#ex!rafe x reader

[maverist]

A Disturbance in the Force

summary — ex!rafe back for vengence?

warnings! fem!reader, questionable crossover: ex!rafe x reader x dean di laurentis, fluff, angst, mentions of alcohol, toxic ex!rafe, emotional manipulation, unwanted touching, harassment, confrontation, writing a fic without seeing the full show...

note… dedicated to my wife ( @severedlamb ) !!!! coming out of the depths of my hibernation to write this. lmk if you prefer the small font/this

masterlist!

The first buzz of your phone barely registered over Hannah's voice drifting through the apartment, warm, rich, and stupidly gorgeous even two glasses of wine in. She was curled up on the armchair, singing along to whatever early-2000s playlist Allie had put on, hitting every note like she was born to.

Allie groaned dramatically from the floor. "Babe, can you not sound like a Grammy winner while I'm trying to paint my toes? Some of us are mere mortals."

Hannah laughed. "Please. There isn't a mortal in this room."

Allie lifted her wine glass, "Here, here."

You clinked glasses.

The apartment smelled like vanilla candles and cheap nail polish remover. Face masks, takeout containers, and half-empty wine glasses cluttered the coffee table. It was warm. Safe. And for the first time all week, you felt the tension leave your body.

Your phone buzzed again beside your thigh.

Then again.

Allie didn't look up from your toes. "If that's Dean, tell him he can wait. It's girls' night."

Hannah reached for your phone automatically, and froze the second she saw the name. Her expression shifted, suddenly wary.

"Who is it?" Allie asked, setting the nail polish down.

"Rafe." Hannah said quietly.

Your stomach tightened instantly. It was embarrassing how fast it happened, like your body remembered him before your brain could catch up.

Allie's head snapped up. "What does he want?"

"I don't know." You tried to sound casual. "Probably nothing." But your chest was already tight. Rafe didn't text casually. Not ever.

You grabbed your phone before Hannah could read anything aloud.

Four messages.

Everything in you went still, the room slightly blurring at the edges, music too loud, and the girls suddenly too far away.

"What?" Allie demanded. "What did he say?"

You handed her the phone silently, eyes fixated on the floor.

Her eyebrows shot up. "Oh, absolutely not."

Hannah took it next, her face softening, but her jaw tightening. "Oh, honey..."

You pulled your knees to your chest, wrapping your arms around yourself. Hannah sat beside you immediately. "Hey. You don't have to feel anything," she said gently. "He's your ex. He doesn't get to pop up whenever he wants and act like you owe him a reaction."

Allie nodded, shuffling closer. "Exactly. And these texts? They're not cute. They're manipulative. It's him doing the same shit he always did."

Your throat tightened.

"He's trying to pull you back into the same cycle," Hannah added. "Where he snaps his fingers and you drop everything."

Allie wrapped an arm around your shoulders. "You spent months walking on eggshells with him. You don't owe him a single thing."

You swallowed hard, staring at the messages again.

"He always does this," you whispered. "He disappears, then comes back like I'm supposed to fix whatever he's feeling."

Hannah shook her head, gentle but firm. "Babe... that's not what a relationship is meant to be. You shouldn't have had to tiptoe around someone you're dating."

Allie nodded, her voice softer than before. "You were always the one calming him down, smoothing shit over, making sure he didn't blow up. That's not love."

Hannah squeezed your hand. "And look at you now. Dean doesn't make you do any of that. He actually shows up, listens. He makes things easier, not harder. You're a team, and you both make each other happy."

Allie rested her head against yours. "He's showing you what it's supposed to feel like. The healthy version. Not whatever you had with Rafe."

Something in your chest cracked open at that, at the truth of it, and the relief of hearing it out loud. The three of you sat there quietly for a moment in your group hug, which was more of a mess of limbs at this point, until Allie suddenly snatched your phone.

"Hey-"

"Nope." She stood up, marched to the kitchen, and dropped it into a drawer. "Phone jail."

"You cannot be serious."

She raised an eyebrow. "You are not spending girls' night spiralling over an man who had twelve business years to get his shit together.

Hannah snorted. "Business years?"

"He's rich. Time moves differently for them".

You let out a sudden laugh.

"There she is," Hannah smiled, pulling you to your feet.

The tension in your chest loosened slightly.

Allie pointed a nail polish brush at you. "You are hot, emotionally available, and dating a man who looks at you like you singlehandedly put the stars in the sky and invented hockey. We are not letting Rafe Cameron ruin your night."

"And," Hannah added carefully, "you need to stop treating his emotions like they're your responsibility."

Your throat tightened again, but this time with something like relief. You nodded. Nope. Not tonight. Your girls were right. You weren't letting him ruin this.

Allie finished your eyeliner, stepping back with the kind of dramatic flourish only she could pull off.

"There," she said. "Sharp enough to kill a man. Or Dean."

You grinned at your reflection, she wasn't wrong. You could never get your eyeliner this perfect without poking yourself in the eye at least once.

Hannah leaned against the bathroom doorframe, holding up three lip glosses. "Pick one, I can't choose."

You and Allie pointed at the middle one at the exact same time.

"That one," you said. "It'll look great on Garrett later."

Hannah's jaw dropped. "Oh you little-"

You squealed and bolted out of the bathroom before she could throw the lip gloss at you, Allie cackling behind you as she grabbed your camera from the counter and snapped a photo of Hannah chasing you down the hallway.

"Oh, our boys are doomed tonight," she said, checking the picture. "They're not gonna know what hit them."

You winked, conspiratorial and smug. "That's the point."

Hannah finally caught up, breathless and laughing. "You two are menaces."

"Stupidly hot menaces," Allie corrected, looping her arm through yours. "And they won't be able to keep their hands off us tonight."

Hannah nodded, eyes sweeping over you with genuine warmth. "Yeah, babe. You look unreal."

You smiled, heat blooming in your chest. "We all do." And you meant it, you were so grateful to have them in your life.

The second you stepped inside, the bass hit your chest.

Someone had put on a playlist that was half 60s classics and alternative pop, and half chaotic EDM, the kind of mix only Garrett would defend with his whole chest. The living room was packed: bodies everywhere, laughter spilling over the music, the air warm and buzzing with cheap beer and cologne.

The man in question was at the beer pong table, shirt already half-open, yelling, "Logan, you can't call bank shot if you didn't mean to do it!"

His eyes lit up the second Hannah walked in.

Logan yelled back, "it still went in, you donkey!"

Tucker was perched on the arm of the sofa, holding his watermelon like a baby, occasionally offering grapes to passing strangers, and shielding his watermelon's 'eyes' from the cannibalism.

Beau was leaning against the kitchen counter, sipping a drink and pretending he wasn't watching two girls flirt with Dean and fail miserably. He perked up when he saw you.

"There she is!" he grinned, pulling you into a hug. "Our lucky charm."

And then Dean saw you. His whole face softening, like he'd been holding his breath and finally let it go.

He crossed the room in three long strides, hands finding your waist like it was instinct, your bodies fitting together like two jigsaw pieces that had been carved for each other.

"Hi, baby," he murmured against your neck, leaving warm, open-mouthed kisses. "Missed you."

You melted into him, giggling as he pulled you closer.

But just for a second.

Because something in you tensed, a bad feeling settling low in your stomach.

Dean felt it immediately. His brows pulled together, concern flickering across his face. "You okay?"

You open your mouth to answer-

Allie grabbed your wrist. "Borrowing her," she announced. "You'll have her back... eventually."

Dean laughed, hands dropping from your waist. "Go. Have fun."

Hannah stole Garrett from behind, dragging him towards the makeshift dance floor. He went willingly, grinning like an idiot.

Allie tugged you into the crowd, Hannah joining you, the three of you loosing yourself in the music.

Dean watched from the kitchen doorway, leaning against the counter, smiling like you were the only thing in the room worth looking at.

Beau elbowed him. "Dude. You're whipped."

Dean didn't even pretend to deny it. "Yeah," he said simply. "I am."

Tucker wandered over, still holding his watermelon. "She looks happy," he said softly. "That's good."

Dean nodded, eyes never leaving you. "That's all I want."

You were mid-spin when your phone buzzed in your pocket.

You froze.

Hannah noticed instantly. "You okay?"

You didn't answer. You didn't have to. Allie saw your face and her expression darkened. "Don't tell me-"

You pulled out your phone.

Three new messages.

Your stomach dropped as your mind shifted into a downwards spiral. You knew something bad was going to happen.

Hannah's hand found your arm. "Hey. Breathe."

Allie's jaw clenched. "He's not here. He's not. He wouldn't-"

But she didn't sound convinced.

You swallowed hard. "I don't want him to show up."

Allie's voice sharpened. "If he does, he's not getting within ten feet of you."

Hannah nodded. "And Dean's here. And the boys. You're safe."

You tried to believe it. You really did. You were heading toward the kitchen to get water when it happened. A hand clamped around your waist. Too tight. Too wrong. It wasn't your Dean, you knew that immediately. Your whole body went cold.

Rafe.

You turned, voice low but steady. "Get your hands off me."

Rafe didn't move. Didn't blink. He didn't even pretend to listen. And that's when it happened.

Dean's head snapped up from across the room, not because he saw Rafe, but because he felt something shift in you. A disturbance in the force. Like something in him was wired to your body.

He didn't move at first. He just stared. His eyes narrowed, his jaw locked, and his shoulders went rigid, every muscle coiled, waiting.

He knew you could handle yourself. He trusted you to handle yourself. He just needed one thing: a signal.

And then you gave it, you'd told Rafe to let go.

He didn't.

That was his first mistake.

Dean pushed off the counter and crossed the room in seconds, not running or shoving, just moving with a purpose that made people step out of his way without realising why.

He stopped beside you, voice low and lethal.

"She shouldn't have to ask twice."

Rafe finally looked at him, and Dean's expression didn't change. No yelling, no theatrics, just a quiet, controlled fury that was somehow worse. "Let. Go. Of her," Dean said.

And this time, it wasn't a request.

Something ugly flickered over Rafe's face, his greasy bangs sticking to his forhead in the heat. "This is between us."

Dean didn't even blink.

"No," he said, calm and deadly. "You're not together. She ended it. You shouldn't even fucking be here."

Rafe scoffed, tightening his grip on your waist like he was proving a point.

"She didn't mean it," he said. "She always comes back."

Your stomach twisted.

Dean’s jaw flexed, once, hard, like he was holding something back with sheer force.

"Let. Go. Of her," he repeated.

Rafe ignored him, eyes locked on you.

"Tell him," he said. "Tell him you didn't mean it. Tell him we're not done."

Your voice shook, but you didn't look away.

"We are done. Let go of me."

Rafe didn't move.

And that was the moment the boys stepped in.

Logan was first, sliding between you and Rafe like a wall. "Nope. Back up."

Garrett moved to Logan's right, arms crossed, expression dark. "She said no. Time to go."

Beau stepped to your side, hand hovering near your back, protective, not possessive. "Don't make this worse for yourself."

And then Tucker. Sweet, motherly Tucker. He set his watermelon down on the table with a soft thud that somehow sounded like a threat.

"Take your hand off her," he said with a force you hadn't been expecting.

Rafe's eyes darted between then, calculating, cornered, desperate. Then he made the mistake of looking at Dean. Dean who hadn't moved an inch but his fists were clenched so tight his tendons stood out in sharp lines, knuckles white, shoulders coiled like a spring. He was quiet. Dangerously quiet.

You reached out and touched his hand, just your fingertips. He stilled instantly. His eyes flickering to you, softening for a fraction of a second. That was all it took.

Rafe saw it, the way Dean listened to you, the way he stopped for you, the way he respected you, and something in his wild eyes cracked, his hand loosening its grip on your waist.

"You're making a mistake," he said to you, voice low and bitter.

Allie scoffed behind you. "She's finally not."

Hannah took your hand gently. "Come on. Let's get some air."

Dean stepped back just enough to let you move, but stayed close, close enough that you could feel the heat of him, close enough that Rafe couldn't take another step without going through him.

Beau leaned in, voice low. "Walk away, man."

Garrett added, "Before this gets ugly."

Logan didn't say anything, he just stared, jaw tight, daring Rafe to try something.

Tucker picked up his watermelon again, but the softness was gone. "You should leave," he said. "Now."

Rafe looked at you one last time, something wildly desperate and broken, then turned and shoved his way through the crowd.

The second he was gone, the tension snapped like a rubber band.

Dean exhaled shakily, running a hand through his hair. "You okay?" he asked you, voice soft again.

You nodded, even though your hands were still shaking.

Hannah squeezed your arm. "Let's go outside."

Dean touched your back gently, "I'm right here." And you believed him.

The cold air hit your cheeks the second Hannah pulled you onto the porch. It was quieter out here, the thump of music muffled under the night sky stretching wide and dark above you.

You wrapped your arms around yourself, breath shaky.

Hannah rubbed your back in slow circles. "You're okay," she murmured. "You're okay."

Allie paced in front of you, "I swear to God, if he had taken one more step-"

"Al," Hannah warned gently.

"No, I mean it." Allie snapped. "He doesn't get to just show up and grab her like that. Who the hell does he think he is?"

You swallowed hard. "I'm sorry."

Both girls froze.

Hannah turned to you immediately. "Hey. No. Don't do that."

Allie crouched in front of you, hands on your knees. "You didn't do anything wrong. He's the one who can't respect a boundary."

The door opened behind you.

Dean stepped out slowly, like he didn't want to startle you, his eyes finding yours instantly. "Hey," he said quietly. "Can I…?" You nodded before he finished the sentence.

He sat beside you, pulling you gently into his chest.

You let yourself lean into him, your forehead resting against his shoulder. Dean pressed a kiss to the top of your head. "I've got you."

The door swung open again, Garrett stepping out first, hands shoved in his pockets. "You good?" he asked, voice softer than usual, eyes still dark with anger, only softening when Hannah entered his line of sight.

Beau leaned against the railing as Tucker handed you an unopened plastic water bottle. "Say the word and no one will ever find the body."

You let out a small laugh, the first since Rafe grabbed you. Dean smiled at the sound, brushing his thumb along your arm.

"All right," Logan said, clapping his hands once. "We're giving them space."

Garrett nodded. "Yeah. Come on, guys."

Tucker placed his watermelon gently beside you like he was leaving a guardian spirit, then followed the others inside.

Hannah squeezed your shoulder. "We're right inside if you need us."

Allie kissed your cheek. "Just shout."

Then they disappeared through the door, leaving you and Dean alone on the quiet porch.

You sat there in silence for a moment before Dean let out a slow breath, running a hand through his hair. "I almost lost it," he said quietly.

You looked up at him. He wasn't angry now, he just looked... honest.

"I promised you I wouldn't hit him if I ever saw him," he said. "And I meant it. But when he grabbed you like that..." His jaw tightened. "I saw red."

Your heart twisted.

"But then you touched my hand," he continued, voice softer. "And it just... pulled me back. Like everything snapped into place again."

You swallowed. "I didn't want you to get in trouble."

He shook his head. "I don’t care about trouble. I care about you."

Your breath caught.

Dean brushed a strand of hair behind your ear, his thumb lingering against your cheek.

"You don't ever have to be scared of me," he said. "But he made you scared. And I hate that."

You leaned into his touch.

"I wasn't scared of you," you whispered. "I was scared of him... at first. And then you were there, they all were and I felt safe."

Dean’s eyes softened, warm, steady, full of something that made your chest ache. "You are safe," he murmured. "And I'm not going anywhere." He pulled you closer, his forehead resting against yours, and for the first time all night, you believed it.

[hibiskissedsoul]

the goddess he lost — ex!rafe x reader ♡

it's your first halloween since the breakup. this time, you're not in a matching costume with him. no more forcing him into it. the feeling of him acting like he hated it, but he didn't. especially because it made you so happy.

as a greek goddess, you looked ethereal; in a short white dress that flowed with every step and gold jewelry gleamed all over your body, and eyes laced with the shine— every bit the goddess he used to worship.

"i call next on beer pong, c'mon. i'll show you how it's done." the familiar voice beamed over all the noise and every other person around you.

his laughter too. you shouldn’t still know the difference between his real laugh and his 'i can't stand this idiot' laugh.

but you did— and it made you nauseous.

"hey, maybe don't turn around..." kiara grimaced, biting the rim of her red solo cup.

"what? what's wrong?" you spun around, following the sound of him without thinking— like it was coded into you.

spotting him instantly, you really can't believe your eyes. what the fuck?

a greek god.

he was a greek god. you were a greek goddess.

you were fucking matching.

"i tried to warn you," she groaned, looking at you with a frown.

a golden wreath crown, the white toga, and his flip flop sandals. he looked different. his buzz cut was stiffly growing out, but he knew he made it work.

maybe you’re seeing things, but his arms were bigger, more defined than you remembered. he didn't look good— no, he looked… hot.

why does every little detail of him haunt you?

as the party went on, you both kept missing each other's gazes. rafe watched you interact with every guy, every girl, and even your drink. a habit he hadn't dropped since the breakup it seemed.

and you, fighting a proud smile, watched him win beer pong over and over again. his cocky, asshole toothy grin and waving his arms up in the air— motioning for cheers.

drink after drink, you've already lost count. your feet hurt in those ridiculous heels, you felt sticky around the humid house party, and you needed to hide in the bathroom for a breather. asap.

"hey, i'm going to the bathroom. i'll be right back!" you shouted by kie's ear.

she nodded. "need me to come with?" she asked knowingly. even if you didn't tell her how you felt, you were radiating your emotions through the amount of drinks and sighs escaping you subconsciously.

"no, i'm okay. thank you," giving a false smile, you turned and made your way to the stupidly long line for the bathroom. stumbling past tipsy dancers, strangers locked in kisses, and a karaoke corner belting out off-key tunes, you finally made it to the back of the line.

a girl flew out of the closet, clearly furious, and plowed into you. you tripped on your own feet and pitched backward, arms flailing.

someone caught you from behind, arms grasped around your waist.

your heart relaxed with relief, and you stood yourself straight, "jeez, thank you so—" you dusted yourself off, looked up, and paused. "rafe?"

"hello," he chuckled. "are you okay? that chick just zoomed right past you. good thing i was here."

"right..." you fixed yourself without even noticing. "yes, i'm good."

and for some reason, your heart seemed to be struggling figuring out if you're face to face with a lion rather than your ex boyfriend… but both situations were plausible for the most part.

"i like your costume," his eyes moved ever so slowly down your body, like he had forgotten and needed the memory back desperately.

you groaned, cheeks pink with embarrassment, "yeah, thanks. showing up to a halloween party and accidentally matching with my ex wasn't exactly on my bingo card for tonight."

"it isn't so bad," he pointed at you. "you look good, i look good. mostly you look really good, doll."

you nodded awkwardly. but honestly, there were a million butterflies in your stomach.

a weird cloud of silence filled the space between you two.

he held your gaze like it mattered more than anything, even as you darted your eyes everywhere else. the effect he had on you was impossible to shake.

you cackled, hand hovering over your lips. "i'm so sorry."

"what are you laughing at, drunky?"

"no, no. you're right. i'm really drunk. this is just so much funnier drunk for some reason," your words slurred as you went.

"what is?" he tilted his head at the way you talked.

"the accidental matching costumes. running into you. no— literally falling into your arms. it's funny, right?"

rafe let out a low laugh, a smirk tugging at his lips. he was having fun with you, even if the rest of the world would never know— only you, if you dared to ask.

"i hope i won't have to carry you home again." he elbowed your arm teasingly, reminding you of last halloween’s memories.

you rolled your eyes, smiling small. "kie's been getting pretty buff. i think it'll be her this time."

"kie's a mermaid. i'm a greek god. shouldn't it be me?" he snickered, flexing an arm for you. "c'mon, look at that."

"you're something else. how do we always end up crossing paths?" you pushed his arm down (also to feel the progress secretly).

you smiled, tilting your head as he laughed. the tipsy warmth in your chest refused to let you look away, even if you wanted to.

"don’t just look at me like that… i expect more than that from a goddess," he bit his lip, something he did when deep in thought.

you didn't say anything. you were already playing out the rest of the night in your head. maybe that was the issue between you two.

rafe was always in the now with ease, but you? you were always in the future, a hundred steps ahead and overthinking each one. too many clashes.

but from now until the moment you get home, he stayed close, never leaving your side. kie kept glancing at you, making sure you were okay. and as the minutes passed, you and kie got progressively drunker. rafe refused to leave you two alone, insisting on staying involved.

eventually, he dropped kie off at her house, then on the way to yours, his eyes never leaving you during the car ride. he even fed you a granola bar and handed you water from the center console, like he couldn’t help but take care of you.

and when he carried you out from the truck, he kept you close against him, arms keeping his jacket wrapped around you. you couldn't even recall the second he put it on you either…

and by the time you were inside the house, rafe brought you up to your bedroom, tucking you in and taking off your makeup.

"i don't know if us crossing paths often is good or bad— but i miss you, sweet girl." he muttered as he tossed the makeup wipes away.

he just watched you for a bit, and you pretended you were asleep.

because the second you fell asleep, you would wake up and realize that you would never get that version of him back.

the one who laughed too loud at parties, who carried you into your house without a second thought, who made even the chaos feel like a dream.

like seeing you in a costume that mirrored his and remembering how close you once were— rafe cameron was only effortless, only captivating, when he wasn't really yours.

— a/n: 1200 words… hahah this is way longer than i wanted it lmao but i told y'all i cannot write a fricking blurb... i really liked this tho 💔💔my heart HURTS FOR MY BABIES UGH

[g1bsieluvrr]

"𝕙𝕖𝕝𝕝𝕠?"

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you can find part 2 here !

𝕡𝕒𝕚𝕣𝕚𝕟𝕘: ex!rafe x female reader

𝕚𝕟𝕤𝕡𝕚𝕣𝕖𝕕 𝕓𝕪: what do i do? by sza

𝕤𝕦𝕞𝕞𝕒𝕣𝕪: after recently breaking up with rafe, he accidentally calls you- while he's with someone else.

𝕔𝕨: swearing, suggestive content (not between rafe and reader), not proofread.

𝕨𝕔: 758 words

𝕒/𝕟: hello! this idea has been in my mind for a while, and i finally decided to try it out. idk if there will be more parts to this yet as i'm working on another series, but lmk if you enjoy this! thank you for engaging with my work <3

────୨ৎ────

your finger hovered over the block button. you swallowed, your brain screaming at you to press it and be done with him. but your heart interfered, knowing a part of you still had hope. who wouldn't after two years with someone? besides, you and rafe had your moments when you had to take a break, and you prayed it was one of those.

you don’t even fully know why it happened. rafe’s jealousy had been bad, but never to the point where he had told you to leave. fuming, you’d left, not having it in you to reason with him. it wasn’t even your fault. the guy rafe had gotten so pissed over was a coworker, and you were helping him. nothing more- but rafe had a tendency to blow things out of proportion.

your anger resurfaced, and your finger was inching closer and closer to the button, when you received a call. not just from anybody. from rafe. you glanced at your clock, the red digits flashing 11:23 PM. why was rafe calling you at eleven in the evening? nonetheless, even though you knew you shouldn’t, you picked up, putting the phone on speaker. 

“hello?” you asked more than said.

there was silence for a moment, until you listened closer. you brought the phone to your ear even though it was on speaker, hoping to hear something, a plea from rafe. there was nothing. you brought the phone down, about to hang up, when rafe’s voice crackled through the phone.

“fuck, yes.” his voice had a rough edge to it. wait what? confusion etched itself on to your face as you raised your eyebrows.

“what do you-” he cut you off, a noise that sounded like a grunt sounding through the speaker.

the fuck is he doing? working out… at eleven pm? you tried to figure out was going on the other end of the line, but it puzzled together quickly as you heard a woman’s gasps. oh. oh. your eyes widened as you realised what was happening, and your hands shook slightly as you ended the call. it was definitely a buttdial, no other reason for him to call you. disappointment and disgust flooded through you as you clicked block without another thought. screw him. 

it hadn’t even been a week since you two had broken up, and he was already with another girl? you felt pathetic as a pang of sadness shot through you, the idea of you getting back together with him shattered. you threw your phone across the room in anger, pulling your blanket over you. you grabbed your book in an attempt to distract yourself, but it didn’t help. what were you going to do? you knew nothing between you and rafe would ever be the same. and with that, you cried yourself to sleep.

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sunlight streamed through the sheer curtains in tanneyhill, giving rafe’s room a yellow hue. reluctantly, he opened his eyes, squinting because of the light. he yawned, running a hand over his face as he looked to the other side of the double bed. he found the absence of the girl he was with last night, but he didn’t care. swinging his legs over the bed, he welcomed the breeze coming from the open window. he walked over to his bathroom, examining the purple marks left on his bare chest and the large red mark on his face, courtesy of the woman he had slept with.

she slapped him and left immediately after your name left rafe’s lips. he just couldn’t stop thinking about you. last night, he imagined it was you underneath him, you who flirted with him, you whose lips were on his. he let your name slip, and the woman was gone, and so was whatever fantasy rafe was having. he didn’t know how to make things right with you- he had really fucked it up this time. his face winced at the memories of your expression when he told you to leave. he walked into his room and sat down on the edge of his bed, fiddling with his gold signet ring.

it had only been a week, and here rafe was, sulking in his room. he reached for his phone, and upon unlocking it he noticed that he had called you last night. the same time he was with someone. fuck. what would you have thought? did you think that it had meant something to rafe? that he had moved on? rafe groaned, sinking into his bed.

 he needed to fix this.

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[hibiskissedsoul]

— muscle memory (ex!rafe)

cw: alcohol use/intoxication, drug mention (weed), emotional tension, exes, some angst, toxic dynamics (implied)

a/n: this took forever to write- ONLY BECAUSE i had to make sure i had other parts too heheh.. but i hope you guys like this! please like/rb so i can continue to do more of this <3 kisses! PART 2 HERE

a bonfire at the boneyard— kooks, pogues, and tourons. you sit beside your friends as they all get drunk off their asses. you’re sober and clinging to yourself, wrapped in a hoodie you’d forgotten wasn’t even yours, and jean shorts— your chosen attire no longer fitting for the night’s weather. you’ve zoned out, your gaze fading into the flames of the fire, now locked onto a figure on the other side.

across from you, kooks are passing around a blunt and laughing, just high out of their minds. but that’s not what you’re looking at. it’s who. your ex-boyfriend, rafe cameron, just as intoxicated as the others. he stares through you, like you’re not there. like you’re nothing.

at least, that’s what it feels like. you saunter off on your own to sit by the waves— just far enough to be on dry sand, but feet in the retreating ocean water. your phone dings. opening it, you see a familiar number. it had been deleted months ago, but your mind can’t seem to forget it.

wjat r u doinb u wearin my hodie?? knwoin i’d be hre n stil missjng uuuu ur smethin els idkkk bsby

it's rafe... drunk and spamming your phone. he knows he’s your weakness. who could blame you? you two were in love— until it felt like you didn’t belong.

is tht u byy the wateerrr?? immmm comin ovr ther babyyy fruck u lookk beautifullLLL

of course he is. you hear sand kicking around and drunk laughter— his laughter. you turn your head, knees tight against your chest, watching him slump toward you.

“there’s my girl,” he yells out. he finally makes his way and slaps down beside you, leaning into your body.

“jeez, rafe. what’s wrong with you?” you hold him up, straightening him out.

“me? nothing!” he cackles. “ah… except i miss you… heyyyy. you still wear the perfume i got you?” he leans his face into your neck, getting a better whiff of it.

you sigh. he’s so damn drunk. you can’t really do anything, or else he might react badly. you fold, comforting him and keeping him close. but it's not like it took a lot of convincing yourself, right?

“hey, hey. let’s go. wanna go home? need me to take you?”

“but my bike!” he hollers, your hand smacks over his mouth to shut him up. he sticks his tongue out, wetting your palm.

“rafe!” you shake your hand and wipe it on his sleeve. he just hyena-laughs in your face.

“we can get your bike in the morning. let’s go,” you drag him up by his arms, but it’s impossible to do at all. he’s always so bulky with all the protein powder and creatine he inhales like it’s his life support.

“alright, i cannot drag you. up and at ’em. we’ll go to my car.”

the two of you slog through the sand and eventually make it to your car. rafe presses against the passenger door. “must’ve missed me soo bad if y’taking me home.” he cackles and pulls you into him by your hips with cold hands, almost magnetic.

“dude— rafe, stop it. i’m trying to help you.” pushing off him, you click the car unlocked, swing the door open, and push him into the passenger seat.

“buckle up,” you mutter as your patience wears thin at his childish drunkenness.

“buckle up,” he mocks. “like a fucking mom.”

slamming his door, you walk around the front and get into the driver’s side, buckling in and starting the car.

“you’re fine going home?”

he mumbles a quiet yes.

“alriiighty.”

after a few minutes of driving, his hand reaches across the console and finds yours— fingers clumsy at first, but certain. he laces them with yours like it's the most natural thing in the world, and his thumb starts tracing soft, slow lines across the back of your hand.

your lips part— halfway to tell him to stop, to remind him this isn’t what you do anymore. but the words don’t come.

because it doesn’t feel like a mistake.

it feels like routine. like second nature. like something your physical being missed before your mind even realized.

maybe it’s the way his touch is gentle, or the fact that he doesn’t even seem aware he’s doing it. maybe it’s how the movement is more muscle memory than anything else. how it calms you instead of starting something. no pressure. just presence.

so you don’t pull away. you let it happen.

you drive with one hand, eyes on the road, heart somewhere else— somewhere softer. and his thumb keeps moving, slow and quiet.

you park in front of his house and leave the engine running for a second longer than needed. his thumb is still tracing lazily on your hand like he doesn’t realize he’s doing it. or maybe he does. that’s the thing with rafe— you never really know.

“mmkay, come on.” you gently slip your hand from his and unbuckle his seatbelt. he doesn’t move.

“we are home?” he says like a question, blinking slowly.

“yes. now get out of the car before i leave you.”

you get out first and walk around the car, opening his door and crouching a little.

“rafe. up.”

he groans like it’s the hardest thing he’s ever had to do, then stumbles as he swings his legs out. you catch him—barely—then sling his arm over your shoulder.

“jesus, you’re heavy.”

“mmm. muscle,” he hums, grinning into your hair as you both half-drag, half-walk up the front path. “you used to like it, remember?”

you don’t say anything. just keep your eyes ahead and focus on getting him to the door without falling over.

you fish his keys from his back pocket, then unlock the house, pushing the door inward with your hip. you pull him inside as he puts most of his weight onto your body and his boots thud heavily against the tiles. he’s so fucking close you can smell his cologne— the one you always loved on him. faint and distant, like the memory of when you were still sworn to him.

you help him kick his boots off and move them aside to the shoe corner.

“where’s your room again?” you tease lightly, trying to keep the mood easy.

“oh, you know where it is,” he laughs softly and swigs his head back.

you do. unfortunately.

he’s still hanging on you, head heavy on your shoulder now.

“you good?” you ask, catching your breath. “or are you gonna collapse here?”

“mmm,” he hums, “you staying?”

you freeze for a beat but keep walking, dragging him through the foyer toward the stairs.

“uhh… we’ll see. you’re gonna feel like hell in the morning,” you mutter.

“worth it,” he mumbles. “i got to see you tonight.”

you ignore that— mostly.

the silence that follows is heavy. he lets you lug him up the stairs, his hand still glued to yours— but neither of you says a word about it.

[hibiskissedsoul]

— muscle memory (ex!rafe) part 2

cw: emotional tension, toxic dynamics (shown/implied), exes, emotional manipulation (mild), rafe intoxicated, angst, gaslighting

a/n: this was originally two separate parts, but i figured i'd just combine them... the first part didn't get much love— but i reallyyy like this fic and i haven't posted in a while! i hope it's good. please like/rb if you enjoyed! i'd really like to continue w/ ex!rafe if so... PART 1 HERE

you guide him through the hallway upstairs, taking in the familiarity of it all. you haven’t been here in months, but your body still knows its way. you could walk through this house in complete darkness and never bump into a thing. every corner, every creaky floorboard, every light switch your fingers could find without looking— it’s all still in you.

finally, you open up his bedroom door. you two take a few more short steps and guide him to his bed.

“okay. sit.”

he groans, flopping onto his back and rubbing his eyes.

“jeans.” you look over at him with your arms crossed, very unamused.

“nah, you can do it.”

“nope. not happening.”

“you used to.” he moves his hand away from his eyes to look into yours and give a lazy grin.

“and i used to be a fool,” you groan and gently tug off his jeans, leaving him in his boxers and then slips his shirt off himself.

he lets out a sigh once freed. “better… thanks, baby.”

“rafe, don’t call me that.” you stiffen at the name. tossing his jeans to a corner, you sit beside him and look down at your hands.

“m’sorry. habit.” but you know he doesn’t mean it.

“you should uh… change. wash up if you can,” your thumb rubbing over where his had been earlier. you don’t look at him, but you can feel his eyes burning into your back as you’re turned.

“too tired,” he mutters, scooting further into the bed and kicking the covers underneath him. “m’just gonna sleep.”

“oh, okay,” you take a second to think. “did you need anything? i should go grab you water—”

“no, no. stay with me. that’s all i need.” he mumbles the words, hardly coherent, but you don’t need to hear them twice to understand.

“rafe—” you start, but when you look back at him, he’s already holding open the covers for you.

“rafe.” you try to say with a stern tone, but it comes out too soft. too you.

“please,” he says, his voice low. “just tonight. and there’s water on my desk already anyway.”

how does he always pull you back in like this? you hesitate— but not really. not when he looks at you like that.

“fine.”

you kick your shoes off and walk around to the opposite side of him, sliding under the covers. it feels wrong. but before? it was routine. he drops the blanket over you once you’ve settled, and his arms retreat back to his body. now you’re just laying flat and staring at the ceiling.

the two of you lay in silence. the only recognizable sounds being your shifting around, his breathing, and yours too. you wore a ‘going out’ shirt to the beach, and it’s too tight, causing you the utmost distress.

“you’re uncomfortable,” he says slowly.

well yeah, i’m in my ex’s bed. why wouldn’t i be? you think to yourself, cursing inside.

“my shirt’s just kinda— not a sleeping shirt. this hoodie too… and i get hot—”

“yeah… you overheat at night. always have.” he says it like it’s a fact burned into him, something he didn’t even have to think about remembering. you nod, your eyes meeting his, and it’s so quiet you swear the past is sitting right between you.

“you can change. grab a shirt from my closet.”

you hesitate for a second— but still slide out of his bed and walk over to his closet, taking it in before grabbing the first shirt you see. you change behind the door before walking out with your shirt and (his) hoodie in hand.

“thank you.” you play with the hem of the shirt and adjust your jean shorts.

“‘course.” he eyes your attire now. man, how he missed seeing you in his clothes.

you place the clothes down by his desk, click off the light, and go back under the covers.

“you wore my hoodie tonight. why?” he props his head in his hand and waits for an answer.

“forgot it was yours—”

“bullshit,” he laughs bitterly. “you used to wear it all the time. so i’ll ask again, why did you wear it?”

“i don’t have an answer. i just wore it. swear.”

he doesn’t say anything at first. just looks at you like he’s searching for the truth beneath your face.

“nope,” he says eventually. “you don’t just wear my hoodie for nothing.”

you shift under the blanket, hotter than you were earlier. or maybe it’s just him— his eyes, his words, his being beside you, or this damned room.

“it was cold. i don’t own many hoodies,” you say blankly, lying just a bit.

he lets out a soft breath, almost a laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “you know i never took it back ‘cause i liked thinking you’d still wear it sometimes.”

that makes your chest twist. not painfully. not sweetly. just enough to feel like something.

“oh for fuck’s sake… alright.” you sit up a little, preparing yourself to say what you want to. “it still smells like you. that’s why i still have it and why i still wear it too. it’s stupid.”

you weren’t even sure that was true when you first pulled it over your head. but now, in his bed, with him this close? it’s all you can smell. cedarwood. a little smoke. something warm and boyish and rafe.

“not stupid. not at all.” his stare pulls you in deeper than you should be. but then again, you’re already in his house, in his room, and in his bed.

he groans, running his hand down his face. you can tell he’s still processing and trying to figure out what to say to you.

“baby—” he begins, but stops himself. “fuck sorry i shouldn’t have said that. i just—”

“miss me. you miss me,” you finish his sentence.

he doesn’t deny it. he doesn’t even try. he’s still there beside you, taking in your figure before him. and it looks like it physically hurts him to not reach out and touch you… see if you’re real.

“and maybe,” you breathe out, voice quieter now. “i miss you too.”

“i know.” he sighs, biting the inside of his cheek like he always used to when he was thinking too hard. he just stares into your eyes as if he can’t pull away. he looks like he wants to speak but doesn’t.

the quiet stretches again, but it doesn’t feel sharp. it feels lived-in and heavy. like the silence you used to share on lazy mornings, still tangled in bed, no words needed.

the stillness stretches, not sharp, just heavy. like an old blanket pulled over the both of you. like the quiet that used to fill the space after late-night talks or dumb arguments that ended with his hand on your thigh and your head on his chest.

you hold his gaze for a moment longer— longer than you should. and then finally, you look away.

you swallow. “we should sleep... goodnight.”

he hums softly, mumbling a “goodnight” as he pulls the blanket over himself and relaxes beside you.

you turn your back to him, curling into yourself, arms wrapped tight as the moonlight creeps in through his window. all you can hear is your own nervous breathing— and his, much steadier than yours.

then you hear his little snores, the occasional toss around, but then suddenly, you feel a heavy arm toss itself around your stomach and its warm hand rubbing there. he drags your body towards his and squeezes you in place.

you freeze.

not because it’s new— but because it’s not. because your body remembers this too well. the way he used to pull you in during sleep, half-conscious but instinctual, like his body didn’t know how not to hold you. like this was the default.

his arm settles around your waist like it never left. it shouldn’t feel like home. it shouldn’t feel like anything.

but it does.

and god, you hate that you remember everything— how his breath evens out when he’s finally asleep, how he tosses once to the left before going still, how his fingers always twitch a little before they settle.

it’s déjà vu in the worst way. like your memories are stitched into the fabric of this bed, this room, this boy.

you squeeze your eyes shut and exhale through your nose, slow and quiet.

you wish forgetting was as easy as leaving.

but you never really did. not all the way.

it takes some time before you decide to speak up— maybe 8 minutes. you were practically counting in your head.

“rafe.” you whisper, looking back at his sleepy state with a little drool at the corner of his mouth. “god… rafe, wake up,” you nudge him with your elbow slightly. and finally, he wakes up with a tired groan.

“what?” he squints one eye open.

“you’re squeezing me.” you mumble, pushing at his arm.

a little oh, and then lazily taking his arm off of you.

“i’m sorry. that’s weird,” he breathes out and retreats back into himself.

but he doesn’t go back to sleep. he lays and stares at the ceiling just like you.

“hey…” he turns and looks at you. “do you remember how…” he speaks slow, still a little intoxicated.

“…you used to fall asleep on me here? this spot right here.” he mutters, scratching the back of his neck.

of course you do. god, you do.

“i miss that. you felt safe. you were safe,” he whispers.

you don’t say anything at first. and it’s not because you don’t know what to say, but because there’s so much you could say. so much that it would flood his room.

instead, you just look at him. really look. his messy hair, his reddened eyes, and somehow, still holding back something else. he’s still the same rafe though. still the same boy who would hum songs to you when he thought you were asleep. still the same boy who used to brush your hair in the morning. and still the same boy who ruined you a little even without meaning to.

you pause, eyes on him. “i slept better with you,” you admit. “like my body knew it could rest.”

he swallows hard, shifting a little closer without realizing. “you can still sleep here, y’know. i won’t- i won’t do anything. just stay with me.”

“i’m already here, aren’t i?”

he lets out a soft laugh through his nose, “right you are.”

he lays back, keeping to his side. arms tucked in like he’s forcing distance.

your fingers twitch against the sheet between you. his don’t move at all.

after a beat, you whisper, “are you awake?”

“yeah.”

“can i—” you hesitate.

but he already knows, his arms opened a little for you.

you inch closer without thinking, fitting perfectly with him like muscle memory. his arms curl around your waist, no words needed. just the familiar warmth.

“better?” he smiles sleepily.

“much,” you give back a drowsy smile.

you pull away, just enough to see him— still glued to his body, your legs tangled beneath the sheets. your hand reaches up, slow and hesitant, to rub along his jaw. soft, like he’s something valuable. like he might disappear if you touch too hard. he practically melts, turning his head to press a slow kiss into your palm. his breath warm against your skin, “good…”

you should’ve left. should’ve walked away. but you didn’t.

you couldn’t. not when he looked at you like that.

not when it still felt like this.

his blue eyes search yours under the moonlight, his face dimly lit in a way that makes him look almost unreal. like a memory you stepped back into.

you blink, barely a whisper, “forgot how blue your eyes are.”

his hand squeezes your waist, just a little.

and for tonight, that’s enough.

you fall asleep in his arms like nothing ever changed.

like maybe it never really did.

the next morning…

you wake up, entangled in his arms and face smushed against his smooth chest. the sunlight hitting his face, his breathing relaxed, and damnit, those muscles wrapped tight around you. you can hear his heartbeat, slow and steady, a rhythm you haven’t heard in months.

you lift your head. blink once. twice.

rafe’s hardly asleep, his hands grazing over where they shouldn’t be— especially in his sleep. he looks so fucking peaceful. like he didn’t just pull you in and keep you there all night. like he didn’t say all those things in the dark that made your chest ache and body give in to him.

you slide out from his tight grip, sitting at the side of his bed and holding your breath.

you shouldn’t have stayed.

you shouldn’t have even taken care of him last night.

you bury your head in your hands, pushing your fingers up and through your hair, breath shaky.

“you good? c’mere and sleep some more,” he tries to pull you in by your waist, but you don’t budge. what did you get yourself into? correction, back into.

“last night,” you murmur, keeping your eyes away from him. “it was a mistake. i shouldn’t have stayed. i shouldn’t have—”

“we literally just cuddled,” he cuts in, voice confused and drenched in sleepiness. “you said you missed me.”

“i know what i said,” you snap, a little harsher than you mean to. “but it doesn’t matter. that doesn’t mean this is okay. that doesn’t mean we’re okay.”

he sits up fully now, brows drawn. “where is this coming from?”

you shake your head, grabbing your hoodie. “it’s always the same with you. you show up, you say the right things, you make it feel safe— and then you ruin me again.”

his jaw tightens. “you think i meant to ruin you?”

“no. i think you didn’t care enough not to.”

the silence after that is sharp. and gut-wrenching...

he gets out of bed, standing across the room from you. “you think i haven’t changed, don’t you? you think i’m still the same asshole.”

“i think you’re still the same boy who only wants me when it’s convenient.”

“bullshit,” he says, low and bitter. “you wore my hoodie last night. you held my hand. you came into my bed. that wasn’t me pulling you in. that was you.”

your breath catches in your throat.

“i know you’re scared,” he adds, voice softer now. “but don’t stand there and pretend like i tricked you into this.”

you don’t move, you don’t speak, and hell, you’re not even really breathing. part of you wants to stay, but all of you wants to run.

“i’m sorry. can you just- can we not do this?” you mumble.

he scoffs and grabs clothes from his closet, changing into them swiftly. “fine. whatever just drive me to the beach.”

you don’t say anything, you just nod. next thing you know, you’re both back in your car. this time he’s not holding your hand. he’s not making you feel wanted again. no, you just feel awful for doing this to him. he doesn’t look at you once. it’s like the air itself just stopped in all.

you pull into the boneyard, parking by the edge of it.

he opens the door but doesn’t get out right away.

“i meant it, you know,” he says quietly, staring straight ahead. “what i said last night. you were safe.”

you don’t look at him. “doesn’t matter.”

“it matters to me.”

“well, that’s not enough. not anymore, at least.”

his jaw clenches, then he nods once, slow. “right. okay.”

he steps out and slams the door harder than he needed to.

you watch him for a second, walking across the sand alone. he doesn’t look back.

and for once, neither do you.

but the truth is? you know you’ll go back to each other. no matter how much you fight it.

[hibiskissedsoul]

— a prayer and a promise (ex!rafe)

cw: ANGSTY!!, religious themes/prayer, flashback then present day scenes, fluffy/romantic interactions (flashback), emotional tension, a yearning ex!rafe (lmk if there is more...)

a/n: this kind of dynamic is sweet to me, just thought i'd write it! i have lots of ideas but i’m gonna slow down on posting so i can finish summer classes faster !!

flashback

the sun was high, warm and lazy above the cameron house, and you were laid out on your stomach in the grass, ankles crossed and bare feet swinging slowly in the air. your pink Bible lay open beneath you, pages soft and worn, a matching pink highlighter dragging through a few verses, faint pen marks circling little notes in the margins. you mouthed the words to yourself, letting them settle in slow.

the back door creaks open. you look up, covering your eyes from the sun— rafe's loud voice follows.

"lunch's ready! come eat, angel," rafe holds the door open. you nodded, your gaze returning back to the open Bible in front of you.

"one more verse," you mumbled— although, you'd been rereading that same verse and writing small observations on sticky notes. he just watched until you pack your Bible and pens up. you dust yourself off when you're finally up— there's a little skip in your rush to get over to your boyfriend.

he smiles down at you once you're beside him, clinging to your Bible and pens in one arm. his arm wraps around you and a oven mitt covered hand pats at your side.

"ignore the smell. i might've burnt the garlic bread," kissing your head with a laugh then guiding you to the set table.

he pulls your chair out and then pushed it back in once you settled. he sits in his chair beside you, already reaching for a spoonful of pasta. your fingers brush his and pause, your gaze meeting his with quiet affection.

"let's pray first, please," your hand takes his and gives a small squeeze.

“oh, right… m'sorry,” he whispered gently, nodding his head with yours. his eyes fluttered open just enough to catch yours, calm and soft— already feeling the peace settle in.

"thank you, Lord, for the food before us, the roof above our heads, the love constantly surrounding us. thank you for blessing us with each other's presence and keeping us safe in Your hands. bless the hands who made this meal— even if they did burn my garlic bread... amen." you do the sign of the cross, letting go of rafe's hand. he does it too, just clumsier and you snort at the sight of it.

"good job," you whispered, just proud he did it at all. he smiled shyly and finally lifted the spoon again, quietly mouthing amen to himself. he nods to you, filling your plate before he does his own.

present day

rafe's room is still. to him, it wasn't home anymore. home was you, but he didn't have you anymore. he hasn't for a while now.

he's knelt at the edge of his bed, hands closed together and forehead resting against them. "hey, big guy— haven't talked in a while, have we?" his bottom lip tight between his teeth, so nervous and almost ashamed.

"it's been a really hard couple of months. mmm, it goes without saying that. you already know anyway..." he's chuckling to himself to fight the tears in his eyes.

"haven't prayed since she and i broke up. she really— she brought out the best in me. i don't know what she saw in me. i-i still don't know."

his voice breaks, a quiet catch in his throat as tears start to spill down, unbidden and warm— each one carrying the weight of all he’s lost without her.

"i know i messed up. i know i did this. i pushed her away. but please… and i'm not the begging type, but... i miss her. i can't keep doing this. i'm trying to be a better man. the man she deserves. and if starting with You is how i'll get her back, i can do that," he sniffles, wiping his nose with his arm.

"she really trusts You. and if she does, then so will i."

he takes a beat to catch his breath.

“just bring her back. i’ll be better, God. please,” he sobs, his voice cracking on the last word as tears fall freely.

"thank you for listening. amen." he does the sign of the cross— more familiar with it now than compared to the first time you taught him.

as he finished his prayers, you were quietly praying too, hoping just as hard.