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[zyafics-library]

WELCOME TO Z’S LIBRARY

FIC ACCOUNT. . . @zyafics

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ RAFE CAMERON

𖥔 IMAGINES

𖥔 BLURBS

𖥔 ONESHOTS

𖥔 SERIES — ⌗BROTHER'S RIVAL — ⌗PLAY FAKE — ⌗ANGRY GOD — ⌗DEAD MAN WALKING

𖥔 SMAUS — ⌗HEARTBREAK: LIVE | "EXTRAS" — ⌗RED FERRARI CHASE | "EXTRAS" — ⌗HAPPILY EVER AFTER

[zyafics]

HAPPILY EVER AFTER | 06

MAIN | Social Media AU

Pairing — Rafe Cameron x Female Reader

Summary — If having a fairytale love story guaranteed a happy ending, then, uh, why are you and Rafe getting a divorce?

Content — angst, hurt/comfort, brother's best friend, childhood friends to high school sweethearts to lovers to... divorce?

Navigation — Part 05 | Part 06 | Part 07

IMPORTANT INFO ABOUT TAGLIST AND UPDATES: if you want to be notified about all my fics and updates, follow @zyafics-library and turn on notifications! however, if you want to be added to this specific taglist, let me know (but to remain tagged, you must interact with the posts).

TAGLIST FOR HEA: @grstarkeydrew / @newatthiss / @7-deadly-cats / @amterasuu / @supercoolhotsleepyfunnygirl / @lvcstarkey / @sunsn0w / @lewispool / @nnd-oma / @cooper8224 / @kooksandpearls / @disaster-rose / @theycallherl0ve / @princesscigarette / @rafecameronsgirlll / @heathandrewstarkey / @downbadwellread

[zyafics]

HAPPILY EVER AFTER | 05

MAIN | Social Media AU

Pairing — Rafe Cameron x Female Reader

Summary — If having a fairytale love story guaranteed a happy ending, then, uh, why are you and Rafe getting a divorce?

Content — angst, hurt/comfort, brother's best friend, childhood friends to high school sweethearts to lovers to... divorce?

Navigation — Part 04 | Part 05 | Part 06

IMPORTANT INFO ABOUT TAGLIST AND UPDATES: if you want to be notified about all my fics and updates, follow @zyafics-library and turn on notifications! however, if you want to be added to this specific taglist, let me know (but to remain tagged, you must interact with the posts).

TAGLIST FOR HEA: @grstarkeydrew / @newatthiss / @7-deadly-cats / @amterasuu / @supercoolhotsleepyfunnygirl / @lvcstarkey / @sunsn0w / @lewispool / @nnd-oma / @cooper8224 / @kooksandpearls / @disaster-rose / @theycallherl0ve / @princesscigarette

[zyafics]

HAPPILY EVER AFTER | 04

MAIN | Social Media AU

Pairing — Rafe Cameron x Female Reader

Summary — If having a fairytale love story guaranteed a happy ending, then, uh, why are you and Rafe getting a divorce?

Content — angst, hurt/comfort, brother's best friend, childhood friends to high school sweethearts to lovers to... divorce?

Navigation — Part 03 | Part 04 | Part 05

IMPORTANT INFO ABOUT TAGLIST AND UPDATES: if you want to be notified about all my fics and updates, follow @zyafics-library and turn on notifications! however, if you want to be added to this specific taglist, let me know (but to remain tagged, you must interact with the posts).

TAGLIST FOR HEA: @grstarkeydrew / @newatthiss / @7-deadly-cats / @amterasuu / @supercoolhotsleepyfunnygirl / @lvcstarkey / @sunsn0w / @lewispool / @nnd-oma / @cooper8224 / @kooksandpearls / @disaster-rose / @theycallherl0ve

[zyafics]

RED FERRARI CHASE | 10

MAIN | MASTERLIST | Social Media AU

Pairing — F1 Driver!Rafe x High School Sweetheart!(F)Reader

Summary — Before Rafe became known as one of the best drivers on the circuit, he was your secret. Until his popularity skyrocketed, his name plastered on every billboard, and he became one of the most eligible bachelors in F1. Leaving you behind to indulge in the notoriety of the sport, you and Rafe ceased all forms of contact. Years passed, and he hasn't stopped thinking about you: his first love, his high school sweetheart, the only person to believe in him. When new management takes over his team, he's afraid their new strategy could undermine his position in the cutthroat league. But in an unexpected twist of fate, the new leadership included you. Returning back to him. With a ring on your finger. Engaged to his boss.

Content — formula one au, high school sweethearts to strangers to lovers (or...), love triangle, om/ow drama

Navigation — Part 09 | Part 10 | Part 11

IMPORTANT INFO ABOUT TAGLIST AND UPDATES: if you want to be notified about all my fics and updates, follow @zyafics-library and turn on notifications! however, if you want to be added to this specific taglist, let me know (but to remain tagged, you must interact with the posts).

TAGLIST FOR RFC: @inthelibrarybtw / @bradshawed / @eviiiiieeeeeeeeee / @lmaowhatt / @carrerascameron / @lilithblackkk / @7-deadly-cats-main / @chromeheartsbaby / @firexovni / @drewstarkeyspecs / @givemylovetoall / @lonelyheartsm / @bewitchedarchive / @w11ore4rina / @vviolets444rroses / @psychicnatural / @darlingchronicles / @maybankiara / @frankoceanluvr11 / @psychocitylights / @maybankslover / @lou-la-lou / @tashiagalinda / @almostjollypizza / @murdockcastleslut /  @empath-bunny / @colbysbrocks / @zuccheromorena / @a-lovers-card / @xoxosblogsblog / @niaunoffical / @cameronspecial / @jeongintwt / @vex-et-soleil / @akobx / @drewsephrry / @chenslucy / @lynst91 / @krtsvig / @khloberry / @edwardslvrr / @senatorpadmeamidala / @h0ngh0ngh0ng / @serrendiipty

[zyafics]

HAPPILY EVER AFTER | 03

MAIN | Social Media AU

Pairing — Rafe Cameron x Female Reader

Summary — If having a fairytale love story guaranteed a happy ending, then, uh, why are you and Rafe getting a divorce?

Content — angst, hurt/comfort, brother's best friend, childhood friends to high school sweethearts to lovers to... divorce?

Navigation — Part 02 | Part 03 | Part 04

IMPORTANT INFO ABOUT TAGLIST AND UPDATES: if you want to be notified about all my fics and updates, follow @zyafics-library and turn on notifications! however, if you want to be added to this specific taglist, let me know (but to remain tagged, you must interact with the posts).

TAGLIST FOR HEA: @grstarkeydrew / @newatthiss / @7-deadly-cats / @amterasuu / @supercoolhotsleepyfunnygirl / @lvcstarkey / @sunsn0w / @lewispool / @nnd-oma

[zyafics]

HAPPILY EVER AFTER | 02

MAIN | Social Media AU

Pairing — Rafe Cameron x Female Reader

Summary — If having a fairytale love story guaranteed a happy ending, then, uh, why are you and Rafe getting a divorce?

Content — angst, hurt/comfort, brother's best friend, childhood friends to high school sweethearts to lovers to... divorce?

Navigation — Part 01 | Part 02 | Part 03

IMPORTANT INFO ABOUT TAGLIST AND UPDATES: if you want to be notified about all my fics and updates, follow @zyafics-library and turn on notifications! however, if you want to be added to this specific taglist, let me know (but to remain tagged, you must interact with the posts).

TAGLIST FOR HEA: @grstarkeydrew / @newatthiss

[zyafics]

HAPPILY EVER AFTER | Rafe Cameron

MAIN | Social Media AU

Pairing — Rafe x Female Reader

Summary — Falling in love is easy, but what happens after?

Navigation — Part 01 | Part 02

Zya's Post Notes: hello! i am back? idk, i got mad at the argentina v england match so now i'm here. anyways! angst city is back!!! this was very much inspired by a tiktok by @/kelbithomas.

IMPORTANT INFO ABOUT TAGLIST AND UPDATES: if you want to be notified about all my fics and updates, follow @zyafics-library and turn on notifications! however, if you want to be added to this specific taglist, let me know (but to remain tagged, you must interact with the posts).

[zyafics]

Hi baby!! I was wondering if you could write a Rafe fic where he’s a football player and reader goes to all of his games and one time he gets injured and she gets super worried and he ends up being okay with a limp and she’s super worried but it’s fluffy at the end? It’s okay if you don’t want to but I can’t stop thinking about it and I absolutely adore your work! 😍

hi hi, yes i would love to do this req!! thank u for sending it in!! ty for all the love and adoration on my fics 💞

OUT ON A LIMB | Rafe Cameron

MASTERLIST (Blurb)

Pairing — Rafe x Female Reader

Content — fluff, brother's best friend!Rafe, Rafe acting like a flirt

Word Count — 0.8K

For the past few weeks, it’s been nothing but pure bliss. Secret meetings beneath the bleachers, stolen glances across the hallway, even slipping out with terrible excuses to make out in the school’s library.

Rafe is yours, and you are his.

Your brother would hate to learn about this relationship, not because of an ongoing rivalry between the two, nor a dramatic flair for having a stereotypical overprotective streak.

It’s because Rafe's his best friend.

You hadn’t meant for it to happen—to become a walking cliche—but you couldn’t help yourself. Rafe Cameron was full of charisma and confidence, and you walked right into his web. Often at your house, lounging between sofa cushions, swimming in your pool. It happened so naturally, finding him in your kitchen during the haunting hours. Accidentally stumbling upon him walking out of your and your brother’s shared bedroom half-naked. Slipping into your room after lights out.

Natural.

It isn’t a mistake, and isn’t one you regret, but Rafe is full of caution.

You didn’t want to hide from your brother, stretching the secret longer than necessary, but Rafe didn’t want to bring attention to it. Not because of shame, he said, it was because he was afraid it would ruin the football team’s mojo. Athletes are very superstitious, even about the most mundane things. Once, you drew on Rafe’s hand before a game, and he won, and ever since, he has asked you to repeat it.

You were reluctant to agree—not about the drawing, the secret—but the smooth-talking mouth had a way with words. He convinced you to hold out until the last game of the season. Then, he could be irrevocably and publicly yours.

Tonight is that game. Playing as the varsity quarterback of the team, you came out to support. You had dragged your best friends to attend, rallied the students, and worn his jersey beneath a coat. Everything is going according to plan, and once they win, you are going to be free.

Until Rafe got injured during the third quarter.

All of it happened so fast. One minute, he held the ball in his possession, and in the other, he was tackled by two guys from the rival team’s offensive line.

Time goes still. The stadium gasps with surprise, as everyone stills with held breaths. You can hear the hum of the electricity beneath the field, the whistles of the wind against your cold cheeks, and if you got it correctly, you heard the crack of something being broken.

When the opposing players got up and off of Rafe, you had expected him to do the same.

But he didn’t.

Commentaries made on the radio, you are told that it could be a life-threatening injury, an injury that could shatter his goals and future, and something snaps. You don’t allow yourself to hear anything else before you leap off the metallic bleachers, over the chain fence, and race across the field.

Rafe was lying on the turf, back against the grass, his chest barely rising and falling. You drop to your knees and tear off his helmet, gently pushing his hair's sweaty locks from his forehead and cradling his face.

“Baby,” you whisper, your heart lunge in your throat, beating with adrenaline. He isn’t moving, even breathing, and you aren’t sure why any medical staff hasn’t reached the middle of the field yet. “Rafe, please.”

He doesn’t open his eyes.

No one says anything.

No one makes a sound.

Someone comes by you to get a better look, but you shove them off. You don’t know where the strength came from, but you refuse to let go. Exhaling softly, “Rafe Cameron, if you don’t open your eyes right this instant—”

“You’ll what?” Rafe groans, his voice broken, but the long, thick lashes flutter against his cheeks, and her cerulean gaze meets yours. Grunting through what you assumed was a tremendous amount of pain, he still plastered on an easygoing, charming smile. “You’ll kiss it better?”

You exhale a sigh of relief, dropping against his chest and wrapping your arms around him again. You can feel his heartbeat. It races—but it’s alive. “You weren’t breathing.”

“I’m not going to breathe now if you don’t let go,” he teases.

“Deal with it,” you choke out, and finally, letting those crowding tears fall from your waterline.

He chokes out a laugh, but it comes out strangled and raspy. Rafe waves to a nearby medical staff for clearance, and they inform the rest of the stadium that Rafe Cameron, the longstanding captain and quarterback of your high school, is fine. Thunderous cheers explode.

Everyone is happy.

You pull back, enough to grab Rafe’s face, and just as you’re about to give him a kiss, all secrets be damned, your brother’s voice cuts through the moment.

“What the fuck?”

IMPORTANT INFO ABOUT TAGLIST AND UPDATES: if you want to be notified about all my fics and updates, follow @zyafics-library and turn on notifications!

[zyafics]

blurb request!

childhood best friend rafe x reader

perhaps a flashback type thing where rafe sees a guy flirting with reader at a party and doesn’t understand why he’s so angry about it

he runs in all “knight in shining armor” (in his mind) and tells the guy to leave reader alone and reader is pissed because it’s (one of) the first time a guy has shown interest in her

and rafe doesn’t even know how to explain why he was upset or the strange feeling he got when the guy backed off because he “didn’t realize she was his girlfriend” (even though she’s not)

in my head they’re in their mid teens but you could totally change that depending on what you feel most comfortable writing

hopefully this was the write amount of detail, can’t wait to see what you come up with <3

KNIGHT IN SHINING ARMOR | Rafe Cameron

MASTERLIST (Blurb)

Pairing — Rafe x Childhood!BSF!Female Reader

Content — fluff, jealous!Rafe, protective!Rafe, clueless!reader

Word Count — 0.9K

If Rafe can have one wish right now, he’d wish to have not brought you to this party.

It’s the beginning of the year. Classes begin soon, and Kooks like to celebrate their accomplishments by hosting a big extravaganza. Normally, you aren’t one for attendance, but this year is “different,” in your own words. This year, you wanted to branch out.

Rafe wants to put you back in.

Let’s be clear: he loves that you’re growing more confident. Truth be told, you have suffered through extreme cycles of low self-esteem and high expectations. But now, you’re finally flourishing. Finally finding your seat at the table. He should be proud—he is proud.

He just doesn’t like it when there are new people in the room.

Because all eyes are on you. Guys who would’ve normally never spared two glances in your direction are suddenly trying to steal your attention, complimenting you, spewing some sleazy pickup line that has Rafe rolling his eyes. But it works for you. Because it’s your first time.

Rafe crushes the red solo cup in his hand as you chat with a random stranger from across the room. For the past five minutes. He’s been counting down the seconds for you to bid your awkward goodbye, crawl back into his arms, and ask to leave—but you don’t.

In fact, you’re smiling.

Rafe’s seething.

He doesn’t understand the burning hole in his chest as he punishes himself and continues to watch. Many girls in the room are trying to grab Rafe’s attention, but none seem to get it. Only you—his childhood best friend, the one he swore to protect.

You’re smiling, but Rafe is almost certain it’s fake. An awkward antic of yours where you try to be as polite as possible, while counting down the seconds for him to swoop in and save you. The only reason Rafe hasn’t is because you haven’t given him the signal.

Until you glance.

In his direction.

Having had enough, Rafe tosses the cup to the side and approaches you, slinging a comfortable arm around your shoulders. Stiffening, you hadn’t expected his arrival, nor did Adam—the stranger you were talking to—as his voice fades away from the conversation you were delightfully having.

“I think that’s enough, don’t you think?” Rafe declares, but it isn’t a question. It’s a declaration. His tone darkens with a threatening edge—an edge you only catch very few glimpses of growing up.

“Rafe,” you hiss, but he ignores it.

“We were just talking,” Adam stammers, glancing between you and Rafe. You attempt to offer him an apologetic smile, but he doesn’t seem to take it.

“And now you’re leaving,” Rafe declares, using his other hand to gesture a dismissive wave. Your throat tightens with something akin to fury—how dare he?

“I don’t want any trouble,” Adam says with both hands up, in surrender, and that infuriates you further. What happened to asking the girl in the equation? “I didn’t know she was your girlfriend.”

“I’m not—“

“Better hurry or I’ll change my mind,” Rafe glares, and without another word, Adam scurries away without so much as a farewell.

Satisfaction rumbles in Rafe’s chest—being your knight-in-shining-armor after all—but when he turns to face you, there’s anything but gratitude. In fact, if he reads you as well as he believes he can, there may be even resentment.

You shove him off. His arm slings back to his side. “What are you doing?”

He feels dumbstruck. “I’m saving you,”

“Saving me?” You huff with disbelief, “From what?”

“That… guy.” He feels like he stepped into a parallel universe. “You gave me a look.”

“I just looked at you.”

“Which is the look!”

You scoff, shaking your head. “You’re ridiculous,” you mumble under your breath, crossing your arms. “I was talking to him. We were chatting. I was having fun.”

Something burns in Rafe’s throat, something he isn’t familiar with. While it’s true that you don’t have many interactions with guys, he never realizes how much he enjoyed your sole undivided attention. Now, giving off to strangers like Adam who don’t deserve a lick of it stirs something ugly within.

Rafe is almost certain it’s more than friendly.

You’re looking away, elsewhere, with your arms crossed in that menacing manner that always has Rafe folding to your every whim. You may be small, shorter than him—truly, everyone is—but something about that position is terrifying. He’ll do anything to rectify it.

“I’ll get him back,” Rafe concedes, but the words feel cheap on his tongue. Disgusting, almost. “If that’s what you want.”

“I don’t,” you say, remaining faraway, “Not when any guy I talk to ends up being afraid of my best friend.”

“It’s good insurance.”

“It’s pathetic,”

Rafe has nothing to say, but you don’t look to be in the mood to add to it. Finally, turning back, like a dog rejoiced at receiving any bit of attention, you say with a calm sigh. “Can you just take me home? I’m not feeling this party anymore.”

“Yes,” Rafe says swiftly, gladly taking that offer. He doesn’t want to be in a room with guys who see you as their next treat, either. “My house? We can throw some popcorn in the microwave and turn on that movie you like?”

Smiling, reserved just for him, you nod. “I’ll like that.”

IMPORTANT INFO ABOUT TAGLIST AND UPDATES: if you want to be notified about all my fics and updates, follow @zyafics-library and turn on notifications!

[zyafics]

hii!! i was hoping maybe you could write a fic based on this p!link? ( https://x.com/moodkink/status/1919457705065840752?s=46)

but if you don’t write smut then just ignore this!! that’s totally fine :)

i do write smut, and this is the first time i wrote a smutty little blurb, so this was so fun!! it came so naturally <3

SUBJECT ANATOMY | Rafe Cameron

MASTERLIST (Blurb)

Pairing — Rafe x Shy!Tutor!Female Reader

Content — 18+, smut, fingering, pussy inspection, orgasm control

Word Count — 0.8K

P Link — Here

“I’m shy,” you say timidly as your legs are slowly spread open on Rafe’s lap, his hand slipping between the cushions of your thighs. Spine pressed against his hard chest, the rumbling hitch of his breath as his amusement grows from your nervousness.

His long fingers graze your folds in feather-light touches. Rafe’s lips against the shell of your ear. “You won’t be shy with me.”

Tonight was supposed to be an innocent tutoring session. You were contracted by his parents to come over and help him fix his failing grade—even given the authority of power to change them—but somehow, instead, you ended up half-naked in his lap, with your panties discarded on the floor while his hand plays with your pussy.

Well, almost.

With your heart hammering in your chest, you are certain Rafe can pick up the nervous energy radiating from your body. You haven’t had much experience with sexual intimacy, but somehow, you landed in the web of an notorious fuckboy who does.

“What are you going to do?” You ask meekly, feeling the rough callouses of his palm drag across your soft inner skin, causing you to shiver.

“You never touched yourself before?” His voice is breathy, wanting, like he’s actively holding himself back from doing more.

“I never had someone touching me,” you confess, because it’s true, but it seems to be the wrong thing to say. Rafe chuckles darkly, reveling in your innocence, and he awards you with a gentle glide of his digits against your folds.

You jolt in his lap.

“But you’re wet enough to want it,” Rafe muses lowly, his words coming out hungry. His fingers moved up and down your slit tantalizingly, making your core pulse with need, needing more friction against your clit. “Does this turn you on?”

“N-no,”

“Don’t lie to me,” Rafe says sharply, like he’s training you to be his own personal doll. Putting you in a position you don’t even know you’re getting into. The pad of his thumb caresses your clit, “I don’t reward bad girls.”

“I’m not a bad girl.”

“Yeah?”

Rafe’s words make you strangely hot, liquid heat crawling up your spine with an impulsive ache. All your life, you’re been nothing but a good girl. A law-abiding citizen. The perfect student. Now, you’re spread on a stranger’s couch, with his hand tucked between your legs, touching your most intimate parts.

With a measly glimpse of clarity, you say, “This is wrong.”

You don’t see him, but you can feel the curve of his mouth pull into a smirk. “Really?”

“We’re supposed to be studying.”

“I am studying,” Rafe gently bites your earlobe, a thick finger sinking into your cunt. “Anatomy.”

Heavenly. Rafe slowly enters your pussy, allowing your walls to adjust to his large size, before adding another. Then another. Suddenly, you’re full in a way you’ve never felt in your life. You have touched yourself before, fingers rubbing your sensitive clit, inserting inside, but it can never measure to what Rafe does. What Rafe can do.

He starts thrusting. Moans slip through your throaty voice, ricocheting in incremental volume as you try to contain your sounds. Rafe promised no one is home, just you, just him, and your back arches with pleasure.

“Does this feel good?” Rafe coos in your ear, soaking in your little noises. He quickens his speed with his skillful fingers. “Does my little tutor like that?”

Your mouth is wide open, but you can’t seem to say a thing as whimpers leave your wetted lips, arms flailing to grab hold of something. Rafe’s touch is swift and calculated, finding the right spot, increasing the right pressure. When he curls his fingers, it’s over.

“R-Rafe,” you whimper, shaking in his lap, “Slow down.”

“Did you say go faster?” He quickens his pace, his fingers thrusting in you with perfect, increasing momentum. You’re squirming, ass rubbing against his hard bulge, body building to your crescendo.

You can’t say anything. Can’t object—don’t want to. Instead, embarrassment flames your cheeks, and you close your lips.

“Leave it out,” Rafe demands, forcing your mouth open by shoving his free fingers in. Thighs trembling with his rhythm, your legs attempting to close, but his legs hook yours in a way that leaves you firmly spread. He needs to see it; the way his fingers disappears into your cunt. Needs to hear it; the squelching sounds that speak to your pleasure. It’s his own little prize. “Let me hear you.”

You come. Body shaking from extreme pleasure, hips buckling off his lap, and an elevated state of high passes through your system. You moan, wildly, loudly, in such high volume, it has you swearing the entire Figure Eight neighborhood will be filing a complaint.

You don’t seem to care.

Can you believe that?

“How does that feel?” Rafe asks, withdrawing his hand from your pussy. He doesn’t remove them from between your thighs, letting it sit and hover, making the faint presence known as he still has you in the palm of his hand.

“Good,” you gasp, “So good.”

“Good enough to give me an A?”

You look to him, eyes glazed over with a dreamy daze, the charming smile of his returns. “You know I can’t do that,” you say softly.

You think he’s about to shove you off. Discard you on the floor like he did to your panties and shorts. Instead, his mouth curls into a smirk, like he takes it as a challenge. A delight.

His fingers graze your sensitive clit, those feather-light touches producing a shock of pleasure that has you leaping off his lap. But his other hand finds your hips, pins you down.

“Let’s try this again.”

IMPORTANT INFO ABOUT TAGLIST AND UPDATES: if you want to be notified about all my fics and updates, follow @zyafics-library and turn on notifications!

[zyafics]

i have a requestttrrrttt. i’m new to this whole thing so bare w me🥲🥲🥲🥲 anyway, friends w benefits rafe x shy reader. maybe she’s just inexperienced or what, but the whole purpose of the fwb thing is so she gets more experience if that makes sense. anyyyywYyyyyy in the middle of uhhh their benefits rafe is like “shit, i’m not going to last.” and reader (exhausted) uses any last strength in her to keep going yk??? like she lowk locks in a little and he cums rlly fast (no condom) and yeah. idk if this made sense queen i love ur work 💝💝💝💝💝💝

i highkey think this is the worst smut i've ever written but we move

PLEASE ME | Rafe Cameron

MASTERLIST (Blurb)

Pairing — Rafe x Shy!FWB!Female Reader

Content — 18+, smut, dominance play, sub!Rafe, and praises

Word Count — 1.0K

lıllılı Please Me by Cardi B and Bruno Mars

Being in a friends-with-benefits with Rafe Cameron meant he was always in charge. Any positions taken were his prerogative to make. Any orders were yours to follow. It was something you liked, something you specifically sought him out for. But as time went on and you grew more comfortable within your arrangement, you thought maybe it was your time to shine.

"You're doing so good, baby," Rafe encouraged teasingly as you climbed over his lap. He lay flat against his back, palms tucked behind his head, as he waited for you to take control.

And maybe, expecting you fail too.

When he came into your dorm, it was with one goal in mind: to make you come. But when you stopped a steamy makeout session and asked to try something new—to lead—it was met with bemusement before subjected to a conditional agreement.

You had always been the shy type. The one who didn't raise their hand in class, even when you didn't understand the subject. The one who let people push you around because you were too afraid of confrontations. The one who lacked so much experience, you had to ask your childhood friend to teach you how to fuck.

But now it was different. Hopefully. You wanted a change. A chance to test your dominance. To see if that was the type of girl you could be.

You hovered over his cock, knees on either side of his hips, as you slowly lowered your dripping cunt onto the tip.

Given that Rafe had always guided you, it was an initial struggle. When the tip slipped past your folds, entering the first ring of resistance, your eyes widened with instinctive panic. But Rafe's praises were nowhere to be found. His hands remained behind his head, watching with fascinated amusement, ready for you to concede.

But you wouldn't.

You wanted this.

Exhaling deeply, you tipped your head back with closed eyes. As you descended, swallowing inch by inch, your hand reached for one of your bare tits, squeezing, playing, coaxing yourself to open wide.

"I'm doing so good," you murmured, squeezing your puckered nipples, fluttering around his girth. "I'm good."

He watched attentively. Cerulean eyes followed your every effort. When your hands palmed your breasts, when your throats sighed needily, when you sank completely to the hilt. He had always liked being in control, but something about you using him to chase your own pleasure sent a zip of heat up his spine.

It didn't help when you started moving.

A timid roll of your hips, and you moaned. You were testing, trying to set the pace, trying to discover what felt good, and as Rafe watched you learn all of it on your own—it grew into an unfamiliar arousal. Something enchanting. Something erotic. Something dangerous. When you moved your hips again, his own groan followed.

Your eyes snapped open.

"Did you like that?" You whispered, setting a hand on his bare chest, a sheen of sweat started to form on his skin. "Should I do it again?"

"It's your choice," Rafe answered, but his voice was thick. "Whatever you want."

"I want to make you feel good." You said, rocking your hips again, this time with more certainty. Rafe shuddered, surprising himself, surprising you, in a way that had you smiling slyly, as if you knew a secret.

He said your name in a warning.

But you went ahead anyways.

You rolled your hips again. Both hands laid flat against his chest to steady yourself, your body rocking with increasing speed. You smile was shy but your movements were dirty—frantic, desperate, and deep. You were using him to get off and he fucking loved it.

It didn't help that your walls were sensitive. Squeezing him tight. Fluttering at any friction of pleasure. Your moans were a fantasy, especially when you started off bashful and restrained, until it build into a wild, unbridled sound.

Rafe released a guttural groan. His hands had quickly fallen to his side, but he didn't allow himself to touch you—to take over—and he wasn't sure he wanted to.

Not until he felt it.

His balls tightened. A heat of white-hot pleasure. His abdomens stiffening.

Rafe quickly grabbed your hips, blunt nails digging into your skin, and you stopped abruptly.

"Did I do something wrong?" Your eyes went wide, his grip around you like a claw. Rafe opened his mouth, but he didn't know how to say the words without sounding like a total pussy.

He shook his head once.

"No, baby, I—" He hissed through his teeth as he felt your walls flutter again, pushing him a bit closer to the edge. "I'm about to come."

You were confused.

"Isn't that a good thing?"

He shook his head again. He hadn't came this fast since he first started having sex. "No, not like this." He stopped, considering his words. "I'm known for my stamina."

Oh.

Oh.

You understood now.

And a wicked grin plastered across your lips.

You started to roll your hips again. Lightly. Lazily. Trying to regain your tempo. Rafe's eyes narrowed with warning, but you dismissed it. Again. Instead, your hands firmly flattened against his chest, and you started bouncing.

He said your name desperately.

You leaned down, closing the distance, and bounced and rolled your hips in a way that was in no way inexperienced. "You feel so good," you purred into his ear, and a needy whine left his lips. "Please come for me. Please, please, please."

Rafe couldn't take it anymore.

His muscles tensed, his nails dug into your hips, and with your perfectly coached words and the feeling of you contracting around his cock, Rafe spilled inside of you, painting your insides white.

When you came soon after, you slowed your movements, your thighs aching, and fell straight onto his chest. Rafe's breaths were ragged, rising and falling heavily, and you could hear the heavy thump of his heart drumming against his ribcage.

Neither of you spoke for the next few minutes, sitting in the aftermath of your orgasms, until you reluctantly pushed yourself up, met his gaze, and offered a shy yet dazed smile.

"Round two?"

IMPORTANT INFO ABOUT TAGLIST AND UPDATES: if you want to be notified about all my fics and updates, follow @zyafics-library and turn on notifications!

[zyafics]

FIRST-TIME RIVAL | Rafe Cameron

[684 Words] You have always admire Rafe as an artist, but when he has a negative review for your music, admiration sours into rivalry.

Your love for music came from Rafe Cameron. Of course, there were various other influences—Fleetwood Mac, Eagles, and Pink Floyd—but something about Rafe and his band, Kildare Rejects, had sparked a special place in your heart.

It may had been their origin story, the way they were a bunch of nobodies until they knocked down every single record company's door and demanded a chance—and earned one—or perhaps, you had always been one of those girls who liked the way their lead guitarist and singer looked. Regardless, you would call yourself an avid fan.

You followed them religiously, kept up with their interviews, followed all of their social media platforms, and when their sophomore album underperformed, you had defended them viciously against critics and supposed fans who blamed Rafe for the failed record.

Somehow, along the way, they—he—had inspired you. While Rafe and his bandmates were only a few years older than you, they were out there traveling the world. Private jets, beachside resorts, and playing to a stadium of adoring fans in a larger-than-life venue. You had wanted that too.

You started making music yourself. In the comforts of your bedroom, you messed with keyboards and guitar strings. You hummed into your phone's voice memos for a few months until you saved up for a microphone and soundboard set.

Then, you started posting online. A few short clips on TikTok, Twitter, and even Instagram. Somewhere along the line, you moved to YouTube. That was your strongest base, especially when you were showcasing your creative process. Hours and hours of mixing content, of humming odd lyrics, of finding the right beats. You were just being yourself.

One day, it all paid off. One of your videos blew up. You were getting downloads on Spotify. Suddenly, you had amassed over half-a-million followers, and record companies were banging at your door.

It was a dream come true. You were thrust into the spotlight in ways you hadn't expected before. Before you knew it, you were playing sold-out venues, concerts to hundreds and thousands of screaming fans.

You always paid homage to the inspiration that got you here. You were respectful, kind, and always humble. But as time went on, and your second album dropped—quickly scaling the charts—you developed your own unique style and voice. While a massive inspiration at the time, the Kildare Rejects—and Rafe Cameron—were nothing but a stone on a cobbled road. You left it in the past.

Not enough, apparently.

One day, a headline flashed: Rafe Cameron's thoughts on rival's music.

You were in your trailer, getting ready for the next stop on the tour. Someone on your crew threw the newspaper in front of your table as you were mumbling new lyrics, but you stopped, flipped over to the interview page, and read his review.

'Overrated. Simplistic. And boring. Is this what rock music has come to?'

You were floored. Admittedly, you had always wanted to know Rafe's thoughts on your music, especially in the way you changed the genre as he had. But you hadn't expected cruelty. When the tears came, you ran to your room to hideout, sobbing until nothing was left. You felt disgusted, wronged, until, slowly, rage replaced it.

Because, how dare he?

When you stepped out of your trailer, paparazzi were already rushing to your door. Flashing lights, holding microphones too close to your face. They were throwing out questions, demanding answers, and you almost didn't respond until one grabbed your attention: "Do you have anything to say to Rafe Cameron's review?"

Your agent would hate you; the company would have to resort to a PR clean-up, but you were simply too riled up to think straight. You nodded. "Yeah, I would."

They held the microphone closer, hoping to capture every word, every lingering breath. You looked straight into the camera, hoping that, however it was taped, was going to make it back to him. "Rafe Cameron is a washed-up one-hit wonder who hasn't had a hit in years. Why the fuck would I care about what he thinks?"

IMPORTANT INFO ABOUT TAGLIST AND UPDATES: if you want to be notified about all my fics and updates, follow @zyafics-library and turn on notifications!

[zyafics]

when pretending to be engaged to Rafe Cameron to get better college housing backfires...

Pretending to be married with your best friend was a simple solution. You didn't want to be cramped into one of those one-room doubles where your randomly-selected roommate could be a psychopath, or worse, a Republican. There was a loophole: married college students were allowed to live together in an apartment-styled dorm. Everything else came easy—doing the paperwork, lying on federal papers, hooking your arms around Rafe Cameron with a plastic ring on your finger.

You had promised nothing would change. Other than square footage. You would have a living room, a kitchen, and your own rooms too! It was the perfect deal.

That was until you came home one night with a boy, making out on the couch, hands traveling everywhere, and Rafe stepped out of his room, kicking the guy out to his declaration, "That's my future wife!"

You didn't know he wasn't kidding.

[zyafics]

A CAT WOMAN'S ADVENTURE | Rafe Cameron

MASTERLIST (Blurb)

Pairing — Rafe Cameron x Comic!Geek!Female Reader

Summary — When Rafe sees you in your Cat Woman costume.

Word Count — 1.1K

Content — crack mainly.

At a costume store off of Main Street, Rafe wonders what’s left of his Saturday. Certainly, he hadn’t planned for it to be here, in a tiny lounge area with too-bright hanging crystal lights, and a bitter aroma of a scented candle, but you begged him to drive. And him, being the all-so-dotting boyfriend, obliges.

Not to all your demands, though. He refused to attend your convention.

You have niche, unique interests. Comics with fictional characters you’re always rambling about but Rafe can’t recall a single name, and you wanted him to join you at ComicCon. He declines. His one concession is he’ll take you to the store to pick up your costume.

Grumbling, Rafe clicks his phone off, and staring at the curtains you’re behind, “Are you done yet?”

“Almost,” you grunt, adjusting the costume, “It’s tight.”

Rafe scoffs, “What? You didn’t get it in a bigger size?”

“No, it’s meant to be tight.”

Rafe doesn’t get the chance to question your words when you step out of the dressing room, covered in a latex, skin-clad black suit that clings to every curve. His eyes nearly bulges out of his sockets when you turned around to swing the curtains back, revealing the backside.

When you swirl back around, you didn’t get the opportunity to ask for his opinion before his mouth drops with a comment.

‘What the fuck is that?” Rafe demands, glaring at your little suit. It reveals everything, accentuates every dip and swell of your body, mapping out every inch of skin. It might as well had been a transparent skin, because there is nothing left for the imaginary.

“What?”

“You look like a dominatrix.”

You laugh, oblivious to the boiling jealousy that’s stirring inside of Rafe at the idea that, for the next weekend, you’ll be walking around in that. “It’s Cat Woman.”

“I don’t give a fuck what you call it, you’re not wearing that.”

You roll your eyes. “It’s just a costume.”

“You look like a fantasy porn production.”

“Your mind’s in the gutter.”

“Who did you say you’re going with again?” Rafe asks, just as your phone pings with a text message. Bending over to grab it from the dressing room, Rafe gets a front row viewing of the way the latex clings to the globes of your ass, in a way that has him swallowing hard and readjusting the tent in his pants.

“Just some friends,” you said absentmindedly, brows furrowed together as you read the message from your friends. “They’re bringing him?”

Sirens goes off in his mind. Rafe’s up and off the seat, taking a step forward. “Who?”

“Just this guy from work,” you shake your head, mouth folding into a dissatisfied frown as you drop your phone back into your clutch.

“He’s a man?” Rafe questions, not liking the idea of this convention more and more. Sure, he didn’t care for it previously, but he hadn’t known you would be the star of the show.

“That’s the assumption.” You explain, not catching the obvious discontent radiating from Rafe’s words.

Rafe scoffs, “You’re going dressed as Satan’s wet dream, and you’re going with a man.”

“A coworker,” you correct.

That’s not any better. His jaw locks, darkened eyes trailing down the length of your latex-clad body that would only look good in the bedroom and nowhere else, before he decides. “Change.”

Your lips part with surprise. “What?”

“Change,” Rafe repeat firmly, like every second longer in your attire is closer to driving him to the brink of madness.

“You can’t be serious.”

“Does it look like I’m playing?”

“I got this tailored,” you explain.

“Return it.”

“That’s not how this works.”

“Change.” Rafe repeats, over and over again, because it seems like that’s the only thing his mind short-circuited on. Who can blame him, when he’s looking at you dressed like that? He hopes you understand the concern he’s expressing, but Rafe has always been awful about advocating for his reasons.

“No.” You declare firmly, turning around to swing back the curtains of the dressing room, but Rafe’s already on your tail. He grabs your wrist, stopping you from leaving the conversation. You sigh. “Rafe, you’re being ridiculous.”

“No, I’m being sensible. You’re going to a convention dressed like that with a bunch of guys?”

“Geeks.”

“Great, so they haven’t got laid either,” he huffs, running a hand through his hair, as he does another full sweep of your body. “God, you’re going to be a memory for their spank bank.”

“Not everyone is as horny as you.”

“Not everyone is as tolerable as me,” Rafe snaps. “Does everyone dress like this?”

“Some. It depends on what they’re cosplaying.”

“And you’re…?”

“I just told you it’s Cat Woman.”

He tries to rack his mind for the name, for the countless times you blabber on about fictional characters that lives on the ink of pages—“Isn’t she supposed to be with Batman?”

You tilt your head, a smile creasing the corner of your mouth, “You know?”

“I—” He runs a hand through his hair again, now disheveled. He doesn’t know what to do with you, doesn’t know how to react when half of him wants to bend you over, and the other half wants to shut down the store completely on the off-chance someone walks in to get a glimpse of that. “Am I right?”

“Yeah, but since you didn’t want to go, so I’m going with a friend—”

“Another fucking friend?”

At this point, you’re giggling because Rafe looks ridiculous trying to come to terms with the extent of your hobby. It isn’t just collecting mint-conditioned comic books, or obtaining figurines, or standing in long lines at the theaters. There’s a tangible, palpable interaction with it that has you walking around a convention floor looking like the next pornstar.

Finally, Rafe settles it. “I’m coming with you.”

Your eyes light up, “Really?”

He blows out a breath. He can’t believe himself either. “Yeah.”

“You said you hated it.”

“I decided I hate whatever this is more,” he declares with a grumble, realizing he’s not going to get his weekend after all. He takes a final look at you, the stretch of latex that doesn’t conceal a single thing. “And you’re changing your costume.”

This makes you pout. “Rafe, I got this tailored—”

He says your name. Firm. Absolute. Desperate.

You sigh, conceding. He’s going with you. That’s all you ever want to do. “Fine. I have another costume in mind.”

“Anything is better than this,” he mutters to himself, glancing around the store.

You slip back into the changing room, and Rafe feels like he can finally take a breath. That is, until you step out again in your new-and-improve costume.

It’s Starfire.

IMPORTANT INFO ABOUT TAGLIST AND UPDATES: if you want to be notified about all my fics and updates, follow @zyafics-library and turn on notifications! however, if you want to be added to this specific taglist, let me know (but to remain tagged, you must interact with the posts).

[zyafics]

PART OF YOU KNEW | Rafe Cameron

MASTERLIST (Oneshot)

Pairing — Rafe Cameron x Pogue!Female Reader

Summary — When Rafe learns he's being sent off to military school, he goes to you for comfort—you, his drug dealer, his confidant, his dirty secret. Caught in the pitfall of his crumbling life, he convinces you to run away with him and have a fresh start. But will it succeed?

Word Count — 3.5K

Content — angst, hurt/no comfort, drug addiction/drug dealing, and domestic abuse themes.

"Please stop, you're making my head spin," you complaining, falling back onto your sheets. For the past hour, Rafe's been pacing the length of your bedroom, strumming with nervous energy he has yet to expel. All you know is Rafe sneaking into the crooked window of your house, eyes brimming with hot tears, and was uncharacteristically quiet. You believed it to be one of his gimmicks, his obsessive need to provoke you to giving him more drugs, rather than asking for them himself.

"I'm fuckin' panicking."

"Panic quieter," you say, closing your eyes. Your head feels light. You've taken some yourself; your parents had been fighting, and their bickering is endless. The kitchen is battered with the echoes of a screaming match that hasn't cease, but there's nothing to do about it but take a little pill that takes it—you—all away.

Eyes returning to the ceiling, you can't help but notice the patterns on the scuffed roof. Little pokes, terribly decorated, but there's a glimmer of plastic glow-in-the-dark stars that still clung to the wall. Rafe would know more about it than you; he stuck them up for you during one of his highs. "A gift," he had said, beaming that smile that teetered between arrogance and sincerity, "for being the best drug dealer on the market."

Yeah, his dealer.

It's so irresponsible what you're doing. Comforting your client. Sleeping with him. But you never claim to be a saint. You don't get into this line of business from being a good person. No, you take when you need to, steal when you have to. You happening to fall in bed with Rafe Cameron was one of those strokes of bad fortunate, but the funniest thing is, you don't want to get out.

Because deep down, a part of you know it's the best you're going to get. You live on the Cut, at the edge of the marsh where tall grass looks like guerilla enemies. Your life stretches across a bleak surface of monotonous. Begrudgingly, you live with your parents because of the rising rent costs and can't afford your own space. You're dirt-poor, deprecatingly uneducated—high school dropout at the age of sixteen—and have no prospects. These little stunted moments in time with Rafe Cameron is the best you're going to get.

And now, he's leaving.

His footsteps ceases, and while you wished for that, a sudden headache appears from the eerily silence. Well, as silent as it can be. Despite the door being closed to your room, you can still hear your parents throwing insults at one another.

"Please keep pacing," you urge.

He says your name.

It's in tone you haven't heard before. Rafe says your name in many ways—demanding, after a bad experience with his father, coming to you for drugs, and reminding you of your place in your relationship; incessant and needy, when you're between shared sheets, covers and heated kisses against your skin, and deprived when he realizes that you're quite possibly the only person on this island that understand him—but this tone was chipped. Suddenly. It causes you to straighten up, zips of static in your clothes and hair at the sudden motion.

You meet his gaze, and suddenly, you're afraid.

Not because of the stare. It isn't the same as a predator stalking its prey. It's not the demeaning look he carries when Rafe Cameron reminds himself where the title of Kook King comes from. It's a sudden, palpable clarity. Despite snorting several lines, you have never seen such clearness in his gaze.

"What is it?" You ask softly, quietly, your voice shaking with trepidation because you're uncertain where this can go.

"Run away with me."

"What?"

You're certain you heard him wrong. You blink once, twice, as if the vision is the problem, but Rafe stands before you with that daunting look of clarity. He steps forward, into the gap between your legs, and crouches down to meet your level. His blue eyes never look so clear, like the waves of a steady ocean.

"I'm not going to military school," Rafe said adamantly, his expression hardened with frustration. That was why he came here, why he seduced his way into the cold tiles of your bedroom floor, and hasn't left despite filling his pockets with his prescription. "I'm not doing it—the old man ain't taking me."

"It's either that or he's cutting you off."

"I don't care," Rafe declares so adamantly, so viciously, you can only believe him. Rafe's stubborn enough to get there. "He can't fuckin' handle me at home so he's shipping me off to the nearest boot camp to whip me in shape."

You say nothing, cupping his face in your hands as you push back a wild strand of his dark brunet hair. His skin feels warm beneath your touch, sizzling, like there's a certain magnetic comfort that draws you to him.

"Say something,"

"Why me?"

"Because I want you," Rafe says, causing your heart to stutter. Certainly it's not the first time you've heard him profess such confession, but those other occasions has always been in bed. Between the covers. During lustful tension, and sinful kisses.

Your heart skips a beat, but you find yourself saying, "You're high."

Because he is. The veins in his eyes are stark red against his whites, and he's in this state of mania you're certain is only aggravated his cocaine use. But you tell him to stop. No, you need him to pay the bills. And he keeps coming back. And back. And back.

You look away, turning to the window he crawled through where it has yet to be shut, and the glimmer of dusk croons the sky. There's this state of pitiful in your condition, where you're certain this is all there is. That all you can do is watch a sunset.

Rafe gently grabs your chin. Forced your gaze back to him. "You never answer me."

"You're going to change your mind tomorrow morning," you say, withdrawing away, but Rafe clings to you. Almost like he needs you close as possible.

"I'm not."

"You're high.''

"Stop saying that!" He snaps, causing you to flinch. But he withdraws before he inflicts any damage, his main source of anger is well, himself. Rafe heaves with the kind of prowess of a defeated lion, chest caving and filling in.

Your shoulders drop. Head spinning. Screams are getting louder—oh, your parents are throwing things. You squeeze your eyes shut again, trying to let the overpowering drugs flood your system, but it's slowly fading away from your tolerance. When you open them again, Rafe stands before you once more, his gaze deadly set on you, his attention almost desperate.

"What can I say to convince you?"

"Cameron—"

"Don't—" He holds out his hand, almost pained, "Don't call me that."

It's what you used to call him when you started off being strictly client-supplier. Now, things had change. Circumstances had change.

"Rafe," you start softly. "I don't want you to say things you don't mean."

"But I do mean them."

"He's going to cut you off,"

"And I told you I don't care about that." Rafe presses, "I don't need his money. I don't need him. I can make it out on my own."

A few seconds drop. Your voice quiets. "Where would we go?"

"Anywhere. Take the ferry to the mainland and then we can be anywhere. Start fresh. Don't have to worry about your parents always fightin', and my dad on my ass. We can just be us."

It sounds so dream-like, so impossible. Your heart clenches at it.

"We won't survive," you say, ever the pessimist. The realist. "We don't got the cash, or the plans, or the will—"

"We do," he drops to his knees this time in front of you, in a state that almost is submissive to you and only you. "I'll get a job. Working long hours, save up. We'll afford a place, it ain't gonna be big, but it'll be something and it'll be ours. You can drop this gig of yours, and go back to school like you always wanted. We can make something of ourselves. Don't you want that?"

More than the world. It's all you can ever dream of. But you never let yourself linger on those fantasies too much because it was too impossible. You were poor, you needed money now, and no one was going to take care of you but yourself. You picked up this job because you had to, you dropped out of school because you had to. Dreaming, fantasizing, hoping, is a dangerous aphrodisiac for a person like you.

"Your dad..." You say quietly, trailing, keeping him on the edge. "He's never going to approve of something like this."

"He won't know," Rafe says so confidently, like he got the layouts of his plans all mapped out. "Tomorrow, we'll pack a bag and meet at the docks for the first ferry out. We'll leave. It'll just the two of us. We can have everything we've ever wanted."

Your heart tugs. Your heart yearns. You want this. You haven't wanted something as much as this in your entire life. You can feel yourself picturing it—the late-nights coming home from your long hours of work to find comfort in Rafe's arms, to grow up old and slowly building a name for yourself, to see the sunset on a porch rather than the confides of your closed bedroom walls. Oh, you're dreaming, reaching, wanting, but you do one last act of reality before you completely falls.

"It's going to be rough."

"I don't care."

"You're going to be working long hours," you say with the implication that he hasn't worked a day in his life. "Especially if I'm going back to school. You're going to have to be taking care of both of us."

"I want to take care of you, baby," Rafe says, cradling your face with his large palm. It's so warm, massive, you lean into it with a soft sigh. "I know... I know you met me in... this condition, but I can do better. I will do better. This isn't the life for us."

Rafe clean hasn't been a proposition you even considered. He has made his spiels about getting clean before, about quitting, about cutting you off, but he always falls back into the depth of his own demise. He settles back into your bedroom. He crawls back into your bed. But there's a certain clarity and urgency behind his words now. Something that holds a fire akin to merit. You gabble with it, cherish it.

Everything can be different.

Last string of restraint. "It's going to be so bad."

"We'll make it good."

"Okay." You breathe out after moments of silence, and Rafe's grin is slow and steady. "Let's run away together."

—

Something no one ever tells you about running away is how much you have to prepare. You ask yourself these questions: How do you pack your entire livelihood into a small duffel bag? How can you abandon all that you know and leave? Why are you doing this now?

You have all the answers. You had all the answers for the long time. You don't care about much, just a few memorabilia from the Pogues, and your clothes. You may have known this was going to be your life, but at least you're changing it. As for now, it's because you have always been afraid. It won't turn out well, that you can't do it alone. Being with Rafe, going with Rafe, erases all those fears. You have an anchor, a place to sink back to whenever everything feels like falling apart. You finally have a person.

You're throwing things into your duffel bag, dumping them out, and doing it again. Chaotic. Your room looks like it's been rumbled through my burglars, and the ironic thing is there's nothing to be found.

Sure, there's drugs, but you only sold in small quantities. You can dump out the rest. You're leaving. You have a small can of hidden cash that you save for emergencies that you tucked in the back of your drawers. Now it's time to open it. And you throw in panties, bras, important things before you forget.

"Where the fuck you think you're going?" You whip your head around to find your father standing at the threshold of your room, holding a beer like a baby with their bottle. He looks like he hasn't slept all night—but you aren't sure he has because he was staying on the lumpy couch after another argument with your mother.

"I'm leaving," you say, unafraid in your voice.

He huffs a laugh, "And where you gonna live? You can't afford shit,"

"It's because you keep stealing all my money for your stupid gambling addictions,"

"Careful," your father steps forward with a rugged finger, warning you of your tone. "I'm still your father."

"When you're sober enough to remember."

It happens in a flash. A moment you're stuffing panties into the pocket of your duffel bag, and the next, you're receiving the backhand to your father's drunken stupor.

You stumble back by the whip of his sting, tears brimming your waterline at the sudden motion. His eyes were wild, sober, as if he couldn't believe himself to have done such a thing, but the fact of the matter was he did.

"Screw you," you snap. Clutching your cheek, you throw in the rest of your things into your bag and haphazardly close the zipper. Throwing the strap over your shoulders, you turn back to your father for the last time. "I hope you fucking die in this place."

You shove him on your way out, but he doesn't let you get the last word.

"You ain't meant to leave!" He shouts from behind you, the swinging porch door hits the door frame. "You'll come back! Whatever you think he's gonna do, Rafe Cameron ain't gonna do shit for you!"

Pope picks you up. Your cheek has been stinging for the past half-hour when Pope finds you on the side of the road, sitting on the gravel path as his father’s truck pulls into view.

It’s quiet when he gets out of the car, grabs your bag, and open the passenger door. Pope doesn’t offer a single word, and neither do you—sitting in this collective, established silence that the two of you feel share in.

It takes the ignition turning off from stagnancy for Pope to finally ask. “Home?”

“No,” you shake your head. Stubborn. Lively. Full of hope. “To the docks.”

“You headin’ somewhere?”

You nod again, wordlessly.

“Where?”

“Don’t know yet,” you confess. “We’ll make that decision later.”

“We?”

It takes very little for you to spill. You tell him about Rafe, about your plans to run away, and all the beautiful promises he spilled last night in the sanction of your bedroom. You’re speaking with such liveliness, with such passion, you can’t even recognize yourself—you thought you forgotten all about it.

But Pope doesn’t get it. How can you expect him to? Out of all the Pogues, Pope got out. He got some fancy scholarship that shipped him across the country for a prestigious university, and he's making something of himself. The only reason he's back here is because it's the summertime and he's helping Heyward at his father's shop. Pope made something with his life. You haven’t.

You want to.

Dreams creeps into your life again, for the first time in years, and it’s so peaceful. Rafe had his arms wrapped around you, mumbling sweet nothings into your ears, kissing the slope of your nose. You let your guard down enough to finally accept the tenderness of his commitment. To let yourself dream of open fields, and light breezes, and easy nights. It was so beautiful, so freeing, you can almost taste it on your tongue.

So, when Pope came at you with justified caution, you feel defensive.

“Are you sure about this?” Pope asks, his hand on the stick.

“Yes,” you say.

“Have you talk to him?”

“He said he was going to meet me at the docks,”

Pope glances to the rising sun, the bloom of soft-colored palette rippling across the early sky. “I still don’t think this is a good idea. This is Rafe we’re talking about. Rafe who was kicked out of his house because of his drug habits; Rafe who can’t hold down a job since he was fifteen; Rafe who—”

“I didn’t ask your opinion,” you snap, blowing out a breath of air. You feel like your head is spinning with all these accusations, like Pope was blaming you for them too. “I just need a ride to the docks. Can you do it or not?”

Pope looks at you for a long time. You almost thought you would have to get out of his truck and walk because he wasn’t going to give you a ride. But finally, he shifts the gear, and drives ahead.

When you step out of the truck, you made your way down the docks to the ticket booth. You purchase a ticket, and sit on the bench as you wait for Rafe.

There’s practically no one here. Seagulls squawks around you, circling like vultures, and the faint smell of fish and sea tingle your senses. But you sit patiently at the bench, watching the road, waiting for Rafe.

Minutes passes, you don’t worry. It’s still early, even as crowds are starting to form, wrapping a line around the booth, stealing subtle glances your way.

Half an hour passes, your feet starts tapping. Your phone is dead—everything had been so hectic—that you can’t check if Rafe left you any messages. Every car now—black, red, blue—you assume it’s him, but every time the person steps out, your heart deflates. You grip your duffle bag closer, as people are starting to file in line, making their way to the open ferry.

An hour passes, and you want to pace. The first ferry has left, but maybe, you had heard him wrong—did he say the first ferry or the morning ones? You can’t remember. Drugs are still in your system, and it makes you laggy. You must’ve heard wrong. That’s the only reason.

Hours passes, and now, it’s nearing noon. People are giving you pitiful looks, and part of you, in your half-coked out mind, wants to rip their hairs out. They don’t know. They don’t understand. They don’t get it. You’re certain Rafe will arrive soon, and he’ll explain that it’s all a misunderstanding, and he’s sorry, and he’ll kiss you and take you to the next ferry.

By the time it’s hitting evening, when the last ferry ships out, your mind knows what your heart refuses to accept. You’re the last person on the dock, as the sign on the ticket booth swings to the other side—CLOSED, stretched in big, bold letters. They give you a passing look as they exit their workstation, making their way home. Making their way to a place you aren’t even sure you have anymore.

Finally, you jump from your feet. You ask for a ride—from the very same person who gave your ticket—and with resounding pity, they give it to you. Making it to Figure Eight, you trek up to the Tannyhill estate just in time to catch it.

Rafe, outside, leaning beside the sleek black card of Ward Cameron, holding his own version of a duffel bag. But it’s with something else—a logo. A military emblem.

His father is saying something to his wife at the foyer, before turning to Rafe and barking at him to get in. You catch little bits and pieces of the conversation, but it’s enough to confirm what you already know.

Rafe’s being sent to the military home.

Your mouth feels dry. Your heart aches. Your mouth parts, lips cracked and dehydrated, but nothing comes out. You want to scream. Yell at him. Say something. But you can’t.

You can’t even make it across the driveway to meet his gaze.

But he feels something. He must’ve. Because he looks up, searches across the estate, and finds you.

You think you mouth something to him, what’s going on? But you don’t know for sure. You feel like you’re floating outside your own body, watching your own devastation, feeling the weight of everything as the drugs slowly pull from your veins. You look at him with utmost clarity.

Rafe doesn’t answer you. He doesn’t even acknowledge it, or apologizes, or say anything. Instead, with one final glance, he ducks his head into the passenger seat and hides.

He’s leaving. And he’s leaving you behind.

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[zyafics]

RED FERRARI CHASE | 09

MAIN | MASTERLIST | Social Media AU

Pairing — F1 Driver!Rafe x High School Sweetheart!(F)Reader

Summary — Before Rafe became known as one of the best drivers on the circuit, he was your secret. Until his popularity skyrocketed, his name plastered on every billboard, and he became one of the most eligible bachelors in F1. Leaving you behind to indulge in the notoriety of the sport, you and Rafe ceased all forms of contact. Years passed, and he hasn't stopped thinking about you: his first love, his high school sweetheart, the only person to believe in him. When new management takes over his team, he's afraid their new strategy could undermine his position in the cutthroat league. But in an unexpected twist of fate, the new leadership included you. Returning back to him. With a ring on your finger. Engaged to his boss.

Content — formula one au, high school sweethearts to strangers to lovers (or...), love triangle, om/ow drama

Navigation — Part 08 | Part 09 | Part 10

IMPORTANT INFO ABOUT TAGLIST AND UPDATES: if you want to be notified about all my fics and updates, follow @zyafics-library and turn on notifications! however, if you want to be added to this specific taglist, let me know (but to remain tagged, you must interact with the posts).

TAGLIST FOR RFC: @inthelibrarybtw / @bradshawed / @eviiiiieeeeeeeeee / @lmaowhatt / @carrerascameron / @lilithblackkk / @7-deadly-cats-main / @chromeheartsbaby / @firexovni / @drewstarkeyspecs / @givemylovetoall / @lonelyheartsm / @bewitchedarchive / @w11ore4rina / @vviolets444rroses / @psychicnatural / @darlingchronicles / @maybankiara / @frankoceanluvr11 / @psychocitylights / @maybankslover / @lou-la-lou / @tashiagalinda / @almostjollypizza / @murdockcastleslut /  @empath-bunny / @colbysbrocks / @zuccheromorena / @a-lovers-card / @xoxosblogsblog / @niaunoffical / @cameronspecial / @jeongintwt / @vex-et-soleil / @akobx / @drewsephrry / @chenslucy / @lynst91 / @krtsvig / @khloberry