cw. phone sex, masturbation (m), established relationship between rafe and reader, rough sex, unprotected sex, mild degradation, heavy praise, p w/o plot
synopsis. there's a really famous saying about absence making the heart grow fonder. it makes the sex rougher too.
an. unedited and very poorly done.here ya go.
"How much longer till you can come see me?"
You’re on the phone with Rafe while studying in your dorm room one evening. Your phone is propped up against your stack of textbooks while you divide your focus between your work and your boyfriend.
"My answer didn’t change from yesterday, Rafey," You laugh softly, propping one leg up on the chair. You’re not wearing much, since your roommate is out with friends and the room is hot and stuffy as is. You took the opportunity to feel comfortable in your bra and a pair of shorts.
He groans, laying back against his headboard as he watches you. "But I miss you so bad," He sits up a little, taking your lack of focus on him as an opportunity. Normally, he’d ask you to shut your laptop and notebook for a couple minutes so he can enjoy all of you after a whole day of not hearing the sound of your voice, but he’s so pent up and he doesn’t have you to take care of him.
"Tell me about your day, baby," he mumbles, one hand moving off his phone to discreetly slide his hand lower, lower… until it was at the waistband of his pants, slowly pushing them down so the camera doesn’t shake.
He doesn’t feel obligated to mute his microphone as you start talking, either. Maybe because there’s a thrill of you catching him and scolding him. Or better, you catching him and stripping and giving him a show as you touch yourself along with him. The thought sends a shiver down his spine and a twitch to his hardening cock.
Either way, he just wants your attention.
"It was mostly just classes today. Nothing special," You say, and he whines, not wanting you to stop talking. You smile, continuing to write notes and study. "Okay, okay. You’re such a baby, Rafe."
"I am not."
"You are."
"Fine. You never let me disagree with you anyway."
You laugh softly, a pretty twinkling sound that literally gives him butterflies. He grunts softly as his fingers brush against his hardening cock. He's been thinking about you all day, imagining all the things he wants to do to you when he sees you again. He's not sure how much longer he can last like this.
"So tell me more," He coaxes through a grunt, hand wrapped firmly around his cock. Just seeing you in your skimpy little clothes while you chew on the end of your pen while making direct eye contact with him is enough to make him throb. You huff teasingly, eyes rolling playfully as you get started on elaborating on your very boring day, unaware that his pants are off and he's rubbing his thumb back and forth on the drooling slit of his mushroom tip, panting softly into the receiver.
You're still not noticing. He's partially disappointed. It's not hard for you to take notice of it either. The camera's bobbing unnaturally, he's flushed and grunting softly, and his responses are soft 'uh huh's' and 'mm... yeah's'. Regardless, his eyes roam your body, landing on your plush lips through the screen as he imagines you wrapping them around his cock and sucking him off when you see him again during break, your ass up and back arched while he lays down and you give him a nice view while your tongue swirls around his tip, fuck, he moans loudly, squeezing his cock with his fist.
"Rafe?"
He looks up, eyes hooded and hazy. You look confused, and he hopes you're finally starting to catch on. He grins, sweat trickling down the side of his jaw. He hasn't stopped. With neither of you talking, the schlick schlick schlick sound of him milking his cock is quite audible. Just his luck though, you still don't catch on.
"Just asked you a question, baby."
He groans, partially annoyed, extremely turned on. "What's that, gorgeous?" You smile so adorably at the compliment. He wants to ruin you. "I wanted to know what gifts your family would want for when I come over. I think Wheezie mentioned a Squishmallow."
"The hell is that." He grunts, now looking at the way the light reflects off your tits. You laugh, and he frowns, wanting you to see. He lowers his phone just enough for you to see the flushed tip of his cock if you really focus, still stroking himself. His eyes flutter and he bites back a moan, now thinking about you sucking him off again, but this time using your breasts too.
You tilt your head curiously, still not quite catching on to Rafe touching himself. "A kind of stuffed toy? I'll ask her to make sure," you reply distractedly, flipping through a few more pages of your textbook. Rafe growls lowly, your casual demeanor only encouraging him. He wants nothing more than to reach through the screen and grab you, to pull you onto his throbbing cock and make you feel every inch of his pent-up desire.
But for now, he's left to grind his teeth and stroke himself, hoping like hell you'll notice his telltale movements and sounds. Sometimes you could be so blind. "What about me? What do I get?" he murmurs suggestively, almost letting you see his hand gliding up and down his shaft, the camera angle unmistakable now. He squeezes his thick cock from base to tip, lips parted slightly. His cheeks are a pretty pink.
"Me, duh." You smile. "Why? Want me to get you a gift with the money you keep putting in my account? You'd basically be getting a gift for yourself, Rafey."
You lean over to grab your pen, your breasts strain against the thin fabric of your bra. The flimsy material does little to hide your hardened nipples, clearly visible in the dim light of your dorm room. Just then, you hear a loud groan over the phone, startling you. "What's wrong, Rafe?" you ask, brows furrowed with concern.
Rafe grits his teeth, desperately trying to hold back a moan as he realizes you've finally noticed his predicament. "N-nothing, baby. I just… I got a cramp, that's all," he lies unconvincingly, his voice strained.
His hand moves faster, milking his cock intently. The obscene sound of his strokes fills the otherwise quiet room. You notice his labored breathing, the way his chest rises and falls rapidly with each panting breath. A flicker of realization crosses your face as you realize what's really going on. "Rafe, are you...?" you start to ask, a hint of amusement and surprise in your voice.
Of course he'd be touching himself to you. He's always been kinda pervy for you. He tells you all the time which of your pictures make him cum the hardest, but jerking himself off to you in real time is sort of different. Before you can finish your question, Rafe lets out a deep, guttural moan, his hips bucking up off the bed as he starts to come undone. "F-fuck, baby. I can't... I need you so fucking much," he growls, his hand moving in a blur beneath the sheets.
He thrusts into his hand, head tipping back. He fully lowers his phone, letting you watch what he's doing. It adds to the thrill he experiences, and he groans loudly, not bothering to hide anything from you anymore as he brings himself to the edge, hot spurts of cream coating his long fingers.
He rocks himself through his orgasm, mumbling your name under his breath and imagining he came inside you instead, causing him to leak a little more. He squeezes out all he's got, panting and leaning back against his bed as he comes down from his high.
He lowers his head to make eye contact with you, a lazy grin spreading across his handsome face. "Did you see that, baby? Did you see what you do to me?" he asks teasingly.
You blush deeply, suddenly feeling the warmth of your own arousal spreading through your body. "mmm.. mhm," you hum softly, shifting in your seat to relieve some of the pressure building between your thighs.
He leans back against the headboard, his head falling back against the wall with a soft thunk as he groans. "Fuck, I need to be inside you. You better be ready for me, hm? Gonna fuck you like I hate you."
ᥫ᭡.
Rafe likes to watch everything when he wrecks you. He has your legs shoved upwards as his body slots between you, drilling into you in a mating press on his bed.
The second you came to visit him during the holidays, he made light on his promise. He had picked you up, shoved your suitcase by his front door for later, and swung you over his shoulder like a caveman. You had merely squealed and giggled, squirming playfully when he gave your butt a little squeeze. It was cute, he'd thought then, how you had no idea what he was going to do to you. You just thought he was playing with you.
You're a little more conscious now about what he wanted as he thrusts into you hard and sloppy, your face scrunched up in pleasure while needy whines leave your kiss swollen, bitten lips. He rolls his hips rough and firm into you, and you're so soaked that each thrust had filthy gushing sounds resounding through the room as your slick coats Rafe's cock and your thighs.
"Rafe!" You scream, heart slamming against your chest with each thrust. Perhaps the time apart has made him sloppy in bed, or maybe he's so desperate that he can't control himself, because his thrusts are uncoordinated and hard and rough.
He moans, loud and unashamed, spreading you apart further as he shoves his fat cock into you sporadically, his strokes rough and hard enough to jolt your whole body. "Fuck, this fucking pussy," He groans, using every bit of his willpower not to bust his load in you each time you squeeze down on him or dig your nails into his broad shoulders. "Drives me... ugh, fucking insane."
Each time he bottoms out of your creamy hole and drags his cock against your walls up up up until the flushed tip of his cock is nestled against that really soft spot deep inside you that makes your toes curl, he doesn't stop until he hears that telltale squelching sound of his cock filling you to the hilt, with his bulbous mushroom tip hitting the very back of your cunt, kissing all your little sweet spots all at once.
Rafe grunts in satisfaction as he feels you clench around him, your velvet walls gripping his thick cock like a vice. He knows you can feel every ridge and vein as he grinds against your most sensitive spots. Because you're screaming, legs shaking and fat tears of pleasure rolling down your cheeks.
"Fuck, knew you wanted me to fuck you like a whore," he grunts, feelings the pleasant sting of your nails dragging down his back and leaving red welts in their wake. You moan, eyes locked onto his, which are hooded, the pretty ocean blue replaced with a dark, stormy color. He looks rabid. "Mngh yeah… 'm your whore, Rafey," You mewl, reaching up to grab onto his face and push your mouth against his.
He swallows all your little cries, tongue shoving into your mouth and tangling with yours while his leaking cock rams into you. "Fuck yeah, you are. My little slut. Allll mine. Fuck, you're fuckin' made for me, you know that? Listen to how your little pussy takes me in. She doesn't want me to leave," he moans into your mouth, practically slurping on your tongue. "We aren't meant to be apart, pretty girl,"
He nips and sucks on your lower lip, laving his tongue over it, before trailing open-mouthed kisses along your jaw and down the column of your throat. He latches onto your pulse point, sucking hard enough to leave a vivid mark. "Got so fucking sick of daydreaming about you all the time." He moans against your neck.
"All the time. All I did was think about my perfect little girlfriend. I can't fucking take being without you." You keen, back arching as he gropes at your tits, the pad of his thumb rolling roughly over your swollen nipples as he practically slobbers onto your throat, marking you up. "Missed you too, mmm… f-fuck… more, Rafe," You babble, and he almost, almost cums when you moan his name like that. Gosh, he can't handle you.
He can feel his release building, his heavy balls drawing up tight as the telltale tingling starts at the base of his spine. But he grits his teeth, refusing to let go just yet. He wants to make this last, wants to linger in the exquisite torture of bringing you to the brink again and again before finally allowing you the sweet relief of climax.
He slows his thrusts, rolling his hips upwards to hit that gummy spot in you without fail with each thrust, simultaneously stimulating your clit with each pass. He pinches your nipples one by one, before licking your clavicle. "Yeah? Feels good?" he moans, hips driving forward mercilessly. Each thrust drives his fat fucking cock deeper into your pussy, stretching you around him until you swear you can feel every throbbing inch of him pulsing inside you. "Feels real fucking good for me, princess. Can't get enough of you."
Unable to muster an intelligable response at this point, you cry out his name, voice slurring as your hips buck up to meet his. Your needy sounds in response are all he needs to come down. He leans down to sink his teeth into the meat of your shoulder, biting down as he slams into you one last time, burying himself to the hilt as his orgasm crashes over him.
His cock pulses and throbs as he shoots thick ropes of hot cum deep into your hungry womb, painting your walls white as he fills you up just like he promised. You both cry out all loud and wanton as you cum with him, your hips jerking as you ride out the intense waves of pleasure coursing through your body.
He collapses against you, weight pressing into the mattress as he leaves sloppy kisses over your tits, sucking on your breasts to help your orgasm crash down long and hard.
you’re doing a little Q&A live on your phone. just a quick one while your toddler naps and rafe—home on leave for the first time in months—is rummaging through the pantry behind you, shirtless, in his grey sweats, every vein in his forearm saying married father of two who lifts tractor tires for fun.
you’re answering questions. sipping your iced coffee. and someone asks:
“who’s that behind you?”
you glance over your shoulder at your husband. he’s bent slightly, reaching for the box of granola, abs flexed, biceps out.
you turn back to the phone and smile sweetly.
“oh. that’s just my roommate.”
he freezes.
a beat. then:
“…the hell did you just say?” his voice is low. flat.
you wave him off. “it’s an inside joke, babe.”
he walks up behind you, setting the granola on the counter so loudly, arms crossed, eyes locked on the camera like he’s addressing the enemy.
“that’s funny,” he says, tilting his head. “she’s my wife and also the mother of my children—but yeah, sure, ‘roommate’ works.”
you try not to laugh. bite your lip. keep playing it cool. “he just pays half the rent,” you tease.
his jaw tightens.
“i pay the whole damn mortgage.”
you glance back at him, smug. “so you’re a sugar daddy, technically.”
he exhales through his nose. closes his eyes. says a silent prayer.
“okay,” he mutters, turning to walk away. “no more social media for you.”
“don’t be mad—”
“i’m not mad,” he says, heading for the fridge, “i’m just gonna go sleep in my roommate’s bed and eat my roommate’s leftovers and raise my roommate’s babies.”
you’re cackling now.
he opens the fridge. pauses. then, quieter:
“i didn’t spend nine months overseas just to come home and get demoted to roommate.”
you soften a little.
you turn off the live.
and walk up behind him, arms around his waist.
“you’re my husband,” you murmur, kissing the spot between his shoulder blades. “and my best friend. and my everything. but also kinda my roommate.”
he sighs again. rests one big, warm hand over yours.
“…fine,” he mutters. “but say it again in public and i’m gonna start introducing you as my secretary.”
every year after fourteen
part two / part three / part four
WARNINGS: emotional manipulation , toxic relationship dynamics , childhood trauma parental emotional abuse/neglect , alcohol/drug use , violence/fighting , possessiveness/jealousy , self-destructive behavior, abandonment issues , anxiety/panic responses , unhealthy attachment/codependency , degradation of mental health over time eventual dark themes depending on later eras , would estimate as a 10k+ word count
PAIRINGS: childhoodbsf!rafe x sweetheart!reader ➜ frat!rafe x sweetheart!reader
SUMMARY: as rafe slowly unravels under the weight of love, anger, addiction, and abandonment, reader becomes the only person who remembers who he was before he learned how to turn pain into cruelty.
the thing about figure eight was that everybody already knew who you were before you got the chance to become it.
the pogues grew up barefoot and loud, saltwater drying on their skin beneath the sun. the kooks grew up behind gates and golf carts and houses so big they echoed when nobody was talking.
and the camerons were the richest people on the island. which meant they were also the loneliest.
ward cameron owned half the coastline, or at least acted like he did. people lowered their voices around him at country clubs and charity dinners. adults smiled too hard when he shook their hands. every magazine spread about wealthy families in the obx somehow circled back to the camerons eventually — their boat, their house, their perfect christmas photos where nobody looked directly at the camera for too long.
from the outside, they looked untouchable. inside the house, it was quieter than a church especially after their mother left. nobody talked about that part: not openly, if you were in your right mind.
not in the way kids are supposed to ask questions when something disappears.
sarah adapted first. she smiled easier, learned how to make herself lovable in ways people understood. wheezie became invisible whenever possible. and rafe became loud. not all at once.
at eight years old, it existed in flashes. slammed doors. quick tempers. the way his jaw locked whenever ward spoke too sharply but before he became difficult, before people started describing him with words like troubled or angry or unstable, he was just a little boy who hated being alone.
which was how she ended up in his life.
her mother worked events sometimes. catering mostly. planning if people paid enough.
summer parties on yachts. fundraisers. country club dinners where rich women wore linen and diamonds at the same time which meant, occasionally, she got dragged along.
she remembered the first time she saw tanneyhill like something out of a dream. white columns, massive windows, golf carts lined in the driveway. the smell of ocean air curling through expensive perfume.
she’d been seven, sitting in the kitchen with a cup of sprite somebody handed her while adults rushed around carrying trays.
“don’t wander,” her mom warned. “and don’t touch anything.”
she lasted maybe twelve minutes.
the camerons’ house was too big not to explore. hallways stretching forever, framed paintings staring down at her, polished floors she nearly slipped across in sandals.
and somewhere upstairs, somebody was yelling. not screaming, just enough to make her stop walking. a man’s voice first, sharp.
then another crash. she should’ve turned around. instead, she kept going. the upstairs hallway was colder somehow, air conditioning biting against sunburnt skin. one of the bedroom doors sat halfway open, and through the crack she saw a blond boy shoving clothes angrily into a closet.
he couldn’t have been much older than her. maybe eight and yet he noticed her immediately with the awareness of an adult, blue eyes snapping toward the doorway. “who’re you?”
she froze. “nobody.”
“then why’re you in my house?” his tone wasn’t mean exactly. defensive, maybe. like a dog growling before deciding whether to bite.
she should’ve left. instead she pointed behind him. “your lamp’s broken.”
the ceramic lamp beside his bed lay shattered across the floor. the boy looked at it for a second before shrugging. “yeah.”
“are you gonna get in trouble?”
“already did.” he said it casually. too casually for a kid. then he squinted at her. “you’re not a kook.”
she frowned. “what’s that supposed to mean?”
“means your shoes are dirty.”
“your attitude’s dirty.”
for one horrible second, she thought he might actually get mad. instead, his mouth twitched. just a little, the beginning of a smile. “what’s your name?”
she told him. he nodded once. “i’m rafe.” like she should already know that. truthfully, everybody on figure eight probably did. there was another silence after that. awkward in the way only children could make things awkward — too honest to fake politeness yet. then, downstairs, somebody shouted: “rafe!”
his entire expression changed instantly. shoulders stiffening, mouth flattening, something shuttering behind his eyes so fast it almost didn’t look real. “you should go,” he muttered.
she hesitated. “okay.” she turned toward the hallway.
“wait.” when she looked back, rafe was digging through his desk drawer. he pulled out a handful of candy — probably stolen from downstairs — and walked over before dumping it into her hands.
a peace offering or maybe a bribe for silence. “don’t tell anybody you saw me.”
she blinked. “why?”
another yell from downstairs. louder this time. rafe looked toward the door and for the first time, she realized he looked scared. not of getting caught with candy. not of breaking the lamp but of whoever was downstairs. “just don’t, okay?”
she nodded slowly. “okay.”
that was the beginning of it. not dramatic, not fate and certainly not love at first sight. just two lonely kids inside a house too big for either of them.
after that, rafe started appearing everywhere. not in a creepy way but more like a stray cat deciding somebody belonged to him.
the next time her mother worked at tanneyhill, she found him waiting near the driveway with scraped knees and a tennis racket dragging behind him. “you came back.”
she frowned. “i don’t really choose that.”
“still counts.” he said things confidently even when they didn’t make sense. before she could answer, he grabbed her wrist and started pulling her toward the backyard. “c’mon.”
“where?”
“you ask too many questions.”
“you’re rude.”
“yeah, well.”
he didn’t finish the sentence. she noticed he did that a lot. started thoughts and abandoned them halfway through like he didn’t know what to do with them once they became real.
the backyard looked like a resort.
pool glittering bright blue beneath the sun. huge stone patio, private dock stretching into the marsh. she slowed near the edge of the pool. “are we allowed out here?”
“it’s my house.”
“that doesn’t answer the question.”
rafe snorted. “you sound eighty years old.” that made no sense, and before she could ask, he dropped onto one of the lounge chairs dramatically, legs hanging off the side because he was still too small for it.
“my sisters are inside doing dumb rich people stuff.”
“what’s dumb rich people stuff?”
“sarah’s making wheezie play wedding with her again.”
“that sounds normal.”
“they made me be the dog last time.”
she stared at him. “the dog?”
“exactly.”
she laughed before she could stop herself. a real laugh, loud enough that rafe blinked at her for a second like he hadn’t expected it then he grinned too and suddenly he didn’t look like the angry boy from upstairs anymore.
he looked eight. just eight. sunlight in his hair. freckles across his nose. swimsuit half untied at his hips because apparently rich kids never wore clothes correctly.
“you wanna see something cool?” he asked.
before she could answer, he stood up on the lounge chair. “rafe—”
he launched himself into the pool like a missile and water exploded everywhere. she yelped as cold droplets soaked her shirt while rafe surfaced laughing hysterically.
“oh my god!”
“did you see that?!”
“you splashed me!”
“because you were standing too close!”
“because you JUMPED AT ME!”
full-body laughter, messy and uncontained. she realized then that rafe cameron laughed like somebody who didn’t get to very often. he swam toward the edge of the pool, blond hair dripping into his eyes. “c’mon in.”
“i don’t have a swimsuit.”
“so?”
“rafe.”
“what?”
“normal people don’t swim in their clothes.”
“normal people are boring.”
she crossed her arms. “easy for you to say. your dad owns this pool.”
for a second, his smile faded but then he shrugged one shoulder. “he doesn’t really care what i do.”
the words sounded exciting at first like freedom but something about the way he said it made her stomach twist. before she could think too hard about it, rafe reached out suddenly and grabbed her ankle.
she screamed as he yanked. “RAFE —”
she hit the water fully clothed while he cackled loud enough for birds to scatter from nearby trees. when she surfaced sputtering, he was grinning so hard his dimples showed. “you’re the worst person alive.”
“yeah, but now you’re swimming.”
she shoved water at his face. he splashed her back immediately. and somehow that became the rest of the afternoon. swimming until their fingers wrinkled, arguing over nothing. rafe trying to hold his breath underwater long enough to “die dramatically.”
her timing him while sitting at the edge kicking her feet into the water. it felt easy.
which surprised her because most rich kids on figure eight treated people like her strangely — either invisible or temporary but rafe talked to her like they’d known each other forever like it had already been decided.
at one point, they ended up laying on the dock side by side, drying beneath the late afternoon sun.
“you ever think about running away?” rafe asked suddenly.
she turned her head toward him. “what?”
he shrugged, staring up at the sky. “i dunno. somewhere else.”
“why would you wanna leave here?”
“because everybody’s annoying.”
“that’s not a real reason.”
“is too.”
“where would you even go?”
he thought about it seriously. “california.”
“why california?”
“they surf there.”
“people surf here too.”
“yeah, but in california nobody knows your dad.”
that quiet feeling returned again. the weird one. the one that always showed up whenever ward cameron entered a conversation. she glanced toward him carefully. “is your dad mean?”
rafe went still. not visibly, not enough for most people to notice but she did because kids notice things adults think they hide well. his expression flattened toward the sky. “sometimes.”
she waited. eventually, he mumbled: “mostly when i screw stuff up.”
“everybody screws stuff up.”
“not like me.” he said it matter-of-factly like he already believed it completely. before she could answer, he sat up abruptly. “wanna go steal ice cream from the freezer?”
the conversation ended there. that was another thing about rafe. even as a kid, he knew exactly how to run from things before they could catch him.
by the time summer ended, rafe had decided she was his person. he never actually said it like that.
eight-year-old boys didn’t have the language for things that deep yet.
instead, he showed up at her house unannounced with sand all over his feet and demanded she come outside immediately because he “found a dead stingray and it looked cool.”
or he called the landline six times in a row just to ask if she thought sharks could smell fear through boats. or he sat way too close to her during movies and stole food directly off her plate while acting like it was legally his. it happened gradually enough that neither of them noticed it becoming permanent.
until one day everybody else did.
“that cameron boy likes you.” her mother said it casually while folding laundry. she nearly choked on her juice.
“he does not.”
“mmhmm.”
“mom.”
“he called here three times today.”
“because he’s annoying.”
“sweetheart, he asked if you were sick because you didn’t answer.”
she groaned dramatically and buried her face in the couch cushion. secretly, she liked that rafe noticed when she disappeared. most people didn’t.
school started again in september. figure eight elementary mixed kook kids and pogues together just enough for rich parents to pretend they cared about community.
rafe hated school immediately. not because he was bad at it. actually, because he was actually smart. that was the problem. he got bored fast.
he finished worksheets too early and started bothering everybody else afterward. teachers constantly told him to sit still, lower his voice, stop talking back.
he treated authority like a challenge. especially the male teachers and especially when they raised their voices. “rafe cameron, hallway. now.”
their third-grade teacher sounded exhausted already. rafe slumped back dramatically in his chair. “i didn’t even do anything.”
“you threw an eraser at timothy.”
“he was talking.”
“so were you.”
“yeah, but i’m interesting.”
half the class laughed. the teacher pinched the bridge of his nose. “hallway.”
rafe stood slowly, muttering something under his breath before grabbing his notebook. on the way out, he glanced toward her, winked, like getting in trouble was funny.
except she noticed the way his shoulders tightened once the classroom door shut behind him. noticed how he stopped smiling the second adults couldn’t see him anymore.
he came back from lunch with a split lip. small and still fresh enough to shine red. she stared at him across the table. “what happened?”
“nothing.”
“rafe.”
he peeled open his milk carton aggressively. “tripped.”
“you don’t get punched-looking lips from tripping.”
“you don’t know that.”
she narrowed her eyes as he refused to look at her. finally, he muttered: “some fifth grader shoved wheezie.”
her anger disappeared instantly. “oh.”
“so i shoved him back.”
“and?”
“and apparently fifth graders hit hard.” he said it proudly like losing the fight didn’t matter because he’d fought at all.
she studied him quietly. “did you win?”
rafe grinned then, bloody lip and all. “kinda.”
that was the first time she realized rafe would throw himself into a fight even if he knew he couldn’t win it especially for people he loved.
october brought storms to the obx, the kind that rattled windows and turned the ocean mean.
she hated thunder yet rafe found this hilarious. “it’s literally just noise.”
“okay, then you sit outside in it.”
“i would.”
“you absolutely would not.”
“would too.”
another crack of thunder shook the house hard enough to flicker the lights. she jumped violently from where they sat on the living room floor.
rafe burst into laughter. “you looked like a cat.”
“i hate you.”
“no you don’t.” he said it immediately. without thinking and maybe that should’ve scared her a little — how sure he always sounded about her staying — but instead she just rolled her eyes and threw popcorn at his face.
another boom echoed outside. this time closer. her smile slipped and rafe noticed instantly. he always noticed instantly. perks of being someone with a father that a mood he always had to manage.
without saying anything, he scooted closer across the carpet until their shoulders touched. then, quieter: “it’s not gonna hit the house.”
“you don’t know that.”
“yeah i do.”
“how?”
“because if it did, my dad would sue god.”
she laughed despite herself. mission accomplished. rafe leaned back against the couch afterward like he hadn’t intentionally comforted her at all but a few minutes later, during another loud crack of thunder, she fel his hand tap twice against hers on the floor.
still there.still here. safe. even then, rafe loved through contact. small touches. shoved shoulders. knees bumping under tables. messing with the strings of her hoodie while pretending to listen like if he kept physical proof of people nearby, they couldn’t disappear unexpectedly.
sometimes she wondered if that started when his mother left. sometimes she wondered if he even remembered a version of himself before that happened.
that winter, ward cameron forgot to pick rafe up from school. at first, rafe acted like he didn’t care.“he’s probably busy.”
he kicked at the curb while everybody else slowly disappeared into cars and golf carts around them. thirty minutes passed, then forty.
the office secretary kept glancing outside with tight sympathy adults got when they didn’t know what to say. “we can call your house again, honey.”
“don’t.”
too fast, too sharp. she looked surprised. rafe swallowed. “he’ll come.”
except his voice sounded smaller now. eventually her mom arrived instead. “c’mon,” she said gently. “i’ll drive you home.”
rafe immediately shook his head. “m’fine.”
“rafe.”
“i said i’m fine.”
anger flashed across his face so quickly it almost looked painful. not at her. at himself like embarrassment curdling into fury before anybody could pity him. her mother ignored it completely. “okay,” she said lightly. “then i guess i’ll have to eat all the mcdonald’s fries myself.”
silence. rafe blinked. “you got fries?”
“yep.”
another pause. then: “large?”
“obviously.”
he got into the car after that quietly and halfway through the drive, while rain tapped softly against the windows, she noticed him holding the fry carton in his lap like something fragile like nobody had remembered to take care of him all day.
winter on figure eight always made everything feel emptier. the tourists disappeared, the beaches went gray. even tanneyhill looked colder somehow, stripped of summer light and party noise.
and rafe changed during winter. not completely. just enough for her to notice. he got quieter after christmas break started. moodier. sometimes she’d come over and find him sprawled upside down on the couch watching television at full volume, talking a mile a minute like he needed noise filling every corner of the house.
other days, he barely spoke at all. those were the bad days. the house felt different then too. stiffer.
rose smiled too brightly. wheezie stayed upstairs. sarah vanished to friends’ houses whenever possible. and ward became impossible to miss.
he wasn’t loud all the time. that was the strange part. sometimes he was perfectly charming. laughing at dinner, asking questions, resting a hand on rafe’s shoulder like a normal father.
those moments confused her more than the angry ones because rafe would spend the entire time trying to earn them.
sitting straighter, talking faster, watching ward’s reactions like they held the answer key to his entire existence. it made her chest hurt in ways she didn’t understand yet.
one friday afternoon, she found rafe outside near the dock skipping rocks violently across the water.
well. trying to skip rocks. mostly throwing them hard enough to sink immediately.
“those are supposed to bounce.”
“i know that.”
“clearly not.”
“shut up.”
she smiled a little and sat beside him anyway, pulling her knees to her chest against the cold. for a while, neither of them spoke. wind curled across the marsh grass. somewhere far off, a boat engine hummed. rafe picked up another rock. threw it hard. splash.
“you’re bad at this,” she informed him.
“maybe the water’s stupid.”
“yeah. definitely the water.”
another rock. another angry splash. then suddenly: “my dad thinks i’m an idiot.”
the words landed strangely between them. casual tone serious meaning. she looked over slowly while rafe kept staring at the water. “he didn’t say that.”
“did too.”
“when?”
he shrugged. “not exactly.” another rock. “but he thinks it.” kids weren’t supposed to sound that certain about things like that.
she frowned. “you’re not an idiot.”
“you kinda have to say that. we’re friends.”
“i don’t have to do anything.”
finally, he looked at her. blue eyes sharp even at nine years old. “then why do you?”
she opened her mouth. closed it again because she didn’t actually know how to explain it.
that being around rafe felt like standing too close to lightning sometimes — unpredictable and bright and dangerous in ways you couldn’t describe yet.
that even when he was mean or loud or impossible, she still understood him better than anybody else seemed to. that she worried about him constantly. instead she just nudged his shoulder with hers. “because somebody has to.”
his expression changed for half a second. softened. small enough that she almost missed it then he looked away again quickly, jaw tightening like he regretted letting her see anything real. “my dad says i get emotional over stupid stuff.”
“well your dad sucks.”
rafe barked out a laugh before he could stop himself. a real one but it faded fast. “don’t say that.”
“why not? it’s true.”
his face closed immediately. “just don’t.”
there it was again.
that invisible line nobody in the cameron house crossed. ward could yell. ward could forget him. ward could make rafe feel two inches tall with one look but nobody else was allowed to notice.
a week later, she learned what happened when someone did.
she’d come over after lunch, shoes damp from rainwater, only to hear shouting the second she stepped through the front door.
not normal arguing.
worse. the kind of yelling that made the entire house hold its breath. ward’s voice thundered somewhere upstairs. “you embarrass me constantly!”
silence. then rafe shouting back. not words she could understand.
just anger. another crash echoed through the hallway.
rose appeared almost immediately. “sweetheart,” she said too quickly, intercepting her near the stairs, “why don’t you wait outside for a little while?”
she hesitated. upstairs, something shattered. her stomach twisted. “is rafe okay?”
rose’s smile strained painfully at the edges. “of course he is.”
another lie adults expected children to accept. she backed toward the front door slowly and right before she stepped outside, she heard ward yell: “why can’t you be more like your sister for once?”
the silence afterward felt worse than the shouting. she found rafe an hour later sitting beneath the big oak tree near the edge of the property. knees pulled up, hoodie sleeves covering his hands.
he looked up when she approached. one side of his face was red, not bruised just flushed enough to make her chest tighten.
“rose said you left.”
“she lies a lot.” his voice sounded flat.
she sat beside him carefully. “what happened?”
“nothing.”
“rafe.”
“drop it.”
normally she would’ve argued, teased him until he cracked and waited him out but something about him felt different today. too still like all the loud parts of him had collapsed inward. so instead she just sat there quietly beside him while wind rustled through the branches overhead.
minutes passed. finally, rafe spoke without looking at her. “do you ever feel bad all the time?”
she blinked. “what?”
he picked at loose thread on his sleeve. “like even when nothing’s wrong.”
her heart hurt suddenly because no nine-year-old should know how to ask that question. “sometimes,” she admitted softly.
“how do you make it stop?”
she didn’t have an answer and maybe he knew that already because he laughed once under his breath. bitter in a way kids shouldn’t know how to be. “yeah,” he muttered. “me neither.”
another long silence. then, quietly: “my dad says there’s something wrong with me.”
anger flashed hot in her chest. “there isn’t.”
“you don’t know that.”
“i do actually.”
for the first time all afternoon, rafe looked at her fully. his eyes were red around the edges not crying now which somehow meant he already had. “how?”
she swallowed. because the truth was simple. because even at nine years old, she already knew this with terrifying certainty: if something was wrong with rafe cameron, it was because the people around him kept teaching him he was impossible to love.
by thirteen, rafe cameron had learned two important things:
anger made people listen. and pretty people got forgiven for almost everything. he grew into himself unfairly fast after twelve.
all sharp cheekbones and long limbs and sun-bleached hair falling into blue eyes that looked softer than they actually were. girls at school started orbiting him without meaning to. teachers gave him too many second chances. parents laughed nervously at things that weren’t funny because ward cameron’s son smiled afterward.
he carried himself differently now too.
less frantic. more dangerous like he’d discovered exactly how much space he could take up in a room if he wanted to.
and still he showed up at her window throwing pebbles at two in the morning because he was bored.
some things never changed except she changed too. not suddenly more like the island itself shaped her over time.
summer-browned skin, saltwater-soft hair, hoodies stolen from friends and tied around her waist. a laugh people turned toward before realizing they were staring.
she became prettier in the quiet kind of way. the kind that snuck up on people. boys started finding excuses to talk to her at school. older girls copied the way she did her eyeliner. people remembered her name now instead of just recognizing her face beside rafe’s.
and rafe noticed all of it immediately.
every glance. every lingering conversation. every boy who stood too close. he never said anything directly. instead, he’d appear out of nowhere draping an arm across her shoulders while staring somebody down lazily. or interrupt conversations with: “you ready to go?” even when they’d arrived separately.
at first, she thought he was being annoying on purpose. then she realized rafe looked genuinely irritated afterward. which honestly made it funnier.
“you know you act insane, right?” she told him one afternoon after he scared off another freshman boy from talking to her outside school.
rafe blinked innocently from where he leaned against his truck. “what’d i do?”
“you stared at him like you wanted to kill him.”
“maybe i did.”
“rafe.”
“what? he looked annoying.”
“you didn’t even know him.”
“didn’t need to.”
she rolled her eyes, but secretly, part of her liked that rafe still looked for her first in every crowd like no matter how much they changed, some instinct inside him still circled back to her automatically.
except that instinct was starting to become something else now. something sharper. harder to name.
“if my dad catches you out there, he’s literally gonna kill you.”
she whispered harshly, shoving the window open anyway. rafe grinned from where he stood balanced on the roof outside. “nah. he likes me.”
“that’s because you lie to adults professionally.”
“thank you.”
“that wasn’t a compliment.”
he climbed through the window like he owned the place, smelling like seawater and expensive cologne he definitely stole from ward. “c’mon.”
“rafe, it’s two in the morning.”
“exactly.”
“normal people sleep.”
“normal people are boring.”
he’d been saying that since he was eight. only now it sounded different coming out of his mouth. less childish and more intentional.
she narrowed her eyes at him. “where are we even going?”
“the beach.”
“for what?”
“you ask too many questions.”
“and you answer none of them.”
he just smirked and grabbed her hoodie off the chair before tossing it at her face. “move, princess.”
the beach at night felt enormous. waves crashing black against the shore. cold wind tangling through their hair. rafe walked ahead of her barefoot, carrying a six-pack he’d stolen from somewhere with casual expertise that concerned her deeply. “you know beer tastes disgusting, right?”
“you sound eighty.”
“you sound like you’re trying too hard.”
that got his attention. he glanced back over his shoulder. “trying too hard at what?”
she shrugged. “being cool.”
he scoffed immediately. “i am cool.”
“rafe, you got suspended last week for setting a paper towel dispenser on fire.”
“allegedly.”
“there were witnesses.”
“snitches.”
she laughed despite herself and for a second he smiled too — real and easy, dimples flashing briefly beneath moonlight. then it vanished again.
that happened more now. moments where she saw the old rafe before he covered him back up. they settled near the dunes eventually. rafe sprawled across the sand dramatically while she sat beside him pulling her knees against her chest.
for a while, they just listened to the ocean. comfortable silence. their version of peace.
then: “kelly morgan asked if i’d hook up with her.”
she snorted. “you’re thirteen.”
“and?”
“that’s disgusting.”
“you’re just jealous.”
“of kelly morgan? absolutely not.”
he laughed quietly at that. then took a sip from the beer before grimacing. “this tastes like shit.”
“wow. shocking development.”
“shut up.”
she smiled a little but when she looked over at him again, he’d gone distant. staring out at the water with that familiar tension in his jaw.
“what?” she asked softly.
“nothing.”
“rafe.”
he rubbed a hand over his face and suddenly he looked older than thirteen. “my dad’s been on my ass lately.”
there it was. always circling back to ward somehow. she leaned back onto her hands. “about what?”
“everything.” he kicked sand aggressively. “grades. golf. sarah getting into honors classes.” his voice sharpened slightly. “breathing wrong probably.”
she stayed quiet because by now she understood that interrupting rafe when he actually talked about real things usually made him stop altogether.
he scoffed under his breath. “he keeps saying i’m wasting potential.”
“that’s not the worst thing someone could say.”
“you didn’t hear how he said it.” the words hung there.
she looked over at him carefully. “you know parents are supposed to make you feel good about yourself, right?”
rafe barked out a laugh and not a happy one. “according to who?”
she didn’t know what to say to that. because honestly the older they got, the more obvious it became that something inside rafe was changing.
hardening.
he got angry faster now. meaner sometimes. more reckless. last month he’d bloodied a kid’s nose at a bonfire because the guy made some joke about sarah. afterward, rafe laughed while his knuckles bled like violence had thrilled him more than scared him.
that terrified her a little. mostly because part of him had looked relieved during it like hurting somebody finally matched the chaos already living in his chest.
“hey.” she blinked. rafe was watching her now. closely. “where’d you go?”
“nowhere.”
“liar.”
“you literally lie for sport.”
“yeah, but i’m good at it.”
she rolled her eyes and then, before she could stop herself: “sometimes i worry about you.” silence. the ocean crashed somewhere behind them. rafe’s expression went unreadable immediately. guarded. she regretted saying it almost instantly. “forget it.”
“why?”
“because.”
“because why?”
she looked away. “you’re different lately.”
the words came out quieter than intended. rafe went still beside her. “different how?”
dangerous question. she could feel it immediately like stepping onto thin ice. “i dunno,” she said carefully. “angrier.”
he stared at her for a long moment then smiled except it wasn’t really a smile. more like something sharp pretending to be one. “maybe you just didn’t notice before.”
her stomach twisted.
because somehow that felt true. and worse: some small part of her thought rafe wanted it to be true like if he convinced everyone he’d always been this way, nobody could mourn the version of him that used to be softer.
after that night, things between them shifted slightly.
not enough for anybody else to notice just enough for her to feel it. rafe started looking at her longer than he used to like he was trying to figure something out.
sometimes she’d catch him staring from across bonfires or hallways at school, expression unreadable until she noticed him — then suddenly he’d smirk or say something sarcastic to cover it up. other times he got weirdly irritated over nothing.
especially boys and especially when they touched her. “why was he hugging you?”
she blinked at him across the gas station parking lot. “because i’ve known him since kindergarten?”
rafe leaned against his truck with his arms crossed. “looked unnecessary.”
“it was literally a goodbye hug.”
“yeah, well. i didn’t like it.”
she stared at him. “you hear yourself, right?”
“all the time.” he said it without shame. that was the dangerous thing about rafe. he rarely hid the uglier parts of himself once they surfaced. he just smiled like daring people to call him on it.
that spring, he got into his first real fight.
not schoolyard shoving. not roughhousing. a real fight.
it happened at a beach bonfire packed with high school kids trying too hard to look older than they were. somebody brought vodka. somebody else brought fireworks. music blasted from cheap speakers while people stumbled through the sand laughing too loudly.
she found rafe near the waterline already drunk enough that his words blurred together around the edges.
“there y’are,” he said immediately when he saw her, grabbing her wrist. “been lookin’ for you.”
“you smell awful.”
“that’s mean.”
“you stole ward’s liquor again, didn’t you?”
“allegedly.”
she rolled her eyes then noticed blood on his knuckles. her stomach dropped. “rafe.”
he glanced down lazily. “oh. yeah.”
“what happened?”
“nothing.”
“you are literally bleeding.”
he shrugged like it was boring. “some guy was talking shit.”
“and?”
“and i told him to stop.”
she stared. “you punched him over talking?”
“nah.” a grin spread slowly across his face. “i punched him because he touched you earlier.”
silence. the ocean roared somewhere behind them. her chest tightened painfully. “what?”
rafe looked genuinely confused by her reaction. “he had his hand on your waist.”
“that doesn’t mean you get to hit people.”
“felt like i did.”
the words should’ve scared her more than they did. instead she just looked at him standing there beneath bonfire light — pretty and drunk and bleeding and looking at her like this all made perfect sense like she was something that belonged to him instinctively.
“you’re insane,” she whispered.
his grin widened. “yeah.” but then his expression softened slightly. just for her. “he shouldn’t’ve touched you.”
there it was again. that terrifying sincerity underneath all the arrogance. she hated how much it affected her. later that night, she sat beside him in the bed of his truck while everyone else ran through the surf screaming over fireworks. rafe leaned back against the cab beside her, shoulder pressed against hers.
drunk quieter now. thoughtful. his knuckles were swollen. she cleaned them anyway using napkins and water from somebody’s cooler.
“ow.”
“stop being dramatic.”
“i could be dying.”
“unfortunately you’re surviving.”
he laughed softly under his breath then went quiet again. she focused on wrapping one of his scraped fingers carefully.
“you know,” he said eventually, voice rougher now, “you always do that.”
“do what?”
“take care of me.”
her hands paused briefly. rafe stared out toward the ocean. not looking at her. “even when i’m an asshole.”
she swallowed. “you’re not always an asshole.”
“yeah?”
finally, he turned toward her. blue eyes heavy beneath half-lowered lashes, windswept hair. mouth split slightly at the corner from fighting. beautiful in the way storms were beautiful. “what am i then?”
the question felt bigger than it should’ve. she looked at him for too long because she honestly didn’t know anymore.
you’re my best friend. you’re exhausting. you’re lonely. you’re angry all the time. you’re still that little boy waiting upstairs for someone to come back for him.
instead she just tied off the makeshift bandage around his hand and muttered: “trouble.”
rafe smiled slowly at that. “yeah,” he said quietly. “probably.”
and for one dangerous second, sitting there beneath exploding fireworks and salt-heavy air, she realized something terrifying: she would probably love every version of him. even the ones that hurt her.
summer hit the obx hard that year.
everything felt overheated. the air. people’s tempers, her friendship with rafe. especially rafe.
because fourteen-year-old rafe cameron became impossible to ignore. he shot up another two inches over the summer, shoulders broadening, voice roughening unexpectedly. girls stared openly now. older girls too. waitresses smiled at him too long. boys either wanted to be him or punch him.
and rafe noticed every second of it. he started carrying himself with lazy confidence that didn’t quite fit yet, like he was testing out versions of himself to see which one people reacted to best.
some days he acted almost academic — sprawled beside her with books open, explaining random facts he’d memorized just because he liked the look on her face when he knew things she didn’t. “did you know sharks can smell blood from like a quarter mile away?”
“why do you know that?”
“because i read.”
“that’s deeply nerdy of you.”
“shut up.”
he’d grin afterward, all bright and boyish again. other days he became something sharper. louder, cockier and reckless in ways that made adults nervous.
he liked attention now. needed it, maybe. especially hers and whenever he didn’t have it he got mean.
“you flirting with him?”
she looked up from her towel on the beach. rafe stood over her dripping seawater, surfboard tucked under one arm, expression already irritated.
she blinked. “what?”
“that guy.” he jerked his chin toward some tourist boy she’d spoken to for maybe thirty seconds while buying drinks.
“i ordered a coke, rafe.”
“you were smiling.”
“people smile during conversations.”
“not like that.”
she stared at him incredulously. “what is wrong with you lately?”
his jaw tightened immediately. there. that switch, always so quick now. “nothing.”
“you act insane every time i talk to another guy.”
“maybe they should stop talking to you then.”
she laughed once because honestly what else was there to do except rafe didn’t laugh back. he looked serious. completely serious and suddenly the joke stopped being funny.
“rafe…”
“forget it.” he grabbed his board again before turning toward the ocean. angry now. at her, at himself, at things he didn’t know how to name.
she watched him paddle out too aggressively through the waves and felt something cold settle in her stomach because lately every conversation with rafe felt like standing near exposed wires. one wrong move and everything sparked.
the kiss happened two weeks later which was honestly the problem.
there was no lead-up, no confession, no grand realization like she'd seen and learned to yearn for in those movies her mom loved. instead, it was just years and years of something building quietly until one reckless moment cracked it open.
it happened at tanneyhill. ward and rose were hosting another party downstairs — music echoing through the massive house, adults drinking expensive wine while pretending their marriages worked.
rafe hated those nights.
she found him upstairs in his room sitting on the floor beside his bed with a physics textbook open beside him and music blasting through headphones.
“you’re studying voluntarily?” she asked dramatically.
he looked up immediately and softened. he always softened for her first. “failed my last test.”
“nerd.”
“bitch.”
“language.” she kicked his foot lightly before dropping beside him on the floor. for a while, things felt normal again. safe. he explained formulas while she doodled nonsense in the margins of his notebook. occasionally he’d shove her shoulder when she distracted him on purpose. easy.
until downstairs ward started yelling. muffled through floors but still loud enough. rafe went completely still. it happened instantly like somebody pulled all the warmth out of him at once.
she looked over carefully. “you okay?”
“mhm.”
lie. downstairs, another burst of angry voices echoed upward. then silence. the worst kind. rafe ripped his headphones off too harshly.
“i swear to god,” he muttered.
she watched him stand abruptly and start pacing. “rafe—”
“he’s drunk again.” his voice carried no surprise, just exhaustion.
“maybe don’t go down there right now.”
“it’s my house.”
“and he’s angry.”
“he’s always angry.”
the words snapped out sharper than intended. she stood slowly. “okay.”
rafe scrubbed both hands down his face and suddenly he looked young again. not the cocky beach boy. not ward cameron’s golden son just a kid trapped inside a house that never felt safe. “sorry,” he muttered quietly.
“you don’t have to apologize.”
another shout downstairs. rafe laughed once under his breath. empty. “you know what his problem is?” she stayed quiet. “i’m never enough for him.”
her chest tightened painfully. “rafe—”
“seriously.” he looked at her now, eyes bright with something dangerous. “i could get straight A’s, play golf, act exactly how he wants, and he’d still look at me like there’s something rotten inside me.”
“that’s not true.”
“it is.”
“it’s not.”
his breathing had gone uneven, agitated. he paced once more before stopping directly in front of her. “then why does everybody leave?”
the question hit like a slap because suddenly this wasn’t about ward anymore. it was about his mother, every fight, every bad thing he believed about himself. and somehow it was about her too. she swallowed hard. “i’m still here.”
rafe stared at her. really stared like he was trying to memorize the sentence. then his eyes dropped to her mouth. everything changed after that.
the air, the room, the space between them. she should’ve stepped back. instead she froze. and rafe looked terrified. not of her but of wanting something.
his voice came out rough. “you can’t say stuff like that to me.”
“what stuff?”
“that.”
before she could answer, he kissed her. messy, impulsive. too intense for fourteen. all the things rafe was becoming shoved into one moment. his hand cupped her jaw too fast, like he thought she might disappear before he got there. his mouth tasted faintly like mint and anger and summer.
for one impossible second she kissed him back because of course she did. she’d loved him in every version already. little boy rafe, angry rafe, lonely rafe, beautiful disaster rafe.
all of them.
his breath caught immediately when she kissed him back. a tiny sound, wrecked, like nobody had ever chosen him first before. and then the door downstairs slammed violently.
ward shouting. glass breaking somewhere below. rafe jerked back instantly like he’d been burned. his entire expression changed. panic replacing softness so fast it hurt to watch. “shit.”
she blinked at him, still dazed. “rafe—”
“we can’t.”
her stomach dropped. “what?”
he started backing away from her immediately. hands in his hair. breathing hard. “that was a mistake.”
the words hit harder than they should’ve because he looked like he meant them. or worse — like he needed to mean them.
“okay,” she said quietly, even though it wasn’t okay at all.
rafe looked sick suddenly. “i just—” he swallowed harshly. “you’re the only good thing i have.”
her chest cracked open because she understood immediately. he thought loving him would ruin her eventually. the worst part was that she wasn’t sure he was wrong.
after that, rafe disappeared for almost a week. not physically. she still saw him at school sometimes. hallways, parking lots, across classrooms but he acted like there was suddenly glass between them.
he stopped calling. stopped showing up at her window. stopped looking at her for more than half a second at a time which honestly hurt worse than if he’d just been angry.
because this felt deliberate like rafe had decided she was something dangerous now.
by friday, she was furious. she found him behind the gym after school sitting on the hood of his truck smoking a cigarette badly. he looked up when he heard her footsteps.
and for one split second relief crossed his face. raw and immediate then it vanished replaced by that careless expression he’d been practicing lately. “you stalking me now?”
she stopped in front of him. “what is your problem?”
he took another drag from the cigarette even though he clearly didn’t know how. “don’t have one.”
“rafe.”
“what?”
“you kissed me and then started acting like i died.”
his jaw tightened immediately. there. that panic underneath him now. “keep your voice down.”
“why?”
“because.”
“because why?”
he jumped off the hood abruptly. “can you stop doing that?”
“doing what?”
“making everything into a thing.”
she stared at him in disbelief. “you kissed me.”
“yeah, and it was stupid.”
the words came too fast, too rehearsed like he’d been trying to convince himself all week.
anger flashed hot through her chest. “wow.”
“you know what i mean.”
“no actually, i don’t.”
rafe scrubbed a hand over his face aggressively. he looked exhausted with those dark circles beneath his eyes, shoulders tense like he hadn’t slept properly in days. “i just…” he exhaled sharply. “i can’t do this with you.”
“do what?”
“this.”
he gestured wildly between them. helpful. “you’re my best friend.”
the sentence should’ve sounded sweet. instead it landed like a warning.
“and?” she asked quietly.
rafe looked at her then and suddenly all the anger drained out of his face, leaving behind something much worse: fear. “and people leave when i fuck things up.”
her breath caught. because there it was.
the real reason. not embarrassment and not regret. terror. pure terrified certainty that if he loved her the wrong way, he’d lose her completely.
“rafe—”
“don’t.” his voice cracked slightly. he looked away immediately afterward, ashamed of it. “i can’t lose you too.”
too. the smallest word possible and yet still devastating. she swallowed hard. “you’re not going to.”
“you don’t know that.”
“i do.”
“how?”
because i stay. because i always stay. because i think i would let you break my heart forever if it meant you kept looking at me like that. instead she whispered: “because i’m here.”
rafe’s expression twisted painfully. for one dangerous second, she thought he might kiss her again. he stepped closer instinctively, eyes dropping to her mouth.
then somebody laughed nearby from the parking lot. the moment shattered instantly. rafe stepped back so fast it almost looked violent. walls up again. “forget it.”
she felt something inside her snap. “stop saying that.”
his eyes flashed. “saying what?”
“forget it. nothing. doesn’t matter.” her voice shook now despite trying to stop it. “you do all this shit and then act like i imagined it.”
“i’m trying to fix it.”
“fix what?”
“us.”
she laughed then. because suddenly she understood something awful: rafe thought loving her would destroy everything and he was so terrified of becoming the kind of person who ruined her that he was ruining her anyway.
“you know what?” she said quietly. “you’re becoming kinda mean.”
silence. wrong thing to say. immediately she knew it. rafe went completely still. his face emptied in that terrifying way he had now sometimes — all emotion disappearing at once instead of exploding outward. “mean?”
she hesitated but she was already here now. “yeah.”
his tongue pressed hard against the inside of his cheek. “right.”
“i didn’t mean that —”
“no, it’s fine.” except it very obviously wasn’t fine because suddenly he looked exactly like the little boy sitting on the dock asking if something was wrong with him. only now he was older and angrier and better at hiding the wound. “that’s what everybody thinks anyway.”
her stomach dropped. “rafe, that’s not what i said.”
“close enough.”
he grabbed his backpack roughly off the ground. she reached for his wrist instinctively. “wait.”
rafe froze. her fingers wrapped around his skin felt too familiar now. too intimate after the kiss. for a second neither of them moved and then quietly, without looking at her, he said: “you know the worst part?”
her throat tightened. “what?”
his laugh came out hollow. “i was actually trying really hard to be good for you.”
and somehow that hurt more than anything else he could’ve said. because if this was rafe trying his hardest what would happen when he stopped trying altogether?
they stopped talking in november. not all at once because that would’ve been easier. instead it happened slowly enough to feel like dying by inches.
first came the distance. missed calls. shorter conversations. days passing without seeing each other. then came avoidance. if she walked into a room, rafe found a reason to leave it. if she sat beside him in class, he suddenly needed to talk to someone else.
the absolute worst part was that she knew he was doing it on purpose because every now and then she’d catch him looking at her when he thought she wouldn’t notice and he always looked wrecked like avoiding her hurt him too.
he just kept doing it anyway. by fifteen, people started talking about rafe differently. not: “ward cameron’s son.” not: “that rich blond kid.” instead:
“did you hear what rafe did?”
“apparently he got suspended again.”
“he was wasted at the boneyard.”
“he punched somebody.”
“he hooked up with—”
his reputation arrived in rooms before he did now. and rafe leaned into it viciously. he started partying older, drinking harder, smiling meaner.
girls loved him. boys followed him around like satellites hoping some of the danger rubbed off. teachers gave up trying to “reach” him. even ward stopped pretending disappointment would fix anything.
sometimes she’d see rafe at parties surrounded by people and somehow looking lonelier than he ever had as a child. that hurt most because she remembered the little boy who used to wait by her driveway barefoot asking if she wanted to look for crabs on the beach.
and now he looked at people like he was daring them to leave first.
they officially stopped speaking after graduation. not because of a fight because by then they barely knew how.
she saw him once that summer at a gas station near figure eight. he leaned against a motorcycle smoking with two frat-looking guys beside him.
all broad shoulders now, gold chain around his neck, sunglasses hiding half his face. beautiful in a way that almost made her angry. he noticed her immediately.
of course he did. rafe always noticed her immediately. for one horrible second, everything around them seemed to pause. she saw it happen in real time: the old instinct.
his body straightening slightly. eyes tracking her automatically. that microscopic softening in his face.
then his friends said something and rafe smirked. just like that the wall slammed back into place. she looked away first. he never called after her. that night she cried so hard she made herself sick.
three years later, she saw him again and it felt like getting hit by a fucking monster truck.
unc chapel hill was crawling with boys exactly like rafe cameron. rich, loud, drunk on inherited money and cheap beer except none of them were actually like rafe because nobody else walked into rooms carrying that much destruction inside them.
the party was already packed by the time she arrived. music shaking the floors, girls in tiny dresses stumbling through crowds, frat boys yelling over pong tables.
she almost left immediately. until someone shouted: “yo, cameron!”
and suddenly every nerve in her body lit on fire. she turned before she could stop herself and there he was. older. god. older.
twenty-one looked devastating on rafe. his body had fully grown into violence now. broad chest beneath a half-unbuttoned polo, thick forearms veined from lifting, rings glinting beneath red solo cup light.
his hair was shorter. his jaw sharper. his eyes colder and people moved around him differently. carefully like they sensed something unstable underneath all the charm.
girls touched him constantly. guys laughed too hard at his jokes.
someone handed him another drink before he even finished the first.
he looked like every frat fantasy rolled into one and also like somebody moments away from setting himself on fire.
then he saw her. everything stopped. not around them. just inside him. she watched it happen. the shift.
his smile fading slowly. eyes locking onto hers across the crowded room. that terrifying intensity she remembered too well crawling back instantly.
for one second, one tiny awful second, he looked exactly like fourteen again. wrecked, hopeful and fucking terrified. then one of the girls hanging off his arm whispered something in his ear and frat-boy rafe came back immediately.
he grinned lazily. looked away first like she meant nothing. that should’ve hurt less after all these years. instead it felt surgical. she made it exactly forty minutes before he cornered her in the kitchen.
of course he did because rafe had always found her eventually. always.
“well,” he drawled, leaning against the counter beside her, “this is fuckin’ weird.”
his voice had deepened. rough now. whiskey-soaked around the edges. she refused to look at him directly. “hi, rafe.”
“that all i get?”
finally she glanced over. big mistake. he was even prettier up close which honestly felt unfair considering the emotional damage. his nose slightly crooked now from fights, faint scar near his chin, expensive cologne mixed with alcohol and smoke.
he looked like every bad decision a girl could make wrapped into one person and he was staring at her like he wanted to devour her alive. “what do you want me to say?” she asked quietly.
something flickered across his face. hurt maybe that was gone instantly.
“damn.” he laughed under his breath. “still mean to me, huh?”
the audacity nearly made her dizzy. “you stopped talking to me for three years.”
“yeah?”
“yeah.”
he took a long sip from his drink. then: “you stopped trying.”
that landed directly between her ribs because the worst part was part of her still carried guilt for it. for eventually getting tired. for letting him go. for not fighting harder against the tide dragging him under.
rafe watched her expression carefully. always observant underneath the chaos. always smarter than people realized. “there she is,” he murmured softly.
“what?”
“that look.”
her throat tightened because suddenly he sounded familiar again. not frat rafe. not party rafe. her rafe. the boy who used to know every emotion crossing her face before she said a word.
“you still do that thing,” he said quietly.
“what thing?”
“look at me like you’re mourning somebody.”
silence. the music downstairs pounded violently through the floorboards. neither of them moved.
rafe watched her for a long moment.
frat house lights flickered gold across his face. music thundered downstairs. people laughed somewhere beyond the kitchen like the world wasn’t ending quietly between them.
then he smiled, wrong around the edges. “you keep looking at me like you’re mourning somebody,” he said softly. her throat tightened. rafe’s laugh came out hollow. “you keep looking for the kid i used to be, but i think he stopped existing a long time ago.”
silence pressed hard between them. he took another sip from his drink without breaking eye contact. “you wanna know the fucked up part?” he asked quietly. “i think i became exactly what everybody expected.”
the words hit like bruises.
because standing in front of her was every version of rafe at once: the lonely little boy. the angry teenager. the beautiful disaster everybody wanted pieces of and somehow none of them looked happy.
“everybody here thinks i’m having fun,” he continued, voice rough now. “you’re the only one looking at me like you can tell i’m drowning.”
her chest physically hurt. rafe swallowed hard before laughing again under his breath. “i spent three years trying to become somebody who wouldn’t miss you this much.” another pause. “didn’t take.”
she looked away first because she couldn’t breathe correctly anymore. and quietly — so quietly she almost missed it — he admitted: “i think losing you made me meaner. i think,” rafe said slowly, eyes glassy beneath frat house lights, “you’re the only person who notices how bad i got.”
KINKTOBER '25, DAY 7: CHEATING. FUCKING YOUR BROTHER'S BSF.
PAIRING: brother's best friend! rafe cameron x female reader
SUMMARY: rafe is your brother's best friend, and he cares about you (somewhat)... so what happens when he overhears you complaining about your boyfriend? he takes it in his own hands, and your bedsheets!
CONTENT WARNINGS: 18+ CONTENT, rough sex, brother's best friend! rafe, edging, cheating (reader cheats on boyfriend with rafe!), dirty talk, edging, a hint of brat taming, degradation kink, usage of 'slut', vaginal sex, dominant! rafe cameron
AUTHOR'S NOTE: oh I haven't wrote this motherfucker in such a long time, but god damn I love making him such an asshole. rafe is the only male character I write for that I can get away making a complete bitch. he's so toxic but fuck it, I'd ride it! hope u enjoy! also, should go without saying but I don't support cheating in real life, only fiction and against bad bfs/gfs!
“he doesn’t even fuck me!”
those were the words that rafe cameron heard you say to your best friend before he entered your bedroom and ended up here, with his cock in your pussy and you on your stomach.
your brother and rafe are best friends, you always found him annoying and a cocky piece of shit who had no respect, and he always found you adorably short tempered, which made him piss you off to see that side of you. rafe came over alongside his friends to your home with your brother and heard you talking to your friend over the phone when he was going to piss. he heard your tone, your defeated tone when you were talking to her about your shitty boyfriend. he was nice sure, but he sure did not know how to fuck.
and what kind of friend of your brother would he be if he didn’t take care of his sister.
so here he was, his hands squeezing your ass as he thrusted in and out of you. the bed shook under you, your face in the pillow as tears streamed down your eyes. you didn’t care if you were being too loud, the noises downstairs were loud enough to deafen what rafe was doing to your poor pussy.
“takin’ me so damn well, baby.” he grunts, lifting his hand and slapping your right ass cheek, making you yelp into the pillow. he grins at your reaction. “you liked that, huh?” he asks, leaning in to speak into your ear. “you like your ass being slapped? being treated like the slut you are?”
jesus christ. it shouldn’t be hot to be called a ‘slut’ but it was too damn good. you don’t know how long it’s been since you’ve been fucked, so rafe making you feel like this was too much. you shake your head though, not wanting to admit it. “n-not a slut… ‘no s-slut…”
he chuckles, shaking his head as he grinded against you, his balls slapping against your clit as his right hand squeezed your ass again as his left hand moved off your ass and went to your hip, gripping it. “oh but baby, you are a slut, fucking your brother’s friend while you have a boyfriend. pathetic. this pussy is just so fuckin’ needy, isn’t it.” he grunts.
your fingers curl into the pillow, your back arching as each thrust hits your insides so damn good. pleasure floods through your veins as your jaw flexes with each moan leaving your mouth and mentions of rafe’s name.
“just say it, baby.” rafe commands, moving his right hand to put a thumb near your hole, pressing into it and making you yelp, louder than the other moans. “just say you’re a slut who needs another man to fuck you well.”
you shake your head again, refusing to do it. your toes squeeze themselves with each one of rafe's movements. he’s so good at this, you couldn’t even think to argue with him, but of course, you weren’t going to not argue with him. “i-if i’m a s-slut then w-why ‘you’re fu-fucking me?” you slur, with each thrust making your words sloppier and incoherent.
rafe laughs at your words, thumb needlessly rubbing around your tight rim as his left hand goes to your shoulder, getting a better grip on you as his thrusts go deeper. “because baby, sometimes even sluts need relief, and clearly, you need some real soon.” he says, leaning down to press against your back again. “but tell me baby… do you miss your boyfriend’s cock now that mine is in you? do you miss him?”
you look over your shoulder, tears in your eyes as his eyes pierced yours. you feel too damn good right now and you’re about to break, you’re getting closer and closer to your orgasm. you shake your head. “n-no, rafey…”
he nods, but he isn’t satisfied with that answer. “c’mon baby, use your big girl words… say it properly or this pretty pussy ain’t coming any time soon; do you miss your boyfriend’s cock compared to mine?” he asks again, this time his voice leaving no room for any sort of argument.
finally giving in, you shake your head once again. “n-no rafe… i-i don’t miss his cock… l-love yours… love it s-so muchhhhh!” you let out as one particularly drag of his cock hits you hard.
rafe nods along with your words, his smirk is shit eating as he continues to piston his hips within you. he licks the inside of your ear, his right hand moving from your ass to your chest, wrapping his arm around your chest, hand squeezing your left breast against his rough hand. “there you go… good girl… good slut.” he mutters in your ear, thighs pressing against your thighs.
“please- please…” you moan, chin being decorated with your drool as each kiss of his tip on your cervix brings you closer and closer to your orgasm, eyes nearly rolling back. “please… let- let me cum, let me cum, r-rafe…” you beg, looking at him with a begging gaze.
his god awful chuckle enters your ear again, his hips unrelenting as he purposely drives further and further into your pussy. he doesn’t respond to you instantly, instead he just continues to move his hips. his thumb circles your nipple, feeling it harden under his touch as his left hand remains on your shoulder.
you sob into the pillow as each one of his thrusts hit you harder and harder, you’re slowly getting close to your orgasm, trying to be good and not fall over the edge without him. you don’t want to make him mad and possibly ruin your orgasm, but your teeth can only bite into the sheets so much and your pussy can only clench so hard to stop yourself from pre-maturally hitting your orgasm.
rafe tilts his head, looking at you as his right moves to your chin, gripping it from the underside of it, his thumb lifting up and wiping off some of the drool that’s falling down your chin. “look at that…” he hums, it’s out of amusement and out of cockiness. “drooling over my dick, and you act like you don’t want me… pathetic.”
“rafe… f-fucking please…” you gag out in between moans and whimpers, pussy fluttering once again as your folds suck him in over and over again, trying to push yourself further.
he shakes his head, digging his nails into your skin-- you whimper out a curse at that. “don’t give me that fuckin’ attitude… ask properly, don’t be a bitch about it.” he tells you, left fingers wrapping around your breast and squeezing it rather roughly.
and you just follow his orders, how could you not? “please… please, rafe, ‘m sorry… let me cum! need it so so so badly!” you beg, eyes squinted, tears pricked from the corner of your eyes as spit covers his fingers. “please rafey… i-i need it so bad, make me cum.”
he pretends to think. “do you really deserve it baby? or are you going back to being a brat?” he questions you, his tone unshifting and rough.
you shake your head. “n-no rafe, i won’t go back being a-a brat… ‘ll be good, promise! just let me cum pleaseeeee.” you promise him, tears beginning to push down your cheeks.
the sight of you crying, drooling all over his fingers as his cock continues to stretch and ruin your folds… it’s a gorgeous sight to his eyes, and he soaks it in for a second, listening to your blabbers of promises and pleads to finish, looking at the sight laying next to him.
“okay baby.” he finally says after what feels like minutes of waiting (when really it was far more than a mere five second stretch). “cum for me… cum your slutty pussy all over me.” he says, lifting himself up and moving both of his hands over to your shoulders, adjusting his posture as his pace gets increasingly fast.
his fingers dig into your shoulders, thumb stroking the bone as his thighs press against yours, his heavy balls slapping against your clit as he pushes you over the edge, his hips drive in and out of you, the bed squeaking and the headboard hitting the wall much louder now.
and when his words enter your ears? your body takes the first chance it can get and you’re hitting your orgasm faster than you could’ve anticipated.
your eyes roll back, a scream of his name rips through the air, muffled by the noise downstairs but still louder than anything said before as your legs shake, fingers and toes curl harshly as your neck strain, mouth agape as your vision whitens out. everything feels so good when you hit your orgasm, pleasure becoming the only thing you could think about.
rafe watches you with a grin as you orgasm, sweat dripping down your forehead, you look completely fucked out and he wouldn’t want it any other way. “good girl… good fuckin’ slut f’me, there you go…” he encourages slowly, each thrust extending your orgasm just a little more.
you lay limp on the bed, eyes slowly gaining your vision back as your body sways through pleasure and tips further into overstimulation. “rafey…”
“look at that…” he murmurs low, almost under his breath, watching his cock get painted with white as he slows his thrusts, your cum covering his thick cock. he looks up at you. “you still want your boyfriend, baby?”
you shake your head, panting in between your words. “fuck… no… rafe…”
main masterlist | kinktober masterlist
god, he's so fun to write. he's such a dickhead so I can kind of go wild with the amount of assholery I put into him because with others, I can never imagine them being mean asf but with rafe? OH HELL YEAH-
INSPECTION REPORT: rafe hates seeing you stress— he hates seeing his pretty girl so damn ruined by something he can't control... so he decides to ruin you himself!
ⓘ 𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄀𝄁𝄃 SYSTEM OVERVIEW: 18+ CONTENT, fem! stressed! reader, vaginal fingering, sloppy make outs, boob fondling, dirty talk, hand kink, patronizing! rafe, cum eating, finger sucking!
rafe hated a lot of things, and one of those things was seeing you stressed.
as much as he loved teasing you and getting you worked up; seeing you stressed about some arbitrary shit really ground his gears. he didn't need to announce it, you just knew, with the way his jaw clenched, the way the veins in his forearms peaked through his skin and his brows furrowed when you told him the causes of your stress.
he hated it even more when it wasn't something that he could control. he hated not being in control of something, your stress included. so, he's forced to become a helper, a silent observer and worthy participant in detoxing your stress.
you knew damn well some of rafe's ways of dealing with your stress was... interesting to say the least (last time you were stressed, he took you to a rage room and wanted you to wham on some shit in there, another time you two went paintballing, a different time the victim of your stress was a pogue's windows with bricks)... but you weren't going to complain.
especially not right now when you're melting in his arms, your legs spread, and his fingers thrusting in and out of your sobbing cunt with no clear sign of stopping.
your mind was gone at this point—you were stressed about something so small that you forgot about it so quickly, you knew nothing else matters when rafe was fingering you like this.
your right shoulder was against his chest, the other was against the mattress, his heel forcing your foot to the side to keep your shaking legs open as you were sprawled out for him. he was much bigger than you anyway, so it was easy to keep you open, as his right hand pumped away, his left hand wrapped around your stomach, pinning you there for him.
"you feel this?" he questions you, his voice tickling your right ear as his middle and ring finger pumped in and out, occasionally hooking and doing a 'c'mere' motion. "pussy needs me so badly."
you nod along to his words, moans spilling from your lips as you didn't care about the volume of your sounds, of the sounds of his fingers meeting your clit, the plaps of wet sound. "rafe! r-rafe! fuckkkkk!"
"so ruined off two fingers... and you think that pretty little head of yours can handle that shit you decide to stress 'bout." he mutters, kissing the side of your head before grazing his teeth to the casing of your ear, licking the back of it. the sensation made you jolt, which in turn, made his fingers hit deeper in you.
your eyes roll back, your head lolling back against rafe's broad shoulder. your right hand shoots down and goes to rafe's forearm, wrapping your fingers around him as your left hand digs into the sheets, to ground yourself on anything.
grinding your hips against his thick fingers, you look at him, your gorgeous hazed eyes half lidded. "m-more rafey... please... m'more... need it." you beg low.
rafe's smile turns to a smirk, tugging on the corner of his lips as he presses his lips against yours, slipping his tongue in without preparing you, but you took his tongue easily, sucking on it.
without warning— or making you wait, you felt your walls stretch a little more as rafe adds his pointer finger, now three fingers pumping in your cunt. you moan against his lips, breaking up your kisses but rafe swallows them and kisses you again, spit collecting between your mouths.
his left hand stroked up and down your abdomen, so gentle and so damn slow, almost encouraging your body to take his fingers. he could tell you were getting close; the way your walls clenched, the way you clawed at his forearm, it was all tattle-tale signs.
"you gonna cum, hun?" he asks, biting your bottom lip, seeing how your half-lidded eyes watch his fingers disappear in and out of you. "that pretty head of yours so lost that all you want is to cum?"
you nod a little too enthusiastically, looking at him with that needy glint in your eyes. "y-yeah. please, rafey. please, lemme cum, 'm going to cum."
rafe continues to pump his fingers, lifting his other hand and cupping your left breast, squeezing it in his palm as he brought you so damn close to the edge you were chasing. “tell me baby, what were you even fucking stressing about?”
“I-I— ah! ah! I forgot, rafey…” you whimper, moans breaking in between your words. it’s quite pathetic you could barely get three words out because he’s too busy pumping. “pl-please— just l-lemme cum, ‘m so close!”
rafe clicks his tongue at your forgetfulness, shaking his head but he continues to thrust his fingers in and out, fingers curling in your cunt as his pointer and thumb pinched at your nipple.
with one more curl of his fingers deep in your cunt, rubbing against your walls perfectly, he whispers in your ear. “cum for me, baby, lemme see you cum all over my fingers.”
and you didn’t even need to be told twice. your body didn’t give you a second chance.
with one scream of his name bouncing off the walls and your toes curling in the bedsheets, you hit your orgasm before rafe could say anything else. your eyes roll back, mouth slightly agape and fingers digging deep in his forearm, creating marks on his skin as you swear you tear the bedsheet under your other hand.
rafe watches in awe as your stomach fluttered faster, tears pricking from your eyes as in no time, he watches his fingers get coated in something different… something sweeter than his own spit and your pussy’s own wetness.
he slowed his fingers down, plunging his fingers a little gently (gentle isn’t a phrase you use for rafe often, but you loved that about him too) as he fingered you through your orgasm.
“good girl… so pretty f’me.” he whispers, his voice rough in your ear as his wrist seemingly finds no urgency to stop, even when your puffy folds are slowly crawling to overstimulation at this point. he caresses your breast, kissing your shoulder as you lay limp against him.
“rafey… rafey… o-oh fuckkkk…” you whimper out, watching with him as he finally slows down his fingers, curling them right against your walls as you mewl out a shallow attempt to refute his hand. your heels dig into the mattress, trying to find any grounding point. “s-so… so stimulated… fuck.”
“oh I know baby. I know this pussy is stimulated— that’s all me, hun.” he nods along to your sensitive words, slowly pulling out and revealing his coated fingers, some of it dripping down each thick finger as he grins like the cheshire cat.
he puts his fingers with your own orgasm splattered across them up to your own lips, removing his hand from your breast and putting it on your jaw. “open up for me, hun… taste yourself.”
and you do just that; you open your mouth and you let his fingers slide into your wet mouth.
your lips immediately seal around his knuckles, tongue licking his fingers clean as you taste yourself against his fingers, feeling his thumb stroke your cheek as you do so. you never really tasted yourself— you’ve tasted rafe’s cum plenty, and only tasted your own finish in circumstances like this; when rafe wanted you to.
the stress from what began before this was out of your system by now, rafe’s hands touching your face as his lips kiss your temple.
“good girl f’me… taste yourself off my fingers… all because that pretty little head decided to stress herself out.”
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AUTHOR'S NOTE: rafe my love. i've always loved this hoe but he's lwkey an assholeeee. i will make him soft though because i said so and it's easier to write nicer men than evil men— he's such an ass but he's so hot, i need him in my bed right here, right now!
thank you for all the support in every way possible! all support is very much appreciated! all content created on this blog is mine, do not copy or sent it through ai!
love island!rafe x reader req : here. part2 CW lowk suggestive,some heavy making out, rafe n reader get heated but there is no actual smut, kiara,reader,sarah as ppg, topper is rob coded.. sorry topper girlies, small use of [y/n] , I lowk forgot how bombshells get introduced so ignore any love island innacuracies.., adore u anon for req this n putting my jaNa pfp to useee ₍₍⚞(˶˃ ꒳ ˂˶)⚟⁾⁾ loosely inspired by that one jaNa interview where she says she and serena manifested k*nny lolll!
“it’s like he just wants to keep embarrassing me!” you sobbed quietly, kiara wiping your tears in the makeup room. you had been coupled up with topper and it seemed like all he did was make a fool of you, not putting any effort towards your connection and constantly blowing you off. ‘i’m here for my feelings, not yours.’ he had stated once, but constantly going hot n cold—final straw being today’s challenge where he didn’t even kiss you.
“baby, its not worth it,” kiara chimed in, an assuring hand on your shoulder while sarah fetched your water bottle. “its like—“ you hiccuped. “I’ve already done this in the beginning with john b and now topper. why cant anyone just be happy with me and all of me?” you said insecurely. kiara grabbed your wrists, making you look up at her. “no, stop. we arent doing that. you deserve to be here and find love just as much as anyone else. don’t let some inconsiderate prick make you feel bad for having feelings for someone. besides he obviously isnt enough for you, don’t settle for less.” you nod, tears drying. sarah comes back, filled water bottle in hand as she hugged you from behind. “we’re 10 toes behind you, babygirl.” “always,” sarah added.
“how about this, now that you’re technically single—“ sarah began. “we should manifest like, the kind of man we want.” kiara raised an eyebrow. “obviously I know us girls are already coupled up but even if it’s someone alreadin the villa, we should totally get into that positive mindset, right? I mean we are here for exactly that.” “she’s got a point.”
“alright [y/n],” sarah began. “your dream man.” you sat still, thinking for a moment. “well, tall, obviously.” the girls nodded in agreement. “maybe a cute white boy from the suburbs? maybe a place like tannyhill, like i’m talking country club, abercrombie & fitch suburbs.” sarah laughed. “girllll, you got expensive taste!” “I know what I want, don’t i though?” this caused the girls to laugh. “maybe a blonde too… I haven’t had a blonde yet. like a blonde, blonde.” kiara raised her brows, “mm, not bad!” “whatever makes you happy [y/n].”
the next day, you woke up determined. pink bikini on, water bottle in hand, and makeup done. pope and jj had made all the girls breakfast, and plates were empty in seconds. you were done with topper, for sure. you didn’t come on reality tv to look stupid. when topper sat next to you, and gave you a ‘good morning’ you mumbled one back and finished your food quickly, moving to the daybeds with the girls. “the audacity.” kiara sneered. you rolled your eyes.
when ariana came in, everyone cheered—announcing a challenge. it was a kissing challenge, and everyone got blindfolded. the rules were announced that you could kiss any islander for a certain time being. you wouldnt know who was kissing you, which made you nervous and excited. “I think I know exactly who jj is gonna go for,” you giggled to sarah, as jj stared kiara down
as you all put your blindfolds on, you grew increadingly anxious, but excited. who would kiss you? you hadnt really explored any other connections, considering you used to really like topper. would topper kiss you? maybe not—either way it didn’t matter to you. you had been kissed a total of four times, but the last kiss was completly different than the rest. it was hot, and intriguing. he cradeled your jaw and had a firm hand on your hip, gripping lewdly, like it wasnt enough proximity. he groaned in your mouth as his hands slid further down to the side of your ass, not touching but still having that fiery touch—respectful? you were beyonf starstruck, tilting your head to the side so the mystery man could have more action. your legs weakened at his touch, a hand sliding up to wrap around his neck, the hand that he once hand holding your jaw ‘n caressing your cheek moved to your hand that settled on his collarbone—not just because you wanted to be closer but because you were losing stabality—being kissed stupid. once you pulled away out of overstimulation and the need to breathe, he immediately collided your lips to his again, whimpering out of surprise. you could tell the sound shocked him as he momentarily lost the fluidity of his touch, you felt his breath hitch on your lips—but you took this as a sign to just ‘fuck it all’ biting his lip subtly n boldly before a soft ‘smack’ when you two pulled apart. for a moment, you had forgotten you were being watched and on national tv, n it seemed that maybe he did, too.
the next thing you knew, you heard the crowd roaring, and zoned back into where you were. it was just a challenge, right?
ariana instructed you all to take your blindfolds off, which you followed suite, looking around to find your girls to see their faces, trying to get a grasp of how they were feeling. kiara was next to you, and she looked over immediately to you, you both giggling flusteredly—she mustve had a good kiss too, maybe from the same guy? possibly. you didn’t wanna let yourself get excited.
“my, [y/n], you look flushed! mustve been a good kiss, huh!” ariana said, directing everyones attention towards you. they all laughed, waiting for you to say something. you shifted your stance shyly, still dazed from the anonymous public makeout. “I guess you could say that,” you giggled, embarrased.
“in the light of that, i’d like to introduce our new bombshells, rafe cameron and cleo anderson!”
you turned around to see the two, a pretty darkskin girl with curly hair and a orange bikini, and next to her stood a tall white boy with blonde buzzed hair and some navy swim trunks. when you looked up at him, he was already looking at you. you brought your manicured nails up to your plush lips subconciously, swollen from the contact. when he noticed he gave you a small smirk, one that only you caught,that made you feel warm at the bottom of your tummy.
while ariana was giving them their little introductions, you then looked over to topper, maybe it wad him who gave you that kiss? he looked over at you once before immediately staring at who you asummed to be rafe. god, he was hot.
after the challange ended you saw sarah immediately walk over to rafe, pulling him to one of the daybeds. ‘shit’ you thought. while sarah was one of—if not, your closest friend in the villa, it’s a shame that she got him first. the one guy you really were looking forward to talk to.
but when you saw sarah’s expression, she looked.. angry? why would that be? it’s not like she knows him, right? then for what reason would she be mad at him for?
you sat besides kiara at one of the kitchen islands, she was conversing with jj. while you sat near her, you didn’t wanna interrupt their conversation. “you good?” kiara asked, noticing you zoning out. “yeah, im fine.” kiara looked over to sarah and rafe. “mm,” she hummed, understanding your out of character silence.
all the girls returned to the dressing room, conversing about their chats with guys, and other things as such. “pope is really nice.” cleo began,touching up her brows. all the girls were listening. “he’s funny too, and smart!” accent being displayed when she spoke. “I know you’re coupled up with him kiara, so I don’t wanna over step any boundaries.” “no worries, its all good! I don’t think our connection is that strong anyway—we’ve agreed to be friends.” kiara responded. “besides, she’s to focused on jj!” sarah added, sparking laughter and making the curly headed girl blush.
“so sarah, are you gonna start something rafe? I mean it seems like john b really liked you but I get not wanting to put all your eggs in one basket.” you asked curiously, placing blush on your cheeks.
“oh my gosh, ew, no!” she exclaimed, grabbing the attention of the other girls, leaving you shocked in the response. “rafe is my brother!” “OOOOH!!” you let out, dropping your makeup brush.
“yeah, I was talking to him because I had no fucking clue he signef up too, and got in! do you think production knows?” sarah inquired, in which cleo responded “I don’t know, but from how messy they are I wouldnt be surprised if they did.” you began to calm down, if anything, it was now funny. “crazy coincidence? or do you think he came on here just to spite me?” this made everyone laugh.
“so yeah, he’s allll yours—i promise!” sarah stated, making you blush. “i didnt—!” “no, we allll saw how you were looking at him. I wouldnt be surprised if he was the one that kissed you stupid.” kiara teased.
you sat in the confesional, “listen, I think rafe is totally cute, but I am not trying to get my hopes up again. at least, its something different than going back in gotta in circle with topper!”
all the girls finished getting ready, all dressed to perfection in the cutest and sexiest dresses you guys could find. at the bottom of the stairs, there awaited the boys, each offering a hand to their couple. “hey,” topper said to you, offering a hand on which you politely declined. “no thank you.” “what? i’m just tryna make conversation?” he sneered. “i really dont care, top.” you responded, tossing your blown out hair behind your shoulder before grabbing yourself a margarita. “listen—can we just talk?” you gave him a dirty look before deciding to follow through. “fine.” before you strutted to the campfire.
“look, im sorry that i hurt your feelings. i get it, we’re coupled up, but im not gonna deal with your petty princess attitude because you think we’re married. ruthie is a great girl and im not gonna sit here putting all my eggs in one basket while you’re swapping spit with the bombshell—!” thats when rafe turns his head. “then go couple up with her then!” you snapped. you were beyond embarrassed and getting lectured by a manchild while everyone was staring at you? what is this, highschool?
“topper, i have been all for you since ive walked in here but you’ve just been hot and cold, hot and cold. and you werent even being honest to me! you’re practically fucking her in soul ties while I sit here and just take it, i literally cant even stand to look at you right now.”
“can you wake the fuck up?” thats when kiara begins to walk over, “fuck no,” she says, tugging on her dress.
you closed your eyes, tired, grabbing your glass. “because why are you talking to her that way? are you mad because shes calling you out on your bullshit?” cleo comes over, hugging you from the side as you begin to leave. “she’s acting like all my actions have to revolve around her, the point of this show is to find a connection, yeah? and she’s bitching when she’s hoeing around too!” “It was a challange!” you yell. topper glares at you. “its one thing to be mad and its another to call her a hoe—“ “I didnt!” “yes the fuck you did!”
you take a deep breath, cleo grabbing you your water bottle. “ignore him,” she says. waiting at the kitchen island is sarah, jj, and rafe. sarah sits you down beside her, “its not worth it, just forget about it.” you exhale deeply, a headache begining to form.
“i cant wait for the next recoupling.” you joke, glassy eyes wide.
⋆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆‧₊˚
you went to bed feeling heavy, sure you didnt like topper anymore, but so far you havent had any real connections so far, you just wasted time with topper. you woke up in the middle of the night, a heavy quench of thirst in your throat. you got up, love island water bottle in hand, and made way to the hallway. you were shocked to find a shirtless rafe standing there, presumably coming from the bathroom. the moment you saw him you immediently wanted to head back—embarrased at your current state with dishevled hair and bare faced.
“hey,” rafe said, running a hand through his buzzed hair. “what’re you doing here?” you ask. “bathroom,” he said. “you?” raising an eyebrow. you sigh. “I couldnt sleep, and im thirsty.” he nodded in understanding.
“you good? i know this afternoon was sorta rough.” he says, breaking the silence. “here, let me full it up for you.” referring to your waterbottle, his rough calloused hand grabbing it from yours, softly bumping into your own.
you mumble a thanks, before laying your back on the wall. “i cant help but feel like i was sort of at fault of his whole…. tantrum.” he says, which makes you giggle—he lets out a boyish smile that he doesn’t think you saw. “no, theres a lot more to it than that. interesting first day, huh? so im guessing you were that bombshell kiss..?” you respond, looking up at the blonde bashfully. he chuckles, you can’t stop staring at his back muscles..
“are you disappointed?” he asks, in which you smile, “no, not at all.” he screws the cap back on, handing it back to you, you take a long sip. “so you’re sarah’s brother?” you ask. rafe scratches his neck, “mmm something like that.” he jokes, making you smile. “yeah, can you tell?” you hide your hands behind your back. “well with by the way she was lecturing you, yes.” you both laugh.
“just looking out for my baby sister,” he begins “this definitely isnt tannyhill.” you take another sip. “you’re from tannyhill?” he nods. “you’re surprised?” you shake your head. “with those rings and watches—no, i’m not.” he smiles. “just so you know, those things are really cold, practically stung when they touched my waist.” you flirted, bold words but looking down at the floor while playing with the clap of your water bottle, rafe is standing in front of you, but at this point he’s gotten much closer. “yeah? I’ll keep it in mind for next time.” you perk your head up, eyes widened. “next time?” you ask softly. after the day you’ve had, there was no harm in being selfish, right? your reaction makes rafe chuckle, “why? you looking forward to it?” he says, before tucking a stray strand of your bed head hair behind your ear. you looked absolutely adorable right now.
“is that bad? you say, looking up at him lovingly. “no, not at all” he quotes back to you, making you smile. his hand still lingers near your face after he fixed your hair, in which in response you clasp your hand on top of his; him now caressing your cheek. your lips looked so kissable right now, and it was all he could think about. “this feels familar now, doesnt it?” he says, your back now fully pressed against the wall. you nod bashfully.
you’re now extremely close, you feel the heat radiating off his skin, your heart beating out of your chest. you two have had to been out for what, 15 minutes now? “topper’s a fucking idiot if he thinks he can find better than you, ‘hot n cold’ poor little thing must got her head spinning, yeah?” rafe says, talking to you but sounds like hes almost telling it to himself.
you blush at his words, “not anymore, at least.” you respond. “yeah, lucky for me. finally got you all to myself.” he whispers, his and wrapped around your waist, silky pjs soft on his skin. you smirk, “all to yourself? at least take me out first, rafe.” you remark, making rafe chuckle. the hand once caressing your cheek reached down to your chin, thumb pressing softly on your bottom lip.
rafe sees the look in your eyes at the reaction to his proximity, he just wanted to see, would you be the one to close the gap or would he? the eager look written all across your face showed that you were beginning to grow impatient. “you’re so cute when you’re eager” rafe said, voice low and thick like honey. “you think so? I promise that i’m much cuter satisfied.” you responded.
rafe didnt waste anytime closing the space left between you two, t he familiarity of his hands roaming your hips and body was deeply missed. the only difference was that this kiss was softer, patient. like rafe cameron was taking the time the get to know every curve, like he wasnt planning on leaving anytime soon.
your hands roamed his shirtless chest, tanned and slightly sun burnt. you rested one on his bicep, the other wrapped around his neck. he was slow, but intentional. rafe took his time with you, a kiss that was meant for you, not just television.
rafe had you fully pinned against the wall now, water bottle long forgotten. he tapped your thigh, mumbling a ‘up’ signaling you to jump. you obeyed, wrapping your legs around his waist while his hands clawed firmly on the back of your thighs.
your kisses were getting sloppier now, some tongue getting stirred into the mix. you let your hands travel through his buzzed hair, rafe groaning in response—you felt satisfied with his reaction. unintentionally you let out a soft whimper when rafe groped your hip, suddenly feeling sensitive and shaky. your breathing was getting heavy, and so was his.
rafe pulled away with a soft smack as he looked at you, dazed and sensitive. “so pretty,” he breathed, littering tiny kisses on your bottom lip to your jaw. rafe noticed you tilting your head to let him have more access, you felt a bit embarrassed at how desperate you were for him right now, but it seemed like he felt the same way. “dont go all shy on me now,” he breathes between kisses—he scooted you a little higher on the wall, re adjusting his grip on your thighs, leaving soft kisses on your neck, letting out breathy sighs in response. then suddenly, he pulled away. “not so fast, baby.” you look at him, with that sleepy but fucked out look on your face, you were totally gone, all you could think about was rafe, and he adored it. rafe takes a hand and cups your jaw, like he wasnt just teasing you. “let me take you out first, yeah? dont wanna do this here.” he says, his cheeks dusted pink. you nod, disappointed but understanding. “cmon baby, let’s get you to bed.” rafe is still carrying you, effortlessly bending down to pick up your water bottle. you bring a hand up to his face, caressing his cheek. “lets just stay here for 5 more minutes? than we can go..” you ask, lips pink and swollen. rafe considers it for a moment, looking at your lips and then to your eyes, practically begging for him. “how could I say no to that face?” he sighs, making you smile again. rafe reconnects his lips with yours, your hands wrapped around his neck and clenching your thighs against his waist.
all you could do was hope that production didnt air this conversation….
༯ this was soooooo fun to write omg!! ty anon for this req keep them coming guys teehee (∩˃o˂∩)♡
𝜗𝜚 summary : rafe has been trying to get you alone for far too long and now that he finally has, he won't give the moment up for anything.
𝜗𝜚 words : 2.3k
𝜗𝜚 c!w : smut, humping, thigh riding, public!sex, finger sucking, risk of being caught, praise kink, kinda degradation kink.
part 1, part 2.
days had passed since the incident with rafe cameron and the boy who's name you didn't wish to remember.
this time, you hadn't gone out of your way to avoid the boy but instead went back to normal, almost as if nothing had happened between you two at all. you sat on the couch of tannyhill, giggling at something on sarah's phone with your legs crossed.
now, that simply wouldn't do.
rafe had been eager for a minute alone with you which seemed almost impossible when his sister was hanging off your side every minute you spent at tannyhill.
he was sitting on the living room couch, the one across from you both, scrolling on his own phone, a finger to his mouth as he gnawed at the completely bitten down nail.
his eyes kept travelling over to you, skimpy little summers dress clinging to your form while the skirt part began to ride up your thighs as you moved against the couch.
dirty thoughts swarmed his head, thoughts that shouldn't be repeated out loud. thoughts that shouldn't have been in his head to begin with.
he thought he was sure to be damned to hell for the things he was thinking.
and then, ironically enough, the gods seemed to smile down on him. it was as if all of his prayers had been answered and every beg and grovel had finally been listened to by an angel.
the angel who's name was wheezie, standing in the living room door frame. "sarah." wheezies hair was a mess, thrown into a bun with loose strands of hair sticking out every which way, she looked tired, so awfully tired and dreadful as she stared forward at her sister who's head instantly snapped up. "please help me. i'm trying clean out my wardrobe but it's too much."
a laugh fell from sarah's mouth. "no way. it's your mess, clean it yourself."
but that was when wheezie's arms crossed over her chest, cocking a brow. "I'm sorry, who covered for you and topper last night?"
"wheezie!" sarah exasperated, glancing out into the hallway. ward and rose were upstairs but sarah still didn't wish for them to hear about the late night activities she'd been getting up to with her boyfriend.
defeated, she turned her head back to you, who was sitting so sweetly on the couch, that same sickly sweet smile crawling up on your features. you liked watching the cameron siblings interact, even if it wasn't always so pleasant, there was something oddly homely about it. "'s okay, sarah, 'm fine down here."
"okay." she sighed, getting up from the couch. "okay, you just―just hang out for a while and i'll be down soon, okay?" she watched you nod. "okay, come on, let's get this over with."
and suddenly, tension ran thick through the air.
it was you and rafe, alone.
his legs were spread apart on the armchair he was seated on, eyes running up and down your body. you seemed to notice your dress riding up and instantly tugged it down with pink cheeks. you swallowed thickly. "I, uhm―i wanted to say thank you." your eyes finally looked up to reach his.
the minute he heard your voice, his phone was turned off and tossed away. his head cocked to the side. "what for?" teasing. for he knew exactly what for.
you squirmed in your place. "for everything you did with max."
"didn't seem too grateful when you ran away, hm?" he didn't mean the bitter words that slipped from his lips. he watched the way you hung your head low, eyes glassing over. instantly, a kind of guilt washed over him and he leaned back further into the chair. "c'mere." and he patted his thigh, watching your eyes flicker down. you glanced out to the hallway and he had to roll his eyes. "'s okay, nobody'll see you. they're all too busy."
you did as you were told, crossing the room and landing in his lap.
there was something so sensational about being in his lap again.
memories flooded your head, pictures and images of you and he, in this same predicament inside his bedroom, his lips tainting yours. you couldn't help but latch your eyes onto his lips.
"you wanna tell me why you keep runnin' away, hm?" you don't answer, eyes searching anywhere but his face. he doesn't allow it, turning you slowly towards him once again. "asked you a question, sweetheart."
you fought words inside your mouth, all threatening to come tumbling out. "was scared." is all he's met with.
"scared of what?" his head dips, his eyes trying to reach yours, trying to look in and gauge your emotions. "scared of me?"
you shook your head, fingers reaching out to trail across the fabric of his sweater. "i... liked it when you kissed me." you admitted and he watched as a blush fell across your face, red reaching the tips of your ears. "i liked it a lot but 'was scared that sarah would find out 'n i don't―"
"sarah doesn't need to know anything." he answers quickly. "besides, who you kiss..." his fingers trailed across your bottom lip, sucking in his own bottom one between his teeth as he gazed down at them, sweet like honey. "is none of her business, yeah?"
you nodded too quickly, too eagerly, too convinced by his words too quickly. "'m sorry, rafe, 'm really sorry."
"think i know how you can make it up t'me." his fingers left your lips and placed themselves against your hips. "you wanna make it up to me?"
"yes, please." came out too swiftly.
he couldn't help but smirk at your eagerness. "'m gonna kiss you again, okay?" and suddenly, you could feel heat pooling in the bottom of your stomach. he leaned in, his breaths falling hot against your face, his scent filling your senses. and just as his lips brushed against your own, he whispered. "you gotta promise me something first, 'kay?"
you licked your wet lips. "anything." wanting nothing more than for rafe to lean in and seal the kiss. you'd do anything he ever asked.
"no runnin' away this time." his fingers pinched at your jaw, holding it so your eyes could reach his. "you want this? you take it 'n you don't go pushin' me away again, alright?" a curt nod. "words, princess."
"promise." you spoke quickly. "promise, rafe, please."
his lips quirked.
but he didn't keep you waiting.
when his lips crashed into yours, you were very aware of the fact that you were sitting on the couch of tannyhill, the living room door wide open. all it took was for ward or sarah to come down the stairs and they'd see what you'd been up to.
they'd see that you weren't such a good girl after all.
but you couldn't seem to care.
you were too focused on his hot hot lips, tongue slipping into your mouth as he deepened the kiss, hands pinching at your waist, holding you in place.
your mind began to unravel, all you could think about was him. rafe cameron. you were sitting on his lap, kissing him, again. and you swore it was a feeling unlike any feeling you'd ever felt in your entire life. it was making you so desperate, so messy, so wet.
and you were sure he could feel it too. he tugged on your waist, rolling your hips against him.
you let a whimper be swallowed by his mouth.
his lips finally broke from yours for air but he didn't allow himself enough to fully regain his breath before they were latched beneath your jaw, sucking and kissing harshly.
again, he rolled your hips. you weren't sure if it was him moving you or you doing it by yourself now. you could feel him growing hard beneath you, you could feel him pressing himself up against your clothed pussy and all you could think about was how much you needed everything off.
you needed to feel him, skin to skin.
it seemed so close yet stretched so far away.
his hands ran up the skin of your thighs, pushing the fabric of your dress up as he went. "r-rafe." you whimpered out, head turning to the door. "someone could see―"
"'s what you asked for, isn't it?" his hands were rough against you, tugging the dress upwards, not caring for the family who remained upstairs. "isn't it?"
you swallowed thickly. "yes." you stammered out. "b-but―"
"you still wanna make it up to me, don't you?" his brows knitted together in this false sense of sadness, as if you'd done something awful to the poor man. you'd felt suddenly guilty for even suggesting that you stop.
you felt yourself ease against him, your own brows pinching together. "'m sorry, rafe, swear 'm sorry. i'll do anything, jus' please don't be angry―"
"'m not angry." he assures you, fingers brushing up and down your thighs, inching too high. "jus' need you to do something f'me, can you do that, sweetheart?" you were nodding like a puppy, eager to do anything he would ask of you. he maneuvered you so you were situated on one of his spread thighs and not his lap anymore. "y'gonna rub yourself on my thigh like the pathetic good girl you are, okay?"
you'd never done anything like this before.
suddenly you began to panic. "rafe, someone'll hear 'n―"
"nobody'll hear you, baby, jus' gotta be nice 'n quiet, yeah?" you still looked hesitant, top teeth clamping down on your bottom lip. "would make me feel so good, princess 'n you jus' wanna make me feel good, isn't that right? yeah, baby, jus' wanna make rafe feel good, you're such a good girl, aren't you?"
and you don't know how, why, or when but suddenly, you're doing just what he told you.
your hips are stuttering as they move against his jeans, you can feel your panties growing wetter and wetter with every jolt of movement.
rafe doesn't appear to be doing much, hands skillfully moving your hips while he leans back against the armchair.
"there you go, good girl." his cock twitched in his jeans, watching your hesitant, shy face as you moved oh so slowly on his jeans. "lift your hips f'me, sweetheart." you did as you were told, pausing to lift yourself up from his thigh. his hand moved beneath you, tugging your panties to the side and rubbing gentle circles against your clit.
"oh." fell so sweetly from your lips that to anybody else, it would have appeared almost innocent. but rafe was well aware of how dirty you really were.
he landed you back on his thigh, letting you rub yourself against him, this time, it was your bare pussy that ran up and down his jean-clad thigh.
he groaned at the sight of you, free hand coming down to fix his situation that was suddenly growing in his pants. he pulled at the jeans slightly, trying to make his growing bulge less noticeable but there was simply too much to hide.
your eyes cast down to his hand, then to the bulge and you found a little whimper leaving your mouth.
his eyes studied your face, watching you lick your already wet lips and rubbing yourself against him a little quicker. sweet, poor, innocent, you was so turned on by his growing dick. and he could feel it by the dampness of his jeans turning wet hot
you really were filthy.
a particularly loud whine left your lips and rafe realised that perhaps it wasn't a smart idea to start this whole thing off while his whole family was home.
but he couldn't stop now. that'd be cruel. especially seeing how worked up he'd gotten you.
he trailed his fingers up to your lips and tapped on your chin.
you didn't even need to be told, you simply opened up. he stuck his digits right in, feeling your flat tongue against them and spit coating them.
"so filthy, baby." he uttered so softly, as if he were complimenting you. "what'll we do with you, huh?" you only whimpered around his fingers. "'s okay, sweetheart, gonna get that pussy stuffed jus' like you want. just gotta be patient, yeah? can you do that f'me?"
and you're sloppy against his thigh, sloppy against his fingers. you can feel juices rubbing against his jeans and dribble forming at the gaps between your lips and all you can do is not so dumbly.
a stutter of your hips.
a grin on his lips.
"you gonna cum, already, huh?" it didn't take long, but you were already approaching your orgasm. he wished now more than ever that he could take pictures with his mind. that he could frame this moment and pull it out every time his dick got hard. he slipped his fingers out from your mouth. "gotta ask like a good girl before you cum."
your hands pawed at his shoulders. "please, rafe." your mind was turned to mush. "please, please, please."
he shrugged so cruelly. "'m hearin' a lot of beggin' but i don't hear you asking me yet."
"p-please, can i cum?" your face was red hot, embarrassment flooding your features quickly. "please?"
he smirked, leaning back against the armchair and removing his hands from your waist. you were a big girl, you could finish yourself off. "go on, princess."
he watched as your hands pawed at him, hips stuttering and eyes rolling backwards, mouth falling open. it was such a pronographic, filthy scene. and yet, he knew by tomorrow, you'd be prancing around in the same little dress and everyone would see you as the same lovely good little girl that you pretended to be.
and rafe thought that was enough to make him cum in his own pants.
