RUE

[lvcstarkey]

“ HELLO RUE , YOU OWE ME MONEY ” she/her. scorpio. rafe cameron’s wife. reader 𖬺 writer. baking. skating. artistic. deans puck bunny. living in my reverie. love letters. jjs pouge girlfriend. to all the boys. movie dates. love over lust

“ i want all of you, forever, everyday ” . . . 📎 masterlist taglist guidelines

© lvcstarkey , please do not copy, take, or reupload my work as your own.ㅤ

[loveharlow]

SEX ON THE BEACH

Bleed (Day 27+28)

SYNOPSIS‧₊˚ A recoupling, a secret mission, and a couples' karaoke contest give you and Rafe the perfect opportunity to finally find your rhythm again

WARNING(S)‧₊˚ swearing, sm*t (oral, m receiving)

˗ˏˋ series masterlist ˎˊ˗

RAFE’S arm was slung over your waist, holding you against his chest. You could feel the steady rise and fall of his breathing against your back, chin tucked near the crown of your head. For a long moment, you just lay there, listening to the distant sound of the ocean waves beyond the villa walls.

Slowly, Rafe blinked his eyes open, a gravelly groan leaving him as his grip on your waist tightened, pulling you closer until there wasn’t an inch of space left between you.

"Morning," he muttered, voice still heavy with sleep, rough and raspy.

"Morning, sleepyhead," you whispered, turning around in his embrace so you could look at him. His eyes were lidded, his jawline dusted with the faint shadow of stubble. He looked different like this—soft, stripped of the usual edge he carried around.

He stared down at you, eyes blinking slowly against the bright morning sun, a lazy, lopsided smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "You're staring."

"I am," you admitted without an ounce of shame. "And your stomach just growled."

Rafe let out a soft huff, closing his eyes again as your fingers trailed down to his cheek. "Yeah, well, I'm starving."

"Come on, then," you said, nudging his shoulder as you began to wiggle out from under the duvet. "Let's go inside and make some breakfast. We're already out here anyway, and the kitchen is empty."

Rafe groaned, buried his face into the pillow for a few seconds, and then reluctantly swung his long legs over the side of the daybed. He was wearing nothing but a pair of loose sweatpants, bare chest on display, muscles flexing as he stretched his arms over his head. You tried your best not to gawk, but failing was pretty much a daily routine at this point.

As you walked over to the outdoor kitchen island, you turned to him. "You know, typically you're the one who makes me breakfast.” You started. “You do it every single morning, and you barely even have time to eat yourself because you're too busy making sure I have everything I want.” You pondered, chewing the inside of your cheek before jumping up. “Let me make you something."

Rafe paused, leaning his elbows on the counter on the other side, a genuinely amused smirk washing over his face. "Oh, really? The lady is treating me?” He teased, but you just fixed him with a semi-serious pointed look. “Alright. Let's see what you've got."

And for the next twenty minutes, the kitchen became your own little world. You moved around each other with an easy rhythm that felt all too natural. You set up the pancake batter, whisking it until it was smooth, while Rafe took over the stove to crack eggs into a sizzling pan.

"Don't burn the bacon, Cameron," you teased as you titled your head in the direction of the skillet that was cooking the strips of meat, leaning past him to grab a carton of strawberries from the fridge.

"I have never burned a single thing in this kitchen," Rafe shot back, stepping into your space and lightly bumping his hip against yours before his hand reached out, thumb catching a tiny stray drop of pancake batter off your cheek and wiping it away, fingers lingering on your skin for a second longer than necessary. "Focus on your pancakes. If they're flat, I'm never letting you live it down."

Just then, the peaceful quiet of the morning was swallowed as a parade of exhausted boys began migrating downstairs. JJ was leading the pack, his eyes half-closed, his bright blonde hair sticking out in every direction. Pope walked right behind him, rubbing his eyes, followed by Theo and Justin, who were both yawning.

JJ stopped dead in his tracks, eyes zeroing in on you and Rafe standing side-by-side over the stove, you holding a spatula and Rafe flipping eggs.

"Oh, this is a sight," JJ laughed. "Look at the married couple. What is this, year ten of domestic bliss?"

Pope chuckled, leaning against the kitchen island. "Damn, Rafe. You got the apron on ‘n everything? We see who wears the pants in the relationship."

"Fuck off," Rafe grumbled, though there was an unstoppable smirk playing on his lips as he kept his eyes on the frying pan. “She put it on me.”

“So, you don’t like it?” You faced him, a hand on your hip as Rafe turned to you, searching for the words as you fought a smile when JJ cut in.

"Seriously though," JJ laughed, skipping over to the counter and leaning over it to inspect your outfit. You were wearing a pair of character pajama pants and a fitted tank top with the same character on the front. "Cooking with your boyfriend in your lil’ jammies. Did you steal those from an eighth grader?"

Before you could even reply with a comeback, JJ lunged forward, fingers digging into your sides to tickle you. You shrieked, dropping the spatula on the counter as you wriggled away, laughing hysterically.

"JJ, stop! Stop it!" you gasped, doubling over.

In a split second, Rafe’s arm shot out, swatting JJ’s wrists away from your body, eyes narrowing, though his tone stayed playful. "Hey. Hands off.” He eyed the boy, throwing his head out in another direction. “Move it, Maybank."

JJ held his hands up in the air, backing off with a wicked grin on his face. "Whoa, okay.” He backed up, shaking his head. “My bad, man." He turned back to the rest of the boys, shouting, "No one touch the wife!"

"Why don’t you leave us alone and do what you came down here to do, hm? I’m sure Talia is starving." You laughed, teasing, picking up your spatula and giving Rafe a grateful look. Rafe just slid his hand briefly down your lower back before turning back to his cooking.

Once the food was prepared, you carried the plates over to the island, away from the rest of the boys who were now rummaging through the cupboards to prepare breakfast for the girls. 

You served each other the food you’d spent the morning making. Rafe had made your plate look like something out of a five-star brunch spot—perfectly scrambled eggs, crispy bacon, and beautifully toasted bread.

You sat back, watching him closely as he picked up his fork. You’d made him a stack of fluffy pancakes with sliced strawberries piled high on top, with a side of eggs.

Rafe cut off a piece of the pancake, got a bit of strawberry on his fork, and popped it into his mouth as you watched his face nervously, bottom lip held between your teeth. For a second, nothing changed. Then his eyes went wide and stopped chewing for a brief moment, staring down at the plate like it had just spoken to him, before he quickly swallowed.

"...This is fuckin’ amazing," he said, voice flat but laced with genuine shock. He looked up at you, eyebrows knitted together. "Like... I didn't know you could cook."

You tilted your head, leaning back in your seat, crossing your arms as a playful pout hit your lips. "Wow. Okay.” You sassed. “You didn't think I could cook?"

Rafe rolled his eyes, an amused expression taking over his features as he took a bite of the eggs. "I didn't say I didn't think you could cook.” He emphasizes through his chewing. “I said I didn't know you could cook. There's a difference, angel." He pointed his fork at you. "This is really good, though. Seriously. Better than whatever Justin tried to make yesterday for the guys."

“Hey!” Justin threw his hands up, turning to face the two of you while in the middle of making his breakfast, flour on his shirt.

A warm smile bloomed across your face as you and Rafe both waved him off and you leaned across the island, pressing a soft kiss directly against his warm cheek. "Thank you."

You quickly finished your own breakfast, the chatter of the villa growing louder around you as more islanders began to wake up. 

Standing up, you gathered your empty plate. "Alright, I'm gonna go and get ready."

"Alright," Rafe murmured, his eyes tracking you as you stood up. "See you in a bit?" He asked as if there was a possibility of you leaving and never coming back.

You threw a smile over your shoulder as you left the kitchen, “Of course. It’s not like I’m really going anywhere.” You giggled lightly before turning back around.

The second your feet cleared the kitchen tiles and you went up the steps, you heard the boys swarm Rafe.

"Bro," JJ’s voice carried. "You’re locked down.” He chuckled. “Look at you, you're smiling at a pancake."

Even Theo laughed, clapping Rafe on the back. 

You bit your lip, hiding a smile as you jogged up the stairs.

THE Glam Room was already alive when you walked in. Lights framed the mirrors, bright and glowing, the girls squeezed onto the plush pink stools.

Sarah was curling her hair, Cleo was applying eyeliner, and Rima was applying her facial serums while Kaitlyn and Haja were quietly doing their skincare in their corners, Talia trying to find a missing lip gloss.

The second you shut the door, Sarah caught your eye in the mirror. "Look who it is," She raised a skeptical brow. “We were about to find out how to send an alert in here.”

You laughed, taking the empty stool between Cleo and Rima. "Oh, please. Don't you start too. I already got enough of that from JJ and Pope."

Cleo turned around on her stool, fixing you with a knowing look. "We’re just happy for you.” She smirked. “Now that Sofia is finally gone, how are you feelin’?"

The room went quiet for a second, all the girls looking at you. The air felt lighter without Sofia’s constant burning stare.

"I feel great.” You shrugged, getting up from the stool to walk towards the bathroom. “It feels like a weight’s been lifted off my chest, and I can actually breathe in here again.” You shouted from the small, adjoined space, grabbing your toothbrush. “But... I don't know, I do feel a little bit bad for her with a lot of the things that came out before she left."

Rima leaned forward, listening intently even with the distance. "Like what?" She called out over the noise of the running water.

"Like the fact that Rafe and I already knew each other before we came onto the show," you explained quietly, dragging toothpaste over the bristles. 

“Wait, what?” Sarah stopped curling her hair, staring at you. “What do you mean you knew each other?”

“You knew each other before the show?” Cleo asked, leaning forward on her stool.

“Yeah, but it wasn't a big deal or anything,” you said. “We literally met in a club I worked at, it was a…hazy night. But neither of us even remembered it until we got here. Apparently, Rafe realized it earlier though. I only came to the realization a couple days ago when Sofia brought the memory back up.”

“That’s fate,” Talia noted, holding her hands over her chest.

“Okay, I’m not gonna lie, I can kind of see why Sofia was so mad about it,” Rima chimed in, shrugging slightly.

“Oh, for sure,” Sarah agreed. “Like, I get why she was upset, but there's still no reason for her to be mad at you. That was uncalled for. If she was pissed, she should’ve been taking that anger out on Rafe, not trying to win him back and treating you like shit.”

“Exactly,” Cleo nodded. “She took it out on the wrong person.”

“I mean, I can understand the feeling of giving your absolute all to a guy, putting everything on the line, and then it just doesn't work out. And then, the worst part is having to watch that same guy turn around and do better for someone else.” You spoke through your brushing, spitting into the sink and rinsing your mouth out. “That hurts. I get it."

You grab your cleanser and brush, washing your face, walking to the archway as you leaned against it, scrubbing your face. "But at the same time... I can't sympathize with Sofia that much. I never did anything to her personally. I tried to be respectful, I tried to give her space, and she still treated me terribly from the second she got here. She made it her mission to make me feel miserable." You grumbled, turning to walk back to the sink

"Exactly," Sarah chimed in, tossing her curling iron onto the heat mat. "You have nothing to feel bad about. She brought that on herself."

"Agreed," Cleo said, nodding. "You and Rafe are real. Anyone with eyes can see it."

You smiled to yourself as you rinsed your face, drying it off before walking back to rejoin the girls in the main room, taking your place in front of your vanity once more.

Cleo smirked, shifting the focus of the room as she looked over at Sarah. "Speaking of connections... How’s it goin’ with Theo? Have you guys had any more little late-night chats?"

Sarah’s cheeks turned a soft shade of pink, a giggly smile spreading across her face. "Yeah... we actually have.” She admitted. “I really do like him. He's just so…sexy, and he's funny. He makes me laugh constantly." She paused, her smile turning a bit more contemplative as she twirled a strand of hair around her finger. "But I don't know if I can see us working outside of the villa yet.” She adds. “Our lives are just so different…but right now, I'm really enjoying getting to know him."

"He's hot, girl. Enjoy it," Talia laughed from across the room.

Rima turned her gaze toward Cleo. "What we need to talk about is what happened last night.” She starts. “Because I know for a fact I heard a little... something coming from you and Pope's bed last night. The covers were moving a whooole lot."

The room erupted into gasps and giggles as Cleo burst out laughing, hiding her face in her hands.

"Girl, what were you doing?!" you gasped, leaning forward with wide eyes.

Cleo pulled her hands away from her face, lowering her voice, a wicked grin on her lips. "Look... all I'm gonna say is... I love french fries."

You all froze for a second before the realization of her words hit you.

"Oh my god!" Sarah shrieked, throwing a makeup sponge at Cleo.

"Oh, you are so gross!" Talia laughed, covering her mouth in shock. 

"You are a naughty, naughty girl!" Rima teased, laughing hysterically.

Cleo, however, didn't seem to have an ounce of shame as she threw her head back and laughed, unbothered. "I really, really missed my man.” She defended. “I missed his face and his abs and his arms…” She fawned, pretending to fan herself. “Especially his big ass arms. I can’t wait to see how big some other things are..."

“Cleo!” Rima laughed, throwing a hand out at her. “Contain yourself!” She laughed, the room falling into another chorus of laughter. Cleo turned her head, pointing a playful finger at you. "The hideaway isn't open yet, but let me tell you right now, I am gonna to be fightin’ you and Rafe for it, tooth and nail. So you better get ready."

"Oh, that is a fight you don’t want with me," you laughed, shaking your head.

As the laughter slowly died down, the conversation shifted toward Rima and Justin, and you looked over at her, noticing the slight shadow of worry that crossed her features. "How are you feeling about everything, Rima?"

She sighed, tracing the edge of her contour palette. "I mean, I like him. Obviously. That much is clear.” She starts, speaking more to herself than you. “But... I'm just really scared about what this all actually means. Inside here, we're great. We're in this little bubble, things seem okay, and it's easy.” She starts, taking a breath. “But outside... we already tried it, and we failed."

She looked up, eyes wide and vulnerable. "I'm just worried that just because we’re rekindling things here doesn't mean it'll actually work on the outside. We already tried it and it didn't work, and nothing about our lives has changed since we broke up.” She shrugged. “I'm just terrified that the same thing that broke us apart the first time—our crazy work schedules and lack of availability—will just break us apart again the second we leave."

“That’s valid,” you nod. “But you're both different people now after this experience. You just have to take it day by day."

The room fell into a supportive hum before everyone's eyes naturally drifted to Kaitlyn. When you and Talia had returned to the villa as bombshells, Kaitlyn had obviously been happy to see you, but everyone had noticed the way her face had fallen just a tiny bit when no new boys walked through the door.

Kaitlyn caught everyone looking at her and let out a self-deprecating laugh, leaning against the counter. "Look, I’m happy that you and Talia are in the villa. Seriously.” She begins. “But... I’ll admit, I was really hoping for another male bombshell to walk in."

She looked down, her shoulders slumping slightly. "I don’t know, I just got my hopes up and they got crushed when I realized that I probably still won't be making a romantic connection in this villa.” She smiles softly, a gesture that doesn’t even attempt to reach her eyes. “It's just hard watching everyone else sometimes."

"Awww," Sarah said softly, walking over to give her a quick side hug.

"You can be honest with us," Cleo started, tilting her head. "We won't be offended at all if you say yes, but do you really have no interest in any of the other guys here?"

Kaitlyn stood her ground, shaking her head. "No.” She affirmed. “I really don't think things will work out with any of the guys here. Yeah, they're attractive, but I just don't see myself getting on with them romantically at all." She began to break it down, counting off the boys on her fingers. "Obviously, I was in a coupling with Pope, but he's made his stance with Cleo clear. And honestly, though he and I got along well as friends, I never saw us going any further than that."

She looked over at you with a small smile. "Rafe is obviously a very attractive guy, but he's just... a little too intense for me. I definitely prefer a guy who's just a little more on the laid-back, chill side. And of course, Rafe is all over you anyway, so that's a closed door."

Kaitlyn then shrugged, still moving down the list. "Theo just isn't my type at all. And I am definitely not Justin's type." She paused, throwing out a knowing, playful look at Rima and Cleo who laughed. "And honestly, Justin and I have nothing in common," Kaitlyn added. "And as for JJ... he's just too playful for me. He's like a golden retriever on Redbulls. I'm trying to find a partner, not trying to raise a man."

"We get it," Rima said gently. "That's understandable. But still, just try to enjoy the experience, okay? Don't close yourself off to having fun just because the romance isn't there yet."

Talia smiled, leaning into the conversation just as the girls all turned to her, eyebrows raised. "What about you? Have you had any more chats with JJ?"

She beamed, entire face lighting up. "Oh, yes!” She smiled, sitting up straighter. “We had a long chat last night by the pool, and it went really well. We actually have so much in common, it's crazy. Plus, I think he's just so adorable, and I honestly can't wait to see where things go with him. He makes me feel so comfortable."

"Aw, I love that for you guys!" you said, genuinely thrilled to see JJ finally settling down with someone who appreciated him and all of his quirks.

But before Talia could add another word, the conversation was abruptly cut short. From outside the glass doors of the patio, loud laughter echoed across the yard, followed by the aggressive clang of metal banging against the ground.

"What the hell is goin’ on out there?" Cleo muttered, standing up as you and the girls all migrated toward the large patio door connected to the room, sliding it open and peering over the balcony railing that overlooked the entire yard.

Down below, the guys were fooling around in the gym area. They were crowded around the bench press, laughing. JJ was currently lying flat on the bench, face bright red and straining as he tried to bench press a stack of weights that he clearly could not lift. Pope, Theo, and Rafe were standing over him, howling with laughter before they reached down to grab the barbell and help a struggling, gasping JJ out from underneath it.

"Men are literally toddlers," Sarah sighed, shaking her head, though she was smiling.

Just then, a piercing ping echoed, everyone spinning around.

Haja was standing by her vanity, still in the room, now holding her phone up. "I got a text,"

All the girls swarmed around her, chanting. "You have to scream it."

But Haja shook her head to the side.

"What?" Talia asked, confused. "No, like... you're not gonna read it out loud?"

"What does it say?" Kaitlyn asked, moving to lean over her shoulder.

Haja put a finger to her lips, glaring at everyone. She lowered her voice to a whisper, reading the text out under her breath so the boys down below wouldn't hear a word.

"Girls, today you'll be flying under the radar. Each of you must secretly complete one of the following tasks, but whatever you do, don't get caught."

A gasp filled the room, everyone trading smiles.

"Oh my god, yes!" Cleo whispered, clapping her hands together. "What do we have to do?"

Haja looked down at her screen, reading off the first dare on the list. "The first one—get every boy to say the word 'french fries'."

Talia jumped in, waving her hand. "I can do that easily."

"Perfect," Haja said, scrolling down. "Next one, ask a boy who isn't in your couple to join you in the photo booth and get a kiss on the cheek." Haja paused, smirking. "I can take that one. I'm pretty sure I can get that done. Next," Haja continued, "Third, ask a boy to get you a drink or a snack, and then send him back because it's not what you asked for three times."

Cleo burst out laughing, a glint in her eyes. "Oh, I’m takin’ that one. I can get Pope to do it. He's gonna be so annoyed."

"Fourth," Haja read, “Convince a boy that you lost something and get him to search the entire villa up and down for it."

Rima raised her hand, face lighting up. "Oh, I'll do that!"

"Okay, fifth," Haja muttered, "Get two different boys to give you a back rub at the same time."

Kaitlyn’s eyes went wide, a mischievous smile breaking out on her face. "Ooh! I can do that, for sure. And honestly, that sounds amazing right now. My back is killing me anyway." The girls all laughed quietly, giving her an encouraging nod.

"Get a boy to give you a piggyback ride around the villa."

Sarah smiled brightly, her teeth flashing. "Oh, I love piggyback rides! That’s me." She declared

Haja looked up from the screen, her eyes locking onto you. "Alright, there's only one left—get a boy to do your makeup for you."

You grinned, a confident shrug escaping your shoulders. "Oh, Rafe will do it for me no problem."

"Anddd," Haja said, reading the last line of the text. "The final mission is to get the boys to jump into the pool."

The room went silent as you all brain-stormed how on earth you could pull off a mass pool jump without looking suspicious.

"How are we gonna get all of them in the water?" Sarah whispered. 

"Oh!” you whispered, perking up as a spark of genius hitting you. "We can tell them that we realized we've never taken a big group video of all of us jumping into the pool together. Like a High School Musical moment. They'll all jump in, but we'll just stand back and watch them."

"Ooh, yes!" Cleo gasped, clapping silently.

"Okay, but we need a signal," Talia pointed out. "How do we let each other know we've completed our tasks?"

You thought for a second, then raised your hand. "Let's do this—whenever you finish your dare, look at the other girls, blow a kiss with your fingers crossed.”

WITHIN ten minutes, you and the girls all scattered across the outdoor deck, trying to seem casual. Some of you sat around the fire pit, others lounged on the daybeds, all pretending to just chat and sunbathe while keeping your eyes peeled.

Talia was the first as she walked with confidence over to the gym area where all the boys were still lifting weights.

You watched from the fire pit with Sarah, Rima, and Cleo, as Talia leaned against a squat rack, striking up a conversation. "Hey guys," her voice drifted. "I was just thinking about what we're gonna eat later. I'm so bored of the villa food.” She groaned as they all turned their attention to her. “What are y’all’s favorite foods outside of here?"

"Steak, I guess," Rafe muttered, wiping sweat from his forehead. “I’d actually kill for one right about now.”

"Honestly, I just want a burger," Pope said, standing up straight. "A burger and some good fries."

Talia seized the moment, looking at Pope. "What kind of fries though? Like are we talking waffle fries, curly fries...?"

"Nah, just regular french fries, man," Pope replied carelessly.

Talia then turned her gaze to JJ, who was drinking from a shaker cup. "What about you, J? You seem like a fast food guy."

"Oh, totally," JJ grinned, flexing his arms playfully. "Gimme a bucket of fried chicken and a mountain of greasy french fries and I'm a happy camper."

Talia smiled, turning to Theo and Justin next. "Are you guys the same, or do you try to stay healthy?"

"Man, fuck being healthy," Justin laughed. "I go straight for the subs and french fries. I’ll sweat it off later."

"Same," Theo chimed in. "Can't go wrong with french fries. I eat mine with ranch, though."

“Ew dude,” JJ cringed. “That’s weird.”

Theo just shrugged, a lopsided smirk on his lips. “Don’t knock it ‘til you try it.”

Talia had one target left, turning her eyes onto Rafe who was organizing some dumbbells. "Rafe?” She called. “You seem too fancy for fast food.” She taunted. “Do you even eat fries?"

Rafe paused, looking up at her with a slightly dry, confused expression. "Yes, I eat french fries.” He deadpanned, narrowing his eyes at her and her jokes. “Why you askin’ so many questions about potatoes?"

She just gave a sweet, innocent smile. "Oh, just curious,” she shrugged. “Alright, see you guys later. Bye!" Then she was skipping away, leaving all five boys standing there looking confused. As she walked past the firepit, Talia caught all of your eyes, lifted her hand, and blew a kiss across the yard with her fingers crossed.

Then it was Haja—her mission to get a kiss on the cheek in the photo booth from a boy outside of her couple. She decided to play the long game and target Theo and Justin, considering that she and both of them had entered the villa during Casa Amor, giving her the perfect excuse.

She walked over to where both boys were now standing by the outdoor kitchen, making post work-out smoothies. "Hey!" she called out, both turning to her and greeting her. "I just realized we don't have any photos together, me and my Casa boys.” She teased, shimmying her shoulders. “We should take some. I think the photobooth is empty."

Theo shrugged calmly. "Yeah, I’m down."

"Sure, let's do it," Justin agreed, putting the bag of frozen fruit down.

She led the two boys to the photobooth, the three of them piling into the cramped booth. You and the girls watched from a distance as the curtain closed. Inside, the first three photos were tame—just them flashing peace signs, making silly faces, and smiling at the lens. But right before the fourth and final flash, Haja leaned into the middle, grabbed both of their faces, and squealed, "Okay, now kiss me on the cheek, both of you! Quick, hurry!"

Neither of them really hesitated or thought twice about it, leaning in, planting two kisses onto each of Haja's cheeks right as the camera flashed.

A second later, Haja slid the curtain open and walked out of the booth, flashing a victorious smirk. She looked over at the firepit and blew the kiss.

Now, it was Cleo's turn. She stood up from the fire pit, stretching her arms out with a grin. "Oh, this is gonna be fun," she whispered to you as she walked past you all and straight over to the pool deck where Pope was now lounging back on a beach chair, relaxed under the sun. Cleo slid onto the edge of his seat, running a hand over his stubbled jaw to catch his attention. They chatted casually for about a minute before Cleo let out a dramatic sigh.

"Ugh," she mumbled, pouting. "I’m so thirsty."

Pope looked up at her, attentively. "D’you want me to grab you something to drink?"

"Yeah, that’d be great... but I don't even know what I want," she replied, looking helpless.

"I can just bring you somethin’," Pope said, standing up from his chair and walking all the way to the kitchen. A minute later, he emerged carrying an ice cold glass of water, handing it to her with a smile. "Here you go."

Cleo looked down at the glass, face twisting in disappointment. "Pope... if I wanted water, I would have said I wanted water."

Pope blinked, a bit taken aback, but just chuckled. "Um... okay. My bad." He took the glass back, walked all the way back to the kitchen, and returned a minute later with a new glass. "Alright. Here."

Cleo took it, took one tiny sip, and gagged. "Are you dense? This is still water.” She reprimanded. “It's just water with a lemon squeezed in it. Go get me like... cranberry juice or something."

Pope sighed deeply, a look of annoyance on his face. "Okay, cranberry juice. Got it." He turned around, marching back into the kitchen for the third time.

You and the girls were losing it from the fire pit, burying your faces in pillows to muffle your laughter. Pope finally emerged once more, carrying a glass filled with bright red cranberry juice, handing it to her. 

Cleo looked at the glass, then up at him with a straight face. "Actually,” she slumped. “I don't even want it anymore. Can you just go see if there's another kind of juice in there?"

Pope tensed, staring at her like she had lost her mind. He let out a low mutter under his breath—"What the hell?..."—but wanting to satisfy his girl, he turned right back around and walked back to the kitchen for a fourth time.

When he finally came back with a glass of pineapple juice, Cleo flashed him the sweetest, most innocent smile in the world. "Ah, thanks, you're the best!"

Pope just shook his head, baffled, and sat back down as Cleo immediately turned her head toward you and the other girls and blew a kiss with her fingers crossed tightly.

Next was Rima, having to convince a boy she lost something important and make him search for it. She obviously targeted Justin, walking over to where he was now sipping his smoothie, resting on the daybeds.

"Hey, babe," she said softly, sitting on the edge of the bed.

"Hey," Justin smiled.

Rima planted a sweet kiss on his cheek, engaging in casual conversation for a short minute about the weather and how much he liked her bathing suit today. But in the middle of Justin explaining the story of how JJ ended up trying to bench press more than his weight, Rima gasped, her hands flying to the top of her head.

"Oh shit," she cursed, face twisting into panic. "Where are my sunglasses?"

Justin blinked, looking at her face. "Uh... what sunglasses?” He raised a curious brow. “You weren't wearing any sunglasses—"

"Yes, I was." Rima insisted, voice rising slightly. "The all-black ones, my favorite pair, ugh,” she feigned distress. “I must have lost them somewhere. Can you help me find them?"

Justin groaned, rolling off around on the daybed. "I seriously don't remember you wearing any sunglasses today—"

Rima threw her hands up in the air, exasperated. "I was, Justin! Can you please just help me look instead of making me feel crazy?"

"Alright, my bad," Justin said, buying into her acting.

And for the next five minutes, Rima dragged Justin on a wild goose chase through the villa, searching top to bottom. They went up to Soul Ties, looked around the Speakeasy, looked under the bar stools. They even wandered off to Say Less, Justin getting down on his hands and knees to peer under the seat while Rima stood over him, pretending to fret.

After five minutes of looking, Justin stood up, dusting off his knees, looking wiped out. "They aren't anywhere." He panted.

Rima then paused, blinking innocently as she tapped her chin. "Huh... y’know what? Maybe I didn't even have them on today.” She shrugged. “I think the sun is driving me crazy.” Rima laughed, slapping Justin’s shoulder. “But thanks for helping me look anyway, babe!"

Justin stood in the middle of the room, jaw dropping open as he stared at her. "Are you serious right now?" But Rima didn't linger. She just skipped right out of the room, and as she cleared the doorway, she looked at you all and blew a kiss with her fingers crossed.

After Rima, Kaitlyn took her turn, needing to get two different boys to give her a back rub at the same time. Her eyes scanned the outdoor deck, and she spotted Pope and JJ standing together near the kitchen, caught in a conversation. Putting on her best damsel-in-distress expression, she walked up to them.

"Hey, guys, sorry to interrupt," Kaitlyn said, sounding exhausted as she looked at Pope. "Do you remember when I was talking about that weird, super tight muscle in my upper back? It’s gotten so much worse today.” She whined, massaging her back, face twisted in faux pain. “I remember you mentioning something about a massage that might help get the knot out. Do you…know how to do it?"

Pope nodded. "Oh, yeah, I know what you're talking about.” He smiled. 

Kaitlyn beamed at him. "Oh, fantastic! Can you please get it out for me? It just hurts so bad, and you're the only one I could think to ask about it."

"Yeah, sure, no problem," Pope said, stepping forward.

But right before he could start, Kaitlyn quickly turned her gaze over to JJ, who was just standing there watching. She flashed him a sweet smile. "You can help out too, since you're just standing there doing nothing."

JJ gasped playfully, putting a hand over his heart. "Hey! I’m keepin’ the vibe alive,” He shot out. “But alright, let's do it. Teamwork makes the dream work."

Kaitlyn giggled, dragging both boys over to a nearby beach chair as she laid flat on her stomach, burying her face in her arms. Pope took a spot on her left side, digging his thumbs into her upper shoulder, while JJ took the right side, clumsily but enthusiastically rubbing her lower back.

For a brief second, Kaitlyn lifted her head up from her arms, looked straight at you and the other girls, and blew a kiss with a smile.

Sarah took that as her cue, standing and scanning the yard for a boy who’d willingly give her a piggyback ride, eyes landing on Theo. She saddled up to him while he was grabbing a glass of water from the kitchen.

"Hey, handsome," she cooed, leaning against the counter.

"Hi, biondina," Theo smiled, leaning in across from her, sipping his water.

Sarah began making playful conversation, flirting and tossing her hair back. "You know, I bet you're super strong."

Theo smirked, leaning closer. "Oh, really?"

"Mhm," Sarah hummed, popping her hip. "I think I need you to prove it, though.” She teased. 

“And how do you suppose I do that?”

“Mmm…I love piggyback rides,” she edged. “and I haven't had one since I was a little kid."

"Is that a request?" Theo laughed, dropping his water cup as he rounded the counter and turned around by her side, bending his knees slightly as he peered over his shoulder. "Hop on."

Sarah grinned, jumping onto his back and locking her arms around his neck as Theo gripped her thighs and took off sprinting. He ran all around the yard, weaving in and out of the daybeds, while Sarah laughed, her hands flying through the air.

And as Theo sprinted past the fire pit with her on his back, Sarah managed to catch your eye and blow a laughing kiss with her fingers crossed tightly..

With Sarah’s dare out of the way, her and Theo still galloping around the villa, that only left you—get a boy to do your makeup. And of course, there was only one on your radar.

You scanned the villa and found Rafe, lounging back on one of the shaded daybeds near the entrance, long legs stretched out, relaxed. You sauntered over, shielding your face from the sun, and the second he noticed you approaching, a soft grin took over his face.

He reached up, grabbing your hand the second you got close enough, and pulled you down to sit on the edge of the cushions. "There you are," he murmured. "Where have you been? I missed you..."

You chuckled, leaning into his side. "You know I have to divide my time equally here. The girls need me, too. I can't just spend all day glued to you."

Rafe rolled his eyes, though his hand slid up to wrap around your waist, pulling you into his lap. "Yeah, whatever. They can’t give you what I can." He flirted.

“And what is that?” You challenged, looking down at him, hands on his shoulders. Rafe just fixed you with a pointed look, a look that told you if he answered where everyone could hear, you’d probably skin him. So, you just rolled your eyes, letting silence fall as his eyes raked over your face, softening.

 "You look very pretty today.” He muttered. “Not that you don't look pretty every day."

Your heart fluttered, a soft smile falling upon your features. "Oh, why thank you. You look pretty handsome yourself, Mr. Cameron."

"You make me sound so old," he muttered through a short laugh. But you couldn’t even respond as he leaned in, lips finding yours. And what started as a sweet kiss quickly turned into something much heavier as Rafe’s hand moved to the back of your neck, fingers edging into the hair at the nape of your neck as he pulled you against him, lips parting yours with a sweep of his tongue as he dove in deeper—tongue sliding against your own, fighting for air before he pulled back, your bottom lip tugged lightly between his teeth.

When you finally pulled back, gasping slightly for air, you looked at his face and almost burst out laughing. Your lip liner was smeared all over his lips and his chin.

"Oh my god," you giggled, reaching up to wipe it. "My lip liner is literally all over your face."

Rafe just smirked, unbothered, his grip on your waist tightening. "Leave it."

You scoffed playfully, swatting his shoulder as you stood up from the bed, grabbing his hand and pulling him up with you. "Now I have to go redo it.” You retorted. “And since you're the one who messed it up, you're coming with me."

Rafe let out a low laugh, willing to follow you anywhere. "Yes, ma'am."

You dragged him all the way into the empty glam room, Rafe walking right behind you, hands resting possessively on your waist the entire way. You sat down on one of the pink velvet stools facing the mirror and turned to look at him.

You picked up your two lip liner pencils from the counter—the darker shade for the outer contour and the lighter shade for the center, handing them both to him.

"You ruin it," you said, tilting your chin up, looking him in the eyes. "You fix it."

Rafe stared down at the pencils in his hand like they were pieces from two different puzzles, looking up at you, a mix of amusement and caution. "Angel... If I do this, you’re gonna look like a clown.” He huffed a laugh. “I don't know what I’m doin’."

"Yes, you do," you reassured him, leaning closer into his space, hands on his waist as you pulled him to stand in between your legs. "Because I’m gonna help you."

Rafe smirked, stepping even further between your knees as you sat on the stool, bringing his body closer to yours as he leaned down, his face inches from yours. "Oh, yeah? You gonna talk me through it, huh? Nice and slow?" He teased.

You fought the warmth rising in your cheeks, lifting your hand to push a firm finger against his forehead, pushing his face away from yours. "Stop flirting. Pay attention," you said, using your best strict voice. "Focus, Pac-Man."

“Pac-Man?”

“Yeah, ‘cause you ate my lips off.”

Rafe chuckled, but shook his head as he leaned down and actually tried, lifting the darker pencil, fingers surprisingly gentle as he touched the side of your jaw to steady his hand and your face. He leaned in close, his breath warm against your skin as he began to carefully trace the outer edge of your top lip.

But he kept getting distracted, eyes tracing your lips then darting up to meet your eyes, noting the way you were looking at him. He stopped the pencil, staring at your mouth, jaw ticking.

"You look really sexy right now," he muttered roughly.

"Rafe, focus," you scolded gently, though a smile was breaking through.

He let out a low grunt, carefully filling in the center of your lips with the lighter pencil, thumb gently smoothing out the edges where he’d messed up a bit. Once he was done with the pencils, you reached over and picked up a glossy tube, holding it out to him.

Rafe looked down at the label, a smirk pulling at his lips. "Oh. Fenty.” He raised one eyebrow, a grin on his lips. “That's fancy."

“...How would you know?” You asked, slightly skeptical.

Rafe just fixed you a deadpan expression, head slightly titled. “I have two sisters.”

“Right…” you dragged out playfully.

“Jealous ass.” Rafe scoffed, laughing as he leaned down, grabbing your chin to make you face him before uncapping the gloss before carefully swiping the wand across your lower lip. 

The second he placed the tube back down on the counter, he didn't even give you a chance to look in the mirror and inspect his work before grabbing you firmly by the jaw again, fingers digging into your cheeks, pulling you forward into another bruising kiss.

"Rafe!" you mumbled into his lips, laughing as you tried to pull away. "You're messing it up all over again!"

"Mhm, I don't really care," he growled playfully, his lips chasing yours.

You giggled into the kiss, turning your face away from him with a smile. 

You looked back at him, slapping his bare chest before grabbing his hand, tugging him out of the glam room and back outside. The second your feet hit the grass, you spotted Cleo, Rima, and Sarah watching from the fire pit and blew them a kiss.

After the girls noticed your reappearance, they decided it was time for the final mission, giving each other subtle nods.

Cleo took the lead, standing from where she’d been seated at the fire pit, cupping her hands around her mouth.

"Guys!" Cleo announced, all of them turning to her, you and Rafe pausing where you were, still holding hands. "Come over here! We have an idea!"

“What idea?” JJ’s voice boomed as everyone walked towards the firepit, circling around now.

“We should…jump in the pool.” She smiled cutely, clasping her hands together as everyone came to a stop in front of her and the girls.

"Um... no thanks," Justin said, shaking his head. "I’m still sweaty. I don’t want to be sweaty and covered in chlorine."

"Yeah, I'm good," Rafe muttered, shifting to stand behind you, hands over your shoulders, hanging loosely in front of you.

"Come onnn," you chimed in, pleading to all the guys but looking up at Rafe for a brief second. "It’s gonna be like a High School Musical moment!"

“I hated High School Musical,” Theo muttered, crossing his arms, shrugging.

JJ nudged his shoulder, smirking. “Me too. Lemonade Mouth wins, all day.”

"Who's even gonna record it if we're all in the water?" Pope asked, raising an eyebrow at Cleo.

"We'll just set the phone up." Talia explained, waving her hand out aimlessly. "Why are you acting like you've never used a phone before?” Her eyes squinted. “Come on, you guys!"

JJ’s shrugged, sighing, eyes on Talia. "I’ll do it." He caved, looking sheepish as the guys all groaned. “We were all gonna shower anyway! What’s it gonna hurt?”

And with JJ on board, the rest of the boys reluctantly groaned, grumbling as they walked over to the edge of the pool and you all clapped and cheered behind them. They lined up side-by-side as you and girls all lined up right behind them, grinning widely. You were the one to set the phone up against a potted plant on the grass, hitting record, and running back to the lineup.

"Alright, from three!" Sarah shouted.

"Three!" the girls started.

"Two!"

The boys all bent their knees, preparing for a leap.

"One! Jump!"

With a loud shout, all five boys launched themselves forward, flying through the air and landing into the water with a synchronized splash.

But you and the girls didn't move an inch.

The second the boys hit the water, you all burst into hysterical screams of laughter, jumping up and down.

The boys surfaced a second later, shaking the water out of their eyes, wiping their faces, and turning around to tread water. They stared up at you all, annoyed and bewildered.

"Hey! What the hell?!" JJ yelled, splashing the water in frustration.

"We did it! We did it! We did it!" you and the girls chanted, ignoring their complaints. You all turned to each other, raising your hands, blowing crossed-fingered kisses at each other.

The boys slowly climbed out of the pool, dripping wet, water pooling around their feet as they stomped onto the deck. "C’mon," Justin muttered, shaking water off himself, trying to shake it out of his ear. “Did you all just feel like being asses today?”

Haja giggled, holding up her phone. "It was a text we got earlier this morning,” she tells the guys. “We had to complete our missions without getting caught, and the last one was getting all of you in the pool."

Rafe walked up behind you, soaking wet, water dripping down his face. Before you could react, he wrapped his strong, wet arms around your waist from behind, pulling your body against his dripping chest. You shrieked at the cold water, but he didn't care, turning you around in his arms so you had to look up at him.

A knowing smirk was plastered on his wet face. "Is that why Talia came up to us askin’ about french fries?"

You couldn’t contain your laughter, nodding against his chest.

Rafe’s eyes narrowed playfully, grip tightening around your waist as he leaned down. "And is that why you suddenly acted like you actually cared about me kissing your makeup? Because any other time, you don't have an issue..."

You bit the inside of your cheek as you bashfully pushed against his wet chest, looking away. "Shut up."

Rafe just let out a deep chuckle, planting a wet kiss right on the tip of your nose.

FOR the rest of the afternoon had this lazy, peaceful vibe. Couples were scattered around the yard, focusing on getting to know each other or just chatting.

Talia and JJ were running around, chasing each other and laughing hysterically like a couple of little kids. Over in the shallow end of the pool, Cleo and Pope were wading together, Pope's arms wrapped around her waist as they shared quiet whispers. Rima and Justin were laid out on the lounge chairs, sunbathing side-by-side, while Haja and Kaitlyn were deep in conversation over on the shaded daybeds, with Sarah and Theo having wandered off into the privacy of the Speakeasy to talk.

You and Rafe were chilling on one of the big daybeds, wrapped up in each other as you watched the villa move around you. You were laying flat on Rafe’s chest, head resting right over his heart while his large fingers traced soothing patterns up and down your bare arm.

"I'm really happy for everyone," you murmured softly, looking out at the yard. "Like, look at JJ and Talia. He seems to have really found someone who might actually be his person. And Sarah even told me earlier that things are going great with Theo."

"Yeah?" Rafe asked, deep voice vibrating through his ribs against your cheek.

"Mhm,” you hummed. “Plus, Cleo and Pope are back together after all their drama," you continued, sighing happily. "Even Rima and Justin are doing pretty well. But... I do feel a little bit bad about Kaitlyn. She told us today that she was really hoping for a male bombshell to come in, and I just feel like... I don't know, I feel like I might have ruined that opportunity for her…by coming back."

Rafe stopped his hand on your arm, shifting slightly so he could look down at you. "Hey. Don't feel bad about that.” He told you firmly. “You can't please everyone, angel. You had to do what was right for you—what was right for us. That's why we're all here. Kaitlyn will be fine."

You smiled up at him, guilt melting away under his gaze as you shifted your position, looking at him curiously. "Hey... how are the guys doing? After John B's elimination? I know it was a lot."

Rafe exhaled, looking out over the villa. "I mean... they all took it a little hard, including myself. He was here since the first day, y’know? But I think we all understood that his actions with the whole Casa situation were far from okay.” He scoffed, shaking his head. “We respect the decision the girls made to dump him. But... things definitely feel weird around here without him."

You nodded understandingly, running your hand gently over his stomach, the heat of the afternoon sun suddenly starting to feel sticky and overwhelming on your skin as you let out a low groan, burying your face into his neck.

"I think I'm getting heat exhaustion.” You whined into his skin. “I just want to lay down."

Rafe looked down at you, thumb gently wiping sweat from your hairline, eyes full of concern. "D’you wanna take a nap, angel?"

"...Yeah," you sighed against his skin. "Think so."

Without another word, and without a second thought, Rafe slid his arms underneath your body. In one smooth motion, he lifted you up into his arms, rising from the daybed and carrying you bridal-style.

You gasped, wrapping your arms tightly around his neck as he began walking across the pool deck. "Rafe, what're you doing?"

Rafe just looked down at you with a genuinely confused, deadpan expression. "You said you wanted to take a nap.” He said like you’d forgotten. “So we're going to take a nap."

You chuckled, heart melting. "Well... you don't have to come with me, you know. You can stay out here with everyone."

"I know," Rafe murmured, eyes locking onto yours as he pushed walked up the stairs to the bedroom with you in his arms. "I want to."

He carried you all the way through the villa and into the main bedroom where Rafe still had his bed with his nameplate on it from when he was coupled up with Sofia. Now that Sofia was dumped, it was just his.

He walked over to his mattress and gently laid you onto the soft sheets, leaning down to help tuck the thick duvet around your shoulders. Before you could even blink, he walked around to the other side and climbed in beside you, pulling the covers over himself.

You turned your head on the pillow, looking at him with a soft, yet amused, smile. "Isn’t this breaking the rules of some kind? We aren't ‘coupled up’.” You mocked.

“To me, we are.” Rafe dismissed, eyes on yours.

 “The producers are probably on their way. Or typing out a warning text, right now." You laughed softly.

Rafe just pulled you into him, hand wrapping around the back of your waist to anchor you against him. He let out a low, defiant huff. "Probably. But nobody’s here yet, so fuck it."

You were both tucked under the heavy covers, the air conditioning of the bedroom washing over your skin. Rafe was gently stroking the side of your face with his thumb, his gaze locked onto you, while you just traced the lines of his jaw and his eyes.

"What happened?" you whispered, breaking the comfortable silence. "While I was gone.”

Rafe instantly let out a dramatic groan, turning his face and burying it into the pillow beside your head. "Please don't make me think about it. I was so fuckin’ miserable and whiny the whole time."

You chuckled softly. "I know, I'm sorry.”

“...’s not your fault.” He mutters bitterly, the memory of the night you left clouding his mind before you pulled him from it. 

“You had to have had at least a little bit of fun,” you egg on. “Did anything happen?"

Rafe lifted his head, rolling his eyes. "We did a Twitter challenge where they read out tweets from the public. That was…somethin’, I guess."

Your jaw dropped, and you let out a groan of pure envy, slapping his chest. "Oh my fuck! Are you serious?” You pouted. “I was looking forward to that. Ugh, I can't believe I missed it.” You mumbled, irritated. “Well, what happened? Tell me."

Rafe shrugged, thumb resuming its gentle path along your cheekbone. "Honestly, it wasn't really anything too eventful. For me, anyway. But, turns out... the public hated Sofia, John B, Haja, and Miles. It was honestly kind of cruel to watch."

You sighed, nodding your head against his chest. "Well... that's kind of expected. They all made really poor choices, and some of them are just poor people.” You rolled your eyes. “The public sees everything." You paused, tilting your head up to look into his blue eyes. "What did they say about you?"

Rafe went quiet for a moment, eyes scanning your face. "To be honest, they weren't nearly as bad as I was thinking they'd be. I was sittin’ there the whole time expecting people to call me a bad person, thought they were gonna say that you should be running away from me, that I was…fucked up or somethin’, I don’t know.” He shrugged. “I just know I expected to be one of the most hated people up there."

He paused, letting out a soft breath. "...So I was really surprised when I wasn't.” He sighs, the ghost of a smile on his lips, as if the thought warmed his heart, bringing something youthful out of him. “But I couldn't even bring myself to care. Because all I could think about the entire time was the fact that you weren't there with me."

Your heart swelled with so much emotion it actually ached as you reached up, cupping his jaw with your hand, fingers sliding into what little hair he had. "That's because they see what I see.” You started. “That you have a good heart.” You smiled, eyes scanning his face. “You just had to find the right person to bring it out. I think we both did."

Rafe’s eyes went dark as he smiled at you briefly before he leaned down, his lips meeting yours in a slow, sweet kiss that felt different from the heated makeout from earlier. It was a kiss full of unspoken devotion.

When he pulled back, he left one last peck on your lips before he tucked your head under his chin, wrapping his arms around your body. And within minutes, the cool room and the exhausting morning caught up to you both, and you fell asleep, curled into each other.

ONLY to be violently jarred awake an hour later by the loud sound of someone screaming from the main hallway.

"I got a text!" JJ’s booming voice broke the peace of the empty bedroom.

Suddenly, you could hear the sounds of all the other islanders running through the villa, their footsteps loud against the flooring.

"Where the hell did Rafe and Y/N go?" Pope’s voice carried from the hallway.

"They're probably fucking somewhere," Justin laughed loudly, joking.

A second later, the bedroom door flew open and the islanders charged into the room, stopping dead in their tracks when they found you and Rafe curled up together under the duvet, rubbing sleep from your eyes.

"Well," Cleo smirked, leaning against the doorframe. "Aren't you two just the cutest?"

Rafe let out a rough, sleep-deprived grumble as he glared at them. "Just read the damn text."

JJ grinned, holding up the phone, and read the text out loud.

"Islanders, tonight there will be a recoupling—boys' choice. Please, get ready and make your way to the fire pit."

Instead of the usual dread that accompanied a recoupling, you and Rafe looked at each other, pure relief and happiness washing over both of you for the first time in days.

For the first time in twenty-seven days, there was nothing standing in your way. No Sofia, no Theo, no Casa Amor—nothing. You both smiled, more than happy and more than ready.

THE whole time you were getting ready—fixing your hair, doing your makeup, sliding into the stunning dress you’d picked out—you couldn’t wipe the radiant smile from your face.

After everything you and Rafe had been through —the arguments, the separations, the constant roadblocks—you were finally getting your moment of peace, getting to be together again and, hopefully, for the last time. And you knew, with absolute certainty, that whatever or whoever came into this villa from here on out could not break you. You had run into the biggest obstacles possible and come out on the other side even better every single time.

When the other girls were ready, you all walked down the stairs together, the boys lined up at the bottom, looking sharp as they admired you all.

As you reached the bottom step, Rafe stepped forward, taking your hand in his, his eyes lighting up as they raked your frame. He leaned down, voice a low whisper against your ear. "You look beautiful, angel.” He complimented, planting a soft kiss on your cheek as the two of you followed behind the crowd. “You excited?"

You looked up at him, smiling. "Over the moon, actually." You leaned up, planting a sweet kiss in return on his cheek, walking out to the fire pit.

THE night sky was dark, the fire pit crackling in the center of the deck as all of you took your seats. A moment later, Ariana walked out, looking gorgeous.

"Good evening, Islanders," Ariana smiled, stopping in front of you all. "As always, it’s amazing to see your lovely faces.” She offered. “And though it seems today has been fun for you all, and I hate to burst your bubble…welcome to tonight’s recoupling. And boys... it is your choice.” She told them, all of the men nodding silently. “Girls, if you could, please come and stand next to me."

You and the rest of the girls stood up from the couches, giving your men silent looks and touches before walking over to line up next to Ariana, facing the boys who remained seated.

Ariana turned her gaze to the men, speaking. "One by one, I will call you up, and you will explain the girl you want to couple up with, and why.” She told them, reminding them of the typical procedure. “Pope... you're up first."

Pope stood up, smoothing down his shirt. He took a deep breath, clasping his hands behind his back.

"I would like to couple up with this girl because... I know she's the one for me," He said, voice strong. "I regret it taking me so long to finally find that out, and I made some mistakes along the way. But I am just so glad that in the end, we got it figured out and I pulled myself together. So, the girl I want to couple up with is... Cleo."

And you all cheered, clapping as Cleo walked over, a smile on her face, wrapping Pope in a tight hug before taking his hand, standing beside him. Ariana looked at them, smiling. "Cleo, how do you feel?"

"I feel amazin’," Cleo beamed. "My man is back where he belongs." She teased, poking Pope’s side.

“Well, congratulations to you both. You may take your seats.” Ariana nodded, turning her head. "Rafe... you're next."

Rafe stood up from the couch, eyes locked onto you from the second his feet hit the ground. He stood straight, burying his hands in his pockets, a relaxed, soft expression on his face.

“Please, tell us who you would like to couple up with.”

"I want to couple up with this girl because... man, I’ve gone through so much with her in such a short amount of time," Rafe began, deep voice echoing in the quiet of the night. "It's honestly still a shock to me that after everything that's happened—days ago, weeks ago, and even hours ago—that she’s still standing here before me today. She stuck by me."

He paused, taking a deep breath as his eyes softened, looking straight at you. "I know I’ve said it too much, or maybe not enough, but I have never felt this way about anyone in my life. And I hope to feel this way with her for the rest of it. I know that I will.” He gave you a lopsided smile. “So, the girl I want to couple up with is... Y/N."

Your heart soared as you walked across the deck, heels clicking while everyone around clapped, watching as you wound your arms around his neck and Rafe caught you, lifting you slightly off your feet as he squeezed you in his arms.

Ariana smiled warmly at the two of you. "How do you feel?"

"I've never been happier," you said as Rafe let you down, standing beside him with his hand in yours, looking up at him, who was looking down at you like you were the only thing in the world. “And I’m just glad we got another chance.”

Ariana nodded, a blush on her cheeks. “Well, congratulations.” She offered as the pair of you sat down, Rafe squeezing your hand and placing a small kiss on your temple as you leaned your head on his shoulder.

“Theo,” Ariana called, watching the man stand with a confident smile, looking at Sarah. 

"My speech is a little bit shorter than the other guys, but it's just as real," Theo said, laughing lightly. "I feel like this girl has been put through the ringer in here. I've watched her go through guys who just didn't consider her feelings at all. And even after everything, I didn't expect to be the one standing here with her. But I love her bubbly personality, I think her smile is breathtaking, and I believe I can be the one for her. I just hope to live up to her standards, because she deserves it.” He said honestly. “So, tonight, I choose Sarah."

Sarah blushed, walking over to join him as you all gave an applause. When Ariana asked how they felt, Sarah squealed, "He's just perfect,” she fawned. “I definitely never saw us together before just a few days ago, but I’m happy things changed.”

And as they took their seats, Justin was called up next, his choice obvious as he stood. "I’m very grateful for this girl," he said, looking at Rima. "Grateful for her patience and her understanding with me. It feels like no matter what happens, we just keep finding our way back to each other somehow, even when things don't work out the first time around.” He smiled. “So, the girl I’m choosing is Rima."

Rima smiled, walking over to join him as you all cheered lightly, telling Ariana she felt relieved and ready to focus on the future.

Finally, it was JJ’s turn—three girls left standing next to Ariana. 

Haja, Kaitlyn, and Talia.

JJ took a deep breath as Ariana called him to stand, rubbing the back of his neck as he looked at them.

"Although I'm standing before three beautiful women tonight... only one of them has managed to really catch my eye.” He starts, nervous. “I never thought I'd find someone who was everything I’d been looking for in my life. And then... she just walked into the villa on a random night while I was covered in like six different colors of paint.” He joked, earning small laughs from the rest of you. “I couldn't have been more grateful. And I can’t wait to see where things go with this girl.” He nodded to himself. “The girl I would like to couple up with is Talia."

Talia beamed, running into JJ’s arms as he spun her around, all of you congratulating them as JJ set the girl back down on her feet, both of them sitting back down.

Ariana then congratulated all the newly formed couples, the energy around the firepit warm and celebratory. But then, her expression turned into something more serious as she turned her eyes toward the two remaining girls.

"Haja, Kaitlyn... as the only two girls not chosen, you are both single and vulnerable," Ariana announced softly. "Do you have anything you want to say?"

And though she didn’t say it, they both knew this was the end of the line for them.

Kaitlyn started first, a sweet, grateful smile on her face. "I am just so appreciative of this entire experience," she said softly. "I'm grateful for all the amazing people I met . And although I didn't find a romantic connection... I made some wonderful friends in here. I'm going to miss all of your beautiful faces."

Haja spoke next, her expression a bit more bitter, though still bittersweet. "My experience definitely isn't what I felt like it should have been," she said bluntly. "I think I was villainized a little bit more than what was necessary. But... at the end of the day, we all came here for the same thing, and I'm just glad that you all seem to have found it."

“Well,” Ariana nodded gently, lips curled. "Haja, Kaitlyn—you are both single, vulnerable, and dumped from the island." She told them, both girls giving small nods of defeat. “Your time in the villa has unfortunately come to an end. You may pack your bags, say your goodbyes, and get ready to leave.” She explained, turning to the rest of you. “As for the rest of you, I will see you soon.”

The second Ariana made her exit, all of you rose from your seats, walking over to Haja and Kaitlyn. Everyone gathered around Kaitlyn first, giving her a slightly tearful group hug, the guys included. And despite all the drama that had happened with Haja over the past couple of weeks, everyone put it aside, stepping forward to give her sincere goodbye as well.

You and the girls all walked both of them up to the glam room to help them pack their things. And as clothes were stuffed into suitcases, the atmosphere was surprisingly sweet. "I know it’s been a rollercoaster," you told Kaitlyn, hugging her tightly, still feeling a small pinch of guilt. "But I'm happy I met you. I hope you find your guy on the outside."

"Thanks, babe," Kaitlyn smiled.

Once the suitcases were full and zipped, you and the girls helped them carry their stuff down the stairs where the guys were waiting by the front door.

"Hey, hold on a second. Before you leave, " Cleo called to the two girls. "We need to go take some photos."

At her reminder, the girls swarmed the photo booth with Haja and Kaitlyn, cramming inside to memorialize the moment—silly faces, cute ones—photos to keep as memories. Once the prints slid out, you all hugged them one last time, and they walked out the front doors, everyone waving goodbye as you watched them disappear.

Confessional : Kaitlyn "I am still so grateful for this experience, even if it ends here. I have to thank Pope for bringing me back, the girls for being so welcoming and accepting of me, and obviously the chance for the opportunity to even be here. This was really the summer of my life. But I officially hate the producers for not bringing in a single male bombshell for me and just leaving me hanging!" She laughed, waving it off. "But it's whatever. I love Love Island! I’ll miss it here!" She blew a kiss to the camera.

Confessional : Haja "I came in here, did my thing, and I’m not going to apologize for the way I went about everything or the way things played out. I felt like that's what this experience was supposed to be about.” She shrugged. “And though I regret hurting people's feelings, and doing some things that people might consider moving too fast... at the end of the day, I stayed true to myself. That was all I could do."

LATER that night, the remaining girls gathered in the glam room, sliding into silk pajamas and scrubbing off the dirt of the day.

"It's so crazy," Sarah sighed, sitting at her vanity space. "Like... all of the Casa girls are gone now. Casa feels like it was a million years ago, but…also like it was just yesterday."

"I know," Rima agreed. "It's wild to think that all the girls who came back from there are just... not here anymore."

Cleo turned to you, a smirk on her face. "Well, I know one person who’s probably thrilled about it, considering Sofia is gone for good."

You burst out laughing, brushing your hair. "Hell yeah, I'm happy she's gone!” You admitted, shrugging lightly. “I finally get to share a bed with my man again. I can't wait to just lay on his chest all night, feel his arms around me—" You fawned, exaggerating your words.

"Alright, alright," Talia laughed, throwing a pillow at you.

"Oh, you all love us, don't lie." you laughed, dodging the pillow, turning to Talia, eyebrows raised. "How are you feeling now that JJ chose you? You guys finally get to share a bed tonight."

Talia beamed, eyes sparkling. "I’m so excited.” She whispered, cheesing. “Hearing his speech tonight... it really just made me feel really confident about his interest in me. I was getting scared that it wasn’t mutual.” She laughed to herself.

Once everyone was ready for bed, the girls filed out of the room and into the main bedroom. The minute you stepped through the doorway, you spotted Rafe already under the covers of your shared bed, propped up against the pillows with his hands behind his head, chatting with JJ who was in the bed next to yours.

You ran across the bedroom and launched yourself onto the bed, landing on top of him.

Rafe let out a grunt under your sudden weight, hands instinctively catching your waist as he glared up at you playfully. "What the hell is wrong with you?” He deadpanned, though you saw the ghost of a smile on his lips. “You’re like a big ass kid."

You pouted dramatically, shifting as if to slide off the bed. "Oh, wow.” You scoffed, glaring at him over your shoulder. “Forgive me for being excited to finally share a bed with you again. It's fine. I'll just go sleep outside since you hate me—"

But before your feet could touch the floor, Rafe’s hands gripped your waist. In one effortless motion, he body slammed you back onto the mattress, pinning your body beneath his.

You laughed loudly, hands catching his shoulders as he leaned over you, a bright grin on his face. "You're dramatic," he muttered, kissing all over your face—your cheeks, forehead, nose—before his fingers dug into your sides to tickle you. You shrieked and writhed beneath him, laughing until your chest ached, Rafe looking happy to finally have you back in his bed where you belonged.

"Alright, none of that!" JJ shouted from across the bedroom, throwing a pillow at the two of you. "Save it for the hideaway!"

Rafe laughed, stopping the tickling and putting his hands up in surrender, turning around to flip JJ and the rest of the guys off before dragging you back upright, pulling the duvet over both of your bodies as everyone began calling out goodnight.

THE next morning, the bright lights clicked on automatically, and one by one, the islanders began groaning, rolling out of bed, and filing out of the room to start their morning routines.

But Rafe didn't stir, still sound asleep, buried under the covers, snoring softly.

You sat up, looking around the room tiredly. Within minutes, the bedroom was completely empty.

Groaning, you pushed his arm as hard as you could, which wasn’t very. “Rafe,” you rasped, pouting tiredly before groaning again when he didn’t budge, nudging him again. “Rafe, get up,” you huffed, looking down at him.

He looked incredibly cute, face soft in sleep, when an idea suddenly flashed through your mind, heart racing. Biting your lip, you carefully threw the blanket over your head, shimmying your body down, sliding down the mattress until you were planted in between Rafe’s legs.

Even through the soft fabric of his sweatpants, you could already see the clear, prominent outline of his dick, growing hard. Your hands shook slightly with nervous excitement, but you didn't stop as you reached out, fingers slowly and carefully dragging the waistband of his sweatpants and boxers down his long, muscular legs until he was exposed to the warm air under the blanket.

You swallowed hard, eyes adjusting to the dim light under the covers. Right at the very tip of his thick shaft, a tiny bead of precum was already glistening. You gripped him gently with your fingers, pumping him in slow strokes, watching the vein along the underside of his cock twitch under your touch.

Deciding to take it a step further, you leaned down, parting your lips, taking the warm head of his dick into your mouth, sucking on the tip, tongue swirling in tight, wet circles while your hand kept up a steady motion, the sounds of your mouth on him loud in the quiet of the bedroom.

Rafe suddenly let out a low, ragged groan, body stirring as consciousness slowly began to overtake him. He wasn't fully awake yet, mind still trapped in sleep, but his hips gave a subtle, subconscious nudge upward into your mouth, forcing himself further into your mouth as one of his hands trailed lazily down his own stomach, fingers brushing against your arm.

As you picked up the pace, sliding your lips further down his shaft, taking more and more of him into your throat, Rafe’s eyes blinked open, a rough gasp leaving his lips.

"Fuck," he sigh, voice deeper than usual, rough with lust and morning grit.

His hand under the blanket felt around aimlessly before finding the back of your head. He let out a breathless string of curses under his breath as the sensation of your mouth wrapped around his cock fully registered in his brain. And, early in the morning like this, he had zero control over his body or the raw sounds escaping his throat.

"Fuck... angel," he choked out, his knuckles turning white in your hair as his hips began to buck up into your mouth. His movements were rough, desperate, as your throat squeezed him tightly, tongue pressing against the underside, trailing the biggest vein as you continued your motions.

The hand on your head pushed down firmly, guiding you even deeper onto him, his breathing coming in ragged pants for a few short moments before, suddenly, his body went rigid, hips stuttering violently as a tremor ran through his muscles.

"Mm…’m gonna," he tried to warn, voice a strained whisper as he purposely loosened the grip on your head just a bit, giving you the space to pull away…if you wanted to.

But you stayed where you were, keeping your lips locked around him, ropes of cum shooting down your throat, hands gripping his thighs as his body bucked one last time. You swallowed down every drop, throat moving in steady swallows until he started to soften.

Rafe weakly lifted the edge of the covers, looking down in between his legs with a blown-out, hooded gaze, as you let him slide out of your mouth, chest heaving for air, a lazy smirk pulling at his lips.

“Good morning,” you smiled up at him.

"Morning to you too, freak," he panted.

You looked up at him through your eyelashes, eyes slightly watery as you reached up, wiping a stray wet drop from the corner of your mouth with your thumb.

Rafe let out another low curse at the sight of you, reaching down, grabbing you firmly by your upper arms, and dragging your body all the way up the mattress until you were laying on his bare chest.

He wrapped his arms around you, heart hammering like a drum against your cheek. "What was that about?" he muttered, voice still raspy.

"Nothing," you mumbled, hiding your face in his neck. "I just felt like it, I guess."

Rafe hummed, hand sliding down to rest on your waist. He looked around the quiet, empty bedroom, then turned his gaze back to you. "Anyone could have walked in, y’know that, right?"

You just shrugged. "That's what makes it fun."

Rafe let out a laugh, reaching down to slap the skin of your bare ass cheeks that were peeking out from beneath your short sleep shorts. "You're bad."

He sat up then, pulling your body with him so that your legs wrapped around his waist, holding you tightly against him. He leaned in, grabbing your jaw, and kissed you hard—a bruising, intense kiss, his teeth lightly biting your bottom lip allowing his tongue to slide into your mouth, hands grabbing hungrily at your skin.

But after a moment, you were the one to reluctantly pull away, laughing weakly. "Okay, okay, stop,” you leaned back. “I feel so disgusting right now, Rafe. I need to go get ready. It's so early, I haven't even brushed my teeth yet, and now... all I can taste is your cum in my mouth."

Rafe’s eyes darkened at the phrase, a low groan escaping his lips. "That sounds so oddly beautiful coming from you."

You laughed, rolling your eyes as you slid out of his lap. "There is seriously something wrong with you."

"What, you don't like it?" Rafe joked, holding his hands up as he watched you walk away. "I'm offended. I drink my water, okay? I'm healthy."

"Mixing with the taste of my morning breath and how dry my mouth is? Not particularly, no," you teased, sticking your tongue out at him.

Rafe just rolled his eyes, a fond smile on his face as he let you head out to the glam room.

"TOOK you long enough,” Cleo called from her stool, all eyes on you as you walked in. "Did you and Rafe take advantage of the empty bedroom?"

You kept your face straight, walking over to your vanity. "No.” You lied. “I spent like five whole minutes trying to shake his ass awake."

Rima narrowed her eyes, a disbelieving smirk on her face. "Mhm, sure you did."

You just laughed as you began brushing your teeth. Sarah turned around, changing the subject to save you. "Well, back to our topic of conversation... I have to admit, Theo is really starting to grow on me. We had the best talk last night."

But before the conversation could actually continue, a knock hit the door, and the boys filed in carrying plates of breakfast for everyone, before offering kisses, all of you offering thank-yous before they left you all to finish getting ready.

LATER that afternoon, the villa felt tranquil—everyone scattered around the yard, enjoying the Fiji weather. You and Rafe were sitting together on one of the shaded daybeds near the pool, wrapped up in each other's embrace.

You were leaning against his side, his arm around your shoulders as you traced circles on his knee. "I can't believe we're really getting so close to the end of this," you murmured softly, looking out at the water. "There are only five couples left. It's actually kind of scary to think about how everything might play out from here."

"Yeah," Rafe agreed, his voice quiet. "It's wild."

"I was just thinking about what's coming next," you said, shifting to look at him. "Like Family Day. I'm so nervous."

Rafe blinked, looking down at you with a blank, confused expression. "What's Family Day?"

You froze, staring up at him in disbelief. "Rafe... have you never watched a single episode of this show before?"

Rafe let out a soft, slightly embarrassed chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck. "I mean... not really, no."

You scoffed, sitting up straighter. "So you're telling me you went through the entire casting process to be on a reality show that you have never watched?"

“…Yeah," Rafe shrugged, a confident but soft smirk hitting his lips. "I just did it on a whim. I don't even know why. I just felt like it was something I had to do at the time... and honestly, I believe it was something that was just meant to bring me closer to you."

Your heart melted into mush, rolling your eyes as you reached up, playfully pushing his shoulder as a wide smile broke across your face. "Ugh, you’re such a cornball."

Rafe just laughed, leaning down to plant a quick, sweet kiss on your lips. "Just tell me what Family Day is, sassy."

You adjusted, leaning back into him. "Family Day happens towards the end," you explained. "It's a part of the last few days. Our families, or friends, come inside the villa to meet us, and meet our partners.” You told him, playing with his hands. “…Do you think your family will come down for you?"

Rafe went quiet for a moment before speaking. "Well, now that you mention it, I think something about a family visit was mentioned to me during the whole process or whatever." He paused, jaw tightening slightly. "But honestly... my dad and stepmom will definitely not be coming down. They didn't want me to come on this show in the first place, thought it was a stupid decision. But I'm really hoping my sisters can make it."

He paused, his eyes softening as he looked at you. "What about you?"

Your smile faded just a bit, your eyes dropping to your hands. "Well... you know I don't keep in contact with my parents at all. We don't speak, and I have absolutely no intention of speaking to them ever again. But I do have some pretty close friends from back home. So I'm really hoping maybe they can make their way here."

Suddenly, a loud chime echoed across the yard and Theo shouted, "Text!"

Everyone rose from where they were, swarming the center deck as Theo read it out loud.

"Islanders, it's time to turn chemistry into harmonies! Tonight, you'll be taking center stage in the Love Island USA Couples Karaoke Contest!"

YOU and Rafe were the first ones to walk into the glam room together to get ready, wanting to coordinate your outfits.

You two sounded like an old married couple, Rafe standing in the middle of the glam room, going through your closet to help you pick out a dress, pulling options from the hangers.

"No, I don't like that one," you sighed from the stool. 

He pulled out another. "No, that's for a different night.”

Then another. “No, I literally wore that two days ago. Do you even pay attention to me?"

Rafe let out a loud groan, turning around with a pair of hangers in his hands. "Angel... just close your eyes. Let me just pick something out for you. Trust me."

You laughed, closing your eyes as you heard the rustle of fabric, and when he told you to open them, he was holding up a gorge dress that you had forgotten you even brought with you.

"Oh my god," you smiled, standing up to inspect it with a bright smile on your face. "I love it. I forgot I had this."

Rafe smirked, looking proud of himself. "Yeah. And I have a shirt that matches."

You stepped up into his space, looking up into his blue eyes, a soft smile on your lips. "Aw, look at us. We are so domestic, I love this."

Rafe smirked, dipping down to plant a kiss on your lips before pulling back, dismissing himself. "Alright. I'm gonna go and change."

Ten minutes later, you found your way to the bedroom where Rafe was buttoning up his shirt, fully dressed and styled, looking handsome in his matching shirt. 

The other couples were scattered all over the villa, dancing and practicing lyrics.

Rafe watched you approach in the mirror, a slight smirk on his face. "Listen... I'm not much of a singer or a dancer. I think that's a surprise to absolutely nobody."

You smiled, wrapping your arms around his waist from behind, face peeking from behind his broad back in the mirror. "Well... will you do it for me?"

Rafe’s eyes softened, turning, arms wrapping around your waist. "I’d do anything for you."

"Aw, that’s sweet," you teased, a grin hitting your lips. "You’re such a simp."

"Don't call me that," Rafe grumbled, though he was smiling. “I haven’t heard that word in years. So, who’s the cornball now?”

You just shrugged. "It was either that or Sour Patch Kid," you laughed.

Rafe chuckled, confused. "Why a Sour Patch Kid?"

"Because sometimes you’re sour," you explained, tapping his nose. "But most of the time you’re sweet. Though, you're only ever sweet once someone successfully gets past the sour part."

Rafe let out a chuckle, his hands tightening on your waist as he looked down at you. “…You look amazing. Seriously."

"I know," you smirked playfully. "You've told me like thirty times today."

"Oh, well, if that's the case, then I can just stop—“

"No, keep going!" you giggled, pulling him back. "I love the glaze."

Rafe stopped moving, face twisting in genuine confusion. "Glaze? Glazed what?” He asked, raising one eyebrow. “What the hell’re you talkin’ about?"

You burst out laughing, suddenly remembering that Rafe was a bit older than you, and sometimes your slang just didn’t align with his. "You know how you ‘glaze’ people? Like, complimenting them?"

“…I have no idea what you're talking about," he rolled his eyes.

"You’re literally an old man," you laughed, shaking your head.

"Shut up," he chuckled. 

"Okay, seriously though,” you started. “What song are we singing? What are you thinking? Do we go super lovey-dovey, or do we go sexy…?"

"Whatever is the least embarrassing for me," Rafe said firmly. "Do not have me up there singing Hamilton or some shit."

You pouted. "Well, there goes my genius idea." You thought for a second. "Okay... have you ever seen the movie Grease?"

A sudden wave of nostalgia washed over Rafe’s face, a faraway, quiet smile playing on his lips. "Yeah... actually, I have.” He said, voice nearly a whisper. “My mom used to love it."

"Oh, really?" you said, voice softening. "That's surprising. That's…really sweet, actually. Well, what's your favorite song off it?"

"None. I hate them all."

You burst out laughing. "What?"

"I'm serious," Rafe chuckled. "I only ever watched it because it made my mom happy. Especially after she'd get into these huge arguments with my dad. I remember being in elementary school, and it would be the day after they had some fight... and I'd wake up to the sound of Grease playing on the TV, the smell of bacon, and her cleaning up in the kitchen. I guess something about that movie just comforted her."

"Oh..." you whispered, amusement fading. "That's so sad. I'm sorry."

Rafe quickly waved his hand. "No, it's fine. It's actually one of the better memories I have of her, honestly. Because I just remember seeing her look so calm and at peace with herself in those moments when my dad wasn't around.” He shrugged boyishly. “She was just very…domestic and in her element. I miss it." He smirked, adding, "But I still hate all the songs. I used to make fun of her for it."

You smiled warmly. "Okay, no Grease then. Have you ever seen Hairspray?"

Rafe let out a loud groan, throwing his head back. "What is up with you and these musicals?"

"I’m a geek, haven't you noticed by now?" you laughed.

"I've noticed, yes," Rafe smirked. "And yes, I've seen it. What song?"

"Without Love," you suggested.

Rafe shook his head. "Mmm... not really a fan."

You popped your hip, fixing him with a pointed, sassy look. "Are you going to disagree with every idea I throw out?"

Rafe shrugged his shoulders, a cocky smirk plastered on his lips. "Probably."

"Fine. I'll just choose the song by myself then," you said sardonically.

"Fine by me," Rafe grinned. "I'll do whatever you tell me to."

You flashed him a flirty wink. "Oh, don't tempt me with a good time, Cameron." You tapped your chin, thinking hard, while Rafe just watched you, a fond expression on his face as he watched you ponder. "Okay... how do you feel about Nelly Furtado?"

Rafe shrugged. "Definitely not my typical type of music, but... I've heard some good stuff."

"How do you feel about the song Promiscuous?" you asked, raising an eyebrow.

Rafe’s eyes lit up, a small smile spreading across his face. "That’s… a much better recommendation."

"Yeah?” you perked up. "Okay, great! But what’s our choreography? We have to blow everyone else out of the water. I get quite competitive."

Rafe let out a rough laugh. "I hate to break it to you, baby, but you're partnered with me. So I don't think we're clutching first place this time."

"Oh, whatever," you waved off.

"How do we even ‘rehearse’ for a song like this?" Rafe asked, looking lost. "Do we just... start krumping or something?"

You froze, your eyes going wide. "Oh, yes, please. Please let me see Rafe Cameron krump right now."

And to your own surprise, and amusement, Rafe actually attempted it, throwing his arms around in a chaotic, hilariously aggressive motion for two seconds. You burst into hysterical laughter, covering your eyes. "Oh my god, stop! Please, please stop!"

"Oh, really?" Rafe laughed, stopping his horrific movements, stepping into your space. "Well, let me see what you've got then."

You giggled, locking into memory, and began to hum the song, executing the choreography from the Just Dance version of Promiscuous, trying to fight a smile as you did so.

Rafe watched you, nodding his head with a slightly impressed smirk. "That's... actually not bad at all. You look like you actually know what you're doing."

"I use to dance my ass off when I was little." you said enthusiastically, your eyes shining. "I have every single Just Dance game at home. Come here, let me teach you the steps."

Rafe immediately backed off, shaking his head. "No, no. I'm good."

"Please, Rafe. For me?" you pleaded, eyeing him in a way that made it hard to say no.

Rafe let out a long sigh. "Fine."

And, for the next half hour, you stood side-by-side, carefully teaching him the routine. To your shock, Rafe actually got it down easily. He was surprisingly coordinated.

"Oh my god," you gasped when you finished the last run-through. "You actually look so good! You look coordinated and not like a baby deer on ice." You smiled, clapping your hands.

Rafe chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck, his. "Don't lie to me. I look crazy."

"No, you actually dance like you know how now!" you insisted, nudging him.

Confessional : Rafe & You “I’m literally so excited for tonight,” you said, bouncing up and down. “Nobody else stands a chance.” Rafe rolled his eyes, but he couldn't keep that soft smirk off his face if he tried. “Don’t start getting super competitive now. I only agreed to do this whole dance routine because you begged me.” “Hey!” You nudged his shoulder with yours, turning to glare at him playfully. “You liked the song choice!” “It’s a…decent track,” Rafe said, shaking his head and looking away with a chuckle, crossing his arms tighter over his chest. “And look, I’m only doing the moves because if I didn’t, she was gonna try and force me to do Hamilton or some other weird musical.” “Mind you, he picked up the whole dance routine in like twenty minutes. He tries to act all tough and mean, but deep down he’s literally just a big softie.” You added, pointing at him with a proud grin. Rafe let out a quiet scoff, looking down at his shoes for a second before glancing back at you sideways, his smirk widening. “Whatever you say, angel. Just…don't make me look ridiculous out there tonight, alright?” “No promises,” you giggled, turning back to the camera with the biggest smile on your face.

THE yard had been turned into a vibrant, neon blue outdoor karaoke stage.

There were two sets of large bleachers where you all divided yourselves, sitting down in your couples. In the center of the yard stood a prop shower structure that served as the main stage, the contest being sponsored by CeraVe.

As everyone settled in,  Ariana made her grand entrance. She looked absolutely stunning, wearing a sharp black blazer dress, a pair of chic glasses, and a bold red lipstick.

"Welcome, Islanders, to the Love Island Couples Karaoke Contest!" Ariana announced, all of you erupting into loud applause as she came to a stop. "Tonight, you and your partners will be taking center stage to see which duo can truly steal the show. Once everyone has performed, you will deliberate in your couples and rank the performances from best to worst, taking charisma, showmanship, and chemistry into account.” She explained. “The couple with the most points will be crowned the King and Queen of Love Island Karaoke!” Ariana exclaimed, all of you cheering even louder. “So... let's get singing!"

Everyone clapped as Ariana looked at all of the couples. "Up first tonight... JJ and Talia!"

The crowd cheered as JJ and Talia skipped up to the prop shower stage. And the second the beat dropped, all of you went wild, recognizing the rhythm of What's My Name by Rihanna and Drake.

Their performance was charismatic, a cool, retro 90s music video vibe. Talia posed as the confident, sassy young girl, while JJ locked into character as the cocky guy trying to pursue her. And to everyone’s surprise, Talia's singing voice was actually good, and JJ's rap flow wasn't half bad either as he sang Drake’s verse— 

“I heard you good with them soft lips. Yeah, you know, word of mouth. The square root of sixty-nine is eight somethin', right? 'Cause I've been tryna work it out, ohhh. Good weed, white wine, uh, I come alive in the night time, yeah. Okay, away we go. Only thing we have on is the radiooo-oh. Let it play, say you gotta leave, but I know you wanna stay. You just waitin' on the traffic jam to finish, girl, the things that we could do in twenty minutes, girl…”

It was a fun, flirty, teenage-love kind of performance that had everyone hooting from the bleachers. When they finished, JJ almost tripped over his own feet coming down from the stage, making everyone laugh.

Confessional : JJ & Talia "We definitely set the bar high," JJ bragged, high fiving Talia.  "We did fucking amazing." She emphasized to the camera.

Ariana smiled as they sat down, their round of applause ending. "Next up... Sarah and Theo!"

The couple took the stage, their song choice being Best Mistake by Ariana Grande and Big Sean. It was much slower, more romantic, giving Theo the opportunity to show off his charm, while Sarah put in a lot of her more confident nature. While Sarah's singing voice was pretty alright, Theo's singing voice was... well, it was a bit off-key, which turned their performance into something more comical rather than sexy. 

But they had amazing chemistry, looking deeply into each other's eyes the whole time. Right at the very final note of the song—“Mmm, I'll be savin' my love for you, for you”—Theo grabbed Sarah, dipping her low over his knee, and planted a dramatic kiss on her lips, making the crowd scream and shout.

Confessional : Sarah & Theo Sarah blushed while Theo smirked. "She has a very nice voice," Theo told the camera. "And very pretty eyes to look into."

Ariana clapped, calling Rima and Justin up to the stage next.

The pair sang All the Stars by SZA and Kendrick Lamar, and their performance was captivating—Rima was bossy and confident by nature, and her singing voice was surprisingly stunning as Justin carried himself with immense confidence, his rap voice hitting the flow. Right when the chorus hit—"This might be the night that my dreams might let me know, all the stars are closer"—they broke into a smoothly choreographed, tight two person salsa-style dance. Justin spun Rima around the stage, Rima dancing around him, making it look like he was the sun and she was a planet orbiting his solar system. It was captivating and cute, and they looked in love.

Confessional : Rima & Justin “Honestly, that was so nostalgic for us,” Rima laughed, leaning into Justin on the couch. “We sang that exact same song at a karaoke bar back home, years ago.” “Oh man, don’t even bring that up,” Justin chuckled, shaking his head. “We were so wasted that night. Like, drunk off our asses.” “We really were!” Rima agreed, laughing. “I kept missing half the lyrics on the monitor, and you were just screaming Kendrick’s part into the microphone.” “Hey, the crowd was hyped though,” Justin joked, nudging her. “But yeah, tonight was definitely a million times better. At least we were actually sober and could hear ourselves.” “For sure,” Rima smiled, looking at the camera. “We actually sounded like a real duet tonight instead of a hot mess.”

Ariana smiled, looking up at the bleachers. "Alright... next up, let's bring up Rafe and Y/N!"

The second your names were called, nervousness hit your stomach. Your hands shook slightly as you stood up from the bleachers, but Rafe caught your hand, his palm squeezing yours tightly as he guided you down. 

You let out a breath, a wide smile breaking across your face as you stepped onto the stage.

The second the track started and the iconic, thumping beat of Promiscuous by Nelly Furtado and Timbaland echoed across the yard, the islanders went wild. JJ stood up on his seat, shouting, "Oh, let's go! This is the one!"

The track rolled, your voice traveling through the mic—"Am I throwing you off?"—you turned your body toward Rafe, pointing a finger at his chest, raising a sassy eyebrow.

Rafe looked straight into your eyes, locking into character, and delivered his line with a smirk, "Nope."

"Didn't think so."

The crowd screamed. Rafe’s nervous smirk turning into something confident as he took over Timbaland's opening lyrics, his deep voice hitting the beat perfectly—"How you doing, young lady? The feelin’ that you're givin’ really drives me crazy. You're dope, have a player ‘bout to choke. I was at a loss for words last time that we spoke."

As the song continued, you were shocked by how good he actually sounded. Rafe didn't have a professional singing voice, of course, but the natural, deep register of his voice complimented the low, talking-on-a-beat flow that Timbaland carried on the original track.

The song rolled into the verse, and you stepped into his space, singing up into his face. You were standing toe-to-toe with him, eyes locked. Rafe stepped even closer, deep voice dropping as he sang his next lines after you.

"You expect me to just let you hit it, but will you still respect me if you get it?"

"All I can do is try, give me one chance. What's the problem? I don't see no ring on your hand. I'll be the first to admit it, I'm curious about you, you seem so innocent."

Right as he said the word ‘innocent’, Rafe reached out, placing a single finger right underneath your chin, tilting your head up to force you to look at him, a beautiful smirk spreading across his face.

The other islanders went berserk, Cleo shouting, "Oh my god, yes!"

You smirked right back, keeping your eyes locked onto his lips as you sang the next part."—You want to get in my world, get lost in it. Boy, I'm tired of running, let's walk for a minute." You did a cute, theatrical move, turning your back to him and using one finger behind your shoulder to playfully beckon him behind you, walking him across the stage like a puppy on a leash. Rafe followed you willingly, a grin on his face.

Right as the chorus rolled in, you both moved to the center of the stage and without a single mistake, you both switched into the routine you’d practiced in the room, moving in sync. Rafe had a genuine smile on his face, completely out of his comfort zone but enjoying every second of it with you, unbothered by how stupid he might look. 

All he cared about was the smile on your face.

The next part of the song was sexy as you channeled the energy of a confident, untouchable woman, while Rafe played the role of a pleading, desperate man, but he looked sexy as hell doing it. You stepped in front of him, singing sardonically—"Roses are red, some diamonds are blue, chivalry is dead, but you're still kind of cute."

As you delivered the line, you popped up onto your tippy-toes, reaching up and grabbing Rafe firmly by both sides of his jaw with your hand, playfully shaking his face back and forth like an affectionate grandma would do to an adorable little grandkid. Rafe’s cheeks went crimson, blush breaking through his skin as the islanders howled with laughter.

Rafe immediately took over his next line, voice flirtatious—"Hey, I can't keep my mind off you. Where you at? Do you mind if I come through?"—As he started the lyric, he gently took your hands off his face, using one finger to playfully push your body a few inches away. You locked eyes with him again, executing the sexiest move of the entire performance as you sang.

"I'm out of this world, come with me to my planet. Get you on my level, do you think that you can handle it?"

You took one of his large hands while facing him, spun around, turning your back to his chest so that his hand was resting flat against your upper chest. Then, slowly, you shimmy your hips all the way down his body, grinding your backside against his front, dragging his hand down the entire length of your body before popping back up and spinning around to face him again.

Rafe’s eyes went dark as he stepped forward, taking over his next line.

"They call me Thomas, last name Crown. Recognize game, Imma lay mines down."

And during it, Rafe made a shocking move. He reached forward, his hands catching your waist, and gently bent your body over in front of him so your backside was directly against him. He pressed his hips firmly into yours, pulling off a dry-hump gesture, smacking your ass with a sweeping hand gesture that went back and forth.

The islanders were literally screaming at this point, standing up from the bleachers.

You popped right back up from the half-bent position, a confident smirk on your lips, singing.

"I'm a big girl, I can handle myself, but if I get lonely, I might need your help."

You gently pushed a finger right into the center of his chest, walking him backward across the stage. As he moved backward, your other hand trailed down the length of his chest, stopping at the hem of his jeans, sliding a finger into his waistband. Before he could react, your hand popped back up, grabbing a fistful of his shirt to pull his tall body down to your level.

"Pay attention to me, I don't talk for my health."

Now, your noses were almost touching, breaths mingling. Rafe looked way too happy to be locked in your face like this as he sang his line.

"I want you on my team."

You smirked, slowly raking your eyes up and down his entire body.

"So does everybody else."

The track continued, and your performance went on before you and Rafe sang your last lines and the music cut out, the performance ending right there. The islanders stood, a deafening chorus of whoops, cheers, whistles, and applause. 

Confessional : Rafe & You Rafe laughed, shaking his head. "Honestly... that is probably the most fun I have ever had doing something so completely corny in my entire life." You smiled wide, turning to him. "So you'd actually do it again? Like, when we get out of here?" "Mmm….I'll think about it,"

You squealed, throwing your arms around him ,planting kisses all over his cheek with so much force that you both lost your balance, falling out of the frame and disappearing from the confessional camera's view in a tangle of laughter.

Ariana clapped, her eyes shining with amusement. "Alright, what a performance!” She nodded. “And for our last couple of the night, Cleo and Pope!"

And if the islanders had gone wild for you and Rafe, they went hard when the old-school beat of Finesse by Bruno Mars and Cardi B started playing over the speakers.

Cleo and Pope walked out with an unmatched confidence, and to the shock of everyone in the villa, their singing voices were amazing—nobody had any idea that either of them could sing to this level, especially Pope, who hit most of the vocal runs with ease.

Cleo started it off, owning Cardi B's opening rap verse fiercely as she trailed Pope around the stage, dragging him by his shirt.

"It's my big Bronx boogie got all them girls shook, my big fat ass got all them boys hooked. Went from dollar bills now we popping rubber bands, Bruno sang to me while I do my money dance like—"

"Ayy!" All of you in the crowd finished the lyrics right on cue. 

Pope took over Bruno’s verse, his vocals smooth.

"When I walk in with you, I watch the whole room change. Baby, that's what you do. No, my baby don't play. Blame it on the confidence or blame it on your measurements. Shut the shit down on sight. That's right."

Their chemistry was sight to behold—they were all over each other, grinding, spinning, checking every box of a romantic, sexy performance as you all sang along with the chorus, shouting.

Near the end of the song, Pope spun Cleo across the stage like a ballroom dancer as he hit the lyric, "Fellas, grab your ladies if your lady fine," and slid straight across the stage floor onto his knees right in front of her.

"Oh my fucking god!" Sarah screamed from the crowd. 

Kneeling in front of her, Pope looked up into Cleo's eyes, singing, "Tell her she's the one, she's the one for life." He stood up, gently caressing her face as Cleo trailed her hands down his arms, both of them hitting the harmony. Cleo got the crowd even more hyped up as she sang the final verse, and when the song ended, they received the biggest round of applause of the entire night, everyone yelling that they had won for sure.

Confessional : Cleo & Pope "We ate that shit down. I knew we weren't going to disappoint." Cleo celebrated. Pope laughed, rubbing his neck. "I hope so, I didn’t know if you were serious about beating my ass if I messed up." "Oh, I was," Cleo laughed. "We had to win. There was no other option."

Ariana stood back in the center of the stage as Cleo and Pope took their seats, now holding two glittering gold crowns in her hands. "Islanders, you all did absolutely amazing tonight. Some performances hit all the right notes... and others will be remembered for entirely different reasons." She chuckled. "But now... it's time to crown your Karaoke King and Queen. In your couples, you must rank the other pairs from best to worst. You will award four points to your top choice, down to one point for the couple who came up short.” She instructed you all, all of you pulling your phones out. “Grab your phones and make your decisions!"

You and Rafe huddled together on the bleachers, whispering quietly over your phone screen.

"I think we can agree on the top spot," you whispered. "It’s a no-brainer."

"Yeah," Rafe agreed. "Cleo and Pope got first, for sure." You tapped the screen, awarding the 4 points to Cleo and Pope.

"For second place though, I’m thinkin’ we give it to JJ and Talia," Rafe continued. "I was impressed by how well JJ could actually rap. Don’t tell him I said that.." You nodded, laughing and locking in 3 points for JJ and Talia.

"Now, between Sarah and Theo, and Rima and Justin..." you pondered, biting your lip. "I have to admit Rima and Justin had a lot of chemistry, and plus, Rima's voice was incredible. And I think the song they chose was perfect for them, I can’t lie."

"Yeah," Rafe said. "I’m cool with that." And so you locked in 2 points for Rima and Justin, leaving 1 point for Sarah and Theo in last place.

A minute or so after all the votes were cast, Ariana smiled widely at the group. "Islanders, the results are officially in.” She started. “In last place... Sarah and Theo!"

The crowd laughed as Sarah pouted playfully, shouting, "Hey, I didn't know the vibe we were going for! I'm sorry if it was just too lovey-dovey for all of you!". Though, they accepted their place.

"In fourth place," Ariana continued, "Rima and Justin!" 

Rima laughed, yelling, "Damn, y'all!" She playfully scolded, still accepting the round of applause.

"In third place... JJ and Talia!" J

J pumped his fist, making a joke about how he was officially the best rapper in the villa.

"Which means," Ariana beamed, "In second place... Rafe and Y/N, making our Love Island Karaoke King and Queen... Cleo and Pope!"

The yard erupted into cheers and applause as Cleo and Pope got up and walked to the stage to receive their crowns, placing them on their heads and sharing a passionate kiss in front of everyone.

When Ariana asked how they felt, Cleo laughed into the microphone. "I just really want to thank all the kids at the orphanage I work at back home for making me sing them lullabies. I think that's the only thing that kept my vocals intact."

Pope smiled warmly. "And I just want to thank my pops for always playing music in the shop while we worked."

Ariana congratulated them one last time, before bidding the villa farewell as she exited into the night. 

As the islanders walked back into the main villa, Cleo was lifted into Pope's arms in a celebratory motion, everyone loudly singing the chorus of Finesse all the way through the glass doors.

"Yeah, we got it going on, got it going on, don't it feel so good to be us, ayy!"

LATE that night, the villa had quieted down. Most of the islanders were already in the bedroom getting comfortable. 

You stepped out of the glam room, having just finished washing your face and doing your nightly routine, and right at the same second, Rafe stepped out of the adjacent bathroom.

You both froze, looking at each other in the dim hallway, speaking in unison. 

"Oh, there you are. Where you goin’?"

You both burst into a soft laugh at the action.

"I was just going downstairs, got kind of hungry," you said first, smiling up at him.

"That's funny. I was about to do the same thing."

You flashed him a smile, wrapping your fingers around his hand. "Well... come with me then, handsome."

Rafe followed closely behind you down the stairs. "You might not want to speak to me like that right now, angel. My three AM demon is rapidly approaching."

You burst out laughing, throwing your head back before turning around to look at him as you reached the bottom of the stairs. "Oh, please. Before today, you didn't even know what 'glazing' meant. How do you suddenly know about a ‘three AM demon’?"

Rafe scoffed, an arrogant smirk pulling at his lips. "I am not old. And if that's the case... then you like old-man dick."

You gasped, playfully hitting him in the center of his chest. "Hey!," you laughed, looking around as if someone was around to hear.

You both reached the outdoor kitchen, and you sighed, looking around the counters. "Ugh, now that I'm actually down here, I don't even know what I want.” You let your shoulders fall. “Like, I don't know if I'm hungry or just thirsty."

Rafe slid behind the counter, taking charge. "Well... do you want me to make you somethin’?"

"Make me what?" you asked, looking at the bare fridge. "There's nothing to make. We live off of...smoothies and eggs."

"Well... I can make you a grilled cheese," Rafe offered.

"That…actually sounds amazing right now. Thank you."

Rafe hummed, gathering the bread, butter, and cheese. But before he even started cooking, he poured you a glass of juice, sliding it across the counter to hold you over. You smiled, deeply touched by how considerate he always was with you.

You sat down on one of the high stools, resting your chin in your hands as you watched him cook. Rafe was shirtless, wearing nothing but a pair of loose cotton sleep shorts. From behind, his back looked incredibly muscular, and you could see his tattoos clearly now—he didn't have a lot of them, just a few small, elegant script tattoos and roman numerals scattered along his arms.

Affection washed over you, and without even thinking about it, you softly called his name. "Rafe?"

"Hmm?" he murmured, not turning away from the stove.

"Would you ever get my name tattooed on you?" you asked quietly, a hazy smile on your lips.

"Yeah,"

He said it so casually that it threw you off guard. You blinked, stunned. "...Are you joking?"

Rafe slowly turned over his shoulder, looking back at you with a serious expression. "No. Why would I be joking?"

"I don't know," you stammered, suddenly flustered. "That just seems like something a lot of people would be against. Like... what if we break up?"

Rafe scoffed, shrugging and turning back to flip the sandwich in the pan. "We won’t."

You blushed, taking a sip of your juice to hide your smile. "Yeah, well... I guess that's a dumb question anyway, considering we aren't even…really together..."

Rafe suddenly stopped what he was doing. “Yet.” he corrected, turning around and leaning his hips against the kitchen counter. "We will be soon. Just give me a little bit of time, angel. I'm plannin' it."

Your cheeks burned hotter, a radiant smile breaking across your face. "Yeah... ‘course. I trust you."

Rafe’s eyes locked onto yours, a playful glint in them. "Would you get my name tattooed on you? If I asked?"

"...Yeah," you shrugged, smiling. "But... I'd probably start with just an initial first."

Rafe raised an eyebrow, amused. "Why just an initial?"

"Because," you teased, raising your glass. "You can never fully trust a man." You joked.

Rafe let out a dramatic gasp, looking offended. "Ouch. Even me?"

"I trust you... for now," you joked, winking at him. You quickly changed the subject, taking another sip of juice. "...Do you remember how we were talking about Family Day earlier?"

"Mhm," Rafe hummed, turning back to check the sandwich. "Why?"

"Nothing, I was just wondering... do you think your sisters will …like me?" you asked softly, looking up at him.

Rafe’s eyes softened as he turned off the stove, plating the sandwich, turning to you. "I think they'll love you.” He said with an air of certainty. “Sarah, the older one, is obsessed with fashion and clothes and shit, so you two will get along. And... you have this habit of talking a lot and rambling on about things when you get distracted, and you're a bit of a geek... so I know for a fact you'll get along with Wheezie. She's the same way." He smiled to himself, sliding the plate over to you before rounding the island to sit next to you.

You chuckled, taking a bite of the sandwich. "‘Wheezie’ still kills me. It’s cute though, unique."

Rafe snorted, a rich laugh escaping him. "Yeah, well. Louise is a bit much for a kid. What about you? Who's comin’ for you?"

You sighed softly, looking down. "I'm really hoping my friends make it down. It’s funny, my friend Dean, he reminds me so much of JJ. And my other best friend, Marlowe—I hope she can make it."

Rafe listened, then looked down at you, his voice holding that rare touch of vulnerability. "...Do you think your friends will like me?"

You admired him in that moment—looking so concerned about what your friends would think of him. You smiled, reaching out to wrap your hand around his.

"I think they'll love you, actually," you said softly. "They aren't super guarded people. They'll like you as long as you're just yourself and don't try to put on that tough-guy act you always do."

Rafe scoffed, an amused smirk instantly returning to his face as he shook his head. "What tough-guy act? I don't have an act."

"Yeah, yeah. Whatever, Cameron," you laughed, taking another bite of your food. "You know exactly what I mean."

"Whatever. Just eat your grilled cheese," Rafe chuckled softly, his eyes full of pure affection as he watched you eat. 

He returned to the stove and finished making his own sandwich, and you spent the next twenty minutes just sitting together in the quiet dark of the kitchen, talking about nothing, getting to know every piece of each other's lives, and giggling softly into the night before walking upstairs, hand-in-hand, to fall asleep in each other's arms.

next chapter>

this is half-assed proofread, i aint even put my glasses on so sorry if this was a hard read grammar-wise :/ goodnight :p

SOTB Tag(s); !this taglist is officially closed! -- @coastalcowgirlie @kingalanah @capriplumbobs @h0neybriii @phoebesatoru @minky2000 @pleasantheartsworld @ladywistledownxo @bullet2004 @chaotickittenanchor @ethanthequeefqueen @wettbaby @naylanae-0308 @dxphhnnee @starkeyszn

[kooksandpearls]

garrett graham ❄︎ quality control | SMAU

pairing – garrett graham x briar media!reader summary – a simple request for more social media content turns into garrett posting a shirtless gym video, an influx of very interested followers, and one extremely unhappy girlfriend. warnings – suggestive humour, jealousy, possessive behaviour, shirtless garrett, sexual innuendo, swearing. notes from me – i decided to whip up a quick lil SMAU for these babies!! the images don't necessarily depict what briar media!reader looks like, just more for the aesthetics and vibes 😌 not my best but i'm still getting the hang of SMAUs!!! based on this ask!!

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to be notified when i post new fics, follow @kooksandpearls-library and turn on notifications! i no longer use a taglist for garrett fics.

[nessafangirling]

Need content of Cary Masterson asap 😭😭

[kooksandpearls]

rafe cameron 𖦹 pinky swear.

pairing – husband!rafe cameron x wife!reader summary – rafe and his fiancée survive their bachelor and bachelorette parties by getting jealous over strippers neither of them actually hired. warnings – jealousy, fake stripper mentions, bachelor/bachelorette parties, alcohol, postpartum body insecurity, swearing, suggestive tension. notes from me – based on a convo @theycallherl0ve and i had!! whipped this up fast asf because ur girl doesn’t sleep! 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️ word count – 5.7k

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By six-thirty, their bedroom looks as though two separate vanity-related crimes have taken place inside it. Her dress is hanging from the wardrobe door in a garment bag Sarah has already called depressing because it’s black, which is apparently inappropriate for a bachelorette party despite the fact that it ends several inches above her knee and has a neckline Rafe has been staring at every time he walks past it. 

Three pairs of heels sit abandoned beside the bed while she decides which version of foot pain best represents her final night of unmarried freedom. The bathroom counter is crowded with makeup, perfume, curling irons and a glass of wine she poured forty minutes ago and keeps forgetting exists.

Rafe’s pacing behind her with Banks against his chest, one hand spread over the baby’s back while the other supports the heavy little head slowly losing its fight against sleep.

Banks is wearing blue footed pyjamas printed with tiny sailboats, one fist caught in the collar of Rafe’s t-shirt, his damp mouth pressed near his father’s shoulder.

Every few passes across the room, Rafe bounces him slightly harder, less from necessity than impatience.

“He knows you want him asleep,” she says, leaning closer to the mirror as she drags mascara carefully through her lashes. 

Rafe glances at Banks, who opens one eye with the deep suspicion of somebody being discussed behind his back. “He’s tired.”

“He was tired an hour ago.”

“Yeah, well.” Rafe adjusts him higher, patting his back with a rhythm too deliberate to be soothing. “He’s being difficult.”

Banks makes a small, congested sound into his neck. She smiles at their reflection. “Don’t talk about him like he isn’t there.”

“He can’t understand me.”

“He understands tone.”

Rafe’s eyes lift to hers through the mirror. “You would know.”

The smile disappears from her mouth slowly enough that he sees it happen. His own expression shifts, something alert and cautious beneath the irritation he’s been carrying all afternoon.

She turns back to the mirror and reaches for her lip liner. “Hope the strippers like your tone.”

Banks stirs at the word, or maybe at the way Rafe’s hand stops against his back.

“There it is,” Rafe mutters.

“What?”

“You’ve brought it up six times.”

“I haven’t brought anything up.” She traces the edge of her mouth with careful precision, refusing to look at him. “I hope you have a lovely night. You, Topper, Kelce and however many women you’ve paid to put their asses near your face.”

Rafe’s jaw tightens. “You said you were getting strippers first.”

“Because you mentioned them.”

“I made a joke.”

“So did I,” she says, glaring at her own reflection.

“Didn’t sound like a joke.”

“Well, neither did yours.”

Behind her, Banks lifts his head and looks between them with wide, sleepy eyes, his hair flattened into a soft brown sweep on one side. Rafe glances down, then resumes bouncing him with the stiff patience of a man being forced to parent through an argument with his future wife.

“You’d already booked yours by then,” he says.

Her stomach dips, stupidly, because this is the exact point at which she could end the whole thing. She could tell him there are no strippers.

She could tell him the rented house has two bartenders, a private chef Sarah found through somebody from Chapel Hill, an enormous bathtub nobody intends to use responsibly, and enough champagne to remove several years from their collective life expectancy. 

She could tell him the wildest thing planned is a game involving printed photographs of his face and several deeply personal questions about their sex life.

Instead, she folds one leg over the other and raises her eyebrows. “Why do you care?”

Rafe stares at her. Banks stares at her too, though with considerably less accusation and more interest in the shiny clasp of her robe.

“I don’t,” Rafe says finally.

It lands so badly that even he seems to hear it. Her mouth presses into a thin line. “Great.”

“Great.”

“Then we’re both happy.”

“Yeah.”

“Perfect.”

Rafe turns away and walks Banks toward the windows, where the last of the evening light is stretched peach and gold across the marina. Their rental is small enough that he only gets four paces before needing to turn again.

Banks watches the ceiling fan move overhead, his grip loosening from Rafe’s shirt while his father glares through the glass at absolutely nothing.

They’ve been together long enough that she knows the exact shape of Rafe’s jealousy before he admits it exists. It starts in his shoulders, climbs into his jaw and then settles around his mouth, where every word becomes too casual. 

In high school, he once spent an entire football game pretending not to care that a boy had asked for her number, then shoved the boy into a drinks table at an after-party for a completely unrelated reason involving disrespect. 

At twenty-two, with their son drifting asleep against his chest and a wedding six weeks away, he’s developed almost no additional dignity.

She turns back to the mirror and begins blending powder beneath her eyes. The skin there still carries the faint tired shadows Banks has given them both since birth, though hers are easier to cover. 

Pregnancy changed her in a hundred quiet ways nobody had warned her would remain after the baby arrived. Her hips are softer. Her breasts sit differently in dresses. There’s a pale little mark near her navel and a thin silver line low across one side of her stomach where her skin stretched faster than it could forgive her.

Rafe has never once looked at any of it as damage. If anything, he’s become more unbearable, hands always finding her waist when he passes, mouth pressing against the soft curve of her stomach like it belongs to him twice now. 

But the image arrives anyway: some polished, impossible woman with smooth skin and professional confidence bending over him beneath coloured lights while Topper and Kelce howl themselves stupid.

The mascara wand slips. She catches it before it marks her cheek.

“You okay?” Rafe asks immediately.

She looks at him in the mirror. “Fine.”

His gaze moves over her face, searching long enough to make her feel exposed. Then Banks gives one final sigh and goes heavy against his chest, saving them both. Rafe lowers his voice. “He’s out.”

“Thank God.”

“Wheezie texted. She’s downstairs.”

She nods and caps the mascara. “Can you put him down?”

Rafe doesn’t move. “You’re wearing that?”

Her eyes lift. “My robe?”

“The dress.”

She turns slowly. “Yes.”

He looks toward the garment bag with open dislike. “It’s short.”

“It’s my bachelorette party.”

“Yeah, I know what it is.”

“Do you?” she asks sweetly. “Because yours seems to involve significantly less clothing.”

Rafe’s nostrils flare. Banks shifts against him, and he immediately cups the back of the baby’s head, his fingers gentle despite the rest of him.

“Have fun,” he says.

She smiles without showing teeth. “You too.”

“I will.”

“Make sure you tip.”

“Make sure you keep your hands to yourself.”

She lets out a laugh that contains no amusement. “They’re being paid to put their hands on me, Rafe.”

His face changes. It’s small, but satisfying enough that warmth sparks briefly through the jealousy in her chest. His eyes narrow; his grip shifts beneath Banks; the muscle beside his mouth jumps once.

Rafe stands there another second, furious in complete silence, then carries their sleeping son from the room with the careful, controlled steps of a man leaving before he says something that cancels a wedding.

Wheezie is sitting cross-legged on the couch downstairs when they emerge, a bowl of cereal balanced on her knee and the television low enough to suggest she has already received several instructions from Rafe. 

She’s sixteen and trying desperately to look bored by the responsibility of keeping her nephew alive, though she has brought an overnight bag large enough for a week and arranged Banks’ bottles in the fridge by time.

“He went down?” she asks.

“Finally,” Rafe says, checking the baby monitor on the coffee table despite having checked it less than a minute ago.

Wheezie looks between them. Her eyes linger on Rafe’s dark expression, then move to the way her future sister-in-law is fastening one earring with slightly too much force. “You guys fighting?”

“No,” they say together.

Wheezie takes another spoonful of cereal. “Okay.”

Rafe points at the monitor. “If he cries longer than five minutes, call me.”

“I know.”

“If he feels warm–”

“I know.”

“Don’t give him the red pacifier. He hates it.”

“I know, Rafe.”

“And if somebody knocks–”

“Don’t answer unless it’s Sarah, call the police if they don’t leave, and never tell anyone I’m here alone.” Wheezie looks up at him. “You made me write it down.”

He ignores that and bends to kiss the top of her head, then bends again when she ducks away too late. “Don’t invite anybody over.”

“As if I’d invite someone here while your baby’s asleep upstairs and you’re acting like you’re in the Secret Service.”

“Our baby,” his fiancée corrects from the doorway.

Rafe’s eyes find her immediately. She’s changed into the black dress. It fits close through her waist and hips before ending high against her thighs, the neckline soft and low without being dramatic. 

Her hair falls loose around her shoulders, glossy from the curling iron, and the heels make her legs look longer than they have any right to inside their own home.

His gaze drags from her face to her chest, down her stomach and legs, then back up again with an intensity that makes Wheezie sigh loudly and focus on the television.

Rafe’s mouth parts. “No.”

Her brows lift. “No?”

“You’re not wearing that.”

She looks down at herself. “Seems like I am.”

“Baby.”

“Your strippers will be wearing less.”

“That’s different.”

The silence after it is immediate and lethal. Wheezie lowers her spoon.

Rafe closes his eyes briefly. “That came out wrong.”

“Did it?”

“I meant–” He gestures once, already losing ground. “They’re working.”

Her face goes blank. “Oh, good. I’m glad you respect their profession.”

Wheezie presses her lips together, shoulders beginning to shake. Rafe looks at her. “Go upstairs.”

“I’m babysitting.”

“Do it upstairs.”

“You said not to leave the monitor.”

He points toward the stairs anyway. “Wheezie.”

She collects her cereal and the monitor with no urgency at all, pausing beside her future sister-in-law to whisper, “You look really hot,” before disappearing into the hallway.

“Thank you,” she calls after her, then looks at Rafe. “Somebody appreciates me.”

Rafe steps closer, his hands finding her waist before either of them acknowledges the movement. His palms settle warm against the fabric, thumbs pressing into the curve above her hips while his eyes move over her face.

“I appreciate you,” he says.

“Mm.”

“Too much, probably.”

“You’ll survive.”

His gaze drops to her mouth. For one second, the fight thins beneath the familiar pull between them, all the stupid jealousy and wounded pride making space for the fact that she looks beautiful and he’s Rafe, which has always been a difficult combination for his self-control.

Then a car horn sounds outside. Her friends.

Rafe’s hands tighten once. “You gonna let some guy touch you?”

She stares at him. “Are you gonna let some woman touch you?”

“That’s not an answer.”

“Neither was yours.”

The horn sounds again, followed by Sarah yelling her name through an open window.

She slips out of his grip, takes her small handbag from the side table. At the door, she turns back. Rafe’s still standing beside the couch, broad and tense in a black button-down with the sleeves already pushed to his forearms, looking less like a groom going out with his friends than a man attending a meeting where somebody may have insulted him in advance.

“Have a nice time,” she says.

His jaw shifts. “You too.”

“And don’t worry. I’ll make sure the stripper knows I’m engaged.”

Rafe’s eyes flash. “Real funny.”

She smiles, opens the door and steps into the warm night before he can see how badly she wants him to stop her.

The house Sarah rented sits behind a private gate on the sound, all white stone, high windows and expensive furniture chosen by somebody who has never spilled anything in their life. By nine, the furniture is already in danger.

There are balloons twisted around the stair railing, flowers crowded over every available surface and a hand-painted banner over the kitchen island that reads SAME DICK FOREVER in gold lettering. 

Two bartenders in white shirts are making cocktails beneath pendant lights while music rolls through the open doors toward the pool. Somebody from college has brought a disposable camera and has taken twelve photographs of Sarah drinking directly from a champagne bottle.

Her high-school friends have filled the dining room with gifts, matching silk pyjamas and enough lingerie to make her regret telling anyone her size.

It’s fun. Genuinely, loudly fun. She dances barefoot in the living room with a plastic veil clipped badly into her hair. She drinks something pink with rosemary floating in it, takes photographs beside the pool, cries once when Sarah gives a speech about how she has loved Rafe longer than any reasonable person should have been expected to, then threatens to drown Sarah for mentioning the time she and Rafe broke up and continued sleeping together anyway.

Still, every time the front gate opens or one of the bartenders carries a tray through the room, her stomach tenses before her mind catches up.

At ten-thirty, she’s sitting on the kitchen counter with her heels abandoned below her, turning the stem of a champagne glass between her fingers while Sarah and two of her college friends argue about whether Topper would book tasteful strippers or terrifying ones.

“Topper doesn’t know what tasteful means,” Sarah says. “He thinks boat shoes are formalwear.”

“He’d probably get, like, matching blondes,” one of her friends says.

Her fingers stop around the glass. Sarah notices. She’s spent too much of her life watching Rafe’s face and has become unfortunately skilled at reading the people attached to him too.

“Hey,” she says, pushing away from the island. “They don’t have strippers.”

She looks at her. “You don’t know that.”

“I know my brother.”

“You know he’s an idiot.”

“Yes, but he’s an idiot who’s been obsessed with you since, like, he grew facial hair.”

One of the girls nods seriously. “Before that, probably.”

She stares into the pale gold bubbles rising through her drink. “It’s not even that I think he’d do anything.”

“Obviously,” Sarah says.

“I know he wouldn’t. I just–” She draws in a breath and looks down at the dress gathered slightly over her thighs. “They’re strippers. That’s their whole thing. They’re supposed to look perfect and know what they’re doing, and I’m–”

“A literal smoke show,” somebody interrupts.

She laughs weakly. “I’m a… mother.”

The words leave a strange, embarrassed ache behind them. Banks has rearranged every room inside her, physical and otherwise, until she no longer remembers what life felt like before the weight of him sleeping against her chest. and she wouldn’t have it any other way. 

But motherhood has made her body feel public in ways she still isn’t used to – examined by doctors, touched by nurses, changed by a baby, needed at all hours.

Some nights she feels beautiful because Rafe looks at her like he could start a religion around the sight of her in an old t-shirt. Other nights, she catches herself in the bathroom mirror and doesn’t recognise where the girl from high school went.

Sarah steps between her knees and takes the champagne glass away. “Okay. First of all, Rafe has stared at you so hard at family dinners that Rose has asked him to stop.”

“That is true,” one of the girls says.

“Second, he threatened Topper at your baby shower because Topper said you looked good pregnant.”

She rolls her eyes. “He said I was glowing.”

“Rafe heard the word good and stopped processing language.” Sarah puts both hands on her knees. “And third, you had his baby. Do you genuinely think that made him less insane about you?”

She swallows.

Sarah’s mouth softens. “He checks your face before he checks Banks. He walks into a room and looks for you like somebody’s going to hide you behind a curtain. A woman could take every item of clothing off directly in front of him and he’d still be thinking about whether you ate dinner.”

“That doesn’t mean he wouldn’t look.”

“Well, he has eyes,” Sarah says reasonably. “But he also has fear. Specifically of you.”

A laugh breaks out of her before she can stop it.

Sarah squeezes her knees. “You are hot. You are marrying the worst person on this island. You won.”

She scrunches up her nose. “That feels insulting to both of us.”

“It should.”

Across town, Topper is standing on the leather seat of a private booth with one hand wrapped around a bottle of tequila and the other raised like he’s announcing the beginning of a war.

“To Rafe!” he shouts over the music.

Rafe sits below him with his elbows on his knees, staring into a glass he hasn’t touched for several minutes. The club is crowded and expensive and loud enough that the bass seems to thud directly through his teeth. 

Kelce is speaking to a girl near the railing. Three guys from high school are arguing about whether they can convince the bartender that Topper is famous. A bucket of champagne sweats onto the table despite none of them wanting champagne.

Topper lowers himself heavily into the booth. “You’re gonna love the next part.”

Rafe looks at him. “What next part?”

Topper grins.

Rafe’s entire body goes still. “What’d you do?”

“The entertainment.”

Kelce turns from the railing. “You actually got strippers?”

Topper looks offended. “It’s a bachelor party. Rafe organised them.”

“There are no strippers,” Rafe says.

Topper laughs. Then he sees Rafe’s face and stops. “What?”

“There are no fuckin’ strippers.”

“But you said–”

“I lied.”

Kelce blinks. “To us?”

“To everyone.”

Topper slowly puts down the tequila. “Why?”

“Because my fuckin’ fiancée said she was getting one.”

Topper frowns. “So you booked one too?”

“No.” Rafe leans back, dragging both hands over his face, then taps at his temple. “Jesus Christ, are you listening?”

“You… told your fiancée you were having strippers at your bachelor party,” Kelce says, piecing it together with painful care, “because… she told you she was having strippers at hers.”

“Yeah.”

“But you’re not.”

“No.”

Topper’s brows rise. “But she is.”

Rafe’s hands stop against his face. The club seems to become louder. Somewhere behind them, a glass breaks and people cheer. Coloured light moves over the table in slow blue strips.

Kelce grimaces. “Shit.”

Rafe looks between them. “What?”

Topper sits down properly now. “Do you think she actually got one?”

Rafe’s jaw shifts. “She said she did.”

“Girls say stuff,” Kelce offers.

“She had a whole house rented,” Topper says. “That’s prime stripper territory.”

Rafe looks at him with open hatred. “Prime stripper territory?”

“I’m saying there’s, like, space.”

Kelce nods reluctantly. “They’ve probably got poles and shit they bring with them.”

“Why do you know that?” Rafe asks.

“I don’t. I’m guessing.”

Topper leans closer, concern slowly overtaking his excitement. “Those guys are, like, professionals.”

Rafe’s expression darkens.

“They’ve got moves,” Kelce adds.

“Stop talking.”

“I’m just saying, regular guys can’t compete with that shit. They can pick women up and–”

Rafe stands so abruptly the table shakes.

Topper grabs his wrist. “Where are you going?”

“Home.”

“You can’t go home. She’s not there.”

“Then I’ll go to the house,” Rafe gets out through gritted teeth.

“And do what?” Kelce asks. “Fight a stripper?”

Rafe looks as though the idea hasn’t been ruled out.

Topper tugs him back toward the booth. “Sit down, man. You’ll look crazy.”

“I am not sitting here while some oiled-up asshole puts his hands on my fiancée.”

Kelce’s mouth twitches. “Oiled up?”

Rafe points at him. “I’ll kill you first.”

Topper manages to get him seated again, though only because two members of security have begun watching them from across the club.

“Okay,” Topper says, keeping one hand on Rafe’s shoulder. “Think about this logically. She loves you.”

“That’s not the point.”

“She had your kid,” Topper tries.

“Also not the point.”

“She’s marrying you even though everybody told her not to.”

Rafe turns slowly. “Who told her not to?”

Topper pauses. “Figure of speech.”

“Who?”

“Nobody.” He takes a drink. “Everybody’s very supportive.”

Rafe stares at the dark screen of his phone. He’s checked it twelve times. Her last message is a photograph sent two hours ago of Banks asleep in his cot, forwarded from Wheezie with the caption our perfect angel, followed by a second message thirty seconds later: unlike his slutty father.

He types, Rude. Then, You good? Then deletes both.

Kelce watches over his shoulder. “Text her.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m not giving her the satisfaction.”

“Of… knowing you care whether she’s being dry-humped by a stranger?” Topper asks.

Rafe looks up. “You’re real close to gettin’ left here.”

At one the following afternoon, she lets herself into the rental with her shoes in one hand and her overnight bag dragging behind her. The house is cool, quiet and dim except for the television playing softly in the living room. 

Her head aches behind one eye. Her mouth tastes like champagne and the greasy breakfast sandwich Sarah forced into her before putting her in a car. There’s glitter inside her bra, though she cannot remember anybody using glitter.

Then Banks squeals from the floor, and everything in her softens at once. “There’s my baby!”

He’s sitting astride Rafe’s stomach in only a nappy and one sock, both hands planted on his father’s face while Rafe lies flat on the rug beneath him, visibly hungover and making no effort to defend himself. 

His hair is crushed sideways from sleep. There’s a faint purple mark near his wrist that looks suspiciously like a nightclub stamp, and his eyes open only halfway when she enters.

Banks slaps both palms against his cheeks. Rafe exhales. “Yeah, buddy. Great.”

She drops the bag by the door and crosses the room, the ache in her head briefly forgotten beneath the warm little burst in her chest. “Hi, my babies.”

Rafe’s eyes move to her first, even with their son sitting directly on his throat. They drag slowly over her bare legs, yesterday’s dress beneath Sarah’s oversized cardigan, the smeared shadow beneath her eyes. Something in his face loosens, though his mouth stays careful.

“Hey,” he says.

She lowers herself to the rug beside them and immediately folds into his side, pressing her face against his shoulder. Rafe’s arm comes around her by instinct, hand settling over her back while Banks makes an outraged sound at being excluded.

She laughs and pulls him down between them. “Hi, my love. Were you good for Auntie Wheezie?”

Banks grabs both sides of her face, fingers pressing into her cheeks with ecstatic force.

“Gentle,” Rafe murmurs, guiding one tiny hand away from her eye.

She kisses Banks’s palm, then his wrist, then the soft warm crease beneath his chin until he begins squealing and kicking his feet against Rafe’s ribs. Rafe grunts, but his hand remains against her waist, thumb moving absently beneath the cardigan.

She closes her eyes and lets herself fit there for a moment. Her boys. Her house. Banks’s warm body wriggling between them and Rafe smelling faintly of soap, stale liquor and the baby lotion he claims he hates but uses too much of.

Somewhere beneath the relief, an image tries to form – Rafe seated beneath nightclub lights, a woman’s breasts level with his face, his hands possibly on a waist that isn’t hers. She presses her mouth harder against Banks’s hair until it goes away.

Beside her, Rafe looks at the crease where her dress has ridden higher over her thigh and thinks about a man with professionally developed abdominal muscles placing his hands there. His jaw tightens.

Banks catches a fistful of his shirt and tries to climb higher. Rafe looks at him. “Your mother had fun.”

She hears the accusation beneath the words and lifts her head. “Your father did too.”

“Mm,” he hums, eyes narrowing.

“Mm,” she repeats mockingly.

Banks looks between them, delighted that the tension has returned.

It lasts until that night. Banks goes down easily, exhausted from a day spent using Rafe as furniture, and the house settles around them before eleven.

She showers until the last of the hairspray loosens from her scalp, changes into one of Rafe’s shirts and climbs into bed while he finishes brushing his teeth.

Neither of them mentions the party.

Rafe switches off the bathroom light and gets beneath the sheet beside her, broad and warm and freshly clean, his hair still damp at the temples. She immediately moves toward him because her body has no loyalty to her pride, stretching across his chest with one leg caught between his and her chin resting on her folded hands.

His palm settles over the back of her thigh. For a minute, they lie there in the blue-dark room listening to Banks breathe through the monitor. Rafe’s thumb moves slowly against her skin. She watches his face, tracing the tired shadows beneath his eyes, the faint roughness at his jaw, the mouth that has spent the entire day behaving suspiciously.

“So,” she says.

His thumb stops.

She lifts her chin slightly. “Your stripper.”

Rafe clears his throat. “What about her?”

The pronoun hits like a pin sliding beneath her nail.

Her smile becomes very still. “What was her name?”

He looks toward the ceiling. She waits.

“Uhhh.” Rafe swallows. “Tracy.”

“Tracy.”

“Yeah.”

Her stomach twists. A normal, friendly name. A woman named Tracy has apparently put her breasts near the father of her child and probably asked him what he wanted while moving in ways she learned in an actual class.

“Pretty?” she asks.

Rafe’s eyes flick toward her. “What?”

“Was she pretty?”

His hesitation lasts less than a second. It’s still fatal. “She was–” He shifts beneath her. “You know. Fine.”

“Fine.”

“Baby–”

“And what did Tracy do?”

Rafe’s mouth opens. Nothing arrives.

She pushes herself higher on his chest, hair falling around them. “What did she do, Rafe?”

“Well, there was–” His gaze moves quickly over her face, trying to calculate the safest route through a situation that has none. “There was Tracy, and then–”

Her whole body goes rigid. “And?”

He blinks.

“And?” she repeats, louder now. “Rafe Cameron, you had multiple strippers?”

His eyes go wide. “No.”

“You just said and.”

“I know, but–”

“You fucker.” She shoves off his chest, tangled immediately in the sheet. “Multiple? You sat there while multiple women put their– what, their tits in your face?”

“Wait, wait.” Rafe catches her around the waist before she can get off the bed. “Baby, I lied.”

She turns in his grip. “You lied?”

“I lied!”

“About which part?”

“All of it.”

Her face empties.

Rafe pushes himself upright, keeping both hands around her as though she may attempt to escape through the wall. “There were no strippers.”

She stares at him.

“None,” he says quickly. “Not Tracy, not anybody. Tracy’s not real. I panicked.”

She blinks. “You invented a stripper?”

“I needed a name.”

“Why?”

“Because you asked me!”

She opens her mouth, closes it, then opens it again. “You told me you had strippers.”

“Because you said you were getting one.” His voice climbs before he remembers their sleeping child down the hall and drags it back into an urgent whisper. “You mentioned it first, and I thought you were serious, and I wasn’t gonna sit there looking like some pathetic asshole while you had some guy’s dick swinging around your face.”

Her eyes widen. “That’s not what strippers do.”

“How would I know?”

“You said you were hiring them!”

“I was lying!”

She pulls back slightly, still caught between his hands. Rafe’s face is open now in the particular, reluctant way it only becomes when embarrassment has finally overpowered self-protection.

His cheeks are faintly flushed beneath the low light. His jaw keeps shifting. He looks furious, but not at her. At himself. At the imaginary male stripper. At the entire concept of entertainment.

“You really didn’t have any?” she asks.

“No.” His fingers tighten at her waist. “Ask Topper. Ask Kelce. Ask every guy who was there. Topper thought there were gonna be some because I lied to him too, and then he started talking about professional moves and I almost left.”

Despite herself, her mouth twitches. “Professional moves?”

“Don’t.”

“Rafe–”

His eyes search her face, frantic. “Did you have one?”

She looks down at the small gold chain resting against his chest. “No.”

“What?”

“I lied too.”

For several seconds, nothing in the room moves except the numbers glowing faintly on the baby monitor. Rafe’s hands loosen around her waist. “You didn’t have a stripper.”

“No.”

“Not one?”

She shakes her head. “No.”

He studies her face with deep suspicion. “Swears?”

“Swears.”

Rafe stares at her, then drags one hand down his face. The breath that leaves him sounds as though he has been holding it since yesterday afternoon. “Oh, thank God.”

Her shoulders drop at the exact same time. “I know.”

His eyes return to hers. “You really swear?”

She holds out her little finger. Rafe looks at it.

“Pinky swear,” she says.

His mouth twitches despite himself. He hooks his little finger around hers, the gesture absurdly delicate between his large hand and hers.

“No strippers,” she says.

“No strippers,” he agrees.

“Ever.”

“What if we’re at somebody else’s–”

She sighs. “Rafe.”

“Right. Never.”

They hold the promise another second longer than necessary, both of them staring at their joined hands with the solemn relief of people who have survived something entirely self-created.

Then she lets go and wraps both arms around his shoulders. Rafe catches her hard, pulling her across his lap until her knees settle on either side of him and her face fits into his neck.

His palm slides up her back beneath the shirt, warm and broad over bare skin. For a moment, neither of them says anything. She breathes him in, clean soap and familiar heat, and feels the last tight little knot beneath her ribs finally loosen.

“I love you so much,” she murmurs against his throat. “You’re such an idiot.”

His mouth presses into her hair. “You lied too.”

“I know.”

“So you’re an idiot.”

“Not as badly.”

“Same lie.”

“Different motivations.”

Rafe draws back enough to look at her. “Your motivation was making me think some guy was gonna rub himself on you.”

“Because you were talking about strippers.”

“As a joke.”

“So was I.”

His expression flattens. She presses her lips together. For one suspended second, they look at each other.

Then Rafe laughs – quiet at first, breath moving warm across her mouth, then helpless enough that his head drops forward against her shoulder. 

Her own laughter follows, muffled into his neck so it won’t carry down the hallway, both of them shaking beneath the sheet over forty-eight hours of jealousy aimed at people who have never existed.

“You made up two,” she whispers.

“I panicked.”

“You said Tracy and then almost gave me another one.”

“I was building a believable story,” he groans.

“You are genuinely frightening.”

He grins. “You believed me.”

“Because you’re a slut.”

Rafe lifts his head, offended. “I have been with one person for, like, six years.”

“Temporary breakup.”

“Still you.”

Her smile softens before she can protect it. Rafe sees. His hand comes to the side of her face, thumb resting beneath her cheekbone while his expression changes around the edges, humour giving way to something quieter and more exposed.

“Never wanted anybody else,” he says.

The words are simple enough to hurt. She leans into his palm. “Me neither.”

“Not even the imaginary stripper?”

She tilts her lips down in thought. “He had great moves.”

Rafe’s fingers tighten gently against her jaw. “Careful.”

She smiles and kisses him. The kiss lands soft, almost apologetic, but neither of them has ever been good at keeping anything between them small.

Rafe’s hand slides into her hair. Her arms tighten around his shoulders. The relief moves through them both as heat, deepening the press of his mouth until she shifts closer across his lap and he makes a low sound against her lips.

When they finally pull apart, her forehead stays against his. His breath is warm and uneven. One hand remains spread at her waist as though he still needs the reassurance of finding her there.

“No more talking about strippers,” she whispers.

“Ever,” he agrees.

“No fake names.”

“Yeah.”

“No Tracy.”

He waves a hand. “Tracy’s dead to me.”

“She was never alive.”

He grins. “Even better.”

A laugh catches in her throat. Rafe kisses it from her mouth, once and then again, smiling against her lips when she curls both arms more tightly around him. From the monitor, Banks sighs in his sleep. They both go still automatically, listening.

When the room remains quiet, she settles back against Rafe’s chest and feels his arms close around her, secure and familiar and a little too tight. Outside, the marina shifts softly against its ropes. Their discarded party clothes are still heaped across the chair. 

Her wedding dress is waiting at Sarah’s house, the invitations are half addressed downstairs, and in six weeks she will become the thing Rafe claimed she would be long before either of them had earned the confidence. His wife.

She presses her mouth against the centre of his chest.

Rafe looks down. “What?”

Her smile grows against his skin. “You’re gonna be my husband.”

His expression warms slowly, pleased in the same young, impossible way it always does when the future proves him right. He strokes his thumb along her back and pulls her higher against him.

He presses his cheek to the top of her hair. “Told you that you’d be my wife.”

to be notified when i post new fics, follow @kooksandpearls-library and turn on notifications! i no longer use a taglist for my fics.

[zyafics]

HAPPILY EVER AFTER | 05

MAIN | Social Media AU

Pairing — Rafe Cameron x Female Reader

Summary — If having a fairytale love story guaranteed a happy ending, then, uh, why are you and Rafe getting a divorce?

Content — angst, hurt/comfort, brother's best friend, childhood friends to high school sweethearts to lovers to... divorce?

Navigation — Part 04 | Part 05 | Part 06

IMPORTANT INFO ABOUT TAGLIST AND UPDATES: if you want to be notified about all my fics and updates, follow @zyafics-library and turn on notifications! however, if you want to be added to this specific taglist, let me know (but to remain tagged, you must interact with the posts).

TAGLIST FOR HEA: @grstarkeydrew / @newatthiss / @7-deadly-cats / @amterasuu / @supercoolhotsleepyfunnygirl / @lvcstarkey / @sunsn0w / @lewispool / @nnd-oma / @cooper8224 / @kooksandpearls / @disaster-rose / @theycallherl0ve / @princesscigarette

[lvcstarkey]

i’ve been eating this series down bro

[zyafics]

HAPPILY EVER AFTER | 05

MAIN | Social Media AU

Pairing — Rafe Cameron x Female Reader

Summary — If having a fairytale love story guaranteed a happy ending, then, uh, why are you and Rafe getting a divorce?

Content — angst, hurt/comfort, brother's best friend, childhood friends to high school sweethearts to lovers to... divorce?

Navigation — Part 04 | Part 05 | Part 06

IMPORTANT INFO ABOUT TAGLIST AND UPDATES: if you want to be notified about all my fics and updates, follow @zyafics-library and turn on notifications! however, if you want to be added to this specific taglist, let me know (but to remain tagged, you must interact with the posts).

TAGLIST FOR HEA: @grstarkeydrew / @newatthiss / @7-deadly-cats / @amterasuu / @supercoolhotsleepyfunnygirl / @lvcstarkey / @sunsn0w / @lewispool / @nnd-oma / @cooper8224 / @kooksandpearls / @disaster-rose / @theycallherl0ve / @princesscigarette

[kooksandpearls]

garrett graham ❄︎ not like that.

pairing – garrett graham x nursing student!reader summary – after sex, garrett and his girlfriend talk through old wounds, hospital fear, and what it actually means to show up for each other. warnings – references to controlling ex, past emotional abuse, garrett’s family trauma, hospital injury, lockdown mention, anxiety. notes from me – hi babes!!! as requested here!! word count – 5k

navigation – masterlist |

The room has gone soft around the edges. It’s partly the lamp on her desk, the little warm one, and partly the rain pressing quietly against the window, blurring the glass until the campus lights beyond it look melted and far away. Mostly, though, it’s Garrett.

Garrett naked beneath her in a bed technically designed for one person and currently holding two with the sort of optimism usually reserved for temporary bridges. Garrett with one arm folded behind his head, the other heavy around her waist, his skin warm and slightly damp everywhere their bodies are still pressed together. 

His chest rises slowly beneath her cheek, no longer the hard, uneven movement from ten minutes ago, though his heartbeat hasn’t entirely committed to acting normal yet. Neither has hers.

The duvet is tangled around their legs. One of her pillows is on the floor, along with Garrett’s jeans, her underwear and a pharmacology flashcard that had become a casualty of sex despite being several feet from the bed when they started. 

The open window has let enough cool air into the room that her bare shoulder should be cold, but Garrett’s palm keeps moving over it in long, lazy passes, warming the skin each time.

She traces one finger through the faint line of hair below his navel, then up again, over the ridges of his stomach and the centre of his chest. His skin moves beneath her fingertip with each breath. 

There are little things here she knows now without having deliberately learned them: the pale scar near his ribs, the place beneath his left pec that makes the muscle jump when she drags her nail over it, the tiny freckle near his sternum she once spent an entire morning insisting looked like a malignant melanoma until he threatened to ban her from examining him unsupervised.

Her fingertip circles it now. Garrett’s arm tightens faintly around her. “That still cancer?”

“Mm.” She gives it the grave attention of a specialist delivering devastating news. “Terminal.”

“Shit.”

“You’ve got hours.”

“Better make ’em count.”

His hand slips lower beneath the duvet, palm flattening shamelessly over her ass. She laughs into his chest, the sound still a little loose and breathless, and gives his side a weak pinch that does absolutely nothing except make Garrett’s mouth curve against her hair.

“Greedy,” she murmurs.

“You climbed on top of me.”

“You were being annoying.”

“Yeah, and you handled that very professionally.”

She lifts her head enough to look at him. His curls are completely wrecked, flattened at one side and damp at the roots where her hands have spent most of the last half hour. His lips are pink, his cheeks faintly flushed, the arrogant little satisfaction on his face softened by sleepiness and the fact that he’s currently looking at her like she’s done something much more impressive than have sex with him in a dorm bed.

She nuzzles her nose gently into the roughness along his jaw. Garrett’s fingers still at her waist. “You good?”

The question comes automatically now. Before, after and sometimes during, when her breathing changes or her face does something he cannot immediately translate. He still asks it with the same quiet attention, though. Like no number of previous yeses can answer for the current one.

She nods, nose brushing his skin again. “Very.”

“Good.” His hand resumes its slow pass along her back. “Was worried.”

“You frequently are.”

He huffs a laugh through his nose, but it doesn’t fully settle into the room. Something in his face stays elsewhere, his gaze drifting briefly past her shoulder toward the rain-dark window before returning.

She watches him for a moment. Garrett has several different kinds of quiet. There’s tired quiet, which usually means he’s three minutes from falling asleep with his full weight on some part of her body. There’s pissed-off quiet, all tight jaw and nostril breathing and shoulders that look like they have been raised two inches closer to his ears. There’s the rare studying quiet, distinguished mostly by an open textbook and Garrett staring through the same paragraph while pretending he’s not become distracted by her existing nearby.

This is none of those. She pushes herself a little higher against him, then smooths his curls back from his forehead with the flat of her hand. They immediately fall forward again at the edges, soft and impossible. “What’re you thinking?”

Garrett’s eyes return properly to her face. “Nothing.”

She pinches his side again.

“Jesus.” His stomach tightens beneath her. “Violent.”

“You’re a terrible liar.”

“I’m a great liar,” he huffs.

She brushes the curls back again. This time she keeps her fingers there, threaded gently into the hair at his temple. “What’re you thinking, Graham?”

His mouth presses together for a second. He breathes out slowly through his nose, the exhale moving warm over the top of her head. “Just thinking.”

“Compelling.” She settles her chin on his chest. “About what?”

“A lot.”

“Okay.” Her thumb moves once over his hairline. “Fill me in.”

Garrett’s gaze drops to her shoulder. His fingers trace the curve of it without seeming to notice what they’re doing, following the same path again and again until the touch begins to feel less lazy and more like counting.

“About Nathan, mostly.”

The name lands in the room without doing much to her. Only recognition and a very mild irritation, like someone has mentioned an assignment she thought she had already submitted.

She studies Garrett’s face instead. “What about him?”

His jaw moves once beneath the stubble. “He knows we’re together?”

“I don’t know.” She thinks about it, then shrugs as much as she can while half lying on him. “Probably. People talk. Especially people who have nothing interesting happening in their own lives.”

“Is he gonna be pissed?”

She lets out a quiet breath. “Maybe.”

Garrett’s hand stops moving.

She looks at him. “I don’t know, baby. Probably, yeah. Nathan was pissed when I got a haircut without asking whether he liked bangs. His emotional range was not… especially selective.”

“That’s not funny.”

She lifts her shoulder. “It’s a little funny.”

“It’s fucked.”

“It can be both.”

Garrett doesn’t answer. The tendon in his neck has gone tight beneath her hand, a small, visible line disappearing toward his collarbone.

She smooths her thumb over it. “I’m not worried.”

“No?”

“No.” She rests her cheek against his chest again, listening to the slow beat underneath. “He doesn’t get to me anymore. Not like that. He hasn’t for a long time.”

Garrett’s fingers flex against her back. “I know.”

“Do you?”

“Yes.” His answer is immediate enough to sound defensive. He looks toward the ceiling, then back at her. “Yeah, baby. I know you don’t want him. That’s not what I’m asking.”

“I didn’t think it was.”

His eyes narrow faintly. “You were about to reassure me.”

“I was about, like, to provide context.”

He huffs a breath through his nose. “You were using your calm nurse voice.”

She blinks. “I don’t have a calm nurse voice.”

“You do,” he murmurs. “It’s the one you use right before telling someone something’s gonna sting.”

“That’s because it’s going to sting.”

“Exactly.”

She presses her lips together around a smile. Garrett catches it, because Garrett catches everything her mouth tries to hide from him, but his expression only softens for a second before returning to the place it has been.

“I worry about you,” he says.

She rolls her eyes. “You worry when I take the stairs too fast.”

“You fall up them.”

“I’ve done that once.”

Garrett’s mouth twitches. His hand slides to the back of her neck, thumb resting beneath her ear. “I’m serious.”

“I know.” She turns her face and kisses his wrist. “But you don’t have to worry about me. I’m okay. Nathan and I are so over it’s, like, actually embarrassing he still comes up in conversation.”

Garrett shakes his head. “Not worried like that.”

The smile leaves her face, because of the way he says them. Quiet and frustrated, like the thought has been grinding against him for a while and he cannot find an angle that makes it less sharp.

“What, then?”

He looks at her for a second. “I don’t want him to hurt you.”

Her hand stills on his chest.

“Because of me,” Garrett adds, and the last part comes out rougher. “Or because he finds out you have a boyfriend and decides to prove he can still get to you, or because I hit him and now he wants to even the score, or whatever the fuck goes through his head.”

“Garrett.”

“He’s already shown up here and run his mouth about you to people. He knows where you live. He knows where you have placement. He knows your friends. I don’t–” His fingers tighten gently at the back of her neck. “I don’t like it.”

She watches the anxiety work through him in visible little movements. His thumb tapping once against her skin. The muscle shifting in his jaw. His other hand resting flat over her lower back as if he can keep her safe from a man who’s not in the building by making sure there’s nowhere between them for air to pass.

“Baby,” she says softly, “he can’t hurt me more than he already did.”

Garrett’s face changes. His eyes sharpen, his brows pulling together while his mouth goes flat. Still, she feels the words strike him in the exact place she probably should have anticipated.

“That’s not…” He swallows. “That’s a really fucked-up way to reassure me.”

“It was accurate,” she murmurs.

“I hate when you do that.”

“Do what?”

“Say something horrible… like– like it’s a weather update.”

She considers the criticism. “Cloudy with a high chance of unresolved male entitlement.”

Garrett gives her a flat look. She fights the smile for three seconds, loses and lets her forehead drop against his chest. His hand comes up automatically to cradle the back of her head, fingers sinking into her hair even while he mutters, “You’re impossible.”

“I’m making a point.”

“You’re making jokes,” he sighs.

“Both can occur simultaneously. That’s actually a key feature of my personality.”

“I’ve noticed.”

She lifts her head again. “What I mean is, Nathan already took what he was going to take from me. Time. Confidence. A deeply unreasonable fear of being asked where I am when I’m literally at work. He doesn’t have access to any of that now.”

“He can still say shit.”

“Let him.”

Garrett’s eyes flash. “You say that because you don’t hear half of it.”

“No, I say that because I know exactly what he sounds like.” Her voice stays easy, because the truth is easy now. It has edges, but they don’t cut her when she picks it up. “Nathan runs his mouth because he needs people looking at him. He needs me upset. He needs you angry. It’s the only way he can still stand in a room with me and feel like he has something.”

“He called you–”

“I know what he called me.”

The words come out firmer than she intends. Garrett goes quiet immediately, watching her.

She smooths her palm over the centre of his chest, once, then again. “I know what he says. I know what he thinks. I spent a lot of time thinking his opinion was– was everything. It isn’t. It’s just noise from a deeply unimpressive man in a button-down.”

Garrett’s mouth shifts faintly. “Hate that shirt.”

“I know you do.”

“Looks like he asks professors whether the homework’s due.”

“He did that once,” she smiles.

“Of course he fucking did.”

She laughs, and the tension in his body gives by a fraction beneath her. She takes advantage of it, sliding her hand upward to his jaw, smoothing her palm over the rough line of it before cupping his cheek.

“He can run his mouth,” she says. “Who cares?”

“I care.”

“You care too much,” she whispers.

“He hurt you.”

“Yeah.” She says it plainly, without making the room bow around it. “He did.”

Garrett’s eyes search her face like he expects to find evidence she has hidden from him. A twitch. A crack. Something that says she’s performing wellness for his benefit. She lets him look.

There was a time the memory of Nathan’s voice could make her body rearrange itself before she had understood what was happening. Shoulders lifting. Stomach tight. Words becoming harder to reach because some old part of her believed silence might make the moment pass faster. There was a time hearing his name could stain an entire night.

Now there’s only Garrett beneath her, warm and worried and entirely too naked to be conducting threat assessments. “You didn’t rescue me from him,” she says.

His brows pinch together. “I know.”

“No, listen.” She strokes her thumb over his cheek. “You met me after I’d already left. I’d already decided he wasn’t allowed to keep doing that to me. I was already putting myself back together.”

Garrett holds her gaze.

“You made things better,” she continues. “You make a lot of things better. Food. Sex. My understanding of how many grown men can share a bathroom before it becomes a public health issue.”

“Four’s apparently too many.”

“Correct. But you didn’t save me from Nathan. I did that.”

“I know,” Garrett says again, quieter now. “I know you did.”

“Good.”

“I’m still allowed to worry.”

She makes a face. “Within reason.”

“What’s within reason?” Garrett asks, his thumb moving once over the curve of her shoulder.

“Not committing another felony in your living room.”

His brows pull together immediately. “It wasn’t a felony.”

“Multiple people had to physically remove you from his body,” she reminds him, watching the corner of his mouth twitch like he’s already preparing an appeal.

“Allegedly.”

“I was there.”

Garrett’s expression turns thoughtful in the deeply unconvincing way it does whenever he’s about to misuse information. “You were concussed recently. Memory’s unreliable.”

She stares at him.

Garrett lasts perhaps half a second before his mouth twitches. “Too soon?”

“Yes.”

“Sorry.”

Her fingers move from his cheek to the shell of his ear, tracing it absently. “If Nathan says something, I’ll ignore him.”

“And if he does something?”

“Then I’ll deal with it.”

His jaw tightens again.

She sighs softly. “With my friends. Campus security. The police, if it actually gets that far. Not by personally challenging him to, like, single combat.”

“Okay.”

“And I’ll tell you.”

Garrett’s eyes narrow. “Immediately?”

She rolls her eyes. “Fine.”

“Promise?”

“Garrett.”

“Promise.”

Her hand softens against his face. “I promise I won’t hide it if Nathan does something that actually worries me.”

“Thank you.”

She raises her eyebrow. “But you don’t get to put him through a wall.”

Garrett exhales through his nose. “What if it’s a weak wall?”

“No.”

“Drywall?”

“Garrett.”

“I’m asking about limits.”

She tilts her chin and kisses him before he can continue negotiating materials. Garrett takes the kiss immediately, one hand sliding up into her hair while the other captures the wrist resting on his chest. His fingers wrap around hers and hold her there, palm pressed over his heartbeat.

The kiss is softer than the ones before. No hunger left to chase, only warmth and the slow drag of his mouth over hers. She kisses the corner of his lips when he starts pulling back, then his cheek, then the line of his jaw.

Garrett’s thumb moves over the back of her hand. For a few seconds, the conversation seems to have settled. The rain continues its faint tapping against the glass. Somebody down the hall shuts a drawer, followed by the muffled sound of a girl saying, “That’s not mine,” with such personal outrage that it must be about underwear.

Garrett turns her hand over and kisses the inside of her wrist. Then his gaze moves up to her face. He lifts one hand slowly, his thumb passing over the bridge of her nose with such little pressure she barely feels it. The touch is careful out of habit now, even though the swelling has disappeared and the bruising beneath her eyes has faded into the last thin yellow shadow near one cheek.

“Nearly gone,” he murmurs.

She knows what he means. “Mhm.”

His thumb moves once more, tracing the place that had been purple and tender. “Does it still hurt?”

“No.” She scrunches her nose experimentally. “Feels good.”

Garrett’s face changes at once, tension cracking enough for amusement to come through. “Do that again.”

She looks at him. “What?”

“The nose thing.”

She scrunches it again, more dramatically this time.

Garrett laughs. It bursts out warm and surprised, his whole chest moving beneath her. “Oh my God.”

“What?”

“That’s so fucking cute.”

Her face warms. “Shut up.”

“No, do it again.”

She giggles, cheeks red. “I’m not performing.”

“Baby.”

“No.”

He catches her around the waist when she tries to hide her face in his neck, rolling them just enough that she ends up half beneath him, half pinned by the solid heat of his body. The dorm mattress gives a warning squeak.

She starts laughing before he even touches her nose, because Garrett is grinning now, properly, curls falling over his forehead and every trace of the worried crease between his brows temporarily gone.

“Come on,” he says. “One more.”

“You’re making it weird.”

“You made the cutest fucking face I’ve ever seen.”

“I’ve seen you try to use chopsticks,” she giggles. “My face isn’t winning that competition.”

“That was one time.”

“You stabbed the dumpling.”

Garrett kisses her before she can continue, mouth smiling over hers. She makes the mistake of scrunching her nose when his own bumps it, and he pulls back laughing again.

“There,” he says, delighted. “That.”

“You’re deeply embarrassing.”

“You love it.”

She doesn’t answer. Garrett’s grin goes softer anyway, like maybe he heard something in the silence she doesn’t intend to say yet. He kisses the tip of her nose, then the bridge of it, then the fading bruise beneath her eye.

The last kiss changes the air. It settles more heavily, his mouth lingering against her skin while the hand holding hers goes still between them. She studies his face when he lifts his head.

The question has been sitting somewhere inside her since the hospital. Since the doorway of the hockey house and the way all the colour left him when he saw her. Since he stayed awake beside her, staring at her breathing as if he didn’t trust the room to keep doing it without supervision. 

Since the lockdown, when she stepped out after an excellent shift and found Garrett looking like the two hours outside had taken years off his life.

She hasn’t asked because he’s told her enough already. Because there’s a difference between making room and digging. Because Garrett’s history isn’t a locked medication cabinet she gets to open simply because she knows where he keeps the key.

Still, his thumb is resting beside the place her bruise used to be. She clears her throat. “Were you…”

Garrett waits.

“I don’t want to pry.” She looks down briefly at their joined hands, then back at him. “And you can absolutely tell me to fuck off.”

“Promising start.”

“I’m serious.”

“Okay.” His mouth softens. “Ask.”

She slides her hand free of his only so she can touch his face, fingertips tracing the edge of his jaw. “Seeing me like that. After the hospital.”

Garrett goes very still.

“And then the lockdown,” she continues more quietly. “That brought up stuff with your mom, right?”

His gaze moves over her face with an attention that feels different from before, no longer looking for injuries but trying to decide whether this is a place he can put something. The lamp catches the dark brown in his eyes. His chest rises beneath her hand, then lowers slowly. Finally, he nods.

“Yeah,” he says.

She doesn’t fill the silence. She only lets her thumb stroke once over his cheek.

Garrett looks past her toward the window. “Seeing you at the door was…” His throat works. He stops, presses his lips together, tries again. “I knew it was you,” he says. “That sounds stupid, but I knew. I wasn’t confused or anything. I knew you’d been at work and something happened with a patient. Maria was standing there. Logan was talking. I heard all of it.”

She nods faintly.

“But you had blood on your face.” His eyes return to hers, and there is something raw beneath the steadiness now. “Your shirt was fucked up. You were holding your shoulder weird. You looked at me and tried to smile like you were worried I’d be uncomfortable if you didn’t make it less bad.”

Her fingers pause against his cheek.

“I just…” He breathes out, but the exhale catches near the end. “I couldn’t breathe. For a second. I could see you standing there, but I was somewhere else too.”

She feels his pulse beneath the heel of her hand, faster now than it was minutes ago.

“It wasn’t one memory,” Garrett says. “That would almost be easier. It was… all of it. Every time I heard something from another room. Every time she told me she was fine before I even asked. Every time I knew she was hurt and couldn’t–”

His voice cuts off. She moves closer beneath him, her knee fits along his hip and his body has somewhere to settle if he needs it.

“I couldn’t do anything then,” he says, quieter. “And with you, I got there after. Again. You were already hurt. You’d already been scared. Everyone else had already helped you, and I was just standing in the fucking doorway.”

“Baby.”

“I know.” His eyes close for a second. “I know it wasn’t my job to stop it. I know I wasn’t there. I know you work in an emergency department and things happen and I can’t–” His mouth twists. “I can’t stand beside you every second in case somebody loses it.”

“That would violate several hospital policies.”

“Yeah.”

She strokes her thumb beneath his eye. “But knowing it and feeling it aren’t lining up yet.”

Garrett opens his eyes. He gives her a tired, crooked look. “There’s the nurse voice.”

“That wasn’t the nurse voice.”

He huffs. “That was absolutely the nurse voice.”

“It was the extremely hot girlfriend voice.”

“Right.” His hand moves to her waist, holding her a little more securely. “That one’s new.”

“Still developing.”

His mouth almost smiles, but the heaviness remains in his face. “The lockdown was worse in a different way,” he says after a moment. “Because I couldn’t… see you.”

She goes quiet.

“I had hospital, lockdown, your phone not working and nobody telling me what part of the building it was in.” His fingertips press into her waist, not hard, only enough that she feels the shape of each one. “The last time you got hurt at that hospital, you showed up at the house looking like…” His gaze moves over her nose. “Like that. So my brain decided there were about a hundred things happening to you at once.”

“I was editing an assignment.”

Garrett shakes his head, but his mouth has softened again. “I kept thinking there was a door between us and something bad was happening on the other side.”

She doesn’t need him to explain which door. There had probably been dozens. Bedroom doors. Kitchen doors. A bathroom door pulled nearly shut while Garrett stood in a hallway and listened for his mother because listening was the only action a child had left.

Her hand slides from his cheek to the back of his neck. She draws him down slowly until his forehead rests against hers. “You were a kid then,” she says.

“I know.”

“And you’re my boyfriend now.”

Garrett’s breath warms her mouth. “Yeah.”

“Those are different jobs.”

His eyes close.

“You don’t have to protect me from every single thing that might ever happen,” she continues. “That’s not a boyfriend job. That’s Batman, and he has funding you don’t.”

Garrett lets out a quiet, unwilling laugh. “I have a scholarship.”

She shakes her head. “Not enough for surveillance equipment.”

“Dean probably knows a guy.”

She lets the small laugh fade between them before she speaks again. “I don’t want you thinking being with me means you– you failed every time I get hurt.”

His fingers tighten at her waist.

“Because I’m going to get hurt sometimes,” she says. “I work in a hospital. I’m clumsy. I regularly walk into the open corner of my own desk.”

“You really do.”

“It moves.”

Garrett opens his eyes.

She holds his gaze. “I don’t need you to stop everything before it happens.”

“What do you need?”

The question comes out so direct that her chest tightens around it.

“You,” she says, then makes a face because the word feels dangerously simple for the size of it. “Afterward. Sometimes during, if you’re available and the hospital has not enacted an armed perimeter.”

“It was security tape.”

She narrows her eyes. “Very threatening security tape.”

“I almost crossed it.”

“I know. Dean told me you asked about the roof.”

“I was… exploring options.”

She smiles, her fingers moving through the curls at the back of his neck. “I need you to show up. Turn the lights down. Read the discharge instructions because my brain is leaking out of my ears. Stop Dean from yelling.”

“I cannot do that last one.”

“No. Nobody can.”

“Glad we agree.”

“And I need you to believe me when I say I’m okay,” she murmurs. “Not automatically,” she adds. “You’re allowed to ask. You’re allowed to worry. You’re allowed to tell me when you think I’m being stupid.”

“That’s often.”

“Careful.”

“Sorry.”

“But once I answer you – really answer you – I need you to believe I know what’s happening inside my own body.”

He nods slowly. “Okay.”

“And I’ll try not to say I’m fine when I’m, like, actively bleeding on my shoes.”

“That would be huge for us.”

She strokes the hair at his nape. “You did everything right that night.”

Garrett’s mouth tightens. “I didn’t do anything.”

“You made the house quiet.”

“Tucker did.”

“You stayed,” she whispers

“Obviously.”

“You woke me up. You tracked my symptoms. You helped me change without making it weird.”

“I made it a little weird.”

She smiles. “You didn’t have to save me. You just had to be there.”

Garrett looks at her for a long moment. His eyes have gone bright at the edges, though he doesn’t look away or joke over it. “I can do that,” he says.

“I know.”

“I’ll always do that.”

The words come out before he can make them smaller. They settle between their mouths, unpolished and certain. Her fingers tighten gently in his curls. “I know that too.”

Garrett kisses her. His mouth closes over hers with careful pressure, one hand sliding from her waist to the centre of her back and pulling her flush against him. She lets him. Her arms go around his neck, bare bodies fitting together again without urgency, only skin and warmth and the steady proof of him breathing against her.

When he pulls away, he stays close enough that their noses touch. “So,” he murmurs, thumb tracing the base of her spine beneath the duvet. “You’re really not worried about Nathan?”

She gives the question proper consideration. “I’m worried he might continue dressing like a regional bank manager.”

“Serious.”

“No,” she says again, quieter. “I’m not. Not anymore.”

His shoulders lower with a small, reluctant breath.

“And if he tells people I’m insane,” she adds, “I’ll tell them he cried during sex once because he thought he pulled a hamstring.”

Garrett’s eyes widen. “He what?”

She bites the inside of her cheek.

“Oh my God.” Garrett lifts himself higher over her, suddenly awake in every meaningful way. “Are you serious?”

“I’m not giving you details.”

“You cannot say that and then refuse details.”

“I absolutely can,” she giggles.

“Was it actually a hamstring?”

“No.”

“What was it?”

“Probably a cramp,” she shrugs.

Garrett drops his forehead into the pillow beside her and starts laughing. His whole body shakes against hers, warm and heavy and delighted in a way that makes her laugh too, even while she presses one hand over his mouth to contain it before the neighbouring room files a second kind of noise complaint.

He catches her wrist and kisses her palm. “That’s the best thing you’ve ever told me,” he says into her skin.

“That’s incredibly insulting.”

“Did he stop?”

“Garrett.”

“Did he stretch?”

She laughs. “I hate you.”

“Did you do an assessment?”

She shoves at his shoulder, which accomplishes nothing. He rolls them anyway, catching her around the waist until she’s sprawled over his chest again, both of them still laughing quietly into the warm, messy room.

Eventually, the laughter eases. She settles her cheek above his heart. His hand returns to the back of her head, fingers moving gently through her hair.

“Hey,” Garrett says after a moment.

“Mhm?”

“If he ever does anything…”

“I’ll tell you,” she nods.

“And I won’t put him through a wall.”

She lifts her head.

Garrett grimaces. “I’ll try very hard not to put him through a wall.”

She considers this. “Better.”

“What if he trips?”

“No.”

“Near a wall?”

“Go to sleep.”

He smiles and presses his mouth to the top of her head. She nuzzles closer beneath his jaw, her nose brushing the warm skin there. Garrett’s arm tightens around her.

She scrunches her nose against his neck. His laugh moves through her cheek.

“So fucking cute,” he murmurs.

She smiles against his skin, traces one final slow line over his chest and lets her hand come to rest over his heart.

to be notified when i post new fics, follow @kooksandpearls-library and turn on notifications! i no longer use a taglist for garrett fics.

[lvcstarkey]

ughhh eve has done it again 🥹

[7-deadly-cats]

⋆.˚ CAMERON&CARRERA COUNSELING

BL MASTERLIST | MEET BL READER

R. C. M A S T E R L I S T | T A G L I S T F O R M

COMMENT down below if you wanna be added to the tag list

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[lvcstarkey]

i’m just seeing INSANE FUCKING FACE CARDS 😵‍💫

[lacyydollette]

TEXTS BETWEEN BF!GARRETT GRAHAM X READER

ANGEL (💭) : some inspo for the texts were taken from pinterest. suggestive language & swearing ahead.

𝐋𝐀𝐂𝐘𝐘𝐃𝐎𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐄 — est. 2026 © do not copy, claim or take inspo of my work anywhere.

masterlist

[loveharlow]

BUZZCUT!RAFE X BLACK!KOOK!GF

[ works ]

a/n: i got too into this so i can't even use it as the masterlist for whatever i write for them lmao

"like, is it the real thing, or is it just a one night stand?"

BUZZCUT!RAFE who you'd first noticed in the halls, all throughout high school. he was loud, unpredictable and always with the same crowd. to you, he was just another privileged douche with too much money and an ego too big.

BUZZCUT!RAFE who noticed you long before he ever spoke to you. gorgeous and confident with this intimidating, unapproachable energy that made most guys try their luck or keep their distance. and while other girls went out of their way to get his attention or laugh at his jokes, you would walk right past him like he was invisible. he was used to getting whatever he wanted, so your indifference made him curious.

BUZZCUT!RAFE who couldn't not know you any longer, making his move at prom. rafe didn't bring a date—half the island had asked him, but he couldn't be bothered. you went with a guy from your grade who had asked you nicely, and you figured, why not? and by the time everyone had shown up to a beachfront after party, you were over your date and slipped away into the kitchen to grab a drink, when rafe walked in a minute later. instead of backing out when he saw you, he leaned against the counter, smirked, and tried to throw some line your way. to his own shock, you didn't blush or giggle. you just leaned against the kitchen island, looked him dead in the eye, and gave him a stubborn retort that deflated his ego. you treated him like a regular person, unimpressed by his family name or status. instead of getting mad, rafe was fascinated. he stayed in that kitchen talking to you for an hour, captivated by your wit and the fact that he actually had to work to keep up with you.

BUZZCUT!RAFE who, after that night, you'd started seeing at bonfires, beach parties, and casual hangouts considering your two friend groups had somehow started to merge. the more you were around him, the more you realized the rumors surrounding him, that you'd been hearing since freshman year of high school, didn't capture who he actually was, or who he'd become. he was calmer now it seemed, focused on bettering himself, and incredibly attentive—even buzzing his hair to signal a fresh start.

BUZZCUT!RAFE who, after one long impromptu night of driving around in his truck listening to music, ended up back at his place with you staring at him in the passenger seat. you slept together that night—passionate, intense, and something that shifted the ground beneath your feet. the next morning, you panicked. you didn't want to be another casualty of rafe cameron's board game of girls. you woke up, threw your clothes on, and acted distant when he woke up, trying to brush it off as a casual mistake. but he didn't let you slide out the door, stepping into your path, blocking the doorway and placing his hands on your hips, crowding you into his space as he forced you to look up at him. his jaw was tight, but his voice was soft—"you're spinning a whole bunch of bullshit in your head right now, thinking this was a game to me. it wasn't. don't walk out of here acting like last night didn't mean anything, because it meant somethin' to me."

BUZZCUT!RAFE who didn’t make you his girlfriend that morning—not because he didn't want to, but because he wanted to do it right. he knew you were a prize, a high-status girl who deserved high-status shit, and he wanted to prove to you how serious he was. it took him three weeks to ask—the weeks leading up to it filled with him spoiling you with dates, meeting your parents and winning them over, and perfectly integrating himself into who you were.

BUZZCUT!RAFE who didn't do a super massive gesture because he knew you wouldn't want it. he asked you out for a late-night cruise, telling you to wear something comfortable. when you climbed aboard, you found the deck covered in blankets, your favorite food warming in containers, and a speaker playing the same playlist he'd played in his car that night. he took the boat out to a secluded spot on the marsh where the water looked like glass under the moonlight. after you both ate and laughed, you were sitting in his lap in one of his grey hoodies he brought just in case you got cold. he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small velvet box. he didn't hand you a promise ring. it was a bracelet, one you'd mentioned once in conversation and not even with him. he clasped it around your wrist, hands lingering over your skin. he looked down at you, thumb tracing your jawline—"i'm not playin' you, and i'm sure as hell not lettin' anyone else think they have a chance with you. you're my girl now. i'm takin' care of you from here on out, alright?"

BUZZCUT!RAFE whose polo shirts and slacks are strictly for functions, spending most days in high-end loungewear—oversized sweatpants, heavy-hooded streetwear sweatshirts, and sneakers

BUZZCUT!RAFE whose truck always smells like his cologne and your perfume, bass vibrating through the seats. his playlists are a mix of trap, R&B, and rap (think future, gunna, drake, j.cole and brent faiyaz). he knows every lyric, rapping them to you while keeping one hand resting on your thigh

BLACK!KOOK!GF who, to the world, is too gorgeous for your own good, making most label you unapproachable—witty, an envious sense of style, and an air of confidence that makes people naturally clear a path for you. rafe is obsessed, loving that, to everyone else, you look like a woman who wouldn't give anyone the time of day, knowing that the moment you two are alone, you turn into his baby

BUZZCUT!RAFE & BLACK!KOOK!GF who act like two giant, goofy kids when alone (or not). rafe will randomly pick you up and sling you over his shoulder while you're trying to do something, you screaming and hitting his back while he chuckles. you chase each other through the halls of the house, occasionally knocking over a vase or stubbing toes, ending up in a laughing heap on the floor. you drag him into arts and crafts—making him do pottery or painting. he pretends to complain, but always ends up sitting there with a focused look on his face

BUZZCUT!RAFE who loves taking you out on the boat. he captains while you sunbathe on the deck in a designer bikini. he keeps a constant eye on you, stepping away from the wheel just to rub sunscreen onto your back, kissing your shoulders, and whispering how beautiful you look. and when the sun goes down and the breeze picks up, he tosses you a hoodie and pulls you into his lap while the boat drifts, wrapping his arms around you, just content to watch the water.

BLACK!KOOK!GF who doesn't can't spend your money when rafe is around. if you try to pay for your food, drinks, nails, or clothes—anything—he will glare at you, pull out his card, and push yours away. if you somehow manage to pay before he can stop you or he isn't around to stop you, he'll zelle you double the amount with the note, "i'm gonna beat your ass."

BUZZCUT!RAFE who spoils you to a fault, buys you anything you glance at. it reached a point where your closet was overflowing with Chanel, Bottega Veneta, Telfar bags, and endless rows of shoes.

"rafe, seriously, you need to stop buying me stuff. i don't have room for it."

"i'll buy you more room for it, then."

BUZZCUT!RAFE & BLACK!KOOK!GF whose number one love language (besides physical touch) is music. before those headache inducing Cameron family foundation galas or country club charity events, rafe always gets visibly tense—jaw tight, shoulders locked in place under his suit jacket. right before one though, you text him a link to a playlist. now he listens to it on his way to every one

BUZZCUT!RAFE who you'd told casually one night that you can’t read to songs that have lyrics because you get distracted. rafe didn't say anything at the time. but the next morning, you find a playlist in your library titled "focus, baby". it's all instrumentals, some cinematic lo-fi here and there, ambient rap beats, and classical piano tracks he'd spent hours digging up from the memory of the music his biological mother used to listen to with him. he's never shared those songs with anyone, not even sarah

BUZZCUT!RAFE who no longer yells, throws things, or loses his temper. especially not during arguments with you—his frustration showing in a clenched jaw, a hardened gaze, and a deeply firm tone.

BUZZCUT!RAFE who uses blunt language when he's annoyed—"what the fuck are you talkin' about right now?" or "you're saying a whole bunch of bullshit."

BLACK!KOOK!GF who doesn't do arguments in the first place, but hates them with rafe. independent, but a softie with him. if the tension goes on too long, your eyes well up with tears, and the second a tear rolls down your cheek, rafe's shoulders fall and he drops his head, lets out a sigh, and steps to you, pulling you against his chest. but because you're stubborn, you tend to struggle at first, pushing his chest—"get off me." but he never lets go. he just wraps his arms tighter around your waist, buries his face in your neck—"jus' calm down. i'm sorry, alright? just breathe."

BUZZCUT!RAFE whose family approves of you. ward is proud rafe found someone who comes from an established, wealthy kook family with an immaculate reputation. ward sees you as an asset to uphold the Cameron name. sarah was hesitant at first. because of your untouchable exterior, she thought you were a typical clicky, elitist kook girl. but once she actually sat down and talked to you, you two clicked. now, she tends to stop by your house and raid your closet until rafe shows up, kicking her out.

BLACK!KOOK!GF whose parents knew about rafe's wild past and were wary at first. but rafe consistently showed up and proved himself. so much so, that your house became his home. your family gave him the unconditional love his own never could. your mom always cooks and leaves him leftovers. your dad invites him over to sit on the couch, drink a beer, and yell at sports on the tv. he's even met your extended family—your older brother and sister, who have moved away, trust him. when they bring their kids down for the holidays, your nieces and nephews tackle him to the floor yelling, "uncle rafey!". the first time they did that, rafe actually had to step into the bathroom to hide his tears because he had never felt so accepted

BUZZCUT!RAFE & BLACK!KOOK!GF who are the power couple of the island. other kook guys envy rafe, and kook girls try to mirror your style and demeanor. but no one dares disrespect either of you. even pogues were shocked at first. they expected rafe to stay a loose cannon forever. but when they see him out with you—calm, collected, protective, and completely sober—they respect it. they know you don't take any bullshit, and they respect that you seemed to have tamed such a guy just by loving him right

BUZZCUT!RAFE & BLACK!KOOK!GF who had a wild night when you both breathed 'i love you' into each other's mouthes and, weeks later, snuck off to a tattoo shop. you get matching micro-tattoos of each other’s first initials. you get his "R" tucked subtly behind your ear or on the inside of your finger, and he gets your initial in a sharp, clean font on the inside of his wrist

BUZZCUT!RAFE who's still pretty gentle in the bedroom, but when the heat catches up to him, he gets a little rougher. he likes to use his weight to pin you down, hands anchoring your wrists above your head or gripping your hips to guide your movements. he'll bite your shoulder or the skin of your neck. he'll wrap his hand around the base of your hair to tilt your head back for a sloppy kiss

BUZZCUT!RAFE who is overly vocal in the moment. he speaks in a low, raspy murmur right against your ear or mouth., telling you exactly what is it he wants or asking you.

"arch your back f'me,"

"nuh-uh, don't close your eyes, look at me"

"tell me what you want"

"gotta speak up angel, can't hear you"

BUZZCUT!RAFE whose two biggest kinks are breeding and marking. with marking applying to him, specifically. nothing makes him a happier camper than walking around knowing he's covered in hickeys, scratch marks, and the occasional bites—whether people can see them or not

BUZZCUT!RAFE who most likely also has some kind of underlying size kink—loving the way you squirm, muttering things like, "it's too much" or "slow down" or "you're too deep"—especially considering, half the time those words tumble from your lips, he isn't even halfway in yet. he finds it adorable that you sometimes struggle or gag giving him head, you seeming dissatisfied that you couldn't go all the way down on it, but unbeknownst to you for a while, however, it only pushed him closer to that edge

BLACK!KOOK!GF who is just as vocal. kind of a soft brat, you tend to make high-pitched, whiny sounds when he's teasing you or moving too slow. you moan his name, whisper what you want, and even gets relatively sassy even in bed—which only makes him smirk and drive in a little harder just to cut your words off

BLACK!KOOK!GF who, when you have a fresh silk press or a perfectly laid ponytail, always warns him beforehand—"rafe, do not mess up my hair. i'm so fuckin' serious." he'll smirk and promise to be careful, but the moment things get hot and heavy, his hands find the back of your neck, his fingers burying into your hair, sweat sliding off of his body and onto yours, and before you know it, your hair is done for

BLACK!KOOK!GF who, the second it's over, will look in the mirror, see the puffiness at your roots, and let out a dramatic, whiny groan. rafe will walk up behind you, wrap his arms around your waist, kiss your shoulder, and look at your hair in the mirror with a smug, satisfied grin before slapping your ass and pulling away. and, before you can open your mouth to chew him out for it, you hear the chime on your phone—an apple pay notification popping up for $250

but it doesn't stop at your hair, BUZZCUT!RAFE treats your beauty maintenance like a monthly bill that he is solely responsible for. he has his card on file with your nail tech, your lash artist, and your esthetician. if you mention wanting a new tattoo or a new piercing, he just hums, asks you to send him the inspo pic and, from there, you're right to expect a text from him on a random day in the middle of the week with a date and time, the link to one of the more renowned tattoo shops, his only words underneath, 'i already handled the deposit. i'll pay the rest when i take you to get it.' he loves seeing you love yourself, and he takes pride in knowing he’s the one providing it for you

BLACK!KOOK!GF who, because you are very meticulous about your appearance, sometimes refuses to go to a hair stylist—especially when you want a specific look

BUZZCUT!RAFE who both admires and hates when you decide to do your own hair. it's not because he doesn't like the look or the mess it creates for the next 6 to 12 hours—he thinks you look breathtaking in anything, especially boho braids, and he could care less about the hair all over the bathroom floor—it’s because he cannot stand seeing you suffer for hours. when he sees you pulling out the packs of hair and setting up your mirrors, his jaw tightens—"i thought we talked about this. baby, i'll pay double whatever your lady charges to get you in her chair today. i don't want you standing on your feet and cramping your hands up for ten hours straight. it's ridiculous. let me take care of it."

and because BLACK!KOOK!GF has to be the definition of a soft brat, you’ll pout and sigh, rolling your eyes, insisting that nobody else does the parts right or gets the boho curls to sit exactly how you want them.

and BUZZCUT!RAFE, realizing you aren't backing down, sighs and rolls up the sleeves of his hoodie, "alright, fine. then i'm helping. show me." and he'll sit on a stool in your shared bathroom for hours, dedicated to helping you manage your hair. and though his hands are large and calloused from working on cars and boats, the way he touches your head is unbelievably gentle. he's focused on not pulling your edges into the braids along your hairline or causing you any pain. he'll take extra care to make sure your parts are straight, leaning in with his tongue is slightly poking out in concentration.

BUZZCUT!RAFE & BLACK!KOOK!GF who, because you both have to maintain polished personas, during the day at least, the anticipation built up through text is unfathomable. if rafe is stuck in something family or business related, you’ll send him a quick 'fit check' selfie in the mirror. it looks innocent to anyone else, but you're wearing one of the silk or lace sets he bought you under an oversized piece of clothing of his, the material peeking out just enough for only him to see

BUZZCUT!RAFE & BLACK!KOOK!GF who aren't super into BDSM or anything, but love thrill-seeking. rafe loves mirrors, and he will position you so you have to watch exactly what he's doing to you. he also loves using his ties or scarves to lightly bind your hands to the headboard just to watch you squirm and whine for him when he holds back from giving you what you want

BUZZCUT!RAFE & BLACK!KOOK!GF who are pretty calculated risk-takers. you definitely don't do anything reckless in the middle of a crowded lawn, but you utilize private spaces—over the hood of his truck in the garage, out on the boat in the middle of the marsh, the guest bathroom at the country club

BUZZCUT!RAFE & BLACK!KOOK!GF who don't care about PDA. you aren't trashy or messy about it, but rafe especially makes it very clear that you are off the market—hand on your lower back, you clinging to his bicep, his hand on your thigh under tables or in vehicles, you tucked into his side at parties, you fixing his collar, you smoothing his buzzcut as some kind of self-soothing gesture, leaving soft kisses along his jaw and neck and sucking your teeth when he pulls away (needing to calm you down before he'd have to step away and calm himself down)

BUZZCUT!RAFE & BLACK!KOOK!GF who eventually step out from under their parents and move in together, eventually recognizing it as one of the best decisions of their lives

...YEARS LATER

BUZZCUT!RAFE & BLACK!KOOK!GF where you now run a luxury design firm, while rafe manages high-end real estate and his true passion—cars

BUZZCUT!RAFE who dropped a good amount on a massive private garage off the island that houses his growing collection of luxury vehicles—a matte black ferrari, a vintage mercedes-benz, a lamborghini, and a custom bmw—and the only person allowed inside that garage, and allowed to drive those cars besides him, is you. he loves watching you drive his ferrari with your sunglasses on, looking in your element, while he sits in the passenger seat just admiring his view

BUZZCUT!RAFE who gives you your dream proposal, built up and planned over months—years—mentally storing every little thing you said you ever wanted and dreamed of. though, he did almost get cursed out when he didn't answer his phone for hours in favor of planning the proposal in question. the ring was custom and everything that you wanted and you were in tears by the end of the night, saying yes over and over (for more reasons than one)

BUZZCUT!RAFE & BLACK!KOOK!GF who eventually get married (obviously) and have two kids—a boy and a girl.

and remember the matching tattoos? yeah, BUZZCUT!RAFE takes it way further once he’s fully established in his career and away from ward's watchful and judgemental gaze. he gets your full first name tattooed in elegant script over his ribs, right over his heart. he loves looking in the mirror while brushing his teeth, seeing your name permanently etched on his skin. and when your son and daughter are born, rafe immediately books that appointment. he gets their names and birth dates tattooed down his forearm. for a guy who grew up feeling like an unloved afterthought to his own father, wearing his wife and kids on his skin is his proudest badge of honor.

BUZZCUT!RAFE who's a phenomenal father because he knows exactly what not to do based on his own father's parenting. with your son, he always makes sure to tell him how proud of him he is in anything he does. he brings him to the garage, teaching him how engines work and letting him play with tools. he is firm with him, teaching him accountability, his emotions, and most importantly, how to respect women, especially when he isn't being the nicest to his sister

BUZZCUT!RAFE who is doomed as girl dad. your daughter has him wrapped around her little finger. she looks exactly like you, and rafe cannot say no to her, mirroring his struggles with you. he treats her like a princess, buying her every toy she asks for, which results in you having to yell at both of them to stop bringing things into the house when all of her dollhouses start to crowd the space

BUZZCUT!RAFE & BLACK!KOOK!GF whose parenting styles perfectly compliment each other. you're the independent, loving mom who enables their fun, but you also teach them how to speak their minds and be confident in themselves. when it comes to discipline, rafe is the anchor. he never raises his voice at the kids, but he has a very firm, serious dad-voice that immediately makes them stop misbehaving in a way yours can't seem to. he'll kneel down to their eye level, "look at me. we don't act like that in this house. you wouldn't do that with me, so don't do it with her. now, apologize to your mother."

BUZZCUT!RAFE & BLACK!KOOK!GF whose family days involve packing up the truck, blasting some music that the kids now know all the words to by now, and taking them out to a private beach. rafe will carry both kids on his shoulders through the water while you watch from the sand, laughing as you take pictures.

...ODDLY SEXY OBSERVATIONS

outside of being the family each of them always dreamed of, BUZZCUT!RAFE & BLACK!KOOK!GF do still make quality time for one another, indulging in the hobbies of one another

BUZZCUT!RAFE likes the gun range. it helps with discipline and control. he'd started taking you after you gave birth, knowing post-partum anything wasn't the easiest thing to deal with. whenever you two go, he stands directly behind you, chest flush against your back. his hands wrap over yours to help you get the proper grip on the pistol and you don't tell him you've got it because you like it all too much—his frame against your back, his voice in your ear. he speaks in a low, raspy murmur, breath tickling your neck over the sound of the range—"relax your shoulders, baby. don't lock your elbows. line up the sight... right there, there y'go. and remember, squeeze, don't jerk."

nothing beats when BUZZCUT!RAFE drives his truck. whenever he has to reverse, he doesn’t use the backup camera, just throws his left hand on the steering wheel, turns his body, and grips the back of your headrest with his right hand, bicep flexing right next to your face. He'll glance back, steering with one hand, jaw clenched in concentration. it's just such an effortless, masculine thing that turns you on every single time

and he is obsessed with BLACK!KOOK!GF's intimidating confidence. if you two are out anywhere, there's always a chance that some man will try his hand with you, typically when they realize that rafe has left your side for some reason. you don't make a scene or yell, though. you just slowly look the guy up and down with total disdain, a look that never fails to embarrass men who can't take no for an answer or simply disregard the fact that you walked into wherever you were with a man wrapped around you, matching rings on your fingers. and rafe will often walk back just in time to see the guy scurrying away, sliding next to you, a laugh against your skin before he glares at him for the next hour

and, as mentioned, BUZZCUT!RAFE doesn't let anyone touch his cars except you. he finds it hot when you confidently take the keys without question—you'll slide into the driver's seat, adjust his rearview mirror to your height, pull down the sun visor to check your lip gloss, and change his trap music to your own slow R&B playlist. the sheer confidence you have handling his multi-hundred-thousand-dollar machinery like you own it drives him insane in the best way. he'll just lean back in the passenger seat, staring at your profile with pure adoration while you floor the gas.

and lastly, because BLACK!KOOK!GF is incredibly independent but turns into somewhat of a spoiled brat just for him, you have certain mannerisms when you don't get your way. if rafe playfully steals the last bite of your food or tells you 'no' just to tease you, you’ll roll your eyes, suck your teeth, and cross your arms, turning your back to him. to anyone else, that kind of sass wouldn't fly. to rafe, though? it's the hottest thing in the world, a sign that he now has to work to win your attention back. he'll smirk, lean over, wrap his arms around you from behind, and start kissing your jaw until you crack a smile.

"do you really wanna love me forever? or is it just a hit-and-run?"

[lvcstarkey]

i loveee POC!readers , makes my heart happy 💕

[zyafics]

HAPPILY EVER AFTER | 04

MAIN | Social Media AU

Pairing — Rafe Cameron x Female Reader

Summary — If having a fairytale love story guaranteed a happy ending, then, uh, why are you and Rafe getting a divorce?

Content — angst, hurt/comfort, brother's best friend, childhood friends to high school sweethearts to lovers to... divorce?

Navigation — Part 03 | Part 04 | Part 05

IMPORTANT INFO ABOUT TAGLIST AND UPDATES: if you want to be notified about all my fics and updates, follow @zyafics-library and turn on notifications! however, if you want to be added to this specific taglist, let me know (but to remain tagged, you must interact with the posts).

TAGLIST FOR HEA: @grstarkeydrew / @newatthiss / @7-deadly-cats / @amterasuu / @supercoolhotsleepyfunnygirl / @lvcstarkey / @sunsn0w / @lewispool / @nnd-oma / @cooper8224 / @kooksandpearls / @disaster-rose / @theycallherl0ve

[lvcstarkey]

ughh this shit is making me sad can they just kiss again already 💔

[kooksandpearls]

rafe cameron 𖦹 faster!

pairing – rafe cameron x reader summary – rafe learns that “faster” sounds very different depending on whether it’s said on the back of his bike or underneath him. warnings – 18+, sexual content, motorcycle scene, unsafe/reckless driving, speed, adrenaline, suggestive dialogue. notes from me – requested by my bby @theycallherl0ve 😌 thank u diva word count – 0.9k

navigation – masterlist |

The first time she screams, it gets eaten by the helmet and the wind and the ugly, thrilled roar of Rafe Cameron’s bike tearing down the back road. Her arms are locked around his middle so tightly her fingers have started to ache through the fabric of his shirt, thighs clamped on either side of the bike, cheek pressed to the warm curve of his back while the whole world turns into salt air and engine heat and sun-struck blur. 

Trees flash green at the edges of her vision. The road opens silver and empty ahead of them. Rafe leans into a curve with the kind of confidence only available to boys who have never properly believed in consequences, and her stomach lifts clean into her throat.

“Rafe!” she shrieks, laughing so hard it comes out broken. “Oh my God, slow down!”

He can’t hear her properly. She knows he can’t, because the engine is too loud and her voice is trapped inside her helmet and the wind is ripping at every loose part of her, but he feels her. He always feels her. Feels the way she shoves her helmet between his shoulder blades, the way her arms tighten around his ribs, the way she half-smacks his stomach with one flat palm in outrage. 

His shoulders shake once, laughter moving through his body before it reaches the air, and then because he’s terrible and beautiful and missing whatever internal mechanism tells normal people to be nice to girls who are clinging to them for their actual lives, he twists the throttle.

The bike surges. She screams again, louder, pure scandalised joy punching out of her as the road drops beneath them and Rafe laughs properly this time, head tipping just enough that she catches the sharp line of his grin beneath the edge of his helmet. “Rafe Cameron, I swear to God–”

“What?” he calls back, voice rough with laughter. “You said faster?”

“I said slower, you psycho!”

He lifts one hand off the handlebar for half a second to pat her locked fingers against his stomach, patronising and fond enough to make her want to bite through leather. “Hold on then, baby.”

She does. Obviously. She holds on like the wind might take him first and her after, laughing into the back of him, furious with adrenaline, face hot under the helmet, pulse everywhere at once. 

By the time he finally eases off near the dunes, coasting slower with the engine still growling beneath them, her whole body is humming. Rafe turns his head, smug even in profile.

“Still alive,” he says.

She presses her helmet into his back, breathless and warm and already smiling. “Barely.”

He laughs. “Drama.”

The second time she’s screaming, there’s no wind to steal it. Only his room at night, hot and dark around the edges, the fan clicking above them like it’s trying to mind its business and failing. 

Rafe’s over her, all heavy breath and bare shoulders, one hand braced beside her head and the other hooked under her thigh where she’s wrapped herself around his waist like she’s still trying not to fall off something moving too fast. 

The sheets are wrecked beneath them. Her hair is stuck to her neck. His mouth is at her jaw, then her throat, then back at her mouth when she says his name like she’s lost patience.

“Faster,” she gasps, fingers digging into his back. “Rafe– fuck, faster, baby.”

He goes still for half a second. Pausing just enough for the words to land somewhere smug and electric inside him. His head lifts. His eyes are dark in the low light, blue swallowed almost completely, mouth wet from hers and curving in that awful way that means she’s handed him a weapon and he intends to be unbearable about it.

“Oh, yeah?” he says, breath rough, voice dragged low with effort. “Now we’re faster, huh?”

A laugh breaks out of her, helpless and breathy. Of course he finds the joke in it while she’s under him trying to keep her brain functioning. “Uh-huh,” she manages, nodding, legs tightening around his waist. “Now faster.”

His grin flashes, mean and delighted and so stupidly pretty she could hate him for it if her body had room for anything except wanting. “Thought I was a psycho.”

“You are.”

“Thought you wanted me to slow down.”

“Rafe.”

“What?” He dips his head, kissing the corner of her mouth, then her cheek, too sweet for someone currently ruining her. “M’just listening.”

“You’re never listening.”

“I’m listening now.”

Then he moves, and the rest of her sentence disappears into his shoulder as she cries out, one hand flying to the back of his neck, the other twisting in the sheets. He laughs against her skin, she can feel exactly how affected he is in every rough breath, every tightening muscle, every messy loss of rhythm when she says his name again – because Rafe has always loved being asked for the thing he was trying not to give too much of.

“Like that?” he murmurs, mouth brushing her ear.

She nods too fast, half-laughing, half-moaning, nails scraping lightly down his back. “Yeah. Like that.”

His hand slides higher on her thigh, holding her closer, anchoring her under him with a care that would be almost tender if he didn’t look so pleased with himself. “Hold on then, baby,” he says again, voice rough and warm and wrecked around the edges.

So she does.

to be notified when i post new fics, follow @kooksandpearls-library and turn on notifications! i no longer use a taglist for my fics.

[lvcstarkey]

this was a meal

[kooksandpearls]

rafe cameron 𖦹 faster!

pairing – rafe cameron x reader summary – rafe learns that “faster” sounds very different depending on whether it’s said on the back of his bike or underneath him. warnings – 18+, sexual content, motorcycle scene, unsafe/reckless driving, speed, adrenaline, suggestive dialogue. notes from me – requested by my bby @theycallherl0ve 😌 thank u diva word count – 0.9k

navigation – masterlist |

The first time she screams, it gets eaten by the helmet and the wind and the ugly, thrilled roar of Rafe Cameron’s bike tearing down the back road. Her arms are locked around his middle so tightly her fingers have started to ache through the fabric of his shirt, thighs clamped on either side of the bike, cheek pressed to the warm curve of his back while the whole world turns into salt air and engine heat and sun-struck blur. 

Trees flash green at the edges of her vision. The road opens silver and empty ahead of them. Rafe leans into a curve with the kind of confidence only available to boys who have never properly believed in consequences, and her stomach lifts clean into her throat.

“Rafe!” she shrieks, laughing so hard it comes out broken. “Oh my God, slow down!”

He can’t hear her properly. She knows he can’t, because the engine is too loud and her voice is trapped inside her helmet and the wind is ripping at every loose part of her, but he feels her. He always feels her. Feels the way she shoves her helmet between his shoulder blades, the way her arms tighten around his ribs, the way she half-smacks his stomach with one flat palm in outrage. 

His shoulders shake once, laughter moving through his body before it reaches the air, and then because he’s terrible and beautiful and missing whatever internal mechanism tells normal people to be nice to girls who are clinging to them for their actual lives, he twists the throttle.

The bike surges. She screams again, louder, pure scandalised joy punching out of her as the road drops beneath them and Rafe laughs properly this time, head tipping just enough that she catches the sharp line of his grin beneath the edge of his helmet. “Rafe Cameron, I swear to God–”

“What?” he calls back, voice rough with laughter. “You said faster?”

“I said slower, you psycho!”

He lifts one hand off the handlebar for half a second to pat her locked fingers against his stomach, patronising and fond enough to make her want to bite through leather. “Hold on then, baby.”

She does. Obviously. She holds on like the wind might take him first and her after, laughing into the back of him, furious with adrenaline, face hot under the helmet, pulse everywhere at once. 

By the time he finally eases off near the dunes, coasting slower with the engine still growling beneath them, her whole body is humming. Rafe turns his head, smug even in profile.

“Still alive,” he says.

She presses her helmet into his back, breathless and warm and already smiling. “Barely.”

He laughs. “Drama.”

The second time she’s screaming, there’s no wind to steal it. Only his room at night, hot and dark around the edges, the fan clicking above them like it’s trying to mind its business and failing. 

Rafe’s over her, all heavy breath and bare shoulders, one hand braced beside her head and the other hooked under her thigh where she’s wrapped herself around his waist like she’s still trying not to fall off something moving too fast. 

The sheets are wrecked beneath them. Her hair is stuck to her neck. His mouth is at her jaw, then her throat, then back at her mouth when she says his name like she’s lost patience.

“Faster,” she gasps, fingers digging into his back. “Rafe– fuck, faster, baby.”

He goes still for half a second. Pausing just enough for the words to land somewhere smug and electric inside him. His head lifts. His eyes are dark in the low light, blue swallowed almost completely, mouth wet from hers and curving in that awful way that means she’s handed him a weapon and he intends to be unbearable about it.

“Oh, yeah?” he says, breath rough, voice dragged low with effort. “Now we’re faster, huh?”

A laugh breaks out of her, helpless and breathy. Of course he finds the joke in it while she’s under him trying to keep her brain functioning. “Uh-huh,” she manages, nodding, legs tightening around his waist. “Now faster.”

His grin flashes, mean and delighted and so stupidly pretty she could hate him for it if her body had room for anything except wanting. “Thought I was a psycho.”

“You are.”

“Thought you wanted me to slow down.”

“Rafe.”

“What?” He dips his head, kissing the corner of her mouth, then her cheek, too sweet for someone currently ruining her. “M’just listening.”

“You’re never listening.”

“I’m listening now.”

Then he moves, and the rest of her sentence disappears into his shoulder as she cries out, one hand flying to the back of his neck, the other twisting in the sheets. He laughs against her skin, she can feel exactly how affected he is in every rough breath, every tightening muscle, every messy loss of rhythm when she says his name again – because Rafe has always loved being asked for the thing he was trying not to give too much of.

“Like that?” he murmurs, mouth brushing her ear.

She nods too fast, half-laughing, half-moaning, nails scraping lightly down his back. “Yeah. Like that.”

His hand slides higher on her thigh, holding her closer, anchoring her under him with a care that would be almost tender if he didn’t look so pleased with himself. “Hold on then, baby,” he says again, voice rough and warm and wrecked around the edges.

So she does.

to be notified when i post new fics, follow @kooksandpearls-library and turn on notifications! i no longer use a taglist for my fics.

[kooksandpearls]

rafe cameron 𖦹 don't get it twisted.

pairing – husband!rafe cameron x wife!reader summary – rafe is jealous, insufferable, and very convinced that being broken up is just another phase before marriage. warnings – post-breakup tension, jealousy, possessive rafe, alcohol, party setting, swearing, toxic-ish flirting. notes from me – as requested here!!! i decided to turn this into a husband!rafe fic cause... yum 😵‍💫 for context, this is set during college during their three month long break up! word count – 0.6k

navigation – masterlist |

The party is too hot, too loud. There’s beer drying sticky beneath her shoes, somebody shouting over the music about a missing phone, and Rafe Cameron leaning against the kitchen counter like the breakup has improved his posture.

It hasn’t improved anything else.

His hair has grown longer since she last let herself touch it, falling across his forehead in a loose middle part he keeps pushing back with the heel of his hand. He’s wearing a faded blue polo with the collar gone soft and two buttons undone, which feels deliberate in the personal, irritating way everything Rafe does near her feels deliberate now.

He’s been watching her talk to a boy from her economics tutorial for eleven minutes. She knows because she’s counted. Not consciously. That would be pathetic.

“Your friend seems nice,” Rafe says when she finally comes into the kitchen for another drink, his voice pitched casually beneath the music.

She reaches past him for the vodka. “He is.”

“Bit boring.”

“You spoke to him?”

“Didn’t need to.”

She twists the cap off harder than necessary. “Right. Forgot you can identify personality defects through walls.”

Rafe’s mouth pulls sideways. “I’ve got a gift.”

“You should get it appraised.”

He watches her pour, eyes dropping briefly to her hand and then to the thin strip of skin showing where her top has ridden above her jeans. It’s not a polite look. Rafe has never looked at her politely in his life, not even when they were fifteen and he used to pretend he needed help with chemistry despite having no intention of passing chemistry.

Her stomach tightens anyway, traitorous and immediate.

“Thought you hated vodka,” he says.

“I’ve developed.”

“In three months?”

“People grow.”

“Yeah?” Rafe tips his head, gaze moving slowly over her face. “You seem about the same.”

She smiles without warmth. “You seem worse.”

His laugh is quiet, almost pleased. That’s the problem with being cruel to Rafe: he takes it as flirting if she looks pretty while doing it.

Behind them, someone opens the fridge and stares inside for several seconds before walking away with nothing. The bass rattles through the cupboards. Rafe shifts closer, enough that she catches the clean, familiar smell of his cologne beneath beer and summer heat.

“You gonna go home with him?” he asks.

She takes a sip and lets the vodka burn before answering. “Maybe.”

His jaw moves once. It’s tiny. Satisfying. “Don’t,” he says.

Her eyebrows lift. “Sorry?”

“He looks like he says ‘gosh’ during sex.”

The laugh escapes her before she can stop it, sharp enough that she nearly spills her drink. Rafe grins, victory bright across his face, and she hates the warmth that opens beneath her ribs at the sight of it – young and stupid and familiar enough to feel like walking into a room she still has a key for.

“You’re such an asshole,” she says.

“Yeah.”

“And we’re broken up.”

“Temporarily,” he shrugs.

She stares at him. “That’s not how breaking up works.”

“It is for us.”

“There is no us.”

Rafe’s eyes flick over her mouth. “Keep sayin’ it.”

The room seems to pull tighter around them, all heat and noise and the unbearable inch of air he refuses to cross. Her fingers tighten around the plastic cup. His gaze notices that too.

She steps back first because one of them has to possess survival instinct. “Enjoy the party, Cameron.”

“Baby.”

She keeps walking, weaving around a couple making out badly beside the stairs.

Behind her, Rafe calls, perfectly calm, “You’re gonna be my wife. Don’t get it twisted.”

Several people turn. She doesn’t. She only lifts one hand over her shoulder and gives him the finger as she disappears into the crowd, smiling so hard her cheeks hurt.

to be notified when i post new fics, follow @kooksandpearls-library and turn on notifications! i no longer use a taglist for my fics.

[lvcstarkey]

fuck your writing is beautiful

[kooksandpearls]

GRACE VAN PATTEN as SLOANE CARRINGTON & DREW STARKEY as RAFE CAMERON in season four of deep blue

[filmjules]

⋆˙⟡ BSF!DEAN OFFERING TO HELP YOU OUT AFTER HE FOUND OUT YOU WERE A VIRGIN ꣑ৎ ( nsfw )

“Wait, are you..?” Dean trailed off, sitting up from where he was laid out on the couch. He invited you over for a movie night, claiming he hadn’t seen you in soooo long and you needed to hang out with him again.

Totally unrelated, all of his roommates were at their girlfriends’ places for the night.

You felt your cheeks warm, the thought of verbally admitting you’d never actually had sex far too embarrassing. It wasn’t like you didn’t want to, it had just never happened naturally.

Guys had tried, but it always felt like a bad idea. Like you would regret it after, wishing you’d just taken care of yourself at home.

It wasn’t a religious thing, you weren’t saving yourself for marriage. You just didn’t want to regret it. You only wanted to do it if you were 100% sure and that hadn’t happened yet.

“Well, I mean I haven’t like—” you trailed off, feeling a pit in your stomach. “I’ve done stuff.”

One of his eyebrows popped up, his ridiculously large smile terribly hidden. “Look, I’m not judging. I’m just... Surprised?” his eyes flickered over your body and back up to your eyes. “You’re like, objectively hot.”

You rolled your eyes, feeling the knot in your stomach turn to heat. “It’s not like there haven’t been opportunities, jackass. I just don’t want some disgusting douchebag to be my first.”

Dean noticed the way you were fidgeting with your sleeves, avoiding eye contact with him. He felt bad for making you feel uncomfortable but he was genuinely in disbelief.

“Is it like... You want it to be special?” his voice came out softer than before, the humor in it almost entirely gone.

Shaking your head, you told him the truth you’d kept to yourself for years, “No, it’s just—every time I tried, it was like either the guy was gross, or he literally saw me as a fucking fleshlight, or he was trying to do crazy shit, and I’m just scared,” you laughed in self-pity, “I know it’ll probably hurt, and I just want to trust whoever I’m fucking to not hurt me. But that’s not a hook-up thing, and I’m not in a relationship, so...”

There was a long silence between you, the only sound in the house coming from the tv playing whatever comedy movie Dean put on when you first got there.

Dean chuckled to himself a little, “What if... I helped you out?”

You knew Dean was a horny guy, but you wouldn’t in a million years expect him to try to fuck you.

The offer literally had you speechless.

“Look, I don’t mean it in a weird way, okay? But I mean, you know I know my way around a woman. And you can trust me. It’s an exchange between friends, nothing crazy.”

You were starting to consider it, his stupid explanations actually sounding somewhat reasonable.

“What exactly is the exchange? What are you getting out of it?” You weren’t planning on selling your body when you agreed to coming over.

His typical smirk flashed across his face as he replied, “I get to have sex with a girl and not feel like I’m being used as a dildo.”

You snickered, “actually, I think it’s the opposite. I’m literally just using you for your dick.”

“Potato, puhtahto,” he shrugged.

“I thought it was ‘tomato, tomahto’?”

He rolled his eyes, leaning so close to your face that you could feel his minty breath on your lips. “Do you want me to fuck you or not?”

Squinting your eyes at him, you nodded, “Yeah. You promise it won’t make things weird between us?”

“Pinky,” he stuck his pinky up to you, waiting for you to finish it.

The second your pinky laced with his, his mouth was on yours. He let you start kissing back before he progressed, his hand finding it’s place on your neck. “C’mon, my room,” he mumbled against your lips, pulling away.

You followed him up the stairs, biting your tongue to not make a joke about how you’re special because you get his bed.

But the closer you got to his room, the more nervous you got. Your mind was racing with a thousand issues that could come from this, yet you didn’t want to stop.

The click of the door shutting made it feel impossibly real, the realization that you would never look at his room the same after today invading your brain.

“Stop overthinking it,” Dean spoke, his body so close to yours you were sure you could feel the warmth radiating off of him.

“I’m trying,” you whispered, leaning forward just an inch, closing the gap between you. “Kiss me.”

You didn’t have to tell Dean twice.

His lips met yours in a heated kiss, the intensity of it compared to the one downstairs throwing you for a loop. His tongue was in your mouth, yours in his, and his fingers were brushing the skin underneath your waistband.

“Are you sure? Hundred percent?” he asked, pulling back enough to look you in the eyes.

“I’m sure.”

The second the words came out of your mouth, he pulled you closer by your waist, walking you backward until his legs hit the bed and you fell on top of him.

His hands slid up your shirt, the warmth of his fingers against your cool skin giving you goosebumps. “Can I take this off?” he asked, bunching up your shirt in his hands.

“Mhm,” you nodded, putting your arms up to help him pull it off.

You thanked whatever made you choose to wear cute underwear today, because you weren’t originally planning on anyone seeing it, yet here you were.

He leaned forward, leaving open-mouthed kisses all over your bare skin. His hands were steady on your hips, pulling you down to grind against him while he worked his mouth on you.

Your hands rested on his shoulders, suddenly thankful for his aversion to wearing a shirt around the house.

You felt his right hand find your bra clasp, a moment of hesitation in him before he unclipped it. “Okay?”

“I’ll tell you if it’s not.”

He rolled his eyes as he pressed another kiss to your neck, this one getting a little bit of extra attention.

The loose bra straps fell forward, exposing your entire chest. Your nipples perked up at the sudden cold air, hardening within seconds. “Jesus, dude, you’re fucking gorgeous.”

“Is calling me ‘dude’ your way of keeping this friendly?”

He scoffed, throwing your bra on the floor. “No…”

“You’re so weird,” you laughed, “Just, act like you normally would.”

Nodding, he spoke in his low voice, “I can do that.” Then he flipped you over on your back, hovering over you while his lips dragged kisses down your body. “Ever been eaten out before?”

You squeaked when your back hit the mattress, pulling a giggle from your chest as he moved his way down. “Nope, only ever been asked to give head, never to get it.”

“Well, we’re changing that today. Ain’t that right?” he whispered as he pulled your pants off, his warm breath fanning over your barely clothed pussy. “Y’want that?”

You whimpered a pathetic, “mhm,” and nodded, your hole clenching around nothing as he kissed right beside where you needed him.

His fingers dipped in your waistband, pulling it down your legs tantalizingly slow. The anticipation was killing you, your heart beating out of your chest.

He ran his hands up and down your thighs soothingly as he spread you open, his eyes focusing solely on your pussy. You started feeling self-conscious by how long he was staring, trying to close your legs and quit this while you could, but he held you open.

“So wet for me,” he muttered as two of his fingers slid between your folds, gently pressing against your entrance without slipping in. “So fucking pretty.”

“Dean,” you groaned, “Are you gonna do something, or not?”

He clicked his tongue, “Sorry, sweetheart. I’m just admiring the view.”

“Mhm,” you sassed.

“Have you ever been fingered?”

Fighting the urge to roll your eyes, you tell him, “Yes. Plus my own. A lot.”

His grin widened but he didn’t press on it further, he could always do that later. His tongue darted out, licking a stripe up your folds to get a first taste.

Moaning against you, his constant lapping at your cunt was a feeling you’d never expected to be so good. He wasn’t slowing down, either. Licking, sucking, at one point you even felt his teeth gently scrape against your clit—the feeling oddly good.

You were writhing under him, your back arching off the bed until one of his hands came to press you flat. The other started teasing your hole with just one finger, easily slipping in and out.

Just as he hit a specific spot inside you, his mouth came up to suck harshly on your clit. Your legs shook, almost missing when he added his other finger.

“Fuck, Dean. How are you so—” you cut yourself off with a loud moan, slapping your hand over your mouth.

He pulled away—without stopping his fingers—just enough to look you in the eye and say, “Don’t quiet yourself. Nobody’s home, and I want to hear how good I’m making you feel.”

“Okay. Okay. Jesus fuck,” you whined as a third finger slipped in your soaking cunt, stretching you out.

His fingers were longer and thicker than yours, more skilled than anyone else that’d fingered you before. They were sloppy and lazy and you had to practically teach them basic anatomy.

Dean was already amazing at it.

A tight knot was forming in your core, the familiar feeling of an orgasm building up as Dean relentlessly finger fucked you. “Dean,” you breathed, your fingers finding and gripping his messy blonde hair. “I’m gonna—”

“Uh-huh,” Dean hummed as he licked you through your orgasm, his other hand gripping your shaky thighs.

You gasped a deep breath when he finally let up, trying to direct oxygen back into your brain. “Holy shit, what is wrong with you?” you laughed, throwing your arm over your eyes as Dean sat up, towering over you.

“What?” his lips twitching up like he wasn’t sure if he was supposed to laugh or not, “I just gave you the best orgasm of your life and—”

“Says who?”

“Are you saying it wasn’t?”

Your eyes darted to the other side of the room before you replied, “Can you just—”

“You haven’t said a full sentence since I put my mouth on you,” he scoffed, the playful fire in his eyes telling you he wasn’t going to drop this. “Admit it. Admit that was the best orgasm of your life and I’ll fuck you without another word.”

“Want me to scream it out the window too?” you asked, deflecting as long as you could.

He shrugged, a cocky look on his face as he mumbled, “Eh, it wouldn’t hurt.”

Ignoring him, you leaned up, your face lining right up with his very obvious bulge. Your fingers gripped on his waistband, slowly sliding it off to reveal his lack of boxers.

A quiet giggle bubbled out of your chest before you could stop it. “Really? No shirt and no underwear?”

“Dude,” he groaned, ignoring you to finish taking his pants off. “It’s convenient.”

“Were you planning on sticking your dick in me?”

“No! Oh my god. For peeing. It’s convenient for peeing. Get your mind out of the gutter.”

You rolled your eyes, laying on your back. “Okay, I’m ready.”

You could hear him sighing and shuffling around before his huge body was hovering over yours, one of his arms down and rolling a condom onto his already fully-erect dick. “Are you still—”

“Oh my god, Dean. Yes. Please.”

He nodded, lining up his tip with your aching hole. “Y’gotta relax for me. It’ll feel better if you do, okay?”

Nodding, you tried to let your muscles slacken. His lips were back on yours, a deep and controlled kiss that almost distracted you from the stretch of his cock sliding into you.

“Oh, fucking shit,” you strangled out, feeling a mix of pain and pleasure as Dean stilled. You took a deep breath and grabbed onto his biceps, “Okay. Keep going.”

He smirked, biting his lip as he slowly pushed himself further in.

His head fell to your shoulder, pressing his lips to your neck. But this time wasn’t a distraction for you. He needed something to focus on so he didn’t slam himself to the hilt.

Your moans were urging him on, your nails digging into various parts of his upper body. He stopped once he was fully in, feeling the need to check in again. “Does it hurt?”

Shaking your head, you whispered, “Just a little. But a good kind of hurt. I’m okay, really.”

The words seemed to comfort him, his back muscles loosening just a little. “Tell me when you’re ready for me to move.”

He was still pressing small kisses along your neck, eventually moving to your lips for a deeper, messier kiss. Your hand found the nape of his neck, pulling him closer against you.

You whispered against his lips, “I’m ready.”

You could feel him smile against your mouth, his hips starting to back up and come back down. His pace started slow, the pain turning into pleasure as his thick cock rammed into you.

“Fuck. Faster,” you panted, Dean’s actions quickly reflecting your words. He was still holding back, still being gentle, but giving you what you wanted.

His hips snapped back and forth, bringing that very familiar feeling back to your stomach. Dean was back to sucking on your neck, feeling his own orgasm start to build up.

Without warning, his hand slid between your sweaty bodies to rub circles on your clit. That tight knot in your core was already coming undone, your entire body squirming from the pleasure of your release.

“Fuck, I’m gonna...” Dean trailed off as you felt his warm cum fill the condom inside you, riding you through your orgasm.

He pulled out slowly once you’d finished, pressing a small kiss to your lips to distract you from the sensitivity of him sliding out.

Your chest was rising and falling quickly, still trying to catch up to the current moment. “Wow,” you breathed, feeling Dean’s heavy body drop beside yours after he took care of the condom.

“Still don’t wanna admit it’s the best orgasm you’ve ever had?”

You scoffed, throwing your arm over his bare chest. “You already know it is, you don’t need that extra ego boost.”

His laugh carried throughout the room, “Yeah, that’s probably true.” You shut your eyes, letting yourself breath for a minute before you went and washed up.

“So... Just to be clear... You don’t regret it, right?”

You shook your head. “No. That was actually really good. I’m glad I waited.”

Hearing his tongue click again, you turned your head to face him. “Y’wanna try shower sex next?”

masterlist

note ᥫ᭡.ִֶָ𓂃 i feel like i’m so bad at ending smut cuz it’s so awkward but like wtv 😣 i kinda just realized the request never straight up said that they do it so i’m hoping that’s what they wanted LMAO also ts is not proofread my head hurts so fricking bad rn i cannot be bothered 😪