there’s just something so lovely about how a passionate kiss wasn’t enough to jog mj’s memories, but peter and ned’s secret handshake was more than enough for ned to start remembering, everybody say thank you to destin daniel cretton for showing that platonic love matters just as much and can also break any spell
pairing: rafe cameron x pogue!f!reader, (not au, both are early 20s)
word count: 4.3k
summary: maybe you're not as special to rafe as you think you are
warnings: SUGGESTIVE (read at ur own risk, minors dni), slow burn???????, angst???????, kook!rafe x pogue!reader, fratboy!rafe x goodstudent!reader, mention of drugs, alcohol, and nicotine [vaping], injury, i made up a university, reader is friends with sarah, reader is on the anxious side, pining!reader???, not proofread
a note: i may or may not have based some of rafe's actions off of the guy i've been seeing
please reblog and like, it means a lot! let me know what you think!
The party is so loud, even from across the street.
You cling to Sarah, hand clasped into hers as she leads you through the lawn up to the frat house. Not just any frat house, Kappa Phi Alpha, the most prestigious fraternity at the most prestigious and expensive Kook-ridden campus, Helios University. You were new, ish, a late transfer student with only a year and a half left, having done your first three and a half years at a community college across the thoroughfare to the mainland. You had applied on a whim to please your parents, staring in awe at the acceptance letter you received months later. They had even accepted your financial aid. You were a lone Pogue fish, lost in a sea of Kook sharks, and they were out for blood.
Sarah shoves past drunk guys, all standing huddled in circles passing around a vape, trying to suck the plastic dry. She looks at you over her shoulder. “You look terrified. I told you we should’ve pregamed.”
You immediately shake your head. “I don’t want to get too drunk. I have class in the morning,” You nearly trip as a group of girls pushes past you, eager to get to the front of the line. “And so do you.”
“You can skip one class,” Sarah says, pulling you closer as you approach the front of the line. The frat boy standing guard goes to shoo you away, towards the back of the line, but she interrupts him before he can get the words out. “I’m on the list. I’m Sarah, Rafe’s sister,” The frat boy eyes you suspiciously, looking you up and down. Sarah rolls her eyes. “She’s with me, dummy. Rafe told me he put both of us down.”
The frat boy checks his phone, thumb scrolling through his notes app before nodding, bringing his vape to his lips. “Right. Sorry. Have fun, you two. And don’t take any bottles home, alright?” You and Sarah both nod as she leads you inside, hand still gripped tight in yours. She pats the frat boy on his shoulder, sticking one arm out to weave through the crowd. You instinctively shrink in on yourself, shoulders moving up to your ears as you make your way into the living room.
Sarah tugs you close once you reach an empty spot, nestled against one of the large bay windows that looks out to the pool in the backyard. “Alright, we made it in!” Her tone is excited, a giant smile on her face, until she sees the sour look on yours. “Please, at least try to have fun. You don’t have to drink, I guess, but just…” She sighs, cupping your face. “Just let loose a little. Chat up some guys. Or some girls.”
You cover her hands with yours. “Fine. I’ll try.” And you would, at least a little bit.
“Good,” Sarah lets go of your face. “I gotta say hi to some girls from my Fashion Design class. If you need anything, just come get me, okay?” She’s already walking away, looking at you over her shoulder.
“Okay.” You give her a thumbs-up, forcing a smile.
Sarah smiles and nods, turning around to keep walking when she suddenly stops, whipping her head back around. “Oh! And don’t drink a drink that you didn’t see poured!”
You nod, giving her another thumbs up, watching desperately as she practically skips away towards a group of girls on the other side of the living room, phone propped up on the dining table as they film a TikTok. You try to relax, forcing your shoulders to drop as you take a deep breath. Your hands flex and unflex, and you fight the urge to fidget.
You head into the kitchen, grabbing one of the last Coke Zeros from a bright blue cooler on the counter, wiping the condensation off on your jeans. You open it before taking a generous sip, slipping out of the kitchen as a large group comes in, chanting to themselves about tequila shots.
And that’s when you see him.
Rafe Cameron, Kook prince of Kildare, climbing on top of the rickety coffee table in between three dingy, beer-stained couches, stabbing the bottom of a beer can with a pocket knife before bringing it to his lips, opening the can with his right hand, head tilting back. Frothy, amber liquid travels down his neck, over his chain, and underneath his polo.
You feel your face grow hot as shameful desire grows in your gut. Not only was he the president of his fraternity, apparently the biggest asshole on the planet and renowned player, but he was Sarah’s brother. You’d never spoken to him, only hearing rumours from some girls in your class and stories from your roommate as she anxiously awaited a text back from him. You heard enough, you thought; he was a douche, a player, and only kept girls around that he considered a good fuck. You had decided, then, that you didn’t want anything to do with him.
It didn’t matter how pretty he was or how hot he looked as he pulled the beer can away from his mouth, crushing it between his strong fist as he sticks his arms up above his head in celebration as his friends and admirers cheer him on, biceps bulging deliciously out of his polo sleeves, smirk plastered on his sculpted face, you couldn’t have him. You shouldn’t want him this bad.
There was a reason he was given the title of Kook Prince, and he knew it. Rafe thrived off of the attention. There was never a time when he wasn’t the most desired man in the room, and tonight was no different. He was the most popular guy in your entire university, and he looked the part. His gaze suddenly lands on you, eyeing you from the spot you stood in. His gaze sharpens, lips curling up more at the corners. His gaze doesn’t leave yours, even as his friend, Topper, you think Sarah called him, pats his shoulders, shoving another Coors Banquet can into his hand. His gaze flickers between you and Topper before he smiles, saying something you can’t hear as he shotguns the second can.
The cheers and claps from the group surrounding him snaps you out of whatever trance Rafe put you in. You look around, trying to appear casual as you take another sip of Coke Zero, the can slightly squished from your tight grip. He finishes the beer easily, crushing it between his fist before Topper shoves a third one into his hand. Rafe doesn’t look away from you. He pops it open, raising it to his lips and taking a deep drink, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his tan throat. His gaze is unwavering, and he doesn’t take any opportunity to move towards you, just keeping his blue eyes on you as you squirm uncomfortably.
Rafe had you right where he wanted you, even if you didn’t know it yet.
You try to distract yourself, try to keep yourself from looking over in Rafe’s direction, and try to ignore the feeling of his eyes boring into your back. You join Sarah and her friends, and you try to join their conversation before you eventually go quiet after you realise no one is listening. You opt to nod along, laughing with the rest of them, trying to appear as casual and normal as possible, like your heart isn’t racing at the thought of your best friend’s brother, like you aren’t digging your nails into your palm to keep yourself from asking her if he’s single.
The flash is bright in your face as you join in on one of the group’s TikToks, lip-syncing to a song and doing a dance you had to learn on the spot, hoping you don’t look like an idiot swaying around in the outfit you borrowed from Sarah. You peer over her shoulder as you watch the TikTok back. Your part in it is relatively short, and thankfully you don’t look too idiotic. Your eyes immediately find Rafe in the background, as he occasionally glances over at you. You’re sure he’s only looking because you’re filming a dance trend in the middle of a party, and because Sarah’s with you, but there’s a small part of your heart that hopes he was looking at just you.
Cheers erupt from the living room, and you look up, you can’t help it, eyes immediately drawn to him as he climbs up on the coffee table. Rafe says something you can’t make out before he does a handstand, his polo falling partially down to reveal his toned stomach as his other friend, and Kelce (you think), holds a keg stand tube up to his mouth, Topper holding the keg up high in the air.
Everyone’s eyes are on him as he chugs, including yours, although you’re too busy staring at his abdomen and the faint happy trail that leads into his waistband to notice the beer spilling out of his mouth and onto the coffee table. He immediately lowers his feet and stands back up, grabbing the bottom of his shirt to wipe his mouth as his eyebrows furrow. He says something else you can’t quite hear to one of his fraternity brothers, gesturing wildly to the spill now dripping onto the carpet. Rafe’s jaw clenches before he flips his fraternity brother off, everyone moving to follow him as he heads out to the backyard. One of the girls that was helplessly clinging to him all night starts to clean up the spill, shouting after him to wait up.
“What a show-off,” Sarah mumbles, bringing the mango Cutwater to her lips. “He just has to keep the attention on himself at all times.”
One of Sarah’s friends, Alaina, scoffs as she steals the can to take a sip. “Can you blame him? This party wouldn’t even be happening if he weren't here.”
Sarah grabs her drink back from Alaina, giving her a gentle smack on the arm. “Yeah, but that doesn’t change the fact that he’s an attention-seeking dick.” She sighs, leaning against the wall. She doesn’t want to be concerned, but she is, eyes anxiously heading towards the backyard.
Alaina laughs softly. “A dick that the whole campus wants. You can deny it all you want, but you can’t deny the fact that he’s hot.”
“Can we please not talk about how hot my brother is?” Sarah asks exasperatedly, eyes going wide as she pushes off the wall. “Jesus. You guys are disgusting.”
You can tell Sarah is irritated by the way her jaw clenches and the way she chews on her bottom lip, shoulders tensing. You put a hand on her forearm, rubbing it with your thumb. “Wanna go check on him? We can get some fresh air, too.”
She nods, shoulders relaxing a bit as she sets her Cutwater on the table next to your empty Coke Zero can. “Yeah. I should make sure he didn’t fall and give himself a concussion.” She doesn’t even bother saying goodbye to her friends as she links her arm with yours, pushing through the crowd to head to the sliding glass door. She pushes it open with one hand, lagging back to shut it behind you as you head into the backyard.
The air is cool on your skin, the breeze leaving goosebumps in its wake as it travels over you, brushing through your hair. It’s just as crowded outside as it is inside; most of the party goers sitting on the edge of the pool with their feet dangling in it, drinks in hand as they pass a joint around, careful not to drop it into the chlorine. Some people are just mingling around, drinks in hand as they chit-chat, occasionally swaying to the music blasting out of the large JBL speakers a frat boy set up on the deck, and there’s a group of girls you recognise sit cross-legged in the gazebo, passing a bong around, phone flash on as they record each other.
Sarah stands up on her toes, looking through the sea of people, squinting slightly as she tries to find her brother in his coral polo shirt. “I swear, this dumbass is never in one place for too long, it’s like he’s—“ She immediately stops once she hears his voice, cutting her eyes to the left, finally finding him.
Rafe is climbing up on a fold out plastic table, knocking over a long forgotten game of beer pong. The table wobbles under his weight as he stands up straight, a large smile on his face as he turns to Topper, throwing up a middle finger at the camera pointed at him. Topper laughs, taunting him as Rafe moves the top of his body down to do another handstand. The table wobbles again, but everyone ignores it as Kelce brings the tube back to Rafe’s lips, Topper’s phone being shoved back into his pocket as he holds the keg up high.
Sarah sighs to herself, shaking her head as she leads you through the crowd and towards her brother, who was now upside down, polo falling over his face and revealing his toned stomach. You try to keep yourself from looking, to keep your eyes away from the way his shoulder blades were shifting, how the muscles in his arms were flexing with the weight of his body, how the veins in his biceps were protruding, but you couldn’t. She stops a few feet below him, calling up to him. “Are you trying to give yourself a concussion? Get down from there, dumbass.”
Rafe hesitates before shifting his weight onto one hand, shooing her away with the other. He steadies himself again, hands slightly shifting under him as he tries to keep up with the keg stand. His fraternity brothers and admirers shout at him, encouraging him to keep going, to keep on chugging. Kelce holds the tube tightly as Topper films, and you can slowly see Rafe starting to falter, hands trembling a little. The muscles in his shoulders were straining with the effort of holding himself up, veins in his biceps and in the side of his neck becoming prominent as the seconds went on, and you could tell that Sarah was getting more and more irritated the longer he kept himself upside down. Her foot was now tapping at the ground, arms crossed firmly over her chest. She calls up to him again, a little more aggressive this time. “I swear to God, if your dumbass falls, and you crack yourself in the head, I’m not taking you to the hospital.”
Topper lifts the keg higher, tilting it so more beer pours out into the tube. Rafe’s eyes widen slightly before he roughly pulls back, sputtering and coughing as he tries to stable himself again, beer spilling onto the grass as Topper quickly pulls the keg down, grabbing the tube at the base. The table creaks and groans before it breaks, splitting right down the middle. Everyone stares, Sarah included, waiting for the familiar sound of Rafe losing his cool, waiting for him to jump up and yell at Kelce and Topper, blaming them for holding the keg at a weird angle, blaming the guys who built the table for doing such a shitty job. Instead, he just… lays there.
You’re the first to help him, hesitating for a second before your hand connects with his shoulder blade, slowly running over his taut muscles. He’s laying face down, forehead resting on the grass. He’s definitely awake and breathing, but he hasn’t said anything or even moved. You clear your throat, your voice soft as you gently shake his shoulder. “Are you okay?”
Rafe groans, the sound muffled by the grass his face was currently pressed against. He tries to push himself up, but his arm immediately gives out. He groans even louder, fingers grabbing at the blades of grass as he turns his head to the side to look up at you. He squints, blinking furiously, trying to get the blood to rush to his head again, for the black dots to fade away, for the dizziness to subside. He grunts softly. “Yeah… yeah, I’m totally fine. Super fine.”
You step back as Topper and Kelce move in to grab him, helping him get to his feet, even though his legs are shaking. He has one arm wrapped around either of his friend’s necks, head hanging, as they gently carry him over to a pool lounger. The table is long forgotten as everyone quickly rushes him, all clamoring to make sure he’s okay, talking over each other. Rafe waves one hand, trying to get them all to shut up and stop talking, but they all keep going, some of the girls even moving to grab him. “Enough!” He snaps, even though it hurts his head, one of his large hands going to cup it. “Everyone just shut up!”
The crowd immediately quiets, everyone shrinking back sheepishly. Some people take that as their cue to leave, slinking back and sneaking away from the group. Topper and Kelce get him stabilised on the lounger, and he puts his head in his hands, thumbs pressing into his temples. Someone tries to speak, barely getting out a squeaked ‘Rafe’ before he sticks one hand up to stop them. “Stop. Just shut up. Everyone just leave me alone.”
The group scatters, running off to act like it never happened. Topper pats his back and leaves, dragging Kelce along with him. Sarah stands there, arms still crossed, shoulders still tense. She swallows thickly, almost hesitating, before finally speaking. “I told you to get down. You never listen to me.”
“God, shut up, Sarah,” Rafe’s voice is muffled by his rough palms. “You’re the reason I fell.”
“I am not!” Sarah says, her arms falling to her sides. She purses her lips. “You fell because you climbed on top of a fold out table.”
“You distracted me,” he says. “I was focusing on balancing until you started fucking talking.”
“You were going to fall either way!” Sarah insists, taking a slight step forward.
You dig your nails into your palms. “Guys.”
“Shut the fuck up, Sarah!” Rafe snaps, looking up at her. “Can you just shut the fuck up? For once in your life?”
“Oh, fuck you, Rafe!” She crosses her arms again. “You’re just mad because you embarrassed yourself.”
When Rafe suddenly stands up, fists clenched, you slide between the two of them. “Guys, come on. Let’s just chill out, okay?” You look between the siblings, hoping they would listen to reason and not cause another fight in the middle of a party.
He seems to relax, shoulders dropping slightly as he sits back down, head going back to rest in his hands. “Can you just leave me alone? Please?” Sarah keeps her arms crossed, lips pursed as she glares at him, eyes narrowed. She opens her mouth to say something before scoffing, muttering ‘whatever’ before turning around and stomping away, back towards the house. You move to follow her, giving him one last look over your shoulder, already a few paces away when he speaks again. “Not you. You can stay.”
You turn to face him in surprise. “Are you sure?”
“Yeah,” he mumbles, rubbing his eyes. “You’re quiet. You can stay,” You mumble a quick ‘okay,’ and after standing in front of him in stunned silence for a bit, he looks up at you, blue eyes piercing into yours. “You can sit down, you know,” And you do, obediently sitting down on the lounger next to him. You look around at the party, hands moving into your lap. Everything seems to be business as usual, even after Rafe’s fall, but a few of the partygoers shoot a curious glance your way. He lets out a soft noise before putting his head back in his hands. “I think I have a concussion.”
“Do you wanna go to your room?” You ask, trying to keep your voice as soft as possible. “I can get you some water and some Advil,” There’s a long pause, and you begin to worry that you’ve overstepped, an apology already on your tongue before he nods, his left hand reaching out to grab your shoulder as he shakily stands.
You struggle to walk him through the backyard, back through the house, and upstairs to his room, the only single bedroom in the entire house. It’s bigger than you thought, and you take in the decor (or lack thereof) as you help him onto his bed. His bed is pressed up against the wall in the corner, adorned with navy sheets, a crumpled-up duvet in the middle. He has no posters on his walls, just clothes littering his floor and an equally messy desk crammed up against the same wall his bed is on. He immediately lies down, throwing his arm over his face as you head into the bathroom down the hall, finding a few packets of Advil inside a Helios University branded first aid kit.
You sit on the edge of his bed awkwardly as he takes the Advil, drinking the remnants from the water bottle on his bedside table. He crumples it up in the same manner he did to the Coors Banquet cans, tossing it aside as he looks over at you through the gap in his arms. “Thanks.”
“Yeah, no problem.” You say, smiling softly.
Rafe looks you up and down. “You’re Sarah’s friend?”
“Yeah.” You sit on your hands to keep yourself from fidgeting.
“Cool,” He closes his eyes for a split second before opening one of them, peering at you. “You can lay down next to me, you know. I don’t bite.”
Your face flushes, and you almost decline, ready to spout some lie about needing to go back downstairs, but when you look at him, biceps bulging out of his polo and his shirt riding up slightly, the words die in your throat.
It all happens so fast. One second you’re just Sarah’s friend, the next you’re his friend, and the next you’re in his bed, face down, ass up as he fucks you. At first you revel in his attention; after all, you text practically all day every day, and you’re in his room almost three times a week. Nothing makes you feel as good as being wanted by him. Sometimes he even takes you out, showing you around Figure 8, showing you all of his special spots (you especially love the cove he showed you just outside The Island Club), and paying for your outings. You don’t call them dates because you’re not sure if that’s what they are, and Rafe doesn’t call them anything.
The more you talk to Rafe, the more you’re certain that the rumours are wrong. He’s not an insufferable jackass who only thinks about himself; he’s actually a sweet and caring guy underneath the layers of self sabotage and insecurity. You feel foolish for ever believing the rumours in the first place, and although you can’t brag about him to your roommate, you wish you could, just to see her face.
Then you start to wonder if Rafe liked you. You liked him, a feeling you felt was glaringly obvious. You couldn’t hide your eager replies, often responding immediately while he took hours, or the way your eyes light up when he opens the front door of the frat house, or the way you continue to nervously stumble over your words as you settle onto his bed as he picks a movie. You never end up finishing them, usually ending up on your knees in front of him five minutes in, cock in your mouth as you try to push the feelings of dread aside.
Forget whiplash; Rafe’s actions left you feeling motion sickness. When he’s pushing your face into one of his flat pillows, hand gripping your hair at the root, you are certain he was only using you for sex, and it wouldn’t be long before you ended up thrown away like trash, just another conquest in his book. But after he cums inside, always inside, he pulls you close, rubbing your back and giving you soft kisses, usually behind your ears but sometimes covering your whole face, and he starts telling you about his dad, you start to second guess yourself. Maybe Rafe did like you, and he was just nervous. Maybe he knew that his reputation preceded him. Maybe he thought you didn’t want anything more, and you just wanted to be friends with benefits. Casual. The word tastes like bile in your throat.
After two months of being Rafe’s something, you’ve made a pact with yourself; the next time you (eagerly) accept his invitation to come over, usually already dressed and ready just in case he messages you, you convince yourself that you’re finally going to have the talk, finally going to confront him about your feelings, making it clear that you just want to know what he wants and you’re in no way pressuring him. You couldn’t risk scaring him, after all. You didn’t want him running into the arms of another woman.
But as you sink onto your knees, yet again, you try to convince yourself that you’re okay with it. That something was better than nothing. That he clearly liked you enough to keep you around. That if you just waited patiently, he would come to you, a bouquet of flowers in his hand as he asks you to be his girlfriend, officially. You didn’t know how long that would take—two more weeks, three more months, or even years—but you would wait. You’d push your expectations aside and wait obediently at his feet.
Maybe he’s your dream boy. Maybe you’re not his type.
