you don’t care about your daughter’s feelings, keep her around but if you do care for Sarah then do what’s right” she manipulated him using the biggest thing she had against him.

Sarah.

“I’ll talk to her tonight”

That evening after work you took a fresh shower getting ready for movie night. Apart of you was anxious knowing you’d officially meet the woman who was now having something with the man you had been secretly in love with for so long. Brushing your hair humming to yourself you unexpectedly heard your doorbell. You could see Joel through the side window making you raise a brow.

“Hey? Everything ok?” You asked as you opened the door. Usually greeting you with a smile, Joel was now serious.

“Joel?”

“Listen um, there ain’t no movie night tonight”

“Ok” you chuckled a bit confused as to why he showed up at your door to simply express that plans were cancelled. It was strange, he could barely look you in the eye.

“Look, this ain’t easy for me to say…but Sarah’s mother is back, Ima need you to give Sarah some space.” As much as what he said hurt, you kept a straight face.

“Of course,” you whispered.

“I wouldn’t get in the way of that. Sarah is welcome to come by whenever, on her time” Joel brushed his hand over his lips, a little frustrated that you weren’t getting the message and he would need to be more blunt.

“Sarah won’t be comin’ by no more” for a moment you stood silent.

“Oh I-“

“Sarah don’t need to be talkin’ to you no more. Her mother is here and it just ain’t needed” he blurt out. Joel didn’t like saying this to you, yet he knew the only way to keep you away was to be as blunt as possible.

Where the hell was this coming from?

“Joel I…I know her mom is back in the picture, I never was trying to take her place. I only help-“

“Well don’t” he spoke coldly leaving you speechless. After a few years of being so close you saw a side to him you never thought you would see. Feeling tears well up in your eyes, a knot in your throat you cleared your voice.

“Does Sarah know?”

“It don’t matter, she’ll understand” Joel almost sounded as if he was trying to convince himself that his daughter would get over this.

“Am I clear?” For the first time his eyes looked into yours and he noticed you struggling not to cry. The guilt he felt in his chest from the way you looked at him, he couldn’t take but he had to be stern. He preferred him saying what needed to be said than Sarah’s mother disrespecting you.

“Loud and clear” you whispered before closing the door in face and walking away.

Joel stood still for a minute wondering for a just a second if what he was doing was right. The thought of you forgetting about Sarah in the future like her mother said came to his mind again, it was true what she expressed..at the end of the day you were nothing to Sarah and eventually you would have your own life..

Joel walking back to the house ran into Tommy walking through the door.

“Hey ain’t y/n coming tonight?”

Joel shook his head.

“Why not? Sarah loves doing trivia with her after the movie?” Tommy secretly asking because he wanted you around too.

“I put an end to it Tommy” Joel spoke without looking his way.

“Put an end to what? Her being there for Sarah? What are ya doin’ man?” He shoved his shoulder, Joel knew he was never a fan of Sarah’s mother.

“It’s for Sarah’s own good, I know what I’m doin’” Joel walked ahead not wanting to speak anymore of it.

About two months later Sarah’s mother was making breakfast when she found two pink flower cooking mittens and frowned.

“Sarah, you help your father cook huh?” She laughed until Sarah shook her head.

“Those were y/n’s she comes over sometimes and would cook for us, I wonder why she hasn’t come by” Her words instantly wiping the smile from her face. The second Sarah turned she grabbed the mitts and threw them in the trash. Joel running down the steps noticing he was running late for work practically heading straight for the door.

“Joel I made breakfast!” She yelled out as he grabbed his bag.

“Don’t have time, ya got Sarah today? I’m running late, gotta go with Tommy” her mother rolled her eyes throwing the spatula in the sink.

“I guess so” Joel too much in a rush didn’t notice the tone in her voice, giving Sarah a kiss on the head he rushed out.

Joel running out happened to see Tommy talking to you at the end of the drive way. He thought it was strange as he furrowed his brows but didn’t say a word.

Starting the truck Joel watched the two of you talking through his rear view mirror. Looking at his brothers face he knew that damn look, his brother was flirting with you. Joel suddenly honked his horn twice making you and Tommy look up.

“I’ll call you later” he winked at you before kissing your cheek and getting to the truck.

Joel looked behind as he backed his truck out of the driveway, his eyes taking a peak at you leaving for the day before he turned to his brother.

“What was that about?”

“Oh uh, nothin’ I uh, I…I kinda asked her out” he cleared his throat anxiously.

“You asked her out?” Joel looked at his brother taken back by his statement.

“Yeah, I mean…you don’t mind do ya? Nothin’ ever happened between you two so just figured I’d shoot my shot” he grinned as Joel began to drive.

“That alright?” He asked looking over at his brother waiting for some kind of approval.

Joel clenched his jaw staring ahead.

“Why would I care” Joel stated with a shrug. Tommy looked away sensing something clearly bothered him but didn’t say a word.

Joel spent his day at work not saying much to his brother, Tommy could sense the coldness from him as the day went on.

“Joel where’s the-“

“God dammit Tommy, you got the wrong damn piece” Tommy looked down confused.

“Just move, I got it” he shoved his brother to the side and began to work as Tommy stepped back.

“Joel-“

“I got it” he uttered low before his brother walked off angrily. Joel himself was trying to understand what exactly he was feeling. The anger that slowly built up inside him the more he thought about you dating Tommy, yet he himself couldn’t even understand why.

During the ride home the two men were silent. Tension brewing between them as Tommy adjusted himself in his seat.

“I invited y/n over this weekend for dinner” Joel’s hand tightening on the steering wheel, he didn’t say a word for a moment.

“Sarah’s mother ain’t gonna like it-“

“Well Sarah’s mother don’t live there, I do” Tommy defended himself. Joel remained quiet before arriving to the house and walking inside.

That evening Tommy had convinced you to come over for dinner. You hesitated after what was last said between you and Joel but Tommy insisted.

“It’s my home just as much as it’s his” Tommy defended himself, yet it still didn’t feel right. Feelings for Joel didn’t simply vanish but they did become easier to deal with, easier to ignore making you believe there were none at all…although that was far from the truth.

“Y/n is coming over this weekend” Tommy patted Sarah’s shoulder as she grinned with excitement.

“I beg your pardon” Sarah’s mother turned with a clear look of disapproval.

“She’s coming over for dinner” Tommy stood up straight facing her directly.

“I don’t think so, Joel already knows-“

“She’s gonna come over, that’s the end of it” Joel suddenly interrupted as he began to set the table.

“Yes!” Sarah exclaimed.

“Didn’t I say-“

“Sarah go to your room, honey” without questioning a thing she quickly stood up and took her book with her to the room.

“Joel, you can’t be serious”

“She’s comin’ to be with me” Tommy interjected, his words like alcohol on a wound for Joel yet it seemed to calm Sarah’s mother down.

“Oh, well in that case, have fun” she shrugged thinking if Tommy kept you busy she wouldn’t have to worry about you. A part of her had been suspecting if Joel had feelings for you since you two had last spoken. Without Joel knowing sometimes she would watch him through the window and catch him looking over at you house almost as if he was waiting for you to come out.

The evening arrived and you could feel the butterflies in your stomach for more reasons than one. That day you decided to put a touch of make up and wear your hair loose, something different for a change.

Tommy opened the door with a big grin as he let you inside. He could see the nerves in your eyes and subtly leaned in against you.

“Relax, you’re good here” he led you into the dining room where Joel and Sarah’s mother were. Joel with his back to you could hear when you walked in.

“Nice to finally meet you” Sarah’s mother greeted you with a hug, you could tell wasn’t genuine.

“Nice to meet you too” you smiled as Joel turned to you. He had never really seen you with your hair loose, the color of your hair framing your face bringing out your eyes.

“Hi Joel” Sarah’s mother noticing your hesitation just as Joel leaned in to greet you. His hand delicately on your waist as you felt his lips on your cheek.

“Good to see ya” he stood back with a nod as you awkwardly looked down.

“Well, let’s set the table for the ladies. You can go sit in the living room and get to know Sarah’s mom, Sarah will be out in a bit” Tommy placed his hand around your waist making Joel’s eyes follow.

“Joel?” Tommy cleared his throat making him quickly look up.

“Yeah, we’ll set up the table. You ladies go on” Joel quickly turned his back as Sarah’s mother guided you to the living room away from the men.

Tommy could already see his brother was uncomfortable, but not for the reasons he thought.

“Look, I’m sorry if her being around is makin’ you feel a kind of way. I know y’all didn’t have the best last conversation with how you spoke to her-“

“She told you, huh” Joel responded with a sarcastic tone as he laid the table mats and plates down.

“Yeah, she did” Tommy now sounding a bit more defensive.

“You gonna help me or what?” Joel uttered low before Tommy sighed and began to help. There was never going anywhere with Joel when it came to expressing feelings properly, the man was as stubborn as a steel wall.

After talking with Sarah and her mother for a bit, you grew to understand more as to why her and her mother didn’t exactly click. Yet, it still wasn’t as awkward as you thought it would be with her yet with Joel it was a different story.

Once dinner was ready you stood beside Tommy as he pulled out your chair for you.

“Thank you, Tommy” you smiled as you sat down, feeling Joel’s eyes on you from the head of the table. Joel wasn’t the only one staring, Sarah herself was confused to see you with her uncle, she always expected you to be with her father. Joel noticed Sarah staring at you and cleared his throat to get her attention.

“Sarah, mind your manners” she quickly looked away before leaning close to him.

“You’re staring too, dad” she whispered playfully. Sarah’s mother sat down not noticing the stare down the two were giving you as they quickly looked away.

“So how long have you two been dating?” Sarah’s mother unexpectedly broke the silence.

“About a couple weeks now” Tommy responded.

“Couple weeks huh?” Joel looked up at his brother with a raised brow.

“Yes” he responded confidently.

“I’m surprised it didn’t happen sooner since she’s been around here for a while from what I heard” Sarahs mother stated with a light laugh.

“Why didn’t it?” The slick tone in Joels voice, he couldn’t hide how he felt about it as much as he tried to.

“Why didn’t what?” Tommy asked sitting up straight in his chair noticing his brother’s tone of voice.

“Why didn’t you get together sooner?” Joel asked as he put a piece of food in his mouth, his eyes narrowing on Tommy.

“I guess the time just wasn’t right then, brother” the two men silently stared at each other for a moment before you cleared your throat.

“Well, I’m glad it happened when it did” you spoke softly but you could feel Joel’s harsh stare now turn to you. Sarah’s mother silently watched the way Joel stared at you and Tommy, raising a brow at him she wondered why he seemed so bothered by you two.

“Me too, babe” Tommy leaned in for a quick peck causing Joel to tense up.

“Joel” yet he continued watching the way you smiled at Tommy, the look in your eyes as he spoke to you.

“Dad” the sound of Sarah’s voice snapping him right out of it. He looked over at her before noticing Sarah’s mother staring at him.

“Huh, what is it?”

“I was asking you to pass the butter” she raised a brow at him. Silently he passed the dish to her before adjusting himself in his seat and continuing to eat.

“Well anyways, I think it’s sweet that you two are together” Sarah’s mother continued.

“I didn’t see it coming, we’ve known each other for so long” you responded.

“I sure as hell didn’t see it comin’” Joel mumbled under his breath as he stabbed a piece of meatloaf hard with his fork.

“What was that Joel?” Tommy squinted his eyes at him.

“I said I didn’t see that comin’, come to think of it” Joel chuckled sarcastically.

“Almost seems like it was a secret”

Tommy knew you were beginning to feel uncomfortable as you wouldn’t look up from your plate.

“Wasn’t no secret, didn’t know I had to report who I was datin’” you suddenly gasped as Sarah’s mother accidentally knocked a glass of water your way. You quickly stood up as water spilled onto your skirt.

“Oh, I’m so sorry!” Her mother stood up with you but Sarah could sense something was off. She felt her mother had done it on purpose and she wasn’t wrong. Her mother growing angry at the sight of Joel being bothered by anything having to do with you and Tommy upset her and she tried to distract the situation.

“It’s alright, babe, I got cha” Tommy proceeded to grab a cloth and attempt to dry off your clothes. His hands passing along over your thighs as Joel watched silently before he abruptly stood up and walked to the kitchen.

“Where are you going, Joel?” Sarah’s mother called out to him.

“I’m grabbin’ another beer” he yelled back.

“I think I should go” you whispered to Tommy.

“Please” you continued, he could see the discomfort in your eyes and quietly nodded.

“I’m gonna take y/n home-“

“Dinner was delicious” you tried to seem as polite as you could. Tommy grabbed your stuff for you and took your hand before Joel called out to him.

“Don’t take too long now, ima need a hand with a few things” Tommy looked back at him annoyed before walking out with you. Joel didn’t need help with anything, just the thought of him going to your house alone with you he couldn’t take. Sarah watched as her mother angrily got up from the table and stomped to the kitchen.

“What the hell has been your problem today?”

“Nothins’ my problem at all” he spoke with a touch of sarcasm.

“You just can’t stand seeing your brother with that girl” Joel tried to hide a reaction as he took a sip of his beer.

“Why the hell would I care what that girl does?”

“I don’t know Joel, you tell me” she angrily walked away to the room before slamming the door shut.

Standing at your front door you sighed turning to Tommy.

“Maybe it’s just best I’m not around them much.” Tommy quickly shook his head.

“No, ya didn’t do anything wrong. I don’t care how that woman feels about there-“

“Or Joel” you interrupted.

“He hated having me there today” you continued. Little did you know, Joel didn’t hate having you there, he hated seeing you with his brother.

“Don’t worry about Joel, I’ll have a talk with him when I get back”

“It doesn’t matter”

“It does. That’s not the last time you’re coming around so don’t think it is. I’ll see you tomorrow” Tommy kissed you before returning back home.

Once coming back in he found Joel cleaning up by himself and scoffed.

“So what’s your issue brother, might as well lay it out for me”

Joel didn’t turn back to him, how could he admit to his brother the seething jealousy he felt. How could he tell his brother the thought of him touching you, kissing you only enraged him.

“Ain’t no issue, Tommy” he denied as he put left overs in the fridge.

“Well I feel like there’s an issue and so does y/n” the sound of your name making him face Tommy.

“I’m tellin’ you there ain’t”

Tommy didn’t say a word but he didn’t believe his brother and angrily went to his room.

The next day once again Joel found Tommy talking you on your front porch as he got ready to take Sarah to school. Squinting from the sun he kept looking over watching the way Tommy wrapped his arms around you, kissing you until Sarah came out.

“You ok, dad?”

“Course I am” he responded before walking to the front of the car. Sarah looked over and noticed what he was staring and it all made sense.

During the drive to school Sarah couldn’t help but question her dad about you, catching him off guard.

“Hey dad, why did y/n stop coming over?”

Joel swallowed hard as he adjusted himself in his seat, he knew he had to be honest.

“Your mother ain’t really like how close you two were”

“Does mom know you have feelings for her?” Joel abruptly looked at Sarah at a red light.

“I don’t have feelings for her, who said that?”

“Your eyes” Sarah smiled as her father remained silent knowing he couldn’t lie to his daughter.

“Ya know, you’re too damn smart sometimes, it scares me” he chuckled under his breath as he continued to drive.

“So you do have feelings for her. Why didn’t you tell her?”

“Enough about her, she’s with uncle Tommy and that’s that”

“But I think she had feelings for you to-“

“Sarah enough” his stern voice causing her to look away just as he pulled up to her school.

“Baby girl I know you’re just lookin’ out for me but your mother-“

“I don’t like my mother” Sarah blurt out shocking Joel.

“I’ll see you later” getting out of the car Joel watched as she walked off. Sarah’s mother being manipulative and controlling was something that always made Joel and her clash and now it was something Sarah was seeing and he didn’t like it.

Joel and Tommy took their own rides to work not wanting to speak to each other, he had no idea Tommy had planned for you to come over again. Tommy refused to let them get their way and insisted on having you over again.

That night Tommy bought dinner for everyone and kept himself in a good mood. Yoh hadn’t spoken much to Joel, if anything you avoided him as much as possible. You sat next to Tommy enjoying the food as Sarah spoke to you about a new project she was working on.

“You didn’t tell me about that, honey” her mother interrupted.

“Y/n usually helps me with my projects so I wanted to tell her” Sarah responded dryly. Her mother looking a bit insulted remained silent, your presence clearly starting to eat at her.

“Well unfortunately I can’t stay the night” she stood up from the table throwing a cloth to the side.

“I have some work obligations to finish”

“That’s a shame, hopefully next time you can stay longer” you spoke nicely as she responded with a masked smile and nod.

“Joel? Can you walk me to the door”

“Right” he cleared his throat as he stood up.

Sarah’s mother didn’t say much but she didn’t like the idea of leaving.

Joel walked back to the dining room watching as you laughed at something Tommy had said. Your hand on his arm as you shook your head before Joel realized Sarah was staring at him. Sarah could see right through her father, she knew his feelings for you were deep.

“How about we have some wine” Tommy suddenly suggested as Joel sat at the table.

“Um, I’ll get it” you quickly stood up not wanting to be left alone with Joel.

“Oh you’re not afraid to go to the basement” Tommy teased making you playfully roll your eyes. You knew where the wine was, it wasn’t the first time you had wine with the Millers.

Joel watched as you made your way downstairs as Tommy and Sarah began clearing the table.

You stood in the basement quietly reading each bottle to yourself trying to decide which one you wanted when the lights suddenly went out.

“Tommy?!” You called out from the bottom of the stairs.

“Um the lights went out!” You yelled just as Tommy had his hands full with plates and cups.

“Shit” he whispered quickly looking over at Joel who stood up.

“I got it”

“Don’t be a dick” Tommy whispered as Joel made his way to the basement door.

Patiently waiting for Tommy to come downstairs, you heard what you thought was his footsteps and sighed in relief.

“Thank God, it’s creepy enough down here with lights let alone without any” you laughed waiting for him to reset the breakers. Once he did the lights went back on and that’s when you noticed who it was.

Joel stood a few feet away from you, his eyes on you before you quickly looked away.

“I thought you were Tommy”

“Sorry to disappoint you” he spoke low. Biting his lip he didn’t move from where he stood, having so much to say but not knowing where to start. This was the first time you were alone with him since that dreadful conversation you had with him at your front door and you didn’t know what to say. Still very hurt by things that were said you avoided conversation with him and quickly picked out a bottle and walked past him.

“I’m sorry” he uttered just as you reached the first step. You froze in silence but you didn’t turn back.

“I didn’t mean to hurt ya, I hope you can understand” you scoffed shaking your head. How were you suppose to be understanding to his sudden coldness?

“Doesn’t really matter now, does it” you responded before making your way up the stairs. Joel looked down just as you turned the door knob when you realized it was locked.

“Shit” you whispered to yourself, of course you had forgotten to hit the switch on the knob when you first came down to make sure it would stay unlocked. Joel looked up noticing you were having trouble opening the door and made his way up the stairs.

“What’s the matter?”

“I left the damn switch locked” you pulled at the handle as Joel chuckled crossing his arms.

“That ain’t gonna open it, darlin’”

“Tommy!” You slammed your hands on the door just wanting to get the hell out of there.

“Damn it” you whispered brushing your hand through your hair before taking a step back.

Joel noticed how anxious you became, just as he was about to speak when Tommy was heard on the other end.

“What’s the matter baby?”

“I left the switch locked by accident” you explained, you heard him fumbling with the door knob before he began to pull at it.

“Shit, the lock is jammed” Tommy could be heard saying making you sigh as Joel looked up.

“Hold on, let me get the tools from the truck to try and pry this door open” Tommy called out to you both. Rolling your eyes you made your way down the stairs as Joel followed. Your heart racing hearing him so close behind, the last thing you wanted was to stay alone with him.

“You alright?” Joel asked watching you pace back and forth.

“Yes” you lied.

“You forget I’ve know you for sometime-“

“Joel, stop. Just cause we’re locked in here doesn’t mean we have to talk-“ you suddenly gasped feeling a sharp jab to your hip. Joel instantly becoming concerned at the sight of blood on your hand. A nail sticking out of the wall had pinched you deep enough where your blood dripped onto the floor.

“Great” Joel quickly made his way to you and took a look. Not expecting him to have been so close you froze as he furrowed his brows getting a closer look at your wound.

“It’s fine, just a scratch”

“That ain’t just a scratch” Joel grabbed the first aid kit behind him and opened it on the table beside him.

“Oh no, I’m fine Joel I don’t need-“

“Pull up your shirt”

“Joel-“

“Pull it up” his eyes narrowed down on yours making you give in. Lifting it up you could see the damage much better and shook your head.

“This would happen to me” you watched as he grabbed a bottle of alcohol and immediately began to panic, you always hated applying alcohol on a wound.

“Isn’t there something else in there you can use?”

“No” he drenched a cotton ball with the liquid.

“I um-I don’t wanna use that”

“Well you’re gonna have to, unless ya want an infection” he responded casually.

“I really don’t like using alcohol on a wound, I don’t care if it makes me sound like a baby I can’t stand the feeling, I don’t wanna use it” he realized you were truly panicking about it as he looked up at you.

“Darlin’, that was a rusty nail that cut through you, pretty deep. I suggest ya let me do this to prevent an infection, it’ll be over before ya know it” you looked silently down at the cotton ball in his hand and sighed.

“On a count of three” he continued as you nodded and closed your eyes.

“1…2-“ unexpectedly Joel pressed the drenched cotton ball against your wound making you gasp and grab onto him. The intense stinging you felt, you hadn’t realized your hands were on his shoulders.

“You said on three!” You looked down at his hand still on your wound.

“Ok…that’s not that bad…” you took a deep breath as the stinging subsided before turning to Joel realizing his eyes had been locked on you. That’s when you noticed your hands on his shoulders and quickly pulled them away before Tommy’s voice distracted you both.

“I think I left the tool bag at the job today, I’m gonna ask our neighbor if he has something for now” Tommy called through the door.

“You go on, let Sarah know what’s goin’ on” Joel yelled back.

“Yeah, of course. You two alright?” Tommy asked a bit concerned.

“Yes, Im fine but I just cut myself on a nail-“

“Cut yourself?”

“She’s fine Tommy, I got her” Joel quickly interrupted. His eyes turning back to you as he spoke. How he wished he had you.

“Thanks, Joel. I’ll be right back”

Joel proceeded to grab tape and patch up your small wound to stop it from bleeding. Once he was done, he lowered your shirt and looked up at you.

“All done”

“Thank you” you whispered as you awkwardly looked away. The silence was loud, it was obvious there was a lot that was unsaid. Joel silently packing up the first aid kit when he broke the silence with an unexpected question.

“Do ya love him?” He blurt out making you look up at him.

“What?” You chuckled anxiously.

“You heard me” he looked directly into your eyes.

“Do ya love him?”

“Why do you care? That’s none of your business, just like you loving Sarah’s mother is none of mine-“

“I don’t” his response wasn’t one you expected. Joel was losing his patience, his jealousy eating at him, dying to know just how deep you two really were.

“Well that’s you” you stubbornly responded.

“You slept with him?” his question making your eyes widen but Joel almost seemed as if he was in a trance, focused on getting his answers.

“I beg your pardon?! You don’t get to ask me any of this, it’s none of your business” angrily you wanted to walk off but there was nowhere to go and he took advantage of that.

“How long have you been together for real? Cause from what it seems like to me-“

“Who the hell are you to say any of this?! We don’t need you permission to be together and you lost your chance to even know anything of me the day you threw me to the side like I never meant anything to your family-“

“I told you I was sorry, I know ya didn’t deserve that” He raised his voice loudly.

“Well sorry isn’t enough for you to think I’m suppose to act like nothing. I can’t believe you’re asking me any of this, as if you have a say”

“You wanna know why I’m asking you all of this?!” He stepped towards you making you take a step back.

“You wanna know why, sweetheart?” Too nervous to respond you swallowed hard and looked away feeling intimated by him.

“Because I love you.” Your heart stopped.

Joel had said something you never thought he would say, something you never even knew he felt.

“I fucking love you and I was too damn stupid to realize it before” yet for some reason you didn’t feel right hearing this. He threw you to the side after how much you had been there for him only to realize he was in love when his brother made a move.

This was an ego trip, at least it’s what it felt like.

“So now you realize you’ve been in love with the woman who’s been there for you, after you trashed her and found out your brother is fucking her?” You purposely lied using those words to hurt him, you and Tommy were never intimate as of yet still you wanted him to feel the hurt you felt and he did. His nostrils flared as his jaw tensed, his eyes directly looking into your cold ones. The thought of you sleeping with Tommy making him feel an anger he didn’t know he could ever feel. Still, he didn’t say a word, never breaking eye contact until Tommy appeared on the other side of the door.

“Ok guys, this should work” Joel turned away from you, walking angrily to the other side as his hands balled into tight fists when Tommy finally got the door opened.

“Finally” you whispered to see Tommy looking down at both of you.

“Hope I didn’t take too long” he called out to you both as you slowly made your way up the stairs holding your hip.

“Let me see this, you alright?” Joel heard his brother attend to you only pissing him off more. Tommy hugged you gently before leading you to the living room where you sat silently. You wanted to hurt Joel for what he made you feel before but little did he know you only conflicted yourself. Watching Tommy as he made sure you were comfortable, you felt guilty knowing after all this time you were still in love with Joel…

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octbrsaturn · 1 month ago

Text

flirt - rafe cameron

nice!rafe x reader college au warnings - smut, swearing, drinking summary - when rafe cameron finally takes an interest in you, you think its just another one of his one night stands

get comfy, grab a snack, because baby its longgger. i spent all day on this :) (hahaha ha ha h a) anyways, i wanted a nice, possibly even goofy rafe instead of him being batshit crazy all the time. so please forgive the personality change, we'll be back to our regularly scheduled programs soon.

━

when rafe cameron entered the room, everyone swooned. the football star of unc chapel hill, the hottest guy on campus, the flirt. everyone would gladly drop to their knees for him, except you.

it was like something was wrong with you. because you absolutely did not understand what everyone was always going on about over him.

sure, he was tall and handsome. he was good at football. but he seemed like a complete jerk.

you were a sophomore at unc, rafe was a junior. you’d become very familiar with the horror stories of being around and getting with rafe cameron.

he fucks girls then leaves them on read, picks fights for no reason, drinks way too much, and has a god awful ego.

you just did not get it.

at the party, in some worn out, dirty frat, you stood with your friends in a corner, people watching and giggling.

it had been a fun night so far, meeting new people and having a few too many shots.

but when rafe cameron and his friends walked into the room, everyone’s attention was on him.

you saw him, and wanted to scream ‘boooo’. rolling your eyes, you walked away from your enchanted friends towards the makeshift bar.

a drunk frat brother poured you another drink as your phone dinged. you went to check it, and when you looked back up, there he was, in all his materialistic glory.

“hey angel.” rafe lifted the corner of his lip, handing you the cup the brother just filled.

“thank you.” you smiled for only a second, hopefully fast enough he didn’t even see it, then started to walk away.

“hey, wait!” rafe called behind you, useless. you took a guess that tonight, it was your turn to be the special girl in rafe cameron’s life. you didn’t want that title.

your friends stared in bewilderment as rafe cameron stalks behind you, and pulls on your arm ever so gently to get you to turn around.

“what’s your name?” he asks, his face blank of any little smirk he had before.

“depends on who’s asking.” you shrug, taking a small sip of the juice from your cup. it was strong.

“me.” he clarified, a look on his face telling you should have already known that.

“oh. then, no.” you give him a sweet smile. he scoffs, shaking his head.

“and if it’s for my homeboy over there?” his long finger sticks out and points towards one of his friends, one you’d seen on campus before, but couldn’t put a name to his face.

“oh, if it’s for him, get him to come over here and i’ll tell him myself.”

“what’s your problem with me?” rafe’s face scrunched up, crossing his arms over his chest.

“i don’t have a problem, im just not interested.” you give him one last sickly sweet smile, before returning to the group of friends, patiently waiting to interrogate you.

it had only been a few days since your’s and rafe’s interaction. you hadn’t thought about it much, after getting home to your apartment and debriefing your friends, it had slipped out of your mind completely.

that was, until, you saw him walk into the coffee shop you were studying at.

immediately, you ducked your head, hoping not to get spotted.

he went up to the counter and ordered, fiddling with a straw in his hands, back turned to you.

you thought maybe he had missed you, so with a sigh of relief, you went back to your schoolwork.

“hi, angel.” you cringed at the voice. looking up, there he was.

he was wearing a bandana, tied around his head, some old carhart jacket. he had good style, you’ll give him that.

“oh, hey.” you tried your best to not sound so sincere.

“how’ve you been?” he asked, inviting himself to take a seat across from you.

“great. how about you?” his smile lit up his face, thinking he was finally getting somewhere with you.

he went to answer, when you cut him off, “i’m so sorry, i don’t know your name?” it came out more of a question, a dare.

his smile faltered for a second, and you took that as a win, before he stuck his hand out in between you two.

“i’m rafe cameron.” despite protests, you took his hand in yours to shake it, ignoring how much of a difference in size there was.

he raised his eyebrows, “your turn.”

“still not interested. lovely to see you, though.” you let go of his hand, putting your focus back into your schoolwork.

he scoffed, stood over you for a second, appearing to be looking at something on the table in front of you.

he chuckled, low, then bent down a bit. “i’ll see you later, yn.”

he picked up his coffee and walked out the door without a second glance. alarm bells were going off in your head. how could he possibly know your name?

you grabbed your cup to take a sip, and realization hit you like a brick. on the side of the plastic, your name was written in simple black sharpie.

recently, practice hadn’t been fun. especially since rafe realized the football team practices right next to the women’s soccer team. and also, since rafe found out you were on the women’s soccer team.

he’d made every effort to get your attention, calling your name and throwing footballs towards the soccer pitch, more or less annoying you. your teammates would squeal and giggle, and you groaned.

coach called practice, and as you were packing up your gear and getting ready to make the trek back to your locker rooms, you heard the distinctive voice from behind you.

“angel, how was practice?” you turned, seeing rafe, sweaty and red.

you probably looked the same at him. you’d been running on and off for two and a half hours today, you probably did not look your best. rafe would have disagreed.

“fine, thanks.” you wiped your face with a towel, taking your cleats off and finding your shoes.

“you know, when your face is all red like that, it makes me wonder what you look like when you’re getting f-” you hit rafe on the chest with the back of your hand.

“you’re appalling. does that line ever work on anyone?” you were completely disgusted by him right now, even if the thought did draw a little curiosity from you.

“sometimes. let me take you out on a date.” un phased, rafe cameron persists.

“why would i ever say yes after the comment you just made?” you laugh in his face, earning a shit eating grin from him.

“give me one chance. i don’t know what you think about me, but give me a chance to prove im not whatever it is.”

“no.”

“please, angel.” the way his voice upped an octave erupted thoughts, lot and lots of thoughts.

so, you’d finally give him a little bait to chew on for a while. “i'll think about it.”

with that, you left him standing by the benches. you rolled your eyes at the boy, but couldn’t help but smile.

three hours later you had a follow and dm from rafe cameron.

rafecam: have you thought about our date yet?

yourusername: no, not really

rafecam: come on angel

rafecam: one date is all i’m asking

yourusername: that’s all it’ll be since you’ll ghost me afterwards! it’s perfect!

rafecam: ohhh so that’s what you think

yourusername: the answer is no

rafecam: i’m not taking that for an answer

rafecam: it’s yes or yes

rafecam: i’ll be the perfect gentleman

rafecam: im the man of your dreams come onnnn

yourusername: you’re funny

rafecam: so does tuesday night sound good?

read

yourusername started following you!

deciding on something nice, but not too nice, you took your hair out of the rollers and sighed.

it’s your date with rafe tonight. you were feeling a lot of emotions.

you’d gone through rafe’s instagram the night he dmed you, had followed him back. there was even some 'get to know you' conversations somewhere in between.

pictures of his parents and sisters, his friends, pictures of them on a beach, all smiling. no pictures of him out at a party, or arms slung around girls. there was an image to maintain, though. the quarterback at unc, with forty thousand followers, of course he wasn’t going to post that.

you rolled your eyes and jumped up to show your roommate the black silk dress you were wearing for the dinner date at the fancy restaurant in town. anna was funny, bowing down in front of you like you were some god.

the doorbell to the apartment rang and your eyebrows furrowed. you thought, ‘no way he’d find a way to get up here, no way he’d find your apartment, no way he’d willingly come up here and ring my doorbell’.

but there he was, on the other side of the door, holding a small bouquet of your favorite flowers. your jaw almost dropped.

he was dressed nicely, a smile painted on his tanned features.

“how did you know where i live. and how do you know about the flowers?” you invited him in, giving him a undoubtedly suspicious look.

“don’t worry, angel. i have my ways,” he smirked, looking at your roommate. “hey anna.”

“oh, okay. got it. got it, thanks anna.” you shake your head, grinning as you put your head in your hands.

“we’ll put these in water then head out, yea?” rafe grabbed the scissors while you grabbed a vase to fill up with water, moving in perfect harmony.

the dinner went well, surprising you. he was a gentleman, like he had promised.

and as much as you hated yourself for it, you swooned, just like that.

his smile, and his jokes, and the lack of inappropriate ones. you thought maybe the bar was on the floor, right now you didn’t care. you could only thing about maybe, you could have been wrong about him.

he’d walked you back up to your apartment on the second floor, carrying his jacket and your heels over his shoulder as you walked together.

when you got to your door, it was unlocked, thank goodness, because you forgot your keys.

“these are yours. angel, i had a really good time. promise you’ll text me in the morning?” rafe asked as he held out your heels, a true, genuine look in his eye signaling he meant it.

you shrugged, love drunk, and pulled his arm so he fell inside with you. “we’ll see.”

he dropped the jacket and heels on one hump on the floor, grabbing around your waist and pulling you in.

the kiss was so desperate and rushed, but still gentle. one of his arms wrapped around your waist as you clung to his neck.

pulling apart, you grabbed his chin and lifted it upwards, placing light kisses on his neck, then sucking. his hands grabbed at your hips.

“you look so good. holy fuck, angel.” he returned the favor, kissing down your neck and shoulder, playing with the strap of your dress with his teeth.

you pulled him towards your room, and at first, he didn’t hesitate.

he faltered once you got to your door, pulling back from you.

“angel, i’ve wanted to fuck you since the moment i saw you, but i want to do this right.”

you were taken aback, not believing the words that were coming out of rafe cameron's mouth. you almost thought he was kidding, letting out a anxious chuckle, met with a confused stare.

"did you just say no to sex?" you questioned. he nodded, looking just as surprised by himself as you were.

he doesn't fucking like me, you thought. how could you be so stupid? of course, of course rafe cameron doesn't want you the same way you want him. do it right? what does that even mean?

and there it was, surprising you again, because since when did you want rafe? have feelings for rafe?

"okay, um well, goodnight, then." you tried, tucking your hair behind your ears and grabbing your heels from the ground.

"okay. goodnight, angel." he took a step forward to try and kiss you, but you crossed your arms over your chest and shook your head.

he faltered, heart shooting out of his chest. the one time he tries to treat a girl right, and he's fucked that up, too. he grabbed his jacket, stood up straight, gave you one last look and closed the door behind him.

rafe: good morning

rafe: do u maybe want to get coffee with me

rafe: or i could get it and bring it to u

read

rafe: helllllloooooo

read

rafe: angel what's goin on

rafe: text me back yn

read

it had been three days since you spoke to rafe. it'd been three weeks since you met him, officially. your emotions had been twisted, confusing. he’d been gone for an away football game. he stopped texting you after that.

you watched the game with your roommate anna, rafe throwing pick after pick, completely off his game. you sighed, hoping that the small flame inside trying to convince you you're the reason he keeps messing up is wrong.

the game ended, they won by one point. the team cheered on the field as number forty six walked off the field, helmet in hand and head hung low.

rafe: can you please talk to me

rafe: i would take you telling me you hate me over this

you: can you come over?

rafe: be there in ten

he was there in seven minutes, actually. looks of hesitation painting his features when you opened the door for him.

"you've been okay? you didn't text me back on wednesday."

"yea, we should talk about that." you nodded. his face slumped, he looked defeated.

"what? what is it, angel?" he took a step towards you.

"listen, i really only said yes to that date so you'd leave me alone," rafe felt a little bit liked he'd been punched. "but that entire date i felt so good, and i was honestly just fine with having one night with you and never speaking to you again. but then you said you didn't want to and whatever you meant by that, i'm not sure, but it, like, threw me off." you rambled, arms crossed over your chest in defense.

"i wasn't gonna have sex with you if it meant i never talked to you again." his blue eyes hidden under thick lashes, unable for you to get a good read on them.

"but rafe, thats like all you're known f-" your hands went up in defeat as you tried to finish your statement.

"was, it was. i wish you'd just talk to me instead, angel. but this-" he waves a finger between you two- "is different. i don't know if its because you give me shit every time i try to flirt with you or that you're just unlike anyone i've ever met, i don't fucking know. but id rather give this an actual try than pretend i could treat you like you didn't mean something more."

speechless, thats what you were. taking two steps forward and pulling him in. he tasted like mint gum, smelled like wood and vanilla. his lips parted, letting you familiarize yourself with his mouth.

he pulled back, "go on another date with me?" you laughed, then nodded, then pulled him back into you.

he pulled back again, "be my girlfriend?"

"you're pushing it, rafe." giving him a peck on the lips.

"well, just using my logic, here. if you're my girlfriend, then that means were giving it a try and we can fuck all we want." he shrugged, a hand finding its way under your t-shirt and onto your hip.

"you sound insane. ask me again later." you whispered into him, pulling him into your room, this time he didn't budge. rafe cameron, in your small, student housing bedroom, pulling your shirt off.

he kissed your neck, bit at the spots he'd sucked, picking you up and rolling onto the bed with you, earning a laugh from you.

you grabbed the hem of his shirt and tugged it up, rafe helping you out. your hands found their way to his upper arms, he closed his eyes and flexed under your touch, almost unconsciously.

"you look so pretty, angel. always do." he whispered, leaned down to kiss you again. he pulled your thin, loungewear bra to the side, let out a quiet groan, and kissed.

and he would have done anything to hear that small moan from you for the first time again. your hand reaches up to grab his hair as one nipple is in his mouth, the other being rubbed between his fingertips.

"angel, you want this as bad as i do?" he looked up at you, watched you nod, and smiled, kissing down to your naval.

lifting your lips, he slid the shorts off you, then his sweatpants next.

he lined himself up, pushing into you slowly, memorizing the sound of your gasps and moans. surely, this is what heaven felt like. sounded like. "holy fuck."

two strong arms landed on each side of your head as he slid in and out of you.

his words came out all incoherent, with a lot of 'please', 'angel', and 'pretty''s thrown in there.

this wasn't the kind of sex you'd have with rafe, you thought it would be more rough, not sweet and caring.

your eyes closed, his hand flying to your face, gripping your chin. "open your eyes, pretty girl. i wanna see you. wanna see whats mine." you let out a moan, clenching around him, too deep in pleasure to care that rafe knew you liked that.

"say it." rafe moaned, his pace fastening, a steady hand still on your face.

"im yours, rafe." he pulled you up as you gasped for the millionth time. now, riding him, your face was an inch above his, his features looked perfect under the sunlight.

"are you mine?" you got out, in between moans.

"since the first time i ever laid eyes on you. all yours, angel."

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