#singing pogue reader

[erwinsvow]

there’s an outdoor shower at the chateau—a tiny thing, really, just three planks of wood and the wall of john b’s home where the showerhead is attached. the water pressure depends on the day, depends on if anyone is using the bathroom inside the house or if jj accidentally left the faucet in the kitchen running. 

there’s a rusty hook where clothes can be hung if the other shower was occupied, and the towel is always thrown just over the door opposite the water so it doesn’t get too wet.

you are well accustomed to this shower. you know exactly how to hang your towel to avoid the waterfall, where to avoid stepping because the rocks get slippery. sometimes the door opens up by itself, the result of old hinges and worn out screws, but you don’t pay it much mind, because after all, it’s nothing the boys haven’t seen before.

you’d consider yourself still decent, even showering like this. your bikini was filled with grains of sand, the result of being pushed around at the beach by jj and pope for the last hour. there’s a huge sandy hand print on your shoulder from where john b had helped you up, and you let the water wash it away with a smile. 

you’re sandy everywhere, but that’ll have to wait until you’re back home. you wash your hair with the cheap shampoo sitting on the ground, the three-in-one you and kiara beg the boys to dispose of. 

but at the very least you feel clean, rinsing the suds from your scalp and watching them run down your body and then onto the ground, draining into the grass. you’ve been spending too much time with kie—your first thought is that you hope this stuff doesn’t leach chemicals into the soil.

lost in the warmth since you’re the first to shower and the boys haven’t used up all the hot water yet, you close your eyes and forget the door’s opened by itself. you think it doesn’t matter since everyone’s at pope’s already. you were the only one who insisted on showering before joining them, promising you’ll bike over after ten minutes, though pope reassures the others it’ll be at least twenty-five.

there’s a voice coming from the backyard, rafe thinks, stalking further and further into the shoddy little house. the land wasn’t terrible, right on the lake, but the place was anything but well kept, a mess of missing shingles and splintered wood. he stops thinking about the house as soon as the voice becomes clearer, the further he steps into the back. he was here to convey a message to the pogues that call this place home, but no one that he wanted to find was around.

stepping in mud and grass, he walks to the backyard, a pretty voice filling the humid air. you’re singing something he doesn’t know, something that sounds vaguely familiar. maybe something ward used to play on the record player in the study, back when rafe used to spend time with him.

you, whoever you are, sound nice, even muffled by the sound of the running water. when rafe gets closer, he sees there’s no door blocking his view to a pretty girl washing her hair and singing softly. you’re in nothing but a yellow bikini, showing him all too much but at the same time not entirely enough.

he’s not sure how long he stood there. it must have been some time, because when you twist the shower knob and stop the water, turning to grab your towel, you see rafe and curse loudly, shoulders raising in fear by themselves. 

you stand like that for a moment before realizing rafe is staring, probably because you’re in a tiny, wet bikini. you yank the towel and cover yourself.

“can i help you?” you demand, the sweet voice all gone. even if you didn’t recognize rafe, the clothes he wore and his expensive shoes covered in the dirt of the chateau’s grounds were a dead giveaway. 

“yeah. m’lookin’ for the idiots that live here. seen them around?”

“no. goodbye.” he laughs at that. eyes raking over your body again. you’re covered now but still feel exposed, like he can see through your towel.

“funny, kid. when you see ‘em give them a message from me, will ya?” 

“leave a voicemail like a normal person. i’m not your messen-”

“yeah, yeah. tell your boys we know what they did.” you stare back at him, confused by what he means but angry at the intrusion and the way he talks to you, the way he looks at you. “sure. whatever that means. are you all done being a stalker now?” he laughs again.

“we’ll see. bye kid.”

[rafesangelita]

pogue!sweetheart!reader surprising rafe with a birthday cake and he’s just like “????? for me????” bc no one has ever celebrated his birthday or made it special for him 🥺

“don’t look!” you laughed, currently struggling to keep your hands over rafe’s eyes as you two stepped into your camper. “mm, it smells good in here.” he hummed. you were practically buzzing with excitement, your smile reaching your ears as you slowly pulled away from him. “okay..” you started, “i know you said you didn’t want to celebrate today, but i couldn’t help myself,” you pecked his cheek, “you could open.”

rafe should’ve known you would go all out for him, his lips pursing together as he took in the sight of his own personal cake and gift basket on the counter. your smile faltered at the look on his face. “is everything okay? do you not like it?” rafe blinked, swallowing thickly as he glanced over at you. “you did this for me?” the disbelief in his voice pulled at your heart strings.

“of course.” you nodded. he walked up to the counter, getting a closer look at the cake. you knew how much he loved the your buttercream frosting, so of course you had to include it just for him. ‘HAPPY BIRTHDAY R♡FE’ was also written on top in baby blue lettering. “this is.. wow.” he let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. the room fell silent, your heart pounding out of your chest as you waited for rafe to say something else.

as if sensing your uncertainty, rafe finally looked up at you, the worried look on your face making him feel terrible. “i’m so sorry, babe, it’s just- i’ve never had this before.” he pulled you into a hug, pressing a kiss into the crown of your head. “i love it so much, i promise,” his large hands rubbed down your back, “no one has ever done anything like this for me.” he laughed softly. “no one has ever surprised you for your birthday?!” you exclaimed, looking up at him. “never. my birthday is just another regular day.” you gasped, not believing the words coming out of his mouth.

“no, it’s not!” you pulled away, picking up the cake. if someone told rafe that on this day last year, he would have the prettiest little thing holding up a cake she made just for him, telling him that his birthday is special, he wouldn’t believe them. “i don’t think i could accept this-” you were quick to cut him off, “i swear i’ll cry if you dont eat it.” rafe wanted to believe your threat was a joke, but he didn’t dare chance it. “okay, okay..” he surrendered, finally letting this whole thing be okay with him.

“well..” you gazed up at him, “what do you think?” rafe met your eyes, seeing nothing but pure love and adoration staring back at him. “i think that i need to marry you.” you smiled as rafe took a finger full of icing and popped the digit in his mouth. “fuck, that’s amazing.” he took the cake out of your hands, placing it back on the counter before grabbing two forks. “don’t dig into it yet, i still have to sing you happy birthday.” rafe put the fork down, now pacing around excitedly as you motioned towards the gift basket.

“open it.” you couldn’t help the huge smile from adorning your face as rafe took each item out one by one. cologne, a few new shirts, his favorite snacks, a homemade birthday card, and..

“are these your panties?”

[princessbrunette]

ᡣ𐭩 ｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅PRINCESSBRUNETTES SCREAM SALON INTRODUCES … ໒꒰ྀི ˃̵ ࿁ ˂̵ ꒱ྀིა

PICTURE YOU ࣪𓏲ּ ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִֶ 𓂃

♩chappell roan — picture you ♩

pairing: pervy pope, jj, john b x reader

cw: sexual fantasies, the pogues being peeping toms, masturbation.

you are responsible for your own media consumption. welcome to kinktober day five. better late than never!

pope knew was he was doing was wrong. you were his neighbour for christs sake.

at the end of the day, he was but a man— and whilst he had no intention of stooping to full pervert level like this, he had slipped up and bragged to the wrong people, AKA — jj maybank, about how his fine ass neighbour had a certain… routine, every friday night… and would leave her bedroom blinds open for it.

the regret fully kicked in when he opened his front door, seeing the excited expression on his two best friends faces.

“no. i shouldn’t have told you.” is how pope greets them.

“dude it’s fine,” jj reiterates, easily moving past him in the entrance to his house with a clap on the shoulder, an only slightly less enthused john b following closely behind with an awkward but willing smile. “we’re not gonna watch. we’re just gonna… like — happen to glance out the window. while she’s flickin’ the bean.”

“thats — that doesn’t make it any more okay.” pope stresses, following his friends up to his bedroom.

“look, she leaves her blinds open right? isn’t that what you said? have you maybe considered that… possibly, and hear me out on this… she wants to be watched?” john b, usually the voice of reason finds it in himself to convince pope just that little more, wide puppy-like eyes doing most of the convincing. he’s probably the only reason pope hasn’t grabbed them both by the scruff of the neck and hauled them out.

the night goes on, and honestly — the perverted plan is nearly forgotten about until their attention is brought to the window just across from popes, the lamp switching on as you arrived home from work. john b swivels on popes desk chair, nodding his head toward the sight with a whistle.

“oop, shows starting.”

“honey, i’m home.” jj sings out in a high pitched voice, excited for what’s to come.

“you’re so much better than this, john b.” pope deadpans, double taking at jj as he switches off the lights to the bedroom sending them all into darkness. “what the hell?”

“do you wanna get caught creepin’ on your neighbour? no? didn’t think so.”

“you done this before jayj?” there’s a lilt of teasing to the brunettes voice as his blonde counterpart grabs a seat and drags it up beside him, the young adults gathered as they watch your figure dart around the room going about your nightly activities.

“shh.”

the boys curse, ducking down slightly when you suddenly appear at your window, fingers grazing the blinds. they stay deadly still in the dark, barely even breathing as to not draw attention to the fact they’re gathered round to watch you. you look pensive, hesitant, like you’re about to draw the blinds and shut the world out and yet… you don’t. you back away, leaving them open.

“huh.” pope breathes, glancing at his wavy haired friend.

“likes an audience. interesting.” routledge hums, voice deep and breathy.

you begin to undress, and they swear the air in the room gets thicker. peeling your leggings down your legs like they’d been painted onto you for the day creates an audible reaction from your neighbour and his friends, jj even going as far as to stick his knuckle in his mouth.

“god damn.” he garbles, earning a hum of agreement.

“oh you really lucked out here pope. the only neighbour i ever had was a 70 year old woman. trust me when she left her blinds open you look the other way.” john b doesn’t remove his eyes from the scene as he recounts the anecdote, causing pope to screw up his face.

the truth was, pope did have his own fantasies and perversions. he told himself time and time again, he wasn’t watching. he was at his desk first, you left your blinds open. visions of you at the library you worked at, helping him with research in that little mini skirt he saw you wear once. bending over to rummage shelves, sweet fat crescent of your pussy on display through your panties. pope would have no choice but to take you right there on the table behind the bookshelves, the two of you trying to stay quiet as he disappears between your thighs, seeking out that sweet nectar…

when he snaps out of it, you’re already on the bed, in perfect eyeshot of the window. just you, that dim lamp that made your skin seem to glow, an oversized tshirt and some panties.

“you guys don’t feel wrong doing this?” pope speaks in a hushed voice like you might be able to hear.

“how could something so right be so wrong, my friend?” jj pulls out a joint to stick into his mouth, only to have it plucked from his lips and tossed aside by the heyward boy.

“i’m drawing a line.”

“alright, that’s fair.”

“you guys are missing it.” john b hums, entranced by the way you palm at your tits through the top, eyes fluttering shut as your body starts to relax into the bed. “putting on a show for us.”

silence falls upon them finally as they stare, your hands trailing down to lift the hem of your shirt up and over your breasts, massaging the fat and plucking at the nipples.

“oh wow.” pope breathes, jj breaking out into a grin.

“this is some american pie shit right here.”

“grow up.”

“i’m just saying.”

it seems like forever before your hands reach down to your panties, fingers gingerly dusting over the thin fabric of what appears to be baby blue panties with a pink bow at the top centre. jj even swears he can see the gloss of your arousal on your open thighs from where he’s sat. you begin to rub yourself through the material, teasingly and you pull your bottom lip beneath your teeth, sucking in a breath.

“th’atta girl.” john b murmurs, and the air in the room suddenly feels too hot, too stifling. it wasn’t this hot five minutes ago.

“its like i… can’t look away.” pope justifies in just above a whisper, finally perching down to a more comfortable view, watching the way your head tosses side to side, back arching just that little bit as you try and find a better angle. patience leaves you, and you’re pulling the panties off all together.

“would you look at that.” jj marvels, before glancing at his two friends. “y’all mind if i jerk off real quick?”

“what?” pope screws up his face, and john b glances at him.

“yeah, uh. i mind.”

“it can’t wait?” pope adds, shaking his head and jj throws up his hands.

“i thought that’s what we were doing’ here alright my bad!” he dodges john b’s disapproving swat, eyes wide. “oh that’s where you draw the line? y’all are not real freaks.”

“no.” john b shakes his head, pope chiming in with a “thank god.”

but as their attention lands on you once more, your fingers sinking into that glossy hole — they begin to really reconsider their choice.

[lovlidollie]

hate sex with rafe and enemy!pogue!reader, except it’s just her sitting on his face and him glaring daggers at her. he couldn’t stop, he couldn’t resist her infuriating face and sweet body (he wasn’t even sure if he wanted to anymore). he was addicted to her taste, to her warmth, to the way she couldn’t help but seek him out. she knew she shouldn’t. she knew she shouldn’t keep excusing herself from her friends, claiming she was tired only to go and find herself riding rafe’s tongue.

there’s no regard for either party during their sessions. rafe doesn’t care if she’s crying from overstimulation, jerking and bucking against his mouth. he’s only there for some good fucking pussy, he’ll stop when he’s satisfied (he doesn’t want to admit that its her pretty moans and gasps that keep him going). and she doesn’t care if he can’t breath. she’ll smother him with her wet cunt, thighs bracketing his head as she ignores the sharpness of rafe’s nails digging into her soft skin.

she can barely walk afterwards, legs all trembly and body bruised from his groping. she doesn’t reciprocate, doesn’t take his aching cock down her throat no matter how much her mouth sings for it, because she knows that was a line she could not cross. she’d be beyond saving.

[itneverendshere]

trying to behave, but i'm feelin' some type of way - r.c drabble.

request: rafe x bitchy!pogue reader pleaseeeee!!!! he just hates that he wants her soo fucking bad and she finds it hilarioussss warnings: it gets steamy but no smut!; slutshaming; mean!rafe.

you’re out of place here, which is exactly why you’re here, tannyhill.

fuck them. fuck him.

every high-strung kook princess with their perfectly manicured nails gives you a quick once-over, nostrils flaring when they catch the sight of your scuffed-up boots. not that you care. it’s not like you’re trying to impress anyone.

and why should you? you’re only here for the free booze, it’s not your fault this place is such a bore. always all pearls, pastels, and the scent of white wine and privilege. who the fuck drank white whine at a party? but the real reason you’re here, the whole damn reason, is staring straight at you from across the room.

rafe cameron. ugh and yum.

he’s leaning against the bar, muscles taut under that fitted navy polo like he was born to flex, with a scowl as always. it’s always that look—the one that’s aimed solely at you, every time he sees you. it’s practically a tradition by now. you show up somewhere, he glares.

there’s a tightness in his shoulders, something tells you he’s going to snap eventually, maybe it’s because you’ve been pushing buttons lately. maybe it’s because he’s got his daddy’s expectations hanging over his head like a guillotine.

or maybe it’s just because he wants you, and that little inconvenient truth pisses him off to no end.

you flash him a slow, lazy grin, shifting your hips as you grab a beer from the cooler. when you catch the way his eyes drag over you, lingering on your exposed skin, your stomach hums with satisfaction.

let him look. let him stew in it.

“country club,” you call sweetly, raising your bottle in a mock toast, the light catching on the condensation like it’s winking at him. “how’s it going?”

his jaw ticks, his lips pressing into a thin, flat line. “you shouldn’t be here.”

“and yet, here i am,” you sing-song back, taking a slow, pointed sip. you’re feeling reckless tonight. he’s dangerous, sure. but he’s also predictable. you know exactly how to make it worse.  “aww, what’s wrong?”

you know exactly this’ll go. he’ll insult you, you’ll insult him back, and then—

his eyes narrow dangerously, that vein in his temple ticking. “what the fuck are you wearing?”

you blink innocently, glancing down at yourself. “clothes, obviously. why? does it bother you?”

“yeah,” he snaps, eyes raking over you again, lingering on the swell of your chest, the sliver of skin peeking out above your waistband. “aren’t you tired of slutting yourself around?”

your lips curl into a smirk, the slow burn of satisfaction warming your chest. this is exactly what you were hoping for.

“slutting myself around?” you echo, voice teasing. “didn’t know you were keeping tabs.” you cock your head, letting your gaze linger on his flushed cheeks, the way his nostrils flare, and that slight clench of his fists by his side.

he’s seething—looks ready to burst into flames right here in front of the bar. good.

he’s always been like this with you. short fuse, especially when it comes to what you’re wearing, how you look, where you go. but you’re onto him. you know what it’s really about.

“you must really be obsessed with me,” you continue, “it’s kinda weird, don’t you think?” you take another sip, slow and deliberate, licking your lips as you meet his glare. he steps closer, crowding into your space, his chest brushing against your shoulder. you should back up, or at least pretend to care, but you just tilt your head, looking up at him with a smug little grin. “what’s wrong?” you murmur, “feeling a little tense?

“fuck off,” he grits out, stepping back like he’s burned. but it’s too late. you’ve got him now.

you cock your head, giving him a slow, taunting smile. “why? afraid you’ll get hard in front of your little friends?”

his eyes darken, jaw clenched so hard you wonder if it hurts. “i swear to god—”

“what?” you interrupt, teeth flashing. “you gonna hit me? break another one of your daddy’s toys?” you wave your hand around the pristine room, the glittering chandelier, the polished bar. “go on, then. show everyone what a psycho you are.”

“you think i won’t?” 

“yeah, i think you won’t,” you say softly, staring right into those burning blue eyes of his. “because you’re all bark and no bite.”

“you wanna see bite?” he murmurs, voice dripping venom. “i’ll show you fucking bite.”

then his hand snaps out, wrapping around your upper arm, and before you can react, he’s yanking you out of the room, down a hallway that’s all shadowed corners. you stumble, cursing under your breath, but he doesn’t stop until you’re both crashing through a side door into some empty back corridor.

“jesus, cameron, take a fucking xanax—” you start, wrenching your arm free.

for a second, you think you’ve gone too far. his whole body goes still, and something flares in his gaze—something unhinged and a little bit terrifying. but instead of snapping, instead of throwing a punch, he leans in, so close you can feel the heat of him against your skin.

you’re shoved against the wall, hard, his body caging yours in, his hands braced on either side of your head. you freeze, breath hitching. he’s close—too close—and it’s too hot and too much and—

“shut up,” he growls.

you should tell him to fuck off. you should knee him in the balls. you should do anything but feel the way you do right now—flushed, breathless, and…too horny for your own good. 

“do you always have to be so fucking dramatic?” you huff, placing your hand in chest in a futile attempt to push him away. you know he can break you in half if he wants to. 

he doesn’t move of course, just stares at you, chest heaving like he’s just run a marathon. he’s got that crazed look in his eyes that should make you run for the hills, and yet you stay put.

and then, suddenly, his mouth is on yours, demanding and angry.

it’s not a kiss—it’s a punishment. his teeth nip at your bottom lip, his tongue sliding against yours with a harshness that steals your breath. you gasp, your hands coming up to shove him away again, but somehow they get tangled in his hair instead, gripping the soft strands as he presses closer, closer— it’s a disaster. you’re a disaster. because you don’t pull away. 

you kiss him back like an idiot, just as desperate, your nails digging into his scalp as you pour all your frustration into the kiss. why does he have to be this hot? in your books, kooks aren't allowed to be hotter than a 5. unfortunately, rafe is a solid eleven.

he tastes like mint and rage, and it shouldn’t feel this good, but it does. god, it does. he breaks away, panting, glaring down at you like you’re dirt under his shoes. “you drive me fucking insane, y’ know that?”

“good,” you gasp, licking your lips. “you deserve it.”

he laughs, a low, harsh sound. “you’re such a fucking bitch.”

“and you’re a spoiled, narcissistic asshole,” you snap back, shoving at his chest. he doesn’t even flinch, just glares harder, and it sends a thrill through your entire body. you’d never seen him like this, so unguarded and it was weirdly intoxicating. 

“i should ruin you,” he murmurs, almost like he’s talking to himself. his hand comes up, fingers brushing your jaw, trailing down your throat. “make you beg.”

you keep your expression defiant. “you think you can?”

rafe smirks, slow and dangerous, and it makes something burst in your belly. “i know i can.”

his hand slides lower, fingertips brushing the hem of your top, and your breath catches. you should stop this again. you should slap him, kick him, do anything but let him keep touching you like that, but you don’t. you just stare up at him, heart racing.

“show me then.”

and then his hands are on you, yanking you forward, spinning you around. you gasp, palms slapping against the wall as he presses up behind you, his body solid against yours.

“you’re a fucking brat,” he growls, his mouth right against your ear. one of his hands comes up, fingers tangling in your hair, pulling just enough to make your back arch.

“and you’re obsessed with me,” you shoot back breathlessly, tilting your head to meet his gaze over your shoulder.

rafe’s grip tightens in your hair, hard enough to sting, and his lips brush your earlobe, “obsessed?” he repeats, like he can’t believe you had the fucking audacity to say it. “don’t flatter yourself, baby.”

but you feel the way his body presses against yours. your panties might be drenched but this man is just as hard. he’s close to you—so fucking close—you feel every ridge of him, and despite every insult he’s ever thrown your way, despite how much he claims to hate you, he’s here. the way he’s breathing tells you exactly what you need to know. 

you twist against him, pushing back just enough to test his restraint. “then why are you so worked up, huh?”

“i think you’re confusing us.”

“sure,” you laugh, even as his hands move down your sides, his fingernails digging into your hips. “that’s why you dragged me out here, right? because you’re just so indifferent?”

his chest brushes against your back with every ragged breath. he’s losing it. you’re making him lose it. and fuck, that feels good.

“i could ruin you,” he whispers again, like he’s trying to convince himself. his hand skim up your ribs, thumb grazing the underside of your tit, and your senses kicks into overdrive. “one word from me, and you’re done.”

“you’re all talk cameron,” you challenge, arching your back slightly, giving him more room to touch you.

you shouldn’t want this—you shouldn’t need this—but you can’t stop. 

his mouth is on your neck, hot and open, teeth scraping against your skin in a way that sends a shudder from your head to your toes.

“fuck you,” he growls against your throat, the words almost lost in the heat of his mouth. “i’m not playin’ your games.”

you bite back a moan, fingers curling against the cold wall. “you’re already playing.”

“you’re so fucking—” he cuts himself off, breathing harshly through his nose. “fuck, i hate you.”

“no, you don’t,” you turn your head just enough to catch his eye. his gaze is wild, and you smirk, taunting him with your lips just inches from his. “you wish you did.”

you know you’re pushing your luck, but then again, when haven’t you?

“you have no fucking clue what i wish,” he growls, each word dripping with so much frustration it makes you laugh.

it comes out like a soft, mocking sound. “ooh, i think i do. you wish i’d shut up. wish i’d disappear. but you really wish you didn’t get hard every time ’m around.”

his jaw ticks, that telltale sign that you’re getting to him. god, he hates you. you can see it in his clenched teeth, his furrowed brows. he hates that he wants a pogue and you find it hilarious.

“don’t flatter yourself pogue,” he snaps, but his voice is strained. his hands tighten on your hips, fingers biting into your skin just shy of painful.

you push back against him just a little harder again, feeling the rigid line of his cock pressed against your ass.

“yeah?” your voice turns breathy. “then why do i feel that?” you grind your hips subtly, just to punctuate the point, and the low sound that rumbles out of him is almost worth the risk of provoking him further.

“because you’re a fucking tease,” he mutters, voice harsh and low in your ear. “you show up, looking like you want it—”

“and so what if i do?”

it’s a dare. he’s holding you, like he can’t decide if he wants to strangle you or fuck you senseless, perhaps both. you know you’ve crossed some invisible line.

“you’re gonna regret this,” he murmurs.

“maybe,” you shoot back, unflinching. “but that’s the thing, rafe.” you twist, just enough to look at him over your shoulder, “i think you’re more scared of what you might regret.”

instead of shoving you away, instead of storming off, he does the one thing you didn’t expect. he laughs.

it’s that crazy sound he makes before he does something reckless every time, the kind that makes people run away. it’s such a humorless sound, it should scare the living shit out of you as he leans in, lips brushing against your neck. “don’t say i didn’t warn you.”

before you can answer, one hand slides up to cup your jaw, tilting your head back so you’re forced to meet his eyes. they’re wild, almost feral, just like you expected.

“tell me to stop,” he whispers, his thumb brushing your lower lip, the touch so gentle it’s almost jarring. “go on, say it.”

you swallow hard, pulse hammering in your throat. you should say it. but you don’t want to.

“make me.” you know he hears you—feels you—because the corner of his mouth lifts in a slow, taunting smirk.

“yeah?” he drawls, thumb slipping from your lip to trace along your jawline, his touch featherlight and maddening. “you sure?”

“prove me wrong. or are you scared?”

“you think ’m fucking scared of you? think i can’t handle a little mouthy brat like you?”

he’s goading you, pushing you like he always does, and every word you had prepared dies on your lips 

“i’d loooove to see you try.”

“oh, you will.”

[featherandferns]

god's test (fic)

jj maybank x fem!reader | inspired by this song amongst others

content warning: abusive parents; allusions to s3xual abuse; drug use/misuse; sexual content (female and male receiving; p in v); unhealthy relationships; brief mentions/discussions of fertility | Some heavy themes in this so please feel free to message if you're unsure.

word count: 18k.

blurb: what if the Pogues never found El Dorado? Life in survival mode at the age of twenty-two sure had lost its shine. In that tarnish, JJ wonders if your relationship has too.

“To have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, til' death do us part.”

JJ sits crossed legged on the floor of his living room. To his right is a half empty can of Coke and to his left is the plastic case for the VHS tape which is currently whirring in the player, displayed on the TV through grainy, wibbly lines. His bright blonde hair sticks every which way. The Goodwill sourced t-shirt is too big on his frame but his dad insisted he’d grow into it, and to stop his moaning and bitching. Be grateful, was his last warning. The shorts on his skinny legs seem to be getting smaller everyday, perhaps because JJ only seems to get taller. That slight discomfort is a lost thought right now. Instead, JJ is glued to the wedding video on the screen. Glued to the image of his mother, smiling up at his father, the two of them unaged and undamaged. The two of them are in love. 

“I do,” JJ’s dad, Luke, says in an almost unrecognisable tone. Then, he leans forward at the officiant’s approval and kisses JJ’s mother. JJ misses her deeply. His heart squeezes at the sight of her smile, turning to the camera with a beam. He finds his own lips twitching up too as if her happiness is contagious. Then the tape cuts suddenly to the reception. It seems a small affair with only a handful of friends and family. JJ can place his uncle and aunt, who cradles his cousin Ricky in her arms, and a few more of his dad’s crowd of so-called friends. His mother can be seen in the background talking to her parents - JJ’s grandparents. They’d made themselves scarce after she walked out on JJ and his dad. Never once did JJ think he’d lose not only his mother but his grandparents too. Loneliness likes company, it seems. 

Another sudden cut and it’s his parents dancing. Their first dance. The dark lighting of the hall messes with the low-quality cam-corder's exposure. They’re painted in rays of shadows and glow almost ethereal-like as they sway to the music. Luke whispers something in his new wife’s ear and she giggles, soundless as the crooning voice of Rod Stewart sings their wedding song: ‘Have I Told You Lately’. JJ grins. He decides then and there, at the big age of eight, that that’s what he wants. That sort of happiness. As if blinded by the cinema of it all, he forgets the reality. The mess that surrounds him in the neglected house; the absence of his mother and the recklessness of his father; the strange definition of love that’s been tied to the Maybank name. 

So distracted by the tape, JJ doesn’t hear his dad rouse in the other room. He doesn’t hear the sound of the creaking door or the aching floorboards, and when he finally catches sight of Luke staggering down the hallway, it’s too late. His dad has caught sound of the song and it’s as if he’s intoxicated again, only now with rage. He glares at JJ and makes a b-line to the television screen, coming face to face with his hidden wedding tape. He had no idea JJ had found it and stashed it for his own safe keeping. 

“What the damn hell do you think you’re doing?” he barks, turning to JJ. He grabs him by the shoulder with one hand and hoists him onto his feet. JJ’s tiny body floods with terror. His feet go numb and cold and his face burning hot. “What the hell do you think you’re doing, huh boy!?” 

JJ flinches at his father’s tone. His lip quivers. “I…I only wanted–”

“You only wanted to what, huh? Stealing things like the no-good son-of-a-bitch you are, eh?” Luke hollers, spit flying from his mouth and onto JJ’s rosy skin. 

“I just wanted to see mama,” JJ blubbers. 

“You ain’t ever seein’ her again, you hear me?” Luke shouts. He tosses JJ back onto the floor. He lands on his backside with a smack, flinching at the feeling, and looks up to see his dad aggressively messing with the player. A new wave of panic comes over JJ as he jumps to his feet, darting forward for the tape before his dad can snap it in two. To JJ, it isn’t just a stupid VHS. It’s his mother. 

“No! Gimme it!” JJ screeches, scratching and clawing at his father’s arms as he attempts to wrestle the tape from his hold. His small hand latches around it moments before Luke’s own smacks him clean across the cheek. The force sends him flying onto his side, reuniting with the floor. Sobbing, JJ clutches the tape close to his chest. His dad yells abuse at JJ, tumbling cuss words in casually amongst his berates. Keeping the tape close and safe to his stomach, JJ manages to his feet and faces up to his father. An anger that he’s never known before takes control. “I hate you!” 

Before his dad can lunge for him again, JJ darts for the front door. He almost trips down the stairs in his hurry. The sound of his dad’s footsteps behind him sound like a giant’s, pounding against the floorboards. He chokes on his sobs as he sprints away from the house. I’m never coming back, he thinks to himself. That’ll show him. He doesn’t dare check to see if his dad is following. Not until he’s well away from the house, almost completely shot of breath, panting and heaving, no tears left to cry. Finally, he stops. He looks down at the tape with shaking hands to find it safe and intact. Luke and Marie’s Wedding Tape, it says in black sharpie across the front. He hugs it against him as if hugging his mother.

The moment of tranquillity is broken by a loud whoop and holler. His head flashes to the side to find a girl climbing on the old pier. It’s nearly completely decayed, broken down by a hurricane a few years back. Now it’s just pillars of wood, splintering and misaligned.

Some adult on the new pier is yelling at you. “I’ll tell your father, missy! You listenin’? You get down from there now!” Beside them are some friends, blissfully ignoring the warnings, cheering you on. You turn to them and JJ catches sight of your smile. It reminds him of his mother’s and a warm feeling sparks somewhere in his chest, as if lighting a match in a damp cave. The sun twinkles above your head and that’s when JJ notices the streak of hot pink in your hair. Woah - Cool. And then you’re falling - hurling yourself into the air and flying down into the water - out of sight. He takes a step forward, as if to do something, and waits anxiously with the others for you to re-emerge. You break to the surface with a cackle. Your friends erupt in cheers and you giggle, splashing water as if aiming for them despite being metres down below the pier. And then you look straight at JJ. It's just for a second, only a second, but a second was enough. Eight-year-old JJ Maybank was in love.

6 Years Later

Confidence is a powerful armour. It makes you almost untouchable. Nobody messes with the mouthy kid. The kid who gets in fights; the kid who makes the room laugh. JJ knew what it was like to be on the bottom of the food chain and he was never going to willingly put himself there. At school, he made himself a staple. A delinquent, known for his short fuse and reckless choices. It kept the bully’s off his scent and gave him a good outlet for the repressed anger and hatred he held towards his father. Though, the older he got (now fourteen), the more JJ fought back. His dad could no longer throw him to the ground as easily. Not now that JJ had taken up working out and picking fights in the school yard. Luke wasn’t the only one who knew how to throw a right-hook now. And the most important lesson JJ had learnt? Never let them see you cry. 

The downsides? Cut lips, lingering bruises, and detention. So much detention. 

“Nice of you to join us, Maybank,” the teacher mutters, not bothering to look up from his newspaper as JJ loiters into the classroom after school on Thursday. 

“Happy to be back, sir,” JJ casually returns. He scribbles his name down on the sign up sheet, confirming his attendance, then scans the room.

There’s the regulars: Tommy Peach, who’s always doing time for selling whatever pills he can get his hands on in the parking lot; Ashley, who has a habit of smoking in the girl’s bathrooms; Colin, who got spotted with a gun in his backpack just the other day, supposedly just to ‘show it off’; and Pearl, who skipped three classes in one day (her record being four and a half). He catches her eye and winks - they’d made out behind the bike shed last week. You can spot the one-time offenders easily. They’re usually hanging their head at the very back, biting back tears, full of shame for letting down mommy and daddy. JJ had a certain distaste for them. He supposed it was because he knew his father could give less of a crap if JJ wound up in detention. If anything, JJ preferred it. Less time for him to be in his house and less risk of getting a beating for some slip-up. This time, the new offender is Patty Grayson - a goody-two-shoes smarty pants who had forgotten her homework. JJ’s surprised they didn’t let it slide given her track record. Finally, his eyes land on another new timer. 

You’re not hanging your head as if praying for forgiveness, nor are you sobbing your apologies into the abyss. No: you look rather comfortable and - if anything - bored, as you lounge in your seat. A bottle of silver nail polish sits on the desk as you paint your nails. As if feeling his stare, you glance up and meet his gaze. You frown. Right, yeah, I’m being weird. JJ decides to take a seat next to you. He watches you in his peripheral vision for a while as you paint and paint. At one point, the teacher heads to the staff kitchen for dinner, giving a half-arsed warning about sneaking out. Pearl is happy to skip detention, probably addicted to the thrill, but everyone else stays sat. Suddenly, you look at JJ. 

“Can I help you?”

“Huh?”

“You keep looking at me,” you say, irritated. 

“I do?”

“Uh huh.”

“Well, y’know…” You quirk a brow, waiting for his reply, and JJ scrambles for one. “Your hair.”

You frown. “What?”

“Your hair,” JJ uselessly repeats. 

“What about it?”

“It’s purple.”

“Yeah. I dye it. It’s not my natural colour, idiot,” you reply. 

“It looks nice,” JJ tells you. You’re visibly taken back, blinking at him for a second. 

“Oh,” you mumble, lifting a hand to pet it, “thanks.”

“You ain’t ever been to detention before, right?” JJ checks, finding it easier to converse now that you’ve calmed down. 

You laugh. It sounds just the same as when you were little, from the first time JJ saw you, but only deeper. More mature. “Cause I’m good at not gettin’ caught, unlike you.”

“Oh, you been keepin’ tabs on me or somethin’?” JJ grins. 

“You hold the record for the most detentions, Maybank. Sorta puts you on the map," you say with a roll of your eyes. 

Holy shit, she knows my name. 

“Maybe you’ll have to teach me your ways some time,” JJ smoothly quips. 

Shaking your head, you turn your focus back to painting your nails. “I work alone.”

Like some dork, JJ watches you for a while. Something tells him you know he is as there’s this little smile on your lips. His eyes trail down from your face to your arms and soon to your hands. Your knuckles are bruised and scabbed over and JJ frowns, curious and concerned despite having only just officially met you. Ever since the day at the pier back when he was eight, JJ had been vaguely aware of your existence. You were in the year above at school and undeniably cool. He’d seen you skating in the parking lot, caught you getting lectured for shoplifting at the local grocery shop for a candy bar, noticed you helping (who he assumed was) your dad fish, and seen you from time to time in the halls. The only person who was aware of his infatuation was John B, who tortured JJ relentlessly for it. Over the years, your hair has undergone many changes. At one point it was buzzed completely off. He didn’t see you much that year, come to think. Now it hangs just past your shoulders, a deep, enticing purple. It caught him off guard because only last week it was royal blue. Not that he was keeping track or anything…

“Here.”

JJ snaps out of his daydream to find you holding out something to him. A thin, white stick, rolled rather wonky. 

“You want some?”

“Won’t we get caught?”  JJ reflexively asks. 

“Boo. Pussy,” you teasingly return, retracting the offer. You briefly glance to the doorway before retrieving a lighter: bright, shiny silver and square. You light the end and take a drag. There’s a sweet, sickly smell that comes from it. 

“I ain’t a pussy,” JJ counters. There’s a smirk on your face as he takes the joint from you, guiding it to his lips to inhale. It catches uncomfortably in his throat and chest, making him cough. Laughing, you consolingly pat his back. He clenches his eyes shut: so embarrassing. 

“You good?” you giggle. 

“Never better,” JJ manages out through his chokes, giving you a shaky thumbs up. 

“First time?”

He shakes his head but you’re unconvinced. Smiling, you dig about in your pocket to retrieve a set of house keys. JJ watches as you scratch something into the metal of your lighter. He takes another hit of the joint as you do so, managing better this second time around. As he goes to hand it back, you trade him for your lighter. 

“Here,” you say, passing it to him. He takes it and looks at your inscription. JJ. His lips twitch in a smile. Glancing to you, you light-heartedly explain, “your first stoner lighter.”

As you finish taking another drag, the teacher’s footsteps sound from down the hall. Cool as a cat, you put the joint out on the underside of your chair and slip it back into a little metal box decorated with Powerpuff Girls stickers. It slips safely into your bag just as the teacher rounds into the room. At first, JJ worries you’re caught, as the teacher’s finger singles you out. But then he tosses his thumb over his shoulder. 

“Your dad’s here early to pick you up,” he tells you. 

If you’re happy to be leaving early, you don’t show it. If JJ didn’t know better, he’d even say you’re reluctant as you pack up your stuff. Shucking your backpack over your shoulder, you flash JJ a smile, rising to your feet. 

“Well, hopefully I’ll see you around, Maybank.”

“Yeah, same here,” JJ says, smiling. 

You walk past the desk and head out the door. JJ’s sure it’s the effect of you rather than the weed that leaves him feeling more dazed than ever before in his life. 

Two Years Later

What better way to lay-low than by throwing a kegger? JJ’s logic was undisputed. Not only had he encouraged the Pogues to hang onto the money and the gun that they'd found in the motel room, but he also got them to throw a last-minute gathering at the Boneyard. Honestly, his genius should be rewarded. 

As he mingles through the ever growing crowd, the sun growing darker by the minutes, JJ peruses the options. Some tourons had shown up: clueless but eager as they got roped into drinking games and conversations, and hit on constantly by locals. The kooks were mostly keeping to themselves, happy to drink the beers and cans brought by the people on the cut. Typical. Pearl catches JJ’s eye and she tips her cup at him in greeting from across the way, a seductive glint in her eyes and a telling message in her smile. JJ lazily tosses a hand up in return. They’d hooked up a few times now but he wasn’t feeling it tonight.

As if guided by fate, you come perfectly into JJ’s line of sight. You’re drinking from a red solo cup, chatting with some of your friends, pretty in an oversized tee and shorts. Again, just as you had in detention two years prior, your eyes catch onto his. This time, you smile. Saying something to your friend before heading over to JJ (who’s half certain he hit his head earlier and might be hallucinating). 

“Enjoying yourself?” JJ asks the minute you’re in front of him. He’s taller now. Ever growing in his confidence; sex does that to a guy. It makes them feel invincible. 

“I’m guessing your group is the one to thank for this kegger then?” 

JJ grins. “We know how to throw a good party.”

“I’ll say,” you smile. “I wish there was more music though.”

“You dance?”

“Sometimes. If I’m with the right person,” comes your sly response, smiling up at him. “You look different since detention.”

JJ would like to think so: that was two years ago. “Really? Different how?”

“Taller. Fitter.”

“Hotter?”

You laugh as you say, “you’re pretty sure of yourself, huh?”

“I was told confidence is sexy,” JJ returns. “What’d you think?”

You don’t say anything but JJ knows he isn’t crazy when you take a sip of your drink, your eyes scanning over his body leisurely as you do. You give a small hum. 

“So, got tired of the purple?” JJ asks, gesturing to your hair. It’s long now and seemingly your natural hue again, like it was that day at the pier all those years ago. There’s now little strands of tinsel in it that reflect different colours in a silverish shine depending on how the light hits it. Your nose ring is new too, though JJ noticed that the minute you had that done. He noticed you a lot, even if he never spoke to you. You never did to him so he just assumed to stay clear. Besides, there was a rumour that you went out with Tommy Peach a few months back and JJ didn’t feel like getting his ass handed to him. JJ was good at fighting now, as unfortunate as that was to admit, and he was aware he was in good shape, but Tommy was feral and tall. God knows why you wanted to go out with a scumbag like that, but JJ supposed he wasn’t much of a step up either. 

“My dad hated it,” you say. “And I wanted a change.”

“Shame. I liked the purple.”

“So you don’t like it like this?” you wonder. “Bummer. I was gonna try and shoot my shot with you but guess I’ve lost my chance…”

JJ’s eyes somehow don’t fall out of his head. He chuckles, almost nervously, and clears his throat. “Say what?”

You roll your eyes . “When a girl gives you her lighter and says she hopes she sees you around, JJ, it’s her way of saying ‘you’re cute, we should hang’.”

Oh. 

Laughing, as if hearing his inner monologue, you shrug. “Guess I got tired of waiting for you to make the first move. Lucky for you, I’m two beers in and that seems like enough confidence to come over”

“Two beers? I don’t wanna be taking advantage of you,” JJ teases, making you laugh. 

“Can’t believe you’re accusing me of being a lightweight when you nearly died after smoking your first joint.”

“Woah! Low blow!”

“I thought I’d murdered you! I was scared you were allergic or some shit,” you giggle. 

JJ grins down at you and tries to retrace his steps to how he got here, stood on the beach, talking to you and having you actively hit on him. It feels like a wet dream he’d concoct on lonely nights. He stays in that borderline stupor as the two of you talk and talk. You’re funny, but JJ already knew that, and you’re an adrenaline junky too, but JJ knew that as well. The two of you like the same kind of music so that leads to a huge discussion which almost becomes an argument of who was better: Kid Cudi or J. Cole? The more the drinks flow, the more your hand finds solace on his thigh, and the more his on yours. Soon enough JJ's foot’s rubbing leisurely at your ankle, personal space a long disputed myth, and he’s fighting the urge to kiss you. He’s not sure why he’s dragging it out when you’re obviously into him. Maybe he just wants to keep the anticipation alive for a little bit longer. After all, he’s wanted this since he was eight years old. 

The moment is interrupted by someone hollering your name. As you look up, JJ realises how dark it is. It’s officially night now with the moon high in the sky. A few people have pulled on sweaters as the evening has cooled, especially with the seafront breeze, but JJ feels burning hot. He spots someone waving at you and beside them is a girl crouched in the sand. You cuss and get up. 

“That’s my friend. I better go help,” you hurriedly explain. You pass JJ your empty cup and give an apologetic smile. Then, you press a brief kiss to his lips. It's so brief that it barely feels real, and JJ doesn’t register it until you’re already walking away. “I’ll be back soon! Sorry!”

JJ watches as you hurry over and help out your vomiting buddy. Sighing, bummed, he looks around and tries to track down his friends. The alcohol hits him when he stands, flooding from his brain, down to his body like ice cold water. He staggers for only a moment in the direction of John B, filling up the cups in his hands on the way as if willingly ignoring his body’s messages. He whistles out to catch his best friend’s attention, offering him one of the cup’s of beer. But Sarah Cameron and her douchebag boyfriend Topper make their way past, and something inside of JJ seeks mayhem. He offers it out to her instead but Topper tries to lay claim. 

“That’s nice of you man, but I didn’t ask you,” JJ returns. “If you said ‘pretty please’, maybe. But you didn’t.”

“Oh! Pretty please!” a squiffy Topper checks. 

“Yeah,” JJ replies. “So, Sarah, I promise–”

The beer hits JJ’s face in a non-refreshing wake-up. His anger tips quick like a nuclear bomb. His hands come up to Topper’s shirt, grabbing him before shoving him back. John B’s hand comes up to JJ’s chest, firmly trying to hold him back. 

“You’re so funny man!” JJ sarcastically urges. Before he can push it further, Topper says something that has John B lurching at him and soon enough, a full on fist fight begins. Pope is quick to intervene with JJ, holding him back, and no matter how much the latter struggles, he can’t seem to get to his best friend. Concerning seeps into the anger as he watches Topper lay into John B, kicking him into the water. And then pride when John B starts to fight back. “Give it to him, man!”

The night feels as though it’s split into two as JJ loses himself in watching the fight. His conversation with you might have happened years ago as his attention homes in on the flying fists and chants of the watchers. And then it all turns sour. Topper holds John B down into the water, face smushed into the sand, and all he can hear is Sarah begging for him to stop. JJ fidgets nervously, eager to do something, unsure of what. Then, another genius idea. 

It feels out of body as he retrieves the gun and checks the safety. As he makes his way over to the water and presses it against Topper’s head. It doesn’t feel like he’s in control of his body when JJ clicks the safety off. Topper stills beneath him.

“Yeah, you know what that is,” he warns through clenched teeth. “Your move, broski.”

Nothing but the waves. Nothing but his heartbeat. Nothing but John B’s choked breathes in the water. 

“Put the gun down!”

“Did you say something, princess?” JJ asks Sarah, focus on Topper’s hands. Eventually, they lift off John B’s weak body. The rich asshole repeats that they’re good and JJ shoves him down. But he’s still so angry. He’s always so angry. The mentality comes back from when he first started school. Never be the weak one. Never let them get the upper hand. Assert your dominance. He raises the gun into the air and turns to the dying crowd. “Okay, everyone, listen up! Get the hell off our side of the island!”

The gun fires twice, the recoil minimal. It cracks in the silence of the night. A few people scream, alarmed, and then they start to run. 

JJ comes back to his body when Kiara shoves him. An argument breaks out between himself, Pope and Kie, and as the two others rush to help John B (who collapses back into the waves), JJ finally remembers the night. The whole night. He remembers you. As he looks out into the mass of bodies rushing away from the scene of the almost crime, he spots you. You look conflicted, for only a second, and then you leave too. 

Shit. 

The next day, JJ kills the time in the mid-morning with target practice in the back yard. The cops had swung by earlier and he thought it right to celebrate keeping the gun. Your whistle sounds like a birdcall. JJ’s head whips around at the sound, startled, and it seems to amuse you. He lowers his gun and frowns, confused at the sight of you. 

“How d’you know I live here?”

“I have my sources,” you smile, tapping the side of your nose. You wander leisurely into his back yard toward him as if you’ve been there thousands of times before. Nodding to the gun in his hand, you quirk a brow. “So, they didn’t take it off you?”

“Let me off with a warning,” JJ shrugs. “They couldn’t find the gun and have no proof that I kept it…”

“Ah. Loopholes,” you hum. 

When you come to a pause beside him, JJ awkwardly scratches the back of his neck. “Look, I’m real sorry about last night. I didn’t mean to freak you out.”

“Freak me out how?” you frown. 

“With the whole…gun…thing.”

Laughing, you shake your head. “That ain’t why I left JJ.”

“It ain’t?”

“No! I mean, Topper looked as though he wasn’t gonna let up, so,” you say, shrugging in agreement with JJ’s previous actions. “I just can’t go back to prison anytime soon. My dad’ll kill me.”

“Back to prison?” JJ says. He shouldn’t be as impressed (or turned on) by that as he is. 

“Ooo, the big scary place, I know,” you grin, teasing, before randomly making a grab for the gun. JJ barks out a laugh, holding it up and out of reach. “Come on! Lemme have a go!”

“You ever shoot before?” JJ asks, eyeing you up. 

Rolling your eyes, you nod. “We have a BB in our house that I fire around all the time. I wanna see how this one feels.”

“I don’t know. I shouldn’t give a weapon to a known criminal, right?” JJ says, tone almost flirtatious. 

“Come on. You can do the whole ‘let me show you’ thing.”

Lowering the gun, JJ chuckles, befuddled. “The what?”

“You know! When guys wanna feel a girl up they pretend to teach them how to do stuff. Like a tennis instructor or something. They’re all like ‘let me show you’.”

“You tellin’ me you got a tennis instructor?” 

“Yeah, and a mansion with three yachts - now come on!”

Shaking his head, laughing, JJ relents. He hands you the gun, safety on, and partly to follow along with your joke, but mostly to feel your body close to his, JJ stands almost fully behind you. He checks which is your dominant hand and guides your arms up into position. He shifts the position of your fingers. Your hair catches slightly in the wind and the smell of fruit and herbs dulls his senses. When he speaks again, you giggle. 

“Your breath tickles,” you mutter. 

“It does?” JJ checks, purposefully speaking even closer against the skin of your neck. You squirm and laugh and JJ has no idea how any of this happened, but he sure as hell isn’t complaining. “You gotta keep still.” 

As if to coax you to do so, JJ plants one of his hands on the side of your waist. Your breathing seems to catch with that, all giggles dead on your tongue, and JJ struggles to bite back his smirk. His chin rests comfortably on your shoulder as he follows your line of vision. You click the safety off under his instruction and then fire. He feels the power of the gun run down your arms, the recoil making your body jilt only slightly. Clicking the safety on again, you lower the gun and turn your head. Eyes half-hooded, you look up from his lips into his eyes. JJ notices a small, relatively fresh cut under your eye. Was that there last night? That train of thought derails when your tongue peaks out, dampening your lips. JJ loses all patience. His lips are on yours, kissing you, hand tightening just so on your side. You carelessly drop the gun to the floor and turn in his hold. Hands on his face, on his shoulders, around his neck, in his hair…JJ kisses you until he’s not sure what his name is anymore. Even then, he kisses you still. 

From there, the two of you were intertwined in one another’s lives. There was no other way to put it: JJ adored you. It was as if you constantly shared a common thought: JJ had never met someone so like himself. Two sides of the same stone. The Pogues noticed it easily. You didn’t exactly have to ask to join the gang. The fact that JJ trusted you enough to bring you around spoke volumes to his friends. They’d never met one of his previous situationships or flings before, and from that they could recognise this was something different. Seeing the two of you together just drove that point home faster. Birds of a feather. When the wild goose chase surrounding the Royal Merchant cropped up, you joined that too. Pope joked that there was something wrong with your amygdala, which upon explanation meant that you seemed to have a pretty low fear factor. It came after you literally wrestled Barry for the gun when they got held at gunpoint. All you’d done was shrug and said that you’d known “true fear” and that wasn’t it. Nobody knew what that meant, including JJ, but he had a feeling that he might after he dropped you home one time. 

The Chateau had become almost as familiar to you as it was to JJ. The pair of you had claimed the porch as your go-to smoking spot. One Tuesday afternoon, you sit sprawled in the armchair: head on one armrest and legs swung over the other. Your now lilac highlighted hair dangles in two braids. JJ is keeping himself entertained by tracing his eyes up and down your legs, over your stomach and chest, up to your dozed out face, and back again. The two of you were smoking hash, passing it back and forth leisurely, sharing mindless musings about life and the world and what things might be like if you actually found the gold. 

“I’d buy a house,” you say. 

“Lame.”

“A big house,” you continue, ignoring him and gesturing in front of you as if visualising it. “It’d be pastel blue with big white shutter-style windows and a wrap-around porch. There’d be one of those porch swings sat out front. Oh! And flowers. A shit ton of flowers.”

“You can’t even keep a cactus alive,” JJ snorts. 

“I’d hire a gardener. Duh,” you say, rolling your eyes. 

“Anything else?” JJ wonders. He keeps a mental checklist: blue house; white shutters…

“A dog,” you smile. “And a cat.”

“Alright then.” Maybe it’s the manner that he says it that has you looking at him, amused. “I’ll do it.”

“You’ll ‘do it’?” you chuckle, raising your brows. 

“Yeah. When we find the gold–”

“If we find the gold–”

“When,” JJ insists, making you laugh, “I’ll get you your house and your dog.”

“Don’t forget the cat,” you warn, pointing at him. 

“Christ, lady! And your cat.”

“Good,” you smile.

You look back to the ceiling and slip your eyes shut, sighing contentedly. JJ chuckles, shaking his head, gazing at you as if you sculpted the planets and personally hung them in the solar system. It’s short lived bliss, however, because your phone pings. Then again, and again, until it’s nothing but an ongoing buzz of noise. JJ frowns at it and you quickly reach over to the window ledge where it’s precariously sat. The moment your eyes scan the screen, you sit up. Everything about your demeanour shifts. JJ sees the second you switch to panic. 

“I gotta go,” you mumble. You swing your legs off the sofa and stand. JJ’s quick to follow. 

“Everything okay?”

“I just gotta go home right now,” you reply, already making your way down the porch steps. JJ ditches the spoon pipe on the coffee table and catches up. 

“I’ll take you on my bike,” he says, grabbing your hand and guiding you to it. You don’t argue and he doesn’t ask for an explanation for the urgency. Wordlessly, the two of you climb on - your arms tethering around his middle - and JJ starts the engine. Speed limits become a pleasantry rather than a courtesy as JJ speeds to your house. Your phone doesn’t let up the whole journey and with every ping, JJ bumps it up by another mile per hour. It’s a skidding halt when he stops outside your house. He’d only been there a handful of times before, usually to pick you up. Similarly to JJ, you didn’t like going home all that much. You’re climbing off the bike before JJ shuts the engine off. Seemingly at the sound of the engine, your dad emerges in the front door. You turn to JJ. He doesn’t recognise the look on your face. 

It terrifies him. 

“JJ, you have to leave - now,” you tell him. 

He frowns, brows tugging together. “What’re you–”

“Just leave. Go. Please, JJ,” you push, glancing between him and your approaching father. Something softens in your tone, akin to desperation. “Please.”

JJ looks to your dad just as he passes the threshold of the porch, then looks to you once more as if needing approval. You nod as if understanding. The same thought, always shared. Then JJ’s turning tightly in the makeshift drive of your house and starting off down the road before your dad reaches you. He acutely registers the funny feeling, tight in his chest as if something was squeezing his heart and lungs in a vice. It was the same feeling JJ got whenever he went home. 

The same feeling JJ got whenever he saw his own father. 

As the months went on, the relationship you and JJ shared was soaked in marjuana and sweat. Smoking in the morning and fucking through the night. Not only did you encourage JJ’s idiocy, but you joined it. It was as if you were there to enable the other. Shoplifting beers, pier jumping in the thick of night, skinny dipping before dusk, pulling crazy stunts with the others that nearly wound up getting you killed more times to count. But just like JJ, you were loyal. It was as if the minute you became a Pogue, you wore it like a military title, nothing short of honoured. You’d lay your life down for the group and for the hunt for gold.

JJ wasn’t sure who said I love you first. He’s not even sure if either of you ever said it. You don’t have to say I love you to say I love you. Besides, two avoidant, daddy issue riddled teenagers didn’t make for the most textbook healthy relationship. The two of you would fight and it was bad when you did. But it was a rarity. There was little time for blow-out arguments when you were running from one place to another, chasing lead after lead. Hell, even when you seemed to have time to breathe, something else always came up. 

“I never make good grades in school. When I get out, I act like a fool. I come in the party and cause a commotion. Yeah, I’m smooth they call me lotion.”

JJ cracks up with the others, breaking his beatboxing rhythm, as Pope loses his verse. He has a more than comfortable buzz going: energised by the beer and mellowed out by the weed. JJ thought he could handle his stuff well until he met you. This was the first time in a long time the two of you had properly partied together, outside of sharing a joint or doing edibles on an evening. You were about seven cans deep, one joint smoked and two lines of coke snorted. Your hair, now red, was damp from the hot tub; your nose ring sparkling in the disco ball’s reflecting light. JJ tried to keep his attention on the gang but no matter what, his eyes kept running back to you. The bikini top you’re wearing is truly a cruel design. Whoever invented it hated anybody who admired the female figure: they designed it to torture them. The liquor certainly didn’t help the situation, nor did your knowing glances and sly smiles. 

"Think Kanye might have some serious competition there," you sardonically quip.

“Alright, alright, let’s hear it then,” Pope challenges, turning the focus to you. Everyone ooo’s dramatically as you laugh. You take a hit of your freshly rolled joint and shrug. As you rise out of the water, moving to sit on the outer edge of the hot tub, the gang erupts into cheers. JJ's mesmerised by the way the droplets of water race down over your tits, trickling down your chest.

“Okay, alright, well someone gimme a beat, at least,” you say. 

JJ’s happy to indulge. Laughing, you bop your head along and try to follow. 

“I failed the first grade in school, but my teacher told me I’m a cool dude. The kids in the playground scattered, cause my bars would leave them battered–”

The gang whoops and you crack up, trying desperately to stay on track. JJ’s trying desperately not to stare at your chest and lose track of his makeshift beat. 

“When I fuck they call me lewd, cause I get freaky when I’m in the wrong mood. My boy never seems to complain, but his dick might be in some pain.”

JJ practically chokes on his laughter. There’s a symphony of cheers and jests and (in Pope’s case) groans from the others, and you throw your hands up in surrender. 

“Y’all asked for it! I’m jus’ saying!” you giggle, sinking back into the water. You take another hit of your joint and wink across to JJ. His dick twitches uselessly in his swim shorts as you do so. Such a fucking tease.   

“You two were made for each other, Goddamn,” Kiara chuckles.

The pair of you laugh it off but JJ feels his heart stir at the notion. Maybe it’s the weed talking or the alcohol intoxicating his thoughts, but the more time JJ spends with you, the more he’s certain that you two were meant to find each other. There’s no other explanation for it. You were an entire world in one small human being, filled with stories and secrets, some of which he might never know, but most he’d spend his life wanting to. 

As the night stretches on and the drinks continue to flow, the mood simmers down from a bubbly celebration to an almost sentimental reunion. The hot tub has been abandoned as the mosquitos began to gather and the air began to cool, and JJ was sick of hearing you and Sarah drop hints about how you were “turning pruney.” So now you sit in the deck chairs with Kiara and Sarah and John B, watching JJ and Pope wrestle. Grappling on Pope’s upper arms, JJ tries to get the upper leg. 

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, go for the leg,” he lightly encourages his lesser violent friend. With that, Pope tackles JJ onto the floor. He hits the ground with a gentle smack. “You got a new technique now, huh?”

Pope rises in victory, pretty drunk, arms in the air. JJ laughs, sitting up to notice a beer extended out to him in offer from you. He takes it with a grin, having two large swigs. 

“I’m done. I’m out of here,” Pope announces to nobody in particular, walking away from the campfire. 

“You want a round two?” 

“Yeah, I think I’ll take my losses,” Pope replies. JJ begins wandering back over to you with a shrug just as Kiara suddenly gets up from her seat. She flashes Sarah some kind of look that girls must track better than boys, as Sarah and yourself gape at her. 

“Really?”

“Oh yeah. Way to be discreet!” JJ hollers after them. When he steals Kiara’s chair, sitting beside you, you’re still giggling. 

“Okay, am I just oblivious or did nobody else notice them vibing on each other?” you wonder, looking to the others. 

“Dude. Seriously?” JJ sniggers. 

“I didn’t notice!”

“How could you not– You know what? It’s okay, baby. It’s okay. Only one of us needs to be the love expert here,” JJ reassures, stretching his arm out over the back of your chair in what he thinks is a rather suave manner. You snort, gently brushing it off. 

“Love expert? Uh-huh. Sure, kiddo.”

“Kiddo,” John B mutters, amused. 

JJ scoffs, grinning at you. “Oh really?”

“Yep,” you return, not quite sure what you’re arguing over now. JJ decides to put an end to it by squeezing the sides of your exposed stomach, tickling your skin and causing you to squirm. As he does so, John B mumbles something about being out of beer. Sarah follows him and leaves you and JJ in the company of the music, the cicadas and chickens. 

“Thought you danced,” JJ says, referring to the music, thinking back to the night at the kegger. 

“I might do later.”

JJ just nods and the two of you smile at one another, the playfulness of the moment easing away the same way the arousal had earlier in the hottub. 

“You’re so handsome,” you quietly tell him. "My good looking boy, huh?"

JJ chuckles, looking down, bashful whenever you threw compliments like that at him. He could handle ‘sexy’ or ‘hot’ rather well, took them in stride, but words like handsome were like flakes of gold being sprinkled in his hair. They felt valuable, especially when they came from your mouth. Not always the best with words, JJ thanks the self-medication for what falls out of his mouth next. 

“You’re the prettiest Goddamn thing on this planet.”

You’re visibly stunned and JJ wants to high-five himself. Giving him a coy smile, you lean your head back against your seat, staring into the star scattered sky. 

“God, I could just stay here forever,” you sigh. 

JJ mimics your actions. He traces the stars and tries to see if he can make constellations of your face. He glances at you and notices how they reflect on your eyes, as if scattering diamonds into your irises to make them shimmer. Your skin is kissed amber by the fairy lights strung in the branches above. Everything just makes you glow: ethereal. A foot kicking his own snaps JJ out of his lovesick stupor. A rather amused John B smirks knowingly down at him. 

“It’s creepy to stare, man,” John B joshingly berates. 

“He does it all the time,” you mumble. “That’s why I asked him out.”

Sarah laughs at that and you crack up too, but before another conversation can begin, your laughter dies down and your brows furrow. 

“What was that?” John B asks, as if reading your mind. 

“Your chickens?” JJ wonders, having heard nothing but the incessant clucking of the birds. 

“It sounded like a car door,” you mumble. JJ, distracted, begins to cluck like a chicken, hoping to lighten the mood, more drunk than he thought he was, but your hand presses over his mouth to silence him. You rise to your feet slowly and JJ decides to follow. He squints into the distance. 

“I think someone’s here,” John B mutters. 

“Up the trees. Quickly” you instruct, fast to take action. 

You shut off the music as Sarah hurries to put out the fire. JJ decides to help her, tossing handfuls of sand atop of the flames. He looks to the tree to find you already a decent way up. He stands by the bottom of the other tree with John B to help give Sarah a boost, aware of the fragility of her stitches, and then lets John B go up before himself. He settles on the same branch as you, a hand protectively settling on your waist. You’d already taken a rather reckless course of action in Charleston with Renfield, trying to tackle the taser from his hands to buy all of you more time to run. In case you felt the urge to drop from the trees in some surprise attack, JJ could now hold you back. 

Sure enough, only a couple of minutes later, Rafe and Barry creep into the backyard. JJ feels you stiffen and he tightens his grip just slightly in reassurance. They didn’t know you were in the trees. God bless your quick thinking. Barry makes his way into the house, gun raised and ready, whilst Rafe studies the spots you’d all been relaxing in only moments prior. 

“Where the hell are you?” he mumbles to himself. 

None of you speak. None of you dare breathe let alone move. JJ looks to John B and Sarah, who look just as troubled as he feels. Rafe was unpredictable. Unstrung. And it was easy to assume that JJ was not on Barry’s nice list, that was for sure. As they sit and lie in wait, praying not to be spotted, Barry and Rafe seem to decide that nobody’s home. As he’s about to take a sigh of relief, Rafe fires the gun up into the trees. His heart jumps and his chest heaves. The bullet ricochets off the trunk of the tree near his back. You flinch in JJ’s hold at the gunshots and the shock nearly has you losing your balance. JJ quickly shifts his hand higher up your side, leaning as close to you as physically possible to whisper in your ear. 

“I got you,” he reassures. 

Barry thankfully ushers Rafe away at that point but none of you dare move until you the car is long out of sight. Sighing, you relax against JJ and him against you. It was ironic how the two of you were no strangers to violence and yet, the same spark of fear was alight anytime either of you were faced with it.  

You see, the same way ‘I love you’ didn’t need an explanation, neither did yours and JJ’s homelives. JJ never intended to introduce you to his father and he never met yours. More times than not, you’d meet and hang and sleep at the Chateau. If you spent time at one of your two house’s, it was when it was empty. The cuts and bruises that would appear on either of your bodies never came with questioning. Somehow, someway, the two of you knew how and where. You’d soundlessly clean them and console the other and the whole thing would be as forgotten as a terrorist attack: over, in the back of the mind, but never fully erased. The anger JJ felt whenever he saw you after you’d had a run-in with your father was different to that which he felt when he had a run-in with his own. Deeper, darker, more vengeful. One night, it reached its crux. 

JJ wakes up with a start. At first he isn’t sure what snapped him out of sleep. Then, he hears it again. A faint creaking in the floorboards from the main body of his house. His house that he now lives in alone. What if his dad came back? JJ gets out of bed dressed in nothing but a pair of sweatpant shorts. He slowly picks up a spanner that’s laying on his bedroom floor, ditched after a day trying to switch out the deck of his skateboard, and pushes his door open carefully. He slowly inches down the almost pitch-black hallway. The only light is that from the window: moonbeams that shine through the glass. 

At the sight of your silhouette, JJ lets out a heavy sigh. The spanner falls to the ground with an echoing thud. 

“Jesus Christ, you scared the crap outta me,” JJ says with a relieved laugh. He makes his way across the room to you but his smile fades when he notices how stiff you are. “You a’right?”

This close, he can begin to make out your face through the dark. It’s haunting.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” JJ breathes, horrified.

Dark bags sit under your eyes which are hollowed out as if you’d been lost at sea, a vacant stare that almost looks past him. Your lip is quivering. Small, shaky, shallow breaths come in and out of your mouth. The worst part? The blood. 

His hands fly up toward your face and your eyes clamp shut quickly as preparing for a hit. JJ freezes before he touches your skin, slowing his movements, trying to ease his own panic. His eyes scan your features, counting the injuries, trying to see the damage beneath the gore.

“What the fuck happened?”

You don’t talk. Nothing but that same ominous silence. You’re in shock. JJ’s seen it before from when he pulled over at a motorcycle crash. It’s as if the mind retreats in on itself and guards from the unpredictable. JJ swallows and clenches his jaw, trying to steal himself. 

“A’right, we, uh, we gotta clean you up,” he manages. He carefully links his fingers through yours and feels your barely tangible grip. Then he guides you into the bathroom. Lowers you gently onto the toilet seat. In his peripheral vision, he sees no sign of movement or acknowledgement as he retrieves the beloved first aid kit from the bathroom cupboard. It balances precariously on the edge of the sink as he digs about for cleaning supplies. 

JJ starts with your face. Your upper lip is busted at the edge, coated in dry blood but already beginning to scab. When you get in as many bruise ups as JJ, you learn to have a strange appreciation and fascination with the human body in how it heals. The antiseptic must sting but you don’t even blink. You just stare past him. Even before, you’d never been this detached. You might be angry or frustrated or even upset, but never absent. Never this. The blood around your eye comes from a gash just across your right brow. There’s an impressive bruise on the apple of your left cheek and a telling pink handprint that refuses to fade on your right. The fury begins to chip at JJ’s resolve.

Following your bizarre routine, JJ moves to unbutton your shirt, to check for any signs of internal bleeding, broken ribs, open cuts or ugly bruises across your upper body. The minute his fingers brush your sternum, your hands fly up. He’s not even sure how he winds up on the floor and it takes a moment to piece together the seconds and register that it was you. Frowning, thoroughly alarmed, JJ’s head shoots up to find your chest heaving. You make a noise as if you’re crying but no tears fall. His lips part in horror and his mind scrambles for any explanation other than the obvious. 

“Woah, woah, woah, hey,” JJ hurries, rocking onto his knees and planting his hands reassuringly on yours. Your whole body is shaking. “It’s a’right, yeah? Jus’ me. I ain’t gonna hurt ya.”

Your eyes clamp shut and the tears begin to fall.

"You're safe now."

After a trembling inhale, you begin to sob. Heartbroken, hideous, harrowing sobs. JJ feels tears swirl in his waterline at the sight and sound. He knew you better than anyone - better than the Lord himself - and to see you so far from who you are was like seeing someone’s body turn inside out. Unsure of what to do, he wraps his arms around you in a tight embrace and lets you fall into him.

You just cry. 

Later, JJ sits outside the bathroom. His back is pressed against the door. Inside, he can hear the slosh of the bath water from time to time when you shift. He meddles with the rings on his fingers. His teeth gnaw on his lower lip. JJ assesses his options. He knows the “right” thing to do and he knows the “wrong” thing to do, and he knows the one he prefers out of the two, even if he shouldn't. His eyes flit over to the pile of your clothes that he’d taken out the room with him, back turned to give you privacy when you changed (as if you hadn’t given your body to him countless times before). The blood stained shirt. The shorts that had a telling rip at the crotch, the zip practically shattered. The missing panties. His throat turns thick and his eyes clench shut, forehead falling down against his clenched fists. He tries desperately to breathe through the anger. Before he can reach any sort of conclusion, he hears you get out of the bathtub. A few minutes later, the twisting doorknob prompts him to stand. You stand dressed in his clothes and offer him a small smile, and JJ feels his whole body sigh with relief. 

“How you feelin’?” JJ asks. 

You shrug, wrapping your arms around yourself. “Exhausted.”

“Anything hurting still?”

“No,” you say. You walk past him and into his bedroom and he follows. Climbing onto his bed, you wrap yourself up on his side in the blankets. JJ heads to the kitchen to grab some water and pain meds before coming back and joining you, sitting against the headrest, unsure whether to touch you or not. You seem to answer the question for him. You cuddle into his side and nestle your head against his upper chest. His hands coil safely around your body, holding you close, and he plants a kiss on top of your head. Then he finally speaks. 

“We need to go to the cops.”

You sigh and close your eyes. “JJ, no–”

“You don’t even gotta press charges but they have to know.”

“I don’t want to do that.”

“Why the hell not?”

“Because you know how it is, JJ,” you argue, sitting up to face him. “It’s my word against his and he never technically did anything. They’ll take one look at him and listen to my story, and then probably get me to recount it a million times over to a million other strangers. To a million other men. It’s humiliating and it’s pointless and I don’t want to do it.”

“It ain’t pointless and there’s nothing humiliating about it,” JJ insists. “You’re the victim here–”

“Don’t call me that,” you snap, glaring at him. 

Sighing, JJ closes his eyes and clenches the bridge of his nose, trying to keep his cool. The last thing you need tonight is another fight. Besides, it’s not as if you’re wrong. JJ trusted the police as far as he could throw them; he didn’t doubt that they’d be useless. But the thought of you going back to your dad and for him to get away with what he did…JJ didn’t know what other option you really had. Your fingers gently wrap around JJ’s hand, easing it away from his face, coaxing his eyes to meet yours. 

“Two more months, JJ.”

He sighs again but you’re quick to continue. 

“Two more months and I’m eighteen and he isn’t my legal guardian anymore! I don’t have to deal with the whole rigged court system or with a foster home - I can just be rid of him for good.”

“Two more months? You think I’m gonna let you go back there for two more months after this?” JJ scoffs, eyeing up your injuries. His stomach churns and jaw ticks at the thought of what could’ve happened if you hadn’t managed to get the upper hand. You sigh and look away. 

“I don’t know…Maybe he won’t do it again.”

“If he does it once, he’ll do it again,” JJ mutters. He remembers having the same thought the first time his dad hit him. It was an accident. He apologised. He didn’t mean it. By the end, JJ was on cloud nine if he went a week without a smack. But your situation was somehow even heavier than that. His stomach churns again. 

“I don’t know,” you repeat, sounding nothing short of defeated. 

JJ just tugs you back against his chest. You trace a finger over his chest in swirling patterns as if personifying the state of his mind. Maybe you could live with JJ. I mean, you practically already did. The two of you were rarely away from the Chateau these days, and once you were eighteen - just as you said - your dad had no hold on you. Maybe if the Pogues could get the cross then JJ could finally afford that big pastel blue house for you, with the wrap around porch, and guard dogs to sick ‘em anytime your dad came within a fifty mile radius of you. Maybe–

JJ’s eyes widen. It hits him. His best idea to date. 

“Marry me.”

JJ isn’t sure he actually said it for a while because you don’t speak. You don’t even move. 

“What did you just say?” 

“Marry me.”

You immediately start to laugh. You shake your head against his chest. “Jesus Christ. Did you slip and hit your bed whilst I was in the bathtub?”

“I’m serious. Marry me,” JJ says. Maybe it’s his tone that cuts off your hysterics. You quickly break out of his hold again and look at him, studying his expression. Your eyes widen. 

“Holy shit, you really are serious,” you mumble. 

“Marry me,” JJ repeats as if those are the only words he knows how to say. 

You laugh, bewildered, “JJ, we’re seventeen.”

“So.”

“So? So…We’re seventeen!” you cackle. “We can’t get married JJ.”

“Who says?” JJ shrugs, beginning to smile. You haven’t said no. 

“Um let’s see,” you mumble, lifting your fingers to count. “The court…The law…Our parents.”

“We don’t have parents.”

“Maybe not good or present ones, but we still have legal guardians, JJ.”

“Those are all technicals–”

“-Technicalities-”

“-Whatever. Point is, those are irrelevant,” JJ says, wafting it away. His hands grab yourself in a tight clutch. Your mouth remains perfectly parted, slightly upturned at the corners. It only pushes his smile. “I know you’re it for me. I ain’t good at all the sappy-dappy-love-crap, but I’ve been in love with you since I was a kid–”

“--JJ–”

“--And I don’t want anybody else! Ever. We’re a team, ain’t we? Hunt for gold together, spend our life together.” When you study him in silence for a while, JJ tags on, “I mean, I’m gonna do it eventually so I might as well do it now.”

“That is insane reasoning to propose, JJ,” you laugh, shaking your head at him. Even if your face is half beaten beyond recognition, JJ knows you’re the most beautiful girl on the planet. The moment he knew he shared the same earth as you, JJ wanted you to be in his life. And you still haven’t said no. 

“I love you,” JJ says, plain and simple. Shaking his head slightly, he grins. “P4L, right? I mean, we really got nothing to lose here.”

You stare at him and scoff, quiet and underbreath, almost fascinated. Your eyes slip shut and JJ begins to grin because he knows. A deep, heavy sigh, and you laugh again. 

“God help me, I must have gone crazy,” you mutter. Your eyes open into his. Then you smile the prettiest smile the world has ever seen. “Yes. I’ll marry you, JJ Maybank.”

JJ wastes no time in connecting his lips with yours. You giggle against them, wrapping your arms around his shoulders, holding him closer and closer. When you break apart, barely a hair’s width between your damp lips, you smile as you speak. 

“My good looking boy.” 

Five Years Later

Whiskey isn’t quite caramel. No, it’s more tawny. More gingerbread coloured, especially in this hue, illuminated by the crappy bar lighting hanging above JJ’s head. His knuckles knock against the side of the cool glass, mesmerised by the sound of his metal rings clinking, distracted in his drunken haze by the bobbing of the three ice cubes in the liquor. 

“JJ.”

His head sluggishly lifts at the sound of his name. He comes face to face with the long-time bartender, Corbin. 

“It’s last orders, man. You wanting a refill?” Corbin asks. 

JJ sighs and shakes his head. “Nah, I better not. What time is it?”

“It’s nearly one,” Corbin replies. 

JJ nods then repeats, “nah, I better not.”

“You wanting to settle up for that now?” he wonders, glancing down at JJ’s half full drink. 

JJ swallows and rubs tiredly at his eyes. “I, uh…Just put it on my tab for now, a’right?”

Corbin sighs. “Look, JJ. I’ve known you a long time so I’ve been letting it slide but this tab’s starting to stack up. You gotta pay it sometime.”

JJ shoots him a glare; his emotions twisted by the alcohol. “And I’m gonna. I just…Things are a lil’ tight right now so I can’t settle it just yet.”

Corbin decides not to push the topic. He does as he’s asked and adds JJ’s three whiskey on ice beverages to his resume-like tab. When he leaves to square things away at some other end of the bar, JJ glances around the room. 

Corbin’s bar, Grub Bucket, hadn’t changed in anybody’s lifetime. JJ could recall coming out here as a kid on the hunt for his dad and sneaking past the intimidating bikers out front, weaving through the drunken fools of Kildare to find his dad almost paralytic near the pool tables. The smell was the same too: musty and beer drenched and tired. JJ wonders if he finds the smell comforting - nostalgic maybe. At the sight of several patrons leaving through the door into the pitch-black night, JJ remembers himself and the time, and he downs the last of his drink. The bitter sting is soothing on his tongue and eases the ache, and it goes down easy like a crisp, cool apple juice back in grade school. 

He staggers out the bar and stumbles the familiar route home. It’s as engraved in his mind as the journey to the shops or the docks. Home appears through thick overgrowth. It’s a piece of shit trailer, obvious even in this lighting, that’s discoloured and dirty on the exterior. There are weeds that protrude from below the body of the home and gas canisters lined beside overflowing trash cans and countless fishing, surf and mechanic crap. The recycling bin is always full of empty wine bottles and cans of beer. 

The stairs creak in concern as he makes his way up them. The third is broken in the middle and even intoxicated, he has the sense to avoid it. A squeaky door that needs the entirety of his body weight to open, his shoulder slamming into the upper left, and the instant smell of damp desperately trying to be combated with some cheap candle from Goodwill. 

There’s few rooms in the trailer. A kitchen with about one empty counter to cook, that shares the same area as a living space. A couch that JJ found abandoned on a roadside sits before a crackly television, divided by a thrifted coffee table. The World Atlas was proving useful keeping the latter piece of furniture upheld on the far right leg. The area is littered with belongings, tight on space and storage. Trash takes up a lot of space too, as much as he hates to admit it. A strategically placed poster-print conceals a concerning dent in the wall that may signify rats at one time had made this trailer their home. That could explain the steal that JJ got it for. 

The bathroom is where JJ’s legs take him next. Here, with the door closed, he can turn on the light. It takes three flicks of the switch and the buzz that it generates might remind a war veteran of a looming grenade. The shower is permanently discoloured and runs warm perhaps once a year, so JJ skips that stage. Instead he looks into the dirty mirror. His exhausted face greets him through blurry vision and speckles of toothpaste. A well-used toothbrush is rushed around his mouth and he spits into a dusty sink that drains frustratingly slowly. A quick piss and JJ is all washed up. 

He’s careful not to turn on the light when he makes his way into the bedroom. By now, it must nearly be two in the morning. The boots come off first, followed by his shorts, socks and shirt. Clad in only boxers, JJ can make out the bed through the dark and slides under the covers. His eyes slip shut and his body tries to relax.

“It’s late.”

His eyes clench shut. Shit.

“I, uh, didn’t know you’d still be awake.”

“I was waiting up for you to come home,” comes your mumbled response. JJ looks over to you: your back facing him as he lies on his. 

“You didn’t have to do that.”

“Hard not to when your husband’s out until two in the morning without texting or calling.”

 JJ’s brows knit together. “My phone died,” he mutters. 

“Convenient.”

Sighing, JJ runs a hand along his forehead and rubs tiredly at his eyes. “Look, I’m really fuckin’ tired, a’right? It’s been a long day and I just wanna–”

“You’re tired?” you hiss, turning over and sitting up. Fuck. “You’re fucking tired, JJ? Where the hell where you!?”

“Out!”

"Oh! Out! God, I don't know why I didn't think to check there!" you tunefully say.

JJ grits his teeth. The exhaustion and booze make a sticky concoction, flammable to the smallest fuse. “I don’t have to fucking give you a play by play of what I’m doing. I’m my own fucking person.”

“Okay, sure, JJ. You can finish work at five in the Goddamn afternoon and not reappear until two in the Goddamn morning without a text or call. I mean, what a fucking evil wife I am for worrying about you being - oh, I don’t know - dead in a ditch somewhere or sat in a fucking cell. I mean, I’m just bitter to the bone.”

At your spiel, JJ sits up in bed, propping himself up with his elbows. “Yeah, it’s such a fucking Goddamn surprise that I’m in no rush to come home when this is the fucking greeting I get!”

“Don’t come home at two in the morning and you won’t get this type of greeting!” you screech back. 

The two of you meet eyes through the dark. Your faces are contorted in anger: brows tugged close together, lips downturned in ugly frowns, tired eyes narrowed at one another. 

“Jesus Christ - what? You need me to give you a text every two minutes or some shit? Tell you where I am every two seconds?” 

“Right, yeah, that’s what I said, JJ,” you argue, gesturing violently with your words. “I said, ‘send me a text every time you take a breath of air’. No, no, you’re right: I said, ‘put a tracker in your fucking penis and then maybe I know where it’s going’.”

He studies your face a moment and scoffs, shaking his head. “I don’t know what you’re try’na incinerate there but–”

“It’s insinuate - you fucking idiot - and I think you know damn well what I’m referring to,” you spit. Your voice sounds almost as bitter as the liquor JJ was drinking peacefully only an hour ago. Maybe he should have just stayed at the bar. 

“Go on, then. Say it with your fucking chest, then,” JJ urges, sitting up in bed too. 

You glower at him. “Pearl.”

“Oh my fuckin’...” JJ can’t help but laugh right in your face. It’s ludicrous! It only seems to worsen your rage, not that JJ could care at this moment. “You really think I’m out hooking up with someone? Is that seriously what you’re accusing me of?”

“Wouldn’t be surprised,” is your all-to-quick reply. “You spend all night in a bar and come home smelling like booze. Wouldn’t be surprised if you were hooking up with her, or some other whore. I mean, who else would want you?” 

JJ can’t think clearly through the blinding rage. His vision goes blurry and this time, it isn’t from the alcohol. There’s the distant fear that he might crack a tooth from how tightly he’s clenching his jaw. He feels his fist close up around the sheets. 

“You better think really fucking hard about what you just said to me,” he lowly says. 

Your brows raise. “Is that a threat?”

JJ doesn’t reply. Decides it might be best not to. It’s hard to side with that thought process though because a smirk slowly but surely begins to sneak onto your face. There’s this viciousness in your eyes that JJ used to be unable to recognise, before El Dorado. Before life got somehow all the more real. 

“Starting to sound like your dad now, huh, Maybank?”

Don’t say anything. Don’t say anything. Don’t say–

JJ leans in close to your face. Can feel your heavy breath on his cheeks. See the emotions swirling like a thunderstorm in your eyes. The thin veil of tears in your waterline. He hardly recognises his own voice. 

“I wish I was fucking some whore. Anything’s better than being in this bed with you.”

Your whole demeanour shifts. It’s palpable. The room is hot and suffocating. The words hang in the air and JJ hates himself for not being sure if he even wants to take them back, even if he doesn’t mean it. He just wanted you to hurt. And what an awful thing to want. 

JJ hates this. He hates how the two of you know just the right buttons to press and just the right things to say to make the other furious. To break one another down. When two people fall in love, you learn everything about the other. It’s not just the intimate details - how somebody looks naked, the way they react to every touch, every kiss, their favourite song, the way they talk when they’re drunk - but also the sensitive stuff. The traumas and the skeletons and the insecurities. 

“Get out,” you spit. 

“Get out?” JJ laughs incredulously. 

“Get out! Get the fuck out of this bed now,” you seeth. JJ doesn’t move. As if possessed, you grab at your pillow and toss it at him. “Get out!” Toss your book too. 

JJ dodges them, bats them away. “You’re fucking psycho! Do you fucking see yourself!” he shouts. 

“Get out! Get out, get out, get out!” you scream. 

But JJ doesn’t. He should. In fact, he should go for a walk and let the two of you calm down, and then discuss it in the morning with a civilised conversation, just as you would do when you were both younger. But JJ was never the one to make the right decision. Instead, he feels himself smile. Then, he settles leisurely on his back, snuggling into the sheets like a child returning home after a long day out. His body aches from a hard day’s labour at the docks, stomach empty save for the booze. Even with his eyes closed, JJ can see your glare. It’s ice cold and sends shivers along his spine. 

“Fuck you, JJ,” you mutter. 

Another rustle of the sheets, the mattress dips, heavy footsteps, a slamming door, and you’re out of the room. The door shivers in the rickety frame and the noise seems to echo around the room. JJ slowly opens his eyes and stares at the ceiling. He runs a hand along his jawline as he sighs, feeling the ever growing stubble that he can’t find the motivation to shave. He used to, wanting to keep up appearances for the job market, but it seemed futile now. Pointless. The feeling of satisfaction that came from winning the fight was fleeting, passing as quick as a poppers-buzz. Now, the ugly emotions seep in as JJ wallows in the lonely silence. The emotions JJ usually wards off with whiskey and beer and weed and cocaine. The guilt and the shame and the self-loathing. The sympathy and the heartache. The awful things he said to you bounce around in his head like a ping pong ball. The awful things you said to him bury deep in his heart.  When he closes his eyes again, trying to mellow out his breathing and drift off, he can hear your sniffles through the door.

You never used to hide your tears from him. 

Sighing, JJ clamps his hands over his face and fights the urge to scream. Why does he do this? Why does it keep happening? Why can’t you both just stop? 

After thirty minutes, sleep is nowhere to be seen. The sniffling has stopped in the other room but JJ doubts you’re asleep either. Soon enough, he can’t stand the internal struggle anymore. He gets to his feet and makes his way into the living room before he can lose his nerve. 

You’re lying on your side on the sofa, bundled up with a moth-nibbled blanket. JJ can’t see your face from here but he knows you’re awake. Dating you for five years meant he learnt to pick up on things like that. Walking over, he comes to the back of the sofa and reaches over to gently place his hand on your shoulder. 

“You awake?” he rasps. 

A pause, and then, “yes.”

“Come to bed.”

“Why?”

“Because you’ve got that stupid interview tomorrow and you’re going to hate yourself for sleeping on this fucking thing in the morning.”

And I can’t fall asleep unless you’re next to me. 

“You remembered I have an interview?” you mumble. 

“Course,” JJ mumbles back, as if embarrassed that he remembers something his wife told him. “So come to bed.”

You don’t say anything else. JJ has a million things he could say. They’re things that he should say and that he wants to but it’s like his mouth is soldered shut. He can’t let them pass as if they might incriminate him. Oh no! She’ll know I care about her! Instead, he swallows and removes his hand, sighing as he turns to return to the bedroom. 

“Well, I’m going to bed,” he says. Again, there’s no response. 

Only after JJ has closed the bedroom door does he hear movement from the sofa. By the time you reappear, he’s already in bed, curled up on his side, facing the wall. You make your way to the right of the bed. There’s the thud of the blanket joining the floor before you sneak under the sheets and shuffle about until you’re settled. 

The two of you don’t cuddle that night just like you don’t most nights. Neither of you apologise. Neither of you say a word. But just as JJ’s about to drift off, he feels the faintest press of your lips to the back of his bare shoulder. 

When JJ wakes up in the morning, you’ve already left. His head hurts the moment he opens his eyes. Groaning, he tosses the sheets off and sits up on the edge of his bed. JJ’s aching back was a common companion to his life since El Dorado. He’d fallen funny on the adventure and seemingly fucked it up for life. Lifting heavy cargo at the docks probably didn’t help much but what choice did he have? You both needed the money desperately. 

The hunt for the gold went sour. Not only did Ward Cameron steal it and use it, but Rafe stole the cross and melted the timeless relic down into chunks. At first they thought El Dorado - the timeless mystery - was a possibility. JJ believed it too. In trying to get himself and John B there, he’d got himself in pretty hot water back in Kildare. That and the eviction notice plastered to his dad’s house meant that coming back home, empty handed, meant tough living. At first, the two of you persevered. You took the loss as best you could and started out on your life together. A courthouse wedding marked the beginning of your new life, gold-less but not loveless. The Pogues threw a party at the Chateau afterwards. JJ sent out an invitation to his dad at his last known address but he never showed. You never invited yours and thankfully he stayed away. Not long after was he arrested. That was a good day. You’d sold your father’s house and used that money to buy the trailer you and JJ now resided in. It was supposed to be a temporary spot but you fell on rough times. That was almost four years ago. 

The day at work dragged on like any other. After missing one shift at the local grocers, JJ was fired and had to take the next available job to let the two of you meet rent. Now he spends his hours (nearly seven days a week) fixing up old fishing rigs. It was gruelling work: lifting and slamming and hammering and loading. Even in the September air, the summer less stifling than before, JJ works up a sweat. He doesn’t have enough food to spare for things like pack dinners so he goes off an apple during his breaks. Sometimes Pope would offer JJ some food if they crossed paths but JJ didn’t want to be a charity case. He was aware how frail the two of you looked though: having about one semi-decent meal a day. Just as the day begins to wrap to a close - the amber sun low in the sky - does Billy, his employer, come over to JJ as he’s scrubbing his hands. 

“Goddamn oil, swear to God,” he mutters under breath, scratching tirelessly at the skin. 

“Hey, JJ, we gotta talk,” Billy sighs. 

JJ looks up and wipes his hands dry on his shirt. “What’s up?”

“Look, uh…” The moment Billy clears his throat, JJ knows what’s coming. “I hate to do this, man, but I gotta let you go.”

“Dude, seriously?” JJ sighs. 

“Look, it ain’t your fault, Jay. I just…The business is going under and I can’t keep all you guys on anymore. I hate to do this to you, I really do, man. I've got your last paycheck here but you, uh, don’t gotta come in on Monday,” Billy not-so-delicately tells him, digging in his pocket and retrieving a white envelope. As he hands it over, he adds, “sorry.”

“Yeah, well,” JJ sighs, taking the money, “sorry don’t pay the bills, does it?”

Before Billy can reply, JJ pockets the paycheck and sets off from the docks towards his truck. He had to trade in his bike a few years back when the two of you married: a truck seemed more practical, especially for the plans you had. The anxiety seeps in as he starts his engine and only rises the closer he gets to home like a flood caused by a running tap in a home. Rubbing at his heart, trying to alleviate the nerves, JJ takes a breath and turns up the drive. He never used to feel this way when coming home to you. In fact, it used to be the highlight of his day. Now he just prays that he can get through the door without the two of you falling into an argument. 

You’re standing at the stove, steam billowing up from the pan that you’re stirring, and at the sound of JJ shoving his way through the entrance, you turn and offer a small smile. It seems like an olive branch for last night. 

“Hey,” you say. 

“Yo,” JJ hums, closing the door. He heads for the pile of envelopes on the cluttered breakfast bar and flicks through them. Every FINAL NOTICE makes him cringe. One is already open and he slips the letter out, but you speak before he has a chance to read a word. 

“We got a week until they shut the gas off,” you tell him. 

“Well, I got the solution to that.”

JJ tries his best to smile as he holds the envelope up. Gasping, you abandon the stove and grin, taking it from him and scanning over the amount. He’s ashamed by his surprise when you wrap your arms around his neck, hugging him. He doesn’t have a chance to respond; you’re back at the stove, stirring dinner, within seconds. 

“Yeah, well, that’s the good news,” JJ says. 

Frowning, concerned, you look over your shoulder to him. “There’s bad news?”

JJ can’t meet your gaze as he tells you, “I got let go.”

“What? But I thought–”

“Yeah, me too,” JJ sighs, shaking his head. He leans against the fridge and feels it shudder at his weight. The bottles of cheap wine clink together tellingly and JJ tries not to cringe. “Anyway, how’d your interview go?”

You shake your head, looking back to the pan. “They said they’d let me know in three or so days but I don’t know…They were hard to read.”

He watches you in the artificial light, your now naturally coloured hair looking almost unrecognisable in the glow. You’d stopped dying it a couple years ago because you thought it might make finding work easier. It didn’t. Two ex-convicts, one of which had arguably the worst reputation in Kildare, who disappeared for several months at a time as teenagers. No high school degree, no college degree, no qualifications or former training, and no reputable name to fall back on. JJ contemplates coming over to you and wrapping his arms around your middle, pulling you against him. He wants to dance with you in the kitchen to non-existent music and then cuddle up on the couch, sharing a joint and putting the world to right. But he doesn’t. Instead, JJ stays by the fridge. 

“I’m sure you’ll get it.”

“Maybe. You going back to the job centre tomorrow?” 

“Maybe,” JJ echos. He should. It’s hard though. It feels as though every time one of you picks yourself up and dusts yourself off, you get kicked to the dirt again. Jobs felt as unstable and unpromising as a rebound relationship. If either of you can hold down a job in the shaky economy that was the Cut on Kildare, then something in the house needs replacing, and you’re somehow still as broke as you were to start.

Neither of you bring up the argument from last night even though you should. Instead, you eat your dinner in mostly silence as the radio drones on in the background about the weather and the news. JJ’s apology lingers on his tongue but with every mouthful of his grits, it gets brushed away. It stays that way as the evening drags on. One glass of cheap red wine turns into two and three. Somewhere in the tipsy haze, the two of you find one another, naked under the sheets. His bare chest brushes against yours as he kisses desperately at your neck, thrusting into you. As his hands caress along your familiar figure, it feels as though you’re miles away. Or maybe it’s him. Maybe he isn’t the one that’s present, as if standing across the room, watching it all unfold. Your heavy breaths in his ear don’t excite him as they did before. The feeling of your walls squeezing around him doesn’t send him spiralling the same way it used to. It feels as if he’s just going through the motions. Chasing the brief wave of euphoria and distracting himself from the maelstrom of anxiety that is his mind lately. No job, no family, no future.  

“Harder, JJ,” you sigh against his shoulder, your breath warm on his damp skin.

He hardly registers your words and only responds when one of your hands coaxes his hips deeper. Something about the new angle hits JJ just right. His eyes slip shut, a groan falling past his lips as he shudders against your body. He comes rather quickly: the white hot pleasure fast as it passes through him. He lingers inside of you a moment. You lay stone still underneath him.  

“Did you just come?” you ask. 

“Yeah, I just came,” JJ sighs, pulling out of you. Sighing, chest heaving, he flops onto his back beside you. He can feel your stare the same way he did last night. As if trying to escape it, his eyes slip shut. 

“Are you fucking serious, JJ?”

“You know your body better anyway. Go to town,” JJ mumbles. He’s aware of how douchey he sounds but he feels a thousand miles away. He’d only disappoint you anyway. It feels like all he does is disappoint you. 

“Fuck you,” you mutter, climbing out of bed and heading presumably to the bathroom to piss. The door slams the same as it did last night. More arguments and JJ will have to replace the hinges. Just another thing in the house that’ll be added to the list of repairs, with the thing at the top being your relationship. As JJ works through the list in his mind, he drifts off to sleep. He isn’t sure if you ever came back to bed. You’re gone when he wakes up in the morning.  

“I don’t understand man,” John B says. “Why don’t you two just get a divorce?”

JJ’s head snaps to face his best friend. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“I’m just saying–”

“--John B–”

“--You guys are miserable,” he finishes, not letting JJ cut him off. Groaning, JJ shakes his head and paces away. “It’s not like divorce is frowned upon in your family! Your parents did it, hers did it - hell, mine did it too!”

“I don’t wanna divorce her,” JJ says, turning around. He takes his cap from his head and runs his fingers through his hair. It’s damp with sweat from the humid heat of the day. He’d been at his lifelong best friend’s house since eight in the morning, helping to clear up the yard and fix the jetty. Whilst unemployed, JJ may as well keep himself busy. As always, the conversation had veered into relationship territory: John B and Sarah, and JJ and you. The fight was two weeks in the past. You hadn’t let JJ have sex with you since. JJ wasn’t sure if he even wanted to. It just made him feel more confused and disconnected. He didn’t like being the reason you were upset.  

“There’s no shame in it,” John B assures. “You guys were a good fit when we were teenagers but now you’ve grown up and life’s gotten hard. That’s okay.”

“She’s it for me, JB,” JJ states. He wanders over and lovingly pats him on the back, making his way to the cooler for another beer. “I ain’t giving up on us.”

“Cool. So, you’ll just stay stuck in a loveless marriage for the rest of your life then. Awesome,” comes John B’s sardonic response. 

“It’s not loveless. It’s just…going through a rough patch.”

“A two year long rough patch?”

“It’s not as simple as ‘divorce her’,” JJ sighs. The crisp crack of the beer sounds like heaven’s gates opening. “She’s the girl of my literal childhood dreams. And things have been hard for her too. We don’t mean to fight, we just…do.”

“Denial is a six-letter word my friend. You know what else is?”

“Don’t say it–”

“Trauma.”

“JB–”

“I get it! Your dad was shitty and you’re trying to break the cycle! But maybe you can’t! Maybe there isn’t a cycle! Maybe that’s just life!”

“Look, I don’t therapise you so how about you don’t therapise me,” JJ suggests. He tosses a beer to the brown haired man. His face isn’t all that different from when they were young. The crows feet around his eyes are deeper set, as are the laughter and frown lines along his forehead. The stubble on his beard challenges JJ’s. “I’m not gonna give up on us. We just need to reconnect. I feel like we’re always at odds.”

Sighing, John B relents. He clinks his can against JJ’s in an informal cheers. “Well, I hope you’re right and you guys can figure it out. I just want you happy, man.”

Happy. JJ hardly knew the meaning of the word these days. 

He lingers at John B’s house until sunset, when Sarah returns from the hospital. She’d managed to get a spot on a nursing course and was blazing through it. She’d tried to get both you and JJ employed there too but the criminal check killed any chance. She offers for JJ to stay for dinner but he declines, saying that he should head home. The walk back is filled with unnecessary diversions. He goes to the pier where he saw you jump as a kid. He goes by the grocery store that the two of you used to shoplift beers from. He wanders along the coastline where you used to skinny dip in the dead of night. Somehow, JJ ends up outside what used to be his home. Nobody had bought it after the bank repossessed it. Sitting in dilapidation, nature reclaims the isolated structure. It’s barely recognisable to JJ. Seeing it in such a way makes JJ question if his childhood was even real. The traumatic memories feel as though they don’t fit well on this canvas: it’s too peaceful and serene. He leans down and grabs a large rock from the floor and hurls it towards one of the windows. It shatters through the glass and thuds as it lands on the floorboards inside. A small smile pushes onto JJ’s ageing face. That’s better. He continues to walk home. 

It’s pitch black outside by the time JJ makes it back. He wonders if you might have gone to bed as he walks up the porch steps, dodging the broken one, reminding himself to fix it. The house is cast in a warm glow from the living room floor lamp when JJ walks in. The kitchen has been cleaned up and for once seems almost homely. His eyes are immediately drawn to your frame, sat crossed legged on the sofa. A large shoebox sits on the coffee table, the lid off, and a stack of old VHS tapes sit in a pile to its right. There’s a bottle of open red wine and a half filled glass too. You’re looking down at something. 

“Hey,” he says, closing the door behind him. 

“Hey.”

“What’re you doing?”

You finally look up. You’d put your nose ring back in and it shines under the gentle glare of the lamp. A smile blesses your features. “I was going through the closet to see if I could sell some old clothes and found the picture box. Remember how we were gonna hang some up when we first moved here? I think we still should.”

JJ grabs a glass for himself and joins you on the sofa. You smell like soap and shea butter. He pours himself a glass of wine.

“Look,” you say, holding the picture out for him to see. He places down in his glass on the table and takes the photo from you. JJ chuckles quietly under breath. It’s of John B and JJ when they were younger; they sit on their surfboards, legs submerged in the water, hair damp, smiles brimming and big. “Cute, huh?”

“Very cute,” JJ agrees. He places it amongst the pile of scattered pictures strewn across the table and picks another out. It’s of Kiara, pulling a stupid face as she lounges outside the Chateau. Sarah throwing up peace signs. A candid of Pope and John B playing cards one afternoon. You, dangling upside down from the slats of the jetty, lilac hair barely scraping the surface of the water. 

“I like this one.”

JJ leans into you to see the picture in your hands. He smiles at the sight. One of the Pogues must have taken it. You both look about eighteen. You’re sat on one of the deckchairs that resided outside of the Chateau, talking vivaciously, hands gesturing wildly and smiling wide. JJ’s just staring at you, a lovesick smile on his young face, chin resting on his fist. For a while, the two of you sit in the drip-drip-drip of the kitchen sink, staring at the picture as if in a trance. 

“You used to adore me,” you whisper. 

JJ’s brows knit together. He looks down at you. “I still do.”

Your laugh is sad. Your eyes remained trained on the moment frozen in time. “Not like you used to. Not like before.”

“Before what?” JJ mumbles, heart suddenly heavy. 

You look up and meet his gaze. Whatever emotion is on your face makes JJ want to cry. “You know what.”

He shakes his head, his lips quivering. “That’s not true.”

“Everything changed after that.”

“It’s not true,” he says again. His hand slips up, cupping your cheek, and his body sings when you lean into his hold. “That weren’t your fault. It never was and never will be.”

“But would you still have married me,” you begin to ask, voice turning thick as the tears start to build, “if you knew? If I knew before.”

“Yes,” JJ swiftly answers. 

“JJ–”

“--You’re it for me,” he says. His forehead gently falls forward, resting against yours, needing to be closer. “Girl of my dreams.”

“Even if…” You take in a shaky breath, trying desperately not to cry. “Even if I can’t give you a family.”

“You are my family. I got everything I need right here.” 

Something between a sob and laugh shakes your body. You sniff and nod fervently against him. JJ sweeps his calloused finger across your cheek. He feels the warmth that radiates from your skin. Inhales the soothing smell that is you. Counts the smattering of blemishes and freckles and scars that decorate your skin like cracks in an antique painting. They don’t take from your beauty - they just speak to the value. 

“I’m sorry,” he hears himself say. 

It’s your turn to frown now. Opening your eyes, they shimmer with unshed tears. “What’d you mean?”

“I’m so sorry I let you marry me,” he says in brutal honesty. “This ain’t the life you deserve.”

“JJ–”

“You deserve so much more than this. More than all this scrimping and saving. You deserve your house. Your pastel blue house, with those white shutters and the porch - that damn wrap around porch - and your cats and dogs.”

You chuckle, shaking your head. Your own hands come up, cradling his face just as he has your own, and you smile dotingly up at him. For the first time in months, JJ feels as though he recognises you. JJ feels as though he recognises himself. 

“I don’t need all that, JJ,” you tell him. “That’s just stuff. Things. You said it best: I have everything I’ve ever needed right here.”

“You don’t gotta say that,” JJ gently argues. “This trailer isn’t a house, baby.”

“No, it ain’t,” you agree. “It’s a home. It’s our home.”

“Baby,” JJ sighs. His eyes slip shut, unable to look at you, feeling nothing less than a failure. 

“You remember our wedding day?” you ask him. JJ can’t help but snort. 

“Course I do.”

“Remember our vows?”

His lips can’t help but upturn as he follows your train of thought. He was always good at following your mind. 

“For richer–”

“--for poor,” JJ finishes. 

The caress of your finger along his jawline has JJ close to tears. 

“We’re gonna be okay,” you tell him softly. “We're gonna get through all this. It’s just God’s test, that's all, and we’re gonna pass it, and it’ll be okay again. I promise.”

JJ manages to open his eyes and face you. You’re smiling up at him, gazing as if he was the entire solar system laid before you, and the anxiety slips away as suddenly as winter changes to spring. 

“My good looking boy,” you whisper. 

JJ’s never been good with his words. But sometimes words aren’t needed. 

His lips find yours like a bird migrating home. You immediately hold him close to you, tilting his face with yours to deepen the kiss. His tongue brushes against yours. The taste of red wine is strangely erotic and it spurs JJ on. He sighs against you, pushing deeper as if to consume you. Your fingers slip into his hair; nails teasing at his scalp, combing through the sea salt treated strands. JJ’s hands sink away from your face, tracing along your arms, down to your waist. You sink into the cushions of the sofa on your back as JJ climbs atop. His lips map across your cheeks, along your jaw, find home on your neck and collarbones. 

“I missed you so much,” he confesses in a breath against your sensitive skin. 

The removal of clothes is like a ritual: each piece commemorated with kisses and love bites and praises. Your hands explore one another’s naked bodies as if it were your first time. Like a blind man regaining sight, JJ is in awe of your effortless beauty. The way your back arches at the trace of his finger along your sternum, down to your weeping cunt. You clench helplessly around his digits as he fingers you, slow and sensual, savouring every moan and whine. 

“Missed you so fucking much, baby,” JJ sighs against your thigh. Presses kisses against the stretch mark decorated skin, like watering tree roots. “So fucking pretty.”

“JayJ,” you croon, eyes clenched shut, a balled up fist rubbing helplessly at your forehead. 

His tongue laps at your clit, suckles at the wet, driven by the feel of your fingers knotting in his hair. You climax with a gasp, soaking his fingers and lips, overstimulated until you’re gently pushing him away and pulling him up to you. He’s painfully hard as he kisses you. When your hand softly takes hold of him, he sighs against your mouth. 

“I missed you,” you tell him between kisses. Your hand rubs at him in long, meaningful strokes, thumb occasionally teasing over the tip. JJ groans against your chest, eyes pressed shut, trying to revel in the feeling of having you so close, having you jacking him off, whilst trying desperately not to come. But you know him better than anybody else. You know when to guide him to your entrance, coating him in your slick. JJ kisses at your nipple as he sinks into you. He doesn’t feel miles away this time as he fucks you into the sofa. Doesn’t feel like he’s stranded across the room as he makes love to you for the first time in months, maybe even years. 

Your begs and pleas and praises are like words from the lord being spoken into JJ’s ears in your breathy whimpers. Harder, deeper, feels so fuckin’ good, faster. JJ’s no better, slurring anything that slips into his mind as he sinks in and out of you. So fuckin’ wet, prettiest fuckin’ pussy in the world, tell me how bad you need it. His hand holds an almost mean grip on your hip whilst his other finds your left. JJ intertwines your fingers as the two of you chase your highs, the digits slick with sweat, slipping in the hold but never letting go.

"I'm s'close," you whine, hooking your legs over his hips, driving him deeper.

"Fuck, feels so fuckin' good," JJ grunts, ploughing into you. "So fuckin' good for me."

"Please, JJ," you gasp. You're so close. JJ fucks you hard and fast. "Please, please, please..."

You come first, gasping and panting against JJ’s ear, and he follows, moaning desperately against your clammy skin. His eyes slip shut as he rests atop of you. 

JJ blinks awake, somewhat disorientated. For the first time in forever, his aching back isn’t the first thing he registers. Instead, it’s the steady rise and fall of the warm body underneath him. He slowly lifts his head to find you, sleeping soundly, still naked. He’s soft inside of you and gently slips out with a small shudder. You stir only slightly but soon drift back off to sleep. JJ gets up carefully so as to not disturb your slumber. The bathroom doesn’t feel as grimy when he goes inside to pee, and his face looks younger, lighter, refreshed, when he checks the mirror as he washes his hands. After tugging on a pair of boxers and an old t-shirt, he returns to the living room. You’ve curled up on your side, snoring quietly, and JJ smiles. How could he forget how beautiful you are? He lays a blanket over your body and plants a kiss to your hair. Then, he begins to tidy away some of the pictures. As you requested, he leaves out some that he thinks you might like to be framed, one of which is from your wedding day: the two of you laughing as you smush cake against one another’s mouths. His eyes fall on the tapes and he picks them up, flicking through them. He takes pause at one. Luke and Marie’s Wedding Tape. He stares at it like the box of Jumangi, both terrified and enticed.

JJ powers up the TV, ensuring it’s on silent, and turns on the old tape player. By some miracle, it still works. He slips the tape in and swallows the lump in his throat, and sits on the sofa beside where your head rests. You’re still dead to the world, snuggled up cosy in your blanket cocoon, and JJ’s weirdly grateful for your company as the tape kicks to life. It’s grainy at first, the picture wobbly, but soon enough the image comes to life. His dad who JJ hasn’t seen in years stands young and stupid at the altar. His mother who JJ wouldn’t know if she passed him in the street stands young and forgiving opposite. They’re speaking soundless words, smiling. JJ isn’t aware that he’s started crying until a teardrop lands on his hand. He wipes his cheek absently, eyes fixated on the screen. He watches as they dance: giggling, graceful, giddy. Just as you were the day JJ laid his eyes on you. 

Maybe John B was right. Maybe JJ did want to break the pattern. It wasn't either of your faults that you both reacted to adversity the way you did. Years of built-up anger and rage and pain with nowhere to go but within was like a boiling over crockpot of disaster. Two borderline-abandoned, abused teenagers married at eighteen? Of course you didn't have the blueprint for how to be a functional couple. Neither of you knew the definition of compromise, or backing down, or making peace. All you knew was pain and betrayal and self-defence. But that could change. It would take time and patience, but it could. JJ wanted it to. He was sick of working against you. You were a team before and you would be a team again. JJ never wanted to go to war against you, not when you were the best soldier on his team. JJ had always feared love because he feared what it would make him. Would he be like his father or his mother: resent or retreat?

As JJ's eyes sweep down to your sleeping self, he decides what he'll be. He'll be neither. He'll be himself. He'll be resilient.

One of JJ's hands raises and his fingers lovingly stroke at your hair. You don’t wake, just shift a little, and a barely there smile slinks onto your face. 

“Don’t give up on me, baby,” JJ mumbles, petting the strands of your ever changing hair. His good looking girl. “These times are hard and they’re makin’ us go crazy, but don’t give up on me. Cause I meant every word.”

For better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish…

"Til' death do us part."

[2tarbell]

https://www.tumblr.com/2tarbell/756490945730576384/hiiiiiiiiiiii-my-loves-talk-2-me-plzz-and-i

hiii been thinking about bfb w rafe tonight… sleepovers at sarah’s with kie (& omg bonus points if reader is in the pogue friend group i can never get enough pogue reader + rafe content) where he’s kinda perving on reader but she’s kinda into it (oh no she must’ve left her panties at sarah’s house!!! whatever is a girl to do sigh)… she’s all giggly n blushy n flirty n shit when she runs into rafe late at night while getting some water from the kitchen, making sarah and kie wonder what could possibly be taking her so long?

maybe they start texting, out of convenience obviously of course being his little sisters best friend and all, and then maybe it turns into sexting, until rafe can’t take it anymore and some sensually filthy smut happens🥰 you can decide the rest if you choose to write this but either way ty for listening to me horny ramblingxhxhjd

ೀ

SURE OF IT

warnings! best friends brother, pogue!reader, sweetheart!reader, maybe ditzy!reader, rafe is kinda chill? i guess?, mention of weed, reader and rafe are pervs, fingering, pinv smut, unprotected sex, car sex, daddy kink, dom!rafe, slapping, choking, lmk if i missed anything :)

your best friends brother is the one for you. (3.3K words, fic, © 2tarbell 2024)

“—and rafe is somewhere upstairs— i know, but we can just ignore him—”

as if.

the beating of your heart picked up at the mention of the eldest cameron.

a small, wicked part of you hoped he would make an appearance. hoped he would taunt and tease you in that deep voice that haunted every single one of your wet dreams.

sarah and kie couldn’t know that, of course.

so you made a show of pursing your lips in distaste, sharing a look with kiara that you prayed didn’t say “i actually wanna fuck him”.

it wasn’t as if you had this crush on him outta nowhere.

no, your best friends brother wanted you just as much. you were sure of it.

as you walked further into the large home with sarah and kiara, you felt a pleasant nervousness settle in your tummy.

you stood straighter as soon as the three of you turned a corner and crossed paths with the man himself. your heart flipped and stomached tighten with arousal.

rafe stood there with his hands in his pockets, obviously not expecting to see any of you.

biting back your smile was hard as you looked up at him. his eyes were narrowed, brows drawn together that mirrored the small pout on his lips.

“the fuck kinda pogue convention is this—?”

“shut up and leave us alone,” sarah was quick to cut him off, moving past him with a shove of her shoulder against his. kiara smirked and pulled you along.

following after your friends like an obedient little puppy was second nature to you. but you stopped a few steps behind, dropping kiara’s hand casually.

you smiled as you looked over your shoulder at rafe. batting your eyelashes and and biting your glossy bottom lip.

“hi, rafey,” your voice was sugary sweet.

a singular brow raised, his gaze softening just so.

“uh— yeah, hi.”

you only giggled softly at his annoyed tone before skimping off to catch up with your girls once you heard kie call for you. missing the way his eyes lingered on your form, taking in the length of your legs and where they disappeared beneath your hand-me-down babydoll dress.

he almost choked when he saw the hem of your dress inch up just enough to catch a glimpse of the bottom of your ass cheeks.

rafe raked a hand through his hair and continued his way through the house, now an uncomfortable tightness in his khakis.

and if he hurried off to a bathroom to jerk off, that was nobodies business but his own.

you couldn’t sleep, no matter what you tried.

counting sheep like jj had taught you to one time, singing a song in your head, nothing was working.

you could only blame it on the dampness in your panties. the white lace stuck to your skin and caused you to shift around on the makeshift blanket bed uncomfortably.

since briefly seeing rafe earlier, your thoughts were caught up entirely in the interaction.

you played it back constantly and found yourself smiling and squeezing your thighs together anew.

thank god you had convinced the girls to let you sleep on the floor — you bit your lip as you slid off your shorts and panties. you balled up the lacey garment and stuffed it in the pocket of your sleep shorts once you had pulled them back up your legs.

you had a plan.

you tiptoed to the door, looking back once before you were gone down the hallway and steps. you saw light from under rafe’s door, and you smiled to yourself. before long, you found yourself in the kitchen.

maybe a glass of water would calm you down enough to sleep — where did they keep the glasses again?

cabinets opened and shut as quietly as you could manage, fearing waking anyone up, but making just enough noise.

just as you were beginning to run out of faith for water and your plan, you heard someone clear their throat behind you.

you’ve never snapped your head around so quickly, it’s a surprise it didn’t just keep rolling and onto the floor.

“oh my god—!”

the squeak you let out caused rafe to smirk. he quickly gave your body a once over — heat rushing to his abdomen at the sight of your pebbled nipples peeking through the thin sleep shirt you wore.

one of your dainty hands clutched your chest, trying to will your heart to settle. a giggle bubbled up your throat.

“rafe! don’t scare me like that…”

he chuckled breathlessly. a sound that made your pulse quicken even more.

“what’re you snoopin’ around for, huh?” he mumbled, voice gravelly from being unused.

you looked cute — hair fluffed up and feet clad in stripped socks. cute in a way that made him wanna bend you over the counter and take you right there, middle of the night be damned.

“hmm? oh, jus’— wanted a drink…” you hum, turning and opening the cabinet.

“oh, so y’not just being nosey?”

“and what if i am?”

“i’d say you know better, sweetheart.”

his use of the pet name made you feel faint. you set the cup down next to you on the counter.

you weren’t a stranger to being called that. or anything like it.

the pogue boys often referred to you as such, patronizing in a way. but you never thought it could sound so good. never cared for it until now.

“it’s such a maze in here…” you changed the subject, leaning back against the counter. crossing your arms in a way that you knew made your breasts bulge.

you didn’t miss the quick glance down from rafe. or the harsh swallow.

“yeah? wouldn’t expect you to know anything ‘bout a house like this.”

he was teasing you. outrightly poking fun at the main difference between you both. kook and pogue.

you cocked your head at his words, batting your eyelashes, “c’mon, don’t be mean…”

he smiled and you felt hot all over.

desire completely flushed out any rage and embarrassment. you watched with bated breath as he adjusted his stance and tongued the inside of his cheek.

“did i lie?”

“… yes.”

he scoffed and leaned back against the counter opposite you. the mere feet between you both was charged with sparks.

the way he said your name in that playful, commanding tone had shivers going down your spine. his eyes freezing you in place.

“y’too pretty to be playin’ stupid like that.”

you bit your lip and smiled, “you think ‘m pretty?”

rafe bounced around for a response, trying to seem cool and collected.

suddenly you were all too aware of the stickiness between your thighs. all too aware of sarah and kiara sleeping upstairs. all too aware of the panties you stashed in your pocket.

you smirked and pushed off the counter.

“goodnight, rafe…”

he didn’t say anything as you walked off out of the kitchen, but you heard an intake of breath when you dropped the underwear out of your pocket.

you stopped in your tracks when you heard him choke out your name.

“hmm?”

sparkling eyes and a pretty smile made rafe forget all semblance of how to act.

after all, he was a selfish man.

“nothin’, uh— night, kid.”

too easy.

you hurried back up the stairs, looking over the banister and watching as he bent down and picked up your panties.

a moan threatened to slip past your lips when he brought them up to his face and smelled them.

needless to say, neither of you got any sleep that night.

rafe was losing his mind. he had to be.

what other explanation was there for him to have fisted his cock all night with your panties? painting his hand over and over and it still not feeling like enough.

he was embarrassed, yes, but he also wanted more. he wanted you.

it felt like divine intervention when he phone buzzed and your name popped up on his screen.

—

hiii

sent at 7:48 pm

—

he had been thinking about you all day, completely in his head.

anger and arousal fighting for dominance. it seemed arousal always came out on top.

—

What do you want

sent at 7:50 pm

—

rafe knew he was fucked when he actually felt bad for being short with you.

he scrolled back up through your previous messages. they were all innocent — you simply asking him to open the front door or even begging him to get you and the girls some weed.

he doesn’t know exactly when things changed, when you changed.

bzzz!

—

can u give me a ride :C sarah said she can’t

sent at 7:51 pm

Where you at

sent at 7:51 pm

—

yeah, rafe was thoroughly fucked.

but he really didn’t care anymore as he grabbed his keys off his nightstand and and shoved his feet into some shoes.

he couldn’t stand it anymore. and as he pulled out of the driveway, he knew something had to give.

“you’re a lifesaver, rafey.”

he only hummed in response, putting his truck in reverse and driving out of your quaint little workplaces parking lot.

some dumb pogue flower shop. rafe really didn’t give a shit if he was honest.

he stole glances at you in his passenger seat, looking so perfect and pretty. like you belonged there, belonged next to him.

he could feel himself start to grow hard in his pants when you crossed one leg over the other. the plush of your thighs looking oh-so inviting.

you smiled at him, and rafe rolled his eyes, looking back at the road ahead.

“what?”

“hmm? i can’t look at you?” you teased.

the scoff he let out made you wanna laugh, so you did. a sweet sound that often drove him insane.

and looked at him you did. eyes taking in every inch of exposed bicep that was peeking out from his polo. his skin was tanned from the summer sun and you found yourself wondering what it would look like with your lipstick all over it.

he grit his teeth, setting his jaw.

“y’know i— you’re not— you’re not slick,” the words fell from his mouth in a grumble.

“what—?”

you felt a rush of adrenaline when he pulled the familiar white lace out of his pocket and threw it onto your lap.

before you could question further, rafe pulled the truck to the side of the road. it was hidden between two trees, the setting sun helping to conceal it.

“y’think this shit is funny?” his voice was rough and you were unsure if the question was rhetorical. you stared at him with wide eyes and an open mouth.

it was tense and you couldn’t move. just stared at him blankly.

“i didn’t think that—“

“nah, you didn’t think, did you?”

“i’m— i—“

you didn’t know what to say or do. the last thing you expected was to be scolded by him. confronted by your own actions. but you couldn’t suppress the wave of need that surged through you.

“you— you want me? you want this?” he mumbled, eyes flickering between yours.

the question made you flush again. never in a million years did you think it would end up like this. that you would actually have him. your answer felt obvious.

“mhm.”

“words.” his command made you melt.

“yeah, yes, please,” you breathed and watched as he unbuckled his seatbelt.

rafe grasped your jaw and pushed his thumb into your mouth, feeling the warm muscle of your tongue wet against his skin. you responded eagerly, sucking on the digit.

“a’ight. then get in the fucking back.”

you registered to click of your own seatbelt and blinked as he reached past you and pushed open the door.

his thumb left your mouth with a pop and he pushed your face away, that mean way that you had always dreamt about. you had half a mind to do anything but what he told you to.

before you knew it, you were on your back and sprawled in the backseat with rafe on top of you. his hand shoved up your skirt, knuckle tortuously rubbing up and down against your panty clad clit.

you were a mess already.

rafe spent at least ten minutes grumbling about how much of a tease you were. detailing every time he just wanted to grab you and fuck you senseless. he made fun of you, of your slickness and delicate (although cheap) panties that were damp by your arousal.

he mocked you as you whined, but let you press pink lips up his arm. the kiss marks looking just as delicious as you thought.

despite the dirty talk and his hand now around your throat, he had yet to kiss you. you watched his mouth form words but you could hardly hear anymore, desperate for more. for anything he would give you.

“hey, hey, ‘m talkin’ to you. dumb fucking girl—“

his palm lightly connected with your cheek, the slight sting bringing a dazed smile to your lips.

rafe chuckled at the already fucked out expression on your face. he’d hardly done anything yet and you were already melted beneath him.

too fucking easy.

his voiced cooed lowly, squeezing your throat tighter, “c’mon, sweetheart. focus, yeah? can you do that f��me?”

you were nodding before he even finished speaking, hips rolling up against his hand as he pushed your panties to the side.

“kiss me? need it, please— need you, rafe—“

the harsh slap against your weeping cunt makes your eyes flutter and a gasping moan is drawn from your lips. you watch with an agape mouth as rafe leans down closer, lips just inches from yours.

“s’not my name, is it?” he tuts.

no fucking way.

you’re breathing heavily against his lips. chest heaving and hands grasping at the front of his shirt.

you knew what he wanted you to say. and you wanted it just as bad.

“daddy, daddy, please—“

that soft plea was all it took for him to lean in and close the gap between you. he devoured your mouth eagerly, parting your lips with his own.

you welcomed his tongue into your mouth, feeling it twist and swirl around yours. you did your best to keep up, but his fingers had started to rub circles against your clit. you were completely gone when he slid a finger in.

“y’got such a needy little pussy, huh? sucking my finger so tight—“

the way he mumbled against your lips would haunt you. he began curling his finger inside of you, searching for that spongey patch that would cause you to see stars.

once he found it, you couldn’t focus on kissing him back anymore. you sat open mouthed, soft sighs and bucking hips spurring him on.

“there it is— gooood girl. c’mon, gimme one and i’ll fuck you like you need,” he rasped out, sliding in a second finger.

the want you felt was unlike anything else. it didn’t take long to have you writhing helplessly beneath him. a half hearted warning of your impending release only making him devilishly smile.

you were brainless by the time he removed his hand and brought glistening fingers to your lips. it was second nature to let your mouth fall open and suckle his large fingers.

the trance only ended when you heard the clinking buckle of his belt. rafe pushed your knees against your chest, not before pulling the neckline of your tank top down to let your tits spill out. (“perfect fuckin’ tits. knew they’d be so gorgeous…”)

your hands pushed up his shirt, needing to see his toned chest. rafe pulled it over his head with one hand, the action alone could’ve made you cum again.

“gonna be a good girl and take it all?”

his words were emphasized by the head of his cock slotting between your folds. the sensation of his tip bumping against your swollen clit making you flinch.

he didn’t move until you spoke, words coming out rushed and slurred from arousal, “mhm, yeah, yeah—“

feeling him push into you made you see stars. he held your gaze and you watched as his brow furrowed in concentration, his mouth dropping into a low moan. he was so unfairly attractive.

once he bottomed out, you knew he ruined your pussy for anyone else. never had you felt so full. every vein and ridge of his dick suctioned by your gummy walls.

“nnngghh— ohmygod—“ you gasped out, feeling unable to breath as he spilt you in half.

rafe was unbelievably deep. his hips pressed right up against yours. he was watching as he disappeared into you, glazed over eyes as you arched your back off the seats.

his voice was strained, “s’pretty like this. taking me so well.”

you couldn’t make coherent sentences, you felt felt him everywhere. the way he had your knees pressed against your chest allowed him to slide in and out somehow deeper each time.

“i can’t— can’t— nnnngghhh—“ the sounds you were making sounded like sobs.

“yeah— yes, you can, baby. doing so well, letting me ruin this pretty cunt…”

rafe reached a hand down and pressed on your lower stomach. the pressure allowed for more stimulation of your g-spot but also allowed him to feel his cock thrusting in and out.

he took your hand and placed it, holding it against your abdomen with his. you choked at the feeling.

“feel that? that’s me. that’s daddy fuckin’ you stupid, yeah?”

“jesus fucking christ—“

rafe breathed out a laugh at your curse. you were becoming less and less coherent as he fucked you, your eyes threatening to roll back when his thumb found your clit again.

he slapped you again, urging your eyes back on him. “nuh-uh, look at me, kid, there ya go—“

tears flooded down your cheeks as his hips slapped against yours with more fervor. it was too much, your body was aching for release.

he leaned down and pressed his lips to yours. the warmth of his mouth made you start rocking your hips to meet his. rafe groaned and increased his pace, the sticky wet sounds filling the truck.

it was sloppy and messy, you were almost embarrassed at how wet you were. rafe didn’t care though, not when he was finally claiming the girl he’s wanted for so long.

“mmf— y’gonna cum on this cock? gimme that shit, c’mon—“

you didn’t need another invitation. you were creaming on his pulsing length in seconds, hot white blinding your vision and a pleasant fuzziness blocking out your senses.

the warmth of his release made you shudder as he shallowly fucked into you with low groans that curled up into whines. his own orgasm made his rhythm stutter. he collapsed onto you in a sweaty heap.

neither of you spoke for a few moments, caught up in an intimate quiet that seemed so fragile. rafe littered kisses across your neck and collarbone. his touch soft in a way you’d never expect. you scratched his scalp with your painted nails, feeling a rush of affection when he practically purred.

finally you whispered, “are you… mad at me?”

his head snapped up, questioning and lingering lust clouding his blue eyes. he brought a hand up and brushed hair away from your face.

“no, ‘m not mad. never was…” he mumbled hoarsely.

the relief was visible in your tired features. rafe felt a pang of something in his chest… guilt? longing?

“do you… i mean… what just happened?” you asked dumbly, feeling the weight of confusion settling in your bones.

he shushed you, pressing his lips to yours so tenderly, it felt unreal. a stark contrast to the heated encounter you two just shared.

“lemme… take you out?”

the question felt foreign on his lips, a soft tone he never really used.

but your smile was radiant.

rafe felt stupid for not asking sooner if it meant he got to see that reaction. you nuzzled his nose with yours gently.

he huffed, feeling himself grow mushy under your adoring gaze. you just giggled in that precious way that made him feel weak. nodding eagerly and wrapping your arms around his neck.

your best friends brother was the one for you. you were sure of it.

© 2tarbell 2024

[zyafics]

i love love love your writing<3

rq: rafe had came up to tanneyhill's balcony for some peace at his own party. though he didn’t expect reader to be there, looking utterly lost. he knows reader is new. seen you before, too, hanging out with sarah’s crowd; under a pogue’s arm whenever they see him around, telling you rafe isn't anything worth talking, or interacting with.

first off, i am so sorry it took me so long to get this done (as with a lot of my requests) but thank you so much for enjoying my writing!! 🩷 i hope i do this prompt justice (literally shaking in my boots as i post this 😭)

ANGRY GOD | Rafe Cameron

MASTERLIST (oneshot/mini series) | x Female Reader

Content — fluff, angst, Rafe spiraling (S2 Canons), Enemies Tension, Rafe growing possessive of Reader. Word Count — 3.2K.

Dedication — to @mintforadollar who listened to me rant about this plot a month ago, only for it to now be completed <3. Prompt credited to this on c.ai!

lıllılı Champagne Coast by Blood Orange

Rafe wants to be alone.

His mind is caught in a tailspin, muscles singing with ache from his latest altercation. It didn't help that the fucker managed to get some good swings in, ripples of pain spread from his jawline to his left eye. When he enters the second floor of Tannyhill, all he wants is to catch a breath of fresh air away from the party. His party.

He didn't expect to see you.

"Out." Rafe commands gruffly. You flinch at his abrupt command. "Second floor is off-limits."

He adds nothing else as he marches over to the edge of the balcony, digging his scraped palms into the smooth ridges of the handrails. He didn't want anyone here to witness the brunt of his frustration and disappointment, or how his mind swims with disoriented and incoherent thoughts. He wants to be alone.

But you won't let him.

Cautiously, you take a step forward—not in the direction of the exit, as he hoped—but towards Rafe instead. Lifting his head at the sound of your faint footsteps, agitation flushing through his expression at your proximity. "Didn't I tell you to get out?"

"You got into a fight." You mumble your observation, examining his hardened profile to discover the bruise that decorates his jawline, swelling with discoloration, the darkening under his left eye, and the split of open skin right above his brow.

He scoffs. "No shit."

"And you're bleeding."

He is? He didn't know that. All consumed by the adrenaline rushing through his system—that has yet to wind down—Rafe lifts his hand to run his fingers over the most prominent aches around his face. When he presses against something wet, he withdraws, finding a fresh coat of blood over his fingertips.

Rafe grimaces at the sight—not the blood, he's used to that—but the fact that his opponent succeeded in cutting him too.

Now, he definitely doesn't want you here. Before Rafe has the chance to kick you out the third time, you offer assistance. "I can help," you say meekly, messing with the hems of your top.

He didn't catch it over the loud thumping of his heartbeat in his ears. "What?"

"I can help," you repeat, louder this time, wincing at the projection of your own voice. You don't like the strain in your tone, the desperation seeping through. You'd do anything to avoid returning to the party. "I know how to patch up wounds. I'm training to be an EMT."

"I didn't ask for a life story." He snaps, a mechanical response to any aid. The idea of someone taking care of him is unheard of; unfamiliar and uncomfortable. He doesn't know how to react other than complete and utter rejection. "Besides, I can take care of myself."

Rafe assumes his harsh words would drive you away. The bite behind each syllable has been enough to scare off everyone else but you remain firm in your position. If anything, your expression softens, eyes washing over his rigid posture with a sympathetic look. He hates it.

"I know," you start slowly, eyes cascading down his face, carefully monitoring his reaction. "But... wouldn't it be nice if you didn't have to?"

His expression breaks.

Your kindness strikes directly to his chest and his heart clutches at the way you address him. With humanity. Even when he's been nothing but a complete asshole to you, demanding your departure, you respond with a sense of warmth. Rafe clenches down his jaw.

When he doesn't answer quickly enough, a sign of his contemplation, you add. "Please."

Reluctantly, Rafe gives in. "Fine."

Rafe moves from the balcony deck to reenter Tannyhill, not bothering to check if you're following behind. He heads straight to the ensuite connected to his bedroom, checking under the sink for his first aid kit, before throwing the box over the counter.

That's when he catches a glimpse of himself through the mirror, the ugly bruising that lines his face, the dried blood that stains his temple. His jaw tightens at the sight.

You enter shortly after, seeing him with his back to the mirror, his spine pressed against the rim of the porcelain sink. Your eyes do a quick sweep of your surroundings, before landing on Rafe and his rigid form, arms crossed over his chest, and a cold look on his face. He just wants to get this over with.

You glance outside, to his room, with its openness, before meeting his gaze. "Can we go to your bed?"

His answer is immediate. "No."

You frown but ask nothing more. Rafe's trying to make this difficult for you, refusing to cooperate because it's easier than submitting to your grace. Easier than admitting he'd like the help. You work around that.

Grabbing the antiseptics from the kit, you proceed to clean his wounds, softly massaging his flesh in the process. For a moment, it feels too good and Rafe fights the urge to lean into your hand before a sharp pain rips through him from the open cut and he hisses.

You immediately pull back, mumbling a quick apology.

His eyes squeeze shut, it takes a moment for the throb to cool down, and once it does, Rafe reconnects his gaze with yours to find the remorseful look behind your stare, the softening of your features met with utmost concern. You don't make another move to try again.

"Are you okay?"

"Fine." He bites out, wanting to rid you of that look. He's not weak. Stop looking at him as if he is. Despite the reassurance, you have yet to continue. "You're not going to be a good doctor if you shy away every time your patient gets hurt."

"I feel bad." You admit, chewing on your bottom lip.

"Why? You didn't do this."

He's the one who got into the fight. The one who swung first. While he may have won in the end, having knocked out the guy in the middle of the yard, it doesn't neglect the damage done to him in the process. But, at the end of the day, it's his fault.

You don't see it that way. "Because you're hurting."

You're too soft. That's what Rafe determines. Every little moment, little sprouts of empathy, every inch of sensitivity, is going to hurt you in the end. It won't save anything.

"I don't need your pity," Rafe snaps, giving you the first taste of reality under his razor-sharp tongue. He could be considerate, and understanding, but he isn't. That's how he learned.

"It's not—" You sigh. You don't want to argue and relent against his jabs. Without further commentary, you continue forward with your duties: aiding in his treatment and biting through the humane urge to sympathize with his pain.

Rafe takes the silence to observe you while you work. He knows you grew quiet because of his rough manners, and he won't lie to himself and say he enjoys it. He doesn't. But it adds to the list of everything else he has done wrong in his life; his long string of failures that his father can't wait to remind him of.

In the quietness, Rafe recognizes something about you. It takes a moment, after all the aches and throbs, but the recognition dawns on him that you're new. You hang out with his sister, Sarah, and the rest of the filthy group of no-good Pogues on the other side of the island. There have even been occasions when he saw you under JJ's arm, slinging around red solo cups and a grim soak of southside.

"Where's your friends?" Rafe asks, surprising you with the roughness behind his voice.

You lift your gaze to his. "Hmm?"

"The Pogues. Don't you hang out with them?"

You swallow hard, feeling like a child being caught with their hand in the cookie jar. You hoped your newcomer status would be enough to shield yourself from Rafe's wraith, especially his hatred towards your selected group. "Why?"

Rafe immediately picks up on the shift in your demeanor, the rigidness in your shoulders that tells him exactly what he needs to know. "You've heard about me, haven't you?"

You hesitate to answer. Rafe presses on. "What'd they say?"

Your friends have told you many warnings about the notorious Rafe Cameron. It all comes down to one conclusion: he's dangerous. He's irrational, self-centered, and narcissistic. He isn't worth talking to because all he cares about is himself.

However, you like to find out for yourself.

Rafe leans forward, lowering himself to meet your height and his face is right in front of yours. An arrogant smirk rises to his lips, a challenge for you to answer. "Come on, princess, don't tell you came up here without doing a bit of research beforehand."

You recognize this as a facade, a way for him to hide his true feelings because it's easier to disturb others. To mess with people and not reflect on your own. You place a hand against the solid of his chest and gently push him back, forcing him to reinstate the safe distance established before. You continue back to your line of work.

Your little push surprises Rafe. It also intrigues him too.

"They said you weren't worth talking to," you say softly, avoiding eye contact as he follows your every move. "That you're dangerous."

He scoffs at the reveal, but it pinches his heart that his own sister would agree. He values her opinion more than he'd like to admit. Drawing out a noncommital shrug, pretending not to care, he declares. "They're right."

You hum. "Maybe."

He looks directly at you with a raised brow. "Maybe?"

Your eyes finally connect with his, "I'm still figuring that out." You pull back, setting the supplies back into his aid box. "Done."

You're about to take a step back when Rafe grabs your wrist, holding you in place. Your breath shortens, and you peer down at the place of your contact before raising your gaze to his.

"What do you mean by that?" He demands, his expression hardens but his eyes are pleading. That juxtaposition, between who he is and what he wants, is the exact thing you're trying to uncover.

You aren't afraid of him. Not like the others.

"I don't know," you answer truthfully, sweeping over his face, reading the conflict his features can't seem to contain. Rafe, you're slowly unraveling, is someone who puts his heart on his sleeves. He just hasn't had anyone who cares enough to look for it. "I just don't know if I truly believe that."

"Why not? The rest of the island does."

It's almost a spiral. An edge closer to it. You think it's because Rafe finally has someone who looks past his mask, his deception that the rest of the island gladly takes. They're afraid of him; he engineered that reputation by hand. But you've met your fair share of burnt souls to know they're all worth saving.

You answer him.

"Your eyes." You explain gently. "They say it's the windows to someone's soul."

"And?"

"And, Rafe Cameron, you're someone who isn't as heartless as you'd like the rest of the world to believe."

His grip loosens from your words and you take the opportunity to slip out of his grasp and settle your arms by your side. Rafe watches as you offer him a soft smile, one that reaches your eyes, and you're about to return to the balcony deck for some peace when he follows you into his bedroom.

"That's not fair." He denounces, halting your exit.

You turn around to face him. "What is?"

"You can't come in here and make those assumptions. You don't know shit about my life."

Rafe doesn't like to be read so clearly; to know that whatever he's trying to front isn't deluding you. For some reason, he needs to convince you that every rumor and gossip is true. That he is bad. The idea of it is embedded so deeply into the crevices of his self-worth, that he's having a hard time believing anything else.

Rafe expects your reaction to meet his fury, but the slope of your brows furrow together calmly. A delicate practice over years of training. "I never said I did."

"You're acting like you do."

You frown. "Now you're making assumptions about me," you refute, pointing out his hypocrisy, and a tinge of sharpness slips through. "You asked and I answered. You can't be mad because you don't like them."

"Then why?" He snaps, irritation spewing with his venom. "Who the fuck are you to make that judgment?"

"I thought you didn't want to hear my life story."

He huffs. Rafe finds himself at a crossroads. While you're standing there, with your collected composure, he feels like he's unraveling by the seams. There's something about you. The way you read through him like glass. He doesn't know if he likes it or not. If he needs it or not.

"Bitch," he mutters under his breath at your lack of compliance, and your breath hitches at the term, a flash of anger goes through you like a surge. He recognized that look; it was something he was all too familiar with.

You turn around, about to sprint for the exit once again when Rafe calls out. "Wait."

You don't want to turn around this time. Rafe had managed to make you break through your own facade, your own composure that you spent years trying to cultivate. Something about being in the same room as the eldest Cameron makes you regress into your formative years.

"Turn around."

Your jaw is slighted, but you try to hold it together. You loosen your features before you turn on your heel. You still don't think Rafe is the person he's trying to present to the world, and you doubt that he truly carries that much cruelty in one body, but that doesn't mean you have to be in the same room as him.

But something made you stay.

Rafe crosses the large space, standing just in front of you. His breath is hot against yours, his eyes sharp. You tilt your head, meeting his stare, but to contrast his intensity, your gaze is soft yet firm, your eyes unwavering. Just because you are kinder than he is doesn't mean you are weak.

"You know what it's like, don't you?" He murmurs gruffly, his voice straining at the exposure. This questioning also carries the weight of admission underneath; to bridge a kinship. "Or are you a liar?"

You're not. But no one's ever asked the questions Rafe is asking either. Not your friends back home or the new ones with the Pogues. They treasure your friendship but they don't understand your depth.

"No."

"No, what?"

"I'm not a liar," you bite out. Rafe's mouth curls into a satisfactory smile, and he gets a glimpse of your real character. The true you underneath all that dignity. It's like his own dirty secret. "I know."

You saw through Rafe because you understood him. You shared the same sentiments. You groomed the same callousness. Every act he performs, you went through first. You can't point at his reflection without looking at the mirror yourself.

But you're a bit different. You learn to control it. You discovered that all that anger was something else. Hurt, pain, injustice. You take it all and put it in a box, caged behind thick chains and hard locks. Never to be touched again. Rafe takes it out to the open, free to play. You may come from the same origin but you take two different routes.

However, Rafe sees you much clearer now. To know you can understand him, see through his perspective, and filter out his incoherent thoughts. That's something he'd never experienced before in his life.

"The voices, anger, and impulses?" His voice shrinks, eyes searching yours. You hesitate before nodding once. "You get that too?"

It comes out when you're most hurt. "I do."

He feels like can breathe for once, to not feel completely isolated from the rest of the world. Rafe always feels off, like something is wrong with him. Nothing can be explained; nothing is allowed to be explored. Even when he sought therapy, his father denied his request. He thought he‘d be forever alone in all this.

He steps forward, closing in the distance until there's only an inch of space separating you. But even that feels too big. Oxygen stuck in your throat, Rafe connects his gaze with yours to whisper. "You're like me, aren't you?"

You swallow hard. You didn't realize understanding someone could be a reflection of your own damning soul. You don't know if it's a good thing. "Yes."

His pupils are dilated and nearly pitch-black. His breathing shortens, and his gaze pools with desire. You feel it too. Your heart accelerates beneath your ribcage, your stomach knotting with want. When Rafe leans forward, about to capture your lips on his, you ready yourself to let it all in.

But you're a bit different.

You turn your head away at the last second, his contact coming to your cheek.

"I'm..." You exhale, squeezing your eyes shut. "I'm with JJ."

The world stills on its axis, and you feel the gravity of it beneath your feet. You slowly peel your eyes open, only to find Rafe having pulled back, his hand, midway through the air to hold your chin, closes into a tight fist.

You let out a shaky breath, your eyes swimming with regret.

The look on his face is heartbreaking because you know him in parallel, you know what he's feeling. You take a step back, for your sanity or his, it’s unclear. All you know is the distance was safe. Until it wasn't.

"I should go." You whisper.

Rafe says nothing as you pad your way across his room, slipping out of the door. He remains motionless in the same spot, his jaw set, his fists clenched by his side. The adrenaline pulses return through his veins.

Fuck.

It takes a minute to gather himself. Hearing nothing but the throbbing bass beneath him, pulsing through the floor. His heart is wretched, his stomach full of nausea.

Rafe returns to the balcony to pull away from his room, the place where you had been, and he steps closer to the ledge. Everything in his mind is too quiet; sterile and white-screeching. He doesn't know how to fathom this change.

His blue eyes search across the lawn and he easily picks you out of the crowd. He knows you well now. Those brief, fleeting moments attached to his soul are permanent memories.

You rejoined the party with Sarah and the rest of the Pogues, while JJ saunters over and throws his arm around your shoulders, pulling you close and whispering something in your ear. You smile and laugh, but it doesn't quite reach your eyes.

When you look up, you find Rafe already watching. His eyes are set on yours, unmoving, and the intimacy of his gaze strikes something deep. You had to turn away to preserve yourself.

Rafe slowly comes to his understanding on his own. He never had someone who understood him, much less in such a short time. You unravel him behind gentle stares and quiet observations. You knew him because you knew yourself, and he doesn't want to lose that. He doesn't want to lose you. He can’t. 

So, he decided.

You weren't his.

But he's taking you anyways.

IMPORTANT: if you want to follow my fics and updates, follow @zyafics-library and turn on notifications!

[realmsturkishdelight]

summertime sadness.

pairings ; jj maybank x female reader

warnings ; angst , cursing , i don't know exact dates of his death so i made it up , mentions of using weed , dying.

[ 07/06/20 ]

"can you not press the camera to my face, please?" jj mumbled, a lazy smile on his face even though he was trying to be serious. you only chuckled, capturing his sweet, relaxed and handsome features in your retro camera.

"you're makin' me regret that i got you that, sweetheart." he added, but you only pushed his blonde hair away, smiling. "get up sleepyhead." you murmured.

"no." he turned his head away from the camera. you shaked your head at his antics, sitting on his back and recording his face from the other side. "jesus," he chuckled.

you laughed softly, laying on his back and turning the camera so that it can film both of you, your cheek pressed to jj's head. he looked like he was smashed under you, altough your weight bringed nothing but comfort to him.

"you're gonna be a pain in my ass with that thing, i get it." he joked.

[ 15/07/21 ]

"you guys see that stupid blonde over there? yeah, that's my man." you mumbled to camera with a grin, filming jj doing stupid stuff on his surfboard, laughing and being the annoying yet fun self he is.

your boyfriend had this effect where all of the pogues acted like they were annoyed by his antics, but couldn't live without him anyways. especially you, you were his favorite person, he annoyed you more than anyone, yet you wouldn't be able to live if he didn't do it one day.

"y/n!" he yelled, making the whole beach hear. you didn't mind, dating jj meant you slowly lose the feeling of being shy. you zoomed camera, watching his smiling face more close now, waving at you.

you waved back behind the camera. "this is for you!" he yelled, doing a backflip on the surfboard, getting in the water.

"yeah, that's mine." you whispered, giggling.

[ 01/08/21 ]

"not that again," he groaned softly, smiling as you pulled out the camera to record the sweet moment you both had.

it was a lazy august morning, where jj crashed over at your place because he couldn't stay away from you too long, and you both woke up together. he was all cuddled up on you, the fan in your room creating a small breeze so that you guys could at least get some air in the boring warmth.

"you got this cam for me to film us, j." you giggled, playing with his hair as you recorded both of you from up, showing your smile and his body layed on you.

"yeah but i didn't thought you'd do this often." he chuckled, looking at the camera and squinting his face in mock disgust. you pinched his cheek, smiling.

"well, you often make me wanna remember our moments forever." you murmured, and he melted.

[ 13/08/21 ]

"we're high as fuck," jj chuckled when you opened your camera to record you guys getting wasted in twinkie, just the two of you, in the quiet night.

"i can't even open my eyes properly," you laughed and he joined you, resting his head on your shoulder. "you managed to open the record, that's good." he said.

"hi guys," you murmured with a slight groggy voice like you just woke up, showing the joint in your hands that jj rolled skillfully. "another day, another weed, but this time it's kiara's stuff."

"she makes the best weed, i swear." jj mumbled, taking the joint from you after you got a drag, taking one himself. you giggled when he blowed to camera.

"you guys should get high with us." he joked.

"what if we show this to our kids?" you murmured, and it was just a thought you had with your high mind. yet, it warmed jj's heart.

"y'think our kids will be saints? all sober n' shit?" he said softly with a cheeky grin. "nah baby, that's not my gene."

[ 05/06/22 ]

it was a bonfire night at the chateau, everyone drinking, smoking and having fun. the star of the night was of course, your boyfriend jj.

you opened the camera and began recording him singing songs, with his whole heart, pointing you at the romantic lyrics.

"who even showed you taylor swift?" sarah laughed next to you, drinking her beer under john b's arm.

"you ask?" you giggled, and it made everyone laugh.

"what? i'll be a swiftie for my girl," jj grinned, blowing you, and the camera, a kiss.

[ 15/08/24 ]

"hello folks, this is jj recording to my amazing girlfriend's camera." jj grinned and waved, recording himself from a low angle, yet he still looked pretty.

he was in your room, in your bed while you worked in the shop today, probably helping kiara organize things. his elbows were on his knees, his signature hat on his head.

"there's been a lotta shit goin' on, so she couldn't record for a while." he explained. "we stayed in an island, john b and sarah lost their dads, i found out that my father wasn't my blood father, and i had kook origins." he raised his brows and laughed at the irony of it.

"and now, m'gonna search some gold with my biological dad, which is ironic, i guess." he grinned.

"but, i jus' wanted to record this for my lovely kids in the future, and for my sweet girl to watch if somethin' happens to me." he smiled, yet it was a weak one.

"baby," he murmured. "you live a life you don't deserve in sake of me, and m'sorry that lovin' me has brought you many problems, and we couldn't be a normal teenage couple." he scratched the bridge of his nose.

"n'that we fought with guys who had guns instead of goin' surfing and punching kooks." he chuckled. "but.. i wouldn't wanna do this with other people y'know? you're my favorite person in the world, and m'selfishly happy that we've been through a lot at least together."

"wow m'bein' too sentimental, and it would be really awkward for you to watch this if some dramatic shit didn't happened to me," he chuckled, clearing his throat.

he looked at the camera like he was looking at you, all puppy eyed, his baby blue's shining and his smile so wide and geniune. "m'about to head off to help groff, and i don't have much time to talk more about my undying feelings for you, but jus' know that you're the best thing happened to me. and even if we can't become a kook, i'll happily die as a pogue as long as i got you."

he kissed the camera, grinning. "love from papa j." he winked, closing the record.

[ 18.34 ]

your tears dropped to the screen, and your fingertips caressed his smiling face. you guys made it alive from morocco, expect the guy you loved more than anything.

it was like they took a part from you, his own fathers betrayal turning your life in a living hell in minutes. jj was the dead one, yet you didn't felt like you were living. in the end, which one was the hard one anyway? leaving, or staying?

you opened the camera for one last time, your puffy and red lips, red eyes from crying reflecting in the screen, showing how much of a mess you were.

it was the last time you'd use this, because you lost the one person that made you feel alive, and so happy that you wanted all of your memories to stay forever.

[ 20/08/24 ]

you sniffled, and your tears falled to screen, your voice being a weak whisper. "i love you jj."

༝༚༝༚

[willowpains]

introducing…

latina actress reader!

mexican to be exact, born and raised. sings and dances, but has decided to focus all her efforts into acting and breaking through Hollywood, fighting closed doors due to her nationality, always with a good attitude and ready to work her ass off to achieve her dreams to be the next it girl and big thing around the world.

she’s…

big hearted. soft. sensitive. hardworking. multilingual. singer. dancer. warm. family girl. fangirl. super friendly. the one that makes everyone feel included. a listener and big yapper around the people she trusts. a bit shy at first. loves a good party. cinephile. tequila lover.

loves…

going out with her friends and fellow costars. traveling back home whenever she can. the beach. taking photos of everyone and everything. speaking spanish in front of people that don’t understand. doing karaoke. her dog. reggaeton. doing tiktok dances. reading romance and fantasy. going to the movies at night. posting photo dumps on instagram. doing pranks. her mexican food. makeup. her alone time.

can’t stand…

horror movies. people that don’t love animals. over bearing and noisy paparazzi and press. liars. smoking and cigarettes. loud chewing. small spaces. rats. not wearing perfume. losing her favorite lip gloss. online spoilers. missing out on stuff. people talking on the movie theater.

wikipedia…

-her first big role outside of her country was as a pogue, with a trope of slow burn enemies to lovers with Drew Starkey’s character, and member of the main friend group in the highly acclaimed Netflix series Outer Banks, still ongoing now with a just released season 4.

-she was casted and is part of the wrapped up and upcoming movie: Wake Up Dead Man, sequel to the famous murder mystery movie Knives Out.

-uploads covers and snippets of originals songs on her YouTube channel, as well as see social media accounts such as TikTok and Instagram.

-had a big role besides actor Jacob Elordi in last years hit project Saltburn, making it one of her biggest movies in her repertoire to this day.

-she was seen attending a Niall Horan concert previously in the year, and was brought up on stage by the artist to sing a duet, as she claimed one of her favorite songs, “You could start a cult” during the show.

-she is rumored to take part in the role of Susan Pevensie in upcoming Narnia Series directed by Greta Gerwig, nothing has been confirmed yet but both the actress and the director have been hinting at it in different interviews and events.

loading more…🎥🎞️🎬🍿

***

I am so freaking excited about this concept that I came up with! I had been wanting to continue writing for drew and this idea just landed on my lap didn’t it? *wink wink*

I have so many plans for this universe with mexican/latina actress reader, from moodboards, blurbs, headcanons, specific scenarios, sooooo so much! if you have any questions, things you wanna request or know about reader please feel free to ask or let me know, you’ll be feeding into my motivation to write more about her and drew and the rest of the obx cast<3

credits and inspiration to all the writers out here that come up with these concepts of ___ reader! if ate up most of them and I think they’re creative and amazing af

about time my writer personality came back, and as always, English is not my first language, so I apologize in advance for any grammar or writing errors there may be!

stay tuned👀

[tinylilacbun]

I love your fics and was wondering if u could request a fic with little!reader and Sofia and rafe

Where reader sees rafe getting angry at someone and she runs to Sofia scard bc she isn’t used to seeing him like that and Sofia and rafe have to calm her down and comfort her ?🙏🏼

You three are at a party to try and enjoy the evening after the Enduro race earlier where Rafe revved into JJ's bike, luckily not getting hurt.

But since that, Rafe has been a little on edge, obviously keeping it at bay for the sake of you and Sofia, now holding a bottle of beer in his hand, his one arm around your chest, your back pressed into his front while Sofia is at his side.

She pulls away and Rafe's arm around her waist falls back against his side. "I'll get a refill, you need one too?"

Rafe nods, leaning down to give her a quick kiss, watching her walk off he wraps his free arm now around your front as well, his chin resting on top of your head.

You are actually enjoying yourself, a little tired but still singing along to the current song playing, with a smile on your face. All until a couple walks past you and Rafe, glancing at you weirdly before starting to gossip.

"I heard they're both dating a pogue." The girl says to her boyfriend and it instantly gets Rafe's attention, the hold on the bottle tight as he narrows his eyes at the pair.

"Yeah, not to mention that Y/n and Rafe are rumoured to be involved in Peterkin's murder..." The boy replied.

You jumped when Rafe's voice boomed through the room. "The fuck did you just say?"

The couple turns around, their eyes widening as Rafe pulls away from you to approach them. You hold onto his arm to try and stop him but he wouldn't let their stupid comment slide.

"Nothing, we just-" One of them stammers and Rafe lets out a dangerous chuckle.

"Nah, repeat what you just said about me and my girls, go on. Say it right in my face." He challenges them, patting his cheek for emphasis and you shrink in on yourself, not liking it when people raise their voice, since your father used to yell at you when he was drunk.

Not knowing what to do you run to get Sofia, trying to push back the tears as you search for the kitchen. Finally finding it you are already sniffling, rushing to stand beside Sofia and she quickly sets down the drinks she is holding to grab your arms to ground you.

"Hey, what's wrong?" She asks, worry etched across her face at your distressed state.

"R-Rafey s'mad..." You choke out, your hands trembling in front of you. The fact you used the nickname let's Sofia know that you're starting to regress but are still trying to stay big in public.

She sighs, pressing a kiss to your forehead she grabs your hand and starts walking to where she had left you and Rafe, reassuring you on the way there. "I'll handle this, yeah? Just stay close to me."

You both join the scene and Sofia hurries to stand between Rafe and the guy he is about to lunge at from the look in his eyes but luckily you both got there in time.

"Rafe, calm down." Sofia speaks up, wanting to draw his focus on her. "Hey, look at me, now."

The tone of her voice has Rafe looking down at her, his breathing ragged from anger. "They're talking shit about us-"

"Let them be, it's not worth it." She says, glancing at you for a moment and back up at him. "You're scaring her..."

At that, Rafe turns his attention to you, seeing the way tears are brimming in your eyes and how you're nibbling on your nails, completely overwhelmed with the situation.

"Let's go." He grumbles, his arm going around your waist while Sofia is still holding your hand. Glaring one last time at the couple he steers you out of the house, his hold on your waist firm as you walk towards the car.

Your sniffles are the only thing being heard in the thick silence and Rafe stops to pull you into his chest, a hand on the back of your head, the other stroking your back to soothe you.

"Shh, you're okay. I shouldn't have raised my voice..." He murmurs into your hair, watching Sofia wipe the tears gently from your face and tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. "I'm not mad at you, y'know that right?"

You nod against his chest, closing your eyes you feel Sofia squeezing your hand assuringly. "He deserves early bedtime for that, don't you think sweetie?"

You smile at that, letting out a quiet giggle. Rafe shakes his head with a smirk, muttering under his breath. "Unbelievable. Can't a man defend his wonderful girlfriends?"

"Not the way you did, that's for sure. So, stop complaining or you'll sleep on the couch as well." Sofia warns him with a raise of her eyebrows, moving to open the car door for you.

Taglist

For everything:

@my-river-lilly @pauntedblacknails @fanfictioniseverything @devilslilbabysblog @buckymydarlingangel @hallecarey1 @daybreakwinter @loveshineslikethesky @wandaslittlewhore @vase-of-lilies @white-wolf1940 @simpingbutch @mischiefsemimanaged @alina02 @teddybearsgrr @doozywoozy @angelbabydoll28 @glxwingrxse @lilymurphy03 @veryvaughnny @lokigirlszendaya @youngstarfishdinosaur @little--baby--bear @minideathgoddess @rach2602 @gh0stgurl @flourishandblotts-inc @lovelyy-moonlight @yoruse

@mythixmagic @iris-xoxo-juhu

For Rafe:

@chiaraanatra @chimindity @erikasurfer

[erwinsvow]

rafe and the pogue girl whose voice is stuck in his head… ♡

[xveenusx]

Enough

Pairing(s): Rafe Cameron x fem!reader

Summary: Realizing that no matter what you do, no matter how much you love someone, you are still not enough.

Author’s note: I’ve had a severe case of writer’s block so please don’t hate my disappearance.

Rating: Pure brutal angst

Warnings: fucking painful

__________________________

I think I may have made a small miscalculation.

My eyes trailed over the mass of muscle currently spread out on my bed.

Rafe Cameron.

Kook King, heir to Ward's real estate empire, and asshole extrodinare was sleeping soundly in my bed. It was almost laughable if I wasn't so fucking terrified.

The sunlight danced across his tan skin, the sheets bunched up at his hips leaving little to imagination. My breath caught as my eyes followed the small happy trail causing memories of last night to assualt me.

Sitting on the chaise lounge chair, I curl up against the pillows humming softly to myself. Bringing the mug up to my lips, I bite back a smile at the utter relaxtaion on his face.

When Rafe told me to pack a bag, my stomach flipped with nerves. Being the maid of the infamous Cameron family wasn't exactly ideal in the eyes of his family let alone being a pogue. So we kept our relationship a secret at his request. He had too much to lose if his family reacted poorly.

People wouldn't understand. Ward wouldn't understand. That's what he always told me.

Yet, as much as I tried to understand his reasoning, a small part of me ached at the thought of it being much simpler: I just wasn't enough.

It was exahusting to say the least. Always having to hide and watch as other women with more social status and money than me throw themselves at him. It didn't help that Rafe had a tendency to flirt back causing the green monster known as jealousy to rear its ugly head in my face.

So I stuck with what I knew how to do: clean.

And just as I begin to fall off the deep end, straight over a cliff into overthinking, Rafe always manages to pull me back out. This time he did it by offering a small getaway.

The Cameron's weren't set to use their beach house for another month or so, leaving this entire property for Rafe and I to simply enjoy each other's company. Something we rarely get to do.

There was no need to pretend here.

A groan pulled me out of my thoughts directing my eyes to the bed. A cool salty breeze swept in from the open balcony doors, the sounds of waves crashing agaisnt the shore soothed me.

Rafe peered at me from under his arm with a frown marring his features.

"What's with that face?"

"I don't like waking up alone." He complained, staring at me expectantly.

Giddiness singes every nerve in my body as I set down my mug and scurry over to the bed. The moment my knees hit the bed, strong arms envelope me and tug me into a warm prison.

"Mmmmh." Rafe hums, burying his face into the nape of my neck while his hand slowly tugs my leg over his hip. A small giggle slips from my lips at his softness.

"Are you laughing at me?" His voice rumbled with sleep.

"Yes, you’re a very simple man to please."

"I didn't have you, and now I do. There, it's simple."

My heart melted at his words. For someone who struggled wiht expressing how he felt, Rafe always managed to knock me on my ass.

"What did you wanna do today?" I asked, trailing my fingertips along his face, placing every freckle, every spot to memory.

Blue crytsalized eyes follow me every move. "You. In every room in this house. Then outside."

Blushing at his words, I huffed in fake annoyance and playfully shoved his face away from me. "Rafe, I'm being serious."

"I'm being dead serious, baby." He nipped at my fingers before rolling over onto his back, dragging me directly on top.

I rest my chin on the tops of my hands that laid on his chest and stare at the beautiful man below me. Rafe's fingers thread themselves into my hair brushing it softly, alomst lulling me to sleep.

I wanted to capture this moment forever. The sound of the seagulls chirping, the smell of the salty breeze, the warmth of his body under mine, and the utter adortion that dances in his eyes as he looks at me. It was intimate and real. And for a moment, I allowed myself to dream about the possibility of this becoming a reality.

The abilty to hold his hand in public and kiss his body in private. Being able to go on dates and be on his arm for events and dinners. Hanging out with his friends and his family because I knew what they meant to him. Being able to wake up in his bed rather than sneaking out in the middle of the night. I wanted it all.

Our picture perfect bubble. And consider me naive, but I thought this moment would last forever. But the thing about bubbles is they always pop in the end.

"Guess what?" Rafe asked, his cerulean orbs intense and sincere.

A beaming smile stretched across my lips at the familiar phrase he always used. "What?"

"I love-"

"I love you." I beat him to it, making him let out a deep bellyed laugh. I was memoriezed, enamoured by every little thing he did. I wanted to hear it again and again.

Opening my mouth, "No take backs-"

A knock on the door interrupts me.

That's when our bubble pops.

"Rafe? Open up." Sarah Cameron's voice fillters in from the other side of the door.

My eyes dart to Rafe, only for his face to be painted with sheer panic. In seconds, I'm shoved off the side of the bed and fall onto the floor in a heap of sheets.

My mind took a moment to catch up with my body. But when it did, the flood of emotions that crashed into me were nothing short of excruciating. An immediate lump formed in my throat at his actions as I try to make quick excuses for him but nothing came to mind.

"Just stay down, please." The sound of his request has me closing my eyes, his words hitting me deep, knifelike in the size of the wounds that they left.

I nodded softly. I remain still on my side on the cold floor as I numbly stare at the wall.

"Sarah, what the fuck are you doing here? I had the beach house for the weekend." His words were low and sharp, nothing like how he spoke to me mere seconds ago.

"Chill out. My friends and I wanted to get away a little, plus I figured you were already here, so. "

"You brought those fucking pogues here?"

I hear her scoff. "Your friends are worse."

"Just make sure they don't steal anything. I know it's hard for them considering they wouldn't see this type of money in a life time." His words were cruel, twisting the knife deeper into my chest.

I couldn't help but wonder if there was a double meaning behind his words. I was a pogue, just like Sarah's friends, and it would take me years to afford even a fraction of what's in this beach house.

Was that how he saw me? Was this the reason why we couldn't be public?

"Have you seen her? She wasn't at the house when I left." Sarah's question drew me back to the present.

I held my breath as I waited for him to answer about my whereabouts. I couldn't take another hit.

"I know you have about two brain cells, but please tell me why you would think I know where the help is?"

All my breath left my body and I fought the urge to scream. A heavy weight sat on my chest as I blankly stared at the floor, my eyeballs burning in absolute mortification.

"God, you're such an asshole."

"I aim to please. Now leave me alone." With that, Rafe slammed the door shut but I refused to move a muscle.

Instead, I tried to focus on my breath. It was the only thing that would keep me from having a panic attack. I wanted to scream at the top of my lungs but it's like my body forgot how to breathe.

Tears finally began to fall silently as I gasped for breath, clutching the sheet closer to my chest. Humilation pricked my very being as his words play on repeat in my mind.

Rafe was the best part of my day. He made me want things I didn't even know I wanted. And yet, this was how he viewed me. So small and insiginifcant.

Footsteps move in my direction but I paid them no mind. Moving was impossible, so I just stayed in the spot where Rafe thought I belonged— on the cold hard floor.

"I know how it looks, just give me a chance to explain." I felt him kneel beside me, his hand reaching to cup my face. I jerked my face away from him and return my attention to the wall.

"Can you please get off the floor?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"This is where you wanted me, right?" The words left a stale taste in my mouth.

My heart pounded in my throat as a hot flush filled my cheeks.

"Look at me." He demanded.

I couldn't. It hurt too much.

"Baby, please. Look at me." He touched my chin and I felt my body shudder.

"Don't touch me." The words tore out of my chest as I wrenched myself away from him.

Rafe's eyes tracked my movement and his face became very still as if contemplating his next move.

The level of betrayal I felt must have been painted on my face, because his expression shifted to one of regret.

"I made a mistake-"

"Stop." I snapped, lifting my hand to cut him off. "Get out. I need to change and leave before Sarah see's me."

"I drove you, where are you going to go when you don't have a car?"

My eyes narrow at his tone. Once again he was painting me as this helpless girl that was nothing without him.

"I have two legs that work perfetly fine."

Rafe crossed his bulging arms against his toned chest. "You're not leaving until we talk."

A fake laugh past my lips. "We're done, there's nothing left to talk about."

He let out a growl of frustation. "We're not breaking up."

Was he delusional?

"This is me breaking up with you. We are done, Rafe."

Rafe's icey blue eyes narrowed into slits. "Stop trying to break up with me."

"You threw me off the bed!" I shouted, my hands pointing to the floor where I laid moments ago, the shame still fresh as an open wound.

"You threw me off the bed." I repeated softer, my voice breaking at the end. "The bed, Rafe. Just so Sarah didn't see you with me."

"I shouldn't have done that-"

"It happened. It's done. Just let me leave."

Protecting what little self respect I had left was my only goal. No matter how much I loved him, it wasn't worth this constant stream of self doubt and humiliation that seemed to follow us like a plague.

Rafe stared at me for a moment before he jumped into action. Heading towards my suitcase, I watch frozen as he goes through my clothes, picking an outfit for me.

Taking several strides to me, Rafe shoved the clothes into my arms, his breath heavy. "Put these on."

"Rafe, what the hell are you doing-"

"I made a mistake. One that I'm going to fix right now. So stop fighting with me and put these on."

Unease filled me chest as my eyes dart to the clothes.

"How?"

"No more hiding. You and me, okay?"

I stared into his hopeful gaze, looking for even a flash of insincerity or deceit, but only found sheer determination. "Rafe, you can get out of this. I'm giving you an out-"

He shakes his head roughly, strands of golden hair falling on his forehead. "I don't want an out, I want you. So put the clothes on so I can go tell the world I love you."

I snorted, "Seems a bit melodramatic. Let's start small, yeah?"

Pushing his hair back, a sexy smile pulled at his lips. "Small."

I made my decision. Turning around, I grabbed the clothes and began to dress.

I wiped my sweaty hands against my mini white sundress as nerves begin to prick every bit of my skin. Rafe stood in front of me, his glacial eyes soft, with his hand held out for mine. "Ready, baby?"

Hope inflated my lungs as I placed my trembling hand in his, the cool feel of his rings brining a familiar type of comfort.

Rafe leads us out of the room and towards the staircase where voices floated up from downstairs. I was nervous. Extremely nervous. He was going to do it. Rafe was going to introduce me as his girlfriend to his sister and her friends, no less.

The sound of our footsteps echoed against the giant house causing the voices to slowly die away.

Coming into view, Sarah and the pogues are all perched in the living room wearing beach attire. An open bottle of tequila and shot glasses are spread along the table.

All eyes zone in on us before they zoom in on our clased hands. Sarah's eyes widened and I fought the urge to pull my hand from Rafe's grasp. As if sensing my thoughts, Rafe squeezed my hand reassuringly and moved me slightly in front of him.

He cleard his throat. "I uh-"

His eyes shot to mine. I let my fingers brush against his arm in encouragement, a proud smile gracing my lips.

This was the first step in the right direction. Once we told Sarah, it would be easier with each passing person.

Butterflies swarmed my stomach like a zoo. I knew how hard this was for him, but he was still doing this for me, for us. Rafe was finally making us a priority. The unattainble future now felt like it was within my reach.

"Sarah, there's something I want to tell you. I've um-well I've been seeing-"

The front door slammed.

"Looks like we're missing all the fun." Ward Cameron walked in, hand in hand with Rose. A loose linen shirt with thin pants dress his body with a hat and an expensive pair of sungalsses cover his face.

I felt Rafe's grip slowly loosen on my hand. Panic clawed at my throat as I turn my head to look at him. Rafe stared directly ahead with his jaw clenched. He refused to even look at me.

In a last ditch effort to cling onto the invisible string that held us together, I tightened my grip on his hand but Rafe jerked his hand away.

I felt the pressure in my chest finally pop and the string that once tethered us together finally tear. Dread sat in my stomach like lead and bile traveled up my throat.

He made his decision and once again, it wasn't me.

Heat rushed up my neck as I left my arms hang limply at my side. I didn't know what to do, I couldn't think. My shoulders slumped as I bit down on my tongue hard enought to draw blood.

It kept me from screaming.

"Rafe, thank god you brought the help. Though it looks like she hasn't been doing much cleaning." Rose tsked as she looked at the littered table in distaste. "Honey, be a dear and make us new drinks. Then when you have a minute, our bags are out front. Go ahead and put them in our room."

With a wave of a hand she dismissed me, as her and Ward walk passed me with no other acknowlegment.

My mouth went dry as I clenched my shaky shands together. I could feel Sarah's gaze drilling into the side of my head, but I couldn't look at her. Instead, I once again looked at the bane of my existance. The source of this crippling pain the crushes every inch of my soul.

"Rafe..." My voice trembled as I begged him, pleaded, for him to look at me. Just once.

I wanted him to see my face. He refused, the only hint of his turmoil was the bob of his adam's apple.

Swallowing my pride, I put my head down and do what I do best: clean.

____________________

I wanted the ground to open up and swallow me alive. I spent the rest of the day doing every little thing Rose asked. I kept my head down and said not one word.

Rafe made my place in his life very clear so I was going to be exactly what he wanted me to be. The perfect little maid.

The entire Cameron family sat at the table for dinner, John B included, as I gently set each of their plates down in front of them. I held my breath once I reached Rafe, knowing that one hint of his expensive musky cologne would send me into a fit of tears.

"Thank you." The timber of his voice caused me to close my eyes briefly in pain.

A familiar touch to my wrist made me jerk away and clear my throat. I continue serving dinner, forcing myself to ignore the gravity that's pulling me towards him.

"That'll be all, you can go relax for a bit. We'll need you back to clean up, of course."

"Of course." My smile was brittle. I allowed myself only a glance. Rafe glared down at his plate, hands clenched into fists at his side.

My feet moved on their own accord and soon I found myself outside, standing beside the pool that overlooked the shore. Taking in gulps of air, I placed my head in my hands.

Starting over was never something I planned. Once I met Rafe, everything else shifted into perspective. All I ever thought about was moving forward with him and starting a life together. One that he would be proud of. One where I didn't have to hide.

"I'm sorry." The words came from behind me and burned a whole straight through my chest.

I choked back on my tears that threatened to drown me and stare down at the rag in my hands.

"Baby." He moved closer now, his heat pressing into my side.

A small shake of my head was all I could muster. The armour I placed around my delicate heart was getting weaker with each passing second.

"I said, I'm sorry." His hand reaches for my waist, turning me to face my destruction.

A light blue linen shirt paired with white six inch seamed shorts don his body. A large gold watch decorated his wrist to match the shiny gold necklace that rested on his chest.

Looking down at myself, a simple tee and leggings, the contrast was so striking it was laughable. In what world had I fooled myself into thinking Rafe Cameron was mine.

Deciding to proctect my sanity, I moved back towards the house with every intention of cleaning up before grabbing my bag and leaving when Rafe blocked my escape.

"Did you hear me? I'm so fucking sorry, for all of it."

"I heard you." Indifference lacing every word.

Rafe gowled, running his hands through his hair in frustation at my lack of emotion. "Stop acting like you don't care and just talk to me."

"I don't care what your family thinks of me and I don't care what you think of me. I dont care anymore, Rafe."

Rafe gripped my chin and his irate gaze burned me. "Tell me what to do to fix it."

There was nothing left of me for him to fix.

The sound of Ward calling out my name is enough to distract Rafe. Pulling my face from his grasp, I promplty turned around and headed towards the house.

"Stop fucking walking." He barked out harshly.

Ignoring his words, I continue to head in the direction of the house. Only a few more hours and I can leave with my head held high despite the gaping hole in my chest.

"I swear to God, stop walking." I could hear his footsteps behind me causing a rush of adrenaline to spread like wildfire through my veins.

"Last time I checked, you work for my family. My last name is fucking Cameron so if I tell you to stop walking, you stop fucking walking." The words are cruel and dark and they have their desired effect because I stop immediately in my tracks.

My eyes began to burn as I pivoted on my heel and slwoly turned to face him. His gaze hardened and I can see him contemplating something before a vicious smirk decorates the face I love.

A glass tumblr was in his hand and I watched in absolute shock as he tilted the cup, spilling the dark liquid onto the floor. The rag in my hand suddenly weighed eight tons as I realized his intent.

"Clean it up."

My blood turned ice cold and a sound a disbelief left my lips.

"I said, Clean. It. Up." He gestured to the floor.

I searched his eyes for anything, for everything, but there's nothing there. Looking back down at the mess, I nodded my head and slowly dropped to my knees.

Tears blurred my vision as I scrubbed the floor clean, wanting nothing more than to disappear. Our fate was finally sealed in that moment.

Leaning back on the heels of my feet, I swallowed. Tears clung to my lashes but the damage was already done. The trails the tears left in their wake burned into my skin as a reminder of his cruelty.

His cold mask finally cracked at the sight of my tears. Rafe took a step in my direction but something in my face made him halt.

“Is there anything else I can do for you, Mr. Cameron?” I averted my eyes from his.

A harsh noise escaped his lips then he reached out and grabbed my shoulders. I closed my eyes at the heat of his touch and my lips began to quiver.

“I just wanted you to talk to me….” Rafe spoke softly, his words pained.

I wiped my tears harshly and forced myself to look at him for the last time. His hard glacial eyes study my face.

The memory from this morning continued to fade out of my reach. Pain filled me as I realized that was the last time we would ever be together.

“Am I free to go, Mr. Cameron?”

His face crumbled. For a second, one second, a twisted sense of happiness hit me at the sight of his pain. Rafe did this to us. Not his family, not his friends, but him.

Rafe’s face became very still. He nodded slightly and relief filled me. I stared into his eyes, hoping he could see all the love I had been so willing to shower him with, but it was now too late.

Giving him my back, I allowed the dirty rag in my hand drop. 20 more steps. That’s all that stood between me and the next chapter of my story. One that didn’t include him.

Each step seemed to get heavier the farther I walked away from Rafe. I was wrapped around a haze of heartbreak that almost made my movements mechanical.

I entered the house, numb to the bone, and gathered all my things. Everything around me was out of focus as I dragged my suitcase towards the front door.

I could see Rose from the corner of my eye, her mouth moving, but the ringing in my ears only seemed to get louder. Pushing past her, I headed straight for the door and forced myself not to look back.

Everything was different now. In a way, so was I.

One foot in front of the other, I walked down the drive way. The ringing in my ears and the adrenaline that pumped through my veins was suddenly dulled at the sound of the door slamming open behind me.

Loud footsteps echoed behind me before my arms are grabbed and I’m forced to turn around.

Rafe’s eyes were wild with panic as he panted in front of me. His entire appearance was disheveled with his hair sticking out in all directions.

“Don’t go.”

I was so close to being out of his grasp and being free of this agony that gripped me so tightly it made it hard to breathe.

“You were never mine. Were you?” The question slipped past my lips before I knew it.

“I love you. I do, please just come back inside and I’ll do what you want. I’ll tell Ward and Rose right now.” His blue eyes held so much hope, but it wasn’t enough. The magic was all gone, replaced with this cruel torment.

“I was yours, in every way possible. But, it didn’t matter what I did. I still wasn’t enough for you. I’m never going to be good enough, am I?” My voice cracked, but the words were out along with the realization of how painfully accurate they were.

Warm hands cradled my face pulling me towards his. Rafe rested his forehead on mine, his eyes boring into mine. I could feel the slight tremble in his hands.

“That’s not true. You know that’s not true.”

“How could I possibly know that? You never do anything that says otherwise.”

“I love a man who can’t even hold my hand in public.” He couldn’t hold me gaze, instead he turned it to the floor with his jaw clenched.

“You knew who I was when we started this. You knew what came with being with a Cameron. Our situation is much more complicated than you’re making it fucking seem. So I didn’t hold your hand, now you’re going to leave me?”

His logic was horribly flawed.

“Our situation is not complicated. All you had to do was love me the way I loved you.”

“Whether you like it or not, you’re a fucking maid,” Rafe said through gritted teeth,” The maid to my family, no less, and you expect to be welcomed in with open arms? This isn’t a fairytale, wake up.”

”Then what was the point of all of this? Of me loving you and you loving me, if it was never going to go anywhere.”

“The point was that we were together and we were happy.” Rafe let out a frustrated noise and shook his head. But it was clear, he wasn’t getting it. I knew nothing I’d say would ever get through to him.

“Were we? Together, I mean. Because I was always at your beck and call. Literally and figuratively. Where were you for my college graduation? Where were you when my dad died? I’ll tell you where you were,” I pressed my finger into his chest, “You. Weren’t. There. Instead, you chose to love me from afar because you care more about the opinion of sheep than you do me.”

I couldn’t stop talking. It was as though a wall cracked and suddenly every emotion I held in was flooding through.

“Look at me.” I shouted, grabbing his chin and forcing him to stare. “I want you to look me in the fucking eye. Look at the damage you caused. You did this to us. ”

“Stop being cruel.”

“Cruel? You threw your drink on the floor and made me clean it up. Did seeing me on my knees make you feel big and strong?”

He tilted his head, his expression darkening. “Enough. Come back inside, now.”

“I wanted everything for you.” I laughed at how incredibly stupid and blind I had been. “And you can’t even hold my fucking hand.”

Race’s eyes softened marginally. “Tell me what to do. How can I fix this?”

My stomach tightened. Steeling myself, I swallowed the lump in my throat and pushed out the next words. “You can’t.”

“I can, but you’re not give me a fucking chance here.” His words came out as a plea.

“Being with you was a choice I made every day. One that you clearly couldn’t make, so I’m making it for you. We’re done.

His jaw ticked. ”Try and fucking leave me.”

I wanted nothing more than to run back into his arms and comfort him, despite it all. But I knew, if I was going to survive this at all, I couldn’t be with him.

“I’m always running behind you, trying to keep up. Trying to be everything you want and everything you need, but I’m all out of breath. I have nothing left to give you. But it’s still more than you ever gave me.” With those being my parting words, I clutched onto the handle of my suitcase in a death grip and force myself to walk away from him.

My shoulders jump at the sound of something shattering behind me.

“I love you.” Rafe screamed at the top of his lungs from behind me. His voice was brutal and laced with pain.

Not enough.

_________________

Side note: pls let me know what you think! I’ve been gone for several months so I’m a bit rusty:) I am working on the second part of Hate as promised!

[princessbrunette]

omg i can totally see reader showing up to pogue!rafe’s work sites CONSTANTLY after their first time together. showing up in dresses/skirts that keep getting shorter in length, lunch in hand for rafe. he’s trying to act annoyed that you’re bothering him in work hours, but what he’s really annoyed about is all the very obvious stares you’re getting from the other labourers. he’d be pulling you aside all red in the face and sweaty asking what you think you’re doing showing up while he’s on the job. reader’s just looking up at him with big doe eyes, cutely whispering “just want you to play with me again 🥺” (ugh pogue!rafe has my heart. i need him in my guts)

with him looking like this????? can you blame her??????

˖⁺‧₊˚🧁˚₊‧⁺˖

you literally appear out of nowhere in the tiniest skirt waving a brown paper bag at him, singing out a sweet little “brought you something!” but he knew you were coming before he’d even turned around because of the jeers and wolf whistles from the other manual labourers making him clench his jaw. no one was allowed to look at you like that but him, but he hated that he was even thinking like that.

he stubs out his cig and wanders over to you, jaw ticking and nostrils flaring at your repeated visits.

“what’d i say last time, huh?” he pulls you aside, atleast out of the view of the men he works with. you bat your eyelashes up at him and he almost feels bad.

“not to come… but — but i had these leftovers and i know they’re not paying you enough for you to be eating good so i just wanted to—”

“i’m fine, a’ight? m’a grown ass man. look you’re — you’re not my girlfriend, you’re not even my friend okay so— so whatever this is i suggest you quit.” he grips your jaw to get you to stop talking, making you initiate phase two — that pretty pout that he couldn’t resist, big doe eyes and kissable lips that tested his self restraint.

“thats mean.” you accuse quietly, hand gently lingering over his wrist where he grips you. he loosens his grip, licking his lips as he looks away, knowing he’d been a little harsh.

“yeah… well. i just don’t think a girl like you should be hanging around here. it’s not safe.” the idea of him looking out for you made your stomach erupt with butterflies.

“please just take the food. i came all this way.” you break your gaze, staring at his muddy boots. there’s a moment of quiet before he knocks your chin up with his finger again, making you look up at him.

“why’re you here, hm? you got what you wanted from me last weekend.”

you shake your head, stepping a little closer and he fights the urge to step back, letting himself loom over your frame as he stares you down.

“i wanna play again. already told you m’not just using you. i like you rafe. i really like you.”

he’s sure he can find some time on his lunch break.

˖⁺‧₊˚🧁˚₊‧⁺˖

[gh0stsp1d3r]

rafe cameron as a baby daddy who doesnt allow u to talk to other ppl

stop i love this, I kinda changed it so reader only talks to people who he lets her (: so like absolutely no pouges

𝒟ℴ𝓃𝓉.

Masterlist

Warnings: dark!rafe, sorta controlling behavior, he’s not a good daddy, gun pointing at Sarah again sorry girlie, gun flashing that’s it rlly,

+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*

Rafe had little rules when it came to the new house. But there was two he always put emphasis on.

1. Don’t open the door for him, wait it out.

2. Don’t talk to people he doesn’t give you permission to talk to, or people he doesn’t like. No strangers, no pogues.

He walked around, pacing the living room while on the phone. He whispered so he didn’t wake the baby who you just got to fall asleep.

“That’s not what I fucking said!” He said, voice rising in volume until he looked back down the hallway and realized his mistake, the baby awoke with a loud cry.

You gave him a look, a look he knew by now. He quietly walked out and went onto the porch with a sigh.

“Sh. Sh…” you mumbled, picking her up and gently rocking her in your arms.

Today was going to be long.

+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*

Rafe was out, he mumbled he’d be back and he was going with a friend. You believed him when you saw Topper coming out the car.

Finally, the baby had been sleeping again. You fed her and Rafe gave her a shower. It was night now, and you just switched on the tv, turning it down and curling up on the couch.

You ended up falling asleep, that was until a harsh and loud knock came from the door.

“Open the fuck up, Rafe!” She shouted, you furrowed an eyebrow. You knew that voice. Sarah Cameron, Rafes sister. He despised her.

You rubbed your eyes out of tiredness, the baby would wake if she keeps it up, you thought. And that was the last thing you wanted.

But if you opened the door and talked to the pogues, Rafe would be livid. But as soon as you heard her let out a small cry, you weren’t thinking and got up quickly.

“Hello?” You grumbled out, opening the door. her knocks stopped when she saw your face.

“Oh. Shit. I’m- I’m sorry. I forgot he had a-“

She was cut off by a cry, making you groan.

“He’s not here.”

“Where is he?” A blonde haired boy asked, lightly pushing Sarah.

“I don’t know. Can I please just go-“ You lied. You did know.

“We’re really sorry, but it’s really important. You have to understand-“

“I’m not telling a bunch of kids where my boyfriend is so you guys can go beat him up or something. Sorry. If you’ll excuse me, I have a baby to take care of.” You closed the door, leaving them dumbfounded.

“Does Rafe have a baby?” John B asked, furrowing his eyebrows.

“I didn’t know that.” Sarah mumbled.

“I’m more shocked Rafe has had a girlfriend this long.”

They stood there, waiting for him. You didn’t even notice them after you left.

They didn’t know however, that he had a little camera installed, where he was watching on his phone.

You didn’t think about it until you went back into the nursery to try and get her to sleep again.

“Shit.” You mumbled under your breath.

“I gotta go, man. I’ll see you later.” Rafe said to his friend suddenly, standing up and saying his goodbyes.

He practically raced towards his house, looking back on his phone to see them all talking and just waiting at his front door.

He got out the car and they all went towards him.

“Never fucking come here again.” He was seething with anger when they came up to him.

They all began to talk over each other to him, in anger.

“Shut up!” He shouted, hands moving towards his waistband. They all didn’t, and one of them went to go punch him but they just ended up on the floor.

“Get the fuck away from my house. Leave.” He flashed his gun now.

“We’re not fuckin’ leaving-“ his sister began to argue.

He pointed it at Sarah, one of the boys going in front of her.

“You didn’t tell me you had a baby.” She spoke from behind the boy.

“Leave. Or I will fucking kill every single one of you. Was all he said, putting the gun down and walking towards his home, ignoring them. His gun still in hand as he opened the door.

They walked away, defeated but with a new plan. He was dripping with anger when he entered the house.

“What did I tell you?” He asked you, before you could say anything.

“I know, I know, but I-“

“There was a reason I didn’t want them knowing you or her.” He motioned to the nursery room. He walked closer, gently grabbing your face and looking into your eyes, wiping the hair from your forehead.

“There’s a reason why you can’t talk to them.”

“I know. But they woke her up and I didn’t-“

“You talked to dirty fuckin’ pogues. They know you exist and they know she exists.” His hands were trembling, you noticed.

You slowly grabbed the gun from his hand.

“I’m sorry.”

“I just don’t want anything happening to my girls, that’s all.” His voice was shaky, his hands still on your face as he searched your eyes.

“I’m sorry. I know. I love you. We’ll be perfectly fine, okay?” You put your forehead on his, he nodded, his breathing calming down.

“I love you.”

[itneverendshere]

shy!sweetheart!reader being secretly a metalhead (enjoying bands like falling in reverse and bad omens). rafe finding out like 🤨

this was ridiculously cute to write😌 and i felt like it feet pogue!bartender!reader's universe 100% so i did it.....if it wasn't want you wanted IM SORRY but it's canon in my head and my fingers worked really fast to write this down lmao. thank you for the request!!🩵🫂

you're in the walls that i made - r.c

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

It had been a long day, and all you wanted to do was get home, toss on your favorite oversized hoodie, and dive into a YouTube rabbit hole of random videos on your phone.

Rafe, of course, was your ride—like usual. He’d somehow appointed himself as your unofficial chauffeur after shifts, and you weren’t exactly complaining. You were saving up for a car, and you were almost there, only a few more weeks and you’d have your baby.

But it was nice to have a reliable ride, even if it came with his very questionable music taste.

"Alright, let's go," Rafe said, pulling up in his shiny black truck as you slid into the passenger seat.

The smell of leather and cologne hit you immediately, as did the unmistakable thumping bass of whatever rap song he had blasting. The lyrics were, as usual, about women, money, and something about getting high on a yacht. You made a face without even realizing it—like you did every time.

"What's that look for?" Rafe smirked, glancing over at you as he pulled out of the parking lot.

You shrugged, hoping he’d let it slide. "Nothing. Just... nothing."

Rafe wasn’t the kind of guy to let anything slide. "Nah, you do that every time I play my music.”

You bit your lip, wondering if he thought you were a snob now. “What? No I don’t.”

He shot you a side-eye, his smirk widening as he pressed a little harder on the gas. "You got somethin' better on your playlist?"

It wasn’t like you were embarrassed. You just didn’t think Rafe, with his expensive taste and rich boy vibes, would get it. But before you could answer, the radio cut in between songs with an ad, and you almost jumped in your seat.

“On September 6th, for one night only, Bad Omens will be performing live at the Greyhall venue on the mainland! Get your tickets now before they sell out!”

Your heart raced. Bad Omens. They were one of your favorite bands, and they were going to be right there—just a ferry ride away. You stared at the radio, gripping the sides of the seat like you were about to take off.

"Wait, what?" You said under your breath, but loud enough that Rafe noticed.

He furrowed his brow, glancing between you and the road. "You okay? What's up?"

You bit your lip, feeling the excitement rising inside you and knowing it was pointless. You couldn’t afford concert tickets, let alone the ferry and everything else that came with it. But still, you couldn’t help the tiny squeak of frustration that escaped.

"It’s nothing. Just…one of my favorite bands is playing."

Rafe’s eyebrows shot up. "Favorite bands?" His voice lilted with surprise. "You never told me you had a favorite band. Wait—what band?"

You fidgeted in your seat, the seatbelt suddenly feeling too tight. "Bad Omens."

He blinked. "Who?"

Of course. You sighed. "They're a metalcore band. Like heavy, but not just noise. They actually sing. And scream. It’s complicated."

Rafe's expression was priceless—like you just told him you were secretly a wizard or something.

"Metalcore?" He repeated, testing the word,"Wait, hold up. You’re telling me you like that screamo stuff?"

He couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

You? The girl who got him by the balls since he laid his eyes on you? The quiet, sweet, always-put-together girl he drove home after work, into metalcore? It was like you just told him you had a secret double life.

You shrugged, feeling yourself blush a little. "It’s not just screamo. There's a lot more to it. It's deep."

“Screamo stuff,” he repeated, trying to wrap his head around it. His eyes moved from the road back to you, still processing. You were full of surprises, and every time he learned something new about you, it knocked him off his feet. He wasn’t used to it. Most girls he’d been with were pretty predictable—into the same stuff, liked the same fancy dinners, designer bags, the whole kook lifestyle. And then there was you.

You still sounded a little defensive, your fingers messing with the hem of your shirt. “I swear, there’s actual singing and meaning behind the lyrics.”

Rafe leaned back in his seat, still smirking, but he wasn’t laughing at you. He was actually impressed. You really didn’t care what anyone thought, did you? He couldn’t even pretend to understand the music, but it wasn’t just that—it was everything about you that threw him off in the best way.

"So that’s why you’re always making faces at my music? ‘Cause it’s not—what, hardcore enough for you?"

You couldn’t help but giggle. "I mean yeah, kinda." You glanced over at him, like you were waiting for him to crack a joke or say something stupid, but all he could do was stare at you like you’d just become ten times more interesting. “What, I don’t look like someone who’d enjoy heavy music?”

He laughed, shaking his head.  “I would've never guessed. You’re always so quiet. Sweet. I thought you’d be into, I don’t know, something soft and cute. You look like you’d be into Taylor Swift, not dudes screaming about whatever it is they scream about.”

You let out a small laugh, and he couldn’t help but smile at the sound. He loved that laugh. “Well, I do like Taylor Swift. But, you know, metal is just...it hits different.”

Rafe’s face went from shock to something else, like he was putting pieces together in his head. "Wait, that explains so much. Every time I put on something with a chill beat, you look like you’re dying inside."

"I just have different taste," you admitted.

"Damn, never thought I’d see the day," he muttered, more to himself. “So, this band of yours—Bad Omens—where they playing?"

"Greyhall in September,” you said quietly. "But it’s fine. I can’t afford to go."

He frowned. "The hell you can’t. Just get the tickets."

You blinked at him. "I can’t, Rafe. They’re probably expensive, and I’ve got rent and bills. Y’know, real life stuff?"

He furrowed his brow, like the concept of not being able to afford something was completely foreign to him. “It’s just tickets. How much could they be?”

"Probably more than I make in a week. Plus the ferry, the drinks, food—it's not that simple."

He glanced at you, like he was doing the math in his head. The guy lived in a world where nothing was “that simple” because everything was already done for him. He didn’t have to think about rent or ferry costs or budgeting for groceries. That wasn’t Rafe’s reality, and for a second, you could see it in his eyes—he forgot that your world wasn’t his.

"Alright," he said, shrugging like it wasn’t a big deal, "I’ll get them."

"What?"

"I’ll get the tickets," he repeated, more casual this time, like it was the easiest solution in the world. "You wanna see them, right? So I’ll buy the tickets."

Your mouth fell open. "Rafe, no. You can’t just—"

He looked at you like you’d just said something offensive. "I can.”

"No, you’re not buying me concert tickets. That’s ridiculous."

He rolled his eyes, acting like it was no big deal. “I’ve spent more on dumber shit. Consider it an early birthday gift. Or whatever."

“Do you even know when my birthday is?”

He didn’t even miss a beat, "October 8th” he said, his voice so smooth and confident that it caught you off guard.

Your jaw dropped a little, and you stared at him. "Wait—how do you know that?"

He shrugged casually, but he was proud of himself. "What, you think I don’t pay attention to you?”

When it came to you, he was locked in. Every detail, every little thing you mentioned, he was soaking it up. He knew. Out of all the random things, that’s what he remembered. You never told him outright; maybe it came up once in a passing conversation, weeks ago, buried under a million other details about work or life or whatever. And yet, here he was, dropping the exact date like it was nothing. You tried to play it cool, but inside, your brain was short-circuiting. Rafe Cameron knows my birthday. He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel, staring straight ahead, that smirk still glued to his face. He was being way too natural about the whole thing.

“Okay,” You snapped out of it, “You’re not buying me tickets, Rafe,” you warned him, crossing your arms and shaking your head. “Seriously, I can’t let you do that.”

He barely glanced at you, too busy making a smooth turn, “You act like I just offered to buy you a house. It’s a couple of tickets, not that big of a deal.”

“To you!” You huffed, leaning back in the seat. “It’s a big deal to me. I’m not just gonna let you drop money like that. For what? For a concert that you’re not even going to?”

Rafe let out a low chuckle, which only fueled your frustration. He thought this was funny.

“It’s just tickets,” he repeated, like that was going to wear you down. “Look, if it bothers you that much, you can pay me back. And I can go with you”

You felt your heart do this weird little somersault, like it didn’t know whether to panic or be excited.

What the hell was he talking about.

Rafe Cameron, Mr. Country Club, wanted to go to a metalcore concert with you?

Your head was spinning. He doesn't even know the band, you thought, trying to figure out if he was serious or just messing with you. But judging by the way he was drumming his fingers on the steering wheel, he wasn’t joking.

“You’re gonna come with me to a Bad Omens concert?” Your voice came out more skeptical than you intended, but could he blame you. The thought of Rafe at a concert full of screaming fans and heavy breakdowns was honestly hilarious.

He shrugged, eyes still on the road, totally unfazed. “Yeah, why not? Could be fun.”

Fun? FUN? You were genuinely struggling to picture him, in his usual attire, khaki shorts and a Ralph Lauren polo, at a venue packed with sweaty metalheads. You almost wanted to laugh, but then again, he was doing this for you. He was willing to put up with a night of music he definitely didn’t like, just so you could see one of your favorite bands. That meant something.

You scoffed. “How would I pay you back anyway? With what? My tips from bartending at the country club? Gonna take me six months to pay off Bad Omens tickets.”

He glanced over, eyebrow raised, like he was sizing you up. “You’re seriously gonna pass up the chance to see one of your favorite bands because you’re too proud to let me help?”

You bit your lip, torn between how much you wanted to see them live and how uncomfortable it felt to accept help from someone like Rafe. He was used to throwing money around—his daddy’s money, no less—and you... well, you weren’t like that. You’d grown up on the other side of the island, working your ass off to afford anything. 

The idea of someone just buying something for you? It made you feel weird. Like a sell-out.

“It’s not about a couple bucks. It’s about you doing this because you feel like you have to or something.”

His jaw tightened just slightly, and he shook his head like you were missing the point completely. “I don’t feel like I have to do anything. I want to do this. There’s a difference.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, not letting him off the hook just yet. “Why? Why do you want to do this so bad?”

There it was. That look again. He hesitated, like he was deciding whether to be fully honest or not, then leaned back in his seat, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel again, trying to play it cool.

“Because,” he started, his voice casual but his eyes were giving him away. “This is what friends do. They look out for each other. I’m not letting you miss something you clearly want.”

Saying the word made his chest hurt just a little. Friends. Right. But he didn’t let it show. He wasn’t exactly the relationship type, and everyone knew it. You probably knew it, but when it came to you things were different. And maybe the idea of spending time with you at that concert—just the two of you, no work, no distractions—sounded like a dream. How could he say that without looking like an idiot? Or worse, like a an asshole trying to buy his way into your life.

“Rafe, be serious,” you sighed. “I don’t like feeling like I owe someone.”

“You don’t owe me shit,” he said quickly, a little sharper this time. He seemed almost offended. “Why do you keep acting like this is some big favor? I’m not holding it over your head or anythin’. I just want you to go to the concert and have a good time. Is that so hard to accept?”

You did want to go. Badly. But accepting help like this wasn’t your style, especially not from Rafe, who lived in a completely different world. And yet you could feel how much he genuinely wanted you to say yes.

 “I’m being realistic.”

Rafe snorted. “Realistic? You’re being stubborn as hell.”

“I’m not—”

“Yeah, you are,” he cut you off, pulling into a stop at the light and turning his whole body toward you. His eyes were locked on yours now, serious but still with that hint of playful annoyance. “Look, I get it. Fine. You want to go to the concert. I’m offering to make it happen. End of story.”

He was used to getting what he wanted, and, right now, what he wanted was for you to take these tickets.

“Why do you care so much?” you asked, your voice coming out quieter than you intended.

He hesitated for half a second. Then that smirk of his came back, though it felt different. “Because I like seeing you excited about something. You’ve been dragging your feet every time I see you, and now, you hear some band’s coming to town, and you light up like it’s Christmas. You think I’m gonna let you miss that over a couple bucks?”

You opened your mouth, but no sound came out. He was always so sincere. And it threw you off completely. Rafe was a lot of things to a lot of people—cocky, reckless, arrogant—but he wasn’t usually thoughtful. Not to them. Not like this. You seemed to be the only one who saw the good in him.

But you still weren’t giving in. “Rafe... it’s just weird, okay? I don’t want it to be like you’re doing me a favor.”

He let out an exaggerated sigh, shaking his head. “Fine. Then don’t think of it like that. Think of it like— I’m investing in something I wanna see. You freaking out at this concert, screaming your head off, losing your voice for two days—that’s entertainment.”

 “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you’re difficult,” he shot back, eyes narrowing playfully. “But I’m not backing down, so you might as well just say thank you and take the tickets.”

“Or what?” you challenged, but your voice was softening.

“Or I’ll buy the tickets, show up at your door, and force you to go.”

You blinked. “You wouldn’t.”

He grinned. “Try me. C’mon,” he pushed, sensing you were caving. “You work your ass off at that club, always taking care of everyone else. For once, just let someone take care of you.”

Your breath hitched at that. He wasn’t just being cocky or trying to win an argument anymore. He meant it. You looked out the window, chewing on your lip. This was new, this was all so new to you it felt a little pathetic with how hard your heart was racing. There was a moment of silence, like you were both just waiting for the other to blink first.

Finally, you sighed, throwing your hands up in defeat. “Fine! Fine. Buy the stupid tickets. But don’t think I’m not paying you back. I’ll find a way.”

He just laughed, clearly satisfied with his victory. “I’ll take that as a ‘thank you, Rafe. You’re the best friend ever.’”

You rolled your eyes again but couldn’t help smiling a little. “Sure. Whatever helps you sleep at night, Cameron.”

As the light turned green and he started driving again, you let out a long breath, not knowing why you were giving up so easily. There was this strange warmth in your chest, knowing he cared enough to go toe-to-toe with you over something as small as a concert.

“Hey, for the record,” Rafe said after a moment, glancing over at you. “I’d do it again. Just so you know.”

You raised an eyebrow. “What? Fight me over tickets?”

He grinned, looking back at the road. “Nah. Fight you over anything, sweetheart.”

You rolled your eyes at the nickname, but you were beaming like an idiot now. You felt lighter. “Just don’t think this means I’m letting you pick the music on the way there.”

“Deal,” he said, laughing as he leaned back in his seat, clearly proud of himself. “But don’t get too used to it. Next time, it’s back to rap and yachts.”

You snorted, shaking your head. “Yeah, sure. Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

As he drove, you couldn’t help but peek over at him, catching the way his jawline tensed and relaxed, the way his fingers tapped the steering wheel like he was still buzzing from the conversation.

And yeah, maybe you’d heard the rumors surrounding him, believed them a little before.

Now, you weren’t so sure.

All the while Rafe felt like he’d just won the lottery. You had no idea how hard he was falling for you, piece by piece. Every small detail about you made him fall harder, and it scared the hell out of him how much he cared. But he couldn’t stop now.

Truth was, he didn’t want to.