#Rafe Cameron x reader insert

[tweedlydumbtweedlydoo]

a Second Chance | Rafe Cameron x Maybank!reader

Summary: After being in a secret relationship with Rafe and becoming pregnant, he denied the entire relationship, making it known your son wasn’t his. However, he can’t deny it for much longer - your son is the spitting image of Rafe. 

Part 1 

A/N: This is a continuation of the fic above. This can be read as stand alone or you can read the other first for a bit of background on how things played out and telling Rafe you were expecting. 

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Your son's giggles were music to your ears. You smiled in adoration at his uncle JJ chasing him through the yard, his little toddler legs moving as fast as they could. He loved his uncle JJ. And his other aunts and uncles too. After all the drama with Rafe, he and the other Pogues stepped in, becoming your village and boy are you glad you had them. You wouldn’t have been able to do it without them. 

Rafe continued the story, the baby wasn’t his and you were never in a relationship. However, as time has passed, people are starting to get suspicious, especially as your son grows because he’s the spitting image of Rafe. It is getting to the point, Rafe truly can’t deny him. 

“Come on boys, let's get to the beach before it gets crowded,” You call out to JJ and Jackson; the other Pogues loading up in the Twinkie. You and JJ worked hard, going in half on a car that JJ rebuilt to make it drivable. JJ knew the Twinkie wouldn’t be a safe vehicle to transport his tiny nephew and made it his mission to find you something sustainable and reliable. 

“Mama!” Jackson squeals as he nears, jumping into your arms. 

You laugh and kiss his head before placing him in his carseat and securing him. “Ready to go to the beach?” 

He nods with a big grin; Rafe’s smile. The smile you’d fell in love with. You can’t deny it doesn’t hurt a little when you look at your son, because staring back is Rafe and all the hurt that came with him. But you wouldn’t trade Jackson for anything in the world. He’d brought light into your life and filled your broken heart. Jackson is so smart and intelligent, even at only 3 years old. He’s got a sweet and loving personality and he loves when he can make you laugh. And Rafe is missing it all, time he will never get back.

~

After settling at a spot on the beach, you all unpacked, setting the chairs and umbrella up. Pope dropping the cooler under the umbrella with a grunt, “jeez what the hell did you guys pack in that thing.” 

Jackson started tugging you toward the water, “come mama!” 

“No baby hold on, let's put sunscreen on first. Then you can get in the water.” 

He pouts but stops tugging, letting you lather him in the sunscreen. 

“Once mama is finished me and you can go check out those waves!”  JJ holds his fist to Jackson, who returns with a fist bump. 

“Alright you’re finished!” You kiss him on the head and he takes off toward the water with JJ. JJ picks him up and wades into the water with him. Jackson laughing hysterically as the waves crash against them. 

“beer?” Kie asks, as you take a seat in the beach chair next to her. 

"Yes thank you,” you sigh, taking a sip, “I love that the beach is nearly empty-” 

Loud music catches you and the other Pogues attention, watching as a couple trucks and a jeep drive thru the sand behind you. You recognized Topper’s jeep and groaned. 

“Please keep driving..” Sarah pleads. 

“Anywhere but here.” Kie adds. 

“Of course.” John B says as they stop a little ways down the beach, “This entire beach and they pick that spot?” 

You take a sip of your beer, nearly choking on it as you see someone hop out of the dark blue truck. Rafe. 

“Shit.” Kie mumbles. 

He rounds the truck and opens the passenger side, another person gets out of the truck and it’s Sofia. 

Sarah places a gentle hand on your arm, “you gonna be ok?” 

You give her a reassuring smile and nod, “Yeah, yeah. I’ll be fine.” You gaze out at the ocean, JJ has noticed the kooks and he looks over at you, a look of concern on his face. You nod at him, letting him know you’re okay. He continues to play with Jackson, holding his hand as he stands with his toes in the sand, jumping over the waves as they break against the beach. 

“We’re both adults here. Maybe me more than him but it’s ok.” You glance between Sarah and Kie, “He’s living his best life - while I raise our son that he denies is his.” 

John B squeezes your shoulders, “And you’re doing a damn good job at it too.” 

The rest of the Pogues pipe in, “Hell ya you are,” “You’re killing it.” 

“Thanks you guys,” Your eyes dance between the Pogues, “I couldn’t have done it without you guys,” Your eyes grow teary, “Ok okay stop you guys are gonna make me cry,” You shake your hands out, wiping your face, “enough sappy talk. Let’s enjoy our beach day!” 

~ 

Rafe watches you and the Pogues playing with Jackson by the water, taking a sip of his beer. 

Sofia comes up beside him, wrapping her arm around his waist, “Her son is cute,” She says with a smile, looking up at him. 

He hums in response, not pulling his eyes from you and Jackson. He knew now, there was no denying Jackson. He looked just like him. Topper flat out asked the other day if Jackson was his. 

“He looks just like you man.” 

Rafe shrugged, “I don’t see it. He’s not mine though. She was screwing everyone on the island. There’s no telling who the father is.” He tried to keep up with the lie, but Topper wasn’t stupid. Topper knew you weren’t sleeping around, you’d never been like that. But he let him continue the lie, dropping the topic completely. 

“I bet our kids will be cute.” 

Now that caught his attention. He snaps his head toward her, “What?” 

Sofia smiles, “When we have kids, I bet they will be cute.” She’s in dreamland, wondering what life with Rafe Cameron would be like. Getting married, having a big house on the island, having kids etc etc. Little did she know, Rafe wasn’t planning a future with her. 

He nod and takes another sip of his beer, deciding not to say anything. 

“Jackson wait-” 

Rafe turns in time to see a ball rolling his way and Jackson chasing it. You weren’t too far behind. 

Rafe bends down and picks up the ball, staying at Jackson’s level as he approaches. Jackson is hesitant to take it. 

“Jackson, you can’t just run off-” 

Rafe feels like he’s staring at a mirror. Topper’s right, he looks just like him. The little boys eyes are innocent and he’s overcome with a feeling he can’t describe. He feels protective of the small boy in front of him, like a father would. A surge of love flowing through him. How could anyone leave this boy without a dad? How could he have abandoned his son? Something changed the moment he looked into Jackson’s eyes.

“Here you go, buddy,” Rafe holds the ball out to him with a smile. 

Jackson hesitantly takes it, looking up at you, with a small pout on his lips, “Sorry mama, my ball.” 

Rafe slowly stands, the two of you coming face to face for the first time since you told him you were pregnant. 

“It’s ok baby, you just can’t run off like that.” You run your fingers through his hair. You will yourself to meet Rafe’s eyes, “Sorry about that, we’ll get out of your way.” 

“It’s ok.” Rafe can’t seem to tear his eyes away from you. Is it possible to be more beautiful? Motherhood treated you well and he’s overwhelmed with pride to know you did it all on your own because of his stupid decision. His stupid immature decision. 

Your eyes glance to Sofia, who steps up next to Rafe, pulling him from his trance, “your son.. he’s adorable.” 

You give her a small smile, “Thank you.” 

Rafe is mesmerized by you. He doesn’t know what’s over come him but the feelings that he buried deep inside have started bubbling to the surface. 

“Jackson, you know you’re not suppose to talk to strangers.” JJ takes a dig at Rafe as he approaches, scooping up Jackson in his arms. 

Rafe’s jaw clenches at JJ’s comment. Stranger. He’s no stranger. He’s his father- but he catches himself. JJ’s right. He truly is a stranger to him and he has no right to call himself his father. 

Jackson wraps his tiny arms around JJ’s neck, snuggling into his shoulder. That stirs some jealousy within Rafe. He should be the one hugging his son and playing ball with him on the beach. He should be the one there, the three of you as a family. 

“We better get back. Sorry for bothering you guys.” You apologized, following JJ back to the rest of the pogues. 

Rafe watches you walk away, his heart aching. He should have told you the truth. And he shouldn’t have lied all these years about Jackson. 

 ~ 

JJ holds Jackson with one arm and wraps his other around your shoulders, “you ok?” 

You nod, “I’m good. You shouldn’t have made the comment you did” 

JJ rolls his eyes, “it’s not like it wasn’t true. He’s a stranger.” 

You shrug, “I know but-“ 

“No buts. He’s a stranger to Jackson. Even if he shares DNA with him.” He snaps back. 

It was a touchy subject with JJ and you knew the conversation was over. JJ was protective over you and he held a huge grudge against Rafe for abandoning the two of you. Especially Jackson. He wanted Jackson to have a dad, something you and him didn’t have growing up. 

~ 

Rafe laid in bed that night with you and Jackson on his mind. He couldn’t sleep, tossing and turning the entire night. Sofia is sound asleep next to him. He squints, peering to check the time on the clock, 6:37 am. He sighs running a hand over his face before quietly getting out of bed and toward the shower. He wanted to see you again and talk. He needed to talk to you. 

“Rafe?” Sofia’s sleepy voice calls out to him, hands feeling his spot on the bed. 

Rafe comes to her side, showered and dressed, kisses her forehead. “Early meeting. Be back later.” 

She hums and turns back over, falling back asleep. 

~ 

He pulls up to the Maybank house a little while later. Glancing over in the passenger seat, coffee for you and him. He hopes you still liked your coffee with 2 creams and 2 sugars. He also picked up some muffins and donuts, unsure what Jackson would like. 

He was nervous, gripping the steering wheel. Maybe he shouldn’t do this. He can still turn around and go home. You don’t even know he’s here yet. 

He shakes his head, no there’s no talking him out of this. He needs to have this talk. He’s 2 years two late. Technically almost 3 years. 

Well shit there’s no turning around now cause here you come walking toward his truck. He takes a deep breath, now or never. 

He steps out of the truck, “morning.”

“What the hell are you doing here?” You ask tightening your robe around you, “it’s nearly 7:30 in the morning.” 

“Brought coffee and breakfast.” He says, reaching inside to grab the coffee and bag. “I was hoping we could talk?” 

“Now you want to talk? You’re a couple years too late Rafe.” You’re eyeing the coffee, yearning for your boost of caffeine. 

He sighs, “I know, I have no right to show up here unannounced either but, after seeing you guys yesterday I couldn’t stop thinking about you.” He offers the coffee, “two cream and two sugar?” 

You nod, slowly reaching to take the coffee, “you still remember?” You ask, surprised. Even after all these years he remembered? You felt a soft tug on your heart. No y/n. You tell yourself, smooshing those feelings back down. It was not the time to go soft. 

He shrugs, also handing you the bag of muffins and donuts, “It’s not the hardest coffee order, but yes I still remember. There’s muffins and donuts in there, I wasn’t sure-” He scratches the back of his neck, growing uncomfortable, “I wasn’t sure what Jackson liked.” 

“He’s a fan of both. He pretty much will eat anything,” You turn and head for the porch, “Everyone is still asleep, let me put this inside and we can go to the dock.” 

Rafe nods and takes the time to check out what all you two have done with the place. It was different than when he was here last, new dock and boathouse, the landscaping had been cleaned up and the house actually looked livable. Jackson’s toys were strewed around the grass. 

“ready?” You ask, heading down toward the dock, Rafe following. You two take a seat on the bench at the end of the dock. 

“So, now that Jackson is older, people are starting to notice how much he looks just like you. You can’t keep up with whatever lie you’ve been spreading. Are you here to try and make me come up with an excuse for where his father is? So, you can go about your life?” You ask, bitterly. 

“No, that’s not why I’m here. I’m here to step up and apologize. And explain my immature behavior.” He stands back up, pacing the dock in front of you. His nerves are getting the best of him. He had this speech all planned out but sitting in front of you, he’s forgot what to say. “I wasn’t in the right head space. And I for sure wasn’t ready to be a father. You saw what I was like. I was drinking, partying. Hell, I was even doing coke at that point.” 

You sit quietly, sipping your coffee as you listen to him. It wasn’t anything you didn't know, to tell you the truth. You also were doing all those things at the time, minus the coke, but as soon as you found out you were pregnant, you’d stepped up and knew all of that had to come to an end. You were going to be a mother. 

“I was doing the same things, Rafe. I don’t see that being an excuse. I stepped up when I needed to because I had too. It was something you needed to do as well, but you weren’t ready to give up that life yet. You weren’t ready to give up your lifestyle to become a father.” 

“I know. and that’s the truth, I didn’t want to give up my partying lifestyle for a kid. I was also scared what people would think of me, getting a girl from the cut pregnant. No one even knew we were dating-” 

“So you were ashamed of me? You’re really not doing yourself any favors right now-” You scoffed, standing, “I get it, Rafe. It would have been the worst thing for a kook to get a pogue pregnant. People would have judged you and never looked at you the same-” You turn to head back toward the house. “I’m so tired of this kook vs pogue bullshit.” 

“Baby-” He gently grabs your arm to stop you, letting the pet name slip, “I mean y/n- That’s not what I was trying to say. Fuck, this is not how I wanted this to go. Please, I’m trying to apologize. I was an immature kid back then and I’m here now to apologize, make things right and take responsibility.” 

“Rafe,” you sigh, “we’re doing fine right now. Without having you in our lives. We’ve made it work. It’s been 3 years, just let it go. I’ll keep on with the lie, you can continue to live your life how you want. Get married, have other kids. Whatever you want to do.” 

“I don’t want to do that, y/n. That’s what I’m here for. I want to be apart of Jackson’s life. A part of your life.” His hand has slipped down from your arm to your hand, his thumb subconsciously caressing your skin. “Please give me another chance. I’ve changed. I promise I’m not the man I was before. My dad has made me a manager at his company. I have a steady job, a house of my own. I’m not the immature teenager I was before.” His eyes are pleading for another chance to do the right thing.

You don’t know how to describe it as you stare into Rafe’s eyes, that they look the same as they did when you fell in love with him, but have a different softness to them. He’s genuine. But you don’t know if you can trust him. He broke you and you weren’t ready to open those doors again. You weren’t ready to open yourself back to him. You had Jackson to think about now and had to take his feeling into account. Could you trust Rafe? 

“What about Sofia? What does she think of all this?” You remove your hand from his, crossing your arms over your chest. “She seems like a great girl.” 

“If I’m honest with you, I haven’t talked to her about it. Me and her aren’t serious.” 

“Maybe you should go home and talk things over with her. I can’t make a decision now. I need time to think it over.” 

His shoulders sag in defeat, but he ultimately nods, “Take all the time you need.. I’ll be here waiting.” 

~ 

Rafe left your house and immediately went to Tannyhill, hoping he could catch his dad before leaving for his meeting at 11. “Morning Rose,” He greets as he enters the kitchen, Rose is drinking coffee at the island, Wheezie next to her. He kisses Wheezie on the head, “Wheezie,” 

“Morning,” They say in unison. 

“Is Dad still here?” 

“In his office,” Rose nods, “He had a couple things to finish before the meeting.” 

“Thanks,” Rafe heads toward his office, knocking, “Dad?” 

“Come in,” Ward calls out, “Morning Rafe, you ready for the big meeting this morning?” 

“Ready. But I was hoping to talk to you about something.” He takes a seat across from Ward’s desk. Ward can tell there is something on his son’s mind and closes his laptop to give his full attention. 

“What’s going on?” 

Rafe takes a deep breath, clasping his hands together to stop them from shaking, “You know y/n Maybank?” 

“Yes-” Ward says, leaning forward a little, “What about her?” 

“Me and her dated a few years ago.”

“Mmhmm.” ward nods, “What about it?” 

Rafe takes another deep shaky breath. Ward begins to think about it, remembering she had a son. Who was about 3- 

“The boy- Jackson. He’s yours?” Ward asks in disbelief. 

Rafe gives a short nod, “I fucked up.” 

Ward slowly sits back in his chair, taking it all in. Old Ward would have blown up, told Rafe how stupid could he have been. “How long have you known?” He asks. 

“Since she told me she was pregnant.” He can’t help but get teary eyed, still on edge as he waits for his dad to blow up on him. “I told you I fucked up.” 

Ward mulls over this new and shocking information. “Why wouldn’t you say anything?” Ward asks. 

“I was terrified. Immature. I didn’t want to be a dad. I was partying all the time and wasn’t ready to give it up and be a dad.” He tells him honestly, “It was a shitty decision and I regret it.” 

“You should have took responsibility son.” He sighs, “But I know you weren’t in the right head space.” He stands and rounds his large desk, taking the seat next to his son, “Rehab changed you for the better.” 

Rafe nods, “I’m trying to fix things. I want to be in his life. I went to her this morning and we talked. She’s hesitant to give me a chance.” 

“She has every right to be hesitant.” Ward defends, you, “That’s her son.” 

“He’s mine too,” Rafe says, but sighs, “But you’re right. It is her son. I’ve given her no reason to trust me.” 

Ward nods, “Time will give her that. You’ve done the hardest part. Admitted you were wrong and apologized.” He squeezes Rafe’s shoulder, “It’s time for you to take responsibility.” 

Rafe nods in response, “I’m sorry dad. I should have told you the truth.” 

Ward agrees. He gives Rafe a small smile, “So I have a grandson, huh?” 

~ 

Rafe was in agony. It had been a week since he talked to you. You hadn’t tried reaching out yet and he was starting to get worried that you weren’t going to give him a second chance. He’d called it quits with Sofia, who didn’t take it easily, but she admitted she knew she��d seen a change in him after the beach day. And had admitted she’d wondered about Jackson. She saw the resemblance and the way Rafe had looked at you. He was still in love with you. 

You’d told the Pogues that morning over breakfast, JJ had flipped. 

“Like hell he deserves another chance!” 

“JJ, you don’t get to make the decision, I do.” 

JJ had left with a slam of the front door. He come back a couple hours later, calm and agreed. It wasn’t his place, but he still didn’t trust him. He didn’t want to see you hurt again. 

JJ had left with a slam of the front door. He come back a couple hours later, calm and agreed that it wasn’t his place, but he still didn’t trust him. He didn’t want to see you hurt again. 

~

Your heart is pounding against your chest as you take the stairs up to Rafe’s front door. You looked around the outside of the house. It was a nice, expensive house on the water. Two story on stilts as most houses near water are built. 

His truck was parked under the house so you knew he was home. 

You took a deep breath and knocked on the door. 

Rafe was surprised to see you at his front door. It had been a week and he was beginning to wonder if you were even gonna make a decision. The longer it took the more he felt he wasn’t going to get his second chance. 

“Hey,” 

“Hey,” you point inside, “can I come in so we can talk?” 

“Yeah yeah of course.” He opens the door wider for you to enter, closing it behind you. 

The place was clean and sleek. It looked like a bachelor pad. 

“You want anything to drink? I’ve got water, juice, a beer..” he chuckles softly, motioning to the kitchen. 

You follow him into the kitchen, “Water is fine,” You lay your purse in the chair at the island. “I’m gonna be honest, I’m nervous.”

He fixes you a glass of water and you take a chance to look around the room. 

“no need to be nervous,”

You see in the corner of the living room there’s a small kids battery powered jeep and a couple other shopping bags around it. 

He sees you have noticed the stuff and slides the water to you, “my dad.. he uh he bought it for Jackson and Rose picked up a few things for him too.” 

“Thats’s very sweet of them. But wait, you told your dad?” You’re surprised and look to him, “I thought you hated him.. you guys didn’t have a great relationship.” 

“We patched things up after I got back from rehab.” 

“Rehab?” You ask shocked, “I didn’t know, when did you go to rehab?” 

He clears his throat, “few months after we broke up. Or I broke things off. Ward found me half dead on some laced coke I bought and when I woke up he made me go to rehab. Best decision I could have made.” 

“That’s awesome, Rafe. Im happy for you. I know having a better relationship with your dad was what you always talked about wanting.” You give him a soft smile. 

“Yeah yeah it’s good now.” He heads toward the back deck overlooking the water and you follow taking in the view but Rafe, he’s watching you, taking you in. 

You catch him watching you and can’t help but blush, “why are you looking at me like that?” 

Now he blushes, embarrassed he’d been caught, “sorry, we can sit here to talk.” He takes a seat on the couch and you take a seat on the other side. 

You take a deep breath, “I’ve done a lot of thinking over this.” 

He nods, hands clasped together he places his elbows on his thighs leaning closer, “yeah?” 

You look at him, “We’ll start out easy and slow. He’s not to know you’re his dad yet. I want him to be comfortable with you. He doesn’t truly understand the whole dad thing either, so I don’t want to confuse him. We call all hang out together first and then if I feel comfortable enough maybe you can take him on your own for a couple hours. I don’t trust you yet, Rafe. You broke that trust and I need time. But I believe everyone deserves a second chance. And I want Jackson to grow up with a dad who loves him. Something JJ and I didn’t have growing up.” 

He resists every muscle in his body not to hug you. “I can be that. I will be that.” 

He reaches over and you let him take your hand, “thank you for this.” He gives it a gentle squeeze, “you don’t know how much this chance means to me.”

~ 

A couple days later you and Jackson meet Rafe at his house, planning to spend the day there. Rafe had asked you a million questions about Jackson; his likes, dislikes, what toys he liked to play with, what he liked to do. He wanted to know as much as he could so he could be prepared for today. 

“Hey!” Rafe greets at the door, “What’s up little man?” 

Jackson’s shy at first and he peeks out from your shoulder at Rafe, muttering a quiet, “Hi.” 

“He’s a little shy. And he just woke up from a nap.” you follow Rafe inside and he helps to take the bag off your shoulders. 

“It’s all good. I understand.” He nervously wipes his hands on his shorts, “I got his favorite foods. The kitchen is stocked and-” 

“Toys!” Jackson gasps, wiggling out of your arms and immediately taking off toward the pile of toys. The jeep Ward bought him was there and a couple other new toys Rafe picked up.  

“Can I play?” Jackson asks, his eyes lighting up. 

“They’re yours! You can play with them all. After lunch we can take that jeep outside and you can ride around the yard.” Rafe says, taking a seat on the couch to watch him. 

“You didn’t have to get all these...” You sit next to Rafe. 

Rafe shrugs, “I know but he didn’t have anything here. I want him to be comfortable.” He slips off the couch and sits in the floor next to Jackson, helping him open the toys. Rafe teaches him how to play with a couple of them, showing him how they work. 

You couldn’t believe the change in Rafe. It was like a different man sitting in the floor. And the resemblance between the two was uncanny. Both had the same look of concentration on their face and you laughed softly to yourself after snapping a picture. Sarah had asked how it was going, so you sent her the picture. She was happy to know her brother was stepping up and also made a comment about their same look of concentration. 

As you stared at Rafe, a new feeling was starting to take form. A longing for something more and hope that maybe you could get your happy ever after and your dream of a family to become a reality.

Comments, likes, & reblogs are always greatly appreciated! I love to read your thoughts on it. 

[thatboisus]

me logging onto tumblr after consuming a new piece of media

[chuulyssa]

being an x reader writer and trying to be inclusive of all readers makes me overthink so much like should i write about you having smth with milk in it? no no what if the reader is lactose-intolerant. about the reader being the big spoon? noo what if they wanna be cuddled like a little spoon. about fingers through your hair? noooo what if the person reading it is bald

[hanasnx]

ᯓ★ MINORS DNI 18+

RAFE CAMERON talking about you to his buddies. neck deep in alcohol, slurred speech, claiming, “she’s a bombshell, guys, seriously.” while his hands form your figure in air like clay, giving his piece of shit friends a clear picture of an hourglass body. their cheers and obvious interest only riles him up, talking big with growing enthusiasm, “and i hit that shit every night, man!” rewarded with pats on the back and congratulatory daps. it’s the kind of locker-room-talk that only gets worse. shots keep getting poured, depraved guys with girlfriends who won’t put out gather around rafe fiending for dirty details: do you squirt; do you let him sleep around; is butt stuff on the table? anything they can think up, they’re hounding the prince of kildare for. and rafe, eager for a chance to prove himself, leaves nothing to the imagination.

[luffyssa]

when the fic is good but uses first person pov

[7-deadly-cats]

fuck valentine's day

♡ G E N R E ♡ one shot, angst but happy ending, no explicit smut

M A S T E R L I S T | T A G L I S T F O R M

♡ P A I R I N G ♡ taken!s4!rafe cameron x fem!bsf!reader

♡ C O N T E N T W A R N I N G ♡ strong language, angst but happy ending, suggestive language, major argument, mention of substance abuse (alcohol and coke), emotional distress, toxic relationship (not with you tho hihihi) and manipulation, brief mention of physical violence (just a punch), mildly suggestive scenes and hint of intimacy but no explicit smut, my reccomendation: 16+

♡ S U M M A R Y ♡ After the death of Ward Cameron, Rafe starts to reclaim his life, becoming more grounded and family-oriented. However, his close friendship with you slowly crumbles after Sabrina, his seemingly perfect girlfriend, enters the picture. You, grappling with suppressed feelings for Rafe, try to step back, but Sabrina's manipulative nature causes tensions to rise. On a stormy Valentine’s Day, a broken-down car leads to an unexpected confrontation between Rafe and you where emotions spill over. As truths are revealed, your complicated relationship takes an intense and transformative turn, forcing both to confront what you truly mean to each other.

♡ W O R D C O U N T ♡ 8.3k

♡ A / N ♡ this is the most i've ever written in ONE day (yes i spent the whole valentine's day writing this lmao) and i put my whole soul into it, and i know it's LONG but i promise i tried my best to make it work. so anyway happy very late valentine's day to everyone, hope you enjoy this little one shot <3 maybe it's a little cheesy, cringe and cliche (especially at the end) but i guess that's what this day is about. and i really enjoyed writing it hihhi + would love to hear your thoughts on this one (would mean a lot)

♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡

Ward Cameron’s death was, in your eyes, the best thing that could’ve ever happened to Rafe. He was finally free from the toxic relationship with his father. Free from years of manipulation, being pushed around, and constant disregard.

Of course, it hadn’t happened overnight. The first step had been taken long before Ward’s death, back when he fell into a coma and Rafe was suddenly thrust into the role of being the man of the house. It was during that time Rafe realized the family and their business could function without Ward Cameron at the helm.

Ward’s death was simply the final key that unlocked Rafe’s cage. And as he let go of his father, he also let go of a significant part of his old life.

He became more grounded, business-minded, and above all, family-oriented. He kept talking about fixing things with Sarah and pulling Wheezie away from Rose’s grip.

Rafe Cameron genuinely wanted to become a better man.

Watching him finally blossom as a person was so incredibly beautiful to witness. And yet, it shattered your heart into a thousand pieces knowing you weren’t the one standing by his side as it happened.

Sure, you had been there for him during his darkest, most destructive moments. You had stayed by his side when he said and did things that were nearly impossible to take back. He had hurt people close to him—you included—and yet, you had never left.

Deep down, you knew that underneath all the frustration and rage was a broken boy who just craved love and recognition. And no one had ever given him the chance to show that part of himself.

That’s exactly why you'd never dared to confess your feelings to him. He deserved love but there had never been a time when he was truly ready for a serious relationship.

Telling him about your feelings, purely out of selfishness, would’ve led to one of two outcomes: either an unstable relationship where he clung to the idea of being loved without genuinely loving you back, or the deterioration of your friendship due to his fear of commitment.

So, you suppressed your thoughts, feelings, and the love you held for him. You preferred to love him from afar as your best friend rather than risk dragging him into a formless relationship during his unstable state.

Tragically, that mindset became deeply ingrained in your brain. Even after Ward’s death, when Rafe visibly began to change for the better and showed clear signs of looking for something serious, you stayed silent. Not out of fear of losing him but out of sheer stubbornness, waiting for the “right moment.”

And that hesitation cost you your chance: another girl got there first and won Rafe’s heart.

Sabrina Anderson—he met her at a charity gala. She was stunningly beautiful, wealthy, had an excellent academic background, and everything about her screamed “old money.” She was the picture-perfect Kook girlfriend.

Everything Rafe thought he wanted in a woman.

And, for fuck’s sake, it felt like the universe was punishing you for your patience. Normally, you would’ve accompanied Rafe to his important events as his support but this one time, this one fucking time, you had canceled because you’d promised Topper you’d help him move into his stupid new place (yeah, he had finally gotten his act together and left his toxic family’s home). And like the idiot you were, you completely forgot the gala was happening that day.

“Shit, I’m so sorry. You know I usually write this stuff down in my calendar but I must’ve missed it somehow,” you said the night before the gala while helping him pick the perfect outfit.

Rafe just waved it off with a cheeky grin as he unbuttoned his shirt. “I’ll survive one evening without your bad jokes and complaining about the tiny dessert portions.”

“They are tiny portions. I think they’re expecting a bunch of kids as guests,” you retorted, your eyes flickering briefly to his sun-kissed, bare chest. You quickly averted your gaze and handed him a new shirt. “I think this one works better. Next time, I’ll be there—promise. Even if Topper’s new place is on fire.”

Rafe nodded, amused, as he slipped on the new shirt. “That’s not even unlikely with his mom around. That woman’s straight-up on ‘psycho mom marries son’ type shit.”

A laugh escaped your lips. “Don’t say that—next thing you know, it’ll be on TLC or some other trash TV channel.”

And so, you spent the rest of the evening together.

Rafe tried on a few more suits, all of which looked amazing on him (and in every single one of them, you wanted to rip the clothes right off him, though you'd never say that out loud).

You baked a pizza together, watched some movies in his bed, and every time you showed him one of your dumb, brain-rotting reels, he rolled his eyes—but every so often, he sent you one of his own because, deep down, he probably loved how much they made you laugh.

At some point, you fell asleep in his bed, and Rafe brought you an extra blanket. The next morning, he drove you home and wished you luck at Topper’s move.

Had you known that would be the last night the two of you could act like that, you would’ve told him everything.

But how could you have known that the next night, a new girl would enter his life? How could you have known that Sabrina Anderson would sweep him off his feet in a way you never could? And how could you have predicted that she would endanger your entire friendship so deeply that within a few months, you and Rafe were little more than acquaintances?

At first, everything seemed fine. Rafe told you about the gala, about Sabrina, and about how perfect she was. Of course, it broke your heart, but the way he spoke about her helped heal it again because he was genuinely smitten with her.

They started texting, going on dates, and Rafe did things for her he’d never done for anyone else. He bought her the most beautiful flowers, spoiled her with the most expensive jewelry, and gave everything to be a good boyfriend.

And so, their relationship grew more serious, and eventually, he introduced her to you, Topper, and Kelce at a party at Tannyhill.

That’s when everything went downhill.

Topper and Kelce obviously thought she was hot, of course—those idiots were just guys, after all. They couldn’t see past her perfectly shaped breasts and the cute ass hidden under a stylish dress.

But for you, alarm bells were ringing. Something about Sabrina just felt... off. Sure, she was incredibly sweet and nice but whenever she looked at you, there was something darker lurking beneath her gaze.

You dismissed it immediately, assuming you were just biased because of your own feelings for Rafe. A part of you simply couldn’t accept that another woman was making him happy.

Besides, you were still his best friend. You’d been through thick and thin together, and nothing could tear the two of you apart. Not even a girlfriend.

Sure, Sabrina would be part of everything from now on but the chemistry between you and Rafe... that was something special, and even an idiot could see it.

So it wasn’t entirely surprising when Sabrina cornered you in the kitchen later that night, a sweet smile plastered on her face. “Oh, hey, Y/N. Needed a little breather too?”

You were pouring yourself another drink, and even though she gave you a weird feeling, you smiled back at her. “Yeah, when Kelce DJs, it tends to get loud.”

Sabrina nodded in agreement but the smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. “True. Rafe seems to have some... interesting friends.”

The way she said it, while looking directly at you, should’ve been enough for you to go straight to Rafe and tell him something about Sabrina wasn’t right. But you just shrugged as you added vodka to your cup. “Kelce’s a bit weird but he’s cool once you get to know him. And Topper’s always reliable when it counts.”

“And you?” Her innocent look didn’t match her tone.

You raised your eyebrows slightly. “What about me?”

“When Rafe mentioned he had a girl best friend, I didn’t think that...” She paused, tilting her head with a bemused smile. “Well, you know, that she was his ex.”

What the fuck?

Your eyebrows shot up, and you shook your head in confusion. “I’m not his ex. Where did you get that from?”

Sabrina let out a soft giggle, as if your reaction had been overly dramatic. “You don’t have to get so defensive. I just thought, well, you two seem so close, and the way you look at him... it’s only natural I’d have a few concerns, right?”

You shook your head again, though you couldn’t stop the faint blush creeping across your cheeks. “We’re just friends, Sabrina. You don’t need to worry about me.”

“So... just to be clear, you two never had anything going on? You know, slept with each other or something?” She still wore that fake innocent smile.

What a bitch.

“No, of course not,” you replied dryly. “It’s always been purely platonic between me and Rafe.”

Sabrina let out a relieved sigh. “Oh, that’s a relief. Then I guess you’re basically like a little sister to him.”

Whatever that was supposed to mean. You shrugged. “I guess."

This time, Sabrina’s gaze darkened, though her facade still didn’t slip. “Good. I mean, I’d just like to think siblings behave a little more... appropriately.”

You only smiled in response but in that moment, the first brick of a massive wall between you and Rafe had been laid.

Because deep down, as much as it ate at you, Sabrina was right. It had never been an issue before if you shared a bed with him, wore his clothes, kissed him during one of Kelce’s stupid Truth or Dare games, or hung on him like a lovesick monkey when you got too drunk.

You had been both single and the flirty banter between you had always been just that—a few dumb words or gestures, nothing more.

But now Rafe had a girlfriend. He was taken. And all those things were no longer okay. And even though he was your best friend and hadn’t yet drawn those boundaries for the sake of his new relationship, you did.

At first, it was a slow process. Movie nights turned into movie afternoons, and instead of laying in his bed, you suggested the couch because it was cozier… right? And even though he still preferred you as his plus one for events, you started declining, insisting Sabrina would probably appreciate it more. Wouldn’t she, Rafe?

You also pulled away from hugs quicker than before, drank less at parties to avoid doing anything dumb around him, and when it came to games like Never Have I Ever or Truth or Dare, you became a mere spectator. What used to be teasing touches were reduced to the bare minimum.

Your friendship began to waver and Sabrina kept Rafe so busy—dragging him from one date to another, satisfying him in ways you could only dream of—that he barely noticed how far the two of you had drifted apart.

Of course, the others around you weren’t stupid. Topper and Kelce immediately noticed the strange new tension between you and Rafe. Even fucking Ruthie, Topper’s girlfriend—and the two of you were definitely not on good terms—pulled you aside one evening.

However, you knew she didn’t do it out of concern for you. No, Ruthie felt threatened by Sabrina’s presence just as much as you did.

“Are you seriously going to let her walk all over you?” she asked, cornering you outside the bathroom at a beach party. “That bitch is a manipulative snake.”

God, you wanted to agree, to vent to Ruthie about how much Sabrina pissed you off. But for Rafe’s sake, you bit back the words and said instead, “If you want, I can let him know how you feel. I’m sure he’ll love to hear it.”

Ruthie, unimpressed, just smiled. “Oh, please. When’s the last time you two even talked alone?”

That stung because it was true.

Three months into his relationship with Sabrina, she’d already built a thick wall between you and Rafe. These days, you only saw each other at parties or when the group hung out—and even then, getting a private moment with him was rare. Sabrina clung to him like a shadow, always watching, always there. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d done something together, just the two of you. He barely seemed to have time for anyone else anymore, not even you.

And that was the problem. Rafe was so terrified of letting this chance at a “perfect” future with someone slip away that he clung to Sabrina just as tightly as she clung to him. Because even though Ward Cameron was no longer alive, one thing had stuck with Rafe: the idea of family.

That was what Ward had valued above all else, and Rafe thought he’d finally found that dream with Sabrina Anderson.

And even though it tore you apart, even though it cost you sleepless, tear-filled nights, you couldn’t bring yourself to talk to him about it. It was so incredibly wrong and cowardly, especially because you KNEW what kind of person Sabrina was. You KNEW that, eventually, her controlling nature would probably drive a wedge between Rafe and the rest of the group—Topper, Kelce, everyone. But in that moment, he seemed happy.

And you couldn’t be the one to take that happiness away from him, even if it meant losing him in the process.

It was unbelievably stupid, and deep down, you knew he deserved better. But the real problem wasn’t Sabrina—it was you.

No matter who stood at Rafe’s side, any girl would have reacted the same way Sabrina did. Maybe they wouldn’t have been as cunning about it, but no girl would have been okay with the bond you shared with Rafe. Some might’ve confronted him directly, others might’ve gone after you like Sabrina had, and some would’ve just given up and broken things off immediately.

And Rafe had realized that too, in his own way. The connection between you and him... it wasn’t a normal “best friends” kind of thing. You were probably the most important person in his life—until Sabrina showed up. But Rafe had been too blind, too scared, to admit it to himself.

Or worse, to admit it to you.

Because the truth was, Rafe had feelings for you. He wasn’t stupid—how could he not have fallen for you? You’d stood by him during his darkest moments, even when he confessed to you about killing Peterkin. Hell, you would’ve followed him to Barbados if he hadn’t insisted you stay behind, where you’d be safe.

But Rafe also knew how messed up he was. He knew there was something deeply wrong with him. He was loud, impulsive, and reckless. At his worst, he’d nearly been willing to kill Sarah and his own father.

Rafe Cameron was a deeply unstable wreck and the last thing he wanted was to drag you down with him.

You deserved someone better. Someone kind and loving, someone who didn’t have anger issues or a fucked-up mind like his. Someone who knew their limits and respected others’.

God, how many times had he sat next to you at parties, with you drunk or high, leaning against him, your big, tired eyes looking up at him like he was the only person in the world that mattered? It had taken every ounce of self-control not to press his lips to yours right then and there, to carry you upstairs to his bed and forget about the party downstairs.

And the worst part? The thought of all the times you’d actually fallen asleep next to him in his bed. How badly he’d wanted you then—to kiss you, to love you, to feel you. Not in the way he'd done with random hookups in the past. God, no. What he felt for you ran so much deeper, more primal, than that. It was like hunger, like thirst. He didn’t just want you. He needed you—every piece of you, your whole being.

So, as time passed and you remained distant, Rafe Cameron broke under the weight of the wall between you.

But while you hid away in your room, drowning yourself in movies, shows, mindless phone games, loud music, and lonely nights, Rafe fell back into old habits.

Not all at once, but slowly—quietly—in a way that would destroy him eventually. More empty whiskey bottles started showing up around the house. The occasional bag of coke appeared in his drawers again. And when he came home from parties with Sabrina, it was rarely without a bruise or a bloody nose.

And when he fucked her afterward, it wasn’t out of love. It was out of frustration and anger—anger at himself for losing you. And every time a soft moan left Sabrina’s lips, it wasn’t her he thought of.

It was you.

Of course, you heard about all of this��not because you were there to witness his behavior (you avoided any place Rafe might show up these days) but through Topper and Kelce. They’d call or text you constantly, begging you to make up with Rafe. Because it wasn’t just you they were losing from the group—it was him too.

One night, Rafe even punched Topper, giving him a bloody nose, after Topper had the guts to bring up the whole situation. It wasn’t the complaints about Sabrina that set Rafe off—no, it was when your beautiful name had left Topper's lips.

Because Topper was right: Rafe had screwed it all up.

But he was too angry, too broken, to believe he could ever fix things with you.

Of course, he was Rafe Cameron. If Sabrina actually broke up with him, he’d just find someone else—at least, that’s what he had told himself for a while. But whether it was out of habit, some deeper fear, or simply the thought of losing someone again, he couldn’t deny it: he didn’t want to lose her. So, when Sabrina made it clear she was serious this time, he tried to do better.

Especially because deep down, Rafe wasn’t sure if he had the energy—or the patience—to let someone new get that close again.

No, he couldn’t let her go. He wouldn’t.

And what better day to secure her forever than Valentine’s Day?

Rafe wasn’t exactly a romantic but for this occasion, he had it all planned out: He’d take Sabrina out, spoil her with whatever she wanted, treat her like royalty. Dinner at the most expensive, exclusive restaurant, a private balcony lit by candlelight. Then, when they got back to Tannyhill, he’d carry her inside, through a house decorated with rose petals, scented candles, and heart-shaped balloons.

He’d take her to their shared bedroom, hold her close, and tell her how much he loved her—that he couldn’t imagine his life without her. And then, he’d drop to one knee, pull out the most extravagant, glamorous ring she could dream of, and ask her to marry him. He figured she’d probably say yes. After all, despite everything, she knew Rafe would do anything to keep her, and being a Cameron opened doors that her own name couldn’t.

And later, as he bent her over in the rose-adorned bed, he’d remind her how perfect she was. Though in truth, he’d be convincing himself that losing you had at least brought him this.

But, as if the universe was punishing him for his past and future mistakes, the weather had other plans. A torrential downpour hit the island, complete with strong winds and relentless rain. Leaving the house was impossible—any attempt would’ve ended in getting drenched or worse, an accident.

So, Rafe had no choice but to scrap his grand plans and stay at Tannyhill with Sabrina. Unfortunately, he’d already teased her days in advance about the “special surprises” he had in store.

In short: Sabrina wasn’t happy. She was upset about the weather, frustrated that Rafe’s plans had fallen through, and irritated with him by association.

It took everything Rafe had to hold his temper and avoid a full-blown argument. But he was determined not to screw this up. He cooked for her, gave her massages, played the music she liked, and later that evening, he drew her a luxurious bath to unwind.

That seemed to calm her, at least a little.

So, while Rafe stayed inside, trying to salvage the day, you were spending your Valentine’s with your grandmother. (It wasn’t like you had a date anyway, so why celebrate it?) She lived about an hour outside the Outer Banks, and you’d spent the day catching up with her, enjoying the quiet.

But as someone who rarely paid attention to her phone nowadays and definitely didn’t check the weather, you had no idea about the storm brewing in the area.

It wasn’t until you started your drive home that you realized just how bad it was. The rain came down in sheets, so thick it was nearly impossible to see more than a few feet ahead. The roads were slippery, the wind was howling, and you found yourself gripping the wheel tighter than ever.

“Okay,” you told yourself, “just go slow. Better to get home late than not at all.”

That was the plan, anyway—until your dad’s expensive Bentley decided to give up on you in the middle of an empty back road. No houses nearby, no streetlights, and definitely no one around to help.

You sighed, muttering a curse under your breath. Okay, it’s fine. Probably just a fluke. You tried turning the key in the ignition again. Then again. And again. Nothing.

Alright, not so fine.

Panic began creeping in but you forced yourself to stay calm. You couldn’t fix the car, and stepping out in this weather wasn’t an option. Your only choice was to call someone for help.

Your grandmother was already asleep by now and you didn’t want to worry her. Your parents were out of town for the weekend, so they were off the table, too. That left Kelce and Topper.

You tried Topper first but he sent you straight to voicemail. You were pretty sure Ruthie had something to do with that. Kelce picked up but the loud music and slurred tone on the other end told you he was having way too much fun at some club to be of any use.

“Great,” you muttered under your breath.

You scrolled through your contacts but nobody else seemed like a good option. Sure, you had other friends from your years at high school but who would actually drive half an hour in this weather on Valentine's Day just to pick you up?

Your thumb hovered over Rafe’s name. Your chest tightened.

The Rafe you used to know would’ve come for you in a heartbeat—rain, wind, storm, volcano, it wouldn’t have mattered. He would’ve been there, no questions asked. But now? You hadn’t spoken to him in weeks, and you weren’t even sure if he still had your number saved.

Besides, you didn’t want to ruin his Valentine’s with Sabrina. Topper had mentioned things were rocky between them for a while but apparently, Rafe had gotten things back on track.

So, that left… what? Spending the night in the car and hoping Kelce or Topper would sober up enough to rescue you in the morning? Not exactly ideal.

You glanced around nervously. You didn’t know this area well and the heavy rain pounding against the roof wasn’t helping your growing unease. It was dark, the only light coming from your phone which was now dangerously low on battery.

Great, you thought, sinking back into the seat. Just perfect.

Yeah, fuck, you were scared.

You bit the inside of your cheeks, your fingers hovering over Rafe's number. He probably wouldn’t even pick up—most likely cuddled up with Sabrina on the couch.

He’s not going to answer anyway, you thought to yourself, swallowing the lump of guilt forming in your throat. Then, you hit call.

Not even two rings later, he answered. “Y/N?” His voice sounded confused but also alert.

A lump formed in your throat at the sound of his familiar voice and only then did you realize how much you’d hoped he would actually answer.

“Rafe…” Your voice was quiet, slightly shaky, given the situation you were in. “I... I’m so sorry to bother you. I know it’s Valentine’s Day, and I wouldn’t be calling if it wasn’t—”

“What’s wrong? Are you okay?” His tone shifted immediately, sharper now, filled with concern.

“Yes! No! I mean… no,” you stammered, struggling to get the words out. “I was just at my grandma’s, and my dad’s Bentley broke down. I already tried calling Kelce and Topper, but—”

“Where are you?” he interrupted, and your heart clenched.

“Rafe, you don’t have to—I just thought maybe—”

“Y/N.” His voice was firm now, leaving no room for argument. “Send me your location. I’ll come get you.”

You hesitated, then muttered, “I really don’t want to ruin your Valentine’s Day.”

“Fuck Valentine’s Day,” Rafe said, frustration in his voice but also unmistakable concern. “Send me your location, and tomorrow morning I’ll beat the shit out of Kelce and Topper for not answering.”

Despite the tension of the situation, despite the fear and guilt gnawing at you, a laugh escaped your lips. For a moment, you paused, then sent him your live location.

“I’ll be there soon. Stay in the car, lock the doors, and don’t open up for anyone,” he instructed.

You barely managed to thank him before he hung up. And despite the guilt weighing heavy on you, an immense wave of relief washed over you.

Rafe was in his closet, pulling out two jackets and a hoodie, when Sabrina walked out of the bathroom, her cheeks flushed pink from the steam and a towel barely wrapped around her, exposing her still-damp legs.

She frowned. “What are you doing?”

“I’m picking up Y/N,” he said, slipping on one of the jackets. “Her car broke down in the middle of nowhere.”

A flush of red rose to Sabrina’s pretty face, her brow furrowing deeply. “And she called you?”

Rafe shrugged, sitting down on the edge of the bed to pull on his boots. “No one else picked up. I’ll be back in an hour—”

“Are you serious, Rafe?” Her voice sharpened, rising in pitch. “It’s Valentine’s Day. You’re driving out in this weather for HER, but you couldn’t even take me to dinner in town?”

Rafe grimaced, but his voice remained calm. “Like I said, I’ll be back soon. Don’t make this into a big deal.”

Sabrina scoffed, crossing her arms. “A big deal? You think I am the one being dramatic? Y/N is a grown woman. She knows we’re spending this evening together, and she still called you?”

"She called because she needs help, not because she’s trying to ruin your night or some shit," Rafe said, his tone making it clear she was being ridiculous. Still, he didn’t want to push her any further. He ran a hand over his face and sighed. “Look, baby—”

But Sabrina just shook her head in irritation. “My night? What’s that supposed to mean?! This is our night, Rafe. And now you’re ditching our night for her?!” She stepped closer, her voice rising. “I’ve always known she was a threat to our relationship.”

“A threat?” Rafe raised his brows in disbelief as he stood. “Come on, Sabrina, that’s insane. Just drop this bullshit.”

Her face flushed a deep, angry red. “I—excuse me? Do you even hear yourself right now? She hasn’t called you in weeks, Rafe. Weeks. And the second she does, you’re running off like some pathetic, lovesick puppy? It’s so embarrassing. For you, and for me.”

It took everything Rafe had to keep from completely losing it. Her words hit a nerve, and deep down, he knew she wasn’t entirely wrong. You had pulled away from him—hell, both of you had.

His blood was boiling, but all he could think about was you, sitting alone in that damn car in this awful weather.

Rafe took a step toward her, towering over her. Maybe he could control his words but he couldn't control his voice, now loud and frustrated. “Tell me then, what the fuck do you want me to do, huh?! Leave her stranded out there all by herself?”

Sabrina nodded as if it was the most obvious answer in the world. “She’ll figure it out, it’s just one night and—”

“Okay, that’s enough.” His voice was dangerously calm now. “Pack your things and get the fuck out of my house.”

For a moment, Sabrina stared at him, stunned. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” Rafe said, his gaze cold and full of suppressed disdain. “Get dressed and leave.”

She let out an incredulous laugh. “Are you kidding me? You’re being crazy, you—”

“If you’re not out the door in five minutes, I’ll make sure to throw you out myself.”

Sabrina blinked, her face twisting in disbelief. “You can’t just kick me out. It’s pouring outside, Rafe—it’s Valentine’s Day!”

Unbothered, Rafe shrugged, mimicking her earlier words. “You’re a grown woman. You’ll figure it out.”

And as the leech that called herself Sabrina Anderson finally disappeared from Tannyhill, Rafe climbed into his SUV and took off.

His chest felt tight, his mind racing, yet at the same time, he felt an overwhelming sense of relief. You were the only thing on his mind right now. He didn’t even try to put into words the heavy, suffocating feeling that lingered.

He’d messed up again—this time with Sabrina. But there was no regret, no sadness, nothing. If anything, it felt good to finally be rid of her. It wasn’t until halfway through the drive that he realized how much of a blind idiot he’d been. On some subconscious level, he’d been waiting for a moment like this, a reason to cut her out of his life.

For the first time in months, he could breathe freely, without her breathing down his neck. And as the last few months replayed in his mind, it hit him—she’d been a parasite, manipulating him, controlling him, molding him to fit her needs. Maybe he’d known all along but he hadn’t wanted to admit it.

Breaking free from her was almost as hard as breaking free from his father. And, apart from Topper—who’d earned himself a punch to the face—no one had called him out. No one had tried to wake him up.

Not even you.

He shook off the thoughts as he spotted the silhouette of a dark car up ahead. His heart sank, thinking about how you must be feeling—completely alone on that pitch-black road.

Pulling up behind the Bentley, he grabbed the umbrella and jacket he’d thrown onto the passenger seat and stepped out into the pouring rain.

The umbrella didn’t do much—his jeans were soaked through almost immediately. But he didn’t care. He knocked on your car door, and the look of relief on your face when you unlocked and opened it almost made his chest ache.

Then he noticed the redness in your eyes and a heavy feeling settled in his stomach. “You okay? Here, take the jacket.”

Shivering, you hesitated but took it anyway, the relief coursing through your body almost enough to keep you warm.

“Rafe…” you started as you stepped under his umbrella but he shook his head.

“Don’t,” he said, his hand resting gently on your back. “Let’s get you out of this weather.”

His touch sent a shiver down your spine but you didn’t argue. You hurried with him to his SUV and he opened the door for you, waiting to make sure you were inside before tossing the umbrella into the backseat and climbing in himself.

For a moment, the only sound was the pounding rain against the roof. Rafe gestured to the hoodie on the dashboard. “Put that on—you’re just in shorts.”

Still, you hesitated. It felt wrong somehow. The familiar scent of his car—of him—was already too much.

“Jesus Christ, Y/N.” He grabbed the hoodie and draped it over your bare knees. “Stop being so stubborn.”

You didn’t know what to think or say. Rafe had come out here for you in this weather, left Sabrina behind, and… while you were endlessly grateful, you couldn’t shake the guilt.

As he started the car and pulled back onto the road, the guilt churned in your chest again. “Rafe, I’m really sorry. If I’d known it was raining like this, I would’ve stayed at my grandma’s, I—”

“Drop it,” Rafe cut in, his eyes fixed on the road. “You needed help, and I came. That’s all there is to it.”

You glanced at him, noting the tension in his jaw, the way his profile seemed sharper in the dim light. Hesitantly, you asked, “And Sabrina… how mad is she?”

It surprised you that she hadn’t insisted on coming along.

“She’s gone,” he said, still staring straight ahead.

Your heart sank to your stomach. “Gone? I… what do you mean, gone?”

“I threw her out.” His tone was blunt, almost defiant. He finally looked at you, his expression a mix of frustration and exhaustion.

For a moment, you didn’t know what to say. “What—why? What happened? Is it because I called? I—”

“Because she’s a fucking bitch,” Rafe cut in flatly. He dragged a hand down his face before turning back to you, his tone softening as he caught the shock in your eyes. “I should’ve done it a long time ago. I just… I was too blinded by all her fake bullshit.”

Your fingers clenched into the fabric of his hoodie on your lap, your thoughts spiraling. “Rafe, I’m really—”

“No, Y/N,” he interrupted again, his brows pulling together. “I swear to God, if you say you’re sorry one more time, I’ll throw you out too.” There wasn’t an ounce of seriousness in his voice, though. He sighed heavily, the frustration evident. “It’s all just… so fucked. Everything about this. It pisses me off. I really thought she was the one, and I was so blind to all her flaws.” He let out a bitter laugh. “Jesus, Y/N, why didn’t you say something?”

You blinked, taken aback. “What?”

“Don’t ‘what’ me,” he shot back, the frustration he’d been holding back now bubbling to the surface. “It’s obvious she came between us. I was too stupid—fuck, I was too into her to see it. But you…” His voice faltered, and he seemed to collect himself. “You’re not stupid. You’re always the first one to spot red flags in people. Hell, even Topper eventually figured it out.” He shook his head, clearly frustrated. “I don’t get it. Why didn’t you say anything? Why did you let her play her stupid little games?”

You couldn’t tell if he was angry at you, Sabrina, himself, the situation, or all of it combined. “I…” But what could you say without revealing too much? “I thought she made you happy and I didn’t want to be the one to ruin that. I didn’t think it would turn out like this.”

“Bullshit.” The sharpness in his tone made you flinch. “You were my best friend. You’ve never had a problem speaking your mind when something bothered you. And now you’re telling me you let that bitch silence you?”

There it was—you were his best friend. Hearing it from his mouth shattered something deep inside you that you thought was already broken.

“That bitch, Rafe,” you snapped, a sharp edge creeping into your own voice, “was your girlfriend, just so you know. So, yeah, fine, I’ll admit it—when you first introduced her, every alarm bell in my head went off. Is that what you want to hear? I knew, and I didn’t do a damn thing about it. Boo-fucking-hoo. But you know what? You let it happen just as much as I did.”

And in that moment, you realized just how angry you were at Rafe. Sure, he’d been infatuated but was that really an excuse? He was just as much to blame as you were for all of this.

Rafe scoffed bitterly as he turned onto the main road leading into Figure 8. “I don’t get it. Did she say something to you? Is that why you pulled away? Shit, did she have something on you? Nudes or some shit like that?”

“What? No!” You stared at him, equal parts exhausted and horrified. You were cold, hungry, and overwhelmed by a storm of emotions boiling beneath the surface. You didn’t even know where to start. “Let's drop this, I'm tired. Please just take me home.”

But when he drove past your street without even slowing down, you frowned at him in disbelief. “What--”

“We’re talking this out,” he said flatly, eyes fixed on the road ahead. “If I drop you off now, nothing’s gonna change, and I’m so done with this shit.”

You opened your mouth to argue but when his tired, frustrated eyes met yours, the words caught in your throat. “Afterward, I’ll drive you home, and you can sulk in peace if you want,” he added, his tone softer but firm.

You stayed silent and turned your gaze out the window. You knew him well enough to realize there was no point in arguing. When Rafe set his mind on something, there was no swaying him.

By the time the SUV pulled up to Tannyhill, the storm had mostly passed, though the occasional raindrop still pattered against the windshield. The two of you climbed out in silence. Despite the light drizzle, Rafe grabbed the umbrella from the backseat and opened it over you both as he walked you to the house.

The door clicked open with a soft push and Rafe let you step inside first. As the door shut behind you and the warm glow of the entryway light filled the space, you were suddenly hit by an overwhelming, almost suffocating sense of unease.

The walls were lined with red heart-shaped balloons. The faint scent of roses lingered in the air, mingled with something sweeter you couldn’t quite place. Blown-out candles dotted every available surface, and the staircase was covered in a delicate carpet of red rose petals leading to the next floor.

It was… perfect.

Your stomach twisted as you took it all in, the earlier argument momentarily forgotten. Still staring at the carefully arranged display, you spoke softly. “You did all this for her?”

Rafe let out a bitter laugh. “Shit, I was even gonna propose to her tonight.”

Your heart stopped. A proposal? He’d been that serious about Sabrina? You felt like throwing up. This was all too much to take in.

“I’m glad you called,” he said after a moment, his voice softer this time, carrying an edge of something almost vulnerable.

You pressed your lips together and turned around.

Now, under the bright light, you could finally see just how much this relationship had drained him. The dark circles under his eyes, the pallor of his skin, the way his cheekbones stood out more sharply than they should—it all painted a picture of someone who had given too much and gotten nothing in return.

And then the dam broke. All the emotions you’d suppressed over the past few months—the frustration, the sadness, the guilt, and the fear—boiled down into the rawest form of emotion: anger.

“She’s a stupid fucking whore,” was all you managed to get out.

Rafe raised an amused eyebrow, caught off guard by your reaction. “What?”

You shook your head, struggling to put your swirling thoughts into words. “She’s a stupid, arrogant, deceitful, manipulative bitch who doesn't deserve you. I mean, seriously, she ruined this,” you gestured between the two of you, “us. She tore us apart. You were my best friend, Rafe. There were times when we’d spend an entire week together, just the two of us, rotting in bed and sending Kelce and Topper stupid snaps, and then she came along, and… and everything changed overnight.”

Your brows furrowed deeply. “She’s such a disgusting person—no, scratch that—a creature. A monster. On the very first night I met her, she came up to me, and she had the nerve to question my relationship with you. Like, she thought our friendship was too intimate or some bullshit like that. And I don’t know, I guess it got to me. What if she was right? I didn’t want to be the problem. I didn’t want to be a threat to your relationship with her. So, I backed off.”

You groaned, frustration evident in your voice. “God, I could just rip my hair out. I should’ve said something. To her, and especially to you! But I was so afraid that I was wrong about her. That I was blinded by my…” Feelings. You stopped yourself, the word stuck in your throat. “By my worry for you. I mean, at first, it seemed like she was good for you, so I stayed quiet. But by then, the damage was done and…” Your voice softened, almost like a question. “At some point, I thought, maybe if it was so easy to build a wall between us, then maybe our friendship was doomed to fail anyway.”

And there it was. You’d said everything you’d bottled up, and yet, there was still so much left unsaid. But you were exhausted, done with all of this, your chest rising and falling as you struggled to catch your breath.

Rafe stared at you, his expression unreadable—was he stunned, irritated, frustrated? You couldn’t tell.

Finally, after a moment of seemingly endless silence, he spoke. “Shit, this bitch has been right all along.”

His words hit you like a lightning strike. Before you could ask him what he meant, Rafe closed the distance between you and his hands cupped your face as he pressed his lips to yours as if they were the only place he ever belonged.

Frozen, overwhelmed, and confused, you stood still as a thousand questions and emotions surged through you. But in that moment, you pushed them all aside and sank into it. Your fingers clung to his shirt, afraid to let go.

His kiss was raw, desperate, hungry as if you were the only thing that could satisfy the emotions he’d been holding back. Rafe’s hands slid to your waist, pulling you closer as he deepened the kiss. Every pent-up feeling from the past few weeks poured out through the way his lips moved against yours.

And god, you felt so good. Your soft lips on his, the warmth of your body pressed against his. Shit. Even though he’d had Sabrina beneath him night after night, fucking her mindlessly, in this moment, he felt so endlessly touch-starved.

Not for the empty satisfaction of release, no.

For you.

When he finally pulled back, both of you were breathless, your foreheads resting together as you tried to steady yourselves.

Your lips were swollen from the kiss, and you were too scared and stunned to say anything, afraid that speaking would shatter the moment.

“I’m such a fucking idiot,” Rafe finally said, his thumb tracing soft circles on your cheek, his voice low and raw. “It’s you. It’s always been you, Y/N. Fuck, it wouldn’t have mattered if it was Sabrina or any other brain-dead girl. If you called, I would’ve come running every single time. And I almost lost you because of all her bullshit." He sighed, lowering his eyes for a second, trying to grapple his words. "I think, somewhere in my head, I convinced myself I wasn’t good enough for you. That you deserved better. So I went for girls like Sabrina. Girls who are... Shit, I don’t know, polished and perfect on the outside but completely empty on the inside. The kind of girl I thought I was supposed to be with.

“But she’s not perfect." He scoffed. "Holy shit, not even close. She’s pretentious and selfish, and she made me feel like I had to change just to fit into her world. But you?” He let out a nervous laugh, meeting your eyes again, and there was a vulnerability in his tone that you’d never heard before. “You’ve never wanted me to change. You’ve always let me be ... me—even when I’m a complete fucking idiot. You’re the only person who’s ever made me feel like I’m not too much. Like I don’t have to prove anything.”

For a moment, his words hung in the air, sinking in. Your brain needed a second to fully process everything he’d just said.

His blue eyes bore into your soul as if he were anxiously waiting for your approval as if the way you returned his kiss hadn’t been answer enough. As if your next reaction would determine his entire life.

And then you laughed, a sweet and soft sound escaping your lips, cheeks burning, still hyper-aware of the feel of his lips on yours. Overwhelmed, exhausted, and struggling to find the right words, you let your instincts take over. Your hands softly found his cheeks, pulling him back to your lips.

Rafe didn’t hesitate. He took it as an invitation, wrapping his arms around you completely. His hands slid from your waist down to your hips, then lower. When he lifted you effortlessly, your legs instinctively wrapped around his waist, your hands finding his neck.

This time, the kiss was slower, deeper—like both of you were trying to savor every second, afraid this moment might slip away the very next.

He pressed you gently against the wall, and the cold surface sent a shiver down your spine.

Your body's reaction made him smile into the kiss before pulling back slightly, his forehead resting against yours. “This isn’t exactly the most comfortable spot, huh?”

A soft laugh escaped you. And with that sweet little sound, the last stubborn traces of tension melted away. The days, weeks, months—all those nights spent alone in your bed, frustrated and hurt by this whole... fucked-up, messed-up situation.

And hell, you didn’t have, shit no, you didn’t want to waste a single ounce of energy or thought on that time anymore. So all you said was "Please, I’m used to your lumpy mattress.”

“Yeah?” His eyes sparkled with playful mischief and his hands gave your butt a teasing squeeze. “Well, so far, all you’ve done is sleep in it.”

Heat rushed to your face, and before you could say anything, he adjusted his grip on you, holding you like he was afraid you might slip away. Your heart was racing, tumbling over itself in your chest, as he carried you upstairs, his arms steady but his pace a little too eager, a little too desperate, like he’d been waiting for this just as long as you had.

When he reached the top, he nudged the door open with his foot, and it felt like the rest of the world disappeared. No noise, no distractions, just you and him, in the quiet of his room, where nothing else mattered.

He set you down gently, his hands lingering on your waist like he couldn’t bring himself to let go. His lips found yours again—not rushed, not frantic, but slow and deliberate, like he was making up for every second you’d been apart.

You felt the weight of it all in every kiss—the weeks, months, maybe even years of feelings neither of you had dared to name. His hands moved over you like he was memorizing you, tracing your body in a way that was equal parts hesitant and hungry, like he didn’t want to scare you but couldn’t hold back anymore.

Your fingers softly moved over his buzzed hair, pulling him closer, and he let out a low, almost broken sound against your lips that sent a shiver through you. His breath was warm as his kisses trailed down your neck, and it was overwhelming but in the best way possible.

That night, the room was filled with quiet laughter and soft murmurs, the sound of his name slipping from your lips like it was meant to. Rafe's touch was gentle but sure, every movement unspoken proof of just how much he'd missed you. The hours blurred together, and for once, nothing else mattered—just the two of you, tangled up and lost in each other like this was where you were always supposed to be.

And even though all of it—the candles, the balloons, the rose petals, a ring that never found its finger—had been meant for a manipulative bitch called Sabrina Anderson, she was already forgotten in both of your heads.

Erased by this moment. By you.

Because, like Valentine’s Days, she had always been all surface: Pretty words, empty gestures, and nothing real beneath it.

And if you both were being honest, this cheesy day was overrated anyway. Like Rafe had said: Fuck Valentine’s Day.

And sometimes, fuck the person you end up confessing your love to at the end of it. Even–and maybe especially–if they were your former best friend.

♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡

M A S T E R L I S T | T A G L I S T F O R M

[salem-s]

STONEPIT FINALS AND SPRING CHAOS (18+) ── RAFE CAMERON ONE SHOT

── SYNOPSIS rafe's been your best friend since forever, and you thought he'd be ecstatic to see you after a three week trip; however, you overhear him telling his friends that it's been nice without you clinging to him every five minutes. so that's what you give him: space. every attempt to get you back falls short, and rafe's confusion only augments when he sees you running with a different crowd. ── WARNINGS suggestive themes, language, half smut (??? everything's over the clothes, lowkey switch!rafe), swearing, angst and miscommunication but with a happy ending. 18+ mdni. ── WORD COUNT 16.9k... That's genuinely not okay... ── NOTES edited from third person perspective to second, so let me know if there are any mistakes. ── SONGS OF THE CHAPTER guilty pleasure by chappell roan | transparentsoul by willow | misery business by paramore. we're gonna pretend these are original songs by their band, alright?

“It’s been nice to have some peace and quiet without her constantly attached to my hip.”

You've been replaying his words in your head all night.

Sure, you invited herself over with the intent to surprise him after being gone for three weeks. Coming home a day earlier than expected was a set in stone plan all along, and thought nothing of walking into one of his renowned parties like you always have.

The familiar crowd greeted you like an old friend, throwing around heys and you’re back already? and all the other surprise lingo. You truly did your best to smile and nod to all of them, however these people weren't really your friends, instead mere acquaintances in an adjacent social circle.

The one person you really wanted to see was, undoubtedly, out back smoking a joint or nursing a beer away from the crowd with his two close friends, so you knew exactly where to find Rafe Cameron whenever his six foot something height wasn’t peaking above the crowd.

So on you walked: through the yard, in through the kitchen, and out towards the back porch. 

Along the way, you bumped into his younger sister, Wheezie, who greeted you with a genuine hug and sigh of relief that, finally, she’d be able to tolerate any social gatherings held at her house, as long as you were there.

You mostly (always) sought out refuge in Wheezie's room when you didn’t feel like entertaining these rich kid assholes, or whenever you were getting bored with whatever conversations you'd been dragged into just for the sole purpose of keeping him company.

Wheezie, too, knew exactly where Rafe was and even grabbed your hand to lead you to him. 

"It’s been nice to have some peace and quiet without her constantly attached to my hip. The clinginess has really been pissin’ me off. It's like she can’t do her own thing."

And of course, Wheezie heard it, too, gripping your hand tighter out of pity - or compassion - you couldn’t tell.

Before Wheezie could do anything, you slipped her hand away and took a step back. The young girl looked mortified at her brother’s words, her mouth gaping open and closed like a fish to attempt to defend his words or spin them to make them mean something different.

But you both knew her fruitless attempts wouldn't mean anything.

They were jarring, the words he spoke.

And, frankly, they really pissed you off.

You only stuck around his hip at these things because he always told you to beforehand, something about not wanting you to wander off into trouble (which you had a tendency to do), or because you always grounded him when he was overstimulated.

Rafe was the one who held you close at night, whispering sweet nothings in your ear when he’d snuck in through the window after particularly rough fights with his father. He was the one who needed to hold you, to tether himself to someone, to something, just to make it through the night.

So why the fuck was he talking about your clinginess as he's the one who couldn't go one night without you? 

You scoffed when you heard it because, pfft, he must’ve been talking about someone else, surely. There’s no way he said that to his friends, and had the audacity to join in with their laughter.

Oh, it pissed you off.

Because if he really wanted space, sure, you could do that. No problem.

If there's one thing you prided yourself over, it was your dignity and stubbornness. You could give him space. You'll give him all the damn space and go find your own thing. 

Which is what you did later that night. 

Rafe had advised against it when the proposition was broached to you a couple weeks ago: a music gig.

Here's the sitch: you had a voice people would stop and listen to – not that you particularly liked boasting about it. It just came to you naturally, and you liked producing in the quaint privacy of your bedroom, mashing songs and creating unheard harmonies on audio software for fun.

You didn’t participate in the school plays or drama programs because, no, those were too on the nose and not the kind of music you'd like to sing (in front of people, anyway). Plus, all of the theater kids in the area are even more annoying than the preconception of the stereotype. Your voice was mainly barricaded inside the shower tiles or sitting pretty in the passenger seat of Rafe's car, or occasionally when you found yourself alone at the beach or on a walk in the dark. 

After a particularly grueling and obnoxiously abhorrent gala earlier in the summer, you found herself separated from the party and wallowing with a stolen drink in the back alley of the country club. Rafe was off entertaining whatever girl he had his eyes on for the night and Wheezie wasn’t feeling well so she didn’t attend.

You were bored, tipsy, and feeling pathetically lonely. So, naturally, you started singing softly to yourself in the quiet solitude of the alley, thinking you were alone.

What you didn’t know was that the staff – a group of Pogues who needed a quick cash grab in the catering gig – were having their smoke break, and conveniently needed a new lead after their old one transferred schools to the mainland. They were friends with Sarah, Rafe's other sister, who you haven't been close to since you were kids.

You were weary of their proposition, the group not normally being the kind of people you'd hangout with due to them being intimidating, almost too cool, to where you thought you wouldn’t fit in.

Oh, but you did. You did well. 

Rafe's overly protective words echoed in your head as you instantly beelined for the door despite Wheezie's pleas, leaving his home and immediately driving to the Cut.

You were told where they practice, a quaint house on the far side of the island where they could riff and rehearse without a noise complaint. You found herself standing in the garage with the mock stage, with a rising sense of pride and retribution.

You told them, fuck it, you were in, that you'd do anything to take the spot that was so graciously offered to you all that time ago, to contribute to their band and to the competitions held in the rough part of the island. 

And in you were. 

Meanwhile, Rafe had never felt so fucking lost in his life. 

Not when he got into earth-shattering arguments with his dad about his spending habits, his overflowing temper, or anything he did under the sun (because anything he did seemed to piss his dad off).

Not when he’d spent those months of endless fighting in a hole of self pity, drowning himself in partying and occasional lines to numb the phantom ache in his heart.

Not when he’d lose girlfriend after girlfriend because he was incapable of doing what was expected of a boyfriend, not what was expected of Rafe himself. 

He was constantly told growing up that feelings were weak, and wearing them on your sleeve was even worse. Being sad was just an excuse to get a pass, to draw attention to get people to feel bad for you. Being sad meant being weak. Being emotional meant being weak. Caring too hard about things meant being weak. 

Normally, Rafe was able to move past these episodes because he always had you to seek solace in. But he lost you.

And he had no clue fucking why. 

He wouldn’t admit it to anyone breathing that he’d been counting down the days until you arrived back from your trip, not even his closest friends that he clung to in your absence.

Because Rafe had a reputation to uphold, and revealing such strong feelings for his best friend would definitely damage his stone cold apparatus. People would see his walls broken down for you and they would assume they were entitled to the same treatment. 

No. Rafe liked being unapproachable. Feared, even.

He liked that you clung to him at parties, at the stupid gala events their families would organize to flaunt their money in expensive garb and even more expensive donations that they announce with a bullhorn and neon sign. He liked that you clung to him because he asked you to.

He always asked you to.

And you always complied. 

Deep down, Rafe knew that you'd rather go off and stir up some trouble instead, or not attend all together and get into even deeper shit somewhere else, but that meant that you'd be away from him, not under his protective eye, and that always stirred up something ugly in him.

Rafe had to come rescue you one too many times, most times you didn’t even need to ask.

He was just there, waiting for you to be done with whatever you wanted to do, then he’d drive you home and (almost always) stay over.

You would tease him relentlessly, you and your smart mouth riling him up to tremendous heights. But he relished in it. He craved it. Because he’d rather you drag him every time you opened her mouth instead of what you were doing now, which was ignoring him. 

And the radio silence was killing him. 

Rafe was ecstatic the day you got home, waiting in your driveway to bring you to school like always. But after waiting for what felt like ages, he found himself on the doorstep yelling at you to hurry up.

Instead of being met with your pretty, Rafe had to hear it from your fucking mother that you had already left, that you got a ride from someone else. 

That was just strike one. 

Arriving at school with a rise in his temper, Rafe was already having a bad morning.

He was irritated. All week he’d been texting with you about how you both were gonna get coffee and catch up in the car before parting ways for classes. It didn’t help that he was nursing a minor hangover, and he felt even more like an idiot bringing in your coffee that he’d gotten for you anyway. 

Strike two was when Rafe saw you in the hallway, and the weight in his chest immediately lifted at the sight of you, glowing with a new gleam in your eye that had him yearning to know more about what you were up to.

The prior anger fizzled away the closer you got. You were walking straight to him as Rafe grinned and stuck out the coffee for you.

But as you got closer, Rafe's smile slowly faded as he noticed you were looking beyond him, brushing past him with that beautiful smile – the smile meant for someone else.

He spun around to see who you were ignoring him for, and scoffed when you were greeted with open arms to his sister and her friend group of wannabe rock Pogues that pissed Rafe off at any chance they could. 

Rafe was confused and irritated, and he didn’t want to be holding your coffee anymore, frankly. You fit in with them in a sick way that had him aching. 

Without thinking, he said your name quizzically with a slight edge to his tone.

A warning, almost. 

You had turned around, surprised to see him. He wasn’t sure if you were feigning naivety or just pretending you didn’t see him to piss him off. “Oh, hey.”

He felt stupid, all of a sudden, with all the eyes of your new friend group on him, Sarah even tilting her head at him quizzically.

Rafe held out the coffee. “Here. You ghosted this morning.”

“Sorry,” you smiled, but it didn’t quite reach your eyes. He hated the way it looked. You took the coffee. “Thanks.” Then you flicked your gaze over your shoulder, at them, and turned back offering him a curt nod. “I’ll catch up later.”

You spun on your heel and joined the group, walking away down the hall sparking an animated conversation as if he was just a bump in the road. 

And that’s how it started. 

You slowly fizzled Rafe out of your life.

You slowly stopped responding to his messages, stopped showing up to his parties, stopped everything in your life that involved him and, god, it broke his fucking heart.

Every time he stopped over, your parents would say that you were out with friends and he would scoff, not that they would care where you really were. Sometimes they’d say you were upstairs studying, and when they would let Rafe in to go see you, he’d be met with an empty bedroom and slightly ajar window.

Pathetically, he’d stay in your room because he was usually too embarrassed to go back downstairs and show his face to your parents. Sometimes he slept there in the spot he always slept in on nights where he just couldn’t fucking bear to go home. Sometimes he’d just climb out through the window and leave. 

Whenever he’d see you in school alone, Rafe would jump at the chance to talk to you.

You would entertain him for a walk to class or a quick chat in the library, nothing short of politeness. But Rafe didn’t want polite. He wanted you, and you wouldn’t fucking come back to him.

Instead, you would just give him the same tight lipped smile you gave all the other rich kid assholes that you hated, and then go about your day. 

God. Rafe needed you.

He needed a friend, a real friend. Someone he could trust unequivocally, without hesitation. Rafe needed to hold you, and that realization made him want to throttle something.

To be so dependent on you felt weak. It felt horrible, really, to have it suddenly stripped from him with no warning. But the longer he went without you, the more he realized he needed you to hold him. That epiphany had him pissed off more than ever.

Naturally, Rafe resorted to anger because if he didn’t, he would just wallow in sadness and that scared the shit out of him. 

But an opportunity blossoms – a real chance – to get you talking to him again, even if it’s just for one night. 

The annual fall donation gala is tonight, and Rafe knows that you won’t be able to get out of this one due to your mother’s incessant inclination to attend as a family, to uphold your image, whatever the hell that means.

Each season the wealthy families on the secluded part of the island gather in their overpriced suits and gowns, flaunt their money, spew some fake bullshit on how much they love charity and specifically how much money they were going to spend towards renovating the rougher parts of the island and the public institutions, all while they down their drinks and snort lines in the bathroom and plaster on fake smiles of grandiose.

Your family and the Camerons go together every season, being neighbors and all, pairing you off with Rafe while Wheezie and his other sister, Sarah, would stick with each other.

Sarah, being just a year younger than him, mostly always brought a random boy as a date. Wheezie often soloed, but would steal you for a better portion of the night. Rafe normally allowed it, but tonight he refuses to let his sister have the time of day.

No matter how much shit Wheezie gives him, he has to have you all night despite her premature protests, which will probably be a lot given the circumstances from the past few weeks. 

That's another thing as of late: Wheezie's been uncharacteristically cold to him, making him do ridiculous shit for her to get back on her good side, like taking her out to eat or reviewing her essay or watching a stupid show with her that he never would agree to watch in the first place.

Sure, he’ll set himself back a few pegs with Wheezie, but he has to get you back tonight. 

But of fucking course you just have to look that beautiful, so it takes Rafe a while to even say anything to you besides a pathetic hello. 

As tradition, you and Rafe lock arms as you enter the gala. He notices that you don't hold him as tight. 

You notice that he’s clenching his jaw so tight it might break, probably pissed that he has to be here in the first place. 

You loathe the idea of coming to this pathetic excuse of class performance, but public appearances are the only thing your parents are interested in.

They’ve been lenient about how much you leave to hang out with “Sarah” when in reality you're high tailing it to the rough side of the island getting up to all kinds of trouble (also with Sarah, but that's besides the point). However, they started to get suspicious of where you run off to every weekend, and god forbid they find out you sneak out basically every single night.

Things with the band are going great, too good to jeopardize.

So you figure if going to this gala will satisfy your parents’ consciousness and keep their noses out of your business, then you'll be able to deliver with elegant poise and limited back talk.

It doesn’t help that you and your band have a gig later tonight. The gig. The Stonepit finals. It also doesn’t help that you're stuck here.

But you have a plan.

Since you're here, your bandmates take on the event's catering gig so you'll all leave together an hour before the gala is supposed to end.

It’s slightly embarrassing to be walking arm-in-arm with Rafe under their knowing stares, especially since they have a vague idea of what really went down between you and the Kook prince.

They’re familiar with the island royal because of Sarah anyway, and despite not entirely liking him due to Rafe's douchebag tendencies, they’re sympathetic to you for choosing to step away from someone you once called your best friend.

Your friends, your new friends, care for you and know the hurt that came with ending things with Rafe, even if you never explicitly cried or showed any ounce of emotion when it came to him. They can just tell. And it reflects in the music, much to your dismay. 

And sitting next to him all night doesn’t help.

You're polite, saying your please and thank yous. Rafe is quiet, especially with his dad sitting on the other side of him.

One thing you both unintentionally agree on, though, is the synchronized stifled laughter on the faux-emotional speeches the PTO housewives make about the charity of their choice. Rafe and you know of the falsehoods that run through this community, that it’s all a stunt for public decency, and you always bet each year how many times they shed crocodile tears before dinner’s served. 

The last ripple of applause begins to die down after the last housewife steps down from the microphone, her lip curled up from a previous sob reforming back to a nonchalant tight lip as soon as she’s out of the spotlight. You push food around your plate with your fork, stifling a cold laugh that will undoubtedly earn a scolding from your mother. 

“I counted seven,” you say softly, indulging. 

It surprises Rafe. Immensely. His brows raise at the jab and he looks over to see if you were talking to yourself or actually to him, to see you staring at him in anticipation for his response.

Rafe's heart does a weird thump. “One of the better years, for sure.”

You laugh quietly and Rafe nearly sighs at the sound. 

Noticing a few older couples heading to the dance floor, Rafe bites the bullet, clearing his throat to get your attention as he holds his hand out. 

“Dance?”

You dart your gaze between his hand, his eyes, and the dance floor, uncertain. This makes Rafe's heart thump even wilder, and he’s certain you can hear it through his all-too-expensive suit jacket. He notices your apprehension, and he pushes down the hurt that springs to his throat. 

Despite it, he chuckles nervously. “It doesn’t have to…mean anything. Just to get away from this.”

Rafe gestures towards their table, their parents having a little too much to drink and starting to ramble on about shit they don’t care about. Sarah’s off with her boyfriend, John B., who should be working but doesn't look the slightest bit concerned about slacking off, while Wheezie talks to one of her friends off to the side, rueing the day in pre-teen style.

As much as you want to say no and stay cordial to your dignity, you're starting to get a headache from your mother’s high-pitched laughter and dad’s intolerable business talk, so, reluctantly, you accept and takes his hand.

It takes everything in Rafe to not visibly sigh in relief as he leads you to the dance floor. Your friend, JJ, smirks behind the seafood buffet table, watching them. You throw him an eye roll that Rafe doesn’t see, to which JJ just shrugs and winks. 

Slinking your hands around his neck, your heart skips a beat at the close proximity. Rafe's hands settle on your waist.

It draws in a sense of comfort, of familiarity that he’s been yearning for all this time without you. He takes a deep breath, embarrassingly deep, because for the first time in what feels like forever, he feels like he can finally breathe again despite the intoxication of your perfume and the stench of cigarettes wafting from the balcony. 

Rafe takes the time to study you up close.

You cut your hair in a more edgy way, drastically different from your previous untouched hair that he was used to twirling between his fingers under Egyptian cotton sheets. It’s different, but he likes it. You looks comfortable, like yourself. He also notices the excessive added jewelry that you've been wearing lately.

Although Rafe frowns after his inspection, noticing it’s none of the jewelry that he’s given you over the years. Your makeup is clean, effortless. 

Beautiful, he thinks. 

Fuck. 

He doesn’t realize you say something until you pinch his neck. 

“Hm?”

“I asked if you were okay. You were brooding,” you tease quietly.

It feels like old times again. “I don’t…brood,” he attempts to defend. 

You snort. “Sure.”

And that’s that. 

Rafe doesn’t really know what to add from that, nor where to start on what he really wants to talk about with you.

It takes everything in him to not scream in frustration. He’s not good with his words, he doesn’t know how to vocalize the sensitivity that he feels in fear of being perceived as weak. He’s only good at physically projecting his anger, his irritation, his emotions that make him feel strong or, more so, his actions that make people fear him and submit to what he wants.

It’s easier that way, to not have to use words to convey what he wants done and what he needs people to do. 

But not with you, never with you. 

“I…” he starts lowly, trying to calculate his thoughts but they’re just a whirlwind in his mind right now. “How have you been?”

Rafe cringes at himself. 

You frown, moving forward with caution at his uneasiness. The classical band plays something slow and melodic and so fucking romantic that it makes you want to throw up. “Good. Really good, actually. Been busy.”

“With?” Rafe attempts.

“With…stuff.”

He swallows. Of course you won’t tell him, why would you?

“How about you?” you ask timidly, noticing his sunken expression. “Are you okay?”

Rafe hesitates.

No, he’s been at his lowest. He’s been losing his mind without you at his side to anchor him to his real self. He’s been lost trying to figure out what you've been up to, why you've been running and hiding from him ever since you got back from your trip all those weeks ago. He’s especially lost in trying to figure out why you've been running with his sister and her annoyingly arrogant Pogue friends. 

Rafe assumes you tell them all your tidbits now, like what you did that day or what show you're watching, talking to them how you used to talk to him.

It makes him sick. He feels like a fucking idiot trying to figure out what he did wrong, always coming up blank on answers but never having the courage to just ask you what the hell happened that rendered such coldness from you. 

“Yeah. Been okay,” he settles on. 

Despite the strain on his voice, you manage to smile at him, but there’s an ounce of worry in your expression that throws him off.

He’s confused: do you still care about him? Is that still on the table? Are you really going to dance around the elephant in the room? Are you going to keep acting like nothing is wrong? Are you ever going to tell him what he did?

“It’s a busy time of year, I wouldn’t-” you start nonchalantly, but Rafe suddenly scoffs at your attempt to small talk with him. This earns a pointed glare. “Is something wrong?”

Rafe scoffs again. “Of course something’s wrong." No going back now. "Everything’s fucking wrong. We’re standing here making useless bullshit small talk as if you haven’t been ignoring me for weeks.”

Curse him and his temper, he wants to immediately apologize for his tone. But you frown even further and loosen your grip around his neck but Rafe tightens his.

“No. We're talking about this. Stop running for a second.”

“Running?” you hiss. “I’m not…I haven’t been-”

“Yes, you have,” Rafe says, trying to stay even but his voice betrays him as it shakes. “I don’t know what’s going on with you but I’m losing my mind because you won’t talk to me, shit, you won’t even look at me anymore.” He shuts his eyes for a moment, gathering himself. “I just…need to know.”

Your frown turns into a thin lipped line. Isn’t this what he wanted? Space? 

Your mind is reeling. On one hand, you're pissed.

How dare he act ignorant to the fact that he was bitching and moaning for some peace and quiet to his friends, how desperate he was to have some space from your oh-so-overwhelming clinginess, how you couldn’t even do your own thing due to how much you depended on him for everything: friends, a social life, style, a personality. Like, what the fuck?

But on the other hand, you sees Rafe. Your Rafe.

The Rafe who climbs through your bedroom window in tears from his father’s vocal bullets, searching for solace and warmth that he simply can’t get in the comfort of his own home. The Rafe who rarely knows how to express himself in anything other than rage because that’s how he was taught to deal with his emotions: through instilling fear. The Rafe who would truly do anything for you if you asked nicely. The Rafe who, behind closed doors, is kind, loving, and sweet when he cares, like getting you your favorite ice cream after you failed your exam or staying up until sunrise with Wheezie finishing the show she’s been raving about.

You sees Rafe, a boy who needs answers. 

“Please.”

His tone of desperation pulls you from your thoughts, a tone he only saves for late night confessions under starlight, just for you. 

You can’t help but teeter between the two hands. 

“Rafe,” you start carefully, “I came home a day early from my trip.”

He frowns. The music is too slow, too beautiful. He’s confused. “You did?”

You nod. “Yes. I wanted to surprise you.”

The gesture is so fucking sweet that it makes Rafe melt in agony. What did he ever do to deserve your love and friendship for as long as he had it?

“I walked around looking for you, and assumed you were in the back with Top and Kelce. You were, but I heard what you said. All of it.”

Rafe reels back in confusion.

What?

What are you talking about?

You notice his confusion and scoffs lightly, the sound heavy with hurt instead of bitterness. “Of course you don’t remember.” You take a breath, replaying the words that have been on repeat in the back of your mind for weeks. “‘It’s been nice to have some peace and quiet without her constantly attached to my hip. The clinginess has really been pissing me off. It's like she can’t do her own thing.’ You don’t remember saying that?”

What?

Rafe's mind is spinning because. What. 

“I…” he starts, but then stops, piecing it together. No, he couldn’t have. 

But you nod, confirming it. “I heard it. So did Wheeze. I didn’t want to make a scene and just figured it would be easier to give you what you wanted. So I backed off. Gave you your space. Found my own footing.”

Rafe stares at you in disbelief. The words come back to him, each one hitting him harder than the last. 

“It’s okay,” you say before Rafe can get a word in, noticing his internal conflict.

He hates the small, understanding smile you're wearing. You should be hitting him or cussing him out.

Instead you're fucking smiling at him, even though it's laced with sadness, it's still a smile. “I’ve…come to terms with it. I just wish you told me I was being too clingy instead of complaining to your friends about it. I would’ve backed off if you asked.” 

Rafe shakes his head, because of course you would do something if he asked you to without any hesitation.

He can’t believe it, how you heard him say something so horrible (and completely untrue) and aren't cursing him out or going around telling people his deepest darkest secrets and demons. He deserves worse. He deserves nothing good after making you feel so unwanted, like you had to completely remove yourself from his life in order to give him what he – seemingly – wanted. 

Rafe can only say your name.

“Really, Rafe,” you say after he can’t form the words he wants, “it’s okay.” 

“No, it’s not,” Rafe snaps, chest heaving. “It’s not fucking… I didn’t mean it.” 

Okay. Now you scoff and he frowns.

You're not gonna sit here and listen to him spew out excuses, bullshit excuses, so he can get back on your good side. You're not gonna forget how those words made you feel. If there's one thing bigger than your ability to hold a grudge, it's the need to defend your dignity.

“If you didn’t mean it, then you wouldn’t have said them – fuck – you wouldn’t have thought them in the first place.” You try to loosen your grip once more to escape but he holds you tighter. You huff. “Rafe, let go. Seriously. I said it was fine. Let me go.”

It isn’t fine, you both know that, but you personally don't want to entertain his fragment words.

But Rafe can’t let you go. Not like this. 

“No, I need to– fuck…” Rafe curses.

Why can’t he just say he’s sorry? Own up to it? Push his pride down? No, because that would mean admitting defeat. That would mean admitting something he’s tried to push down for years and years in fear of ruining your friendship. 

Well, he’s already ruined it, so what’s left to lose? 

You, he realizes. He’s losing you, and he’ll lose you forever if he doesn’t get his shit together at this given moment. 

His chest is heaving, he realizes.

His heart feels like it’s in his throat and he’s gripping you as if you're going to disappear if he lets go. Rafe doesn’t know if it’s better or worse that the world keeps spinning around them. Couples keep slow dancing, people keep laughing and drinking, the song still plays. No one knows what’s going on within your bubble right now, the emotional turmoil sizzling between you both speaking in hushed breaths. 

“I’m sorry,” he says low and heavy with emotion.

You take that as irritation. “You’re sorry you got caught.”

Rafe shakes his head, furrowing his brows as if that’s the dumbest thing he’s ever heard. “No. No. I’m sorry for saying that stupid shit. I didn’t mean it, Snips. Not really.”

The nickname makes your heart leap to your throat, but you swallow it. “Not really?”

Rafe curses. “No, I…fuck-”

“You what? What, Rafe?”

“I–”

“Wanted to impress your friends?”

He grimaces. “No–”

“Needed to brag about how I’m always at your beck and call? Your bitch waiting at your disposal?”

“No!”

You laugh humorlessly. “Then what-?”

“Because I need you more than you need me, and it scares the shit out of me.”

You freeze, your next retort dying in your throat as you look at Rafe's desperate expression.

His eyes bore into yours, those piercing bright blues, and you don't notice until now that his hands have been shaking, his chest is falling up and down rapidly, how the crease in his brow is more prominent than ever. You study him, looking for any signs of duplicitousness but coming up short.

Instead you see how broken he really is. 

Rafe notices your pity and hates the expression, so he shuts his eyes. “I…I think I said it to pretend it was the other way around. That…maybe if I said it and put it in words, I could pretend that you needed me in the same way. I hated the way I felt for those three weeks without you, and it scared the shit out of me.”

Silence. 

Your hand travels from the back of his neck to caress his cheek, which makes him open his eyes to meet your gaze. 

“It doesn’t make it okay,” he quickly adds. “What I said wasn’t okay. At all. I hate that you heard it.”

Rafe leans into your touch instinctively, your palm boring into his cheek. His heart thumps for a different reason now, for your silence. He doesn’t know what to make of it. The tension is thick and he hates the way you don't say anything.

Something foreign pricks in his chest, an unsteady murmur.

“Please, say something,” he pleads pathetically, feeling stupid at the desperation. 

You feel flustered from his words, speechless.

Your heart lurches in your throat at the confession that probably ached in his soul all these weeks, that gnawed at him every time you brushed him off or ignored his messages and did exactly what he was afraid of: leave.

What Rafe said was wrong, very wrong, you know. There’s no if, ands, or buts about it.

Your heart sinks, though, at the thought of him pushing down his feelings, his real feelings, so deep to the point where he was drowning in his own mind. This is the boy you grew up with, who held you when you were upset, who knew your every thought before you could formulate it, who begrudgingly took you to prom after your date stood you up.

Your Rafe, sharing something so raw and scary. 

You hold him with such lightness, such care, murmuring quietly, “Rafe–”

Suddenly, a throat clears next to you.

Rafe's anger flares back up when he sees fucking JJ Maybank looking at you, feeling tidal waves of stupidity and irritation that he confessed something so raw to you. He wants to rip you away from this crowd, from JJ, to talk somewhere in private, to even sit in silence if it means he can hold onto you like this for a little while longer.

Call him selfish. 

“Sorry to…interrupt,” JJ says, darting his gaze between the two of you, finally settling on you after a moment of taking in…whatever was happening here. “We gotta go. Now. Rumlow pushed our slot up.”

Your hand falls from Rafe's cheek and he gets even more irritated. What business does JJ Maybank have with you? Who the fuck is Rumlow?

You step away from Rafe and, this time, he lets you. “What? You’re kidding.” You groan and curse, “The whole deal about winning Greengate was that we’d get first pick of the Stonepit slot.”

JJ huffs. “Freddie slid him a fifty to make sure we go right after his band, so second to last.”

Band? Rafe furrows his brows. 

His confusion is put on the back burner as you ball your fists tight at your side. “Damn it.” Then, you take a deep breath. “Okay. Let’s go out the back.”

JJ glances at Rafe wearily, whose stare couldn’t be more piercing. “Uh, what about your stuff?”

“It’s at the table. My mom will definitely ask too many questions.”

“Blame the period?”

You snort. “You still clearly know nothing about women. Not believable. Best chance is to just slip out. I’ll deal with my mom later.” 

JJ moves to leave, walking a few steps away until he notices you aren't following. You hesitate, looking up at Rafe who has been awfully quiet and confused, watching your conversation happen in front of him. His blue eyes bore into yours, a twinge of pain hidden within his features that makes your heart lurch.

You have the sudden inclination to grab his hand, to comfort him for a moment more. 

Silence. 

Clearing his throat once more, JJ rubs his forehead at the tension between the two. “Uh, I’ll give you guys a minute.” He shoots Rafe a warning glare, one that makes Rafe narrow his eyes, before turning his attention back to you. “Meet us out back when you’re done.”

And like that, JJ walks off the dance floor and disappears through the staff doorway.

His absence is felt, the air thick between you and Rafe as unspoken words yearn to come into fruition. The slow, romantic melody continues to play as couples sway around you and the emotion behind it makes your tummy feel weird. 

“You’re leaving?” Rafe manages to ask thickly, the words feeling like lead in his throat. "With...Maybank?"

You look up at him once more, and this time, you actually do grab his hand.

He gazes down at your intertwined fingers as your other hand comes up to graze his knuckles, fingertips smoothing over his rough, calloused skin in such a delicate manner it allows him to breathe for a moment. Your cool rings feel like ice against his hot skin, and he nearly flinches from the contrasting feeling. 

Your next words are cautious and slow. “You’re truly sorry?”

“Yes,” he immediately answers. “More than you’ll ever know. More than I’ll ever be able to say.” Rafe squeezes your hand. “Let me make it up to you. Please.”

You meet his gaze.

His pretty blues no longer glisten with sadness, but instead hold their own. Promising. Genuine. Home. You find herself suppressing a smile because, fuck, you missed him more than you'd like to admit. 

Glancing back towards the family’s table, you notice your parents are still talking to Rafe's, the waiter coming over to top off their drinks as they obnoxiously laugh over something that probably wasn’t very funny. Nevertheless, they’re distracted for the night and clearly not caring about the whereabouts of their children. 

An idea - a really stupid idea - pops into your head when you turns back to Rafe, a newfound determination gleaming in your eye that he only knows as trouble. 

“Come with me.”

Rafe's lips part in confusion. “You want me to?” Then, more uncertain. "With...them?"

Pushing down the impending fight night that'll probably happen between him and the Pogues, you quirk a brow as you teasingly squeeze his hand.

“Thought you wanted to make it up to me.”

“‘F course.”

“Then let’s get into some trouble.”

He finds himself narrowing his gaze, but there’s no real strictness behind it as he tries to suppress a smile. “Snips, what are you getting me into?”

You tilt your head to the side and bite the inside of your cheek, taking one last glance at your parents – more occupied than ever – before you start pulling Rafe off the dance floor, dragging him through the crowd and through the same staff door that JJ disappeared into earlier.

You don't let go of his hand as you swerve past the catering staff and waiters, beelining for the backdoor leading to the alley. 

Noses scrunch at the smell, reeking of garbage, cigarettes, and gas. It’s not the worst thing out there, no, because Rafe tries his best not to grimace when he sees your new group of friends, the Pogues he oh-so despises, hanging by their clown minivan as they all change out of their catering uniform into their own clothes, their performance clothes, just shamelessly half naked and laughing as if it isn’t ridiculously intimate. 

Sarah is slipping her ripped jeans on under her dress and shimmying on a tank, a cigarette poking through her plump lips. Kiara is applying lip liner in mirror, perched in the passenger seat. John B. finishes buckling his belt, taking the cigarette out of Sarah's mouth to take his own hit. Pope is sitting in the driver’s seat, drumming his thumbs on the steering wheel and checking the time on his watch anxiously. JJ's putting on a shirt when he sees you and Rafe emerge, hand in hand. 

“Country Club, you comin’ with?” JJ teases as he throws his ratty t-shirt on, wearing a smirk that Rafe wants to smack off his stupid face. 

You speak before Rafe can start an argument. “Guys, Rafe's gonna tag along tonight. Any issues?”

Everyone stops what they’re doing to stare between you and Rafe, and he squirms under their judgemental stare. He knows he hasn’t been the nicest to them, and vice versa, as their social circles often clashed with ferocity. He also knows that they’re aware of the previous animosity with you based on the way the girls, Kiara and his own damn sister, are glaring at him with such a deep warning that it makes him shiver. 

It’s Pope who breaks the silence. “I don’t give a fuck if he shits gold. We need to go now if we want to warm up.”

JJ snorts. “We’d be lucky to make curtain call.”

“Have some hope, Jay,” Kiara mumbles to not mess up her lipliner. “Pessimism gives you crows feet.”

Sarah hums low as she steals the cigarette back from John B., who looks Rafe up and down. The two of them have had their fair share of qualms. Rafe truly can't keep track of how many times he's gotten a black eye from his sister's boyfriend, and vice versa.

But, no, he can't be getting into fights tonight. Not while he's on your probation.

Pope groans and rolls his eyes. “Crows can’t drive. Now, can we please all get in the car before that shitbag gives our slot away?”

It's muscle memory when Rafe lunches forward to snatch the cigarette from Sarah's mouth, throwing out the cigarette butt onto the concrete with a narrow gaze. She sends him an eye roll, but wordlessly climbs into the minivan with John B. behind her, and to Rafe's surprise, all of the back seats are folded down so they all sit in a circle in the trunk.

His mind races at the hazardous set up.

You notice his concern as you sit down next to him, stifling a laugh and squeezing his hand once out of comfort, pulling it back before Rafe can even process what is happening. 

“We throw all the instruments back here, so the seats stay down,” you say softly, just to him. Rafe straightens up a little, feeling a sense of pride that you're only talking to him. “You get used to it after a while.”

But that beaming pride doesn’t last long as JJ sits on the other side of you, a little too close for his liking, smirking at the two of you.

Rafe bites his tongue as the blond grins toothily at him. “Don’t worry, Country Club. You can hold my hand if you get scared,” JJ teases, wiggling his fingers at him. 

Rafe rolls his eyes and fights the urge to jump him right here and now. The only thing pulling him back to reality is the sound of your laughter.

“Fuck off, Maybank,” is all he manages to pathetically muster up in response. 

Pope drives sporadically, ranting about how they’re not gonna make it now that their slot is moved up, how the lights are never green when he needs them to be, how John B. didn’t fill up the gas tank since he was the last one to drive, and so many more complaints that Rafe loses count.

In the back circle, however, they’re talking business and spewing vocabulary Rafe's never even heard of.

John B. is going on about JJ needing to remember to wait a beat before the chorus on their first song, and how Kiara needs to be a second step harmony above you, not just one, and how he himself wants to remember one specific rhythm in a riff he’s been practicing.

Rafe feels a little outdated due to his outright confusion, feeling like he’s at a tennis match just watching them pull out notes back and forth and back and forth. 

It isn’t until Sarah tosses you a bag where Rafe truly short circuits.

Your confusion is apparent when you hold up the bag, raising a pointed brow.

Sarah gestures to the bag. “Change. You won’t have time when we get there. I put in some cute earrings for you.”

Such a Plan A girl, you think, smiling at her as you open the bag: a sultry tank top, black mini skirt, and your mile high boots that you know and love. At the bottom there’s a little baggie full of jewelry.

“Thanks, Sare.” You shuffle to slip your heels off, nudging Rafe's shoulder on accident as you do so. 

He nearly winces when you take the black mini skirt and starts to roll it on under your long, expensive dress, catching a glimpse of your dainty underwear. Next, you let the shoulder straps slip down your goosebump covered arms.

Then, with complete fucking nonchalance, you turn your back to Rafe, cheekily looking over your shoulder at him.

“Zip?”

Rafe stares wide-eyed back at you, his gaze flicking between your dress zipper and your smug expression.

His heart races in his ribcage at the thought of you changing in front of all of these people with no question. It’s nothing he hasn’t seen before, but the fact that you're ready to completely undress in the back of this dingy van has his head spinning. 

JJ snorts, bringing him back down to Earth. “She asked you a question, Country Club. Angel, want me to do it?”

That snaps Rafe out of his trance. His nimble fingers immediately go to the zipper, delicately pulling it down. “Don’t play around, Maybank.”

“CC, you’re my favorite person to play around with.”

“Watch it.”

You roll your eyes at the two. “Alright, brats, let’s simmer. Now, I was thinking–”

Rafe tunes out the rest of what you say when you let your dress slip down off your shoulders, exposing a strapless bra barely fucking covering anything as your long dress pools down on the dirty van floor. Continuing to yap about whatever notes you have, you grab the sultry tank top from the bag and pull it over your head, not breaking your thought process while Rafe's thoughts have been completely broken to begin with.

He coughs quietly to himself to get his shit together, especially when you unapologetically adjust your bra and tank top to how you want it. 

Now dressed, you shift again to sit back down on your ass, brushing Rafe's shoulder once more.

But Pope takes a wild turn, everyone shifting from the force of it. John B. smacks his head on the window as Sarah plummets into him, JJ holds his own as he grabs onto the door handlebar, and you fly into Rafe's lap, his hands instinctively thrown up to catch you, or at least attempt to, as you scramble to get up. 

“Fuck, sorry,” you murmur, placing a hand on his thigh to push yourself up. “You good?”

But JJ's laugh interrupts. “Oh, he’s great.” He holds his fingers up to wiggle at Rafe again, wearing a shit eating grin that, pathetically, turns the tips of Rafe's ears pink. 

He ignores it. “You wanna see great?”

You sit back down on the floor in your original spot, sliding on your socks and boots. “Boys, play nice. You’ll have to get used to each other at some point because you’re both not going anywhere.”

Kiara pipes up from the front seat. “Maybe we can lock them in a closet together. That’s what John B. and Sarah do whenever they fight.” 

“Usually we end up fucking instead of actually making up, but, who knows? That could probably work for you guys, too,” John B. chides, earning a slap to the chest from Sarah.

Rafe rolls his eyes so hard it kickstarts a migraine. 

He feels your hand brushing his thigh as you laugh and, despite his rising temper, it manages to relax Rafe just a fraction. Especially when you lean more into his arm. Christ, your perfume scent is the only thing he can think about. 

Then, Pope makes a screeching halt and everyone is thrown around once more. Before you can fly across the van into Sarah, Rafe grabs you by the waist and pulls you flush against him.

Everyone waits a beat, then two, then sigh in relief when they realize the van isn’t going to be moving anymore. 

Pope turns around with a giant grin. “We’re here, andiamo!”

Everyone blankly stares at him, hair askew and clothes out of place. He frowns at the crowd. 

“What? At least I got us here with ten minutes to spare!”

It only takes one minute for shit to hit the fan. 

It’s already unnerving enough for Rafe to realize where they are: in a dingy basement nightclub in the shitty part of the Cut where he normally wouldn’t even think about coming to.

A slice of anger rises in his throat, to cuss you (and Sarah) out for being so reckless if this is where you've been spending all of your time, in a place that doesn’t feel safe to him in a part of town that isn’t meant for girls like you.

He hates thinking like that, knowing damn well you're capable of protecting yourself – Henry Kennedy's permanently crooked nose can attest to that – but there’s a sliver of primitive instinct in him that wants to constantly protect you, shield you from everything and everyone. If he ever found out something happened to you in a place like this, there's no question that he'd burn it to the ground.

Rafe's hand ghosts over the small of your back when they enter the venue, which earns a finger wiggle from JJ, teasing him. Thank god you don't see it, or Rafe would’ve really had to punch the fucker in the face. 

But the play time’s over when the group watches the slot before them get on stage, the Pogues (including you) collectively booing them and flipping them off. Rafe looks around to see if anyone’s pissed at the Pogues for, once again, creating a public disturbance, but they just sort of let it happen.  

You nudge Rafe, nodding to the lead singer who all but gropes the microphone. “That’s Freddie.”

Rafe studies Freddie: tiny, skinny, shaggy hair and a crooked smile that’s directed right to you. It sends a shiver down his spine, and he immediately straightens up protectively, sizing the scrawny guy up and down, narrowing his fixated gaze as Freddie grabs the mic and introduces their band with a deeper voice than Rafe expected to come out of him. 

“You know,” JJ nudges Rafe as if they’re best buds and he darts his gaze from the spot JJ nudged back up to the blond boy to try and find the audacity in the space between, “Angel here beat him up once. It was one of the greatest things I’ve ever seen in my life. I won ten bucks out of it.”

Rafe quizzically looks between JJ and you, stunned. 

JJ laughs. “What? You didn’t think his teeth are naturally that fucked up, did you?”

But his attention leaves the nuisance and solely focuses on you. Rafe snorts, suppressing a beaming grin. “Snips, how hard did you hit the guy?”

“What?” You feign innocence, shrugging as if the thought of it doesn't make Rafe's head spin. “I hit him as hard as he deserved. He did touch my ass.”

Rafe stills. 

“He what?”

“Easy, Rafey. I took care of it,” you joke. Then you notice the stone cold glare in Rafe's eye as he sizes Freddie up and down, suddenly frowning and grabbing his hand to pull him out of the trance. “Rafe. Jesus. Don’t actually kill the guy.”

JJ's cackle just pisses Rafe off even more, especially when he claps a big, audacious hand on Rafe's tense shoulder. “You know, I wasn’t sure what part Country Club would play in our show tonight. But I think we just found our new bodyguard.”

You squeezes Rafe's hand once. Twice. He relaxes his shoulders, shrugging JJ off but still keeping his hold on you. 

The glue of the group, Pope, claps his hands together. “Personally, I don’t give a fuck about Freddie’s set. Before I get up there and strangle Rumlow myself for being shady, let’s go backstage to–”

All of a sudden, Freddie's band starts playing their set, and the first few notes cause the group to freeze, including you.

“Are they–?” John B. starts in disbelief.

Sarah gasps so dramatically it gives Rafe whiplash. 

Pope grips his hair so hard it might rip out. “I knew it. I knew something was up. Those cock sucking, donkey bastard motherfuck–” 

John B. slams his hand against the wall, cursing. Sarah tilts her head back in frustration. JJ and Kiara attempt to wrangle Pope from jumping on stage from throttling the lead singer. Each Pogue crashes out unexpectedly, though their actions and waterfall curses are drowned out by the amplified music. No one even bats an eye.

Rafe glances from the scene happening with your friends, to the stage, and down to you, brows furrowing in confusion as to why everyone suddenly started crashing out as soon as they stepped in the building, the band on stage playing a song he vaguely recognizes. 

“Uh, what’s going on?”

You watch the stage, unnerved. “They stole our set.”

Rafe follows your gaze beyond the stage, to a burly guy standing behind the curtain, shrugging at you mockingly in a way that makes Rafe straighten up and fight the urge to pull you to his hip.

“What?”

“Our songs. Fuck.” You curl your hands in a fist. “Of course Freddie paid for us to get bumped. He knew our setlist, and paid Rumlow to bump us so we wouldn’t have time to figure something else out.”

Rafe places a cautious hand on your shoulder, testing to see if you'll shake him off. You don't, so he keeps it there and gives a gentle squeeze. “Why would he…do that?”

“Because he’s an asshole, Country Club,” JJ jabs, walking into their conversation with a struggling Pope under his bicep in a headlock. “He knew we’d beat him so he fucked us over.”

John B. joins the circle, clenching and unclenching his fists. “What’s our play?”

“Kill Freddie with a gun,” Pope quips from his headlock, trying to break free but failing. 

Kiara places a hand on Pope's head and Sarah follows, as if they’re trying to summon something. “Use that brain of yours. Think about something other than murdering Freddie for one second.”

It’s JJ who speaks up. “What about using the same set from Greengate?”

“We can’t reuse those songs, Jay,” Kiara murmurs, lost in thought. “We’d get points off.”

“What about ‘I’d Rather Die’?” Sarah suggests, rubbing Pope's head like a crystal ball. 

Kiara's face upticks in disgust. “That song is way too outdated. The ratio between boys and girls is too drastic, we need more girls here for that song to hit.”

“Pink Floyd?” John B. suggests. “Or even Zeppelin. Something to get people on their feet.”

Rafe watches the group like a tennis match, gaze shifting from person to person as they spew out ideas that ultimately get rejected due to some reasonable excuse. He can feel their anxiety radiating off of them, bubbling in the air between them. He hates the way your brow is permanently furrowed, lost in thought yet pinched a fraction in worry.

Sure, he has no idea what’s going on, nor can he really offer any help, but he hates the dejected look on your face. 

Before he can speak and embarrass himself, Pope squeaks from underneath JJ's arm. 

“What about our originals?”

The group ceases their arguing, freezing as the only sound heard is Freddie’s not-so-bad singing voice, singing their songs. They gawk at each other, waiting for someone to bring up a counter argument but no one offers one.

Noticing the contemplation, Pope wiggles to free himself from the headlock and JJ eventually lets him, joining the circle and stretching his neck from the kinks. He shoots JJ a glare that has him throwing his hands up in surrender. 

“It could work,” Pope defends cautiously. “I have the hard drive with all the backing vocals on it. We’ll still have Sarah, Kie, and JJ on backup vocals, but I can relay Angel's adlibs and prerecorded harmonies during the performance.”

Pope's the tech guy, Rafe realizes. The guy behind the curtain, and it suddenly makes so much sense why his anxiety was severely heightened on the drive here: he has to manage the sound check, the back tracks, the entire performance. Despite the guy being a little crazy, Rafe can’t help but nod in respect despite the tense moment. The group is right to elect him as the brains of the group. 

You speak up so quietly Rafe barely hears you. “We’ve never shown anyone our originals.”

Nerves prick at your voice, straining it.

It doesn’t take an idiot to notice your apprehension, even Rafe, who has no idea what’s happening. You don't even want to look at him, at the concerned look you know he’s wearing.

There’s a lot of fear surrounding the originals, mainly because they’re your originals that you wrote sporadically in journals over the last few months, never expecting the words to actually see the light of day. Recording and creating their own originals was more of a passion project, something never meant for the general public to hear.

Especially when the words on the page were mainly about the guy standing next to you. 

What if they’re not as good as your friends say they are? What if the recordings don’t match up with the live audio? What if the judges and crowd hate it, ruining their chances of winning the competition and getting the money? 

Kiara is the first to move towards you, gripping your hand so tight it hurts. “We should. We all worked really hard on them.”

“Kie’s right,” Sarah pipes up. “Plus, it kind of gives us an advantage. Shows people we actually give a shit, and we’ll surprise them.” She leans against John B., who wraps an arm around her and holds tightly. 

Pope holds his arms out in a well? gesture. 

JJ beams, latching one hand onto Rafe's shoulder and the other on John B's, shaking them as he whoops.

Rafe almost shoves him off with his death glare alone, annoyed with his assumed immunity since you'd break up any sort of fighting that could happen. Plus, he's really trying to be on your good side, to get back in your good graces, even if this blond fuck is making it really, really difficult not to drop everything and deck him across the face right now.

“I’m all in. I vote we do ‘Guilty Pleasure’, ‘Transparentsoul’, and ‘Misery Business’. Those will get the crowd bumping.”

You snap her head up. “You’re kidding.”

“Nope. And in that order.”

Pope nods. “That works. I can do that.” His anxious gaze darts from the stage and back to the circle. “I need to know right now so I can start setting it up. Pinkies?”

JJ holds his left pinky up first, his hand still resting on Rafe's tall shoulder. He attempts to tickle Rafe's ear until he gets shoved off. John B. holds up his pinky, actually sticking it in JJ's ear. Sarah and Kiara follow, wiggling their pinkies at you, who hasn’t held up anything yet.

With a sigh of great reluctance, your eyes meet Rafe's for a fraction of a second before you hold up your own pinky, grimacing when JJ whoops. 

“Country Club, you in?”

Rafe blinks out of his daze of staring at you, looking up to face the group who are all looking at him in expectation. His heart skips a beat. “Uh, wh–?”

JJ nods towards his hand. “Bodyguards get a say too. What’s your move?”

Rafe hates the way his face feels warm, and he thanks the world silently for making it dark in this venue. He clears his throat to push away the feeling, holding up his pinky without much convincing as he looks over to you, gazing up at him with your big pleading eyes that makes the room spin. 

Pope claps. “Okay. Good. You guys head back and go to our room, the guitars are in there and so are John B's sticks. CC, you stay with me.”

You grab Rafe's hand quickly, giving it a reassuring squeeze and you're not sure if it’s for him or yourself. Your palms start to grow sweaty due to the pressure of the upcoming performance, so you drop his hand as fast as you grabbed it. Rafe nearly whines at the loss. 

Everyone except Pope starts to move, and instinctively Rafe follows you like a lost puppy, but a strong hand backhands his bicep and Rafe stops, looking at Pope, the culprit who wears a confused look. 

“You’re CC now, you hear me?” Pope commands.

Rafe nearly laughs in his face at this five foot something spitfire barking orders at him, but his smirk slowly fades when he sees the craziness behind Pope's eyes.

He remembers the way he drove the band here, nearly killing all of them, as well as how he was seconds away from jumping the stage and taking out everybody in his line of sight, an aura of scrappiness surrounding him that makes Rafe believe he would rough up anyone in his path as a street rat would protect its food.

He decides that Pope is not the kind of guy you want on your bad side, not because of physical strength but because his mind would probably come up with something deeply concerning to torture you with. 

Rafe straightens, expression turning serious as he just nods stupidly.

That satisfies Pope. “C’mon. We need to set up.”

To say that the tech stuff is confusing is an understatement, it’s a foreign language.

But Pope seems to know what he’s doing, and all Rafe can do is watch, ask questions that he probably assumes are stupid due to the way Pope snorts as if there’s an obvious answer, and scan the crowd looking for you. He’s unnerved that he doesn’t know where you are, especially when he knows you've been hit on quite ferociously before, which makes his cheek hurt from the way he’s biting it. He doesn’t have a great view of the crowd but tries to crane his neck to see out from the side of the stage. 

All he sees is Freddie’s band exiting the stage, right towards them. His black beaded eyes meet Rafe's piercing blues, and he straightens up, fury bubbling in his chest after remembering what he did to you. His girl.

Freddie sleazily sizes Rafe up and down before clapping Pope on the shoulder. “You guys hire a guard dog?”

“Yeah, something like that,” Pope mumbles distractedly, his eyes not leaving his computer and sound board panel in front of him. “Nice set, by the way. Sounded familiar.”

“Ah, that old thing?” the douchebag laughs. “Came up with it all on my own. Just another stroke of my ingenuity.” He then pauses, noticing Rafe's button down rolled up to his elbows and dress pants, which makes him chuckle darkly. “Lookin’ pretty Kook-y for a lap dog. Wanna twirl for me, pretty?”

“Careful,” warns Pope, still fumbling with his sound board. “He bites.”

Freddie holds his hands up in surrender and it takes everything in Rafe not to knock the guy out cold where he stands. Noticing the gleam of unbridled fury in Rafe's gaze, Freddie takes a step back, partly in fear. “Alright, I’ll heel.” He finally looks at Pope as he stalks away. “Can’t wait to see what you guys planned.”

His words fade as he disappears into the crowd, Rafe noticing he's immediately handed a drink and a girl saunters into his other arm. He scoffs, fingernails digging so harshly into his palms he’s sure to draw blood.

The thought of that douchebag laying so much as a fingertip on you makes his blood boil, his heart lurching in his throat in regret that he didn’t lay out the bastard while he had the chance. 

“At ease, CC,” Pope murmurs. “You’ll get a crack at him one day. But not right now. Here, I need you to hold this button for me.”

After completing Pope's various tasks, the lights dim on stage. It piques Rafe's attention as he sees five silhouettes sneak onto the platform, noticing the glittery undertones of your top as you march right up to the mic.

The lights fade in ever so slowly, but the crowd recognizes them instantly as they begin to hoot and holler and cheer in a way that surprises Rafe. He reels and suppresses a beaming smile that, holy shit, his girl is…kinda famous? 

“Hi Gally’s,” you purr into the mic, the vibrato making Rafe's heart skip a beat. You look so goddamn pretty it hurts. “Didn’t expect to see us so soon, hm?”

The crowd jeers at your improv. You twirl the mic chord and whimsically stalks back and forth on stage, playing into the bit. 

“Now, I know you guys love to hear the stuff we usually play, and I only know that because of all the free drinks we get after we finish.” 

Someone in the crowd whistles, causing you to breathlessly chuckle into the mic. 

“And as much as we appreciate your love, we thought we’d do something a little different tonight. Instead of covers, we’ll be singing our own stuff. Hope you enjoy.”

Rafe catches a glimpse of Freddie’s face in the crowd and stifles a laugh. There’s no longer teasing amusement coating his eyes, instead it’s fear.

And if you're nervous, Rafe can’t tell because you carry yourself as a beaming enigma that can’t be brought down, a supernova. Your cheshire cat smile is enough to pierce through any heart willing to give into you. 

JJ's on guitar and he meets Pope's gaze, who counts down on his fingers, three, two, one, then Pope hits a button as JJ plays the opening notes to the song. Rafe realizes Pope cued backtrack vocals, a soprano yodeling fading into the audio. It starts slow, the spotlight beaming onto you as you start to sing low and sultry.

You get to a particular line that has Rafe raising his brows: “I fantasize what we would do, and how would it taste and the way you move–”

His breath hitches.

“--Oh, but some good girls do bad things too,” you sing slowly. 

Damn you, because you find Rafe's eyes and throw him a quick wink that has his knees nearly buckling.

You spin around to face the crowd as the lights beam on, coating the entire stage as everyone gets cued in. John B's on drums, Sarah's on backing vocals and keyboard, Jackie’s on his guitar, Kiara's on backing vocals and the bass. 

“I want this like a cigarette. Can we drag it out and never quit? And, oh my god, you are heaven sent with your dirty mind, yeah, you’re perverted.”

The song is good. Too good. The people in the crowd are feeling it, cheering and jumping and clinking beers. It could also be the way you're bending over and twirling on stage like you own the place, regardless of rhyme or reason or anything under the sun. 

Rafe watches you with a stupid grin that he can’t suppress, because here you are in all of your glory.

He can’t believe this is what he was missing out on, this is what you've been up to: looking too damn fine in a mini skirt and boots with a voice like honey, spice, and nothing nice, especially with that glint of trouble in your eye that means you're up to no good. 

“Feels like pornography watching you try on jeans,” you sing after the guilty pleasure chorus, and it has him reeling. 

You've totally been jean shopping with him before on multiple occasions. You always claimed to know what style was trending so you insisted on accompanying him whenever you felt his pants were getting a little outdated.

Rafe never thought anything of it, as you both went out and bought stuff together all the time, tried on clothes in the same dressing room, gave opinions on items and then went about their day as if nothing was intimate about it.

“You’re a pothead, you’re a cinephile, it’s been a while since you turned up the dial.”

Jesus, he knows he’s wearing a ridiculous expression on his face as his mind catches up to the notion that, shit, is there any way this is about him?

Rafe's head spins with two distinct things: is this about him, and if the answer is yes, then, holy shit, do you like him? Is he your guilty pleasure? Do you feel the same? Have you suppressed years of a school-girl crush like he has in fear of fucking up the one good thing in his life? Have you both been wasting all this time dancing around each other, caught up in the will-they, won’t-they?

Then he freezes. He doesn’t know if you wrote this one. It easily could've been Sarah or Kiara. Why would you? Why would he automatically assume that?

Rafe sucks in a breath of clarity. He shouldn’t assume it’s about him just because you're the one singing it. Maybe Sarah did write it about John B.. Disgustingly, Rafe wouldn’t be surprised, with the way that they look at each other. 

After a whole chorus of disassociated reeling, Pope nudges Rafe, shaking him from his trance as you keep on vexxing. "Chill. It’s about you. No need to stress.”

Rafe coughs, covering up his dumbfounded expression as he watches you in a different light now, a deeper one.

The bridge is just a vocal array of chaos, Sarah and Kiara and even fucking JJ belting yeahs as you fucking yodel, voice breaking in and out of pitch as you shut her eyes, avoiding looking in Rafe and Pope's direction. You belts your last hey, the chords in your neck prominent as you pour your soul into the note.

The backing vocals, the prerecorded harmonies, your powerful belt– it’s all too much and the realization hits him like a truck. 

He’s in love with you. 

You suck in a big breath after your long note, diving right back in. “You give me guilty, guilty pleasure.”

You repeat the line, over, and over, and over again until you build up to the end, “Pleasure, pleasure.”

Then you suck in a big breath, practically moaning, “Pleasure!”

The crowd wastes no time roaring their applause, hooting and hollering tremendously louder than they did for Freddie’s performance. You're spinning, as you can barely see three feet in front of you with the spotlight being so bright.

You instinctively looks backstage to Pope to see when he’s cueing the next song, but instead locks eyes with Rafe's piercing blues, wearing a smile so fucking big it makes your heart melt. You feel your cheeks burning red, that song written from the confinements of your journal, not that you'll ever tell him that.

But with the way he’s beaming, you have a feeling that he already pieced it together. 

You jump right into ‘Transparentsoul, starting off with a crazy drum riff that John B. formulated when he was drunk off three margaritas. It’s manic, but fuck, it works too well. You get right back into it, riffing and belting as if your life depends on it. John B's performance is one to note for the books, helping craft a nearly impossible song for drummers to replicate. He switches back and forth from double time, half time, and then free styling in the short breaks in-between right before the chorus. 

The three thumps of the drums and the lingering note from you end the song, sucking in a big breath to steady yourself. The crowd goes crazy, most people pointing to John B. and cheering for him. Sarah walks over to him, placing a messy kiss on his lips that leaves a red lipstick mark on his grinning smile, to which Rafe involuntarily rolls his eyes.

They take their places for the last song, ‘Misery Business’, and you nod to Pope to start the track that begins with a non-instrumental lead. 

Then JJ and Kiara jump into the riffs, this song being more punk rock that allows you room to show some attitude, and attitude you'll give as you see the dejected look on Freddie’s face, angrily sipping his beer with a blonde bimbo hanging off his arm. 

You wrote this one, the lyrics and melody originally being slower and more of a sad ballad.

Pathetically, it’s about Rafe and one of his past girlfriends that you just couldn’t fucking stand for the life of you. She’d ice you out, make you look stupid in front of your friends, belittle you, cling onto Rafe as if he was going to fly away with her and start a life in a different country.

She couldn’t handle being Rafe's second girl, so you showed her what it means to be his first choice, always.

It was originally slower, pitiful, and regretful. But when JJ read them during their pitch meeting, he said it feels angry, vengeful, hateful, and you liked the idea of making it a power ballad. Sure, it strains your vocals on the practical screams, but it’s all for the show. All to emulate the emotion. 

And, god, if Rafe doesn’t smirk the entire time.

He knows this one’s about him because you've fully said to him once that his misery business is finally over, when he told you that he broke up with Ada, his girlfriend of eight months.

Usually he’s the one dripping in jealously when it comes to you, shit, he could barely handle you spending all your time with different friends that weren’t him, but here you are – wearing green like it’s meant for you. And, dammit, if you don't rock green. 

They hit the bridge, and JJ and Kiara absolutely shred it for a few bars until you get real nice and close to the microphone.

“Whoa, I never meant to brag, but I got him where I want him now.” 

Your vocals riff up the line, throaty and raw and angry. 

Oh, and Rafe cannot wait to tease you about this one. He gets (and deserves) an eyeroll when he turns to Pope with a stupid smirk. “This one’s also about me.”

“Congratulations,” Pope deadpans before focusing back on the board. 

You belt out another note, then delivering your last line with that same sultry tone you began the night with. There isn’t even a moment of silence between the end of the song and when the crowd starts cheering – no – roaring in applause.

You linger in it for a moment, taking a breath of relief when you see that they like it. They actually like your stuff. You feels JJ clap a hand on your shoulder, shaking it back and forth in excitement, as Kiara comes up to bow while Sarah ambushes John B. 

You can barely see out in the crowd anyway, the spotlight being unbearable. Taking a step back from the front, you glance over to Rafe and Pope.

Pope prays up to the sky like he always does when he orchestrates another successful performance. And Rafe...

Rafe just stands there with his arms crossed, a cheeky smirk splayed on his lips. That dress shirt does him wonders, and you have to physically roll your eyes in order to tear your gaze away from him. 

Finally, finally, they exit the stage towards Pope and Rafe as the announcer comes up to say that there’s one more band going on before they pick the winners for Stonepit.

Rafe murmurs a good job to everyone – even JJ – as they pass by him. Realistically, he’s waiting for one person who happens to exit the stage last.

And for someone who was so confident and sultry on stage, you sure look sheepish as you approach him. 

Rafe tucks a stray piece of hair behind your ear, feeling a fresh sense of confidence that he certainly didn’t have before the performance.

“You could’ve warned me that you were some kind of rockstar.”

“Stop,” is all you can muster, fighting a smile. 

“What? Don’t get all shy on me now.”

You playfully shove him away, but you both know there’s no true malice to it.

The group walks through backstage back to their dressing room. Rafe trails you, this time firmly placing his hand on the small of your back as you weave through other bands and stage managers, and he admits the notion is nothing short of wildly possessive, but he doesn’t care.

You just sang about wanting him twice on stage, so, yeah, he’s gonna make sure they all know who it was all about. 

The group enters their private room, two giant couches and an open space with empty guitar cases and bags full of clothes and makeup. JJ puts his guitar back in the case and collapses on the couch with a dramatic sigh, his grin wide as day. 

Kiara sits next to him, nudging his dropped head so he can readjust for her. “We’re so fucking winning this thing!” she yells, JJ whooping and hooting next to her.

John B. and Sarah shack up on the opposite couch as she practically sits on his lap. Pope squeezes in next to them with an annoyed eye roll but knowing smirk. You move to sit on the couch with Kiara and JJ, and motions for Rafe to sit first since there’s only room for one more. 

So he does. And when you moves to sit on the arm, he grabs your hips so you're planted firmly on his lap.

You roll your eyes and smack his chest. The act is nothing short of normal, there’s been plenty of times where you've sat like this at one of his parties, at family gatherings, on his boat, you name it. But now there’s a new underlying meaning, especially with the way his fingertips are light as feathers against your hips, almost teasing you.

You decide this is your favorite place to sit. Your throne. 

John B. shamelessly fondles Sarah and no one bats an eye. “We have fifteen minutes until we find out. I dapped Sean up before we came in here, so he should be bringing us drinks.”

“Thank god,” JJ groans, letting Kiara mess up his hair and Pope's hair reluctantly. Her boys, happy as sinners in church. 

“You guys were fucking crazy,” Rafe finds himself saying before he can stop himself. You turn your head to look at him softly. “Way better than that piece of shit who went on before you.”

Pope snorts while everyone looks to Rafe in surprise for even saying anything, Sarah looking lovingly at her brother's words. “Country Club scared him away without needing to say anything.” He leans over Kiara to look at JJ. “JJ, I support your decision to elect CC as our official bodyguard. It was great. I didn’t even have to look up or throw a punch or take out my knife or anything. He just…fucked right off.”

JJ hums in satisfaction. “Ah. See, CC? You fit right in.”

Rafe rolls his eyes, but surprisingly there’s no poor intentions behind it. Just mild irritation and a bit of swelling pride. 

Suddenly, the door opens and in comes a buff looking guy with a platter full of beers, Sean, Rafe assumes. Sean sets the beer down on the table between the two couches, wordlessly dapping John B. up one more time before exciting the dressing room. 

You lean forward to grab two, one for you and one for Rafe, and his grip tightens when you bend down enough for him to see a sliver of underwear peeking through.

But you sit back within a second, back flush against his chest as you hand him a beer. He reluctantly takes a hand off of you to grab it, clinking the bottle to yours and taking a sip. 

The group gets lost in conversation about the show, but your gaze focuses on Rafe's, faces inches apart.

Despite the chaotic and irritatingly loud conversation happening in front of them, it’s as if you're the only two in the room.

You look into his piercing blues, his gaze softening when he realizes you're not gonna look away and contribute to your friends’ conversation. His hand is searing hot against your hip, especially when his fingertips play with the hem of your top with eased nonchalance that it makes your head spin.

It’s like a second nature to him, to touch you like this, like you're the only thing that matters in this given moment.

To him, you are. 

God, you missed this. It’s embarrassing how much you do. You know you shouldn’t have, but your dignity is already out the window because you, frankly, forgave him as soon as he brought you on that dance floor. 

“What’re you thinkin’, Snips?” he murmurs, a contrast from the yelling going on around them. 

You purr, the adrenaline from earlier starting to wear off. “I’m happy you came tonight,” is all you say without giving in that easy, even though he probably knows how much you missed him from that performance alone. 

His gaze alternates from looking into your eyes and your lips. He hums, almost distant. “Thank you for letting me. Thank you for sharing it with me, even if it’s just for tonight.”

Your posture straightens when you feel his hand smoothly running up your back, leaving your hip and making it all the way to your flaming cheek, brushing that stray piece of hair away from your face once more and tucking it behind your ear, careful not to brush against any of the piercings that he definitely hasn’t noticed before. Rafe's hand comes back down to ghost over your cheek, his palm barely caressing it, almost afraid.

But you lean into his touch, making the contact for him. He hums low in his throat, almost in praise. 

Rafe's next words send shivers down your spine. “Couldn’t take my eyes off you tonight. Especially when you were singin’ about me.”

Your cheeks unabashedly turn a deep shade of red. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Out of embarrassment because, fuck, you got caught, you go to pull away from his hold but he slides his thumb to your chin and grabs your face gently, holding your gaze to his. 

“Baby, if watching me try on jeans got you all hot and bothered, you could’ve just said so. Instead of, you know, writing a song about it,” he teases as you groan, trying to pull away again but he tightens his grip just slightly. Then, softer, “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Probably had a girlfriend at the time,” you mumble right back, but a knowing smirk forms on your lips. “Wrote another one about that, too. Maybe you’ve heard it?”

Rafe hums in acknowledgement, running his thumb down your chin to the column of your throat, then back up to ghost over your bottom lip.

“Mhm. I have. Might need to hear it again, though. The girl who sang it kept distracting me the whole time. Could barely even think straight,” he admits, his eyes flickering to your lips for a fraction of second before meeting your eyes. 

“Yeah?” you challenge quietly.

“Yeah,” he confirms immediately. “Could barely even stand up knowin’ you feel the same way.”

You quirk a brow. “Hmm? And what way is that?”

“The way I can’t breathe when I’m not with you.”

Your breath hitches in your throat at the confession, the cool-girl facade fading as you take a second to look at him, to really look at him. Your brows furrow when you take note of the sincerity of his tone, or how his eyes don’t leave yours.

Or how his brow furrows and his lips barely part when he shifts his hips and you can suddenly feel him. 

Suddenly you're the only two people in the room, everything else drowning out besides the sound of your syncopated breaths and heartbeats thumping out of ribcages.

Rafe's hand lowers from your face and stalks down your spine, taking its rightful place back on your hip and squeezing ever so slightly. Your beer-free hand instinctively comes up to the back of his neck, fingers splaying on the nape to intertwine with the ends of his longer hair. His chest raises with a particularly deep breath, brushing against your ribcage for a fraction of a moment that sends a shock through your body. 

“Fuck, they’re starting the announcement,” Pope interrupts, causing you and Rafe to jump away from each other of surprise. 

Everyone in the group stands, excitedly bouncing towards the door and running out to the backstage. The last one to leave is JJ, who looks back to hold the door open for them but notices you and Rafe unmoved from your position, looking sheepish as if you've already been caught in a scandal.

After a moment of silence, JJ's face changes from confusion to understanding, and he barks out a short laugh. 

“Ahh. Okay. I get it,” he teases, quickly glancing at the group leaving before turning back to them with a wink. “I’ll put my sock on the doorknob.”

And with that, JJ shuts the door, leaving you and Rafe in the same emotional position as he did when he left you on the dance floor, the thick tension in the air growing between you as you take a moment to stare at the door, prolonging the inevitable.

Eventually, you move your gaze from the door back to Rafe, who’s already staring at you. 

You're nervous all of a sudden, the consequence of flirting and fooling around catching up to you. Months of assuming there were unrequited feelings – feelings you buried deep down to maintain the strongest friendship you've ever, and probably will ever, have – being disproved in the matter of the last twenty minutes.

But now he’s here, sitting pretty in front of you with such a serious expression on his face that it makes you suck in a deep breath at the intensity of it, the gravity of the situation and where it’s about to lead to.

Rafe notices immediately. “Hey,” he says softly, running the pad of his thumb over your hip bone, this time out of comfort. “We don’t need to do anything.” Then, he manages a genuine chuckle. “I just got you back. Being with you is enough f–”

He doesn’t get to finish before you're pressing yourself forward, taking the leap of faith and pressing your lips to his.

Rafe makes a noise of surprise, the words dying in his throat as he stays still for a moment, processing that, holy shit, this is happening. 

You, however, take his apprehension as rejection, and sheepishly begin to pull away.

But Rafe doesn’t let you as he leans forward to kiss you again, leaning far enough to place his beer on the floor without breaking contact. His new free hand allows him to caress your face, greedily pulling your body closer and closer to his to which you let out a noise of surprise.

He swallows the sound, his hand leaving your chin to slowly trickle down your arm and to your hand, where he takes the beer away and reiterates the same action he did with his bottle, allowing you to have your hands free to roam and touch and feel as you shamelessly make out like your lives depend on it.

Your fingers instantly grasp at his dress shirt, wrinkling the nice material as his other hand smooths up your thigh to grip the base of your ass, shamelessly fondling it like he has every right.

And, fuck, you whine so quietly that he barely hears it, but it makes him twitch underneath you.

The sound is music to his ears, so he does it again, and this time you lift your hips off of him, swinging your leg over to straddle and press back down against him, a sensation that sends warmth to your core and makes your eyes roll back. 

“You taste so fucking sweet,” he murmurs against your lips before hungrily taking you back in as he shifts underneath you. 

Hips stilling, you focus on kissing him fervently first, to which he gladly accepts. Rafe manspreads so god forsaken arrogant that it allows you all this room, but also forces your hips to spread wider.

You test the waters, gradually pushing your thighs down to further mold into his body. The act causes your skirt to push up your legs, your underwear shamelessly meeting his slacks right at the zipper as you grind down into him. 

You both moan at the sensation, you stilling with worry that you went too far.

But Rafe death grips your hips as he guides you down again, teasingly urging your body back and forth against him that has you quietly moaning into his mouth. He seizes the opportunity to slip his tongue to meet yours, kisses getting messy, sloppy, dirty. But neither of you seem to care, solely focusing on the high you're both chasing. 

Rafe grips your ass and hips so hard it’ll probably bruise, refraining from letting his hands do what they normally do and dive in recklessly.

He wants to do this right the only way he knows how – by slowing himself down. For you, he needs to be patient. The last thing he wants is to scare you off.

But you sense his reluctance, his hesitation, and nearly groan in frustration. You slow down your pace and find his right hand, putting your hand over his.

Rafe tenses in fear of hurting you, but instead you grip his hand and guide it up your body, over the curve of your ass, under your shirt and up your tummy, fingers splaying over your rib cage and, finally, just stopping under the swell of your breast. 

His breath hitches, then he hums quietly. “Gonna let me touch you there, baby?”

You nod against his lips. “Yes. Anywhere, Rafey. All yours.”

“All mine?”

You nod again, squeezing his hand to wordlessly assure him it’s okay. He mirrors your action, giving your breast a test feel and you sigh in relief.

Jesus. He nearly groans at the sound, the feel, the everything that’s happening right now. He doesn’t have a moment to process it because your hands are traveling further and further down his chest until they toy with the belt of his pants.

You tease him, running your fingers delicately under the waistline of his underwear, cool hands smoothing over his warm skin. Rafe unintentionally bucks his hips up at the sensation, his lips parting all pretty in a way that makes you cheshire-cat smile. 

“Am I yours, pretty?” you mumble, low and teasing, relishing in his fucked out gaze at the mere thought of you touching any lower.

He nods dumbly and you reel with the sight of it. It makes your tummy pool with anticipation.

“Will you let me?”

“Fuck, always,” he manages pathetically, chest heaving as he watches you undo his belt and zipper. Rafe nearly whines when your fingers ghost over his length, barely even touching him and you've got him a writhing mess. “Makin’ me go crazy, looking at me like that.”

You frown, feigning naitivity. “Like what?” you pout, pressing your thumb to his tip through his boxers that has him gasping in the shell of your ear. “Am I gonna have to ask nicely? Or will you be good?”

Slowly feeling him up over his boxers, Rafe bites his lip so hard he’s sure he’s gonna draw blood.

“You’re being a real fucking brat right now.”

“Hm? Am I?”

You squeeze around his length, causing him to huff, getting sick of the anticipation and just wanting to pin you down on this couch and make you eat your words. “Yes.”

Then you tilt your head so you can meet his gaze, taking note of his brows furrowed in frustration, and you can’t help but smile for knowing every trick in the book to push his buttons. 

“So punish me then,” you purr, sending chills down his spine. 

Before Rafe can pick you up and throw you down on the dingy couch, the door swings open and his irritation sky rockets as your friends hoot and holler obnoxiously, flooding the room.

Your pretty little fingers leave his boxers and settle on his tummy, your arm shielding the compromising hand placement.

Pope holds an envelope, undoubtedly filled with the money the first place winner is promised, while JJ thrusts a makeshift trophy in the air as if it’s the Stanley Cup. John B. holds Sarah bridal style, settling in on the couch across from you. Kiara runs over to the pair, ignoring the scandalous scene in front of her and gripping you by the shoulders and shaking you in such ferocious motion that it makes Rafe wince. 

“We fucking won!” she shrieks. “The whole damn thing!”

You beam, ignoring the fact that your skirt is pushed past your hips and that Rafe's hand is settled on your ass and how his belt is unbuckled. “You’re kidding?”

Pope waves the envelope in your face. “You should’a seen Freddie’s face. I wish I had a picture of it, I’d print it out and leave it on his doorstep every day for the rest of his life. Stupid fuckin’ prick.” He waves the envelope once in front of your face then in front of Rafe's face, then pulls back and starts doing it to everyone individually. 

What makes this whole situation worse for Rafe is that JJ decides to sit right next to you both, exhaling as if he’s had a long day at work.

In his nimble fingers, he admires the trophy that looks like a third grader made it, sighing and smiling. You make no effort to move or conceal what you were doing, so Rafe tries to push down your skirt to cover up a little bit with a huff, irritated even further that JJ's arm is brushing against Rafe's.

Oh, the audacity-

“Oh! Hey, guys. Didn’t see you here,” JJ says. He holds up the trophy. “You see this? Pretty fucking sick, right?”

“It would still be pretty fucking sick if you were three feet away from us,” Rafe spats, gripping onto you so tight to hold back from knocking his teeth in.

JJ pushes his luck by gasping and nudging Rafe's shoulder. “Aw? You like it, too? I knew you had a soft spot, Country Club.”

You laugh, chest bumping Rafe's in the process. “JJ, you could’ve at least knocked to let us know you guys were back,” you scold playfully, wrapping your arms around Rafe's neck and smushing your cheeks together, which makes the situation a little better.

Besides, it gives Rafe a better grip on your skirt, pulling it down over your ass successfully.

“Oh, please,” JJ chuckles. “No one gives a shit if you were fist deep in here. Sarah and John B. basically fuck all the time in front of us. We’ve seen more scandalous stuff than this, guys.” JJ gestures to their position. “Honestly, it’s a bit prude in comparison. We were brainstorming that there would at least be an ass in the air,” he teases, then wiggles his fingers at Rafe, “whose ass, we didn’t specify.”

Rafe seethes. “Anybody ever tell you to shut the fuck up and mind your own business?”

“All the time, actually.”

Rafe rolls his eyes and you hum in contentment, knowing that this is going to be their version of getting along from now on. 

The group lingers in the room for another hour or so, as you remain in your rightful place on Rafe's lap with the exception of getting up to use the bathroom with Sarah.

During your absence, JJ relentlessly teased Rafe when he fixed his slacks and belt to zip them back up. John B. jabbed that, hey, at least he was getting some, and for that he earned Rafe's slight respect.

Pope had complained that it wasn’t anything they weren’t used to seeing, then shooting John B. the most diabolical glare he could muster. Kiara had cooed that it was nice to see you so giddy and smiley, and Rafe liked the way it made him feel. 

Rafe can, truly, complain all he wants, but your friends aren’t that bad.

With the exception of JJ being the most annoying human being to grace the planet, but the others are situationally tolerable, including his sister who he (really) enjoys spending time with.

Plus, Rafe likes the smile that you wear when you're around them, a smile once reserved just for him. As much as he wants to be selfish and have it all for himself, he knows what it’s like to be on the receiving end of one. It’s glorious. He likes that you share it with the people you care about, even though he really hates sharing. 

You come back with Sarah and retake your seat on his lap, Rafe wrapping his arms around your middle to pull you back flush against his chest. He places a gentle kiss on your exposed shoulder, relishing in the moment.

You turn to look at him, a soft look in your eye. 

“Hi,” you say quietly, bringing your hand up to brush some hair out of his face. 

“Hey, Snips” he responds even quieter, resting his chin against your shoulder. He notices your sleepy expression and manages a small smile. “Tired?” 

You nod slowly, mirroring his smile. “Had a long day, if you could imagine.”

He hums. “Hm. No. Wanna tell me about it?”

You yawn, and before you can say anything, someone claps.

“That’s our cue,” Pope interrupts, suddenly standing. “Everyone in the van.”

Everyone groans, JJ louder than everybody else. “No! C’mon, man we’re just getting–” he interrupts himself with his own yawn, “--started.”

Pope simply shakes his head.

Minutes later, they’re all in the car packed to the brim with bodies and equipment. A little while later, the van stops in front of your house, the low whir of the engine being the only thing heard on the quiet street. Pope shuts the lights off and puts the car in park, John B. opening the heavy door with ease. 

Pope turns around to look at Rafe awkwardly. “You, uh, going home? I can drop you off with Sarah.”

You stand and exit the van, speaking before Rafe can. “He's staying with me,” you say, shooting Rafe a knowing look. 

Rafe quietly sighs in relief, since the idea of going home alone crossed his mind more than once and he did not like the thought one bit. So, without further coaxing, he exits the van behind you and slides an arm around your waist. 

“Uh, congrats on tonight,” Rafe says awkwardly. “It was great.”

“Such enthusiastic words, Country Club,” JJ taunts. “We were serious about that bodyguard offer if you’re up for it. Unless you’re scared of jackasses like Freddie.”

“You just can’t get enough of me, huh, Maybank?”

You roll her eyes, lazily pushing Rafe towards your house. “Okay, recess is over. I’ll see you guys on Sunday for the fire.”

The group choruses a goodbyes to Rafe, goodbye Country Club to Rafe (along with a quiet yet grateful 'bye, Rafe' from Sarah), and the two of you head up the driveway towards your house. 

You both sneak in the way you've always snuck in, climbing up the porch gate and onto your balcony (with Rafe's help, of course), as you quietly slip into the confinements of your room. Granted, your heavily decorated bedroom is on the opposite side of the house from your parents’ but you're always extra careful to avoid any suspicion. 

Standing in the dimly lit room, you sigh and shut your eyes, fatigue coming over you more harshly than you'd prefer, swaying gently when you feel Rafe's cool hands steadying you on your hips.

Then, you feel him hug you, his broad shoulders caging you in as he rubs his hands up and down your back soothingly, placing a chaste kiss on the crown of your head. God, it feels so nice and your knees nearly give out at how much you missed this, missed him.

“Let’s go to bed, yeah?”

You nod against his chest, drunk off the way you feel in his arms, letting him gently push you to sit on the edge of the bed while he grabs your favorite pajamas from the bottom drawer.

He comes back over to you, kneeling in front as he sets the pajamas down next to you. First he unzips your boots, delicately pulling your feet out of the shoe and rolling your socks off over her heel and past your toes. 

Once they’re off, Rafe gently taps her knee. “Hey. Your pajamas are ready.”

You pout. “Can you do it?”

Rafe lazily grins, his hands running up and down your thighs gingerly. “Of course, baby. Arms up.”

You do as you're told, raising your arms over your head as Rafe pushes your tank top up past your rib cage, over your bra, and up over your shoulders until it’s off. It leaves you in your bra, one that he caught a glimpse of earlier in the van, but he doesn’t move to pull it off.

Instead, Rafe grabs your pajama shirt, pulling it over your head and covering your torso protectively, then he reaches behind and unclasps the strapless bra, which falls into putty in his hands. He tosses it carelessly to the side.

Rafe pats your thigh gently. “Can you stand for a second?”

You whine in protest, but again do what you're told, pushing yourself up to stand while Rafe stays on his knees. He pushes your mini skirt down your thighs until it pools at your ankles, making him eye level with your core for a fraction of a moment. It doesn’t last long before he’s coaxing your feet to step through the pajama shorts, pulling them up your legs until they rest comfortably on your hips. 

He presses a chaste kiss to the back of your hand before standing, making his way into your en-suite bathroom to rifle through the drawers, looking for makeup wipes. When Rafe finally finds them, he brings it out to you and gingerly rubs circles on your cheeks, forehead, neck, all over to get the remnants of tonight off your pretty face.

Discarding the wipe in your bedside trash bin, Rafe pushes stray hair pieces out of your face. “All done. You ready?”

You nod gratefully, crawling onto the bed and slipping under the covers on your usually side of the mattress. Rafe quickly undresses out of his dress shirt and slacks, leaving him in his underwear – his normal attire for whenever he sleeps over – turning off the bedside lamp before sliding in next to you, practically caging you in. 

Furrowing your brows in confusion, you hum when you notice the lights are off. Although the befuddlement doesn't translate, because Rafe settles in, wrapping an arm around you and slowly rubbing circles on your back as he slowly gets comfortable in a bed he missed so damn much. 

“Wait, hang on,” you murmur against his neck, “the light’s off.”

“And?”

“Well, I…”

“You wanna sleep with the light on?”

You nearly groan in frustration. “Are we not… finishing what we started earlier?”

Instead of initiating like you want, Rafe simply chuckles, the vibrato rumbling your nerves. He pulls you flush against his chest. “No, baby. Get some rest.”

“But…” You trail off pathetically, almost whining. “I want to.”

“You’re tired.”

You fight a yawn. “No, I’m not.”

“Snips,” he warns. “Sleep.”

“Ugh, Rafe.”

He says your name mockingly, his tone insinuating he’s wearing a lazy grin. 

Your shoulders sag against him as you huff, fanning hot breath over his chest. If you were standing, you probably would’ve stomped your foot, and he definitely would've poked fun at your desperation. 

But not tonight, because the way he’s holding you, shit, you can feel yourself sinking into the mattress.

Nonetheless, you reach out to press a palm on his chest, yawning once more but gently slapping him for emphasis on your next promise.

“Fine. But in the morning, I’m giving you the best head of your life.”

Rafe chuckles, amused at your determination. “Brat. Go to sleep.”

© salem-s please do not copy or replicate work without permission. mdni.

notes this was a long spiel of absolute brain garbage, genuinely. if you understood the snips nickname, shoutout. hope you somewhat enjoyed????

[maybejj]

CRIMINAL LOVE PART 1

♥︎ masterlist ♥︎

SOCIAL MEDIA AU AND IRL, 18+ MDNI

rafe cameron x college!reader

warnings: mentions of stabbing, mentions of drugs

summary: With your last semester of grad school breezing by, you felt like you could sleep through the next couple of months and still graduate at the top of your class. You only had to get through 3 more months until you walked across the stage and rightfully earned your Master in Criminal Justice degree. All your hard work would finally be paid off. Until your professor hits you with one last assignment that will make you question everything. The assignment? Prisoner Penpals from the State of North Carolina Correctional Facility. Your penpal? Rafe Cameron. His sentence? Life without parole. His crime? First degree murder.

Part 2

Notes: welcome to part 1 of criminal love! if you read closely I’ve thrown in a little easter egg from my gossip girl series, if you catch it let me know! these stories are not at all connected, just having some fun! also Barry from outer banks doesn’t have a last name so I kept the actors actual last name. i’m super excited for this story so let me know what you think so far! thank you for reading as always 🫶🏻

taglist: @marleymarleymarleymarley

[gensideas]

LOVE IN THE SPOTLIGHT

summary Y/N Sánchez, daughter of Roselyn Sánchez, appeared on Jimmy Kimmel with her fiancé, Drew Starkey. While Y/N spoke confidently about her career, Drew couldn’t hide his admiration, often losing focus as he gazed at her. His lovestruck demeanor contrasted with Y/N’s composure, creating a sweet and memorable moment that left fans swooning over their undeniable chemistry.

features Fiancé!Drew Starkey x Fiancé!actress!reader

The bright lights of the studio shone down on me as I adjusted the hem of my flowing emerald-green dress. It hugged my figure perfectly, a piece from a designer who had insisted I wear it to highlight my poise and grace. But I wasn’t thinking about the dress or the cameras pointed at me. I was thinking about Drew Starkey, my fiancé, sitting just a few feet away. His piercing blue eyes followed my every movement, a soft smile playing at his lips.

Being the daughter of the legendary actress Roselyn Sánchez, I was a rising star in my own right. My breakout role in a critically acclaimed drama had catapulted me to the spotlight, and now I was the name on every producer’s lips. Despite my rapid ascent, I remained grounded, thanks in no small part to Drew, whose quiet confidence and unwavering support made him my anchor.

“We’re ready for you,” a producer’s voice called.

I gave Drew a quick glance. He gave me a reassuring nod, though his gaze lingered a bit too long. My beauty had always captivated him, but tonight, under the soft glow of studio lights, I felt otherworldly.

The interview set was elegant, with plush chairs and a backdrop of shimmering gold curtains. I took my seat beside Drew, the host across from us. The audience clapped enthusiastically, the excitement palpable.

“Good evening, everyone!�� Jimmy began, flashing a practiced smile. “Tonight, we have two incredible guests: the stunning Y/N Sánchez and her fiancé, the talented Drew Starkey. Let’s give them a warm welcome!”

The applause swelled, and my cheeks flushed. I glanced at Drew, who was already looking at me, his expression soft and unguarded. He seemed utterly unaware of the cameras or the audience—his world had narrowed to just me.

“Y/N, your performance in Eclipsed Dreams has been called transformative. How does it feel to step out of your mother’s shadow and establish your own legacy?” Jimmy asked.

My smile widened. “It’s surreal. Growing up, I always admired my mother’s work, but she encouraged me to find my own path. It’s been a challenging journey, but I’m grateful for the opportunities and for the people who believe in me.”

Jimmy turned to Drew. “And Drew, you’ve been quite the supportive partner. What’s it like watching Y/N rise to stardom?”

Drew chuckled, running a hand through his hair. “Honestly, it’s mesmerizing. She’s incredibly talented, hardworking, and… well, look at her.” He gestured toward me, his voice tinged with awe. “She’s breathtaking.”

The audience swooned, and my face turned a deeper shade of pink. “You’re too much,” I murmured, though the sparkle in my eyes revealed my delight.

“Drew, you’ve built an impressive career yourself,” Jimmy continued. “What’s the key to balancing your own busy schedule with supporting Y/N?”

“Communication and respect,” Drew said. “We both have demanding careers, but we make time for each other. It helps that we genuinely enjoy spending time together—she’s my favorite person.”

“That’s so sweet,” Jimmy said, turning back to me. “Y/N, do you find inspiration in Drew’s work?”

I nodded enthusiastically. “Absolutely. Drew is so dedicated to his craft. Watching him immerse himself in his roles motivates me to give my all in my own performances. We’re constantly learning from each other.”

“It sounds like you have a wonderful partnership,” Jimmy said. “One last question: What’s next for both of you?”

I exchanged a glance with Drew before answering. “I’m working on a new project that’s still under wraps, but I’m really excited about it. It’s something completely different from anything I’ve done before.”

“And I’ve got a couple of films lined up,” Drew added. “But we’re also making sure to carve out some time for ourselves. Life is about balance, after all.”

The audience applauded as Jimmy wrapped up the interview. “Y/N and Drew, thank you so much for joining us tonight. We can’t wait to see what the future holds for you both.”

When the cameras stopped rolling, we lingered on the set, chatting with the host and producers. Drew’s hand never left mine, a quiet but constant reassurance.

“You were incredible,” Drew whispered as we walked toward our car. “I couldn’t take my eyes off you.”

“You’re biased,” I teased.

“Maybe,” he admitted, pulling me close. “But it’s the truth.”

We paused under the soft glow of the parking lot lights, the city’s hum around us. Drew cupped my face, his thumb brushing my cheek. “I’m so proud of you, Y/N. You’re a star, and not just on screen.”

Tears pricked my eyes as I leaned into his touch. “I couldn’t do any of this without you.”

Our lips met in a tender kiss, sealing a moment that felt timeless.

The interview aired the following evening, and social media exploded with praise. Fans gushed over my grace and Drew’s evident adoration. A clip of Drew’s comment about my beauty went viral, earning us the nickname “Hollywood’s Sweethearts.”

As we sat together in our cozy living room, scrolling through the flood of messages, Drew wrapped an arm around me. “Looks like people are just as mesmerized by you as I am.”

“By us,” I corrected, resting my head on his shoulder. “We’re a team, Drew.”

He kissed the top of my head. “The best team.”

And as the night stretched on, filled with laughter and love, I knew that no matter how bright my star shone, it would always shine brightest with Drew by my side.

© gensideas 2024

[reaperexe]

Darling ♡

summary : when a run in with your ex makes things sour but at least your lover is here.

warnings : mentions of previous trauma.

Grocery shopping wasn't really a fun activity but grocery shopping with him was a whole new activity now. The unnecessary items he would throw into the cart acting like it was normal for you to have two giant family packs of cereal in your house before scolding him to put them away.

And he would put them away but just act like a kicked puppy on his way to do so. So when you steered the cart away from him and into the other aisle's to get away from the doe eyes and begging you didn't expect to run into someone.

That someone being your ex boyfriend. the ex boyfriend you swore to never interact with again. Your eyes widen and so does his when he sees you.

He says your name softly, you try not to cringe at the way your name rolls off his tongue and you don't even want to take his name.

"Been a while..." he says his tone already condescending like it had been all those years ago and your grip tightens around the cart.

Meanwhile your lover strolls through the aisles putting back the boxes of cereal and gathering more unnecessary items.

"You cut your hair?" he asks obviously ignoring your discomfort

"You know I've been meaning to reach out to you....." He says "wondered how you've been doing without me" He scoffs.

"I've been fine, better even" You say clenching your jaw.

"Really?" He says with a mocking look. "And here i thought you would come to your senses" He laughs.

The audacity of this man you think but your mouth dries when he slowly begins to approach you.

A strong voices pulls you out from your thought and stills the man in front of you "Darling?" Your lover calls coming up behind you as you breathe a sigh of relief.

He immediately recognizes the man in front of you from having to hold you all those years ago from all the nightmares and tears 'never again' he had sworn to himself.

He moves to stand defensively in front of you eyeing the guy, looking down on him.

"Hey man" Your ex says smirking "You are?.." He asks your lover trying to keep up his smugness despite your boyfriends intimidating gaze.

"Her boyfriend" He says his tone still dominating and he looks down on the guy.

"Oh yeah, we were just talking" he says "Right sweets?" He says peering over at you over your boyfriends shoulder.

You grip your lovers arm out of anger, not wanting to hear that voice or nickname.

"Well i think she's done talking man" Your boyfriend says firmly.

"Look mate-" Your ex begins stepping closer causing your boyfriend to cover you more and step towards him.

"I advise you leave" You speak up as your ex looks at you then back at your lover.

If looks could kill your ex would be dead by now, sensing the tense atmosphere your ex mutters a "Whatever, your loss" raising his hands in mock surrender and stepping back.

Your lover raises an arm but stills when he feels your hand on him, as much as you would love to see your ex get punched, a grocery store was not the place.

"Let it go baby" You say to your lover softly as your ex walks away.

"He better count his blessings" Your lover sighs relaxing and putting an arm around you.

You laugh at his words kissing his arm.

"You handled that so well baby I'm so proud of you" Your boyfriend says kissing the top of your head.

"You handled most of it" You say as he smiles, kissing you again

"Shall we check out?" He asks.

"Yes but only after you put back that giant bag of coffee beans, don't think i didn't notice" You say crossing your arms as he smiles sheepishly.

"But darlinggg" He whines but puts the bag back anyways as you smile.

[erwinsvow]

imagine being in kie’s place when shy!reader and rafe got kidnapped by mr signh (ive given up his name keeps autocorrecting) and seeing him in his tux and buzz for the first time and instead of the two being scared they js fuck LOLZ😝

oh my god yes yes yes. this is my fave concept i can't believe i haven't expanded on it yet. sorry it took me a year to reply.

you have to keep reminding yourself to take deep breaths. deep in a foreign land, separated from all of your friends and trapped in a mansion with only locked doors and guards at every corner, this is probably the most anxious you've ever been.

and that is truly saying something.

you wanted to try and plead with the guards again, to explain yourself and your innocence, but you couldn't find the words. why should they believe you? what would you even say? you were never the one coming up with the crazy escape routes or talking your way out of problems. and it seemed that teary doe eyes didn't work quite as well on paid guards as it did on your best friends back home.

so you resigned yourself to start believing a singular truth—the only way out, is through. you stopped pounding fists and yelling for help, rather complying wordlessly, like when the pretty dress made its way onto your bed. you even ate the fruit in the room, deciding that you couldn't think of an escape if you starved to death first.

you don't know why the man who took you wants you clean and dressed up, but you do that too, and it's not until the door opens and you poke your head out from behind the wall, expecting the worst, do you realize just how out of the loop you really are.

you could cry.

"rafe?" you stare up at the familiar boy with watery eyes, confusion and hurt painted all over your pretty face. for a moment you believe that he might be responsible for all of this, even you couldn't have dreamed that he'd be this cruel, when-

"what the hell are you doin' here, kid?" he looks around the room quickly, like he's worried someone is going to come out from behind the walls. in one motion, he guides you to the furthest corner from the door, gripping your wrist tight while he has you sit on the edge of the bed.

"a-are you with them? t-the people outside?"

"what? no, no-they took me too. how do they have you? don't tell me those fuckin' idiots let them take you-"

"it's not their fault-"

"don't make excuses." it comes out so sternly, you shut up immediately. "i'll get us out of here. i just need to figure out-"

"b-but it's not so bad, right? at least we have each other." your words come out softly, partially because you're afraid someone will hear you and partially because you can't believe what you're saying.

your relationship with rafe is tumultuous at best. he's never had a real issue with you, and he's seen you at tannyhill with sarah several times before, but it's always been clear that he hates your friends, even if he was ambivalent—or less than—to you. you could never really tell and you didn't spend much time trying to figure it out, until now.

rafe looks back you, his eyes still showing the panic that was in yours, but mixed with something else, something you couldn't make out.

"yeah, kid. we have each other." rafe takes another deep breath, running his hands over his head, barely brushing through his buzzcut. "i'll get us out of here."

time in the room with rafe passes by slowly. you didn't know what time it was before, but rafe's watch shows that it's only noon. you can't even hear the guards footsteps anymore, the silence making your eyes droopy while you wait for something, anything to happen.

you stay perched on the bed while rafe paces, curled up into yourself and resting against the bed frame. your dress reveals most of your legs, all the way to the tops of your thighs when you sit like this, but you can't bring yourself to care right now.

you stare at rafe while he treads the tiny space, wondering when he cut his hair and if he'll ever grow it back. you liked his longer hair, you think briefly, before dismissing the thought entirely. you have no business liking anything of rafe cameron's.

but then again, he's the one here with you, trying to figure out how to get you back to safety, and your friends are the ones who got you here in the first place. you try not to think of it like that, but rafe's words from earlier seep back into your mind. he's here, you're here, and everyone else is fine. so who was going to watch after you?

"rafe?" you ask quietly, and once he stops pacing and turns to lock eyes with you, your whole face feels hot. his eyes run up the course of your exposed skin before finally making eye contact, and even in this state you can tell what thoughts just ran through his mind.

"yeah, kid?"

"do you wanna sit down? you've been walking for a while."

"i need to think, baby, otherwise i'd sit down." he resumes his pace and your entire face is on fire. the nickname is enough to make your brain short-circuit for a minute. suddenly you think that you like the buzzcut, and you like the nicknames he gives you, and you like that he keeps saying he'll get you out of there. you believe that he will, no, you know that he will.

but you're not so sure you want to leave anymore. with a surge of confidence appearing from thin air, you move towards the end of the bed, sitting with your legs hanging over the frame and facing rafe, looking up at him.

"can i help you think, rafe?"

he stops walking, staring down at you while you stare up.

"do you know what you're saying right now, kid?"

"wouldn't you think better if we calmed down first?" the words come out in one shaky breath. maybe you don't know what you're asking for, but you're certain it's what you want right now. you don't break eye contact—a first for you.

"lay back for me."

you comply immediately. it's not until a knock several hours later, with a strange man walking in on you and rafe wrapped up in his sheets, that you remember the severity of the situation you're in.

oh well.

[starboye]

your fav couple (although not a couple according to rafe) weird!reader who gets weirder when drunk and in the hands of rafe

although he wanted to leave you in your bed and get out before you started your weird shit again he was the one who took you to the bar in the first place so he's your responsibility now

and good god was this more like a battle, rafe struggling to get you into a shower without it turning physical "no i dont wanna" you pout "you need to take a shower y/n you fucking reek" rafe demands trying to get your shirt off but you were persistant

"ill get in if you take one with me" you stand your ground (well more like sit as you were just arms crossed pouting on the toilet seat) "fine just hurry up" he rolls his eyes and takes off his clothes before doing the same with you

he wanted to be in and out with this shower but you had other plans, peeking out the shower to grab his phone and start playing music, queue you having a full on dance party while rafe contemplates why he still fucks you and his whole life up until this point

just to get startled when you pinch his nipples before your face turns to a sad face like a toddler who just watched their ice cream fall to the ground "why no milk come out" bottom lip poked out looking all disappointed and sad "yup you're done" rafe turns off the shower and pulls you both out

quickly drying himself off before struggling to even dry your upper body off without you breaking out into dance and song, a look of annoyance on his face "chat do you think im still getting laid tonight" you laugh "nope" rafe says with a deadpanned face "chat do you think he's serious" you say

after finally getting you dried off and in some pajamas he puts you in your bed and starts to grab his stuff to leave "wait don't leave me" you beg him "nope i said id get you in bed not sleep in bed with you"rafe shakes his head "well if you think about it you got me drunk in the first place and secondly i hid your keys" you smirk "y'know what im not even gonna ask where they are" he responds looking at the devious smirk on your face

"come search for them pretty boy" you smile widely lifting the blanket to let him in to which he does with a little attitude "can we watch tiktok on your phone mines dead" you ask "go to bed" rafe tell you "c'mon you know i need my nightly scroll please please please please" you pester him until he finally gives up

"fine 20 minutes and then you go to sleep" rafe demands and you nod... turns out you stayed up all night scrolling and now rafes for you page is completely destroyed by your weird tiktoks.

(sorry if this one is a little to long i got into it to much)

[thatboisus]

reading a good ass fanfic up until it said something that just makes you want to stop reading

[chuulyssa]

i genuinely get pissed every time i find a good fic with a good concept good tags my favourite character and all of that, but then i get into the first para and it's some shit like "xyz, ever the curious one" or "the air became tense and charged" and it's so painfully obvious that it was written using ai like GOD what even is the point of writing when you're just gonna put in prompts into chatgpt and have it write your drabbles for you

[hanasnx]

ᯓ★ MINORS DNI 18+

RAFE CAMERON hits it from the back n curls an arm around to get at your clit. at first he started doing it so you could cum but now he does it like it’s some fidget toy. he’s got all this energy and nowhere to put it, ugly licking at the tips of his fingers to wet them so he can go under you to swipe at your needy bud. the kind of pressure that makes you ache. it’s this bewildering cross between pain and pleasure, and it renders you unable to keep still. “yeah? yeah, you like that, baby?” he taunts cruelly, knowing the kind of torture you’re under right now. lodged up in your guts moving in tandem with rough fingers, caressing your clit like it’s a job while you’re incapable of speech. you writhe and you claw at the sheets, anything to occupy the bucking of your body and the agony of the sensation. choking out variations of his name in some sorry semblance for pleading mercy—ultimately it falls on deaf ears. it’s the kind of orgasm he takes from you, your gummy insides stinging from his dick digging out its own shape and a mean hand scrubbing your little pearl like it’s a playground bully.

[deceitfuldevout]

Until Death (Part 1)

Arranged Marriage AU: Dark!Husband!Rafe Cameron x Wife!Reader

Word Count: +1,524

Warning(s): +18, Non con, Non consensual photographing, Domestic Violence, Humiliation, Forced breeding, Unwanted orgasm.

Author's Note(s): I wrote this cause I really wanna get married and find someone to love me but I don’t think it’s possible so here’s a fic instead 🥲

You never would've imagined being married to the Kook king himself, Rafe Cameron. But here you were, almost a year in. From the beginning you felt like an outsider. Even in the new home that Ward had gifted you. It was decision made by both of your fathers. Ward wanted someone from a family he knew very well. Your fathers were childhood friends and trusted each other enough to make the right decision. Whether their children were willing to or not. An arranged marriage between a Kook and a Pogue. One of the first of its kind.

Ward needed an heir from his only son. It was about time Rafe learned some responsibility. Ward needed to find a family with no authority or power. So, what better decision than to contact an old friend from the cut? Ward managed to pull himself out of there, your father on the other hand, wasn't so lucky. However, by Mr. Cameron's gracious offer, your father had been given a position in his company. Ward would handle the paperwork, while your father handled construction and remodeling.

It was enough to get by, but not enough to get out of the cut. That's why your father made the brash decision. Ward didn't see a problem with the arrangement given your family had no name for themselves. In a way it benefited the Cameron family. To Ward, having a family with no name or status is better than being involved with a tarnished one. It would avoid any unwanted attention for the Cameron family.

All your father wants is to make sure his only child would be taken care of once he's gone. You've only met Rafe during family events/outings, and when you did meet, he'd always tried tormenting you. Growing up, most of your time would be spent clinging to Sarah for safety.

You hadn't known about the arrangement until a week prior. You defiantly hadn't expected Rafe to get on one knee in front of everyone. Your engagement was a nightmare, Rafe had decided to ambush you during the Kook's annual midsummer event. A few months later you married into the Cameron family. The event being of the most lavish, expensive, and largest weddings in the history of the Outer Banks.

Rafe made the decision that your honeymoon would be spent ‘setting up home’. You bid your family and friends a farewell before leaving with your husband. It was awkward enough that he'd been drinking for most of the night. What was supposed to be a beautiful ceremony quickly became a frat party. It was awkward enough when Rafe (who'd been drinking most of the night) tried carrying you across the threshold of what was your new home. He stumbles a few times, almost dropping you on the front steps. All you wanted was to go to bed after a long and eventful day.

In a fit of rage you rush up the stairs and into the master bedroom. You hadn't even changed out of your wedding dress. Deciding that it would be done tomorrow, as would everything else. It was tiring, putting on an act in front of hundreds of people. You were relieved for it to be over with. Until the harsh turning of the doorknob catches your attention. In came a very intoxicated Rafe Cameron, stumbling in with his tie already undone.

His hair was a mess from wrestling his groomsman, his expensive cologne overtaken by the stench of alcohol. All you want now is to sleep after being anxiety ridden for the past few hours. But the shuffling on the end of the bed made your stomach churn. Maybe if you pretended to be asleep he would leave.

Rafe reaches down to brush the back of his hand on your cheek. He couldn't help but chuckle at his fiancee--no, his wife. You're his wife now and he couldn't believe it. He grins from cheek to cheek, hovering over to study your features. You could hear Rafe talking to himself, "You're even prettier up close..."

Rafe was fine with the wedding day being for his wife, but it was the wedding night that belonged to the husband. 

He gets on his knees, preparing to strike. He pulls you but the ankle, dragging you across the bedsheets. He locks his arms around your thighs to pull you in. It was futile trying to fight back. Rafe rips away at the fabric, revealing what was for his eyes only. He doesn't waste time getting to work, suckling, lapping, and teasing at your sex.

When he starts to dip his tongue inside that's when you crumble beneath him. Your thighs shake when coming undone. A gush of arousal splashes his face. Rafe doesn't stop there, instead he keeps going until you're brought to tears cumming for the second time. He retreats with a triumphant look on his face.  

"Hey...." he whispers followed by a harsh grip on your jaw that turns your attention back to him, "Hey," his voice boomed. He held you in place, looking you right in the eyes when he states, "Look at me," a small pause follows, "No one is coming through that door to save you," he readjusts his grip, digging his fingers into your jaw, "No one is coming through that door, we're the only ones here," leaning in, "And if they heard they wouldn't care, they know their place," before lifting your skirt up, "It's about time you did too," Rafe held his cock in one hand, his other held your hip in place. He pumps his shaft a few times before rubbing it against your slick. He moans, "Oh fuck...can't wait to stuff you with it..." Rafe dips his head into the crook of your neck, his lips find that sweet spot. He suckles until he's certain there would be bruising.  

"You can scream all you want, no one’s gonna stop me,” he presses his leaking tip against the small opening, pushing it in without hesitation, “Not you…” he just his hips, “Not our families,” thrusting his cock inside, “No one…” fastening his pace. He’d been waiting for this moment for a long, long time. You had no idea that Rafe had willingly entered this marriage.

Can’t you see? He’s been in love with you for as long as he can remember. Yet you kept denying him repeatedly. Now Rafe has everything he’s ever wanted. He’s inherited the Cameron family fortune, gained the trust of his father as well as yours, and now he has you.  

He doesn’t stop thrusting his hips back and forth. Reveling in the feeling of you squeezing his member. It was exactly how he’d fantasized about. No more having to spend late nights wondering what you would feel like. He has you right where he wants. Rafe pulls down your top, exposing both breasts. He nips and suckles at them until they’re nice and bruised. He takes pride in being able to do so. Rafe squeezes your mouth open before pressing his lips against them. He sucks your tongue into his mouth, swirling it around his. The taste of liquor makes you nauseous. His presence is suffocating.

This wasn’t how you wanted to end the night. In the end you never had a choice. Your entire life revolving around men in power. A lamb sent to be slaughter, given only the right to live. Even if it meant living for someone else. Rafe presses his sweaty forehead against yours. He snarls, "You're my wife until I fucking die, do you hear me? Until death," his teeth sink into the flesh of your shoulder, digging hard enough to break skin.

A howl escapes your body as pain shot through it. Rafe held you close to him until he finally reached his limit and finishes inside. A deep, guttural moan is muffled into the bite mark. For a moment the two of you stay together until finally Rafe draws back. He’s a panting mess. He could practically feel how slick you became. He lets out a satisfying huff of victory. Rafe had won.  

A part of him wants to remember the day he finally got to take you. Then it hits him, “Wait…don’t move,” rummaging through a cabinet. He retreats down the hall. You could hear him searching for something in the unopened boxes. He then returns to you with a Polaroid in hand. He straddles your waist, aiming the lens at you. Rafe smiles, “Something to remember this moment...” he aims it right in your face, “...our first time as husband and wife,” before clicking it.

You could only give a startled look as you stare back at him. Like a deer caught in headlights. Rafe inspects the photo of you. He whistles at the beautifully captured moment. There you were, staring back at him with smudged lipstick and running mascara. You only blink as he stood there, snapping pictures like it was some heartfelt moment. What was supposed to be the most important day of your life, ended in the worst way imaginable.

"Smile for me Mrs. Cameron..."

Rafe was fine with the conditions of inheritance. In order to stay in his father's will, he would have to settle down first. But if there's one thing Ward taught him, it's to negotiate. Rafe remembers striking the deal in his father's office. For the first time ever, the young Cameron man put his foot down,

"No," Rafe states,

Ward looks up at his son, "I'm sorry?"

"I'm not getting married, not unless it's her," he's dead serious too. Ward sighs, he leans back in his chair, "Do you really want to marry this girl?" questioning his son's authenticity. Rafe nods, "It's always been her,"

Ward understands now, his son's mind is made up. Not even he could stop it, "Rafe...you have to understand that her father is a very important member of my company..." he starts, "...he's a bit of a... traditionalist," he pushes himself off the desk, approaching his son, "He expects a certain price for her hand, that I’m not worried about…” he held Rafe's shoulder.

Ward looks his son dead in the eyes to show how serious this situation was to both of their families, “Do not fuck this up, you only get one shot and then you're done, do you hear me? Done," he expects an answer. Rafe looks him in the eyes, there’s a spark of determination in the young Cameron man’s eyes, hope, “I won't,” sealing the deal. Ward immediately dials up your father’s number, "My friend, you're needed at the office, it's about time we discuss family matters,"

The best decision Rafe made was making you Mrs. Cameron.