Kate

TX / 22

[obse66ion]

forbidden touch - r. cameron

warnings - fluff, arguing, kissing, swearing, forbidden love, age gap (reader is 18), pouge!reader x rafe cameron, reader is john b’s little sister, no use of y/n.

- requested by anonymous

summary: rafe and you have craved eachother, yet you were too worried on how your love ones react, regardless of them wanting the best for you they all hate rafe, even as the relationship started you hid it from everyone, especially your brother john b.

𓇻

You’ve know Sarah since middle school, you had been walking on the beach when Sarah asked if she could hang with you after being ditched by her friends. You had agreed to her and became inseparable since. You would hang out before, during, and afterschool never caring about eachothers status. But slowly in the friendship, you had noticed Sarah’s developing crush on your brother, John B. You had thought it was meaningless crush since Sarah had started to date Topper.

But overtime the relationship started to plummet and Sarah started getting closer to John B. Of course, no one thought it was weird since they are two people who are good for eachother. Sarah apologized for not ever being upfront about her crush on your brother. You had only hoped for you friendship to stay the same and easily apologized. Well, its only fair if she gets to be with your brother, you can be with hers.

But no, people don’t look at Rafe and view him like they do with John B. They look at Rafe and see trouble, problems, and anger. But since you were younger you always knew Rafe was just misunderstood, hearing his meltdowns, you knew he just needed someone there for him. Rafe had always had an eye out for you. He saw you as his sisters cute best friend and never complained when you were around.

Rafe had noticed when you developed a crush on him and started to entertain it. He would finish showering and come downstairs with only a towel wrapped around his waist, knowing it was just you and Sarah home. He would always hold eye contact until you felt the need to look away. “Can you believe my brother, just walking around like he owns this place.” Sarah says disgusted. You just nod your head, ignoring the thoughts about her brother in your head.

One day when you were over at Sarah’s, she had gone up to take a shower and you were cleaning up the mess you two made after baking cookies. You tried to reach up to grab a rag but couldn’t get it. After your failed attempts you felt a warm body behind you, Rafe, you thought he was still out. He reached and grab the rag for you, he stood there waiting for you to turn around despite how close you two were.

You turned around, feeling his chest on yours, you breath starting to get heavy. You grabbed the rag he was holding, but he kept his grip on it, using it to pull your face closer to his. You couldn’t let Sarah see this, her and all your friends hate Rafe with a capital H, not to mention how your brother would kill you. “Okay Rafe, stop before Sarah see’s.” You say, knowing deep down you want him to keep his motives. He let a low scoff, “You think that’s what my sister told your brother when they began falling for eachother behind your back.” He said looking into your eyes.

Rafe’s words hit you more than they should’ve, what’s the big deal if you and Rafe get together? Rafe reads your face and see’s you fighting off your desires. “Hey, relax, it’s just me..” Rafe whispered, leaning his face towards yours. “Nobody finds out about this Rafe.” You whisper, staring at his lips. “Just say the word beautiful.” He said with a slight grin. You hear the shower shut off, realizing time is running out. You nod your head for barely a second when Rafe leans in and kisses you.

Once his lips met yours, you both sighed, finally relived after all the built up tension. You let go of the rag and grabbed Rafe’s face and hair. He grinned into the kiss feeling you grow desperate, he let go of the rag and grabbed your waist and your hair. When you tried to pull away he brought you back in and you felt his tounge poke your bottom lip, in which you opened enough for your tounges to move with eachother.

He pulled away and you whined at the loss of contact. He brought his hand to your mouth and whispered, “You’re welcome for the rag.” He left a quick kiss on your lips and walked away, you were confused on why but when you turned around you see Sarah barely walking into the kitchen after her shower. “Was my brother in here?” She asked. “Yeah, he just got a rag for me and left.” You responded quickly. She nodded and turned around. You let out a breath, still trying to process what happened.

Now it’s seven months later, you and Rafe and started dating 2 months after he kissed you and now keep your relationship secret until you feel confident enough to confess to your friends and brother. You and Rafe were at the beach late at night, enjoying the waves and eachothers company.

“Do I have to bring it up since you don’t want to talk about it.” Rafe murmured. Your back was pressed against his chest as you were both in eachothers warmth after being in the beaches cool water. You sighed and put Rafe’s arms around you to hold you, “I’ll tell them soon, I promise.” You said. He sighed into your hair, “You’ve been saying that for the past 4 months.” He whispered. You sat there and thought about how to come clean to the people you love about the one person they hate.

But you love Rafe, so much, and you know he doesn’t care if your a pouge and he’s a kook, he just wants people to know your his. Despite his views, he understands why you would be hesitant to tell your friends. It’s not a secret that Rafe had anger issues in his past days. But since your guys relationship started, Rafe has became a better man for you, to prove to you that he is willing to be yours. No other guy has ever don’t that for you and you wouldn’t want anyone else but Rafe.

Which is why you were so worried to tell your friends, they wouldn’t understand how much you loved Rafe, not even his own sister. So for now you’re keeping it a secret but soon enough, you’ll build up the courage to tell them. Rafe noticed your shiver and you both decided to head back home before someone gets sick. You both packed up while stealing small kisses from eachother.

You both start walking towards Rafe’s car, taking out your phone to check if John B was home.

you: u home? 8:15pm

birdie: nah might stay out tn, don’t wait up. 8:17pm

You let Rafe know it was okay to drop you off home since John B was out. On the ride home Rafe kept insisting on staying over for the night, but all you were too worried about the risks. “C’mon, no one’s home and I need to make sure you stay safe.” Rafe whines, you guys are parked a street down from your house, just incase people don’t see the kook princes car. Rafe is holding onto the back of your neck, begging you with his eyes.

You sigh, “Fine, but no funny business.” You say finally giving in. His grin grows and he leans in to kiss you. He gets out the car and opens the door for you, grabbing your stuff you guys head towards your house. You open the door and instantly head towards the shower. Locking the door and dropping your stuff in your room, you and Rafe head to shower.

In the shower Rafe made sure not to upset you, and kept it friendly. You guys watched eachothers hair, making sure the sand gets out. “May I was your beautiful body princess.” Rafe asked cheekily. You let out a laugh and nodded your head. He was gentle with you, making sure you were squeaky clean and kept putting bubbles on you. After washing it off you turned to him, “Your turn.” You said smiling. The entire time you were washing him, he couldn’t stop smiling and giving you compliments.

“You’re so beautiful.” He said grabbing your face as you were putting soap on his chest. You leaned up and gave him a soft kiss in which he returned quickly. As you leaned back, you rested your forehead on his, enjoying eachothers company. As you finished your shower, you felt yourself fighting sleep. Rafe helped you put on your clothes and laid you down on your bed. You watched as he put on his boxers and sweats that you hide in your closet before heading into bed with you.

“I love you, you know.” You tell Rafe, cuddling into his neck. He grabs your face and tilts it up to look at him, “I love you.” He says, looking into your eyes. You smile at him and snuggle your face into his neck. You and Rafe were getting comfortable in the warmth of eachother, all that could be heard is the loud noise of your broken fan. “Damn, remind me to get you a new fan.” Rafe joked, before you could laugh at his joke, all you hear is stumbling in your house.

“My sister has the advil, take me to her room.” John B’s voice slurred outside your door. Before you and Rafe could react, John B, Sarah, Kie, JJ, Pope, and Cleo barge through your door, smelling like booze and sweat. “Get the fuck out!” You try yelling, attempting to hide Rafe behind your back with your blanket. “Rafe?” Sarah said, her face turning into disbelief next to a disgusted John B, while everyone else turned amused. “What the fuck is he doing here?” JJ asked.

“You guys want to be mad at anyone, be mad at me.” You whisper panicking while Rafe was still holding you, now with a frustrated face at your friends. “Believe me when I say we are mad at you. Rafe? We suspect this from, but you’re my sister, you’re supposed to know better.” John B slurred. Sarah went to say something and before she could speak, “Don’t say shit Sarah.” Rafe said firmly.

“Excuse me?” She responded offended. You feel the tension rising between the two siblings. “Relax.” You whispered to Rafe. “Nah, Sarah you cheated on Top with your best friends brother, this isn’t the end of the world. You two need to stop acting like hypocrites.” Rafe said, annoyed at the situation. Sarah chose to stay silent after Rafe’s words hit her hard. “This is who you want to waste your time with?” John B scoffed.

You felt anger creep into your skin after your brothers harsh words, “Wasting my time?” You questioned. Before John B could respond, “Rafe is the only person that chooses to be with me because he wants too, you care so much about your new girlfriend and friends that you can’t even spare a day to spend time with your sister.” Your voice cracking at the last word. Rafe’s hand didn’t leave your back, comforting you through whatever this situation was. John B stood there, still tipsy, not knowing how to respond. Sarah whispered your name, “No, cause you were supposed to be my best friend yet you’ve occupied yourself with my brother and his friends, did you forget I was here too?” You said.

Rafe was pissed at how much you were hurt by the people you told him cared about you the most. “How long?” John B asked. “Seven months,” Rafe replied before you could, “Seven fucking months your sister was worried about how you would react to this, and she wasn’t wrong about it either because look at how stupid all of you look. Nobody gave a shit when Sarah started dating you but God forbid I start falling for your sister.” Rafe said, hard and clear for everyone to hear.

“Just get out.” You whispered, too exhausted to argue back. Pope and Cleo gave an apologetic smile, while JJ and Kie just walked out. “I’m sorry.” John B whispered and walked out holding Sarah’s hand, who looked like she was on the verge of tears. They shut the door and Rafe quickly got up to lock it. He got back into bed with you while murmuring curses towards them. “M’ sorry Rafe, they just don’t so you like I do.” You said sadly. “Don’t fucking apologize for them, I could never be mad at you, I’m sorry for how they treated you.” He said gently holding your face in his hand while the other caressing your back.

You buried your face into his neck, inhaling his scent. “I love you Rafe.” You said gently. “I love you more than you know, now sleep and forget about them, tomorrow will be a new day for us.” He said kissing your temple, holding you closer. You leave a kiss under his ear, feeling his grin grow against your head. “Goodnight Rafe.” You said . “Goodnight princess.” He says, gently massaging your hair as you two fall asleep.

©OBSE66ION

authors note - hope you guys enjoyed this one and had fun this summer and don’t be afraid to leave comments ꫂ ၴႅၴ

love, v

[kooksandpearls]

rafe cameron 𖦹 daddy's sick.

pairing – husband!rafe cameron x wife!reader summary – one miserable cold turns rafe into the clingiest patient in the cameron household. warnings – illness, coughing, chest pain, fever, congestion, medication mention, caretaking, family fluff. notes from me – as requested here, babes! so so cute 💌 word count – 1.3k

navigation – masterlist |

The cold reaches Rafe three days after hers begins to loosen, which feels less like illness and more like retaliation. By then, she can breathe without sounding as though something is shifting furniture inside her chest.

Her fever has broken, the ache behind her eyes has faded, and she has graduated from sleeping propped upright against Rafe to only needing two pillows and an embarrassing amount of vapour rub.

Rafe, meanwhile, wakes with a cough, announces that he feels “fucked up,” and spends the remainder of the day behaving as though the family should begin preparing emotionally for his death.

He’s stretched across her now, all six-foot-two of him draped over her body in a configuration that would be uncomfortable if she hadn’t spent most of her adult life being used as furniture by Cameron men.

His cheek is pressed against the skin above her chest, one heavy arm wrapped around her waist and one leg tangled between hers beneath the duvet. The television is playing quietly across the room, though neither of them has followed the movie since Rafe coughed through the opening credits and declared the sound design irritating.

His buzzed head shifts beneath her chin. “Baby.”

She looks down at him. “What?”

“Play with my hair.”

Her mouth pulls helplessly upward. “You don’t have any.”

Rafe lifts his head by half an inch, just enough to glare at her through heavy, glassy eyes. His nose is pink around the edges. His mouth is slightly parted because congestion has robbed him of the ability to breathe like a person, and the hard lines of his face have gone soft with exhaustion in a way that makes him look younger and more offended by the world.

“I have hair,” he says.

“You have, like, texture.”

“Baaaabbby.”

The word drags out pitifully, roughened by the cough sitting low in his chest. She laughs, and Rafe immediately drops his face back against her collarbone with an irritated huff that warms her skin.

“Oh my God,” she murmurs, her hand moving lazily over his back. “You’re such a baby.”

“I’m sick," he whines.

“I noticed,” she smiles.

“Like, actually sick.”

She raises her eyebrows at the ceiling. “Unlike me?”

Rafe mutters something into her skin that disappears beneath another cough. He turns his face at the last second, muffling it against the curve of her collarbone, his whole body tightening briefly over hers while her hand moves between his shoulder blades without thought.

It isn’t as violent as hers had been, but she remembers the ugly scrape of it. The bruised feeling beneath the ribs. The way every breath seemed to arrive already exhausted.

Her teasing softens at the edges as she rubs slowly down his back, following the tense movement beneath his old t-shirt until the cough passes and he releases a miserable breath against her throat.

“You okay?” she asks.

“No.”

She bites the inside of her cheek. “At least you're honest.”

“Think I need a doctor," he pouts.

“You said doctors were dramatic when I wanted you to take me.”

“That was different.”

“How?”

He groans. “I wasn’t sick then.”

The laugh leaves her before she can stop it, moving beneath him until Rafe lifts his head again with deep personal offence.

“Don’t laugh. My chest hurts.”

“I’m sorry.” She smooths one thumb beneath his eye where sleep has gathered in a faint grey shadow. “You’re very brave.”

Rafe stares at her for another second, then reaches for the hand resting near his face. His fingers close around her wrist, warm enough that she makes a quiet note to check his temperature again, and he drags her hand upward before planting it firmly against the short growth covering his head. “Do that.”

She curls her fingers once, barely scratching. “This?”

“Harder," he mumbles.

“Rafe.”

“I pay f'your nails.” His eyes close as he settles against her again, cheek finding the same spot above her heart. “Scratch me with them.”

Her mouth falls open. “You pay for my nails?”

“Card comes outta my account.”

“You are unbelievable.”

“Mhm.” He nudges his head impatiently beneath her palm. “C’mon.”

She gives in, because beneath the performance he feels hot and heavy and genuinely miserable, and because he had spent the worst night of her cold sitting upright against the headboard so she could breathe, rubbing her back until his arm cramped without mentioning it once.

Her nails begin moving slowly over his buzzed head, dragging from the crown toward the back of his neck in long, gentle passes. The effect is immediate.

Rafe’s shoulders loosen. His grip around her waist slackens into something warm rather than desperate, and a low sound slips from somewhere in his chest that is far too content to belong to a man who spent breakfast discussing whether congestion could become fatal.

She looks down at him. “Did you just purr?”

“Shut up.”

She does it again, nails tracing small circles near his temple, and his face presses more firmly into her skin. Another sound vibrates faintly against her chest.

“Oh my God,” she whispers, delighted. “You’re like a sick house cat.”

Rafe’s hand slides higher around her side, fingers curling beneath the hem of her shirt as though he needs skin to confirm she hasn’t escaped while his eyes were closed. “If any of our children come in here right now, I’ll cry.”

She laughs softly. “Banks would never recover.”

“He’s fourteen. He shouldn’t be entering our room without knocking anyway.”

She hums. “Lila doesn’t believe doors apply to her.”

“Lock it.”

“She’ll just scream.”

He huffs. “Let her.”

“Father of the year," she smiles.

Rafe makes a tired sound and turns his face enough that his mouth brushes her collarbone. “Don’t wanna share you.”

The words arrive muffled and congested, stripped of enough dignity that warmth opens slowly beneath her ribs. She keeps scratching through his hair, letting her fingers drift down to the sensitive place at the back of his neck that makes him go almost completely boneless over her.

“You always do this when you’re sick,” she murmurs.

“Do what?”

“Act like I’m being deployed.”

His arm tightens. “You keep getting up.”

“I have to check on our children.”

“They know where the cereal is," he mumbles.

“Lila's three.”

“She’s smart.”

She laughs again, quieter this time, and presses her mouth to the warm top of his head. Rafe exhales against her chest, the sound long and rough around the congestion, then nudges closer despite there being nowhere left to go.

Her nails continue their slow path through the dark velvet of his buzz cut while the house shifts softly around them. A cupboard closes downstairs. Pipes groan somewhere behind the bathroom wall. From the hallway comes the faint slap of small feet, then silence.

Rafe goes completely still, listening. The footsteps retreat.

His whole body relaxes again. “Good girl.”

“She’s terrified of seeing you like this.”

“As she should be.”

“You’re very vulnerable.”

“I’m sick,” he reminds her, eyes still closed.

“I know, baby," she smiles.

Something in his face eases at the word. His fingers flex once against her waist, and she feels his mouth press a tired kiss into the skin above her heart before he settles there properly, breathing warm and uneven beneath her chin.

She keeps scratching his head until his breathing deepens, every slow pass of her nails pulling another fraction of tension from his body.

Within minutes, he's heavy and quiet across her, one hand still curled possessively into her shirt. She smiles into his hair and lets him stay there.

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[nonbeliever1]

⋆⭒˚.⋆ ── KISS IT BETTER ── ⋆⭒˚.⋆

synopsis: you had a shitty day at work but seeing your sexy boyfriend (and his dick) cheered you up ! from this req.

w/c: 0.8k

a/n: sorry I didn’t focus enough on him comforting her but but i hope you like it! this is the first fic ive posted on this account and i hope it does well! also english is my first language but i SUCK at it so if i fucked anything up lmk! 🩷

content warning: unprotected piv (wrap it b4 you tap it), pussy eating, fem reader, praise kink, no use of y/n! pretty sure that’s it but if there’s anything else just comment

Work sucked. 8 hours at the country club and about 800 rude old men whining about your “attitude”. Your boss had even got on you about it today, it wasnt like you were super rude either, just not some girl flirting and batting her eyelashes for tips. On top of this, you had to pick up your coworkers shift tomorrow, saturday.  

You truly didnt think anything could make this day better. 

Then, like an angel from heaven, Rafe came home. He was wearing that tight polo today, and somehow looked even sexier than usual. You thought the sight of him alone might’ve actually turned this day upside down. He took a seat beside you on the couch, a smirk hung on his face. “What’s got you smiling like that, hm?” he asked, his gazing going back and forth between your eye and lips. “Thought you said your boss was being an ass.” he added. You nod smile not dropping, “Yeah, but seeing you has definitely helped.” it was cheesy, but so, so true.  

His smirk softened, “Really?” his voice was soft. He leaned over, his face dangerously close to yours. “I think I can help even more..” you nodded quickly, staring into his eyes. You’d been thinking about it since he walked in the door honestly, your panties already embarrisingly wet. He pushed you down gently, your head now against the arm of the couch, him on top of you with his toned arms on either side of your face.  

Suddenly his lips captured yours and it was like the rest of the world melted away. As his tongue moved passionately against yours, you didnt think about your boss or any annoying old man, just this perfect man on top of you. His hands move to under your shirt, running them over your waist before pulling away to tear both his and your shirt off. Now, as he kissed you, his hands were on your chest. He cupped one of your tits before running his thumb over your nipple, only covered by the shear fabric of your bra.  

After unclasping your bra and taking both your bottoms off, you now lay naked with him on top of you. “Rafe..” you moan as he kisses your neck. His dick was hard and leaking precum against your pussy, but he hadn’t given you what you needed yet. “Patience, baby.” he responded simply, kissed headed lower. As he kissed down your stomach, you grew needier, hips bucking when he got to your inner thighs.  

His lips came to your clit after what felt like forever, sucking like you were the sweetest candy. Your hands flew to his hair, your eyes rolling back. “Fuck,” you moaned, biting your lip to stifle more loud noises. “That’s it,” he pulled away for just a second, “let me hear you.” You feel his fingers move from where they were gripping your thigh, two fingers moving to push straight into you. His mouth and hands worked in harmony, fingers scissoring to hit the deepest spots inside, tongue moving against your heat. Finally, the build-up was too much, you felt your orgasm coming quick. “Rafe.. fuck, Rafe im gonna—“ he cut you off, barely pulling away, “I know baby, go ahead, cum on my face.” He went back in and with one more thrust of his fingers you came undone. He didn’t pull away immediately, just let you ride it out before sitting back up and licking your juices from his fingers.

You sat up a bit, panting heavily, needing a breather. Rafe watched for a moment before straddling your hips again, still looking hungry for more. Hands were on your waist again, lips on yours, and soon his dick was inside you. He stretched you so good, thrusts hard but not rushed. “Fuck—“ he breathed out, “you feel so good for me baby, taking me sooo good.” You clenched around him at that and he let out a groan, resting his forehead against yours, looking into your eyes. The rhythm continued for forever, both your moans and his groans filled the room.

His pace slowed after a while, thrusts softer. You knew he was close. Soon, you felt the same thing, your pussy fluttered around him and he sped up. His hand came to your clit, rubbing small circles over it, eliciting another loud moan. “I know, ‘s okay, let go for me.” He says between thrusts that were now sloppy. You can’t help it, your second orgasm came crashing over you. Rafe was soon to follow, he pulled out quickly and pumped his dick once with his hand, and came all over your stomach.

He let out a content sigh and leaned against the back of the couch. “Let’s get you cleaned up.” He spoke after a minute, picking you up bridal-style and walking to the bath. He kissed your forehead gently, “Feel better, baby?” he asked, smiling as he looked you over.

this is kinda trash but i like it (: it’s also the first request ive ever answered so im sorry if its bad 🥹 love you guys !

nonbeliever1 2026 — all rights reserved. do not modify, repost, translate, or plagiarise my content

꧁⎝ 𓆩༺✧༻𓆪 ⎠꧂

[mrsbarnesblog]

˖˚⊹ pool party for two

➤ summary: when Sarah leaves you alone in a pool late at night, Rafe shows up under the flimsy excuse of a “quick dip before bed.” ➤ w/c: 5.6k ➤ warnings: best friend's brother, smut, lots and lots of sexual tension, banter, enemies-to-lovers vibes, pool sex, semi-public, light degradation/teasing, breast play, dirty talk, fingering, unprotected sex, possessive and down bad Rafe (who is also really annoying and has a big mouth)

masterlist taglist

The water in Sarah’s outdoor pool was perfectly warm against your skin, and you, once again, thanked the universe that you had a friend who had this amazing thing at her house. Such a luxury, right? You didn’t like to interfere or be all up in people's faces or walk around their property like it was yours—you were a pogue, at the end of the day. It was a thing only Kooks on the island could brag about, the only ones who could afford it. But your amazing, precious best friend had the purest heart on earth, and she just wanted to have you around whenever she could, always inviting you like she hated to be here all alone.

You two always spent time together: on the beach, in this exact pool when the sun was just perfect, in her room during sleepovers, and at every party she was invited to, where you were basically attached at the hip. 

Today, Sarah brought you here again. The day was disgustingly hot today, so much that you refused to move from under the AC until the sun started to set. Now it was almost dark outside. Cameron's estate was fully lit with those fancy lights, as well as the giant pool itself, which now was glowing with blue and white illumination. You had your favorite bikini set on, even though it was fully hidden under the surface, while Sarah was lying on the pool border on her stomach, talking to you about the date she and John B were going to tomorrow. 

You moved around in the water lazily, savoring the feeling of it against your skin, feeling how your muscles relaxed from the pressure of the day. Your head was now finally free from all the thoughts and worries. It was peaceful and quiet except for Sarah's expressive voice. She was such a chatterbox. God, you loved how easy it was with her, how she let you be introverted when you felt like it while she talked your ear off. And you didn’t mind in the slightest. 

But out of nowhere, her head snapped up from being rested on her arms, and her eyes grew wide as she stopped mid-sentence.

“Shit.” She breathed, sitting up and briefly dipping her legs in the water.

“What?” You peeked one eye open, not moving from where you were sitting on the stairs with water up your chin. 

“Wheezie.” She groaned, looking back at the house, even though she knew that her little sister’s windows were not facing this part of the property. “She had that project for her school. Like… art or something, I think? She begged me to help her because dad’s not here.” You nodded to her words. “Can I? I mean you’re okay to be here alone for some time? I’ll try to be quick.” Her brows rose and lips pursed in that signature Sarah-only way—the one that made her look so cute and literally impossible to deny anything to. Not that you really wanted. 

“I am not going to act like I'm not enjoying the shit out of your pool, Sar.” 

She was gone like a whirlwind, her sparkly flip-flops slapping against the stone of the pavement as she almost ran towards the house. She turned around, blowing you a kiss and a toothy smile, and you just shook your head, unable to stop the warm feeling. 

Your eyes closed again when the only sound left was wildlife. You took a few moments to really appreciate the beauty of it all: the distant sound of waves, some creaking insects accompanying you from the flower bed down the path, and the soft buzz of the overhead light. Calmness felt like a warm blanket around you, and you couldn’t remember the last time you felt so at peace. 

The sound that made you a bit more aware of your surroundings was another pair of flip-flops against the pavement—though this one was firm and much slower, like the person had all the time in the world, and you could feel the cockiness seeping through without even having to look. 

Your eye peeked open again, and, of course, the one and only Rafe Cameron was walking towards you with that signature swing of his tall frame. You felt slightly annoyed that someone disturbed your alone time, not to mention that it was him, out of all people, but at the same time, a knot of nerves tightened low in your stomach. You knew that it was just that uneasy feeling he gave you whenever he was around, and nothing else. He just was an asshole, and it must’ve been your body’s reaction to seeing its natural stimulus. Right?

Rafe stopped at the far end of the pool, hands on his hips as if he were assessing the situation, wearing nothing but navy blue swimming shorts that were sitting agonizingly low on his body. The overhead lights were definitely the paid actors, you thought, because they cast just a perfect shadow over every single ridge of his tanned and surfing-trained body, making you just barely shift in your place. His hair was tousled like he’d run a hand through it a dozen times, and that teasing smirk was already tugging at his lips as he looked down at you.

“Well, well.” He drawled, voice low and lazy. “Didn’t know we had a stray Poguie in the pool tonight.” 

You straightened a little, suddenly hyper-aware of how little your bikini covered, as the silhouette of your body was probably evident from the place where he was standing. The water suddenly felt cooler against your heated skin, and the perfect momentum of calmness seemed to vanish the moment Rafe started circling you. “Sarah invited me. Pretty sure that makes me a guest, not a stray. You gonna call security, Cameron?”

He chuckled, that deep, rumbling sound that always managed to crawl under your skin in more ways than one. “Nah. Not yet.” Rafe didn’t waste any more time as he stepped down the opposite stone steps, sinking into the perfectly-feeling water. Your eyes were steadied on him, and he didn’t look away from you either, like he was waiting for you to say something else so he could continue this little banter you always got going on. While you just hoped it wasn’t too obvious the way you were staring at the droplets of water clinging to his collarbone. “Just here for a quick dip before bed. Long day.”

“You’re such a liar, Rafe.” You couldn’t help a scoff and the way your eyes rolled back at that blatant lie. “You never swim here, especially not before going to sleep.”

He walked over the shallow part of the pool, moving in your direction, eyes sharp and far too knowing. They dragged over you, over your face and wet hair you tried to save by pinning up in a claw clip, then absolutely shamelessly slid down under the water, clearly seeing the outlines of your bright bikini.

“You know my routine, baby?” The corner of his mouth twitched. 

“I don’t care about your routine, but I know you’re full of bullshit.” 

“That’s my pool. Think you can dictate the rules now?”

You felt your blood starting to boil again. Because he was right—it was his pool, his house, and he was allowed to do whatever his stupid head dictated to him. So you pursed your lips, looking away from him to save yourself some headache, hoping that the lack of interest from you would just bore him. But it was Rafe, right? The most insufferable person who could annoy anybody on purpose, as if he had taken special lessons for that exact matter, so you should’ve really known better than to try to play these games with him. 

The water splashed in your face so suddenly it made your breath hitch. The next reaction was anger that suddenly started filling you with surprising intensity because this asshole was just looking at you all proud and with a stupid grin plastered on his face. The one that always drove you up the wall. Not to mention, he had all this fucking ridiculously giant, luxurious pool, but he chose to saunter over closer to you just to get on your nerves.

“Why so sulky?” He teased, moving his hand over the surface again and relishing the way it washed over your face. You stood up, your feet finding the slippery ground of the pool, eyes throwing daggers in his direction. Rafe’s eyes weren’t subtle in the slightest with the way he looked down at your tits in your bikini top now finally presented to him in full view. The water drops rolled down the tips of your wet hair, down your face, and prettily defined collarbones until they mixed with pool water. 

You were livid. So easily annoyed that it brought a wicked kind of satisfaction to Rafe’s face. The only opportunity for him to get any type of reaction out of you. You moved closer to him, just exactly the way he wanted, even if you didn’t realize it yet, with war written in your eyes. 

"You're such an asshole!” You splashed the water back at him, in the most childish way possible, easily falling for his bait to get to you. He laughed, deep and warm, as if he already expected that move from you, and it did nothing but irritate the hell out of you. 

He wiped the droplets from his smug face, taking one step towards you subtly, with water hiding all of the movements in a way it glistened around you. “And you’re so easy to piss off, don’t even have to do much.” 

You glared at him, chest rising and falling faster than the situation warranted. “Easy? You’re the one who came out here like a creep the second Sarah left. What, were you watching from your window like some pervert?”

Rafe’s grin only widened, predatory and far too pleased. He took another slow step forward, the water swirling around his waist. Those navy shorts clung to his hips, the wet fabric outlining the sharp V-lines disappearing beneath them. You hated how your eyes kept betraying you.

“Pervert?” He echoed, voice dripping with mock offense, with hands in the air as if he were completely innocent. “I’m just enjoying my pool. You’re the one standing there in that pathetic excuse for a bikini, looking like a walking wet dream.” You squirmed at his words, realizing that he and his stupid distractions brought you to the exact position he wanted—you stood in the shallow part too, water barely reaching your ribs and exposing almost half of your body to his eyes. 

Your face heated up. You crossed your arms over your chest even though it did little to help the situation, with the way your boobs squeezed together, the wet fabric of your top now practically translucent under the glowing pool lights. Rafe’s gaze dropped shamelessly, darkening. The water suddenly felt too warm and too cold at the same time, the exposure and the awkward feeling hitting you all at once—it was too intimate to stay in here with your best friend’s brother with barely any clothes on. And, to be fair, you hated how exactly it made you feel inside.

You bit your tongue, swallowing your pride once again. You had no power nor intention to keep going back and forth when Rafe had a comeback for everything and anything and a smart mouth that could really get him places. You turned around, going further into the deep part of the pool to get to the opposite stairs and maybe wait for Sarah in her room or help Wheezie too—anything to get away from the guy who was burning holes through you with his intense eyes. You hated how he made you feel, hated how your body reacted in a weird way whenever Rafe tried to rage bait or annoy you. You hated that weird flip in your stomach, that burning feeling in between your thighs when he looked down at you in that teasing mockery with a devilish grin plastered on his stupidly pretty face. You just needed to stay away from him as much as possible, because none of it was right. 

“I was talking to you.” Rafe’s voice came from behind you, far closer for your liking. You felt the movement, felt your heart racing as the realization that he wasn’t letting you go that easily settled in. “Why are you so complicated?” 

Rafe’s hand found yours underwater, easily spinning you around by just a grip on your wrist—an innocent touch that made the blood in your veins feel sparkly. You glared at him again when he didn’t let go of your hand—instead, he trailed up your forearm, dragging you back in his direction until you had to stop it with the palms of your hands flat against his solid chest. He was so impossibly close your breath hitched for a second. Your mind went blank when Rafe was the same height as you, as he was able to reach the bottom and you were now held afloat only by his hold. Your legs were still dangling under water, toes barely reaching the floor, and those stupid and a bit frantic movements just made you brush against him.

You were face-to-face, way too close for it to be innocent and normal. So close that you could see the freckles on his nose and a few different shades of blue in his eyes—the ones that stared at you with shameless intensity. 

“Why are you running, huh?” He murmured, voice low and rough. “Scared you’ll like what happens if you stay?”

“I’m not scared of you.” You shot back, but your voice came out breathier than you intended. Your hands didn’t push him away either. “I just don’t want to deal with your bullshit tonight.”

Rafe started shifting even closer. He couldn’t hold back a smile at the fire in your eyes, at the way you tried to be all nonchalant and calm even though he could tell your body was in panic mode because of the whole situation. You weren’t new to his teasing, after all. But he was sick with all this push and pull, having to have you around close enough to always see you, but not close enough for it to be something more. So maybe he had decided that it was it—the day he caught you, made you face him, and made you tell him exactly what you felt, because he knew he wasn’t delusional about it all. 

He made sure to have you all to himself at least for an hour when he paid Wheezie to keep Sarah occupied no matter what. 

Your skin was slick and smooth under his palm when he finally put his hand around your waist. You wanted to protest, to move back, even if your whole body reacted to that innocent touch in the most embarrassing way possible. But Rafe still didn’t allow you to do so. The only thing that was your warning was the way his hungry, lust-filled eyes dropped to your lips before he brought your body closer to him and kissed you. 

Stupidly enough, it did feel like sparks. It did feel like something just fell right into place. It did feel like those sappy rom-com scenes where people were having their kiss with a person they yearned for. At first you tried to resist, to push at his chest. But who were you kidding? Then, a second later, your body sagged in the water, fingers digging into his forearms. Rafe let himself guide the kiss, pulling at your lower lip teasingly, before pushing his tongue in your mouth and groaning like he had just found treasure. You were held afloat only by his arm around you, as water made your body feel completely weightless. 

You were too unaware of your surroundings. Fully lost in the kiss, in the feeling of his surprisingly soft yet demanding lips, you didn’t even notice when Rafe carried you towards the corner until the cooling sensation of the slick pool wall made you gasp in his mouth. Your back arched on instinct as you broke the kiss, but you quickly realized that his tall and big frame had fully blocked you from escaping. 

Rafe looked down at you, noticing the hair that was now half wet and sticking to your neck in a weirdly sexy way, the way your chest was moving with each long breath you took in, and the way your lips were plump and shiny with your shared spit. He wanted to ruin you, completely and utterly. He wanted to let all of his feelings out on you until you were left as a trembling mess, and his cock was already painfully hard and waiting against the front of his trunks. 

Water lapped gently around your bodies, but everything else felt electric—his chest rising and falling against yours, the hard plane of his stomach brushing your navel with every breath, the undeniable outline of his growing arousal trapped between you under the thin layers of soaked fabric.

“Rafe—“ You started something that sounded more like a gasp of his name than a protest, but he kissed you again, shutting you up oh so effectively, holding you flush against him with one hand. The other one started wandering, starting its way from your back, then down the curve of your ass, fingers toying with the strings of your bikini. 

The kiss was agonizing and dirty, wet and desperate, as if Rafe were trying to devour you right then and there. He moaned into your mouth, sliding his tongue against yours until your head became empty and body became mush in his hands. You didn’t even register when the slow-simmering feeling in your belly turned into a fire, when your thighs started pressing together in an attempt to relieve some pressure. 

He pulled back again, eyes half-lidded and dark, droplets of water clinging to his lashes. That smirk was still there, but softer now, edged with something much more natural and subtle. “Say you don’t want this and I’ll stop.” Rafe murmured against your lips, voice rough like gravel. His leg nudged your knee, and you let your legs spread obediently. He brought your body closer, letting himself step in between your thighs, then his hips rolled forward once, slow and deliberate, letting you feel exactly how hard he was. “But we both know you’re not gonna do that, baby.”

Your breath shook, every point where you were touching each other felt almost burning. Your thighs tightened around him, locking around his hips. You were giving up. Your body was betraying you. You felt too weak when he looked at you like this, felt too tired of the constant tension, and felt now too horny and turned on to let Rafe go. The feeling of his cock was shocking, the imprint so obvious through the few pathetic layers that separated you, and you would lie to yourself if you said that you had never imagined how the weight of him would feel in your hand or buried deep inside. 

Rafe took the conflict in your eyes as a sign to make another move, to make your body fully addicted to his touch and the way he made you feel. He left one hand under your ass, lifting you a bit higher to the surface. He leaned in, teeth grazing the column of your neck just enough to leave faint marks. Your moans turned into soft gasps as you let yourself relish the moment and let your own hands wander and grip his wet strands of hair. 

Rafe’s mouth trailed down, kissing your collarbone and your shoulder until your skin got covered in goosebumps and you started trembling in his arms. He reached blindly to the back of your neck, fingers tugging at the flimsy bow that held your bikini top together. 

Two triangles fell forward so suddenly, your tits sitting prettily and exposed right in front of his fucking face. You gasped, hand flying to either cover yourself up or to push at his shoulders, but then his mouth was on you, and your head tipped back with a breathy moan that was a mixture of his name and a curse. Rafe locked his lips around your perky nipple, munching on it as a deep sound of satisfaction rumbled in his chest. He licked and gently tugged with his teeth until it was borderline torture, then switched to the other side and did the same to give them both an equal amount of attention. 

You didn’t know how much time you were lost somewhere in the clouds while your covered pussy was trying to find any type of needed friction, which ended up being his abs. But then Rafe pulled you back down with a satisfied, devilish grin on his face, releasing your nipple with a wet and nasty pop that made you clench around nothing in a most pathetic way. “Been waiting to do this for so long.” He breathed, grinning and looking down into your eyes when you were mostly in water again. One hand was still holding you firmly against his chest with your tits now pressed to him, and another one was gripping and massaging your thigh while it was slowly but firmly moving towards your pussy. “Can you tell me how much you want it, baby?”

His velvety voice went straight to your pulsing core. You felt the fingers sliding along the hem of your bikini bottom, not touching you yet, but making your body shudder with anticipation. You shook your head no weakly, feeling how your eyes fluttered. 

Rafe tsked under his breath. His lips nipped at the side of your neck again, leaving wet and mouthy kisses, while his fingers slid over your covered pussy. He ran over the fabric once, then once again. The material was clinging to your skin, making it so obvious how aroused you were. The fingers pressed firmer against the soaked bikini, rubbing slow, deliberate circles right over your clit like he knew exactly what he was doing. The thin material did nothing to dull the sensation. Your hips jerked forward on instinct, chasing his touch, and a low, satisfied chuckle rumbled out of his chest.

“Look at that.” He murmured, lips brushing your ear. “You’re fucking dripping for me. Been soaked since I walked out here, haven’t you?”

You wanted to deny it. You wanted to call him an arrogant asshole and push him away just to prove a point. But the way his fingers kept stroking you—confident, knowing, relentless—made your mouth fall open in a silent moan instead. Your head tipped back against the pool edge, eyes fluttering shut as pleasure sparked through your core.

“Rafe…” His name came out shaky, almost pleading.

“That’s right. Say my name again.” He pushed the crotch of your bikini bottoms to the side, finally giving himself access to your body. Two thick fingers dragged through your bare folds, spreading your sticky wetness before he sank them inside you without any warning.

You gasped, eyes opening and barely focusing on the bright overhead lights, when your pussy welcomed him inside, trying to suck his fingers in as if she were greedy for anything he could give. Rafe worked you open with an intention to prepare you for what he was planning next, but also just loving how your body felt all around him. Relishing, finally, the moment when all of his fantasies came true and he could treat you the way you deserved. 

For the few agonizing minutes, his fingers and his mouth near your ear were the only things you could feel and think of. Rafe pumped inside of you slowly, curling his fingers in a way that made your thighs twitch around him and white dots appear in front of your eyes. You moaned softly and rocked your hips almost way too desperately, chasing the release you never knew you needed. 

Rafe’s thumb brushed over your clit, testing your reaction, noting the way your body jolted again, then rolled it softly until a high-pitched moan escaped from your lips and he could feel your velvety walls starting to clamp around him. Rafe pulled his face away from your neck, eyes briefly darting to the dark spot visible there, as he withdrew his fingers away from you, leaving you hanging on the edge. 

“Please! I need to—“ You should’ve been embarrassed of how desperately you sounded when you choked on your own words, but your head felt too heavy to worry about it now. You wanted to cry from the loss, from how close to cumming you were, when Rafe deprived you of it and left your pussy empty and clenching around nothing. 

“Need to cum?” He asked softly, the mockery barely heard in his voice, and your head nodded once, just barely. 

Rafe finally pulled the front of his swim trunks down, releasing his heavy cock with a deep sigh of relief. You were so closely pressed to him that you felt the weight of it against the lower part of your belly, shuddering with anticipation and pure, animalistic lust you felt right now. You rolled your hips again, gripping his shoulders for dear life, digging your nails in the firm muscles, and finally looked at the face that was studying you with precision. 

Your foreheads touched in a brief moment, eyes locked on each other in a way that felt too intimate, too desperate when Rafe ran the head of his cock over your slit and then slowly sank inside. He kissed you again to swallow your moan that carried both a surprise and relief from the stretch. He nestled so perfectly inside of you, filling you in a way you’ve never felt before. It was weird, borderline painful, but it made you clamp harder around him, grip his shoulders even tighter, and fully lock your legs behind his back.

“Fuck—shit, you’re so perfect around me.” He moaned into the kiss, your lips both wet with your spit and splashing water, but you didn’t care. “Baby, fuck!” Your back pressed harder into the pool wall when Rafe made the first experimental thrust, setting your body on fire with how deep he went.

“Oh—oh my god! R-Rafe—please!” You threw your head back, eyes rolling when his large hands gripped your thighs and moved you up and down his cock. He grunted, twitching inside of you when you involuntarily squeezed around him, lunging forward to suck on your suddenly exposed neck. 

The pace quickly turned overwhelming. Rafe had you trapped between his warm, massive body and the slick pool wall, making it nearly impossible to escape or move when every nerve in you felt like it was being electrocuted. He had you open for him underwater—thighs spread wide to fit him in—while he fed his cock into your cunt with every harsh, deliberate thrust.

Water surged and splashed around your joined bodies with each snap of his hips. The glow of the underwater lights painted everything in shifting blues and whites, highlighting the way his shoulders flexed, the way droplets clung to his collarbones, and the way his jaw clenched every time your pussy tried to suck him back in.

“Fuck, look at you.” Rafe growled, voice rough and strained, unable to look away from your fucked-out face—the one he dreamed about for many months before that. “Taking me so deep. You’re so fucking perfect for me, baby... All that attitude earlier and now you’re dripping down my cock.”

You tried to snap back, to come up with something sharp and witty to make that half-lazy smirk vanish from that perfectly pretty face. But you just couldn’t. All that came out was a broken moan, a breathy sound of his name when your hand touched his face. Your head dropped forward again, your foreheads resting against each other and mouths open while you panted and brushed your lips against each other with every move of Rafe’s hips. You brushed his face, lazily rubbing the clean-shaven cheek, staring deep into his dark eyes like it was the most natural thing for you.

You felt the pressure building low in your belly, as it was crawling in too quickly with the way his thick and veiny cock was grinding deep into you. But the thoughts kept coming back, the bitterness suddenly clouding your mind in the moment you should’ve enjoyed being fucked in the best way you could, as old and secret insecurities kept coming to the surface. You swallowed hard, eyes stinging for reasons that had nothing to do with the chlorine, when you finally managed a hoarse, "You don’t even like me.”

His laugh was breathless, almost pained. He almost completely stopped his movements, making you hiss at the feeling that your orgasm was vanishing slowly, with only the slow and shallow rocking of his cock keeping that fire alive. “You told yourself that, not me.” Rafe punctuated the words with a particularly deep thrust that made your back arch off the tiles and grip him harder even when your lips pouted. “I’ve been half out of my mind wanting you for months. Watching you around my fuckin’ house, watching you being everywhere I went, letting you talk back to me with this damn mouth of yours because it makes me hard when you’re being feisty like this… I paid my little sister off just so I could finally get you alone.”

The bitterness that had tried to settle in your chest cracked a little. You hated how much you wanted to believe him. Hated how good he felt still stretching you open. Hated how your body kept clenching around him like it never wanted him to leave.

“Still doesn’t mean you like me.” You whispered, the words more stubborn than convincing.

Rafe’s smirk returned, softer this time, almost fond. “Keep telling yourself that.” He pulled almost all the way out, then slammed back in hard enough to make water surge up between your bodies. “I’ll just keep proving you wrong.”

Whatever reply you had died the moment he set a new rhythm—faster, deeper, more punishing, bringing you back to the height you were before he slowed down. One of his hands stayed under your thigh, holding you open for him, while the other braced against the pool wall beside your head. Every thrust forced a soft, broken sound from your lips. The water made everything slicker and more intense, and the wet slap of skin on skin mixed with the quiet night sounds around the estate.

“Fuck—Rafe—” Your nails dug into his shoulders as the pressure built again, sharper and more overwhelming than before. “I’m gonna—”

“I know.” His voice was strained, almost desperate. “I feel you, baby. Come for me—fuck, please. Been waiting too fucking long for this.” His thumb found your clit suddenly, rubbing tight, perfect circles in time with his thrusts. The dual stimulation tipped you over the edge so fast it stole your breath. Your orgasm crashed through you in hard, pulsing waves, your walls clamping down around his cock as you cried out against his mouth. Your pussy pulsated around him in tune with every little shudder that ran through your body, making Rafe groan low and deep, burying himself to the hilt and following right after—hips stuttering as he spilled hot and deep inside you. 

Your legs shook, mouth open at the foreign feeling of his warm cum coating you from the inside, probably ruining the water with the way he still pushed his cock in softly. 

You two stayed locked for a few minutes, arms fully wrapped around each other like you didn’t want to let go of that moment, chests heaving in unison. Your head dropped in the crock of his neck, damp from water and sweat, and Rafe held you just a bit tighter, letting his lips brush your temple in a gesture that was too intimate yet so natural. 

Eventually he eased out carefully, fixing your bikini bottoms with surprising gentleness before reaching up to retie the strings of your top. His fingers lingered at the nape of your neck a second longer than necessary. “You’re not gonna play it cool with me now, you hear me?” He touched your cheek, brushing his thumb under your eye as you leaned in to the touch. 

You looked up at his flushed face with pink cheeks and a satisfied yet careful smile. His eyes seemed softer, warmer than you’ve ever seen before as they darted between your eyes and your tempting lips. Rafe brushed a wet strand of hair from your cheek, and it made something in your chest tighten painfully. 

Somewhere inside the house a door opened. Distant voices drifted out into the night—Sarah’s unmistakable laugh mixed with Wheezie’s higher one. Rafe’s expression shifted instantly as he pulled back and swam a few strokes away, floating on his back like he’d been casually cooling off the whole time. You stayed closer to the wall, legs numb and your face probably looking like a hot mess, as you tried to will your racing heart and flushed skin back to normal.

The water still felt warmer than it should. Your body still hummed with the ghost of his hands and mouth and the stretch of him inside you when you dipped yourself fully in the water for a few seconds to freshen up. 

Complicated didn’t even begin to cover the situation you two got yourself into.

But as Sarah’s sparkly flip-flops slapped back toward the pool deck, you found Rafe’s eyes fixated on you again. And you couldn’t bring yourself to look away from him either. 

tags: @buzzingbey @liyahhhh620 @rafeismyking @rafessbaby @bebebambs @obxfx @hazzarules @rafesslut @lotuslovers @rafespeach @simp4norris @disaster-rose @kc2sstuff @ivy-34 @chloe156 @snh650 @r0vena @shytypeaq @broadwayking728 @thatgurlthatlivesinkansas777 @magicalyoura1 @kaysedanae @solaceluna @dabaddestfatty @isabellatb1234 @leisocool @sexyperfhothumble @bonesofall @rafeeekam @ssugartalkin @lozthevicky @skankhvnt42 @brat0arc @superlegend216 @drewstrkygf @iheartduster @drewstarkeyswife-7 @paankhaleyaaar @simp4f1 @anilovessadbooks @fdl305 @watersquirtpewpewboomm @heathandrewstarkey @loveislikeathunder @alexxavicry @cameronsbgg @bonni-98 @Clairesmybaby @lissaexe @kinkylovrrr @justleftdaliquorsto

[bloomyeu]

partner in crime ( what we hide / five )

series masterlist

pairings: rafe cameron x fem!reader

content: fluff, angst, smut

warnings: mdni, smut, mentions of abuse, murder and drinking

word count: 8k

previous

The key turned without resistance.

You had expected the lock to stick or the door to groan loudly enough to wake half the motel. Instead, Room 23 opened as though someone had been waiting for you.

You remained outside for several seconds.

The Marshview Motor Lodge looked worse up close than it had from across the road. Hurricane Agatha had torn several shingles from the roof and shattered one of the office windows. The vacancy sign hung crooked above the parking lot, only three letters still illuminated.

No cars sat outside the surrounding rooms. No voices carried through the thin walls.

You stepped inside and shut the door behind you.

The room smelled of damp carpet and stale air.

A narrow bed occupied most of the space. Beside it sat a scratched nightstand, an unplugged lamp, and a plastic cup wrapped in paper. The curtains had been pulled shut, but one panel hung slightly lower than the other.

You switched on your phone’s flashlight. The room was empty.

Not recently abandoned. Completely empty.

The closet contained two bent wire hangers. The drawers held nothing except an old Gideon’s Bible and a dead insect. There were no clothes, photographs, forgotten toiletries, or personal belongings.

You crouched beside the bed and checked beneath it.

Nothing.

The bathroom was just as useless. A cracked mirror. A mildewed shower curtain. Two towels folded above the toilet.

You searched behind the toilet tank, beneath the sink, and inside the hollow cabinet under the television.

Nothing.

Twenty minutes of searching had led you to an empty motel room on the wrong side of the island at nearly three in the morning.

You stood in the center of the room, irritated.

John B had carried the key for a reason.

He had risked returning to the TannyHill after midnight, searched through hurricane wreckage, and stolen an official-looking document. Then he had fled with the key to this room in his pocket.

You crossed toward the nightstand and opened the drawer again. Empty. You pushed it shut harder than necessary.

The piece of furniture shifted. Something beneath it scraped against the floor.

You stopped.

The nightstand was lighter than it looked. You pulled it away from the wall, revealing a narrow gap between the wooden base and the carpet.

A folded slip of paper had been trapped beneath one leg.

You picked it up.

The paper was damp and partially discolored, but the printed text remained visible.

MARSHVIEW MOTOR LODGE

ROOM 23

Below it was a handwritten name.

Scooter Grubbs.

You had heard the name recently.

After the hurricane, people around Figure Eight had spoken about a body discovered in the marsh. Scooter Grubbs had gone out during the storm and never returned.

The bottom of the receipt contained a deposit amount and a second signature.

You brought the phone closer.

Your chest tightened.

You knew that signature.

You had seen it at charity auctions, on Island Club paperwork, beneath checks written to your parents, and across documents left on the Cameron kitchen counter.

Ward Cameron.

Not initials.

His full signature.

You stared at it.

Ward had signed the motel receipt connected to a man who died during Hurricane Agatha.

You read the date. Two days before the storm. The deposit had been paid in cash. No explanation had been written beside it.

You folded the receipt carefully and slipped it inside your purse.

A car passed on the road beyond the curtains.

Its headlights moved across the walls.

You froze.

The vehicle slowed near the motel entrance. You turned off your flashlight. For several seconds, the room became completely dark. The car continued past. You waited until the sound of its engine disappeared before opening the door. The parking lot remained empty. You locked Room 23 behind you and walked quickly toward your car.

You had found one answer.

Ward Cameron was connected to Scooter Grubbs.

Unfortunately, it created at least ten more questions.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

The lamp beside your bed was on when you returned home.

Rafe sat against the headboard.

He wore only the sweatpants he had fallen asleep in, one knee raised beneath the sheets. His injured hand remained bandaged, though the gauze had begun loosening around his knuckles.

His expression made it clear that he had been awake for a while.

You closed the bedroom door behind you.

“What are you doing up?”

Rafe stared at you.

“Where the fuck were you?”

You set your purse beside the dresser. “I couldn’t sleep.”

“So you left?”

“Yes.”

“Where?”

You removed your shoes slowly.

Rafe’s gaze dropped to the dirt along the soles.

“I wanted to buy cigarettes.”

Silence filled the room.

Rafe looked at you.

You looked back.

Neither of you smoked cigarettes regularly. You did not have a pack in your hand, your purse, or your pockets. The nearest store open at that hour was nowhere near the mud covering your shoes.

“At three in the morning?” he asked.

“I told you. I couldn’t sleep.”

“Where are the cigarettes?”

“I changed my mind, Not a good habit to pick up.”

Rafe stared at you for several long seconds.

The lie was insulting.

You almost wished he would call you on it.

Instead, his expression softened.

“Next time, wake me up.”

You paused.

“You hate being woken up.”

“I hate waking up and finding you gone.”

The guilt landed more sharply than anger would have.

Rafe pushed the sheets aside and stood.

He crossed the room before you could move, his hands settling against your arms as his eyes moved over your face.

“What are you doing?”

“Checking.”

“For what?”

“I don’t know.”

His gaze dropped to your neck, your wrists, and the front of your clothes.

“Did someone touch you?” “No.”

“Did someone see you?” “I don’t think so.” His jaw tightened. “That isn’t reassuring.”

“I’m fine.”

Rafe continued examining you as though he expected an injury to appear if he looked long enough. You touched his bandaged hand.

“So are you.”

“Not the point.”

“It usually isn’t with you.”

He looked toward your purse. For one terrible second, you thought he might search it. Instead, Rafe returned his attention to you.

“Im serious, I would have gone with you.”

“You were asleep.”

“You know that it wouldn't have mattered."

You did know.

That made the receipt hidden inside your purse feel heavier.

Rafe slid one arm around your waist and pulled you against him.

You rested your hands on his chest.

He still looked angry, but the anger no longer felt directed at you. It was fear without anywhere useful to go. “You’re not doing that again,” he said.

“Leaving my own house?”

“Leaving without telling me.”

“That sounded like an order.”

“It was.”

You raised your eyebrows.

Rafe exhaled. “Please.”

You studied him.

His eyes remained fixed on your face.

“Fine.”

“Fine what?”

“I’ll wake you up next time.”

“There isn’t going to be a next time.”

You almost smiled. “There’s always a next time with us.” Rafe’s expression suggested he did not find that comforting.

He pulled you toward the bed. You discreetly removed the receipt from your purse while his back was turned and slipped it inside the locked drawer beneath your jewelry box.

When you returned beneath the sheets, Rafe wrapped himself around you. His chest pressed against your back. His injured hand settled carefully against your stomach while the other arm remained beneath your pillow. You stared into the darkness.

The guilt kept you awake until sunrise.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

Two days later, Rafe was over your bullshit.

He found you alone near the Island Club tennis courts.

The storm had left one section of fencing bent inward, and several groundskeepers were still clearing branches from the pathway. You had just finished lunch with your mother’s friend when Rafe stepped into your path.

“We need to talk.”

“You’re using Sarah’s lines now?”

“I’m serious.”

“So is she.”

Rafe looked around. The nearest groundskeeper stood too far away to hear. “You saw Pope and JJ at the dock.” You adjusted the strap of your bag. “I saw them leaving.”

“And you knew they sank Topper’s boat.”

“I suspected.”

“You didn’t tell me.”

“You didn’t ask.”

“I did ask.”

“You asked who I saw.”

“And you said not to ask questions I didn’t want answered.”

“You understood me perfectly.”

Rafe stepped closer.

“You protected them.”

“I protected you.”

His laugh was sharp.

“From what?”

“From doing exactly this.”

“Exactly what?”

“Tracking them down and making everything worse.”

His jaw tightened.

“They sank Topper’s boat.”

“After you and Topper beat up Pope.”

“So that makes it fine?”

“I didn’t say it was fine.”

“You acted like it.”

“I mean you two jumping Pope wasn't exactly fine either”

“That wasn’t your decision.”

“Neither was attacking Pope.”

Rafe’s face hardened.

You continued before he could interrupt.

“I don’t care about Pope.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

“I don’t. I care that every time someone does something to you, you have to do something worse.”

“He was running his mouth.”

“So you beat him until your hands split open?”

“You weren’t there.”

“You keep saying that as though it helps your argument.”

Rafe looked away briefly.

His fingers flexed at his sides.

You hated that his injured hand had begun bleeding through the bandage again.

“You’re supposed to be on my side,” he said.

“I am.”

“No, you’re not.”

“Yes, Rafe, I am. Being on your side doesn't mean condoning your idiotic mistakes.”

His eyes returned to yours. “That’s what you think I’m doing?”

“What else would you call it?”

“You're speaking like Ward again.”

The words landed between you.

Rafe knew immediately that he had crossed a line. You became very still.

“Don’t.”

“I didn’t mean—”

“You did.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“You always mean it when you’re angry.”

Rafe reached for your wrist. You stepped back. His hand dropped. For several seconds, neither of you spoke.

Then he asked, “If you knew something was going to hurt me, you’d tell me, right?” The receipt flashed through your mind. Ward’s signature. Scooter Grubbs. The empty motel room. You held Rafe’s stare.

“Yes.”

The lie left your mouth smoothly.

Rafe nodded once.

You couldn't tell whether he believed you or not.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

You found John B in Sarah’s bedroom that afternoon.

He sat on the edge of her bed with blood dried near his temple and a torn shirt clinging to one shoulder. Sarah stood between his knees with a wet cloth in her hand.

You stopped in the doorway. Sarah froze. John B looked toward you. No one spoke.

You glanced from the blood to Sarah. “You brought him here?”

“He needed somewhere safe.”

“That sounds like a problem for someone who likes him.”

“I don’t like him.”

John B lifted his eyebrows. You ignored him.

Sarah lowered her voice. “Can you shut the door?” You entered and closed it behind you. “What happened?”

“Nothing,” John B said. You looked at Sarah. “He’s been spending too much time with Rafe.” John B almost smiled. Sarah did not. “DCS is looking for him.”

“That sounds like a DCS problem.”

“He could be sent away.”

You placed your purse on the chair. “And?” Sarah stared at you. “You really don’t care?”

“About John B?” He leaned back on his hands.

“Good to know.”

“I’m sure you’ll recover.”

Sarah stepped closer. “I need you to help me.”

“With what?”

“Hiding him.”

You looked around her bedroom. “You chose the first place Ward would check.”

“Dad doesn’t come in here.”

“He owns the house.”

“He knocks.”

“So does Rafe. That has never stopped him.” John B glanced between you. Sarah noticed.

“What does that mean?”

“Nothing.”

The hallway floor creaked. Sarah’s face changed. “Someone’s coming.” You looked toward the bathroom. “Put him in there.” John B stood. Sarah grabbed his arm and pulled him toward the bathroom just as another knock sounded. You picked up a hairbrush from the dresser and sat in front of the mirror. Sarah closed the bathroom door.

Ward entered before she reached the bed.

His gaze moved from Sarah to you. “Everything okay?”

“Fine,” Sarah answered.

You began brushing your hair. Ward looked around the room. “I thought I heard someone.” Sarah laughed too loudly. “You heard us.” “Sounded like a man’s voice.” You turned in the chair. “I was doing an impression of Topper.” Ward stared at you. You lowered your voice and said, “Sarah, why haven’t you answered my fourteen messages?” Sarah covered her mouth. Ward’s expression softened slightly. “You need work.” “I’ve been told.” He remained near the doorway. “Have either of you seen Rafe?” “No,” Sarah said. You shook your head. Ward’s gaze lingered on you. You wondered whether he knew about the motel.

The thought was ridiculous. It still made your pulse quicken.

“If you do, tell him I’m looking for him.”

“Okay,” you said.

Ward closed the door. Sarah waited several seconds before opening the bathroom. John B stepped out. “You do a terrible Topper impression.”

“You’re welcome.”

Sarah returned to cleaning the cut near his temple.

You watched without interest until John B’s attention shifted toward the wall.

A framed portrait hung beside Sarah’s dresser. Denmark Tanny. John B stopped moving. His expression changed. You followed his gaze. “Why are you staring at that?”

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

Sarah looked over her shoulder. “It’s Denmark Tanny.”

John B stood and moved closer to the portrait. “Who?”

“He owned Tannyhill before my family,” Sarah said. “He was the only survivor from the Royal Merchant.” John B looked at her. The room became quiet. You studied him. “You’ve seen the name before.”

“No.”

“You’re a worse liar than Sarah.”

Sarah frowned. “Excuse me?”

John B turned away from the portrait. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Then stop looking like it does.” He met your eyes.

For the first time, his expression contained something besides irritation. Suspicion. You returned it. John B was searching for something connected to Tannyhill.

You didn't care whether he found it or not. You cared that Ward’s signature sat inside your desk and John B had just reacted to a portrait inside Ward’s house.

Sarah touched his arm. “We should go.” “Where?” you asked.

“Shopping.”

You looked at John B’s torn shirt. “Are you buying him a personality?”

Sarah grabbed her purse. “We’ll be back.”

“You promised to tell me the whole truth.”

“I am.”

“No, you’re saying one word and hoping I don’t ask questions.”

Sarah opened the bedroom door.

“We’re going shopping.”

“You hate shopping when the power is out.”

“Then I’ve grown.”

You recognized your own words and glared at her. Sarah smiled despite herself. Then she and John B disappeared into the hallway.

You remained in the room.

You could have stopped them.

You didn't care enough about John B to try.

You cared about Sarah.

That was becoming increasingly inconvenient.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

Rafe caught you lying for her twenty minutes later.

He entered through the kitchen while you stood beside the island drinking water. “Where’s Sarah?”

“Shopping.”

“With who?”

You looked at him. “Why?”

“Topper’s asking.”

“Then tell Topper to call her.”

“She isn’t answering.”

“That sounds personal.”

Rafe opened the refrigerator. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to see Sarah.”

“And she left you?”

“Yes.”

“With John B?”

You did not answer quickly enough. Rafe shut the refrigerator.

“You’re covering for her.”

“I said she went shopping.”

“She hates shopping.”

“Apparently everyone knows that.”

Rafe stepped closer. “You’re helping her lie.”

“She’s my best friend.”

“And I’m what?”

You set down the glass.

“Don’t do this again.”

“Do what?”

“Turn everything into a competition.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

“She lied to you about John B after getting pissed because you didn’t tell her everything.”

“That is between us.”

“And you’re still covering for her.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because she asked.”

Rafe laughed without humor.

“She’d destroy you if she knew about us.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Yeah, I do.”

“She’s your sister.”

“Exactly.”

You folded your arms.

Rafe continued.

“I don’t care who Sarah runs around with. I care that you’re always the one cleaning up after her.”

You stared at him.

“You cannot be serious.”

“What?”

“You don’t get to criticize her for making me clean up her messes when that is practically our entire relationship.”

The words escaped before you could soften them.

Rafe became still.

His expression emptied. “That’s what you think?”

“That isn’t what I meant.”

“It sounded pretty clear.”

“Rafe.”

“You think being with me is cleaning up a mess?”

“No.”

“You just said it.”

“Rafe you know that's not what I meant. You just always expect me to help fix the problems that you create.”

“I don’t expect shit from you.”

“That’s a lie.”

“Then stop.”

You looked at him.

“What?”

“Stop fixing them.”

His voice was cold now.

“Stop giving me money. Stop cleaning my hands. Stop covering for me. Stop pretending you’re doing any of it because you want to.”

“I do want to.”

“Then don’t throw it in my face.”

“I’m not.”

“You just did.”

You stepped closer.

Rafe moved away.

That hurt more than it should have.

He turned toward the door.

“Rafe.”

He did not stop. Instead he just slammed the door in your face.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

You and Rafe arrived at the outdoor movie separately.

Neither of you had spoken since the kitchen.

Topper stood with Kelce near the back of the field while families unfolded chairs and blankets across the grass.

Rafe leaned against his truck.

His gaze found you the second you arrived.

You looked away.

Ruthie, a friend of a friend, who you had decided to tag along with to the movie, had noticed.

“What happened?”

“Nothing.”

“You’re both doing the thing.”

“What thing?”

“You two are basically eye fucking”

“We’re not.”

Ruthie glanced toward Rafe.

He was watching you.

She raised her eyebrows.

You adjusted your bag.

“Can we not?”

Her expression softened.

“Did you fight?”

“No.”

“You’re a terrible liar.”

“So I’ve heard.”

The movie began. You barely watched.

Rafe remained several yards away with Topper and Kelce. Every few minutes, you felt his attention shift toward you.

You refused to look back.

Then Pope, JJ, and Kiara moved through the crowd.

Topper noticed first. His expression changed. Rafe followed his gaze. You stood before either of them moved. “Don’t.”

Rafe looked at you.

It was the first word you had spoken directly to him in hours.

Topper asked, “What?” You ignored him. Rafe pushed away from the truck. “Stay here.”

“You promised you weren’t going to make this worse.”

“I never promised that.”

“Then maybe you should start listening when I tell you to stop.”

Kelce looked between you. Topper stared. Rafe’s jaw tightened.

“Not now.”

“That’s always your answer.”

Pope noticed them approaching. JJ stepped in front of him.

Rafe moved past you. You caught his arm. He looked down at your hand.

“Let go.”

“No.”

“Don’t do this.”

“I’m not the one starting another fight.”

Topper glanced around at the nearby families. “We’re just talking.”

“You and Rafe don’t know how to talk.”

JJ laughed from several feet away. “Princess got you there.”

Rafe pulled his arm from your grip.

“Stay out of it.”

The words were quiet enough that only you heard. That made them worse. You stared at him. “Fine.”

You stepped back. Rafe hesitated.

For one second, guilt moved across his face.

Then Topper called Pope’s name, and the moment disappeared.

The confrontation moved toward the edge of the field.

Voices rose.

People began turning away from the movie.

You saw Kiara slip behind the screen.

Seconds later, flames climbed the white fabric. Someone screamed. The crowd surged backward. Smoke rolled across the field. You covered your mouth and coughed. Rafe appeared in front of you almost immediately.

His hands caught your face. “Are you okay?” You pulled away. “I’m fine.”

“You couldn’t breathe.”

“I coughed twice.”

“Same thing.”

He placed one hand against your back and guided you away from the smoke. Topper continued running after Pope and JJ.

Rafe did not follow him. You noticed.

Although it didn't make you less angry.

Once you reached clearer air, you pushed Rafe’s hands away. “You don’t get to act worried now.” His expression sharpened. “I’m always worried about you.”

“Bullshit.”

“They sank Topper’s boat.”

“Because you beat up Pope.”

“So this is my fault?”

You looked directly at him.

“Yea Rafe.”

Rafe stared at you.

You continued.

“It kinda is.”

“Maybe you should go check on Pope, since you care so much.”

“I don’t care about Pope right now, I care about you.”

“Right.”

“I care that you keep making me afraid of what you’ll do next.”

The anger left his face.

For a moment, he looked genuinely hurt. You hated that some part of you wanted to take the words back. Rafe rubbed one hand over his mouth. “I came back for you.”

“I know.”

“I left them.”

“I know.”

“That doesn’t matter?”

“It matters.”

“Doesn’t sound like it.”

“It doesn’t erase everything else you've done this past week.”

Rafe looked away.

The screen collapsed behind him in a shower of sparks. People shouted and ran toward the parking area. He reached for your hand. You allowed him to take it. You were still angry. He was still wrong.

Neither changed the fact that your fingers closed around his automatically.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

JJ took responsibility for sinking Topper’s boat.

You heard about it the following morning from Sarah. “He confessed,” she said.

You sat across from her at the Island Club, turning your straw through a glass of lemonade. “Alone?”

“That’s what Topper said.”

You looked toward the golf course. JJ had not acted alone. Pope had been there. You had seen both of them leaving the dock. Sarah studied your face. “You know something.”

“No.”

“You’re doing the thing again.”

“What thing?”

“The lying thing.”

You almost laughed.

Before you could answer, Rafe appeared beside the table. Sarah’s expression changed.

“Topper’s inside.”

“I’m not looking for Topper.”

His gaze remained on you. Sarah looked between both of you.

“I’m gonna get a drink.”

She stood and left before either of you responded. Rafe took the empty chair. “You heard about JJ.”

“Yea.”

“Don’t.”

You leaned back. “Don’t what?”

“Start feeling sorry for him.”

“He took the blame for something he didn’t do alone.”

“That was his choice.”

“That’s what people say when they don’t want to feel responsible.”

Rafe’s expression hardened. “You talking about me?”

“If the shoe fits.”

“He confessed.”

“You wanted me to tell you Pope did it?”

“Yea, You should've been honest from the start.”

“So you could beat him again?”

Rafe’s jaw clenched.

“You always assume the worst.”

“No. I assume the most likely.”

He leaned closer.

“I’m getting tired of you acting like I’m some fucking animal you have to control.”

“I’m not judging you for being angry.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

“Then stop fucking acting like one”

Rafe stood abruptly. The chair scraped against the patio. Several people glanced toward you.

You lowered your voice. “Sit down.”

“No.”

“You’re making a scene.”

“You seem to think that’s all I do.”

“That is not what I said.”

“It’s what you mean.”

He walked away. You watched him disappear into the club. Sarah returned several minutes later with a mojito in her hands. Her gaze moved toward the empty chair. “What happened?” You lifted your drink. “Nothing.”

This time, Sarah did not pretend to believe you.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

Scooter Grubbs had worked on boats for most of his life.

The information was not difficult to find once you knew what to search.

He repaired engines, transported equipment, and accepted private jobs from people willing to pay cash. His name appeared in old marina listings, a fishing tournament article, and a report about Hurricane Agatha.

His body had been discovered in the marsh shortly after the storm. The official explanation was drowning. You searched for a connection to Ward. Nothing appeared. Ward Cameron’s name did not exist beside Scooter’s anywhere public.

Only on the motel receipt hidden in your desk.

You considered visiting Lana Grubbs. Her address was listed in an old directory, but when you drove past the property, an unfamiliar SUV sat near the road. Two men stood beside it speaking quietly. You kept driving. Approaching Lana without knowing who was watching her would be stupid.

You could wait. Waiting was not your strength. It was occasionally useful.

When you returned home, Rafe’s truck sat in your driveway. You found him in your bedroom.

He stood beside your dresser, holding the broken necklace you had left there the previous week.

Your hand moved instinctively toward the locked drawer.

Rafe noticed. His gaze dropped to it.

For one tense second, neither of you spoke. Then he looked away. “You broke this.”

“It caught on my dress.”

“I fixed it.”

He placed the necklace on the dresser.

You picked it up. The clasp had been replaced.

“Is this supposed to make me forgive you?”

“No.”

“Then what is it?”

“You said yours broke.”

Rafe shoved his hands into his pockets.

The gesture looked almost uncomfortable.

You studied him. This was an apology. Not a complete one. Not a good one. It was still more than he offered most people.

“Thank you.” He nodded.

You opened the locked drawer after he left.

The motel receipt remained exactly where you had placed it.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

Your Midsummers dress was pale baby blue.

The fabric crossed high over your chest before falling into a fitted waist and a long, soft skirt. The entire back remained open.

Your mother had chosen it months earlier.

You had nearly exchanged it. Now, standing in front of your mirror, you were glad you had not.

Rafe entered without knocking.

He wore a matching tuxedo with the bow tie still undone around his collar.

He stopped in the doorway. You met his eyes through the mirror.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“You’re staring.”

“I’m allowed to stare.” His gaze moved slowly over the exposed line of your back. “You’re my date.”

You turned toward him. Rafe remained silent. For once, he did not make a joke.

He crossed the room and stopped behind you. “You look beautiful.” The sincerity caught you off guard. You looked down at the necklace in your hands. “Help me?” Rafe took it.

His fingers brushed the back of your neck as he fastened the repaired clasp. He adjusted the chain until the pendant rested correctly against your chest.

Then his mouth touched your shoulder. You closed your eyes briefly. Rafe kissed the same spot again. His hand settled against your bare waist.

You stepped away. He looked at you.

“You don’t get to act like everything is fine.”

“I know.”

“Do you?”

“I came here, didn’t I?”

“That isn’t an apology.”

“I fixed your necklace.”

“That also isn’t an apology.”

Rafe exhaled. “You want me to say I’m sorry?”

“Yes.”

He looked toward the window. You crossed your arms. “Rafe.”

“I’m sorry.” The words sounded painful.

“For what?” His gaze snapped back to yours. “You’re pushing it.”

“For what?”

“For telling you to stay out of it.”

“And?”

“For what I said at the tennis courts.”

“And?” His jaw tightened. “For going after them at the movie.”

You waited. Rafe’s expression softened slightly. “And for making you afraid of me.”

The anger inside you shifted. You had not expected him to say that part.

“I’m not afraid of you.”

“That isn’t what you said.”

“I said I’m afraid of what you’ll do.”

“Same thing.”

“No, it isn’t.”

“It feels like it.”

You moved closer.

Rafe’s hand found your waist again.

“I love you,” you said. “That’s why it scares me.”

He looked at you. The defensiveness slowly left his face. You touched the undone bow tie around his collar.

“We still have to tell Sarah.” The softness vanished.

“Tonight.”

“You promised before Midsummers.”

“We haven’t left yet.”

“You keep saying you’ll tell her, and then the second it becomes real, you hide.”

“I’m not hiding you.”

“Then what are you doing?”

Rafe looked away. You released the tie.

“Are you ashamed of me?” His expression hardened instantly.

“Don’t ever say that.”

“Then prove it.”

“I’m not ashamed of you.”

“You act like being seen with me will ruin something.”

“It will.” Your chest tightened.

Rafe caught your face before you could move away. “Not us.”

“Then what?”

“Everything else.”

“Sarah?”

“She’ll make it impossible.”

“She can only do that if we let her.”

“You don’t know what she’s like.”

“She’s my best friend.”

“She’s my sister.”

“Then stop acting terrified of her.”

“I’m not terrified of Sarah.”

“Good. We’ll tell her.”

Rafe stared at you. You stared back.

Finally, he nodded. “Fine.”

“Fine what?”

“We tell her.”

“Before we leave.”

His jaw tightened again. “Before we leave.”

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

Sarah was in her bedroom when you arrived at Tannyhill.

She wore a white dress and stood near the mirror while Wheezie sat on the bed criticizing every piece of jewelry she selected.

Rafe remained in the hallway.

You entered alone.

Sarah looked at your dress.

“You look pretty.”

The compliment sounded genuine.

Guilt tightened beneath your ribs.

“So do you.”

Wheezie looked toward the doorway, and had decided to run off to Rose before she got in the middle of it.

“Rafe’s waiting.”

Sarah glanced behind you.

“For who?” You hesitated. “For me.”

Sarah paused. “What?”

You looked toward Rafe. He stepped into the room. His eyes moved from Sarah to you.

The prepared speech disappeared from your mind.

Sarah laughed uncertainly. “What’s going on?”

Rafe reached for your hand. You let him take it.

Sarah’s smile faded. “Why are you holding hands?”

No one answered. Her gaze moved between you. Then toward your clasped fingers.

“Wait.”

You opened your mouth. Rafe said your name quietly. You looked at him. He pulled you closer.

The movement placed you beside him rather than behind him.

Sarah stared. “No.”

“Sarah—”

“No. What is this?”

You felt Rafe’s hand settle against your bare back. Sarah noticed.

Her face changed completely. “Are you sleeping with her?”

Rafe’s expression hardened.

“She’s my girlfriend.” Sarah stared at him. “Your what?”

“Girlfriend.”

The room became silent.

Sarah looked at you.

“Since when?” You couldn't get yourself to answer. Rafe did.

“Two years.”

Sarah laughed. The sound was sharp and disbelieving.

“No. You're lying. ”

You swallowed.

“Sarah.”

“Two years?”

“Yes.”

Her eyes widened. “Two years? You’ve been dating him for two years?”

You nodded.

Her expression shifted between anger, disbelief, and hurt.

“You let me warn you about him.”

“I know.”

“You stood in the Island Club and told me you didn’t like him.”

“I was scared.”

“No.” Sarah shook her head. “You laughed.”

“Because I didn’t know what else to do.”

“You knew I had no idea.”

“Sarah—”

“You disappeared from every party.”

Your chest tightened. She continued as the memories rearranged themselves.

“You always left five minutes after him. He suddenly knew things I only told you. Every time Dad yelled at him, you defended him like it was personal.”

You said nothing. Sarah’s gaze dropped to your mouth. Her face changed again.

“Kelce didn’t split your lip.”

Silence. Sarah looked at Rafe. “That was you?”

Rafe’s hand pressed more firmly against your back.

Sarah stared at him.

“That party when I caught you in Dad’s office.”

Neither of you answered. “Oh my God.” She looked at you again. “Every sleepover?”

“No.”

“How many?”

“Sarah, stop.”

“How many times did you leave my room to go to his?”

“Enough,” Rafe said. Sarah laughed in disbelief. “You don’t get to tell me enough.”

“Don’t talk to her like that.”

“You don’t get to defend her from me.”

“I’m not asking permission.”

“Rafe, stop,” you said. He looked at you.

“You’re making it worse.”

“I don’t care.”

“I do.”

Sarah’s eyes filled with tears. “You always do this.”

You turned back toward her. “Do what?”

“Make me feel stupid.”

“I never tried to make you feel stupid.”

“You let me sit there and talk about both of you while you knew the truth.”

“I wanted to tell you.”

“For two years?”

“There was never a good time.”

“There were hundreds of times.”

“You had so many things going on, I couldn't just casually bring this up.”

“That's not an excuse.”

“I know.”

“Then stop making excuses.”

You looked down.

Sarah’s voice broke slightly.

“I know who he is.”

Rafe became still beside you. Sarah’s eyes remained on your face.

“I thought I knew who you were.”

The words hurt more than every accusation before them.

Your grip loosened around Rafe’s hand. He noticed immediately.

Sarah continued. “Was any of it real?” You looked at her. “What?”

“Our friendship. Was any of it real, or were you just here because of him?”

Anger cut through the hurt. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Answer me.”

“You know that isn’t true.”

“Do I?”

“Yes.”

“You lied to me every day.”

“Because I didn't want to hurt you Sarah!”

Sarah laughed bitterly.

“Don’t.”

“It’s true.”

“You chose him.”

“Yea I did.”

The room became silent.

Rafe looked at you. Sarah’s face crumpled briefly before the anger returned.

“You didn’t even hesitate.”

“You asked me a question.”

“And you answered.”

“What did you want me to say?”

“That I mattered to you.”

“You do matter.”

“Not enough.”

“That isn’t fair.”

“None of this is fair.”

Sarah grabbed her clutch from the dresser. You stepped forward. She moved away.

“Sarah.”

“Don’t.”

“Please.”

“I can’t look at you right now.” She opened the bedroom door.

Rafe moved as though he might follow. You caught his arm.

“She’s your sister.” His attention returned to you.

“You’re the one shaking.” You looked down. Your hands were trembling.

Sarah disappeared into the hallway.

The door slammed downstairs several seconds later. You stared at the empty doorway. Rafe stepped in front of you.

“Look at me.”

You did not. His hands closed gently around your arms. “Do you regret me?” You looked up. The vulnerability in his expression was almost hidden beneath the tension in his jaw. Almost.

“I regret hurting her.”

“That wasn’t what I asked.”

“No.” You touched his face. “I don’t regret loving you.”

Rafe closed his eyes briefly. Then he pulled you against him. You rested your face against his chest.

His arms tightened around you.

Neither of you mentioned that Sarah had left without waiting for Topper.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

Midsummers transformed the Island Club into something almost unreal.

White lights hung from the trees. Tables covered in flowers stretched across the lawn while waiters moved through the crowd carrying champagne. Women wore pale dresses and expensive jewelry. Men adjusted tuxedo collars beneath the summer heat.

You had attended every year since childhood.

This was the first time you entered with Rafe’s hand openly pressed against your bare back.

People noticed.

They tried not to.

Kelce failed completely.

He approached before you reached the main lawn.

“You two?” Rafe looked at him. “Don’t.”

“No, I’m sorry.” Kelce pointed between you. “You two?”

“Kelce.”

“How did none of us know?”

“You’re not observant,” you said.

“How long?”

Rafe’s gaze sharpened. "Two years now."

Kelce’s mouth fell open.

Topper appeared beside him.

“What happened?”

Kelce looked delighted to be the one delivering the news. “They’ve been dating.”

Topper laughed. Then he noticed Rafe’s hand against your back.

His smile disappeared.

“Wait. You two are actually together?”

Rafe looked at him. “Problem?”

“Since when?”

“A while.”

“How long is a while?”

You and Rafe exchanged a look. Topper’s expression changed.

“No fucking way.”

Kelce nodded enthusiastically. “Two years.”

Topper stared at you.

Then at Rafe.

“That’s why you nearly killed me at that party.”

Rafe took a glass from a passing tray. “I still might.”

“I was trying to make Sarah jealous.”

“I know.”

“So you knew?”

“Obviously.”

Topper looked at you.

“You let me flirt with you.”

“You knew I wasn’t interested.”

“I thought you hated him.”

“So did everyone.”

Kelce shook his head slowly. “This is insane.”

Rafe handed you the drink.

“Are you done?”

“No.”

“Be done.”

Topper looked toward the lawn.

“Where is Sarah?”

You became quiet. Rafe’s thumb moved once across your back. “She came separately,” you said.

That was technically true.

Ward approached before Topper could ask more.

His eyes moved over the group. “Everything all right?”

“Fine,” you answered.

“Fine,” Sarah said from behind him at the same time.

You turned.

She stood near the entrance with her arms crossed.

Her expression remained cold. Ward looked between you. Then his gaze dropped to Rafe’s hand against your back. He said nothing. That made it worse. “Good,” Ward said. “Try to enjoy yourselves.” He moved away.

Sarah followed without looking at you.

Rafe leaned toward your ear. “Want to leave?”

“No.”

“You’re staring at her.”

“I love her.”

“She doesn’t seem to care about that right now.”

You looked at him.

Rafe’s expression softened.

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“All of it.”

The apology was quiet enough that no one else could hear. You touched his wrist.

“I’m still mad at you.”

“About what?”

You looked at him.

“That bad?”

“Worse.”

His mouth twitched faintly.

Rafe brought your hand to his lips and kissed your knuckles.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

Sarah avoided you for nearly an hour.

You remained near Rafe while he spoke to Topper, Kelce, and several people from the Island Club. His hand rarely left your waist.

Whenever Sarah glanced toward you, he noticed. Whenever your expression changed, he leaned closer. He brought you another drink without asking.

When Topper tried pulling him toward a group near the bar, Rafe refused.

“You coming?” Topper asked. “No.”

“You always come.”

Rafe looked at you. “Not tonight.”

Topper followed his gaze. Understanding crossed his face.

Before he could respond, Wheezie appeared beside you.

“I knew it.”

You looked down at her.

“You knew nothing.”

“I'v seen you sneak out of his room around like twenty times by now.”

“Keep your voice down.”

She smiled.

“How much is my silence worth?”

“We already told Sarah.”

“Sarah doesn’t count. I mean Dad.”

Rafe looked over.

“What are you two talking about?”

“Extortion,” you said.

Wheezie lifted one shoulder.

“I prefer negotiation.”

Rafe reached into his pocket and handed her a folded bill.

You stared at him.

“Are you seriously paying her?”

“She’ll go away.”

Wheezie examined the money.

“This buys one week.”

Rafe looked at her.

She smiled and disappeared into the crowd.

“You made that worse,” you said.

“She was going to keep talking.”

“You encouraged her.”

“She’s twelve. Money solves everything.”

“You’re going to be a terrible parent.”

Rafe’s gaze moved to your face. The teasing left his expression for half a second. Then he looked away. You noticed. Before you could ask, Sarah slipped through the side entrance of the club. John B followed several yards behind her. Your attention sharpened.

Rafe noticed. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“You’re staring.”

You set down your drink. “I’ll be back.”

His hand closed around your wrist. “Where are you going?”

“To talk to Sarah.”

“Now?”

“Yes.”

Rafe looked toward the side entrance. Then back at you.

“Don’t let her upset you again.” You pulled free. “She’s already upset.”

“That isn’t what I said.”

You walked away before he could follow.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

You found Sarah near the edge of the property with John B.

They stood beneath a tree beyond the main lights. Sarah held a folded piece of paper. John B spoke quietly enough that you could not hear the words.

Sarah noticed you first. Her expression hardened.

“Did Rafe send you?”

“No.”

“Then go back to him.”

“This has nothing to do with Rafe.”

“Everything has something to do with Rafe now.”

You stopped several feet away. “Stop it Sarah. You know that has nothing to do with whatever is happening over here!”

Sarah stared at you. John B looked between both of you.

You continued.

“John B searched your dock. He stole from your family. Now he needs something inside your house, and you still don’t know why.”

Sarah folded the paper quickly. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Then explain it.”

“I don’t owe you an explanation.”

“You demanded one from me.”

“You lied to me for two years.”

“And that means John B is automatically trustworthy?”

“At least he tells me when he needs something.”

“No. He tells you enough to make you help him.”

John B stepped forward. “This isn’t your business.”

You looked at him. “Stay out of this.”

“I think you lost the right to say that after you've been fucking her brother.”

“Yet you're the one using her.”

“I’m not using her.”

“Then tell her everything.”

Sarah crossed her arms.

“He has.”

You looked at her.

“You believe that?”

“Yes.”

“After knowing him for what? A week?”

“At least I know where he stands.”

The words landed precisely where she intended. You laughed once. “This isn’t about us.”

“It is for me.”

“You are letting your anger at me make decisions for you.”

“And you’re letting Rafe make yours.”

“No. Like I said, he has nothing to do with this.”

Sarah looked away. You saw the hurt return. John B touched her arm. You hated that the gesture made her soften immediately.

“What does he want?” you asked. Sarah said nothing.

You looked toward the folded paper. “Something from Tannyhill?” John B’s expression changed. That was enough. You stepped closer to Sarah. “Be careful.” She laughed bitterly. “Now you care?”

“I never stopped.”

“You have a strange way of showing it.”

“And you have a strange way of proving me wrong.”

Sarah’s eyes filled again. For one moment, you almost apologized. Then she said, “Go back to Rafe.” You stared at her. She turned away. John B followed.

You watched them disappear into the darkness.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

Topper found you near the bar.

“Have you seen Sarah?” You lifted your champagne. “No.”

“She was here ten minutes ago.”

“She probably went to the bathroom.”

“Which one?”

“How would I know?”

Topper studied your face. Rafe appeared beside you. His hand settled at your waist. Topper looked between both of you. “Something happened.”

“Nothing happened,” you said. “You’re lying.” He had snarled at you.

“She said she hasn’t seen her,” Rafe replied. Topper looked at him. “You believe her?” Rafe’s thumb pressed lightly against your side. “Yea Top, We haven't seen her for like the past hour or so.” The answer made the motel receipt inside your clutch feel like a stone. Topper walked away.

Rafe waited until he was gone. “You’re protecting her.”

“You know I'm never throwing Sar under the bus for Topper of all people.”

“She just told you she doesn’t know who you are.”

“That doesn’t mean I stop knowing who she is.”

Rafe looked at you. Something unreadable moved across his face. His loyalty was fierce but conditional. Betrayal ended things for him. Yours did not work that way. He didn't understand it. You weren't sure you did either.

Wheezie passed nearby with a plate of desserts. Topper caught her arm. You saw him ask a question.

Wheezie looked toward the side entrance. Your stomach dropped. Topper began walking quickly across the lawn. You set down your glass. “Wheezie.” Rafe followed your gaze. “What?”

“She told him.”

“Told him what?”

“Where Sarah went.”

You lifted your skirt and hurried after Topper. Rafe caught up within seconds. “Slow down.”

“No.”

“Where are they?”

“Hawk’s Nest.”

“How do you know?”

“I heard John B mention it.”

Rafe grabbed your hand. This time, you did not pull away.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

You arrived too late to prevent the fight.

Topper had John B against the ground near the edge of the property. Sarah screamed at him to stop.

John B’s face was bloodied. Topper struck him again.

You released Rafe’s hand and ran forward. “Topper!”

He did not hear you. Sarah tried pulling at his shoulder.

Topper shoved her away without looking. Rafe moved more slowly behind you.

For one terrible second, you thought he would allow it. You grabbed Topper’s arm.

“Enough.” He jerked backward.

The movement threw you off balance. Your shoulder struck the wooden railing. Pain flashed down your arm. Rafe changed instantly.

He crossed the distance between you and grabbed Topper by the back of his tuxedo, dragging him away from John B. “Enough.” Topper struggled. “He was with Sarah!”

“I don’t care.” Sarah heard him. Her face changed.

Rafe shoved Topper backward.

Then he turned toward you. “Did he hurt you?”

“I’m fine.”

“You hit the railing.”

“I said I’m fine.”

“Stop saying that.” His hands moved over your shoulder and arm, checking for an injury.

Topper stared at him. Sarah stared too.

Neither had ever seen Rafe forget an entire fight because you might have been hurt.

John B remained on the ground.

You barely looked at him.

Sarah dropped beside him.

“John B?”

He groaned. Topper ran one hand through his hair.

“She kissed him.”

Rafe did not look away from you.

“I don’t care.”

The words hurt Sarah this time. You saw it.

“Rafe,” you said quietly.

He finally glanced toward his sister. Sarah held John B’s face between her hands. Topper looked destroyed.

For a moment, everyone remained frozen in the aftermath.

Then Sarah said, “We need to get him help.”

You moved toward her. She looked up.

The anger between you had not disappeared.

Neither had the years before it.

You helped her lift John B anyway.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

Ward offered John B a home before the night ended.

You stood near the entrance of Tannyhill while John B sat with an ice pack against his face.

Sarah remained beside him. Ward spoke quietly.

“You can stay here.” John B looked up. “What?”

“I’ll speak to DCS. We can figure out something more permanent.”

Rafe stood several feet away. His expression became completely still. Ward continued speaking to John B with a patience you rarely heard him use with his own son. Sarah looked relieved. John B looked uncertain. Rafe laughed beneath his breath.

You turned toward him. He walked outside. You followed. He stopped near the damaged porch railing. “He steals from him,” Rafe said. “Lies to him. Gets Sarah to lie.”

“Rafe.”

“And suddenly Dad wants another son.”

You moved beside him. “Maybe he’s trying to help.”

“Of course he is.”

His voice sharpened. “John B needs help, and suddenly Ward Cameron is a fucking saint.”

You touched his arm. Rafe looked through the open door. Ward placed one hand on John B’s shoulder. Rafe’s jaw tightened. “Maybe he’ll get this one right.”

You took his hand. For a second, he resisted. Then his fingers closed around yours.

You remained beside him until his breathing slowed.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

Everyone’s attention remained on John B.

Sarah sat near him while Ward spoke on the phone. Topper had left. Wheezie watched from the stairs. Rafe stood outside, refusing to come back in.

You crossed the hallway alone. Ward’s office door had been left partially open. A folder sat on the corner of his desk. You would have kept walking if one name had not caught your attention.

Scooter Grubbs.

You stopped. The folder remained partially open, exposing a payment record beneath Cameron company letterhead.

Scooter’s name appeared beside a cash amount. At the bottom was Ward’s signature. Your pulse quickened. You looked toward the hallway. No one was watching. You entered the office and removed the motel receipt from your clutch. The signatures matched perfectly. Same angle. Same sharp line beneath the last name.

Ward had paid Scooter for Room 23.

He had also made a separate company payment to him shortly before Hurricane Agatha. You returned the receipt to your clutch and stepped away from the desk.

Through the open doorway, Ward stood beside John B.

He spoke gently, offering him safety, protection, and a place inside his home. Then you looked through the front windows at Rafe.

He stood alone beneath the porch light, staring toward the road.

For the first time, you wondered whether Rafe was really the Cameron everyone should be worried about.

next

a/n: HAPPY MIDSUMMER WOOTWOOT also secret is finally out yaaay

[bloomyeu]

partner in crime ( what we owe / four )

series masterlist

pairings: rafe cameron x fem!reader

content: fluff, angst, smut

warnings: mdni, smut, mentions of abuse, murder and drinking

word count: 9k

previous

The motel key sat beneath the beam of your desk lamp.

You had cleaned the mud from it with the corner of an old towel, revealing a faded blue tag attached to the metal ring. Most of the lettering had been scratched away, but a white bird remained visible above the partial word MAR—VIEW.

Room 23.

A local phone number had once been printed beneath it. Only the final four digits remained. You turned the key between your fingers.

You opened your laptop and searched every motel on the island containing the letters that remained. Nothing appeared.

You tried again, replacing missing letters and searching old tourism pages. Most of the businesses listed had closed years earlier. One had been converted into vacation rentals. Another had been destroyed during a hurricane before you were born.

Then you found an archived advertisement from nearly eight years ago.

MARSHVIEW MOTOR LODGE

The logo showed the same white bird above dark blue waves. The listing included an address near the Cut and a phone number ending in the same four digits engraved into the tag. You leaned back in your chair. It had taken less than twenty minutes.

John B had been searching the Cameron dock after midnight, stolen a boat registration, and accidentally left behind a key belonging to a run-down motel across the island.

None of those facts made sense together.

That only made you more interested. A car door slammed outside.

You quickly copied the motel’s address into your phone and closed the search page. Footsteps crossed the downstairs hallway.

Your parents were gone again, on some fancy trip to europe leaving you to watch the house; which meant only one person would enter without knocking.

Rafe called your name from the bottom of the stairs. You slipped the key beneath the notebook beside your laptop.

“In here.”

He appeared in your doorway seconds later. His hair was still damp, and he wore a pale shirt with the sleeves pushed above his elbows. He looked irritated, which had become his default expression since Hurricane Agatha.

“You ignored me,” he said. “I was busy.”

“With what?”

“Nothing important.” Rafe entered your room and glanced at the open laptop. You lowered the screen before he reached it. His eyes narrowed. “What are you hiding?”

“Nothing.”

“You just slammed your computer shut.”

“I closed it.”

“Same thing.” He stopped beside your chair.

You rested one hand over the notebook concealing the key. Rafe noticed. His gaze dropped to your fingers. “What’s under there?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“I’m already worried about it.”

“You’ll find out soon enough.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“It’s the only one you’re getting.”

Rafe reached for the notebook. You caught his wrist before he could move it. He looked at your hand and then back at you.

“Seriously?”

“Completely.”

“You know I’m going to find out.”

“Eventually.” His other hand moved toward the notebook.

You stood quickly, blocking the desk with your body. Rafe’s mouth curved. “You’re being suspicious.”

“You’re being annoying.”

“Move.”

“No.” He stepped forward until your back pressed against the desk. “Move,” he repeated. You wrapped your arms around his neck instead. Rafe paused. His eyes moved over your face, suspicion briefly overtaken by amusement.

“What are you doing?”

“Distracting you.”

“At least you’re honest about it.”

You pulled him closer and kissed him. Rafe resisted for approximately half a second. Then his hands settled around your waist. He kissed you back slowly, still smiling against your mouth as he pushed you more firmly against the desk. Your laptop shifted behind you, but the notebook remained in place. “You think this is going to make me forget?” he murmured. “Usually does.” “Not this time.” You kissed the corner of his mouth. “Sure.” Rafe’s fingers tightened against your waist.

He knew exactly what you were doing. He allowed it anyway. You merely ended up seated on your desk with him standing between your legs. His mouth moved along your jaw. “I’m still checking when you leave the room.”

“I’ll take it with me.”

“So there is something.” You caught his face between your hands. “I never said there wasn’t.” Rafe stared at you for a moment. “Whatever you’re doing,” he said, “don’t get yourself into something stupid.” You smiled faintly. “That’s rich coming from you.” His expression hardened. You noticed immediately. “What happened?”

“Nothing.”

“Rafe.”

“I came here because I wanted to see you. Can you not turn it into an interrogation?” You studied him. The tension in his shoulders had little to do with the motel key. Before you could ask again, your phone vibrated across the desk. Sarah’s name illuminated the screen. Rafe glanced at it. “You answering?”

“Probably.”

“You always answer her.”

“Its Sarah.”

His hands remained on your hips.

“And what am I?”

You looked at him. Rafe attempted to make the question sound careless. It was not. “You’re currently blocking me from my phone.” He rolled his eyes but stepped aside. You answered before Sarah could call again.

“Hey.”

“Are you at home?”

“Yeah.”

“Can I come over?”

You looked at Rafe. He shook his head immediately. You ignored him. “Sure.” Rafe mouthed something rude. Sarah continued, “Actually, can we meet at Tannyhill? Wheezie wants ice cream later, and she’s been complaining for an hour.” Rafe heard his sister’s name. His annoyance deepened. You smiled at him. “Okay. Ya I can come over.” “Perfect. See you soon.” You ended the call. Rafe stared at you. “You’re leaving?”

“You arrived without asking.”

“And?”

“And Sarah asked.”

He stepped between your knees again. “Tell her you’re busy.” “With what?” His hands returned to your waist. “This.” You laughed and pushed against his chest.

“Move.”

“No.”

“Rafe.”

“You distracted me on purpose. There should be consequences.”

“You’re very dramatic.”

“And you’re still hiding something.” You slid off the desk, forcing him backward.

“You’ll survive.”

Rafe watched as you slipped the motel key into the hidden pocket of your purse. His eyes sharpened. You realized too late that he had noticed the movement.

“What was that?”

“Lip gloss.”

“That was not lip gloss.” You kissed him once before walking toward the door.

“Find out soon enough.”

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

Sarah was waiting for you on the Tannyhill porch. The storm had damaged part of the railing, and several trees remained scattered across the lawn. Workers moved through the property carrying boards and tools while Ward spoke sharply into his phone near the driveway. You slowed when you saw him.

Ward Cameron was not easily frightened.

He was controlled, polished, and usually pleasant to you. He had known your family for years and treated you like another daughter whenever your parents were away. That almost made him worse.

You had witnessed the way his kindness disappeared whenever Rafe disappointed him. You had heard the sudden changes in his voice from the other side of closed doors. You had spent two years sneaking through his house and lying directly to his family. The idea of Ward discovering any of it made something tighten in your stomach.

Sarah followed your gaze. “Don’t worry. He’s been like that all day.”

“I’m not worried.”

“You look worried.” “I don’t.” She opened the front door. “You do.”

You stepped inside before Ward could notice you. Tannyhill smelled faintly of damp wood and saltwater. Candles still covered several surfaces even though part of the electricity had returned. Wheezie sat at the kitchen island eating cereal directly from the box. Sarah immediately took it from her. “We’re getting ice cream later.” “I’m hungry now.” “You’re always hungry.” Wheezie grabbed the box back. “That’s how being alive works.” You laughed and sat beside her. Sarah began filling a glass with water. She appeared unusually distracted.

“What happened?” you asked. “Nothing.” Wheezie made a sound through a mouthful of cereal. Sarah glared at her. You looked between them. “What?” “John B came by,” Wheezie announced. Sarah set the glass down harder than necessary. “Wheezie.” “What? She was going to find out.” “Find out what?” you asked. Sarah turned toward you. “He returned the scuba equipment.” Your expression remained neutral.

“The equipment he stole?”

“He borrowed it.”

“Without permission.”

“He brought it back.”

Wheezie leaned toward you. “They had a moment.”

“We did not.”

“You were smiling.”

“I smile at people.”

“Not like that.”

Sarah pointed toward the hallway. “Go upstairs.”

“No.”

“Wheezie.”

“You said we were getting ice cream.”

“We are.”

“Then I’m staying.”

Sarah looked at you as though expecting help. You shrugged. “She has a point.”

“Both of you are irritating.”

She leaned against the counter. You waited. Sarah picked at the edge of one fingernail. “He seemed distracted when he was here.”

“John B?”

“Yes.”

“What did he say?”

“Nothing important.”

Wheezie snorted. Sarah threw a napkin at her. You watched Sarah carefully.

“What aren’t you telling me?”

“Nothing.”

“That sounded convincing.” Sarah exhaled. “He asked me about the storm damage. That’s it.”

“He came all the way back here to return stolen scuba gear and discuss the weather?”

“He didn’t steal it.”

“Sarah.” She crossed her arms. “I don’t know. He was acting strange.”

You thought of John B standing among the wreckage with the stolen registration in his hand.

“I saw him later,” you said. Sarah’s posture changed. “Where?”

“Near the dock.”

“When?”

“After midnight.” Wheezie stopped eating. Sarah stared at you. “What was he doing?”

“Searching through the storm damage.”

“For what?”

“I don’t know.” That was not entirely a lie.

Sarah moved closer.

“Did he take anything?”

You hesitated. You had seen him leave with a document. You had also seen him drop the motel key currently hidden in your purse.

“I couldn’t tell.” Sarah lowered her voice.

“You’re not going to tell Dad, right?” Wheezie glanced toward the doorway. You looked at Sarah.

“If he asks me directly, I’m not lying.”

“You don’t have to tell him everything.”

“He came onto your property in the middle of the night.”

“He probably had a reason.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I know John B.”

“No, you don’t.” Her expression tightened. “You don’t know him either.”

“I know he stole from your family and came back after midnight.”

“He returned the gear.”

“And then searched the dock.” Sarah looked toward the open kitchen door to ensure Ward was not nearby. “Just leave it alone.” You stared at her. “Why do you care so much?”

“I don’t.”

“Then why are you asking me to hide it?”

“I’m asking you not to make it into something bigger.”

“If Ward asks, I’m telling him what I saw.” Sarah stepped closer. “Why? He isn’t your father.”

“That doesn’t matter.”

“Yes, it does.” She studied your expression. “Are you scared of him?”

“No.” The answer came too quickly. Sarah noticed. You looked away before she could examine you further.

“I’m not lying to Ward for John B.”

“No one asked you to lie.”

“You asked me not to tell him.”

“That isn’t the same thing.”

“It is when he asks directly.” Sarah shook her head.

“You always do this.”

“Do what?”

“Act like Dad and Rafe are automatically right about everything.” Your jaw tightened.

“I didn’t say Rafe was right about anything.”

“You don’t have to.”

Wheezie looked between you with open interest. Sarah grabbed her purse from the counter.

“Come on.”

“Where are we going?” Wheezie asked.

“For ice cream.”

“You two are fighting.”

“We can fight in the car.”

You followed Sarah through the hallway. As you passed the study, Ward stepped into the doorway. Your steps slowed. His expression softened when he saw you.

“Hey. How are your parents?”

“Good. They’re in europe for the next month.”

“We’re happy to have you here as long as you need.”

“Thank you.” Ward glanced at Sarah and Wheezie.

“Where are you three going?”

“Ice cream,” Wheezie answered. Sarah opened the front door. Ward looked back at you.

“Can I ask you something first?” Your stomach tightened. Sarah stopped. “What?” she asked. Ward’s gaze remained on you. “Sarah said you were here late last night.” You could feel her watching you. “I was.”

“Did you notice anyone near the dock?” The room seemed to become quieter. Sarah’s face warned you not to answer. You touched the strap of your purse. “Yea I saw someone as I was leaving.” Ward’s expression changed. “Who?” You swallowed. “John B.” Sarah looked away. Ward asked, “What was he doing?”

“Searching through the wreckage.”

“Did he take anything?”

You thought of the registration. Then the motel key.

“I couldn’t see.” That was the lie you could manage.

Ward nodded once. “Thank you.” You forced a smile.

Sarah walked outside without waiting for you.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

The ice-cream shop had reopened using a generator.

Half the menu was unavailable, and the card reader did not work, but Wheezie ordered enough for three people while Sarah sat silently at a table near the window. You paid in cash and carried the cups over. Sarah didn't thank you. Wheezie slid into the seat beside her.

“You’re upset.”

“Why would I be?” she deadpanned

“You’re making the face.”

“What face?”

“The one you make when Topper likes another girl’s post.” Sarah glared at her. You sat across from them. Wheezie immediately began eating. Sarah stabbed her spoon into the melting ice cream.

“Dad fired John B.” You paused. “When?” “Twenty minutes ago.” You looked at her. “He called you?” “No. Topper did.” Wheezie raised her head slightly. “I told Topper about the boat.” Sarah turned toward her. “You what?” Wheezie shrugged. “He asked why you were acting weird.”

“So you told him about John B?”

“You were flirting with him.”

“I was not.”

“You touched his arm.”

“That isn’t flirting.”

“You hate when girls touch Topper’s arm.” Sarah stared at her.

Wheezie returned to her ice cream. You attempted not to smile. Sarah noticed. “This isn’t funny.”

“I didn’t say it was.”

“Topper told Dad about the scuba equipment. Then Dad asked you about the dock.”

You folded your arms. “You already knew I wasn’t going to lie.”

“You could’ve left some of it out.”

“He asked whether John B came back. I said yes.”

“You made it sound like he was breaking into the house.”

“I said he was searching the dock.”

“That was enough.”

“That isn’t my fault.”

Sarah leaned forward. “You knew what Dad would do.”

“He stole from your family.”

“He returned it.”

“And came back for something else.”

Her eyes narrowed. “You said you didn’t see him take anything.”

“I didn’t.” That lie came more easily.

Sarah studied you. Wheezie scraped her spoon along the bottom of her cup. “You care an awful lot about a guy you supposedly don’t like.”

Sarah kicked her beneath the table. Wheezie yelped.

“Stop kicking me!”

“Stop talking.”

“You’re the one being obvious.”

Sarah looked toward the window. You watched the color rise in her cheeks. “Did something happen with John B?” you asked. “No.”

“You’re blushing.”

“I’m angry.”

“Those aren’t mutually exclusive.”

Sarah turned back toward you. “This is exactly what I mean. You’re acting like I did something wrong when you’re the one who told Dad.”

“I answered a question.”

“You helped him fire someone.”

“John B made that easy.”

“You don’t even like Dad.” You glanced around the nearly empty shop. “Keep your voice down.”

“Why? Are you scared he’ll hear us from across the island?”

“I already told you I’m not scared of him.”

“Then why are you acting like lying to him is impossible?”

Because Ward had known you since childhood. Because you had watched him reduce Rafe to silence with a single look. Because every time Ward smiled at you, you remembered sneaking out of his son’s bedroom before sunrise. Because if he discovered your relationship, you did not know what he would do to Rafe.

You lifted your spoon. “I’m not discussing this here.” Sarah laughed without humor. “Of course not.”

Wheezie looked between both of you.

“This ice cream trip is terrible.”

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

When you reached Tannyhill, Ward’s voice carried across the front lawn.

“What did you do with the generator money?”

You stopped beside your car.

Rafe stood near the damaged porch with his shoulders rigid. Ward faced him several feet away. Sarah and Wheezie had already entered through the side door without noticing them. You remained near the driveway.

Rafe’s jaw flexed. “I told you, I’m handling it.”

“That isn’t what I asked.”

“The generators weren’t available.”

“So where’s the money?” Rafe did not answer. Ward laughed once. It contained no humor. “You bought the bike.” Rafe looked away. “You took money meant to repair this house and bought yourself a motorcycle.”

“I was going to replace it.”

“With what?”

“I’ll figure it out.”

“That’s always your answer.” Ward stepped closer. “You know who was here this morning? John B. The kid you keep calling trash. He returned what he took and apologized.” Rafe’s eyes hardened. Ward continued. “And you? You were given one responsibility, and you spent the money on yourself.”

“John B stole from you.”

“At least he knows how to work.”

Rafe’s face changed. You felt something cold move through your chest. Ward pointed toward the driveway. “For once in your life, make yourself useful. Find the generators or find the money.” Rafe laughed bitterly.

“And if I don’t?”

“Maybe you should spend some time on the Cut. See how long that attitude lasts when my name isn’t protecting you.”

Ward turned and walked toward the house. He noticed you beside your car. For one uncomfortable second, neither of you spoke. Then his expression became pleasant again.

“Everything okay?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

He entered the house. Rafe remained near the porch. You approached carefully. He didn't, no- couldnt, face you.

“You heard that?”

“Most of it.”

“Then pretend you didn’t.”

“Rafe.”

“Don’t.”

You stopped in front of him. His hands were clenched at his sides. “You bought the motorcycle with the generator money?” He laughed sharply.

“Are you going to lecture me too?”

“No.”

“That would be new.”

“You should have told me.”

“Why?”

“Because I could’ve helped.”

“There it is.”

“What?”

“You always think you can fix everything.”

You stared at him. “I’m trying to help you.”

“I don’t need your help.”

“Your father just threatened to throw you out.”

“He threatens a lot of things.”

“That doesn’t make it normal.” Rafe looked toward the house. His voice lowered. “You heard him.”

“Yes.”

“He thinks John B is better than me.”

“I don’t care what Ward thinks.”

“Well, I do.”

The admission escaped before he could stop it. Rafe looked away. Your anger softened. You stepped closer and placed one hand against his chest. He remained rigid. “I’m not Sarah,” you said quietly. “You don’t have to pretend with me.” His eyes lifted to yours. For a moment, the fury disappeared. Underneath it was something younger.

Hurt.

Rafe caught your wrist, but instead of pushing your hand away, he held it against him. “You shouldn’t have heard that.”

“Why?”

“Because.”

“Because you think it makes you look weak?” His jaw tightened. You moved closer. “It doesn’t.”

“You don’t have to lie.”

“I’m not.”

Rafe looked toward the house again, ensuring no one could see you. Then he lowered his forehead to yours. The contact was brief and almost hesitant. You slipped your free hand around the back of his neck. “He’s wrong,” you whispered. Rafe’s fingers tightened around your wrist. “You don’t even know what he’s wrong about.” “Yes, I do.” His eyes closed.

You kissed him once, softly.

He did not deepen it or pull you against him the way he normally would. He simply stood there with your hand against his chest, breathing slowly until the tension in his shoulders loosened.

When he finally stepped away, his expression had hardened again.

“I have to handle something.”

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“Does this involve the generator money?”

“No.”

“You’re lying.”

Rafe moved toward the driveway. You followed. “Where are you going?”

“I said I’m handling it.”

“Rafe.” He stopped beside his motorcycle.

You hated how much the bike suited him. You hated more that it had become another reason for Ward to despise him. Rafe picked up the helmet.

“Go home.”

“That sounded like an order.”

“It was.”

You stared at him. He sighed. His voice softened slightly.

“Please.”

That stopped you. Rafe rarely said please. You stepped back.

“Call me.”

“I will.”

“You won’t.”

He placed the helmet over his head. “I’ll see you later.”

“Rafe.”

He looked at you through the visor.

“Don’t do anything stupid.”

He started the engine. The sound swallowed his answer.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

Rafe did not call.

He returned your message hours later with two words.

rafe: Handled it.

You knew enough about him to understand that this meant the opposite.

The next afternoon, he appeared at your house with a small cut near his eyebrow and an attitude that suggested asking about it would result in an argument.

You asked anyway. “What happened?”

“Nothing.”

“You’re bleeding.”

“It’s barely a cut.”

“Did Barry do that?”

His eyes snapped toward you. You had guessed. That was almost more concerning. “Why would you say Barry?”

“Because you owed him money before the storm.”

Rafe entered your bedroom and shut the door behind him. “How do you know that?”

“You told me.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“You complain when you’re drunk.”

“I don’t.”

“You really do.”

He rubbed one hand over his jaw. You watched him carefully.

“What did you do?”

“Made a deal.”

“What kind of deal?”

“The kind that solves the problem.”

“That was vague enough to be threatening.”

Rafe sat on the edge of your bed. You moved between his knees. He placed his hands on your hips automatically, even while avoiding your eyes.

“Did you borrow more money?”

“No.”

“Did you take more product?” Silence. “Rafe.”

“I can sell it.”

“You already owe him.”

“I know.”

“So you borrowed more?”

“I didn’t borrow it.”

“What did you give him?”

His fingers pressed into your hips. “Collateral.” Your stomach tightened. “What?”

“The bike.” You stared at him. “You put up your motorcycle?”

“It’s temporary.”

“For cocaine?”

“For enough product to make the money back.”

“You bought the motorcycle with Ward’s generator money, and now you’ve promised it to Barry so he’ll give you more drugs to sell.”

“When you say it like that, it sounds bad.”

“How else would I say it?” Rafe looked up at you. “I have two days.”

“To do what?”

“Pay him.”

“And if you don’t?” His expression answered before he did.

You cupped his jaw and examined the cut. “Did he hit you?”

“No.”

“Then where did this come from?”

“Does it matter?”

“Yes.”

Rafe leaned into your touch despite the irritation in his voice. “He had someone there. We disagreed.”

“You should’ve called me.”

“You would’ve come.”

“Exactly.”

“That’s why I didn’t.”

You stared at him. He wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you closer until you stood between his legs.

“Stop looking at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like I’m some injured animal.”

“You are injured.”

“Barely.”

You brushed your thumb beneath the cut. Rafe caught your wrist and kissed your palm.

“I’m handling it.”

“You keep saying that.”

“Because I am.”

You looked down at him. Rafe’s confidence was convincing to everyone who did not know him. You knew the difference between arrogance and panic. This was panic. He rested his cheek against your stomach. The gesture was so uncharacteristically gentle that you stopped arguing. Your fingers moved through his hair. Rafe closed his eyes.

For several minutes, neither of you spoke.

Then you began forming a plan.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

Barry’s trailer was easier to find than you expected.

Ethan had given you enough information at the Boneyard to narrow the location to a road near the marsh. After that, you only had to look for Rafe’s motorcycle. It sat outside the trailer the following morning.

You parked far enough away that your car would not be recognized.

You had changed before leaving home.

Your hair was hidden beneath a dark wig cut several inches shorter than your own. You wore inexpensive sunglasses, faded jeans, and a loose shirt you would never normally choose. Your jewelry remained at home, and you had altered your makeup enough to change the shape of your eyes.

It would not withstand close inspection.

It didn't need to. Barry’s truck was absent. You waited.

No one entered or left the trailer.

When you finally approached, you kept your movements casual. The door opened with less resistance than expected. You stepped inside. The trailer smelled like cigarettes, sweat, and something chemical.

You ignored the drugs scattered across the table. You searched only long enough to find what Rafe needed.

Cash was hidden inside an old tin beneath a stack of papers. More sat inside a kitchen drawer.

You took a thick portion without emptying either hiding place.

Barry would notice. You wanted him to.

You returned everything else precisely where you found it. Then you left.

Your pulse did not settle until the trailer disappeared behind you.

Cricket operated from an old fish-processing building near the edge of the marsh.

You had never met him before, but you had heard enough from Ethan to know he supplied people like Barry and expected loyalty in return.

You parked behind a convenience store and walked the remaining distance.

A man near the entrance stopped you.

“What do you want?”

“I need to speak to Cricket.”

“About?”

“Barry.”

His expression changed.

“Name?”

You had prepared one.

“Lena.”

“Lena what?”

“Does he need my last name?”

He studied you.

You allowed nervousness to show.

Not too much.

Just enough to suggest you were afraid of Barry rather than manipulating anyone.

The man disappeared inside. Several minutes later, a man emerged.

Cricket looked you over without greeting you.

“You know Barry?”

“A little.”

“What’s a little?”

You glanced toward the road as though concerned someone had followed you. Cricket noticed. “Relax,” he said. “Nobody’s here.” You lowered your voice. “He talks too much.”

“About what?”

“Mostly about how nobody checks what he brings in anymore.”

Cricket’s expression remained unchanged.

“He said that?”

You hesitated.

“Maybe I misunderstood him.”

“What exactly did he say?”

“That people only know what he tells them. That he could keep half of what he makes and nobody would notice.” You looked down. “I shouldn’t have come.” Cricket stepped closer.

“When did he say this?”

“A few nights ago.”

“Where?”

“At his place.”

His eyes moved over your disguise.

“You with him?”

“No.”

“Then why were you there?”

You let embarrassment cross your face. “It doesn’t matter.” That answer suggested enough without requiring details. Cricket studied you for several seconds.

“Did Barry send you?”

“No.”

“Who did?”

“No one.”

“Then why tell me?”

You glanced toward the road again.

“Because he’s getting reckless.”

“With you?”

“With everyone.”

You stepped backward. “I made a mistake coming here.” Cricket did not stop you.

That was the point. He remained outside the building, watching as you walked away. By the time you reached your car, the seed had already been planted. Barry had missing money.

Cricket now had a reason to question whether he had taken it himself.

You removed the wig only after returning to Figure Eight.

Then you called Rafe. He answered on the second ring.

“What?”

“Hello to you too.”

“Where are you?”

“Why?”

“You’ve been ignoring me.”

“I’ve been busy baby.”

“With what?”

You looked at the cash hidden beneath the passenger seat.

“Nothing important.”

Rafe became quiet. “You’re doing that thing.”

“What thing?”

“The one where you say nothing happened right before something terrible happens.”

You smiled despite yourself.

“I guess you can only expect trouble from me.”

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

Sarah cornered you that afternoon.

You had returned to Tannyhill to pick up a dress she had borrowed months earlier. Instead, you found her waiting in the upstairs hallway with her arms crossed.

“We need to talk.”

“Those are never comforting words.”

“About John B.”

You continued toward her bedroom. Sarah followed. “I thought we already did.” “No. You decided you were right and stopped listening.” You placed your purse on the bed. “I listened.”

“You told Dad before talking to me.”

“He asked me directly.”

“You keep saying that like you didn’t have a choice.”

“I didn’t.”

“You always have a choice.” You turned toward her. “Why did I need your permission to tell Ward that someone trespassed on his property?”

“Because it involved me.”

“It involved John B.”

“And me.”

“How?” Sarah hesitated. You noticed. “What happened between you?”

“Nothing.”

“Then it didn’t involve you.”

She shook her head. “You’re impossible.”

“No, I’m confused. You barely know him, but suddenly you’re defending him to everyone.”

“He’s not what you think.”

“I don’t think anything about him.”

“You clearly do.”

“I think he stole scuba equipment, came back after midnight, and took something from your dock.”

Sarah froze. “You said you didn’t see him take anything.”

“I saw him searching.”

“That isn’t the same thing.”

“No, it isn’t.” Her eyes narrowed. “You’re hiding something.” “So are you.” Sarah stepped closer.

“Do you know what your problem is?”

“I’m sure you’re going to tell me.”

“You act like everyone owes you an explanation while you never give anyone one.” You became still. Sarah continued before you could answer. “You disappear constantly. You lie about where you’ve been. You know things you shouldn’t know, and whenever I ask, you change the subject.”

“That has nothing to do with John B.”

“It has everything to do with this.”

“How?”

“You expect me to tell you exactly what happened with him while you won’t even tell me who you’ve been seeing.”

You looked away.

That silenced you because she was right.

Sarah’s anger softened slightly.

“Is this really about John B?”

“Yes.”

“Or are you still angry because I spend time with Topper?”

You looked back at her.

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“Its true, isnt it?”

“No.”

“You’ve been mad at me for months.”

“I’m not mad.”

“You complain every time I cancel.”

“Because you always cancel fifteen minutes before we do anything.”

“I have a boyfriend.”

“You have a boyfriend you claim to hate every other week.”

“I don’t hate him.”

“You insult him constantly.”

“So do you.”

“I’m not dating him.” Sarah rolled her eyes. You folded your arms. “If you hate Topper so much, break up with him.”

“I said I don’t hate him.”

“Then stop acting like you do. And if you’re interested in John B, end things with Topper. Secrets get you nowhere and you know that Sarah."

The hypocrisy of the sentence sat heavily between your ribs.

Sarah stared at you. “I’m not cheating.”

“Then what happened?”

“Nothing happened.”

“You keep saying that.”

“Because it’s true.” She sat on the edge of the bed. “I thought he was interesting. That’s it.”

“You flirted with him.”

“Oh my God.”

“Wheezie noticed too.”

“Wheezie thinks touching someone’s arm is a marriage proposal.”

You remained standing. Sarah looked down at her hands.

“I know I’ve been spending too much time with Topper.”

Your anger shifted. She continued.

“I didn’t realize how much until you said something.”

“I’ve said something several times.”

“You usually say it while insulting him.”

“That doesn’t make it less true.”

Sarah smiled faintly. Then her expression became serious again.

Then Sarah said, “Next time something involves me, talk to me before you talk to my dad.”

You nodded slowly.

“Then next time you ask me to protect you, tell me the whole truth first.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

Neither of you intended to keep the agreement completely.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

The party began after sunset.

A Kook whose parents had evacuated before the hurricane opened his house to nearly everyone on Figure Eight. The lower floor quickly filled with music, alcohol, and people pretending the island had returned to normal.

You arrived in your own car.

Sarah and Topper came together.

Rafe appeared twenty minutes later with Kelce, his motorcycle nowhere in sight.

You noticed immediately. He found you across the crowded living room. His expression softened for half a second. Then he remembered other people were watching. Rafe approached with a drink in one hand.

“You look bored.”

“I’ve been here fifteen minutes.”

“Exactly.”

His free hand brushed the small of your back as he moved past you. The touch lasted less than a second. It still changed your breathing.

Kelce handed you a cup. You smelled it before drinking. “What is this?”

“Something good.”

“That isn’t an ingredient.”

“It has vodka.”

“So does paint thinner.”

Kelce laughed and disappeared toward the kitchen. Rafe remained beside you. His attention shifted toward Topper, who stood near the staircase. You followed his gaze. Topper accepted a small bag from him. Your stomach dropped. “Are you serious?” Rafe looked at you. “About what?” “You know exactly what.” He took a sip of his drink. You lowered your voice. “You put your motorcycle up for that, and now you’re giving it away?”

“Topper will pay me.”

“He’s your best friend. You’re not making him pay.”

“He said he would.”

“And you believed him?”

Rafe’s jaw tightened. “Relax.”

“That word makes me want to hit you.”

His eyes moved over your face. Anyone else speaking to him that way would have started a fight. Instead, Rafe stepped closer and slid one arm around your waist. The gesture appeared casual to everyone else. His thumb pressed against your hip “I’m handling it,” he murmured.

“You’re giving away the product you’re supposed to sell.”

“He’ll pay me later.”

“You have two days.”

“I know.”

“Barry has your motorcycle.”

“I know.”

“Then why are you acting like none of this matters?”

Rafe glanced toward the people surrounding you. His voice lowered further “Because I’m not discussing this here.” “You’re the one doing it here.” His grip tightened. “You done?” “No.” A faint smile touched his mouth. “You’re cute when you’re angry.”

“Do not.”

“What?”

“Try distracting me.”

“You distracted me yesterday.”

“That was different.”

“Why?”

“Because it worked.”

Rafe leaned closer. His mouth hovered near your ear. “This will too.” You felt his lips brush the sensitive skin beneath it.

Then Sarah appeared beside you. “What are you two whispering about?” Rafe stepped back. You lifted your drink. “How annoying he is.” Sarah looked between you. “You’ve been getting along suspiciously well lately.” Rafe smiled. “She loves me.” You nearly choked on your drink. Sarah laughed. “In your dreams.” Rafe looked directly at you. “Something like that.” Sarah missed the meaning. You did not.

Topper called her name from across the room. She immediately turned toward him. Rafe watched her leave. Then his gaze returned to you.

“Come outside.”

“No.”

“Why?”

“You’re high.”

“I’m not.”

“You’re touching your nose.”

His hand dropped. You raised your eyebrows. Rafe caught your wrist and pulled you through the crowd.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

By the time you reached the driveway, Sarah and Topper were already leaving.

Topper opened the passenger door for her.

Sarah looked back at you. “You have your car, right?”

“Yes.”

“Text me when you get home.”

“You too.”

She climbed inside. Topper’s car disappeared down the road.

Rafe stood behind you. “Looks like she abandoned you.”

“She left with her boyfriend.”

“Same thing.”

“You’re very needy tonight.” His hand settled against your lower back. “Get in.”

“My car is over there.”

“I know.”

“Then why would I get into yours?”

Rafe opened the passenger door. “Because I asked nicely.”

“You ordered me.”

“Still used words.”

You stared at him. He leaned one arm against the roof of the car. “Please.” There it was again. That small softness he seemed capable of showing only when no one else could see. You climbed inside. Rafe rounded the car and entered the driver’s side. He didn't start the engine. You looked at him. “What?” “Where were you earlier?” You leaned back against the seat. “Where were you when Barry took your motorcycle?” His eyes narrowed. “You’re stealing my lines now?”

“Someone should use them properly.”

Rafe turned toward you. “What did you do?”

“Nothing.”

“You disappeared all morning.”

“I have a life.”

“You used that excuse with Sarah.”

“How do you know what I say to Sarah?”

“I know you.”

His attention moved to your purse. You shifted it farther away. Rafe noticed. He reached across the console. You caught his hand.

“Don’t.”

“What’s in there?”

“Lip gloss.”

“That excuse didn’t work yesterday.”

You released his wrist and moved closer. Rafe smiled faintly.

“You going to distract me again?”

“Maybe.”

His gaze dropped to your mouth. “You’re getting predictable.”

“You’re still falling for it.”

You climbed across the console and settled onto his lap. Rafe’s hands immediately closed around your hips. The position forced your sundress higher over your thighs. His eyes darkened. “You planned this.”

“I didn’t.”

“Liar.”

You kissed him before he could question you again. Rafe responded instantly. His mouth moved roughly over yours, one hand sliding up your back while the other pulled your hips closer. The steering wheel pressed against your back, but you barely noticed.

He kissed you like the entire party had been an inconvenience he had tolerated only to reach this moment.

Your fingers tangled in his hair. Rafe tilted your head and deepened the kiss.

His tongue moved against yours. You shifted on his lap. The movement dragged your body against the hardness beneath his pants. Rafe’s grip tightened sharply.

“Careful.”

“You keep saying that.”

“Because you don’t listen.”

You rolled your hips again. His head fell back against the seat. A rough breath escaped him. Rafe looked at you. The softness in his gaze disappeared beneath something darker. “You think that’s funny?”

“A little.”

He pulled you down against him. The sudden friction made your breath catch. Rafe watched your expression closely. Then he did it again.

Your dress had gathered around your hips, leaving only the thin fabric of your underwear and his pants between you. Every movement sent heat tightening low in your stomach.

Rafe’s mouth returned to yours. His hands guided your hips into a slow rhythm against him. You attempted to remain quiet. He noticed.

“You can make noise.”

“We’re in a driveway.”

“Everyone’s inside.”

“That has never stopped Sarah from appearing at the worst moment.”

Rafe kissed along your jaw. “She left.”

His lips moved beneath your ear. You tilted your head despite yourself. “That doesn’t mean everyone else did.”

“I don’t care about everyone else.”

His teeth grazed your neck. You tightened your fingers in his hair.

“I know.”

Rafe sucked against your skin. You immediately pulled his head back. “Don’t.”

His eyes met yours.

“What?”

“You know what.”

“Do I?”

“You’re going to leave a mark.”

“Good.”

“Rafe.”

He kissed the same spot again. You tried pushing his shoulder, but he caught your hand and pressed it against the seat beside your head. His mouth returned to your neck. The slow pressure made your body move against him without permission. Rafe groaned quietly. His free hand slipped beneath the back of your dress, palm spreading across your bare skin. “You’re doing that on purpose,” you whispered. “So are you.” He guided your hips forward. You gasped. Rafe lifted his head. For all the possession in his expression, his eyes moved carefully over your face. “You good?” The question was quiet. You nodded. “Say it.” “I’m good.” His thumb stroked once across your hip.

Then he kissed you again. You pressed closer, grinding down against him as his mouth covered yours. His hand moved beneath the front of your dress, sliding over your stomach before cupping your breast through your bra. The touch sent another pulse through you. Rafe felt it. His thumb brushed over your nipple through the fabric. You broke the kiss with a sharp inhale. He smiled against your mouth.

“Still mad at me?”

“Yes.”

“Doesn’t feel like it.”

“You’re still an idiot.”

“And you’re in my lap.”

His hand tightened around your breast. Your hips moved harder against him. Rafe’s breathing became uneven.

He buried his face against your neck and held you firmly against him, allowing you to set the pace for several seconds before taking control again.

The windows had begun to fog. Your lipgloss was smeared across his mouth. Rafe’s hair had fallen over his forehead. He looked less angry than he had all week.

You kissed him slower. His hands softened against your waist. For a moment, the urgency faded.

Rafe brushed his nose against yours.

“Come to Midsummers with me.”

You stared at him.

“I’m already your date.”

“I know.”

“You asked me two weeks ago.”

“I’m reminding you.”

“Why?”

“Because you like making things difficult.”

You almost smiled. Then you remembered Sarah.

“We have to tell her.”

Rafe’s expression changed. You felt the shift beneath your hands.

“Not now.”

“You always say that.”

“She’s with Topper.”

“She’s always with Topper.”

“We’re at a party.”

“And yesterday we were at my house. Last week we were in your room. There is always a reason.”

Rafe kissed you again. You turned your face away. His mouth landed against your cheek.

“Don’t distract me.”

“You like when I distract you.”

“That isn’t the point.” His hands remained at your hips. You looked at him. “It’s been two years.”

“I know.”

“She nearly figured it out while we were getting ready for the Boneyard.”

“But she didn’t.”

“She asked if I was seeing someone.”

Rafe’s eyes sharpened. “What did you say?”

“What do you think I said?”

He relaxed slightly. That irritated you more. You began lifting yourself from his lap. Rafe’s arms tightened around your waist immediately.

“Where are you going?”

“To my car.”

“No.”

“Let me go.”

“No.”

You stared at him. “Then answer me.”

“We’ll tell her.”

“When?”

Rafe looked away. You tried moving again. His arms tightened further. “Before Midsummers.” You stopped. “What?”

“We tell her before Midsummers.”

“I’m already your date.”

“I know.”

“Then why are you still acting terrified of your little sister?”

“I’m not terrified of Sarah.”

“Then let me go.”

Rafe’s jaw tightened. You attempted to climb off his lap again. He pulled you back. “Stay.”

“Give me a reason.”

“Because I said we’ll tell her.”

“That isn’t the reason.”

His hands pressed firmly against your lower back. You waited. Rafe looked at you with an expression you rarely saw. Uncertain. “Because I don’t want you changing your mind.” The anger left you. “About telling her?”

“About me.”

His voice was quieter than before. You stared at him.

Rafe did not care whether Sarah approved of him. He barely cared whether she spoke to him. What frightened him was the possibility that Sarah’s anger would make you reconsider the relationship. That you would decide two years of secrets had cost too much. You placed one hand against his cheek. “I’m not changing my mind.”

“You don’t know how she’ll react.”

“I know.”

“She’ll blame me.”

“She blames you for everything.”

“She’ll make you choose.”

You looked into his eyes. “I already did.”

Rafe became still.

You had chosen him the night you climbed through his window. You had continued choosing him every day since. His arms loosened slightly, but he did not release you.

“Before Midsummers,” you repeated. He nodded. “Before Midsummers.”

“Promise?”

Rafe looked irritated by the question.

You waited. “I promise.”

You kissed him.

This time, Rafe’s hands held you gently. Then his mouth returned to the mark on your neck.

You pulled away.

“Are you serious?”

“What?”

“You know exactly what.”

Rafe smiled.

“Wear your hair down.”

“Sarah is going to see it.”

“Then tell her.”

“You just promised before Midsummers, not in the driveway tonight.”

He kissed the mark once more. “Could speed things up.”

“You’re impossible.”

“You love me.”

You looked at him. Rafe’s expression shifted, as though he had not meant to say it so plainly.

You kissed him before he could take it back.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

Rafe did not tell you about Pope immediately.

You found out the following afternoon when he appeared at your house with blood dried across his knuckles. He attempted to keep one hand inside his pocket. You noticed before he reached the stairs.

“What happened?”

“Nothing.”

“Take your hand out.”

Rafe continued walking. You blocked the hallway.

“Move.”

“No.”

“I’m not doing this.”

“Then show me.”

He looked toward the empty living room. “No one’s here,” you said. Rafe pulled his hand from his pocket. Two knuckles were split. The skin around them had already begun swelling. You stared at him. “Who?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Who'd you beat to a pulp this time?”

Rafe pushed past you. You followed him into the kitchen. He opened the refrigerator. “Do you have anything to drink?”

“Water.”

“Anything useful?”

“No.”

He shut the door. You grabbed his wrist. Rafe looked down at your hand. “What happened?” He exhaled. “Topper and I handled something.”

“That isn’t an answer.”

“It’s the one you’re getting.”

You guided him toward a chair. To your surprise, he sat. You retrieved the first-aid kit. Rafe watched as you cleaned the dried blood. He flinched when the cloth touched the deepest cut. You looked up. “Pope.” His silence confirmed it. “Why?”

“Because of what happened at the Boneyard.”

“JJ pulled the gun.”

“He was there.”

“So were fifty other people.”

“He’s a Pogue.”

“That isn't an explanation.”

Rafe’s jaw tightened. “He was running his mouth.”

“So you and Topper attacked him?”

“He deserved it.”

“For being near JJ?”

“You weren’t there.”

“No, because you didn’t tell me.”

“You would’ve tried stopping me.”

“Yea I would've.”

“Exactly.”

You wrapped gauze around his hand. Rafe watched your face.

“You think I’m a piece of shit.”

“I think you keep giving everyone reasons to treat you like one.”

His expression closed. You finished securing the bandage.

For a moment, you thought he would leave. Instead, Rafe looked down at his hand.

“You’re still here.”

“Unfortunately.”

His mouth twitched faintly. You placed the supplies aside. Rafe caught your waist and pulled you between his knees. You allowed it. His forehead rested against your stomach.

The same position as the day before. You moved your fingers through his hair.

“Pope didn’t deserve that.” Rafe said nothing. “You know he didn’t.”

His arms tightened around you.

“I was angry.”

“You’re always angry.”

“I know.”

The admission softened you despite yourself. You bent and kissed the top of his head. “Next time, call me before you do something stupid.”

“You say that like there won’t be a next time.”

“There will absolutely be a next time.”

Rafe laughed quietly against you.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

Topper’s boat began sinking before sunset.

You had gone to the Island Club with Sarah, mostly because neither of you wanted to remain angry after the John B argument.

She was inside ordering drinks when you stepped toward the dock.

Two figures moved quickly near the far end. JJ and Pope.

You recognized them immediately. Pope walked stiffly, one hand pressed against his side. His face was bruised, and he kept glancing over his shoulder. JJ said something you could not hear. They disappeared between two storage buildings.

You looked toward the dock. Topper’s boat sat unusually low in the water. At first, you assumed the tide had shifted.

Then someone shouted. Water had begun filling the lower compartment. Topper came running from the club. “What the hell?” Several workers rushed toward the boat. Sarah appeared behind you.

“What happened?”

“I don’t know.”

Topper jumped onto the dock. “My boat is sinking!”

“That appears to be what’s happening,” Sarah said. He glared at her. “This isn’t funny.” Rafe arrived several minutes later. The second he saw the boat, his expression hardened. “The Pogues.” Sarah crossed her arms. “You don’t know that.”

“Who else would do it?”

“You have no proof.”

Rafe looked at you. You had not spoken. His eyes narrowed slightly. Topper continued shouting at the workers. Sarah attempted to calm him.

Rafe moved closer to you. “You saw something.”

“Maybe.”

“Who?”

You looked toward the space where JJ and Pope had disappeared. Then back at him. “Don’t ask questions you don’t want the answers to.”

Recognition moved across Rafe’s face. He knew you were using his own words.

For a moment, you expected him to press you. He did not. His gaze dropped to your mouth.

Then to the faint mark he had left on your neck, partially hidden beneath your hair.

“You’re getting good at that.”

“At what?”

“Keeping things from me.” You smiled faintly. “I learned from you.”

Rafe’s expression suggested he was not sure whether to be proud or concerned. He placed one hand at the small of your back. Sarah glanced toward you. Rafe removed it before she could fully register the touch.

Topper’s boat continued sinking. You remained silent.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

Several days later, Rafe layed across your bed while a movie played quietly from the television. He had chosen it and stopped paying attention within ten minutes. His bandaged hand rested against your thigh. You sat beside him with your back against the headboard, pretending to watch while thinking about the cash hidden in your closet.

Barry’s deadline had passed. Rafe had said nothing about the debt. That worried you more than if he had complained.

You reached for the remote and paused the movie. Rafe opened one eye. “What?”

“I have something for you.”

“That sounds dangerous.”

“It might be.”

He sat up slowly. You crossed the room and removed the cash from beneath a stack of sweaters. Rafe stared when you placed it on the bed.

“What is that?”

“Money.”

“I can see that.”

“Then why did you ask?”

“Where did you get it?”

You returned to the bed. Rafe looked from the money to you. “What did you do?”

“Nothing.”

“Stop saying that.”

“You say it constantly.”

“Yeah, and you never believe me.”

“Exactly.” He picked up the stack and counted enough to understand the amount.

“This is more than you gave me last time.”

“I know.”

Rafe dropped it back onto the bed. “I’m not taking it.” You stared at him. “You need it.”

“No.”

“Barry has your motorcycle.”

“I’ll get it back.”

“With what?”

“I’ll figure it out.”

“You have the money directly in front of you.”

“It’s not mine.”

“It isn’t mine either.”

His eyes narrowed. “That answer made this worse.” You pushed the stack toward him. “Take it.” Rafe pushed it back.

“No.”

“Why?”

“I still owe you from last time.”

“You said you loved me when I gave you that.”

“I do love you.”

“Then take this too.”

“That isn’t how that works.”

“Since when do you care where money comes from?”

“Since it came from you.”

You became quiet. Rafe looked away as though irritated with himself for saying it. “I’m not using you to pay Barry.”

“You’re not using me. I’m offering.”

“And I’m saying no.”

“You could lose your bike.”

“I dont care about the bike"

"He could hurt you.”

Rafe’s expression hardened. “He won’t.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I can handle Barry.”

“You said you could handle the debt the first time.” His jaw tightened.

You regretted the words immediately but did not take them back.

Rafe stood. “I should go.” You caught his wrist. “Don’t.” He looked down at you. “I’m trying to help.”

“I know.”

“Then stop making it impossible.”

Rafe remained silent. You softened your grip.

“Why won’t you let me do this?”

His gaze moved to the cash. Then back to you. “Because you keep cleaning up everything I ruin.” The anger left you. Rafe looked toward the television. “Ward already thinks I can’t do anything without someone fixing it.”

“I’m not Ward.”

“I know.”

“Then don’t treat me like him.”

“I’m not.”

“You are if you think helping you means I believe you’re incapable.”

Rafe’s expression shifted. You pulled him closer until he stood between your knees. “I’m helping because I love you.” He stared at you. “I still owe you.”

“You don’t owe me anything.”

“I owe everyone something.”

The words were quieter than the rest. Rafe seemed to measure every relationship by what could be demanded in return. You placed both hands against his waist.

“Not me.” He looked down. “You especially.”

“No.”

“You keyed Bennett’s car because he owed me.”

“He also charged my family’s account.”

“You gave me money last week.”

“Because Barry was threatening you.”

“And now this.”

You glanced at the cash. “That was my choice.” Rafe touched your face with his bandaged hand.

“You’re going to get hurt doing something for me.”

“I can take care of myself.”

“I know.”

“Then trust me.”

“That’s the problem.”

“What is?”

“I do.”

His thumb moved across your cheek. The admission settled between you. Rafe trusted you enough to know you would go too far for him. He also knew he would let you. You kissed the inside of his injured wrist.

“Keep the money.”

“No.”

“Rafe.”

“I said no.”

He gathered the cash and placed it back into your hands. Then he climbed onto the bed and pulled you against him before you could argue again. Your back settled against his chest. His arm wrapped securely around your waist. “You’re infuriating,” you said.

“I know.”

“You’re going to regret refusing this.”

“Probably.”

“You admit that?”

“I’m growing.”

You laughed despite yourself. Rafe kissed your shoulder. “Put the movie back on.” You pressed play. He kept his arm around you for the rest of the night. The cash remained on the nightstand.

Untouched.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

Rafe fell asleep shortly after midnight.

His injured hand rested against your waist while his face pressed into the back of your neck. Even asleep, he held you as though expecting you to disappear.

You waited until his breathing deepened.

Then you carefully lifted his arm and slipped from beneath him. Rafe shifted but did not wake. You crossed the room and opened your purse. The motel key waited inside the hidden pocket.

MARSHVIEW MOTOR LODGE.

Room 23.

You looked back at Rafe.

He had refused the money you stole for him.

He had attacked Pope and hidden it.

You had watched John B steal from the Cameron dock and protected part of what you knew from Ward, Sarah, and Rafe. Everyone around you was keeping secrets. The only difference was that you intended to uncover theirs.

You dressed quietly and returned the cash to its hiding place.

Before leaving, you leaned over the bed and kissed Rafe’s temple.

His hand moved across the empty space beside him.

You hesitated.

Then you took the motel key and walked downstairs. The roads were nearly empty.

As Figure Eight disappeared behind you, the houses became smaller and the hurricane damage more severe. Broken signs leaned across the roadside. Entire stretches remained dark.

You entered the motel’s address into your phone even though you had already memorized it.

The route led toward the Cut.

Toward John B.

Toward whatever had been important enough for him to sneak onto the Cameron property after midnight.

The Marshview Motor Lodge appeared beyond a row of damaged trees.

Half the sign had collapsed.

Only three rooms showed any light.

You slowed the car.

Room 23 sat at the far end of the building.

You parked across the road and wrapped your fingers around the key.

You still did not know who the room belonged to.

You did not know why John B had carried the key.

You did not know what he had stolen from the dock or how any of it connected.

But you were about to find out.

next

[bloomyeu]

partner in crime ( after the storm / three )

series masterlist

pairings: rafe cameron x fem!reader

content: fluff, angst, smut

warnings: mdni, smut, mentions of abuse, murder and drinking

word count: 7.8k

previous

The first thing you noticed when you woke was the silence.

Not complete silence. Tannyhill was never completely quiet. Even without electricity, the old house creaked around you, settling after a night of wind and rain. Water tapped steadily against the window. Somewhere outside, a damaged shutter knocked against the side of the house whenever the remaining breeze caught it.

But the hurricane had passed. The second thing you noticed was Rafe’s arm locked around your waist. You opened your eyes slowly.

Gray morning light filtered through the curtains, illuminating the mess Hurricane Agatha had left behind inside his bedroom. One of the windows had leaked overnight, leaving a dark stain across the rug. Clothes had been thrown across the floor when the power went out. A flashlight rested sideways on his nightstand beside two empty glasses.

You were lying on your side with your back pressed against Rafe’s chest, one of his legs tangled between yours. You were supposed to be sleeping down the hallway. Sarah had insisted you stay at Tannyhill after your parents left the island for the weekend, refusing to let you spend the hurricane alone in your family’s house. She had set up blankets across her bedroom floor, gathered enough snacks to last several weeks, and promised that the two of you would stay awake until the storm passed.

You had lasted until Sarah fell asleep.

Then you slipped into Rafe’s room.

At twenty, you had been sneaking into his bed for long enough to know exactly which doors squeaked and which floorboards complained beneath your weight. You knew how to unlock his bedroom door without making the handle click. You knew to leave your shoes beneath Sarah’s bed so she would assume you were still there if she woke.

You also knew that Rafe Cameron had never once made leaving easy. Carefully, you lifted his arm from your waist. His grip tightened immediately.

“No.”

His voice was rough with sleep.

You glanced back at him. “You’re awake?”

“No.”

“Then let go.”

Rafe buried his face against the back of your neck. His lips brushed your skin before his arm pulled you closer.

“Go back to sleep.”

“I need to get back to Sarah’s room.”

“She’s sleeping.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I know Sarah.”

“She’s your sister and you barely know what she does half the time.”

“Exactly. She’s probably asleep.”

You reached for the edge of the blanket, but Rafe’s hand slid beneath the oversized shirt you had stolen from him the night before. His palm settled against your bare stomach, warm and heavy.

“Rafe.”

“What?”

“You’re not helping.” His mouth pressed against the curve where your neck met your shoulder. “I’m not trying to.”

You attempted to sound irritated, but his lips moved slowly upward, leaving warm kisses along your throat. His thumb traced an absent circle against your stomach.

The hurricane had kept everyone awake for most of the night. Wind had shaken the windows while tree branches scraped across the roof, and every few minutes Sarah had shouted from her bedroom that the house was going to collapse.

Rafe had been waiting for you when you eventually slipped through his door.

You had spent more time kissing him than sleeping.

“We already did this,” you whispered. Rafe’s mouth curved against your skin. “Did what?”

“You know what.”

“I don’t.”

“You’re irritating.”

“And you’re still in my bed.” He rolled you onto your back before you could stop him. The blanket slipped to his waist as he moved above you. His hair was disheveled from sleep, falling across his forehead. There was a faint scratch near his shoulder that you were fairly certain had come from you sometime after midnight. You placed one hand against his chest. “I’m serious.” “So am I.” His mouth covered yours.

The kiss began lazily, his lips warm and soft against yours. It lasted only long enough for you to start relaxing before his hand slid from your waist to your thigh, pulling your leg around his hip.

You felt his smile when your fingers moved into his hair. “You’re impossible,” you murmured.

“You say that a lot.” “Because it’s true.”

Rafe kissed you again, deeper this time. His hand traveled slowly along your thigh beneath the shirt, fingertips tracing the edge of your underwear without moving farther. Your body instinctively pressed closer to his.

He broke the kiss only to drag his mouth along your jaw. You turned your head, giving him more access before remembering that you were supposed to be leaving.

“Rafe.” His lips moved beneath your ear. “What?” “We can’t.”

“We’re not doing anything.”

“You have your hand under my shirt.”

“You wore my shirt.”

“Because you threw my clothes somewhere.”

“They’re on the floor.”

“Very helpful.” His teeth grazed your neck. You inhaled sharply. Rafe lifted his head just enough to look at you. “Quiet.” “You’re the one-” He kissed you again, swallowing the rest of your sentence.You tightened your hand in his hair and pulled him closer, abandoning the idea of leaving for several dangerous seconds. His body pressed yours deeper into the mattress as he kissed you with the same slow confidence that always made you forget why resisting him had seemed important.

His thumb swept over the inside of your thigh. You shifted beneath him. Rafe made a low sound against your lips.

Then a floorboard creaked in the hallway. You both froze. Another creak followed. You pushed him away. “Sarah." Rafe dropped his head onto your shoulder with a frustrated groan. “I hate this house.” “It’s your house.” “Exactly.” You scrambled out from beneath him and landed beside the bed. Your shorts were near the window. One sock had somehow ended up beneath his desk. Rafe remained sprawled across the mattress, watching you search. “You know,” he said, “this would be easier if we told her.” You straightened and stared at him. “That is literally what I have been saying.” “No. You’ve been saying we need to tell her.”

“Those are the same words.” “They sound different when you say them.” You pulled on your shorts. “We do need to tell her.” Rafe’s expression changed slightly. He sat up, resting his back against the headboard. “Not this again.”

“Yes, this again.”

“Why?”

“Because it has been two years.”

“And?”

“And she’s my best friend.”

“She’s also my sister. I think I know how she’ll react.”

“You don’t know.”

“She’ll freak out.”

“She’ll be mad that we lied.”

“She’ll blame me.” You paused while searching for your other sock.

Rafe looked away. There it was. The real reason beneath every excuse. Sarah would believe he had corrupted you. Manipulated you. Dragged her sweet, seemingly harmless best friend into whatever darkness everyone on Figure Eight already associated with him. She would never imagine that you had walked willingly into it. “She knows me,” you said more gently.

“She thinks she does.”

“So does everyone.”

“That doesn’t bother you?” “Sometimes.” Rafe’s gaze returned to you. You found your sock beside his dresser and pulled it on. “She deserves to hear it from us,” you continued. “Not from Topper. Not from Wheezie. Not because she walks into a room and catches you with your hand under my shirt.”

“She would’ve caught you with your hand in my hair.”

“Not the point.”

“Feels relevant.”

“Rafe.” He sighed and rubbed one hand across his face. “We’ll tell her later.”

“You always say later.”

“And you always accept it.” That irritated you because it was true. You crossed the room and stopped in front of him. “Eventually, later becomes too late.” Rafe caught the back of your thigh and pulled you between his knees. His expression had softened, but not enough to make you believe the conversation was over. “You really think she won’t try to talk you out of it?” “She can try.”

“And if she makes you choose?” You looked down at him. He attempted to appear indifferent, but his fingers tightened slightly against your leg. “She won’t.”

“That wasn’t the question.” Before you could answer, Sarah’s voice sounded faintly from the hallway. “Are you awake?” You and Rafe stared at one another. Her footsteps moved closer. You grabbed your sweatshirt from the floor. Rafe stood and opened the bathroom door connecting his room to the hallway. “Go.”

“You’re the one who wouldn’t let me leave.”

“Do you want to get caught?”

“Maybe it would solve the problem.” He gave you a warning look.

You smiled sweetly and slipped through the doorway. The hallway was empty, but Sarah’s bedroom door stood open at the opposite end. You moved quickly, closing Rafe’s bathroom door behind you before hurrying toward Sarah’s room. You nearly collided with Wheezie.

She stood outside her bedroom wearing plaid pajama pants and holding a flashlight beneath her chin. Her eyes moved over your clothes. Then toward Rafe’s bathroom. Then back to you. “Morning,” you said. Wheezie slowly lowered the flashlight. “Why were you in Rafe’s bathroom?”

“I wasn’t.”

“I watched you come out.”

“I was checking whether the water worked.”

“In his bathroom?”

“It was the closest one.”

“To Sarah’s room?” You smiled. Wheezie stared at you for another long second. Then her gaze dropped to the dark mark near your collarbone.

Your hand immediately covered it.

“Don’t you have something else to do?” She smiled in a way that made her look dangerously Cameron. “Probably.” Wheezie walked away without saying anything else. You watched her disappear down the stairs. Behind you, Rafe’s bathroom door opened slightly.

“You think she knows?” he whispered. You turned. Only half his face was visible through the gap. “Yes.” “She’s fourteen. She doesn’t know anything.” “She knows enough to blackmail both of us.” Rafe considered that. “Give her twenty dollars.” You stared at him. “That is your solution?” “It usually works.” You pulled the sweatshirt over your head and walked into Sarah’s room before he could say anything worse.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

By eleven that morning, Tannyhill’s lawn looked like the aftermath of a war.

Agatha had torn branches from trees, overturned patio furniture, and scattered pieces of neighboring docks across the shoreline. Part of the Cameron dock had collapsed into the water. The boathouse had flooded, and one of Ward’s smaller boats had broken loose during the night before becoming trapped against the marsh.

The power was still out across most of the island. Ward responded by giving everyone orders.

“Topper, grab the larger branches near the drive. Kelce, help him.” Kelce looked toward Rafe. “Why do I have to-” “Because you’re here,” Ward answered. Topper laughed beneath his breath.

Sarah stood barefoot in the grass, examining a broken piece of fencing as though it had personally offended her. Wheezie sat on the front steps drinking juice from the carton. You followed Rafe toward the damaged dock.

Ward stepped in front of him.

“Where are you going?”

“To check the boathouse.”

“I told you to start with the generator.”

“I already checked it.”

“And?”

“And it’s flooded.” Ward stared at him. “Did you fix it?” Rafe’s jaw tightened. “It’s flooded.” “That doesn’t answer my question.” “It needs to dry out.” Ward exhaled sharply, as though Rafe had deliberately caused the hurricane. “For once in your life, make yourself useful instead of standing around explaining why you can’t do something.”

Rafe’s shoulders went rigid. You stopped several feet away. Sarah glanced over but quickly looked back toward Topper. Ward continued. “I need you to take responsibility without turning every simple task into another problem for me.” “I didn’t flood the generator.” “No, but somehow you’re still incapable of helping.” Rafe stepped closer.

“You asked me to check it. I checked it.”

“And now I’m asking you to fix it.”

“I can’t magically dry out a fucking generator.”

“Watch your mouth.”

“Or what?” Ward’s expression hardened. You moved between them before Rafe could do something that would ruin the rest of the morning.

“Rafe,” you said, touching his arm. “I need help by the boathouse.”

“I’m talking to my father.”

“I know.”

“Then wait.” You tightened your fingers against his arm. “Now.” Rafe looked at you. Ward’s attention moved between the two of you, but he seemed too irritated to notice anything strange about the way Rafe responded to your touch. After several seconds, Rafe stepped back. “Fine.” He followed you toward the water.

You did not release his arm until the house was partially hidden behind the trees. Rafe pulled away. “I didn’t need you saving me.”

“Good, because I was saving everyone else from listening to you scream.”

“I wasn’t screaming.”

“You were three seconds from punching him.”

“Maybe he deserved it.”

“Probably. Still a bad idea.” Rafe kicked a broken piece of wood from the path. “You don’t understand.”

“I understand that he deliberately pushes you until you react, and then he gets to act like your reaction proves everything he already thinks about you.” Rafe looked at you. You continued walking toward the boathouse. “I also understand that punching Ward before breakfast would’ve made the rest of the day unbearable.”

“He talks to me like I’m twelve.”

“I know.”

“He doesn’t talk to Sarah like that.”

“I know.”

“He thinks I ruin everything.” You stopped.

Rafe stood with his hands on his hips, staring toward the water. His anger had not disappeared, but something wounded sat beneath it. This was the part no one else saw. Sarah saw her older brother throwing another fit. Ward saw the disappointing son he had already decided Rafe would become. You saw how quickly anger became the only emotion Rafe allowed himself to show. You stepped closer. “This is exactly why we should tell Sarah.” Rafe’s head snapped toward you. “What does Sarah have to do with my dad?”

“Nothing.”

“Then why are you bringing her up?”

“Because I’m tired of standing ten feet away and pretending I don’t care when something happens to you.”

“You can care without telling her.”

“Not openly.”

“So?”

“So I hate it.” Rafe stared at you. You lowered your voice. “I hate pretending it doesn’t bother me when Ward treats you like that. I hate acting like I don’t know why you’re angry. I hate watching Sarah roll her eyes at you when I know what actually happened.” “She’s not going to understand.”

“Maybe she would if we gave her the chance.” Rafe stepped forward and cupped the side of your face. You knew what he was doing before he kissed you. For half a second, you allowed it.

Then you placed both hands against his chest and pushed him back.

“No.” His eyebrows rose. “No?”

“You don’t get to kiss me every time you don’t want to answer.”

“It usually works.”

“That’s the problem.” Rafe’s mouth curved. You pointed at him. “Stop smiling.” “I’m not.” “You are.” “A little.”

Before you could continue, Sarah shouted from somewhere behind the trees. “Oh my God!” You and Rafe immediately separated.

Sarah ran across the lawn with both hands cupped carefully in front of her. Topper followed, laughing. Kelce trailed behind them with a branch over one shoulder. Ward stood near the driveway, speaking into a phone that had no signal. “Look!” Sarah called.

She reached you and slowly opened her hands. A butterfly rested against her palm, its orange wings opening and closing. You smiled despite yourself. “You caught it?”

“It landed on me.” Topper leaned over her shoulder. “It likes you.” “Obviously.” Rafe glanced toward you. “It’s a butterfly.” Sarah ignored him. Several more fluttered above the damaged flowerbeds, disturbed by the storm and the sudden return of sunlight.

For the next several minutes, Sarah forgot about the destroyed dock, the missing power, and the branches scattered across the property. She chased butterflies through the grass while Topper encouraged her and Kelce offered increasingly terrible advice.

Wheezie came down from the porch to watch. Sarah caught another butterfly and turned toward Ward.

“Dad!” Ward lowered his phone. “What?”

“Hold still.”

“Why?”

“Just hold still.” She approached him with both hands closed. Ward narrowed his eyes. “Sarah.” “Trust me.” “That sentence has never ended well.” Topper covered his mouth to hide his laughter. Sarah pretended to brush something from Ward’s shoulder, then released the butterfly directly beside his face. Ward jerked backward. Sarah burst out laughing.

Topper doubled over. Kelce nearly dropped the branch. Even Wheezie smiled from the steps. Ward stared at Sarah in disbelief. “You think that’s funny?” “Yes.” She ran toward Topper before Ward could catch her.

For one brief moment, everything felt normal. Sarah laughing in the yard. Topper chasing after her. Kelce making fun of Ward from a safe distance. Rafe standing beside you with his shoulder brushing yours.

Everyone was looking toward Sarah when Rafe’s fingers found your hand. He didn't hold it. He simply brushed his knuckles across yours once. A silent touch. Small enough to miss. Familiar enough to make your chest tighten. You glanced at him. Rafe was already looking at you.

Then Ward turned around, and both of you stepped apart.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

The missing coke was discovered less than twenty minutes later.

Rafe had hidden it inside a waterproof compartment beneath a loose panel near the back of the boathouse. The storm had forced water through the walls, ripped part of the panel free, and filled the compartment with mud and debris. You watched him pull out two soaked plastic packages. He placed them on an overturned crate. Then he reached back into the compartment. His movements became faster. “Where’s the other one?” You stood near the doorway. “What?" Rafe shoved his arm farther beneath the damaged panel.

“Fuck.”

“What’s missing?”

“Nothing.”

“You just asked where something was.”

He ignored you and began tearing through the debris piled beside the compartment. You moved closer. “Rafe.”

“Go help Sarah.”

“No.”

“Go.”

“You’ve searched that same spot four times.” He threw a broken piece of wood aside. “Tell me what’s missing.” Rafe stopped. Water dripped steadily from a hole in the roof. He looked toward the open doorway, making sure no one else was nearby. “Coke.” You lowered your voice. “How much?”

“Enough.”

“That isn’t a number.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It matters if you’re acting like this.” Rafe shoved both hands through his wet hair. “One package.”

“Could it have washed out?”

“Maybe.”

“Then we search the shoreline.”

“It could be anywhere.”

“Okay.”

“No, not okay.”

Barry’s name illuminated the screen of Rafe’s phone where it rested on the crate. The call ended. Another message appeared immediately.You could not read the entire thing, but the preview contained enough.

Need my money, country club. Today.

You looked at Rafe. “This isn’t only about the missing coke.” He grabbed the phone and turned it facedown. “You owe Barry.” Rafe said nothing.

“How much?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“How much?”

“I said don’t worry about it.”

“And I said tell me.” His jaw flexed. “I was already short.”

“How short?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Stop saying that.” Rafe moved past you toward the doorway. You caught his wrist. “Let me help.”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because Barry isn’t some idiot from the club whose car you can scratch.”

“I know who Barry is.”

“No, you know what people say about him.”

“I know enough.”

“You don’t.”

“Then tell me.” Rafe stared at your hand around his wrist. “You need to stay out of this.” You released him. “You stopped being able to tell me that two years ago.” “This is different.”

“How?”

“Because I said it is.” You laughed without humor. “Great explanation.” Rafe lowered his voice. “He doesn’t care who your family is. He doesn’t care that you live on Figure Eight. If he thinks he can use you to get to me, he will.”

“So let’s make sure he can’t.”

“You’re not listening.”

“No, you’re not listening. I’m offering to help you pay him back.”

“With what?” You hesitated. Rafe noticed. “With what?” he repeated. “I’ll figure it out.”

“No.”

“You don’t get to decide.”

“Actually, I do. Because this is my problem.”

“You make everything your problem until it gets bad enough. Then suddenly no one else is allowed near it.” Rafe picked up the two remaining packages. “Go get ready for the Boneyard.”

“Rafe.”

“We’re done talking about it.” He walked out of the boathouse. You stared after him. You had known better than to believe it was over.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

That evening, you and Sarah got ready in her bedroom by candlelight while most of Tannyhill remained without power. “Black or blue?” she asked.

“Blue.”

“You didn’t even look.”

“I’ve seen both.” Sarah tossed the black shirt at you before noticing your attention on your phone. Rafe had ignored your last two messages since the argument at the boathouse.

“You’re being secret weird,” she said. “are you seeing someone?”

“No, I’m not.”

“You disappear, smile at your phone, and have a mark on your shoulder.”

Your hand rose instinctively.

Sarah gasped. “I knew it. Who is it? Kelce?”

“Why would it be Kelce?”

“You’re always around him.”

She laughed. “Even if it’s Rafe, just tell me. I won’t be mad.”

The idea was so impossible to her that she could joke about it. “It isn’t Rafe.”

“Is it a Pogue?”

“No.” Sarah studied you before turning back to the mirror.

She laughed, but her expression quickly softened.

“Do you think we’re drifting?”

“No.”

“You disappear all the time, and you never tell me where you go.” She looked at you. “You used to tell me everything.”

Two years of lies sat between you.

“Sarah, there actually is something—”

Her phone vibrated.

Topper: We’re leaving now.

Sarah grabbed the blue shirt. “We should go. I’ll meet you there?”

You nodded. Your phone lit up beside you.

Rafe: Don’t say anything.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

The Boneyard looked untouched by the hurricane.

Driftwood had washed farther up the sand, and the marsh still carried pieces of broken docks, but the party continued as though the island had not spent the previous night beneath violent wind and rain. Bonfires burned along the beach. Music echoed from portable speakers. Kooks and Pogues drank from the same coolers while pretending the island’s dividing lines disappeared after dark.

Rafe had finally changed out of the clothes he wore while searching the boathouse. A dark shirt stretched across his shoulders, and his chain caught the light from the nearest fire.

You tried not to stare.

He caught you anyway. “What?” you asked. Rafe’s mouth tilted. “Nothing.”

“You’re staring.”

“So were you.”

“I was looking behind you.”

“At what?”

“The ocean.”

“You’re facing the dunes.” You rolled your eyes and walked ahead. A large piece of driftwood blocked the path. Rafe caught your waist as you stepped over it, steadying you before your foot reached the sand.

His hand remained in place one second too long. Sarah was several feet ahead, clinging to Topper’s arm. Kelce was opening a beer. No one noticed. You looked up at Rafe. “You can let go.”

“Can I?”

“You should.”

He released you slowly.

Later, he took your drink without asking, tasted it, and handed it back. When you complained, he said he was checking whether it was good. When you fixed the chain twisted beneath his collar, he leaned closer and asked whether you needed an excuse to touch him. When he passed behind you near the fire, his fingers brushed the back of your neck. Each touch disappeared before anyone could see it. It was how the two of you spoke when words were too dangerous.

Sarah unknowingly encouraged it.

“I left my jacket in the car,” you said after the sun disappeared.

Sarah was seated beside Topper near one of the fires.

“Rafe can help you find it.”

You looked at her. “I can find my own jacket.”

“It’s dark.”

“I have a phone.” Sarah waved dismissively. “Rafe, go with her.” Rafe took a slow drink. “Why?”

“Because I asked.”

“That’s not a reason.” Topper laughed. “Just go.”

Rafe looked at you. You stood. “Come on, Cameron.” He followed with an exaggerated sigh. You argued loudly enough for everyone to hear as you walked away from the fire.

“You’re walking too slowly.”

“You’re the one who lost something.”

“I didn’t lose it. I left it.”

“Same thing.”

“No, it isn’t.”

Once the bonfires were hidden behind the dunes, Rafe caught your hand. You allowed him to pull you toward your car. “Where’s the jacket?” he asked. “There isn’t one.”

“I know.” He pressed you against the passenger-side door.

“You ignored me all afternoon.”

“You told me to stay out of your problem.”

“So you’re punishing me?”

“I’m respecting your wishes.”

“Bullshit.” You smiled faintly. “Maybe.” Rafe placed one hand beside your head. “You were going to tell her.”

“Maybe.”

“Don’t.”

“You don’t get to control what I tell Sarah.”

“If you tell her while we’re fighting, she’ll think I forced you to hide it.”

“You did force me to hide it.”

“No, I asked.”

“And you agreed.” You hated that he was right. Rafe’s gaze dropped to your mouth. “You’re still mad.”

“Yes.”

“Want me to fix it?”

“No.” He kissed you anyway. You lasted less than two seconds before grabbing his chain and pulling him closer. Rafe’s hand slid around your waist, pressing your body against his. The metal of the car was cool behind you, but his mouth was warm and demanding. The kiss deepened quickly. He tilted your head, his thumb resting beneath your jaw while his tongue swept against yours. You tightened your fingers around his chain. Rafe made a low sound against your mouth. “You’re going to break that,” he murmured.

“Buy another one.”

“Or you could stop pulling it.”

“You could stop kissing me.”

“That isn’t happening.” His mouth moved along your jaw. You tried to remember that Sarah and Topper were waiting beyond the dunes. Then Rafe kissed the side of your neck. Your fingers slid into his hair.

“Not there.”

“Why?”

“Sarah will see.”

“She didn’t see the last one.”

“She literally asked me about it.”

Rafe smiled against your skin. “What did you say?”

“That it wasn’t you.”

“Liar.”

“You told me not to say anything.” His hands moved beneath the hem of your shirt, palms warm against your waist. You pulled his mouth back to yours. The makeout became messier, less controlled. His body pushed yours against the car while your knee slid between his legs. He gripped your hips and kissed you hard enough to make your lips sting. You could feel the frustration from the boathouse in every movement. The argument had not disappeared. It had simply changed shape. A branch snapped somewhere nearby. You broke apart. Rafe turned toward the sound. Two figures passed several cars away, laughing too loudly to notice you. You fixed your shirt. “We need to go back.” Rafe leaned against the car. “You never had a jacket.”

“I know.”

“What are you going to tell them?”

“That you’re useless.” He caught your wrist and pulled you back for one final kiss. This one was slower. Almost affectionate. That made leaving harder. When you returned to the fire, Topper looked between you and Rafe. “What took so long?” “She couldn’t find it,” Rafe said. Topper grinned. “Sure.” Sarah glanced at him. “What?” “They totally hooked up.” You nearly inhaled your drink. Sarah slapped Topper’s chest. “Stop.” “I’m joking.” She looked at you and Rafe, then started laughing too. “Can you imagine?” Rafe sat beside you. “Yeah,” he said calmly. “Disgusting.” You kicked his ankle. Topper laughed harder. Sarah shifted closer to him, unknowingly leaving you beside Rafe. His knee pressed against yours beneath the edge of the blanket.

Sarah did not look twice. She never considered the possibility.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

The Pogue’s name was Ethan. He had worked at the Island Club for nearly a year, mostly serving drinks on the golf course and collecting empty glasses after private events. You had always been friendly with him, partly because he was amusing and partly because he heard everything wealthy Kooks said when they believed staff members were invisible. You found him near a smaller fire with two coworkers.

He smiled when he saw you. “Didn’t expect to see you over here.”

“You say that every time.”

“Because every time, you’re surrounded by people who hate us.”

“I don’t hate you.”

“Your friends do.” You glanced toward the main fire. Rafe was talking to Kelce, but his attention shifted toward you immediately. You turned back to Ethan. “You know Barry, right?” His smile weakened. “Why?”

“Curious.”

“About Barry?”

“Everyone needs a hobby.” Ethan studied you. “Yeah. I know him.”

“Where does he live?”

“That’s a weird question.”

“Near the Cut?”

“Why do you want his address?”

“I didn’t ask for an address.”

“You asked where he lives.”

“General area.” Ethan took a drink.

“What did he sell you?”

“Nothing.”

“Then what did he sell one of your friends?” You smiled.

“You ask too many questions.”

“And you’re asking about a dealer who doesn’t like people asking questions.” You leaned closer. “Does he work alone?” Ethan looked toward the others around the fire before lowering his voice. “Mostly.”

“Mostly isn’t alone.”

“He gets his supply from someone farther inland. At least that’s what people say.”

“Who?”

“I don’t know.”

“You know something.”

“I know Barry stores shit in a trailer off the old service road. Sometimes people come through at night. Different cars. Same two or three guys.”

“Does he owe any of them?” Ethan laughed quietly. “Barry owes everyone.” That interested you. “Everyone?”

“He gambles. Borrows money. Buys things he can’t move fast enough.”

“So he has debts.”

“Probably.” Ethan shifted closer. “What’s this actually about?”

“Nothing.”

“That answer works better when you don’t ask where a drug dealer lives.” You smiled at him. “I like knowing things.”

“I’ve noticed.” His hand settled lightly against your hip. You did not move immediately. You were watching his face, waiting to see whether he would reveal anything else. “What do I get if I tell you more?” he asked. “Depends what you know.” “I know Barry has a cousin who runs deliveries for him.” “Name?” Ethan leaned closer to your ear. Across the beach, Rafe watched. You could feel it without looking. “Don’t know his real name,” Ethan said. “People call him Cricket.”

“Cricket?”

“Yeah.”

“Where does he stay?”

“Near the old fish plant.” His thumb moved once against your hip. You stepped back before it could become more. “Thanks.”

“That’s it?”

“What were you expecting?”

“A drink.”

“You know how to get one.”

Ethan laughed as you walked away. When you looked toward the main fire, Rafe was gone.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

You found him near the edge of the water. You stopped beside him. “Can we talk?”

“We’re talking.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Do I?” You crossed your arms. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“You’re being bratty.” He laughed once without humor.

“Bratty?” “And short.”

“Maybe I don’t feel like talking.”

“You always feel like talking when no one asks.” Rafe turned toward you.

“Go back to your new friend.”

You stared at him. “Ethan?” “So you know his name.”

“He works at the club.”

“I know where he works.”

“Then why did you say it like that?” Rafe looked over your shoulder toward the fire. “He seemed comfortable.”

“You’re jealous.”

“I’m not jealous.”

“He touched me for three seconds and you disappeared.”

“You let him.”

“I was talking to him.”

“With his hand on your ass?”

“It was on my hip.”

“Oh, sorry. Completely different.” You lowered your voice. “Can you not do this here?”

“Do what?”

“Act like an asshole because you can’t ask a normal question.”

“I don’t care what you were doing.”

“Clearly.” Rafe stepped closer. “You looked like you were enjoying yourself.” “You’re being ridiculous.”

“And you’re avoiding the question.”

“What question?”

“Why were you talking to him?” Before you could answer, shouting erupted near the water.

Both of you turned. A crowd had gathered where Topper and John B stood chest-to-chest in the shallows. Sarah was shouting at Topper. John B shoved him. Topper shoved back.

Then both of them fell into the water.

“Oh my God,” you muttered. Sarah ran forward.

“Topper!” You and Rafe followed. By the time you reached the crowd, Topper had John B pinned beneath him. Water splashed around them as John B struggled. “Stop!” Sarah screamed.

Topper ignored her. “Topper, let him go!” JJ pushed through the crowd.

The gun appeared in his hand so quickly that several people did not react until he raised it.

The shot cracked through the air.

Everyone screamed.

Your body jolted. Rafe’s arm moved automatically across your front, pushing you behind him. Smoke curled from the barrel. JJ held the gun with a familiarity that unsettled you. He did not look like someone who had found it for the first time that afternoon.

He looked practiced. Comfortable. The crowd scattered. Topper released John B.

John B stumbled upright, coughing and dragging air into his lungs. Sarah stood frozen near the water, staring at the gun. “Get off our side of the island!” JJ shouted before firing another warning into the sky.

People ran farther up the beach. You watched the four boys exchange a quick look. John B checked something beneath his shirt or inside his pocket before Kiara grabbed his arm. Whatever he was carrying mattered enough for him to make sure it remained there even while struggling to breathe.

The Pogues moved away quickly, disappearing toward the dunes instead of remaining to argue. Rafe started after them. You caught his arm. “Let it go.” He pulled free. “He pulled a gun on us.”

“And chasing him through the dark is going to improve that?”

“He pointed it at Sarah.”

“He fired into the air.”

“That makes it fine?”

“No. It makes running after an armed Pogue incredibly stupid.”

“Move.”

“Rafe.” His expression was wild with anger.

Topper stood several feet away, coughing and shouting that he was going to kill John B. Sarah tried calming him. Rafe looked toward the dunes where the Pogues had disappeared. Then at you.

His gaze was still hard from the earlier argument.

“Go find Ethan,” he said.

He walked away before you could respond.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

You waited near your car for twenty minutes. Sarah had left with Topper, who was still furious and soaking wet. Kelce disappeared with another group. Rafe had vanished somewhere along the beach. You considered leaving without him.

Then he emerged from the darkness. His shirt was partially untucked. Sand covered his shoes. You folded your arms. “Where were you?” “Doesn’t matter.”

“Did you follow them?”

“No.”

“You’re lying.” Rafe stopped several feet from you. “Why were you talking to him?” You stared at him. “Are you serious?”

“Answer me.”

“You disappeared after someone fired a gun, and this is what you care about?”

“I said answer me.” Your anger flared. “I was asking about Barry.” Rafe became completely still.

“What?”

“I was asking Ethan where Barry lives, who supplies him, whether he owes anyone money, and who works for him.” Rafe stared at you. For once, he had nothing to say. You stepped closer. “You told me not to help, so I found another way.”

“You asked a Pogue about Barry?”

“Yes.”

“At a party?”

“Yes.”

“And you let him touch you for information?” The disbelief in his voice made your temper snap.

“I let him think I liked him for thirty seconds.”

“Don’t do it again.” You laughed sharply. “You do not get to give me orders after nearly exposing us and your entire operation.”

“I didn’t expose anything.”

“You started acting like a jealous psycho in front of everyone.”

“No one noticed.”

“I noticed.”

“That’s different.”

“No, it isn’t.” Rafe moved closer. “You don’t know anything about Ethan.”

“I know enough.”

“He could’ve told Barry you were asking.”

“He won’t.”

“How do you know?”

“Because unlike you, I can speak to someone without threatening to break his face.” Rafe’s jaw tightened. “If we are going to handle your problems together, you need to stop acting before you think.”

“I didn’t ask you to handle anything.”

“You never ask. You just expect me to sit around while you destroy your own life.” His expression changed.

“You sound like Ward.” The words landed harder than either of you expected. You became quiet. Rafe looked away first. The wind carried music faintly across the dunes. When you spoke again, your voice was lower. “I am not your father.”

“I didn’t say you were.”

“You said I sound like him.”

“Because you’re standing there telling me everything I do is wrong.”

“I’m trying to stop you from ruining your life.”

“I can handle my own life.”

“Clearly.” Rafe flinched almost imperceptibly. You immediately regretted saying it, but anger kept you from taking it back. He stepped away from the car.

“Fine.”

“Fine what?”

“Stay out of it.”

“You’re unbelievable.”

“And you’re not my fucking babysitter.”

“No. I’m the person who keeps cleaning up after you because I love you.” Rafe stared at you. The words hung between you. You had said them before. Just never like an accusation.

You opened the driver’s-side door. “Go home, Rafe.” He did not move. You climbed inside and shut the door. For a moment, you thought he might stop you. He stepped back instead. You drove away without looking in the mirror.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

Rafe texted you shortly after midnight. You were sitting in bed wearing an old sweatshirt, scrolling through messages you had no interest in reading. His name appeared across your screen.

Rafe: Can I come over?

You waited twenty minutes before answering.

You: if you want.

He arrived five minutes later.

You heard gravel shift beneath his truck outside before the quiet knock sounded against your window. You unlocked it and stepped back. Rafe climbed inside. “You could use the front door,” you said. “Your parents are home.”

“They’re asleep.”

“Exactly.” You sat on the edge of the bed.

Rafe remained standing. Neither of you spoke for several seconds. He looked calmer than he had at the Boneyard, but not apologetic enough to satisfy you. “I shouldn’t have said you sounded like him,” he said. You looked at him. “That’s your apology?”

“I’m getting there.”

“You should’ve prepared before coming.” Rafe exhaled.

“I’m sorry.”

“For?”

“Jesus Christ.”

“For?”

“For saying you sound like Ward.”

“And?”

“And telling you to stay out of it.”

“And?” His eyes narrowed.

“You’re enjoying this.”

“A little.” Rafe sat beside you.

“I shouldn’t have acted like that about that pouge.”

“You acted insane.”

“I didn’t like him touching you.”

“That doesn’t make it my fault.”

“I know.”

“You can’t punish me every time someone flirts with me while we’re pretending I’m single.”

“I know.”

“You don’t sound convinced.”

“I’m trying.” You looked down at your hands. Rafe’s fingers brushed yours. “Barry called again,” he said. You glanced at him. “He won’t accept that you’re short on money.”

“No.”

“How long do you have?”

“Not long.”

“How much?” Rafe told you. The number was worse than you expected. You stood without responding and crossed the room. “What are you doing?” You knelt beside your dresser and pulled open the bottom drawer. Beneath a stack of folded shirts sat a small lockbox. You removed it and entered the code. Rafe watched as you pulled out a thick stack of cash. You returned to the bed and placed it in his hand. He stared down at it.

“Where did you get this?”

“Saved it.”

“For what?”

“Does it matter?”

“Yes.”

“No, it doesn’t.”

Rafe counted quickly. “This isn’t enough.”

“I know.”

“It’s still a lot.”

“I know.”

“You’re giving me all of it?”

“I’m lending it to you.” He looked up.

“You expect me to pay you back?”

“With interest.” Rafe smiled slowly.

“What?”

“This is why I’m in love with you.” You rolled your eyes.

“Because I give you money?”

“Because you always have a plan.”

“This is not a plan. This is a temporary solution.” He placed the cash on your nightstand. Then his hand closed around the back of your neck. You attempted to maintain your irritation. “You’re not getting out of the conversation.” “I know.”

Rafe kissed you. The kiss was softer than the one beside your car, lacking the jealousy and anger from earlier. You rested your hand against his chest but did not push him away. His thumb traced your jaw. “I’m sorry,” he murmured against your lips. “You already said that.”

“I mean it now.”

“That’s reassuring.” He kissed you again. You slid closer. Rafe’s arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you onto his lap. Your knees settled on either side of him as his mouth moved slowly over yours. The tension from the argument dissolved beneath familiar touches. Your fingers moved into his hair. His hands traveled along your back beneath the sweatshirt, palms warm against your skin. He kissed your jaw, then your neck, careful to avoid leaving another mark where Sarah could see. You tilted your head. “I’m still mad.” “I know.” His mouth brushed beneath your ear.

“You don’t seem mad.”

“I can multitask.” Rafe laughed softly. You kissed him again, pushing him backward against the pillows. The cash remained forgotten on the nightstand. The room grew quieter around you as his hands moved over your waist and thighs, the makeout becoming slower, heavier, and increasingly difficult to interrupt. Eventually, the conversation disappeared. So did several pieces of clothing.

The rest belonged only to the dark.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

Sarah asked you to come to Tannyhill for two reasons. The first was that she wanted to see you. The second was that she needed you to lie for her.

“Just tell my dad I’m upstairs,” she whispered while pulling on a jacket. You stood in the middle of her bedroom with your arms crossed. “You invited me here to cover for you?”

“I invited you because I missed you.”

“And the lying?”

“A bonus.”

“Where are you going?”

“To see Topper.”

“You saw him yesterday.”

“That was different.”

“How?”

“We were with people.”

“You’re always with people.” Sarah ignored you and climbed halfway through her bedroom window. “Two hours.”

“Sarah.”

“Three maximum.”

“What am I supposed to do here?”

“Hang out.”

“With who?”

She smiled.

“My family loves you.”

You stared at her.

“Your father tolerates me.”

“Same thing.”

Sarah slipped onto the roof. You caught her wrist before she could disappear. “If Ward asks, you’re showering.”

“For three hours?”

“You take long showers.”

“Good point.” She kissed your cheek.

“I love you.”

“You owe me.”

“I always do.” Sarah disappeared into the darkness. You closed the window behind her.

Rafe wasn't home. He had left earlier to meet Barry. He had refused to tell you exactly where he was going, which had resulted in another argument conducted entirely through increasingly short text messages.

You spent nearly two hours inside Tannyhill. Wheezie watched television on her phone because the cable still had not been restored. Rose drank wine in the sitting room. Ward disappeared into his office and made several angry calls about property damage.

You stayed upstairs until Sarah texted that she was on her way back.

Once she climbed through the window, flushed and smiling, you grabbed your tote. “How was Topper?”

“Perfect.”

“You say that until tomorrow.”

Sarah threw a pillow at you. You left before Ward could ask why Sarah’s hair looked different from when you arrived. Outside, the night was warm and still.

The damaged property had mostly been cleared, but part of the dock remained broken. Sections of the boathouse were boarded over, and storm debris still floated near the shoreline. You reached your car and opened the driver’s-side door. A light moved near the water.

You stopped.

At first, you assumed it was Rafe. Maybe he had returned without telling you. Then the light disappeared behind the ruined boathouse.

You closed the car door quietly. Someone was moving along the damaged dock. Your first thought was Barry. Your second was that Ward Cameron had finally accumulated enough enemies for one of them to sneak onto his property at night. The idea amused you more than it should have.

You hated Ward. Not dramatically. Not in the loud, obvious way Rafe sometimes did. Your hatred was quieter.

You hated the way Ward spoke to his son. The way he dismissed every effort Rafe made and then blamed him for giving up. The way he presented himself as the island’s perfect father while making his children compete for scraps of approval.

If someone had come to steal from him, you were not sure you would stop them. Still, you wanted to know who it was. You slipped off your shoes and moved silently across the grass. The flashlight beam appeared again, sweeping beneath the damaged boards. You followed at a distance.

Someone crouched near the edge of the dock, searching through mud and wreckage left behind by the hurricane. You hid behind a fallen section of fencing. The figure moved closer to the boathouse. Moonlight caught the side of his face.

John B Routledge.

You frowned. Of all the people you expected to find trespassing at Tannyhill in the middle of the night, John B had not been high on the list. He carried a flashlight in one hand and searched urgently with the other, moving broken boards and checking beneath pieces of debris as though he knew exactly where to look.

You remained hidden. John B found something wedged beneath part of the damaged dock. He pulled it free and held it beneath the flashlight.

From your position, you could only see a flash of metal and the corner of something water-damaged. A number was printed across one edge. Perhaps a registration. Perhaps a name.

John B stared at it.

A branch cracked somewhere near the house. He spun around. The flashlight beam swept dangerously close to you. You ducked lower.

For several seconds, neither of you moved. Then John B shoved the object beneath his shirt and hurried away from the dock. He crossed the marshy edge of the property and disappeared between the trees.

You waited until the sound of his footsteps faded. Then you stepped from behind the fence. The mud sucked lightly beneath your bare feet as you approached the place where he had been searching.

Broken boards floated against the shoreline. You crouched near the edge. Something small glinted in the mud.

You reached down and pulled it free. A motel key.

Old-fashioned and heavy, attached to a faded plastic tag. You wiped mud from the surface with your thumb.

A room number emerged beneath the dirt. John B had not been searching for Rafe’s missing coke. Whatever he had found after the storm, it had been important enough to bring him onto Cameron property in the middle of the night.

Important enough for him to risk being caught. You turned the motel key beneath the beam of your phone.

Then you slipped it into your pocket.

Whatever John B Routledge was looking for, he had left something behind.

And now, it belonged to you.

next

[bloomyeu]

partner in crime ( secret kisses / two )

series masterlist

pairings: rafe cameron x fem!reader

content: fluff, angst, smut

warnings: mdni, smut, mentions of abuse, murder and drinking

word count: 4k

previous

You told yourself that night with Rafe had been a mistake.

Then you answered his text the next morning.

One secret meeting became another, followed by late-night drives, stolen kisses, and increasingly convincing lies whenever Sarah asked where you had been. Neither of you ever officially discussed what was happening. You simply kept choosing each other until pretending it meant nothing became impossible.

Three weeks later, Rafe gave you the first real opportunity to prove just how far you were willing to go for him.

Bennett Cole had managed to screw over both of you within the same month.

First, he bought several hundred dollars’ worth of product from Rafe and promised to pay him after his father transferred money into his account.

He never did.

Then he used your Island Club member number to charge an expensive bottle-service tab to your family after you refused to lend him money.

When your father confronted you, Bennett denied everything.

He even told several people that you had paid the bill willingly because you were obsessed with him.

Rafe wanted his money.

You wanted Bennett to stop smiling every time he saw you.

You overheard Rafe complaining to Kelce outside the club.

“I’m done asking,” Rafe said. “He thinks because our dads know each other, I won’t do shit.”

Kelce glanced around. “Then what are you gonna do?”

“I’ll figure it out.”

You continued walking before either of them noticed you.

That night, Bennett attended a private party at the Island Club.

His car sat outside beneath the covered valet entrance; a new black Porsche his father had given him for graduation.

You waited until the valet disappeared inside.

Then you removed the key from your purse.

The first line cut deeply across the driver’s-side door.

You dragged the metal slowly through the paint, listening to the satisfying scrape.

You had nearly finished the second line when someone spoke behind you.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

You recognized Rafe’s voice immediately.

You did not turn around.

Instead, you finished carving the final scratch

Only then did you face him.

Rafe stood several feet away, staring at the ruined door.

His eyes moved to the key in your hand.

“You’re insane.”

“Are you going to stop me?”

“Haven’t decided yet.”

“Decide faster. Someone might see you.”

“See me?”

“You’re standing there looking suspicious.”

“I’m looking suspicious?”

You returned the key to your purse.

Rafe glanced toward the club entrance.

The valet had reappeared inside the lobby.

Without warning, Rafe grabbed your hand.

“Come on.”

He pulled you around the side of the building just as the valet stepped outside.

You followed him through a service hallway, both of you moving quickly but not running. Rafe nodded casually at a server carrying empty glasses, then shoved open a door leading to the back parking lot.

His truck waited several rows away.

Once you were inside, he started the engine and drove away from the club.

You checked your lipstick in the mirror.

Rafe stared at you.

“What?”

“You just destroyed a twenty-thousand-dollar paint job.”

“Probably more than that.”

“And you’re fixing your makeup.”

“My lipstick is uneven.”

“Why did you do it?”

You lowered the mirror. “He deserved it.”

“For charging shit to your account?”

“That too.”

Rafe’s expression shifted.

You looked out the window.

“He owed you,” you said.

The truck became quiet.

When you looked back, Rafe was still watching you.

“What?” you asked.

“No one does shit like that for me.”

“I didn’t do it for you.”

“Right.”

“He fucked me over too.”

“But you could’ve stopped after one scratch.”

You shrugged. “I wanted to make sure he got the message.”

Rafe smiled slowly.

Not the teasing smile he wore when he wanted to irritate you.

This one was darker.

Almost proud.

He rested one hand on your thigh.

“You’re fucking crazy.”

You placed your hand over his.

“You like that about me.”

His fingers tightened.

“Yeah,” he said. “I think I do.”

That was the first moment Rafe understood your loyalty.

It was also the first moment you understood what receiving his loyalty in return might cost.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

By the time spring settled over the island, whatever had begun between you and Rafe was no longer casual. You were officially together; just not to anyone else.

In public, you were longtime friends who flirted too much and argued even more. Behind closed doors, keeping your hands off each other had become nearly impossible.

Sarah suspected nothing.

She had become too preoccupied with Topper to notice that you disappeared from parties at the same time as her brother or that Rafe had stopped bringing girls home.

The rest of Figure Eight saw what you wanted them to see.

You and Rafe were childhood acquaintances who barely tolerated each other.

Nothing more.

The boys had finished golfing and joined you on the Island Club patio for afternoon drinks.

Sarah sat beside Topper. Kelce complained about his score. Rafe lounged across from you wearing a pale blue polo, his ankle resting over one knee.

Beneath the table, the toe of his shoe touched yours.

You kicked him lightly.

He did it again.

“Are you listening?” Sarah asked.

“Of course.”

“What did I say?”

“You’re mad at Topper.”

She frowned. “I was talking about my dad.”

“Same tone.”

Topper laughed.

A shadow fell across the table.

Grayson Mercer stood beside your chair, a drink in one hand and an unpleasant smile on his face.

You knew Grayson well enough to dislike him.

He was the kind of Kook who believed inherited money counted as a personality. He had asked you out twice and responded badly both times you declined.

“Look who it is,” he said.

You glanced up. “Grayson.”

“You always need this much male attention?”

Topper’s smile faded.

Kelce looked down at his drink.

Rafe remained still, but his eyes sharpened.

You leaned back in your chair. “Did you need something?”

“Just making an observation.”

“Congratulations.”

Grayson laughed without humor. “You know what people say about you, right?”

Sarah straightened. “Grayson, don’t.”

He ignored her.

“Do you ever get tired of throwing yourself at every guy with a trust fund?”

You smiled politely. “Do I?”

“They say you’re desperate.”

Rafe lowered his foot to the ground.

Grayson continued.

“Personally, I think there’s a simpler word for a girl who constantly throws herself at guys.”

Rafe pushed his chair back.

You held up one hand without looking at him.

He stopped.

Your gaze remained on Grayson.

“Are you calling me a slut?”

“If the shoe fits.”

The patio had quieted around you.

Several nearby tables pretended not to listen.

You placed your drink on the table.

“Does your father know?”

Grayson’s smile faltered. “Know what?”

“About the money you've been transferring.”

His face changed.

You continued sweetly.

“Forty-eight thousand dollars since December, right? Most of it went to gambling sites, but there were a few payments to a girl in Charleston too.”

Sarah stared at you.

Topper’s mouth fell open.

Grayson’s face drained of color. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I know your father thinks his accountant made a mistake.”

“You’re lying.”

“I also know the transfers came from an IP address registered to the guesthouse behind your parents’ property.” You tilted your head. “Isn’t that where you live because your father doesn’t trust you in the main house?”

Grayson looked around the patio.

Everyone was staring now.

You smiled.

“You should be more careful about insulting people who know your secrets.”

He opened his mouth.

Nothing came out.

After several seconds, Grayson turned and walked away.

The patio slowly returned to life.

Sarah looked at you in disbelief. “How did you know that?”

“I listen.”

“To bank transfers?”

“People talk.”

Across the table, Rafe was smiling.

He had seen you reckless before.

He had seen you steal, lie, and carve lines into someone’s car without flinching.

But this was different.

You hadn't raised your voice. You didn't made a scene. You had diminished Grayson with a smile and returned to your drink as if nothing had happened.

Rafe’s eyes moved over you with open admiration.

Later, he would tell you that was the moment he realized you were not merely entertaining.

You were calculated.

Cruel when necessary.

Much more like him than anyone realized.

It was also the moment his attraction turned into something dangerously close to obsession.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

Six months slipped by before you realized how much had changed.

Sarah had started disappearing.

Not literally. She was still there; sleeping beside you after parties, sending you pictures of dresses she wanted to buy, and calling whenever she fought with her father.

But Topper occupied more of her time now.

Plans that once belonged to the two of you automatically included him. Boat days became dates you were invited to join. Lunch turned into watching them whisper across the table. Even when Topper was not physically present, Sarah somehow made every conversation about him.

You complained about it to Rafe from his bed.

“She canceled on me again.”

Rafe’s mouth moved lazily across your shoulder.

You were lying on your stomach beneath his sheets, wearing only one of his shirts. He stretched beside you, shirtless, one hand resting beneath the fabric against your bare hip.

“She’s with Topper,” you continued.

“I know.”

“You’re not listening.”

“I am.”

He kissed the back of your neck.

“What did I say?”

“Sarah canceled.”

“Why?”

“Topper.”

“What were we supposed to do?”

Rafe paused.

You turned your head.

He grinned.

“You’re an asshole.”

“I don’t care what you and Sarah were supposed to do.”

“You should. She’s your sister.”

“Exactly why I don’t.”

You rolled onto your back.

The movement caused the shirt to ride higher over your thighs. Rafe’s gaze dropped immediately.

“My eyes are up here.”

“Seen them.”

You shoved his shoulder.

He caught your wrist and kissed the inside of it.

“I’m serious,” you said. “We barely spend time together anymore.”

“You spend time with me.”

“Secretly.”

“Still counts.”

“She doesn’t even notice when I leave.”

Rafe moved over you.

His knee settled between your thighs, gently pushing them apart.

“You complaining?”

“About Sarah.”

“I know.”

“You keep distracting me.”

His mouth brushed yours. “I know.”

You turned your face, forcing his lips onto your cheek.

“I think she knows something is wrong.”

“With us?”

“With me.”

Rafe kissed your jaw.

“Maybe you should tell her.”

You stared at him.

He smiled against your skin.

“That’s not funny.”

“I’m not laughing.”

“You’d never tell her.”

“She’d get over it.”

“Sarah holds grudges over people borrowing her clothes.”

“She likes you more than she likes me.”

“That’s exactly why she’d be furious.”

Rafe’s hand slid beneath the shirt and up your stomach.

“She’ll be fine.”

His thumb brushed over your nipple.

Your breath caught.

“Stop.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“I’m trying to talk.”

“You’ve been talking for twenty minutes.”

“Because you’re not responding.”

“I’ve responded.”

“You’ve kissed me.”

“Same thing.”

His mouth closed over yours.

You tried holding onto your annoyance, but his hand cupped your breast while his thigh pressed more firmly between yours.

Your body betrayed you immediately.

Rafe smiled into the kiss.

“Don’t,” you warned.

“Don’t what?”

“Be smug.”

“You’re grinding against my leg.”

“I am not.”

He flexed his thigh.

Pleasure sparked between your legs.

You inhaled sharply.

Rafe’s teeth caught your lower lip.

“Liar.”

“You’re proving Sarah’s point.”

“What point?”

“That you’re unstable.”

“And yet you keep ending up naked in my bed.”

You twisted your fingers into his hair and pulled his mouth down to yours.

The argument about Sarah ended there.

Most of your arguments did.

Thirty minutes later, you lay beneath the sheet with your head on Rafe’s chest, tracing one of the scratches you had left along his ribs.

He played with the ends of your hair.

“You still mad at her?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“You didn’t sound mad five minutes ago.”

You lifted your head. “That had nothing to do with Sarah.”

“You yelled my name.”

You slapped his chest.

Rafe laughed and caught your hand.

His expression softened as he brought your knuckles to his mouth.

“Come to the party tomorrow.”

“At Tannyhill?”

“Yeah.”

“Sarah already invited me.”

“Then why are you acting like I asked?”

“Because you never ask.”

Rafe’s thumb brushed over your fingers.

“Come for me.”

You studied him.

Sometimes Rafe said things so casually that it took several seconds for their weight to settle.

“Fine,” you said.

He smiled. “Knew you would.”

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

The Tannyhill party was already crowded when you arrived.

Music poured through the open doors and across the lawn. Kooks filled the living room, kitchen, patio, and every hallway Ward had failed to lock.

Sarah found you near the entrance.

“You came!”

“You invited me.”

“You said you might be busy.”

“I changed my mind.”

She hooked her arm through yours and pulled you toward the kitchen.

Rafe stood near the counter with Kelce.

His gaze found you immediately.

He wore a white button-down with the sleeves rolled to his elbows. The top buttons were undone, exposing the chain at his neck.

You had helped him choose the shirt earlier that afternoon while sitting in his bedroom wearing nothing but underwear.

Now you looked at him like you could barely tolerate his existence.

Sarah unknowingly shoved you directly beside him.

“Move,” she told Rafe. “I need cups.”

“There are cups behind you.”

“Then get them.”

She pushed a stack into his hands before looking at you.

“Help him make drinks?”

You glanced at Rafe.

“No.”

“Yes,” Sarah said, already disappearing toward Topper.

Rafe leaned closer.

“Play nice.”

“Move before I throw this bottle at you.”

“You liked me fine this morning.”

Kelce laughed. “You two are fucking exhausting.”

“You have no idea,” Rafe murmured.

You kicked him beneath the counter.

For the next hour, Sarah repeatedly placed you beside him without realizing it.

She saved the seat next to Rafe because she wanted to sit beside Topper. She sent both of you to retrieve another bottle from the pantry. She asked Rafe to find your phone when you misplaced it, apparently forgetting that you and her brother supposedly hated being alone together.

Every interaction became a game.

A brush of his fingers at your waist while passing behind you.

Your nails grazing his wrist when he handed you a drink.

His knee pressing between yours beneath the table.

The smallest touches felt more dangerous when surrounded by people who could not know.

Then Topper started flirting.

At first, it was obvious he was trying to make Sarah jealous.

She had spent half the party talking to another boy, and Topper responded by turning his attention toward you.

He brought you a drink.

Complimented your dress.

Placed his hand at your lower back while leading you through the crowded living room.

You knew exactly what he was doing.

So did Sarah.

That was why you allowed it.

“You look really good tonight,” Topper said loudly enough for her to hear.

You smiled. “You’ve mentioned.”

“Just making sure you know.”

Across the room, Sarah glared over the rim of her cup.

You hid your amusement.

Topper leaned closer. “Is it working?”

“She’s watching.”

“Good.”

His hand remained on your waist.

Behind him, Rafe stood near the staircase.

His expression had gone completely still.

You met his eyes.

Rafe looked from your face to Topper’s hand.

A warning.

You ignored it.

Topper whispered something about Sarah pretending not to care. You laughed and rested your hand against his chest for effect.

Rafe disappeared from the staircase.

Several minutes later, someone caught your elbow as you passed the hallway.

You were pulled through a doorway.

The lock clicked behind you.

Rafe pushed you against the wall of Ward’s office.

“What the fuck was that?”

You stared at him. “What was what?”

“Topper.”

“He’s trying to make Sarah jealous.”

“With you?”

“Yes.”

“And you’re letting him?”

You crossed your arms. “Sarah has spent the last six months driving him insane. I’m helping.”

“By letting him touch you?”

“It’s not real.”

“His hand looked real.”

You laughed. “Are you jealous?”

Rafe stepped closer.

“You think this is funny?”

“A little.”

His hand closed around your jaw, tilting your face toward his.

“You liked him touching you?”

“Maybe.”

The lie had barely left your mouth before Rafe kissed you.

The back of your head struck the wall softly.

His mouth was rough and possessive, swallowing your startled breath as his body pinned you in place. You grabbed his shirt, pulling him closer instead of pushing him away.

Rafe’s hand slid down your throat.

Over your chest.

Around your waist.

He gripped your hip hard enough to leave marks.

“You’re being insane,” you whispered against his mouth.

“You were all over him.”

“I was helping Sarah.”

“You had your hand on his chest.”

“You watch me closely.”

His teeth caught your bottom lip.

Pain flashed briefly, followed by heat.

You gasped.

Rafe kissed the sore spot before dragging his mouth along your jaw.

“You’re mine.”

“You don’t own me.”

“Could’ve fooled me this morning.”

His hand slipped beneath your dress, sliding up the outside of your thigh.

You tilted your head as his lips moved down your neck.

“You wanted this to stay secret,” you reminded him.

Rafe lifted his head.

“I wanted us secret.” His fingers tightened against your thigh. “I didn’t say I wanted him touching you.”

“Then tell everyone.”

His jaw clenched.

You knew he would not.

Rafe wanted you in a way that consumed him, but he also understood what exposure would mean. Sarah would feel betrayed. Ward would interfere. Every person on Figure Eight would have an opinion.

The secrecy protected both of you.

It also gave Rafe an excuse to keep you entirely to himself.

“You wouldn’t,” you whispered.

His eyes darkened.

“You sure?”

You opened your mouth to answer.

Rafe kissed you again.

His hand moved higher beneath your dress, fingertips brushing the edge of your underwear. You inhaled sharply when he pressed against you through the fabric.

“Rafe.”

“What?”

“We’re at a party.”

“You didn’t care about that outside the Boneyard.”

“That was different.”

“You were against a car.”

“No one was looking for us.”

His fingers pushed your underwear aside.

You tightened your grip on his shirt.

“You’re impossible.”

“And you’re already wet.”

Heat rushed through your face.

“Shut up.”

Rafe slid one finger into you.

Your head fell back against the wall.

He watched your expression, lips parting in satisfaction when your body tightened around him.

“You gonna keep pretending you don’t like this?”

“I never said that.”

“You said maybe when I asked about Topper.”

“I was teasing you.”

“Bad idea.”

He added another finger.

Your hand flew to his wrist, but you did not pull him away. His fingers curled slowly inside you, hitting the spot that made your knees weaken.

Rafe caught your waist with his free hand.

“Quiet,” he murmured.

“I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.”

His thumb circled your clit.

A broken sound escaped you.

Rafe kissed you to swallow it.

Your hips moved against his hand, dress bunched around his wrist as he worked you closer. The jealousy had not disappeared from him. It sharpened every touch, every press of his fingers, every rough kiss against your mouth.

“You let him touch you again,” Rafe said against your lips, “I’ll tell him exactly who you go home with.”

“You won’t.”

His fingers thrust deeper.

You clenched around them.

“Try me.”

A knock struck the office door.

You both froze.

“Hello?” Sarah called from the hallway.

Your eyes widened.

Rafe’s fingers were still inside you.

“Rafe?” Sarah tried the handle. “Are you in there?”

You shoved at his chest.

He slowly withdrew his hand, bringing his fingers to his mouth while looking directly at you.

Your lips parted in disbelief.

He sucked them clean.

“Psychotic,” you whispered.

“Your best friend’s waiting.”

Another knock.

“Rafe!”

He gestured toward the adjoining door that connected Ward’s office to a smaller sitting room.

You fixed your underwear, dragged your dress down, and hurried across the room.

Rafe caught your waist before you could leave.

“What?”

He kissed you once more.

Hard.

His teeth caught your already tender lip.

You tasted blood.

“You asshole.”

“Thirty seconds,” he said. “Then go downstairs.”

You slipped into the adjoining room and closed the door.

Rafe waited until you were gone before opening the main office door.

You heard Sarah’s voice through the wall.

“What were you doing in Dad’s office?”

“Looking for something.”

“You locked the door.”

“So?”

“You’re being weird.”

“I’m always weird, remember?”

You escaped through the sitting room and entered the hallway at the opposite end.

By the time you returned to the kitchen, your pulse had slowed slightly.

You grabbed a napkin and pressed it against your lip.

Topper appeared beside you.

“Where did you go?”

“Bathroom.”

He glanced at your mouth. “What happened?”

You checked your reflection in the dark kitchen window.

Your lipstick was smeared. Your hair was tangled. Your lower lip had split slightly where Rafe’s teeth caught it.

“Nothing.”

“You’re bleeding.”

“Thank you, Topper.”

Sarah entered the kitchen seconds later.

Rafe followed several feet behind her.

He looked infuriatingly composed. His shirt was slightly wrinkled, but his hair had been pushed back into place.

Sarah’s gaze landed on you.

Then on the napkin against your mouth.

“What happened?”

You lowered it.

“Nothing.”

Her eyes narrowed.

“Who busted your lip?”

You touched the sore spot.

Before you could invent an explanation, Kelce stumbled backward into the kitchen carrying an empty champagne bottle.

Topper automatically grabbed your waist to move you out of his path.

Rafe’s gaze dropped to his hand.

Sarah noticed.

Only for a second.

But she noticed.

“Kelce hit me,” you said quickly.

Kelce stared at you. “I did?”

“With the bottle.”

He looked down at it. “Oh.”

Topper laughed. “You’d know if he hit you with that.”

“Not helping,” you muttered.

Sarah continued studying your face.

“What bathroom did you use?”

“The one upstairs.”

“That one’s locked.”

Your stomach dropped.

Rafe reached into the refrigerator.

“She probably walked into a door,” he said casually. “She’s been doing it since she was ten.”

You glared at him.

Sarah looked between you.

“How would you know?”

Rafe twisted the cap off his drink.

“Because she’s always here.”

The answer was reasonable.

It still left something uneasy in Sarah’s expression.

Topper called her name from the patio.

She did not move immediately.

Then she glanced toward him.

“I’ll be right there.”

Sarah pointed at you.

“Don’t disappear again.”

She followed Topper outside.

Kelce wandered after them, still studying the champagne bottle as though trying to determine whether he had truly hit you.

The kitchen fell quiet.

You and Rafe stood on opposite sides of the room.

He lifted his drink to his mouth.

You narrowed your eyes at him.

Your phone vibrated inside your hand.

A message appeared across the screen.

Rafe: You’re a terrible liar.

You typed quickly.

You: You bit through my lip.

His response came instantly.

Rafe: You liked it.

You looked up.

Rafe’s gaze dropped to your mouth.

You fought the urge to smile.

Another message appeared.

Rafe: Come upstairs when she leaves.

You: You almost got us caught.

Rafe: And you still followed me.

You glanced through the open doors toward the patio.

Sarah stood with her arms around Topper’s neck, laughing at something he said. Six months earlier, she would have noticed every time you left a room.

Now she barely noticed you disappearing.

Part of you hated her for it.

Another part was grateful.

Your phone vibrated one final time.

Rafe: Don’t tell her.

You looked across the kitchen.

He was already walking toward the stairs, leaving without waiting to see whether you would follow.

For six months, you had lied directly to Sarah’s face.

You had hidden marks beneath makeup, slipped out of parties through side doors, and memorized exactly which floorboards outside Rafe’s bedroom made the least noise.

You told yourself the secrecy was temporary.

That eventually, you would grow tired of sneaking around.

Instead, you placed your drink on the counter.

You waited exactly thirty seconds.

Then you followed him upstairs.

Neither of you knew the secret would survive for another year and a half.

Or that by the time the island finally learned the truth, hiding your relationship would be the least dangerous thing the two of you had done.

next

[bloomyeu]

partner in crime ( stolen glances / one )

series masterlist

pairings: rafe cameron x fem!reader

content: fluff, angst, smut

warnings: mdni, smut, mentions of abuse, murder and drinking

word count: 5.4k

previous

At eighteen, you had already mastered the most important part of being a Kook.

You knew how to look innocent.

You knew how to sit through charity luncheons without rolling your eyes, how to smile at your parents’ friends while they asked about college, and how to laugh politely when men twice your age made jokes that were not remotely funny. You knew which fork to use, which families quietly hated one another, and exactly how much trouble you could cause before your last name stopped protecting you.

Your family had belonged to the Island Club longer than you had been alive. Your father played golf with Ward Cameron. Your mother drank wine with Rose at fundraisers. You had grown up alongside Topper, Kelce, and the Cameron children, surrounded by expensive boats and sprawling houses that made the rest of the island feel impossibly far away.

To everyone on Figure Eight, you were another perfectly raised Kook daughter.

Sarah Cameron’s best friend.

Polished. Privileged. Harmless.

Rafe Cameron knew better.

Maybe it was because he had caught you at the wrong moment in time.

Or maybe it was because, three weeks earlier, you had drunkenly kissed him in an upstairs bathroom and then spent every day since pretending it had never happened.

Either way, Rafe watched you differently now.

And you were beginning to enjoy it.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ Two years ago 

The Cameron boat sat at the end of the dock, blindingly white beneath the afternoon sun.

Sarah had organized the entire day, which meant she had spent the morning texting everyone repeatedly, demanding that no one arrive late while somehow managing to be the last person ready herself.

Topper and Kelce were already loading coolers onto the boat. Rafe stood near the wheel wearing a pale polo shirt and sunglasses, one hand resting on the console as he argued with Topper about who was driving.

You had arrived early enough to find Sarah still upstairs changing for the third time.

That was how you ended up alone in the Cameron kitchen.

Ward’s liquor cabinet was built into the wall beside the pantry, polished wood concealing enough alcohol to supply half the island. You opened it carefully, scanning the bottles until you found an unopened bottle of expensive tequila tucked behind a row of whiskey.

You had just wrapped your fingers around its neck when a voice spoke behind you.

“That one’s shit.”

You didn't flinch although your hand tightened around the bottle.

Rafe leaned against the kitchen doorway, nineteen years old and already carrying himself like every room belonged to him. His sunglasses were pushed into his hair, exposing blue eyes that moved from the open cabinet to the tequila in your hand.

“I didn’t ask,” you said. “No, you usually don’t.”

You turned back toward the cabinet. “Shouldn’t you be outside pretending you know how to drive a boat?”

“I know how to drive it.”

“You nearly hit a dock last summer.”

“The dock was already fucked up.”

“Right.”

You started pulling the bottle free.

Rafe crossed the kitchen before you could close the cabinet. He reached over your shoulder, his chest brushing your back as his hand covered yours around the neck of the bottle.

The contact was brief.

It still sent a sharp flicker through your stomach.

He took the tequila from you and returned it to its place.

“If you’re going to steal from my dad, at least take something worth stealing.”

“I wasn’t stealing.”

“You were holding it behind your back.”

“I was reading the label.”

He laughed beneath his breath. “You’re a terrible liar.”

“And you’re blocking the cabinet.”

Rafe did not move. Instead, he reached past you again, searching the top shelf until his fingers closed around a darker bottle.

He pulled it down and handed it to you.

“Take this.”

You studied the label. “This is twice as expensive.”

“Exactly.”

“I liked the other one.”

“No, you picked the first bottle you saw because you heard someone coming.”

You looked up at him.

He was standing unnecessarily close, one arm still braced against the cabinet beside your head.

Three weeks earlier, you had been just as close.

Drunk enough to blame the decision on vodka but sober enough to remember every second of it.

The crowded party. The bathroom door locked behind you. Rafe staring at your mouth while you told him he was insufferable. His hand curling around the back of your neck. The startled sound you made when he kissed you.

You had kissed him back.

For nearly five full minutes.

Then you had pushed him away, fixed your lipstick, and walked downstairs as though nothing had happened.

Rafe hadn't texted you the next morning.

You hadn't either. 

The tension was unspoken but in a way acknowledged.

“You planning on staring at me all day?” he asked.

“I’m deciding whether this bottle is worth Sarah murdering me.”

“Sarah doesn’t pay attention to anything that doesn’t involve herself.”

“That’s not true.”

Rafe raised his eyebrows.

From upstairs came Sarah’s voice.

“Are you guys ready?”

You stepped away from Rafe and returned the bottle to the cabinet.

His expression shifted. “What are you doing?”

“Putting it back.”

“You were just going to take it.”

“I changed my mind.”

“Why?”

“Maybe I don’t need your help.”

Something darker flashed behind his smile.

“You didn’t seem to have a problem with my help in that bathroom.”

Your gaze snapped toward the doorway.

“Keep your voice down.”

“No one’s here.”

“Sarah’s upstairs.”

Rafe leaned closer. “Then you better stop looking guilty.”

“I don’t look guilty.”

“You always touch your necklace when you lie.”

Your fingers immediately dropped from the chain around your neck.

His grin widened.

“Asshole.”

“There you are!”

Sarah entered the kitchen wearing a blue bikini beneath an oversized white shirt. She slowed when she saw the two of you standing beside the open liquor cabinet.

Her eyes moved from Rafe to you.

“What are you doing?”

“Your brother was lecturing me,” you answered.

“Your friend was wondering how many bottles we should bring,” Rafe said at the same time.

You glared at him.

Sarah laughed. “Can you two not fight for one day?”

“We weren’t fighting,” Rafe said.

“That’s literally all you do.”

He looked at you instead of answering.

It was subtle enough that Sarah missed it.

You did not.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

The boat day should have felt ordinary.

Sarah stretched across the cushioned seat beside you while Topper drove, one hand resting on the wheel and the other draped over the back of her seat whenever Rafe was not looking.

Kelce controlled the music. Rafe complained about it. The sun burned against your shoulders while the shoreline slowly disappeared behind you.

It was the kind of afternoon you had experienced a hundred times before.

Except Rafe’s knee kept touching yours beneath the small table.

The first time, you assumed the boat had shifted.

The second time, you moved your leg.

The third time, he followed.

You looked up.

Rafe sat across from you wearing sunglasses, his attention apparently fixed on something Kelce was saying.

His knee pressed firmly against the inside of yours.

You kicked his ankle.

He barely reacted.

Sarah continued talking beside you, unaware.

“I’m just saying,” she said, glancing toward Topper, “he looks good driving.”

“You say that every time he touches a steering wheel,” you replied.

“He does.”

“You have a boyfriend, Sarah.”

She lowered her voice. “Not officially.”

“He follows you around like a golden retriever.”

“That doesn’t make him my boyfriend.”

From across the table, Rafe said, “Sarah he’s your little bitch and you know it”

Sarah threw a napkin at him.

Rafe caught it without looking away from you.

His knee remained between yours.

By the time Topper anchored near a quiet stretch of water, your patience had worn thin.

Everyone jumped in except you.

Sarah begged you twice, but you claimed you wanted to fix your hair before it dried strangely. In reality, the water was cold, the sun was warm, and you had noticed Kelce leave his leather bag unzipped beside the console.

You waited until Sarah had swum toward Topper.

Then you crossed the deck.

You were not looking for anything specific.

That was the difference between a thief and someone who merely enjoyed knowing what people carried when they thought no one was watching.

Kelce’s bag contained sunglasses, a phone charger, loose cash, a packet of something you did not touch, and 6 joints in a zip lock bag.

You turned it over in your hand and took one out.

“Again?”

Rafe’s voice came from behind you.

You closed your fingers around the joint before turning.

Water ran down his bare chest and disappeared beneath the waistband of his swim trunks. His wet hair had fallen across his forehead, and he wore the deeply entertained expression of someone who had finally confirmed a suspicion.

“I dropped something,” you said.

“Into Kelce’s bag?”

“Maybe.”

Rafe stepped closer.

You held his stare until he glanced toward your closed fist.

“Open your hand.”

“No.”

“Open it.”

“Make me.”

His mouth twitched.

For a moment, neither of you moved.

Then Rafe reached for your wrist.

You tried pulling away, but he caught you easily, turning your palm upward and unfolding your fingers one at a time.

The joint flashed between you.

Rafe stared at it.

You waited for him to call Kelce.

“Wanna smoke it with me?’

Instead, he took the joint, leaned around you, and returned it to the bag.

“You’re weird,” he said.

“You’re dramatic.”

“Since when do you smoke.”

“Nirvana or whatever they say.”

“You know if you wanted a good joint, all you had to do was ask instead of enjoying a shitty preroll.”

You slipped around him, but his hand closed around your wrist again.

“Why do you keep pretending?”

You glanced toward the water.

Sarah and Topper were too distracted by each other to notice anything. Kelce floated several yards away with his eyes closed.

“Pretending what?”

“That you’re like her.”

You looked back at him.

Rafe’s grip loosened but did not disappear.

“Sarah is my best friend.”

“Didn’t answer the question.”

“You haven’t asked one.”

“You act perfect around her.” His eyes moved over your face. “Then I catch you stealing alcohol and going through people’s shit.”

“You deal drugs out of your father’s boat house.”

His jaw tightened.

You smiled. “Did you think I didn’t know?”

“Careful.”

“Is that a threat?”

“Maybe.”

“It needs work.”

Rafe released your wrist.

You stepped toward the edge of the boat and nodded at the rocky ledge overlooking the water.

“You should jump.”

He followed your gaze. “From there?”

“You scared?”

“No.”

“Then do it.”

“That’s your brilliant plan? Dare me until I break my neck?”

“You’d have to have one first.”

Rafe looked at you for several long seconds.

Then he climbed onto the side of the boat.

“What the hell are you doing?” Kelce called from the water.

Rafe ignored him.

He crossed the narrow strip of rock, climbed to the highest point, and looked back toward the boat.

You stood with your arms crossed.

“Still scared?” you called.

He smiled.

Then he jumped.

Sarah screamed. Kelce shouted something unintelligible. Topper immediately announced that he could jump from somewhere higher.

Rafe disappeared beneath the surface before emerging several seconds later, pushing his wet hair from his eyes.

He looked directly at you.

Not Sarah.

Not Topper.

You.

And you could not stop yourself from smiling.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

Later, while Sarah and Topper argued over music and Kelce attempted to finish every drink on the boat, you went below deck.

You had barely reached the narrow cabin when Rafe followed.

The door clicked shut behind him.

You turned. “What?”

“You think that was funny?”

“You jumped.”

“Because you told me to.”

“No one forced you.”

He moved closer, crowding you against the small counter.

“You wanted me to do it.”

“I wanted to know if you would.”

“And?”

“And you did.”

His hands settled on the counter on either side of you.

The cabin suddenly felt much smaller.

“Havent seen you since that night, its been what 12 days?,” he said.

“You counted?”

“You kissed me.”

“You kissed me first.”

“And you kissed back.”

“I was drunk.”

“So was I.”

“That’s why it doesn’t matter.”

“Bullshit.”

His face hovered inches from yours.

The teasing had disappeared from his expression. In its place was the same focus you remembered from the bathroom, right before his mouth had covered yours.

“You remember it,” he said.

“I remember regretting it.”

“You’re touching your necklace again.”

You dropped your hand.

Rafe smiled faintly.

“You like lying to me?”

“I like when you believe me.”

“I don’t.”

His hand moved from the counter to your waist.

The touch was slow enough that you could have stopped him.

You did not.

His thumb traced the strip of exposed skin above your swimsuit bottoms, rough and warm against you.

“You’re supposed to hate me,” he murmured.

“I do.”

“Then why haven’t you moved?”

You opened your mouth, but the cabin door flew open.

“There you are!”

Sarah stood in the doorway.

Rafe’s hand dropped from your waist.

You stepped sideways so quickly that your hip struck the counter.

Sarah glanced between you.

“What’s going on?”

“She was snooping through the cabinets,” Rafe said.

You stared at him.

Sarah groaned. “Dont you two get bored of arguing all the time?”

“I caught her.”

“Maybe she was looking for something.”

“She usually is.”

You narrowed your eyes. “I hate you.”

Rafe smiled. “Sure.”

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

By the time you returned to Tannyhill, the sun had disappeared behind the trees.

Sarah spent another hour in the kitchen talking about Topper while you nodded at the appropriate moments and tried not to think about Rafe’s hand on your waist.

“He almost kissed me in the water,” she said.

“You have a boyfriend.”

“I told you, we’re not technically-”

“You’ve been saying that for three months.”

Sarah ignored you and continued talking.

Rafe passed through the kitchen once, carrying a duffel bag over his shoulder. He did not look at you.

That bothered you more than it should have.

Eventually, you grabbed your tote from the back of a kitchen chair and said goodnight.

You drove home with the windows open, warm air rushing through the car. When you reached your driveway, you turned off the engine but remained behind the wheel.

Your phone had disappeared somewhere inside your bag.

You dug through sunscreen, lip gloss, your wallet, and a tangled pair of earbuds before your hand struck something solid.

You frowned.

The dark glass bottle Rafe had recommended sat at the bottom of your tote.

A stick note on the face of the bottle.

You owe me. -R

You stared at the words.

Then at the bottle.

A slow smile spread across your face.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

A week had passed since Rafe gave you the bottle, yet it remained untouched. You had barely thought about opening it before Sarah invited you to lunch at the Island Club.

That was where you both spent most summer days.

You sat beneath a striped umbrella overlooking the golf course while Sarah pushed lettuce around her plate and complained that Topper had taken four hours to answer her last message.

“He was golfing,” you said.

“He always has his phone.”

“You’re not dating.”

“That doesn’t mean he should ignore me.”

You took a sip of iced tea. “You ignore him constantly.”

“That’s different.”

“How?”

“Because I’m me.”

You laughed. “Compelling argument.”

Sarah kicked you beneath the table.

After lunch, you walked into the club bar to ask for another drink.

Rafe was already there.

He leaned against a stainless-steel counter, turning his phone between his hands while one of the bartenders searched for something in the storeroom.

His gaze lifted when you entered.

Then dropped to your mouth.

“You drink it?” he asked.

You glanced toward the storeroom. “Drink what?”

“My dad’s bottle.”

“You mean the bottle you stole?”

“For you.”

“I didn’t ask you to.”

“You kept it.”

“I might return it.”

“You won’t.”

You approached the bartender and asked for a bottle of water.

Rafe stepped behind you.

“You still owe me.”

“For what?”

“Not exposing you.”

“You would’ve had to expose yourself too.”

“Could’ve said you took it.”

“You did.”

“Who would they believe?”

You turn around and found him close enough that you nearly walked into his chest.

“You’re so full of yourself.”

“You keep answering my texts.”

“I answer one out of every five.”

“Still counts.”

His hand brushed the side of your hip.

The movement looked accidental.

It was not.

“What do you want?” you asked quietly.

“You know.”

“I really don’t.”

“Liar.”

Rafe leaned closer, his mouth near your ear.

“You looked disappointed when Sarah opened that door.”

Heat crawled up your neck.

“I looked relieved.”

“Didn’t feel like it.”

“You didn’t feel anything.”

His fingers lightly caught the belt loop of your shorts.

“Want to test that?”

“Rafe.”

Sarah’s voice cut through the bar.

His hand disappeared.

She stood several feet away, watching you.

Rafe stepped back and grabbed a drink from the counter.

“You two fighting again?” she asked.

“He’s bothering me,” you replied.

“She started it.”

“I came in here for water.”

“And somehow ruined my entire day.”

Rafe looked at you as he passed.

His eyes dipped to your mouth one final time.

Then he left.

Sarah waited until the bar door swung shut behind him.

“Seriously,” she said.

You twisted the cap off your water. “What?”

“Stay away from him.”

You laughed as though the idea were ridiculous. “Trust me, I’m trying.”

“No, I mean it.” Her expression had turned unusually serious. “He isn’t like Topper or Kelce. Rafe is actually unstable.”

“That’s dramatic.”

“You don’t see how he gets.”

“I’ve known him as long as you have.”

“He’s my brother.”

“And?”

“And I know him better.”

You leaned against the counter. “Sarah, I don’t like Rafe.”

She studied your face.

You resisted the urge to touch your necklace.

“Good,” she said eventually. “Because he’d ruin your life.”

You smiled.

“You don’t have to worry about me.”

That was the first lie you told Sarah about him.

It would not be the last.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

That night, you saw Rafe at the Boneyard.

Music rattled from portable speakers while dozens of people gathered around bonfires and half-buried coolers. Kooks mixed with Pogues beneath the cover of darkness, everyone pretending that the island’s imaginary border disappeared after midnight.

Sarah had vanished with Topper almost immediately.

You spent an hour dancing with people you barely knew before slipping away from the crowd for a smoke

Rafe was leaning against his truck.

You nearly turned around.

“Don’t,” he called.

You stopped.

“Don’t what?”

“Pretend you didn’t see me.”

“I was going to my car.”

“Your car’s the other way.”

You looked toward the parking area.

He was right.

Annoying.

Rafe pushed away from the truck.

“You tell Sarah you hate me?”

“I didn’t have to. She already knows.”

“You’re funny.”

“I try.”

He stopped in front of you.

The bonfire illuminated one side of his face, sharpening the line of his jaw.

“You gonna keep ignoring me?”

“You keep asking questions you already know the answer to.”

“I know you like me.”

You laughed. “Is that what you tell yourself?”

“It’s what you told me when you had your tongue in my mouth.”

“I did not say that.”

“You didn’t have to.”

“You’re delusional.”

“And you’re scared.”

“Of you?”

“Of Sarah finding out.”

Your smile disappeared.

Rafe noticed.

“So that’s it,” he said. “You’re not regretting it. You’re scared of her.”

“I’m not scared of Sarah.”

“Then why act like I disgust you every time she walks into a room?”

“Maybe you do.”

He caught your waist when you tried to move past him.

“Baby we both know that’s not true”

The grip was firm but not painful, pulling you back until your shoulder met the side of his truck.

“Tell me to stop,” he said.

You stared at him.

His body was close enough to trap heat between you. One hand remained at your waist while the other came to rest beside your head against the truck.

“You’re making a scene.”

“No one’s looking.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I don’t care.”

“I do.”

“Then tell me to stop.”

You should have.

Instead, you grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him into you.

Rafe kissed you hard enough to knock the back of your head lightly against the truck.

His hand slid around your waist, dragging your hips flush against his. Your mouth opened beneath his, and he made a low sound against your lips that erased the last of your common sense.

The kiss in the bathroom had been messy and drunken.

This was deliberate.

Rafe kissed like he had spent three weeks imagining exactly how he would do it again. His mouth moved roughly over yours, one hand gripping your hip while the other curled around the back of your neck.

You tangled your fingers in his hair.

He tilted your head and kissed you deeper.

The metal of the truck was cool against your back. Rafe was warm everywhere else, pressing against you until there was no mistaking how badly he wanted you.

Your breath caught.

He smiled against your mouth.

“Still disgusted?”

“Shut up.”

You kissed him again before he could answer.

His hand slipped beneath the edge of your shirt, palm spreading across your bare stomach. His thumb traced upward, stopping just beneath your bra as his mouth left yours.

Rafe kissed the corner of your lips.

Then your jaw.

Then the sensitive spot beneath your ear.

You tightened your fingers in his hair.

“Rafe.”

“What?”

His lips moved down your throat.

“You know what.”

“I really don’t.”

He sucked lightly against your skin.

A shiver moved through you.

“You’re going to leave a mark.”

“Good.”

“Sarah will see.”

“Why would she think I gave you that? We can't stand each other.”

His teeth grazed your neck, followed by the slow press of his tongue.

Your knees nearly weakened.

Rafe noticed that too.

He slid one thigh between yours, holding you upright as his mouth returned to yours. The hand beneath your shirt moved higher, fingertips brushing the underside of your breast through your bra.

You arched into him before you could stop yourself.

“Fuck,” he murmured.

His thumb swept over your nipple through the thin material.

Heat tightened low in your stomach.

You pulled his mouth back to yours, kissing him to silence the sound threatening to escape you. His hips pressed forward, grinding against you once.

The friction sent a sharp pulse through your body.

You did it again deliberately.

Rafe broke the kiss.

His pupils were blown wide.

“Careful.”

“You scared?”

He laughed, breathless and disbelieving.

“You really need to stop asking me that.”

His hand slid down your side, beneath the hem of your skirt. His fingers traced the inside of your thigh, slowly moving higher as he watched your expression.

You could hear the party somewhere beyond the trees.

The music.

People shouting.

Kelce asking for another shot.

Your phone began ringing.

The sound vibrated loudly from your pocket.

You froze.

Rafe dropped his forehead against yours.

“Don’t answer.”

You pulled the phone free.

Sarah’s name illuminated the screen.

“I have to.”

“No, you don’t.”

“She’s my ride.”

“You drove.”

“She thinks she’s my ride.”

Rafe stared at you.

You answered.

“Hey.”

“Where are you?” Sarah shouted over the music. “I want to go home.”

You glanced at Rafe.

His hand remained beneath your skirt, resting dangerously high against your thigh.

“I’m near the cars.”

“With who?”

“No one. I'm just smoking”

Rafe smiled.

You slapped a hand over his mouth before he could speak.

“I’ll meet you in five minutes,” you said.

Sarah complained about Topper for several seconds before hanging up.

You lowered the phone.

Rafe kissed your palm.

You pulled your hand away.

“I have to go.”

“Come back.”

“I’m taking her home.”

“After.”

“It’ll be late.”

“I don’t care.”

You fixed your shirt and attempted to smooth your hair.

Rafe watched you.

“You look guilty,” he said.

“You look worse.”

“Worth it.”

You started walking away.

“Hey,” he called.

You glanced back.

“Answer your phone this time.”

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

You dropped Sarah at Tannyhill shortly before two in the morning.

She spent the entire drive discussing Topper, unaware that your lips were swollen and your neck was hidden beneath your hair for a reason.

Once she disappeared inside, you drove home.

You were halfway through removing your earrings when your phone vibrated.

Rafe: Come over.

You stared at the message.

You: It’s two in the morning.

His answer appeared immediately.

Rafe: Didn’t ask what time it was.

You should have ignored him.

You had already taken things too far. Sarah had warned you only hours earlier. You had kissed her brother against his truck and lied directly into the phone when she asked who you were with.

Going to Tannyhill would make it intentional.

It would mean you could no longer blame vodka, curiosity, or Rafe’s inability to leave you alone.

You changed into shorts and a sweatshirt.

Then you climbed back into your car.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

Rafe’s bedroom window was unlocked.

You pushed it open and climbed onto the sloped roof, moving carefully across the tiles.

Rafe appeared on the other side of the glass wearing gray sweatpants and no shirt.

He opened the window wider.

“You came.”

“You sound surprised.”

“I knew you would.”

“Then why say it like that?”

His hands closed around your waist as he helped you through.

The second your feet touched the bedroom floor, Rafe shut the window and kissed you.

There was no argument this time.

No pretending.

You wrapped your arms around his neck while he walked you backward toward the bed. His mouth tasted faintly of mint and alcohol, his hands sliding beneath your sweatshirt and over the bare skin of your back.

He pulled the sweatshirt over your head.

His gaze dropped.

You hadn't worn a bra.

“Jesus Christ.”

You smiled. “Problem?”

Rafe’s hands covered your breasts, thumbs brushing over your nipples.

Your breath hitched.

“No problem.”

He kissed you again, slower now, his palms kneading you as you pressed against him. You dragged your nails lightly down his chest, following the hard lines of muscle until your fingertips reached the waistband of his sweatpants.

Rafe caught your wrist.

“Wait.”

You looked up.

His expression had changed, the hunger still there but sharpened by something more serious.

“You sure?”

“Yes.”

“That wasn’t me convincing you.”

“I know.”

“Tell me.”

You stepped closer, placing his hand against your bare waist.

“I want you.”

The remaining restraint in his expression disappeared.

Rafe pushed you gently onto the bed.

He climbed over you, kissing your mouth before moving down your throat. His lips closed around one nipple while his hand worked over the other, rolling it between his fingers until you arched beneath him.

You bit down on your lip.

“Don’t,” he murmured against your skin.

“What?”

“Hide it.”

His mouth returned to your breast, tongue circling your nipple before he sucked it firmly between his lips.

A moan escaped you.

Rafe looked up.

The satisfaction on his face made you want to shove him away and pull him closer at the same time.

“Asshole.”

“Yet you're in my bed sweetheart.”

He kissed down your stomach.

His fingers hooked beneath the waistband of your shorts and underwear, waiting until you lifted your hips before pulling both down your legs.

The room suddenly felt too quiet.

Rafe’s eyes moved over you.

You resisted the urge to cover yourself.

He settled between your thighs, spreading them gently with his hands.

“Still want me to stop?”

“No.”

His mouth brushed the inside of your knee.

Then higher.

Each kiss moved closer until his breath warmed the most sensitive part of you.

When his tongue finally touched you, your hand flew to his hair.

Rafe held your thighs apart as he licked slowly through you. The first pass was almost teasing. The second made your hips lift from the mattress.

He pressed one forearm across your stomach, holding you in place.

“Rafe.”

His tongue circled your clit.

Your grip tightened in his hair.

He groaned against you, the vibration sending another pulse through your body. He continued until your breathing turned uneven, alternating between slow strokes and firm circles that made your thighs tremble around his shoulders.

You tried muffling yourself against your hand.

Rafe stopped.

You looked down.

He lifted his head, mouth shining.

“What did I say?”

“Your family is asleep.”

“Then be quiet because you can,” he said, kissing the inside of your thigh. “Not because you’re pretending you don’t like it.”

Before you could answer, he lowered his mouth again.

Two fingers slid into you as his tongue returned to your clit.

Your back arched.

The pleasure built quickly now, his fingers curling inside you while his mouth worked over you with an attention that felt almost cruel.

You whispered his name.

Rafe did not stop.

The tension snapped.

You came with your hand clamped over your mouth, thighs tightening around his head as waves of pleasure moved through you.

He continued until you pushed weakly at his shoulder.

Rafe climbed back over you.

His mouth covered yours, letting you taste yourself on his tongue.

You pulled at his sweatpants.

He helped you shove them down, freeing himself. Your hand wrapped around his length, and Rafe broke the kiss with a sharp breath.

“You do that again,” he said, forehead against yours, “and this ends fast.”

You stroked him anyway.

His eyes closed.

“Maybe I want it to.”

“You’re gonna regret saying that.”

Rafe reached toward the bedside drawer and pulled out a condom.

You watched him tear the wrapper open and roll it on.

Then he settled between your thighs.

The teasing vanished from his face.

“You tell me if it hurts.”

You nodded.

“Say it.”

“I’ll tell you.”

He kissed you as he pushed inside.

The stretch made your breath catch. Rafe stopped immediately, one hand beside your head and the other holding your hip.

“You okay?”

“Yes.”

“You sure?”

You wrapped your legs around his waist and pulled him deeper.

Rafe’s jaw tightened.

“Fuck.”

He gave you a moment before beginning to move.

The first thrusts were slow, controlled in a way you had never associated with him. You clung to his shoulders, adjusting to the fullness until the discomfort softened into something hotter.

“Faster,” you whispered.

Rafe looked at you.

“You sure?”

You lifted your hips to meet him.

That was all the answer he needed.

His pace changed.

The bed moved quietly beneath you as he drove into you, his hand sliding beneath your thigh to angle your hips. Each thrust pressed deeper, dragging sounds from you that you struggled to keep quiet.

Rafe buried his face against your neck.

His mouth moved over the mark he had left earlier, sucking another beneath it.

“You’re mine now,” he muttered.

You pulled his hair.

“That wasn’t part of the deal.”

“What deal?”

“Exactly.”

He bit your shoulder lightly.

You clenched around him.

Rafe groaned and pushed harder into you.

“Do that again.”

You did.

His hand slipped between your bodies, thumb finding your clit.

Pleasure tightened again, your body already sensitive from his mouth. Rafe watched your face as he touched you, keeping the same relentless rhythm until you could barely focus on anything besides him.

“I’m close,” you whispered.

“I know.”

“You’re insufferable.”

“And again, you’re in my bed.”

His thumb pressed harder.

Your second orgasm hit more intensely than the first.

You buried your face against his shoulder, muffling your cry against his skin as your body tightened around him.

Rafe followed seconds later, his thrusts losing their rhythm before he stilled above you with a rough exhale.

For several moments, neither of you spoke.

Rafe lowered his weight carefully beside you.

You stared at the ceiling, breathing hard.

“Well,” you said.

He turned his head. “Well?”

“That was a terrible idea.”

Rafe laughed.

“You gonna pretend you regret that too?”

You looked at him.

His hair was a mess. Your lipstick was smeared across his mouth, and several red marks ran down his back where your nails had caught him.

“No,” you admitted.

His smile faded into something quieter.

More dangerous.

Because you had both just stopped pretending.

You had driven back to the house after Sarah warned you away. You had climbed through his window and chosen his bed over your best friend’s trust.

It was the first night you consciously chose Rafe Cameron over Sarah.

It would become a habit.

next

a/n: this chapter was too long so i had to split it into two but yaaay first chapter!!!!! hope u like it hehe

[babyjrafe]

beyoncé - dad!rafe cameron x fem!reader

inspired by the song: sweet dreams by beyoncé

summary: you and rafe cameron are maarrried and have been for some months now. you both have a stubborn, sassy, three year old daughter together that unfortunately inherited rafe’s attitude. one particular morning, everything went downfall. but would it last that way?

warnings: children if you do not like them, dni! solely fluff for right now.

𝖺/𝗇: 𝗂’𝗆 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗒 𝖾𝗑𝖼𝗂𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝗌𝗁𝖺𝗋𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖺𝗅𝗅. 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗂𝗌 𝗆𝗒 𝖿𝗂𝗋𝗌𝗍 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝖿𝖺𝗇𝖿𝗂𝖼, 𝗅𝖾𝗍 𝗆𝖾 𝗄𝗇𝗈𝗐 𝗂𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝖺𝗇𝗒 𝗋𝖾𝖼𝗈𝗆𝗆𝖾𝗇𝖽𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗌 𝗈𝗋 𝗌𝗎𝗀𝗀𝖾𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗌! 𝗍𝗒𝗌𝗆 <3

the perfect lullaby

you and rafe had been married for months now. it all started when you came strutting out victoria secrets with bags occupying your hands and mistakenly bumped into a tall, generous, buzzed stranger who bent down to help you pick up the spilled expensive items.

ever since then? rafe hadn’t gone anywhere. you swore he was like an impossible barnacle, but you loved it. sometimes he’d come home with unnecessary gifts or something extravagant that he knew you’d want even without you asking. 

one time he somehow found you thrifted items you’d been dying for. regardless of how he found it, you felt your heart burst with unadulterated happiness.

“rafe,” you gasped. “how did you manage to find this? i’ve been looking everywhere!” you couldn’t help the smile slipping on your face.

he just stared at you, pupils dilated, a grin plastered on his face like he’d won the lottery — technically to him, it was close enough. seeing you smile was enough to melt his usual short temper.

“don’t worry about it.” was what he would always say.

today you had some issues getting you and rafe’s daughter ready for ballet lessons. she wouldn’t comply, outright refusing to put her ballet flats on, tiny arms crossed across her face, a scowl on her face similar to rafe’s.

you sighed, “honey come on, you have class in fifteen minutes!” but she didn’t uncross her arms — in fact, that only made her cross them tighter. you felt your anger rising, but you reigned it in with a deep breath. “can you please put your—“ 

you didn’t even get a chance to finish before she began bursting into crocodile tears, kicking her feet, almost hitting you square in the nose. subconsciously, because, totally you weren’t frustrated at all with her stubbornness, you wrapped your hand around her squirming ankle.

“get—“ she shrieked, “off me! daddy!” she wailed so loud you swore the light fixture above you shook with the echo of her voice bouncing off the walls. 

rafe immediately rushed in. he was mid-shave, cream smothered on his sharp jawline and razor held up like proof. “what is going on!?” his blue eyes darted between you both like he was watching some WWE match. the scene before him was almost amusing until his eyes caught your frustration about to boil over.

your daughter was screaming, tears streaming down her face, kicking both feet like she was swimming, albeit pathetically because both of your hands were wrapped around her ankles, attempting to hold her down and stop her relentless temper tantrum.

“she has ballet practice in ten minutes! we’re not going to make it in time, she won’t—“ you gritted your teeth when her tiny foot almost whacked you right in the face. your eye twitched. 

rafe set his razor down and crouched down, the shaving cream filling the wailing and tense atmosphere. your daughter, sensing her father was here, resorted to small sniffles. “daddy…” your eyes widened in surprise and you were about to open your mouth.

he held his hand up to silence both of you. you didn’t even get half of a chance to finish before he cut you off, his tone soft and firm, fixated on your daughter who was currently sniffling with her tiny hands clutching his polo.

“you do not yell or kick at your mother. you have ballet practice in what,” he checked his watch before looking back up. “nine-ish minutes? better make that work. put your shoes on, in this household, we do not disrespect mommy. i understand you’re having a bad day, but that doesn’t excuse it, alright?” 

she had the decency to look somewhat ashamed of her behavior. she avoided your gaze before softly mumbling, “sorry mommy.”

your expression softened, brows dropping from their agitated, pinched manner earlier. “it’s alright. just put your shoes on.” she dropped her head further and albeit reluctantly, began to fumble with the ballet flats, slipping them on without further complaint, her bottom lip stuck out in a pout.

he nodded with satisfaction before looking at you. “and you? go take a shower and relax. i got this just go relax.” he murmured. the earlier weight you felt on your shoulders instantly dropped and you gave him a relived smile. he just always seemed to get you, even in the beginning of your relationship. sometimes you wondered how did you bump into such an angel that day?

“thanks.” the two of you both exchanged a lingering kiss, rafe humming under his breath. “strawberry.” you chuckle, smacking his chest before rising off the floorboards and padding to your bedroom to do as he told you. with all the stress you’ve been through with work, you’re glad rafe was here to calm you down. teamwork really did make the dream work.

𝖺/𝗇: 𝗂 𝗁𝗈𝗉𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖻𝖺𝖻𝖾𝗌 𝖾𝗇𝗃𝗈𝗒𝖾𝖽, 𝗂𝗍’𝗌 𝖻𝖾𝖾𝗇 𝖺 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝗅𝖾 𝗌𝗂𝗇𝖼𝖾 𝗂 𝗐𝗋𝗈𝗍𝖾 𝖺 𝖿𝖺𝗇𝖿𝗂𝖼 𝗌𝗈 𝖾𝗑𝖼𝗎𝗌𝖾 𝗆𝖾 𝗂𝖿 𝗂 𝖺𝗆 𝖺 𝖻𝗂𝗍 𝗋𝗎𝗌𝗍𝗒 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗄 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗆𝖾… 𝗂 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎, 𝗆𝗐𝖺!

all work belongs to me, tysm for reading babes<3

[isastarset]

│Too big.

-enemy!Rafex Reader

-warnings:smut, hair pulling, mentions of oral (m.recieving) size kink, praise, no use of y/n.

"Holy shit.." you lay on the middle of his bed, muttering under your breath as you take in the sight of him in front of you, on his knees, pants discarded somewhere on the floor. He looks down where your eyes are glued, he's fully hard, 8 inches on full display, thick, heavy and a slight curve that you know will hit your sweet spot every single time.

He chuckles, ready to tease you. "You cant take it? You giving up already?" He taunts, he knows the competitive stuff is why you guys hate each other in the first place. You twist your face in anger, pulling him by his shirt, catching him off guard. He hovers over you, elbows pinned next to your head as you feel his throbbing cock pressing on your bare stomach. "Fucking try me." you grit your teeth, eyes flicking through confident to intimidated when you notice his eyes darkening with lust. In a second he flips you around, grabbing a fist full of your hair as he lowers your mouth to line up with his thick cock.

You drag out a long moan as you feel him entering you, again. You wrap your arms around his neck, scratching his back when you feel him enter all the way, he grabs your face with one hand, the other holding your hip down. "Taking it so well, huh?" He says as he rolls his hips when he reaches all the way in a thrust, making your eyes roll back. "I knew you could, being so good for me." he laughs, noticing your digging nails on his shoulders and your furrowed brows when he hits your spot, picking up his pace and lifting his hips higher to make you finish. He lowers his face, foreheads pressed together as he pounds into you, the stretch feeling far from uncomfortable for you now. You cry out in pleasure, the dried tears from before leaving a trail for the new ones. He brings his thumb from the grip on your face and wipes it away as he gives you a hard thrust, making your 3rd orgasm wash over your entire body, shaking under his grip.

@bullet2004 @obsourie @rafesdaydream @astroangel45 @meltyice77

[whimsicalswanprincess]

𝐵𝒶𝒹 𝐼𝒹𝑒𝒶 ~ 𝑅𝒶𝒻𝑒 𝒞𝒶𝓂𝑒𝓇𝑜𝓃

summary: you're Sarah's best friend, who is secretly hooking up with her brother.

warnings: 18+, MDNI, p in v, smut

author's note: had to make a Rafe smut one shot! I can make this one a series or write more Rafe one shots if any of you angels want! This is not proofread so there may be some mistakes! ~ 𝒱𝒾𝑜𝓁𝑒𝓉 <3

You knew it was a bad idea, fucking your best friend's brother while she was asleep just down the hall. Of course you knew that it made you a horrible person. But god you couldn't help yourself.

Every time you were over the Cameron house, Rafe would come downstairs and grab something he 'needed' while conveniently being shirtless. Or he would come into Sarah's room wearing his loose gray sweatpants and claim he needed to borrow a charger.

You weren't stupid. You knew he thought you were hot, but at first you couldn't justify doing that to your best friend. I mean Rafe and Sarah didn't really get along and this would probably just make things worse.

Until two months ago when you rang the doorbell of the Cameron house and Rafe answered. He was shirtless and sweaty, just returning from his afternoon run. And when he breathed heavily, muttering "Sarah's not here" you couldn't resist. He just looked so good, and it's not like you were in love with him.

It was only supposed to be a one time thing. A mistaken hookup because you were both too hot and too horny. But then it happened a second time, then a third, a fourth, and pretty soon it was a regular occurrence.

You would spend the night at the Cameron residence in Sarah's bedroom. Wait until she was asleep, and sneak into her older brother's room to have the most amazing sex you'd ever had. That's why you couldn't stop. No man had ever made you feel the way Rafe did.

Sarah had just fallen asleep and you knew it was time for you to make your way to Rafe's room. You carefully removed the covers from your body and stood up, silently creeping out of the room. You opened the door as quickly and quietly as possible, practically sprinting to his room.

You knocked lightly on his door so he knew it was you. The door opened and on the other side, was 6'4 of strong, fit Rafe Cameron. "Thought you chickened out today" he grinned as he stepped aside to let you in.

You chuckled "Your sister just took longer to fall asleep tonight" as your hands slid down his muscular frame. "Mmm let's not talk about my sister" he grimaced.

You giggled as his lips found the sweet spot on your neck. His hands traveled down your body, until his fingers reached the bottom of your thin tank top. He yanked it over your head, leaving your torso completely bare.

He sucked in a breath, "I'll never get over seeing your sexy tits" as he palmed one with his right hand. I rolled my eyes playfully, "you know I'm good if we don't do foreplay tonight" I said as my hands slid into his hair.

He laughed "Someone's a bit needy hmm?" reaching his opposite hand down to cup your pussy. He could probably feel how wet you were, but you didn't care. You let out a breath, "I just need you Rafe. To make me feel so good" you pressed kisses down from his temple to his jaw.

"Fuck" he groaned as he stepped out of his sweatpants. You could see the erection in his boxers. It made your legs turn to jelly as you eagerly slipped off your pajamas shorts and flopped onto the bed.

He propped himself over you, kissing your lips with hunger. He pulled down your white lace panties and flipped you onto your stomach. You grinned when you realized what he was doing. He wanted to see your ass bounce on his dick as he pushed your face into the mattress. And that only made you more aroused.

He took his own boxers off as grabbed his cock, pumping while he admired your body. You spit onto your hand, as you reached down between your legs to rub his dick.

You positioned yourself so you were on all fours as you let his cock slip inside your aching cunt. "Fuck, Rafe" you moaned as your walls clenched, adjusting to his size. "So tight for me" he groaned as his dick slipped deeper inside you.

"This has always been such a bad idea" you moaned as his pace began to quicken. "But you make me...mhm feel so good" as you began slamming your ass onto his cock.

He grabbed your arms, holding them back behind your waist as your face hit the mattress. He fucked you harder and harder as your face smushed deeper into the mattress. "Such a good girl for me" he praised as sounds of pleasure and the slapping of skin filled his bedroom.

Your core began to tighten as he kept his fast pace, "I'm almost...fuck there" you whispered in between sounds of pleasure. Your legs began to shake as you released all over his dick.

His thrusts grew sloppier, and you knew he was close. He pulled out and stroked his cock, releasing his load all over your bare ass. "Fuck" he breathed out as he admired the mess he made you.

[kissmeuntil]

⎯⎯⎯; 𝐚 𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧’ 𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭.

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: best friend!rafe cameron x female!reader

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 18+ mdni. friends to lovers, aphrodisiac/honey packets, explicit sexual content, mutual sexual tension, dirty talk, oral (f receiving), fingering, unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, switch dynamics, light hair pulling, biting, neck holding, creampie, brief mentions of squirting, aggressive sex, topper thornton being an accidental matchmaker.

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: topper swears the honey packets work, you swear they’re bullshit, and rafe decides there’s only one way to prove him wrong. unfortunately, the honey has other plans.

𝐚/𝐧: this is equal parts friends-to-lovers, “we’re definitely not into each other” denial, and absolute stupidity. everyone is an adult. please read the warnings before continuing. i kept editing and fixing and changing this. after a while it was turning into that series of events where you take a selfie and keep looking at it until you hate it LOL so i kinda gave up. hopefully it makes sense and hopefully you guys like it anyway :) ♡

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 5.7k

you're on rafe's bed scrolling through your phone when he walks in with that stupid smirk, holding something between his fingers.

"what," you say without looking up.

"so... topper gave me these." the mattress dips as rafe sits, his weight pulling you slightly toward him. you glance up and see the tiny golden honey packets catch the light as he turns them between his fingers.

you actually laugh. "oh my god, rafe. are you serious?" you sit up straighter, grinning at him. "those don't even work. you know that right?"

"nah, i mean—"

"it's honey... it's literally just honey in some fancy ass packet. topper probably paid like thirty bucks for two dollars worth of honey because some instagram ad told him it would turn him into a porn star." you're fully laughing now, years of giving each other shit making this easy. you reach out and flick one of the packets in his hand. "you actually believe that shit?"

"listen—" rafe tries, but there's that smile tugging at his mouth because he knows you're gonna dog him for this. he shifts closer, his knee bumping against your leg.

"no, seriously, i need to know how much money topper wasted on honey packets." you push at his shoulder, invested in roasting him. "remember those gas station dick pills he got last summer?"

"alright, alright—" rafe's laughing too, shaking his head, catching your hand before you can push him again. his fingers wrap around your wrist for just a second before letting go. "you're not wrong."

"i'm never wrong about topper being an idiot." you settle back against his pillows, satisfied, tucking your legs underneath you. "remember when he tried to convince us that eating raw garlic would make him better at golf? and then his breath just smelled like shit the whole time?"

"yeah, and you kicked him out of the car," rafe says, grinning, leaning back on one hand so he's angled toward you.

"because he made it smell so fucking bad. and you know what— now you're an idiot too for even believing this."

"yeah, but—" rafe pauses, something shifting in his eyes. he leans forward slightly, elbows on his knees, the packets still dangling from his fingers. "i mean... c'mon. if it doesn't work, then nothin' happens, right? like literally nothin'. we'd just be sittin' here exactly like we are now."

you narrow your eyes at him. "that's your argument?"

"i'm just sayin'..." he shrugs, still holding up one of the packets, close enough now that you can see the gold foil catching the light. "if it's bullshit... then it's bullshit and we laugh about how dumb topper is. but if it's not..." he trails off, that smirk getting wider as he tilts his head.

"it is bullshit."

"probably," rafe agrees, way too casual, shifting his weight so he's sitting fully on the bed now, one leg bent, facing you. "but... what's the actual harm? you gonna tell me you're scared of honey?"

"i'm not scared of honey, i'm just not gonna waste my time on some stupid—"

"so then try it. humor me," his voice is smooth and logical, like he's not actively trying to peer pressure you into this. he holds one of the packets out toward you, close enough that you'd only have to reach a few inches to take it. "seriously. worst case scenario? nothin' happens and you get to say 'i told you so' for the rest of the night. and you love that shit."

and you hate that he's right. you hate that that actually makes sense, because if it doesn't work then literally nothing happens. it's just honey. and you do love being right.

"this is so fucking dumb," you mutter, but you're already grinning because this is exactly the kind of stupid shit you two always end up doing together. you reach out and snatch the packet from his hand.

"yeah, probably." rafe's already tearing open a packet, squeezing the honey into his mouth like it's nothing. he swallows, then looks at you with this expectant expression, leaning in slightly. "c'monnn. prove me wrong."

"i will." you tear open your packet, very aware of how close he is, how he's watching you. the honey is sweet on your tongue, sticky as you swallow it down and look at him. "it's not gonna work."

"we'll see," rafe says, settling back against the headboard next to you, his arm brushing yours as he gets comfortable, but his eyes are still on you.

"yeah, we will," you say, going back to your phone. "and when nothing happens, you're buying me food for a week as an apology for wasting my time."

"deal," rafe says, and there's something in his voice that makes you think he's not worried about losing that bet at all.

twenty minutes later the heat starts low in your belly and spreads outward until your skin feels too tight and every nerve ending is awake. you shift and the seam of your shorts catches against you in a way that makes your breath hitch—suddenly you're aware of how wet you're getting, the fabric sticking to you, and every tiny movement makes it worse.

your thighs press together without you meaning to and the pressure sends a pulse of need straight through your core that's so intense you have to bite the inside of your cheek. you try to focus on your phone but the words blur together and all you can think about is the throbbing between your legs, the way your pussy is clenching around nothing, how the cotton of your shirt feels too rough against your nipples.

"you good?"

your phone nearly slips from your hands when he speaks and for a second you can't catch your breath.

"yeah, i'm fine." but your voice sounds all wrong—strained and slightly pitched up in a way that gives you away immediately.

he's silent for a moment but you can feel him looking and it makes your skin prickle with awareness, makes the heat worse.

"you sure?" there's amusement threading through his voice now, low and knowing. "i could've sworn you said it was bullshit."

"it is." you try to sound convincing but you're pressing your thighs together again and you know he can see it, can probably see the flush spreading down your neck. "it's definitely not working."

"yeah? then why are you squirmin' like that?"

your entire body goes rigid.

"i'm not squirming."

"you keep pressin' your legs together..."

"oh my god, shutupshutupshutup."

then his hand lands on your thigh and the touch burns through the thin fabric of your shorts, making your breath catch immediately, and you realize you're in trouble because just that simple contact makes you want to spread your legs and beg.

"relax, alright?" his thumb strokes back and forth and each pass makes the ache between your legs worse, makes you wetter. "just checkin' somethin'."

"checking what?"

"how full of shit you are."

his hand slides higher and your pussy throbs so hard you gasp—you can't help it, can't control the way your body responds to him. he stops with his palm resting on your inner thigh, his fingers so close to where you're dripping that you want to grab his wrist and shove his hand where you need it.

"rafe—"

"whattt," he mutters, all innocence, but you can hear the smugness underneath. "thought it wasn't workin'."

"it's not." but you're shaking and your voice is barely there.

his thumb strokes your inner thigh again and you feel his breath against your ear, warm and close. "but you're breathin' all hard..." his fingers brush the edge of your shorts and you can't stop the whimper that escapes because you need more, need him to touch you properly or you're going to lose your mind.

"shut up."

his fingers trace the hem and it feels like you're going to die if he doesn't touch you properly, if he keeps teasing like this. "you want me to stop?"

"no." it comes out immediately and you want to take it back but then his hand slides up and cups you through your shorts and the pressure makes your hips jerk forward into his palm without permission.

"jesus—you're fuckin' drenched."

you are—you can feel how wet you are, how the fabric is clinging to you, and when he presses harder you feel the slickness spread and it should embarrass you but all you can think about is getting his hand closer.

then he's yanking you toward him and suddenly you're straddling his lap and his cock is right there beneath you, thick and hard and pressing up against your pussy through too many layers of fabric. you grind down without thinking and the friction makes you gasp because it's not enough but it's something.

his hands grip your hips and guide you to move against him again and the drag of his cock against your clit through your shorts makes your head fall back, makes you chase that pressure desperately.

"look at you." his voice is strained, rougher than before. "still waitin' for you to admit it was legit."

"shut up." you grind against him harder, chasing the pressure, and his fingers dig into your hips hard enough to bruise but you don't care because you need more.

his hand slides up your back into your hair and tugs and the sharp pull makes you gasp. his other hand moves between your bodies and presses against you through your shorts and you're so sensitive that even that makes you whimper, makes your hips roll forward seeking more contact.

"please..." you hear yourself say it and you don't even care anymore.

"please what?" he's enjoying this but his voice is rough, barely controlled. "what d'you want?"

"please touch me."

he pulls your shirt off and then your shorts and suddenly the air hits your wet pussy and you're exposed and aching and vulnerable. his hand slides between your legs and his fingers stroke through your folds and you shudder at the contact, at finally feeling his skin against you.

"jesus—" his voice cracks and you look down to see him staring between your legs like he's never seen anything like it. "you're fuckin' drenched."

his fingers run through the wetness and when he pulls his hand back you can see how they're coated, strings of it connecting his fingers to you, and he stares at it like he's mesmerized. the sight makes you clench around nothing, makes you need him inside you.

"look at this mess—" then his fingers find your clit and you stop breathing because the pressure is perfect and you're grinding into his hand desperately, chasing the sensation.

you're making these sounds you can't control—gasping and moaning—and you don't even care anymore because his fingers feel so good and you're so close already.

"there you go." his other hand is palming himself through his sweatpants and you can see how hard he is, can see the outline of his cock straining against the fabric. "listen to yourself—"

then his fingers slow down and barely touch you and you whine at the loss, at the sudden absence of pressure.

"what was that thing you said?" his voice is rough and his hips jerk forward into his own hand like he can't help it. "about instagram ads?"

"rafe please—"

his fingers push inside you—two at once—and you clench around them immediately, your pussy trying to pull them deeper because you need more. he curls them and presses against that spot and your entire body jerks forward, a sharp cry tearing out of you.

"shit—you're so tight—" his hand is shaking where he's gripping your hip and you can feel how affected he is, how much he wants this.

he does it again and you cry out, your nails digging into his shoulders hard enough to leave marks. his thumb finds your clit while his fingers work inside you and you can't help but moan at the combination, at how good it feels to finally have him touching you like this.

"you want more?"

"ohmy—pleaseyes—"

"c'mon, ask me nice."

"pleaseplease i need more—"

"yeah? need what?"

"your mouth." it comes out desperate and broken. "need your mouth on me."

he groans and the sound is all raw and broken like just hearing you say the words is fueling him, like he's been waiting to hear it. he pulls his fingers out and brings them to his mouth and sucks them clean and watching his eyes roll back makes something flip in your stomach because he looks needy for it already.

then he's pushing you down onto your back and the sheets are cool for half a second before his hands are spreading your thighs wide and his mouth is on you and—

your back arches off the bed before you can stop it. a sharp gasp tears out of you and your hands fly to his hair, gripping tight because you need something to hold onto. the groan he makes vibrates straight through your clit and you whimper, your hips bucking up involuntarily.

his tongue pushes inside you and you weren't expecting that—weren't expecting the wet heat of it or how deep he'd go or the obscene sound it makes when he does. your hips jerk up and he groans again, louder this time, like he's the one being overwhelmed.

you look down and oh god—

his face is buried between your legs, his jaw working as his tongue moves inside you, and his chin is already shiny and dripping with you. when his eyes flick up to meet yours there's something feral in them, something you've never seen before. this isn't calm, collected rafe who always has a smirk and a comeback ready. this is rafe completely undone, his pupils blown so wide his eyes look black, his mouth slack and wet and desperate as he stares at you like he's starving.

but that's not what makes you forget how to breathe.

his other hand is palming himself through his sweatpants, his hips grinding forward into his own hand in these short, desperate thrusts, and you can see the outline of his cock straining against the fabric—thick and hard and so obvious it's obscene. there's already a wet spot forming where he's leaking through and you can't stop staring, can't stop noticing how his shoulders are trembling, how his free hand is gripping your thigh so hard you know there'll be bruises, how his breathing is ragged and uneven against your pussy.

rafe was always so controlled, always the one with the upper hand, the one who stayed calm no matter what. but right now he looks frantic, completely gone, and it's because of you.

you want to touch him, want to wrap your hand around his cock and feel the weight of him and taste him and watch him fall apart under your mouth the way you're falling apart under his.

then his tongue drags up through your folds so slow like he's savoring the taste and the thought dissolves into nothing.

"oh—" you gasp and your hips buck up, seeking more. "oh god—"

he does it again—licks you from your entrance all the way up to your clit and then circles it with his tongue, teasing—and you whimper. your hands tighten in his hair and you pull him closer without meaning to and he groans like that's exactly what he wanted, like he needs you to use him.

"you taste—" he pulls back just enough to breathe and his voice is completely shot, wrecked in a way you've never heard before. his hand is still working himself, his hips still jerking forward. "so fuckin' good—"

then his mouth is back on you and his fingers push inside—two, then three—and the stretch makes you cry out because he's not gentle, he's messy and desperate, his tongue lapping at your clit while his fingers curl inside you. the wet sounds should embarrass you but you're too far gone to care, too focused on the way he's devouring you.

"listen to that—" his voice is muffled against you and you can feel his lips moving, can feel the vibration. "so fuckin' messy—"

his hand is still working himself and his hips are still grinding forward and you can see how badly he's shaking, can see his jaw tighten and his eyes squeeze shut for a second like he's trying to hold himself together. when they open again and lock on yours they're needy and pleading and desperate.

he's looking at you like he's memorizing you—his gaze drags up from where his mouth is on you, over your stomach, your tits, your mouth. he's staring at your face like he needs to see every reaction, every gasp, every time your eyes flutter closed, and the intensity of it makes your breath catch.

"rafe—" your voice breaks and you can barely get the words out. "oh my god—"

he pulls back just enough to breathe and his chin is dripping, his lips swollen and shiny and his pupils are so blown you can barely see the blue. "y'gonna cum for me?"

then his mouth seals around your clit and sucks hard and his fingers curl inside you and press against that spot and everything goes white.

"yes—fuck—yes—"

it hits you and your entire body convulses, your hands gripping his hair so tight it has to hurt but you're pulling him closer as your hips buck up against his face. you're sobbing his name and he doesn't pull away—he keeps his mouth on you through all of it, drawing it out, groaning against you like he can't get enough, his hips still grinding into his hand like watching you come is almost enough to make him lose it too.

when he finally pulls back his face is a mess—his chin is shiny and dripping, his lips swollen and red. his hand leaves his cock and you can see how hard he is, the outline obscene against his sweatpants, a wet spot spreading where he's leaking, and suddenly you need to taste him, need to make him fall apart the way he just made you fall apart.

"my turn."

you're pushing him before he can react and he's so surprised he lets you flip him onto his back, his eyes going wide as you move down his body, your hands already reaching for his sweatpants.

"wait—"

"shut up." you yank his sweatpants down and his cock springs free and jesus christ—it's thick and flushed dark, curving up toward his stomach, pre-cum dripping steadily from the slit. you watch it drip down his shaft and your mouth waters because you need to taste him.

"fuck—" his voice cracks when your hand wraps around him and he's so hard, so hot in your palm, and when you stroke up his entire body jerks like he's been electrocuted. "oh fuck—"

you lean down and lick the pre-cum from his tip and the taste of him—salty and clean and him—makes you moan. his hips buck up and he whimpers, the sound high and broken.

"shit—wait—i can't—"

"yeah you can." you lick up his shaft, following the trail of pre-cum, and his hands fly to the sheets and grip tight, his knuckles going white.

you wrap your lips around the head and suck and the sound he makes is this half moan, half growl that goes straight between your legs. you take him deeper, hollowing your cheeks, and his cock throbs on your tongue, leaking more pre-cum.

"shit—" his voice is wrecked, barely recognizable. "fuckin' love your mouth—"

you pull off with a wet pop and stroke him with your hand, watching more pre-cum leak from the tip, watching the way his abs flex and his hips jerk up seeking more. "god, you're so easy."

"yeah? so fuckin' what."

you take him deep again, as far as you can, and his hips thrust up involuntarily, pushing him deeper. you gag slightly but don't pull off, just relax your throat and take him deeper, and his hands fly to your hair.

"fuck—sorry—i'm sorry—" but he's not pulling you off, his fingers are tangling in your hair and holding you there and you moan around him because you want this, want him to lose control.

you pull off, spit connecting your lips to his cock, and pump him with your hand—fast and tight and slick. you take him deep again and this time when his hips thrust up you meet him, taking him into your throat. the groan he makes is almost anguished, desperate and raw, and you set a rhythm, bobbing your head, taking him as deep as you can while his hips start moving, fucking up into your mouth in shallow thrusts.

"oh fuck—oh fuck—" his voice is breaking, cracking on every word.

but then his hands are pulling you off and he's gasping, his chest heaving. "fuck—wait—i'm gonna—"

"that's the point."

"no—" he's pulling you up his body and his hands are shaking, trembling as they grip you. "not yet—need to fuck you."

his cock is pressed between your bodies, hot and slick and throbbing, and you can feel more pre-cum leaking onto your stomach. you grind against him and he groans, the sound pained.

"god—" you reach between your bodies and wrap your hand around him and stroke, feeling how hard he is, how much he's leaking. "you're shaking."

"yeah—" his voice breaks and his hips jerk up into your hand. "yeah i'm fuckin' shakin'—you have no idea—"

you position him at your entrance and sink down slowly and the stretch makes you both moan because he's so thick, filling you so completely, and from this angle he's so deep you can feel him everywhere.

"oh fuck—" his hands grip your hips hard enough to bruise and his entire body is trembling beneath you. "oh fuck you're tight—so. fuckin'. wet—"

you start moving and the slide of him inside you is perfect—you can feel every ridge, every vein, the way he throbs when you clench around him. you brace your hands on his chest and his heart is slamming against your palms, fast and erratic and out of control.

"look at you," you manage, even though you can barely breathe. "thought you were gonna be in control."

he thrusts up hard and the argument dies in your throat, replaced by a gasp.

"yeah?" his voice is strained, barely there. "you were sayin'?"

but you can see the flush spreading down his neck, the way his shoulders are tensed like he's holding himself back, and you know he's just as ruined as you are.

you ride him harder, faster, chasing the feeling building in your core. the wet sounds are so fucking obscene—slap slap slap, squelch squelch squelch—and you can feel your arousal dripping down his shaft, coating his balls, making everything slick and messy.

"fuckkkk—" he's watching where you're joined and his voice breaks, his jaw completely slack as he stares. you grind down in a circle and he whimpers, the sound all high and broken. "topper's never gonna believe this shit." he laughs—breathless and broken—and you feel it vibrate through his chest.

"are you seriously thinking about topper right now?"

"tryin' not to." you clench around him and watch his head tip back, his throat exposed, a groan tearing out of him that sounds almost pained. "but shit—you owe him a fuckin' thank you card."

the angle drives him so deep you feel it in your stomach and suddenly you're not thinking about topper anymore—you're thinking about the drag of his cock inside you, the wet sounds that match your rhythm, how his fingers are digging into your hips hard enough to leave purple marks.

his hand slides between your bodies and finds your clit and the pressure makes your movements stutter, makes you lose your rhythm because you can't focus on anything except the fullness of him stretching you and the tight heat building low in your belly.

"oh my god—"

"there you go." he mutters, voice all low and shaky, and you can see sweat dripping down his temples, can see his abs flexing with every thrust up into you. "'s what i wanna see."

you grind down and take him deeper and his hips jerk up to meet you and you're both slick with sweat now, your bodies sliding together. you can feel the heat radiating off him, can feel his other hand find your breast and squeeze, his palm damp against your skin.

"so full—" you gasp it out because you can barely form words. "can feel you everywhere—"

"yeah?" he thrusts up harder and you watch his biceps flex as he grips you tighter, watch the way his muscles coil. "y'like feelin' how deep i am?"

"yes—fuck yes—"

you roll your hips and he whimpers and you realize you're the one making him sound like that, you're the one unraveling him. his composure is completely gone—he's gripping you like he's drowning, his fingers digging in, and there's something raw in the way he's looking at you. pupils blown wide, mouth hanging open.

"you're so fuckin' tight." his hands grip your ass now and his fingers dig in hard enough to bruise, hard enough to sting. "you keep squeezin' me like that and i'm gonna—gonna cum."

"already?"

"shut up—you're the one who's—look at you—you can barely—" his voice breaks when you clench around him again and his jaw goes slack, his eyes rolling back. he's right though—you're gasping and your movements are getting frantic and his fingers find your clit again and suddenly you're close, so close you can feel it building.

"rafe—" your voice breaks and you can barely get his name out. "i'm gonna—"

"yeah?" his hips are bucking up desperately now and you can feel him throbbing inside you, can feel how close he is too. "do it—wanna feel you—need to feel it—"

his fingers work your clit in tight circles and you come so hard you're seeing stars, clenching around him in waves, your body convulsing as his hips buck up against you, prolonging it.

you're still moving, still riding him through it because you can't stop, and he's falling apart beneath you—his grip on you tightening, his breathing ragged. then his hands are gripping your hips hard and he's flipping you and you barely process the change before you're on your stomach and he's entering you from behind in one brutal thrust that makes you scream into the sheets.

"fuck—"

his arm hooks around your neck and he's pulling you back against his chest, fucking into you so hard you can barely think, can barely breathe. his forearm is solid against your throat, the weight of it holding you exactly where he wants you, and his other hand finds your clit and rubs tight circles. you're squirming against him, trying to escape the intensity but he's holding you so tight you can hardly move.

the sounds are so nasty—the wet slapping, the squelch with every thrust, your moans and his grunts mixing together.

"rafe—" you're gasping, barely able to form words. "it's too much—"

his hips snap forward hard and you feel his teeth graze your shoulder before biting down, his fingers pressing harder on your clit. "nah—c'mon you can take it."

"fuck—pleasepleaseplease—"

his next thrust goes so deep you can't breathe and your body goes rigid for a second before your back arches involuntarily, your ass pressing back into him hard enough that he groans. the angle sends everything white-hot through you and your thighs clench.

"ah—ah—fuck—" the sounds punch out of you with every thrust and you can't stop them. he sounds so fucking good right now. the way he's rutting into you like he's been wanting to do this, like he's finally letting himself have you, makes you even wetter.

"every. last. inch." his voice is low and rough in your ear. "just like this—"

"that's it—" his arm flexes around your neck and pulls you tighter against his chest. you can feel his collarbone digging into your shoulder blade, the solid heat of him pressed against every inch of your back. "fuck yourself back on my cock."

you do it without thinking, meeting his thrusts, and the angle makes him go even deeper. "oh god—fuck—you're so fucking deep—" your thighs are shaking.

"you like this?" his breath is hot against your ear and his voice is wrecked, barely controlled. "like me fuckin' you like this?"

"yesyesyes—" it comes out broken between thrusts.

"yeah?" he thrusts harder and you can hear how wet you are with every movement, can hear the obscene squelch. "listen to that—so fuckin' messy—drippin' all over me—"

your nails dig into his forearm and you feel the flex of muscle beneath your fingers, the way his tendons shift with every movement. his hips slow and grind deep instead of thrusting and you feel every inch of him, the pressure maddening, his cock dragging against that spongy spot inside you with every slow roll of his body.

"tell me i was right." his voice drops lower, more guttural, and his rhythm falters before he regains control and fucks into you with renewed desperation. you can feel the tension in his shoulders, the way his whole body is coiled tight.

"i—" you sob it and tears stream down your face because it's too much, because you can't think. "fuck—"

"say it." his hips slam forward hard enough to push you into the mattress. "say it. need to hear you say it."

"i was wrong—" you sob it out, your voice breaking. "okay? i was wrong—"

"that's not what i said." his arm flexes around your throat and his hips grind deep, so deep you feel it everywhere. "tell me i was right."

"god—fuck, you were right." you're clenching around him with every thrust, your body betraying you. "you were right about everything—"

"yeah i fuckin' was—" he groans against your neck and his control finally cracks, his hips snapping forward brutally now, chasing his release, his rhythm completely gone. you feel his arm tighten around your neck as he pulls you back onto him with each thrust and the angle shifts and suddenly he's hitting so deep you see stars. "you gonna remember that? gonna remember how good i fuck you?"

"yes—yes i'll remember—i'll never—forget it."

and just like that you're coming again, clenching around him so tight it's almost painful, gushing around him and soaking everything. and even still he's fucking you through it, his arm around your neck holding you in place.

"keep fuckin' takin' it—"

"i'm taking it—" you sob, tears streaming down your face. "fuck i'm taking it—"

his rhythm is erratic now and desperate and you can feel him getting harder inside you, the way his cock swells right before he comes, and you want it, need to feel him come inside you.

"wanna feel you—wanna feel you come inside me—"

then he's pulling out suddenly and flipping you again and you're on your back and he's on top and he's slamming back inside in one brutal thrust that makes you both cry out.

"look at me." his hand grips your jaw and forces you to meet his eyes and there's something desperate in them, something that feels vulnerable and unlike anything you've ever seen on his face. your heart clenches at the sight of it and you don't look away, not for a second. "need to see you."

he's pushing deep, deeper than before, and you wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him closer.

"fuck—" his voice breaks and cracks. "fuck i'm gonna—i'm—"

then he's spilling inside you, his entire body locking up. you feel it—the first pulse of his cock, then another, then another. the heat of his cum flooding inside you, filling you, and it's so much. he's groaning your name against your neck—a sound that's almost anguished—and you can feel every pulse as he empties himself inside you, his hips jerking forward with each spasm like he can't help it, like his body is trying to get deeper even though there's nowhere left to go.

the sensation triggers something in you and suddenly you're coming again, clenching around him, milking him, taking every drop. you're sobbing as you come and rafe is holding you so tight, his arms wrapped around you, his fingers digging into your back.

you can feel his cum inside you, hot and thick, can feel it leaking out around his cock because there's so much. your pussy clenches again and he whimpers against your neck, the sound vulnerable and raw.

his movements slow and become gentle but you can still feel him throbbing inside you and the aftershocks running through both of you. his full weight settles on you and you can feel his heartbeat slamming against your chest—fast and erratic. sweat is cooling on your skin but inside you're still burning, still feeling the heat of him.

"je—" his voice is rough, barely there. "jesus fucking christ—"

he stops like there's something he was about to say and swallowed it. his face is buried in your neck and his arms are wrapped around you so tight you can barely breathe. you can feel his pulse against your collarbone where his throat presses into you.

you wonder what he was going to say.

you're both gasping for air and your legs are still wrapped around his waist, holding him close.

he's not pulling out—he's staying inside you and softening but still there, still connected. his full weight is pressing you into the bed and you can feel his cum leaking out around him, dripping down your thighs, making everything even messier. the sheets beneath you are soaked.

you can feel the honey packet still working through your system—the warmth that hasn't faded, the need is still there simmering under your skin.

you shift slightly and you feel him getting hard again almost immediately. he groans against your neck and the sound is surprised and almost pained.

"oh my god. already?"

your hips roll without meaning to and you feel him thickening inside you and he shudders, his arms tightening around you. you can feel the tension returning to his shoulders, the way his muscles coil.

"yeah."

you clench around his hardening cock and he makes this sound—half groan, half whimper.

he pulls back just enough to look at you and his hips press forward—a slow thrust that's all the way in that makes your breath catch. there's this look on his face, something softer than before like something changed between you. his hair is damp and sticking to his forehead and there's a flush spreading down his neck.

"told you."

but the teasing sounds different now—less about winning, more about something else. something you're not quite ready to admit yet.

you want to argue but he's grinding into you in slow circles that make your eyes flutter closed and your body is already desperate for more.

"oh fuck you."

but you're smiling. your legs wrap around his waist and pull him deeper and he laughs—soft and ragged—before his mouth finds yours.

he's kissing you—actually kissing you for the first time tonight. his lips are softer than you expected and he tastes like sweat and a little sweet from the honey. his tongue licks into your mouth, messy and urgent and perfect, the warmth of it making you melt into him. you're already grinding up into him and your hands are in his hair pulling him closer.

his hips start building a real rhythm again, slow at first but building, and you're so sensitive that every thrust makes you whimper into his mouth. his hand slides between your bodies, his fingers gently beginning to work your clit and you gasp into his mouth.

he pulls back just enough to look at you, his forehead pressed against yours, his voice low and rough.

"gonna fuck you all night."

𝐚/𝐧: i hope you guys like this one!! i'm ngl i'm kinda scared this one's gonna flop because i know people usually aren't as into the best friends to lovers trope as they are older!bf. i usually write things that have some kind of taboo element, and i really enjoy writing power imbalances and other weird shit like that, so this was definitely a step out of my comfort zone. i kept trying to figure out a best friends premise that didn't feel generic or boring, and i wanted to write a version of canon rafe that felt a little different without making him feel out of character. i hope you guys enjoy this version of him :) sometimes i like imagining season one rafe if he wasn't actively losing his shit lol.

@lvstqrs @ayeitsjustmee

[bnwrittes]

The girl he always choose

SUMMARY: You had spent your entire life believing Mathew Barzal belonged with someone more beautiful, more confident, and more suited to his world. Mat had spent his entire life wondering how you could possibly fail to notice that he had always chosen you.

WC: 4.4k

WARNINGS: Insecurity, negative body image, self-deprecating thoughts, class differences, mentions of online criticism, emotional confession, childhood best friends to lovers, fluff.

Requested: Mathew Barzal + Childhood friends to lovers

You had known Mathew for so long that you couldn’t remember meeting him.

There was no clear beginning to your friendship. No first introduction preserved in either of your memories. There had simply always been Mat.

Mat stealing pieces of fruit from your lunchbox during elementary school, Mat waiting outside your house with his bicycle discarded carelessly on your lawn, Mat convincing you to sit through hours of hockey practice because he promised to buy you hot chocolate afterward, Mat calling you from tournaments when he was supposed to be sleeping, whispering into the phone so his teammates wouldn’t hear him admit that he missed home.

You had been there before the packed arenas and screaming fans. Before the expensive suits, endorsement deals, magazine covers, and verified social media accounts. Before strangers began behaving as though they knew him because they watched him play hockey a few nights each week.

To you, he was still the boy who had broken your mother’s kitchen window while attempting to prove he could hit a tennis ball farther than you.

He was still the teenager who had shown up at your house after being drafted, clutching his new jersey in trembling hands because the magnitude of his dream coming true had finally overwhelmed him.

He was still your best friend.

And that was precisely why you had never allowed yourself to believe he could become anything more.

Mat’s arm was stretched along the back of your couch as he watched you move around your tiny apartment kitchen “You’re avoiding me,” he announced.

You didn’t turn around. “I’m making pasta.”

“You’ve been making pasta for forty minutes.”

“The sauce requires patience.”

“You poured it out of a jar.”

You glanced over your shoulder, glaring at him, Mat grinned, completely unbothered. He was wearing a dark sweatshirt and gray sweatpants, his hair still slightly damp from the shower he had taken after practice. He looked unfairly comfortable in your apartment, his long legs spread out beneath your coffee table like he lived there.

In some ways, he practically did.

He had a key. He kept extra clothes in the bottom drawer of your dresser. His preferred coffee creamer was permanently stocked in your refrigerator, despite the fact that you hated it. Your neighbors no longer blinked when they saw one of the most recognizable athletes in New York walking through the building with takeout bags balanced in his arms.

But during the past few weeks, something had shifted between you.

Mat had become more attentive than usual, More affectionate. He touched your waist when he moved behind you in the kitchen. He rested his hand on your thigh while you watched movies. He looked at you for too long, his expression softening whenever you caught him.

At first, you had tried to convince yourself it was nothing.

Mat was naturally affectionate. He hugged his teammates, kissed his mother’s cheek, and regularly invaded your personal space without invitation. It was simply who he was. Then he had asked you to attend the Islanders’ charity gala with him.

Not as his friend, as his date. You had laughed because you assumed he was joking, he hadn’t laughed with you. Since then, you had been avoiding the conversation “You still haven’t answered me,” Mat said.

You stirred the sauce even though it didn’t need stirring. “About what?”

“The gala.”

“I told you I’m working.”

“You’re not.” Your hand stopped, Mat leaned forward, resting his forearms against his knees. “Your coworker switched shifts with you.”

You slowly turned around. “How do you know that?”

“I asked.”

“You asked my coworker about my schedule?”

“I went to get coffee. She was there.”

“You hate the coffee from my job.”

“I don’t hate it.”

“You once said it tasted like boiled cardboard.”

“It does.” He shrugged. “But you work there.”

That was Mat’s irritatingly simple explanation for everything. Why had he sat in the corner of the café for four hours while you worked a double shift?

Because you worked there.

Why did he drive almost an hour through traffic to eat reheated leftovers in your apartment?

Because you lived there.

Why had he flown you to Vancouver when your mother had surgery, rearranging his entire offseason schedule without telling you?

Because you needed him.

He made devotion sound ordinary. As if loving you—in whatever way he loved you—was as natural as breathing. You turned back toward the stove. “I don’t want to go.”

“Why?”

“I just don’t.”

“That isn’t an answer.”

“It’s the only one I have.”

Mat stood. You heard his footsteps cross the kitchen before he stopped behind you, he didn’t touch you, although you could feel the heat of him against your back “Did I do something?” he asked quietly.

The vulnerability in his voice made your chest ache “No.”

“Then why have you barely looked at me since I asked you?”

“Because you shouldn’t have asked.” Silence filled the kitchen, you immediately regretted the words. When you turned, Mat was staring at you with his eyebrows drawn together “What does that mean?”

“It means you should take someone else.”

“I don’t want someone else.”

“You could have anyone.”

“I know.” The confidence of his answer irritated you more than it should have, you released a humorless laugh. “Right. Exactly.”

Mat’s frown deepened. “Exactly what?”

“You’re Mathew Barzal.”

“Yes. We established that about twenty-eight years ago.”

“You know what I mean.”

“I genuinely don’t.”

You switched off the stove and pushed past him, suddenly unable to stand inside the small kitchen with his body occupying most of the available space. Mat followed you into the living room “Talk to me.”

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

“There obviously is.”

“Can you please drop it?”

“No.”

You spun around. “Why not?”

“Because you’re my best friend, and you’ve been acting like I proposed that we rob a bank instead of asking you to come to a party with me.”

“It isn’t just a party.”

“It is to me.”

“You’ll be photographed.”

“So?”

“People will assume things.”

“What things?”

“That we’re together.”

Mat held your gaze, you waited for him to laugh. To look uncomfortable. To dismiss the possibility immediately. Instead, he took a step closer “Would that be so terrible?”

Your heart stumbled painfully “Mat.”

“What?”

“You can’t say things like that.”

“Why not?”

“Because you don’t mean them.”

His expression changed, the playful impatience disappeared, replaced by something quieter and more serious “You think I don’t mean it?”

“I think you’re confused.”

“I’m not.”

“You’ve been single for a while, and I’m familiar. I’m safe.”

“You are familiar. You are safe.” He paused. “Neither of those things means I’m confused.”

You folded your arms over your chest, attempting to protect yourself from a conversation you had spent years avoiding “Mat, please.”

“No. You don’t get to decide what I feel and then tell me I’m wrong.”

“I’m trying to save us from making a mistake.”

“Wanting you isn’t a mistake.” The words landed between you with enough force to steal your breath, Mat watched you carefully. There was no teasing in his expression. No uncertainty.

He meant it.

Somehow, that frightened you more, you shook your head. “You don’t want me.” His jaw tightened. “I just said I do.”

“You think you do.”

“Stop telling me what I think.”

“You date models, Mat.”

“I’ve dated two models.”

“That’s two more than most people.”

“What does that have to do with you?”

“Everything!” Your voice broke through the apartment, louder than you intended, Mat fell silent.

The embarrassment came immediately, burning across your face and down your neck. You looked away from him, fixing your gaze on the worn rug beneath your feet “You don’t understand,” you whispered.

“Then help me understand.”

You wanted to refuse.

You wanted to pretend there was nothing wrong, serve the pasta, and return to the comfortable version of your friendship where Mat was yours without truly belonging to you.

But he was standing there, waiting and perhaps you had grown tired of carrying the truth alone

“You belong with someone who fits into your life.”

“You fit into my life better than anyone.”

“That’s not what I mean.”

“Then what do you mean?”

You swallowed hard “A hockey girlfriend.”

Mat blinked. “What is a hockey girlfriend?”

“You know.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Someone beautiful. Someone who knows how to dress for events and looks good in every picture. Someone confident who can walk into a room full of strangers and doesn’t spend the entire night wondering if everyone is laughing at her.”

Mat’s face softened, but you continued before he could interrupt.

“Someone with an interesting career who doesn’t come home smelling like burnt coffee and cleaning products. Someone who doesn’t spend half her paycheck on rent for an apartment where the bedroom door doesn’t close properly.”

His eyes flicked briefly toward the crooked door down the hallway “It really doesn’t close,” he admitted. You glared at him through the tears beginning to blur your vision “Not helping.”

“Sorry.”

You wiped beneath your eyes impatiently. “Someone skinny,” you forced yourself to add. “Someone who doesn’t have to change outfits six times because everything makes her feel enormous. Someone blond, probably, because that seems to be what hockey players like.”

“I like brunettes.”

“You’ve dated blonds.”

“I’ve also eaten raisins. That doesn’t mean they’re my preference.”

Despite yourself, a strangled laugh escaped you, Mat stepped closer, but you immediately moved back. His smile disappeared.

“You’re not listening,” you whispered. “People would look at us and wonder what you’re doing with me.”

“People wonder why I make half my decisions. I’m still allowed to make them.”

“I would embarrass you.”

“You could never embarrass me.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I watched you throw up in a decorative planter at my cousin’s wedding.”

“I had food poisoning.”

“You drank eight glasses of sangria.”

“The fruit made it difficult to count.”

“My point is, we survived it.”

“This isn’t funny.”

“I know.” Mat’s voice softened, He closed the remaining distance slowly, giving you enough time to move away, you didn’t. “I know it isn’t funny,” he repeated. “But listening to you talk about yourself like this is killing me.”

You stared at the logo printed across his sweatshirt because looking into his eyes felt impossible. His fingers gently touched your wrist “Do you honestly think I care what color your hair is?”

“It isn’t only about my hair.”

“I know. You think you aren’t skinny enough. You think your job isn’t impressive enough. You think you’re too quiet, and that your clothes aren’t expensive, and that somehow any of that matters more than the fact that you’re you.”

“You make it sound simple.”

“It is simple to me.”

“Well, it isn’t to me.”

“I know.” His thumb moved slowly over the inside of your wrist “That’s the part I didn’t understand,” he admitted. “I thought you knew.”

“Knew what?”

“That I’ve been in love with you for years.” Your head snapped upward, Mat looked terrified.

Mat, who played in front of thousands of people. Mat, who faced reporters after terrible losses and tolerated strangers dissecting his every mistake. Mat, who had always seemed incapable of being intimidated by anything. He was terrified of you.

“You’re lying,” you breathed.

“I’m not.”

“You would have said something.”

“I tried.”

“When?”

“When we were seventeen and I asked if you’d ever date a hockey player.”

“You asked whether I would date Sidney Crosby.”

“I was testing the waters.”

“You chose the most famous hockey player in Canada.”

“I panicked.” A disbelieving laugh left you, Mat’s mouth lifted slightly “Then there was your twenty-first birthday,” he continued. “I tried to kiss you outside the restaurant.”

“You tripped.”

“I leaned in, you stepped backward then I tripped.”

“I thought you were drunk.”

“I was drunk. I was also trying to kiss you.”

Your mind searched through years of memories, suddenly rearranging moments you had misunderstood. The lingering hugs, the jealousy he denied whenever you dated someone, the way every girlfriend Mat had ever had seemed to dislike you before properly meeting you.

The late-night calls, the spare key, the coffee creamer, the fact that Mat always came home to you.

“You never said anything,” you whispered.

“You never acted like you wanted me to.”

“Because I didn’t think I was allowed to.”

His forehead creased. “Allowed?”

“You were my best friend. Then you became…” You gestured helplessly at him. “This.”

“A guy standing in your apartment?”

“A famous professional athlete.”

“I was already playing professional hockey when you made me drive across the city because you saw a spider.”

“It was huge.”

“It was the size of a blueberry.”

“It moved quickly.”

“You trapped it under a mixing bowl and put a chair on top of the bowl.”

“I didn’t want it escaping.”

Mat’s lips twitched, but his eyes remained serious “You never treated me differently,” he said. “Do you know how rare that is?”

“You’re still you.”

“And you’re still you.”

“That isn’t the same.”

“It is to me.”

He lifted your hand and pressed it against the center of his chest. Beneath your palm, his heart was beating rapidly “You think I need someone who understands the cameras and the events and all the other bullshit that comes with hockey,” he said. “I don’t. I need someone who understands me.”

Your fingers curled slightly against his sweatshirt.

“You know when I need space before I ask for it. You know I pretend I’m not upset after a bad game because I hate feeling like I disappointed people. You know I can’t sleep when I’m anxious, so you talk to me about absolutely nothing until I stop thinking.”

His hand covered yours “You knew me before anyone was watching. And after everyone started watching, you were the only person who still saw the same kid.”

“Mat…”

“You’re the first person I call when something good happens. You’re the person I want when everything goes wrong. When I picture going home, I don’t picture Coquitlam or New York. I picture wherever you are.”

Tears slipped silently down your cheeks, Mat released your hand only to cup your face “And for the record,” he continued, brushing one tear away with his thumb, “I think you’re beautiful.”

“You have to say that now.”

“I absolutely don’t.”

“You’re trying to convince me to date you.”

“I’m doing a terrible job if you still think I’d lie to accomplish that.”

You gave him a watery smile, his gaze moved over your face with such open affection that you almost had to look away “I love your hair,” he said. “Especially when you complain about it being impossible and then leave it all over my bathroom.”

“I have never used your bathroom.”

“You stayed at my place for three weeks while your building had a plumbing problem.”

“That was different.”

“I found a hair on my jersey months later.”

“Brunette hair is easily identifiable.”

“That’s not the argument you think it is.” You rolled your eyes, but Mat’s expression grew serious again “And I love your body.”

Your smile faded. His hands dropped from your face, resting carefully against your waist “Not despite anything,” he said. “Not because I’m being nice. I love you exactly as you are.”

You tensed instinctively beneath his touch, Mat noticed, he always noticed. His hands immediately loosened, but he didn’t remove them “You don’t have to believe everything tonight,” he whispered. “I know I can’t undo years of you feeling like you’re not enough in one conversation.”

“I’m not sure I’ll ever feel like enough for your world.”

“Then maybe my world needs to change.”

“You can’t change your entire life for me.”

“I’m not changing my life. I’m telling you that you’re already part of it.”

You looked at him, searching for hesitation, there was none “What about my job?”

“What about it?”

“It’s awful.”

“You hate it?”

“Most days.”

“Then I’ll support you while you find something you like. But I’m not embarrassed that you work at a café. You work harder than nearly everyone I know.”

“It isn’t glamorous.”

“Neither is hockey. I spend half my life in sweaty equipment with grown men yelling at me.”

“You earn millions of dollars.”

“That does improve it.”

You laughed again, shaking your head, Mat smiled, relief briefly softening his features, then his thumb brushed over your side “And you don’t need to become one of the women you see online,” he said. “You don’t have to dress like them or look like them or act like them. I don’t want a hockey girlfriend.”

“What do you want?”

“You.”

One simple word, it shouldn’t have been powerful enough to dismantle every defense you had built, but it did.

“I’m scared,” you admitted.

“I am too.”

“You don’t look scared.”

“I’ve been trying to tell my best friend I’m in love with her for ten minutes, and she keeps accusing me of having a blond fetish.” A surprised laugh burst from you, Mat grinned “There you are.”

“Don’t make fun of me.”

“I’m not.”

“You are a little.”

“Only enough to stop you from crying.” His thumbs brushed beneath your eyes, you looked at him for a long moment “What happens if we ruin everything?”

“What happens if we don’t?”

“That isn’t an answer.”

“No, but it’s the question that has kept me awake for years.”

Your breath caught, Mat leaned closer, slowly enough that you understood exactly what he was asking. His forehead touched yours “I’m not asking you to suddenly become confident,” he whispered. “I’m not asking you to walk into that gala and pretend you aren’t nervous. You can spend the entire night holding my hand. We can leave after ten minutes. We can skip it completely and eat pasta here.”

“The sauce might be burned.”

“It came from a jar. We’ll recover.”

You closed your eyes briefly “What are you asking me for, then?”

“A chance.” His nose brushed yours.

“One real chance to love you the way I’ve wanted to.” Your heart was beating so hard you wondered whether he could feel it through the small distance between you “And if I’m terrible at this?”

“You’ve watched me attempt to assemble furniture. You know I have a high tolerance for failure.”

“You put an entire bookcase together backward.”

“The instructions were unclear.”

“They had pictures.”

“I was under pressure.” You smiled, your hands finally settling against his chest, Mat’s expression softened as he looked down at them, then he looked at you again “Can I kiss you?”

You had imagined this moment more times than you would ever admit.

In those fantasies, you had always been different. Thinner. More confident. Wearing something beautiful instead of old leggings and a faded sweater. Your hair had been styled, your skin perfect, and your hands hadn’t trembled when they reached for him.

But Mat wasn’t looking at an imaginary version of you, he was looking at you. The real you.

The woman who smelled faintly of tomato sauce and had cried hard enough that her eyes would be swollen in the morning and he still wanted you

“Yes,” you whispered.

Mat kissed you gently. There was no desperate urgency. No dramatic collision of mouths after years of suppressed feelings. It was soft, patient. His hand cupped the back of your neck while the other remained at your waist, anchoring you against him without pulling you closer than you were prepared to be.

It felt familiar and entirely new at once, like discovering that the home you had been searching for was the place where you had always lived.

When he pulled back, his lips remained close to yours “You okay?”

You nodded, dazed “That was…”

“Good?” he suggested.

“Unexpected.”

“I confessed my love first. There was some warning.”

You lightly shoved his chest, Mat laughed and caught your hand, bringing it to his mouth. His lips brushed your knuckles. The tenderness of the gesture made your chest tighten again “You really want me to go to the gala with you?” you asked.

“Yes.”

“As your date?”

“Yes.”

“People might say things.”

“People always say things.”

“What if they don’t think I’m pretty enough for you?”

Mat’s amusement disappeared, he brought your hand back to his chest “Then they’ll be wrong.”

“It won’t bother you?”

“It’ll bother me that it hurts you.” He paused. “But it won’t make me question you and it definitely won’t make me ashamed of you.”

You studied his face “What will you do if someone asks who I am?”

A slow smile spread across his lips “I’ll tell them you’re the girl I’ve been in love with since I was seventeen.”

Your cheeks warmed “You cannot tell reporters that.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s embarrassing.”

“For you or for me?”

“For me. You apparently have no shame.”

“Correct.”

You rested your forehead against his chest, hiding your face, Mat wrapped both arms around you. His cheek settled against the top of your head, and for several quiet seconds, neither of you spoke.

You could hear the rhythmic beating of his heart “You know,” he murmured, “my mom is going to be unbearable.”

Your stomach dropped. “Your mom?”

“She has been waiting for this since we were kids.”

“She knows?”

“Everyone knows.”

You pulled back sharply. “Everyone?”

“My parents. Your parents. My sister. Half my childhood friends.”

“And nobody told me?”

“They assumed you knew.”

“I didn’t know!”

“Apparently, I was obvious.”

“You dated other people.”

“I was trying to move on.”

The admission erased your outrage “Did it work?”

Mat looked at you as though the answer was self-evident “I’m standing in your apartment while pasta burns behind us.” Your eyes widened “The pasta!”

You rushed toward the kitchen, but Mat caught you around the waist before you could escape, a laugh left you as he pulled you back against his chest. “Let it burn,” he murmured, pressing his face into your hair.

“I haven’t eaten since lunch.”

“I’ll order something.”

“You complain every time I order delivery.”

“I’m feeling generous.”

“You’re only saying that because you finally kissed me.”

“Exactly. This is the happiest day of my life.”

“You were drafted into the NHL.”

“Second happiest.”

“You won the Calder.”

“Third.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“And you love me.” The words stilled you, Mat seemed to realize what he had said at the same moment. His grip loosened slightly, giving you room to step away.

You didn’t.

You turned in his arms “I do,” you admitted quietly. Hope transformed his entire face “I’ve loved you for years. I just never thought I could have you.”

Mat’s eyes shone as he leaned down “You’ve always had me.” This kiss was different. Still gentle, but no longer tentative.

Mat kissed you like someone who had spent years waiting for permission. Like someone finally arriving at the destination he had been moving toward his entire life and for the first time, you allowed yourself to believe him.

Not completely.

The insecurities didn’t disappear because Mat loved you. You knew there would be difficult days. Photographs you would hate. Comments you shouldn’t read but inevitably would. Events where you would compare yourself to every woman in the room.

Loving Mat wasn’t going to magically teach you how to love yourself.

But when you finally attended the gala two weeks later, wearing a simple dark dress you had nearly returned three times, Mat looked at you as though every other person in the room had vanished.

He didn’t release your hand when the cameras began flashing, he didn’t hurry you through the photographs when you stiffened beside him, Instead, he leaned toward your ear “You look beautiful.”

“You’ve said that twelve times.”

“I’m trying to make it thirteen.”

“You don’t have to keep reassuring me.”

“I know.”

His fingers intertwined with yours.

“I want to.”

A reporter called Mat’s name and asked him to identify the woman standing beside him. You felt his hand tighten around yours, Mat looked at you first.

A silent question. You swallowed your fear and nodded, his smile was immediate “This is YN,” he said proudly. “My girlfriend.”

The title sent a wave of warmth through your chest.

Another reporter asked how you had met, Mat’s smile softened as he glanced at you “She’s my childhood best friend.”

“And now?”

His eyes never left yours “Now she’s finally letting me take her on a proper date.”

The reporters laughed, but you barely heard them. Mat lifted your joined hands and kissed your knuckles.

You knew the photographs would spread online before you even reached your table, you knew strangers would have opinions.

Some would call you beautiful. Others wouldn’t understand. A few might decide you weren’t thin enough, glamorous enough, or interesting enough to stand beside him.

But Mat wasn’t looking at them, he was looking at you.

The brunette girl from Coquitlam who had sat through his hockey practices and answered his midnight phone calls, the girl with the tiny apartment and the terrible job. The girl who had never believed someone like Mathew Barzal could choose her.

Except Mat hadn’t chosen you because he had become famous and suddenly noticed you standing nearby.

He had chosen you when you were children, he had chosen you through every city, every season, and every version of himself. And when the room became too loud, Mat leaned down and whispered the truth he intended to spend the rest of your lives proving.

“You were never the opposite of what I wanted.” His lips brushed your temple “You were always it.”

[spectersgf]

ST☆RGIRL ⤷ ゛MB13 ˎˊ˗

part one: that could be me .ᐟ

summary: everyone knows it's important to have a muse. your inspiration has to come from somewhere, and where could be better than the hot hockey player that your best friend introduced you to. well, anywhere else, actually. because the hot hockey player has a girlfriend, and it's not like she's an awful person. but you can't deny that there's something going on between you and him, so why not channel that into your music?

warnings / tags: popstar!reader .ᐟ use of y/n .ᐟ lots of time jumps .ᐟ emotional cheating if you squint .ᐟ not explicit but there are thoughts and feelings .ᐟ bad writing .ᐟ no tense consistency .ᐟ switching between using beau and tito for mr. anthony beauvillier .ᐟ best friend!tate mcrae .ᐟ

wordcount: 10.4k

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a/n: this has been such a long time coming that i'm actually a bit embarrassed, and this is only chapter one. this is a lot of exposition and background and it's very messy and i didn't proofread it all the way because i suck. written across months of late nights. please leave literally any feedback at all, good or bad, i want to know your thoughts. i am so scared to hit publish on this but it's time i bit the bullet.

(if you want to be tagged in future fics or if you have any requests, let me know! or just come and chat with me! for my other barzy fics, here's my masterlist!)

september, present day

“so, y/n, your new song…” 

a shy smile graced your features at the interviewer’s start of a question. you knew this would be coming up, and you had prepared for the media-friendly answer, but the real truth still sat tight in your head. made you blush whenever you thought about it. thought about him. 

“i do in fact have a new song coming out. it’s definitely one of my favourites, and i think my fans will all really love it, too.”

talking about your fans and your music made you beam with joy, enough to momentarily forget about the subject at hand.

“and we have some of the teased lyrics here; let’s have a read of them. you're where it's loud, lockin' eyes in a crowd, someone's name in your mouth that's not mine. that feels like it might be about someone very specific. anything you want to spill?”

you cover your nervous giggle with your hand, turning your head to hide your blush. “i think when i crush, i crush hard. and maybe once upon a time i was crushing on someone extra hard and got inspired. by the feeling itself, rather than the person.” you shrug, playing it off casually and twirling the end of your hair. “music is so personal to everyone and all about interpretation, so if someone listens to the song and wants to relate it to someone, that’s their interpretation!”

you smile at the interviewer, happy with your answer to the question. perfectly vague, but just enough detail to keep people interested. always leave them wanting more.

“so, it was inspired by someone? can you tell us who?” the interviewer smiles invitingly, trying to create a false sense of trust, as if this wasn’t all rehearsed. 

“i absolutely cannot!” you laugh. “honestly, it’s about the feeling. sure, a person can inspire a feeling, but when the feeling itself is so all-consuming, it stops being about the person. you become lost in the emotion. it’s wonderful and painful all the same. i’m someone who loves extremely hard. i feel everything so deeply to my core, and i think i convey that in all my music. but especially this upcoming ep.”

your smile is no longer shy or nervous; it’s genuine. you genuinely love your new ep – all the songs on it are so perfectly you and you’ve never felt more proud of or connected to a project. this career isn’t just your job, it’s your passion. your driving force. and while this EP did have some more romantic songs, or yearning songs as your fans would call them, a lot of the EP was more vulnerable. a love letter to music and to yourself, as well as a vent project partially about this exact situation.

there were so many songs that could’ve been picked out, that you’d prefer to talk about because they’re about you, but the one they picked was one of the two love songs. 

“sex sells,” your agent always says, and you couldn’t even deny it. this song wasn’t even about sex; it was about the lack of sex, if anything. but the sentiment was the same – up and coming female musician talks about love, and it puts her under public scrutiny. public scrutiny means she’s getting attention, which means her fanbase and career are growing, but it also means every word is dissected, every interaction is dissected. it was the most exhausting part of the job.

but you’ve learnt how to be a little sneaky. not one fan has figured out who this song is about. hell, there are only a select few friends of yours who know who the song is about. tate being one of them, but that’s because she introduced you to your so-called muse. 

he doesn’t know it’s about him either, and hopefully, he won’t figure it out. you were banking on him being stupid, or oblivious, or just not listening at all, though the latter was unlikely since he had a habit of conveying his opinion on music you’d released in some way or other. you thought the song was obvious, riddled with sports metaphors and callbacks to experiences that the two of you had actually shared, but maybe he wouldn’t be able to tell. it’s not like you name-dropped him in the song or said anything hyper-specific, since that would’ve made it obvious to your fans, too. and while hockey players definitely aren’t all stupid, he had a tendency to be a bit oblivious to things right under his nose. that was basically the message of the song.

the interviewer pulls you out of your trance with another question, thankfully not about the inspiration behind the song this time. “so, you’ve got this song coming out tonight, and you just mentioned your upcoming ep… when can we expect that from you?”

the career oriented question makes you literally beam. finally you can talk about what you actually do, instead of your barebones love life.

“we have a busy few months! this song comes out tonight, as you know, and then the ep as a whole comes out november 1st. but i implore my lovely fans to keep an eye out for other things that are coming between now and then. maybe a little show close to the time of ep release…”

you’re met with cheers from the crowd and a thumbs up from your agent in the wings. you’d become well-versed in the art of promoting yourself, but in a teasing way, as if you’d accidentally spoiled something that was supposed to be kept under wraps.

“you heard it here, folks! that could be me by the lovely y/n comes out tonight with an ep and maybe more on the way! y/n, lovely to have you on as always, we will be looking out for the elusive individual who this song is about,” the interviewer shoots you a wink, at which you genuinely laugh. you wave your goodbyes, blowing kisses to the cheering crowd and one especially to the camera, as your interview ends.

───────────୨ৎ────────────

it’s close to midnight when you finally get home after staying post-interview to meet fans. you repost some clips from the interview to your story and pull up your drafted post for the song release. contrary to popular belief, and against your agent’s better judgment, you handle your own social media. you like being able to read messages from your fans and interact with them whenever possible and appropriate. plus it felt more personal in a way that you always wanted your career to feel.

you reread your caption, adding a few details to it and tweaking the wording a little, before scheduling it to post at exactly midnight. you collate some pictures to post on your story, but while scrolling through your camera roll, you come across pictures of the muse himself.

a picture of you and mat, from the first time he came to one of your shows. your birthday show in june, where he showed up without his girlfriend and was happy to come to the post-show hangout with your friends after. the picture is nauseatingly cute, and you could never post it. it would raise too many suspicions and would get so messy, especially with mat still being in a relationship. and his girlfriend was nice! not someone you’d typically hang out with, or even someone you necessarily see as mat’s type, but she was nice to you whenever you’d met her. 

the picture was from backstage; you’d changed out of your concert outfit into something a bit more casual when mat came to see you, to congratulate you on the show and wish you a happy birthday.

───────────୨ৎ────────────

june, 3 months ago

“there she is! woman of the hour,” you hear his voice ring out in the entrance to your dressing room, and you immediately turn to face him. mat barzal. the hockey player you’ve been crushing on since tate introduced him to you, even though you told her you’d never crush on a hockey player. “happy birthday, superstar!”

mat crosses your dressing room to pull you into a warm hug. the pair of you were very big on touchy affection, and it may look weird to some people, but that’s just who you guys are. you’ve been physically affectionate with each other since you first met.

“thanks, mat,” you say against his shoulder. when you pull away, he’s smiling, and he pulls a bouquet of flowers out from behind his back. a beautiful bouquet of all your favourite flowers, with pink tulips right in the centre. “these are so beautiful! thanks, honey. did you enjoy the show?”

you put your flowers on your dressing table before nodding at him to sit on the plush green couch in your dressing room. he gets comfortable on the couch, manspreading as he always does. and you join him, sitting cross-legged with your knees resting on his thigh, as you always do. like a small tradition for the two of you, leaning even more into that touchy affection that other people don’t really understand.

“that was one of the most amazing live shows i’ve ever been to, y/n. you’re really killing it, superstar.”

his words are so genuine and earnest that it makes you emotional. brings tears to your eyes that you quickly blink away before he can see. 

before you can say anything in response, a group of your friends walk in. they’d mostly all met mat before, especially tate who had introduced you to each other. everyone in the group exchanges pleasantries, shaking hands and hugging, while you stay seated, slightly hazy-eyed. your best friend, penelope, catches your eye and subtly tips her head up to ask if you’re doing okay. you nod and give her a smile, though it doesn’t quite match the smile you’d given mat earlier. she responds by gesturing to the flowers with a shift of her eyes, and this time, your smile is big and real. but you play nonchalant by rolling your eyes at her and turning your attention back to the bigger group.

“hey, is mat coming to your house to hang out with us?” penny asks you, smirking when you flush. mat’s head whips towards you, so fast it was like it’d been on a string.

“are you free?” you ask. “totally cool if not, but it’s just a chill thing – drinks, music, board games, comfy clothes.”

he literally beams at you. his smile lights up his entire face, and his joy is so infectious that you can’t help but return it. he didn’t need to verbally accept the offer. that reaction told you everything you needed to know. you stand from your spot on the couch, ready to head out, when mat stops you. 

“let me get a picture with the birthday girl first,” he says, hopeful that you wouldn’t reject him. he was stupid to think you ever would, but you don’t let him know that. instead, you respond with a classic playful eyeroll and hand your phone to penny.

mat pulls you into him, his arm around your shoulders and yours around his waist. penny takes a couple of pictures like this, but while she’s still clicking away, mat leans down to murmur in your ear.

“what’s a guy gotta do to have a song written about him?”

you can’t do anything to stop the laugh that erupts out of you. there is so much irony in that comment that he doesn’t even realise, and you would never tell him. the truth is, since crushing on mat, you’d written countless lyrics about him. no full songs yet, but you had one floating around in your mind. 

he laughs with you and suddenly your bodies are holding each other up, both keeled over in laughter that nobody else in the room understands. neither of you realise it in the moment, but penny managed to capture that exact moment, forever immortalised for you to look back on (and maybe print out for your picture wall).

later that evening, you’re back at your house in comfy clothes and a diet pepsi in your hand; the drink was courtesy of mat who kept a stash in his car for you just in case you were ever out. which you were today. you didn’t let yourself think too long about the fact that mat kept a stash of your favourite drink in his car, and you especially didn’t let yourself think too hard about how he probably took them out and put them back in on days when he’d be seeing you, because the can in your hand was not flat. you were already deep into your crush on mat, despite your personal vow to never engage in any kind of romantic relations with an nhl player. being friends with tate had taught you enough about the goings-on of a hockey player’s mind, and that was something you wanted to avoid at all costs. 

you’d managed to arrange for all of your friends to be together at the same time, under one roof, but having penny and tate together on a night sometimes proved to be a problem for you. today was one of those times, since penny had somehow managed to already tell tate all about your backstage interactions with mat, which naturally had to be followed up with an interrogation.

“so… barzy, huh? can i take the credit for your new love connection?” tate’s voice in your ear surprises you and your first instinct is to check your surroundings and make sure there was nobody else in your general vicinity, but especially not mat. thankfully, tate was discreet. the only other person around was penelope.

“and what, pray tell, are you on about?” you ask tate, acting oblivious, like you didn’t know exactly what she was referring to. 

“don’t play dumb, y/n, you know what i’m talking about. penny told me all about your backstage interaction with our mathew.”

you turn to face penelope and glower at her, before turning back to tate to put her right. “nothing even happened! he came to the show, we chatted, we took a picture and now he’s here. that’s it.”

this time it’s penny who replies. “t, let me fill you in on what she isn’t telling you. the details, if you will. one: genevieve did not come to the show with him. he came alone. two: when we all walked in, y/n was basically sat in his fucking lap. and three: the picture they took is couply as fuck. like, this is a relationship picture. he whispered some shit in her ear that nobody knows and she’s cheesing like she never has before. especially not with thomas.”

the reference to your ex makes you scowl again, more from sadness than anger. when you look up to see tate, her jaw is completely unhinged and practically on the floor. there’s a mischievous twinkle in her eye that you’d only seen once before, and that was when she had first introduced you to mat. 

“he came alone and then was acting couply with you backstage?” she asks, voice gleaming with joy. you roll your eyes in response to her ludicrous assumptions.

“we were acting the way we always act! nothing out of the ordinary at all. and i was not on his lap, pen! i was just sat beside him. having a normal conversation about the show.”

“the way you always act is hardly an excuse, y/n. you and mat have been blurring the line since you first met.” tate’s reply wasn’t curt, but it was blunt. very to the point in a way that she wasn’t usually. but penelope interrupted you before you could get in any kind of retort to that statement.

“okay, missy. if it’s all so platonic between the two of you, what did he whisper in your ear that made you piss yourself laughing, hm?” pen had a single eyebrow raised and her mouth was turned up in a knowing smirk, as if she could read your mind and knew exactly what mat had said to you.

his comment wasn’t even that egregious! it was an innocent, throwaway comment between friends, but tate and penelope would’ve taken his words and ran with them, especially since mat’s girlfriend had been absent tonight.

“nothing! he didn’t say anything, he was just making jokes! c’mon, tatie, you know how he is! you’ve known him longest and you know he’s funny.” when you turned to tate, desperate for her to back you up, she was only snickering. “what are you laughing at?”

“you and your… delusion? obliviousness? lack of self awareness? take your fuckin’ pick, y/n,” tate replies, still giggling through her words. “i hate to burst whatever bubble this is, but mat isn’t like that with everyone. super friendly, absolutely. but penny’s right, you guys are constantly blurring that line.”

you can only respond with a frustrated huff. neither of them understood the position you were in right now, so you decided to throw out a hail mary and explain it one last time.

“look. let’s say i did like mat-–which i am not saying i do,” you look pointedly at tate before she can interrupt you. “but let’s say i did. he has a fucking girlfriend. who i don’t think particularly likes me for some reason. and, hey, let’s rule that out, too. let’s pretend he doesn’t have a girlfriend. that wouldn’t make any hypothetical feelings mutual! even if i did feel anything for him, that wouldn’t immediately mean he’d feel them back! and let’s even fucking pretend he did feel something non-platonic towards me. let’s go that far into this hypothetical. i am not going there with a professional hockey player! i got a firsthand look at how they are when tate was going out with cole, and just from observing every other nhl guy literally ever. i am not going there. not after everything that happened with thomas. it took me too long to heal from that and i can’t put myself through it all again, even for mathew fucking barzal. and above everything else, i don’t want to ruin my friendship with him! i really love being his friend and i can’t ruin that because of any hypothetical feelings.”

at the end of your monologue, you let out a long, strained exhale. you’re on the verge of tears and penny can tell immediately. without another word, she pulls you into a warm hug, your head resting comfortably on her shoulder. tate doesn’t sandwich you, instead only holding your hand and rubbing her thumb back and forth against your knuckles.

“when did you realise?” penny asks, voice hushed and not needing to elaborate on her meaning. you knew she was asking when you first realised your feelings for mat. 

“end of march, maybe? when i started going to games more. seeing him like that and we started to have debriefs after where he’d explain things to me and just… he’s so passionate and sweet and-–” you cut yourself off, sniffling into penny’s shoulder, feeling her squeeze your body extra tight.

“y/n… mat isn’t like thomas. you know that, right?” tate’s tone is one that she might use with a wounded animal, soothing and gentle, not like before when she’d been poking fun. “i’ve run in the same circles for a while and he’s genuinely really great. he’s not like the other guys in the league. and he’d be so stupid to not feel the same way about you.”

you pull away from penelope’s embrace, shaking your head frantically. “you can’t tell anyone. this fact cannot leave this circle. i’m serious. genevieve dislikes me enough already, and i can’t risk her finding anything out.”

they both mumble agreements and promises but you remain skeptical. to ease your paranoia, you pull out your pinky for them to hook onto in a three-way pinky promise.

penny is the first to break the silence between the three of you. “we won’t say anything to anyone. but, y/n, you deserve someone who treats you right. just remember that, okay? you never have to settle.”

when you all break your crossed pinkies, tate pushes you towards to bathroom, urging you to clean up your puffy face. penny’s words stick with you while you rinse your face, focussing on your eyes. you’d been settling for quite some time now, especially with thomas. even mat had spoken up about your relationship. you’d barely known him for three months but you’d gotten so close so fast and he was constantly looking out for you. of course you developed feelings for him, especially after breaking up with thomas.

when you finally leave the bathroom, your nose is much less red and your eyes much less puffy. but, of course, the first person you bump into is mat.

“hey there, superstar. you doin’ okay?” he asks, and you can’t even pretend to be surprised that he noticed something was wrong. mat has always been an attentive friend, with you and everyone else.

“no, yeah, all good! just adrenaline crashing. and processing the fact that i’m aging and all that. 22 feels lke the first real age, so,” you reply, stumbling over your words slightly. 

“oh my god, y/n! you gotta chill, dude. you’re young.”

“you’re only say that because you’re pushing thirty, old man.” you punctuate your teasing with a gentle shove on his shoulder and mat retaliates by shoving you back. 

“twenty-seven is not pushing thirty.” you only roll your eyes in response but when your eyes meet his again, they’re full of concern. “you sure you’re okay?”

mat very rarely renders you speechless, but he’s managed to do it twice in the same evening. you nod and then finally snap out of your trance. “yeah, i’m totally sure. all good.”

you’ve barely finished speaking when mat pulls you into another hug, his arms wrapping around your shoulders again and his head resting on top of yours. a couple of seconds pass with the pair of you holding each other like that before anyone breaks the silence.

“we should get back to the group,” you say into his chest. “i feel like i’ve been away for ages.” you feel mat nod against your head but he doesn’t let go just yet. he does eventually, and then he pulls you back into the room with the group where you force yourself to become immersed in the energy surrounding you, but can’t help but miss the lingering feeling of mat’s arms holding you up and his gaze on your face.

───────────୨ৎ────────────

september, present day

if people could know the story behind the song you were releasing tonight, this picture would’ve been perfect to post. but the masses could never know. mat’s girlfriend could never know. mat could never know. so you scroll past the picture and pick out some others. you choose one picture from that night, something subtle where only you would understand the relevance. just a picture of you on stage on your birthday. 

you get a message in your groupchat with penny and tate, both having seen your interview. without even reading the message, you knew this was them teasing you for avoiding the who’s the song about question.

───────────୨ৎ────────────

when the clock strikes midnight, your post goes up, and you repost it to your story. you’re immediately tagged in numerous posts across all socials, and your friends start reposting the song to their socials. screenshots from the visualiser video start doing the rounds, and you retweet everything you see; fan reactions, excited tweets, first reviews. you’re about to put your phone down when you see a text come in. from mat.

your heart drops. why was he texting you? did you and your friends underestimate him, and he’d figured it out? 

your heart rate steadies. even if he did figure it out, he didn’t say anything. he texted you like usual, nothing out of the ordinary. once you’d calmed down, you’re able to let the giddiness over mat liking your song wash over you. you don’t need his approval, but that doesn’t mean you don’t enjoy his praise. 

you blush for only the empty room to see, heart soaring at his words. 

you don’t reply to his text, instead reacting to it with a heart. you couldn’t explain why mat’s praise meant so much to you, putting it down to valuing the opinion of the person you’re crushing on. you never classed yourself as somebody who craved the approval of anyone, especially not a man and especially not when it came to your career. but in a twisted, roundabout way, this song was a love letter to mat, and you found that his approval lit you up inside. as if he was seeing you, without actually seeing you—without you having to explicitly tell him anything.

not wanting to think too deeply about the situation, you close your text thread with mat and open twitter again. you post one last tweet for the night before shutting off your phone.

───────────୨ৎ────────────

since the two of you first met, mat had considered you to be one of his favourite people and one of his closest friends. he cherished your detachment from the hockey world, and was immensely grateful to you for the fact that you cared about him as a person, rather than a hockey player; your friendship was with mat the regular guy, rather than mat barzal, star forward for the new york islanders. 

that wasn’t to say you didn’t take an interest in his career, because you absolutely did. mat noticed the zero-to-one-hundred change that you’d made in terms of how much you cared about hockey. where before you were only a casual watcher because you were surrounded by it due to your friendship with tate, you’d now become an avid hockey enjoyer. 

countless nights were spent on mat explaining different aspects of the game to you, sometimes over the phone while he was on a roadie, sometimes sat on your living room floor sharing a pizza that you spent almost an hour arguing over before mat caved and let you choose your preferred toppings. the two of you became inexplicably close; mat liked having you around because you kept him grounded. he found himself aching to be around you, in ways that he couldn’t say he felt towards genevieve. genevieve who only cared about the stardom, the fame, the fancy dinners and rich company. genevieve who looked down her nose at you and how hard you worked and your closeness to mat.

she’d had a problem with you since the first time mat introduced you both, at some kind of team dinner, though he’d forgotten the specifics. all he can remember is how well you got along with his team. how easily you integrated into a group of his favourite people because you truly took interest in them, in ways that he couldn’t say genevieve ever did. 

he remembers your warm smile and bright eyes and the ache in his chest when he introduced you to his people as his friend. he remembers how you lit up whenever someone asked about your career, always giddy to talk about your passion, excited to show his friends what you were working on. the pride he felt when his friends pulled him aside to express how much they liked you being there and how much light you brought to the group. the knife that cut him open when marc asked if you were single and if mat could ‘hook it up’.

he tried to push it all aside. emotional cheating and genevieve aside, he couldn’t risk ruining your friendship, not wanting to live in a world where you weren’t in his life. he tried to ignore the fact that you’d accidentally become a package deal. y/n-and-mat rather than y/n and mat. not once had the guys or wags regarded genevieve in that way. so he didn’t let himself risk your friendship. he took genevieve to italy in july during the off-season. he posted the pictures for the world to see, even though he secretly wished it was you.

───────────୨ৎ────────────

july, two months ago

the two of them flew back in to jfk so that mat could have a few days’ rest before going back to vancouver for a couple of weeks. he’d asked bo to pick him but, unbeknownst to him, bo had asked holly to send you in his place. so there you were, waiting for mat when he walked out of the airport. he knew you could sense the distance between him and genevieve but he didn’t let that linger. in fact, the second he saw you, all of the negativity around his relationship and the trip he had taken just faded into the distance. he was home and you were here with him, and nothing else mattered.

he immediately pulled you into the tightest hug, only to feel you laugh against his chest while he breathed you in. only after pulling away did he notice what you were wearing. he watched you give genevieve a quick and friendly hug before deciding to question you on the attire.

“why are you in all denim overalls at one in the morning?” he asked. his tone was teasing but in a way that was entirely transparent in his affection for you. he was tired and he’d missed you and there was zero chance of him being able to hide that right now.

“if you must know, mathew, penny and i were playing around with outfit options for upcoming projects. and trying to figure out vibes for tour,” you replied. your smartass tone always made him smile, shaking his head in amusement at your antics, admiring your sparky attitude so late at night.

“you look good, y/n,” genevieve piped up, unexpected to you and mat. mat knew that you felt like genevieve wasn’t too fond of you, so he also knew you’d be equally surprised by her compliment. not that you let your surprise show through.

“thanks, gen! i think maybe for a photoshoot for the ep? or maybe a tour outfit? i feel like i should have a feather boa and be on the way to a harry styles concert, but maybe that’s what i love about it.” 

the smile literally does not leave your face, even at this time of night, even when you take genevieve’s bags and load them into your car. when you ask the plan, mat quickly tells you to drop genevieve off first, and then go to his place from there. he knew you well enough to know you’d interrogate him as soon as you dropped genevieve off, so he spent the journey concocting an answer to why he wasn’t staying with his girlfriend tonight, whilst you and said girlfriend made idle conversation from the front of the car.

he couldn’t make sense of why he felt reluctant to explain that him and genevieve were fighting and seemed pretty close to being on the outs. you were one of his closest friends and he didn’t feel like he had to hide it from anyone else. when he thought into it a little deeper, he realised it was purely because he was scared of rejection. telling you that he and genevieve were potentially breaking up would mean he would have to give you some kind of reasoning, but the only reason he could give was that she was jealous of your closeness with him. and confessing that felt a little too close to confessing that maybe genevieve was right to have concerns, because somewhere along the way maybe his feelings for you did start to run a little deeper. and that felt a little too close to completely laying his heart on the line for you. telling you each of his late night thoughts and fantasies, about how the two of you could be perfect, about how he wanted to be the one waiting for you backstage after a show while you were the one waiting for him in the family room after a game.

and confessing all of that felt a little too close to potential rejection. because in what world would someone like you go for him. you were the most beautiful, genuine person mat had ever had the pleasure of meeting, and just your friendship was priviledge enough. he couldn’t risk ruining that, regardless of how perfect it could be. regardless of the fact that sometimes he felt your eyes on him, too, the same way his would linger on you. or the way you’d hold his arm when you laughed, with your eyes crinkling a little extra from the pure joy that he put there. mat wanted to put that look in your eye for the rest of your life, and he wouldn’t be able to do that anymore if he told you about all his strange, complicated feelings only to be followed up by you rejecting him.

so he made an internal plan that when you’d ask about why him and genevieve weren’t going home together, he’d tell you––

“mat!” 

your voice snapped him out of his daze and his head popped up to lock eyes with you giving him the most puzzled look. genevieve had already gotten out of your car and was waiting for him to at least say goodbye to her, but mat was none the wiser. all he could see was you, looking at him like he was a complete idiot.

“go and help your girlfriend with her luggage, mathew. i didn’t think you’d need to be instructed, and i’d do it but i’m feeling tired.”

mat immediately got up and got out of the car, rounding it to grab genevieve’s suitcase from your trunk while you rolled your eyes at him. needing to make up for his shitty boyfriend behaviour, he walked genevieve up to her door and gave her a quick side hug and a gentle, but friendly, kiss on the side of her head. he watched her give you a polite wave goodbye before going disappearing through the front door, giving mat his cue to awkwardly jog back to your car where you were waiting for him and queueing up your joint playlist.

“what was all that about?” you asked him, so casually and offhandedly that it seemed like you were only asking to be nice. mat knew you better than to believe you weren’t after any kind of gossip, even if your intentions were pure. you could be a good friend to him while also wanting him to indulge you with dirty details of his love life.

he started with a shrug, watching you shift into reverse and pull away from his girlfriend’s place. “long travel day, i guess. she’s got commitments this week and didn’t want to deal with the boyfriend, or whatever.”

“right, i get that. but you’re heading back to vancouver for a while soon. you two didn’t want to squeeze in some more time together before you go?” you ask, and mat can sense your genuine concern and curiosity. this wasn’t idle chatter to get information out of him– you could tell something was wrong, and mat hated seeing that furrow in your brow, so he had to scramble. and somehow also be convincing.

“c’mon, y/n, she’s probably sick of me by now. she just spent an italian summer with the boyfriend and just wants girl-time before diving back into work.” his words were punctuated with as genuine of a laugh as he could muster, but he knew instantly you wouldn’t be convinced. instead of laying it on even thicker, he just prayed you would sense his lack of enthusiasm and drop the subject of genevieve all together.

“fair enough,” you sighed. “i’d get sick of you, too, if i had to spend my hot girl summer with you. and at least this way, the two of us can hang out for a bit before you head out again, and i won’t feel bad for taking you away from your girlfriend.”

mat picked up on your comment straight away but decided not to make a big deal of it, instead choosing to go down his very standard route of teasing you to try and piss you off.

“aww, did someone miss me while i was in italy?” he asked, voice pitched a little higher in that teasing tone. and he fully expected you to reciprocate. 

but you didn’t.

“you know i did,” you replied. completely serious. 

mat tried to urge you to look across the console at him but you didn’t dare, instead keeping your eyes locked on the nighttime roads while you drove him home, now basically in silence.

when you arrived at mat’s, he invited you in but for one of the first times in forever, you refused. and without you there to distract him physically, mat’s every thought that night was plagued by you. what your seriousness meant, why you didn’t come inside, why you picked him up from the airport. and more than anything else, how much he wished it had been you in italy with him instead of genevieve– how much he wished it was you with him every step of the way, every single day, instead of genevieve.

───────────୨ৎ────────────

september, present day

after that entire airport situation in july, and a lot of reflection while in vancouver in august, and a long phone conversation with genevieve, he finally decided it was time to call it quits on his relationship. mat had remained mature and cordial with genevieve while they discussed the situation, and he was as honest as he could be. genevieve was also extremely understanding on the whole, not trying to shame mat at any stage, even though he felt like she was entitled to.

respectful as they both were, genevieve didn’t pass up the opportunity to call mat out on his bullshit.

“i know you’re into y/n. and i know you’ve been into her,” she’d said. mat didn’t even try to deny it, because it was true, and apparently, it was obvious to everyone except you. genevieve didn’t give him any advice, and she didn’t lay into him. she just wished him good luck, with you and with the upcoming hockey season, and the two of them politely ended the call. 

he decided not to tell you straight away. well, apparently, he hadn’t decided when to tell you at all. because that phone call was in august and now here he was in september, still sitting on this piece of information, letting you believe he was still with genevieve.

in fact, he hadn’t really told anyone except beau, who had immediately clocked him in the most embarrassing way. mat had barely gotten the words out before beau was asking him when he’d be asking you out, which led to mat giving his best friend a look of pure confusion because how did he figure it out? beau took one look at mat’s expression and literally scoffed in his face.

“did you think you’d be able to hide it from me of all people? and regardless of that you’re not exactly subtle. you have that picture of the two of you from her birthday fucking framed, barzy.”

and mat would be lying if he said he didn’t blush at that. whether it was the concept of his crush not being as under the radar as he thought it was, or the way beau had been so cut and dry, mat wasn’t sure. but there he stood, in front of his best friend, practically pleading with him to not out his feelings.

“why don’t you want her to know? don’t you want to see if it could go anywhere with her? she’s got a soft spot for you of her own, barzy,” beau told him, trying to knock any kind of sense into his extremely stupid friend. 

mat just shook his head in response, borderline frantically. “she can’t know, man. she doesn’t feel the same way and i know that as a fact. she’s got no interest in getting involved with a hockey player, and especially not me, of all people.”

he got an eye-roll back, but beau agreed to keep his secret. even if he knew mat was being an idiot.

───────────୨ৎ────────────

october, one month later

the month following the release of your single came the whirlwind of ep release press. interviews, performances, photoshoots, and so much social media teasing. and it all lined up with the start of mat’s 24/25 season. during the off-season, he was getting up to his own press and social obligations, so the last time you’d seen him in the flesh was that night at the airport. until today. 

today was the first of many live shows, and your first ever one night only, where you’d be playing the new ep in full. a seven-song extended play, start to end, finished off with a couple of older songs and some of songs that didn’t quite make it to the ep. 

and you’d invited mat. knowing full well that three of those seven songs had been with him in mind.

you’d also invited genevieve, of course, not wanting to be an awful host to one of your closest friends, but he let you know that she wouldn’t be attending. when you asked if everything was alright between them, he’d been evasive and avoidant, not giving any details and just brushing you off. you figured they were fighting, but didn’t push for details. 

instead of bringing genevieve, mat asked if he could bring a friend. in the time you’d known mat, you hadn’t had a chance to properly meet anthony beauvillier, or tito as you’d heard from mat at least a hundred times a day. given how mat had always talked about him, you figured beau was mat’s version of tate and penny, so he probably knew more than you did about the genevieve situation. so you welcomed mat to invite him, hoping this could be a gateway to getting to the bottom of what was going on with your best guy friend and his girlfriend, even if it wouldn’t be immediately.

at times, mat was frustratingly private—not all the way closed off, but he’d avoid the topic of his own feelings. the pair of you were birds of a feather in that way, so you could never really call him out on it. the only few times you’d tried, he looked at you with a raised eyebrow that accused you of blatant hypocrisy, forcing you to drop the subject entirely.

regardless, there were three songs on the ep that were directly inspired by him. three and a half if you squint, which your fans (and tate and penelope) absolutely would. you weren’t nervous for him to hear most of them, but there was one exception. one song on the ep, that was very much inspired by him, that stood out like a sore thumb from the rest. maybe even from the rest of your entire discography. 

it was experimental to your usual sound with its sensual nature and the most overtly sexual song you had ever written, making it a complete standout song on the ep and in your discography as a whole. partly based on real experiences, and partly taken straight from the fantasies you’ve let yourself dream up on late nights when you’ve let your mind wander. nights when you’d let yourself believe there was some kind of tension between you and mat; nights when his touch had lingered a little longer than usual, when you could feel his eyes on you a little more intensely. usually when genevieve hadn’t been around. nights when you didn’t mean to, but inevitably couldn’t stop yourself from slipping your hand into your panties while the memory of one of your best friends played at the forefront of your desire-clouded mind.

only tate had heard the song, since you’d employed her as your dance instructor for your show, and even she hadn’t put the pieces together. this song was one that nobody would suspect to be about mat, your best friends included, so you felt comfortable playing it for them to help with choreography.

as well as the music being different to the style you’d usually release, you had an idea for how you wanted to perform it that was so unlike your usual image. for one song only, you’d have a pole up on the stage with you. you’d been taking pole dancing classes for years, using them as your favourite core building exercise, and you’d had tate help you choreograph for the song specifically, as well as teach you some extra fun, extra sexy, tricks. having your best friend oversee your pole routine was the most amazing boost to your confidence, and you couldn’t help but buzz with excitement to show off this whole other side of you to your fans.

and to mat.

“i want to thank each and every one of you for coming out here tonight for my first ever one night one! i have some very special people in the crowd tonight, who i am extremely grateful for,” you punctuate your words with a wave and a blown kiss towards your friends. “tonight, or any night, would not have been possible without my little support system and no matter how much i tell you guys i love you, it will never be enough.”

looking out into the crowd caused you to accidentally catch mat’s eye, your gaze gravitating to him as it often did when the two of you were in the same space. he gave you just a quick wink and mouthed a subtle good luck to which you shook your head with a smile. a movement that was barely visible, but when your eyes shifted just slightly to tate and penny (and beau) you could tell that they’d caught the interaction. you knew you’d get a grilling from your best friends later, but prayed you’d come up with some kind of explanation by that time. or, the more unlikely outcome, that they’d get caught up in the show and completely forget to interrogate you.

───────────୨ৎ────────────

mat had been to your live shows before, and you never failed to amaze him when you were on the stage, in your element. but something about you tonight left him particularly mesmerised. he tracked your every movement, watching you practically float across the stage, and he didn’t know if he was hallucinating it but he could’ve sworn you locked eyes with him again when singing the line nothing makes me feel as good as being loved by you. as if you were talking directly to him in the middle of a song about the price of fame and glamour, a concept he had some understanding of. 

he often found himself surprised at how much he could relate to the songs you’d written and released, which he would then chastise himself for because he found it so easy to relate to you as a person and compare experiences with being in the spotlight in your own fields. but he was truly impressed by how easily he could relate your music to his own lived experiences, and the songs from your new ep were no exception. 

the next song was the single you’d released last month as the lead single of the ep, and it was one he wasn’t ashamed to admit he played frequently in his car. he loved the song and he hadn’t lied to you when he said it was so you. but watching you perform it live on stage made it so much more enjoyable, from your live vocals to the experience of watching you on stage. mat couldn’t describe your stage presence during this song as anything other than a true representation of you. carefree and girly, and so full of emotion. you were literally jumping around on stage while singing, without compromising on your vocals which was awe–inspiring in itself. when it came to the bridge, you took a pause from jumping around and head-banging, instead dropping to your knees with a cameraman following your movement. there was a vent somewhere on the stage that was blowing your hair back in a way that looked so theatrical it had to have been planned that way.

mat’s eyes followed you around the stage as if you were the only two people in the room, as if there wasn’t a crowd full of people there to watch you, as if his best friend wasn’t watching him make a fool of himself while watching you. but his attention on you paid off because when you sang out the final “that could be me!” you looked right at him and this time it was you who winked at him. 

he’d never tell anyone, except maybe tito, but in that moment, he knew how all the fangirls felt claiming their favourite singer had looked right at them.

and he realised in that moment that he no longer wanted to live in a world where he didn’t have the privilege of your attention on him. 

───────────୨ৎ────────────

the transition to the next portion of the show almost gave mat whiplash. you weren’t on stage for the beginning of the song, where a bass-heavy extended intro filled the space between songs. he kept trying to find you but instead was met with a light smoke filling the stage and when his eyes managed to refocus the first thing he spotted was a pole. he tried to act as nonchalant as possible, but every single person in the room knew what was about to come but only one person other than himself knew how it would affect him. 

he felt beau lean over to murmur a quiet, “did you know this was happening?” and instead of replying, mat only shook his head. beau’s expression morphed into something between sympathy and amusement, and it made mat want to smack him silly. he only refrained for your sake, not wanting to ruin your show. 

by the time he managed to pull himself together and shake off the initial shock, you had come back onto the stage. the crowd erupted into screams and cheers, and even amidst his crisis mat felt so immensely proud of you and what you had created here in this room. 

that feeling was quickly squashed and thrown aside when you started to move.

mat was not ashamed to admit that he’d been to his fair share of strip clubs in his time. he’d had a dance or two, and he didn’t shy away from it. but this was an entirely different ballgame. he had never seen you move in this way, and now he had a front row seat. (not literally, but his attention was so tunnel visioned onto you that he may as well have.)

if you were mesmerising before, you were truly breathtaking now. as in, mat’s chest was tight and he was having trouble breathing. you moved around the pole so effortlessly, contorting your body in ways that he had literally dreamt of, and doing it in a way that was graceful in its sensuality. the instrumental continued on as you moved around the freestanding pole, at one point turning completely upside down, and mat only realised he was holding his breath when you started to sing, signposting the end of your pole routine. 

but mat’s shock did not wear off, because this song was different. he’d never heard you make anything like it, though he knew you often listened to bass-heavy music with a sultry beat and sensual lyrics. he wouldn’t have ever expected you to make something like this for one of your own projects, though. 

the pole routine made sense as soon as he started to actually pay attention to the words coming out of the speakers. the lyrics had way surpassed sensual, skipping straight to filthy. he had to admit it: mat was turned on. he was also extremely jealous of whoever had inspired you to make a song like this, feeling a very ironic that could be me moment of his own. but his jealousy was overpowered by the raw lust coursing through him while he watched you.

this time, when beau leaned over to him, he didn’t notice. mat didn’t even notice beau's “oh, you’re fucked, dude,” because he was so enraptured by you. he started to feel hot under his collar and ran his hands through his hair a few times, a common stress-induced habit for him that didn’t go unnoticed by beau, who snickered at the sight. 

though your pole routine had stopped, your dancing hadn’t. it became abundantly clear that this full song had planned out choreography, and mat was torn between being desperate for it to stop and wanting it to go on forever. and a third, ugly feeling of fleeting regret. regret that he hadn’t told you about the breakup with genevieve; regret that he hadn’t taken tito’s advice and asked you out when he had the chance; regret that someone other than himself was inspiring a song like this from you, and all he could do was stand back and watch. 

when the song finished, it was clear that you were slightly out of breath, and completely understandably. but then, mat watched you literally light up as every single person in the room started to scream and cheer, with some even whistling. he watched a proud glow beam over you, taking over the nerves you must have been feeling.

“thank you, guys!” you spoke into the mic, breathless and giggly, in a way that made mat’s heart ache. “and thank you to my best friend, tate!”

mat watched as penny hugged tate by her neck, and even beau shook her by the shoulders, enthusiastic and full of joy. mat just made a mental note to do something really good for her. he’d think properly about what it would be when his every thought wasn’t consumed with you.

───────────୨ৎ────────────

“as much as i want to say let’s party, we’re about to switch it up and get real depressing in here for a second,” you speak into the mic. a chair and guitar are brought out for you, replacing the pole set up, and you slip on a big hoodie to get comfortable before sitting down. 

“i wrote this song after an event that i hate to say ripped me apart, but it’s about a feeling that you are never alone in, even if you feel like you are.”

the rest of the show goes on without a hitch. you get vulnerable, you party, you cry on stage, you frolic around and laugh. it was as close to perfect as you could’ve asked for, and especially once the most nerve-wracking part was over. you were anxious to get any kind of feedback on skin and your pole routine, but instead of dwelling on it, you threw yourself into the rest of the show.

after playing through the ep in full, you went back through your biggest and fan favourite songs, tearing up as the theatre full of people sang your lyrics back to you. when the show was over and you bid your goodbyes to your audience, you made your way backstage, back to your dressing room. 

you quickly gulped down a bottle of water, not as cold as you would’ve wanted but much easier to chug down, before being startled by a knock on the door. 

“who is it?” you called, not waiting for a response before walking to the door. you opened it to reveal none other than mat. 

you were hit with an instant sense of deja vu that you tried to tamp down, memories of your birthday show lingering in the back of your mind.

“hey!” you greet him, a little breathless, and so desperately trying to act casual, especially after the show you had just put on to the sexiest song you’d ever made, which was written about the man in front of you. “just you? where’s everyone else?”

there were rarely awkward moments between you and mat; the two of you had a very effortless and affectionate friendship that didn’t leave room for awkward. but right now? you could cut the tension with a spoon. all physical affection was out the window and, suddenly, you felt guilty for being the one to cause the tension. 

“tito had to find the bathroom. tate got stopped to speak to someone, and penny stayed with her. so just me for now.” mat’s voice was slightly strained while he spoke. he gave you a very slow once over, making you feel conscious in the wake of his gaze. but his next statement calmed your worries almost instantly.

“you were phenomenal, superstar,” he told you, earnest and tone so full of awe. “like, actually so insane. i’ve never seen anything like it. you were made for the stage, y/n. there’s nowhere else you should be. and nobody is doing it like you.”

you flush so warm under his compliment, almost tearing up again. truthfully, you’d been most nervous for mat to see the show and experience the ep, for reasons you couldn’t fully explain. you simply put it down to almost half of the songs being inspired by him in some way, so in a roundabout way you were eager for his approval. not that you had anything to worry about. 

and his words had eased some of the tension in the room. he finally all but barged in through the door and pulled you into a hug, murmuring a rasped, “congratulations, stargirl” against your hair. and your “thanks, matty” was muffled by his chest.

the others quickly made their way to your dressing room, with tate and penny showing beau the way, and they found the pair of you still locked in a tight hug. you finally broke apart at the sound of someone clearing their throat, only for you to be instantly engulfed in a tight squeeze by tate and penny. you heard some murmuring between mat and beau but you didn’t pay it any mind, focussing only on your two best friends.

“what was that about?” penny mouthed when the three of you separated. you shook your head in response, quickly mouthing later back to her, not able to get into anything right now. 

when you turn away from the pair of them, you’re met with mat and beau having some kind of silent eyes-only conversation. you interrupt their strange interaction to finally introduce yourself to beau, giving him an awkward little wave.

“sorry to break up… whatever this is! but it’s so good to finally meet you. mat literally does not shut up about you, like ever. it’s always beau this, beau that.” you hold out your hand with a cheeky smile. “i’d hug you, too, since i’m clearly a hugger, but i’m sweaty as fuck right now and won’t subject you to that.”

beau takes your hand, chuckling at your rambling. “yeah, ditto. our barzy here is always going on and on about you, like 24-fucking-7.”

you turn to mat and pump your eyebrows a couple of times, teasing him while he turns bright red. “you both are so dramatic, this is why i was keeping you away from each other,” he adds, also teasing.

“oh, you knew we’d be too powerful together, huh? knew you wouldn’t be able to handle it?” you joke, grateful for the easy conversation happening after the weird tension between you and mat just moments prior. 

“yeah, something like that,” mat smiles, slightly coy in a way that you’ve rarely seen in him.

you roll your eyes, keeping the mood light and playful, not dwelling on mat’s expression. “so, anyway. the girls are coming to mine for a chill night because god knows i cannot do a full blown afterparty right now. do you both wanna join? just for, like, pizza and drinks and we usually watch friends or something.”

you pretend not to notice the looks you get from tate and penny, both of them realising that inviting the boys was your way of stalling the conversation that the three of you needed to have. instead, you put your focus on mat and beau, genuinely hoping they’d say yes, purely just to hang out. this would be your way of celebrating the show and you wanted to do something laidback before the rush of halloween and your ep’s release on november 1st. 

lucky for you, they both agree, and the five of you head out. and doubly lucky for you, you’d brought your car to the venue, so you drove home alone. no interrogations from tate and penny, no more tension with mat. just you, alone in your car, reflecting on the night you’d had so far. a night that was far from over.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝

if you made it this far pls do leave me a cheeky comment or ask or anything to let me know thoughts feelings emotions bc this is SCARYYYYYYY ok love u bye

[sorchathered]

Mine- Bradley Bradshaw x reader

Day 1. public sex + hair pulling

Summary-Summary- just nasty, possessive bathroom sex with Rooster, everyone say thank you to @roosterforme 😂😂😂

Warnings- Warnings- smut, choking, degradation, unprotected sex, language. It’s kinktober y’all, it’s gonna be filth.

The agreement was simple. Hot, dirty, mind blowing sex and no strings. He’d agreed months ago that he would be totally fine with this, no attachments, no falling in love. It had been so good, fulfilling every dirty thought he’d ever conjured up with you, things that should make a woman blush when he suggested them only made you wetter. But now there was a problem.

Bradley was down BAD.

Horribly, miserably, unnervingly down bad.

If Natasha knew she would joke that he was a simp, his obsession with your body had been borderline inappropriate these days, big brown puppy eyes following you around during the duty day, and undressing you at night when everyone was out for a drink. He was trying to keep it together, keep the line between the two of you friendly in public but god, he knew what you looked like all tied up and blissed out in his bed, with your pretty lips wrapped around his cock…how the hell was he supposed to keep his hands to himself? Especially when Seresin was dancing with you, his big stupid hands touching the places Bradley had touched, making you laugh like he should be doing, it was enough to make him white knuckle his beer bottle to make sure he didn’t start a bar room brawl.

When you decided it was time for a bathroom break he made his move, pushing through sweaty bodies in the crowded club as he followed your form to the darkened hallway. Catching your arm before you reached the threshold he shoved you into the dingy stall and had the door latched before you could even discern who held you in their grasp.

“Rooster?! What the hell! I almost maced your ass!”

You said with a huff, arms crossing underneath your breasts which only made them more of a focal point, saliva pooling in Bradley’s mouth at the thought of having his mouth on them.

“Get this scrap of fabric you call a dress off kid, and bend over. I’m done with watching someone else touch what’s mine, you’re gonna let me fuck this pretty pussy and then I’m gonna send you back out there dripping with me.”

You gaped at him, doe eyes wide at his candor. He’d kept the ruse up during the day, all of his dirty talk left strictly to texting and in the dark of your bedrooms, but there was something about the look in his eye that told you this wasn’t up for discussion. Still, you were an absolute brat, he knew you’d do what he wanted but you were absolutely going to be a pain in his ass about it.

Swiping the tiny satin dress over your head and dropping it on the counter, you took your time slowly bending yourself across the sink and eyeing him up in the mirror. He looked wrecked already. Hair mussed up from running his hands through it, wild eyes, hands clenched at his sides like he might put them through a wall if he didn’t get what he clearly, desperately needed.

“Yours huh?” You said with a wink as you smirked at him, and that was his undoing.

He pushed his cock into your heat roughly as he wrapped his fist in your ponytail and pulled you into his chest, rough voice rasping in your ear when he was fully seated.

“Yeah sweetheart, mine. Now shut your mouth and take it like a good girl.”

Your hipbones were sure to be bruised from slamming into the grimy countertop, he’d set a bruising pace, whispering filth in your ear as you clenched and writhed in his arms.

“You knew what you were doing didn’t you y/n? Getting me all riled up while you were grinding all over Jake. You think he could get you this wet? Practically dripping down my jeans. You didn’t have to be a slut about it doll, I would’ve just given you what you wanted, but no you had to be a fucking brat. Maybe I should just get myself off and leave you wanting, make you beg for it. What do you think?” He slid his hand from your neck down to your breast, grasping and tweaking your nipple as you cried out, practically drooling as you begged him not to stop.

“Ohh you poor thing, need my cock so bad huh? Tell me baby, tell me who’s fucking you so good.” His condescending tone had you even more turned on, head lolling back to his chest.

“Oh fuck- Rooster! You! Please, please don’t stop. Please baby I’m sorry, no one is as good as you!”

He shouldn’t have been so turned on by this, degrading you in public, but god this was something he’d never be able to dream up.

The knob on the handle began to jiggle, and you both startled, maybe the lock wasn’t as secure as Bradley thought. The dented metal began to swing open, but Bradley didn’t stop pounding into you, and it had you clenching around him at the possibility of someone finding him taking you like this.

“Oh shit! Sorry I-Bradshaw?! Jesus Christ man!” Jake calls out as he covers his eyes, but his body doesn’t make a move to vacate the space, and Bradley doesn’t slow down.

“Get- Out-“ he grits out and Jake seems to get the point, stumbling backwards and slamming the door behind him.

You cry out as he thrusts hit a bruising pace, mustached smirk grazing your neck with a chuckle.

“Oh you like this don’t you? Knowing that Jake knows I’ve got you like this. That’s the only shot he’s getting at seeing you like this, this pussy is mine. Mine to eat, mine to fuck. Say it. Say it sweetheart and I’ll let you come.”

“It’s- ‘s yours” you slur out, drunk on the feel of him.

“Atta girl, you need to come? I’ll get you there baby, taking my cock like a goddamn champ, come on sweetheart just a little more, come for me and then I’ll fill you up.”

He wrapped his large veiny hand around your throat and one to pinch your clit and you were done for, choking his dick with your orgasm so tightly that he could barely thrust into you. Screaming his name loud enough that someone outside definitely heard you, and sending him over the edge. He shouted your name and flooded you with his release, big heavy body all but crushing you into the sticky formica surface.

“Goddamn.” He chuckled as he helped pull you up and slide your dress back on, sticky cum painting your thighs as you tried to make yourself look presentable.

“I don’t know that there’s any salvaging this, everybody’s gonna know” you whispered against his lips, and to be honest you weren’t sure you cared if they found out.

“Let ‘em look baby, I meant what I said. This, us. I want it. You can take your time thinking about it but I know in the end you’ll say yes.”

His eyes danced with mirth as he waggled his eyebrows at you, and yeah, he was right. You were his, and there was no going back.

Tagging- @roosterforme @attapullman @bobgasm @seitmai @mynameismckenziemae @shanimallina87 @callsigns-haze @honeytwrites @kissmecaitie @sebsxphia @djs8891 @the-aspiring-fanfic-writer @dizzybee03 @sunsetsimpsblog @senawashere @86laura11 @jessicab1991 @sio-ina-bottle @nouis-bum

[withahappyrefrain]

Run Me Dry-Bradley Bradshaw

Summary: You and Bradley try something new in bed.

Warnings: language, Bradley's cock , oral (f! receiving), fucking from the back, this is just pure filth

Everything about him was warm. The hairs of his mustache sent electric sparks throughout your body. His tanned skin. His lips. God, his lips. Bradley’s lips felt like heaven. 

Every kiss, every grasp of his hands, every flick of his tongue pulled you deeper and deeper into a pleasure filled haze. 

Bradley was attentive. The intense gaze radiated off your skin, his whiskey casted eyes constantly watching you, looking out for any change in your body movements or pitch in the moans rolling off your tongue. He was deliberate, immediately adjusting the angle his fingers were thrusting inside of you, the intensity of which he sucked your clit upon noticing any change, be it the pitch in your breathing or sounds of your moans. 

You had tried to pull him up by grasping his soft golden brown strands of hair, wanting to return the favor, but he wasn’t having it. 

Bradley found you addicting. You were sweet inside and out. Your skin, your lips, your moans. If he could spend the rest of your life between your thighs, he'd die a happy man. 

But you were a bit selfish (more so than you let on). As incredible as his mouth was, as nimble and strategic his fingers were, despite how absolutely divine it felt to look down and see his mouth working your soaked core, 

you wanted to be full of him. 

So instead of meagerly gripping his hair after coming down from your third (or fourth?) high, you practically yanked on the strands, forcing Bradley to look up, finally giving your poor cunt some rest. 

His lips quickly found yours, his body covering like a blanket. How were his lips perpetually soft? How did you manage to get this dream of a man in your arms? 

How could you get him to fuck you now?

The questions rolled through your head like waves. While the first two required a deeper level of inquiry, the third one didn’t. Bradley wouldn’t make a move unless you explicitly stated your desires for it, a result of being raised by Carole Bradshaw. 

No amount of whines, moans, or hip rolling would be enough. Bradley needed your words. 

Words were becoming easier to find with him. The doubts that had originally clouded your head were slowly but surely forming into small rain drops, getting easier and easier to wash away with each passing day. 

It still took you time to form the words. Not that Bradley mind, patient as ever. Always ready to go at your own pace. Partly because his mother did in fact, raise a gentleman. But mainly because he was so in love with you that the idea of scaring you off terrified him. 

“What’cha need Birdie?” When he said your nickname in that deep, raspy voice, you felt your body practically melt. Your head felt like cotton, dizzy and full. Your lips parted and closed several times. Words were escaping you. 

Your hand would have to do. 

Bradley Bradshaw truly believed he had hit the fucking lottery with you. 

How someone so smart, so kind, so observant and sweet and loving and beautiful would pick him of all people (Bob was right there) blew his mind. Some days he worried that he would wake up at the Naval Medical Center to find out this was all a drug-induced coma. 

He was trying to be a gentleman, and had even planned to take you out on a nice date, the little Italian place Jake and Venus recommended. But then you came out of the bedroom in that adorable little sundress, the citrus pattern reminding Bradley of what else he’d like to sink his teeth into. 

It was only meant to be a heated kiss. Did Bradley know better? Did he know that one kiss would lead to more, which would lead to falling onto the bed with you? 

Absolutely. 

But he also knew you would tell him to stop, to cut it out, to get ready for dinner, if you really wanted to. 

“Do you still want to go to dinner?” He asked, ignoring that the fabric of your dress had been pushed up to your hips and his shirt was completely unbuttoned. 

You chuckled, eyes bright, “No. Not at all. C-can we keep going?”

It was absolutely unfair, how cute you were. In the back of his mind, Bradley still felt like you deserved better. Someone younger, someone whose job didn’t require risking their life, someone who could be with you all the time. 

And yet, despite all that information, you still welcomed him with open arms, still clung to him when you had plenty of reasons to run away. 

Right now, Bradley was glad you were clinging onto him, your soft, cool skin a welcomed reprise. He would have been alright with just clinging, relishing in the sensation of your skin against his, two sets of lips all over each other. 

Like a bird strike, you surprised Bradley, throwing him for a loop. Your hand reaching past the waistband of his boxer briefs, wrapping itself around his cock made him freeze, mentally willing himself not to come right then and there. 

That spitfire side of you was slowly but surely coming out. Last night it was through a cheeky response to Jake and his wife, Venus. 

Tonight, it was when you looked up at him, your hand gently wrapping around his shaft. Despite your chest heaving and shaky breathing, you didn’t break eye contact as your thumb tenderly swiped the head of his cock, eliciting a whimper from Bradley that was downright delectable. 

“B-Bradley,” your voice was soft, almost meek, “W-want you.”

Some day, he’ll ask you to specifically say you want his cock inside you. Today was not that day, which was fine. The fact you took the initiative to state your wants thrilled Bradley to no end. He didn’t even have to encourage you. 

He pressed a firm kiss to your forehead. “That’s my girl, telling me what she wants,” He cooed, ignoring the warmth that was flooding your face, “I’m gonna get a condom, okay? You wait right here.”

Yes, here. On your back. 

Again. 

Sex with Bradley was phenomenal, euphoric even. But there was always room for growth. 

It wasn’t anything he was doing wrong. Fuck, he was practically perfect, always checking in on you, focused on your comfort rather than his own pleasure. Before Bradley? Sex felt uncomfortable, something you were just supposed to do. Staring at the ceiling had become a hobby to help pass the time. 

But now that you had experienced sex with Bradley Nicholas Bradshaw, it was obvious that sex was quite the opposite. Now, having acquired such vital knowledge, you wanted to explore, to experiment. 

You wanted to try something besides missionary. 

The position had many positives. Being able to hold hands, to kiss, to watch his handsome face twist in pleasure as he came. But, the desire to try something else, something less wholesome, lurked inside you, growing with each bedroom experience. 

What would it be like to ride him? You could look down and see him come, see him fall apart just like he could with you. Would he let you control the pace? Or would he place those stupidly large hands on your hips, dictating the rhythm with his sheer strength?

What if you couldn’t see him? What if he couldn’t see your face because it was buried in a pillow? Oh, to be on your knees for Bradley Bradshaw and allow him to take you-that’s what you desired most of all, what you thought of when alone at night with just your hand and toys. 

He was strong enough to manipulate you into such positions. But Carole Bradshaw raised a gentleman. Bradley would never do that-unless you explicitly asked. 

Just the very thought of asking had your stomach in knots, your tongue tied. If you stayed in your current position, Bradley would still make you see stars. But the idea of it becoming mundane would still gnaw at you and wouldn’t stop until it was all-consuming, making you blurt it out at the worst time. 

A Navy Ball was coming up next month and Bradley had already asked you to be his date. You couldn’t risk it. Loose lips sink ships, especially when fueled by wine. 

But how could you even ask? Hey, can you fuck me doggy style? Hey, I know we’ve only been dating for like a month, but can you manhandle me?

Perhaps words wouldn’t be needed. You thought back to earlier, when you had wrapped a hand around Bradley’s cock. He instantly knew what you wanted, even though you said four words at most. 

So you moved, quietly. Flipping over so you were now on your stomach, propping yourself up on your hands and knees. Arching your back, revealing your bare cunt. 

God, you felt ridiculous. 

“Holy fuck- Nori.” His special nickname for you wasn't said in its usual saccharine laced mischievous tone. 

No. It was deep and raspy. A primal moan that made your thighs clench. 

While you were worried about looking ridiculous, Bradley was trying to remember where he kept his mother’s engagement ring. 

He was pretty sure it was the sock draw in his dresser. Bradley was also pretty sure his mother's soul would come down from heaven and personally smite him if he proposed right now. 

But the urge to do so was justified in Bradley's mind, considering you were on his bed looking like a fucking goddess with your back arched, ass up to show off your bare cunt to him, moonlight decorating your arched back. 

Bradley quickly closed the gap between your bed and the doorway. Part of you wanted to look up, the other part too scared. A large hand ghosted over your skin, starting at your neck, down your back, stopping just short of your ass. 

The hand came back up your body, as if he was trying to commit every mark, mole, stretchmark, to memory. You were positive your breathing could be heard from two rooms over. Finally, fingers traced over the curve of your ear, landing at your chin, tilting it up. 

“Is this how you want me to fuck you?” His voice was low. You would have found it sexy if it weren’t for how rhetorical his question was. 

“Actually, I was hoping for reverse cowgirl.”  The words came out before you could even think. Immediately, regret washed over your body. 

But Bradley simply chuckled. You had tried to hide that sharp mouth side of you. It was a side you had been made to push down and stow away for years. 

“No one wants to date a girl like that.” “No one wants a teacher like that.”

Bradley loved it. You still recalled the way he howled when you accidentally revealed your first impression of him. He wanted to see more of that side and most importantly, he wanted to have fun with it. 

Of course, words still could have consequences. 

The sound of his hand smacking against your ass echoed throughout the room. What was louder? That sound or the moan you let out?

You could feel the bed dip as he got on, pressing his weight down. God, he was so big. Height had never been a factor when it came to who you dated. But it sent you into a tizzy when you were reminded how big, how strong he was. 

Fuck, did you have a size kink?

This revelation had to be explored for later because right now you couldn’t think about anything else aside from the fact Bradley’s cock was sliding through your slicked folds. 

Screw being polite. Screw being reserved. You rocked yourself backwards, shamelessly hoping to catch his cock, to feel him inside you, even if it’s just the tip. 

Bradley’s hands gripped the soft flesh of your hips, steadying you, “Easy Birdie. Don’t wanna hurt ya.”

Why was he so endearing? Why was he always a gentleman? Why was he so just, perfect?

Every day, that question becomes less prominent in your mind. Maybe it was a good thing. Definitely something to talk to your therapist about. 

“You ready?” Bradley’s voice was a much needed reprise from your internal debates. Eagerly, you nodded your head. 

“Wanna hear ya say it baby girl,” He leaned over, his body covering yours like a weighted blanket. Looking up, you only received a glimpse of him. The intensity of his amber eyes was nearly all too much. 

“Yeah,” you whispered, breathless, “I-I’m ready.”

Bradley leaned over to press a soft kiss against your warm cheek, “That’s my girl.”

His girl. You were his girl. 

He leaned forward, guiding his cock to your welcoming entrance. Even though it was just his head, the stretch made you rock forward, hands clutching the bedsheets. You and Bradley had done this dance enough times that you knew to let him lead, to take it slow so as to not injure you. 

It was just as hard for Bradley as it was for you. You were so warm, inviting. 

“Shit,” his voice was shaky, as if he had just done over a hundred pushups on the turmac, “So fucking wet for me, Nori..” 

Your eyes screwed shut in pleasure, a small ah-huh falling from your lips. It's overwhelming, slowly feeling every inch of him. This fullness was new, and you honestly weren’t sure if you would ever get used to it. Just when you thought you were ready, he leaned forward, reminding you he wasn’t all the way in yet. 

Fuck. 

“Taking me so well,” Bradley’s breath was hot on your ear, “Want me to start moving?” 

“P-please,” you nod eagerly, mustering up all your strength to get that one word out. Your fingers gripped the bedsheets, not that it prepared you when he thrusted forward. 

The new angle allowed Bradleys cock to immerse itself even deeper inside you. He started off slow, building up to a rhythm that has you seeing stars behind your eyelids. It's addicting, feeling so full that the only thing you can do is pay your head against the pillow as whimpers fall from your mouth into the fabric, muffling the sound. 

Bradley sees this and stills his hips because if he can’t watch your beautiful face contorted in pleasure, he certainly wants to hear it. 

“Baby,” He leans over, “Wanna hear all those pretty noises you make.”

For once, you oblige without hesitation. To Bradley’s surprise (and pleasure), you prop yourself on your elbows, leaning back to fully immerse yourself on his cock. A broken moan fell from your lips, echoing off the walls of your bedroom. The verdict was still out on whether heaven was real or not, but you imagined Bradley’s cock was a similar sensation. 

Bradley has similar thoughts as he watches, memorized by the way you work yourself on his cock. Your moans were prettier than any song he had ever heard. 

“Look at you,” he clicked his tongue, “you’re right where you belong.”

Your walls clenched at his words, drawing out an animalistic grunt from Bradley. His praise spurred you on because yes, you did belong right here, with his cock inside you. You were his, his girl to use. 

But he was so big and you hadn’t anticipated how full you would feel at this angle. Soon, you found yourself tiring out, having bitten off more than you could chew.

“Roo,” you whined, hands clutching the bedsheets, “Need…..fuck…..need help.”

Bradley’s hands found your hips, gripping the soft flesh, “Don’t worry, I got ya. It’s so much for you, huh? My cock?”

“Y-yeah,” you nodded, practically sighing in relief upon feeling him pull you back on his cock, filling you completely. The sound of his skin slapping against yours quickly filled the room. It was obscene, combined with the lewd sounds of your wetness. 

You fucking loved it. This type of sex, animalistic and possessive, always sparked a curiosity in you. But bringing it up to previous partners had scared you; the thought of rejection, or worse, disgust, driving you off. 

Not with Bradley. 

With Bradley, you could not only bring it up, but you felt like you could be bold. Could actually state what you wanted, with words or actions. It’s why you felt no shame in taking one of his hands and bringing it down to where you two met. 

“Need help, Birdie?” His voice was so raspy. Combined with the way he was panting, it was one of, if not the hottest thing you had ever heard. 

“Please,” you whined, barely able to get the single word out due to how his cock was hitting that spot that made you see stars behind your eyes. 

“So fucking sweet, y’know that?” His hand moved up your body until it arrived at your mouth, his long fingers tapping at your lips, “Need your help. You can do that, right? ‘Course you can, ‘cause you’re my sweet girl.”

Your lips parted, moaning around his fingers as you went to his knuckles, covering his nimble digits in your spit. Bradley had to will himself not to come right then and there. It was ridiculous, how hot you were and how unaware you were about the fact. How your previous partners let that go was beyond him. 

“Good girl,” he cooed, reveling in how your tongue was desperately trying to coat his fingers. You nodded along, practically gagging on his fingers. 

He pulled away, returning to where his hand was originally placed. The calloused pads of his fingers felt divine on your clit. All worries and anxieties had exited your head, the only thing you could focus on was how good he felt, how good it felt to be fucked by Bradley Bradshaw. 

Bradley knew you were close from the way your tight walls clenched on his cock. You needed just a little more, a little something to push you over the edge. 

Thinking back to earlier this week, when you two were in the kitchen, he leaned over, his chest covering your back. Before you could verbally acknowledge it, a large hand wrapped itself around your throat, restricting your airflow. 

Almost immediately, your thighs began to shake, head dizzy from the lack of oxygen. It was so much, you weren’t sure what to focus on: his thick cock that was sending electric shocks along your body, the way his long fingers spanned the eternity of your neck, the fingertips that were drawing sloppy circles on your throbbing clit. The hairs of his mustache that were tickling the shell of your ear, the downright filth he was whispering. 

“That’s it, fuckin’ take it. God, you were fuckin’ made for this. Made to take my cock, weren’t ya? Ya hear that?” He paused, allowing  you to hear the lewd squelching sound coming from where your bodies connected, “That’s how wet ya are. Ya like this, like when I fuck you like a whore?”

You wailed, “Yes!” No shame in your voice, zero hesitation, all partly out of fear that if you didn’t respond, Bradley would stop. And you were so close.

 “God, so fucking hot and you don’t even know it, do ya? Knew you were a dirty girl.” 

HIs words sent you over the edge. Maybe you should have felt some shame at what he was saying, but the truth of it was you loved it. Bradley’s moans echoed off the walls as he felt you practically clamped down on his cock, your walls spasming, making it almost difficult for him to continue his thrusts. But he continued, knowing it was what you needed to prolong your pleasure. 

“That’s it, soak my cock. Needed this so bad, didn’t you?” You nodded, babbling about something, probably begging him not to stop. Whether you actually said that or not, Bradley acted accordingly. His thrusts continued, his own hips beginning to stutter as he felt himself get closer to the edge. 

Both of his hands now tightly gripped your hips, enabling him to continue to hover over you. Making you come gave him a better high than any other drug or air maneuver ever could. 

He pulled your hips to his with one last thrust, coming with a groan of your name. One day, you would be able to feel him come inside, be able to be filled with his cum. 

That required an actual discussion. 

But for now, you could take pleasure in feeling his cock twitch, knowing it was your doing. For now, you could lay here in bed, his warm skin covering you like a weighted blanket, as you both came down from your highs. 

Bradley pressed a soft kiss, first to the shell of your ear, then to your cheek, finally stopping at the corner of your lips, “Gonna pull out now, okay?” 

You could only nod, slightly winching when he pulled out, now able to feel just how much you had comed. 

“I’ll be right back, pretty girl. Gonna get a washcloth.” God, did you really come that much? Heat rushed to your face upon realizing it was your arousal dripping down to your thighs. 

“Here, let’s get ya on your back,” Bradley’s large hands help maneuver your body. Your limbs felt like JellO, quickly accepting his help. The soft mattress was a godsend, your body quickly sinking into your soft bed. His hands were now gentle, wiping you down with great care. He knew you had to be sore, even if you didn’t currently feel it. 

Your hands found themselves grabbing Bradley’s shoulders, trying to pull him towards you. 

Bradley chuckled, quickly receiving your message, “I gotcha, I gotcha sweet girl. C’mere.” 

He laid down, pulling your body towards him until your head was able to rest on his broad chest. A blanket was pulled up to cover you both. You found yourself snuggling into Bradley’s side as you processed what just happened. 

“You good Birdie?” Bradley asked, his fingers lazily drawing shapes on your back. 

“Holy shit.” 

Bradley couldn’t help but throw his head back and laugh at your words, “That good, huh?”

“Yeah,” you nodded, breathing still shaky, “Really fucking good.” 

His arm wrapped itself around your waist, giving you a gentle squeeze, “Looks like we both had a great time.” 

You simply nodded, a giddy smile appearing on your face, “We should do it again. Soon.”

Bradley chuckled, shaking his head, “Unfortunately, I’m no longer a spry young chicken. Gonna have to wait, Birdie.”

You looked up at him, your grin widening upon seeing his ruddy cheeks and a look in his eyes that could best be described as love, even though you didn’t want to assume. Not yet. 

“I’ll wait for you. It’s worth it.” Heat rushed to Bradley’s face, a beautiful flush adorning his handsome features. He bit his tongue, afraid that the three words that were threatening to spill out might scare you off. So instead, he pressed a kiss to your forehead, reveling in the feeling of your warm body pressed against his. 

If given the choice, Bradley would stay here forever with you. 

You feel the same way.

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