rafesdrew

u + me = <3

[rafesdrew]

࿐໋ ♥︎ nav

౨ৎ foolish one

els! 19, she/her, scorpio 🍸

i write for rafe cameron & drew starkey ❤︎︎

🩰 bookshelf , malibox , rules !

🏹 all fic recommendations under “ elsᰔrecs “

🦢 all works are found under “ rafesdrew 𝜗𝜚 “

[secretlyrafes]

It Has Always Been You

────────── ౨ৎ ───────────

SMAU MASTERLIST

Synopsis: you and Rafe grew up inseparable. From scraped knees on Figure Eight pavement to sneaking sips of Ward’s whiskey on the roof of your house, every memory had the other in it. Somewhere between childhood and growing up, the lines between friendship and something more started to blur.

Part 1 Part 4 Part 7

Part 2 Part 5 Part 8

Part 3 Part 6 Part 9

────────── ౨ৎ ───────────

[zyafics]

HAPPILY EVER AFTER | 09

MAIN | Masterlist (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 08 | Part 09 | Part 10

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 / @rafecameronsgirlll / @heathandrewstarkey / @downbadwellread / @torahwrites / @lilyyyyy08 / @genny101 / @asteria35308 / @stelleduarte / @nunita24 / @mysticbby2009 / @angelicameron

[starkeymedia]

DREW STARKEY in the new episode of ‘LUCKY’

[rafesdrew]

Ohhhh I’m tweaking

[zyafics]

HAPPILY EVER AFTER | 07

MAIN | Masterlist (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 06 | Part 07 | Part 08

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 / @rafecameronsgirlll / @heathandrewstarkey / @downbadwellread / @torahwrites / @lilyyyyy08 / @genny101 / @asteria35308 / @stelleduarte

[7-deadly-cats]

⋆.˚ BLURRED LINES — THERAPIST!RAFE x CLIENT!READER

MASTERLIST | ONGOING // JOIN THE COMMUNITY

!!! images are not depicting reader’s appearance. only capturing vibes !!!

⋆.˚ GENRE ˚.⋆ smau | right person, wrong time | slow-burn | age gap

⋆.˚ SYNOPSYS ˚.⋆ fresh out of college and struggling with emotional burnout, you escape to the outer banks for six months to figure out what the hell you’re supposed to do with your life. unfortunately, insomnia, anxiety, and questionable coping mechanisms follow you all the way from nyc, making your impulsive and sometimes reckless behavior increasingly difficult to ignore.

therapy with dr. rafe cameron is meant to help you get your shit together, not make everything significantly more complicated. but what happens when the one person helping you untangle your life is also the one person you already know you shouldn’t get too close to?

⋆.˚ CONTENT INFO ˚.⋆ fem!reader, swearing, suggestive language & themes, anxiety / insomnia / depression, substance use, unhealthy coping mechanisms, intrusive thoughts, emotional dependency, family pressure, age gap (reader 25 & rafe 35), patient–therapist dynamic, professional boundary issues, kinda power imbalance, and relationship tension, NO suicidal themes or intentional physical self-harm

please note: i’ve never been in therapy, nor am i a therapist. any content, themes, or information shown here are based on research and creative choices. differences from real laws, procedures, or professional practices exist solely for the sake of fiction.

⋆.˚ AUTHOR'S NOTE ˚.⋆ so nervous about this bc in my head this is peak fiction but i'm scared it won't live up to my expectations. anyway, this is actually my first smau series ever i'm gonna start, and a huge inspiration for this was @zyafics bc her smaus are always so beautiful and creative. i felt motivated to also put in more effort <3 xx ᓚᘏᗢ

⋆.˚ INTRODUCTIONS ˚.⋆ ➥ reader ➥ cameron&carrera counseling

01 | 02 | 03 | ... | finale

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

[zyafics]

HAPPILY EVER AFTER | Masterlist

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, marriage in crisis, hurt/comfort, brother's best friend, childhood friends to high school sweethearts to lovers to divorce, drama

NAVIGATION

hea asks –

TABLE OF CONTENT —

Part 01 💍 Part 02 💍 Part 03 💍 Part 04 💍 Part 05

Part 06 💍 Part 07 💍 Part 08 💍 Part 09 💍 Part 10

EXTRAS —

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).

[bittersweetlyblue]

there are exactly three people in the world who know about you and rafe. you, rafe & the moon. somehow every important conversation seems to happen after midnight.

you've never kissed him beneath the sun. never held his hand where anyone could see. never let him walk you home.

instead, he parks his truck at the edge of figure eight long after everyone else has gone to bed, and you sneak out through your bedroom window like you're eighteen again instead of twenty-four.

it's ridiculous. and yet every time he smiles at you across the hood of his truck, every time he reaches over the center console to lace his fingers through yours, every time he quietly says, "missed you, sweetheart," you convince yourself the secrecy is temporary.

just until you figure out how to tell jj. just until there's a right time. just until... you stop lying to yourself. there is no right time. there never will be.

"he's gonna hate me."

you're lying with your head in rafe's lap, watching the stars while he absentmindedly runs his fingers through your hair.

"he already hates me."

"that's different."

"how?"

"because now he'd hate you."

rafe smiles faintly. "think i'm used to that."

you sit up. "don't joke."

"wasn't." he says it so simply that your chest aches. you know his reputation. you know how many chances he's wasted, how many bridges he's burned.

jj has spent years telling you exactly what he thinks of rafe cameron. selfish. dangerous. a spoiled rich kid who only ever hurts people. and maybe, once upon a time, he wasn't entirely wrong.

you cup rafe's face between your hands. "you're not him anymore."

his eyes search yours. "you sure?"

you don't answer with words. you kiss him instead.

keeping the secret starts to hurt but not because of rafe. every lie to jj feels heavier than the last.

"where were you last night?"

"kelcie wanted help moving."

lie.

"why're you smiling?"

"nothing."

lie.

"who keeps texting you?"

"work."

lie. lie. lie.

jj doesn't notice. not at first. he trusts you too much.

it's pope who almost catches on. you're all eating at the chateau when your phone buzzes across the table. the screen lights up.

rafe 🤍

your heart stops. without thinking, you flip the phone over. too quickly. pope raises an eyebrow.

"everything okay?"

"yeah."

your voice comes out too fast. "just spam."

jj barely glances up from his plate. "block it."

you force a smile. "yeah."

"i hate lying to him."

rafe's sitting on the tailgate of his truck, your legs draped across his lap. he nods. "i know."

"he's my brother."

"i know."

"he's gonna think i chose you over him."

rafe looks away, toward the ocean. "maybe don't tell him."

you stare. "what?"

"if this is what it costs." he shrugs once, trying to sound casual. "i'll take the secret." you know him well enough to hear what he isn't saying. i'd rather have half of you than lose you completely.

your heart breaks a little. "rafe..."

"i mean it." he gives you a small smile. "i've lived with people hatin' me before."

you reach for his hand immediately. "i'm not hiding you because i'm ashamed."

"i know."

"i'm hiding you because i'm scared."

"i know."

that's the problem. he always knows.

it happens on a sunday. the kind of humid afternoon where the air feels too thick to breathe. jj tells you he's heading out fishing with pope. you tell him you're going into town. another lie. rafe's waiting for you at an empty stretch of beach. the one nobody really visits anymore.

you spend hours there. at one point you rest your head against his shoulder. "this feels normal."

he hums. "yeah."

"i wish it was."

he kisses the top of your head. "me too."

you never hear the truck pull up. never hear footsteps in the sand. the first thing you hear is your name. not softly, not gently. just: "what the hell?"

your entire body goes rigid. rafe turns before you do. his face immediately drains of color.

jj.

standing twenty feet away. fishing gear still in the bed of his truck. looking at the two of you like the world has just split open beneath his feet. his eyes flick down, to where rafe's hand is still holding yours, then back up again.

"...tell me i'm seein' things."

nobody answers. nobody can. there is nothing left to deny.

jj laughs. one short, disbelieving laugh. "you're kidding." he looks at you. "you're with him?"

your throat closes. "jj —"

"no." his voice cracks. "don't 'jj' me."

he points at rafe. "him?"

rafe slowly stands. "maybank —"

"don't."

jj's head snaps toward him. "you don't get to say my name. how long?" jj asks without looking away from you. wehn you're silent, he barks out aggressively, "how long?"

"eight months."

he just stares like he genuinely can't process the number. "eight..." he laughs again. "eight months." his eyes start glistening. "eight months." every repetition hurts more. "every dinner." he looks at you. "every time i asked where you were, you lied."

tears blur your vision. "i was scared."

"of me?"

"yes."

the honesty lands like a slap. jj physically recoils. "wow."

"jj, please."

"no." he shakes his head. "don't stand there cryin' now." he looks between the two of you. "you made me feel stupid."

"you weren't—"

"i defended you." his voice rises. "every single time somebody said you were actin' weird, i told 'em they were wrong." his eyes find yours again. "turns out i was the only idiot who didn't know."

"this isn't her fault." rafe finally speaks.

jj spins toward him. "shut your mouth."

"i'm serious."

"you think i care?" rafe doesn't move, doesn't argue. just quietly says, "i told her not to tell you."

you immediately look at him. "rafe —"

"it's true."

jj laughs bitterly. "how noble."

"i didn't wanna be the reason she lost her brother."

"too late."

the words are barely above a whisper but they hit harder than anything else, too late. jj leaves. he doesn't yell again, doesn't throw a punch. doesn't even look back. he just gets in his truck and drives away.

he doesn't answer your calls. or your texts. or the dozen voicemails where you're crying too hard to finish a sentence. days become weeks. everyone notices something happened. nobody asks.

pope figures it out anyway. he doesn't say anything. just squeezes your shoulder one afternoon before quietly walking away.

one evening you find jj sitting alone on the dock. he hears your footsteps but doesn't turn around. you stop a few feet behind him. "i miss you." silence. "i know you hate me." more silence. "but i miss my brother."

his shoulders tense. "that's funny." his voice is tired. "i miss my sister."

"jj..."

"the one i had would've told me." he finally looks at you, eyes red & hurt. "you let me find out like everyone else."

tears spill freely now. "i never wanted that."

"but it's what happened."

you nod. it is.

"does he make you happy?" the question catches you off guard.

"yes."

jj closes his eyes, takes a slow breath. "then i'm tryin' real hard not to hate you for that." he stands, walks past you, then stops, without looking back, he quietly says, "i'm not ready to forgive either of you."

your heart sinks. "but..."

he swallows. "i don't wanna lose my sister forever, either."

© BITTERSWEETLYBLUE. do not copy, translate, edit my work then claim it as your own, attempt to plagarise or repost it on any other website nor feed into AI. you will be blocked.

taglist: @heathandrewstarkey , @corallandtragedy3 , @awrad2 , @filthyrafe , @bonjourjiminie , @dopepeacedestiny , @unicornyogakween , @eerilyjaggedconstruct , @heartsforvenus , @skkeletonns , @bonni-98 , @ljh22 , @shmd-nora , @harrrrystylesslut , @angel06babysworld , @rosiecherie , @loveislikeathunder , @shewants7 , @ssugartalkin , @kurtcobaintbh , @ana09hb , @be0m9yu, @octoberbxby , @joelmillrenthusiast , @drewsbby , @sex-the1975 , @rafesbunnygirl , @yogurts-things , @justacloverrr , @mar7vamp , @miaisboredd , @selfcontollover07 , @russianscream , @maddiefuckingperez , @mimimeowxzs , @77uchiha77 , @iamtheraine , @applespider0 , @wildflowerwildfire1201 , @drewstarkeyswife-7 , @faye7winter , @crystallinene , @bronsonmeydiluver , @notvickyyy ,@rcamerons , @ninavie , @kravitzwhore , @pinkdaydreamsblog , @writteninpinkpen , @songkangslvr , @loveforbucky , @saintlaurentcowboyyy , @justleftdaliquorsto , @kksturns , @lissaexe , @pinkitty97 , @houseofcupids , @cooper8224 , @isastarset , @iyannaunicorn , @yohathatsmyname , @my-therapist-hates-me , @writteninpinkpen , @songkangslvr , @itztimeeee

based on this request, thank you!

[rafesdrew]

Tears streaming down my face I love this so much

[clarkslvbug]

lovebug!reader x frat!rafecameron

rosy cheeks. soft kisses. doodled initials. cherry lip balm. polaroids. ladybug tats. giggles. warm hugs. love letters. strawberries. daydreams. holding hands. polka dot tights. handwritten notes.

works (requests open)

how lovebug!reader && frat!rafe met

equations & rom coms

matching ladybugs

drunk dials & car rides home

“i’m sorry, bug”

bam. frat boy went down

“get the fuck outta here”

“too much?”

don’t let me talk to you like that

[xomiamore]

₊✩ one

series masterlist

synopsis bsf!rafe x f!reader — college au

rafe and y/n have been bestfriends for years. but what happens when she has pushed her true feelings to the side, for it all to catch up to her?

AUTHORS NOTE just a short lil intro to the set the scene :)) chapter 2 is way better so pls keep reading x

────﹒♡﹒────

knowing rafe since middle school set the unlucky precendent of being just friends. platonic was something that was established earlier on, and felt like what we would always be.

i had accepted it now that i was in college. but its okay, because my life is more than some unrequited love.

kiara and i had a really early class on mondays, so we’d usually get breakfast with sarah after, who’d join once she woke up.

'…good morning girls! how are we feeling?' sarah smiled as she approached the booth kie and i had reserved at the local cafe.

'feeling good sarah how are you?' i replied, a smile tugging at my lips as she sat across from me.

'why do you always look so suspicious?' sarah said.

i laughed before apologising, 'i'm sorry! your presence just makes me happy.'

as we ate our food we had caught up on what we did over the weekend away from each other.

'also, did we make a decision about going to that frat party on friday?' kiara asked.

'i'm happy to go, but i don't mind if we don't.' i answered, digging into the last few bits of my pancake.

'i think we should go, we need to let lose now that the wave of assignments is over.' sarah replied.

'okay lets go! should we plan now?' kiara offered.

'might as well. i know rafes going but we will probably just meet him there. who is coming with us? i assume john b and jj?' i asked, having talked to rafe about the same party the other day.

'i'll ask john b. he'll probably come if jj comes.' sarah replied.

‘jj will definitely come.’ kiara nods.

'ok cute! we're going to have so much fun. i think rafe will bring ava though.' sarah informed us, mainly me in which i playfully roll my eyes in response.

in highschool i had a small crush on rafe that sarah and kiara were still hung up on. they swore we were soulmates. though i've stated that im over it, they claim i'm not.

i did have real feelings for him at one point though, and it was hard not to. as my bestfriend he treated me very well. and having kissed twice (circumstantially), it didn’t help my will to not like him. kissing was really intimate for me, even if it was just from seven minutes in heaven and being drunk on new years. but i wasn't going to kid myself. the kisses were circumstantial. i didn't want to live in a state of delusion or have hope just to get my feelings hurt, so i learnt to accept it and move on. but that didn't mean all those feelings just disappeared.

nowadays i didn't bother with anything romantical in association with rafe. i hadn't expressed any recent crushing on him, but sarah and kiara weren't dumb. they knew that it wasn’t a random crush and that it was true feelings.

don't get me wrong though. even if i wasn't as over rafe as i claimed to be, i'd moved on. i had other things in my life, opportunities with other men and the bestest friends any girl could ask for.

'sarah it really doesn't matter. lets go out and have a good time ok?' i replied. i received a knowing look from both the girls.

'ok y/n. sure.' kiara said.

[kooksandpearls]

rafe cameron 𖦹 meanie.

pairing – rafe cameron x reader summary – rafe cameron embarrasses his girl at a party, then has to carry the argument down the beach before the ocean gets involved. warnings – angst, relationship argument, alcohol, intoxication, public confrontation, drunk beach walk, strong language notes from me – omg this is my first rafe fic that isn't deep blue... i'm scared... be nice lol 🫣 word count – 5.3k

navigation – masterlist |

The party has already ruined itself by the time she decides to leave it. It happens in pieces. A drink too warm in her hand. Someone else’s perfume sitting too thick in the hallway. The low, sticky press of bodies in a house built with enough money to provide proper airflow and apparently no moral interest in doing so. 

Kelce laughing too loudly near the kitchen island. Topper saying something irritating and not technically offensive, which is almost more annoying because then she has to be reasonable about hating it. Rafe leaning one hip against the counter with a beer he barely touches and that flat, edged smile on his mouth that means he’s half in the room and half somewhere uglier.

He’s been like that all night. Buzzcut making every shift in his face feel sharper, less boyish, harder to ignore. Dark t-shirt, chain at his neck, shoulders drawn loose in a way that would have looked relaxed to anyone stupid enough not to know him. But she does know him. She knows the difference between Rafe relaxed and Rafe performing the idea of relaxed while his jaw works like there’s something alive under the skin trying to chew its way out.

She had asked him once if he was okay. He had said, “M’fine.”

She had believed him for approximately zero seconds and then, because she’s committed to personal growth only when it’s convenient, decided to leave it alone.

That lasts until some girl from the Island Club crowd – one of those glossy, blank-faced Kook girls with perfect hair and the emotional depth of a champagne flute – leans across Rafe to grab a bottle of tequila and says something about how he’s so scary now in this bright little voice that wants scary to sound like a compliment. 

Rafe smiles at her, with enough teeth to make the girl laugh and touch his arm like she’s found him charming instead of mildly unwell.

And maybe it shouldn’t matter. It doesn’t matter, not really. She’s not jealous of a girl who’s spent the whole night trying to make eye contact with any man wearing a watch. She’s not. She has dignity, somewhere, probably in the car with her lip gloss and the part of her that told her not to do tequila shots after midnight.

But Rafe’s already in a mood, and the girl touching him makes something small and mean click into place inside her.

“Can you not do that?” she says, quieter than the music but not quiet enough.

Rafe turns his head. It should’ve been nothing. A warning shot at most. She can see the exact second he decides not to let it be nothing. His eyes move over her face, then past her, catching on the two boys pretending not to listen by the sink, the girl still holding the bottle, Kelce looking down at his cup like it has suddenly become a legal document.

His mouth does that awful little almost-smile. “Do what?”

He knows what she means and still makes her say it in front of people because something in him has been looking for a place to put its teeth all night.

She feels heat climb up her neck so fast it almost makes her light-headed. “Never mind.”

“No, say it.”

“Rafe.”

“What?” He spreads one hand slightly, beer bottle loose between his fingers. “You got somethin’ to say, say it.”

The girl with the tequila makes an uncomfortable little sound, which somehow makes it worse, like they’re now a scene. Like the room has tilted toward them in that disgusting, hungry way rooms do when rich drunk people sense entertainment arriving in the shape of someone else’s humiliation.

She looks at him for one second, really looks, and sees the regret flash there too late. Tiny. Buried. Immediately covered by pride because God forbid Rafe Cameron ever take one quiet step back when he could set the whole porch on fire and then stand in the smoke looking offended.

“Fine,” she says, and hears the brightness in her own voice, too thin and too drunk and too sharp. “You’re being an asshole.”

His face closes.

Kelce mutters, “Jesus,” under his breath, like that’s helpful, like men haven't been worsening situations with commentary since the beginning of recorded history.

Rafe sets his beer down. Too controlled. Too soft against the counter. “Watch it.”

It’s not the worst thing he could have said. It’s probably not even in the top twenty. But it lands exactly wrong, in front of everyone, with that tone. Like she’s something he can correct. Like she’s one more thing in the room embarrassing him.

For a second she cannot feel anything but the pulse in her throat. Then she smiles, because some survival instincts are ugly and well-dressed. “No.”

His eyes narrow. “No?”

“No.”

She turns and leaves before he can answer, because if she stays she’s going to say something designed to draw blood and he’s going to say something worse and tomorrow there will be the sick, sober task of standing in whatever wreckage they make when both of them are too proud and too wounded and too good at aiming.

The hallway sways politely as she moves through it. She takes someone’s shoulder by accident, says sorry to a lamp, finds the back door after one wrong turn into a pantry full of Truly boxes and a girl crying on the floor while texting someone named Bryce. 

Outside, the air hits her damp and cool and immediate. Thank God. Thank God for the dark, the open space, the smell of salt cutting through beer and perfume and the sweet chemical spill of mixed drinks.

The beach is just beyond the back deck, because every bad decision on Figure Eight comes with a water view. She gets down the steps without dying, which feels like something she should be applauded for, and makes it halfway across the sand before she realises she’s still wearing her heels.

“Fuck,” she says aloud, to her feet, to the island, to Rafe Cameron specifically.

One strap is being difficult because the whole world is being difficult, so she bends too fast and nearly tips forward into the sand, laughing once under her breath in a way that doesn’t feel especially like humour. 

The buckle finally gives. She yanks the shoe off, then the other, and stands there barefoot with the heels hooked in one hand and the party noise behind her already softening into a dull, expensive blur.

She’s fine.

She’s drunk, yes. Quite drunk, actually, in a way that has begun moving out of the fun glittery stage and into the heavy-limbed stage where the ocean looks meaningful and every thought arrives with the force of an emotional revelation. 

But fine. Perfectly capable of walking home. Or to the road. Or to somewhere that’s not there, where Rafe’s probably still in the kitchen letting his temper cool into something mean enough to be useful.

The sand is cold beneath her feet. It keeps giving under each step like it has its own argument to make. She starts walking anyway, because forward is the only direction currently available to her dignity.

She makes it maybe thirty seconds before she hears him. His feet on the stairs first. Then the heavier drag of him crossing the sand behind her. No hurry in it, which is annoying because she knows he is hurrying. Rafe has a way of making urgency look like irritation if he thinks anyone might notice the fear underneath.

“Hey,” he calls.

She keeps walking.

“Baby.”

Absolutely not.

The tide is low enough that the wet sand near the waterline shines silver-black under the moon. She angles toward it without meaning to, partly because it looks smoother and partly because the drunk, wounded part of her has decided the ocean is the only emotionally honest thing on the island tonight.

“Don’t walk away from me,” Rafe says behind her.

She laughs once, disbelieving and too loud in the open air. “Oh my God. Listen to yourself.”

“I am listening to myself. I sound pretty fuckin’ reasonable right now.”

“You sound insane.”

“You’re drunk and barefoot walking down the beach by yourself.”

“I’m not by myself. You’re stalking me.”

“I’m following you.” He catches up enough that she can see him in her peripheral vision, tall and dark and rigid beside the softer line of the water, he bends once close enough and takes her shoes from her hand. That irritates her too. The ease of it. The fact that even when she’s furious, some part of her body still hands him things.

“Give me my shoes.”

“No.”

She frowns. “They’re mine.”

“They’re weapons at this point.”

“They’re Louboutins, Rafe.”

“Yeah, exactly. Expensive little ankle breakers.” His voice is flat, but his eyes are moving over her as he walks. Practical. Annoyingly focused. Her bare feet. Her dress riding too high from the wind. The sway she keeps trying to correct and absolutely keeps failing to correct. “You can barely stand.”

“I’m walking.”

“You’re drifting.”

“I am not.”

“Baby, you’re walkin’ straight towards the ocean.”

That makes her stop, mostly because she wants to turn around and look offended properly. The movement is too quick. The whole beach tilts left, then rights itself in a slow, generous arc that her stomach doesn’t appreciate. Rafe stops too, one step closer than he probably needs to be and two steps farther than he wants. She can feel that distance like a live thing.

“You embarrassed me,” she says.

The sentence arrives before she can dress it up as something sharper. It just falls out, plain and hot and childish in her mouth.

Rafe’s jaw shifts. Behind him, the party keeps going. Music thumps faintly through glass and weatherboard, a bassline with no words left attached. Someone laughs on the deck, bright and careless. 

The whole world isn’t aware that she’s standing on a beach trying not to cry from anger and tequila and the deeply offensive fact of loving someone whose first instinct when cornered is still to bite.

“I know,” he says.

She hates the answer immediately. Hates how quiet it is. Hates that he does know, which means there is nowhere clean to put all the hurt still buzzing under her skin. “You don’t get to say I know like that fixes it.”

“I didn’t say it fixed it.”

“You said it like you wanted credit for knowing.”

His eyebrows lift a little, the start of a reaction, then he kills it. She watches him do it. Watches him swallow whatever first ugly thing wants out of his mouth because he’s learning, maybe, in these small unglamorous ways that never arrive loudly enough for anyone to call growth. 

Sometimes he catches the knife before throwing it. Sometimes that has to count for something, even when she’s drunk and furious and would rather it didn’t.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

She squints at him. “That was fast.”

Rafe stares. “What?”

“It was too fast.”

“You want me to… apologise slower?”

“I want you to mean it.”

“I do mean it.”

She sighs. “You sound mad.”

“I am mad.”

She throws one hand out. “See!”

“I’m mad you left,” he snaps, the temper finally pushing through, not clean but honest enough to make the air change. His hand tightens around the straps of her shoes. “I’m mad you walked out without tellin’ me where the fuck you were goin’. I’m mad I looked outside and you were gone. And I’m sorry I embarrassed you. Both things can happen at the same time.”

The words hit harder than she wants them to. There’s something rough and true under the anger that makes her chest pull tight.

She looks away first, out toward the water. Bad idea. The water’s right there, black and glossy and hissing up the sand in thin white lines. Her feet have carried her close enough that the next reach of tide slides cold over her toes.

She flinches. “Shit.”

Rafe’s hand closes around her upper arm before she has fully stepped back, firm enough to move her. His body is suddenly there, solid heat at her side, pulling her away from the tide with one clean tug that makes her stumble into him and then immediately push off because proximity is dangerous in at least six separate categories.

“For fuck’s sake,” he mutters. “Stop walkin’ into the ocean.”

“I wasn’t walking into the ocean.”

“You were headed straight for it.”

She tries to raise her eyebrows and fails, because her face isn’t cooperating. “I like the ocean.”

“It’s one in the morning.”

“It’s still the ocean at one in the morning.”

“Yeah, and you’re drunk as shit at one in the morning.”

She tries to yank her arm back, but the sand shifts under her and makes the whole gesture significantly less powerful than intended. Rafe loosens his grip anyway. Immediately. His hand slides down from her arm to her wrist, then to her hand, fingers curling around hers like he’s trying to pretend this was always the plan and not a correction made because she told him once, months ago, not to grab her when they were fighting.

She looks down at their joined hands. His thumb doesn’t move at first. Then it does, one brief pass across her knuckles. He stops like he’s caught himself being too obvious. It makes her want to scream a little. Or kiss him. Or push him into the water. There’s an overlap in those categories with Rafe that she’s stopped trying to organise.

“I’m still mad,” she tells their hands.

“I know.”

“Really mad.”

“Yeah.”

She sighs, slow and deep. “Like, if I was sober, I’d have better words.”

“I’m sure they’d be terrifying.”

She nods solemnly. “They would. You’d be devastated.”

His mouth twitches.

She points at him with her free hand, or tries to. The line of her finger is less prosecutorial than she wants. “Don’t make that face.”

“What face?”

“Your face is laughing.”

He wipes under his nose with his knuckle, biting back a grin. “My face is mindin’ its business.”

“No, it isn’t. Your face is being smug.”

“Baby, your insults are gettin’ worse by the minute.”

“Because I’m drunk.”

“Yeah. I noticed.”

“And because you’re” – she pauses, searching through the very cluttered filing cabinet of her brain, where several strong words have gone home early – “you’re a meanie.”

Rafe goes still in the exact way people go still before they absolutely lose the fight against laughing.

She gasps. “Don’t.”

He bites at the inside of his bottom lip. “I’m not.”

“You are,” she whines.

His lips press together, which only makes the whole thing more incriminating. The moon catches on the side of his face and the hard curve of his cheek, and she hates how beautiful he looks when he’s trying not to laugh at her. 

She hates that the buzzcut makes it worse somehow, all his expressions stripped closer to the bone. No hair falling into his eyes to soften him. No boyish curl of distraction. Only Rafe, sharp and amused and still angry, holding her shoes in one hand and her hand in the other like both are equally non-negotiable.

“That’s what you’re goin’ with?” he asks. “Meanie?”

She lifts her chin. “Yes.”

“A’ight, baby. Sure.”

The baby lands unfairly. It always does. She wishes it didn’t. She wishes she were the kind of girl who could hear him say it and remain composed, distant, morally pure. Instead, her ribs do that stupid warm-drop thing they do whenever he sounds tired and fond against his own will.

“Don’t baby me when I’m mad at you.”

“You’d rather I call you by your government name?”

“You don’t know my government name right now.”

“I know your government name.”

She crosses her arms over her chest. “Prove it.”

He says it immediately, full name and all, with the driest possible patience.

She frowns. “Okay, well. Anyone could know that.”

“Jesus Christ.”

“Don’t Jesus Christ me.”

He throws his hands up in frustration. “I’m not allowed to do anything tonight.”

“You’re allowed to be nice.”

His face shifts at that. Just a little. Enough that she feels it before she understands why. His eyes drop to her mouth and then back up, not like he’s trying to start something, more like he’s checking whether she’s still breakable there.

“I can be nice,” he says.

She looks at him for a second too long. The party is farther away now. Or maybe the beach has stretched itself out around them, widening the space until the house behind them feels like another island entirely. The wind keeps lifting the hem of her dress. Salt has dried sticky on her lips. Her head feels full and light at the same time, like all the alcohol has climbed into the rafters and started moving furniture around.

“You’re bad at it,” she says.

He exhales once, almost a laugh. “Yeah.”

“At least you know.”

“Don’t push it.”

The warning has no real teeth in it, or fewer teeth than usual, anyway. She can feel the dull ache of her feet now that they’ve stopped moving, the unpleasant press of a blister beginning near one heel, the goosebumps rising along her arms as the sweat from the party cools under the wind. 

Rafe notices that too, of course. He notices everything when he’s scared, and he’s scared tonight in the particular Rafe way that looks mostly like irritation and a vein standing out along his temple.

He glances toward the houses farther down the beach. “Come on.”

“I don’t want to.”

“Too bad.”

“See? Meanie.”

“Yeah, well, this meanie’s gettin’ you home.”

She scoffs. “I can get myself home.”

“You can’t even get yourself parallel to the shoreline.”

She takes one dramatic step forward just to prove a point and immediately sinks ankle-deep into soft sand.

Rafe looks down at her foot. Then at her face.

She holds up one hand. “Don’t.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You were about to, big old meanie.”

For one second, blessedly, he looks so thrown that she nearly laughs. Then her own body betrays her by wobbling. His hand comes to her waist in the same second, fingers firm through the thin fabric of her dress.

“That’s it,” he says.

Her eyes narrow. “What’s it?”

“This.”

Her eyes narrow. “What is this?”

“This whole fuckin’ beach walk.”

“I’m walking.”

“You are not. You and the ocean are in active conspiracy against me.”

“That’s because the ocean respects women.”

“The ocean tried to eat you three minutes ago.”

She opens her mouth to answer, but he’s already bending. She gets exactly half a breath of warning before his arm hooks behind her knees and his shoulder presses carefully into her middle. Then the whole world flips.

The sky drops. The sand swings up. Her hair falls in a dark curtain toward the ground, and the air leaves her in one offended little oof as Rafe lifts her over his shoulder with the grim practicality of a man who’s run out of all other available management strategies.

“Rafe!”

“Nope.”

“Put me down!”

“No.”

“Rafe Cameron, put me down right now.”

“You had your shot.”

“I was walking!”

“You were migratin’.”

“I was processing,” she huffs.

“You were processing your way into a rip current.”

Her brows furrow, even upside down. “There’s no rip current.”

“You don’t know that.”

“We’re in, like, ankle water.”

“Exactly. Embarrassing way to go.”

She shoves at his back, but not hard enough to mean it. It’s difficult to maintain righteous fury while upside down over someone’s shoulder, especially when that someone is warm and steady and still holding her shoes in his other hand. His arm is locked securely over the backs of her thighs, careful in a way she’s too drunk not to notice. 

The blood rushes slightly to her head. The sand moves below them in dark, uneven passes. Rafe starts walking like this is completely normal. Like carrying his drunk girlfriend away from the ocean after a fight is simply one more responsibility of being born a Cameron, somewhere between inheriting land and developing a substance problem.

“I hate you,” she announces to the middle of his back.

“No, you don’t.”

“I do.”

“You love me so much it makes you stupid.”

“That’s such a rude thing to say to someone upside down.”

“You started it.”

She sighs. “You embarrassed me.”

Rafe’s steps slow. For a second there’s only the water and the sand and the soft grunt of his breath as he adjusts her weight higher on his shoulder, one hand pressing more securely against the back of her thigh. 

When he speaks again, his voice is lower, stripped down a little, forced through whatever part of him hates being wrong and hates more that she got hurt in public because of him.

“I know,” he says. “I’m gonna apologise better tomorrow.”

She closes her eyes for a second. Her cheek brushes the back of his shirt. It smells like smoke from the fire pit, clean detergent, his skin, and the faint bitter edge of beer. “Why tomorrow?”

“Because right now you’re gonna argue with whatever I’m gonna say.”

“I would not.”

“You told me my sorry was too fast.”

“It was.”

“See?”

She sighs, long and tragic, letting both arms hang down his back because there’s no dignified way to be carried like this and she’s decided to conserve energy by becoming luggage. “You’re a meanie.”

“There it is again.”

“That’s all I got right now, baby.” The word slips out muffled and soft before she can stop it. She blinks slowly at the sand beneath them, the whole world reduced to Rafe’s back, his arm across her legs, the moonlit beach moving backward. “M’real drunk. And upside down.”

His steps falter for half a beat. Then his voice comes back with the humour gentled around the edges. “Yeah, I know. I put you there.”

She hums, dissatisfied. “Don’t be a meanie. ’Kay?”

His hand shifts against her thigh, one steadying press, like punctuation his mouth can’t manage yet.

“Okay,” he says. “I won’t be mean.”

It’s not enough to fix the night, but it is enough to make something in her body loosen by a fraction. Enough for now, maybe. Enough while the ocean keeps moving beside them in long black folds and the party behind them becomes only noise and light and something they’ve survived badly.

“You’re still mad,” she says after a while.

“Yeah.”

She lifts her head as much as she can, which is not much. “Rafe.”

“What? You want me to lie?”

“Yes.”

He huffs. “Then no.”

“That was bad lying.”

“I’m new at this.”

“At lying?”

“At whatever you’re doin’ to me right now.”

She frowns at the sand. “I’m not doing anything.”

“You’re drunk and pissed off and callin’ me baby while yellin’ at me.”

“That’s not a crime.”

“It should be.”

“You’re dramatic.”

“You left a party barefoot.”

“You humiliated me at the party.”

Rafe stops walking. The tension goes up his back first, under her ribs, then settles somewhere lower when he drags in a breath and lets it go through his nose.

“I know,” he says again. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

She stays very still over his shoulder. The apology is plain this time. No quick little sorry tossed like a coin. No irritation stuffed behind the words until it cuts them up on the way out. Simply a sentence, badly shaped, maybe, because he’s still him. But real enough to quiet her.

“I was being annoying,” she offers, because being given sincerity too directly makes her hands want something to do and there’s nothing to hold except the back of his shirt.

“Yeah,” he says.

She gasps. “You’re not supposed to agree!”

“You were.”

“I was being emotionally articulate.”

“You called me an asshole in front of, like, ten people.”

“You deserved that.”

“Probably.”

“And then you told me to watch it.”

His shoulders shift. “Yeah. That was fucked.”

The admission moves through her warmer than it should, because tomorrow she will not have to build the whole shape of the hurt from scratch and hold it up for him while he pretends not to recognise his own fingerprints on it.

A few more steps pass.

Then she says, quieter, “You can’t talk to me like that.”

Rafe’s hand tightens on her thigh, then loosens again at once. “I know.”

“Even if you’re mad.”

He sighs. “I know.”

“And even if I’m being annoying.”

A pause.

“Rafe.”

“I’m thinkin’.”

“That wasn’t a hard one.”

He exhales, and this time there’s almost a smile in it. “Even if you’re bein’ annoying.”

“Good.”

“But you can’t just leave and not answer me when you’re drunk.”

She considers arguing. Really gives it a fair effort. Unfortunately, even drunk, upside down, and ideologically opposed to letting him win any point tonight, she knows that one is true.

“I know,” she mumbles.

“Yeah?”

“Yes.”

“You scared the shit outta me.”

The words are rougher than the rest. It takes her a second to understand them as fear instead of anger, because with Rafe the two so often arrive wearing the same clothes.

Her eyes sting suddenly, stupidly. Maybe from being upside down. Maybe from the tequila. Maybe from the fact that he’s still carrying her like she’s both a problem and the most important thing on the island, which is exactly the kind of contradiction her drunk heart has no defences against.

“I wasn’t trying to scare you.”

“I know that too.”

“I just wanted to not be there.”

“Yeah.”

“And I wanted you to feel bad.”

His mouth must be close to her thigh because she feels his breath when he laughs once, small and without much humour. “Worked.”

She closes her eyes again. “Good.”

“Brat.”

“Meanie.”

“You’re upside down.”

“That’s what I said!”

His laugh comes easier this time, still quiet but real enough to move through his back beneath her. It does something awful to her. Something soft and collapsing. She hates it. She loves it. She’s too drunk to separate the two and too tired to pretend the fight still has the same sharpness it did when she first walked off the deck.

The lights of the houses farther down the beach come into view, warm blurs through the dark. Somewhere in the dunes a porch lamp throws a yellow spill over sea grass and a half-buried path. Home, or close enough. Not the party. Not the kitchen. Not the room where everyone heard him talk to her like that and everyone watched her leave.

Tomorrow will have teeth. She knows that. Tomorrow there will be water and Advil and her sitting cross-legged on a bed somewhere while Rafe stands near the dresser with his arms crossed, trying not to turn shame into defensiveness because shame is still one of his least favourite rooms to sit in. 

Tomorrow she will have to say it clearly. He will have to hear it without making it smaller. There will be the sober version of sorry. The sober version of don’t do that again. The sober version of I got scared when you were gone and I didn’t know how to say it without sounding like I was angry at you for making me care.

But tonight is narrower. Tonight is sand under his feet and her body over his shoulder and the ocean failing to keep her. Tonight is his palm steady against the back of her thigh and her shoes dangling from his other hand and the fight lowered into something they are both still carrying, but not by the blade anymore.

She lifts her head slightly, squinting toward the side of his face. “You’re bald.”

He stops walking. She freezes.

Very slowly, Rafe turns his head as much as he can, which isn’t enough to look at her properly but enough for her to understand she has entered dangerous territory. “What’d you just say?”

She bites her lip around another laugh. “Nothing.”

“No, say it again.”

“I said bold.”

“You did not say bold.”

“I did. Bold. Brave. Very strong hair choices.”

“I have hair.”

“You have the memory of hair.”

For one long second he’s silent.  Then he laughs. Really laughs, it comes out of him rough and surprised, shaking once through his chest and into her stomach where she is folded over him. It loosens something in her so quickly it almost hurts.

“You’re lucky you’re drunk,” he says.

“You’re lucky you’re hot.”

His laugh cuts off into a breath. His hand shifts, securing her a little higher on his shoulder. “Yeah?”

“No.”

“No?”

“Yes.”

He shakes his head. “You’re makin’ a lotta sense tonight.”

“I contain multitudes.”

“You contain tequila.”

“And rage.”

“And bad insults.”

“And love,” she says, quieter, because she’s still drunk enough to be honest and upside down enough not to be proud.

Rafe doesn’t answer right away. The beach moves under them. The ocean keeps breathing in and out beside them like something huge and indifferent. His pace has evened out now, less angry, more careful over the uneven sand near the access path. She can feel the tension still in him, but it’s changed shape.

Finally, his voice comes low over the wind. “Yeah?”

She swallows. “Yeah.”

His hand presses once at the back of her thigh. This time it is definitely a squeeze. Still brief. Still careful. Enough.

“I love you too,” he says.

Rafe says love like it still costs him something to put the word where someone else can hear it. Like every direct piece of tenderness has to pass through pride and fear and old damage before it can reach the air.

She lets her forehead fall against his back. “I’m still mad.”

“I know.”

“And you’re still a meanie.”

“Yeah, we’ve covered that.”

“But I love you.”

“I know that too.”

She rolls her eyes even though he cannot see it. “Cocky.”

“Drunk.”

“Bald.”

“Baby.”

The warning in his voice is warm now, which means it’s barely a warning at all.

She smiles into the back of his shirt, eyes half closed, limbs heavy with alcohol and exhaustion and the strange relief of no longer having to keep walking just to prove she can. “Don’t be mean tomorrow either.”

He reaches the dune path and pauses to adjust her one more time before taking the first step off the sand. His breathing is a little heavier now, but he doesn’t put her down. There’s no version of tonight where Rafe Cameron lets her walk the last stretch barefoot and drunk just because she’s made a point and then immediately lost custody of it.

“I won’t,” he says.

She hums, not fully convinced but willing, for now, to accept the shape of the promise. “And you’ll apologise slow?”

His mouth brushes somewhere near her leg when he turns his head a little, and she can hear the almost-smile in his voice. “Yeah, baby. I’ll apologise slow.”

“Good.”

“But you’re drinkin’ water first.”

“Bossy.”

“Alive.”

“Meanie.”

“Yours,” he says, low and rough and so quietly that if the wind had moved harder, she might have missed it.

She doesn’t. The house lights are close now, turning the path gold in front of them. Her shoes bump lightly against his leg with each step. The party’s gone behind them, swallowed by distance and salt and whatever version of the story everyone else will tell tomorrow. For tonight, there’s only Rafe carrying her home through the dark with his jaw still tight and his hands still careful, furious and sorry and stupidly hers.

She closes her eyes. “Yeah,” she mumbles into his back, soft enough that maybe he feels it more than hears it. “Mine.”

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[rafeysvenicebitch]

hiiya! can u do smth with older!rafe and shy!angel!reader? she's just so quiet and doesn't wanna spend his money cause she feels bad about it, but she's so clingy and follows him anywhere. idk u can do wtv comes to ur mind!☆☆☆

omigosh this is so adorable!!

☆☆☆ Older!Rafe x Shy!Angel!reader ☆☆☆

warnings: nada! Just fluff.

Rafe started noticing it in the third month of you guys being together. You’d been eyeing a dress while you were browsing at a boutique. It wasn’t designer. It wasn’t necessarily expensive. Your fingers brushed over one of the sleeves before you quietly put it back where you found it. He didn’t think much of it, until he noticed you did it with everything. Shoes, perfume, books, makeup, candles. Anything that you didn’t necessarily need at the moment.

You’d admire it, smile to yourself, then walk away

“Baby.”

You looked up.

“Hm?”

“You want that?”

Your eyes widened.

“Oh—no.”

“You were just looking at it.”

“I was.”

“…So you want it.”

You immediately shook your head.

“No, no. It’s okay.”

Rafe folded his arms.

“Those aren’t the same answer.”

You looked down at your shoes.

“I just liked looking.”

—

It happened again.

And again.

And again.

Eventually, he figured out the pattern. It wasn’t that you didn’t like nice things, you loved them.

You just couldn’t make yourself spend his money.

One night he finally asked. You were curled against his side on the couch, both of your legs thrown over his lap while he answered emails.

His free hand rubbed lazy circles into your calf.

“You ever gonna tell me why?”

You blinked.

“Why what?”

“You won’t let me buy you anything.”

“I do.”

“You let me buy groceries.”

“…”

“You let me buy dinner.”

“…”

“You let me pay the electric bills.”

“…”

“But if I try buying you earrings, suddenly it’s World War Three.”

Your cheeks flushed.

“I just…”

He waited.

You fiddled with one of his hoodie strings.

“It feels mean, like I’m taking your money.”

Rafe actually laughed.

“Mean?”

“Yeah.”

“Baby.”

“You work really hard.”

“I do.”

“And it’s your money.”

“It is.”

“So…”

You shrugged helplessly.

“I don’t wanna take advantage.”

He stared at you for a full five seconds.

Then gently grabbed your chin.

“You know what I bought today?”

You blinked.

“What?”

“A fucking boat.”

Your eyes got huge.

“…A boat?”

“Yep.”

“…”

“Didn’t think twice.”

“…”

“But my girlfriend feels guilty over a thirty-dollar sweater.”

You looked horrified.

“It wasn’t thirty.”

“Baby.”

“It was twenty-four.”

He couldn’t help it.

He laughed so hard he had to lean back on the couch.

“No.”

You frowned.

“No?”

“No more of that.”

“I wasn’t—”

“If I can buy a damn boat, I can buy you socks.”

“But—”

“No.”

“But I don’t—”

“No.”

“I—”

“No.”

“…”

“You done?”

“…Maybe.”

After that, he developed a habit.

He never asked anymore.

He’d simply come home.

“Got something.”

Your eyes would immediately narrow.

“…What did you do?”

He’d hand you a tiny shopping bag.

Inside?

Hair clips you’d looked at two weeks ago.

A workout you’d quietly admired online.

The Dior lip balm you’d picked up and put back at Sephora.

The stuffed bunny you’d hugged for exactly four seconds before returning it to the shelf.

“You remembered?”

His heart melted every damn time.

“’ Course I remembered. I’m your man.”

“But Rafe…”

“What?”

“You didn’t have to.”

“I know.”

“You really didn’t.”

“I know.”

“I would’ve been okay.”

“I know.”

“So why?”

He’d shrug.

“’Cause your face lights up.”

The funny thing was…

You never asked for anything.

Ever.

If he said,

“What do you want for your birthday?”

You’d answer,

“You.”

“What else?”

“…Nothing.”

“Baby.”

“I mean it.”

“What about jewelry?”

“I have jewelry.”

“Bags?”

“I have one.”

“Vacation?”

“As long as you’re there.”

“Car?”

“I like yours.”

“You don’t even drive mine.”

“I like being a passenger princess.”

Sometimes he genuinely wondered if you’d follow him anywhere.

Turns out…

You would.

He’d walk into his office.

Thirty seconds later…

Tiny knock.

“Come in.”

The door would crack open.

“There you are.”

You smiled sheepishly.

“I was looking for you.”

“You lost me?”

“You walk fast…”

He started expecting it.

Kitchen.

There you were.

Garage.

There you were.

Home gym.

Library.

Curled into the armchair with a book while he worked.

Even meetings.

His assistant eventually stopped questioning it.

“Mr. Cameron?”

“Yeah?”

“We’ve got investors here.”

“Mm-hmm.”

“…Your girlfriend is asleep.”

He looked over.

Sure enough.

You were curled on the leather couch in the corner of his office.

Head resting against the armrests fast asleep.

He smiled.

“Don’t wake her.”

“The meeting?”

“They can work around it.”

The investors walked in.

Saw the sleeping girl. Looked confused. But Nobody said a word.

Because the terrifying businessman they’d all heard about…

Was quietly walking over with a blanket.

Covering you. Tuck your feet in. Brushing your hair away from your face. Then kissing your forehead before returning to business as if nothing had happened. His assistant nearly passed out.

“You spoil her.”

His older business partner said it one afternoon. Rafe didn’t even look up from his paperwork.

“I do.”

“Doesn’t that worry you?”

“No.”

“What if she gets used to it?”

He actually smiled.

“You don’t know her.”

Because if you wanted coffee…

You’d still ask,

“Do you mind if I make some?”

“Baby, it’s your kitchen too.”

If you wanted strawberries…

“Can I have some?”

“Sweetheart…you live here.”

If you accidentally used the last of something…

“I’m sorry.”

You looked so guilty every single time that he almost laughed.

One morning he found you staring at his closet.

“What’re you doing?”

You jumped.

“Oh!”

“…”

“I borrowed your hoodie yesterday.”

“…Yeah?”

“I wanted to wash it.”

“…Okay.”

“But then…”

You looked genuinely distressed.

“I realized your laundry detergent is expensive.”

He blinked.

“…Baby.”

“So I used mine instead.”

“You bought detergent.”

“…It was on sale.”

He sighed dramatically.

“Come here.”

You immediately walked over. No hesitation. Like gravity.

You always did.

It didn’t matter where he was.

If he opened his arms…

You came. Without thinking. Without asking why. You just fit against him naturally. Your cheek pressed against his chest. Hands wrapping around his waist.

Tiny sigh.

Home.

“You know,” he murmured into your hair.

“What?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever had someone love me this much.”

You looked up.

“I love you a lot.”

“I know.”

“I just don’t wanna be a burden.”

He frowned immediately.

“You could never be.”

“But—”

“No.”

He tipped your chin upward.

“Listen to me.”

You nodded.

“If buying you a sweater makes my day better…”

“…”

“If you following me around the house makes it feel like home…”

“…”

“If you stealing my hoodies means I get to see you drowning in sleeves…”

Your tiny smile appeared.

“…”

“Then who’s really getting spoiled here?”

You blinked.

“I think I am.”

He shook his head.

“I get a girl who smiles like sunshine every time I hand her a stupid little gift.”

“…”

“I get someone who reaches for my hand without thinking.”

“…”

“I get someone who’d rather sit in my office for six hours than spend a day anywhere else.”

Your face turned pink.

“I like being with you.”

“I know.”

“I don’t even care what we’re doing.”

“I know.”

“You just make everywhere feel…”

You searched for the word.

“…Safe.”

For a man who’d spent years believing love had to be loud, dramatic, and constantly tested, that single word settled somewhere deep in his chest.

Safe.

He wrapped both arms around you, kissing the top of your head.

“Then keep following me around, angel.”

You giggled softly.

“Everywhere?”

He smiled.

“Everywhere.”

[rafesdrew]

AGHHHHHH

[rafesdrew]

Hiii I’m making a “you seem pretty sad for a girl so in love” with Rafe and diff readers 😉😉😉😉

Might rebrand this account!!

[totalswag]

DREW AND RAFE MASTERLIST

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updated last 5/30/2025

☆ drew starkey ➜ stealing hoodies ➜ pairs love ➜ bar fun ➜ italy fun ➜ first date gone well ➜ behind the scenes ➜ unbelievable performance ➜ unexpected comfort ➜ a day to remember ➜ outer banks premiere and surprises ♫ ➜ arrested for being too hot ♫ ➜ bed chem ♫ ➜ ever tried this one? ♫ ➜ i still love you ➜ oh my santa drew ♫ ➜ jacked and kind ♫ ➜ podcast therapuss ➜ apologies in the aftermath ➜ fractured moments ➜ calvin klien collab ➜ grammy award winner ➜ locking eyes for the first time ➜ forever grateful ♫ ➜ can't take his eyes off you ♫ ➜ baby fever ➜ wide blue eyes ➜ don't bring me to tears

☆ dad!drew ➜ new addition ➜ dinner and sunsets ➜ all grown up ➜ disney land fun ➜ christmas wrapping ➜ first words ➜ gender reveal ➜ family time in charleston ➜ teen tension ➜ my little guy ➜ seeing double

☆ rafe cameron ➜ deserve better ➜ still mine ➜ how much did you drink ➜ date night ➜ attitude attitude ➜ stuck in the middle ➜ wanna be close to you ➜ unfold ➜ tell me if you like it ➜ heartbroken ➜ fourth of July ➜ promise sealed ➜ run for the hills ➜ midnight adventures ➜ baby girls first birthday ➜ you can trust me ➜ bad idea ➜ just cause flowers ➜ raw next question? part two ➜ break me twice ➜ overprotective rafe ➜ coachella baby ➜ farmers market

☆ blurbs ➜ rafe eyeing you at a party ➜ support buddy (headcannon)

© TOTALSWAG 2025 ⎯ do not copy, translate or claim any of my writing or work as your own.

[nativegirltapes]

nativegirltapes' masterlists !

𐙚 rafe cameron

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au’s

basketballplayer!drew

my readers !

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[rafesteddy]

𝓂𝓇. & 𝓂𝓇𝓈. 𝒸𝒶𝓂𝑒𝓇𝑜𝓃 𝒶𝓊 𝓶𝓪𝓼𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓵𝓲𝓼𝓽

📚 timeline goes top to bottom if you want to read in order

𝚏𝚕𝚞𝚏𝚏: 🍰 𝚜𝚖𝚞𝚝: 🪭 𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚜𝚝: 🌥️ 𝚑𝚘𝚛𝚛𝚘𝚛/𝚍𝚊𝚛𝚔: 🐈‍⬛

ᝰ.ᐟ 𝓣𝓱𝓻𝓸𝔀𝓫𝓪𝓬𝓴 | 𝓕𝓪𝓵𝓵𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓲𝓷 𝓛𝓸𝓿𝓮 (6/21/2025) 🍰🌥️

ᝰ.ᐟ 𝓣𝓱𝓻𝓸𝔀𝓫𝓪𝓬𝓴 | 𝓡𝓪𝓯𝓮 𝓒𝓪𝓶𝓮𝓻𝓸𝓷 𝓪 𝓒𝓱𝓪𝓻𝓪𝓬𝓽𝓮𝓻 𝓢𝓽𝓾𝓭𝔂 (8/5/2025) 🍰 🌥️

ᝰ.ᐟ 𝓣𝓱𝓻𝓸𝔀𝓫𝓪𝓬𝓴 | 𝓕𝓲𝓻𝓼𝓽 𝓓𝓪𝓽𝓮 (8/12/2025) 🪭🍰

ᝰ.ᐟ 𝓣𝓱𝓻𝓸𝔀𝓫𝓪𝓬𝓴 | 𝓨𝓸𝓾𝓻 𝓮𝔁 𝓬𝓸𝓶𝓮𝓼 𝓫𝓪𝓬𝓴 (8/16/2025) 🪭🍰🌥️

ᝰ.ᐟ 𝓣𝓱𝓻𝓸𝔀𝓫𝓪𝓬𝓴 | 𝓚𝓮𝔂 𝓦𝓮𝓼𝓽 (11/11/2025) 🍰 🌥️🪭

ᝰ.ᐟ 𝓣𝓱𝓻𝓸𝔀𝓫𝓪𝓬𝓴 | 𝓣𝓱𝓮 𝓷𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽 𝓼𝓱𝓮 𝓬𝓸𝓷𝓬𝓮𝓲𝓿𝓮𝓭 𝓫𝓪𝓫𝔂 𝓷𝓾𝓶𝓫𝓮𝓻 𝓸𝓷𝓮 (5/26/2025) 🪭

ᝰ.ᐟ 𝓣𝓱𝓻𝓸𝔀𝓫𝓪𝓬𝓴 | 𝓣𝓱𝓮 𝓷𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽 𝓽𝓱𝓪𝓽 𝓬𝓱𝓪𝓷𝓰𝓮𝓭 𝓮𝓿𝓮𝓻𝔂𝓽𝓱𝓲𝓷𝓰 (1/24/2026) 🌥️

ᝰ.ᐟ 𝓣𝓱𝓻𝓸𝔀𝓫𝓪𝓬𝓴 | 𝓡𝓪𝓯𝓮 𝓼𝓪𝓽𝓲𝓼𝓯𝔂𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝔂𝓸𝓾𝓻 𝓹𝓻𝓮𝓰𝓷𝓪𝓷𝓬𝔂 𝓬𝓻𝓪𝓿𝓲𝓷𝓰𝓼 (9/6/2025) 🍰

ᝰ.ᐟ 𝓣𝓱𝓻𝓸𝔀𝓫𝓪𝓬𝓴 | 𝓑𝓻𝓲𝓷𝓰𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓦𝓲𝓷𝓷𝓲𝓮 𝓱𝓸𝓶𝓮 𝓯𝓻𝓸𝓶 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓱𝓸𝓼𝓹𝓲𝓽𝓪𝓵 (3/30/2025) 🍰

ᝰ.ᐟ 𝓣𝓱𝓻𝓸𝔀𝓫𝓪𝓬𝓴 | 𝓣𝓻𝔂𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓯𝓸𝓻 𝓑𝓪𝓫𝔂 #3 (7/15/2025) 🌥️🪭

ᝰ.ᐟ 𝓡𝓪𝓯𝓮 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓟𝓸𝓹𝓹𝔂 (6/5/2025) 🍰

ᝰ.ᐟ 𝓣𝓮𝓪𝓬𝓱𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓦𝓲𝓷𝓷𝓲𝓮 𝓽𝓸 𝓓𝓻𝓲𝓿𝓮 (6/25/2025) 🍰

ᝰ.ᐟ 𝓨𝓸𝓾𝓻 4 𝓨𝓮𝓪𝓻 𝓞𝓵𝓭 𝓓𝓪𝓾𝓰𝓱𝓽𝓮𝓻’𝓼 𝓑𝓲𝓰 𝓐𝓼𝓴 (7/18/2025) 🍰

ᝰ.ᐟ 𝓦𝓲𝓷𝓷𝓲𝓮 𝓱𝓪𝓼 𝓪 𝓬𝓻𝓾𝓼𝓱 (6/1/2025) 🍰 🌥️

ᝰ.ᐟ 𝓗𝓪𝓵𝓵𝓸𝔀𝓮𝓮𝓷 (10/20/2024) 🌥️🪭

ᝰ.ᐟ 𝓟𝓻𝓸𝓶 𝓷𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽 (4/24/2025) 🌥️🪭

ᝰ.ᐟ 𝓜𝓪𝔁’𝓼 𝓯𝓻𝓲𝓮𝓷𝓭𝓼 𝔀𝓪𝓷𝓽 𝓱𝓲𝓼 𝓶𝓸𝓶 (5/9/2025) 🪭

ᝰ.ᐟ 𝓨𝓸𝓾𝓻 𝓢𝓸𝓷 𝓗𝓪𝓼 𝓪 𝓑𝓾𝓵𝓵𝔂 (7/16/2025) 🍰 🌥️

ᝰ.ᐟ 𝓟𝓻𝓮𝓰𝓷𝓪𝓷𝓬𝔂 𝓢𝓬𝓪𝓻𝓮 𝓪𝓯𝓽𝓮𝓻 𝓐𝓯𝓽𝓮𝓻 𝓑𝓪𝓫𝔂 4 (6/28/2025)🍰 🌥️

ᝰ.ᐟ 𝓗𝓲𝓭𝓮 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓢𝓮𝓮𝓴 (7/31/2025) 🍰

ᝰ.ᐟ 𝓣𝓱𝓮 𝓓𝓾𝓷𝓴 𝓣𝓪𝓷𝓴 (7/30/2025) 🪭

ᝰ.ᐟ 𝓣𝓱𝓮 𝓔𝓶𝓮𝓻𝓰𝓮𝓷𝓬𝔂 𝓒𝓻𝓮𝓭𝓲𝓽 𝓒𝓪𝓻𝓭 (7/17/2025) 🍰

ᝰ.ᐟ 𝓐 𝓷𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽 𝓸𝓾𝓽 𝓲𝓷 𝓜𝓲𝓪𝓶𝓲 (6/16/2025) 🪭

ᝰ.ᐟ 𝓜𝓪𝔁 𝓕𝓪𝓵𝓵𝓼 𝓲𝓷 𝓛𝓸𝓿𝓮 (7/5/2025) 🍰

ᝰ.ᐟ 𝓛𝓸𝓿𝓮 𝓘𝓼𝓵𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓢𝓾𝓶𝓶𝓮𝓻 2025 (6/28/2025) 🍰

ᝰ.ᐟ 𝓡𝓪𝓯𝓮 𝓰𝓮𝓽𝓼 𝓱𝓾𝓶𝓫𝓵𝓮𝓭 𝓸𝓷 𝓪 𝓢𝓪𝓽𝓾𝓻𝓭𝓪𝔂 𝓶𝓸𝓻𝓷𝓲𝓷𝓰 (8/16/2025) 🍰

ᝰ.ᐟ 𝓖𝓮𝓽𝓽𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓡𝓮𝓪𝓭𝔂 𝓯𝓸𝓻 𝓪 𝓖𝓲𝓻𝓵’𝓼 𝓝𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽 (7/15/2025) 🍰

ᝰ.ᐟ 𝓣𝓱𝓮 𝓢𝓱𝓸𝔀𝓮𝓻 (8/4/2025) 🍰 🌥️

ᝰ.ᐟ 𝓨𝓸𝓾𝓻 5 𝓨𝓮𝓪𝓻 𝓞𝓵𝓭 𝓢𝓸𝓷’𝓼 𝓑𝓲𝓰 𝓐𝓼𝓴 (7/18/2025) 🍰

ᝰ.ᐟ 𝓡𝓪𝓯𝓮 𝓒𝓪𝓽𝓬𝓱𝓮𝓼 𝓨𝓸𝓾 𝓤𝓼𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓨𝓸𝓾𝓻 𝓥𝓲𝓫𝓻𝓪𝓽𝓸𝓻 (7/21/2025) 🪭

ᝰ.ᐟ 𝓨𝓸𝓾𝓻 𝓣𝓮𝓮𝓷𝓪𝓰𝓮 𝓢𝓸𝓷’𝓼 𝓟𝓻𝓮𝓰𝓷𝓪𝓷𝓬𝔂 𝓢𝓬𝓪𝓻𝓮 (7/21/2025) 🌥️🍰

ᝰ.ᐟ 𝓖𝓾𝓪𝓻𝓭 𝓓𝓸𝓰 𝓒𝓱𝓪𝓵𝓵𝓮𝓷𝓰𝓮 (9/7/2025) 🍰

ᝰ.ᐟ 𝓔𝓷𝓭 𝓩𝓸𝓷𝓮 𝓓𝓪𝓷𝓬𝓮 (9/6/2025) 🍰

ᝰ.ᐟ 𝓣𝓱𝓮 𝓢𝓽𝓻𝓲𝓹𝓹𝓮𝓻 (10/2/2025) 🪭

ᝰ.ᐟ 𝓟𝓸𝓹𝓹𝔂 𝓑𝓾𝔂𝓼 𝓡𝓪𝓯𝓮 𝓕𝓵𝓸𝔀𝓮𝓻𝓼 (10/6/2025) 🍰

ᝰ.ᐟ 𝓡𝓪𝓯𝓮 𝓬𝓸𝓶𝓮𝓼 𝓱𝓸𝓶𝓮 𝓪𝓯𝓽𝓮𝓻 𝓹𝓪𝓻𝓽𝓲𝓬𝓾𝓵𝓪𝓻𝓵𝔂 𝓵𝓸𝓷𝓰 𝓭𝓪𝔂 (3/7/2026) 🍰 🌥️

ᝰ.ᐟ 𝓜𝓪𝔁 𝓑𝓻𝓲𝓷𝓰𝓼 𝓨𝓸𝓾 𝓗𝓸𝓶𝓮 𝓕𝓸𝓻 𝓣𝓱𝓪𝓷𝓴𝓼𝓰𝓲𝓿𝓲𝓷𝓰 (11/26/2025) 🪭🍰

ᝰ.ᐟ 𝓑𝓻𝓲𝓷𝓰𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓜𝓪𝔁 𝓗𝓸𝓶𝓮 𝓕𝓻𝓸𝓶 𝓙𝓪𝓲𝓵 (4/20/2026) 🍰 🌥️🪭

ᝰ.ᐟ 𝓨𝓸𝓾𝓻 𝓣𝓮𝓮𝓷𝓪𝓰𝓮 𝓓𝓪𝓾𝓰𝓱𝓽𝓮𝓻’𝓼 𝓟𝓻𝓮𝓰𝓷𝓪𝓷𝓬𝔂 𝓢𝓬𝓪𝓻𝓮 (7/17/2025) 🍰⛅️

ᝰ.ᐟ 18 𝓗𝓸𝓵𝓮𝓼 𝓣𝓸𝓸 𝓜𝓪𝓷𝔂… (6/16/2026) 🪭

ᝰ.ᐟ 𝓣𝓮𝓺𝓾𝓲𝓵𝓪 𝓑𝓪𝓽𝓱𝓼 (6/21/2026) 🪭

ᝰ.ᐟ 𝓢𝓹𝓸𝓻𝓽𝓼 𝓒𝓪𝓻—𝓜𝓪𝔁’𝓼 𝓥𝓮𝓻𝓼𝓲𝓸𝓷 (7/15/2026)