rafe cameron, rockstar and absolute menace, has the whole world wrapped around his finger, but he only has eyes for you, his “star.” a sex-symbol bombshell on every magazine, you’re the only one who can keep up with his reckless, no-limits lifestyle. the two of you are pure chaos, a match made in tabloid hell—whiskey-soaked nights, trashed hotel suites, and scandalous photos the whole world loves to hate. you’re the untouchable couple people whisper about, practically blowing kisses to the cameras as you leave a trail of destruction behind you. every second is messy, filthy, and oh-so-fun—just how you like it.
mini masterlist (discontinued bc i ran out ideas and motivation)
𝓢UMMARY! Rafe is a shitty dude with a shitty costume at a shitty post-gig party, and he's proud with the title. When he falls open-armed onto an overlooked couch, he finds he's not the only one keeping the leather warm — ugh, you're there too.
𝓦ARNINGS! alcohol consumption / set in the late 90s / independent story / slow burn, enemies to lovers, forced proximity, mutual pining, angst, hurt/comfort, eventual smut / graphic credits to saintstance
𝓦ORD 𝓒OUNT! 3k
┊ 𝓃otice ┊teeny tiny thing i wrote for my favorite pair of idiots while trying to figure my way into the first chapter. KEEP IN MIND: lowkey unrelated to the original story (may not make sense once the full story's out aka plot holes), timeline's something around a few months after reader's settled in the band!
"You got a little something on your face."
Rafe lolls his head to the side and even though he recognised your voice he didn't expect you this close. The proximity startles him, although it's so deliberate he figures it's his own doing. Usually, the heat emanating from your skin isn't something you'd spare him unless a crowd presses you recalcitrantly snug against his side. With the way his knee knocks against the bone of yours, tucked into your own corner of the couch in juxtaposition to his sprawling, Rafe assumes he's just conquered one of your temporary hideouts for the night.
You do that a lot, squirming away into your constantly switching make-do lairs. It pisses him off.
The corner of his mouth twitches, then he barks, "What?"
His rude habits aren't something you're not used to now, so when they land you hardly flinch. There used to be a time where, for Rafe's spiteful benefit, the spot between your eyebrows would wrinkle deeper the longer you looked at him. Your under-breath muttering didn't get lost on him back then either, but you've been giving up on the bitter nature of your responses ever since Frankie smacked you with her backstage pass —carefully, but given her often impolite behaviour you'd guess still ill-intentioned— and reminded you who you were dealing with.
He's Rafe fucking Cameron, and you're still just a fucking stand-in.
So, you repeat yourself, and point vaguely at your own chin. "I said you got something."
Oh, he knows what you mean.
He smirks before he realises he's doing it, wiping a hand down his thigh where warmth pressed not long ago. Noah Dixon loves a red lip as much as she finds joy staining a man with it. Tonight, she had flattened against him more times than he could count —not because he sucks at math but because he is, in fact, intoxicated—, and effectively smeared him crimson from nose to chin. Rafe hasn't looked at himself in a mirror yet but he has some idea of what he looks like. Heavy lidded, flushed, and positively played with — he can't ever say the same about you.
There's some part of him that wishes for that to never change.
"It's my costume," he explains, fluttering his eyes open in lazy, inebriated blinks. He grins and he feels his own crooked teeth kiss his bottom lip, and with a stretch of his neck, he hooks a finger down the collar of his shirt and tugs "See? I'm a vampire."
You lean ever-so-slightly in and Rafe has to bite down a chuckle when you consciously stop yourself from looking too interested. A hickey. He's showing you a hickey, brand new and so publicly done you're sure it's gonna make it to the tabloids first hour in the morning. On instinct, your nose scrunches up, and your eyebrows pinch in that worrisome gesture that so regularly drives him up the wall. He lets go of his shirt and you pull back into the armrest to your right, where the synthetic leather digs in on every inch of your exposed skin. You're getting bolder lately. Rafe finds himself struggling not to notice any of it.
It's hard. Red lipstick and latex corset may be his type as of right now but he can't deny how heartbreaking you are. He had to double take the second he saw you walk in tonight, already in too deep in his vices to make sense of what he was looking at. Tight mini skirt and flared sleeves, a stripe of your tummy right between each item. It's a pronounced shift from your worn out jeans and graphic tees. Rafe likes to think that's why he payed attention in the first place but he knows that's not quite it, and if trying not to look at you wasn't enough, the big lightning streak breaking across your face sure is being captor of his gaze.
A poor Bowie imitation, but you really don't need more than your make-up. From afar, it looked perfect, and Rafe had scoffed because he's come to learn you can't help being a nerd about pretty much everything. Now, up close, he fixates on the messy strokes stretching down the left side of your face. It's mirrored, calculated, and he almost scoffs again. You'd rather pretend a half-assed attempt over admitting you've done something flawlessly. He hates that about you, it's a sickening tendency.
"A vampire," you test, chewing on the straw of your drink. A mojito, probably, you like your rum and mint "Would've sworn manwhore was the costume."
Rafe presses his tongue against the roof of his mouth. "That's okay. I thought you came in as David Bowie, but I guess you're just some rockstar wannabe," and with a tilt to his eyebrow, he allows his weight to subtly fall into your space "Oh, wait–"
There's a muscle that pops on the surface of your jaw when you tighten it. Morosely, you bite around your drink "Ha, ha. What shade of red are you wearing, anyway? STD or heroin junkie?"
"That's low. Even for you," he observes, hopefully guilt-tripping you because that's exactly the kind of thing you're prone to engage with. You don't seem to fall for it, though.
"Y'seem too familiar with lows."
"Well, yeah, I've been stuck with you, haven't I?"
You shift. There's distance you're trying to build between your shoulder and his, but he's got you cornered into the couch. When his thigh begins to brush against yours, Rafe relishes in the anxious gesture of trying to cross your legs away from him. As much as you can, at least, because there's not much room you're working with.
"Too bad Ezra liked me, then," you mutter, looking forward but keeping a close watch on the presence looming on your left.
Rafe leans his head back against the couch, Adam's apple bared to the dull knife of your tongue. Ultimately, he concludes, "He's a dickhead."
(He doesn't actually believe that.)
You whip your head around and the closeness could stun him. He knows he's getting a reaction out of you because you like Ezra. Rafe tries to convince himself you're just a kiss-ass but he knows your affection is genuine, and when the corner of your mouth purses he chuckles a breath of air under your chin.
"He's the only reason you're famous," which, yeah, it's true, but–
"C'mon, you know it's equal parts his talent and my attitude."
You give him an unsurprising look, "Spoiled brat?"
"Rock God."
You scowl. "That's a title," you mutter, sour and already done with him "Get down from your ego, would you? The fall won't be anything nice."
"Typa thing you'd love to watch, huh?"
"Oh, believe me, I would," you promise, turning away from him to people-watch.
It's an odd angle, the one he's looking at you from. Oblique from behind, where your earring kisses a pattern on the side of your neck each time you move your head. The tail of your Bowie lightning streak teases him on the low corner of your cheek, and suddenly Rafe can't stop thinking about digging a thumb right where the make-up blurs into your skin. He hates it. He hates you and he's sick and he wants to touch you without excuse anyway.
So he'll find one.
"And you just discredited Frankie, by the way," you ramble on, focused on the sequins and furs flaunting across this mess of a party. Unlike Taxider Me and a few, many have showed up in impressive costumes. It's moderately sad that touring can't really allow you that experience, you like dressing up for Halloween "She wouldn't appreciate that, you're her favorite."
Rafe doesn't know where that comes from but you're not wrong. He snorts, "Her favorite?"
"You know you are," you roll your eyes but Rafe can only see the flutter of your outer eyelashes. He would've smirked at your irritation had the glitter on your face not glimmered under the lights like that "I personally don't get it."
He does. He's an asshole, so is Frankie — that's exactly why they gravitate toward the other. Before, Alfie would encourage the behaviour with a line or two, but Ezra has always been more graceful with a human interaction. Rafe knows that's the reason you find it so easy to fall into rhythm with him. Ezra is nice, and in a world that dissects each of the things that you brought from whatever beach town you were born in, you need a bit of nice. It's not something Rafe can give you, he'll only hand you mean even if you don't ask him to.
"It's simple," he drawls, rubbing a palm against the number part of his face "You're not rock 'n' roll enough."
You scoff so hard your drink ripples a little. A frown is so deeply edged between your eyebrows Rafe worries it'll dip into your Cupid's bow. For a moment, your mouth parts and it seems as though there's something tumbling on the very tip of your tongue. He sees it. The doubt, the consideration. Each word that isn't taking shape in front of him just because you're too much of a coward to speak them out loud. He tenses, and when he's most expecting the punch of it, you seal your lips together — but Rafe has never minded a bite as long as he's poked the lion first.
"No, go on," he encourages, straightening up as much as whatever-he's-consumed allows him. His shoulder staggers into yours with his half-dead weight and your jaw ticks to the side in response. He leans closer now, with a personal edge, a breath away from the frizz of your hair "Don't go shy on me, now. Say it."
"I'm not going shy, Rafe," you snap, wincing back when you turn and his nose greets the very tip of your own "It's just fuckin' easy to sit there and pretend you're some 'rock god' when daddy pays for the title. You're not special for being a mess, it's pathetic."
You'd like to think there was a modicum of amusement at the core of the argument before you cracked it open ugly enough. Whatever fuelled the flame behind Rafe's eyes runs out, instantly, as if he ever stood for a match instead of a wildfire. There's a certain weight to your words that settle in your belly when a somber expression takes over his face, but it's already too late to regurgitate them back — and anyway, you meant what you said. He's just never fair. Rafe will dig a finger in each of your injuries solely to keep himself entertained, why can't you do the same, instead?
He sucks a breath in, "You know what's pathetic?" he starts, low and gravelly, a sound you feel on the back of your neck rather than hear. His index finger dangles right beneath your nose, balancing between each of the things he wants to say to you. It's not a nice gesture, it's demeaning. Coming from Rafe, it usually means it'll sting, and when speaks, he does so pausingly for you to perfectly hear "How desperate you are to prove yourself worthy of this life, but let me make it easy for you to digest, babe: you're not. You don't have what it takes. You keep trying to convince everyone in this room that you belong here, but you've never been more out of your element."
"Out of my element?" you sneer, bumping your legs into his when trying to face him. The contact sparks a scowl on Rafe's face, but he doesn't pull back "Just because I haven't made it to national TV with a snow trail doesn't mean this isn't exactly where I belong. It is. I've worked my ass off to get here. And you can't even– you can't even say the same, Rafe."
He laughs, a single chuckle that scratches its way out of his mouth. "Working hard just to be a replacement? Give me a break," he echoes, half stuck between chuckle and groan "What, you think you'll stick around after the tour's over? C'mon, you're smarter than that."
"It's not my problem if you think Taxider Me's all there is to music," you aggravate "But don't worry, I'm not staying any longer than it's necessary."
"Oh, I'm not worrying," he clarifies, lifting his eyebrows in some innocent gesture that is anything but "You'll be back gutting fish with your dad in no time."
"Yeah, well, at least my dad's waiting for me back home."
Rafe stops.
Silence stretches with the ache of something sour — your words, that'd be, and the upper hand of knowing him before he remembered you. It's a dirty move, bringing his father up twice, but it isn't any dirtier than what he's said ever since you took over for the mess Alfie Harper left behind. Arguing with Rafe often feels like this. Words bite both ways, and when either succumb to the instinct of making it worse only for the briefness of victory, the scar it leaves behind is nothing but always gnarly.
Age hasn't given you enough maturity to apologise, but you might be about to.
Rafe chews around nothing, then nods in a tight, bridled gesture, as if considering what you said without giving you the relief of an immediate response. He smacks his tongue against his teeth and brigs a hand close to his mouth.
"Yeah, you got a lil' something on your face."
"Sorry?"
It happens before you consider it a possibility, and even then you were far from reality. Rafe opens his mouth, sticks his tongue out, and drags the entirety of his thumb down the muscle. It's obscene, but you can't coax yourself into looking away. He must use your distraction to his advantage because, while you try to steer your gaze away from the thick glistening of his tongue and pretend it isn't affecting you in the slightest, he smacks the palm of his hand against your chin with a grip and presses the wet digit to your cheek.
Right beneath the lightning streak.
The mojito in your hand sloshes to the side when your first instinct is to jerk back, but he won't relinquish. Instead, he tightens his hold, and renders you still only a few inches from his face while your drink spreads past the naked of your thighs.
"Rafe–" you muffle, squirming away and getting to nowhere in particular. Your mouth purses beneath the pressure, and your words come out like a pitiful whine "Fuckin' let go–"
Your free hand comes up to force his grip off, but he challenges your struggle when he fits his other hand against the back of your head. Rafe's got you cornered against the couch and his chest, caged between his fingers and his face. You huff, and your drink finally tumbles from your grasp. When your nails carve their crescent moons around his wrists, he only smirks.
"Jus' lemme help," he slurs, and then starts rubbing your cheek with his thumb.
He follows the line closest to your jaw, farthest from your eye, spreading the spit he smeared on his thumb to clean up the messy strokes framing the left side of your face. The clutch of his fingers isn't any gentle and neither is his scrubbing. Heat flourishes above the surface of your skin and nudges against his palm, and the motherfucker notices and laughs. It's embarrassing and yet, there's something in your chest that flutters awake.
"You're fuckin'–" you complain, each word a kiss against his skin and your will. You pull back but he follows close, and when you kick it only fits your knee above his "Gross, you're fucking gross."
He tuts, "You're being insufferable."
"You're being insufferable," you protest "Let go, Rafe, this isn't funny."
He snorts, you huff and push against his arms without relent. His spit has already gone dry on your cheek, and when he swipes his thumb beneath the lightning streak the skin doesn't give in as easily. With a last stroke close to your ear, Rafe drops the grip of his fingertips to your jaw. Unrestrictedly, he can now see the irked pucker of your lips. A grin stretches across his face, but it doesn't reach his eyes.
The rasp of his voice has the hair of your arms standing on end.
"See how easy you are for me to control?" he asks between teeth, jerking your face to make his point across. You exhale irritatingly, glaring with a wince "You think it's any different out there, huh? All these connections you're trying to make to get out of my band still respond to me. Shut the fuck up next time, yeah? And maybe I won't make sure you never step onstage again."
You swallow. "You're a fucking asshole."
Rafe stares, then nods only once. "Y'should be used to it, by now."
Finally, he releases.
You bring a wrist to your cheek and swipe furiously with a sleeve. The fabric scratches a mean streak up into your hairline, and through an exasperated groan, you shove Rafe's knee back to his side of the couch. He chuckles and spreads once again, serene, leaning the limp weight of his head back and baring his hickey to any wandering eyes. You stand up, but regret it immediately with a shiver. Liquid slithers cold down your legs when you make a move in direction to the bathroom, and the sticky trail of sugar and mint heading straight into the leather of your boots only spurs further the warmth of resentment building in your chest.
You flick your wrist, splattering some of your drink on Rafe. "Fuck you."
His reply is a drowsy sound, "Have a good one."
You storm off and the crowd swallows you whole. Rafe wonders if maybe he should already be going back to his room — nah. He scoffs and his eyes fall shut. In the darkness, there are only two things he can focus on: the drink spilled on his thigh, and the heat of your skin on his palm. He blinks back at the ceiling and lifts his hand into view. There, on the pad of his thumb, a smudge of glitter and scarlet cheekily wink at him. He has a strange thought, but the familiar persistence of it riles him up the most.
This is the shade of red he'd prefer smeared on his face.
꒰ 💬 ꒱¡ meant to post this last night but i accidentally went out oops– listen, at least until the next weekend it's still technically halloween, so don't give me shit for being late okay?
by the way, this isn't what i meant to post! i have a little thingy in the works that got me a little carried away, so expect some horror from my halloween special coming your way around christmas lol (seriously, it's getting a little long, i need to fix my word count) i think you guys are gonna like it, it involves a little monsterfucking
as usual, please like, comment and reblog, i'm still hungover and i'd appreciate the support thank you<3
synopsis : set in the 70s, rafe cameron was a singer for a world-famous rock band. what happens when he gets involved with a girl and spots her pretty face on a missing person section in the newspaper?
author's note : fox on the run by sweet is the theme song 😇 also just wanna add that i absolutely love @ghostofwriting ‘s kildare split au, it’s what inspired me to write rockstar!rafe <33 please check it out it’s so good
📠 📰 ────────*𑁍༘⋆ ────────
music blasting through the loudspeakers. passionate cheers. bright lights. that was the life of rockstar rafe cameron.
and that was the life you weaseled your way into. one day, you’re attending one of his band’s concerts and the next he’s got you in his hotel bed. you had him very charmed and now it’s been a week since rafe cameron has invited you to join him on tour as his plus one.
────────*𑁍༘⋆ ────────
the sheets over top of your naked bodies shuffle as rafe reaches over to grab his cigarette and lighter. “rafe.” you whine, rolling over onto your stomach, “gimme one.”
“yeah, yeah.” the singer grunts while grabbing another one, letting the two smokes dangle between his lips while he lights them both, handing you the other one. you blow the hot air onto rafe’s face making him roll his eyes at you before you slide out of bed. rafe eyes your naked body as you roam around the room with the cigarette settled between your two fingers.
“gonna get decent or..?” his words purposely trailing off, his eyebrow raised at you. “why, can’t handle what you see?” you let out the smoke to the side, lips curve into a cheeky grin as you look over your shoulder. rafe chuckles and licks his lips at your show.
“not gonna be able to handle what i’d do to you if you keep walking around like—“ your gasp cuts him off as you crouch down to your now empty little magazine stack. “rafey, i ran out of my magazines!”
“so?” rafe understands but couldn’t care less. “so? so we gotta get more.” you’ve already put your cigarette out and flicked it away, pulling at rafe’s arm to get him out of bed. he groans and drags you on top of his body. rafe holds your jaw tightly to keep your head in place while he smokes his cigarette, tilting his head down to blow it into your mouth, giving you a long kiss after to shut you up. “chill, kid. we’re going back on tour in two days. you can handle two days without your little magazines, right?”
…”no.”
────────*𑁍༘⋆ ────────
the bell rings as you enter the gas station store, you instantly beeline towards the magazines. new 70s fashion, trends, ooo celebrity drama! you pick all the ones you want before making your way back to the front.
“girl missing if you see—“ you stop listening to what’s playing on the tiny television sat on top of the back counter when you see something that catches your attention.
you glance at the cashier who’s busy reading a newspaper and then at rafe outside with his sunglasses on, pumping gas into his cadillac. your sneaky hands stuff a tube of lip gloss and a lollipop into your bra; rafe wouldn’t let you get it on top of your magazines so you did what you had to. whoops!
rafe comes back in with his hands in his pockets, walking up to you who wandered back to the magazine section, “got everything?” he looks down at you from the top of his sunnies and you check just in case before nodding. rafe’s hand instantly collects everything in your hands, before he freezes when he sees something on the shelf that was hidden by the magazine you just picked up. rafe quickly grabs the paper before manhandling you into the store bathroom.
“rafe— what’re you—“ he quickly shuts you up, locking the door behind him, squeezing your shoulder to keep you still. “what the fuck is this?” he shouts, shoving the newspaper in your face. that’s a good picture of you!
“you’re— what— missing and wanted?!” he questions, looking confused and pissed as ever. rafe turns the paper back to him to read the description. “you stole money??”
you throw your hands up lazily while rolling your eyes at him, “rafe, you’re being over dramatic!” it was nothing to you since this wasn’t the first time this has happened.
“i’m being— for fucks sake! i can’t be seen with you, people are gonna think i kidnapped you! i— why the fuck are you on this newspaper?” rafe pinches the bridge of his nose and closes his eyes before he does something. his hands grip your shoulder tighter, he slams you against the bathroom wall and looks you right in the eye. “kid, why are you on this newspaper?” he asks slowly with a condescending but calm tone.
“rafe, it’s a family thing. just ran away and ended up with you.” you mumble causing rafe to exasperatedly throw his hands up in the air. “are you— that doesn’t explain the money, kid. please tell me you have one reasonable thought in that brainless head of yours.”
you pout at his mean words and actions, wouldn’t have happened if he didn’t invite you backstage, just saying. “i did steal money but they’re only reporting me cause they want me back home!” your rich parents were crazy but i guess that’s where you got it from.
“m’taking you back.” rafe grumbles, tugging you towards the door, you instantly protest. “no, no! rafe you can’t! it’s sooo boring there! what if they make me marry some old man and it’s all gonna be your fault!” your words somehow convince him, rafe groans and stops.
“fine, fine!” he shouts, running his hand down his face before turning back to face you, wrapping his hand around your throat. “listen. there’s a pay phone outside and you’re gonna call your parents, alright? i’m gonna watch you do it so don’t you dare try anything.”
when you don’t respond, his jaw clenches in annoyance and his hand tightens around your neck. “huh?” he repeats in a more firmer tone, only letting go when you let out a choked “yes.”
he sighs, shooing you off meanwhile he collects himself in the bathroom for a second before he follows behind you. how did rafe get himself involved with an insane family? and how the hell did he manage to fall head over heels for a psycho upon first glance?
he can imagine the headlines already; rafe cameron, bigshot rock singer, kidnaps rich heiress. jesus christ.
The pulsing bass and dim lights made it easy to get lost in the heat of the underground club. The air was thick with the smell of sweat, spilled drinks, and the kind of energy that came alive after midnight. It was the perfect place to forget… or be forgotten. Exactly what you’d needed after your friends all but forced you out tonight, insisting that life didn’t end just because you’d left your famous ex in the past.
"Look around!" one of them yelled over the music, nudging you with a sly grin. “This is exactly what you need!”
“Right,” you muttered, taking a sip of whatever drink they’d ordered for you, scanning the room with a sort of lazy detachment. You weren’t really looking to rebound with anyone here. That is, until you saw him.
He was on stage, barely ten feet away. Shirtless, tattoos splashed across his skin, he had that dark, brooding edge that made him look like he was born for a stage like this, all arrogance and mystery wrapped up in a stunning face with a jawline that could cut glass. His voice was raw, gravelly, like he was spitting out every word with a vengeance, and somehow, he had the entire crowd hooked.
Rafe Cameron.
You recognized him immediately—he’d been the face (and body) of a million indie music magazines you’d been in too, though your worlds had never actually crossed. But seeing him up close, hearing him live, felt different. You watched, your heart picking up speed with each word he growled into the mic, his piercing blue eyes scanning the room until—
He saw you.
There was a beat, maybe two, where the energy between you was so thick it was almost tangible. His gaze raked over you slowly, starting from the glossy heels that matched the clingy little dress your friends had practically begged you to wear. His eyes were heavy, hooded, and every time he looked at you, you could practically feel the heat licking at your skin. You arched a brow, pretending not to notice, barely giving him a second glance, which only seemed to make his stare even bolder.
“God, he’s looking right at you,” your friend whispered, practically squealing in excitement. You kept a cool exterior, giving Rafe the most casual of glances before looking away, leaning back to take a slow sip of your drink. His band continued their set, but he never stopped glancing in your direction, his attention flickering between the song and whatever spell you’d cast over him.
The moment they finished, you expected him to disappear backstage. Instead, Rafe practically leaped off the stage, heading straight for the bar, for you.
“Didn’t think a girl like you would ever show up in a place like this,” he drawled, voice low and teasing as he leaned an arm on the bar next to you. He smelled like sweat and the faintest hint of smoke, and somehow, it was intoxicating. Up close, he was even more gorgeous, a mix of rugged, careless appeal and a confidence that was probably earned from too many one-night stands.
“Maybe you don’t know what kind of girl I am,” you replied, shooting him a little smirk. You wanted him, yes, but the game was too fun to rush. Besides, you were still reeling from the effect he had on you. You couldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing that.
Rafe chuckled, and there was something wicked about it, like he already knew exactly what you were doing and had every intention of breaking down your resolve. “Oh, I know. I’ve seen your face on more magazine covers than I can count. Got them all over my place, by the way.” His eyes roamed your body again, this time with no hint of shame. “But trust me, you’re even better in person.”
“You talk like you think you’ve got me all figured out,” you shot back, the smirk playing on your lips as you turned to face him. His stare was unrelenting, blue eyes devouring every inch of you, and there was no hiding the smolder in them. He’d probably perfected that look a long time ago, and it was undeniably sexy.
He leaned in, his lips brushing just past your ear. “You want me to figure you out?” His voice was a low, dangerous whisper. “Because, baby, I’ll take all night if that’s what it takes.”
You couldn’t help the way your breath hitched at his words. He was crass, unapologetic, and entirely too good at this game, but you weren’t about to let him know he’d gotten under your skin. Yet.
“Oh, please,” you replied coolly, rolling your eyes as if unaffected. “Like you could handle it.”
Rafe’s grin widened, flashing that perfect smile that made your pulse thud in your chest. “Big words for a girl playing hard to get,” he said, his hand reaching to twirl a strand of your hair between his fingers. He was close enough that you could see every detail of the tattoos etched along his collarbone, and you had to focus hard to keep your cool as he looked at you like you were something he was seconds away from devouring.
You arched a brow, meeting his gaze head-on. “Playing?” you echoed, feigning nonchalance. “This is just my normal.”
His laugh was a dark, husky sound, and the way his fingers brushed along your arm left a trail of heat on your skin. “If that’s the case, sweetheart, consider me hooked.”
He paused, eyes locking on yours as he closed the distance, his hand coming to rest on your waist. You could feel his warm breath on your lips, smell the scent of whiskey on his breath. You knew exactly what he wanted—and, if you were honest with yourself, you wanted it too. But you weren’t about to make it easy.
You let a long moment of silence stretch between you, your eyes flicking to his mouth for the briefest second before meeting his gaze again, a smile tugging at the corner of your lips. “Then I guess you’ll just have to work a little harder for it, won’t you?”
Rafe’s smirk softened into something that was almost a grin. “Oh, trust me, I don’t mind putting in the work.” Without another word, his lips crashed against yours, hungry, unrestrained, a kiss that held every bit of the reckless energy he had on stage. His hands held you firmly, like he was staking a claim, and the way he kissed was more than just a kiss—it was a promise, a challenge, a taunt all in one.
As you pulled away, a satisfied smirk played on your lips. Rafe was left standing there, his hand still lingering at his side as if reluctant to let go. You met his heated gaze, letting a slow, coy smile spread across your face before stepping back, savoring the way his eyes stayed locked on you, intense and unyielding.
With one last lingering glance, you turned on your heel, swaying your hips with each step, knowing full well he was watching every second. Each sway was deliberate, your heels clicking against the floor in time with the pounding bass of the music, and you didn’t look back, but you could practically feel his eyes tracing every curve.
Rafe’s husky voice rang out, half-amused, half-starved, over the music. “You’re playing a dangerous game, you know that?”
You glanced back, giving him a sly wink. “Guess you’ll just have to catch up and see.”
His smirk grew, and you knew you’d just sparked something wild in him. Just the way you wanted it. And as you slipped into the crowd, you could already feel the tension simmering, ready to pull you back to him the second you both decided to stop playing games.
You’d never felt more confident than you did today. The moment you stepped into the studio for your photoshoot, the air thick with the scent of fresh paint and perfume, you knew you were in your element. Your outfit was daring—more sheer than anything else, the fabric teasingly clinging to your curves. The soft light caught the contours of your body, accentuating every angle. You could feel Rafe’s eyes on you, his admiration palpable as he leaned against the wall, a predatory grin spreading across his face.
“You look fucking incredible,” he said, his voice low and rough, sending a shiver down your spine. He stepped closer, his gaze drinking you in. “Like a work of art.”
“Thanks,” you replied with a playful smirk, turning to catch his gaze. “You think the photographer will like it?”
“He’ll have no choice. You’re the star of the show,” Rafe replied, stepping even closer. His hands found your waist, thumbs brushing over your skin, igniting a warmth that spread through you.
The photoshoot was a blur of flashing lights and sultry poses, your confidence soaring with each click of the camera. You loved the way the photographer guided you, encouraging you to unleash your inner vixen, yet Rafe's steady gaze anchored you amidst the chaos. Each time you caught his eye, he’d wink or mouth something suggestive, making it hard to concentrate. You could see the way he appreciated you, like you were the only person in the room, the only person that mattered.
“Let’s try something different,” the photographer called, snapping you out of your reverie. “Get on your knees, look up at the camera. Make love to the camera.”
Your heart raced at the suggestion, but you complied, sinking to your knees and glancing up at the camera with a sultry smile. Rafe leaned against the wall, his arms crossed, a dark smirk playing on his lips. You could feel the heat radiating from him, and it only fueled your performance. You wanted to make him proud, to show him how much you could own this moment.
After what felt like an eternity of posing, the shoot finally wrapped up. Adrenaline coursed through your veins as you walked back toward Rafe, a satisfied grin plastered on your face. “How did I do?” you asked, leaning into him, your body still buzzing from the energy of the room.
“You were perfect, babe,” he said, pulling you closer, his hands resting possessively on your waist. “But it’s time for me to show you why youre my star.”
“Oh? And how do you plan to do that?” you teased, a spark igniting in your belly.
“Just wait and see,” he said, his voice dropping to a husky whisper that sent heat rushing to your cheeks. He led you to his car, the anticipation thick in the air.
The drive home was a mixture of laughter and heated glances, the tension between you two crackling like electricity. Rafe’s hand found its way to your thigh, fingers teasingly sliding up your leg, inching closer to where you ached for him. “You know,” he began, his eyes fixed on the road but his tone suggestive, “I can’t stop thinking about how good you looked in that outfit. Like you were made for me.”
“Made for you, huh?” you challenged, biting your lip, feeling bold and flirtatious.
“Absolutely,” he said, a wicked grin creeping onto his face. “And I’ll show you just how much you’re mine.”
Without warning, Rafe pulled over to the side of the road, the tires crunching against the gravel as he parked. Before you could react, he turned toward you, his expression dark, eyes smoldering with intensity. He reached over, brushing a thumb along your cheek with a mixture of tenderness and something far more primal.
“Spread your pretty legs for me,” he commanded, his voice a low, sultry growl that made your heart skip. The authority in his tone sent a rush through you, the world outside the car fading as the moment consumed you.
A playful smirk tugged at your lips as you met his gaze. “Bossy, are we?”
His eyes flashed, a hint of a smile at the corners. “You like it when I take control,” he replied, his hand moving down to your thigh, fingers caressing you softly at first, then more possessively. "And don’t pretend you didn’t see this coming. The way you looked back there, posing like that…you knew what you were doing to me.”
You shifted in the seat, letting him guide you. The moment you complied, he leaned in closer, his breath warm against your skin as his fingers traced a line up your thigh. He murmured, voice dropping to a whisper, “That’s my girl. You’re perfect, you know that?” His hands slid up, pushing your skirt higher with every inch, until his fingers found lace. He paused, looking into your eyes, savoring the moment.
“You’ve been thinking about this, haven’t you?” he said, his voice teasing yet undeniably reverent. "You planned this.”
“Maybe,” you replied, breathless, matching his grin. “What can I say? I knew you’d appreciate the view.”
A deep, throaty chuckle escaped him as he slid his fingers over you, his breath hitching. “Look at you…pussy so wet. All this just for me.”
“Always for you,” you whispered, shivering as his touch grew bolder, each movement purposeful, making you lose yourself in the feeling. Your fingers gripped the seat as his touch sent waves through you, filling the air with quiet, unspoken promises.
He leaned in, his lips trailing slowly up your thigh. “You’re beautiful,” he murmured between kisses. “And you’re mine, you hear me?” His voice dropped even lower, his tone possessive yet tender. “I’m not sharing a single inch of you.”
Your back arched instinctively, every sense heightened as his lips traveled with purpose. “You don’t have to,” you managed to reply, voice catching with each press of his lips. “I’m all yours, Rafe.”
“Good,” he said, barely audible as his lips pressed against your skin. His voice was a vibration that echoed through you, and you could feel his gaze rise, admiring the way you reacted to him. “Because you deserve to feel how much I want you. I’m going to make sure you remember it.”
A soft gasp escaped your lips as he lingered close, every touch deliberate, every word sending a fresh surge of warmth through you.
“Do you have any idea what you do to me?” he murmured, voice rough and reverent as he pressed another kiss, firmer this time, letting his lips hover over your clit. "Every second you were in that studio, I couldn’t look away. And I don’t want anyone else seeing you like that.”
A warmth flooded your cheeks at his words, but you couldn’t help a soft laugh. “So what you’re saying is, you’re a little possessive?”
He gave a low chuckle, pressing another kiss, this one a bit harder, the edge of his teeth grazing your bud as he whispered, “Maybe more than a little. I don’t share.”
You sighed as his mouth found its way back to your thigh, biting gently making your pulse race faster, and your hand reached out instinctively, tangling in his hair as he moved closer.
He glanced up, his eyes dark and intense, catching your gaze. “You’re mine,” he said, his voice a husky whisper that sent a thrill through you. “And I’m going to make sure you never forget that.”
You drew in a shaky breath, your own voice soft, but firm. “Good. I don’t want to forget."
Rafe leaned in, his mouth grazing against your thigh before he plunged his tongue into your wet folds. Your back arched off the seat, a breathless moan escaping your lips. “That’s it,” he spits, the wetness from his mouth dribbling over your sensitive bud, the vibrations of his deep voice sending delicious shivers through you. “Let everyone know who you belong to.”
You bit your lip, fighting to keep your voice down as he licked and sucked your clit, driving you closer to the edge. “Rafe, I—”
“Don’t hold back, star. I want to hear you,” he encouraged, his tongue working magic as he devoured you. His hands gripped your hips, holding you in place as he feasted. " 'such a pretty pussy....my pretty pussy"
The world outside faded away, leaving only the sensations building inside you. Every flick of his tongue ignited sparks that danced up your spine. “I’m so close, Rafey” you gasped, your body trembling under his ministrations.
“Then let go, babe. I want to taste you,” he urged, his voice thick with desire. You could feel the pressure mounting, and with one final lick, you shattered, your body erupting in waves of pleasure. You cried out, unable to contain yourself, the sound echoing in the quiet night.
As you came down from the high, Rafe pulled back, his chin glistening with your essence. “There’s my Star,” he said, a smug smile on his lips. “Told you I’d take care of you.”
“You definitely did,” you replied breathlessly, a smile spreading across your face. You leaned in, capturing his lips in a heated kiss, tasting yourself on him. “But just so you know, I’m ready for an encore.”
“Oh, we’ll definitely have more than one show,” he grinned, pulling you close as he started the engine again. You could feel the heat radiating off of him, the primal energy crackling in the air between you.
“Do you think anyone saw?” you asked, a mixture of embarrassment and excitement rushing through you.
“Who cares? You’re my star, and I’ll show you off however I want,” he said, glancing at you with a devilish grin. “Besides, you’re too fucking hot for me to keep you to myself.”
As he drove, his hand found its way back to your thigh, fingers dancing closer to your center again. “You have no idea how much I want you right now,” he confessed, his voice low and rough, eyes smoldering with need.
“Then why don’t you show me?” you challenged, feeling bold.
“Just wait until we get home, babe,” he promised, his grip tightening on your thigh. “I have plans for you that’ll leave you begging for more.”
“Plans, huh?” you teased, biting your lip as you imagined what he had in store.
“Yeah, you’ll see,” he said, a wicked glint in his eyes. “I’m going to make you feel so good that you won’t forget this night.”
“Good luck with that,” you laughed, knowing full well how much he loved a challenge.
As he pulled into your driveway, you could hardly contain your excitement. Rafe parked and turned to face you, his expression serious now. “Just remember, babe,” he said, his tone suddenly earnest. “You’re mine, and I’m going to show you exactly what that means.”
“Show me, Rafe,” you breathed, feeling the heat rise in your core once more. “I’m ready.”
He grinned, and before you could react, he had you pulled against him, his lips crashing onto yours. You melted into the kiss, a delicious mix of heat and urgency flooding your senses. “Let’s go inside,” he murmured against your lips, and you nodded eagerly, heart racing with anticipation.
The moment you stepped through the door, Rafe’s hands were on you again, his grip firm as he backed you against the wall. “This is just the beginning,” he growled, capturing your lips again with a hunger that sent shivers down your spine.
You could feel the weight of his desire pressing against you, every inch of him radiating heat as he deepened the kiss. Your bodies moved together, the world outside fading away as you got lost in each other. “You’re my star, and tonight, I’m going to make sure you shine brighter than ever.”
The news spread like a wildfire overnight: Alfie Harper has left Taxider Me. A neurotic departure, surely coke induced — a crack in the concrete that requires immediate fixing. The Bloodhound Tour is tracking the band down the corner, and if the dirtiness of their guitars want to rip through those sold out arenas, then they have to find a replacement before it's too late for any rehearsals.
This story is too sweet. A fisherman's daughter with big dreams and a bass that's begging to be put down, dragged from The Cut into the eye of the storm. Unprepared, too naive — Rafe Cameron is already envisioning your breakdown a week into their routine.
He's mean and at times too cruel, but he's unaware you knew that — just not from the magazines.
BESTIE these asks were the BEST thing to wake up to you have no idea 😍🤩🔥 they're gorgeous and I love them and I know their relationship would be hot gossip for the longest time between fans!!!
