shy!sweetheart!reader being secretly a metalhead (enjoying bands like falling in reverse and bad omens). rafe finding out like 🤨
this was ridiculously cute to write😌 and i felt like it feet pogue!bartender!reader's universe 100% so i did it.....if it wasn't want you wanted IM SORRY but it's canon in my head and my fingers worked really fast to write this down lmao. thank you for the request!!🩵🫂
you're in the walls that i made - r.c
pairing: rafe x pogue!reader (bartender!reader universe)
It had been a long day, and all you wanted to do was get home, toss on your favorite oversized hoodie, and dive into a YouTube rabbit hole of random videos on your phone.
Rafe, of course, was your ride—like usual. He’d somehow appointed himself as your unofficial chauffeur after shifts, and you weren’t exactly complaining. You were saving up for a car, and you were almost there, only a few more weeks and you’d have your baby.
But it was nice to have a reliable ride, even if it came with his very questionable music taste.
"Alright, let's go," Rafe said, pulling up in his shiny black truck as you slid into the passenger seat.
The smell of leather and cologne hit you immediately, as did the unmistakable thumping bass of whatever rap song he had blasting. The lyrics were, as usual, about women, money, and something about getting high on a yacht. You made a face without even realizing it—like you did every time.
"What's that look for?" Rafe smirked, glancing over at you as he pulled out of the parking lot.
You shrugged, hoping he’d let it slide. "Nothing. Just... nothing."
Rafe wasn’t the kind of guy to let anything slide. "Nah, you do that every time I play my music.”
You bit your lip, wondering if he thought you were a snob now. “What? No I don’t.”
He shot you a side-eye, his smirk widening as he pressed a little harder on the gas. "You got somethin' better on your playlist?"
It wasn’t like you were embarrassed. You just didn’t think Rafe, with his expensive taste and rich boy vibes, would get it. But before you could answer, the radio cut in between songs with an ad, and you almost jumped in your seat.
“On September 6th, for one night only, Bad Omens will be performing live at the Greyhall venue on the mainland! Get your tickets now before they sell out!”
Your heart raced. Bad Omens. They were one of your favorite bands, and they were going to be right there—just a ferry ride away. You stared at the radio, gripping the sides of the seat like you were about to take off.
"Wait, what?" You said under your breath, but loud enough that Rafe noticed.
He furrowed his brow, glancing between you and the road. "You okay? What's up?"
You bit your lip, feeling the excitement rising inside you and knowing it was pointless. You couldn’t afford concert tickets, let alone the ferry and everything else that came with it. But still, you couldn’t help the tiny squeak of frustration that escaped.
"It’s nothing. Just…one of my favorite bands is playing."
Rafe’s eyebrows shot up. "Favorite bands?" His voice lilted with surprise. "You never told me you had a favorite band. Wait—what band?"
You fidgeted in your seat, the seatbelt suddenly feeling too tight. "Bad Omens."
He blinked. "Who?"
Of course. You sighed. "They're a metalcore band. Like heavy, but not just noise. They actually sing. And scream. It’s complicated."
Rafe's expression was priceless—like you just told him you were secretly a wizard or something.
"Metalcore?" He repeated, testing the word,"Wait, hold up. You’re telling me you like that screamo stuff?"
He couldn’t believe what he was hearing.
You? The girl who got him by the balls since he laid his eyes on you? The quiet, sweet, always-put-together girl he drove home after work, into metalcore? It was like you just told him you had a secret double life.
You shrugged, feeling yourself blush a little. "It’s not just screamo. There's a lot more to it. It's deep."
“Screamo stuff,” he repeated, trying to wrap his head around it. His eyes moved from the road back to you, still processing. You were full of surprises, and every time he learned something new about you, it knocked him off his feet. He wasn’t used to it. Most girls he’d been with were pretty predictable—into the same stuff, liked the same fancy dinners, designer bags, the whole kook lifestyle. And then there was you.
You still sounded a little defensive, your fingers messing with the hem of your shirt. “I swear, there’s actual singing and meaning behind the lyrics.”
Rafe leaned back in his seat, still smirking, but he wasn’t laughing at you. He was actually impressed. You really didn’t care what anyone thought, did you? He couldn’t even pretend to understand the music, but it wasn’t just that—it was everything about you that threw him off in the best way.
"So that’s why you’re always making faces at my music? ‘Cause it’s not—what, hardcore enough for you?"
You couldn’t help but giggle. "I mean yeah, kinda." You glanced over at him, like you were waiting for him to crack a joke or say something stupid, but all he could do was stare at you like you’d just become ten times more interesting. “What, I don’t look like someone who’d enjoy heavy music?”
He laughed, shaking his head. “I would've never guessed. You’re always so quiet. Sweet. I thought you’d be into, I don’t know, something soft and cute. You look like you’d be into Taylor Swift, not dudes screaming about whatever it is they scream about.”
You let out a small laugh, and he couldn’t help but smile at the sound. He loved that laugh. “Well, I do like Taylor Swift. But, you know, metal is just...it hits different.”
Rafe’s face went from shock to something else, like he was putting pieces together in his head. "Wait, that explains so much. Every time I put on something with a chill beat, you look like you’re dying inside."
"I just have different taste," you admitted.
"Damn, never thought I’d see the day," he muttered, more to himself. “So, this band of yours—Bad Omens—where they playing?"
"Greyhall in September,” you said quietly. "But it’s fine. I can’t afford to go."
He frowned. "The hell you can’t. Just get the tickets."
You blinked at him. "I can’t, Rafe. They’re probably expensive, and I’ve got rent and bills. Y’know, real life stuff?"
He furrowed his brow, like the concept of not being able to afford something was completely foreign to him. “It’s just tickets. How much could they be?”
"Probably more than I make in a week. Plus the ferry, the drinks, food—it's not that simple."
He glanced at you, like he was doing the math in his head. The guy lived in a world where nothing was “that simple” because everything was already done for him. He didn’t have to think about rent or ferry costs or budgeting for groceries. That wasn’t Rafe’s reality, and for a second, you could see it in his eyes—he forgot that your world wasn’t his.
"Alright," he said, shrugging like it wasn’t a big deal, "I’ll get them."
"What?"
"I’ll get the tickets," he repeated, more casual this time, like it was the easiest solution in the world. "You wanna see them, right? So I’ll buy the tickets."
Your mouth fell open. "Rafe, no. You can’t just—"
He looked at you like you’d just said something offensive. "I can.”
"No, you’re not buying me concert tickets. That’s ridiculous."
He rolled his eyes, acting like it was no big deal. “I’ve spent more on dumber shit. Consider it an early birthday gift. Or whatever."
“Do you even know when my birthday is?”
He didn’t even miss a beat, "October 8th” he said, his voice so smooth and confident that it caught you off guard.
Your jaw dropped a little, and you stared at him. "Wait—how do you know that?"
He shrugged casually, but he was proud of himself. "What, you think I don’t pay attention to you?”
When it came to you, he was locked in. Every detail, every little thing you mentioned, he was soaking it up. He knew. Out of all the random things, that’s what he remembered. You never told him outright; maybe it came up once in a passing conversation, weeks ago, buried under a million other details about work or life or whatever. And yet, here he was, dropping the exact date like it was nothing. You tried to play it cool, but inside, your brain was short-circuiting. Rafe Cameron knows my birthday. He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel, staring straight ahead, that smirk still glued to his face. He was being way too natural about the whole thing.
“Okay,” You snapped out of it, “You’re not buying me tickets, Rafe,” you warned him, crossing your arms and shaking your head. “Seriously, I can’t let you do that.”
He barely glanced at you, too busy making a smooth turn, “You act like I just offered to buy you a house. It’s a couple of tickets, not that big of a deal.”
“To you!” You huffed, leaning back in the seat. “It’s a big deal to me. I’m not just gonna let you drop money like that. For what? For a concert that you’re not even going to?”
Rafe let out a low chuckle, which only fueled your frustration. He thought this was funny.
“It’s just tickets,” he repeated, like that was going to wear you down. “Look, if it bothers you that much, you can pay me back. And I can go with you”
You felt your heart do this weird little somersault, like it didn’t know whether to panic or be excited.
What the hell was he talking about.
Rafe Cameron, Mr. Country Club, wanted to go to a metalcore concert with you?
Your head was spinning. He doesn't even know the band, you thought, trying to figure out if he was serious or just messing with you. But judging by the way he was drumming his fingers on the steering wheel, he wasn’t joking.
“You’re gonna come with me to a Bad Omens concert?” Your voice came out more skeptical than you intended, but could he blame you. The thought of Rafe at a concert full of screaming fans and heavy breakdowns was honestly hilarious.
He shrugged, eyes still on the road, totally unfazed. “Yeah, why not? Could be fun.”
Fun? FUN? You were genuinely struggling to picture him, in his usual attire, khaki shorts and a Ralph Lauren polo, at a venue packed with sweaty metalheads. You almost wanted to laugh, but then again, he was doing this for you. He was willing to put up with a night of music he definitely didn’t like, just so you could see one of your favorite bands. That meant something.
You scoffed. “How would I pay you back anyway? With what? My tips from bartending at the country club? Gonna take me six months to pay off Bad Omens tickets.”
He glanced over, eyebrow raised, like he was sizing you up. “You’re seriously gonna pass up the chance to see one of your favorite bands because you’re too proud to let me help?”
You bit your lip, torn between how much you wanted to see them live and how uncomfortable it felt to accept help from someone like Rafe. He was used to throwing money around—his daddy’s money, no less—and you... well, you weren’t like that. You’d grown up on the other side of the island, working your ass off to afford anything.
The idea of someone just buying something for you? It made you feel weird. Like a sell-out.
“It’s not about a couple bucks. It’s about you doing this because you feel like you have to or something.”
His jaw tightened just slightly, and he shook his head like you were missing the point completely. “I don’t feel like I have to do anything. I want to do this. There’s a difference.”
You narrowed your eyes at him, not letting him off the hook just yet. “Why? Why do you want to do this so bad?”
There it was. That look again. He hesitated, like he was deciding whether to be fully honest or not, then leaned back in his seat, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel again, trying to play it cool.
“Because,” he started, his voice casual but his eyes were giving him away. “This is what friends do. They look out for each other. I’m not letting you miss something you clearly want.”
Saying the word made his chest hurt just a little. Friends. Right. But he didn’t let it show. He wasn’t exactly the relationship type, and everyone knew it. You probably knew it, but when it came to you things were different. And maybe the idea of spending time with you at that concert—just the two of you, no work, no distractions—sounded like a dream. How could he say that without looking like an idiot? Or worse, like a an asshole trying to buy his way into your life.
“Rafe, be serious,” you sighed. “I don’t like feeling like I owe someone.”
“You don’t owe me shit,” he said quickly, a little sharper this time. He seemed almost offended. “Why do you keep acting like this is some big favor? I’m not holding it over your head or anythin’. I just want you to go to the concert and have a good time. Is that so hard to accept?”
You did want to go. Badly. But accepting help like this wasn’t your style, especially not from Rafe, who lived in a completely different world. And yet you could feel how much he genuinely wanted you to say yes.
“I’m being realistic.”
Rafe snorted. “Realistic? You’re being stubborn as hell.”
“I’m not—”
“Yeah, you are,” he cut you off, pulling into a stop at the light and turning his whole body toward you. His eyes were locked on yours now, serious but still with that hint of playful annoyance. “Look, I get it. Fine. You want to go to the concert. I’m offering to make it happen. End of story.”
He was used to getting what he wanted, and, right now, what he wanted was for you to take these tickets.
“Why do you care so much?” you asked, your voice coming out quieter than you intended.
He hesitated for half a second. Then that smirk of his came back, though it felt different. “Because I like seeing you excited about something. You’ve been dragging your feet every time I see you, and now, you hear some band’s coming to town, and you light up like it’s Christmas. You think I’m gonna let you miss that over a couple bucks?”
You opened your mouth, but no sound came out. He was always so sincere. And it threw you off completely. Rafe was a lot of things to a lot of people—cocky, reckless, arrogant—but he wasn’t usually thoughtful. Not to them. Not like this. You seemed to be the only one who saw the good in him.
But you still weren’t giving in. “Rafe... it’s just weird, okay? I don’t want it to be like you’re doing me a favor.”
He let out an exaggerated sigh, shaking his head. “Fine. Then don’t think of it like that. Think of it like— I’m investing in something I wanna see. You freaking out at this concert, screaming your head off, losing your voice for two days—that’s entertainment.”
“You’re ridiculous.”
“And you’re difficult,” he shot back, eyes narrowing playfully. “But I’m not backing down, so you might as well just say thank you and take the tickets.”
“Or what?” you challenged, but your voice was softening.
“Or I’ll buy the tickets, show up at your door, and force you to go.”
You blinked. “You wouldn’t.”
He grinned. “Try me. C’mon,” he pushed, sensing you were caving. “You work your ass off at that club, always taking care of everyone else. For once, just let someone take care of you.”
Your breath hitched at that. He wasn’t just being cocky or trying to win an argument anymore. He meant it. You looked out the window, chewing on your lip. This was new, this was all so new to you it felt a little pathetic with how hard your heart was racing. There was a moment of silence, like you were both just waiting for the other to blink first.
Finally, you sighed, throwing your hands up in defeat. “Fine! Fine. Buy the stupid tickets. But don’t think I’m not paying you back. I’ll find a way.”
He just laughed, clearly satisfied with his victory. “I’ll take that as a ‘thank you, Rafe. You’re the best friend ever.’”
You rolled your eyes again but couldn’t help smiling a little. “Sure. Whatever helps you sleep at night, Cameron.”
As the light turned green and he started driving again, you let out a long breath, not knowing why you were giving up so easily. There was this strange warmth in your chest, knowing he cared enough to go toe-to-toe with you over something as small as a concert.
“Hey, for the record,” Rafe said after a moment, glancing over at you. “I’d do it again. Just so you know.”
You raised an eyebrow. “What? Fight me over tickets?”
He grinned, looking back at the road. “Nah. Fight you over anything, sweetheart.”
You rolled your eyes at the nickname, but you were beaming like an idiot now. You felt lighter. “Just don’t think this means I’m letting you pick the music on the way there.”
“Deal,” he said, laughing as he leaned back in his seat, clearly proud of himself. “But don’t get too used to it. Next time, it’s back to rap and yachts.”
You snorted, shaking your head. “Yeah, sure. Whatever helps you sleep at night.”
As he drove, you couldn’t help but peek over at him, catching the way his jawline tensed and relaxed, the way his fingers tapped the steering wheel like he was still buzzing from the conversation.
And yeah, maybe you’d heard the rumors surrounding him, believed them a little before.
Now, you weren’t so sure.
All the while Rafe felt like he’d just won the lottery. You had no idea how hard he was falling for you, piece by piece. Every small detail about you made him fall harder, and it scared the hell out of him how much he cared. But he couldn’t stop now.
Truth was, he didn’t want to.
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𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐄 | 𝟏
pairing: popula!jameson hawthorne x nerd/goodgirl!reader
summary: who would have guessed taking an unwanted picture of her could lead to that tense moment? more than that, who would have thought it would get his attention to make a deal? and guys like him drain a person inside out when are interested in you.
warning: jamie being a slight jerk, very little. little over the top reader(?)
series taglist: @clarissaweasley-10 @whatsamongus @sheisntyou @emelia07 @elysianwayy77 @lyra-kane @bewitchingkisses @zenikswaffleshop @off-to-the-r4ces @jamcarven (lmk if you want to be added!)
a/n: IM SO EXCITED TO WRITE THIS WHOLE THING, YAY. a lot of jerk jamie in this fuc guys. sorry;(
word count: 1.5k
masterlist | series master list
“Did you just take a picture of me?” The tone and how sharp it was so surprising to the two boys to her side, one with the camera, and one with a stupid smile.
“Maybe.” The boy who was holding the camera didn't take her frowned brows, and dagger throwing eyes at him seriously. No one really takes her seriously, most of the time she is just invisible but definitely not today.
“Delete it.” She demanded, taking a step closer.
“Aw, don't want others to see your pretty face?” The boy holding the camera teased her, and then turned to his green eyes friend with a stupid smirk.
“I said, delete it.” she demanded again, this time more serious and firm than before.
“Or what?”
“I'll sue you. I'll take you to court, but before that I would like to formally inform the student body for violating my privacy, and I'm pretty sure you'd be dealt with by the faculty.” She didn't blink once, she adjusted her glasses after ending her threat.
“Woah, now let's not go there, princess” the green-eyed boy took a step forward with his hands in front in defense. “We don't want trouble.”
“She's bluffing.” The idiot with the camera said.
“She's not.” The other guy said without taking his gaze away from her face. And he is right. She's not bluffing.
The idiot was looking at her face, scanning to see what the other guy was seeing. “Alright, I'll delete it. I was just taking random pictures of the campus anyway.”
She was waiting for him to do it, but he didn't do it, yet. “Do it, right now.”
“I'll delete it later.” He said.
“Delete it now, Cory.” The green-eyed spoke, she almost thought he was a decent guy. Almost, until he spoke again. “We don't want our front row princess to tell on us to her teacher, now do we?” His lips curved up to a stupid, irritating smirk.
Her face could have sworn it was hot as hell from all the anger if it was possible. Cory finally deleted it, and showed her. “There, happy now?”
She didn't reply, just turned and walked away from them. She could feel as though her skin was being burnt because she knew that a pair of beautiful green eyes was staring at her as she walked away.
Two weeks have passed since this incident. Jameson has forgotten about it or so he thought, he did see her in class and think about how different she was that day from how she acts in class, she almost speaks to no one other than the professor to ask for doubts or questions. He wondered if she even has friends, with her introverted personality, and quick to try and sue anyone who would want to be friends with her? Or the real question is, does she want to be friends with anyone at all?
Yeah, she probably hates everyone. But why is it taking psychology? Maybe that's not her major, he wondered what her major would be. It's definitely not psychology, because he can't imagine her as a psychologist. Maybe she majors in business, but then again, why would she take psych?
Why are his thoughts filled with her and her life? She is no one. She is just some girl passing by, a girl who happened to be more than just what she shows. He knows that, Jameson knows how to read people. Even before his psychology classes, he was not as good as his brother but he is good, and he can read her, just a little more time with her, and he'll have a master degree on her.
The next couple days Jameson skipped psychology classes because he couldn't help but stare and observe her, it was getting ridiculous to the point that even Dean who sleeps in class noticed it. For two days Jameson spent psychology class hours on the rooftop, he has done this on Heights Country High, why not in Yale too? But today was different, the door’s latch was already open, and the door was about 4 inches open.
He pushes past the door and saw someone standing near the edge, at first he thought this was a suicide attempt, but the person was calm, quiet, looking everywhere with a notepad on one hand and a pen on the other. The person was a girl who wore her hair up in a ponytail, her skirt was moving in the direction of the wind, he knew who it was. He could never forget her back profile.
“Well, well, well. If it isn't my favourite front row princess.” He regretted speaking out of the blue because it scared her to the point she jerked up, she could have fallen.
“Fuck!” She yelped.
“You know how to curse?” He teased her.
“Yes, asshole. I’m not 2.” She rolled her eyes when she turned to see who it was.
He smiled. “Never thought I'd see the day where you'd skip classes. Or are you stalking me?”
“Last I checked, I was here first. So, are you stalking me?” she asked.
“I've been here for a couple days, princess. What are you doing here?” He answered and asked the question out of curiosity.
“What are you doing here?”
“You first.”
“No.”
“I'll figure it out on my own.” He said and started to observe, she was writing something down before he interrupted her. He can't figure it out, it's too vague, maybe if she gave her notepad he could get something.
She was quicker than him, she somehow figured that he was about to snatch her notepad from her, and was on her guard.
“Come on. How about we make a deal, yeah? You tell me why you are skipping class and hanging out with yourself on the rooftop, and I'll owe you one.” He tried.
“How do I know that you'd actually keep your word?” She raised an eyebrow, rolling her eyes.
“A Hawthorne never not keep his word.” He said it out proudly. Something to be proud of from that name.
“Right, you're a Hawthorne.” She added. “Why are you so determined to know why I'm here? You get nothing out of it, and yet you're saying you'll owe me one.” She was questioning whether or not to agree to this deal. Having Jameson Hawthorne owe you one is a vid deal.
“I'm a man of mysteries. I also tend to like mysteries. And you, princess? One hell of a mystery. I figured that much two weeks ago when you threatened to sue my friend.” He smiled, taking a step closer. “So? What do you say? Deal?” He asked.
She sighed. “For my journalism class, I have to write about something new…something that is ‘not in my bubble’ as my professor worded it, hence the rooftop.”
Jameson’s face was pulled together in confusion. “Still a bit vague. Are you going to try to fly?”
She rolled her eyes which made him smile. “No. Just looking at people from a different perspective. I don't think I can go out of my bubble but I can always observe people from different angles and be them for a while to write a different story. Sounds a bit stupid but it'll work. And I'll get an A.”
Jameson noticed how her eyes sparkled when she said ‘I'll get an A.” It made him smile even wider.
“That's still not doing what your professor asked.” He pointed it out.
“But it's not the same repetitive story as before. It's new, so.” She shrugged.
Jameson was quiet for a while. “You said you can't go out of your bubble. Is it can't or won't?”
She just glared at him as if he lied about something. Ironically he only told the truth.
“See? You don't even try, and say you can't.”
“It's not easy for me, okay? If I do new things out of the blue, people will stare at me, look at me weirdly or bully me too. I can't just step out of my bubble like that. Even if people are nice, it's me. I'm awkward, and just stupid when it comes to socialising or anything that's not just academics, and some extracurriculars that I do.” She let out a quick sigh before shaking her head.
“So stupid. I don't even know why I'm telling you this.” She murmured.
Jameson was quiet for a few seconds. “I'll tell you what. I said I owe you one, right? How about this; I help you get out of your bubble. I'll help you socialise and all that stuff, stuff that are not you. I'll help you with them.”
“When you owe someone it's up to them to decide what it is.” She said with a little sass.
“I know, princess. But think about it. It's a good one. I'm just suggesting, it's up to you.” He took another step, now only two feet away from her with his hands extended in front. “Deal?”
She bit her lips out of frustration.
Jameson chuckled. “Take it or leave it. Don't need to kill yourself over it.” But he wanted her to take it, so bad.
She let go of her bottom lips, and relaxed her shoulders. She passed the pen to the other hand, holding both the notepad and pen in one, she spoke “deal.”
Her soft palm met his and shook gently. The touch shouldn't have sent goosebumps to Jameson but it did.
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