#outer space is her home

[amomohthefairy]

Just an incredibly daring diva doing her thing!🌳🪐👽🧚🏽‍♀️🌟

[bosooka]

i have very few headcanons that i'm not happy to set aside for a specific AU or scenario or for just chatting with friends, but the one i do hold onto very strongly is that satine was THE most eligible bachelor at her space boarding school/university thing. everyone had it so bad for her, regardless of gender or species, every single one of her classmates wanted a piece of that towering mandalorian princess

and then they'd take her on a date and she'd spend the entire time yapping about mandalorian history

[angel-blitz]

Petals misses her husband a lot when he goes on his hunts. She wraps Slims blanket around her bc it smells like him and that helps her feel better💗

[bansheesscream]

Thinking about Killer Klowns from Outer Space and the characters have some interesting dynamics.

Dave insists on dropping Debbie off at her house while he and Mike go check out the Klown space ship. This can seem eye rolly because the female character is getting sidelined out of the action. But this ends up leading Mike to be the one to make irrational decisions? If it were Debbie and Dave looking for the Klowns it would have been Debbie who impulsively wrecked the car trying to run over slim. And it would have had a total vibe of "silly woman" with Dave being the one to keep his senses in that situation.

Later, when she gets into the shower to wash off the pop corn, this being an 80s horror movie, what a perfect time to have an excuse to show boobies. But no it never happens. I think we only see the bottoms of her legs and later her arm. Otherwise she's behind the curtain. We don't even see her in her bra. Then she fights off the pop corn snake Klowns. Of all the characters, she is the second best at fighting off the Klowns. (And Dave gets guns!). Does Mike ever kill a Klown or attack one besides that unsuccessful attempt with the car?

Yes she gets captured by the Klowns, but this is after several are in her house. And luckily she ended up in the balloon.

She knew almost immediately that there was something off about the circus tent while Mike thought it was a fun circus until they got to the cotton candy room.

Later she is the first one to go down the pole and she is smart enough to look down and not get eaten by the alligator. And she probably stopped Mike from being its lunch as they both stop Dave from getting chomped.

Mike never seems to feel that his masculinity threatened. He let's Dave take the lead and never insists on having the gun. In the beginning at make out point, when Debbie wants to check out the meteor, he wants to stay and get some action but doesn't pressure her and goes with her to see what landed in the woods. (This ultimately probably saved their lives)

Dave himself accepts the bro hug from Mike at the end of the movie and he was protective over both Mike and Debbie.

EDIT: I also wanted to point out that sending Debbie home to keep her safe was the WRONG choice. She was home alone when the clowns to show up with no weapons to defend herself. Her hair spray and shower head worked against the pop corn Klowns but not the big guys. Daves attempt to be a gentleman almost got Debbie killed and would have if the Klowns weren't planning to balloon her!

Anyway, they are the perfect throuple.

Just an addition. He probably wasn't intended to be this, but Moony was the perfect parody of a cop. The man was power hungry, abused his power, was violent with those he arrested, drank on the job, and didn't even want to do his job and we all know what happened to him. Dave is also unfortunately a cop but I choose to believe, since he is young, that initially became a cop because he wanted to protect people, but then saw how corrupt cops are through Moony and later the state troopers. He chooses to retire from the police force. He, Mike, and Debbie probably wanted to get out of that town anyway. So they are all living on a farm preparing for the return of the Klowns.

[rioblitzle]

still insane the amount of takes i see in the year 2024 where people are genuinely mad about the ending of super mario odyssey because they think princess peach "owes" mario romantic reciprocation and marriage. are you people ok

[blackvahana]

now hold on Asunder why did you reblog Apocrypha posts here

[ice-eise-babyy]

Highlight | J.B.B

Pairing: Bucky Barnes X Reader

Summary: A single comment takes a toll at your self-confidence, unintentionally pushing bucky away.

Warnings: really fluffy, slight angst (so slight you won't even feel it), implied smut, Sharon (unintentionally) being a bitch, cursing (real brief)

A/N: loosely inspired by a real life event. I do request so please go slide in my asks. that's it. Happy reading!!

Bucky loved you.

Every atom, essence, and fiber of you, he loved. There was nothing about you that could change his perception of you.

He had learned to memorize every inch of you with his eyes closed; Using only his tongue, fingers, and lips. Making a mental map of each dip and curve, every scar and mole, and all of your smile lines and wrinkles. Not only that but also your whole being. He knew you so well that he could tell what you wanted— what you needed before you could even say it. It was like a telepathic connection...

That's why it didn't take him long to figure out that something was wrong.

It was never your intention to make Bucky worry.

It all started with a small comment...

You had just finished showering in the gym shower after your training. Your body was wrapped in a towel that was way too short for your liking. displaying the stretch marks on your outer thighs, making you chew the insides of your cheeks.

And as if it wasn't enough to make you self-conscious, "Woah... That's some marks you've got there y/n..." It was Sharon as she entered the gym shower. Sounding perplexed and repulsed by the sight.

"Yeah.." you said, masking the rising insecurity with a faux chuckle before getting the hell out of there.

You ignored the twisted feeling in your stomach and the lingering embarrassment her words had caused. Brushing it off and pretending like you weren't affected by it. But soon it was eating you up like mites on wood. Nipping and nibbling at the last bits of self-assurance that you have.

It was affecting you so much that you hadn't even noticed that you were starting to distance yourself from Bucky...

Bucky, knowing you better than he knows himself, immediately noticed this. He didn't miss how you'd flinch at his touch. he caught how you'd recoil and pull away whenever he sought a hug or a kiss. It didn't go over his head when you started wearing more layers than just his shirt.

Of course, he was worried... But he pushed the worries away thinking that maybe you were just tired...

Weeks went by, yet you continued to distance yourself from him. He didn't want to think about it too much or ask you about it, afraid that it would only push you further.

So he convinced himself that you just wanted a bit of space. Especially now that you were getting some actual rest since you were jam-packed with missions and meetings the previous month.

It wasn't until last night...

˚‧⁺  ･ ˖ ·˚ ⋆｡˚ ˚‧⁺

"Sure, thanks Steve..." You bid Steve goodbye as you got off the elevator, just now getting home from your first mission of the month.

You opened the door with ease, not wanting to make any noise as you entered your shared room with Bucky. Tiptoeing as you entered, concerned that you'd wake him up.

"Hey, doll..." Your whole body jolted as you heard him, his voice sounding hoarse with sleep.

You simply looked in his direction and gave him a lopsided smile,

Just a smile?

"Go to sleep..." You told him as you left him to shower...

He in fact did not go to sleep. He waited for you. Wanting to wrap his arms around you and kiss away your exhaustion from the mission.

"I told you to go to sleep, bucky." he looked in your direction, admiring how adorable you looked in his hoodie and some basic sweatpants.

"How can I?" He shrugged as if it was the most obvious question, "you're not here with me.." he added, extending his arms out for a hug.

You gulped, hesitating for a little while longer. Soon giving in as you saw the expecting look on his face. His slate blue eyes glimmered in the darkness as you walked over to him.

He sighed, letting out a breath he didn't know he was holding as he wrapped his arms around your waist. Burying his face in your clothed stomach as you stood there.

"I missed you," he nuzzled into you more, "so damn much." He said as he finally pulled away, looking up at you with those pretty blue eyes.

He wanted to stay like this with you. He needed to stay like this with you...

The pad of his fingers dug into your hips as his grip tightened, pulling you to his lap.

"I missed you too..." You said, your fingers playing with the hair on the back of his head...

It was like all your worries were thrown out the window as he held you by the neck and captured your lips with his. Kissing you with such need and longing. It was as if a huge wave of relief washed over you... Until his hands started exploring under your hoodie.

All your insecurities resurfaced as you recalled the marks that you were hiding under these layers of clothing. Sharon's words replaying in your head like a broken record.

No...

It was like your body was moving on its own accord. Your breathing lodged in your windpipe as you realized that you had unintentionally pushed him away... Your hands trembling as they hovered mid-air, a short distance away from his chest which you had just shoved away...

"I..." You started but it was like the words were caught in the back of your throat...

You felt guilt settling in the pit of your stomach as you saw the pain flickered amongst the flecks of navy in his eyes that Momentarily looked down before looking back at you, helping you off his lap.

One...

Breathe...

Two...

She's just tired...

Three...

Be understanding...

"It's... It's fine..." The reassurance tasted bittersweet on his lips, a tight-lipped smile decorating his features...

You felt like the knot of guilt in your stomach was about to snap as you didn't fail to notice how his smile didn't reach his eyes... Or how the inflection of his voice came across as insincere, strained, hurt...

He's hurt... Because of me...

He wasn't hurt, no.

Hurt was something a 3-year-old would say if he scraped his knee. Hurt was something a teenager felt when he got his heart broken from puppy love. Hurt is something minor. Something that can be easily cured with words...

This? This was neglect.

He felt neglected... He felt like you were drifting a bit too far...

Too far from him...

˚‧⁺  ･ ˖ ·˚ ⋆｡˚ ˚‧⁺

He has never been the type to openly talk about what he felt... But this— this thing you were doing? It was just unbearable... In ways that no simple words formed by letters could describe. And what's worst about this was it was you.

So, he ultimately decided that he had enough of it...

You were comfortably reading a book on the couch. The cap of your purple highlighter in between your lips as you highlight lines from your book with it. The bright color perfectly emphasizing your favorite parts.

A few other teammates were also in the living room. Respectfully busying themselves with whatever task they had at hand when suddenly, a very upset-looking bucky came storming into the living room with a scowl on his face.

"Let's talk. Now. In private." He snatched the book from your hand and tossed it on the coffee table automatically catching your attention

Confusion etched your face as you looked up at him, your knuckles turning white as your grip tightened around the highlighter.

"What are you—!" Your question abruptly interrupted, the world turning upside down as he threw you over his shoulder like you weighed nothing.

The rest of the team looked at one another with puzzled looks, watching you writhe as he walked away with you on his shoulder like a bag of rice.

"Bucky!" You squealed, thrashing against the super soldier while you repeatedly told him to put you down. The purple ink from the highlighter in your hand staining his white tank top.

"Talk." Was all you heard as you landed on the bed with a guttural 'oof'

"Rude!" He gave you an unamused look, crossing his arms as his gaze followed you as you propped yourself. Sighing as he saw that familiar pout on your lips.

"I'm worried about you..." You felt a shiver run down your spine as he walked towards you.

"What do you mean...?" You facepalmed mentally as your words came out trembling.

You were sweating, not wanting to talk about any of this any further. You already knew where this was going...

And you didn't like it...

"You're just..." He paused, looking for the right words, "You're not being you... And you—" he cut himself off, noticing how you moved away when he sat beside you. "You keep doing that"

"That? What's 'that'?"

"You keep distancing yourself from me..." You felt the guilt claw up your neck as you heard the way his voice sounded so defeated.

You never intended to worry him, and you never would want to. But looking at the situation at hand made you realize how much you got drowned by your self-doubt that you had been depriving him of the truth...

You felt torn as you sat there staring into the hazy silver hue in his blue eyes, the distress and yearning flickering in them.

You wanted to tell him about everything. You wanted to tell him how Sharon's words made your confidence falter. You wanted to show him why...

But it scared you...

The mere thought of his repulsed expression made your heart sink to your toes.

"I don't know if I've done something wrong. If I've said something you didn't like. If I had been too much. If you need space—"

"No! It's not like that..." Your eyes widened as his rambling slowly sunk into your skull,

He's blaming himself...?

"I just... It's..." He held your hand, soothing you through your anxious state...

He hated seeing you like this, he hated how much you were holding back, he hated how you were hesitating... But he was patient with you like he always is. Because he knew firsthand how hard it is to open up.

"Please... Please tell me.." you let out a shaky breath. Your fingers fiddled with the highlighter as you closed your eyes for a moment to collect yourself.

The moment you opened your eyes and witnessed the unshed tears gloss over his pretty eyes was the exact moment you figured that you had lost at whatever this was...

Your hands fidgeted with the highlighter as you told him everything he needed to know— from the stretch marks that had you questioning your self-worth to Sharon’s comment that rang in your ears like a constant reminder. You just laid it all out there, hoping he’d understand how much it had gotten to you. Even though you knew it still wasn't enough of an excuse for how you've treated him...

The tears prickled your eyes as they pooled; you felt so small. So vulnerable around him... Just how you liked it.

"I'm so proud of you for telling me doll..." The pad of his thumb swiping away the single tear that rolled down your face...

"Can I see...?" You looked at him with wide eyes, why would he want to see such a sight?

"James..." His name slipped from your lips as a hesitant whisper, but your thoughts became a jumbled mess when he suddenly got off the bed and kneeled in front of you, looking up at you with those big blue eyes...

"Please...?" He pleaded, removing the highlighter before holding your hands in his.

Your man was literally on his knees for you, his eyes wide with hope and vulnerability, like he was silently begging for an answer. His voice was so full of genuine longing and yearning. How could you say no to that? At that moment, with your heart swelling, saying anything but yes felt impossible.

You meekly nodded and he looked like a kid on Christmas morning, beaming with a grin.

Goosebumps formed on your skin as you felt his hands twisting with the waistband of your pajama shorts. He looked up at you as though to ask for permission so you granted it with another nod. You lifted your hips for him to fully remove them.

Suddenly,you felt the insecurity clawing at your neck; feeling exposed and just... Bare as you sat there in just your tank top and underwear. Displaying parts of your body that only he had the privilege of seeing.

You pressed your knees together, knowing that the marks only get worse around the insides of your thighs...

Bucky didn't like this... But he had more than one way to keep those legs spread for him...

"So pretty..." he murmured, his voice soft and full of admiration as his hand gently held your calf as if you would wither under his touch if he wasn't careful enough. His other hand was doing the total opposite by holding your other leg in place and slightly spreading it. He leaned in, pressing a series of slow, lingering kisses from your knee, his lips feather-light as they brushed against your skin. He moved up to the side of your thigh, each kiss seemed to carry a silent promise, a vow of how much he adored every inch of you. The warmth of his breath and the tenderness in his eyes made your heart stutter, filling you with a sense of love and security that felt overwhelming.

You let out a whine, desperate and needy when you felt him detach his lips from your skin. Already yearning for the sensation of his lips on you. "What are you doing?" Gazing at him curiously as he took the highlighter in his hand

He didn't answer.

He held your knee in one hand to avoid them from blocking his line of sight. His mind was in a whirlwind as he saw the marks.

They're beautiful

How dare you deprive him of this.

You gasped as you felt the cold ink of the highlighter on your skin. Bucky moved his hand gracefully as he left traces of bright purple along your stretch marks, tucking his lower lip between his teeth as he concentrated.

"What are you doing, James?" Another attempt for an answer as you watch his hand in between your legs only to be met with silence once again.

He pulled away once he finished, a satisfied look on his face. Looking at his work with such pride in himself. It was beautiful. You were beautiful. Nothing could ever compare to this, to you. No art made by Monet, Renoir, or even Van Gogh could ever come close to how ethereal you looked...

"This," he started, his fingers gently tracing the trails of purple ink on your skin, "This is to remind you that I will always love all of you"

You bit back a smile as you looked down at him; the lovesick look in his eyes told you that his words exude nothing but honesty. And it was as if everything was just now sinking into your mind. Crimson tinted your cheeks, heating up as you realized that you were half naked with a super soldier in between your thighs. Kneeling for you.

You let out a strangled moan as he pressed his lips on your skin once more. Trailing wet kisses to your inner thigh, inhaling as his nose poked your clothed core. You smelled so sweet...

"You think you're getting off the hook that easy?" You gulped so hard that he probably heard it, you couldn't help yourself. How could you when Bucky was looking up at you like someone who hasn't been fed for the past few months? The warmth of his blue eyes dissipated as it was replaced by something familiar but different... Something feral.

"Spread those pretty legs for me, doll. I'm going to fuck you until you're finally convinced that every part of you is perfect"

[eraenaa]

I Can Fix Him (No Really I Can)

Inspired by the song "I Can Fix Him (No Really I Can)" by Taylor Swift

Rafe Cameron x Reader Tag List

Summary: Trust me, I can handle me a dangerous man.

Warnings: Substance Use, Possessiveness, Jealousy, ¿Kinda Toxic Relationship?, Mention of Violence, Mature, 18+, P in V Sex, Shower Sex, Oral Sex (F & M receiving), Fingering, Choking, Boobjob, Filmed Sexual Relations, Not Proofread 

Word Count: 2,372

A/N: Sorry for being MIA finals week was rough and I was kinda burnout hence the almost month long hiatus but Taylor's new album revived me, so maybe expect more works inspired by TTPD songs!

You sat quietly as Rafe rested his warm hand on your thigh. You waited for him to finish his drink as he laughed around with his boys at the bar. Their voice echoed through the establishment, garnering curious glances from the other patrons present. You feel him squeeze your thigh tighter, his little signal that he wanted some affection, maybe a kiss or a touch from you. He turned to you, pupils enlarged from the little pill he took, “Are you bored?” He asked, and you quickly shook your head, placing your hand on the back of his head, and ran your nails gently against his skull. “No, baby,” You murmured and moved to kiss his lips, tasting the brandy on his tongue. Rafe parted from your kiss, looking intently into your eyes to see off you lied; he seemed satisfied enough and returned to his conversations with his friends. 

You hear the offensive joke that Rafe said a bit too loudly and held your breath. Placing your hand on his shoulder, hoping it would snap some sense into him, it usually did. You feel pitying and feared glances pointed towards you. The bartender to your left shook their head and muttered, “God help her,” when they realized you were with Rafe. A man who was notorious for his rage and ill temper. He was often perceived as rash and maybe even psychotic. Perhaps their judgment of him was true… but that is what attracted you to him anyway. You could not help but be intrigued by him and his imposing and reckless demeanor. You were certain you could tame him. You said to yourself, “I can fix him; no, really, I can.” 

He drove the both of you home. A bit of a misjudgment on your part, seeing how intoxicated he was, but there was something thrilling about him taking the reigns while still addled with dopamine and alcohol. There was something seductive in the way his hand would trail upward and upward on your thigh as he raced down the streets of the Outer Banks. But there was something different this night. There was tension in him that did not come from the lust you and him were succumbing to. “What’s wrong?” You asked, taking hold of his arm, caressing it in a way that made gooseflesh rise on his flesh. You bit your lip as his hold on you was tighter; you were certain it would once again leave his mark. “Everyone in that bar was looking at you… they were looking at what’s mine.” He snarled and pressed flat on the gas, making you speed down the streets so carelessly, but you could not find care as that elicited a wave of want in you. “They were only looking…” You trailed, testing to see what reaction it would garner from Rafe. 

You watch him shake his head, his jaw clenching in annoyance. “They were looking at what’s mine. They were practically undressing you with their eyes— imagining stealing you from me,” He gritted as you were nearing home. You voiced your disagreement, but that only seemed to enrage him more. “You enjoyed it, didn’t you, huh? You fucking enjoyed their attention.” Rafe accused, and your eyes darkened at his words. Just as the rage in him burned quickly, it died in a snap. You removed his hold on your thigh and stole away your touch on his arm. You did not wait for him to open the door of the passenger seat for you but instead got out of the confined space you were trapped in and left him. “Baby, wait, I—“ Rafe called, any irritation in his voice gone the moment he realized he had offended you. 

You were nearing your bedroom door, ready to lock him out for the night and repent for his offense, but he caged you in his arms, pulling you close to him. Burying his head at the side of your neck, he offered his apologies. “I’m sorry baby… I just don’t wanna lose you,” You hear his muffled boys. Smirking to yourself as you actually got an apology from him. From all the stories you heard of Rafe, ranging from his family to his friends and even his past flings, not one of them got an apology or anything that resembled half of it from him. But here he was, saying sorry over and over again, waiting for your reply. You kept silent for a while longer, and you felt him move over to the front of you, trying to kiss your lips, but you moved your head to the side. You bit your lip as you hear him puff, surprised by his following action. You watched Rafe sink down on his knees and hold you tightly against him, burying his face in your abdomen, his apologies spewing out from his mouth as if you were a god to whom he offered his prayers, pleading to be heard. You sighed and ran your hand through his hair, hearing him soothingly hum and burrow his head deeper into your abdomen.  

You were about to urge him to stand, but you were rendered frozen, and your breathing hitch when you feel his fingers take hold of your dress, hiking it higher. “Rafe,” you called as his lips trailed kisses on your exposed skin, his breath teasing your core that had already been aching for him. “I’m sorry,” He said once more, and you could only sigh as he placed a kiss between your thighs. You held tightly onto him as he lapped your folds, showing you just how sorry he was. “Rafe… Fuck, Rafe,” you called as he inserted a finger, but you were already on the verge of an orgasm by just the way his nose burrowed into your nubbin. “Do you forgive me, my baby?” Rafe asked, and you could only moan out your agreement and hear him hiss as you pulled on his hair and came down hard on his fingers and face. 

You hummed as you woke the next day with Rafe tracing hearts on your face; he had been watching you sleep. You gazed at him through the hazy sight of the fresh morning, “You look so pretty when you sleep,” Rafe said softly, and you smiled up at him. Gone in his system were the substances that were his ruin, but he could not deny. You quite liked him in this state, but you knew he would rather have his mood be altered by opioids and any other drugs that he believed would aid him. It won’t. And you just need to change that outlook of his or at least find another drug that would not be his ruin. 

“You’re mine,” Rafe gritted in your ear, his arms wrapped tightly around you as he realized every bastard at the party was staring at you. “I’m yours,” You repeated to calm the rage in him. He did not consume anything harsh or damnable per your request, but you were starting to rethink your decision because apparently Rafe, without his usual pick me up, was rather more paranoid and frantic. Every little interaction you have with the opposite sex pushes him closer over the edge. “Rafe,” you sighed as he stepped away, challenging a guy whose gaze had been flying to you the whole night. “The fuck you staring at, huh! Do you want a fucking fight, bro?! Stop staring at my gi—“ Rafe screamed, and you pulled at him with all of your might for him to face you and save the innocent man from being beaten up to a pulp. You turn to Rafe’s friends, urging them to help, them being the able-bodied ones to escort Rafe outside to calm down. 

You stood before him as he sat by the ledge of a planter box. His head was in his hands as he tried to calm his ragged breathing. You stood silently as he took out a box of cigarettes and hastily lit a stick. “Stop looking at me like that,” Rafe spat, and you furrowed your brows at his words. “Like what?” You asked, and Rafe shook his head and took a long drag of a cigarette. “Like you’re disappointed! I know that look all too well,” He scoffed, and you took in a deep breath, stepping closer to him. Squatting down to meet him at eye level, placing a kiss on his cheek, and your hand found home at the back of his head again, running your fingers through his hair, noting how he would lean into your touch. “I’m not disappointed,” you say in earnest, but Rafe scoffs at your words. “You are. Don’t lie to me.” He gritted and threw the bud of his cigaret onto the ground, the glowing embers slowly dying down like the rage in him. 

“I never lie to you,” You say softly, placing your hold on the side of his face. “I’m yours, Rafe,” you say softly. “You’re mine.” He answered back. “Exactly. Then why are you trying to fight those others who are completely insignificant to us?” You ask softly, brushing your thumb across his brow, watching as his eyes fluttered close and a sigh left his lips. “Because I know what they want. I know they want what’s mine.” He gritted, tensing in anger once more, his fists clenching and warning danger. “But they won’t get to have it, won’t they?” You asked and stared deeply into his ocean eyes as they opened once more. “No. Never.” He swore, and you smiled, placing a kiss on his lips. 

Kissing you was the greatest high Rafe felt. The high he now realized was the only one he’d want to chase. Nothing chemically and artificially induced could compare to your lips. “Let’s go back inside,” Rafe said after your kiss had sedated his rage. “On one condition,” You said and stood your ground as he tried to pull you back into the direction of the party. You pulled him to you, flushing your bodies, and returned your hand to caress his troubled head. “No more invoking fights? Stop glaring at those guys?” You asked and watched as he frowned at your words. “I… I can probably do no more fighting— but baby, come on, they keep staring at you and—“ You shook your head and interrupted him. 

“Be a good boy tonight, and later… I’ll do what you’ve been asking me to do since last month,” You hindered your grin as you watched Rafe’s jaw turn slack, his eyes now intoxicated and dilated with the thought of you. “What do you say?” You asked, batting your lashes at him, trailing your fingers against his forearm, your eyes already catching a glance of the dent in his trousers. “I’ll be a fucking angel if you want.” He almost growled. And you let him usher you back to a party with a smile beaming on your face. 

Rafe kept true to his word. There was practically a halo around his head for the rest of the night. Foregoing his pilled and powdered remedies, even tossed out the intoxicating liquid in his glass. You thought miracles never happened, but Rafe even let you join your friends on the dance floor without him. You saw as he reigned in the hellish thoughts in him as men around danced by your side. Instead, he stood still in his spot, his mind on the thought of heaven you’ll present him if he played nice. 

You, too, kept true to your words. You were on your knees, your hands pushing your tits together, and in between them was Rafe’s cock. A video camera by your side as Rafe had been begging you almost everyday for a home video together. Reasoning that ‘it would be a reminder of you when you are away.’ And the thought of you is the only thing that gets him on. “Fuck, baby— god, you’re so good. How are you this good?” Rafe groaned as you fucked him with your tits. It was the best reward for him, you rarely gave him head, and this was the first time you ever fucked anyone this way. Rafe fisted the sheets as you wrapped your lips around the tip of his cock again. He moaned out your name as you took him deeper into your mouth, the sound of you gagging on his cock spurring him on. But before he could come, before he could reach a different and higher level of high he always sought, you pulled away. 

“Baby… oh, baby, please, you can’t do this to me,” he almost begged, his eyes in a daze at the sight of you messy from sucking his cock. You crawled upwards and hung from his lips, him already expecting a kiss. “Fuck me in the shower,” Was all you said before you hastily dispread to the bathroom and turned the faucet on. It took a few moments for Rafe to process your words, but once he did. He quickly stood, took the camera, and positioned it to point toward you, who was already soaking wet. 

Rafe was quick to push you against the glass shower door, already excited to watch the video of you and your tits against the glass. “Yes… oh, god, like that,” You cried as Rafe mercilessly pounded behind you. He gathered your hair and gripped it back, eliciting a burning yet pleasurable sensation. “You’re always so prim and proper… but looked at you, you fuck like a whore,” Rafe gritted, and your eyes rolled back as he positioned his thrust to hit the spot that made your words incoherent. “You like that, huh, baby? You like it when I fuck you, dumb?” He asked, not expecting a reply but rather your moans. Rafe relinquished his hold on your hair and instead gripped your throat. Pounding harder into you as he felt you clench tighter around him, your body shaking and on the precipice of orgasm. “Mine. Mine, mine, mine.” Rafe gritted out as he, too, was close. “Yours. All yours, Rafe.” You cried as you came around him. Panting his name as he clung in the high that was you. 

I screamed when I first listened to the song that inspired this fic, bc Rafe was the most prominent thing that it conjured in my mind.

[eu-nicola]

Morocco part 3

and final

summary: Rafe says goodbye to Sofia and leaves her in outer banks while he goes to Morocco, where you are also and the danger that happens there rekindles the spark both of you thought had lost

warnings: mention of death, pregnancy

word counter: 10706

author's note: spoilers of s4, things have been changed but there are still spoilers, english is not my first language, this is long so get ready to read

The ride home was shrouded in a fog of silence and empty stares. No one talked much; JJ’s death had left an open wound, an empty space that was impossible to ignore. You felt that weight in every fiber of your being, as if the air you breathed was thicker and harder to swallow. Even Rafe, always tough, showed a certain discomfort. It had been he who, in an act of unexpected humanity, had taken the shovel and buried JJ’s body with his own hands. His movements had been slow, while the echo of the earth falling on the body still resonated in your mind as a cruel reminder of how ephemeral life was. 

They had achieved what they had sought so long. The Blue Crown, the relic that had led them all to the most dangerous adventures of their lives, was now in their possession. But the triumph tasted bitter, tinged with the boy’s absence. The laughter, JJ’s jokes, his unbridled energy and his unwavering loyalty were things they could never replace. Outer Banks felt different without him, as if a shadow had fallen over the place, obscuring happy memories and hopes for a better future.

Despite everything, there was one dim light that held everyone together: Sarah and John B’s baby. It was as if the news of his arrival was the only thing keeping the spark of life in everyone’s eyes. You knew that this baby would be named after their lost friend, a tribute that would forever connect them to the past. And John B, despite his pain, had already hinted that he wanted Pope to be the new godfather, a gesture that had brought tears to everyone’s eyes.

You watched all of this from a sort of distance, as if you were trapped in limbo. You didn’t know what to expect from your own life, from your future. The trip to Morocco had changed everything, not only because of the experiences you had lived through, but because of the promises and decisions yet to be made. You were expecting Rafe’s child, and the uncertainty of what that meant kept you on edge. What he had said in Morocco, the words laden with desire and a commitment you barely understood, kept fluttering through your mind. Was it real? Could you trust him to accept it, to keep those promises now that the adventure was over and reality was setting in again? 

Rafe, sitting beside you on the shuttle back, stared out the window with his jaw set and his eyes lost somewhere on the horizon. You hadn't exchanged many words since JJ's death. You didn't know if he remembered what he had said, if the heat of the moment had faded into the coldness of reality. 

The landscape passed by at full speed, but for you everything was suspended in a strange waiting pattern. There was no certainty about what would happen once you returned home. Rafe was a mystery, an enigma that you had loved and feared in equal measure. And now, with a child on the way, the future felt like a blank slate, ready to be written with the decisions that were to come, decisions that would define not only your life, but that of your child.

Hours later, upon returning home, the air was filled with a familiarity that contrasted with everything they had experienced abroad. Each of the group dispersed, returning to their own lives, immersed in a cloud of exhaustion and memories. You, with your heart still reeling, headed to your family mansion. The high walls and long shadows of the place greeted you with a sense of relief, as if you had finally found shelter after a long and stormy journey. 

The first to see you was your father. His always imposing bearing seemed even firmer that afternoon. He approached you with determined steps and, to your surprise, a slight smile on his lips. He was not a man known for his displays of affection or fatherly affection, but this time, his hand rested on your shoulder with a touch that spoke more than a thousand words. “Well done,” was all he said. You had heard him say those words in contexts of success and victory, but this time, you knew there was something deeper behind them. He had underestimated you for so long that seeing his approval made you feel a weight less on your chest.

The conversation turned to what you had achieved, the Blue Crown and all that it had meant. Despite your father's joy, your mind kept wandering, divided between the euphoria of his approval and the constant shadow of uncertainty that Rafe cast over you.

Rafe arrived shortly after. Your father wasted no time and, with a look that combined defiance and humor, he addressed him with a few words: “Well done, Cameron. And congratulations on your engagement, although it seems it was not as solid as I thought.” Your father's ironic smile was a knife in the air.

Rafe reacted immediately, raising his chin with that mixture of haughtiness and tiredness that you knew so well. “I finished it,” he replied, his words sharp but full of conviction. The look between the two men was fleeting but intense. Your father, who had always been a good reader, let out a short, dry laugh, as if he had just won a game that only he understood. He didn't insist any further and walked away, giving you one last look that seemed to say that everything was fine, that you had done the right thing. 

After the brief meeting in which your father and Rafe had exchanged words, you felt the weight of fatigue take hold of you. As you watched Rafe walk away, his silhouette fading into the dusk of the evening, a long, deep sigh escaped your lips. You knew you needed space, not only to process what had happened, but also to find clarity in the whirlwind of emotions and decisions that were crowding your mind.

You stayed in the mansion, allowing the silence and familiarity of the place to envelop you like a hug. You walked through the halls with slow steps, touching the walls and letting the coldness of the stone remind you that you were there, that everything had been real.

You reached your room and closed the door behind you, leaning against it as you closed your eyes. You headed to the large window that looked out onto the garden, the lights of the night beginning to flicker, and for an instant, the view gave you some calm. Outside, the breeze moved the leaves of the trees, and the whisper of the wind was a reminder that, at least for now, you were safe.

The desire to rest was overwhelming. You took off your shoes and let your feet feel the soft carpet beneath them. You changed your clothes into something more comfortable and let yourself fall into the bed, which seemed softer and more welcoming than you remembered. You closed your eyes and tried to clear your mind, but the images and memories kept coming, like flashes you couldn't ignore.

What you needed most was a moment away from him, a space to put your thoughts in order without the intensity of his presence influencing you. You had shared so much in such a short time that your world seemed to revolve around him, and that scared you. You wanted to think about what it all meant, what you would be able to accept, and what you really wanted for yourself and for the future that, without realizing it, you had begun to imagine.

With a tired sigh, you lay down on the bed, letting the softness of the sheets envelop you. The distant sound of crickets and the tranquility of the place helped you disconnect little by little. Your body, physically and emotionally exhausted, was leading you to sleep, giving you the rest you had longed for. For the first time in days, you allowed yourself to not think, to not feel the weight of the world on your shoulders, and just be you, in the shelter of your home.

When you woke up, the soft glow of the morning sun was streaming through the window, enveloping the room in a warm, golden glow. You blinked slowly, still sleepy, and your gaze landed on your phone. A notification caught your attention: a text from Rafe. It didn't surprise you, but it did make your heart beat a little faster. It said he wanted to see you, to come to his house.

Without answering, you put your phone aside and got up. You headed to the bathroom, letting the hot shower water run over your skin, washing away the tiredness that still lingered in your body. When you were done, you changed calmly, choosing an outfit that made you feel comfortable and safe. Breakfast was brief; just a cup of coffee and some fruit that you savored without haste.

When you finally felt ready, you grabbed your keys and left the house. The drive to Rafe's house felt longer than usual. When you arrived, an unexpected scene greeted you.

Rafe was standing on the porch, his expression tense and his hands gesturing in frustration as he argued with Sofia. Sofia, eyes bright and cheeks flushed with anger and distress, was trying to defend herself. You heard her say in a broken voice that everything she had done was because he had called her "Pogue," a word that to her was more than an insult; it was a rejection.

Rafe’s face hardened even further, his blue eyes flashing with anger. To him, that justification was a mockery. He couldn’t believe the ridiculousness of that confession. He demanded that she give him back the ring he had given her, a ring that belonged to his mother, a symbol that had once meant a future together. His voice was so firm and icy that even from your position, a little apart, you could feel the tension in the air. With one last look of despair, Sofia took off the ring with shaking hands and handed it to him. Without another word, she quickly left, passing you by with tears running down her cheeks. She didn’t say anything, didn’t even look at you. She simply disappeared down the road, leaving a trail of pain and failure behind her. 

Rafe stood still for a moment, staring at the ring in his hand as if it were a weight he wanted to get rid of immediately. When he looked up and saw you, something in his expression changed. The hardness faded briefly, replaced by a flash of something you certainly didn’t know what it was. 

As you approached him, you noticed how Rafe, with a quick and almost instinctive movement, put the ring in his pocket. Without hesitation, you moved closer and greeted him with a kiss, feeling the slight tremor in his lips.

“What happened?” you asked, trying to read in his eyes some sign that betrayed the conversation he had just had with Sofia.

“Nothing important,” he answered, looking away for a second before looking at you firmly again. “I just had to make it clear that this,” he said, making a gesture that implied everything that had happened with Sofia, “doesn't mean anything anymore.”

You nodded, although an uncomfortable knot formed in your stomach. The conversation you had been avoiding since Morocco was unavoidable, and the time had come.

“Rafe, we have to talk,” you said in a more serious tone, causing his expression to change as well. He nodded, waiting for you to continue. “What will happen to us now?” After everything that happened in Morocco... everything we said...

Rafe looked at you with an intensity that made the air feel thicker.

“I want to marry you,” he said, without hesitation. But there was something else in his voice, a note that you recognized as uncertainty.

You sighed and looked down for a moment, searching for the right words.

“I’m not sure, Rafe. You were with Sofia. If what happened hadn’t happened, would you have left her?” The question hung in the air, weighing between you like an unspoken truth.

He didn’t answer right away, and the pause made you feel like your heart stopped for a second. But then, with a determined gesture, he came closer and took your hands.

“You’re right to doubt, but listen,” he said, his voice deep and sincere. “If Sofia did what she did now, she would have done it sometime later. And it would have ruined everything, our marriage, my life… it would have brought me down. Her doing it now opened my eyes. It made me realize that the one I really wanted was you. Because I couldn’t stand to see you with someone else, to see you married to someone else, happy with another man. Not after everything we’ve been through together.”

His words were a torrent of emotions, and for a moment you were silent, taking in each one. The warmth of his hands in yours was an anchor, and when he raised a hand to caress your face, you felt a single tear run down your cheek.

“Rafe…” you whispered, and he closed his eyes for a moment, as if your words were all he needed to keep going.

You spent the day at Rafe’s house. Every corner of the place reflected his presence: the photographs on the shelves, the personal details on the furniture, and the subtle aroma that seemed to permeate the walls. You walked slowly, observing everything carefully, aware that this space would one day become your home.

Rafe watched you from the other side of the room. He knew that, although you had agreed to be there and spend this moment with him, there was a gesture he had to make. The ring that had once belonged to his mother and that, for a time, had been on Sofia's hand, was no longer a pure symbol.

As he walked towards you, he thought about how he knew you better than anyone else. He knew that you would not agree to wear that ring, not after everything that had happened. As much as it meant something special in his family, you would understand the burden it carried and what it symbolized. His thoughts were intertwined with the decision he had made: he would look for a new one, perhaps more than one.

Still, in time, you would wear both rings: the new one, and his mother's. But using just the old one wouldn't be an option, and Rafe understood that.

It had been two weeks since they returned from Morocco. Everything had calmed down, but there was still a tension in the air that didn't seem to want to go away. There were things you still hadn't talked about and you wanted to but you didn't know who to talk to.

The idea of ​​talking to Sarah crossed your mind several times, but you quickly put it aside. Although you both shared something very big in common, the reality was that you had never been very close to her. Besides, she had her own problems: the pregnancy, her relationship with John B., everything that had happened with JJ... and you didn't want to add more to her burden. It wasn't the time.

You decided that the best thing was to go to the doctor alone, to confirm that everything was okay. Maybe find some peace at that moment.

When you arrived at the clinic, you felt a little nervous. The atmosphere was calm, but the discomfort of what you had to face didn't let you be completely relaxed. You sat in the waiting room, going over the thousand and one things that were running through your mind.

Finally, your name was called, and you walked into the office. The doctor greeted you kindly, motioned for you to sit down, and began asking you some general questions about your health and emotional state. You knew that was important, but you couldn’t help but feel like everything was about to change.

“Everything seems to be in order,” the doctor said with a smile as he looked over your results. “Your pregnancy is progressing well. You’re in the sixth week. It’s early, but everything we see so far is positive.”

You felt a wave of relief run through your body. At least at the moment, things seemed to be going well. But, inside, you were still a little lost. How were you supposed to handle all of this? How was something like this supposed to be handled?

The doctor, as if reading your thoughts, continued.

“The most important thing now is that you eat well. Your body is working for you and the baby. You need to make sure your diet is right for both of you.” He looked at you with slight concern. “And don’t stress yourself out.” That's a very important factor. Stress can affect not only your well-being, but that of the baby. Try to get enough rest and not overload your mind.

You knew it wasn't going to be easy. Stress was a constant in your life, but, for the moment, those words were what you needed to hear.

As you left the consultation, you felt a mix of relief and confusion. Everything seemed fine.

When you got home, the atmosphere seemed different. You had been alone in your mind all day, reflecting on everything you had experienced in the last few weeks. Despite everything, your father's call had taken you out of that bubble and brought you back to reality.

He was waiting for you in the living room, sitting in his usual chair, staring at the turned-off television. He wasn't watching anything in particular, he was just thinking, and you knew that. When you walked in, he smiled at you, although there was something in his eyes that you couldn't decipher.

“Take a seat, daughter,” he said in a calm tone, inviting you to sit in front of him. It wasn’t common for him to talk about personal matters like that, but you knew something important was coming.

You sat down, leaving your bag on the floor and crossing your legs, preparing yourself for what awaited you. The silence between the two of you was heavy, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was more like a kind of calm before the storm.

“Your mother…” he began, and you already knew what he was going to say. There was something in his voice that showed a mix of tiredness and resignation. “She wants to see you again.”

You didn’t know how to react. Your heart skipped a beat, a kind of knot formed in your stomach. Your mother had never been a part of your life in the way one would expect. Since you were nine, she had chosen her freedom over you, over family, over everything. She left in search of something you never understood. And now, after all those years, she wanted to come back as if nothing had happened. As if life could go back to the instant it left.

Your father continued, not looking directly into your eyes, as if he preferred to talk about her without doing it face to face.

“I know it hasn’t been easy for you,” he said quietly. “She was never there when you needed her the most. It was my job, my responsibility… I raised you, I gave you what you needed, and although I know it wasn’t perfect, I did it with everything I had.”

He sighed, and for a moment, the weight of his words filled the space between the two of you. You knew how much it had cost him, what he had had to sacrifice to be a father and a mother at the same time.

“I’m not asking you to forgive her or accept her right away,” he continued. “What I’m asking is that you don’t treat her badly. If you want to reject her, do it, but don’t argue with her. She’ll be here for a while, and we’ll both welcome her.” If we’re lucky, she’ll be gone soon, and you can go back to your normal days, to your life, as if nothing had happened.

You stayed silent, processing his words. It wasn’t just what he was telling you, but also what he wasn’t saying. You knew he was worried about how you might react, how difficult it would be for you. But he didn’t want you to get into something that could only make things more complicated than they already were.

“And one more thing,” he added, finally looking at you, his eyes steady and sincere. “I don’t want you to talk to her about Morocco, or Rafe, or anything that’s affecting you right now. She’s not here to get involved in your life again. If you do, you’ll only open a door that we don’t need to open. She has her own life and you have yours.”

You couldn’t help the feeling of anger, frustration, and pain rising in your chest. It wasn’t just that your mother abandoned you, but that she now intended to come back as if she hadn’t left a mark. As if the years of abandonment could be erased in the blink of an eye. But what hurt you the most was that your father was asking you to accept all of that. You understood it, somehow. He just wanted to avoid more conflict, more pain. And what he was asking of you was reasonable, but you couldn't help but feel trapped.

"I will, father," you said, your voice a little cracked. "I promise."

You stood up, knowing that this would be a difficult moment. You knew that the situation wouldn't be easy for anyone. But for your father, and for everything he had done for you, you were going to try. At least, you owed him that.

"Your mother won't be home for another month," your father said in a deep voice, as if the weight of that word, "month," was the only thing you could take in. "Don't worry."

That was the last thing you heard, as you left the room, you felt a mix of emotions. The weight of what was waiting for you was upon you, but for a moment you held on to the idea that everything could be better.

Your life was going to change once again, and you didn't know if you were ready for it.

Despite this, the days passed peacefully, more peacefully than you had imagined. You focused more on yourself, on your baby, without saying a single word about it to anyone. Despite being surrounded by people who loved you, you decided to keep that part of your life to yourself, letting your body and mind adjust to what was to come. Each day that passed, your heart was filled with a mix of excitement and fear, the future was uncertain, but you knew there was something beautiful and new waiting for you.

You and Rafe spent your days as you always had, but for you everything you did now seemed to revolve around that little life growing inside you.

One afternoon, when the sun was beginning to set and the sky was turning an orange color, Rafe invited you for a walk. There was something in his attitude that made you suspect that something was about to happen, but you didn’t give it any importance. The two of you were walking through the garden, enjoying the peace, when suddenly, he stopped in front of you, his expression serious, but with a spark of excitement in his eyes.

“I want to do something,” he said in a low, but firm voice.

You stopped, looking at him curiously. You didn’t know what to expect, but the calmness of his tone only increased your intrigue. Before you could say anything, he pulled a small velvet box out of his pocket and opened it in front of you. Inside, not one, not two, but four rings glittered. Each one uniquely designed, with vibrantly colored gemstones that reflected the sunset light in an astonishing way. They were beautiful, ostentatious, almost as if he had wanted to encompass everything he felt for you in a single display of his love.

You looked at him in silence, not knowing what to say. He smiled, not losing his composure, but with a spark of nervousness escaping from the corner of his lips.

“I know this is a little… excessive, but I wanted you to know how much I love you, and that the future I want to build with you has no limits,” he said in a tone that tried to be serious but couldn’t hide the slight amusement he felt at the extravagant gesture.

You laughed, a light, genuine laugh, which filled the air with a warm feeling. Rafe looked genuinely nervous, but there was also something so sincere in his gesture that you couldn’t help but smile even more. Four rings? What kind of proposal was this? But at the same time, you understood what he meant by that act. It was his way of showing that he wanted you by his side, of making you feel special, unique. And he had succeeded, without a doubt.

You approached, took one of the rings and looked at it, then another, and another. It was an impressive collection, but you laughed again, amused by the exaggeration of the situation. You felt a little overwhelmed, but also touched by the gesture. Finally, you decided on one of the rings, the one you liked the most, but not before showing Rafe that out of those four, you would wear only two.

“I can’t wear all of these, but this one…” you said as you took the one you were most attracted to. “This one will be perfect.”

Without thinking twice, you let your laughter take over the situation. You fell into his arms with a mix of excitement and affection. “I do, Rafe. I do!” you said between laughs and hugs.

The relief on his face was instantaneous. He put his arms around you, holding you tight, as if he didn't want to ever let you go. There was only you and him, in time you would also wear his mother's ring but for now you wouldn't tell him. 

After the proposal, the days passed too quickly. Although the news was still recent, you knew that, somehow, everything was falling into place, the news of the engagement soon reached everyone's ears, and one of the first to find out was your father. 

One afternoon, when you came home after a long day, you found him waiting for you in the living room. His posture, always serious and of a man who rarely showed his emotions, was somewhat different that day. There was something in his eyes, a glint that you normally didn't see, as if he had been waiting for something in particular.

You sat down in front of him, and before you could say anything, your father broke the silence. “I heard about your engagement to Rafe,” he said in a firm tone, but with a slight smile on his lips, which he barely managed to hide.

“No… I didn’t know you already knew,” you said, surprised by his reaction.

“I’m your father,” he replied with a slight smile, “it’s hard for something to go unnoticed.” Then, his tone softened a little, and he looked at you intently. “I always wanted you to marry Rafe. He’s a good man, and although I’m not very given to showing it, I’ve always trusted him. Beyond emotions, what he does for you, for this family, gives me the peace of mind of knowing that you’re in good hands.”

You were surprised to hear those words from him, since you had always seen him more concerned about business and image, than showing you that kind of emotional support. But now, in front of you, it seemed different, like what she felt for Rafe was more than just a working relationship, like she really thought he was the best for you, for your future.

“Besides, I always had a good relationship with his father,” she continued, “and now, with what is going to be your marriage, we are going to have more than just a business relationship. This is going to be positive for everyone, for the family and for business.”

You stayed silent, processing his words. Although you didn’t like to see things only from a practical angle, you knew that your father was right in many ways.

The next day, you received a text from Sarah. She had been quiet for the past few days, but as soon as she found out about the engagement, she was quick to send you a text. The message appeared on your screen as soon as you opened your phone:

"Congratulations, future Mrs. Cameron. I can't believe you're marrying my brother. You know, I wish you the best, but don't expect me to agree with you about all this. You're not rid of me yet, I'm going to ask you a lot of questions!"

You laughed at the message, you knew Sarah was never one to express her feelings to you, but you were relieved that she at least agreed, even if it was in her sarcastic and funny way.

You quickly responded with an equally playful message: "Thanks, Sarah. Don't worry, I'm going to need you for the tough questions, be prepared!"

The conversation continued with more jokes and laughter, something that allowed you to relax a little after so many days of uncertainty. But even the days you had to relax would come to an end, in your life those kinds of days didn't last long and this was certainly not going to be the exception.

Shortly after the engagement, everything seemed to calm down. Family, friends, and even acquaintances seemed to be content with the idea that you and Rafe would really take that step together. However, something inside you still hurt, something you hadn't been able to share with him yet: the fact that you were expecting his baby.

The days went by and, although the idea of ​​being a mother was beginning to settle in your mind, the fear and uncertainty about how Rafe would receive the news paralyzed you. It wasn't the perfect time to talk about it, not when you had just accepted his marriage proposal, not when everything seemed to be going the way you wanted. But you couldn't keep ignoring it.

Finally, after a quiet afternoon, while you were both relaxing at home, the moment you were dreading happened unexpectedly.

Rafe approached you in the kitchen while you were preparing something quick for dinner. There was something in his gaze, a slight uncertainty on his face, but he didn't seem to want to talk about it. However, when he came closer to you and ran a hand down your back, a loving gesture, something clicked in your mind. A small movement he noticed, but you didn’t expect him to have such a big reaction.

“You’re… different,” he said, more of a statement than a question. “Are you okay?”

You stopped, turning your back to him so he couldn’t see how the news affected you. But it did. His gaze had changed.

“Rafe…” you murmured, turning to look him in the eyes, knowing you couldn’t hide it anymore. “I’m pregnant.”

The silence fell heavily between the two of you. Rafe stood, completely still, as if those words couldn’t be processed. He didn’t say anything right away, he simply watched you, as if he was expecting this to all be a joke, a misunderstanding.

“What?” The word came out of his mouth as a disbelieving sigh, but his gaze left no doubt that he couldn’t understand what you had just confessed.

You stopped short, anxiety beginning to take over you. You tried to calm your breathing, but your hands were shaking slightly. You knew this moment was crucial, that everything was going to change from now on, and the pressure of telling him the truth about the pregnancy had choked you until now.

“I’m sorry, Rafe… I… I was waiting for the right moment,” you began, your voice soft, but full of uncertainty. “I was supposed to tell you, but… I didn’t know how to do it.”

What you didn’t expect, however, was Rafe’s response. He was silent for a few moments, his expression distant, almost as if he wasn’t there. The initial confusion quickly gave way to a mix of anger and frustration.

“Since when have you known?” His voice came out louder than you expected, the question laced with a pent-up rage. “How long have you been keeping this to yourself?”

You felt yourself caught by his gaze, a mix of fury and confusion that you didn’t know how to handle. “Before I came back from Morocco,” you finally said, not looking at him directly. “I knew right before I came back.”

The change in him was immediate. Fury flared in his eyes, and for a second, he looked like he was going to explode. His breathing became faster, and the space between you was filled with palpable tension.

“Before I came back from Morocco?” he repeated, his voice now laced with disdain. “So you’ve been lying to me all this time. You’ve been avoiding me, hiding something so important from me. Why? Why didn’t you tell me before?”

You tried to get closer to him, but he took a step back, as if your proximity made him even more uncomfortable. “Rafe, I didn’t want this to change things between us. We were already going through so much… I didn’t know how to say it. I didn’t want everything to fall apart.”

He kept looking at you, anger more than evident on his face. “What do you mean you didn’t know?! This changes everything! And you hid it from me, as if it wasn’t important. I don’t understand why you didn’t tell me before.”

His words hit you, Rafe’s rage was palpable, and for a moment, you felt small in front of him. You had never seen him so furious, so distant. He wasn’t the man you trusted, he wasn’t the man who had proposed to you with that promise of a future together.

“Rafe, I didn’t want everything to fall apart,” you tried to explain, but words didn’t seem to be enough. “You know that’s not the case. I knew this wasn’t the time to tell you… we already had too many problems, and…”

“We had too many problems!” He interrupted bitterly, a growl coming from his chest. “And you think that makes all of this any less important? What, because we were in the middle of chaos, so it wasn’t going to be relevant that we were expecting a child? Did you really think I wasn’t going to care?!”

You stopped, the weight of his words had hit you like a hammer. You didn’t know what to say. He was angry, confused, and there was a part of him that seemed like it was about to fall apart, but the rage he felt was blinding him.

“Rafe, I…” you didn’t know how to continue. “I thought it was best to wait, that maybe after everything that happened…”

He interrupted you again, his tone already cold, as if he had completely shut down. “I don’t want to hear any more excuses. What bothers me, what really bothers me, is that you didn’t trust me enough. You didn’t care about how I was going to react. You didn’t think for a second about how this was going to affect me.”

The anger wouldn’t go away, and the worst thing was that it seemed to be closing in more and more. There was a wall raised between the two of you, a barrier you didn’t know how to break down.

“I’m sorry,” you murmured, your words empty. “I didn’t know any other way.”

The room was so quiet that the echo of his breathing was the only thing you heard. He wasn’t looking at you, his face a mask of frustration and sadness, and you didn’t know how to make it right. You didn’t know how to fix it.

Finally, after a few moments that felt like hours, Rafe took a step back and sighed deeply. “I need to think, I need time,” he said in a tense voice, not even looking you in the eye. “This is… too much.”

You watched him walk away, his figure disappearing down the hallway. You stood there, in the middle of the room, not knowing if the words you had said would ever bring you closer to him or if, on the contrary, you had pushed them further away. The future you had imagined with him now seemed uncertain, and the only thing you knew for sure was that everything had changed in the blink of an eye.

But beyond the anger and frustration, what hurt you the most was the feeling that, somewhere deep down, Rafe was still as lost as you were, and you didn't know if you would ever find him again.

After the argument with Rafe, you felt more lost than ever, not knowing how to face everything that was happening. The pressure of your pregnancy and the growing distance between you had left you exhausted, both emotionally and physically. You had tried to avoid talking about it, but something inside you knew you needed support. So it occurred to you to visit Sarah, she could understand you, she was the only one who could understand you.

When you got to where she was, the door was ajar. Sarah was sitting on the couch, staring into the horizon, as if thinking about something very deep. The sound of the wind coming through the window seemed to accompany the calm of the afternoon. You didn't say anything at first. You stood there, watching her for a moment, feeling that alien calm embrace you, even though you knew your mind couldn’t find peace.

“Do you mind if we talk?” You asked quietly, with palpable uncertainty in your tone.

Sarah turned her head upon hearing your voice and motioned for you to come in. Her eyes reflected a mix of surprise and curiosity, but there was also something in her expression that indicated that perhaps, at some point, she already sensed that this could happen.

“No, of course. Come in.” She replied as she settled down on the couch, moving some things around her.

You sat down next to her, keeping a little distance, but at the same time needing to be close. The silence between the two of you was heavy for a few moments, but finally it was you who broke the ice.

“I’m pregnant,” you said suddenly, as if blurting out the phrase was the only way to relieve a weight too great to carry alone.

Sarah looked at you for a few seconds, her expression soft but attentive. He knew you were waiting for his reaction, but he didn't say anything at first, not wanting to interrupt the moment when you decided to share something so personal.

“I knew it…” he replied, after a pause, almost as if he had already suspected it, but without any sign of judgment. “I'm so sorry, but it's… well, I can't imagine what must be going through your head.”

You sighed, letting yourself fall back a little on the couch, staring at the ceiling, searching for the right words.

“It’s… hard, Sarah,” you continued, your voice now a little more broken. “I was trying to hide it, to not think about it. But, after everything that’s happened… with Rafe, with everything… I don’t know what to do.”

Sarah nodded silently, her expression now serious, as if she were trying to understand you. Then, slowly, she turned to you and looked at you with an understanding you had rarely seen in her.

“I’m scared too,” she said suddenly, dropping her mask of perfection. “Of what’s going to happen, of how everything is going to change. It’s not easy, especially when you have no idea if you’re going to be able to do it right.”

Sarah’s words, so simple and sincere, made the pressure in your chest ease a little. The fact that she was scared too gave you a feeling of company, as if you weren’t completely alone on this uncertain path.

“What I worry about the most is… whether I am enough for this baby, whether I will be a good mother.” Your voice shook as you spoke those words, as if what you were saying was also an accusation of yourself.

Sarah looked at you for a long moment, thoughtful, and finally answered, in a soft but firm voice: “There is no manual for how to be a mother. There is no right way, and every day will be a test. But all I know is that when the time comes, you do the best you can. And that is all that matters. Because when you have that baby in your arms, you will know that you will do whatever it takes for him or her, whatever it takes.”

Those words, full of wisdom and unconditional love, were what you needed to hear. The uncertainty and fear were still there, but for the first time, you did not feel so alone. You knew that Sarah was going through something very similar, although her situation was different, but they shared the same fear, the same longing for an uncertain future.

“And about Rafe…” Sarah started, but you cut yourself off, feeling your stomach tighten at the mention of his name.

“I don’t know what to do with him,” you said quickly. “Everything is so broken between us right now… I feel like he’s not ready to be a father, and I don’t know if I am either.”

Sarah looked at you with a glint of understanding in her eyes. “It’s normal to feel that way. No one is ever really ready to be a parent. But you know what? Rafe is… complicated, I know that. But, if there’s one thing I can tell you, it’s that he’s going to have to deal with this somehow, because there’s no going back. And even if you don’t know it now, you might be surprised when you see how much he’s capable of loving that baby. Men have a different way of showing it, but that doesn’t mean both of you don’t feel it.”

You could see that Sarah, despite all her own fears and challenges, was trying to give you some hope. It was rare for the two of you to talk so deeply and openly, but you needed to hear those words from someone who was in a similar situation, someone who understood what it meant to take that leap into the unknown.

“Thank you, Sarah,” you finally said, with a sigh of relief. “I really needed to talk to someone about this.”

“You’re welcome,” she replied with a warm smile. “We’re a team now.”

You felt comforted knowing that even though life wasn’t easy, at least you now had someone to lean on, someone who, like you, was trying to find her way in this new chapter you were both beginning.

The conversation between you continued for a while longer. You didn’t have all the answers, but for the first time in weeks, you spoke to someone who was willing to listen to you.

The days following the meeting with Sarah felt like a mix of surface calm and internal storm. Your father had also found out about the pregnancy and had congratulated you, but he had made it clear that you had to get married before giving birth, and you certainly agreed with that. Despite the uncertainty that continued to surround your relationship with Rafe, you knew that the engagement was still on, at least in appearance. It was not a topic that was openly discussed, but the presence of the ring on your finger was a constant reminder of what was to come. 

You decided, in an attempt to distract yourself, to go for a walk through the town. The fresh morning air embraced you, and although your thoughts were still focused on other thoughts, for a moment you let yourself be carried away by the routine, by the simple pleasure of being alone, breathing the clean air and not having to worry about the awkward conversations that always seemed to haunt you. 

The town seemed to be quieter than usual, perhaps because many had stayed home or were busy with their own affairs. The streets were more deserted than usual, which allowed you to enjoy the walk in peace. You walked down the quiet avenues, greeting some neighbors who knew you, without thinking much about your surroundings. The sound of your footsteps on the pavement was the only thing that accompanied you.

But as you turned a corner, you came across a figure that, at first, you couldn't quite recognize. The sun was low, and the dim light cast long shadows, but as soon as you looked up and your eyes met hers, you immediately knew who it was.

Sofia.

The moment was brief. She looked at you with a mix of surprise and something harder to identify, as if she didn't expect to see you there, but also as if she had known that sooner or later you would meet again. You, on the other hand, felt a mix of discomfort and some satisfaction at seeing her. The situation had changed, and you knew that was something that couldn't be ignored.

You both stood still, watching each other for a long minute, without saying a single word. The silence was heavy, the kind of silence that speaks for itself, that says everything without any need for any pronunciation. Sofia seemed to hesitate for a second, as if she didn’t know whether to say hello or continue on her way. Finally, it was she who took the first step, forcing herself to smile with an effort that seemed forced to you.

“Hello,” she finally said, her tone warm but with a slight awkwardness behind it.

“Hello,” you replied, keeping your cool. I didn’t want to seem like the situation affected me more than necessary, although the weight of the conversation that wasn’t being said was on you like a thick layer of snow.

You couldn’t help but let your hand slide, almost involuntarily, towards the engagement ring that sparkled on your finger, just as Sofia looked down. The gesture was subtle, but the way you watched her as you did it made it clear that you didn’t need to talk about what had happened for both of you to know what it meant. 

Sofia, noticing the direction of your gaze, tried to smile again, but this time it was more of a nervous movement than a genuine one. A slight blush appeared on her cheeks, and you could see how her eyes filled with discomfort. She knew what the ring meant. She knew what was happening. The silence between the two of you stretched, each of you struggling to find something to say, but neither of you really knowing how to handle the tension that had settled between you. 

Finally, Sofia spoke, her voice a little lower, as if she were carefully evaluating her words: “So… you’re engaged, huh?”

Your heart was beating harder than usual, but you managed to stay calm, looking at Sofia with an expression that didn’t give away what you were really thinking. “Yes,” you answered with surprising calm. “Rafe and I are engaged.”

Sofia’s reaction was almost imperceptible, but the change in her expression was evident. Her smile faded a little, and her eyes, although still shining with a layer of confidence, no longer seemed as sure as before. She didn’t say anything else about it. Instead, she took a step back, looking around as if looking for some way to escape the conversation.

The atmosphere between the two of you was filled with that silent awkwardness, a space where words were unnecessary and gestures spoke for themselves. You didn’t know if she was expecting some kind of confrontation, or if she had reached a point where there was nothing left to say. All you knew was that the situation was no longer as it was before, and you were no longer the same person who had once felt insecure or small in front of her. You had changed, and that transformation was evident, even if you didn’t say it out loud.

“Well, I have to go now,” Sofia finally said, in a voice that, while trying to sound casual, was full of tension. “Congratulations,” she added quickly, as if she were looking for an excuse to escape.

You watched as she walked away, her steps quick and determined, without a backward glance. A sigh escaped your lips when you were no longer looking at her, and even though you knew the situation hadn’t been resolved, something inside you felt lighter, as if a weight had been lifted. You didn’t need any more explanations, you didn’t want any more confrontations. The ring on your finger and the way she had seen it was enough for you.

You stood there for a moment longer, the fresh air surrounding you, before continuing on your way, with the feeling that, even though things between you and Rafe were still unclear, at least there was no longer room for Sofia’s doubts.

After the unexpected encounter with Sofia, the awkwardness still throbbed in your chest as you walked to Rafe’s house. When you arrived, the house was empty, silent as if it hid secrets within its walls. A sudden impulse led you to search for answers; his phone was there, forgotten on the living room table.

Nervously, you picked up the phone and tried his birthday as the password. It unlocked easily. You scrolled through messages and notifications, hoping to find something that would explain Rafe’s recent distance. To your relief, there was nothing incriminating, just a text from Sofia, unanswered except for a short one from him that said, “I have a new life now.”

You sighed, putting the phone back, feeling guilty for the invasion of his privacy but, at the same time, calm. There was nothing else to see, nothing that could break your already fragile peace of mind. You decided to walk around the house to find any sign of him, but everything was silent. Rafe had left.

You didn’t stay long waiting, you didn’t have time. When you returned home, you were surprised to find your mother waiting in the living room, her elegant figure and imposing presence as if the years of absence had left no trace. She had heard about everything: the engagement and your pregnancy, and although she smiled approvingly, there was a sadness in her eyes.

“Child, I am happy for you, I really am,” she said softly, but her tone changed, “but it hurts me that you didn’t tell me yourself.”

The conversation became tense, and although you wanted to avoid conflict, frustration and resentment built up. For years, you had learned to live without her support, and now her sudden involvement felt almost foreign to you. The words began to flow, first in murmurs and then in a more frank discussion about her absence, about how she was never there when you needed her most.

Your mother nodded, apparently understanding, although pain was reflected in her eyes. Silence settled between you, heavy with the unsaid, the lost years and the opportunities that could no longer be recovered. You left the room leaving her alone, you did not have the energy to continue arguing with her.

She could stay here as long as she wanted but in regards to your life, you would not let her in, you would not give her that privilege again. She left you, very well, now that the consequences are taken care of.

After the tense conversation with your mother, you went up to your room in search of a refuge where you could gather your thoughts. You sat on the edge of the bed, looking at the room you had known all your life, now so full of memories and at the same time so strange. You tried to calm your mind, but it was useless. Emotions crowded one after another.

You lay down on the bed, hoping that fatigue would overcome the whirlwind of ideas, but not a single second of sleep came. The hours slowly slipped by, the sun rose and slanted towards sunset, dyeing the room in orange and gold tones, but your thoughts did not cease for a moment. Reality was overwhelming, and every detail that emerged in your mind made you feel more trapped.

You knew that things with Rafe needed a solution. The conversation about your pregnancy, the uncertainty that floated between you and the weight of doubts were like shadows that did not fade away. And on top of all this was the presence of your mother, someone who had decided to return after years of absence and whose return complicated things around your life.

When the afternoon began to dye the sky a deep grey, you knew you couldn't continue like this. It was time to act, to do something to break this cycle of incessant thoughts and regain, even a little, control of your life.

You grabbed your phone with shaking hands and sent Rafe a short but direct message: “I need to see you.” Rafe’s reply was not long in coming; a simple “Come on over, I’ll be home” appeared on the screen. There were no more words, and with your heart racing, you prepared to go to his house.

The drive there was silent, interrupted only by the pounding of your heart and the crunch of gravel under your feet. When you arrived, the house was calm. The soft lights of dusk filtered through the windows, bathing the walls in a soft gold. You took a moment at the door to breathe deeply and calm yourself before entering.

Rafe was there, standing by a window, watching the horizon with a thoughtful expression that faded when he saw you. His eyes, usually confident and calculating, reflected a mix of emotions that were difficult to decipher. The tension in the air was palpable, but there was also a softness in the way he turned to look at you.

You took a couple of steps towards him, words stuck in your throat, until you finally broke the silence. “Rafe, we need to talk,” you said, your voice sounding firmer than you expected.

He nodded slowly and moved closer, his hands hanging at his sides as if he didn’t know what to do with them. You took a breath and began to speak, your voice breaking at first, but gaining strength with each word.

“Rafe, I want you to know that I love this baby and I love you. I want you to be there, to love him as much as I do. I don’t want fear to drive us further apart.”

Rafe’s expression changed; his eyes darkened for a moment, reflecting a mix of guilt, fear, and something deeper. He ran a hand through his hair, a gesture you made when he was nervous. “I know I’ve been distant, and I know this hasn’t been easy for you. But… I’m scared,” he confessed, and his eyes searched yours, waiting for a reaction.”

You approached slowly, each step feeling lighter than the last. You raised a hand and placed it on his arm, forcing him to look at you again.

“No one is born knowing how to be a parent, Rafe. We’re going to make mistakes, sure, but you’re not alone. I’ll be here with you, always. We’ll do it together, we’ll learn together. I don’t want you to think you have to be perfect, I just want you to be here and try.”

For a moment, the tension seemed to fade. Rafe closed his eyes and let the words sink in. When he opened them again, there was a different glow, a spark of hope and resolve.

Without warning, he put his arms around you, holding you with a mix of strength and tenderness. You felt all the accumulated weight begin to fade in that contact. No more needed to be said. The reconciliation was not in the words, but in the gesture, in the way his hands trembled as they caressed your back, in how his lips brushed your forehead like a silent promise.

After the reconciliation, you spent the rest of the day at Rafe's house. There was something different about him, a renewed energy and a genuine interest that had only been hinted at in fleeting moments before. As you sat on the couch, the afternoon light illuminated the room. Rafe plopped down beside you, his gaze curious and soft, free of the shadows that used to accompany him.

“Have you been to the doctor yet?” he asked, breaking the silence with a voice that denoted both concern and contained emotion. His eyes searched yours, eagerly awaiting an answer.

You smiled slightly, remembering the visit to the doctor. “Yes, I went a few days ago. Everything is fine, he told me that the baby is healthy and that I should take better care of myself. Eat better, rest more... things I haven't done much of lately.”

Rafe nodded, and for a moment his lips sketched a calm smile. “I'm going to make sure you do. I don't want you or the baby to lack anything.”

The air in the room felt lighter, almost cheerful, as the two of you began to imagine what this new life that awaited them would be like. Rafe, with an unusual sparkle in his eyes, leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Have you thought of names? Because I have a couple in mind, but I don't know if you'll like them.”

You laughed softly, relieved to see him so engaged. "Actually, yes. If it's a girl, I've always liked the name Clara. It's simple, but strong."

Rafe nodded in approval, repeating the name as if to test how it sounded in his voice. "Clara... I like it. But if it's a boy, I have one in mind: Luca. What do you think?"

A smile formed on your face at the name. "Luca... yeah, I like it. He's got strength. But, to be honest, I hope it's a boy. I've always imagined having a boy, someone to teach all the things I love."

Rafe looked at you tenderly, his hand reaching for yours and interlacing your fingers. "Whatever it is, I don't care. I just want him to be healthy and have your smile," he said in a firm and serene voice.

That simple comment made you feel an indescribable warmth in your chest. "He's going to be spoiled, you know that, right?" you commented in a playful tone, trying to lighten the conversation.

"Oh, I know," Rafe replied, laughing. "He's going to be the most spoiled child in the world, and you'll be the first to spoil him."

You burst out laughing, and looked at Rafe with a mix of love and determination. "And I wouldn't mind one bit," you added, as you moved closer to him and placed his hand on your belly, a gesture that seemed tender to you.

The days passed more peacefully than you had imagined. Tensions had calmed down, and you and Rafe were better now, and you were even going to move into his house. Sofia appeared from time to time, but her presence was no longer a concern for you; you had confirmed that Rafe had completely eliminated her from his life. That security gave you the peace you needed to move forward with your head held high.

In those days, it was decided to organize a family dinner at your father's house. The event was more than a simple meeting; it was a celebration of your engagement to Rafe and the arrival of the baby.

You invited Sarah and John B, knowing that their presence would make the evening even more special. You had noticed a change in Sarah since you shared about your pregnancies, and you felt a growing connection between the two of you. You wanted to reflect that new union, so you decided to prepare a gift for her, something small but meaningful.

That day the house was decorated with warm lights that illuminated the night, and the tables were adorned with simple but elegant arrangements. The aroma of freshly cooked food mingled with the breeze coming through the open windows. Guests arrived slowly, filling the place with laughter and lively conversation. Rafe stood by your side, attentive. The atmosphere was light, but there was a feeling in the air that everything was changing, that they were entering a different and exciting phase.

When Sarah and John B arrived, their smiles and welcoming words broke any hint of tension. You watched as Sarah instinctively caressed her belly, and a warm feeling ran through you at the thought that one day their child would play together.

As the hours passed, the evening exceeded all your expectations. The house, filled with light and laughter, reflected the life you had longed for. You felt safe and at peace, as if everything was finally falling into place. Throughout the evening, you saw Rafe interact with your family and guests. His eyes met yours from time to time, and in those moments you shared glances that said more than a thousand words: you were in this together, and that was the most important thing.

The conversations flowed naturally, sprinkled with anecdotes and comments that elicited laughter and smiles. Sarah and John B seemed more relaxed than you had seen in a long time, and you liked that, they too needed a moment of peace after everything they had been through.

Everything you had ever dreamed of was beginning to materialize before your eyes.

As the night progressed and soft music accompanied the voices that were held in quieter conversations, you felt Rafe's hand take yours under the table. It was his way of reminding you that you were where you belonged, and that, no matter what, they would be together. The evening, in your opinion, was perfect; a silent promise of what was to come.

[keikikait]

ᴛʜᴏʀᴏᴜɢʜꜰᴀʀᴇ (ʀᴀꜰᴇ ᴄᴀᴍᴇʀᴏɴ x ꜰ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ)

pairing: rafe cameron x pogue!f!reader, (not au, both are early to mid 20s)

word count: 4.7k

summary: rafe helps you after your car breaks down

warnings: dead dove, do not eat. stalker!rafe, smut? (it's just masturbation + some suggestive stuff), rafe is obsessed, please read at your own discretion!, innocent(ish)!reader, again, stalker!rafe, manipulation, rafe gets the reader high on coke (she agrees, but he thinks some weird things), idk anything ab cars but i tried, also i've never done cocaine but i tried to do some research

a note: happy halloween.

please reblog and like, it means a lot! let me know what you think!

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧

You didn't understand what was wrong with your car.

No matter how many times you took it to an auto shop, how much money you spent, it kept breaking down. Your check engine light would come on at the most random times, even after just getting it fixed the day before.  You were spending all of your money on trying to fix your clunker, a 1993 Lexus LS400 that your father was certain was a waste of time. In the long run, it would be cheaper to buy a new car, but you loved it too much to say goodbye. The AC was surprisingly cold, providing much needed relief for the hot North Carolinian summers. It didn't take much to fill it up, and you had beau coups of trunk space. It was your car and that's all that mattered to you.

You had decided to take your car to a different auto shop, across the thoroughfare onto the mainland. You had thought that a fresh pair of eyes would keep you from coming back the week after because your transmission was shot again. The mechanic was able to fix your transmission in no time, sending you off on your way with a hefty bill. It was raining, a summer thunderstorm on the horizon, and you couldn't wait to get home.

You had just passed over the thoroughfare back onto Kildare when your car started to rumble and shake. You feel like screaming as you pull over, banging your palms on the steering wheel. Your car rumbles and shakes, smoke billowing out of the hood. You reach behind your seat and grab your raincoat, putting it on and putting the hood up. You grab your phone and turn on the flashlight, reaching down to pull back the lever to pop the hood. Afterwards, you step out, pulling your hood tight over your head as you lift the hood and prop it up. You look around, waving the smoke away from your face, but you don't even know what you're looking for.

Gravel crunches behind you as another car approaches, casting a shadow over your hood. You freeze, sliding your phone open to the emergency call. You look over your shoulder as someone climbs out. 

Rafe Cameron, Kook prince of Kildare, in his own navy blue raincoat. He raises his eyebrows, a small smirk on his face. “Having car troubles?”

You tense up a little. You knew Rafe, of course you did, but your interactions with him were few and far in between. You were on the sidelines for most of his problems with JJ, John B, and Pope, not wanting to piss off the most powerful man in the Outer Banks. You finally find your voice, fidgeting with the sleeves of your raincoat. “Yeah. I just got it fucking fixed, too.” You sigh.

His lips twitched, the ghost of a smirk playing at his lips as he looked at you. He had noticed you long before you had even crossed paths, but now, here you were. Standing in the rain, soaked and shivering. He walked over, joining you at your side, and he glanced into your engine, not even pretending to be able to fix it. “You know... this old clunker is gonna cost you more in the long run than if you just got rid of it. Might as well cut your losses while you can, angel.”

Your stomach flips at the nickname, but you ignore it. “It’s my car, Rafe, I can’t just like…abandon her.”

He chuckled, his gaze moving from the hood of your clunker to your face. Your big pretty eyes, your cheeks already beginning to flush from the cold rain. He stepped closer, pushing against the hood so it was angled more, blocking your view of the world around. He leaned against it, crossing his arms, and he stared down at you. “You can, you just don't want to. There's a difference. You like this thing. You're attached.”

You sigh again. “Well duh, Rafe, it’s my only car. I know that concept is hard for you to understand.”

“Is that any way to talk to someone who could help you?” Rafe asks, taking a step back. He glances under the hood again, although he’s just as clueless as you. 

“Help me?” You ask.

He looks over at you again, his expression blank. “I’m a pretty powerful guy, you know. It wouldn’t take much to… oh, I don’t know, maybe find you a newer car. Or,” his lips twitch up into his signature smirk. “Just pay for the repairs.”

“I don’t want to take your money, you know.” You say, crossing your arms.

“Why not?” He asks with a scoff. “It’s just money, angel. I have plenty.”

You sigh. You really don’t want to do this with him. “Look, just…thank you for stopping to check on me. I’m just gonna call a tow truck and wait out the rain.”

He watched as you turned to your phone, a heavy frown settling on his lips. That wasn’t going to do. Rafe suddenly reaches out, grabbing your wrist. “Or—“ he speaks before you’re able to dial, his touch firm but not bruising. “You could just come with me.”

“You don’t have to do that.” You say.

“But I want to,” he says. “It’s raining, you’re cold and alone, and you’re gonna wait on a tow truck who may not show up for hours. Your little car is about to get flooded. Come on, sweetheart.“

You hesitate, reaching over to put the hood of your car back down. “I don’t know, Rafe. I feel bad, you know? Making you drive me all the way to The Cut.”

“It’s nothing for me.” He says, gently tugging on your wrist to guide you toward his car. He looks at you from the side, his gaze taking in your worried expression, and he lets out a soft sigh. “You’re cute when you’re being stubborn, angel. But it’s unnecessary.”

You sigh. His truck did beat walking. “Fine. Lemme get my stuff.”

Rafe lets go of your wrist, watching you as you dig through your front seat, grabbing everything important. He crosses his arms over his chest, pulling the hood forward as his eyes run over your body, stopping on your ass, head tilting as he admires the way your jeans hug your body. He bites the inside of his lip, wondering what you would look like bent over his lap with two red handprints on your ass, slightly bruised from where his rings would catch the skin. 

Did he feel bad about constantly fucking with your car? A little bit. 

But was he happy that he now had you all to himself? Of course he was.

You were Rafe’s obsession, ever since he first met you a year and a half ago. He, at first, tried so hard to forget you, the little Pogue girl that had the sheer audacity to be friends with his least favourite person in the world, Pope, but as the days passed, he couldn’t get you out of his mind. He started out by just thinking about you every so often, occasionally glancing in the direction of The Boneyard when he drove past, hoping he would see you in a bikini. 

Then, he started thinking about you every day, which turned into every night. He would lay on his bed, back against his headboard, and stroke his cock while scrolling through your Instagram feed. Just one look at you would send him close to cumming, and he can’t count how many times he’s cummed in his pants just from seeing you around Kildare. You had a few bikini pics taken from all angles, but his favourite ones were the ones of you smiling at the camera. Rafe has a favourite photo to jerk off to, something that sends him cumming all over his fingers after a few strokes. It’s a photo of you, taken from a high up angle, looking into the camera with your big beautiful eyes, holding a lollipop in your mouth. 

He loves it so much, it’s even his phone’s wallpaper.

Rafe wanted to corrupt you. He wanted to consume you, turn you inside out and fill you with just him. You didn’t need anyone else. You had him, even if you didn’t know it.

You shove your registration and some other important documents from your glove compartment into your bag, shutting and locking the door. You unzip your jacket, sliding the bag between your body and the fabric to try to keep it protected from the rain. You join Rafe back at his truck, climbing into the passenger seat. His car is neat, surprisingly, with only a tube of Aquaphor in one of his cupholders. Hanging from his rearview mirror, along with a car air freshener, is a Polaroid photo of him with his youngest sister Wheezie. There was also photo of you, which was now scurried away in his centre console, buried under a packet of Wet Wipes. He didn’t think you would appreciate that gesture, even though he did, and he didn’t want to scare you off.

Rafe takes the bags from you, carefully placing it on the floor of the backseat, his eyes running over you as you settle into the seat. His hands were shaking slightly as the starts the car and puts it in drive. He couldn’t believe this actually worked. He had been following you all day, tracking your phone as he kept his distance in his car. 

You didn’t even notice when he cloned your phone. Rafe had been tracking your every move for months, reading every single text and listening in on every single conversation. He knew it would freak you out if you found out, but he was just trying to protect you! You didn’t realise it, but you needed him. He was protecting you from the scumbags who were trying to date you. You were so sweet, too sweet, and he didn’t want one of those dirty Pogue bastards to take advantage of you. He had planned on making his move with you anyway, but your car breaking down was a gift from the gods. They were placing you right into his calloused hands.

The rain splatters against the windshield with a low tap tap tap, a steady rhythm that keeps the silence from feeling completely unnerving. The air is warm, the heat turned up high, and Rafe looks at you as he buckles his seat belt. “You better thank me.” His smirk is back, a wicked curl at the corner of his lips.

You roll your eyes. “Thank you, Rafe.”

He chuckles, glancing away from you briefly as he puts one hand on the wheel. “That wasn’t very convincing, angel…” His gaze returns to you, moving over the slope of your nose, your neck, down to where the rain has made your shirt cling to your chest. His mouth is dry, making it hard to swallow, and his knuckles were turning white from how hard he was gripping the wheel.

You look up at him, your head tilted towards him, your eyes big. “Thank you, Rafe.”

His smirk falters, his breath catching in his throat at the sight of your big doe eyes staring up at him. He bites the inside of his lip, staring down at you. He can’t believe that you were really right here, that he had you trapped right in his own little cage. There was something about seeing you look so innocent that made him want to ruin you. His breathing starts to come a bit harder, the urge to grab you and kiss you until you couldn’t breathe with your wrists tied behind your back making his entire body ache. He clears his throat before putting the car into drive, pulling off of the side of the road, heading back towards Kildare.

You notice his heavy breathing and his tight grip on the steering wheel. Your eyebrows furrow. “You okay?”

“Mhm,” he hums, clearing his throat. His grip loosens on the steering wheel, clenching his fingers to alleviate the ache. He forces himself to relax his grip, taking a deep breath. After a moment passes, and the silence is heavy on his shoulders, he glances over at you again. “You ever done drugs, angel?”

You rub your lips together. You could be honest with him, right? “Yeah, once.”

His gaze runs over your face as you speak. God, you’re so fucking innocent, it was intoxicating. “Once?” he echoes, tilting his head slightly. “That’s adorable. What drug was it? Pot? I can’t see you doing anything hard core, angel.”

“Yeah, it was weed,” You say. “JJ got his hands on some, and he let me have a few hits.”

He glances over at you again, his fingers clenching as he tries to not show his jealousy. He hated all of your little Pogue friends, JJ included. He didn’t like the idea of you getting high with JJ -- becoming vulnerable. What if JJ took advantage of you? Rafe clears his throat, looking back at the road. “That’s cute, angel. Was that your first and only time?”

“Yeah,” You say, shifting in the seat. “I just… I don’t know if it’s my thing, you know? I had a pretty bad high. I thought I was dying.”

His lips twitched, trying to keep his temper under control. He had just gotten you into his car, he couldn’t scare you away. Of course that fucker JJ had a hand in your bad experience, he probably gave you too much and didn’t take good care of you. He would never do that to you. He would give you the perfect intro into the wonderful world of drugs. “That’s because he gave you too much, angel. A beginner should never go too far their first time. You need to start small, so you don’t have a bad experience. It’s all about moderation.”

You look over at him. “Well, it’s technically my fault. I took too many hits.”

Rafe laughs softly, his fingers drumming against the steering wheel. He glances over at you, his gaze roaming over you slowly, from head to toe, and back to your face. He had already decided that he was going to give you something, just to see you experience it. “What did it feel like? Being high.”

“I liked it,” You say. “I was laughing a lot, until I started feeling like I was dying. I don’t know, the floaty feeling… it was nice, you know?”

He hums, his lips curling into a slight smirk. He could only imagine what you would be like, all loose and relaxed, a giggly high. He wonders what it would be like to kiss you when you were high, how compliant you would be, unable to stop him. His mind starts to wander, thinking about the look in your eyes as he pushes his cock into you, all woozy and out of it. “Would you ever smoke weed again?”

“Yeah, I think so,” You say. “Just wouldn’t do it with JJ in the middle of The Boneyard again.”

“Good,” he says with a firm nod. He glances over at you again, the smirk still playing on his lips. His gaze is dark, his pupils dilated. He was itching for the right opportunity to show you something better, something that could get you addicted, addicted to him. “Would you ever try anything harder?” Rafe pulls to a stop at the red light. Turning left would bring you to the north side of Kildare, where Figure 8 is, while turning right would bring you to the south side, towards The Cut.

You hesitate. “I don’t know, Rafe. I would want to do it in a safe space, you know? Not at like a party or anything.”

He hums, turning right when the light turns green. “A safe space, huh?” He glances over at you, biting his lip. His eyes trace your face, how sweet and innocent you looked, and his mind was suddenly made up. He was going to introduce you to the most euphoric feeling of your life, and he was going to take care of you as you felt it. “What about if we did it? Just you and me.”

You shift in the seat again. There’s a sinking feeling in your gut, like something is telling you to run. “Do you just… have cocaine lying around?”

The light turns green. The car doesn’t move.

His lips twitch again, and his fingers drum at the wheel. “Yeah, angel, I actually do.” He glances over at you, noticing the way you were shifting. He could see the hesitance in your wide eyes, the look of fear. “You don't have to look so scared, sweetheart. I won't let anything bad happen to you. I'm gonna make sure you feel so good. Just trust me.”

You bite your lip, looking out the window. You had heard so much about Rafe from Pope, JJ, and John B about how psychotic, impulsive, and destructive he is, but he was being so gentle with you. You look back at him. “Promise?”

“Promise.” He turns his head, making eye contact. He knew you were scared, and it made his cock throb in his jeans. He was telling you the truth, of course, he would take care of you, and he would make sure that you liked it. He wanted you to come back to him for more and more. “You know, you really don't have to be afraid of me, angel. I'm only bad to people who do things to deserve it. I promise I'll treat you good. I will make you feel good, so long as you trust me, and do what I say. Can you do that?”

Your stomach churns. You shouldn’t do this, and you shouldn’t be in Rafe’s truck, but something about him made you want to stay. “Yeah, I can do that.”

His lips curl into a smirk, that same wicked curl as earlier. He was slowly breaking you down, making you do what he wanted, without you even realising it. He wasn't forcing you to do anything, he was just asking. How could you say no to him, when he asked you nicely? “Good girl.”

Rafe takes the left turn.

You let out a shaky breath. You were really doing this.

You look out the window as he drives through Figure 8, taking in the sights of the looming mansions. You glance back over at him as he drives straight past Tanneyhill. “Are you not there anymore?”

Rafe snorts, shaking his head. “Haven't been there in months, not since my dad died.” He glances over at you, the smirk still playing on his lips. “I'm living somewhere else now. A true bachelor.” He slows down as he turns into the driveway of a large white home that looked like one of many others that surrounded it, although, not quite as big. He pulls to a stop, pulling the keys out of the ignition and tucking them into his pockets. “Come on. Don’t be shy.”

You grab your bag from the floorboards of the backseat before hopping out, quickly rushing through the downpour to the front door. Rafe easily catches up to you, his stride much longer than yours. He leads the way though, pulling his keys back out of his pocket as he shoves the front door open. He holds it open for you, gesturing with a sweep of his arm for you to head inside. “Welcome to my humble home, angel. Make yourself at home.”

You stand in the entryway, not wanting to drip water all over his real hardwood floors. “Do you have clothes I can borrow? I don’t wanna get your furniture wet.”

Rafe smirks, his gaze running over your soaking wet body, his cock throbbing at the thought of how hard your nipples must be. “I think I have something you can wear, but yeah, you really should get out of those wet clothes.” He pulls the front door shut, locking it behind you. “Come on, I’ll show you to my room.” He grabs your hand, leading you through the empty house.

You follow him through the house, taking in the minimal, neutral decor. It honestly looked like no one lived there, the walls of the house were bare, the couches were all black leather, including the recliner in the corner. There was a large white rug in the middle of a living room, covering the floor. The kitchen was to the left of the front door, although it wasn't as barren, with stainless steel appliances and cabinets. The only personal things in the house were a large flat screen TV in the living room, a framed picture of a young Rafe with baby Sarah on the kitchen counter, and a hallway of closed doors that led to the extra rooms. 

His room is just as bare, although it’s a lot messier, boxers and t-shirts litter the floor and are strewn over an armchair set up in front of his TV and PlayStation. His bedside table is covered with empty plastic water bottles, a crumpled bag of chips, and another framed photo, although this one is of him and Wheezie.

“Cute room.” You say.

“Thanks.” He says, his gaze running over you again, his eyes lingering on your chest, imagining what your nipples look like before returning to your face. He walks over to his dresser, pulling out a green T-shirt and grey sweatpants. He tosses them towards you and you catch them. “You can change in the bathroom down the hall and throw your clothes into the dryer. Just set it to quick dry, okay? Otherwise, it’ll take fucking forever.”

You smile softly, holding the clothes in your arms. “Thanks, Rafe.”

“No problem.” He says, sitting down on the edge of his bed and leaning back. He watches you as you slip down the hall, headed towards the bathroom. Rafe waits a few moments, his fingers drumming against his thigh. He had been waiting to get you alone for so long, to make you his, and now, he was so close.

But he had promised to go slow, and even though it was killing him. He didn't want you to run away.

You peel your clothes off, hanging them over the sink as you change. You dry your hair with a towel before pulling Rafe’s T-shirt over your head. It smells like him; a warm, slightly citrusy smell that makes your head spin. You step into the sweatpants and tie them around your hips. They were a big baggy, but you didn’t mind. You put your clothes into the dryer and set it to quick dry before heading back into Rafe’s bedroom. You spin in a circle, looking at him over your shoulder. “How do I look?”

Rafe had been waiting for what seemed like an eternity, trying to resist the urge to go after you. He had changed himself, putting on a pair of sweats and a hoodie. He was almost half hard and as he watches you spin around, the look in your big innocent eyes, he has to dig his fingernails into his palms to prevent himself from jumping on you. He swallows, a dry click echoing in his throat, and he licks his lips, his eyes fixed on you. “You look good.” he murmurs, his gaze travelling over your body and how his T-shirt was loose enough for him to slip a hand under it without any effort. “Are you comfy?”

You nod, fiddling with the hem of the T-shirt as you sit down on the edge of his bed. “Yeah, I’m comfy.”

Rafe’s lips tilt into a smile as he watches you fiddle with your hem. You looked so sweet, his pretty little angel, all alone with him, no one to protect you. “You don’t have to be nervous, sweetheart, I’m not gonna hurt you. You’re in good hands with me, I promise.” He scoots a little closer, looking down at you with his big blue eyes, his lips mere inches from yours. “Do you still want to do it?” God, please say yes.

“Yeah, of course I do,” You say quickly. “Just haven’t done it before, so I’m nervous, you know?”

God, he was going to hell for this. “I know.” He whispers, his gaze roaming over your face, drinking in every beautiful detail. His fingers reach out, gently brushing your jaw. “I’m gonna make you feel so good, angel. I promise.” He glances away for a moment, toward his bedside, toward the bedside table where he had a small bag of coke.

Fuck. This is actually happening.

Your back straightens as you crawl closer to him on the bed, watching as he gets out the bag of coke, along with a small circular mirror.

Rafe looks back at you, his gaze darkening as he sees you come closer, closing the space between you and him. His hand trembles as he opens the bag, using the edge of his credit card to separate the white powder laid out on the mirror. He couldn’t wait to get you addicted to him. He had wanted this for so long, had wanted you for so long, and he couldn’t believe this was actually happening. “You gotta promise not to be scared, angel.” He whispers, glancing over at you as he grabs the rolled up bill.

You let out a shaky breath. “Is there, um…do I have to snort it? Or is there, like, another way? I just don’t know if I can snort it, you know?”

“Yeah, I know.” He smirks softly, his gaze travelling over you as you move even closer to him. He couldn't help but smirk slightly at your question. He was going to love this. He straightens out the lines with his credit card. “I can rub it on your gums if you want.”

You nod. “Yeah. Okay. That works.”

He grins, glancing over at you as he pushes himself back, getting comfortable against the headboard. “Come here, angel.” He grabs the front of your shirt, pulling you closer so that you’re sitting before him, between his legs. He glances at your pretty face, his gaze dark and heavy.

You’re scared. He loves it.

Rafe grabs your chin, fingers squishing into your cheeks. “Open your mouth, angel…” You oblige and he grins. “Good girl, good.” Rafe licks his pointer finger before reaching over and swiping through one of the lines. “Alright angel, last chance, do you wanna do this?”

You nod.

“Good girl.” Rafe hums, grabbing your chin as his wet finger moves from the line of coke, rubbing it along your gums. His gaze flits between yours and his hand before pulling away. You looked so fucking good, letting him take advantage of you like this. “Leave it for a moment, okay? You don't have to suck or lick, just leave it in your mouth.” Your gums tingle, the taste slightly bitter.

Rafe watches you close, leaning back once he takes his hand away. He watches you intently, watching the way your expression changes as the drug takes flight.

He was in love.

The cocaine hits you fast, and you start getting squirmy, your pupils wide and blown out. He watches your face as you react to the drug, watching how your eyes flit around and how your breath comes in deep, slightly shaky. He leans forward, grabbing your arms. “Come here, angel, sit in my lap.” You can’t do anything, letting him move you around before settling you into his lap.

His arms slide around your waist, his hands gripping your hips, keeping you against him, like a precious doll. “Does it make you feel good, angel?” He asks, leaning forward, his nose brushing against the crook of your neck, breathing you in. You smelled sweet, and you were a perfect fit in his arms, so much so that he almost didn’t want to let you go. Almost.

You nod. You felt so good. Everything was heightened so deliciously, and you melted into Rafe’s arms, letting the scent of his cologne travel through you.

“I’m so glad, angel, I wanted to make you happy.” He whispers, leaning up and pressing a kiss to your jaw, his hands holding onto your hips, keeping you flush against him. He loves the way you move, how your body feels against his, how you were his. He wanted to make you want this again, and again, until you couldn’t think about anything but him, until you couldn’t go without it. Rafe kisses up your neck, hands sliding under the front of his shirt. Your eyes are fluttering and your whole body shakes as your ears start to ring. You squirm, and he grins, moving his head up. He gently bites your earlobe before whispering into your ear. 

“You did well saying yes to me.”

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧

part two is here!

★taglist: @ietss, @momoewn, @blairsblg, @teenwolfbitches28, @dasia21, @drewsphswife, @gilwm, @watchmerora (italics means i couldn’t tag you!)

join my obx taglist here!

[itneverendshere]

how would the cameron family react to rafe dating a pogue

Ps: ward's not a monster in this, just an asshole and shitty dad, bc my boy rafe deserves a better father figure (but i also need his daddy issues to make this work) also, didn’t know if this request was for this couple but i felt like it fitted them perfectly so here we are again 🫶🏻🤗

found a girl my parents love - r.c

pairing: rafe x pogue!reader (bartender!reader universe)

Rafe selfishly wanted to keep you a secret for as long as he could. 

Not because he was ashamed of you—not even close. You were his, the only person who actually got him. That part of him he never let anyone see, not his family, not his boys.

It was complicated, though, and his family didn't do "complicated" well. Especially not with a pogue. His dad would flip if he knew he was dating someone he hadn’t been personally introduced to before.

The bartender from the club, of all people. The one they’d see serving drinks to them all summer, like you didn’t exist outside those moments. That was the thing though, you did exist, more than anyone he’d ever known. You were real. That’s why he wanted to keep it just for himself. It was his one thing that no one else could touch, could ruin. Topper knew, sure, but he wasn’t going to run his mouth to Sarah after she broke his heart.

So yeah, he held on to it, kept you away from the world that would tear it down before it even had a chance to really breathe. Until Weezie stumbled into your date at the ice cream shop.

He remembered the way his heart stopped when he saw her walk in. Of all places. Of all the people. She looked at him with wide brown eyes, then at you, and then back to him like she’d just walked in on something she wasn’t supposed to see. 

And honestly? She did.

“What the hell are you doing here, Weeze?” he snapped, more out of panic than anger.

"Uh? Getting ice cream?" Her face lit up, a huge grin stretching across her cheeks. “What are you doing here? And with her?” She looked at you, her excitement bubbling over before Rafe could get a word in. “Oh my God, this is so cool! You’re dating her? Like, for real?”

You smiled awkwardly, sensing the tension rolling off him. He looked like he was seconds away from shitting himself. He could’ve killed Weezie right then and there. But instead, he just sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “Yeah, well… don’t tell anyone, alright?”

“Are you kidding?” Weezie practically bounced. “I won’t say a word. Scout’s honor.” She shot you a smile before turning to leave. “But like, this is so cool.”

He scowled at her, “Stop being creepy.”

You slapped his chest, scolding him “Be nice.”

“Oh, I like her!”

She kept her word. For a little while, at least.

A few weeks later, they were all sitting around the dinner table—Ward, Sarah, Rafe, and Weezie. Rose was out doing whatever the fuck she did with her friends. Everything was going fine until Weezie, mid-conversation about nothing important, let it slip.

“I saw Rafe and his girlfriend the other day,” she said, just like it was no big deal.

Girlfriend.

Rafe froze, his fork halfway to his mouth. Sarah looked like she’d just been smacked in the face.

“Girlfriend?” Sarah’s voice went up an octave. “Since when do you have a girlfriend?”

He shot Weezie a look that could shove her ten feet under, but it was too late. She slapped a hand over her mouth, realizing her mistake.

Ward raised an eyebrow, leaning back in his chair, arms crossed. “You got something to share with the family, son?”

Rafe cleared his throat, putting his fork down, already working up a sweat. He knew he couldn’t lie his way out of this one. And honestly?

Maybe it was time to stop hiding. He glanced at Sarah, who still looked at him like he was from outer space, then at his dad. He’d always given him shit about girls, all these big speeches about how none of them were ever worth bringing home unless he was serious. 

Well, he was serious.

“Yeah,” Rafe muttered, meeting his dad’s eyes. “I’ve been seeing someone.”

Sarah’s mouth dropped open. “Who?”

“She’s a pogue!”

Rafe closed his eyes, sighing as Weezie blurted the most important piece of information out. She really just dropped the biggest bomb in the most casual way possible. His dad’s expression didn’t change much, but Sarah? She was fully in shock, her jaw practically hitting the table.

“A Pogue?” Sarah repeated, like she couldn’t believe the words even existed in the same sentence as Rafe. “Are you serious? In this lifetime?”

He shot her a glare. “Yeah, a Pogue. What, is that some kind of crime?”

“What?” She shrieked, “You gave me so much shit when I dated John B!”

He clenched his jaw, his patience hanging by a thread. Of course she was going to bring up John B. She couldn’t let anything go. “That was different,” he snapped.

Sarah scoffed, folding her arms “Different? How exactly?”

Rafe rolled his eyes. “Because John B’s a dirtbag who had you sneaking around doing God knows what. This is—” he stopped himself, trying to find the right words. “This is different, okay? She’s not like him.”

“So, it’s okay when you date a Pogue? Got it.”

“To be fair,” Weezie chimed in, “John B smelled like shit.”

He couldn’t help the snort that escaped his lips, even though the last thing he wanted to do was encourage her. Sarah shot Weezie a death glare, clearly not amused.

“Language,” Ward warned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “How many times do I have to tell you girls? No swearing at the table.”

The room fell silent, everyone looking at Rafe like they were waiting for him to say something. His dad didn’t even look mad—if anything, he looked weirdly intrigued.

“So,” Ward said slowly, his gaze locking onto Rafe’s. “You’re serious about her then? Serious enough for me to meet her?”

Rafe swallowed. “Yeah. I am.”

“Alright. Let’s make that happen then.”

He blinked, completely thrown off. “What?”

Ward’s response was calm, almost too calm. “If you’re serious about this girl, then it’s time I meet her.”

Rafe just stared at him, unsure if he’d heard that right. His dad wasn’t angry? Was he impressed? Or was this some kind of setup?

“You... wanna meet her?” he repeated, like he needed the words to make sense.

His dad’s expression wasn’t the usual stone wall of judgment. “I’ve always said if it’s not serious, don’t bother bringing her around. You’re saying she’s important to you, right?”

“Uh, yeah…” Rafe’s voice trailed off, still half-expecting this to somehow turn into a lecture or some Ward Cameron test. “She is.”

He nodded, like he was already planning it. “Alright then, set it up. I’ll meet her.”

He couldn’t tell if this was a win or if he’d just walked into something he wasn’t prepared for. His whole plan was to avoid this exact conversation. He looked across the table, expecting Sarah to be just as blindsided as he was, but she was still stuck on one detail.

“You’re dating a Pogue,” she muttered, shaking her head like she couldn’t get past that fact. “I just… wow.”

Rafe shot her a glare. “Get over it.”

Weezie, always the little instigator, grinned. “She was cool.”

“Okay, so… when do I get to meet her?” Sarah’s brown eyes widened with curiosity. “Is she cute? What’s she like?”

This wasn’t how he thought the night was going to go at all. 

An hour later, he was lying in bed, staring at his phone, his mind still spinning from dinner. He pulled up your contact, hesitating for a second before hitting the FaceTime button. The screen flashed for a moment, and then there you were, all cozy in your own bed, unaware of what was about to hit.

“Hi baby,” you chirped, clearly happy to see him, “What’s up? You look stressed.”

Rafe rubbed his face, letting out a long breath. “Yeah, well, uh—something happened at dinner tonight.”

Your face scrunched up in confusion, tilting the phone closer to you. “What? Did Sarah say something dumb again?”

“Nah, worse,” he muttered. “Weezie... Weezie kinda let it slip. About us.”

Your eyes widened immediately. “Wait, what? She told them?!”

“Yeah,” he said, letting out a low chuckle at the memory of the whole dinner spiraling out of control. “Just dropped it casually like it was no big deal. Sarah freaked out, and my dad—" He stopped, rubbing the back of his neck. “He wants to meet you.”

For a second, you didn’t say anything. You just blinked, processing his words. 

“Wait... Ward Cameron wants to meet me? As in, your dad?”

“Yeah,” He mumbled, almost sheepishly. “He’s all, ‘If you’re serious, I should meet her,’ or some shit. Like it’s no big deal.”

You sat up straight, your heart racing. “Rafe, that is a big deal! What the hell do you mean he wants to meet me?!” Your voice rose, panic starting to take over. “Oh my God, I didn’t even think about having to meet your dad. I figured we’d just— I don’t know—figure it out later!”

Rafe winced, knowing this would freak you out. He tried to keep his voice calm, even though he wasn’t exactly calm himself. “Baby, it’s not like tomorrow or anything. We can plan it out.”

But you were already spiraling. “Your dad’s gonna take one look at me— What if he hates me? What if he tells you I’m not worth it, and then—” you paused, your voice breaking slightly, “What if you start to believe him?”

His stomach clenched at your words. He sat up, the phone now held closer to his face. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. Stop right there. What are you even talking about?”

You bit your lip, your thoughts running wild. “I mean... what if he convinces you that I’m not good enough? What if you start seeing me differently? You know how your dad is—he could talk you out of this, talk you out of us.”

Rafe shook his head, almost angry that you’d even think that way. “Are you serious right now? No way in hell is that happening. I don’t give a shit what my dad thinks. You’re the one I’m with because I want to be with you.”

You sighed, your nerves still rattled. “But what if he tries to get in your head? You always talk about how much pressure he puts on you. What if he—”

He cut you off, his voice firm, assertive. “Look, I’m serious about you. I told him that tonight. It doesn’t matter what he says, because you’re the one I love. No one’s changing my mind about that. Not even Ward fucking Cameron.” His eyes softened a little. “I already met your sister. This is just the next step, yeah? It’s us. We’re solid.”

“I think I’m gonna throw up.”

He hated this—hated that the idea of meeting his dad was making you feel like this, but he couldn’t blame you. Ward was intimidating even on his best days, and this was not going to be one of those days.

“You’re not gonna throw up,” he said, trying to calm you down, though he wasn’t sure if he was trying to reassure you or himself.

You shook your head, running a hand through your bed hair. “What if I say something dumb? What if I screw up, and he hates me, and then everything goes downhill? I’m not, like... your people. You know that.”

His jaw clenched, hating the way you thought of yourself like that. “Don’t say that,” he scolded, “You’re exactly my people. You’re my person.”

“Yeah, but—”

“No ‘buts.’” He cut you off, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Listen to me. My dad’s opinion doesn’t change anything. He’s not gonna make me see you any differently. You’re still gonna be the same girl I’m crazy about, no matter what he says or doesn’t say. Got it?”

You took a deep breath, trying to believe him. “It’s just—I don’t know, Rafe. I don’t fit into that world, and what if he sees that right away?”

He hated that you felt this way, hated that his dad had this kind of power hanging over the two of you. “You don’t need to fit into his world, okay? You fit into mine, and that’s all that matters.”

Your lips quivered, and for a second, he thought you might start crying. He could feel the panic rolling off of you through the phone, and it hit him hard—he hadn’t realized just how terrified you were of this.

“What if he really doesn’t think I’m good enough for you?” You whispered, almost like you were scared to say it out loud.

Rafe’s heart clenched, and without thinking, he shot up out of bed, pacing his room like he needed to burn off the frustration

“You’re more than good enough for me.”

Your breath hitched, and you looked away for a second like you were trying to compose yourself.

“I just don’t want him to—I don’t know? To make you feel like you have to choose between me and your family.”

He stopped pacing, his grip tightening on the phone. “If it ever came to that? I’d choose you. Every fucking time.”

You blinked, taken aback by the intensity in his voice. “Rafe—”

“I mean it,” he said, cutting you off again. “I’m not letting my dad, or anyone else, get in the way. I don’t care if he’s Ward Cameron or the president of the United States. He’s not gonna run my life, and he sure as hell isn’t gonna ruin the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I love you. And nothing my dad says or thinks is gonna change that. Ever.”

Tears stung at the corners of your eyes, threatening to fall over. Not because you were scared anymore, but because of him. Because of how much he cared. How much he loved you, even when you were spiraling.

He was staring at the screen, concern written all over his face, brows furrowing, "Wait, are you crying?" His voice softened, like he wasn’t sure how to handle you like this, but he knew he wanted to. He needed to.

You quickly rubbed at your eyes, laughing to try and cover up the tears, "No, no, I just— got something in my eye." Your laugh was shaky, and you knew you weren’t fooling anyone.

He didn’t say anything for a second, just watched you with that loving look of his that made you want to bawl your eyes out even harder. He saw right through you. He always did.

“You know,” he finally said, “You don’t have to worry about all that shit. I’ve got you. I’m not going anywhere.”

And that’s when you almost lost it. Because wow. No one had ever said something like that to you before, not until him. Never like that, like he really meant it, like you were the most important thing in his world.

You sniffed, trying to laugh it off again, but it just came out all soft and broken. “I’m just—” you paused, not even sure how to explain how you were feeling, “I’m not used to this. Like, you... caring this much. Loving me like this.”

Rafe’s eyes softened, and he leaned a little closer to the screen, “I’m not stopping.”

“I know. I love you too.”

It was real now.

Meeting the Camerons wasn’t something you could avoid anymore, but at least you knew you had Rafe, a hundred percent.

“You still freaking out?” he asked, though his tone was lighter, like he knew the answer.

“Yeah,” you admitted with a small laugh. “But I’ll get over it.”

“Good,” he said, his smirk returning. “Because I kinda need you around.”

“Kinda?”

He grinned, dimples framing his face, “Okay, a lot.”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

Rafe hadn’t said a word the entire drive, which was already freaking you out more than you wanted to admit. His knuckles were white, tight around the steering wheel. His jaw was locked, teeth grinding together and you’d caught him glancing at you out of the corner of his eye at least three times in the past minute.

Your heart was hammering, stomach in knots, and you were starting to wonder if you might actually throw up by the time you got to Tannyhill.

“Baby, seriously, if we crash into a tree ‘cause you’re having a silent meltdown over there, that’s not gonna help either of us.”

He blinked, finally loosening his grip on the wheel. “Sorry. I’m just—fuck, I don’t know.”

You tried to smile, but it felt weak. “Yeah, me too. I feel like I’m walking into some kind of corporate job interview I didn’t apply for.”

Rafe snorted. “Yeah, except the CEO’s a control freak and the company’s, I don’t know, cursed or something.”

That made you laugh, a short, nervous laugh, but still. You appreciated the attempt at humor, even if the nerves in your stomach weren’t going anywhere.

“So, uh... game plan?” you asked, half-joking, but mostly serious. “Am I supposed to shake his hand? Call him Mr. Cameron? Or is it more of a ‘hey, what’s up, Ward?’ situation?”

Rafe finally cracked a grin, shaking his head. “God, I don’t know. Don’t call him Ward; that might send him into some power trip. But definitely don’t call him Mr. Cameron either, ‘cause that’ll just make it weird.”

“Great, so I’ll just go with ‘Hi’ and hope I don’t trip over my own feet.”

“Perfect,” Rafe deadpanned, glancing over at you, “Just be yourself. He’s not as bad as you think. Mostly.”

Your eyebrows shot up. “Mostly?”

Rafe’s lips pressed together. "He's not gonna throw you out or anything. And if he does, we’re leaving together. But Sarah...”

“Sarah,” you groaned, leaning your head back against the seat. You’d barely met Sarah, and from what you could tell, she wasn’t exactly thrilled about Rafe’s choice in girlfriends.

“Just don’t let her get to you,” Rafe muttered, his hand reaching for yours, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “She’s just mad because I used to make John B’s life a living hell.”

“Define hell.”

Rafe smirked, his fingers still interlaced with yours. "I mean, I threw him off a boat once," he said casually, like that wasn’t one of the most insane things you’d ever heard.

You blinked. “You what?”

He shrugged, keeping his eyes on the road, like it was no big deal. “He was running his mouth about me."

You stared at him in disbelief, “And you think I’m the one who needs to be worried?”

He laughed, finally loosening up a little, “Relax, baby. I’m not throwing you off anything.”

“So she’s not mad about me? She’s just mad about the double standard?”

“Yeah.”

That made it a little easier to breathe.

The silence settled back in for a moment as you pulled up to Tannyhill. The sight of the massive estate took your breath away. You couldn’t help but feel like you were entering a completely different world now that you were here—a world that wasn’t exactly built for you.

Rafe must’ve noticed the way your hands gripped the edge of your seat a little tighter because he let out a long breath.

“Hey, it’s just a dinner. We eat, we talk, we leave. It’s not like they’re gonna put you under a microscope.”

You gave him a side-eye. “You know, I wasn’t nervous until you said that.”

He grinned sheepishly. “Shit. Sorry.”

The car came to a stop, and you could see the flicker of lights through the windows of the house. The pressure in your chest was building, but Rafe turned toward you, his hand cupping your face.

“Listen,” his blue eyes locked on yours, “I don’t care what happens in there. You’ve got me. If anyone makes you feel like you don’t belong, we’re out. Promise.”

You swallowed hard, nodding as you leaned into his touch. “Okay.”

“I’m serious,” he continued, stroking his thumb across your cheek. “One word and I’ll get you out.”

You kissed his palm, “I know.”

“Okay.” he muttered, then pulled away, giving one final deep breath before turning off the ignition. “Let’s get this over with.”

You both stepped out of the car, Rafe knocked once, and within seconds, it swung open to reveal Sarah standing there in all her kook-with-pogue -tendencies glory.

“Well, well,” she smirked, eyes narrowing at you two.

Rafe shot her a sharp look, “Knock it off.”

She rolled her eyes, stepping aside to let you in. “I’m kidding. Kinda.” She turned her attention to you, and you could feel her sizing you up, looking completely unfazed as she led the two of you further into the house. "Dad’s in the study. He’s waiting."

Your heart skipped a beat at that. Waiting? What did that even mean?

Rafe must have felt your nerves spike because he reached for your hand again, squeezing it as you followed Sarah down the long hallway.

The house felt even bigger on the inside, with its high ceilings and fancy decor. You felt out of place. But then you peeked over at Rafe, and something about the way he held your hand made you feel like maybe—just maybe—you did belong.

At least to him.

Sarah finally stopped outside a large wooden door, turning to you with an exaggerated sigh.

"Good luck.”

Rafe hesitated for a second, his hand still gripping yours tightly. "You ready?"

No. Absolutely not. But you nodded anyway. "Yeah. Let’s do this."

He pushed open the door, and there he was.

Ward Cameron, sitting behind a massive oak desk, looking as powerful and intimidating as ever. His eyes flicked up from whatever paperwork he was working on, settling on you with a sharp intensity that sent a shiver down your spine.

"Rafe," Ward said, his voice smooth and controlled, before turning his gaze to you. "And you must be... her."

You swallowed hard, trying to muster up the courage to say something, anything. "Yeah, that’s me. Hi, Mr. Cameron."

You immediately regretted it. Mr. Cameron? It sounded too formal, too awkward.

Ward didn’t seem to mind, though. If anything, he looked amused. He stood up, coming around the desk to get a better look at you. His eyes scanned over you briefly, but it wasn’t the cold, judgmental look you’d expected. Instead, it felt more like... curiosity.

"So, you’re the girl my son’s been so serious about."

You nodded, wanting to be anywhere but stuck in that claustrophobic room despite its size, "That’s me.”

He raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms as he looked between you and Rafe, “I hear you’re working at the Country Club.”

It wasn’t really a question—more like he already knew everything about you. Oh. You didn’t like that, knowing that someone else was snooping around for dirt on you. At least it sounded like that was the plan.

You managed a nod, trying to keep your voice from sounding too hushed. “Yeah, I’ve been working there for a while.”

His expression didn’t really give anything away, but the way he looked at you, was unnerving. Rafe’s hand squeezed yours, reminding you that, no matter what, he had your back. One word and you were out.

“Good,” Ward finally said, “I like that you work.” He sneaked a stern look at your boyfriend before turning his attention back to you. “He could use some of that drive.”

Wait. What?

You hadn’t expected that. You thought maybe he’d grill you or give you the whole ‘what are your intentions with my son’routine. But no, he was... complimenting you? It had to be some kind of set up.

“Dad—” Rafe started, clearly not expecting that either, but Ward cut him off with a raised hand.

“No, seriously.” His eyes were back on you, and there was almost a smile there, like he was actually impressed. “It’s a good quality. I respect people who work hard, people who don’t just expect things to be handed to them. And from what I’ve heard, you’re one of those people.”

You didn’t even know what to say.

Ward Cameron? Complimenting you? Was this real life? You’d walked in here prepared for a full-on interrogation, and instead, he was... encouraging.

“I just hope some of that rubs off on my son,” Ward added, shooting Rafe a look, and you swore there was a glint of amusement in his eyes. “He could stand to work a little harder. He’s always been a bit lazy.”

You bit back a laugh, glancing over at Rafe. He was glaring at his dad, but you could tell he wasn’t really pissed, just...embarrassed. You found it endearing.

“Thanks, Dad,” Rafe mumbled.

“I like it. Maybe you’ll inspire him to work a little harder.”

You blinked. Wait, was this actually happening? Did Ward Cameron, of all people, just say he liked you? This whole night felt like it was gonna be a disaster, and now... maybe it wasn’t gonna be so bad. You hoped so.

You really wanted his family to like you, you felt like you owned him at least trying.

“You know," Ward began, "I wasn't always the man you see standing here today." His voice took on a reflective tone, and you could sense the change in the atmosphere as he prepared to tell his story. "I grew up on the Cut, just like a lot of those kids you see around he, like you,” Ward said, almost casually, but you could tell it wasn’t a casual thing for him. "Back then, I didn’t have much. But I worked my ass off to get out of that place. I didn’t have a name, no wealth behind me. What I have now? I built that from the ground up. No one handed me anything."

Rafe, who had been quiet up until now, let out a small, barely audible sigh, shifting uncomfortably beside you. You took a quick glance at him and caught the unmistakable eye-roll he tried to hide.

Clearly, this wasn’t the first time Ward had given this speech. But at the same time, you could tell he was relieved that his dad wasn’t tearing into you. That had to count for something, right?

Ward, oblivious or perhaps just unfazed by his son’s reaction, continued, his voice gaining momentum like he was giving you some kind of motivational speech. "It wasn’t easy. There were plenty of times when I could’ve given up, but I didn’t. I pushed through, made connections, took risks. That’s how you get ahead. You have to be willing to do whatever it takes. Now look where I am—" He gestured around at the lavish room, the estate itself practically a testament to his success. "I built an empire. Something real. Something that can last."

You nodded politely, unsure if you were supposed to say something. Rafe’s obvious eye-rolling and silent huffs of frustration beside you made it clear that he’d heard all this a hundred times before. He shifted in his seat, crossing his arms, clearly waiting for his dad to wrap it up.

But Ward wasn’t done yet. He turned his attention back to you, his eyes narrowing slightly. "The point is," he said, his tone softening a little, "I respect people who are willing to work for what they want. I see that in you. It’s not about where you start—it’s about where you’re going."

Rafe let out a short, quiet breath that you might’ve missed if you weren’t sitting right next to him. He shot you a small, knowing smile, almost like he was apologizing for the speech but also relieved that Ward wasn’t being an asshole.

You squeezed his hand under the table. At least his dad wasn’t tearing you down.

"Thanks, Mr. Cameron," you said, finally finding your voice. "I really appreciate that."

He nodded, seeming satisfied with himself. "Just remember," he added, his voice lowering as if he was giving you some kind of life lesson, "Hard work pays off. You keep doing what you’re doing, and you’ll get somewhere. Don’t ever settle, not even for him.”

“Thanks again.”

Rafe looked like he was about to explode from how much he was holding back, but he just gave you a quick wink as if to say, Yeah, this is typical dad, but hey—he likes you, so we’re good.

Ward clapped his hands together, the moment of sincerity quickly passing. "Alright, well, I think dinner’s ready. Shall we?"

He strode ahead, leading the way out of the study and toward the dining room, leaving you and Rafe a few steps behind. The moment he was out of earshot, you looked up at Rave, “You think we’re good?”

He smirked, leaning down slightly to meet your eyes, his tone all teasing. “Baby, I think he might build you a pedestal.” 

You couldn’t help but snort, trying to keep your voice down as you followed Ward. “Really? After that ‘self-made empire’ speech?”

He rolled his eyes dramatically, giving you a knowing look. “Trust me, if you got through that and he didn’t start questioning your entire existence, you’re golden. The man sees himself in anyone who works hard enough to breathe without permission.”

You bit back a laugh, gripping his hand as you walked down the long hallway. “Yeah, I was getting that vibe.”

His grin grew wider, his thumb skimming over your knuckles. “And look, usually, it’s a full-blown interrogation by now. You’re good.”

You raised your eyebrows, slightly surprised. “Really?”

Rafe nodded. “Oh yeah. Sarah’s brought home guys before and it was... rough.” He shook his head, “He actually likes you. That’s rare.”

Maybe things with the Camerons were actually going to be okay.

[xoluvx]

idk if you have seen the clip but there was this video i saw on twitter where it was at this party and billie was either twerking or getting twerkerd on.

i think billie was twerking but like she wasn’t bent over or anything it was just like she shook her as you know?

but it made me think what if billie met reader at a party and you know they flirt and reader twerks on billie and soon it leads to billie taking reader home and take reader to POUUNNDTOOWWNNN (im writing this while listening to a bunch of Chase Atlantic songs 😭😭)

btw can i be this anon-🐌

ofc you can be my little snail (lmao) and yes um yes please i’d like to reside in poundtown with billie 🙂

the drinks may have rushed to your head a little too quickly. you'd come to that conclusion after finding yourself dancing on none other than billie motherfucking eilish when you hadn't even wanted to come to this thing. your friends had to practically drag you here. you had to make a mental note to thank them tomorrow once you were thinking straight because right now your head was flooded with gay thoughts.

all of them involving the brunette you were dancing on. her hands were on your hips. ass grinding on her. she'd pulled herself closer, chin on your shoulder as her lips brushed your cheek. you leaned back into her. lips parted as you held her head close to your neck. you were feeling so hot and hungry. hungry for her lips, for her touch, for her everything.

it was no surprise that your bodies would later stumble into her room. your clothes would leave a trail that marked your steps. her hands would be on your hips pulling you closer as you moaned in her mouth. your lips would be so sloppy on hers just wanting to eat her alive.

it was no surprise that you were now on all fours. face down on her bed. ass up in the air as she thrusted into you. her fingers digging into your ass pulling you down against her cock as you gasped for air. your brows furrowed with pleasure. your throat dry from crying out her name.

she pounded into you grunting each time she hit the back of your thighs. the sound of your skin slapping, your faltering cries and her guttural groans were sending you into outer space. you were fisting the sheets, your eyes shut so hard you were seeing colors and flashing lights. you could feel yourself growing tighter. the overwhelming tingles ran down your legs as you curled your toes.

"billie-" you whined using every ounce of your strength to utter her name.

billie held your shoulder burying her cock in your cunt. your whimpers muffled by the mattress. you were so close. so fucking close you were shaking. the touch of her hand on your bare shoulder was so powerful just like her thrusts that had you drooling on the bed sheets.

"yeah?" billie's voice was teasing and rung in your ear. her breath so warm against your skin. you didn't have the strength to talk. you just moaned through the pleasure biting your lip. billie buried her face in the nook of your neck. her own moans seeping into your skin as she ground her hips. her cock hitting all the right places. you were going to cum.

when she kissed your cheek and whispered in your ear, you got the reassurance. you allowed yourself to unravel on her cock. her hands holding your body securely as you convulsed and gasped for air. eyes shut. lips parted. only the most erotic moans spilling from your lips as you both fell on the bed sweaty and still so in lust.

[strictlyfavorites]

George Carlin's wife died early in 2008 and George followed her, dying in July 2008. It is ironic George Carlin - comedian of the 70's and 80's - could write something so very eloquent and so very appropriate.

An observation by George Carlin:

The paradox of our time in history is that we have taller buildings but shorter tempers, wider Freeways, but narrower viewpoints. We spend more, but have less, we buy more, but enjoy less. We have bigger houses and smaller families, more conveniences, but less time. We have more degrees but less sense, more knowledge, but less judgment, more experts, yet more problems, more medicine, but less wellness.

We drink too much, smoke too much, spend too recklessly, laugh too little, drive too fast, get too angry, stay up too late, get up too tired, read too little, watch TV too much, and pray too seldom.

We have multiplied our possessions, but reduced our values. We talk too much, love too seldom, and hate too often.

We've learned how to make a living, but not a life. We've added years to life not life to years. We've been all the way to the moon and back, but have trouble crossing the street to meet a new neighbor. We conquered outer space but not inner space. We've done larger things, but not better things.

We've cleaned up the air, but polluted the soul. We've conquered the atom, but not our prejudice. We write more, but learn less. We plan more, but accomplish less. We've learned to rush, but not to wait. We build more computers to hold more information, to produce more copies than ever, but we communicate less and less.

These are the times of fast foods and slow digestion, big men and small character, steep profits and shallow relationships.

These are the days of two incomes but more divorce, fancier houses, but broken homes. These are days of quick trips, disposable diapers, throwaway morality, one night stands, overweight bodies, and pills that do everything from cheer, to quiet, to kill. It is a time when there is much in the showroom window and nothing in the stockroom. A time when technology can bring this letter to you, and a time when you can choose either to share this insight, or to just hit delete.

Remember to spend some time with your loved ones, because they are not going to be around forever.

Remember, say a kind word to someone who looks up to you in awe, because that little person soon will grow up and leave your side.

Remember, to give a warm hug to the one next to you, because that is the only treasure you can give with your heart and it doesn't cost a cent.

Remember, to say, 'I love you' to your partner and your loved ones, but most of all mean it. A kiss and an embrace will mend hurt when it comes from deep inside of you.

Remember to hold hands and cherish the moment for someday that person will not be there again.

Give time to love, give time to speak! And give time to share the precious thoughts in your mind.

And always remember, life is not measured by the number of breaths we take, but by those moments that take our breath away.

George Carlin

[ckret2]

Chapter 56 of human Bill Cipher probably not about to be the Mystery Shack's prisoner much longer:

Bill and Mabel wrap up their impromptu lesson on the second dimension, while Ford and Dipper wrap up their final preparations for Bill's execution.

Dipper peeked in through the door to the gift shop. When no one acknowledged him, he cautiously meandered across the living room toward Ford, straight between Bill and Mabel without either of them glancing at him; they were too caught up in Bill answering Mabel's question about how to see through walls with the fourth dimension.

When Dipper was nearly out of the room, Bill suddenly focused on him. "Hey stinky, what have you been up to?"

Dipper jumped. "What?"

Mabel laughed. "Yeah! You smell like burning hair."

"You smell like nightmares," Bill corrected.

Ford muttered a curse under his breath. Ford hadn't noticed a smell, but Dipper's soul had fallen into the Nightmare Realm—did its distinctive scent still cling to him? Would Bill realize what it meant? If he did—

Dipper swallowed hard. "I... was... having a nightmare?"

Bill considered that. "Ask a stupid question..." He shrugged and turned back to the grid he'd been adding notes to.

Dipper sighed in relief. He joined Ford in the entryway to watch the lesson in bafflement. Under his breath, he murmured, "Has this been going on a while?"

"At least the last fifteen minutes." That was how long Ford had been watching. He'd learned a couple things about higher dimensional physics even he hadn't known.

"Wait," Mabel said, "Bill, I get it! You don't look through walls, you look over them!"

Bill's face split into a wide grin. "Explain it!"

"It's like, if I was floating above the second dimension, I could just see over all the walls! But Flatworlders don't even know what 'above' is, so they'd think I was looking through the walls somehow! So there's got to be some kind of fourth dimensional place 'above' the third dimension, right?!"

"On the money, star girl! Give yourself another sticker!"

"YES!" She'd run out of facial real estate for stickers, so she slapped it on her headband.

Bill beamed proudly at her. "How come your brother's the one with the straight A's, huh? You could blow him out of the water if you wanted."

Mabel's smile immediately disappeared.

Dipper hissed between his teeth. "Oooh." Under his breath, he said, "Mabel hates people saying things like that. I should go rescue her." He crept back into the room. "Hey! Bill!"

Mabel turned toward Dipper. Bill only glanced askance at him. Flatly, he asked, "What."

"Uh..." Dipper skimmed the papers coating the room for anything that he could talk about, and focused on the ringed planet behind the TV. He pointed at it. "Is... that Flatworld?"

Bill shrugged apathetically. "Sure, you can call it that."

"Why are all the countries off the planet?"

"Do you think we lived underground?"

Mabel perked up. "Dipper! The shapes live in outer space! In between their home planet and the planet's rings! They only use the planet for vacations and underground science buildings and stuff."

Dipper asked, "Underground science buildings?"

Bill sighed and turned away from the grid, giving Dipper a look that said I'll give you my attention, but I won't like it. "Research facilities. Like wave pools, particle accelerators, and solar farms. Gigantic equipment like that is more stable anchored in bedrock."

(Ford remembered, suddenly, over thirty years ago, Bill telling him that he ought to dig out a subterranean cavern for the interdimensional portal. "A big machine like this," he'd said, "you want that anchored on all sides by solid rock. It'll be a lot more stable that way." Ford had never dreamed that was a trillion-year-old cultural artifact from a dead civilization.)

Still studying the map, Dipper asked, "How do you tell where your country's borders are if you're just floating in empty space?"

"How do you?"

"We use... rivers, and..."

"And sometimes you just make them up. It's not that complicated."

"Were they all as oppressive as the country in Flatworld?"

Bill gave Dipper a withering look. "This isn't a politics class, kid."

(Ford cast a dubious look at the blood-red letters reading "ANTI-MONARCHIST ANARCHISM".)

Dipper scowled, crossed his arms, and looked over the map again. "But, wait—if you were floating in outer space, and you could just... float up and down between your planet's surface and the ring, then why isn't there anything further out than that? What was stopping you from floating all the way to that moon?" He gave Bill a challenging look, as though he'd uncovered a logical fallacy that undermined the whole map.

Bill rolled his open eye. "This is what you get for coming late to class." He pointed his crayon at his star student. "Shooting Star?"

"They did float all the way to the moon!"

Dipper's shoulders dropped. "Oh."

"It was a big extreme sports bragging rights thing," Mabel said. "Like climbing Mount Everest! Except first you have to get through the rings without dying! And it'd take like thirty years to fly there and thirty years to get back!"

"Approximating the human years," Bill said.

"So they couldn't go until they invented cars, because they're fast enough to get through the rings without getting hit and it only takes a year to drive to the moon, but that means you still have to carry enough supplies for two years, and—"

"Hold on," Dipper said. "Cars?"

"Yeah!"

"But there's no ground! They're flying around in the air! They don't have wheels, do they? What makes a car different from a rocket ship?"

"Um..." Mabel looked to Bill for help.

Bill said, "Firepower." He drew a rocket sailing up toward the moon at an angle, its fiery trail cutting through the planet's rings. After a thoughtful pause, Bill added, "I know a guy that used to work at an observatory on the far side of the moon."

Dipper said, "So what happened to your world?"

And there was that hesitance, that guarded look Ford had remembered seeing whenever Bill got too close to teaching Ford enough for him to recognize the danger to his dimension. He turned away from the kids, busying himself with refining the shape of the moon. "Do the math. I'm over a trillion years old! Stars burn out, universes go cold. Your planet will barely last twelve billion years. That's the way planets go."

"Well, if you're so powerful, why didn't you just—I dunno—keep it alive?"

The crayon snapped in Bill's hand.

Mabel gave her brother an irritated look—"Dipper, don't be mean,"—but it turned to a worried look when Bill rounded sharply on them both.

Bill snapped, "Who says I didn't, smart aleck?"

"Wh—I—"

"It is alive, thanks for asking. I made sure of that."

"Then where is it—?"

"Do you think I let you sit in here so you could ask stupid questions?" Bill planted a fist on his hip and pointed toward the door. "All you've done is derail the lesson and bring up stuff we covered three hours ago. Scram, kid."

"What—? But..." Dipper looked to Mabel for help.

Mabel shrugged. Dipper sighed, got up, and trudged out of the living room to join Ford in the entryway, giving him a forlorn look as he did.

Ford muttered, "I used to get kicked out of classes for challenging the teacher, too."

Dipper snorted. "Did he ever kick you out of class?"

Ford thought. "No—but why would he? He needed me to think I was his star student."

Although one time Bill had woken Ford up at two in the morning in the middle of a dream during the portal's construction, because Ford had forgotten some measurements he'd taken in the basement and he hadn't left his notes somewhere one of Bill's eyes could see them. And then, once Ford had retrieved his notes, the irritation of being woken had prevented him from falling back asleep and returning to his Muse.

They'd laughed about it the next night.

"Do you think his world does still exist?" Dipper asked.

Ford shook his head. "The Oracle said he destroyed his dimension himself in his pursuit of power. I trust her more than him."

They stood outside watching as Mabel asked Bill if there was any way for a normal human to see into the fourth dimension without busting their eyeballs. Bill started illustrating a way to grind glass to refract light from several minutes in the future, before abandoning it halfway completed to start explaining to Mabel how regular three-dimensional refraction worked. Ford recognized the unfinished illustration. Bill had included it in his miniature grimoire, too.

Voice low, Ford murmured, "You can't tell your sister we're ready."

Dipper nodded. "She'll be heartbroken."

Ford remembered having the exact same thought that morning. He squeezed Dipper's shoulder. "I suppose I won't be going with her to that concert in Portland tomorrow."

####

"... and that," Bill concluded, "is why the Time Giants banned sixth-dimensional tourism. But by then the damage was done—which is why there's only one survivor left."

Laying on the floor, staring at the ceiling, Mabel said, "I'll never see balloons the same way again."

"Nobody ever does." Bill clicked shut his marker and dropped it on Mabel's chest. "So that covers the last fifty billion years of local politics! Did that answer your question?"

Mabel paused. "I don't remember my question."

"Good. I don't either." Bill sat on the floor beside Mabel and crossed his legs. "Anyway, you owe me fifty grand. All the info I gave you today is worth at least a year of college classes on this planet."

"Pssh, yeah right!" She paused. She sat up. "Wait. Really?"

"I might've skipped a few names and dates and formulas—but sure! We covered all the important stuff!" Smugly, he said, "So, still think I think you're dumb?"

Mabel stared at him, and then around the room at all the papers coating the walls, covered in Bill's handwriting. "You did all this just to prove I'm smart?"

"You proved you're smart. I got a captive audience for the afternoon. Quid pro quo!" Bill grinned. "I wasn't kidding earlier! You've got twice the brains of any of the other morons you'll share a classroom with. I'm surprised it's your brother on the honor roll instead of you."

Mabel's smile faded. Oh. "Yeah," she grumbled, pulling her knees to her chest. "You and everyone else." This wasn't much better than Bill thinking she was stupid: now he had expectations for her.

She'd heard it a million times, any time she did anything intelligent. You're so smart too, why aren't your grades better? Why don't you make grades like your brother?

Because Mabel liked art, music, motion, and stories (and usually not even the stories they read in English class); and Dipper liked—or at least was good at—math, science, and history. Because Mabel's brain fuzzed over with TV static when she tried to read a textbook, and the static got louder the more she was forced to reread it to "study"; whereas Dipper could read a chapter once, retain everything that mattered, and then skim it a second time right before a test to remind himself of the important names and dates. Because Mabel's bulb was just as bright as Dipper's, but hers had faulty wiring, making it flicker on and off outside her control; and she could only get it to glow steadily for things her brain was interested in; and she couldn't choose what her brain was interested in; and school wasn't on that list.

But how did she explain that when her parents were disappointed in her C+ test because Dipper came home with an A? When they told her she just needed to apply herself, how did she explain she was already applying herself five times harder than Dipper and still trailing behind him when the whole family knew she had just as much brains as him? It might have been easier if she actually was stupid. At least then they'd know she was doing her best. But she wasn't doing her best.

She got it from everyone. From her parents, day in and day out; from aunts, uncles, and grandparents; from teachers she'd taken by surprise with a particularly passionate essay; sometimes even from friends. Why aren't you making A's like your brother? So why shouldn't she hear it even from Bill Cipher.

Bill leaned back in surprise when Mabel curled in on herself. "What? I'm calling you smart, kid. Most humans like that."

Mabel shook her head, pouting at the floor. "Forget it. It just—it doesn't matter what my stupid grades are, all right?"

He stared at her in bafflement for a moment; and then said, with a tone of growing horror, "Oh. Ohhh. I sound like your dad."

She hated how much he knew about their home lives. She never knew when he was going to reveal he'd combed through one of her most shameful memories. "Just forget it," she repeated. "I just don't make grades like Dipper, okay?"

"Kid, I didn't mean it like that. I..." Bill floundered for a moment. It was weird to see him struggling for words. He leaned forward, cheek in hand, putting himself eye level with Mabel. "You know—I don't think I'm fond of your brother."

That dragged a small laugh out of Mabel. "Really? You hide it so well."

"I know! I'm a real gentleman," he said. "So when I say 'hey, why aren't you getting A's,' I'm not saying you should be more like him, ugh. I just want to watch the alpha twin trounce that little nerd."

She laughed louder. "Bill! Be nice, that's my brother!"

"And you have my eternal sympathy."

"Bill!" She punched his arm. "I don't want to compete with him, though. Even if I try a zillion times harder, I'll never get grades as good as his." She sighed loudly. But Bill was watching her, full attention on her face, expectant, so she continued: "I don't want to be a slightly worse Dipper, I just... want to be a really good Mabel! And—and maybe a really good Mabel is just okay at school. It's fine if I just... graduate with C's and go to some boring local college to get a boring degree for a boring job... while Dipper goes to some... big, fancy stupid technical college... or..." She trailed off, chin in her hands, staring at the carpet.

"Or while he gets private tutoring from some genius with too many PhDs?" Bill said wryly.

Mabel didn't answer, trying to swallow around the lump in her throat. "I know he wouldn't have actually left me behind."

Bill grimaced, sucking in a breath between his teeth. "Yeeeah, no, he would have," he said. "Sorry, kid. If it weren't for Weirdmageddon, he'd have taken the apprenticeship."

Mabel's stomach flipped. "Oh."

"So, you're welcome," Bill said.

Mabel socked him again, more seriously.

Bill just laughed. "Hey—if it helps, he woulda been worse off for it! He made the right choice sticking with you."

"Really?"

"Would I lie to you?" He paused. "Poor choice of words. I'm not lying to you. He'll be better off suffering through a middle-upper-class Californian high school beside you than he ever woulda been hiding in the woods catching gnomes in butterfly nets."

She nodded. That was some comfort. Even if, in another life, apparently Dipper would've ditched her.

Bill gave her one of those long, piercing looks he sometimes did; and then he nudged her. "Hey. Don't worry about school—that's your parents talking, not you. And don't worry about what your brother does. Let him bust his butt at a big stupid technical college! Flunk every class and draw flowers on the SAT bubble sheet! You'll have plenty of your own things going on, and your dumb grades won't matter for any of them—"

Mabel flung her arms around Bill. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "Hey. You're gonna be fine, kid." He leaned his head on Mabel's, one shut eye pressed to the crown of her head. "I—know it's hard. But you'll be fine."

She didn't know how he could know it was hard. He already knew everything, it wasn't like he ever had to worry about grades. But—the fact that he cared (that he cared) meant a lot. "Thank you."

"Buuut, if you ever decide you do want to be an honor roll kid, call me up! I can give you some advice."

Warily, Mabel asked, "Study tips?"

"No way! What a waste of time!" Bill rolled his eyes. "But I can teach you how to cheat."

####

After Ford told Stan and Soos the news about the Dontium, he headed downstairs to fuel up his Quantum Destabilizer. It had been waiting on a worktable in his study for weeks, the corded power adaptor Fiddleford had made plugged in where it usually took fuel, its empty fuel tank laying nearby.

Fiddleford had said the adaptor he'd invented only gave the destabilizer enough power to act like a common laser—not enough to completely destroy matter and energy. It was insufficient for the job at hand. Ford unplugged the power adaptor, carefully coiled it up, and slid it into a storage pocket in the destabilizer's carrying case.

He picked up the fuel tank, retrieved the milk jug of NowUSeeitNowUDontium, and poured it into the tank, eyes never wavering from the jug until every drop had been poured inside and the tank re-sealed. He triple checked the destabilizer's safety before he plugged in the fuel tank. Then he put the destabilizer in the carrying case as well, and shut and latched it.

As he headed toward the door, Ford spied Flatworld laying on his desk—Dipper must have left it downstairs. He picked it up... and then sat down, studying the cover. It showed a square with arms and legs peering through a telescope.

How much did the book really matter? The kids must have cracked open something in Bill's psyche by reading this book, with how talkative he'd been today—Ford suspected he'd learned more about Bill's world in less than thirty seconds of staring at the crayon drawings in the living room than he had in all the years he'd known him. He itched again to start recording revelations in his journal.

Would Bill have been this forthright years ago, if Ford had remembered more about the book then and asked about it? Or was Bill only willing to share so much because the Pines already knew the truth about his cruel intentions and he had nothing more to hide? No, that couldn't be it—just a year ago, long after he'd revealed his plans, Bill had been willing to guardedly confess to Ford that he'd "liberated" his dimension, but nothing more. The only descriptor he'd given of it was "flat." He hadn't even shown Ford an accurate illustration of his home world.

Then was it because he'd died since then—a ghost desperate to share his life story before he dissipated completely? Or was it just because Mabel had asked?

If Bill had been honest when he'd said he wanted to be Ford's friend... then, Ford supposed, it was possible Bill was also sincere in caring for Mabel. No, Ford was sure that was sincere. How many times had he seen Bill lost in thought, staring at the friendship bracelet she'd given him?

Ford idly flipped through Flatworld, choosing a passage at random to read, wondering how much he'd remember.

SQUARE. Most illustrious Sir, I can observe plainly that you are a Circle, though I know not by what magical means you have found an ingress into my dreams. Would your Lordship deign to satisfy the curiosity of one who wishes to know the identity of his esteemed Visitor?

SPHERE. Your question is more difficult than you may realize. To begin with, I am not a Circle, but rather a Sphere, the definition of which I shall explain to you in due time; and you, my humble pupil, if you exercise the full extent of your intellectual and rhetorical capacity, I hope shall be the Square who changes Flatworld. 

SQUARE. Your Lordship both honors and confuses me. I shall strive to be worthy of your high estimation, but I am naught but a mere Quadrilateral and know not how I could contain the potential to achieve such a feat.

SPHERE. I see I have gotten ahead of myself. I shall explain the purpose of my visit. I hope to find in you—as being a man of sense and an accomplished mathematician—a fit prophet to receive the Gospel of Higher and Lower Dimensions, which I am allowed to preach to only one brilliant mind in a century. 

SQUARE. Pardon me, my Lord, if I am speaking blasphemously in my ignorance; but would not a messenger from beyond this Plain who delivers Gospels to Prophets be better described as an Angel?

SPHERE. You may refer to me as an "Angel" if you so wish, as my nature is not so different from the creature you call such. However, I have come not to offer a revelation of the truth of the Higher Dimensions, but to bless you with the inspiration to discover the truth for yourself. In this manner, I am less like unto an Angel than I am to a Muse—

Ford threw the book on the floor.

####

When Ford headed back upstairs, he resolved to tear down all Bill's crayon drawings and throw them away, lest he give into the temptation to waste the rest of Journal 5's pages meticulously cataloguing them.

But when he reached the living room, the walls were bare, with no sign the papers had ever been there aside from some stray crayon marks and a little extra damage to the wallpaper where the tape had peeled up, and a faint smell of smoke.

Ford followed the smell into the kitchen. There was a cast iron skillet on the dark stove, embers and the last few strands of smoke trailing up from it. Bill was sitting at the kitchen table in the dark, staring out into the night, nursing what looked like the second cider can of the night.

"What's all this?" Ford asked.

Without turning around, Bill said smugly, "I knew you'd be back to try to get those papers."

"Wh—? I was coming to throw them away."

"In the middle of the night?" Bill scoffed. "Please."

Ford frowned at the skillet. Well. Temptation removed, just like he'd wanted. Although a petty part of him was miffed that now Bill thought he'd been coming to rummage through his detritus for secrets about his home world, rather than seeing Ford confidently throw it in the trash. "How did you get the stove on?"

"Oh, is it on?" Bill asked innocently.

Ford double checked. It was not, and the knobs to operate it were still removed. But it radiated heat as though it had been; Bill hadn't just dropped the papers in the skillet and ignited them there. (Which would have been an entirely new concern.) Ford checked the cabinet where they kept the stove knobs—all still there. If he asked Bill how he'd achieved that, he'd probably just profess ignorance.

Fine, Ford had plenty of other questions he wanted to ask. "How long have you been able to levitate objects?"

"You mean like this?" Bill lifted his empty cider can, tapped it twice with his index finger, and left it suspended in midair.

"Yes, like that."

"I don't know what you're talking about. I can't do that," Bill said.

Ford sighed in frustration. "Was it the eclipse? You said you were—what was it, 'better at floating' than us? Did it... unlock something? Or have you always been able to do this?"

"This is what I used to like about you, Stanford. You're so curious. You come up with the most interesting connections between things. Sometimes connections I'd never thought of! And you keep—asking—questions. Even when nobody answers you." He finished his second can, used both hands to crush it, and left it floating in the air next to the first. "You used to be such a good student."

You used to be such a good teacher, he wanted to shoot back—but that was a lie. Bill had never been a good teacher, he'd just pretended to be one.

He'd been a good teacher to Mabel today.

Why isn't he always a good teacher? Why had he chosen to be a poor facsimile when he could have chosen to be the real deal? Why hadn't he been better? Why hadn't he been better? Why did they always seem to have these conversations in the middle of the night?

"Why are you..." Ford spread his hands helplessly, gesturing at all of Bill, everything he'd ever done—golden god of infinite wisdom, poisoned by lies and cruelty, trapped in a slowly rotting body. "Why are you like this."

Ford wasn't expecting Bill to get out of his seat and round on him so fast. He didn't even see the blow coming before Bill punched him.

Ford seized Bill's wrist and only barely caught himself before he broke it.

Bill didn't even acknowledge Ford's grip. "I'm so sick of you." His voice was hard as iron. "If you ever ask me that again, I'll burn down this shack with all of us inside."

Ford stared at Bill. He let go of his wrist.

Bill silently swept around Ford and out of the kitchen.

"I'm sorry."

Bill's footsteps fell silent. After a moment, he muttered, "Might've overreacted."

Something about the grudging not-apology hit Ford harder than a proper apology ever would have. He remained standing in the kitchen until long after Bill had gone upstairs.

The cans had fallen at some point during Bill's departure. Ford knelt to pick them up. Experimentally, he tapped one twice, and let it go.

It fell to the floor again.

It occurred to him that, depending on what happened tomorrow, those might have been the last words he'd ever say to Bill.

####

Bill shuffled to his sleep spot under the attic window, flopped unsteadily onto the cushions, pulled Journal 4 from its hiding spot, and carefully stuck the gold star Mabel had given him earlier that day to one of its pages.

And then he filled half a page with all the things he should have screamed at Ford.

####

Mabel came into the bedroom, shut the door—it had been patched earlier that day by Soos—and flopped face up on her bed. Staring at the ceiling, she said, "Dipper I know everything now."

Dipper was already under the covers, eyes shut. "About what?"

"Bill."

"What shape was his dad?"

Mabel paused. "I know almost everything about Bill."

"Pfff."

"But I do know his mom was some kind of supermodel or something! He says that's where he got his good looks. I don't know if he's actually good-looking by Flatworld standards, or if he just has really high self-esteem, but if his mom was a model I guess he could have inherited whatever Flatworlders think is good-looking—"

"How do you know he's not lying?"

"Why would he lie about that? I'll never meet his mom."

"To make his family sound cool?"

Uncertainly, Mabel said, "I guess." After a pause, she loud-whispered, "Did you read Flatworld?"

Dipper figured he wasn't getting to sleep any time soon. He pushed his covers down and sat up. "Yeah."

"It was really messed up, huh?"

Dipper thought about it. "I... guess it was, yeah." He hadn't thought about it much earlier—he'd been trying to wrap his head around the math and visualize the fourth dimension, and then his quick tour of the Nightmare Realm had pushed it from his mind completely; but... "The author's really obsessed with dead baby shapes, huh."

"You remember those old 70s cartoons with singing numbers we watched in class to try to teach us multiplication?" Mabel asked. "I was expecting it to be like that but for old timey people. Not about shapes getting executed for having short sides."

"Or squares getting locked in insane asylums for heresy if they tried to say the third dimension existed."

"Or major sexism against lines."

"Yeah, what was that about? Did they really think lines went around stabbing everyone to death just because they're pointy and they could?"

"I don't know, maybe lines really did do that. If I kept being told to shut up because my head was too skinny to hold a brain, I'd stab my husband too."

"I guess that makes sense." Light through the attic's triangular window illuminated the room a deep gray-blue; but as Dipper watched, the room darkened as a cloud covered the moon. It was probably going to rain tomorrow. "And... this is where Bill grew up?"

"Yeah," Mabel said quietly. "Some details are different from the book, he said so. Like he told me colors weren't illegal and peace-cries were just a dumb etiquette thing. But..."

"What about the executions? Or—or triangles being treated like servants by everyone else?"

"I don't know. He didn't want to answer questions like that. He talked about stuff like dance clubs and gardening in space, but he got super mad when I tried to ask about the serious stuff."

"Maybe he got his power as part of some... triangle uprising? And then he went crazy and decided to destroy everything?" Dipper was thinking, again, about the Axolotl's half-remembered prophecy. That maybe Bill was here to help them against some threat even worse than him.

"I can see why he destroyed his dimension," Mabel said.

Dipper winced, "Okay, but—sure, it was bad, but that doesn't mean his entire dimension deserved to die."

"No, of course not," Mabel said quickly. "But like I get it. If all that was going on."

"If it was. Just... how much is different from the book, and how much is true?"

"I don't know."

The room fell silent again.

"Welp," Mabel said brightly, "I've got the rest of summer to get the whole story out of him! Goodnight, Dipper!"

Dipper's stomach flipped with guilt. "Yeah." The rest of summer. Mabel left for Portland in the morning. "Goodnight."

He lay down, pulled his sheet back up, and stared at the ceiling.

Friday, 11:00 p.m.

####

(Next week's chapter is exactly what you think it is. But before we get there, I'm looking forward to hearing what y'all think about this week!)

[artycomicfangirl]

Series name: The Super Mario Bros. Super Show!

Episode Debut Date: 1989

Episode No: ??? (TV Special)

Episode Name: “Drive On, Miss Daisy!”

- Synopsis -

Upon the recommendation of their dear friend Toad, Mario, Luigi and Princess Toadstool decide to take up a vacation to the Kingdom of Sarasaland.

In the midst of exploring their luxurious Villa, The group make a surprising encounter with ruler of the land, The Daisy Princess. The Princess offers to show the group around her kingdom, who she holds great pride in.

All seems well, until an Alien commander from outer space decides to invade the land. He intends to take over Sarasaland and make it his home, and make The Daisy Princess his Queen.

The group becomes set on saving Sarasaland and protecting the Princess. However, The Alien announces their fate in a duel of Wild, High-Speed Race Car driving.

Will the Group be able to shift their minds into gear? Or would they swerve out of control?

——————————————————

Okay I’m kidding, obviously this is not real guys, pffft. Literally just pulled the entire info, plot and synopsis out of my butt with this one.

But sorry for the lateness on this one! Had a real busy week!

I initially also had a SMBSS ver Daisy character design sheet in the works which I was originally going to post along with this.

But that will be for later, as I just wanted to get this out already!

[goldsainz]

# RAFE CAMERON — IT'S OKAY, I'M OKAY !

MASTERLIST !

REQUEST !

001. SUMMARY !

✯ you move away after breaking up with rafe, but when you see him again, all the memories surface back up.

002. WARNINGS !

✯ talks about drugs (being high), toxic relationship, angst.

003. NOTE !

✯ not my best work, but i really wanna post more rafe stuff, besides high infidelity. so i hope you all like this, and don’t forget to like and comment/reblog 🫶 also back to back tate mcrae inspired fics????

word count : 1,5k

You hadn't been back to the Outer Banks in months. The last time you were here, everything felt different. You felt different. The sun on your skin, the salt in the air. But that was before. Before everything went to hell.

It had been months since you left. Months since you packed up your life,, no goodbyes, no explanations. You just... left. Left him behind. Rafe Cameron. Your high school sweetheart. The guy you swore you'd grow old with. The one who somehow turned into a complete stranger.

The breakup had been a mess—dragged on for weeks, filled with drunken arguments, silence that was more suffocating than anything. Rafe, the guy who used to make you feel like the most important person in the world, became this distant shell of himself. Lost in his own head, his own haze. He was high all the time, and his addiction turned him into someone you didn’t recognize. You tried. You tried to hold onto the love you thought was still there, but you couldn’t. It was too much. His unpredictability, the way he treated you—his behaviour hurt, and you couldn’t take it anymore.

So, you left. You packed your things, boarded a plane, and moved across the country. You thought that maybe distance would give you the space to heal, that time would make it easier. But no matter where you went, you couldn’t shake the part of you that was still back here, still stuck in the Outer Banks with him.

You hadn’t planned on coming back—not anytime soon anyway. But when you got the invite for the Midsummer party, something about it made you weak. Maybe it was the pull of the memories, the urge to close that chapter. You told yourself it was for closure. To see old friends, check in on your family, maybe get some peace of mind. You told yourself you could handle it. You told yourself you were okay.

But the second you stepped onto these familiar streets, everything shifted. The air felt the same, the ocean crashing in the distance sounded the same, the people—the ones you used to know—were still here. But something was off. Something was different. And it was him.

You didn’t expect to see him tonight. Not like this. Not with her.

You saw Rafe the second you walked into the bar, sitting at the corner with Sofia. His arm was wrapped around her waist, her laugh filling the air. It was a laugh you used to know, sweet and carefree. Now, it felt like a knife twisting in your chest. You’d always known Sofia had a thing for Rafe. Who didn’t? He was Rafe Cameron—the golden boy, the charming disaster everyone wanted a piece of. But seeing them together, seeing him with her, hit harder than you thought it would.

The memories flooded back, quicker than you could stop them. Late nights falling asleep in his arms on the beach, his head on your chest as he whispered how much he loved you. Days spent walking down the pier with his arm around you, everything feeling like it was supposed to be that way, forever.

And then the bad came rushing in—those nights when he'd come home late, smelling of smoke and alcohol, the arguments that always ended with him promising to change, to be better. But he never did. You remember the nights spent crying, wondering if you were enough, if he even cared about you anymore.

You try to shake it off, to stop the thoughts from overwhelming you. But they don’t stop. They never stop.

Before you can turn to leave, though, Rafe’s eyes catch yours from across the room. His gaze locks onto you like he’s seen a ghost, pulling you in, and for a moment, everything stops. The noise in the bar fades, and it’s just you and him. His expression shifts—confusion, surprise, and maybe something else, but it’s hard to tell. You don’t know how to read him anymore.

You should leave. You need to leave. But before you can make an escape, Sofia looks over too, following Rafe’s gaze. She smiles, polite but cold. It’s the kind of smile that says, I see you, but you're not a threat. You feel the sting of it.

And then you feel Rafe. He's standing behind you now, close enough that you can feel the heat of his body. You want to scream, to punch him in the face, to ask him why he couldn’t just be better. But instead, you swallow all the anger, all the frustration. You can’t stay here. You can’t. The past is too much, the memories are suffocating, and you can already feel your heart breaking again just by being near him.

I need to leave. I have to get out of here before I lose myself again.

It’s a lie. You don’t want to leave. You don’t need to leave. But you know that if you stay, something inside you might crack, something you won’t be able to piece together again. And you’re done with that.

Rafe steps in front of you before you can move, his body too close, blocking your path. His eyes soften, just for a second, but that old coldness creeps back in fast. He doesn’t speak at first, just stands there, like he’s trying to figure out how to fix everything that’s broken. But you know better now.

“Why are you leaving so soon?” His voice is softer than you expected, like he’s genuinely trying to pull you back, keep you here, keep whatever this is from slipping away.

You feel the weight of his words, but you won’t let them drag you down. You cross your arms over your chest, trying to keep your cool, but your heart’s racing. Every part of you wants to scream at him for all the shit he put you through. But you don’t.

“You don’t get to ask that,” you reply, your voice tight. “Not after everything.”

Rafe’s face shifts—confusion, regret, maybe even a flicker of guilt. But it’s gone before you can even process it. It doesn’t matter. Nothing matters anymore. You’ve lived without him for months now. It’s been hard, but better. It’s better.

His hand moves like he's going to touch you, like he's trying to reach you again. But the moment it gets too close, you flinch, pulling away. His hand hovers for a second, then drops, and you can feel the sting of that lost connection. But you don’t let him see it. You can’t.

“We were good together, YN,” he says quietly, his voice almost desperate. “We had something real.”

“No,” you snap, shaking your head. “You were high. You were always high, and you were toxic. I had to leave. You—you changed.”

His jaw clenches, but he doesn’t argue. He stands there, looking at you, like he’s trying to figure out the right thing to say, the right way to fix it. And you just stand there, feeling the weight of all the lost time, all the broken promises, and you know you can’t go back.

“I’m sorry,” he says, finally. His voice is low, the words sounding... real, maybe. “I’ve been trying to change. I’ve been... trying to fix things.”

But you’ve heard it all before. The promises, the apologies. They’re just words. And you’re not falling for them again.

“It’s okay. Be with her. She’s perfect for you.” you whisper, your voice shaking. You don’t want him to see how much it still hurts. You don’t want him to see the part of you that still cares.

Rafe’s face falls, like you slapped him. But you don’t care anymore. You’ve had enough. You turn to leave, but before you can, he grabs your wrist. His grip is tight, like he’s scared of losing you for good. You don’t fight him. You don’t even want to.

His touch burns like fire, but you take a deep breath and pull away.

“Don’t leave like this,” he pleads, his voice raw.

You look at him—really look at him—and you feel everything you’ve lost. The love, the hurt, the broken promises. And then, with all the strength you can muster, you say the words that are finally going to set you free.

“You don’t get to make me stay, Rafe.”You rip your wrist from his grip and walk away, not looking back. Not even when you hear him call your name. Not even when you hear the pain in his voice. Because no matter how much it hurts, no matter how many times you tell yourself you’re okay, you know one thing for sure—it will never be okay.