I write, I guess? Don't repost my fics. My page and everything on it isn't to be shared on other sites either!! Twenty-Something || She/her || Masterlist is pinned || Vinnie, if you find this--pls leave!! [SEMI-HIATUS]
Hi, here you'll find works, catered mostly to Vinnie Hacker, written by yours truly. Other misc. people/stuff will make an appearance on this blog, too.
I write mainly, for fluff and a little angst and may have suggestive/mature themes (no real smut as of yet). The pronouns I use in my fics are usually she/her or they/them.
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could we maybe see some kind of argument/fight with fk!reader & rafe? like something minor happens but it causes a disagreement and reader assumes the worst bc of her ex. maybe the beginning of their relationship when she first moves in?
Warning ৩ྀ implication of past abuse, traumatic response
“Jesus! You just– you can’t do that!” Rafe snaps, pacing behind the back of the couch. “Not without telling me!”
You’d gone out for a walk, nothing long. Less than an hour. Just around the streets because you’d never been on this side of the island before, and you’d never been allowed to be curious before.
You shrink back into the couch, into the cushions, praying it’ll swallow you up. You knew it couldn’t last forever. The weeks you’d already spent with Rafe when he’d been so caring, so understanding, were only temporary.
Now he was turning like your ex. Controlling, volatile.
“I’m sorry..I’m sorry- I won’t-,” you whisper in between his rants, voice barely audible like you’re terrified to over speak.
He steps closer, and your eyes shut. You brace for some sort of impact-
It never comes. Your shoulders are shaking, huddled into the couch and wondering why nothing’s happened.
“Baby..baby open your eyes,” Rafe says softly.
You do, one at a time like you’re terrified to do it fully at once. He’s knelt by you, hands out, scared to touch you without your permission.
“You’re okay..yeah? You’re okay..” he whispers, pulling your knees from your chest so he can draw you off the sofa and into his arms. “I’m not gonna hurt you, I’m never gonna hurt you.”
He can read the fear across your face because he spent months looking at it while you were with him- your ex. He knows it so well, it pierces his heart to know that you’re scared around him too. When he swore that if he’d do anything right, it’d be taking care of you.
“I’m sorry- I was being stupid. I just got worried about you..” he murmurs against your hair, holding you close.
Tentatively, you wrap your arms around him and curl into his chest like a wounded animal. “I won’t do it again.”
“No, no. You can, baby, you can do whatever you want; I just want you to tell me, okay? Just tell me you’re going out, you don’t even need to tell me where or how long, just let me know so I don’t look crazy searching the house for you.”
You look up at him, unsure. Searching his eyes for some sort of lie, something he’ll backtrack on when he snatches away your freedom. But there’s nothing. So you nod, and let him tuck you under his chin again.
For once, the touch of a man doesn’t feel suffocating. It feels comforting.
you’re standing in the kitchen. focused to not burn dinner while humming to yourself, stirring something in the pan that smells really good.
and then there’s rafe. leaning against the counter, barefoot, shirtless because he never sees a point in wearing clothes around you unless he has to. hair flopping into his eyes, arms crossed like he’s pretending to be patient even though he’s absolutely not.
“so then kelce says— babe, listen— he says i should’ve taken the shot, right? like it was wide open. but like, i was defending, you know? like how am i supposed to—” he’s rambling, gesturing with his hands, going off about some stupid game that you don't care about.
normally you’d just hum a distracted “mhmm” and zoom out while he yaps. but today, for no reason at all, you glance over your shoulder. and it just hits you. hard.
he’s so stupidly pretty. his pretty face, his strong arms, and the way he’s looking at you with those beautiful eyes, all animated and soft at the same time, eyes crinkling because he’s laughing at his own story. and he’s yours. like, holy shit.
you don’t even think about it, you just put the spoon down, wipe your hands on a towel, and cross the kitchen. rafe stops mid-sentence, blinking at you as you grab his face with both hands.
“uh— what’s—” he barely gets out before you kiss him all desperate.
he makes this surprised sound in his throat before instantly sliding his huge hands to your waist, tugging you closer like he’s been waiting for this all day.
when you finally pull back, his eyes are wide, pupils blown, cheeks a little pink.
“what was that for?” he asks, voice all husky, breath uneven. you grin, brushing your thumb across his jaw.
and rafe… short circuits. like you can see it happen. his mouth opens, closes, he looks away for a second like he doesn’t know what to do with himself. because he’s used to being the one glued to you, the one begging for attention, hanging off you like you’re the only thing keeping him alive. he’s not used to you flipping it on him.
“baby…” he breathes out, pulling you flush against him, burying his face in your neck. his voice comes out muffled, almost shaky, “you can’t just— say shit like that, i’ll lose my fuckin’ mind.”
you laugh, threading your fingers through his hair, scratching lightly at his scalp. “good. i want you like that.”
he groans dramatically, tightening his hold until you’re practically caged against the counter, like he can fuse you to him if he squeezes hard enough. “you’re gonna kill me, swear to god. i can’t— like, you’re— fuck, i love you.”
“i know.” you tease, kissing his temple. “love you too, puppy.”
and he actually whines at the nickname, hips shifting against yours because yeah, he’s completely clingy and desperate.
“you’re… mine." he pants low, like he’s trying to growl but it just comes out a little breathless.
his hand squeezes your hip, sliding down to your thigh like he’s seen it in a movie, and you can feel how hard he’s getting pressed against you.
you bite back a smile because god, he’s trying so hard to be the big bad dom right now.
normally he’s clingy, whiny, begging for kisses and scratches, but the second you gave him that burst of affection he’s like, suddenly decided —no actually i’m in charge here.—
“oh yeah?” you tease, tilting your head, lips brushing his jaw. “all mine, rafe?”
he jerks his head back to look at you, eyes dark and determined.
“no— fuck— you’re mine. got it? you— belong— to me.” he says it punctuating each word with a squeeze of your waist, and it’s honestly adorable.
“you practicing, baby?” you grin, tugging his hair just enough to make him gasp. his face flushes immediately.
“shut up.” he mutters, but his hips rut against yours like he can’t help himself. “i’m serious. i’m— fuck— i’m the one who… who makes you feel good. nobody else.”
you almost laugh because his dominant voice is just his regular voice but raspier. and the way he looks at you. eyes blown wide, lips pink from kissing, chest rising and falling fast. it’s not scary or commanding at all.
“mhm...” you hum, wrapping your arms around his neck, dragging your nails lightly down his back.
you tangle your fingers in his hair, tugging his head back just enough to kiss him slow, making him whimper.
“you’re doing so good, baby." you coo, and his entire body shivers. “such a good boy, trying so hard for me.”
he groans against your mouth, hips grinding against your core like he can’t stop himself.
“fuck, don’t say that.” he whines, even though you know he loves it. “you’re gonna make me lose it.”
“that’s the point.” you whisper, and then your nose twitches. “shit. the food.”
you wriggle out of his grip, walking to the stove, and twist the knobs off before anything burns.
rafe’s still leaning against the counter, hair messy. only now he’s glaring, arms crossed, jaw tight, pouty in the most dramatic way.
“you seriously just left me for… spaghetti?”
you glance at him over your shoulder, snorting. “luckily it didn’t burn. you’ll thank me later.”
he doesn’t. he's mad now. usually, he’d be yapping while the bite is still inside his mouth. but tonight? silence. just rafe, stabbing at his plate like the pasta personally offended him.
you giggle into your fork. “what’s with the face?”
“nothing.”
“rafe.”
“i said nothing.”
and god, he looks so stubborn, trying not to admit that yes, this food is delicious, but also yes, he’s still annoyed you ruined his big moment.
you let it go, finishing dinner in amused silence. he doesn’t.
later, you’re bent over by the dishwasher, sliding plates in, humming to yourself. your shorts ride up just a little, and you don’t think anything of it. until you feel him.
big hands on your hips, way rougher than usual. his chest pressing into your back, breath hot against your ear.
“rafe—” you start, but he cuts you off, growling.
“you think you can just tease me like that?”
you blink, heat rushing through you because holy shit. his tone is not the usual whiny sound.
“aww, poor baby." you tease, just to see him crack. “couldn’t handle waiting?”
that’s when he grabs your wrists, pins them to the counter in front of you. his body cages you in, his mouth brushing your ear.
“i’m not playing, baby. you’re gonna pay for leaving me like that.”
your breath catches, thighs clenching.
“pay how?” you whisper, smirking, but your voice wavers just a little.
“by taking all of my cock. however i give it to you.” he grinds into you, letting you feel exactly how hard he is. you laugh breathlessly, tilting your head to look back at him.
“dirty talk rafe? i’m impressed.”
he glares, lips brushing your jaw. “shut up.” he mutters, but then his hand slides under your shirt, rough and possessive, fingers digging into your skin. “i mean it. you’re mine. i don’t care if the whole neighborhood hears you scream my name.”
“baby—” you start, teasing. “you’re so serious right now.” his grip tightens.
“i said shut up.” he kisses you harsh, teeth dragging your lip, and then his hand slides from your wrist to your throat.
the squeeze isn’t perfect, not measured, but it’s enough to make your breath hitch and your thighs squeeze together.
“you like that?” he mutters when he feels you shiver, like he can’t believe how much that worked. “yeah? knew you’d like that.”
“baby, you're trying so hard.” you grin against his mouth. that makes him groan annoyed before he spins you around and bends you over the counter. his palm comes hard down on your ass, and you moan.
“gonna fuck you so hard you won’t even remember your own name. only mine.” he growls, hot against your ear. you laugh breathlessly, pushing your ass back into him, biting your lip over your shoulder.
“so bossy, puppy.”
and that’s it. his hand fists in your hair, yanking your head back until your throat arches for him, and his other hand under your shirt, groping rough at your tits.
“say that again,” his grip on your hair keeps you from falling. “see what happens.” you hum, taunting.
“pup—” but you don’t get the word out because suddenly his hand is back on your throat, pulling you upright against his chest.
“what was that?” he asks. but his breathing is erratic like he’s barely holding himself together.
“nothing, daddy.” you tease, eyes fluttering from the pressure. still cringing from that nickname, he let's out a low laugh. you feel his cock twitch against your ass.
“fuck.” he groans, squeezing your throat tighter for a second before letting go, shoving you forward again against the counter. “don’t call me that.”
“m'sorry big guy.” you laugh into the counter.
your shorts and panties are shoved down before you can even gasp. rafe’s hands are shaking a little with how desperate he is, but he still manages to smack your ass again, the sound echoing in the kitchen.
“fuck, look at you.” he mutters, almost to himself, staring at the way you’re bent over for him. “so fucking pretty… and all mine.”
he struggles with his own sweats, cursing under his breath when the drawstring knots, growling in frustration. you giggle, cheek pressed to the counter.
“need help, baby?”
he smacks your ass again, harder this time, the sting making you gasp.
“shut up. i got it.” he finally gets free, cock slapping heavy against your ass.
then he’s pushing in, no warning, just a rough, needy thrust that makes both of you cry out. he fills you so fast you have to grip the edge of the counter, nails scratching the wood.
“jesus christ.” he hisses, holding your hips tight.
“i love how good you feel.” you whimper, pushing back into him, teasing breathless.
his hips slam forward so hard the dishes rattle again. “of course you do. you belong to me. nobody else gets this.”
his hand finds your throat again, pulling you upright so your back is to his chest.
“say it." he growls into your ear. “say you’re mine.”
“i’m— fuck— i’m yours, rafe.”
“louder.” his grip tightens just enough to make your voice strain. “say it like you mean it.”
“mm— i'm yours!” you cry out, and he groans, biting at your shoulder.
“good fucking girl.”
he pulls out almost all the way, then slams back in, over and over, pace brutal. his hand slides from your throat to your tits, groping rough, pinching your nipple through your shirt.
“look at you, baby… trying so hard to be mean.” you manage to laugh through the moans, just to keep poking at him.
he bends you forward again, pressing your chest flat to the counter. one big hand pins your wrists down while the other lands another sharp slap to your ass.
“does that feel like i’m soft?” he spits, fucking you harder, sweat dripping from his temple onto your back. “does that feel like i don’t know what i’m doing?”
“mmm...” you hum, smirking even as your voice breaks from his thrusts. “maybe.”
he loses it. hand back on your throat, yanking you up, his hips never slowing.
“say that shit again i’ll fuck you until you can’t even walk tomorrow.”
“please.” you moan, clenching around him so hard he curses.
and the way his head drops back, the broken sound he makes. yeah, the dominance is real, but he’s still your rafe. still the boy who’s so drunk on you he can barely hold the act together.
“gonna fill you up.” he groans, rutting into you faster, hips snapping sharp. “gonna make sure you can’t think about anything but me. mine, mine, mine—”
your legs shake, orgasm tearing through you so hard you nearly collapse, only his hand on your throat holding you up. you cry his name, choking on the sound, and he follows right after, pulling you tight against him as he spills inside you with a strangled moan.
for a long moment, it’s just the sound of both of you panting, clinging to each other in the sticky kitchen.
finally, he kisses your shoulder, softer now, whining a little as he nuzzles against your neck.
“you really ruined my moment earlier.”
“yeah, but i gave you a better one, didn’t i?” you laugh weakly, still catching your breath.
he groans, wrapping his arms around your waist from behind, all clingy. “don’t tease me. i’m supposed to be the scary one.”
“you’re terrifying, baby. really.” you grin, reaching back to stroke his sweaty hair.
warnings: angst / heartbreak, mild swearing, emotional manipulation (unintentional, in the heat of arguments), references to self-harm and distress (handled carefully, non-graphic), messy relationships, toxic tendencies, communication issues, brief mentions of alcohol/city party culture
you weren’t supposed to fall for him.
you were the girl from the suburbs—the kind who wore pressed skirts to sunday service, who knew how to smile politely at neighbors over perfectly manicured hedges and say thank you even when you didn’t mean it. your world was built on a foundation of predictability: college brochures fanned out on the kitchen table, wedding plans tucked into your mother’s casual conversations over dinner, a life that looked good from the outside, framed and hung on a wall for everyone to admire.
and then there was vinnie.
tattooed. restless. all sharp edges and a messy, uncontainable energy that smelled like cigarettes, cherry gatorade, and the metallic scent of the city at night. he had that kind of careless charm that felt like temptation wrapped in a thrifted hoodie. trouble, in all the ways your parents had warned you about. the kind of boy you were supposed to admire from a distance, maybe kiss once at a party for a story, and then forget.
you met on a corner neither of you were supposed to be standing on. he was trying to ollie over a fire hydrant; you were trying to find a new coffee shop that wasn’t a chain. his skateboard clipped the curb and veered wildly, the tail end catching the strap of your bag, sending you both stumbling. your iced coffee tilted, a brown river of caffeine and sugar splashing across the sidewalk and his white sneakers. he looked up, a curse dying on his lips as his eyes—a shade of brown you’d later spend hours trying to describe—met yours. a smirk, already curling his lips like the whole world was one long, exhausting inside joke he was tired of explaining. you rolled your eyes, already annoyed—already, irrevocably intrigued. “watch it,” you’d muttered, righting yourself.
“my bad,” he’d said, not sounding sorry at all. he’d picked up your bag, handed it to you, his fingers brushing yours. a spark. a circuit completing. somehow, that was it.
on paper, you were opposites. you argued about everything: politics (he was passionately, idealistically anarchic; you were pragmatically, frustratingly moderate), the soul-crushing boredom of the suburbs versus the overwhelming noise of the city, the existence of god and ghosts and fate. you clashed like fire on gasoline, always sparking, always burning, leaving soot and embers in your wake. but when he kissed you for the first time, pressed against the brick wall of that same corner store, his hand cradling your jaw like you were something precious, it silenced all of it. the arguments just became foreplay. the making up was a religion you both worshipped.
for a while, love was so much louder than logic.
vinnie learned you in fragments, the kind that most people never noticed, the pieces you kept hidden in the quiet.
the way your eyes always darted to the left when you said “i’m fine”—like you knew if you held his gaze for even a second too long, the lie would give itself away. the way your hands would twist the hem of your shirt, the fabric straining under the pressure, when your patience was thinning, your voice dipping an octave lower right before you finally snapped. the little things—your hatred for the sound of people chewing, the way you hummed off-key in the shower, the specific brand of strawberry lip gloss you always wore—that turned into a sacred roadmap of who you really were beneath the sunday service smile.
and he followed them. every time.
he stayed when you collapsed on your bedroom floor after you didn’t get the internship, legs folded underneath you, ugly, gut-wrenching sobs breaking past lips that usually carried so much laughter. your mascara was smeared across your cheeks in tragic, black streaks, your fingers tugging at your own hair as if maybe the pain on the outside could quiet the storm on the inside. he didn’t say much—vinnie never really did when it mattered most—but he sat there, cross-legged on your rug, his hoodie sleeves pulled over his bruised knuckles, just there. handing you a tissue he knew you wouldn’t take, mumbling dumb jokes you didn’t laugh at, waiting for the sound of your breathing to even out before he carefully gathered you into his arms.
and you stayed when it was his turn to break.
when his anger came too fast and too hot, a product of a phone call with his dad or a comment section that got under his skin, when his fists met the drywall instead of words. you were the one who stood in the doorway, heart hammering, waiting for the storm to pass. you were the one who took his hands after, gently prying them open to see the split knuckles and the swelling skin. you’d curse under your breath, roll your eyes, call him an idiot, but still dig through the bathroom drawer for the bandages and the antiseptic wipes you’d started buying specifically for this. you wrapped his hands like they were sacred, like they held the music that kept him alive, even when he couldn’t look you in the eye, shame painting his face as dark and permanent as his tattoos.
it wasn’t always pretty. in fact, it rarely was. the world saw a highlight reel—vinnie’s smirk during a late-night livestream, your smile from the corner of the frame, the perfect, filtered snapshot for a feed. but behind closed doors, it was messy. two flawed, fractured people who loved hard, hurt hard, and clung to each other even harder, terrified that letting go would mean falling into nothingness.
and yet, that was the thing: it was real.
ugly, tender, volatile, steady—whatever it was, it was yours.
the apartment wasn’t much.
peeling paint in the hallway that looked like a topographical map of some distant country, pipes that groaned louder than the neighbors’ arguments, a crooked floor that made your coffee mug slide slowly toward the edge of the counter if you forgot to set it right. a single window that let in more streetlight than sunlight, painting everything in a perpetual, hazy orange glow.
but to you, it felt like everything.
it was the first place that belonged to the both of you—not your parents’ house with its silent judgments, not his friend’s couch that smelled like stale beer, not a borrowed room for a night. just yours. just his. just home.
the nights stretched longer and softer there. vinnie sprawled across the mattress on the floor (because you couldn’t afford a bed frame yet, and honestly, you liked the bohemian chaos of it), notebook in one hand, pen tapping against his lip as he mumbled half-formed lyrics into the dark. you’d watch him from the kitchen, a spoon hanging out of the cereal box, loving him so fiercely it physically ached in your chest. this boy, with his damaged hands and his beautiful, broken heart, trying to build a universe out of words and chords, and letting you bear witness to it.
in the mornings, you left for work while he was still half-asleep, hoodie tangled around his shoulders, hair sticking up in a dozen different directions like a dark halo. you kissed his forehead, soft and lingering, and he’d mumble something that sounded like love you before slipping back into dreams. you carried that with you all day, a secret talisman against the soul-crushing normalcy of your day job.
the shoebox apartment turned into your kingdom. cheap fairy lights from the dollar store pinned to the wall with thumbtacks, polaroids of the two of you taped haphazardly above the mattress, dishes stacked in the sink because neither of you wanted to do them and it felt like a tiny rebellion against the clean, ordered worlds you’d come from. you ate dinner on the floor, legs tangled under a blanket fort, laughing at things only the two of you understood, your laughter echoing off the close walls, making the space feel infinite.
it wasn’t glamorous, it wasn’t perfect—the ghost of his cigarette smoke clung to the curtains, and you could never quite get the smell of damp out of the bathroom—but for a little while, it was yours. for a little while, it was enough.
for a little while, it really did feel like a honeymoon.
it didn’t fall apart all at once. it was small things, at first, tiny fractures in the foundation you’d built.
dirty dishes stacked in the sink for a day too long. missed calls left unanswered, the notification blinking into the void. your voice, thin and tired, asking him to please just listen to me while his eyes stayed fixed on a glowing screen, his responses nothing but distracted hums. his laugh, loud and bright, echoing through a twitch stream to thousands when you hadn’t spoken more than ten words to each other that entire day.
the shoebox that once felt like a sanctuary began to feel like a trap. the walls, once cozy, felt like they were closing in. the silence between you grew heavier, louder than your fights ever were.
the fights themselves grew louder, sharper, until they bled into every room, staining the memories. words you didn’t mean but still couldn’t take back hung in the air like ghosts. vinnie’s voice would break with a frustration he couldn’t articulate, yours would shake with an exhaustion that went bone-deep. nights where he stormed out, the slam of the door a punctuation mark to a sentence you couldn’t finish. nights where you slammed the bedroom door, leaning against it as you listened to the silence of the apartment, wondering how something that felt so big, so invincible, could already feel like it was crumbling to dust in your hands.
and then came the night you didn’t follow him out.
the night he came home hours later, shoulders heavy with the weight of everything unsaid, jaw tight. he reached for the knob. locked. for a second, a cold dread washed over him—he thought that was it. that you’d finally had enough, that the kingdom you built out of fairy lights and takeout containers and shared dreams had been reduced to nothing but a locked door.
but then his foot brushed against it. the worn corner of the welcome mat.
he knelt, his heart a frantic drum against his ribs, and lifted it.
the spare key, tucked neatly under the mat, cool against his skin.
your unspoken language, a habit born from the time he’d forgotten his keys: i’m angry. i’m hurt. my pride won’t let me open the door for you. but i still love you. don’t make me regret this.
and so he pushed the door open, stepped inside to find you asleep on the couch, tear tracks dried on your cheeks, and the cycle began again. the quiet apology in the form of him draping a blanket over you. the peace offering of coffee made just how you liked it the next morning.
but the cycles were getting shorter. the recoveries taking longer. the key under the mat was becoming a ritual, a symbol of a problem you were both too afraid to truly fix.
the end didn’t announce itself with a bang.
there wasn’t one final, dramatic screaming match, no slammed doors or broken dishes to mark the moment it all fell apart. it came quiet, creeping in like dust collecting on shelves—unnoticed until suddenly it coated everything, making the whole world feel dull and fuzzy.
you woke up one morning in july, the l.a. heat pressing heavy and oppressive through the thin polyester curtains, sunlight spilling in a harsh line across the mattress on the floor. vinnie was next to you, his back turned, his breathing steady. and for the first time, you realized the chasm between you. you were inches apart, but it felt like miles. you thought about reaching out, but your hand felt like it weighed a thousand pounds.
you thought about the girl you’d been when you met him—the one in the nice skirt who rolled her eyes at his smirk outside the corner store, who swore she’d never fall for someone so chaotic, so transient. you thought about the boy he’d been—reckless and restless, but so soft with you, whispering love you into your hair in the dark before falling asleep, his arms a fortress around you.
now, you barely spoke. you barely touched. the laughter that once filled the shoebox, making it feel expansive, had been replaced by a silence so thick and heavy it felt suffocating. you were just two people, moving around each other in a carefully choreographed dance of avoidance, orbiting the same dying star.
and it hit you, all at once, lying there in the stagnant heat on that random day in july. a quiet, devastating epiphany.
this wasn’t a rough patch. this was the end of the road.
you’d never be his the way you were before. he’d never be yours again in this lifetime, not in the way that mattered. the love was still there, but it had changed shape; it was a ghost now, haunting the rooms where it used to live.
so you got up. you made coffee in the silent kitchen, the sound of the brewer obscenely loud. you poured two mugs out of habit, then stood there, staring at them. you poured his down the sink. you pressed your lips to the top of his head one last time, breathing in the scent of his shampoo, memorizing the feel of his hair under your lips.
and when you left, your bag packed with the essentials, you didn’t tuck the key back under the mat. you left it on the kitchen counter, next to the single mug of coffee. a final message. a period at the end of the sentence.
he tells himself he’s fine. that it’s better this way. that people like him—messy, complicated, broken—don’t get to keep people like you—good, whole, destined for a calm and easy love. he throws himself into streams, into music, into the numbing buzz of a party that never seems to end.
but then he passes that corner store—the one where his skateboard clipped the curb, where you rolled your eyes and his entire axis tilted—and he feels it all over again. the sharp, sucker-punch tug in his chest, the visceral reminder of a love that burned too bright and too fast to last. he sees a girl with your same hair color and his breath hitches. he hears a laugh that sounds like yours echoing down an alley and he has to stop, his hand against a wall, just to remember how to breathe.
sometimes he still expects to hear your key scraping at the lock, to look up from his phone and see you standing there, annoyed but soft around the edges, already pretending you weren’t about to forgive him again. but the door stays closed. the mat stays empty. the apartment is deafeningly silent.
he remembers you in devastating flashes: the way you looked with mascara-streaked cheeks, how your laughter used to echo and make the shoebox apartment feel like a palace, the weight of your kiss against his temple at 7 a.m. he remembers how you looked at him—like you saw the man he could be, not the boy he was, like he was more than just the sum of his tattoos and his restless hands and his past mistakes. you made him believe, for a little while, that he could be someone worth staying for.
and he remembers the way you left. not with a scream, but with a silence. so quiet. so final. the key on the counter. the absence.
he knows you were right. he knows it was over long before you walked out. he knows you won’t be his again—not in this lifetime.
but still, when the city hums its low, lonely symphony at night and the streetlights spill gold across the cracked pavement outside his window, he swears he can feel you near. he swears he can hear the echo of your laugh in the empty room. he swears he’d give anything, everything, just to go back, to slip that key back under the mat and beg you to try one more time.
because the truth is simple, and it ruins him every time he lets himself think it:
she was love.
she was home.
and she will never be mine.
not to be a slut rn but happy sunshine reader and grumpy rafe alwaysssss gets me 😋😋😋😋 he tries so hard not to blush but he does every time and he can never stay mad for too long bc she always makes him laugh ughhhhh need
‧₊🫧꒷꒦‧₊˚⋆
— rafe cameron, he’s a dick, he’s spiteful and all round awful, but what they don’t know is there is a little bit of light in him, not much, but it’s there— and it’s you.
it always has been. since childhood, rafe lingered around you like a dark shadow, or a defensive dog, if you will. and it only got worse as you grew up beside each other. rafe talked for you, he picked you up from parties, he’s carried you home and put you to bed countless times.
despite what others think, he’s a sweetheart really, he just refuses to show it— growing up in a house where you have to be a man will do that to you.
but he found an odd comfort in you— he could be himself, he could laugh and he could vulnerable. you made him feel seen, and heard.
and no doubt that man was absolutely head over heels in love with you, everyone could see it. “when’re y’gonna ask her out man?” topper teased, cause the pair of you to blush on the opposite side of the kitchen island. shaking his head profusely, rafe chuckled. “you don’t know what you’re talkin’ about dude” yet wrapped his ginormous arms around you all the same in such a protective fashion that topper just laughed. “yeah, whatever you say”
and when topper left that evening, within minutes he had his head in your lap, pouting at the ceiling as you applied his face mask. “don’t be such a baby, it’ll make you’re skin all nice rafey” you giggled, almost pulling a smile from him. your laugh was like music to his ears, but of course, he’s not a pussy, he wouldn’t ever let you know that.
could you do like a heart wrenching pogue!reader and rafe? idk what like maybe rafe didn’t realize how hard his girl had it until he sees something. or how embarrassed she gets when people bring up their class differences. how she does interesting things to try and save money or make things last longer. idk up to you!
you watched rafe pull his truck into the gravel lot outside your small, weathered house on the cut. it was a far cry from tannyhill, with its peeling paint and sagging porch, but to you, it was home—a place you’d fought to keep together since your mom left and your dad started spending more time at the bar than at work.
you’d been dating rafe for three months, a secret kept from most of the island, because a kook prince and a pogue girl didn’t mix without whispers and judgment. but rafe didn’t care about the gossip, and you… you were trying not to care, even though every mention of your differences felt like a knife twisting in your gut.
you were sitting on the porch steps when he arrived, your hands busy mending an old pair of jeans with a needle and thread you’d scavenged from a thrift store sewing kit. the jeans were frayed at the knees, the denim thin from years of wear, but you were determined to make them last another season. beside you was a jar of homemade laundry detergent—dish soap, baking soda, and a splash of vinegar you’d mixed yourself to save a few bucks.
your hair was tied back with a scrap of fabric from an old t-shirt, and your fingers moved with practiced precision, though your cheeks flushed when you saw rafe’s truck.
“hey, baby,” rafe called, climbing out, his voice warm but carrying that edge of confidence that always made you feel a little out of place. he was in a crisp polo and khakis, looking like he’d stepped out of a yacht club, while you were in a faded tank top and those patched jeans, your bare feet dusty from the porch. he strode over, his eyes softening as he took you in, but you quickly tucked the sewing under a folded blanket, hoping he hadn’t noticed.
“hey,” you said, forcing a smile as you stood, brushing your hands on your thighs. “didn’t expect you so early.” your voice was light, but your stomach churned with the familiar embarrassment that came with him seeing your world—the chipped mugs on the porch, the cracked window you’d taped over with plastic wrap to keep out the rain, the way everything here screamed struggle.
rafe shrugged, his hands in his pockets. “got done with dad’s meeting early. thought i’d surprise you.” he leaned in, kissing your forehead, and you relaxed into his touch for a moment before pulling back, hyper-aware of the neighbors’ eyes that might be watching from across the street.
“c’mon inside,” you said, leading him into the house. the living room was lit by a single lamp you’d rewired yourself after finding it curbside. the couch was patched with duct tape, and the coffee table wobbled on a stack of old magazines you’d shoved under one leg to stabilize it. you’d done your best to make it cozy—thrifted curtains, a rug you’d bartered for at the flea market—but it was nothing like the polished grandeur of tannyhill. you caught rafe’s eyes lingering on the table, and your face burned.
“want something to drink?” you asked quickly, moving to the kitchen before he could answer. you opened the fridge, revealing a half-empty jug of water and a jar of homemade iced tea you’d brewed with tea bags you’d reused twice to stretch them further. “i’ve got tea. or water.”
rafe followed you, his brows furrowing slightly as he leaned against the counter. “tea’s good, baby,” he said, but his gaze was drifting—to the cracked linoleum floor, the shelf where you’d neatly arranged cans of soup and beans you’d bought in bulk with coupons. “you, uh… you okay here? like, you got enough food and stuff?”
the question caught you off guard, and your hand froze on the jar. your throat tightened with a mix of shame and defensiveness. “yeah, i’m fine,” you said, a little too sharply, pouring the tea into a mismatched glass. “i’m not starving, rafe. i get by.”
“i didn’t mean it like that,” he said quickly, his voice soft. “just… you know, i worry about you.” he stepped closer, his hand brushing your arm, but you turned away, busying yourself with wiping down the already-clean counter. you hated when people brought up your situation—hated the pity, the assumptions, the way it made you feel small.
“i’m good,” you said, quieter now, but your hands shook slightly as you set the glass in front of him. “you don’t need to worry.”
rafe didn’t push, but you could feel his eyes on you, watching the way you moved, the way you avoided looking at him. he took the glass, his fingers brushing yours, and you felt that familiar pull—wanting to lean into him, to let him hold you, but also wanting to hide every part of your life that screamed pogue.
it wasn’t until later, when you were both sitting on the couch, that it all unraveled. rafe had pulled you into his lap, his arms wrapped around you, his lips brushing your temple as he murmured about how much he’d missed you. you were starting to relax, to let yourself believe that maybe he didn’t care about the differences between you, when he reached for the blanket you’d tucked your sewing under earlier.
it fell away, revealing the jeans, the needle still threaded through the denim, and a small pile of buttons you’d saved from old clothes to reuse.
rafe’s hand stilled, his eyes locking on the jeans. “what’s this?” he asked, his voice curious but gentle.
your face flushed hot, and you reached to snatch the jeans away, but he held them out of reach, his brows knitting together. “it’s nothing,” you muttered, your voice thick with embarrassment. “just… fixing some stuff.”
he looked at the jeans, then at you, his expression shifting as he took in the careful stitches, the worn fabric. “you’re mending these?” he asked, and there was something in his tone—not pity, but something heavier, like realization. his eyes darted around the room again, lingering on the taped window, the jar of homemade detergent you’d left on the counter, the way you’d cut the sleeves off an old flannel to make cleaning rags. “baby… how long you been doing stuff like this?”
you pulled back, sliding off his lap, your heart pounding. “it’s not a big deal,” you said, your voice tight. “everybody does it. you make things last, you know? it’s just… how it is.” you crossed your arms, trying to hide the shame burning through you. “not all of us can afford to just buy new shit all the time, rafe.”
he flinched, like your words had stung, and set the jeans down carefully. “i didn’t mean it like that,” he said, his voice low. “i just… i didn’t know it was like this for you.”
“of course you didn’t,” you snapped, then immediately regretted it. your eyes stung, and you turned away, pressing your lips together to keep from crying. “you don’t have to know. you live in your big house with your fancy cars, and i’m… i’m here, cutting coupons and reusing tea bags because i can’t afford to waste anything. it’s humiliating, okay? i don’t want you to see this.”
rafe stood, his movements slow, like he was approaching something fragile. “sweetheart, don’t,” he said softly, his hands hovering near your shoulders. “don’t be embarrassed. not with me.” his voice cracked, and when you finally looked at him, his eyes were glassy, his jaw tight. “i didn’t know. i mean, i knew you had it rough, but… i didn’t see it. i should’ve.”
you shook your head, tears spilling over despite your efforts to hold them back. “it’s not your job to fix my life, rafe,” you whispered. “i’ve been doing this forever. i save every penny, i make my own detergent, i fix my clothes, i buy dented cans because they’re cheaper. it’s just… it’s who i am. and i hate that you’re seeing it, because i know it’s not what you’re used to.”
he stepped closer, his hands finally settling on your arms, gentle but firm. “i don’t care what i’m used to,” he said, his voice rough with emotion. “i care about you. and it kills me that you’ve been carrying this by yourself, that you feel like you have to hide it.” he swallowed hard, his thumbs brushing your skin. “i’m such an idiot. i’ve been running around, not even thinking about how hard this is for you. i should’ve asked. i should’ve noticed.”
you looked down, your tears dripping onto the floor. “i didn’t want you to,” you admitted, your voice barely audible. “i didn’t want you to look at me and see… this. the broke pogue girl who can’t keep up with your world.”
“hey, stop,” he said, his voice breaking as he cupped your face, tilting your chin up so you had to meet his eyes. they were wet now, too, and the sight of rafe cameron—kook royalty, tough and untouchable—crying because of you made your heart twist. “you’re not just some pogue, okay? you’re you. you’re my girl. and i’m so damn sorry i didn’t see how much you were holding together. you’re so strong, baby, and i… i don’t deserve you.”
you shook your head, trying to pull away, but he held you gently, his hands trembling. “i’m not strong,” you whispered, your voice thick with tears. “i’m just surviving. and i’m so scared you’re gonna wake up one day and realize i’m not enough. that i’m too… this.” you gestured vaguely at the room, at the patched couch, the cracked walls, the life you’d pieced together with scraps and stubbornness.
rafe’s face crumpled, and he pulled you into his arms, holding you so tightly you could barely breathe. “don’t say that,” he said, his voice raw. “you’re more than enough. you’re everything. i’m the one who’s not enough, okay? i’m the one who didn’t see you, didn’t get it.” he pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes searching yours, desperate and pleading. “i love you. i love you so much, and i don’t care about the money or the houses or any of it. i just want you.”
you sobbed then, the sound breaking free despite your efforts to hold it in. you buried your face in his chest, clinging to his shirt, and he held you, his hand stroking your hair, his lips pressing soft kisses to your temple. “i’m here,” he murmured, over and over, like a promise. “i’m not going anywhere. and i’m gonna start paying attention, okay? i’m gonna help, if you’ll let me.”
you didn’t know how to let him in, not fully—not when you’d spent so long building walls to keep people from seeing your struggles. but his arms around you, his voice thick with emotion, made you want to try. “i’m just… i’m scared,” you whispered against his chest. “i don’t want to be your charity case.”
“you’re not,” he said fiercely, pulling back to cup your face again. “you’re my girl. my home. and i’m gonna do better, baby. i promise.” he kissed you then, soft and slow, his lips tasting of salt from both your tears. it wasn’t a fix, not yet, but it was a start—a fragile bridge between your worlds, built on his willingness to see you and your willingness to let him.
you stayed like that for a long time, wrapped in each other, the quiet of the cut.
I'm hoping you still write for Vinnie Hacker cause I have a request pretty please 😭
Let's say y/n is an actress and her latest project was being in Death Stranding 2 as Tomorrow. And Vinnie decides to play the game on stream and react to her performance along with the chat. You can decide whether or not y/n is present to see it 🩷
vinnie had been hyping up death stranding 2 on his stream for weeks, mostly because he thought it looked sick, but also because you were in it. his chat had been clowning him nonstop about it, spamming “simp” and “supportive bf” every time he mentioned the game.
so when release day came, he booted it up live.
“alright, chat,” he said, leaning back in his chair, hoodie falling off one shoulder. “moment of truth. apparently tomorrow—” he paused, smirking because that was your character’s name, “—shows up around here. y’all ready?”
the second your face appeared on screen, rendered in flawless detail, chat absolutely lost it. messages flew: BRO THAT’S HIS GIRL, OMG / SHE’S SO PRETTY WTF / W RIZZ / HE’S ABOUT TO CRY.
vinnie went quiet for a moment, staring at the cutscene with this small, proud smile tugging at his mouth. “nah, this is crazy,” he muttered, almost to himself. “look at her, bro. she’s insane.”
chat spammed HE’S BLUSHING / LOOK AT HIS FACE.
when your character delivered her first big line, vinnie laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. “she did not tell me she was gonna sound like that, bro. nah, i’m not gonna survive this game.” he leaned closer to the screen, pretending to analyze. “like, look at the expressions. that’s actually her. they got it down perfect. i don’t even know how they do that.”
every time you spoke, he’d go quiet again, watching intently. half the time he forgot he was even live until the alerts went crazy. “chat, stop clipping me. stop. i’m just—bro, imagine having a girlfriend that’s literally in a kojima game. i don’t know how i won.”
by the end of the stream, he was slouched in his chair with the goofiest grin, eyes glued to the screen. “i’m not even kidding,” he said, shaking his head, “this might be my favorite game of all time just ‘cause of her.”
chat, of course, was ruthless: SHE’S THE MAIN CHARACTER IN HIS HEART / MAN’S DOWN BAD / BEST BOYFRIEND AWARD.
and vinnie just laughed, cheeks pink, before muttering, “y’all can make fun of me all you want. i don’t care. i’m just proud.”
Ivy I feel real violent after 'traitor' soooo I wish for revenge. So maybe the reader gets a glow up after mourning her relationship and just says this has to stop and is doing real well while Vinnie is regretting it and sees her and how happy she it with like a revenge song.
I fucking love this! Thank you so much for the request, baby. I hope you like it.
A little bit of revenge | Vinnie Hacker
pairing: vinnie hacker x fem!reader
summary: he played the wrong one.
warnings: reader herself, kissing
previous parts: traitor
─── ୨୧ ───
You were hurt. And you didn’t even understand why.
He wasn’t worth your tears, or your broken heart.
He took everything from you. Literally everything.
He showed you what love itself was.
But he also showed you what a betrayal was.
You were there for him when he needed you the most. You helped him through everything.
You were understanding, patient and gentle with him.
Yet, he left you alone. Threw you away like you were a crumpled paper.
You didn’t understand what you did to deserve it. You weren’t the bad guy there, were you?
You did everything you could to keep him.
And yet, he didn’t appreciate it. He didn’t appreciate you.
As days went by, you started getting okay. Your tears started drying. Your heart started gluing together.
And even though there were moments when you felt like dying, you started living again.
You started going out a lot, met new people.
Right, there were some nights where you sat on your couch, thinking about everything.
The memories of the two of you were sometimes torturing you.
“You’re the best thing, baby.”
He mumbled out, looking at you with that kindness in his eyes. With gentleness in his smile.
A soft giggle left your lips as you shook your head, acting like his words didn’t melt your heart.
You almost laughed at that memory, not understanding how you could be so stupid.
You still sometimes scrolled on his instagram, wanting to see what she had and you didn’t.
Was she prettier, funnier?
Did she smell better? Did she laugh better?
But it was rare when you did that.
Most of the time you were simply happy.
You started vlogging a lot, showing your fans the moments of your day.
And everyone loved it.
Maybe even Vinnie did.
He watched every single one of your videos. His eyes focused on your soft features. On your soft voice you used, talking to the camera.
And he found himself missing you.
Your sweet, gentle soul.
The way you ran your nails through his hair, putting him to sleep when he felt like he couldn’t.
How you whispered sweet words into his ear when he was having a hard time.
He missed the way you smiled at him. The way you laughed at his jokes.
He found himself regretting it. He regretted letting you go, he regretted leaving.
And before he could think of a better plan, he was standing at your door.
You weren’t home though, still at school.
But he wanted to be early, hopping it’d do something. He wasn’t even sure what he was hoping for.
The second you saw him there, standing at your door. Your heart clenched a little, but your mind stayed calm.
You walked to the door, looking at him.
“What a pleasure.”
You mumbled out, unlocking the door. Your voice holding a bit of sarcasm.
“I just wanted to talk.”
He said. His tone collected, like how it always was. He was confident you’d let him talk.
You had other plans though.
“There’s nothing to talk about.”
The door was already opened, and you were already standing in your apartment.
You shrugged, clearing your throat.
“You made your choice, Vinnie. Then be the man you are and live with it.”
And with that, you closed the door. Leaving him standing there with his lips slightly opened in shock.
He would never guess you’d do that.
He thought you were heartbroken. He thought that the second he’d show up, you’d be running in his arms.
He returned back to his girlfriend that day. His heart heavy.
Because he knew that he lost something expensive.
Something rare, that’d he never get back.
You went out the same night with your friends. Because clearing your mind was the best decision you could make.
You deserved some time for yourself.
You danced, drank and sang. You screamed your lungs out to every song that was playing. And you felt alive.
After a long time since everything happened.
As the night went by, you started getting a little tipsy. The drinks you had couldn’t be counted on both hands.
But you felt good.
When you went to get new drinks for yourself and your friends, you were met with a pretty girl, standing at the bar.
You send a smile her way, waiting at the counter for the bartender to notice you.
She moved closer to you, leaning against the counter. Her big, blue eyes focused on your face.
“Hi there.”
She said and you noticed she was more than tipsy immediately.
“Hi, love.”
You said back, smiling.
You two started talking. She told you about her relationship. About her boyfriend, who was still in love with his ex.
You were sorry for her, because she really seemed hurt. She also seemed familiar.
Like you’ve seen her somewhere. But the amount of drinks you had didn’t let you remember.
As minutes passed, she started touching your hair. And you started complimenting her eyes, her smile.
She was beautiful, you couldn’t lie.
She smelled good. Maybe vanilla and some type of flower.
Her blonde hair smelled and looked like honey.
She was like an angel.
You didn’t understand her boyfriend.
How could he not appreciate her?
And as you kind of flirted with her, you noticed someone walking into the bar.
Someone too familiar to you.
Blonde hair, brown eyes. Skin full of tattoos.
He was looking around the bar, maybe searching for someone.
The second his eyes met yours, it felt like you sobered up.
The blue eyed girl noticed the change in your demeanor, becoming slightly confused by the change in your eyes.
The second she started turning her head to look at what made you change, you grabbed her face, turning it towards you.
You pressed your lips to her glossy ones, testing her cherry lipgloss.
And you were sure Vinnie saw it all. Hell, you hoped he saw it all.
The kiss deepened, your tongues tangling together. She didn’t pull away, pressing herself against you more.
And Vinnie did saw it all, standing there frozen. His heart beating loudly, almost as loud as the music playing.
The kiss was still lasting, and you found yourself enjoying it.
Little did you know, you were kissing the girl he left you for.
─── ୨୧ ───
HIIIIII, BABESS!!
that took a turn, right?
I hope you like it though.
After this I’m thinking about some lovely fluff, what do you think?
Vinnie warned you about Hera before you even met her.
“She’s a princess. Just so you know.”
You’d laughed at the time, thinking he meant it in a cute way.
He didn’t.
He meant it in the “this cat thinks she owns my soul and will actively try to ruin your life” kind of way.
And he was right.
The first time you came over and sat on his couch, Hera jumped up behind you, stared at your head for a solid five seconds, and smacked your ponytail.
No hesitation. No fear.
Like, how dare you breathe near her couch and her man?
You turned around, blinking. “Did she just…?”
“She’s just saying hi,” Vinnie said casually, sitting beside you like this was normal.
Then Hera slinked across the back of the couch and sat behind Vinnie’s head, tail flicking, staring down at you like a queen assessing a peasant.
You tried to ignore it.
Until she started slowly pawing at his hoodie string. Then his hair. Then his shoulder.
You reached out to pet her.
She hissed.
At you.
Vinnie just smiled and said, “That’s her love language.”
It wasn’t.
After that, things got worse.
You weren’t allowed to cuddle him on the couch without Hera inserting herself literally, climbing onto Vinnie’s chest and wedging between your faces.
You’d be mid-conversation, knees pulled up on his lap, and Hera would leap into the space, plop down, and curl up like you were the third wheel.
She’d purr only when you weren’t touching her.
Rub her face against Vinnie’s hand, then swipe at yours when you reached over.
Once, she pushed your phone off the coffee table while staring you dead in the eyes.
Another time, you woke up to her sitting on your stomach in the dark like a shadow demon. Just staring. No purrs. No blinking.
Vinnie, of course, didn’t believe the full extent of it.
“She’s a sweetheart.”
“She clawed my sock off my foot.”
“She’s just playing.”
“She growled.”
“She’s expressive.”
You narrowed your eyes. “You raised a little villain.”
“She’s perfect.”
He said it while petting her like the most precious being in the world. Hera purred and gave you a smug look like she knew she’d won.
But then there were the cracks.
One night, you were half asleep on Vinnie’s chest while the two of you watched some late night anime rerun. Hera was curled up in her usual corner of the couch, giving you both the silent treatment.
You shifted, pulling the blanket up. Vinnie rubbed your back. You yawned, and his hand moved to your hair.
And Hera meowed.
Once.
Then again. Louder.
Vinnie looked over. “What?”
She meowed a third time, then stood, stomped across the cushions, and planted herself directly between the two of you, purring aggressively while staring at him.
He blinked. “You’re not serious.”
She pushed her head into his chin.
You stared. “Is she trying to…?”
“Shh. She’s asserting dominance.”
You rolled your eyes. “Over me?”
“She says you’ve gotten too comfortable.”
Eventually, a truce formed.
You brought her a treat once those freeze dried chicken ones she apparently considered worthy of her time.
She ate it, then sat on your thigh for exactly six seconds.
That was the day she allowed you into the kingdom. Kind of.
Now, she’ll sometimes curl up at the foot of the bed when you’re over.
But only if she gets there first.
She still gives you side eye when you kiss Vinnie in the kitchen.
Still knocks your things off the counter occasionally.
Still positions herself directly in the middle of the bed like a fluffy little wall.
But now?
If you stretch out your hand slowly… she doesn’t hiss.
She might even brush her cheek against your knuckle.
And sometimes only when she thinks no one’s watching she curls up near your hip and pretends she’s just trying to get warm.
But Vinnie knows.
And he grins every time.
Because Hera might still act like you’re stealing her man…
But even she can’t pretend you don’t belong here anymore.
Warnings: artist reader, established relationship, supportive fans, not much honestly lol just cute fluffy shit
-----------------------------------------
You leaned your canvas against the wall near his bed and sat down, cracking your neck before picking up your pencil and starting to sketch. Vinnie smiled as he watched you, he played his game and streamed, watching the chat go and go once they saw you in the background. You two figured out before you even started dating that you enjoyed parallel play or as Vinnie called it, “together alone time”. He couldn’t help but watch you every so often; how your face scrunched up as you erased a line you didn’t like, your lip snagged between your teeth as you focused.
“Fuck…” you whispered, setting down your pencil.
“What?” Vinnie chuckled, still keeping his eyes on his game.
“I forgot a water cup for the brushes…” you groaned, leaning your back against his bed while you looked at the canvas.
Silently, Vinnie paused his game before walking out of the room. You watched him go before you looked at the screen, waving shyly. Vinnie and you had been together for over a year but had only become public in the last two months. The fans were getting used to you just as much as you were getting used to them. You saw the chat scroll faster when you waved. You looked at the door, then back to the screen. You stood up, walking over to the computer.
“Um… hi everyone… I’m not sure where Vinnie went but I’m sure he will be back soon.” you said reassuringly. Your eyes scanned over the game, he was playing Valorant today. “Ya know I’ve never been very good at this game.” you said, mostly to yourself.
User23456543432: what games do you play?
You read the comment, looking back at the door you decided there was no harm in some friendly convo while you waited for Vinnie to finish whatever he was doing. “I really like story and puzzle games,” you smiled. “Or Mortal Kombat, I will always play that, it's my favorite.”
User98765434561: what are you painting?
“Well nothing yet but it is going to be a person at some point.” you said, squinting at the canvas resting against the wall. “It’s all abstract anyways, it can be whatever.” you shrugged.
User45678654324: Favorite show?
“It changes but if I had to pick a favorite right now I’d say “Blue Eye Samurai”? If you haven’t seen it you really should, it’s amazing.” you said. You stayed like that for a few more minutes answering random questions you saw in the chat. Eventually you looked at the live feed and saw Vinnie leaned up against the doorframe, smiling at you.
You blushed, getting out of his chair. “Sorry…” you mumbled.
Vinnie chuckled as he handed you a mug of water, “For your art.” he said. He handed you a plate from behind his back that had different fruits and treats on it, “For your body.” he said.
You set them down before pulling him into a hug, snuggling your head into his chest. “For my soul.” you said before placing a sweet kiss on his lips.
You could feel him smile into the kiss, wrapping his arms around your waist to hold you against him. He broke the kiss after a moment, placing a peck on your cheek before going back to his desk to continue the stream.
You sat down, mixing a few paints together to get the color you wanted before you touched your brush to the canvas. You snacked on the things Vinnie brought you, admiring him as you went; appreciating his kind nature that has always taken care of you.
“Staring is rude.” Vinnie said without taking his gaze away from the screens.
“I’m admiring.” you corrected him before turning back to your art.
The next few hours flew by and you were finally done. So done that the chat pointed out to him that you were asleep, your body contorted awkwardly against the floor and the side of his bed. Vinnie smiled to himself warmly, he couldn’t believe he got to hang around your life, let alone be loved by you. Small moments like this always made the world disappear so it felt like just you two.
“Baby?” Vinnie said, nudging you slightly.
You groaned softly.
“Honey?” he said, nudging you a little harder.
“What?” you asked with slight annoyance in your tone.
“Wanna sleep in the bed you’re less than a foot away from?” he chuckled.
You sat up a little, stretching your achy joints. You nodded; Vinnie could tell you were half asleep with every clumsy movement you made as he helped you up before just flopping down on the bed.
Vinnie smiled softly as he adjusted your legs before pulling a blanket over you. You snuggled in, he kissed your cheek. He played his game for a few more minutes, constantly looking at you in the background, tossing around occasionally. “Alright chat, I think I’m gonna log off for the night. Thank you all for joining my stream, see you soon!” He said before turning off the computer. He cleaned up your art supplies, washing your brushes just how you had shown him. Once everything was clean he slipped off his clothes until he was in just his boxers before joining you in bed.
You immediately rolled into him, “I missed you,” you mumbled.
Vinnie chuckled, tucking your head into the crook of his neck so he could give you a quick kiss as he wrapped his arms around you. “I love you.” He whispered a few times as he left feather light kisses on your head.
-----------------------------
Naboo's Note:
Capitalism is sucking the life out of me slowly and the state of the USA is crippling me with how ABSOLUTELY FUCKING RIDICULOUSLY STUPID it is but here is a fic. Will try to write more soon.
𝓑ᝰ. this was requested by anon!! i hope you guys enjoy!
San Diego Convention Center was already flooded with creators, fans, cosplayers, and every kind of chaotic energy imaginable. Streamers were live, people were passing out merch like it was candy, and everyone was elbow-deep in trying to figure out which bathroom Kai had ducked into an hour ago.
Vinnie had his sunglasses low on his nose and hoodie pulled halfway over his head as he wove through the crowd casually. like he wasn’t the reason half the attendees were craning their necks and whispering behind their phones. His lanyard swung against his chest, and his phone was tucked into his back pocket. The boy moved like he didn’t have a care in the world.
but he had a secret right in his hands..
Or more accurately— the “secret” had their arm looped around his, wearing an oversized hoodie which was definitely stolen out of his closet. You were sipping on an iced matcha with the confidence of someone who had every right to be there. “Baby,” he murmured, glancing down at you with a smirk, “you do realize everyone’s staring at us, right?” You looked up, brow raised over your sunglasses. “Yeah. I thought they were staring at you.”
“They usually are,” he said smugly, “but you? You just stole all my thunder.” you rolled your eyes playfully “Oh no, my sincerest apologies,” you deadpanned, pressing a hand to your chest. “Shall I let go of your arm? Walk ten paces behind? Pretend I’m your assistant or something?” Vinnie shook his head and laid a hand on your back to push you forward to a stand. You two fell into conversation with the booth worker.
"You spent forty-five minutes choosing between 'Mermaid Sparkle' and 'Vanilla Dreams,' babe," he reminded you. "I deserve compensation for that trauma." You nudged him with your elbow. "You liked Vanilla Dreams," you accused. "Don't pretend you didn't wear it the next day."
The bickering between you two was soft, playful-like a well-practiced inside joke the world wasn't meant to hear. But the world was definitely watching. Somewhere in the crowd, a vlogger had paused mid-sentence. "Wait... is that Vinnie?" she whispered into her mic. "And who—who is that with him? Is this his girlfriend??" Her camera slowly panned to catch the two in frame.
You both didn't notice. Too busy looking at the booth where a guy in a hotdog costume was speedrunning Just Dance 2014.
"Wait, wait," you said, eyes wide. "I need to watch this. He's actually killing it." You laughed. "Is that —'Call Me Maybe?"» Vinnie blinked, genuinely impressed. "Okay, respect."
You stood shoulder-to-shoulder, watching for a good five minutes. Vinnie reached for your drink, taking a sip without asking, and handed it back. You didn't blink. Just wiped the straw with your sleeve and kept sipping.
More eyes caught on... More whispers spread.
More TikToks recording, some zooming in as Vinnie casually dropped a hand to the small of your back as you walked toward the next booth. When someone called his name, he turned, flashed his signature smile, gave a quick wave and then instinctively reached back for your hand, tugging you with him as you took a sharp turn down a side aisle.
He gasped once he saw a certain booth pulling you over to it. "we are so padme and Anakin coded" he said. "So you kill me?" You joked. "Yeah out of the undying fear of loosing you." You rolled your eyes playfully finding it adorable. "I can't blame Anakin though.. like if I was gonna loose a baddie like padme I would destroy the world too" you gasped hitting his shoulder.
"Vinnie!" You laughed. "I'm kidding. I would do it for you though" he leaned down and kissed your cheek. you smiled up at him. "well I wouldn't follow you down that path" he gasped placing a hand on his chest causing you both to laugh.
That was the moment. The hard launch.
He just kissed your cheek in public. It was like a thousand influencers, fans, and nosey creators felt the disturbance in the force.
And the thing that got them is that you were gorgeous, funny, cool and casual about the fans. You weren't an influencer. You were give everyone whiplash because who the hell were you??
Soon after that you made it to a creator lounge where Vinnie promptly faceplanted onto a beanbag. “I’ve taken more pictures today than I did in the last three months.”
You flopped beside him, legs across his lap, resting your head on his shoulder. “I feel like I’ve seen half the internet in one hour. I waved at someone in a Minecraft onesie and I don’t know if they were cosplaying or not.”
“I think that’s just how some people dress.” Vinnie chuckled. “I think we saw TommyInnit three times and he didn’t realize.” You laughed at the thought “I think we might be in someone’s vlog thumbnail right now.” He joked.
“Wait-“ you looked at each other wide eyed. “Do you think people know?” You asked. Vinnie snorted. “Know what? That you’re madly in love with me? Probably not. I’ve been hiding you like a rare Pokémon card.”
You rolled your eyes. “You could’ve told me you were gonna go all PDA today.” He shrugged. “Kinda felt like the right time. You looked cute. We were already walking around. You had your ‘girlfriend’ energy on full blast. I just… didn’t feel like pretending anymore.”
Your features softened at that. “Okay,” you said quietly. “Then I guess it’s my turn to go all PDA.” Vinnie’s brows shot up. “You gonna kiss me or what?”
“Nope,” you said sweetly, reaching into your bag. “I brought your embarrassing baby photos.” His eyes widened. “You wouldn’t.” She held up a laminated photo of 7-year-old Vinnie in a leopard onesie with toothpaste on his cheek.
His jaw dropped. “Where did you even find that.” You laughed at his face. “Your mama. she happily handed it over. Thank you mama hacker!” You said out loud laughing harder. “Oh I’m so gonna call her after this.” You looked at him a louder laugh leaving your lips. a few people in the lounge stared. “Sorry.” You covered your mouth trying to die down your laughter.
“we should go back out.” You nodded standing up and putting the photo away. Once you walked back into the main area you hit a photo op with some fans. Vinnie posed, winked, flashed peace signs but the real shock came when a fan asked, “Is that your girlfriend?”
Vinnie didn’t flinch. He didn’t even blink. He wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you into the frame, and said casually, “Yeah. This is my girlfriend.” And the fan? Froze. Jaw dropped. Let out a stunned, high-pitched, “Wait, for real?”
Vinnie chuckled. “Yeah. Sorry if it ruins the fantasy.” You added with a grin. The fan smiled before jumping up and down. “Oh my gosh you are so pretty!!!” You smiled. “Thank you so much hun.” She smiled. “Can I get a picture?” You nodded pushing Vinnie out of the way jokingly.
the next few hours were full of pictures and talking with fans. when you finally got home Vinnie and you had so much to scroll though as his phone blew up.
Screenshots. Zoom-ins. Fan theories. TikToks analyzing the way Vinnie looked at you like you hung the moon. Threads of people trying to figure out who you were and videos of you two in the background of other influencer vlogs.
Your legs tangled in his and your head on his chest as you laid down. You looked up and asked, “So, you happy with the hard launch?” Vinnie chuckled, brushing a strand of hair from your cheek. “Honestly? Best soft launch ever.”
You flicked his chest. “That was not soft.” He laughed. “I mean… we didn’t kiss on camera. So… technically…” you shook your head. “You so did! Someone literally got a clip of you kissing my cheek. You also called me your favorite person in an interview!”
He grinned. “Okay, yeah. But I meant every word.” You smiled, eyes sleepy. “You know you’re gonna break some hearts, right?” He wrapped his arms tighter around you, lips brushing the top of your head.
“Yeah,” he whispered, “but none of them were mine.” You smiled brightly before closing your eyes. “I love you vin.” he smiled. “I love you more sweetheart.”
warnings: fluff, slight angst, too fluffy and sweet, a bit cringe
─── ୨୧ ───
You were living alone since you were eighteen. You moved out of your parent’s house because it didn’t feel like home no more.
It felt like a cage that kept you away from all the things you wanted to get to know. Kept you from being comfortable and cozy.
Your childhood house was messy. Even though your mom cleaned a lot, some things just couldn’t get clean.
Like the way your parents argued daily. Their words could be heard through the paper think walls, making you feel stuck.
Your siblings didn’t help with their nonstop fighting. And coming into your room even though you begged them not to.
But when you moved out, everything got better. You had your own place, your own everything.
You cleaned only after yourself and weren’t scared for your things being broken by your siblings.
The apartment you lived in was cozy. You decorated it so it’d feel like home, like a real home.
Every little detail in it mirrored you. The pink coffee maker, the white flowers on the kitchen island.
Candles that everyone could smell when they walked in, your slippers with bows that you owned.
Everything was so you and you loved it.
And your boyfriend, Vinnie loved it too. He loved that even when he was alone in your apartment, it felt like you were there with him.
That every time he took a deep breath, he smelled the rose candles you loved so much.
That every time he saw the flowers, he saw the big grin on your lips when you picked them out in the flower shop.
He loved your apartment, he loved you.
Of course, he had his own home. His own apartment that he was often in. That you hang out in too.
But something about your space made him calmer, more comfortable and relaxed.
You didn’t really noticed when he started being at your place more. Sleeping over more nights than usual.
But after some time, you started to notice small things. Small changes that kind of made you feel different.
Like his black socks, being mixed with your pink ones in the laundry basket. Or his black shirts in the closet right next to your colorful ones.
When you folded your laundry, you suddenly folded his too. Your eyes slightly opening more, your expression slightly confused.
And then you started tripping over his shoes, his own slippers. The light brown ones, the ones that you joked looked like grandpa shoes.
One morning you woke up with his arms around you, his breath warming the skin of your neck. You softly smiled before wiggling yourself out of his grasp.
And as you arrived to the bathroom, your eyes scanned over the cup you left your toothbrush in.
You pursed your lips at the blue toothbrush next to your pink one. Then moved your eyes over his skincare products.
Something nagged at your mind. Something grew in your stomach. A pit, maybe.
But you threw it over your head and just brushed your teeth, didn’t mention it that day. And didn’t mention it at all.
And then, you arrived home from hanging out with your friends. All you wanted to do was relax, read and just have a quiet night.
But when you closed the door and slipped into your bow slippers, you saw your boyfriend’s shoes.
His slippers weren’t there, meaning he must have them on right now.
You noticed the flowers you bought two weeks ago were not there. Instead there were new ones.
Pink and white tulips. Next to the vase was a new candle. And then another candle.
You didn’t remember buying those.
Everything looked so different, yet so same. And from that day, you started noticing it all.
How he left more things at your place. How his favorite mug was always next to your favorite one.
His slippers were always next to yours. His toothbrush next to yours. And his mangas found their place on the shelf next to your romance books.
You always stared at the things with a small frown on your face, with a little voice at the back of your head.
You started being scared that your home would turn into your childhood house. That the comfortable silence would be replaced with yelling.
That the space wouldn’t smell like candles, but like the trash bin that was always forgotten to be taken out.
And suddenly, you started overthinking. You started being terrified and uncomfortable of your home.
Vinnie started sleeping over a lot. Started having more clothes at your apartment. He started being there when you weren’t.
He was your boyfriend. And you loved your boyfriend more than anything.
But something still nagged in your mind and reminded you of that messy household you grew up in.
Of course, he didn’t leave any mess after himself. He cleaned everything after himself. He folded laundry. He loaded the dishwasher and put away the clean dishes.
But that fear still remained there.
You sat in your living room, watching a movie as Vinnie made you two a tea. Hera was cuddled up in your lap.
Your attention wasn’t on the TV, it was on your apartment. And as everything in it started to change.
He noticed the way you looked around the space, a small frown on your lips. He frowned too, walking towards you with two mugs in his hands.
He placed them on the coffee table, sitting down next to you on the pink couch. He observed you for a moment before clearing his throat to get your attention.
“I can see the wheels turning in your head.”
He mumbled out, making you look at him. Your frown softening, being replaced with a smile.
He knew you too well.
You looked down at Hera, smiling at her sleeping face as you rubbed her ear.
He sighed, leaning his head to the side as he thought about what to say next. He noticed the change in your behavior.
“What’s wrong, baby?”
He asked softly, knowing something was troubling you. And when you heard those words, you looked up at him.
You thought for a moment, your mind troubled. After a moment you sighed, clearing your throat.
“I don’t know.”
You mumbled out, taking a deep breath as you took a look around your apartment once again.
And he noticed it. The frown of your face, the look in your eyes when you took in it all in.
He noticed the change. The way your gaze wasn’t happy anymore when you looked around.
And he felt like your weren’t happy with him anymore. That you weren’t happy he was here with you.
He cleared his throat to calm his nerves down, wanting to say something but you were first.
“Everything’s so different now. And uhm-“
You stopped, clearing your throat too.
“I’m kind of nervous about it.”
You looked at him with the soft gaze of yours. With those eyes he loved so much.
“You’re not happy with me being here, are you?”
That caught you of guard. You never thought about it like that. This thought never crossed your mind.
You shook your head quickly, scooping closer to him. Hera meowed softly when you woke her up with your movement.
“It’s not like that, Vin.”
You whispered, placing your hand over his bigger one. Your thumb started caressing his skin softly.
“I just started getting used to being alone. I got used to having only my things here.”
You started softly, your eyes focused on his brown ones.
You were quiet for a moment, not knowing what to say. You were troubled, scared that you hurt him with your fear.
“I just got scared, you know. Scared that it’d feel like the house I moved out of.”
You said after a moment. And when those words left your lips, his eyes softened.
He moved his hand away from yours, placing it against your cheek slowly. He touched you like you were something fragile.
Something that could easily break.
“I didn’t want to make you scared, baby.”
You shook your head at his whispered words, smiling softly.
“I think I scared myself with my thoughts. I’m actually glad you’re here.”
Your lips curled up in a teasing smile, meaning your were thinking of a witty remark he was used to.
“Even if it means I have to look at those grandpa shoes of yours. And those black covers of your books.”
He chuckled softly at your words, shaking his head. He leaned closer to you, kissing your forehead softly.
“You’re unbelievable.”
You went to sleep with a smile on your face that night. His arms keeping your frame close to his.
Your hand was fidgeting with his dark pajama shirt as he rubbed your bare back under your pink, silky pajama.
Hera was laying somewhere in your bed, her little snores made you smile even more.
And as you looked around the dark room, noticed his things there. Noticed how they started to melt with your ones.
You realized that your space stopped being only yours entirely.
It felt like home till now too, but with Vinnie here it felt even more comfortable.
You suddenly enjoyed the way you smelled his cologne over your favorite candle. That you tripped over his slippers.
No one could prepare you for unpacking his moving boxes. And no one could prepare for sharing your space.
The weirdest thing was, you didn’t call it your space anymore.
It was Vinnie’s space too, now.
And when you stared at Vinnie as he moved around the kitchen, cooking dinner for you with a wide grin on his face.
You realized that the space you called home wasn’t really a home till now.
That the person you were scared to let in, made it all better.
That the person was your home the whole time.
─── ୨୧ ───
HELLOOOO, BAAABBBEEESSS!!
I don’t really like this one much, but I hope you like it.
If you have any ideas or want to read about a specific thing, let me know.
The bass is thumping so deep it rattles your ribs, the air is so thick with weed smoke it tastes sweet on your tongue every time you inhale, and Barry’s little corner of the party is humming with low, hushed deals and the rustle of cash. You’re sprawled sideways across his lap, one leg hooked over his thick thigh, skirt bunched up carelessly so his big, ringed hand can disappear beneath it. His fingers are slow and deep, lazily curling inside you like he’s got all night, his other hand busy counting out crumpled bills to some jittery kid leaning across the table.
You’ve got your face buried against his neck, the heat of him searing your skin, his cologne heavy in your head, every brush of his thumb over your clit drawing out a sound you can’t quite swallow down. A soft, broken little moan escapes, and Barry’s lips twitch in a grin you feel against your temple, like he knows exactly how pretty you sound and exactly how much you don’t want anyone else to hear it.
Then Rafe Cameron stumbles up through the haze, twitchy, with eyes too wide and out of breath like he ran here. “Need a hit,” he mutters, voice low, but he stops mid-step when he sees you.
It’s the way your hips twitch against Barry’s thigh, the faint tremor in your legs, the way you cling to his hoodie—Rafe freezes, staring like he’s never seen anything like it. Barry doesn’t stop for a second, just smirks and says, “You’ve got to wait your turn, Cameron. Ladies first.” His thumb presses harder, slow circles that make your breath hitch, your lashes flutter.
Rafe’s ears go pink, gaze locked on where Barry’s hand vanishes under your skirt. You shift with a helpless little gasp, and Barry chuckles low in his chest, peeling off another bill and sliding a baggie across the table without looking. “Bet you haven’t ever made a girl sound like this,” he says casually, and you feel the way Rafe swallows hard, the awkward shift of him in his jeans, trying to hide how turned on he is.
Barry leans in, mouth brushing your ear as he works his fingers faster, the slick drag of them inside you making you clench. “C’mon, pretty girl… Let him watch you fall apart,” he murmurs, and your thighs tremble, heat spiralling low in your belly.
You try to hide your face, but Barry tilts your chin toward the dim light, toward Rafe, forcing your eyes open for a second. Rafe’s breathing faster now, jaw tight, staring like he’s memorising you. The bass thuds through your chest, Barry’s thumb presses hard, and your body bows against him. “Don’t be shy, sweetheart—Rafe here’s never seen a girl like you lose it, have you, country club?”
It hits so suddenly you almost choke on your own gasp, the pleasure twisting deep and low before it bursts, your velvet walls clenching and curling around Barry’s thick fingers in a desperate, humming rhythm that makes your whole body shiver. Slick rushes out in hot waves, coating his hand, your thighs trembling as your hips jerk helplessly against him. You clutch at his shirt like it’s the only thing tethering you, your head spinning, ears filled with the roar of your own pulse. Barry’s mouth ghosts against your cheek, his voice a low, smug purr you can barely register through the haze. And Rafe… Poor Rafe looks like he’s been gutted, eyes glassy, pupils wide, jaw slack as if every shaky breath he takes is dragging your moans down his throat, his lip caught between his teeth like he’s starving and this is the closest he’ll ever get to a taste.
“Don’t pout, Cameron, you can still look. Might be the closest you’ll ever get.” rafe Cheeks are flushed, a lip is caught between his teeth, and his breathing is a little too fast.
Barry eases you down from it, with slow little strokes that make you twitch, still counting money like nothing happened. “Now what did you want to buy again, country club?” he tells Rafe with a lazy smirk, pulling his hand from under your skirt, your slick glistening on his fingers before popping them back into your mouth.
Rafe’s voice is hoarse when he answers, “Yeah,” but his eyes never leave you.
Summary: inspired by the who’s your daddy tiktok trend!!!
Warnings: noneeee
Word count: 1,193
MASTERLIST (dad!rafe au masterlist)
You and Sarah were perched on the porch swing, the late afternoon sun spilling golden light across the wooden floorboards. A faint breeze rustled the trees, carrying with it the scent of grilled meat and summer grass.
Mabel sat contentedly in your lap, her tiny fingers wrapped around her pastel rattle, shaking it with quiet concentration. You bounced her gently on your knee as her soft baby giggles mixed with the hum of conversation from the backyard.
Rafe had invited a few of his friends over for a backyard barbecue—Topper, Kelce, John B, and a couple of others. From where you sat, you could see him, shirtless and sun-kissed, standing by the grill next to Topper.
His back glistened with sweat as he flipped steaks, laughing at something Topper said, his head thrown back, relaxed and in his element. You couldn’t help but stare—your man, the father of your child, effortlessly good-looking even in the most mundane moments. Beside you, Sarah snorted a laugh, breaking your gaze.
“Okay, you have to do this with Rafe and the guys,” she said, turning her phone towards you with a mischievous grin. On her screen was a video of a current TikTok trend—women passing a baby around to a group of men while the comments guessed which one was the father.
You blinked at the video, then smiled slowly, already knowing where this was going. “This is going to be hilarious,” you grinned, adjusting Mabel in your arms as you stood. Sarah was already walking ahead, phone raised and recording.
The two of you made your way down the steps and onto the lawn, Mabel nestled against your chest. Topper was the first target. He was mid-conversation with a few guys, but his eyes immediately caught yours as you approached. You held Mabel out wordlessly, and without hesitation, he reached for her.
As always, Topper used both arms, supporting her head and back like a pro, his hands big and gentle. He patted her back a few times, and she let out a happy squeal. “She loves him,” Sarah whispered behind the camera, making you giggle quietly. Next up was Kelce, who narrowed his eyes suspiciously as you approached, Sarah filming openly now.
“Okay, what are y’all up to?” he asked, though he still took Mabel when you offered her over. He held her with one arm, comfortable and confident as she blinked up at him, clearly unimpressed. “Just a TikTok thing,” Sarah shrugged with a smirk. “You’ll thank us when you go viral.”
Kelce rolled his eyes dramatically, bouncing Mabel a little. “Y’all are trouble.” “John B’s next,” Sarah said, tugging your arm. You turned toward the porch, where John B stood with a beer in one hand, talking to someone. “Hey babe,” Sarah called sweetly. “Mind holding Mabel for a second?”
John B raised an eyebrow but smiled, putting his drink down and reaching for your daughter. He held her cautiously, like he was afraid she might break, but he was gentle, whispering a soft, “Hi Mabes,” as she gurgled back at him.
You smiled at the sight, the sound of her babbling making your chest warm. “Have you seen Rafe?” you asked him. “He disappeared.” “I think he went inside—probably grabbing more food or a drink,” John B replied, shifting Mabel in his arms.
You took her back with a soft thank you, brushing your lips across her forehead before heading back toward the porch. Sarah followed, still filming. “Rafe? Baby, where are—” you started to call out as you reached the top of the stairs, but your voice cut off when the door opened.
Rafe stepped out, balancing a plate stacked with food in one hand and a beer in the other. He paused when he saw you and Mabel, immediately setting everything down on the outdoor table. He didn’t need to be asked—didn’t even hesitate.
He wiped his hands on the front of his shorts and came straight over, eyes flickering only to Mabel before settling on you. There was something instinctive in the way he reached for her, something intimate and practiced.
He took her from you with a kind of reverence, carefully adjusting her so she lay against his forearm like a natural extension of him. His gaze lingered on your face as he spoke, his voice lower than before. “Have you eaten yet?” Before you could answer, he glanced sideways and spotted Sarah’s phone still pointed at him.
He gave the camera a slow, amused smirk. “What’s going on?” he asked, but he already knew. You couldn’t help but laugh, brushing your fingers through your hair. “We’re doing a TikTok trend—passing Mabel around to different guys and seeing if the comments can guess who her dad is.”
He raised an eyebrow, his smirk deepening. “Think they’ll figure it out?” “Guess we’ll see,” you teased, folding your arms. Rafe looked down at Mabel, who gurgled up at him, then back at you. “I mean… she does look like me.” His tone was light, but there was unmistakable pride in his voice.
You rolled your eyes playfully, brushing your hand over Mabel’s fuzzy head. “Maybe. But I’m betting it won’t be her face that gives it away.” Later that night, curled up in bed with Mabel sleeping soundly in the bassinet beside you, you and Sarah watched the final cut of the TikTok.
From Topper’s practiced hold, to Kelce’s casual cradle, to John B’s awkward but sweet attempt. But when it got to Rafe—the way he reached for her without needing direction, the way his eyes were only ever on you, the softness in his smile when he held his daughter—it was clear as day.
You hit post. Two hours later, the video had already gone viral. And the comments? They didn’t guess Rafe was the dad because of how he held her. They guessed because of the way he looked at you.
summary: vinnie hacker was know for being the dk of los angeles, he won every one of his races, but one day one of the others racers asks him to bet the most valued thing on his life
warnings: swearing, u know my characters swear a lot lol. reader being treat as an object for a few second. little bit of angst, i love angst and you know it hehe. and i think that's all, hope you like it xoxo
the races were one thing vinnie attended every weekend, with his yellow miata and his girl in the passenger seat, vinnie loved to race and y/n loved to see vinnie happy and having a good time, even tho that meant vinnie risking his car and worst, his life, but y/n knew she couldn't change vinnie's mind about the races
the couple was getting ready to go to the la downtown, were all the racers met to just show off their cars and be just men for a night, y/n was wearing black cargo pants and a top that looked more like a bra than a top, her long red hair was straight and with some star pins decorating it
"you look amazing, baby" vinnie said looking at his girlfriend with awe, y/n smiled at him “you ready?” he asked
“sure” she grabbed her phone and followed her boyfriend to the door of his apartment
the couple arrived la downtown, y/n was nervous as always, she didn't really liked the idea of being among drunk men watching her boyfriends risk his life, y/n saw jordan approaching to them and smiled at him, he waved at her
"hey v, you ready?" he asked the blonde boy
"i was born ready" jordan and vinnie shared a few more words, y/n saw a new car arriving the place, it was a pretty porsche, it was the same color as her hair and that made her smile, the boy on the front seat noticed her and send her a wink, she rolled her eyes and she started hearing what jordan was saying
"they say a new racer is coming, he has this amazing red porsche" y/n scoffed
"i think he just arrived" she said, the two boys followed her gaze where the car was parked, the driver was now seating on the hood, he noticed her gaze and then he looked at the boy that was behind her like a guardian dog, vinnie frowned and put his arm on y/n's shoulders, the unknown guy laughed and then started walking to the trio, y/n rolled her eyes
"hey man, you must be vinnie" he said when he was in front of the couple, he was tall, not as tall as vinnie but he was definitely taller than y/n, he was towering her
"yeah, i am. and you are?" he asked annoyed, he could see the look he was giving his girl and he didn't like that
"woah, chill, big boy. i'm lorenzo, zurzolo" he introduced himself, she then recognized him, he was an actor and yes, he was handsome but the second she saw him she knew she was an asshole "you going to race?" he asked the tall boy
"i always do, you?" by this moment almost all the people at the event were looking at them
"first time racing here, i heard you always win, is that right?" he asked with a mocking tone, vinnie scoffed
"what do you think?" lorenzo laughed and vinnie tensed his chin
"what are you betting?" he asked and vinnie frowned
"the car" he responded simply, y/n was looking at them like she was at a tenis game
"let's make this more interesting, if you win i give you my car and 10k" vinnie arched his brow
"deal" he said, y/n looked at him frowning, he didn't knew what he had to bet
"don't wanna know what you have to give me if i win?" he asked vinnie crossing his arm
"you're not going to win, pretty boy" lorenzo laughed again
"if i win, you give me your car" he made a pause, like if he was thinking "and your girl" y/n frowned and looked at vinnie, the boy was mad, it was obvious
"what the fuck, man?" vinnie asked, jordan grabbed him before he could do anything against the boy
"you already accepted, hacker" he said, everyone looked at the boys
"i'm not going to be part of your stupid games" y/n said at lorenzo, he looked at her "stop this, vinnie"
"you already made a deal, do you really want all these people to see that you're a pussy?" y/n frowned again, she knew what he was doing, he wanted to provoked him, and we was getting it
"vin, please, stop this madness" she said to her boyfriend nervously
"fine, i'll race" vinnie said, everyone started to cheer, y/n looked at him hurt
"what the fuck, vinnie? are you for fucking real?" she said, the two boys started walking to their cars "you are an asshole!" she screamed at him, while he was driving to the start line, y/n ran to him, she looked at him trough the window "i swear to god vinnie, if you do this we're done, you are betting me like if i were nothing"
"i'm not going to loose this race, and i wont loose you" he said, the girl that was going to start the race was in the middle already
"ready?" she asked lorenzo and he nodded "ready?" vinnie nodded "on your mark, three, two, one" she moved the bandana and the two boys started to race, y/n sighed and started to walk away from the place but jordan grabbed her
"you need to be her, y/n" he said at her, she frowned at him and pulled her arm
"i won't be part of this stupid game" she simply said, and again started to walk away, but lorenzo's friends got her
"you're the prize, you can't leave" one said, they took her again to the finish line, and she felt like she was about to cry, she felt anxious and she was hurt, she didn't know what was going to happen but she felt that it was not going to be cute
aaah, i want to torture you and i will start working on part 2, stay tune lol, lyyyy, hope you like it, and if you hace any request, text me, xoxo
