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rafeobx · 19 days ago

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ALL TOO WELL

pair: ex!rafe x maybank!pogue!reader

MASTERLIST

ninth part of I LOVE YOU, IM SORRY

plot: y/n pours herself into work at the club, trying to create a semblance of normalcy, but rafe's presence becomes a phantom. she still avoids him, ducking into back rooms or taking long routes to avoid crossing paths. but then, she starts finding things. not grand gestures, but small, meaningful items left discreetly for her. a rare, out-of-season flower tucked into her locker. a specific type of tea or snack she used to love, left on the counter where she'd see it. each one is a silent apology, a reminder that he's still thinking of her, still trying to reach her.

warnings: FLASHBACK of abuse. PLEASE do not interact if your aren't comfortable.

note: this part of the story contains EXTREMELY serious and triggering topics. i just wanna put it out there that i ONLY included it because the leading female oc is a maybank. THIS SERIES WAS NEVER MEANT TO HAVE THE MAIN FEM OC PORTRAYED AS THE READER BUT SINCE THIS STARTED AS A ONE SHOT, SO I HAD TO KEEP IT AS Y/N. FACE CLAIM IS UP TO YOUR OWN INTERPRETATION.

idk if youve caught on yet but i have chosen olivia holt as the face claim but feel free to keep whoever you want as the fc!

the kook party, rafe’s face, her own desperate scream – it all replayed in y/n’s mind on an endless, agonizing loop. the suffocating exposure of her deepest secret was a physical weight on her chest, heavy and constricting, making every breath feel shallow.

she hadn't gone back to john b’s. the thought of their pity, their worried questions, the sheer knowing in their eyes, was unbearable. she had fled, driven by an instinct for solitude and a perverse desire to seek out the source of her pain, finding herself at the familiar, eerie silence of her old house.

it was empty now, stripped of her father’s menacing presence, but still reeked of stale air and forgotten grief.

she had collapsed onto the dusty living room floor, pulling her knees to her chest, the tremors in her body finally taking hold as silent tears streamed down her face.

exhaustion, shame, and a searing anger at rafe for pushing her to that breaking point consumed her. she’d ignored the frantic buzz of her phone, knowing it was the pogues, their worried faces a blur in her mind. she needed to disappear. she needed to become invisible again.

days bled into a blur of self-imposed isolation and grueling shifts at the club. she poured herself into work, scrubbing tables with a ferocity that bordered on violence, polishing glasses until they gleamed, hoping the sheer physical exertion would numb the raw wound festering inside her.

it was a desperate attempt to create a semblance of normalcy, a barrier between herself and the devastating reality of her exposed past. but even here, rafe’s presence became a phantom, an unsettling awareness that clung to the periphery of her senses.

she didn’t see him, not directly, but she felt his attempts to penetrate her carefully constructed wall of silence. she’d duck into back rooms at the slightest hint of a familiar figure, take long, circuitous routes to avoid crossing paths in the corridors, her heart hammering with a mixture of dread and a strange, unwelcome curiosity.

she knew he was trying to find her, had heard from john b that he’d even shown up at the chateau, only to be met with the cold, protective anger of her brother. his persistence, even in her absence, was a constant, irritating hum beneath her skin.

then, it started.

small things, at first, easily dismissed as coincidence. one morning, after a particularly late closing shift, she found a small, potted jasmine plant tucked beside the front door of her old house. its white blossoms, just beginning to open, seemed almost impossibly delicate against the weathered wood.

her first thought was that john b or sarah had left it, a quiet gesture of comfort, but the placement felt… different. too deliberate, too subtle. she brought it inside, a flicker of something she couldn't name stirring within her.

a few days later, after a grueling double shift, she walked into the staff room at the club, her head pounding, and saw a box of a specific, obscure brand of herbal tea sitting on the counter.

it was the exact kind she used to love, the one her mother had always sworn by for sleepless nights, a brand so niche she hadn't seen it in years. she froze, her hand hovering over it.

no one else at the club drank that. no one else even knew she liked it.

a cold knot of suspicion tightened in her stomach. it couldn't be random. it felt too specific, too personal. she didn't touch it, leaving it there, but the image of the box, with its familiar faded label, burned into her mind.

the silent gestures continued, each one a tiny, almost imperceptible chip at the fortress she’d built around herself.

a specific brand of artisanal coffee she’d once mentioned she liked, left in a small, discreet bag on her car seat. a bag of her favorite, slightly unusual, salty snack, placed on the counter in the kitchen of her old house, as if by magic.

she tried to rationalize them away – a thoughtful pogue, a random act of kindness from a coworker, a forgotten item from a previous occupant. but the sheer specificity, the quiet, almost stealthy way they appeared, began to erode her denial.

a cold dread, mixed with a reluctant, grudging curiosity, started to replace her initial anger.

he was out there. he was watching. and he was trying to reach her.

her anger, once a searing, protective flame, began to dissipate, replaced by a profound weariness. the sheer persistence, the quiet, almost desperate nature of his attempts, chipped away at her defenses.

it wasn't forgiveness, not yet, but a grudging respect for his relentless, unspoken pursuit. he wasn't yelling, he wasn't demanding, he wasn't even showing his face. he was just… there, in these small, thoughtful, almost painfully precise gestures.

it was a language she understood, a quiet acknowledgment of the little things about her, things she hadn't realized he'd even noticed. it was unsettling, but undeniably effective. it made her pause, made her think, made her question the absolute certainty of her hatred.

one evening, after another particularly grueling shift, she walked out to her car, the humid air heavy and still. her eyes, tired and scanning the familiar surroundings out of habit, caught on something on her windshield.

she stopped dead in her tracks.

there, glinting faintly in the dim light, was a small, worn, smooth piece of sea glass. it was deep, vibrant blue, almost indigo, like the deepest ocean depths.

she knew it instantly. this wasn't just a piece of sea glass. this was the piece. the one he’d given her. the one she thought she’d lost, or perhaps, deliberately forgotten when she'd left — it had been too hard to keep, knowing she was leaving him behind without any warning.

as she picked it up, its familiar coolness sent a jolt through her, a visceral, electric current that bypassed her defenses and went straight to her core. her breath hitched.

it was a symbol, a memory, a silent, profound understanding that had once existed between them, now resurrected, undeniable, and clutched in her trembling hand.

flashback:

y/n had picked up extra shifts at a kook party, one that, rafe, her secret boyfriend, happened to be at. she already had a job at the club but she needed extra money to pay off rent, especially after luke had been arrested.

she was seventeen and about to turn eighteen, rafe was nineteen. they had snuck away, drawn by the moonlit beach. he'd been quieter than usual that night, frustrated with ward, and she'd found herself doing most of the talking, sharing her own quiet anxieties about her dad.

they were sitting close, shoulders almost touching, just watching the waves. he found the shard of blue sea glass, polished smooth by years of the ocean's relentless tumbling. he turned it over and over in his palm. "you know what this is?" he'd murmured, his voice low, his gaze fixed on the glass, not her.

"it's broken, right? but the ocean--it takes the sharp edges, makes it something beautiful again. transforms it." he then looked up, his stormy blue eyes, usually so guarded, incredibly raw and direct as they met hers.

"that's what you do, for me. you take my sharp edges." he’d gently pressed the sea glass into her hand, his fingers brushing hers, a spark passing between them that felt like a silent, profound understanding. "hold onto it," he’d whispered, his eyes lingering on hers. "so you don't forget you can do that for yourself, too. you can always find your way back to beautiful."

in that moment, surrounded by the vastness of the ocean, she realized she loved him, deeply and irrevocably, a feeling that solidified in her chest with breathtaking clarity.

he saw her, truly saw her, even when she felt most broken, and he offered a piece of himself that was fragile and real.

end of flashback

she didn't seek him out, but the sea glass stayed clutched in her hand, its cool surface a stark counterpoint to the sudden, complicated heat that flared in her chest. she sighed, placing the sea glass gently in her pocket.

she sighed, placing the sea glass gently in her pocket. the cool, smooth stone was a phantom limb against her thigh, a constant, tangible reminder of the memory that had just ripped through her, leaving her exposed and trembling.

the raw, guttural anger she’d clung to for days, the bitter satisfaction of her self-imposed isolation – it all felt fragile now, exposed to a light she hadn't wanted to shine on it.

the memory of rafe, his stormy blue eyes raw and direct, telling her she took his sharp edges, telling her she could always find her way back to beautiful – it was like a long-forgotten melody, beautiful and devastating in its sudden resurgence.

she loved him. the truth of it, the simple, undeniable depth of that feeling, solidified in her chest with breathtaking clarity, mirroring the moment it had first bloomed on that moonlit beach.

it was a love that had been buried under layers of betrayal, trauma, and a desperate need for self-preservation, but it was there, stubbornly persistent, a root that had refused to wither even in the harshest emotional drought.

the thought of confronting him, of seeking him out, was still terrifying. her mind screamed caution, reminding her of the suffocating weight of his presence at the party, the way he had relentlessly pushed until her darkest secret was laid bare for everyone to see.

the humiliation of that night, the vulnerable exposure, still burned. but then there were the jasmine flowers, the specific tea, the artisanal coffee, the obscure snacks – a quiet parade of gifts, each one a testament to his persistent presence, his meticulous observation, and a silent, desperate plea.

he hadn’t stopped. he hadn’t given up, even when she slammed doors in his face, even when her brother had probably threatened him.

this wasn't the impulsive, entitled rafe she knew, the one who usually just took what he wanted. this was something different, something softer, something that mirrored the fragile, real part of him he’d shown her on that beach, the part that now pleaded for understanding.

her legs felt heavy as she finally pulled herself into her car. the engine rumbled to life, a stark contrast to the buzzing chaos inside her head.

she drove, not towards her old house, nor towards the familiar chaos of the chateau, but aimlessly, letting the familiar winding roads of the island guide her, each turn a new question mark in her mind.

what did this mean?

could she forgive him?

could she ever truly trust him again, after he had caused her such profound public humiliation and pain?

he hadn't just exposed her; he had forced her to relive a nightmare in front of everyone. but then, the sea glass pressed against her leg, and the memory of his raw vulnerability returned.

he had seen her, truly seen her, even when she felt most broken. and in that moment, when he’d whispered those words, he had offered a piece of himself that was fragile and real, a piece that contradicted the kook prince persona he so often wore.

he had offered her comfort, and then he had caused her immense pain. the paradox was almost unbearable.

she pulled over at an isolated overlook, the moonlight painting the restless ocean in shades of silver and black. the air was thick with the scent of pine and salt, the distant murmur of the waves a familiar lullaby.

she pulled the sea glass from her pocket, holding it up, letting the faint light catch its deep blue. this was his apology, she realized.

not just for the fight, not just for pushing her, but for everything.

it was his unspoken promise that he remembered that night, that he remembered the girl she was then, the girl he saw, and that he wanted to fix the brokenness, just as the ocean smoothed sharp edges.

but she was still broken. the trauma of her past, the secret she'd held so tightly, was now exposed. would he truly understand the weight of that? could he protect her from it, or would he inadvertently expose her again?

the fear was still a living thing inside her, a coil of dread that tightened whenever she considered letting anyone too close. yet, the persistent, gentle nature of his gestures had bypassed her defenses in a way no direct confrontation ever could.

he wasn't demanding anything. he was simply offering, consistently, silently, and with an almost painful understanding of the small, specific things that resonated with her.

it chipped away at her resolve, creating fissures in the wall she'd painstakingly built.

she sat there for what felt like hours, the cool sea glass a grounding weight in her palm. the path forward was murky, obscured by fear and the lingering sting of betrayal.

yet, there was also a fragile, blossoming hope, a tiny flicker of warmth that she hadn’t allowed herself to feel in days. it wasn't the passionate, reckless love of their first secret kisses, but something deeper, more complicated, born from shared vulnerability and now, surprisingly, from his quiet, desperate attempts at atonement.

she hadn't forgotten the pain, not by a long shot. she remembered it all too well, but she couldn't deny that the gestures, culminating in this single, significant piece of sea glass, had shifted something profound within her.

the question was no longer if he cared, but what she was going to do about it. the night air was cool against her feverish skin, and for the first time in days, y/n felt the daunting, terrifying, almost exhilarating possibility of a choice.

the familiar, ramshackle door of the chateau swung open under her hesitant touch, revealing a chaotic burst of light, muffled laughter, and music that abruptly cut short.

silence descended, thick and sudden. all five faces turned towards her – john b, pope, jj, sarah, and cleo. their expressions shifted from stunned disbelief to overwhelming relief, then to a cascade of raw emotion.

jj was across the room in an instant, his arms crushing her in a hug so tight it stole her breath. "y/n! you're back! where the hell have you been?!" his voice was thick with a mix of anger, fear, and profound relief.

sarah, tears already streaming down her face, pulled her into another embrace, softer, but just as desperate. "we were so worried! we thought. . .we thought you left." she trailed off, unable to articulate the unspoken fear that had haunted them.

pope and cleo came closer, their eyes wide with concern, a silent testament to the days of frantic searching and unanswered calls.

y/n could only cling to them, burying her face in jj’s shoulder, letting the familiar scent of salt and cheap beer ground her. she felt the knot in her stomach begin to loosen, just a fraction.

she didn’t have words, not yet, for any of it – for her disappearance, for the nightmares, for rafe, for the sea glass burning a hole in her pocket. but as they enveloped her, their presence a solid, comforting wall against the chaos of her own mind, she knew she had come to the right place.

later that night, the initial flurry of relief had settled into a quieter, more intimate atmosphere. pizza boxes lay scattered on the floor, the lingering scent of stale beer hung in the air, but the music had been turned off, replaced by the low hum of the ceiling fan.

sarah and john b had gone to crash on john b’s bed, exhausted from the worry. pope and cleo were murmuring quietly by the kitchen, probably debating some obscure historical fact or planning their next treasure hunt.

it was a comfortable, familiar noise, but it left the living room, and more importantly, the couch where y/n sat, feeling vast and empty in comparison.

jj, who had barely let her out of his sight, moved to sit beside her, his arm casually draped over her shoulder, a silent anchor.

he was closer now, their knees almost touching, his breathing a steady rhythm beside her. the others, though still nearby, felt a world away. this was their space, their shared quiet.

it was jj, of course, who finally broke the delicate truce that had existed since her arrival. his voice, usually laced with sarcasm and bravado, was uncharacteristically soft, almost a whisper, as if the words themselves were too heavy for the humid night air.

his gaze was fixed on the worn carpet, not meeting her eyes, but she could feel the weight of his question before he even fully formed it.

he knew the truth, he'd been there, had heard her raw scream across the kook party. he knew the core of it, but not the devastating specifics she'd kept locked away.

"y/n," he started, his fingers tracing aimless patterns on her arm, the casual touch doing little to hide the tremor in his hand. "when you-- what you told rafe that night. about dad. how--how did it happen?"

his voice was barely audible on the last words, choked with a mixture of disbelief, pain, and a chilling, gut-wrenching understanding that mirrored her own buried trauma.

he was the only one who truly knew the depth of their father’s cruelty, who had lived through it, too, albeit in different ways. his hand, which had been resting lightly on her arm, tightened, a desperate plea for her to unburden herself, to share the terrifying specifics of the nightmare he now understood had almost consumed her.

the question hit her like a physical blow, even though she’d known it was coming, even though she knew he, of all people, deserved to know. the very air around them seemed to thicken, pressing down on her.

the raw truth, the one she'd tried to bury for so long, the one rafe had dragged into the light, now demanded to be acknowledged by the one person whose knowing would break her completely, but also, perhaps, begin to heal her.

she felt the sea glass in her pocket, cool against her skin, a sudden, paradoxical weight. it was the proof of rafe’s regret, yes, but also the symbol of the very thing that had brought this horrifying, necessary question to jj's lips.

her throat tightened, words seizing up, caught between the crushing need to tell him everything and the paralyzing fear of reliving it, of seeing the full, devastating impact of her trauma reflected in her brother's eyes.

this wasn't just a confession; it was an unveiling of a shared wound, finally laid bare between them, a moment that would either bind them closer than ever or shatter them both.

her mind reeled, the present fading into a sickening, familiar darkness. it was a year ago, maybe more. the exact date was a blur, obscured by the haze of terror and the passage of time.

all she knew was the feeling, the suffocating fear, the cold grip of a man who should have been her protector.

flashback:

the house had been quiet, too quiet, a sign that her father was either passed out or brewing.

she had been in the kitchen, carefully heating up some leftover rice, trying to make it last, the meager warmth of the stove a small comfort in the desolate space.

the scent of stale beer and desperation usually clung to the air, but tonight it was sharper, laced with something metallic and acrid.

she should have known. she always knew.

he had lumbered in, a shadow against the dim light from the living room, his form distorted by the whiskey he’d been nursing all day.

his eyes, usually clouded by drunkenness, were clear tonight, chillingly so, and focused on her with a predatory intensity that made her stomach clench. he didn't yell, not at first. he simply stared, a slow, malevolent smile spreading across his face.

"thought you could hide," he'd slurred, his voice low, a menacing rumble. "thought you could just... leave." she remembered the incident from earlier that day, a minor argument about her coming home late, escalating into him hitting jj, then her intervening.

she had probably said something sharp, something defiant. she always did. he hated defiance.

his smile vanished. his jaw tightened, a muscle jumping in his cheek. with a sudden, terrifying swiftness, he lunged, his hand slamming onto the countertop beside her, the cheap laminate cracking under the impact.

the rice bowl shattered, sending hot grains scattering across the floor. he didn't touch her yet, but his presence was overwhelming, his rage a tangible heat.

"you think you're better than me, huh?" he spat, his voice rising now, a guttural snarl vibrating with a venomous aggression she knew all too well. "you think you can just walk away from me? you're nothing! just like him!" he backhanded her across the face then, a sharp, stinging blow that snapped her head to the side, her ear ringing.

"dad, please," she choked out, already trying to back away, her voice barely a whisper against his escalating fury. "stop. what are you doing?"

he seized her arm, his fingers like iron bands, twisting, pulling her from the kitchen. she stumbled, falling, and he didn't care, simply hauled her up again, pushing her roughly against the wall of the narrow foyer, her head thudding against the plaster.

"don't you dare tell me what to do!" he roared, his face inches from hers, reeking of alcohol and malice. his eyes, burning with a terrifying, unfocused rage, seemed to bore into her soul. "you think you can defy me?" his grip tightened on her arm, squeezing until her fingers went numb. "dad! you're hurting me!" she cried, but it only seemed to fuel him. then, with a sudden, horrifying lurch, his other hand shot up, his thick fingers locking around her throat.

the world tilted. her breath hitched, trapped in her windpipe as his grip tightened with terrifying force. he shoved her back against the wall again, her head snapping against the plaster once more.

his face was contorted, a mask of pure, unadulterated hatred, his eyes gleaming with a sick triumph. she clawed at his hands, nails tearing at his skin, but his grip was relentless, crushing.

her vision began to tunnel, sounds fading, and a terrifying blackness started to creep in from the edges. her lungs screamed, burning, desperate for air that wouldn't come. "d-dad..." she tried to whisper, a mangled, pathetic sound that was swallowed by the pressure.

panic seized her, an icy wave washing over the rising heat of suffocation. she thrashed, her legs flailing wildly, desperately trying to find purchase, anything to push against.

just when her limbs felt heavy and useless, just when the blackness threatened to consume her entirely, her knee connected with something hard and soft at the same time – his groin.

a guttural roar ripped from him, and his hands, finally, loosened, if only for a second. it was all she needed. with a gasping, desperate lunge fueled by pure survival instinct, she ripped free, sucking in a ragged, burning breath that tore at her throat.

she didn't look back. she didn't hesitate. she just ran. straight for the front screen door, fumbling with the lock, bursting out into the humid night. she ran until her lungs burned and her legs gave out, until she collapsed, gasping and shaking, hidden in the thick undergrowth of the marsh nearby, the pressure of his hands still on her throat.

the image of his face, contorted with murderous intent, burned into her mind. she stayed there for hours, trembling, until the first light of dawn. when she finally moved, it wasn't with a plan to return, but to grab her things and get out of the outer banks for good. she made her way, bruised and broken, to the only safe harbor she knew – john b's chateau, a temporary refuge before she truly vanished.

she wasn't thinking for rafe, she wasn't thinking for jj, she wasn't thinking for her friends or her dad. for the first time in her life, she was thinking for herself.

end of flashback

she hadn't realized she’d been holding her breath, or that the tears were streaming down her face, hot and silent. jj’s face, blurry at first, sharpened into focus, his own eyes wide with a profound, aching understanding. he hadn't moved.

his hand was still on her arm, trembling, but his gaze was unwavering, filled with a quiet, fierce protectiveness. she hadn't spoken a single word, but the vividness of the flashback, the raw emotion that had overtaken her, must have painted the picture clear as day for him.

the shared history of their father, the unspoken language of their trauma, had allowed him to witness her nightmare without her having to utter a sound.

he leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead, a silent promise of solidarity. he then pulled her close again, tucking her head under his chin, his embrace a secure, comforting cocoon.

"i got you, sis," he murmured, his voice rough with suppressed emotion, but steady. "always." she clung to him, finally letting out the sobs she had been holding back for days, weeks, years, the familiar scent of salt and cheap beer a strange anchor in her storm.

slowly, the tremors in her body subsided, and her sobs dwindled to quiet sniffles. he continued to hold her, their silence a deeper conversation than any words could convey, a profound understanding passing between them without need for further articulation.

the sea glass in her pocket felt heavy, a reminder of the other person who saw her brokenness, but for now, in the arms of her brother, only the raw, shared grief existed, tempered by the unbreakable bond between them.

the confession, though silent on her part, had been made. and the fragile healing, she realized, had just begun. the sea glass in her pocket, a cold echo of rafe's unspoken apology, felt less like a burden and more like path. a path she now saw, clearly, stretched out before her, and which, deep down, she knew she had already chosen to walk.

HEY guys! since this fic is almost over i would loveee to write more fics for you guys! let me know what you guys would like too see and any requests for fics or one shots you may have! i kind of wanna do a drew starkey one??? idk let me know what you guys think!

TAGLIST!

@mirellef2001 @kieeslove @wtfisastiles @l4vstrr @cycloneperson

@meetmeintheemeraldpool @xoxosblogsblog

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rafeobx · 20 days ago

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saw this on tik tok and giggled, thought my blog should see it too💖

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rafeobx · 20 days ago

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I KNOW THE END

pair: ex!rafe x maybank!pogue!reader

MASTERLIST

eight part to I LOVE YOU, IM SORRY

plot: after y/n's raw confession, rafe is shattered. the anger completely replaced by a gut-wrenching realization of the depth of her pain. he's consumed by a powerful yearning to undo the hurt he caused by pushing her to that point. he withdraws from his usual kook life, unable to engage in its superficiality, and spends days trying to process, replaying every interaction with her, seeing her past pain in a new, agonizing light. y/n, however, is overwhelmed by the exposure. she can't face anyone, especially rafe. instead of returning to john b's, she seeks refuge at her house, now empty of her father's presence, but still filled with ghosts of its own.

warnings: you MAY hate me after this 💔 but i just love angst

note: none ;)

rafe was frozen, the echo of her words rattling through him like a gunshot. the anger he'd felt minutes before, the possessive jealousy, evaporated, replaced by a gut-wrenching realization of the depth of her pain. he saw her tear-streaked face, not as a defiant pogue, not as an adversary, but as a terrified, wounded girl carrying an unspeakable burden. he replayed every interaction, every sharp word he’d thrown, every dismissive glance, and a wave of profound guilt washed over him, making him physically nauseous. he remembered her flinching away from unexpected touches, her sudden silences, the way she clung to the pogues – it all made a horrifying, sickening sense now.

he had pushed her.

he had provoked her.

he had made her expose the very thing that broke her.

the party's music, once a dull thrum, now grated on his ears. he stumbled away from the garden, past laughing kooks who seemed oblivious to the universe-shattering truth he’d just heard.

he couldn't stay. he couldn't breathe. he got into his car and drove aimlessly for hours, the humid night air offering no relief, his mind a whirlwind of torment.

his usual kook haunts, the country club, the docks, even home, felt suffocating, their superficiality a stark contrast to the raw, violent reality y/n had just laid bare.

and the unbearable thought of what he would have done if she had died that nigh twisted his stomach into knots.

he tried the chateau first, the next morning. it was quiet.

john b answered, jj behind him, his eyes shooting daggers while sarah stared at rafe, a look of concern on her face.

his face creased with worry and etched with undisguised contempt. "she's not here, rafe," john b said, his voice flat and cold. "didn't come back last night. what did you think would happen after you pushed her like that? we've been trying to find her." rafe just shook his head, unable to meet john b's accusing gaze.

he mumbled something vague and made his escape. his mind raced. where would she go if not to them, if not anywhere familiar? and then it hit him: her old house.

he drove by cautiously, his heart hammering against his ribs. lights were on. acfaint silhouette moved behind a window.

she was there.

relief, sharp and painful, flooded him. he parked down the street, hidden by the overgrown oaks, and waited. he watched as she moved, a solitary figure in the silent house. his chest ached with an unfamiliar empathy.

he yearned to go to her, to fall to his knees and beg forgiveness, to just hold her. but he knew, instinctively, that she wouldn't let him. not yet. she was a wounded animal, and he was the one who'd cornered her.

he tried the next day. he parked, walked up the dusty path, and knocked tentatively on the door. he heard movement inside, a slight pause, then...nothing.

he knocked again, softer. "y/n?" he called, his voice rough with emotion. "it's-- it's rafe. please. can we just talk?"

silence.

he waited, for minutes that stretched into an eternity, until he heard the faint click of a lock, and the shuffling of feet moving away from the door. she was there, she was listening, but she was avoiding him.

he tried a few more times over the next couple of days, each attempt met with the same calculated avoidance. her car would be there, a light might be on, but she would never open the door, never acknowledge his presence.

her refusal to engage, her desperate need for distance, only deepened his yearning to break through her pain, to make her see that he understood, that he wouldn't hurt her again. he had to find another way.

the constant rejections, the slammed door of her silence, drove him to a new level of quiet desperation. he knew confronting her again, or even speaking, was futile for now.

she wouldn’t hear him; she was too deeply wounded, too guarded. he spent hours simply sitting in his truck, parked down the street from her house, watching the distant glow of her lights, trying to discern her patterns.

he noticed the precise time she left for work, the way she hurried, head down, to her car, almost as if she expected him.

he saw the rare moments she stepped out onto the porch, hugging herself, looking out at the empty street with an expression of profound loneliness. Every glimpse fueled his internal torment, his conviction that he had to reach her.

he started visiting the places they used to go, the quiet spots on the beach, the forgotten overlooks where they'd sometimes sneak away from kook gatherings that he would drag her to just so he could see her.

he walked the paths, retracing their steps, memories hitting him like physical blows.

he wasn't looking for her there, not exactly, but for a piece of the connection they once had, a clue to how to bridge the chasm he'd created.

he found himself standing at the edge of a small, overgrown cove, barely visible from the main road – a true neutral territory between the kook estates and the cut.

it was where they’d shared their first kiss, in secret, months before everything fell apart. the air had been thick that night with salt and the heady scent of night-blooming jasmine.

he remembered the hesitant way she'd met his gaze, the unspoken understanding that this was something deeply forbidden, something risky. he was a kook, the son of ward cameron. she was a pogue, jj's sister.

their worlds weren't supposed to mix like that. he’d leaned in, slowly, giving her every chance to pull away, but she hadn't. her lips had been soft, a tentative answer to his unspoken question.

it wasn't fireworks, not then, but a quiet, profound hum that had settled deep in his chest. it was the thrill of defying expectations, of finding something real and untainted by the chaos of his own life, in the least likely person imaginable. and it was all their secret.

the memory was a sharp, painful ache, not just for the purity of that moment, but for the stark contrast to their present. she had seen him, truly seen him, even his jagged edges. he had seen her, too, fragile beneath her strength.

but now, he was the one who had shattered her.

he stood there, the salt spray on his face doing nothing to cool the burning regret in his chest. each place he visited, each memory it unlocked, only solidified the vastness of the space between them now, and the crushing weight of his failure.

this wasn't just about guilt anymore; it was about a profound emptiness without her, a constant, sharp ache. he was lost, adrift in a world that felt meaningless without the faint possibility of her forgiveness, of her seeing him as anything but the monster who had ripped open her deepest wound. he had to find a way to show her, without words, that he was different, that he understood, that he truly regretted everything.

that he loved her.

this part was a LOT shorter than usual but the next two chaps are the last ones and will be longer! AND COMING SOON

TAGLIST!

@mirellef2001 @kieeslove @wtfisastiles @l4vstrr @cycloneperson

@meetmeintheemeraldpool @xoxosblogsblog

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rafeobx · 21 days ago

Text

FREE NOW

pair: ex!rafe x maybank!pogue!reader

DISCLAIMER: this part of the story contains EXTREMELY serious and triggering topics. i just wanna put it out there that i ONLY included it because the leading female oc is a maybank. THIS SERIES WAS NEVER MEANT TO HAVE THE MAIN FEM OC PORTRAYED AS THE READER BUT SINCE THIS STARTED AS A ONE SHOT, SO I HAD TO KEEP IT AS Y/N. FACE CLAIM IS UP TO YOUR OWN INTERPRETATION.

plot: you and the pogues decide to crash a kook party at the thornton's house, but things quickly go south when rafe gets jealous and you finally tell him the truth.

MASTERLIST

seventh part to I LOVE YOU, IM SORRY

warnings: PARENTAL ABUSE, I KNOW i said it would get happier BUT....i lied💔💔.

the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in fiery hues of orange and purple, a masterpiece unfurling over the obx. you leaned back against the weathered railing of the chateau dock, the familiar creak of the wood a comforting rhythm beneath your palms. around you, the easy hum of the pogues filled the air – pope and cleo meticulously coiling a fishing line, jj attempting to skip rocks with an alarming lack of success, kie sketching intently in her worn notebook, and john b and sarah sharing hushed whispers and soft laughter.

it had been weeks since that raw, painful morning at tannyhill, since the fragile truce you’d forged with rafe. the memory of it, once a sharp, constant ache, had receded to a dull throb in the background, a testament to the powerful, healing balm of pogue life. you hadn’t seen rafe, not truly, since then. a fleeting glimpse of his car, a distant silhouette on the golf course, but no confrontations, no loaded silences.

his absence, once a source of lingering anxiety, now felt like an unburdening, a quiet space that allowed you to breathe. yet, sometimes, in the quieter moments, a phantom pang would surface – a memory of his intense gaze, the unexpected vulnerability in his eyes, the way his hand had felt against your cheek. a strange, undeniable ache of missing him, not the rafe of the kooks, but the one who had offered to carry your burdens, flickered through you, even as you pushed it down.

for the first time in what felt like forever, the suffocating weight of your secret didn't dominate every thought. it was still there, a heavy stone in your gut, but its edges had softened, dulled by the relentless, genuine happiness you'd found in these past few weeks.

you found yourself laughing easily, a sound that felt foreign at first but now came naturally, bubbling up from a place you thought had dried up. you’d spent days covered in grease helping pope fix the outboard motor, exchanging playful insults and celebrating with triumphant shouts when it finally roared to life. evenings were for bonfires on the beach, the crackle of burning driftwood mimicking the sparks of conversation and shared dreams. you’d gone on wild, aimless jeep rides with jj, wind whipping through your hair, the sheer exhilaration a potent antidote to your old anxieties. kie had pulled you into quiet, late-night talks on the porch, sharing secrets and offering the kind of unfiltered comfort only she could provide. and with john b and sarah, there was a quiet understanding, a shared history that grounded you.

"your turn to light the fire," jj declared, tossing a can of lighter fluid to pope, who caught it with an exasperated sigh.

you chuckled, pushing yourself off the railing. "i'll get the music," you offered, already heading inside, a spring in your step you hadn't realized you'd regained. you rummaged through john b's haphazard pile of cds, picking out one of jj's favorite reggae albums. as the first notes drifted out, warm and island-infused, you felt a wave of contentment wash over you. this was it. this was what living felt like. this was the joy of unburdened moments, of laughter that reached your eyes, of a smile that finally felt like your own. the fear was still a distant hum, but the music, the laughter, the sheer, undeniable presence of your family, was a vibrant, all-consuming symphony.

you fell back into the rhythm of the cut, working odd jobs to save a little cash, spending long afternoons exploring forgotten creeks and hidden beaches with the pogues, and nights under a canopy of stars, trading stories and dreams. the chateau, once a temporary refuge, had truly become home, a haven from the shadows that still lingered from your past.

one sweltering afternoon, you found yourself needing to pick up some supplies for pope's latest invention from the local hardware store – a small, dusty place that served both the cut and, begrudgingly, figure eight. you pulled your jeep into the gravel lot, the sun glinting off the metal, and pushed open the creaky door, the bell above announcing your arrival with a jingle.

you were halfway down an aisle, scrutinizing different gauges of wire, when you felt a sudden presence beside you. a shadow fell over your arm, and the distinct scent of expensive cologne, faint but unmistakable, hit you. your breath hitched. your hands, still holding a coil of wire, froze.

slowly, you turned. rafe was standing there, leaning casually against a display of paint cans, arms crossed over his chest. his expression was unreadable, a familiar mask of kook nonchalance, but his eyes, those stormy blue eyes, held something deeper. they were watchful, assessing, a flicker of that raw vulnerability you’d seen that night at tannyhill still present beneath the surface.

"hey," he said, his voice low, a casual greeting that still managed to feel loaded.

"rafe," you managed, your voice coming out steadier than you expected. you offered a small, polite nod, remembering your truce.

the air between you felt thick with unspoken history.

he pushed off the display, taking a step towards you, but stopped a little too close, making the air between you hum with unspoken tension. his gaze swept over you, a slow, deliberate look that made your skin prickle. he paused, his half-smile faltering slightly as he searched your face. "you look... different."

you felt a familiar defensiveness prickle, but you tried to push it down. "is that a good different or a bad different?" you asked, trying for casual, but your voice held a slight tremor.

he tilted his head, his gaze unwavering, and for a moment, he actually seemed lost for words. his eyes flickered away, then back to yours. "just... different," he mumbled, a beat too quickly. he cleared his throat, his posture stiffening slightly. "more relaxed." he paused again, a long, drawn-out silence that stretched the awkwardness between you. "happy, even."

his directness startled you. it was an accurate observation, and the truth of it made a flush creep up your neck. you looked down at the wire in your hands, then back at him, feeling a sudden, intense self-consciousness. "yeah, well," you mumbled, picking at a loose strand of wire. "that's what happens when you spend less time around... certain places." you regretted the jab the moment it left your lips; it sounded childish, defensive.

a humorless chuckle escaped him. "duly noted," he said, his voice flat, his eyes briefly losing their intensity before regaining a guarded look. he didn't move, just continued to watch you, making your skin feel strangely warm. the silence stretched again, thick with unspoken thoughts, with the almost forgotten pull that had always existed between you. it was the kind of silence that demanded something be said, but neither of you knew what.

you finally broke it, forcing a bright tone that felt entirely fake. "well," you said, gesturing vaguely at the wire in your hand, "i should probably get these supplies. pope's waiting." it was a clear dismissal, an attempt to escape the uncomfortable proximity. you started to step around him, but he shifted, a subtle movement that subtly blocked your path.

his expression was serious now, all traces of the casual kook facade gone, replaced by a lingering vulnerability. "y/n," he said, his voice low, almost a plea. "are you really okay?"

the question hung in the air, heavy and genuine. it was the same question he'd asked that night, laced with the same raw concern. it hit you harder than any sarcasm or kook arrogance could have. for a split second, you almost wavered, almost told him everything. the thought of that missing piece, that unspoken truth, made the hardware store feel suddenly suffocating.

but the fear, the ingrained terror of judgment, still won. you forced a tight smile. "i'm fine, rafe. really. better than fine. see you around." you finally managed to sidestep him, not waiting for a response, and practically fled to the checkout counter, leaving the lingering scent of his cologne and the heavy weight of his question behind you. the small, fragile happiness you'd felt driving here now felt brittle, cracked by the unexpected encounter.

by the time you pulled up to the chateau, your chest still felt tight. the sight of the familiar, weathered porch, with jj’s dirty shoes kicked off haphazardly, brought a much-needed wave of relief. this was your sanctuary, these were your people. you found pope tinkering with a fishing reel on the porch swing, kie painting a new design on an old surfboard propped against the railing, and john b and sarah sprawled out on a blanket in the yard, looking at a map.

"hey!" kie called out, looking up from her board. "you get the stuff?"

"yeah," you mumbled, dropping the bag of hardware supplies with a thud. you tried to shake off the lingering unease, forcing a casual shrug. "just took longer than expected."

pope, ever observant, glanced at you. "everything alright? you look a little... antsy."

you waved a dismissive hand. "fine, fine. just the usual kook-infested nonsense over there." you avoided eye contact, unwilling to unpack the rafe encounter just yet. the ache of missing him, which had surfaced in the hardware store, was now mixed with a fresh wave of irritation and confusion.

john b, however, folded his map with a grin. "speaking of kook nonsense, guess what we just heard?" his eyes glittered with that familiar glint of mischief. "there's a massive party tonight at topper's house. full kook shindig. everyone's gonna be there."

jj emerged from inside, munching on a half-eaten sandwich. "and guess who's planning to crash it?" he announced, gesturing wildly with his sandwich before taking another bite.

your stomach clenched. topper's house. that meant rafe. it meant the kind of suffocating, judgmental atmosphere you’d spent weeks escaping. your newfound happiness felt like it was suddenly hanging by a thread.

"no way," you said, shaking your head immediately. "absolutely not. we are not doing that. that's a terrible idea."

"what? why not?" jj frowned, crumbs falling from his mouth. "it'll be epic! free food, fancy drinks, probably some rich kooks to mess with."

"because it's a trap, that's why," you retorted, the memory of rafe's intense gaze still fresh. "it'll be crawling with people who'd love to see us fail, or worse. and... rafe will be there." the last part came out softer, almost a whisper, but it hung in the air.

kie exchanged a look with pope. "yeah, he probably will be," she conceded, her brow furrowed. "but we can stick together. it's just a party, y/n. we'll be in and out."

"it's not just a party for me," you muttered, turning away to stare out at the water, the familiar fear creeping back in. going to that party meant confronting the life you’d tried so desperately to leave behind, facing the people who judged you, and most of all, facing him again.

"look, y/n," john b said, coming over and putting a hand on your shoulder. "we get it. it's tough. but you've been doing so good. you're actually happy again. don't let the thought of one kook ruin that. we'll be your backup. always."

you looked at their faces – concerned, supportive, unwavering. they wouldn't understand the full depth of your reluctance, not without knowing your secret. but they offered their solidarity, their unwavering presence. and the truth was, you craved the excitement, the shared adventure, the feeling of being a pogue, more than you feared the kooks. you'd spent weeks building this new, happier you. you wouldn't let fear drag you back. not entirely.

you took a deep breath, the phantom ache of missing rafe warring with your stubborn pride. he was just a guy. a kook. a friend on good terms. it meant nothing more. you could handle it. you had to.

you turned back to them, a forced smile trying to take hold. "fine," you said, letting out a sigh that was half exasperation, half nervous excitement. "but if this goes south, i'm blaming all of you. and jj, no starting fights."

a triumphant cheer erupted from the group. jj pumped his fist. "that's my girl! kook party, here we come!"

later that evening, the air shimmered with the heat of the humid night as you and the pogues made your way towards the exclusive side of figure eight. you were all dressed in your best "disguises"—cleaner clothes than usual, but still undeniably pogue. your heart hammered in your chest, a mix of adrenaline and a deeper, more personal anxiety. you could hear the thumping bass of the music long before the sprawling, illuminated topper's house came into view. lights strung through palm trees cast a soft glow on clusters of laughing, perfectly dressed kooks.

as you slipped through a gap in the hedge, blending into the periphery of the sprawling lawn, the sheer opulence of it all hit you. crystal glasses clinked, expensive laughter drifted on the breeze, and the air smelled of perfume, chlorine, and money. you scanned the crowd instinctively, your eyes searching, even though you told yourself you weren't. you saw familiar faces from tannyhill, people you'd waited on, smiled politely at, secretly despised. the pogue within you recoiled, but the small, burgeoning happiness you'd found fought back, a stubborn ember.

this was their world. but tonight, for a few hours, you were going to be in it, on your terms, with your family. and rafe? he was just a friend. just friends. you repeated it in your head, a mantra against the rising tide of unease.

the plan was to get in was simple: blend in, grab some free food and drinks, maybe cause a little chaos, and get out before things escalated.

for the first hour, it worked surprisingly well. you laughed with jj as he tried to sweet-talk a kook girl out of her designer sunglasses, shared a whispered joke with kie about the sheer absurdity of the fashion, and even managed to snag a champagne flute filled with something bubbly and definitely not pogue-grade. the music vibrated through your bones, a stark contrast to the quiet of the marsh, and for a while, you genuinely felt light, carefree.

then you saw him. rafe, across the crowded patio, talking with a group of his kook friends, a confident smirk on his face. your eyes met across the heads of strangers, and for a split second, the easy rhythm of your night faltered. his expression hardened almost imperceptibly, his jaw tightening. you looked away first, a knot forming in your stomach.

a familiar voice suddenly cut through the music. "well, if it isn't my favorite waitress from the club."

you turned to see miles, a kook you vaguely recognized from tannyhill, a friend of rafe's who often hung around the periphery of his circle. he was handsome, in a bland, predictable kook way, and had always been overtly flirty. a mischievous idea, born of lingering frustration from your hardware store encounter and a perverse need to prove something – to yourself, to rafe, to the universe – sparked within you.

"miles," you said, a genuine, dazzling smile stretching across your face, one that hadn't quite reached your eyes in ages. "fancy seeing you slumming it."

he chuckled, stepping closer. "always a pleasure to run into a pretty face. especially one that doesn't usually frequent these parts." his eyes lingered on yours.

you leaned in conspiratorially, your voice dropping. "oh, you know, just here for the free champagne. don't tell topper." you batted your eyelashes playfully, something you hadn't done in years. the flirtation was easy, a performance, but it felt good to feel that spark of power, that control.

miles laughed, his hand brushing your arm. "my lips are sealed. so, you're actually having fun? not planning to, like, set off fireworks in the pool?"

"not yet," you winked, letting your gaze sweep past his shoulder, directly to where rafe was now staring, his conversation with his friends clearly forgotten. his eyes, narrowed and dark, were fixed on you and miles. the familiar flash of anger and jealousy was stark on his face, even from this distance. a perverse satisfaction rippled through you, quickly followed by a pang of something unidentifiable.

you turned your full attention back to miles, letting your laughter carry just a little louder over the music. you talked, you flirted, you even let him pull you closer to dance to a particularly upbeat song. you kept stealing glances at rafe, watching the tension coil in his shoulders, the way his hands clenched and unclenched at his sides. he looked angsty, on edge, and a part of you, the part that was still hurting, took a dark pleasure in it.

but as the minutes stretched on, and rafe’s gaze remained a burning presence, the playful flirtation began to curdle into something else. the happiness you’d brought with you, the lightness, started to fray at the edges. this wasn't fun anymore; it was a desperate, almost cruel game, and you were losing sight of yourself in it. you felt a wave of frustration wash over you – frustration at rafe, for always making things complicated, for having this magnetic pull you couldn't shake; frustration at yourself, for falling back into old patterns, for letting him get to you.

"ugh, i need another drink," you announced to miles, pulling away from the dance and forcing a smile. "be right back?" you didn't wait for his answer, weaving through the dense crowd towards the back of the house, where you vaguely remembered seeing a quieter bar setup, or maybe just a less populated corner to breathe. you just needed to get away from miles, from rafe's burning stare, from the suffocating artificiality of the kook world.

you made it past the pool, towards a less brightly lit path that led to a small, manicured garden. the music was still loud here, but muffled, giving you a small pocket of relative privacy. just as you thought you were safe, a hand clamped down on your arm, hard enough to make you wince. you spun around, and there he was, rafe, his face a mask of barely contained fury. his eyes were blazing, and his jaw was set like stone.

"what the hell do you think you're doing?" he snarled, his voice low and dangerous, barely audible over the distant thrum of the music.

your own anger flared, a hot, uncontrollable rush. the false happiness, the forced casualness, all evaporated, leaving raw frustration in its wake. "i'm having fun, rafe! something you apparently don't know how to do unless you're starting a fight or brooding in a corner!" you yanked your arm free, glaring at him. "what's it to you anyway? we're on 'good terms,' remember? friends!" the word tasted bitter on your tongue.

"friends don't go around... parading themselves like that," he spat, his eyes narrowed. "especially not after everything."

"what the fuck are you talking about, rafe?!" you screamed, a wave of betrayal and rage flooding through you. your voice was shaking, but filled with a searing indignation. "you have no right to bring that up! we moved past that, rafe! you told me we moved past that, you forgave me! you don't get to use that as an excuse to turn this on me, not after all of it! it's not fair!" your anger was sharp, potent, fueled by weeks of unspoken hurt and the raw injustice of his hypocrisy.

his face contorted, a mix of hurt and rage, his previous words about trying to be there for you clearly forgotten in his own outburst. "i tried, y/n! i tried to be there for you! i asked if you were okay! and you just... you push everyone away!"

"because you don't understand!" you screamed, the words ripping from your throat, raw and uncontrolled. this wasn't about miles. this wasn't about rafe's jealousy. this was about the crushing weight you'd carried, the secret that had festered inside you, twisting everything good into something ugly. the fragile happiness you'd found had just gone to shit, crumbling under the pressure of this confrontation. you couldn't hold it anymore. it was bursting out, unstoppable.

"understand what, y/n?!" he yelled back, his own voice cracking with frustration. "tell me! for once in your life, just tell me!"

and in that moment, in the relative quiet of the garden, hidden from the main party, something inside you snapped. the fear was still there, a cold knot in your stomach, but the sheer exhaustion of holding it in, of constantly fighting, of pretending to be okay when you were fundamentally broken, finally overpowered it. his raw plea, his demand for answers, cracked open the last of your defenses.

"you want to know, rafe?" you spat, tears blurring your vision, your voice hoarse but strangely clear. "you want to know why i left? why i can't be 'okay'?" you took a step closer, your voice dropping, chillingly calm despite the tremor running through your body. "

"it's because my dad... the last time i saw him, he tried to kill me, rafe. he nearly did. and it got so bad that i had to run, i didn't have a choice."

the words hung in the humid night air, stark and brutal. rafe's furious expression froze, slowly draining of all color. his eyes, wide and disbelieving, were fixed on yours.

the words hung in the humid night air, stark and brutal. rafe's furious expression froze, slowly draining of all color. his eyes, wide and disbelieving, were fixed on yours, suddenly devoid of anger, filled only with shock and a dawning horror. he visibly flinched as you spoke, a raw, tormented sound tearing from his throat—half-gasp, half-sob.

"y/n, i—" he started, his voice a barely audible rasp, reaching out a hand, tentative, as if afraid to touch you, afraid he might break you further.

but the sight of his stunned, uncomprehending face, coupled with the crushing weight of having finally revealed your deepest shame to the world, ignited a fresh wave of anger in you. this wasn't pity you wanted, or his shock. this was your life, your pain, laid bare, and his reaction felt inadequate, almost like another burden. the relief of confessing was fleeting, immediately replaced by an overwhelming sense of exposure and a profound, defeated weariness.

"don't," you said, your voice low and trembling, a stark contrast to your earlier screams. you took a step back, pulling away from the unspoken offer of comfort, away from the entire scene. "don't you dare. don't you ever act like you understand." you looked at rafe, your eyes burning with a deep, crushing sorrow mixed with that bitter anger. "this is why i can't trust anyone, rafe," you whispered, the words like a broken plea, a confession of your deepest wound. "i'm still running."

the words hit rafe like a physical blow, his face twisting in fresh agony. he visibly recoiled, a silent, devastated gasp escaping him, his outstretched hand dropping to his side.

his eyes, still wide with horror, scanned your face, as if trying to memorize every line of pain, every tear.

he took a step forward, then hesitated, his shoulders slumping. the arrogance, the anger, the carefully constructed kook facade – it had all crumbled, leaving him utterly raw and exposed. he just stood there, speechless, defeated, staring at you as if seeing you for the very first time, and perhaps, truly understanding for the first time.

his eyes were wet, though he blinked rapidly, trying to clear them. the realization of the brutal, life-threatening reason for your past and your continued struggle settled over him, a dark, heavy blanket of understanding and despair. he looked utterly lost.

the air between you pulsed with the unspoken. rafe's gaze, raw and shattered, met yours. the truth, so long buried, hung between you, a tangible weight.

for a long, agonizing moment, neither of you moved. the distant party noise faded to a low hum, drowned out by the thunderous beat of your own heart. he was seeing you, truly seeing you, for the first time since everything had fallen apart, and the depth of his shock was a bitter testament to the hidden burden you'd carried.

then, with a broken whisper, rafe finally spoke, his voice hoarse, barely audible. "he--he tried to kill you?" it wasn't a question so much as a desperate plea for clarification, for a way to make sense of the monstrous reality. he took another hesitant step towards you, his hand trembling as he reached out, not to grab, but to simply offer, a silent gesture of desperate comfort.

you flinched, not from his touch, but from the raw empathy in his voice, the complete shattering of his usual guardedness. it was too much. the fragile walls you'd built around yourself, the ones you thought were so strong, began to crack and splinter under the force of his genuine, unadulterated pain for you.

you didn't want his pity. you didn't want his understanding. you just wanted the secret to be a secret again, the pain to be your own.

you shook your head, a single, hot tear tracing a path down your cheek. "i... i can't," you choked out, your voice barely audible. the urge to flee was overwhelming. the honesty, the sudden exposure, was suffocating.

you felt his gaze burning into you, the weight of his newly acquired knowledge pressing down. you needed air, space, anything but this crushing scrutiny, this shared, terrible truth.

you turned on your heel, away from rafe, and stumbled away into the darker edges of the garden, the muffled party music now sounding like a mocking, distant echo. you just needed to get out.

the familiar, suffocating feeling of hopelessness washed over you, a cold tide rising after weeks of fighting it back. you'd built a fragile bubble of safety and happiness here, piece by painful piece, but in one shattering moment, it had burst.

the lightness you'd found, the tentative peace, it was all gone. you were back to square one, or worse. the secret, the pain, it was no longer yours alone; it was out, exposed, and the world suddenly felt too bright, too loud, too impossible to bear.

every step you took away from them felt like a step back into the suffocating darkness you'd just barely escaped. the marsh, the open water, the boundless horizon—they offered freedom, but tonight, even they felt impossibly far away.

i lwk hate this part and feel it was rusheddd..lmk if you like it tho 💗

TAGLIST:

@mirellef2001 @kieeslove @wtfisastiles @l4vstrr @cycloneperson

@meetmeintheemeraldpool @xoxosblogsblog

44 notes · View notes

rafeobx · 21 days ago

Text

BACK TO FRIENDS

pair: ex!rafe x maybank!poguereader

plot: after everything, you and rafe ultimately decide its best to be friends...can you be friends?

MASTERLIST

sixth part to I LOVE YOU, IM SORRY

warnings: none

NOTE: it will be less depressing this time I PROMISE

the silence that settled between you was thick, heavy with unspoken words and raw emotion. rafe's eyes, still stormy but now laced with an almost unbearable vulnerability, pleaded with you.

he had laid himself bare, offering a level of understanding and concern you hadn't expected, a crack in the formidable wall he'd built. he had asked you to trust him, to lean on him, to finally let someone in.

you stared at him, the conflict raging inside you. the thought of speaking the words, of pulling back the veil on the darkest parts of your past, made your stomach clench with terror. but the exhaustion, the utter weariness of carrying it alone, was an equally powerful force.

his hand, which had just wiped your tears, now hung at his side, waiting. his gaze was unwavering, demanding.

"i...i can't," you choked out, the words ripped from you in a ragged whisper. your voice was barely audible, thick with the unshed tears you were desperately trying to hold back. the fear, cold and suffocating, had won.

then, a different kind of desperation, a need to simply stop the painful conversation, surged through you. "why i left doesn't matter anymore, okay? i made a mistake by leaving without saying anything, and i'm really sorry, rafe." you finally met his gaze, the sincerity of your apology etched on your tear-streaked face.

you saw the flicker of something akin to pain cross his face, quickly followed by a deep, pained sigh. he ran a hand through his hair, looking utterly defeated.

his eyes, though still fixed on yours, seemed to glaze over for a second, a private battle raging within him. his jaw clenched, a muscle jumping in his cheek, but his voice, when it came, was barely a muffled whisper, raw with unspoken hurt. "it's... it's okay, y/n." the words were meant to be reassuring, a dismissal, but the tremor in his voice, the way his shoulders slumped almost imperceptibly, told a different story.

the anger was gone, replaced by a profound sadness and a weary acceptance. he took a slow step back, the small space between you suddenly feeling like an insurmountable chasm, but his gaze remained fixed on you, a silent plea in their depths, a longing for something he knew he couldn't have.

you watched him go, your heart twisting in your chest. you had wanted to tell him, desperately. but the words had been lodged in your throat, choked by the terror of judgment, of pity, of seeing him look at you differently.

the rest of the night passed in a blur of silent, agonizing hours. rafe didn't return. you found yourself curled on one of the plush sofas in the living room, the vastness of the house a stark contrast to the claustrophobia of your own mind. sleep offered no escape, only fragmented nightmares that mirrored your waking fears.

the first rays of dawn filtered through the tall windows, painting the opulent room in shades of pale gold. you rose, stiff and aching, the weight of your unshared burden heavier than ever. the house was still, a mausoleum of unspoken truths. you grabbed your bag, the crumpled golf shirt still clutched inside, and walked towards the front door.

as you reached for the doorknob, a voice from behind you made you flinch. "leaving already?"

you turned to see rafe standing at the bottom of the staircase, fully dressed, his expression unreadable. he hadn't slept either; there were dark circles under his eyes. he looked tired, and perhaps, a little defeated. his gaze, however, held a flicker of that persistent, unyielding concern.

you couldn't meet his gaze. "i have to work," you mumbled, a flimsy excuse.

he said nothing, simply watched you. the silence stretched, thick with the unspoken tension between you. you opened the door, a cold gust of morning air sweeping into the foyer. just as you were about to step out, he spoke again, his voice low, almost a whisper.

"y/n," he said, and you paused, your hand on the doorframe. "i meant what i said. about caring. and about you not being able to carry this alone."

you finally turned, meeting his gaze. a fragile sense of hope flickered within you, small but persistent. despite everything, he was still there, still offering a hand, even if you couldn't fully grasp it. "i know," you said, your voice softer now, less defensive. you took a shallow breath. "and... i appreciate it, rafe. really. i hope we can still be on good terms, you know, friends. after everything." you searched his eyes, a silent plea for understanding, for a fragile truce.

he held your gaze for a long moment, a complex mix of emotions swirling in his stormy blue eyes. the anger was still there, a shadow in their depths, but beneath it, a flicker of something akin to relief, or perhaps, reluctant acceptance. he gave a subtle, almost imperceptible nod. "yeah, y/n. friends." his voice was low, devoid of its previous edge, settling into a tone of reluctant resignation.

you let out a shaky breath you hadn't realized you were holding. the words "friends" felt both like a relief and a sharp pang of loss. it was a compromise, a fragile peace treaty in the war between your past and your present. you nodded back, a silent acknowledgment of the unspoken agreement.

you then stepped out, pulling the door shut behind you, leaving rafe, and the complicated, uneasy truce you'd just forged, behind.

the drive to your own home in the cut was a blur of familiar roads, but for the first time in what felt like an eternity, a strange, unfamiliar sensation began to bubble up inside you: hope. it was small, hesitant, like a tentative ray of sunshine breaking through heavy clouds. the weight that had been pressing down on your chest, suffocating you for so long, seemed to lift just a fraction. the air felt a little lighter, the humidity less oppressive.

you gripped the steering wheel, your knuckles white, but now, a tiny, almost imperceptible smile touched your lips. the manicured lawns and towering palms of figure eight, usually a stark reminder of everything you weren't, seemed less menacing today. the memory of rafe's tired eyes, his reluctant "good terms," resonated. it wasn't perfect. it wasn't a full confession, or a grand reunion, but it was something.

a fragile peace, a tentative bridge. for a moment, the relentless gnawing of your secret softened its bite. you had managed to create a small pocket of calm, a tiny oasis in the storm of your life. and in that quiet, fleeting moment, you felt a whisper of happiness, something so foreign it almost startled you. it was a fragile, fleeting joy, but it was undeniably there. you were still alive, still moving forward, and perhaps, just perhaps, you weren't entirely alone in this.

the sun, now higher in the sky, cast long shadows across the road as you navigated the familiar turns back towards the cut. the salty air whipped through your open windows, carrying the scent of pine and distant marsh. you found yourself taking a deeper breath than usual, letting it fill your lungs, a small act of defiance against the suffocating fear that had been your constant companion.

this fragile truce with rafe, this unexpected concession, had created a tiny crack in your carefully constructed walls. it wasn't enough to shatter them, not yet, but it was a start. it meant you weren't completely cut off, completely isolated, even if he didn't know the full truth.

you turned toward the chateau, a new, almost reckless thought flickered through your mind. the image of jj, kie, pope, john b, cleo, and sarah laughing on the chateau dock, from that painful morning, suddenly seemed less like a torment and more like a beacon. their unwavering presence, their easy camaraderie, had always been a constant, even when you felt like a ghost haunting your own life.

a fresh wave of tears pricked at your eyes, but these were different now – a mix of exhaustion, relief, and a desperate longing for something you'd kept at arm's length.

your hands gripped the wheel tighter, knuckles still white, but this time it wasn't from fear. it was from a sudden, fierce resolve. the burden was still heavy, but the thought of facing it alone, of pushing away every single person who cared, felt infinitely worse than the fear of their judgment. rafe's words echoed: "you're not being you." and he was right. the person you were, the one who faced things head-on, was buried under layers of fear and secrecy.

the familiar, ramshackle structure emerged from the trees, a sight that usually brought a mix of comfort and anxiety. today, it just looked like home.

you pulled up, cutting the engine, and the sudden silence was broken only by the distant lapping of waves against the dock. you took a deep, shuddering breath. your heart hammered against your ribs, a drumbeat of anticipation and terror. this was it. this was the real turning point. the fragile peace with rafe was a start, but true relief, true liberation, lay here, with the people who were your family.

you pushed open the jeep door, the sound echoing slightly in the stillness. your legs felt heavy, but you forced yourself to move, one foot after the other, towards the familiar sounds of voices down by the dock. you could hear their laughter, muffled but distinct, and for the first time in a long time, it didn't sound like mockery. it sounded like an invitation.

TAGLIST:

@mirellef2001 @kieeslove @wtfisastiles @l4vstrr @cycloneperson

@meetmeintheemeraldpool @xoxosblogsblog

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rafeobx · 1 month ago

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showing up to boxer!rafe’s final match even though you two are already broken up

cw: fluffy angst, exes, past relationship, regrets, comfort

you told yourself you weren’t gonna go.

swore up and down you’d stay home, maybe check the results online later, maybe watch a highlight reel on instagram if you were feeling nostalgic or bored or whatever.

but when the night actually came… your body didn’t listen. your heart definitely didn’t. somehow you found yourself standing in line outside the arena, jacket sleeves pulled over your hands, nervous leg bouncing like you were the one about to step into the ring.

it had been a year. a full year since you and rafe called it quits. or, more accurately, let everything spiral until there was nothing left to hold onto.

the fights were brutal. not physical, god no, but emotional in that deep, aching kind of way. miscommunication turned to distance, distance turned to resentment, and suddenly, you two were more strangers than soulmates.

and yet. you were here. in a crowd of screaming fans, heart thudding harder than it should’ve, because no matter how things ended, a piece of you was still his biggest fan.

when he stepped into the ring, the whole place shook. his name was on every sign, every screen. people were chanting, whistling, yelling. "rafe! rafe! rafe!" they echoed like a war cry, fists in the air and feet stomping against the concrete floor. but all you could do was stare.

you hadn't seen him in a year. not in person, at least. just the occasional headline, the grainy clips of him knocking someone out in the third round, and that stupid post-fight smirk he'd flash before raising his glove. god, it used to drive you insane.

he looked the same. maybe a little leaner, sharper in the eyes. but it was still him. the same walk, the same little jaw twitch he got when he was focused, same black tape around his wrists that you used to help him wrap back when everything was still okay.

when the fight started, and you couldn’t sit still. every punch, every dodge, every hit he took made your chest tighten up. but he was good. so good. he moved like he’d been born for it. too fast, smart, ruthless but not reckless.

and when the final bell rang and the referee raised his hand, declaring rafe the winner, the new national champion, you couldn’t help it. you jumped to your feet and screamed his name like your throat didn’t hurt, like your heart hadn’t cracked a dozen times in the past year.

“let’s go, rafe!” you were clapping, screaming, smiling through the tears you didn't realize had built up. “that’s my boy!”

except… he didn’t know you were there.

of course he didn't. he hadn't heard from you in months. you'd both let it all fall apart. and by the time either of you were ready to fix it, too much damage had been done. pride had spoken louder than love.

he was doing the usual victory stuff, arms in the air, coaches clapping him on the back, cameras flashing in his face. he had that cocky little grin on, the one he used to flash at you when he caught you staring.

but then his eyes started scanning the crowd. you didn’t even realize you’d moved closer until he stopped moving. and then he froze when he had spotted you.

it was like time stopped. like the ring disappeared and the noise faded and there was just you and him, locked in this weird, charged silence across the mess around you two.

the jacket you were wearing was his. the one he gave you after your first trip to the beach, back when he was trying to pretend he wasn’t already falling. it still smelled faintly like him, even after all this time.

you saw his chest rise. fall. rise again, but slower this time. like he was trying to breathe but forgot how. and then came the look.

not the “holy shit, she’s here” kind of look. not even the “i didn’t expect this” kind. it was deeper than that. softer. almost broken. like that old wound inside him tearing open just from seeing you again.

you didn’t wave. didn’t smile. just stood there with your hands shoved into the front pocket of his old carharrt jacket, blinking back the sting in your beaming eyes.

and rafe? he didn’t look away for a second. not when his trainer tried to pull him into a post-fight interview. not when fans were screaming for his attention. not even when the lights got brighter and someone shoved the championship belt into his arms.

because for the first time in forever, your eyes were on him. only on him. and he wasn't about to look away.

he just kept staring. cause maybe, if he stared long enough, you’d come down to the ring and fall into him. or he’d wake up back in your apartment, bruises and all, with your fingers running through his hair and your voice telling him he did good.

but this wasn’t a dream. you were real. and god, it hurt him.

because he realized, in that one aching, breathless moment, that even though he’d won the fight… he might’ve already lost the only thing that ever mattered to him in the first place.

tags: @ribbonbiter @soangelbaby @bradshawed @bambiribbon @rotapathetic @rafessecret @inspiredangel @et6rnalsun @st6ined @acklesangel @nemesyaaa @rafekisser @deansbeer @littlelamy @rafesgreasycurtainbangs @lacyydollette

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rafeobx · 2 months ago

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DIFFICULT

pair: ex!rafe x maybank!pogue!reader

MASTERLIST

fifth part to I LOVE YOU, IM SORRY!

STARTED AS A ONE SHOT BUT TURNED FIC SO FACE CLAIM AND NAME IS UP TO INTERPRETATION BUT MAIN FC IS REFFERED TO AS Y/N

plot: jj and the pogues continue push you to confide in them. in hopes of getting them off your back, you decide to get your old job at the country club back, however, the growing tension between you and rafe lingers while your secrets eat you alive.

warnings: angst, depression, jealousy kinda?

NOTE: guys i know this has BEEN a sad depressing fic but TRUST it won't be soon promise ;)))

the confrontation with rafe had left a bitter taste in your mouth, one that lingered days later like a ache. you’d managed to avoid him since, a small victory, but the tension between you felt like a live wire humming just beneath the surface of the island. every shared glance, every accidental proximity, was charged with unspoken animosity and a strange, unsettling awareness you couldn’t quite name.

your friends, on the other hand, were a different kind of pressure. you knew the drill. the persistent questioning, the thinly veiled concern, the insistent prying into what really happened that night. you just couldn’t face it. not yet. you weren’t ready to dissect the volatile encounter, to explain the unexpected flicker of something akin to--disappointment? confusion? that had crossed rafe’s face. you didn’t want to talk about how close you’d been, the raw intensity of his presence.

so, you did the only thing you could think of to buy yourself some space: you called the country club. it was a long shot; you’d walked out on them for a reason, running away from your porblems. but now, the familiar structure, the mindless tasks, felt like a lifeline. "hi, mr. davies," you’d said, your voice surprisingly steady. "i was wondering if there’s any chance you’d be willing to take me back. even just for a few shifts."

there was a pause, a beat of uncertainty, before mr. davies grunted. "well, that's a surprise. when can you start?" the answer was immediate: tomorrow.

the next morning, you pulled on the crisp white polo and a tennis skirt, that had once been your uniform, the fabric feeling strangely alien after so long. the drive to figure eight was short, but the anticipation in your stomach was a heavy knot. it wasn't just the thought of the work itself, but the undeniable fact that you were heading straight into rafe's territory.

he was practically a permanent fixture there, lounging by the pool, holding court at the bar, or swaggering across the golf course. it was almost impossible to avoid him. as you pulled into the employee lot, you saw him immediately. rafe, predictably, was already there, leaning against a sleek black car near the main entrance. he was laughing, his arm casually slung around the shoulders of a girl you didn't recognize and one that, for sure, was not sofia – all long blonde hair and designer sunglasses.

a sharp, unwelcome jolt went through you. it wasn't exactly anger, more like a dull ache of jealousy? it stung, a little, to see him so at ease with someone else, after your own raw, charged encounter just days ago. he looked carefree, almost oblivious to the lingering storm between you two.

you quickly pushed the feeling down. it was rafe cameron. you took a deep breath, trying to steady your pulse, and pushed open your car door. just as you were swinging your legs out, topper's voice, amplified by the morning air, cut through the sounds of the country club. "well, well, well, look what the cat dragged in!" he drawled, a smirk plastered across his face. kelce snickered beside him.

rafe, still with his arm around the blonde girl, tilted his head, his gaze sweeping over you as you got out of your car. his expression remained flat, no trace of a grin, as topper continued, his voice dripping with condescension. "decided to slum it with the Kooks again, huh? figured out where your bread's buttered? or maybe you just finally cracked. hard to watch your life fall apart, isn't it? especially with luke maybank as a father. some things just run in the family, i guess."

the words hit you like a physical blow, a cold dread washing over you. your breath hitched, and for a second, the world tilted. the casual cruelty of their taunts, aimed right at the rawest part of you, made your eyes sting. you clenched your jaw, forcing back the burning behind your eyelids. you wouldn't give them the satisfaction of seeing you break.

"aren't you two supposed to be on the golf course, or, you know, doing whatever rich boys do to avoid actual work?" you shot back, your voice a shaky whisper you hoped they wouldn't notice. you weren't going to let them, or some fleeting feeling, get to you. you were here to work, to escape, not to dwell on rafe cameron and his latest conquest.

as you walked past, rafe straightened from the car, his hand leaving the blonde girl's back. his expression hardened, and he stepped forward, a subtle shift in his stance that caught topper and kelce off guard. "alright, leave her alone" rafe’s voice cut through the air, sharper than you expected.

topper and kelce turned, surprised by rafe's intervention, their smirks faltering. rafe’s gaze, usually so volatile with you, was now fixed on his friends, a silent warning in his eyes. he didn't need to say anything more. topper and kelce exchanged a glance, their bravado deflating, and muttered something under their breath before grudgingly turning away.

your eyes met rafe's across the parking lot. for a long moment, the world seemed to hold its breath. his stormy blue eyes held yours, a complicated mix of defiance, something unreadable, and a lingering echo of that dangerous awareness that had always existed between you two, even more so now as exes. you felt the familiar pull, the tension that always crackled. you could have held his gaze forever, dissecting the layers in his stare. but then, a stubbornness flared within you, a refusal to acknowledge whatever flicker of concern or protectiveness you might have seen.

you rolled your eyes, a dismissive scoff escaping your lips, and then turned on your heel, heading for the employee entrance. you pushed open the door, stepping back into a world you thought you'd left behind. the muffled sounds of polite laughter and the distant thwack of a golf ball were already a familiar, if unwelcome, soundtrack.

the days at the country club settled into a monotonous rhythm. you spent hours folding towels, polishing silver, and fetching forgotten items for entitled members. it was exactly the kind of mind-numbing work you'd hoped for, leaving little room for introspection or dwelling on the lingering tension with rafe.

yet, he was always there. sometimes you’d catch a glimpse of him by the tennis courts, his laugh carrying across the manicured lawns. other times, you’d be clearing tables in the dining room only to hear his voice, too close for comfort, making eye contact with him and then quickly looking away, hoping he didn't see you staring. you became an expert at looking busy, at disappearing down corridors, at perfecting the art of the quick pivot.

one afternoon, as you were restocking the pro shop, the bell above the door chimed. your blood ran cold as rafe walked in, alone, his usual swagger replaced by a more subdued demeanor. he wasn't laughing or chatting with anyone. he simply moved with a quiet intensity, his gaze sweeping the shop, eventually settling on you. you didn't duck this time. you stood your ground, a golf shirt clutched in your hand, daring him to say something.

he approached slowly, stopping a few feet from you. "hey," he began, his voice surprisingly soft, but the edge of anger was unmistakable. "he ran a hand through his hair, a nervous habit you remembered all too well, but his eyes were hard, fixed on yours. "i know you don't wanna talk to me, especially after what i said, but i can't stop thinking about hat happened at the kegger. why'd you freak out like that?" he searched your face, a mixture of genuine concern and unresolved resentment, tinged with accusation. he was trying to understand, and that in itself was disarming, unsettling.

you scoffed, a dry, bitter sound. "what do you want, rafe? an explanation? because last time i checked, you couldn't give a fuck less about me." your voice was low, trembling with suppressed emotion. the raw fear of your secret being exposed gnawed at you. "you don't have to act like you care."

his jaw tightened, the accusation in your voice hitting a nerve. "don't say that," he muttered, his gaze dropping to the floor for a brief moment before snapping back up to yours. "you know that's not true. you know i care. i'm just--i'm mad, okay? you just left. no call, no text, nothing. what was i supposed to think?" his voice was thick with frustration now, the concern still there, but overshadowed by his own hurt. "and then seeing you at that kegger, acting like you were seeing a ghost. something happened, and you're not telling me. something happened after i saw you last, didn't it? something i don't know about."

you crossed your arms over your chest, a desperate attempt to shield yourself. the memory of that night at the kegger, the chaos, the brief, terrifying moment of what you thought liam was trying to do to you, and then the memories of the night you left all those years ago, swirled together in a sickening vortex. "what i do is my business, rafe," you retorted, your voice hardening, trying to match his anger with your own. "my reasons for leaving, for doing anything, have nothing to do with you. you lost the right to know about my life the moment we broke up."

"bullshit!" he exploded, taking another step closer, his hands balling into fists at his sides. "everything always has to be some big mystery with you, doesn't it? we were together! and then you just ghosted! i thought something bad had happened to you. and then i see you, looking like you're about to crack, and you just push me away?" his voice lowered, dangerous now. "is this about your dad? because if it is, you can talk to me, you know. i'm not him."

his words hit you hard. the reference to your father and the implied connection to your current state, was a direct hit to the gut. it was too close to the truth, a truth you couldn't bear for him to know. your eyes burned, but you bit the inside of your cheek, refusing to let the tears fall. "you know nothing," you whispered, the conviction in your voice wavering. "you know absolutely nothing about what i'm going through, so just take your kook sympathy and get out of here, eafe. just fuck off."

the color drained from his face, leaving it pale and drawn. he stared at you, his stormy blue eyes searching yours, a flicker of something akin to genuine despair crossing his features before it was quickly replaced by the former cold, hard anger and resentment he held for you. "you don't get to be mad at me, y/n. you left me. if anyone gets to be mad, it's me." he took a slow, deliberate step back, the tension between you humming like a live wire about to snap.

without another word, he turned on his heel and strode out of the pro shop, the bell chiming a final, jarring note that echoed in the sudden silence. you stood there, trembling, the golf shirt you'd been holding crumpled in your hands.

you had won, you had driven him away, you had kept your secret safe, you had done what you wanted. so why did it feel like you had just lost everything?

the weight of what you were hiding pressed down on you, heavier than ever, in the quiet aftermath of his departure. the rest of the day blurred into a monotonous haze of polishing brass and folding towels.

every polite smile you offered to a club member felt like a lie, a betrayal of the turmoil churning inside you. the image of rafe’s face, etched with that mix of hurt and anger, kept replaying in your mind. he was right about one thing: something had happened. more than he could ever imagine. and the thought of him knowing, of that look on his face when he understood the depths of your past and the reason for your sudden departure all those years ago, paralyzed you.

it wasn't just the memory of liam at the kegger; it was the suffocating secret of why you'd left the obx in the first place, a secret tied to your father, to the very essence of who you were trying not to be.

you swung your bag over your shoulder and climbed into your car, the old engine sputtering to life with a familiar cough. you pulled out of the country club lot, the manicured lawns and towering palms blurring in your rearview mirror.

your destination was the cut, though it didn't feel like home anymore. you didn't even know what home was anymore. every mile you drove was a mile deeper into an unsettling void, a landscape where nothing felt familiar, and every turn felt like a wrong one.

the drive was short but heavy with unspoken anxieties. each shift of the gears, each stretch of road, felt like a futile attempt to outrun the gnawing emptiness inside you.

the air in the cut was supposed to be a comfort, thick with the scent of salt and marsh grass, but tonight it just felt oppressive, pressing down on your chest. you parked the jeep near jj's battered van, the familiar sight doing little to ease the ache. the image of rafe’s face, contorted with hurt and resentment, still burned behind your eyelids. the words stung, because a part of you knew he was right. you had left. but he didn't know why, and that was the terrifying part.

you pulled up to the chateau, but remained sitting in the jeep, your gaze landing on your friends—jj, pope, kie, cleo, john b, and sarah—sitting, laughing, on the dock of the chateau. as you stared, the tears began to fall, a silent cascade that slowly turned into ragged sobs.

it wasn't the relief of crying; it was the crushing weight of knowing that even though things seemed the same for them, you would never, ever be the same. the ease of their laughter, the comfort in their closeness, felt like a scene from a past life you couldn't access. a chasm had opened inside you, filled with secrets and a suffocating fear, and it separated you from them, from everyone.

the vibrant colors of the sunset mocked the monochrome world you felt trapped in. you wanted to be with them, to melt into their familiar warmth, but the profound shift within you, the hidden burden, made it impossible. you just knew you'd only crack.

with a shuddering breath, you turned the ignition. the chateau, their haven, felt like the last place you wanted to be. you didn't know where you were going, but anywhere, absolutely anywhere, was better than here. you drove without a conscious destination, the familiar roads of the island passing by like blurred memories. your hands gripped the wheel, knuckles white. the quiet hum of the engine was the only sound, a dull counterpoint to the screaming silence in your head.

before you knew it, your jeep was pulling up the long, winding driveway of tannyhill. the imposing gates, usually a symbol of exclusion, now felt like a desperate, illogical magnet. you didn't understand why your body had brought you here, to your ex's sprawling estate, the last place you should be seeking solace. but here you were, the grand, illuminated house casting long shadows against the darkening sky.

you cut the engine, the sudden quiet deafening. for a long moment, you just sat there, staring at the front door. what were you doing? this was insane. just as the thought solidified into a plan to reverse and flee, the front door opened. rafe stood there, silhouetted against the warm glow of the foyer. he wasn't smiling.

his face, even from this distance, looked drawn, an echo of the anger you'd just seen in the pro shop still etched into his features. he saw you, and his posture stiffened. the flicker of surprise was quickly replaced by that familiar, guarded resentment.

he walked down the steps, slowly, deliberately, until he stood beside your jeep, his arms crossed over his chest. his eyes, though still holding that hard edge, searched yours in the dimming light. "what are you doing here, y/n?" he asked, his voice low, a controlled rumble. the question wasn't hostile, not exactly, but it was devoid of any warmth.

you swallowed, your throat suddenly dry. "i don't know," you managed to whisper, the honesty of it raw and unsettling. the tears had stopped, leaving a cold trail on your cheeks.

he stared at you for another beat, that unreadable tension still thrumming between you. you expected him to tell you to leave, to curse you out, to reinforce the wall you'd just built between you.

instead, he sighed, a short, sharp expulsion of air. "come in," he said, not looking at you, his gaze fixed on the house. "you're not going to sit out here all night." he was still mad, undeniably so, but there was a flicker, just a faint, almost imperceptible one, of the old rafe, the one who, despite everything, couldn't quite leave you adrift.

you hesitated, then, without another word, you swung your legs out of the jeep. the air felt heavy with unspoken words, with the history that bound you, and the fear that still separated you. you walked past him, a shiver running down your spine, and stepped into the grand, imposing foyer of tannyhill, the last place you ever thought you'd seek refuge.

the foyer was vast and quiet, the expensive furnishings doing little to soften the heavy atmosphere. rafe didn't close the door immediately, lingering there for a moment, as if debating something. you stood awkwardly, your bag still slung over your shoulder, acutely aware of the silence stretching between you. he finally pushed the door shut, the soft click echoing in the stillness.

"so," he said, his voice clipped, "what now?" he didn't look at you, instead turning to toss his keys onto a marble console table. the resentment was still a palpable thing, a wall between you that he'd carefully rebuilt.

you hugged your arms tighter, the chill that had settled deep in your bones refusing to leave. "i just... i just needed to be somewhere," you confessed, the words barely a whisper. you could feel his eyes on you now, a heavy, scrutinizing gaze. you wanted to run, to retract every syllable, but you were too tired, too empty.

he walked over to the sprawling living room, stopping by the large windows that overlooked the darkened golf course. his back was to you. "so you came to the one place you swore you'd never step foot in again?" he asked, his voice laced with a bitter sarcasm. "to my place? after you told me to fuck off barely an hour ago?" the words were sharp, a sting, but beneath them, you could hear the lingering hurt. his grudges were deep, and you had certainly given him reason to hold them.

you swallowed, feeling the familiar burn in your eyes. "i didn't know where else to go," you admitted, the raw vulnerability in your tone surprising even yourself. "the cut... it doesn't feel like home anymore. nothing does."

he slowly turned, and the anger on his face seemed to soften, just a fraction. he saw the genuine despair in your eyes, the tremor in your lips. the resentment was still there, a shadow in his gaze, but it was momentarily eclipsed by something else – a deep, almost instinctual concern. he took a hesitant step towards you, then another.

"y/n," he murmured, his voice softer now, devoid of its previous edge. he stopped directly in front of you, closer than you'd been in what felt like forever. your breath hitched. you could smell his cologne, the familiar scent that always made your stomach flutter, despite everything. his hand, so often a weapon or a symbol of his reckless power, slowly lifted. you tensed, bracing for him to push you away, to underscore the distance between you. instead, his fingers gently brushed against your cheek, tracing the path where tears had just fallen.

the touch was a shock, a sudden, searing warmth that spread through your cold skin. your eyes locked with his. the anger in his gaze had almost completely receded, replaced by a raw, conflicted tenderness. you saw the struggle there, the battle between his lingering resentment and the undeniable pull that still existed between you.

his thumb moved, gently wiping away the dampness on your skin. "what happened to you, y/n? something is wrong, i know it. i know you better than anyone. this isn't you." he whispered, his voice hoarse, filled with an aching plea. "everyone sees it. you've been carrying something heavy, and it's eating at you. it's like you're a ghost, like you're not even here anymore. you need to talk to someone. please, talk to me." it wasn't about the kegger anymore, not really. it was about everything. "just... tell me."

you wanted to. every fiber of your being screamed to confess, to unburden yourself of the terrifying secret that had been crushing you. to trust him, fully, the way you once had. but the fear was still a cold, unyielding hand gripping your heart. the fear of how he'd look at you, how he'd see you, if he knew the full truth. the fear of that flicker of despair in his eyes turning into outright disgust. you were too scared to trust anyone, especially not him, not with this.

you shook your head almost imperceptibly, a single fresh tear escaping and trailing down your cheek, a testament to the battle raging inside you. his gaze darkened, a flicker of that familiar frustration returning. he wanted answers, and you couldn't give them. not yet.

he pulled his hand away, slowly, almost reluctantly, and the warmth left your face, leaving you colder than before. the subtle tension in the air remained, a fragile thread connecting you, stretched taut between lingering affection and ingrained mistrust.

the silence that settled between you was thick, heavy with unspoken words and raw emotion. rafe's eyes, still stormy but now laced with an almost unbearable vulnerability, pleaded with you. he had laid himself bare, offering a level of understanding and concern you hadn't expected, a crack in the formidable wall he'd built. he had asked you to trust him, to lean on him, to finally let someone in.

would you finally break the silence and reveal the truth that had been consuming you, or would the fear, the ingrained habit of self-preservation, win out, pushing him away once more?

TAGLIST:

@mirellef2001 @kieeslove @wtfisastiles @l4vstrr @cycloneperson

TRUST this will be a happy fic soon! i promise :)))

#rafe obx #obx #rafe cameron #obx pogues #rafe cameron x pogue!reader #obx fanfiction #obx kooks #jj maybank #john b routledge #outer banks

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rafeobx · 2 months ago

Text

WOULD'VE, COULD'VE, SHOULD'VE

MASTERLIST

fourth part to I LOVE YOU, IM SORRY

pair: ex!rafe x maybank!pogue!reader

plot: rafe comforts you after your meltdown, but he still has his gaurd up. meanwhile, jj figures why you left the obx

warnings: mentions of abuse, panic attacks, angst, name calling, depression, mention of luke maybanks

you turned, stumbling away from the chaos, away from liam, away from rafe, away from everyone. you just needed to breathe. you needed to escape the suffocating weight of it all. your legs moved on their own, carrying you through the startled crowd, past the worried faces of your friends. you heard jj call your name, then sarah, but their voices were distant, drowned out by the roaring in your ears.

you ran blindly, crashing through the undergrowth at the edge of the clearing, the sharp branches scratching at your skin, but you didn't feel it. you just ran, fueled by pure, unadulterated panic. the sounds of the party faded behind you, replaced by the pounding of your own heart and the ragged gasps for air that tore from your throat.

you didn't stop until your lungs burned and your legs gave out, collapsing onto the damp earth beneath a gnarled live oak tree, its branches draped in spanish moss like mournful sentinels. the air was thick and still, buzzing with the cicadas' nightly song, a stark contrast to the frantic storm inside you. you curled into a tight ball, burying your face in your knees, hot tears scalding your skin.

the flashback had been so vivid, so real. the feel of the hand around your neck, the smell of stale liquor, the unhinged rage in those eyes. but liam's touch, the way he'd tried to force a kiss, it had triggered something deep and dark, something you had tried so desperately to bury.

you were shaking, uncontrollably, your whole body wracked with silent sobs. the memories were a suffocating blanket, pressing down on you, stealing your breath. you were back there, in that moment, powerless and terrified.

meanwhile, back at the kegger, jj stood frozen, watching your retreating figure disappear into the darkness. he processed your reaction, the sheer, raw terror on your face, the way you’d recoiled, the high-pitched whimper – it wasn't a normal reaction to a fight. a cold dread began to settle in his stomach--a flash of recognition in his eyes . he knew that look.he remembered the way your body had convulsed, the absolute terror in your eyes. it was unlike anything he’d ever seen from you. a memory, half-formed, flickered in his mind: your words after you’d first left, something about wanting to forget, about a past you couldn’t escape.

“what the hell was that?!” john b's voice was sharp, cutting through the stunned silence. his eyes were narrowed at liam. “what the fuck did you do?”

liam, holding his bleeding jaw, just stared, bewildered. “she-- she freaked out for no reason. i don’t know what happened.”

“no reason?!” kie snapped, her eyes blazing at liam. “that’s what you call no reason, you creep?”

sarah pushed past them, her face etched with concern. “y/n! y/n, wait!” she started to run after you, but kiara grabbed her arm.

“give her a minute, sarah,” she said, his gaze fixed on the spot where you’d vanished. “something’s really wrong.”

liam just shook his head, rubbing his jaw. “nothing! i just… i was just trying to kiss her. she got freaked out for no reason.”

pope stepped forward, his expression grave. “that wasn’t ‘no reason,’ liam. that was pure panic.”

jj, still observing from a distance, felt a chilling certainty about your reaction. he knew you, and that terror was deep, far beyond what what any casual flirtation gone wrong could elicit.

rafe looked at jj, whose face was still a mask of raw fury mixed with overwhelming worry for you.

“what happened to her, maybank?” rafe asked again, his voice low and raspy, devoid of its usual arrogance, directed at jj who still hadn't moved from where he’d confronted liam. “what did she go through?”

jj stared him down, a flicker of something close to pity in his eyes, quickly masked by anger. “i don't know, but that’s none of your damn business, cameron. not anymore.”

but rafe wasn't listening. he looked at sarah, his voice pleading now. “sarah, what is it? what happened to her?”

sarah’s face was pale. she wasn't supposed to say anything--she promised. not even to jj. but after seeing your reaction, a part of her broke. the secret she’d guarded, the pieces of your story you’d shared in hushed whispers on rare, dark nights, felt like a lead weight in her stomach. she felt a fresh wave of guilt for not speaking up sooner, for letting you carry it alone.

the conflict warring on her face was clear to jj and rafe, who watched her intently, but john b, and pope were too focused on the immediate chaos and their concern for you to notice the subtle shift in her demeanor.

"what do you mean, 'she doesn’t talk about it,' sarah?" jj’s voice suddenly cut through the air, colder and sharper than anyone had ever heard it.

he had seen the way sarah had flinched, the slight shift in her eyes, the way she seemed to hold something back. his gaze, still burning from his rage at liam, snapped to darah, filled with an immediate, deep-seated betrayal.

"you knew? you knew something like this was happening to her, and you didn't say anything? not to me? not to john b? not to anyone?!" his hands balled into fists, not at Liam, but at the idea of sarah not even trusting him enough to tell him.

“jj, i'm sorry, but i promised her! she made me promise! it wasn’t my story to tell.”

“her story to tell?!” jj scoffed, a bitter, disbelieving laugh escaping him. “you think keeping her secret was helping her, sarah?!” he took a step towards her, his voice rising, raw with hurt and anger, the intensity of his emotion shocking even john b, kie, and pope. “we could have helped her! i should have helped her!”

john b stepped between them, his hand going to jj's chest. “woah, jj, calm down! she’s trying to tell you she was just trying to respect y/n’s privacy!”

“privacy?!” jj yelled, shrugging john b’s hand off. “she’s my sister, john b! you don’t keep things like this from family!” his furious gaze remained fixed on sarah, a deep, wounded accusation in his eyes.

rafe, still reeling from the scene, a wave of guilt, sharp and suffocating, washed over rafe. he’d pushed you, mocked you, and now… he’d clearly made everything so much worse. he’d been so consumed by his own anger, his own pain, he hadn’t stopped to consider yours. the added shock that sarah knew something resonated deeply with rafe's own desperate need for answers. he didn't understand the depth of it, but he knew now that sarah was hiding a piece of your past that explained everything about why you had left him.

he watched jj’s face, the raw worry etched in his features, and a strange, unfamiliar impulse took hold. he couldn't let them find you first. he didn't know why, but he needed to be the one to find you.

he needed to understand what had happened to you, what had caused that terror, and perhaps, in some twisted way, try to make amends for his own part in your pain.

rafe drove with a reckless abandon, the headlights cutting through the inky blackness of the marsh road. his mind was a chaotic swirl of rage, guilt, and a growing, desperate concern. he knew the marsh like the back of his hand, every winding path, every hidden creek. he tried to retrace your path, imagining where you would run when you were truly terrified. not towards the familiar, not towards the cut. somewhere isolated. somewhere deep.

he killed the engine near a barely visible, overgrown path he remembered from years ago, a secluded spot deep within the preserve that only a few knew about. he cut the lights, the sudden darkness absolute, pressing in around him. he grabbed a flashlight from his glove compartment, the beam slicing through the oppressive gloom, illuminating spiderwebs and dangling spanish moss.

he plunged into the dense undergrowth, the air thick with the smell of damp earth and decaying leaves. mosquitoes buzzed around his head, but he barely noticed. his gaze swept the ground, looking for any sign, any disturbed leaf, any broken twig. he called your name, his voice low, almost a whisper, then louder, laced with a desperation he didn't recognize. “y/n! y/n, where are you?!”

he heard the distant, faint shouts of the other pogues echoing through the marsh, getting closer. he quickened his pace, a new urgency propelling him forward. he had to find you before them.

then, he saw it. a faint shimmer, almost swallowed by the shadows. he pushed through a curtain of tangled vines and stopped dead.

you were there, huddled at the base of an enormous live oak, its ancient branches twisting above you like tormented limbs. you were curled into a tight ball, your face buried in your knees, your shoulders shaking with silent sobs. your clothes were torn and muddy, your hair plastered to your face. you looked so small, so utterly broken, in a way he had never seen you. the raw, vulnerable sight of you, stripped of all your usual fire and defiance, hit him like a physical blow.

he lowered the flashlight, its beam now casting a soft glow around you. he didn't move, afraid to startle you further. the anger, the jealousy, the self-pity he'd carried all night, all of it dissolved, replaced by a cold, sharp ache in his chest.

“y/n?” his voice was barely a whisper, hoarse and unfamiliar to his own ears. he took a slow, deliberate step closer. “it’s… it’s rafe.”

you flinched violently at the sound of his voice, your head snapping up. your eyes, red-rimmed and swollen, met his, and for a terrifying moment, he saw the same wild, unfocused terror that had been there just minutes ago. you scrambled back further, pressing yourself desperately against the rough bark of the tree, as if trying to merge with it.

“go away” you whimpered, your voice raw and choked, pulling your knees tighter to your chest.

he stopped, his heart clenching. he hated that you didn't wanna see him. his chest tightened, a strange mix of hurt and a potent, unfamiliar helplessness. he had caused you so much pain, had driven you away. and now, seeing you like this, he realized just how deep that pain truly went.

he knew he couldn’t touch you, couldn’t even get too close. the terror in your eyes was a clear warning. he slowly sank to his knees a few feet away, placing the flashlight on the ground between them, illuminating your shaking form in its soft glow. he kept his hands open, palms up, in a gesture of surrender.

“i’m not gonna hurt you,” he said, his voice softer than he’d thought possible. he hated the pathetic sound of it, but he hated the terror in your eyes more.

you swallowed hard, your gaze flickering from his open hands to his face, then back to the ground. the shaking of your shoulders lessened, almost imperceptibly. “i know,” you whispered, the words barely audible, rough with tears.

he saw a flicker in your eyes, a tiny spark of something other than pure terror. understanding? confusion? he didn't know. but you didn't recoil further. you just watched him, your breath still coming in shaky gasps, but you were watching him. and for rafe, in that moment, it was enough.

he continued, his voice still low, careful. “i just… i heard. what happened. at the party.” he hesitated, searching for the right words, for anything that wouldn’t make you recoil further. “i… i saw.” he forced himself to look up, to meet your gaze. “what he did. that guy. liam. that wasn’t right. you didn’t deserve that.” he paused, then forced himself to continue, raw with an unfamiliar shame. “and… what i said to you earlier. that was… that was wrong too. i didn’t know. i’m sorry, y/n.”

the apology, spoken with such rare and raw vulnerability from him, hung in the humid air. your breath hitched again, but this time it wasn’t purely from fear. it was something else, something caught between the pain and a faint, almost forgotten tenderness.

rafe watched you, his blue eyes intense, searching your face for any sign. he saw the tear tracks, the muddy streaks, the haunted look, and a wave of something akin to physical pain washed over him. he wanted to close the distance between you, to pull you into his arms, but he forced himself to stay still, remembering the way you’d recoiled from liam. the sight of your trembling form made his own hands clench, a desperate urge to protect you, to somehow undo whatever horrors you'd experienced.

“y/n…” he began again, his voice cracking slightly. he didn’t know what to say, what to do. he was always so sure of himself, so in control, and now he felt utterly lost. he picked up another small piece of bark, fiddling with it. “i… i just want to make sure you’re okay." his voice was hesitant, uncertain, a stark contrast to his usual arrogant tone.

you didn’t answer right away. you just watched him, your eyes still wide, but the abject terror was slowly, almost imperceptibly, giving way to a weary sadness. you saw the unfamiliar vulnerability in his eyes, the genuine concern that softened the hard lines of his face. it was the rafe you used to know, the one who could be unexpectedly tender beneath all the kook bravado. the rafe you had loved. and maybe, despite everything, still did.

the cold dampness of the earth seeped into your skin, a harsh contrast to the warmth that was beginning to eman spread from the soft glow of the flashlight between you. you shivered, a deep, full-body tremor.

rafe saw it. without another word, he slowly, carefully, began to shed his soaked outer shirt, revealing the pale skin and defined muscles beneath. he laid it on the damp ground in front of him, then took off his jacket, placing it beside the shirt. he looked at them, then at you, an unspoken offer.

you hesitated, then slowly, tentatively, you reached out a shaking hand towards the offered fabric. it was a small gesture, but for rafe, it felt monumental. a hairline crack in the wall of your despair.

he watched as you pulled the shirt and jacket towards you, clutching them to your chest. the warmth of his body, still clinging to the fabric, was a strange, comforting presence against your cold, clammy skin. you didn't put them on, but just held them, inhaling the faint, familiar scent of him – salt and faint cologne and something uniquely rafe. it was a small anchor in the storm raging within you.

you finally spoke, your voice still rough but gaining a whisper of strength. "why... why are you here, rafe?" the question hung in the humid air, heavy with all the unspoken history between you.

he met your gaze, his blue eyes intense in the faint glow of the flashlight. "i don't know," he admitted, a rare vulnerability in his tone. "i... i saw what happened. and i remembered what i said earlier. about you bleeding on someone else." he ran a hand through his damp hair, a frustrated sigh escaping him. "it was stupid, y/n. i didn't... i didn't know you were going through something like that. i didn't know it was that deep." he paused, his gaze hardening slightly. "and seeing you with liam, it made my blood boil, okay? that pogue touching you like that, after everything we've been through. it made me jealous, y/n. yeah, i said it."

he shifted, picking up a small, smooth stone from the muddy ground, turning it over and over in his fingers. "when i saw you... when i saw you react like that, it just... it hit me. you never let anyone see you like that. not even me. not in all the time we were together. i realized... i realized i don't know everything about you, do i?" his voice was low, almost a self-recrimination. "i thought i did. i thought i knew all your edges, all your defenses. but... this..." he gestured vaguely, encompassing your raw state, "this is different."

you hugged his discarded clothes tighter to your chest, the warmth a strange comfort. "you didn't want to know," you murmured, your voice tinged with old hurt. "you always wanted the easy version. the fun version. the version that didn't have... complications."

he flinched, the accusation landing true. "maybe," he conceded, his voice barely audible. "maybe i was a coward. maybe i just... i liked the easy version. it was easier than facing... whatever it was that made you run from here in the first place." he paused, his gaze searching yours. "but i care about you, y/n. more than i ever let on. more than i probably should. and if knowing all those parts of you means i can stop you from feeling this way, then so be it. because seeing you like this... it's tearing me up."

a fresh wave of tears welled in your eyes, but these were different. they were for the lost moments, the unspoken truths, the raw, complicated connection that still lingered between you, despite all the chaos and heartache. "it's always been complicated with us, hasn't it?" you whispered, a sad smile touching your lips.

he offered a faint, wry smile back. "yeah. always." he was quiet for a moment, then looked at you again, his expression softening further. "i just... i want you to be okay, y/n. genuinely okay. whatever that takes." he paused, then added, "if you ever want to talk, about any of it... i'm here. i mean it. no judgment. no expectations. just me. and whatever it is you need to get off your chest."

the air around you felt lighter, almost breathable. the storm within you hadn't passed, but the intensity of the downpour had eased. having him simply sit there, offering quiet presence and unexpected sincerity, was more than you'd dared to hope for.

you looked at him, truly looked at rafe cameron, sitting in the mud, shirtless and vulnerable, offering you a piece of his own comfort. and for the first time in a long time, you saw past the kook exterior, past the arrogant masks he wore, past the hurt you caused, to the lost boy beneath.

he took a shaky breath, his blue eyes locking with yours, a raw intensity in their depths. he leaned forward slightly, his voice dropping to a near whisper, laden with a confession he'd clearly held back for too long. "y/n, i... i think i'm still in lo—"

just then, a twig snapped violently in the undergrowth nearby. both your heads whipped up, eyes darting to the source of the sound. the beam of a powerful flashlight cut through the darkness, sweeping across the gnarled trees, then landed squarely on the two of you.

“y/n!”

the voice, thick with relief, anger, and a desperate worry, was unmistakably jj’s.

jj burst through the last curtain of vines, his face contorted in a mix of fury and raw concern. he stopped dead, his own flashlight beam fixing on rafe, who was still on his knees, shirtless, a few feet from you. jj’s eyes narrowed, taking in the scene: your huddled, shaking form clutching rafe’s clothes, and rafe looking more vulnerable than jj had ever seen him.

“rafe,” jj said, his voice flat, a hard edge beneath the apparent calm. he didn't lunge, didn't scream, but the tension radiating from him was palpable. he already knew about your past with rafe, about the lingering, messy feelings. he might not like rafe, but he tolerated him because he knew what you and rafe had once shared. this wasn't about the who, it was about the what. "what are you doing here?" he asked, his eyes sweeping from rafe to your huddled form, the question laced with a deep, protective suspicion.

rafe slowly straightened, rising from his knees, his face hardening as he met jj’s furious gaze. the fragile tenderness that had bloomed in him moments before was quickly overshadowed by his own protective rage. "she doesn't need you right now, maybank," rafe spat, stepping slightly in front of you, a silent shield. "she needs space."

you whimpered, pressing yourself further against the tree, the sudden shift in atmosphere, the familiar tension between them, threatening to unravel what little calm you’d managed to find. the thought of another confrontation, another explosion, made your stomach clench. "jj, no!" you choked out, your voice barely a whisper, but it cut through the charged air.

jj faltered, his eyes darting to your face, seeing the fresh terror there, and his fists unclenched slightly. he was torn, his rage at rafe warring with his concern for you. he looked from your terrified eyes to rafe’s defiant, protective stance, a new, complex understanding dawning on his face. he’d known rafe was there, had heard his truck, but he hadn't expected to find this. the intensity, the raw emotion between you and rafe, was palpable, even to him.

then, jj’s gaze locked onto your face, and he saw it. he saw the ghost of the same terror that had haunted his own eyes for years, the raw, visceral fear of something unspeakable. it wasn't just panic, it was that kind of panic. the kind he knew from his father, from those dark nights when the world shrunk to a fist and a scream. he didn't know the specifics of what had happened to you, but he recognized the aftermath. the sight of your shaking body, reliving a nightmare, broke through his anger at rafe. he didn't care who was with you, only that you were hurting.

he dropped his flashlight, letting it clatter to the damp ground, illuminating a patch of mud. he took another step, then another, ignoring rafe's presence, his eyes fixed on you. his focus narrowed to just you, to the raw, exposed pain radiating from your curled-up form.

“y/n,” he said, his voice now a low, rumbling broken whisper, thick with a deep, aching empathy that came from years of shared trauma. it wasn't the angry, protective brother anymore; it was the boy who understood, who had felt the same fear. he didn’t ask if you were okay. he knew you weren't. he just slowly, cautiously, lowered himself to the ground a few feet from you, mirroring rafe’s earlier position but keeping his gaze entirely on you. he didn't reach for you, respecting the invisible barrier of your fear, but his presence was a heavy, anchoring weight of familiar comfort.

for those who wanted to be tagged!

@mirellef2001 @kieeslove @wtfisastiles @l4vstrr @cycloneperson

#rafe obx #rafe cameron #obx #obx pogues #rafe cameron x pogue!reader #obx fanfiction #obx kooks #jj maybank #john b routledge #outer banks #luke maybank #rafe cameron x maybank!reader #sarah cameron #pope heyward #kiara carrera

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rafeobx · 2 months ago

Text

THE ARCHER

MASTERLIST

third part to I LOVE YOU, IM SORRY

pair: ex!rafe x maybank!pogue!reader

plot: after yeat another argument with rafe, you decide its best to move on. you, jj, and the pogue decide to go to the bonfire at the boneyard. unexpectedly, you run into an old friend who seems thrilled by your return.

warnings: SA, parental abuse, depression, angst, jealousy, mention of luke maybank,

the resounding thud of the door echoed in your ears, a final, brutal end to a conversation that had barely begun. the porch light, which moments ago felt like a harsh interrogation lamp, now seemed to mock you with its indifferent glow.

you stood there, rooted to the spot, the cold knot in your stomach twisting tighter, each beat of your heart a painful throbbing against your ribs.

rafe's words, sharp and laced with venom, sliced through you: "you're a user, y/n. you come back when you're at your lowest, just to dump your misery on someone else. go on, run. go find someone else to bleed on."

they were a confirmation of your deepest fears, a brutal validation of the self-loathing that had been your constant companion. he saw right through you, saw the weakness, the desperation, and he hated it.

the tears that had been a silent stream moments before now burst forth, hot and uncontrollable, blurring the already indistinct world around you.

you stumbled backward, off the porch and onto the manicured lawn of tannyhill, the soft grass doing little to cushion the blow of his rejection. the humid night air, once a heavy blanket, now felt like an icy shroud, chilling you to the bone.

you wanted to scream, to rage, to break something, anything, to release the suffocating pressure building inside you. but no sound escaped your throat, only choked sobs that wracked your entire body. the sight of rafe's face, twisted in disgust, was burned into your mind, a new and excruciating addition to the gallery of horrors you carried.

he was right, wasn't he? you were a user. you had come back, broken and desperate, seeking solace from the very person you had abandoned. you had thought, foolishly, that his love, even buried under layers of anger, would be enough to save you. but he had seen the truth, the ugly, raw truth of your desperation, and he had recoiled.

he had chosen his peace, his new life, over your unraveling.

the silence of the tannyhill neighborhood was deafening, amplifying the sound of your own ragged breaths and the frantic pounding of your heart. you were truly, utterly alone.

the outer banks, once your sanctuary, had become a prison, each familiar landmark a painful reminder of what you had lost, what you had broken, and what could never be mended.

just as rafe's door sealed shut, a low rumble vibrated through the air, quickly followed by the distinct patter of rain. it began as a drizzle, but within seconds, fat, cold drops hammered against the tiled roofs of figure eight, striking the manicured hedges and pooling rapidly on the pristine streets.

you didn't run for cover. you just stood there for a moment, letting the deluge hit you, washing over your face, mixing with the tears that still streamed from your eyes.

the chill of the rain was almost a relief, a physical sensation stark enough to momentarily cut through the emotional agony. then, you simply started walking. not towards the wreck, not towards the chateau, not towards any place that could offer warmth or shelter.

you walked down the wide, deserted streets of figure eight, the rain plastering your clothes to your skin, soaking your hair until it hung in heavy, dripping strands. the opulent houses, usually glowing with the soft light of evening gatherings, were dark and silent, their wealth a stark, mocking contrast to your utter desolation.

each step was heavy, sloshing through the rapidly rising puddles. You had no destination, no purpose. rafe's words had stripped away any lingering hope, confirming what your own fractured mind had been whispering for years: you didn't belong here anymore.

the obx, once your home, where every nook and cranny held a memory, now felt alien, unwelcoming.

you were an intruder, a ghost haunting familiar places that had moved on without you. the rain intensified, hammering down with a ferocity that matched the storm inside you. thunder cracked overhead, a violent punctuation mark to your despair. the wind whipped around you, chilling you to the bone, but you hardly noticed.

all you felt was the hollow ache in your chest, the crushing weight of being utterly lost. there was no place for you in the pogue world, your real family... how could you possibly bring them into the depths of your darkness?

you were a burden, a user, bleeding on everyone you touched. so you walked, one numb foot in front of the other, letting the rain wash over you, hoping it might somehow cleanse the pain, or at least mask the fact that you were slowly, inevitably, dissolving into nothing.

every street light passed, every perfectly trimmed bush, every silent, sprawling mansion, only reinforced the chilling truth. you were entirely alone, with no home, no anchor, and no idea where to go.

the rain eventually subsided, leaving the air thick with humidity and the scent of wet earth. you walked until your feet ached, until the kook mansions finally thinned out, replaced by the familiar charm of the cut. the thought of going back to the chateau, of facing jj’s knowing, worried gaze, felt impossible. you were too raw, too exposed.

your phone buzzed in your pocket, making you jump. it was a text. from sarah.

sarah: where are you?! are you okay? there's a huge kegger down by the marsh, everyone's here. you should come. get your mind off things.

a kegger? a sudden, defiant spark ignited within you. rafe had told you to run, to bleed on someone else. but maybe there was another way? maybe you didn't have to bleed. maybe you could just--drink and dance. maybe you could find a new beginning in the chaos, a distraction from the gnawing emptiness. you were y/n maybank, after all, and even broken, you still had fight left in you.

y/n: on my way.

you followed the distant thrumming of music, a faint light guiding you through the winding dirt paths until you emerged into a clearing alive with flashing string lights and the roar of a crowd. the air vibrated with energy, the humid night now thick with the smell of cheap beer and damp earth.

your eyes scanned the familiar faces first, landing on jj, kiara, pope, john b, sarah and cleo, huddled around a bonfire, laughing. jj was holding court, gesturing wildly with a half-empty beer can. he looked up, his eyes widening in surprise, then concern as he took in your drenched, disheveled state. he started to move towards you, but you shook your head slightly, a silent plea for no questions, not yet.

you drifted towards the edge of the crowd, feeling like a ghost, a stranger in a place that used to be home. the music was a lifeline, pulling you into its rhythm even as your mind replayed rafe's words. you needed a distraction.

that's when you saw him. liam. he was standing near a makeshift fire pit, silhouetted against the dancing flames, laughing easily with a group of pogues you didn't recognize.

he was taller than most, with broad shoulders and a relaxed confidence that radiated from him. his hair, a darker shade of brown, was pushed back from his forehead, glistening slightly from the humidity. he caught your eye across the flickering light, and a slow, easy smile spread across his face, a genuine warmth that made something in your chest feel a fraction less tight.

he detached himself from his group, weaving through the crowd towards you. "well, well, well," he drawled, his voice a low rumble, surprisingly gentle over the thumping music.

his eyes, a striking blue, swept over you, lingering just a beat too long on your damp clothes before meeting your gaze, a playful challenge in them. "look what the tide dragged in." he extended a hand, his touch warm against your cold skin.

"liam," you managed, your voice a little hoarse, a genuine smile finally touching your lips. "long time no see."

"too long, y/n," he repeated, his smile widening. "way too long." for a moment, the world narrowed to just the two of you, the music fading, the crowd a distant hum.

"welcome back to the land of the living. you got that look, though. like you've got a story to tell, but you ain't telling it to just anyone." his eyes crinkled at the corners, a direct, knowing gaze that sent a shiver down your spine – not of fear, but of an unexpected spark. he'd always been perceptive. "care for a proper pogue welcome? Got some of jj's finest." he gestured towards the keg, his arm brushing yours casually, a easy touch that felt oddly confining.

you ignored the feeling, taking a long sip of the warm beer. "anything jj's involved with usually means trouble, but i guess i'm already knee-deep in that."

liam laughed, a rich, full sound that was entirely unburdened. he poured you a plastic cup, foam spilling over the rim, and handed it to you. "so, y/n," he continued, leaning against the keg beside you, his arm casually brushing yours, "what's a pogue like you doing out in the ran? kooks giving you trouble?" his gaze dropped subtly to your lips before flicking back to your eyes, a definite flirtation in his gaze now.

"something like that," you mumbled. "just... needed a change of scenery."

"well, you picked the right place," liam said, his voice dropping slightly, closer to a murmur. "no scenery like this on the whole island. no people like this, either." he paused, his gaze thoughtful, then, with a mischievous glint, he added, "and I'm pretty sure i'm the best of the bunch tonight. stick with me, y/n, i promise, i know how to make you forget all about whatever's got you looking like you just fought a gator." his thumb subtly brushed against your knuckles as he handed you the cup, a small, confident flirtation that made your stomach flip.

he leaned in conspiratorially, his breath warm on your ear. "just between us, i've kinda missed that fire in your eyes, maybank. even when it's dimmed a little."

liam's hand, still on your back, began to slide lower, his fingers tracing a path from your waist to the curve of your hip. his voice dropped to a near whisper, his eyes locking with yours with an intense, hungry look. "you know, y/n, i always wondered what would've happened if you hadn't gotten with rafe. we had something, didn't we? always felt it. and now you're back..." he leaned in closer, his head tilting, his intention clear.

his free hand reached up, cupping your jaw, his thumb stroking your cheek as he started to guide your face towards his, his gaze fixed on your mouth. "let's pick up where we left off, yeah?"

the sudden, intimate pressure of his hand on your jaw, the way he tried to force your face towards his, the hunger in his eyes, the casual way he assumed ownership – it was a flashpoint. the bonfire, the faces of your friends, the sounds of the kegger, all blurred, twisted into a terrifying tableau. your breath hitched, caught in your throat.

flashback:

the familiar weight of a heavy hand wrapped around your neck, digging in, leaving bruises you’d hide for days. the hot, whiskey-laced breath close to your face, your back against the wall. eyes, wide and wild with a rage that wasn’t meant for you, but always landed on you. "you think you can just do what you want, bitch? disappear? i'll show you who runs things around here." the grip tightening, twisting, pulling you closer, your body screaming to pull away. the air thickening, pressing down, suffocating. you could smell the liquor on his breath, the stale sweat, the raw, unhinged fury. your world shrinking to just that terrifying, unpredictable presence. another hit, but this time to your face, leaving a bruise that met your eye.

you cried out, a choked, guttural sound, not even a word. your body reacted before your mind fully caught up. a pure, primal terror seized you. every muscle in your body coiled, ready to strike, to flee, to do anything to escape the familiar, horrifying sensation of being trapped, controlled, violated.

you slapped liam's hand away from your face with a violent, desperate swipe, stumbling back, away from him as if he were fire. your eyes were wide and unfocused, darting around wildly, seeing shadows and ghosts.

you pressed your hands to your head, a high-pitched, almost animalistic whimper escaping your lips. your chest heaved, taking in shallow, ragged breaths that did nothing to calm the frantic hammering of your heart.

the kegger, the bonfire, the faces of your friends – it was all too loud, too bright, too much. you squeezed your eyes shut, trying to block out the overwhelming sensory assault, but the internal screams were louder.

meanwhile, rafe had spent the last few hours stewing in his room at tannyhill, the echoes of his party fading into a cold, empty silence. the bourbon had done little to numb the restless itch, the image of your shattered face refusing to fade. he knew he'd been harsh, maybe too harsh, but you had pushed him, hadn't you? you always did.

he'd tried to convince himself he didn't care. he'd rebuilt his life without you. but the thought of you out there, alone in the rain, or worse, with someone else, ate at him. the distant thumping of the kegger had been a low hum, then a more insistent pulse, a siren call to the chaos he craved. he needed to escape the suffocating quiet of his own thoughts.

slamming his bourbon bottle down, he grabbed his keys and revved his truck, peeling out of the tannyhill driveway with a roar that broke the stillness of the night. he drove like a man possessed, the anger and resentment churning into a toxic brew of unresolved emotion.

he pulled up to the edge of the clearing, tires spitting gravel, the sudden glare of his headlights cutting through the dim string lights. the music didn't even skip a beat, but heads turned, eyes narrowing at the unwelcome kook intrusion. he killed the engine, the sudden silence of his truck amplifying the raucous party. he stalked out, his posture radiating menace, a fresh beer already gripped in his hand.

his gaze swept the crowd, ignoring the immediate tension his presence created. he found his sister, sarah, her eyes wide with apprehension. she tried to catch his eye, but he dismissed her with a sharp flick of his head. he saw john b, pope, kie, and jj, their faces a mix of wary surprise and defiant boredom. good, he thought, let them see what happens when a kook walks into their little paradise.

then he saw you.

you were by the bonfire, the flames casting dancing shadows on your face, a warmth there he hadn't seen in years. and you weren't alone. liam, that pogue from the dock, the one who'd always hung around the periphery of your circle back in the day, was beside you. liam had his head tilted towards you, listening intently as you giggled at something he said. your hand was resting lightly on his arm, a casual, easy gesture that sent a cold wave of shock through rafe, swiftly followed by a scalding surge of jealousy. liam's head dipped closer, whispering something in your ear, and then, brazenly, liam's thumb began to trace lazy circles on your lower back. the sight of that casual intimacy, with him, twisted rafe’s gut into knots. he saw liam lean in further, saw his hand go to your face, saw the predatory look in his eyes as he tried to force a kiss.

rafe's jaw clenched so hard he thought his teeth might crack. the sight ripped through him, shredding the fragile veneer of indifference he'd constructed. what the hell was this? who was this guy? what right did he have to be touching you, making you laugh like that, trying to force anything on you? the rage he’d clung to, the self-righteous anger at your abandonment, erupted into something else entirely. something hot and possessive, yes, but also deeply, savagely protective.

even though he was furious with you, even though he had told himself he hated you, the sight of another man forcing himself on you, even just for a kiss, ignited a primal need to keep you safe. he wouldn't admit it, not to himself, not to anyone, but beneath all the anger, he was still, impossibly, in love with you.

he dropped his beer bottle, letting it shatter on the ground, the sound swallowed by the music but catching the attention of the pogues nearby. his eyes never left you and liam, a predatory gleam entering them. he started walking, a controlled, menacing stride, cutting a direct path through the crowd, towards the bonfire.

you were in a full-blown panic, swatting liam's hand away, the world around you spinning. liam, startled by your sudden, violent recoil, stumbled back a step, confusion on his face. "y/n? what the hell?" he muttered, looking offended.

before he could process it, a shadow fell over you both. rafe was there, a whirlwind of furious motion.

"hey!" rafe's voice cut through the music, sharp and loaded with menace.

liam's head snapped up. "what the—"

rafe didn't even let him finish. his fist connected squarely with liam's jaw, a sickening crunch that echoed even over the now-silent air as someone, startled, cut the music. liam reeled backward, clutching his face, blood already welling at his lip.

a collective gasp rose from the crowd. jj, john b, pope, and kie all started forward, their expressions a mix of anger and shock. sarah rushed towards the scene, her face pale.

rafe stood over liam, chest heaving, his eyes still burning with an unholy fire. he looked at liam, then at your trembling, traumatized form, and his voice was a low, dangerous growl. "don't you ever touch her like that again, you piece of pogue trash." he turned his blazing gaze back to you, his expression softening for a bare fraction of a second, a silent question in his eyes, before his anger at liam resurfaced. "she's not yours," he spat, ignoring the bloodied pogue. "she's mine."

you were barely registering anything. the fight between rafe and liam, the sudden silence, the worried faces of your friends – it was all a distorted, terrifying echo of the past. you could feel your body shaking uncontrollably, your knees threatening to buckle. your mind was screaming, trapped in the memory of cold hands and hot breath. you couldn't breathe.

"y/n?" sarah's voice was a frantic gasp, utterly bewildered. she, along with jj, john b, kie, and pope, had frozen, watching rafe's sudden, aggressive move, but your reaction was completely unexpected. they saw you trembling, pressing your hands to your head, whimpering, and it made no sense. you were usually so tough, so resilient. this raw, exposed terror was alien to them.

"what the hell is wrong with her?" rafe snarled, still full of adrenaline from the punch, his eyes flicking from liam back to your convulsing form.

a flicker of deep concern, swiftly buried under anger and confusion, crossed his face. he knew that look.

liam, clutching his bleeding jaw, shoved himself up from the ground, looking utterly bewildered, unable to comprehend your extreme reaction. "y/n? what's going on?"

you could only shake your head, tears still streaming down your face, the memories overwhelming, suffocating. you needed to run. you needed to disappear.

for those who wanted me to tag them:

@mirellef2001 @kieeslove

#rafe obx #rafe cameron #obx #obx pogues #rafe cameron x pogue!reader #obx fanfiction #obx kooks #jj maybank #john b routledge #outer banks #sarah cameron #pope heyward #luke maybank #rafe cameron x maybank!reader #cleo outer banks #kiara carrera

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rafeobx · 2 months ago

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archived: us — rafe cameron smau

summary: you and rafe were the internet’s it couple—matching outfits, chaotic couple vlogs, late-night q&a's where he’d hold your hand like you were the only person on earth. but that love turned toxic, and when the breakup hit, it went viral. he soft-blocked you. you archived every photo.

the algorithm moved on, but your heart didn’t.

six months later, you’re both invited to a content house with fellow obx influencers in thailand, the kind with infinity pools and shared bathrooms.

the collab? for clicks. the tension? unavoidable.

you catch him watching your stories. he catches you rereading his old texts. neither of you will admit what you archived: the truth that you're still not over it.

and the internet is still watching.

pairing: influencer!rafe x influencer!femreader

inspo: @zyafics @houseofblve @edwardslvrr

social medias

instagram

twitter

youtube

table of contents

chapter 1 chapter 2

chapter 3 chapter 4

chapter 5 chapter 6

chapter 7 chapter 8

chapter 9 chapter 10

chapter 11 chapter 12

chapter 13 chapter 14

chapter 15 chapter 16

chapter 17 chapter 18

chapter 19 chapter 20

chapter 21 chapter 22

chapter 23 chapter 24

chapter 25 chapter 26

and more to come

dividers made by @purefantasia

a/n: that pic of drew is what inspired me to write this. also just needed a gym bro rafe fic ❤️

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rafeobx · 2 months ago

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RUN FOR THE HILLS

MASTERLIST

pair: jj maybank x bitchy!kook!reader????

plot: a dangerous secret simmers beneath the surface of the outer banks, completely unknown to those it could shatter. every stolen glance, every hushed moment is a risk, a thrilling gamble against discovery. only they know the truth that could ignite a firestorm.

warnings: name calling, cheating, forbidden love?, angst, typical kook vs pogue, fluff, mention of abuse, prob grammar mistake

a storm was brewing on the outer banks, not of the hurricane variety, but one born of secrets and forbidden desires. the pogue life was all about stickin' together, battling the kooks, but what if one of their own was playing a dangerous game with the enemy?

jj would never go for a kook—never. but... with his wild hair and even wilder spirit, he found himself caught in a rip current he never saw coming. it started with a glance, a spark across the divide that separated their worlds. y/n, outwardly the picture of kook perfection, topper's girlfriend, with kelce and rafe always lurking nearby, and the snide remarks of olivia, y/n bitchy best friend, never far from her lips. she was everything a pogue should despise, yet something about her drew jj in.

their rendezvous were cloaked in shadow and stolen moments. late-night drives down deserted roads, whispered conversations on moonlit beaches, hurried kisses hidden by the crashing waves. every touch, every shared laugh, was a gamble. for y/n, it was a dangerous escape from the suffocating expectations of her kook life and topper, a thrill she found only with jj. for jj, it was the thrill of the chase, the defiance of every rule, and a connection he hadn't anticipated.

his closest friends, the tight-knit pogue family—kiara, always the moral compass; sarah, torn between two worlds; john b, the leader with a nose for trouble; pope, the cautious brains; and cleo, the newest addition with her sharp wit—were completely oblivious. they’d seen jj with plenty of girls, but never a kook, and certainly not topper’s girlfriend. the idea would be unthinkable, a betrayal of everything they stood for.

even sofia, a pogue by birth but now inextricably linked to the kooks through rafe, suspected nothing. she was too wrapped up in her own complicated loyalty.

the tension was a constant hum beneath the surface. every time the pogues and the kooks clashed, a fresh wave of anxiety washed over jj and y/n.

how long could they keep this fragile, explosive secret? how long before a careless whisper, a stray glimpse, or a jealous accusation brought their forbidden world crashing down around them, exposing their dangerous game to everyone? the outer banks, already a powder keg of class warfare, was about to get a whole lot more complicated.

the outer banks annual bike race was less a competition and more a declaration of war. the air, thick with salt and competitive grit, hummed with the familiar tension between the cut and figure eight. it wasn't just a race; it was a battle for bragging rights, a brutal reminder of the island's divided soul.

the pogues, a blur of sun-faded tees and worn-out sneakers, drove with a fierce, almost desperate energy.

the starting gun cracked, but jj, as always, had other plans, fueled by a potent mix of defiance and longing, carved his own path, a wild card in this high-stakes game.

dust choked the air as they tore through the course, a brutal gauntlet of loose sand and sharp turns. rafe, true to form, veered wildly, forcing john b to swerve, nearly sending him tumbling. topper, with a smug smirk, used his superior bike to block jj at every opportunity, a constant reminder of the divide. the kooks' dirty tactics were as much a part of the race as the pedal strokes themselves.

the chaos built on a sharp, uneven bend. topper, desperate to assert dominance as usual, deliberately swung wide, ramming his shoulder into jj’s back tire. jj felt the sickening lurch, the ground rushing up to meet him in a blur of green and brown.

he tumbled onto the ground, the metallic tang of blood filling his mouth as a searing pain flared in his shoulder and knee.

john b shouted his name, a guttural roar of frustration, but the race officials, ever blind to kook transgressions, waved the others on, threatening disqualification. topper and rafe sped away, leaving jj in a crumpled heap, a bitter, familiar taste of injustice on his tongue.

jj limped away, the dull ache in his shoulder a physical manifestation of his frustration.

he found a secluded stretch of the beach, hidden by drooping live oaks, the distant cheers of the race fading into an indistinct hum. he just needed a minute, away from everything, to tend his wounds.

as twilight began to paint the sky in hues of orange and purple, a soft footfall disturbed the quiet. jj tensed, ready for another taunt, another reminder of his fall. but it wasn't rafe, or topper.

it was y/n.

she approached cautiously, her expensive attire looking oddly out of place against the rough terrain. the usual composed mask she wore had slipped, replaced by a delicate tremor of worry. she glanced around, a quick, almost nervous survey, before her eyes landed on him, slumped against the tree.

“jj?” she asked, her voice hushed, a stark contrast to the earlier cacophony.

he grunted, pushing himself upright with a wince. “what do you want, princess? come to kick a pogue while he’s down?”

a faint flush touched her cheeks. “no. i--i saw what happened. are you alright?” she knelt beside him, her perfectly manicured nails pointing to his scrapes with a dismissive air.

"honestly, what were you even thinking? try to keep up, or just stay out of the way next time." despite the cutting words, her gaze lingered on his angry red scrapes, a flicker of something unreadable in her eyes.

"this looks pretty bad. you really should get it cleaned." her touch, as she gently prodded his arm, was surprisingly soft, almost tender, betraying the icy tone.

a strange, fragile silence settled between them. the chasm that separated their worlds, the animosity that defined their lives, seemed to momentarily shrink, replaced by a quiet, shared understanding.

in that moment, under the fading light, the secret they held, the dangerous, exhilarating truth of their connection, felt impossibly real, a flickering flame in the rising darkness. it was a secret that could destroy everything, and yet, right now, it was the only thing keeping them from falling apart.

the air thickened, charged with unspoken words and a dangerous undercurrent of desire. y/n's gaze flickered from his bruised knee to his jawline, a hesitant softness replacing the usual kook steel in her eyes. jj, despite the throbbing pain in his shoulder, found himself drawn to her vulnerability. the insults she’d thrown his way felt like a flimsy shield, easily broken.

a beat of silence stretched between them, broken only by the distant sounds of the post-race commotion. then, slowly, almost imperceptibly, y/n leaned closer. her fingers, still surprisingly gentle, brushed against his cheek. jj’s breath hitched. he knew this was reckless, insane even. topper could appear any second. his friends… what would they say? but in that moment, none of it mattered. there was only y/n, her nearness a magnetic pull he couldn't resist.

their lips met, tentatively at first, a soft brush of skin against skin. then, with a shared intake of breath, the kiss deepened. it wasn't gentle or sweet; it was urgent, a desperate claiming in the shadows. a tangle of unspoken feelings – longing, defiance, fear – poured into the kiss. y/n's hand moved from his cheek to the back of his neck, her fingers threading through his unruly hair.

jj’s good arm instinctively wrapped around her waist, pulling her closer, the pain in his shoulder momentarily forgotten. he kissed her with a possessive fire, a silent declaration that topper could never touch her like this, could never make her feel this wild, this free. he tasted victory, bitter and sweet, on her lips.

the world narrowed to just the two of them, the taste of salt and something uniquely y/n on his lips. it was a stolen moment, illicit and exhilarating, a dangerous dance on the edge of discovery. they broke apart breathlessly, their foreheads touching, a shared vulnerability hanging between them.

“we shouldn’t…” y/n whispered, her voice trembling slightly.

jj’s thumb traced the curve of her jaw. “i know.”

the sound of approaching voices shattered the fragile intimacy. they both froze, their eyes widening with alarm.

“y/n? you out here?” it was topper’s voice, laced with a casual impatience.

y/n's eyes darted to jj, a look of sheer panic flashing across her face. she scrambled to her feet, smoothing down her dress with hurried, jerky movements.

“yeah, i’m just… checking things out,” she called back, her voice sounding strained and unconvincing.

topper rounded the cluster of trees, his expression shifting from mild annoyance to stunned disbelief in a split second. his eyes locked onto jj, still sitting awkwardly against the tree, his face flushed, and then flicked to y/n, her lips slightly swollen, her hair slightly disheveled.

the unspoken hung heavy in the air, thicker than the humid evening breeze. the pieces clicked into place with brutal clarity.

“y/n?” topper said, his voice dangerously low, his gaze fixed on jj with a mixture of fury and betrayal. the fragile secret, carefully guarded and fiercely desired, had just exploded into the open.

topper’s jaw clenched, a muscle jumping violently in his cheek. his face, usually composed, twisted into a mask of pure, unadulterated rage. his eyes, narrowed to venomous slits, darted between y/n’s pale, terrified face and jj’s defiant, bruised stance. “what--what the fuck, y/n? i fucking knew it, you’re a disgusting bitch!” his voice, usually smooth and confident, tore through the quiet, raw and laced with disbelief.

y/n flinched, taking a frantic step back from both of them, caught in the blinding headlights of his fury. “topper, it’s not what you think, i—”

“not what i think?” topper shrieked, cutting her off, his voice escalating to a chilling pitch. he gestured wildly between them, his hand shaking. “you’re out here with--him? after the race? after everything? you're a slut! you're a filthy slut!” his gaze landed on jj, blazing with a fury that promised violence. “you piece of pogue trash. you so much as look at her again, i swear to god, i will—”

jj, despite the throbbing pain in his shoulder, pushed himself to his feet, swaying slightly, and stepped in front of y/n, shielding her from topper’s hateful glare, reaching his good arm out to yank topper by his collar. “don’t fucking talk to her like that.” his voice was a low growl, a dangerous challenge. “you wanna talk about what i did? let’s talk about how you never even saw this coming, cause you were too busy being a self-important prick to notice what was right in front of you.”

topper’s eyes blazed even hotter, his fists clenching so tight his knuckles went white. “you think this is funny, maybank? you think you can just steal what’s mine?”

jj let out a humorless laugh, a rough, derisive sound. “steal? she was never yours to steal, topper, she doesn’t want you anymore. get that through your thick skull. she’s done with you.” his words, brutal and cutting, hung heavy in the air, a devastating blow.

y/n, her face still pale with fear, but now with a sudden, sharp glint in her eyes, stepped out from behind jj. she faced topper directly, her chin lifting. “he’s right, topper. i am done with you. did you honestly think i’d stay with a self-absorbed bore like you forever? you’re pathetic. always have been.” she threw the words like sharp, glittering shards of glass, her voice surprisingly steady, though her hands still trembled slightly. “i’m not some accessory for your little kook life. maybe if you actually cared about someone other than yourself, you’d have noticed.”

topper’s gaze flickered to her, a flicker of profound, gut-wrenching betrayal in his eyes before it hardened into a mask of cold, vicious contempt. “don’t, don’t even. this is fucking disgusting, you’re a worthless bitch. you’ll regret this, y/n, both of you.” he looked back at jj, his fists clenching. “you’re dead, maybank. you and everything you love.” with that chilling promise, topper spun on his heel and stormed away, his angry strides echoing in the sudden, terrifying silence.

the silence that followed topper’s departure was deafening, more oppressive than any shouted threat. jj and y/n stood there, side by side, the secret that had bound them now a gaping wound exposed to the world. the setting sun cast long, ominous shadows, mirroring the darkness that had just fallen over their lives. y/n finally looked at jj, her eyes wide and unsure, a silent question passing between them: what now? the outer banks, already a powder keg, had just found its spark. their world had officially exploded.

#rafe obx #jj maybank #jj maybank x kook!reader #kook!reader #topper thornton #kelce obx #rafe cameron #jj mayback imagine #sarah cameron #john b routledge #pope heyward #cleo outer banks #sofia outer banks #jj maybank fluff

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rafeobx · 2 months ago

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rafeobx · 2 months ago

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I LOVE YOU, I'M SORRY, r.c

MASTERLIST

pair: rafe cameron x maybank!pogue!reader

trope: lovers to strangers to lovers?, pogue x kook, slow burn, angst, enemies.

STARTED AS A ONE SHOT BUT TURNED FIC SO FACE CLAIM AND NAME IS UP TO INTERPRETATION BUT MAIN FC IS REFFERED TO AS Y/N

plot: returning to the outer banks after four years, you discover that things have drastically changed. not everyone, especially your ex rafe, is thrilled about your reappearance, and the people you once knew are different. trust has eroded, new relationships have blossomed, and long-held secrets are coming to light.

WARNINGS: will have mentions of drugs, abuse, and SA.

chapter one: the ones i love

chapter two: where do we go now?

chapter three: the archer

chapter four: would've, could've, should've

chapter five: difficult

chapter six: back to friends

chapter seven: free now

chapter eight: i know the end

chapter nine: all too well

chapter ten: tbd

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rafeobx · 2 months ago

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WHERE DO WE GO NOW?

MASTERLIST

pair: rafe x maybank!pogue!reader

NOTE: part two to the i love you, i'm sorry series! go read part one to be up to date xx

plot: you decided it was best to avoid rafe, believing he hadn't forgiven you and likely wouldn't anytime soon. to cheer you up, your friends—sarah, john b, pope, jj, and kiara—took you to this bike race between kooks and pogues, where jj was competing due to a bet from the gold you'd found years ago. however, their hopes of lifting your spirits were quickly crushed when rafe and his kook girlfriend, sofia, show up.

warnings: jealousy, angst, mean!rafe, depression, miscommunication, sorry sofia lovers :(

the morning light, filtering through the familiar, dusty windows of the chateau, felt softer, less harsh. you’d spent a restless night on the old couch, your mind still thinking about your heated conversation with rafe at the kegger.

you pulled a thread from the worn armrest, fraying the already tattered fabric. each pull was a silent wish, a desperate plea for the earth to swallow you whole. the thought of facing him again, or worse, facing anyone after what he’d said, churned in your stomach, a bitter bile rising in your throat. the quiet hum of the house, usually a comfort, now felt like a suffocating silence, amplifying the echo of his cruel words in your mind.

you pressed the heels of your hands into your eyes, as if you could physically push the memories back, bury them somewhere deep where they couldn’t reach you. but they were sticky, persistent, clinging to the inside of your eyelids.

you could still see rafe’s face, twisted with a sneer, feel the heat of shame creep up your neck. it felt like your chest was caving in, a dull ache settling behind your ribs, making it hard to breathe. the sun, once a gentle comfort, now felt like a spotlight, exposing every raw nerve, every humiliating moment. you just wanted to curl into a ball and vanish.

the obx, no matter how familiar, no matter how much you loved the smell of the beach and the sound of the waves, held a different kind of darkness now.

you didn’t even realize the tears were running down your face, a steady stream you hadn't consciously started, until the wetness on your cheeks pulled you back from the suffocating depths of your thoughts. you pushed yourself off the old couch, wiping them away with the back of your hand, a futile attempt to erase the silent testament to your pain.

you wanted to confide in rafe, to tell him everything that weighed on you. after all this time, after everything, he was still the one person who knew you best, who saw past the masks you wore. but you couldn’t. you were too scared. the fear was a cold knot in your stomach, tightening with every breath. you couldn't risk it. not now, not ever. the truth felt like a dangerous weapon, more likely to shatter what little you had left than to fix anything.

he loved you, you knew he did, but was that enough? if he knew, really knew, what had happened to you, would he still look at you the same way? would that love, the one fragile thing you clung to, break under the weight of your unspoken trauma? you couldn't bear the thought of seeing his face contort in disgust or pity, knowing that you were somehow less in his eyes.

it was better to be silently broken than visibly shattered, especially when the person you loved was the one you feared shattering it most.

you pushed all thoughts to the back of your head, a desperate attempt to shove the darkness back into its confined space. a smile, practiced and brittle, stretched across your lips. it had to be convincing. your friends, jj, they couldn’t see it. they couldn’t know. they wouldn't think twice.

when you emerged from the living room, the smell of burnt toast and strong coffee filled the air – a chaotic, comforting symphony that instantly brought a small, genuine smile to your face.

john b was wrestling with a rogue pop-tart that had gotten stuck in the toaster, a cloud of smoke rising around him. kie, ever the responsible one, was frantically fanning the smoke detector with a dish towel, while pope, calmly oblivious, meticulously buttered another piece of toast. jj, your brother, always the instigator, was laughing hysterically at john b's struggles.

"morning, sleepyhead," kie greeted you, a warm smile spreading across her face as she finally got the smoke detector to quiet down. "thought you were gonna sleep all day."

"nah, the smell of burning breakfast woke me up," you teased, the words feeling surprisingly easy. you walked over to the counter and poured yourself a cup of coffee, the familiar mug feeling right in your hand. john b, having conquered the pop-tart, turned to you, a surprisingly gentle look in his eyes.

"seriously though," he began, his voice softer than it had been last night, "it's good to have you back. really good." he even managed a small, genuine smile. a lump formed in your throat. this was the john b you remembered, the one who was your anchor. "it's good to be back," you admitted, the words catching a little.

jj clapped you on the back, a rough but affectionate gesture. "see? i told you she'd come around! now, who's ready to dominate this bike race?" he pumped his fist in the air, his usual goofy enthusiasm infectious.

you laughed, a genuine, unburdened sound that surprised even yourself. it had been years since you’d laughed like that. "slow down, maybank," you said, taking a sip of your coffee. "we still gotta get there."

as the morning unfolded, a comfortable rhythm settled in. they chattered about the race, about local gossip, about the usual pogue antics, and you found yourself seamlessly falling back into the easy banter. it felt like time hadn't passed, like you hadn't been gone for four long years.

the initial awkwardness of your return had melted away, replaced by the familiar warmth of their friendship. eventually, the conversation softened, turning to more personal matters.

"so," kie began, her eyes a knowing kind of gentle, "about rafe."

you tensed, your newfound comfort wavering. you knew this was coming. "what about him?" you asked, trying to keep your voice neutral. "he's been... rough," pope said, his brow furrowed. "even more than usual. he tried to clean up his act after everything with ward and limbrey, but after you left.--he just kind of spiraled again."

sarah, who had been listening quietly, nodded. "he acts like he's fine, like he's moved on, but i see him. he's always looking for something, someone. and i think that someone is you." her voice was soft, laced with a familiar concern for her brother. "he was really hurt when you left, more than he let on."

"he hated you," john b interjected, his honesty blunt as ever, "but it was that kind of hate that's just pure, raw missing, you know? like he couldn't stand that you were gone, but he also couldn't forgive you for leaving." you nodded slowly, the words a confirmation of your own fears. "i know," you whispered, a fresh wave of guilt washing over you. "i caused him a lot of pain. i just--i thought i was doing the right thing. protecting him."

jj, who had been quiet, fiddling with a loose string on his board shorts, finally looked up. his eyes met yours, and the playful glint was gone, replaced by a deep, unwavering gaze. "protecting him from what?" he asked, his voice low, almost a murmur, but laced with an undeniable edge. he shifted, leaning forward slightly, his posture becoming more intense. his voice raising slowly, the hurt evident in the way he spoke "because honestly, you leaving... it didn't exactly help him. he got a lot worse. like, he got really messed up in the head--even more than he already was. started hearing voices in his head, doing horrible things to us... he's different now, but it was bad. he's dangerous, so, seriously, what made you just vanish like that, sis? why didn't you tell us anything? we were here, you know. we were right here, wondering where the hell you went."

the room fell silent, the cheerful atmosphere dissolving instantly as the weight of his questions pressed down on you. you flinched, the questions hitting you like a physical blow. you turn away from jj, locking eyes with sarah, an apologetic look in her eyes. sarah was the only person you had told you were leaving and she was the only person who knew why.

"it's... it was complicated," you mumbled, the familiar excuse feeling thinner and hollower than ever. you could feel their eyes on you, waiting, demanding an answer you weren't ready to give. "i just... i can't talk about it right now." you took a quick, nervous sip of your coffee, desperate to change the subject.

"so, about this race... who do you guys think is actually going to win this year?" cleo sighed, a hint of exasperation in her eyes. "you're just going to avoid it, aren't you?" you didn't answer, just kept your gaze fixed on the countertop. the unspoken tension returned, a stark reminder of the chasm that still existed between you and the life you'd abandoned.

pope sensing the shift in mood, put an arm around your shoulders. "hey, you can't live in the past, alright? what's done is done. you're here now. and maybe that's enough to start making things right." he squeezed your shoulder gently. "are you going to talk to him? really talk to him?"

you looked at each of them, at the genuine concern in their eyes, the unwavering support. this was your family, the ones who had stuck by you, even when you pushed them away. and for the first time since you’d returned, you felt a flicker of hope that maybe, just maybe, things could be okay.

"i don't know, he didn't seem very happy when i showed up to the kegger a few days ago," you admitted, the words barely a whisper. "i'm gonna try and avoid him as much as possible at the race. i just... i don't think it's gonna work right now." you took a deep breath. "but the race is probably a good place to be, right? everyone will be there."

"yeah," kiara assured you, a soft smiler plastered across her face.

the humid outer banks air, thick with the scent of salt and pine, did little to soothe your frayed nerves. the bike race, a local tradition you'd always loved, felt different this year, tainted by your own heavy heart.

you arrived with your friends, standing on the sidelines as jj prepared for his heat. you tried to focus on the cheers and the energy, but your eyes scanned the crowd for a face you both longed for and dreaded to see.

and thats when you saw him for the second time, except this time, he was laughing, a bright, unburdened sound that pierced through the noise of the race.

his arm was casually slung around a girl with sun-kissed hair and a smile that reached her eyes. sofia. you recognized her from the few social media posts you'd dared to glance at during your years away.

she was beautiful, vibrant, and clearly, blissfully unaware of the wreckage of your past. a cold, sharp pain lanced through your chest, stealing your breath.

it was a physical blow, worse than any punch. you had known, logically, that he'd move on. four years was a long time. but seeing it, witnessing his happiness with someone else, was a different kind of torture. he looked good, better than you'd ever seen him, free from the haunted expression you remembered. his eyes, once so often clouded with turmoil, sparkled with genuine joy as he looked at sofia.

you stumbled back, bumping into john b who caught your arm. your focus shattered. the world seemed to tilt on its axis, the vibrant colors of the race fading to a dull, suffocating gray. every beat of your heart echoed with a single, crushing thought: he’s happy without you. you mumbled an excuse to your friends, something about needing air, and turned, pushing through the throng of people.

you couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, couldn’t be there another second. the familiar streets, once a source of comfort, now mocked you with their normalcy. you walked aimlessly, the sun beating down on your head, each step a leaden weight. the ache in your chest deepened, spreading through your limbs, a pervasive numbness that dulled every sensation.

the image of rafe and sofia, their smiles bright and untroubled, was burned behind your eyelids, a cruel, mocking specter. you were drowning, utterly and completely alone. the self-loathing gnawed at you, you were a mess, a ghost of your former self, while he had rebuilt his life. the very thought of facing him, of him seeing you like this, was unbearable. what could you possibly say? that you came back to see if he was okay, only to find him perfectly fine, perfectly happy, without you?

the sun had long since dipped below the horizon, but the darkness in your soul felt deeper than the night sky. you were utterly, irrevocably alone. the return, which you had hoped would bring some semblance of peace or closure, had instead plunged you deeper into a darkness you hadn't known existed. the depression, a constant companion since you left, now gripped you with an intensity that left you breathless.

you were back, but you were more lost than ever. you pressed your forehead against your knees, clutching your arms around yourself, trying to physically contain the unraveling within. a tremor ran through you, a memory of cold fear and the sickening violation that had driven you from this island. that night, a specific terror that no one, not even jj, had ever suspected, had splintered something vital inside you. it was a secret kept under lock and key, buried so deep it felt part of your very bones. the thought of anyone discovering the truth, of him seeing the extent of the damage, made your breath catch.

the idea of going back to the chateau, to face the questioning looks of your friends, felt impossible. how could you explain this hollow ache, this profound despair, when you barely understood it yourself? how could you ever explain the visceral revulsion that now clung to every memory of home, to the very concept of touch, of safety?

a different thought, illogical and raw, pulled at you, pushing aside the desire for solace from anyone else. a desperate whisper, a desperate kind of longing, began to surface for rafe. not to tell him everything, god no. not to explain the unspeakable reason you left, or the horror that still clung to you. but just... to be near him. to confide in him, even if it was only the surface-level agony, the general despair. a fragile hope flickered that maybe, just maybe, his mere presence could anchor you, even for a moment.

your feet, which had been carrying you mindlessly towards tannyhill, continued their path. every step was a battle against your own fear, against the crushing weight of pride and the unbearable knowledge of how far you'd fallen. you were heading directly towards figure eight, towards his world, towards the one person who, despite everything, still felt like a jagged piece of your own shattered past.

he porch light sliced through the darkness, harsh and unforgiving. for a beat, he thought he was seeing a ghost, a trick of the humid outer banks night. but no, it was her. standing there, a phantom in the literal sense, her face a raw, devastating portrait of everything he’d tried to bury. the laughter and music from inside died in his ears, replaced by a sudden, violent thrumming in his own blood.

he hadn't moved. couldn't. the shock was a physical blow, followed by a familiar, searing anger that ignited in his gut. she was here. after all this time. after the silence, the gaping hole she’d ripped in his life when she just vanished. he swallowed hard, the muscles in his jaw aching with the effort to keep his face blank. sofia’s jeep in the driveway. kelce’s truck. topper. ruthie. the life he’d painstakingly, brutally rebuilt. and now this.

he’d seen her, a few minutes ago, a shadow at the edge of the property. she'd stopped at the end of the driveway, just past kelce's truck, and he'd watched her. her shoulders were hunched, a small, tight knot, and she was absolutely still, like she was arguing with herself, fighting some invisible pull. the sight had been like a phantom ache in his chest, a flicker of something ancient and dangerous stirring within him. he’d thought maybe she’d just turn and leave, disappear back into the night like she always did. he’d almost hoped for it. but then she'd moved, a slow, deliberate trudge towards the house, and he’d known he was screwed. his past, standing on his goddamn porch.

"what do you want?" the words tore out, rougher than he intended, a guttural demand that barely masked the tremor in his chest. he watched her face, searching for an answer, a reason, anything. but her eyes, wide and pleading, were just... empty. hollowed out. she looked like a wreck, worse than he’d ever seen her. the sight twisted something sharp inside him, a bitter cocktail of concern and resentment. a familiar, heavy burden.

he shifted, glancing over his shoulder, a flicker of paranoia. if sofia or anyone else came out... this was too much. he slammed the door shut with a muffled thud that cut off the distant party sounds, plunging the porch into a heavier silence, save for the hum of the air conditioning. he turned back to her, the faint glow from the living room windows barely reaching the porch, leaving her face in shadow.

"hey," he heard himself say, the word soft, against his will. it was the tone he used when she was on the edge, when her world was crumbling. damn her. damn himself. he could feel the old pull, a suffocating familiarity. he hated it. he hated her for making him feel it. but god, the sight of her, broken and exposed, was a raw wound in his own chest. regardless of the jagged chasm she’d carved through him, he couldn’t deny it. the stupid, brutal truth was, he still loved her. the thought burned, a hot, toxic shame.

a single tear escaped her eye, tracing a path down her cheek, and rafe felt a jolt. anger flared again, sharp and cold. don't you dare cry. not here. not now. not after what she'd done. but then he saw the tremor in her hands, the way she clutched herself, like she was holding herself together by sheer force of will. the raw, unadulterated fear in her eyes was like a punch to the gut. it wasn't about him. it was about her.

"what is it?" he pushed, the demand edged with a sudden, frantic urgency he despised. he took a step closer, then another, his hand twitching, wanting to reach out, to shake her, to demand answers. "tell me. what happened?"

she finally spoke, her voice a ghost of itself, thin and reedy. "i... i can't." the words were barely a breath. "i just... i need a minute. i just needed to... see you."

see him. the sheer audacity of it. after all the hell she’d put him through, the wreckage she’d left behind, she just needed to see him? a cold laugh almost broke from his throat, but it died. her eyes, pleading and desperate, were fixed on his, and in their depths, he saw a glimmer of true, unadorned pain. not a performance. not manipulation. just utter despair.

"you didn't know where else to go," he repeated, the words flat, heavy with disbelief and the grinding bitterness of years. he didn't try to hide the contempt. "after all this time? after showing up to the kegger with no warning? and you come here?" his gaze swept over her, taking in the bruised hollows beneath her eyes, the stark vulnerability that made him want to rage and pull her close all at once. "you show up out of nowhere, at a party of all places, after four years, looking like a damn ghost, and you tell me you just 'needed a minute'? you think this is some kind of shelter for you now? what the hell is going on? why did you leave me?" his voice was rough, edged with a dangerous mix of genuine concern and explosive frustration. the question hung in the air, weighted with every unspoken accusation and every fragmented memory of the past.

but before you could respond, there was a shift in his demeanor. as if he had just came to a realization of some sort and his eyes turned cold. he raised his hand. "actually," you furrowed your eyes "i don't wanna know. you know why? because you're a user, y/n. you come back when you're at your lowest, just to dump your misery on someone else. go on, run. go find someone else to bleed on." he seethed and before you could respond, he slammed the door in your face, leaving you all alone, once again.

for those who wanted me to tag them

@mirellef2001

#rafe obx #rafe cameron #obx pogues #rafe cameron x pogue!reader #obx #obx fanfiction #obx kooks #outer banks #rafe cameron x maybank!reader #jj maybank #sarah cameron #john b routledge #obx season 4 #pope heyward #kiara carrera #sofia obx #topper thornton #kelce obx #obx fic

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