#rafe x reader

[babydollrafe]

Guyyyssss I swear I’m going to write everything in my inbox I SWEAR

[rafesdaydream]

One shot where Rafe is a little grown and became a boxer to get his anger out and he meets pogue reader in a bar after winning and finds out she bet against him?

Underground nights

pairing: Boxer!Rafe Cameron x Soft!Pogue!Reader

blurb: you, despite being a pogue, catch Rafe's attention after betting against him

warnings: mentions of violence, dark thoughts, alcohol, slight angst

wc: 1.6k

Violence always seemed to find Rafe, no matter how much he tried to escape it. He couldn’t avoid it. Bar fights. Thrown punches. Cracked drywall. So he stopped. Stopped trying to hide from it. Decided to channel his anger into something else. What started as nights alone in the Tannyhill private gym, throwing punches at a bag as a form of release when he was a teenager, ended up becoming matches in the ring, squaring off against a real partner. 

Rafe wasn’t a professional. He wasn’t in the UFC or anything like that. Instead, he found himself at underground fights on the Cut. The people who mistook him for some prissy Kook were quick to learn that his punches came sharper than his words. The life didn’t come with trophies or medals, but it came with stacks of cash and a long line of girls swooning over him. Now that he couldn’t deal drugs anymore because of Ward breathing down his neck, this would have to suffice. 

Besides, this allowed him his release without any judgment. Rafe got the chance to expel all his anger in trade for money. Good enough deal for him. 

The roar of the crowd filled his ears as Rafe slipped off his shirt, raking a hand through his hair. The audience was littered with its fair collection of spoiled girls who’d strayed too far from Figure 8, Pogues who considered this entertainment, and the guys with an overinflated ego who thought they had a shot at beating him. Since Rafe started here a couple months ago, that didn’t happen often, if ever. Sure, he’d taken his fair share of blows, but when the rage that always resided in him truly came out, his opponents didn’t stand a chance. 

There was a force inside that fueled him to the point where sometimes the referees, who rarely got involved, would have to pull him off so he didn’t beat the other guy to death or something. Although Rafe would never admit it, he hated when he lost control like that. When he felt powerless over himself. He considered it a weakness. 

Rafe tried to push the thoughts out of his mind as he stepped into the ring, fists taped tight like usual. People were finishing up bets as his opponent stepped in, wearing a white tank top. Fucking pussy. Can’t even be shirtless for a match. It was some Pogue whose name Rafe didn’t know. And didn’t care to know. All Rafe knew was that he had a fight with his father earlier today and needed to get all his frustration out before it bubbled over in all the wrong ways.

He turned to glance over the crowd once more, a group of squealing Kook girls in outfits that barely covered anything, catching his attention. They looked like a good enough distraction for after. Rafe gave them a quick wink, watching how they basked in his attention, giggling louder. He spun back around with a heavy sigh, rolling his eyes. They truly never changed. All so fucking desperate. 

Bets on him were high tonight, like always. Anyone who didn’t bet on him was stupid or just wanted to lose their money. As the referee stepped up, Rafe’s eyes fell on you, going up to bet on his opponent. Rafe scoffed to himself. How fucking naive. He didn’t know you but could obviously tell you were a Pogue. Simple worn denim shorts and a pink baby tee were clues enough. He could also tell from the fact that he saw you hand over a measly crumpled ten-dollar note with a little smile. Pathetic. 

Rafe watched you walk back to the stands quietly, not noticing him staring. Something about it pissed him off. Why the fuck were you betting against him? He didn’t have any more time to dwell on it before the bell rang, signalling the start of the match. Rafe watched as his opponent lifted his fists, doing the same with a smug look on his face. 

His opponent threw the first punch almost immediately. Amateur. Rafe dodged, wanting to draw this out. If he really wanted to, he could’ve knocked him out right here, but where’s the fun in that? After all, he had to give the audience a show, right? Another punch, another miss. 

“Is that all you, pretty boy?” Rafe chuckled.

The guy stared at Rafe. If he was trying to look intimidating, it wasn’t working. Rafe turned to look in the direction you’d walked in, making direct eye contact for a second. God, the look on your face. As if you were trying to act unaffected. Rafe knew better, noting the wall you gulped nervously. He smirked before spinning and throwing his first punch, hitting his opponent square in the jaw. The guy stumbled back with a grunt.

Rafe didn’t stop, getting bored of waiting now. He dodged the guy’s weak swing before landing another hit. And another. And another. It felt good letting all his anger out, and Rafe didn’t hold back. In moments like this, all he heard was his father’s voice calling him a disappointment, everything else blurring out of focus. His opponent tried to defend himself, but it was no use. He seemed to realise when Rafe had him pinned to the ground, punches never slowing. Bruised and beaten, he finally yielded, giving the sign.

Rafe managed to stop himself. Just barely. His breath was heavy, blood pumping as he stood up, the cheers from the audience returning. 

“Give it up for Rafe!” The screams grew louder as the referee walked up and lifted Rafe’s hand. The smirk never left his face. His eyes seemed to find you again, looking a little disappointed. Unbeknownst to you, Rafe’s attention had been caught.

Rafe was at the adjoined bar later, knuckles bruised and ego high. He’d been paid five hundred today. Not bad. He was at the bar, taking full advantage of the three free drinks offered to the day’s winners, when he saw you walking by. His lips curved into a smirk as he walked over, blocking your path. 

You stopped just short of bumping into him, then froze as you saw who he was. “Um… excuse me,” you whispered, trying to get past him. Not so quickly. 

“You bet against me,” Rafe stated flatly, not hiding the amusement in his voice.

You blinked, clearly not expecting him to know. Your reaction gave Rafe a rush. Satisfaction? Thrill? He wasn’t sure, but he relished it. “Y-you saw?” you stuttered out, nervous, not sure what he was going to do to you. You’d just watch him beat a guy. 

Rafe chuckled at your obliviousness. “You new here?” He already knew the answer but asked anyway. Of course, you nodded as Rafe expected. 

“One thing you should know, sweetheart,” he leaned closer, breath fanning over your ear, “don’t bet against me.” 

Rafe pulled back to watch your wide eyes, the terrified look on your face. God, you were sweet. “O-okay,” you nodded frantically. 

He couldn’t help but smile fully. “You know, an underground fighting ring is no place for a girl like you.”

“I know… I just came here with my boyfriend,” you whispered, barely meeting his eyes.

For reasons Rafe couldn’t place, his fist tightened. You had a boyfriend. It shouldn’t have mattered to him, but it did. Suddenly, Rafe had the primal urge to know. To know which fucking bastard here was dating you. “Who’s your boyfriend?” Rafe asked, trying and failing to keep his tone neutral. 

If you noticed the undertone in his voice, you didn’t show it. Or perhaps it was hidden under your already present nervousness. “Jake,” you mumble. When he raised his eyebrow, you kept going. “Um… the guy you were fighting.”

Rafe’s blood went cold, jaw clenching harder, his smirk gone now. That fucking weakling was your boyfriend? Rafe couldn’t understand why a girl like you would be with someone like that when you could do so much better. This shouldn’t matter. You were Pogue. Rafe tried telling himself that, but his mind seemed to ignore it. Just as he was about to speak, your boyfriend came into view behind you, bandages loose, holding a pack of ice. Rafe was almost certain the idiot was fucking limping.  

You turned, your nervousness shifting into a smile at the sight of Jake. “Hi…” you whispered softly as he walked closer. It just pissed Rafe off more. 

Jake wrapped an arm around you, pressing a kiss to your forehead. So fucking sweet. Then his eyes landed on Rafe. He froze for a second before extending his hand like some respectable guy. “Hey man… good game.”

Rafe stared for a second before smiling. Coldly. He shook the guy’s hand hard, watching as he winced slightly. He didn’t say anything. He was too focused on you. The way you were looking at Jake like he hung the moon or some shit. 

“You wanna go home, babe?” Jake asked. Of course, the fucking pussy wasn’t staying for a drink. His broke ass probably couldn’t afford it. 

You nodded before turning to Rafe. “Nice meeting you,” you smiled before walking off with your boyfriend. 

Rafe watched as you left. Whatever anger he’d just released in beating the shit out of your boyfriend had returned. Doubled this time. He went to the bar, ordered a whiskey, and downed it in one go, savouring the burn down his throat. 

Those stupid Kook girls were the last thing on his mind right now. Rafe would have you. And he’d make sure of it.

a/n: @bookishbelle2312 tysm for sending in this request and im sorry it took me like a month to get to but hope you like it!! 😭 ik this was supposed to be a oneshot but i couldn't really think of a satisfying ending so idk i might do another part 🤭 more reqs will be coming soon if you sent one in i promise ive seen in and will get to it asap i love your ideas sm! 💕 feel free to send in requests for fics, headcanons or moodboards ‎ꫂ᭪݁

taglist: @rafesgreasycurtainbangs , @rafecameronarchive , @misschillyy

dividers: @chrisssiren

♡ masterlist ♡

[kenzgraceluv26]

me realizing i have to actually write part 4 of my fic and it won't mysteriously just get onto my laptop or phone from my head..

[uglylittlefawn]

it was a sweltering july afternoon on kildare. the sun reached its highest peak in the sky, its rays making everyone, especially you, a bit hazy. after a long while in the sun, you lay in the reclined passenger seat of rafe’s truck, oversized sunglasses covering your weary eyes.

he’s got his phone connected to the vehicle’s bluetooth system, your shared car playlist softly playing through the speakers. you tried adding a few songs of your choosing after he insisted he wouldn’t mind, and he’d still love you even if he didn’t like one of your favorite songs. in fact, he “wanted to hear some of that shit you like”, even though you knew he was mainly just trying to make you feel especially included, due to the anxiety that always seems to plague you no matter the situation. in order to impress and relate to him, you added a few female rap songs you enjoy to the playlist.

rafe taps his fingers against the leather steering wheel to the beat of the song playing, which happened to be ‘slut him out’ by baby tate. rap didn’t seem like a genre you frequented, or so rafe thought.

his eyebrows raise as you hum along, mouthing every few words in your half-asleep state, tuckered out from the sun. you were just too exhausted to be shy about the explicit lyrics like you usually would be.

“you, uh… you like this one?” rafe asks, grin evident in his tone. his voice interrupting the song wakes you from your cat-nap.

“huh?” you reply, voice scratchy with sleep.

“you’re singing. you know this song?” he continues, turning the music down just enough to hear your quiet voice.

“oh…” you start, rubbing your eyes with your fists. you were just getting comfortable. “i— i guess so…” you reluctantly admit, preparing yourself for his onslaught of teasing.

“do you even know what you’re singin’ along to? hah…” he chuckles, shocked you would even keep the song on for longer than five seconds without getting hot in the face and pressing the skip button.

“it’s just a song…” you shrug, feeling the ever-common wave of shyness that appears whenever rafe pokes fun at you.

“nah— nah, baby, this isn’t just ‘a song’, are you hearing yourself? the you i know would never be caught dead sayin’ this shit.” he gestures to the screen of his truck, slowing to a stop at a red light, before turning his torso to face you. you begin to sink into your seat at his gaze.

“it’s not, like, a big deal, it’s just words—“ you try to defend yourself before he cuts you off with a scoff.

“okay, well— if they’re just words, then go ahead and repeat them for me. say ‘em to my face.” rafe grins, pointing at his chest repeatedly.

“rafe, please…” you cover your cheeks, heat spreading throughout your face and down your neck.

“c’mon,” he goads, reaching across the center console to tuck a piece of fallen hair behind your ear. “you’ll repeat all the shit she’s saying behind my back, but you can’t say it to my face? really, baby? you really that shy?”

“i don’t wanna say it…” you mumble, shoulders raised to your ears, body slumped in your seat. you know his teasing is always light-hearted, but you can’t help but get so embarrassed around him.

“yeah, i know you don’t.” he gives in, turning back to face the road, beginning to accelerate the truck on the final stretch back to tannyhill. “i know my girl doesn’t talk like that.”

⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀:¨ ·.· ¨: ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ `· . ₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊

[cleomaybank]

rafe cameron : headcanons

super fluffy - very cute i'd say! if you enjoy tell me and i can do more maybe even a little less fluffy and more smutty? love ya!

what's his, is his. he adores keeping what he owns, in this case it's you. creepily eyes hold onto you swiping up and down your body, however you don't worry; you know your psycho boyfriends grip is tightening onto your forearm and staring knives, his protective shield over you expands. clearly he dislikes dirty eyes exploring your physique, which of course drives him crazy, insane if he wasn't already. his anger overpowers him but he's learnt by now to just have a staring contest rather than starting something; only because you told him once not to. his intimidation makes the man backdown and rafes pent up anger releases effortlessly as you giggle at him for his insanity; you do appreciate it though. he rolls his eyes slightly smirking just because you've infected a smile onto him, he definitely did not find it funny before.

your skin is like holding a warm cup of coffee on a autumn day, he states. rafe loves skin to skin contact, however maybe not in the way you think. his arm is tightly wrapped around your waist brushing against your shirt, resting above your hipbone under your shirt is his hand. thumb rubbing slight circles, no this is not a protective thing although you wouldn't put it past him, your skin warms his hands up. any chance he gets to feel your skin rather than fabric he takes. it's cute really. it makes him feel more connected.

he's a professional plait-er. his hands lightly hold the three pieces, he carefully arranges them to create one of the most beautiful braids you've witnessed, any braid you ask even if he hasn't tried he will do; he'll learn one way or another. he adores seeing your hair out of your way helping you be more comfortable, what a little softie. you guess he learnt it from braiding sarah's or wheezies hair but either way, he does it best. "rapunzel"

[uglylittlefawn]

you had asked really, really nicely.

"pretty please? it's been such a long week, i just need to de-stress a little bit..." you bounce on the balls of your feet, jewelry and bangles jostling at your incessant movement.

"you dragged me to that dusty ass thrift store last week, okay? you-- you need to find a new hobby. one that doesn't involve spending all the money I work my ass off to make on dead people's shit." rafe responds, finality in his tone. he saunters past you, stepping into the kitchen to pour himself a glass of water.

"you don't even need to come in!" you bargain, trailing after him like a puppy. "you could just drop me off! please?" you clasp your hands together, giving him your best sad eyes to try and convince him.

"i'm not just gonna leave you there by yourself, that's not-- that's not safe, alright?" rafe stresses, pinching the bridge of his nose with his free hand. he thinks it over for a beat, squinting at you.

"two hours. okay? that's it. i have shit to do tonight and i can't be chasing after you." rafe decides, taking a long swig from his glass.

"really?" you beam, smiling up at him.

"really. go grab your shit, let's leave in 10."

"thank you, thank you, thank you!" you wrap your arms around his neck, balancing on your tiptoes to hug him.

"yeah, that made you happy, huh?" he says faux-sarcastically, setting his now empty glass down in the sink, watching you skip down the hall to your shared bedroom.

that was how you ended up here, in your favorite antique store in all of the outer banks. you practically float down the aisles, awe-struck at all the clothing pieces, trinkets, and vintage furniture. you could come here a million times and always feel like you are right where you're meant to be; in your special happy place.

already in your reusable tote bag (the one you bring everywhere, of course), was a pair of embroidered cowboy boots, a true-vintage baby blue negligee, and a precious moments figurine you just have to take home and paint to look like a carbon copy of you and rafe.

speaking of rafe, he follows closely behind you, still being hyper-aware of your every move while he responds to business emails on his phone.

"is this cute?" you ask, holding up a plaid mini dress. it would look perfect with the blythe doll tights you just ordered, you think.

"huh? rafe looks up from his phone, eyes zeroing in on the dress you gesture to. "yeah, baby. it's-- it's nice." his head turns down to his phone again before returning to stare at you. "you want it? get it."

"thank you..." you say softly, hugging your tote full of goodies to your chest. it's not unlike him to pay for your shopping sprees, and you know he does it because he loves you, and he wants you to have all of the things you like.

"it's no big deal," he shrugs, the corner of his lips turning upward in a proud smirk. "what's that thing you always say? 'bare minimum'?" rafe guides you towards the checkout counter with a gentle hand on the small of your back.

of course when you get home rafe asks you to do a haul of everything you bought! his favorite part is the mini fashion show you do at the end, rambling about how perfect all of your finds were and how you just can't wait until you can style all of them. you take it so seriously because you're a niche fashion icon!

⊹₊˚‧︵‿₊୨ᰔ୧₊‿︵‧˚₊⊹

[bittersweetlyblue]

an: just clearing out the drafts so if this is shitty sorry!!

the worst part wasn’t that rafe lied.

it was how easy he made it look.

you stood barefoot on the tarmac outside tanneyhill, arms wrapped around yourself against the ocean wind while rain soaked through the thin hoodie you’d stolen from him months ago. the same hoodie he used to pull over your head after late-night drives. the same one that still smelled faintly like his cologne and cigarette smoke.

and now all you could think about was her hands on him instead.

rafe stood a few feet away, jaw tight, eyes glassy with frustration.

“nothing happened,” he snapped for what felt like the hundredth time.

you laughed bitterly, shaking your head. “right. because texting her at three in the morning while i’m asleep upstairs is totally nothing.”

“you’re twisting this.”

“am i?” your voice cracked on the last word, and you hated yourself for it. hated that he still had the power to make your chest ache just by looking at you.

rafe ran a hand through his wet hair. “i didn’t cheat on you.”

“no,” you whispered. “you just got real close.”

he looked away first. if he really thought he was innocent, wouldn’t he look you in the eye?

“you know what’s funny?” you said quietly. “i defended you to everybody.” his expression shifted slightly. “my friends told me you’d hurt me eventually. sarah told me you destroy everything you touch.” your throat tightened. “and i still chose you.”

“don’t make me sound like some monster.”

you stared at him in disbelief. “you did that yourself.”

the words landed hard. ou watched them hit him. for a second, rafe looked exactly like the boy you fell in love with instead of the hurricane everyone else saw — wounded, terrified, unraveling at the seams, but then his face hardened again. “i said i was sorry.”

“you said you were sorry after i found out.”

his mouth opened, then closed. there was nothing he could say to that. rain dripped from your eyelashes as you looked at him, really looked at him, and suddenly every memory felt poisoned. every kiss. every “i love you.” every promise whispered against your sweaty skin at two in the morning. you wondered if he’d texted her after kissing you goodnight. the thought made you feel sick.

“did you love her?” you asked before you could stop yourself.

rafe’s head snapped up instantly. “what? no.”

“then why her?”

his breathing slowed, uneven. “she didn’t know me like you do.”

your lips trembled. “so you wanted someone easier.”

“i wanted something that didn’t feel so serious all the time.”

you physically flinched. “serious?” you repeated softly. “i loved you.”

“i know.”

“no, rafe, i don’t think you do.” your eyes burned as tears finally slipped down your cheeks.

he stepped toward you then, panicked. “baby —”

“don’t.”

the single word stopped him cold. you wiped at your face angrily. “i would’ve stayed through anything with you. you know that? every fight. every bad night. every awful thing you’ve ever done.” your voice broke. “and you still threw us away for something meaningless.”

rafe looked devastated now. ypiu wanted him to hurt even half as much as you did. “i never wanted to lose you,” he said quietly.

“but you were okay risking it.”

another silence. another truth he couldn’t deny. you remembered the first night he told you he loved you. he’d held your face so carefully, like you were something fragile. now you realized fragile things were exactly what rafe cameron destroyed best.

“i hate you,” you whispered.

his eyes filled instantly. “no you don’t.”

he knew that despite the betrayal, despite the humiliation clawing at your chest, some horrible part of you would still answer his call if it came at 2 a.m.

you hated that he knew that. you hated that it was true.

“please don’t leave.” rafe whispered

for one terrifying second, you almost gave in. almost let him hold you. almost forgave him just because he looked broken but then you remembered the messages. the flirting. the secrecy. the way he made you feel crazy for noticing the distance between you. suddenly the boy in front of you wasn’t your safe place anymore. he was just the person who ruined it.

“you already left me first.”

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

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

[usteadyophelia]

THE PERFECT PAIR!

pairing: rafe cameron x reader genre: enemies to lovers, slow burn, romance, rich kids, family legacy, tension warnings: arguing, mild swearing, kissing, unresolved sexual tension, family pressure, mentions of financial struggles word count: 3.0k summary: Raised together as heirs to the Outer Banks' most prestigious luxury resort, you and Rafe Cameron have spent twenty-two years turning every conversation into a competition. With Villa Mare on the brink of collapse, you're forced to work side by side to save the family legacy, even if you can't agree on how. Somewhere between boardroom arguments, impossible expectations, and years of pretending your feelings look a lot like hatred, the line between rivals and something much more dangerous begins to disappear.

note: So... I actually borrowed this idea from a Wattpad fanfic I started years ago but never ended up finishing. I'd been trying to turn it into a full-length story for what feels like forever, but no matter how many times I rewrote it, it never came out the way I wanted it to. Now that I'm writing one-shots over here, I thought I'd finally give the idea another chance. Maybe it was always meant to be told this way.

I really hope you enjoy it ♡.

masterlist | request guideline

You and Rafe Cameron were born five days apart and spent your entire lives growing up on opposite sides of Villa Mare Resort, the luxury oceanfront hotel your grandparents built together in the late sixties. The Camerons weren't your relatives, but they might as well have been. Long before either of you was born, your grandparents had taken a gamble on a rundown stretch of beachfront property and transformed it into Villa Mare. Best friends What started as a shared dream between two families became a hospitality empire worth billions, leaving both generations tied together by contracts, history, and a legacy neither family could ever walk away from.

Neither of you ever really had the chance to be normal. You didn't grow up worrying about money. You grew up worrying about expectations.

From the moment you could walk, everyone knew exactly who you were supposed to become. Future co-owner. Future CEO. Future face of Villa Mare. Every birthday, every holiday, every family dinner somehow became another lesson about responsibility, legacy, and protecting everything the generations before you had built.

The only person who understood that pressure as well as you did was Rafe.

Unfortunately, he also happened to be the person who drove you absolutely insane.

The two of you have spent twenty-two years competing over everything imaginable. Who learned to surf first. Who got better grades. Who closed the bigger client. Who knew the business better. Even something as simple as choosing the paint color for a renovated suite somehow ended with the two of you arguing loud enough for the staff to place bets on who would storm out first.

You were too similar, and that was a very big problem, because neither of you had ever learned how to lose.

Still, somehow, no matter how explosive the fight, you always found yourselves back in the same room again because that's what the business demanded. Because now, Villa Mare is yours to protect, and it's falling apart.

Bookings have dropped. Investors are getting impatient. Every week brings another problem, another expense, another reminder that even family empires can collapse.

Rafe believes the only way to save the resort is to modernize everything. Bigger renovations. Bigger marketing campaigns. Luxury experiences. If it doesn't make money immediately, he doesn't want it.

You disagree.

Villa Mare was never just another five-star hotel. It was built on family traditions, familiar faces, and guests who returned every summer because it felt like home. You don't want to erase that in exchange for becoming another polished resort with no soul.

Neither of you is willing to compromise.

Which means every meeting becomes another argument.

Every disagreement feels more personal than the last.

And every time he looks at you across the conference table, jaw tight and blue eyes burning with frustration, you hate how difficult it is to remember exactly why you can't stand him.

₊˚✧────────────────✧˚₊

The conference room had emptied ten minutes ago.

Sarah had mumbled something about needing coffee before one of them committed a felony. Kiara had practically dragged Pope out with her, while JJ had loudly announced he was putting twenty bucks on "them making out before someone throws a chair."

No one had laughed. Mostly because it didn't seem entirely impossible anymore.

The blueprints for Villa Mare's east wing were spread across the mahogany table, corners curling from how many times one of you had shoved them across the surface during the last hour.

"You can't seriously think knocking down the ballroom is a good idea."

Rafe leaned both palms against the table, shoulders tense beneath the sleeves of his white button-down. "It's barely used."

"It hosted three weddings last month."

"It hosted three weddings because we practically gave the room away."

You folded your arms. "Not everything is about profit."

His laugh was short and humorless. "No," he said. "That's your specialty."

You blinked. "My specialty?"

"Sentiment." He gestured around the room. "You keep talking about preserving the heart of this place like it's going to magically pay our bills."

"It built this place."

"It built this place forty years ago."

"It built this place, period."

He shook his head, running a hand through his hair in obvious frustration. "You don't get it."

"No." You took a step closer. "You don't get it."

His eyes snapped back to yours.

"People don't come here because the towels are imported from Italy, Rafe."

"They come because they expect a luxury resort."

"No, they come because Mrs. Henderson knows every returning guest's name. They come because memories don't show up on balance sheets."

"They come because they can get that experience somewhere else for half the price."

You scoffed. "There it is."

"What?"

"The businessman."

His jaw clenched. "You say that like it's an insult."

"It is when you forget we're supposed to be running a family business."

"I am trying to save the family business."

"By turning it into something our grandparents wouldn't even recognize."

And then silence.

His fingers tightened against the edge of the table. "You think I'm destroying it."

"I think you're terrified."

His eyebrows lifted. "Terrified?"

"You're so scared of failing that you'd rather rip this place apart before it gets the chance to disappoint you."

For a second, you actually thought he'd walk away.

But he surprise you by rounding the table until there was barely any space left between the two of you. "You have absolutely no idea what you're talking about." His voice had dropped, it wasn't loud anymore and somehow, that made it worse.

"Oh, I don't?"

"No."

"You think because you read financial reports until two in the morning you're carrying this place by yourself?"

"You think you're the only one losing sleep?"

"You think you're the only one who hears our grandparents asking if we're doing enough every time we walk past their portraits?"

His expression faltered, only for a second but you noticed either way. and he notices that you'd noticed. "I know exactly what this place means to you," he said quietly.

"Do you?"

"I've known you my whole life."

"That doesn't mean you know me."

"It kind of does."

Your breath caught.

He was standing so close now that you could see the tiny scar beneath his chin from when the two of you had crashed bicycles into each other at eleven years old. You'd laughed back then and he'd cried. You still brought it up every chance you got.

"You always do this," you muttered.

"What?"

"You act like you know exactly what I'm thinking."

"Usually I do."

"You don't."

"I do."

"You don't."

"I know you're about to tell me I'm arrogant."

"You are."

"I know you hate when I interrupt you."

"I do."

"I know you skip breakfast every morning before investor meetings."

You frowned.

"I know you pretend you don't care what the staff thinks, but you remember every single employee's birthday."

Your lips parted.

"I know," he continued, his voice impossibly calm now, "that every time you walk past the old guestbook in the lobby, you stop and read the first page because your grandmother's handwriting is on it."

Your stomach tightened.

"I notice everything."

The words settled between you. You could feel the warmth radiating from him now, close enough that your shoulder almost brushed his chest.

It would've taken one step, just one, but instead, you forced yourself to speak. "You're still wrong."

A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "There she is."

"Oh, don't look so pleased with yourself."

"I was getting worried we'd gone almost thirty seconds without arguing."

You rolled your eyes. "You are insufferable."

Your heartbeat stumbled.

"You mean the hotel keeps putting us in the same room."

"If that's what helps you sleep at night."

"Oh, please."

"You could've asked Sarah to handle today's meeting."

"So could you."

"I considered it."

"Liar."

"I am." He didn't deny it, didn't even try.

Instead, his eyes dropped, just for a fraction of a second, to your lips before lifting back to yours. The movement was so quick you almost convinced yourself you'd imagined it.

"You know what your problem is?" you asked, your voice quieter now.

He smiled. "You."

You hated how quickly that answer made heat crawl up your neck. "You think you're charming."

"I know I am."

"You were more tolerable when you were seventeen."

"You had a crush on me when I was seventeen."

"I absolutely did not."

He grinned. "You absolutely did."

"I would've rather walked into the ocean."

"You almost did."

"That was because you pushed me off the dock."

"I told you it was slippery."

"You laughed."

"You looked funny."

"You are unbelievable."

"And you're smiling."

Your lips immediately flattened. "I am not."

"You literally are."

"I'm smiling because one day you're going to lose an argument."

He took one final step forward. Now there was no space left at all. "I've been losing them for years."

Your brows furrowed. "What?"

His gaze didn't leave yours. "I just keep coming back for the next one."

The words hung between you. For the first time since the meeting had started, neither of you seemed to have a comeback.

Outside the conference room, life at Villa Mare carried on as if nothing had happened. Someone wheeled a housekeeping cart down the hallway, the faint squeak of its wheels echoing through the open doorway. A phone rang somewhere at reception. Laughter drifted up from the lobby.

Inside the room, the air felt impossibly still. You should've walked away. It would've been easy. Pick up your folder, mutter something sarcastic under your breath, slam the door behind you.That's what always happened.

Instead, you stayed exactly where you were. Close enough to notice that his breathing hadn't quite settled after the argument. Close enough to see the tiny flecks of green hidden inside his blue eyes.Close enough that if either of you leaned forward—

No.

You forced the thought away.

"This is a terrible idea," you murmured, almost to yourself.

Rafe frowned slightly. "What is?"

"This." ou gestured vaguely between the two of you.

"The part where we're standing here pretending this is still about the ballroom." A corner of his mouth lifted.

"It stopped being about the ballroom a while ago."

"Don't."

"I'm serious."

"So am I."

"No." He shook his head slowly. "You're trying to convince yourself you still hate me."

Your laugh came out quieter than you intended. "I don't have to convince myself of anything."

"No?"

"No."

"Then why haven't you left yet?"

The question landed harder than either of you expected. You opened your mouth but nothing came out. Because he was right, you should've left ten minutes ago. Instead, you were still standing there, letting him invade your space the way no one else ever could.

"You know what I think?" he said after a long moment.

"I don't think I want to."

"I think..." He hesitated, and somehow that surprised you more than anything else. And Rafe never hesitated. "...I think we've spent so long arguing that neither of us knows what we're supposed to do when we're not."

You searched his face, looking for the joke but it never came. His expression had softened in a way you'd never seen before. Not cocky. Not smug. Just...honest.

"You drive me insane," you admitted quietly.

"I know."

"I mean it."

"I know."

"I've spent years trying to prove you wrong."

"I know."

"You make me so angry I can barely think sometimes."

Something almost like a smile crossed his face. "I know that too."

"You really are full of yourself."

"well." He took another small step. "So are you."

You should've stepped backbut instead, you stayed rooted to the floor. "You know what the worst part is?" you whispered.

"What?"

"I don't think I've ever actually hated you."

His eyes flickered over your face as if trying to decide whether he'd imagined hearing that. "You've just hated losing to me."

"I've never lost to you."

He laughed softly. "There she is again."

Without thinking, you reached out and straightened his tie.

The movement surprised both of you.

Your fingers brushed the knot absentmindedly, smoothing it where it had loosened during the argument. "I didn't realize I'd done that," he said quietly.

"You always do."

"What?"

"You loosen your tie when you're stressed."

He looked down at your hand still resting against his chest. "And you always fix it."

You blinked.

"I've... done this before?"

"So many times."

"When?"

"Every family event. Every fundraiser. Every board meeting." His smile grew softer. "You don't even realize you're doing it."

Heat rushed to your cheeks because is true, you hadn't realized, not once.

Your hand started to pull away but Rafe caught it before it could. Not tightly, just enough for your fingers to stay where they were against his chest. His thumb brushed lightly over your knuckles. "You notice everything about me," he said.

"So do you."

"I know." His eyes dropped to your mouth. This time he didn't bother pretending you hadn't noticed. Neither did you.

"If I kiss you," he said, his voice barely above a whisper, "this changes everything."

You looked at him for what felt like forever.

Then you smiled, a small, disbelieving smile. "As if anything between us has ever been simple."

He let out a quiet laugh, the sound warm against the tiny space separating you. "No, it never has. And whose fault is that?"

"You've got about three seconds before I change my mind, Cameron."

"You won't."

"No?"

"I know you"

You rolled your eyes despite the way your heart was pounding. "You are so unbelievably—"

"I know."

Before he could finish the sentence, you closed the distance yourself. And after twenty-two years of unfinished arguments, stolen glances across conference tables and finding reasons to stay in the same room long after every meeting had ended, neither of you had ever really stopped moving toward the other.

His lips met yours softly at first, tentatively, almost like he was giving you one last chance to change your mind. But you didn't.

Instead, your hand slid from the knot of his tie to the back of his neck, your fingers disappearing into the soft hair at the nape, and the moment you pulled him closer, something inside him seemed to snap.

The kiss deepened all at once. It wasn't polished or graceful, it was impatient. Messy. Like every argument you'd ever left unfinished had found another way to be resolved.

A quiet sound escaped him, half laugh, half sigh, as his hand found your waist, pulling you closer until there wasn't an inch of space left between you. You could feel the rapid beat of his heart through the thin fabric of his shirt, and it struck you that it wasn't just yours threatening to burst out of your chest.

For once, Rafe Cameron looked completely undone. You'd seen him angry, frustrated, smug, but never like this. Never kissing you as though he'd spent years imagining what it would feel like, only to realize the reality was somehow better.

Your lips parted against his without thinking, and he paused for the briefest second, searching your face as if silently asking whether this was still okay. The answer came when you kissed him again. Harder this time.

His hand tightened at your waist, drawing an involuntary breath from you that disappeared into the kiss. You could feel him smiling for the smallest moment before he kissed you again, slower now, as though he finally had permission to stop pretending.

Everything was overwhelming, the clean scent of his cologne, the warmth of his hands, the way his thumb absentmindedly brushed against your side as if he'd always belonged there.

How had this never happened before?

How had the two of you spent years convincing yourselves that all this tension was hatred?

You pulled back just enough to breathe. Barely an inch separated you. His forehead rested against yours, both of you slightly breathless.

"I really hate you," you whispered, though the words lacked every ounce of conviction they once carried.

A quiet laugh escaped him.

"No," he murmured, his voice rougher than before. "You really don't."

You should've argued. You should've thrown another sarcastic remark at him, reminded him how infuriating he was, how arrogant, how impossible.

Instead, your eyes drifted back to his lips and of course Rafe notice, He always does.

"I was right," he said softly, unable to hide the smugness creeping back into his voice.

"Oh, don't ruin this."

"I knew you had a crush on me."

A laugh escaped you before you could stop it. "You are unbelievable."

"I've been waiting to say 'I told you so' for years."

"You've had about thirty seconds of being kissable, Cameron."

"Thirty-one."

You shook your head, smiling despite yourself. "There it is."

"What?"

"That stupid grin."

"It only comes out around you."

Your smile faltered. Not because you didn't believe him. Because you did. He looked at you differently now. Not like his business partner, or like his oldest rival. Not even like the girl he'd grown up competing against. Just... you.

His hand came up slowly, brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear, fingertips lingering against your cheek.

"So," he said quietly, "does this mean we still have to finish arguing about the ballroom?"

You stared at him for a long moment before letting out a soft laugh.

"Oh, we're absolutely still arguing about the ballroom."

"I figured."

"But..." You leaned in just enough for your lips to brush his one last time, the kiss brief enough to feel like a promise rather than another surrender.

"...we can do it later."

For the first time in as long as either of you could remember, neither of you cared who won.