mari☆

Warnings: emotional talk, fluff, soft rafe and jealous!reader.

masterlist

It had been a warm, breezy evening, the kind that made even the wildest hearts settle. JJ had built a solid bonfire in the sand just off the back of Poguelandia, and someone brought s’mores supplies and a Bluetooth speaker. The vibes were perfect, mellow music, soft laughter, firelight dancing on familiar faces.

You were on Rafe’s lap in one of the faded camping chairs. He was relaxed, legs stretched out, hoodie sleeves pushed up to his elbows, his big hands loosely wrapped around your thighs. You were wearing one of your cute little skirts with a tank top, your body language loose and carefree. You were glowing tonight, the kind of glowing that came from healing, from loving and being loved in return.

Kie spoke up. “I swear, y’all are disgusting now.” she teased.

Cleo grinned. “Honestly, I didn’t know Rafe had this side in him. Who knew all it took was a short, soft girl from Venezuela to melt the ice king?”

“My brother? Melting?? Someone get it on camera.” Sarah gasped mockingly.

Rafe gave them all a lazy smirk but didn’t even bother defending himself. His chin was resting on your shoulder, eyes closed for a moment as his fingers played idly with the hem of your skirt. He was home. Not just physically, but emotionally.

You twisted a little in his lap to grab your drink from the ground. “Papi, can you hold this real quick?” you said softly without thinking. (daddy)

Everything stopped. The air literally went still for a second, the crackle of the fire, the music, your breath.

JJ spitted his beer. “WHAT did she just say?”

Sarah was shocked. “Oh my god.”

“Nah, nah, nah... Papi?!” Cleo laughed.

You froze, eyes wide. The cup was midair in your hand, your fingers still outstretched toward Rafe, who now had the most ridiculous, slow-building grin on his face. He took the drink from you gently, placed it on the little log beside him, and leaned in with that glint in his eye.

“Did you just call me papi in front of everybody, baby?” he whispered low into your ear.

Your whole face was burning. You turned to look at him, your eyes wide with panic and mortification.

“I- Rafe, I didn’t... it just came out, I swear.” you started rambling fast.

He pulled you in closer with a low chuckle, arms locking around your waist like he wasn’t about to let you run anywhere.

“Nah, nah. Don’t backtrack now, mami. You really meant that.” he teased you playfully. (mommy)

“I’m never gonna recover from this. Rafe Cameron got a girl callin’ him papi in the wild.” John B howled.

Kie laughed. “He’s blushing right now. Oh my god, you both are blushing.”

You hid your face in his hoodie, your laugh muffled by the fabric as Rafe just grinned and tilted his head back toward the sky like he was so damn proud. Like he’d just won something no one else ever would.

“What can I say? Girl’s got good taste.” Rafe said out loud to the group.

He dropped a kiss to your temple and kept his arms wrapped tight around you.

But then, his voice dipped quieter, just for you.

“That word hits different when you say it. Don’t care who’s listening.” he said softly.

You lifted your head slowly, still flushed, but there was this light in your eyes now, a kind of freedom you hadn’t felt in so long. Like maybe you didn’t have to hide anymore.

“It just slipped out ‘cause… I really do feel safe with you. Loved. Like… I can finally just be.” you said in a whisper.

He looked at you like you hung the damn stars in the sky. “That’s all I ever want, princesa. For you to feel exactly like that.”

Suddenly JJ pretended to gag. “Okay, but like… get a room.”

Rafe grinned and pulled you tighter. “We have a room. Y’all are in our fire pit right now.”

Everyone burst out laughing.

You stayed there in his arms, your head resting on his shoulder as the conversation picked back up around the fire. Every now and then, Rafe would whisper “papi” under his breath and smirk when you got all flustered again.

But deep down, you both knew what it meant now. That tiny word, born from trust and healing, had just taken on a new life. And he’d never let you forget the first time you said it out loud, proud and unfiltered, in front of the world.

***

The sky outside is soft, pastel-colored. You’re standing in front of your old front door, your hand hovering for a second before you knock. Rafe is not with you today, you asked for this moment alone. Your heart is steady, you are not the same girl who once ran from this house in tears... Not anymore.

Your mom opens the door. She’s surprised, but not unkind.

“Mira nada más… mi niña. Pensé que estabas muy ocupada para venir.” she spoke softly. (Look at that... my girl. I thought you were too busy to come.)

You offer her a small, respectful smile, stepping inside as the familiar scent of her cooking and the polished wood floors wrap around you like a memory.

“Quería pasar un rato… hablar contigo.” you said gently. (I wanted to spend some time... talking to you.)

She nods, hesitant. You both sit in the small kitchen, the same one where so many words, too many, had been said in the past.

There's a moment of silence. Then, she breaks it.

“Estás diferente… más… tranquila. Hay algo en tus ojos, como si ya no tuvieras miedo.” she said. (You're different... more... calm. There's something in your eyes, as if you're no longer afraid.)

You exhale, surprised at how that hits you. But you smile, because it’s true. “No tengo miedo, mamá. Ya no.” you spoke. (I'm not afraid, Mom. Not anymore.)

She looks down at her hands, almost ashamed.

“Sé que antes decía cosas que… te hacían daño. No lo entendía, pensaba que te estaba ayudando, pero ahora… veo que solo te herí.” (I know I used to say things that… hurt you. I didn't understand it; I thought I was helping you, but now… I see that I only hurt you.)

You blink, stunned for a second. “¿Lo reconoces?” you asked her softly. (Do you recognize it?)

She nods slowly, her eyes glistening. “A veces escucho mi voz en mi cabeza y me doy cuenta… yo también fui herida por mi mamá, por mi abuela. Pero eso no es excusa. Tú merecías palabras dulces, no juicios.” (Sometimes I hear my own voice in my head and I realize… I was hurt by my mother, by my grandmother, too. But that's no excuse. You deserved kind words, not judgment.)

You breathe out hard, tears springing to your eyes.

“Gracias por decir eso.” you whispered. (Thank you for saying that.)

She reaches across the table, placing her hand over yours. There’s weight in that gesture, a kind of bridge rebuilding itself.

“Cuéntame… cómo estás ahora, de verdad.” she asked you with a soft smile. (Tell me... how are you now, really.)

You smile, wiping your cheeks gently, and something shifts inside you. You want to share it all. The growth, the joy, the softness you’ve cultivated with Rafe, the warmth of a life that feels yours now.

“Estoy feliz, mamá. De verdad. Sigo con Rafe que me trata con tanta dulzura… que me hace sentir bonita hasta cuando estoy llorando.” (I'm happy, Mom. I really am. I'm still with Rafe, who treats me so sweetly... he makes me feel beautiful even when I'm crying.)

Her eyebrows raise slightly, cautiously intrigued.

“Él me llama "mami"… a veces "princesa", o cuando me quiere hacer reír, me dice "chiquita peligrosa". you smiled, your cheeks are warming. (He calls me "mommy"... sometimes "princess", or when he wants to make me laugh, he says "dangerous little girl".)

You both laugh, her eyes widening.

“¿Y tú? ¿Tú cómo le dices?” she asked teasingly. (And you? How do you call him?)

You bite your lip. “Papi”... pero eso no se lo digas a nadie, ¿okay?” (Daddy... But don't tell anyone, okay?)

You both burst out laughing again, a real laugh this time, there's no tension underneath it. You place a hand on your chest, feeling the sincerity of the moment settle in your body.

“Nunca pensé que podría sentirme tan… libre, mamá. No perfecta, no flaquita, no como alguien que necesita arreglarse… sino amada. Así como soy, con mi pancita, mis días malos, mis bailes espontáneos en la sala.” (I never thought I could feel so… free, Mom. Not perfect, not skinny, not like someone who needs fixing up… but loved. Just as I am, with my little belly, my bad days, my spontaneous dances in the living room)

Her hand covers her mouth as tears slide down her cheeks. “Perdóname hija… por hacerte creer que tu valor venía de tu cuerpo. Por hacerte pensar que tenías que esconderte.” (Forgive me, daughter… for making you believe your worth came from your body. For making you think you had to hide.)

You reach for her hand now, squeezing it tight.

“Estoy aprendiendo a perdonarte, día tras día.” (I am learning to forgive you, day by day.)

She leans forward, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear like she used to when you were little. “Y estoy tan orgullosa de ti, mi niña. Por tener el valor de sanar… y por enseñarme cómo amarte mejor.” (And I'm so proud of you, my girl. For having the courage to heal... and for teaching me how to love you better.)

You sit there a while, sipping coffee that she made for you just like old times. The silence between you isn’t heavy anymore, it’s full. She listens as you talk about your days with Rafe, how you’ve started wearing crop tops again, how he looks at you like you’re magic when you dance.

She doesn’t interrupt, she doesn’t judge, she just smiles.

You walk out of the house hours later, the sky already turning navy blue. And for the first time in years, you don’t leave crying.

You leave lighter.

***

You walk into Tannyhill quietly, slipping off your sneakers by the door. The sound of a movie hums from the living room. Rafe’s sprawled on the couch, socked feet up on the coffee table, shirt halfway unbuttoned, abs lazily peeking through, his head turns the moment he hears the door shut.

“Hey, baby… you’re back.” he says softly and surprised.

You smile, a little tired. But there’s a kind of glow in your face that makes him sit up straighter.

“Yeah. Just got in, it went okay.”

He walks over to you immediately, hands settling gently on your hips. He leans down, his forehead brushing yours, his voice drops to that warm, low murmur he saves just for you.

“You wanna talk about it?” he asked gently.

You nod, tugging his hand as you guide him into the bedroom. You both sit cross-legged on the bed, knees touching. It’s quiet for a moment, just the sound of the fan spinning overhead and the waves outside in the distance.

Then you take a breath. “She apologized.”

His brows lift, he blinks in disbelief, like he wasn’t expecting that to be the first thing you said.

“She said she realizes now… that what she used to say wasn’t love. That it was hurt talking.”

Rafe doesn’t say anything yet, just watches you. His hands are warm over your knees.

“And for the first time, I didn’t cry in front of her because I was broken. I cried because I felt free.” you sighed softly.

His hands move up your thighs slowly, grounding you.

“I told her about us. About how you call me “mami” and “princesa” and how you kiss my belly like it’s the most sacred thing in the world and she laughed.” you giggled.

He grinned. “Bet she wasn’t expecting that.”

You laugh too, softly, but it bubbles up with relief. You lay back against the pillows, stretching like you’ve released something that’s lived in your spine for years.

“I told her how I feel now… how I’ve started loving my body, my thighs, my voice. I even told her I danced in the living room and didn’t care if my belly showed.”

He climbs into bed next to you, propping himself on one elbow, watching you like you’ve hung the moon. “You danced without me? Now that hurts.”

You giggled. “It was a solo show, papi.”

He groans playfully, burying his face in your stomach, pressing a soft kiss to the skin just above your waistband.

“You kill me, every damn day.”

There’s a silence that settles, not empty, but full. You trace your finger along his forearm.

“You know… I used to think I’d never be good enough. That no matter how thin I got, or how perfect I acted, it’d never be enough.” you whispered.

He shifts, cupping your jaw gently, lifting your face so your eyes meet. “You are so much more than enough. You’re too much, actually. Like… breathtaking, dangerous. Can’t look away kind of beautiful.”

Your throat tightens, tears stinging again, but this time, not from pain.

“It took me years to believe that… and you helped me get there.”

He kisses you. Not rushed, not lustful. Just deep, full of everything he doesn’t know how to say with words. When he pulls back, his voice is barely above a whisper.

“You gave me someone to fight for. But more than that… you gave you to me. And baby, I swear, I’ll never stop proving you were safe to do that.”

You curl into his chest, your leg wrapping around his waist like second nature. His hand traces slow circles on your back. “I think… I’m gonna keep wearing the clothes I like again. The ones I used to avoid because they showed too much.”

He pulls back to look at you, eyes full of pride.

“You better. 'Cause that short skirt from the other day? I haven’t stopped thinking about it.”

You laugh, smacking his shoulder, and he catches your hand, pressing kisses to your knuckles like you’re royalty.

He whistles. “Mami’s got her glow back. And I’m just here trying to survive it.”

You both dissolve into giggles, your foreheads pressed together.

Later that night, curled under the sheets, you feel something shift. Not in your body, but in your heart. You’re not at war with yourself anymore... You’re home.

***

There's a glowing night beach party on Figure Eight. Tiki torches flicker along the sand, music pulses through the warm air, and everyone’s in a golden kind of mood. You and Rafe arrive, hand in hand. You’re in a strappy little dress that hugs your curves perfectly, and he hasn’t stopped looking at you since you walked out the door.

Rafe has his arm slung over your waist as you make your way toward the makeshift dance floor where a reggaetón remix is playing. The Pogues and Kooks are surprisingly coexisting tonight, peace brokered through shared tequila and the summer heat. Sarah waves you over, and Kie hands you a drink with a wink.

“Okay, okay, mami, you better dance tonight.” Kie tease you.

You laugh, giving a little hip sway as Rafe whistles low in appreciation behind you.

“Oh, she’s dancing. And I’m not letting her out of my sight.”

You giggle as he pulls you close, your back against his chest, his hands resting low on your hips. You dance like you were made to move together, sensual, sweet, slow when the song drops, fast when it builds. You’re tipsy on rhythm and rum, dizzy with joy, and your cheeks hurt from smiling.

You tilt your face up toward him. “This feels like a dream.”

He kisses your forehead. “Nah, baby. Dreams don’t even come close.”

A few songs later, you both wander off toward the open bar area to cool down. He stands behind you with his hands on your hips as you talk excitedly to Cleo. A couple of people recognize him, and he nods politely, always keeping one hand on you.

Then… she shows up.

A woman, maybe in her late thirties or forties, who knows, walks over in towering heels, an expensive silky dress that clings to her surgically-snatched body. She’s tanned, blonde, and confident. You instantly clock her energy: it's giving cougar meets business mogul fantasy.

She glances at you briefly, a tight-lipped smile, before zeroing in on Rafe like a lioness eyeing a younger meal.

“You’re Rafe Cameron, right?” she spoke with a wide smile on her face.

He raises an eyebrow at her, not rude but wary. “Yeah, that’s me... Can I help you?”

“I don't know if you remember me but I'm Hollis Robinson, I used to be friends with your father for a long time... And I have to say that you’ve grown up quite well. All the energy, the reputation, the name…” she touches his bicep lightly as if you weren't there standing next to him.

You shift slightly and Rafe’s hand tightens on your waist. “Appreciate it.” he said a little dry.

Hollis smiled and spoke again. “I actually came to talk business, there’s a deal in the works with some properties near the marina. It's big money, but it needs someone… let’s say, agile, who knows the local business. And you have that edge, that fire...”

She leans in closer, her perfume is cloying and expensive, her hand brushing his chest now, as if she were trying to insinuate something else than business. You stare at her, your body tensing but you're playing it cool.

Rafe steps back slightly, not rude, but firm. “Look, Hollis. I really appreciate the kind words, but I’m here with someone. My girl.”

He glances down at you like you’re his whole world, and you feel the heat rush to your cheeks when he grabs your hand and lifts it, intertwining your fingers.

“We’re celebrating tonight, she’s it for me.”

Hollis paused, blinking, surprised at how direct he is. She glances at you again, and this time it’s longer, her eyes dragging over you, like she’s trying to figure out what he sees.

“Of course. Well, if you change your mind… I'd like to know what you think.” she smirked at Rafe.

She hands him a business card, but he doesn’t take it. Instead, he nudges it back toward her with the back of his hand.

“Thank you... But nah, I’m good where I’m at.”

Hollis raised a brow, clearly not used to being turned down, but she shrugs, offering one last tight smile before walking away.

The moment she’s gone, you release the breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.

“She was… quite intense.” you said quietly.

He pulled you into him. “She was nothing.”

You look up at him, unsure if you should say what’s bubbling inside you, but the words fall out soft and small.

“She touched you like I wasn’t even here.”

He cups your face with both hands, tilting your head up. “Hey, look at me. Look at me, baby.”

You meet his gaze.

“I don’t care who she is or what she wanted. You think there’s a deal worth more than this? Than you? Hell no.”

He leans down, his lips brushing yours in a kiss that’s slow, deep, and full of promises. People around you whistle, but he doesn’t stop, he kisses you like you’re the only person in the universe.

When he finally pulls back, you’re breathless.

“You’re mine, and I’m yours. Always.”

You nod, eyes glassy, and he kisses the tip of your nose.

“Now, c’mon. Let’s dance again... But next time someone comes near me, you gotta dance dirtier so they really get the message.” he smirked.

You laugh through your blush and let him lead you back to the music. And this time, when he moves with you, your bodies pressed together, you’re not just dancing, you’re claiming each other.

And the whole party can feel it.

***

You’re standing near the bed in your shared bedroom, in front of the long mirror, unzipping your dress slowly. Your heels are already off, your hair a little messy from dancing and the ocean breeze. The silky dress slips down your body and pools at your ankles, and you step out of it with a sigh.

Now in just your lacy bra and underwear, delicate, soft pink, you reach for an oversized tee, but Rafe’s voice stops you gently.

“Wait, wait, wait, don’t cover that up yet. I’m still recovering.” he groaned softly.

You laugh quietly, a little shy under his stare, turning toward him. He’s lying sideways across the bed, shirt half unbuttoned, his hair tousled and eyes heavy-lidded from the day, but when he looks at you, it’s like nothing else in the world exists.

“Stop it, you’re staring.” you say teasingly.

“Yeah, and? Like I said at the party, I’m good where I’m at.”

You giggle as you sit on the edge of the bed, brushing your fingers through your hair. He props himself up on his elbow and grins, watching you fondly.

“That woman… God. The way she touched your arm like I was invisible?” you spoke sarcastically.

He scoffed. “She was so serious about it too, like some kind of villain in a soap opera or something.”

He deepens his voice dramatically.

"You have that edge, that fire..." he did a mock shudder. “I thought she was gonna eat me alive right there.”

You burst into laughter, covering your face.

“Stop! I’m gonna choke. Eres tan tonto.” you giggled (you’re so dumb.)

He sits up and lean foward. “Nah, for real. The way her hand crept up my chest? I felt like I was being hunted.”

You laughed harder. “Like a National Geographic special?”

You chuckled. “Exactly. Like Predator: Cougars of the Outer Banks.”

You fall sideways onto the bed, holding your stomach as you laugh, your cheeks glowing pink. Rafe chuckles too, the sound deep and warm in his chest. He crawls closer to you, his hand tracing up your arm softly now.

“But the best part? Was you. The way you stood there, all calm, like, "I’m not gonna say anything… but I’m watching."

You sighed. “I wasn’t calm, I was… boiling inside.”

He smirked. “Still, you handled it. Regal, dangerous, all mami vibes.”

You blush even deeper at the nickname, your hand coming up to hide your face again.

“She made me feel… like I wasn’t enough. Like I wasn’t glamorous or powerful or important.” you spoke softly.

He spoke serious, with a low voice. “Baby, she could’ve had all the money, all the confidence, all the heels in the world, that wouldn’t matter. She didn’t have you, she didn’t have that laugh… or those hips that move like they were made for reggaeton, or those soft eyes that make me forget everything bad I’ve ever done.”

He leans down, brushing his lips against your shoulder, then the curve of your neck, soft and reverent.

“You don’t even know what you do to me when you take off that dress and look at me like I matter.”

You swallow hard, your heart thudding in your chest. His words always hit you where it counts.

You sighed. “You always know exactly what to say.”

“Because I mean it. You think you’re just the quiet, sweet girl, but you got fire under all that softness. You got this… glow, honey. And it burns everything else out of the picture.”

You turn to face him fully now, still in just your underwear, your legs curled beneath you on the bed. He touches your cheek gently, brushing a strand of hair away.

“You make me feel like I can be any version of myself… and you’ll still want me.”

He whispred. “That’s ‘cause I do, I want all of you. The sweet, shy, giggly version, the one who’s still learning how to love her body, the one who says “papi” when she wants something.” he smirked. “Even the jealous version that looked like she was ready to throw hands with a 40 year old sugar mama.”

You laugh again and cover your face in your hands.

“I was ready! Just give me the earrings to take off and I’m swinging.”

He grinned. “That’s my girl.”

He leans forward, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you into his lap. You settle on him easily, arms around his neck, feeling his breath against your collarbone.

“Thank you for making me laugh about it. And for choosing me, every time.”

“Always, princesa. Always.” (princess)

He kisses your bare shoulder again, then your jawline, then finally your lips, soft and slow, a kiss that seals the whole night with warmth and love.

The room smells like saltwater and vanilla. Outside, the party is dying down. But here, it’s quiet and safe and yours.

He holds you there in his lap for a while longer, just rocking slightly, your fingers stroking the back of his hair, his lips occasionally brushing your skin. You can feel him relax under your touch, and you realize that while he protects you fiercely in public, in private, you are his peace.

***

It's late morning at the beach, the air is golden and warm, the waves crashing softly in the distance. There’s music coming from a Bluetooth speaker buried in the sand. The Pogues are scattered around a big blanket with snacks and towels, some already out in the water. Rafe’s arms are wrapped around you from behind, both of you barefoot in the sand, his chin resting on your shoulder as you watch the waves.

“You ready, mami?” he whispered softly in your ear.

You smile, heart pounding just a little. You’re wearing a white linen cover-up over your new bikini. It’s the first time since your healing began that you’ve dared to wear something like this in front of people. The top hugs your chest snugly, and the bottoms show more skin than you ever let before. You hesitated in the mirror this morning, even fidgeted with the waistband a few times, whispering in Spanish to yourself as you tried to talk yourself into it... But those thoughts doesn't matter right now.

You nod and smile, slowly slipping off your cover-up with a breath held in your chest. You feel the breeze kiss your skin immediately, the warmth of the sun soaking into your stomach, your thighs, your collarbones.

The moment the Pogues catch a glimpse, JJ whistles low, and Sarah claps excitedly.

“Okay, okay! Someone’s out here stealin’ the whole damn show!” JJ says teasingly.

Sarah grinned at you. “You look so gorgeous, girl.”

“You been hidin’ that body all this time?” Cleo asked you with a little wink.

You laughed, your face flushing, your hands still twitching by your sides until Rafe pulls you toward him.

“That’s my girl, alright?” Rafe says loud enough for everyone to hear, but then he spoke softer, just for you. “I’m so proud of you, you don’t even know.”

You melt into his arms a little, feeling seen, feeling adored. He presses a kiss just below your ear, and you hum softly at the contact.

The day goes on, volleyball, snacks, splash fights. You and Sarah float in the water with sunglasses on while Rafe and JJ wrestle like idiots. You laugh so much your stomach aches, especially when Cleo dunks Pope without warning.

After a while, you come out of the water, laughing and brushing sand off your thighs. You notice Rafe’s staring again. He doesn’t hide it.

“¿Qué miras tanto?” you asked him playfully. (What are you staring at?)

He bites his bottom lip. “Just you, bein’ the hottest thing this beach has ever seen.”

You rolled your eyes. “Dios mío.” (my god)

Later in the afternoon, the sun now casting soft golden shadows, you’re all sitting in a loose circle on the blankets, sharing drinks and fresh fruit. Rafe has you tucked into his side, your legs stretched over his lap, and he’s playing with the string of your bikini bottom like he can’t help himself.

He starts talking to John B, completely unprompted.

“I swear, she’d be so cute pregnant.” he says while smiling.

You choked on your drink. “¿¡Qué!?” (what!?)

John B laughed. “Yo, what?!”

“You can’t just say that outta nowhere!” Sarah laughed with her eyes wide open.

“What? I’m serious! Like, imagine her with that little baby bump? Still wearin’ her tiny bikinis, all glowy ‘n shit?” Rafe says defensive, but laughing.

You stare at him, jaw dropped, cheeks redder than the watermelon in Pope’s hand.

“¡Maldito loco! ¿Estás bien de la cabeza?” you said to him while blushing furiously. (You crazy bastard! Are you out of your mind?)

“Nah, nah, I’m perfectly sane. Just in love.” he laughs his ass off.

“Te voy a matar…” you muttered to him. (I'm going to kill you)

“He’s gonna get smacked.” JJ dies of laughter.

Rafe kisses your cheek noisily. “She can try, but she loves me too much.”

You still red, trying to hide your face. “¡Cállate, Rafael!” (Shut up, Rafael!)

He just wraps both arms around you and pulls you into his lap in front of everyone, making a show of kissing your cheek, then your neck, then your shoulder.

“Say it again. I like when you call me Rafael when you’re mad.” he teases you.

You mumbled. “¡Eres un payaso!” (you're a dork!)

He just grins.

The beach is quieter now, a few people packing up. The Pogues are still by the water, and you and Rafe sit on your own blanket, wrapped in one towel, watching the sun sink low.

Your hand rests over his chest, and he traces soft circles on your thigh with his fingers.

“Thank you for making me feel beautiful today.” you say quietly.

Rafe speaks softly. “You are beautiful every day. But it meant everything to see you feel it too.”

You bury your face into his chest, smiling against his skin.

He spoke again after a little pause. “Next summer... we come back here, you in another dangerous bikini. Me, same job: guarding you from everyone else tryin’ to look.”

“And maybe I’ll be the one talking about babies next time.” you say playfully, giggling.

He chokes on his own breath. “Wait, what?”

You laughed. “¡Estoy bromeando!” (I'm joking!)

He groaned. “Girl, you can’t do that to me. My heart’s not built for that.”

You both fall back on the towel, tangled together, your laughter echoing across the sand, waves crashing softly in the distance.

summary: in which Rafe suffers an accident and loses his memory, causing him to do things his true self would never do.

warning: amnesia, pogue reader, rafe being friends with the pogues somehow, flashbacks, S2/S3 rafe, angst and fluff.

FARMERS MARKET, 18 MONTHS AGO...

You're buying strawberries, counting crumpled bills, apologizing to the vendor for taking too long. Across the market, Rafe Cameron stands frozen behind a display of honey. He's been watching you for ten minutes and you hasn't noticed, you never notices.

He speaks to himself, barely audible. “Just go over there, just say something. Just—”

You look up and your eyes meet for half a second. You give him a small, nervous smile, the kind you give a stranger on a nice day. Then you look away, grabbed your strawberries, and disappeared into the crowd.

Rafe doesn't move for a full minute. His heart is slamming against his ribs, he's never felt anything like this.

“Stupid, you're being so fucking stupid. She's a Pogue, she's nothing.” rafe murmured low, angry at himself.

He doesn't believe it, so he buys the honey anyway. He never eats it, he just keeps it on his nightstand, a reminder of the girl who smiled at him like he was just a person.

***

THE BEACH, 14 MONTHS AGO...

A bonfire. Kooks on one side, Pogues on the other, the usual invisible line draw in the sand. Rafe is totally drunk and kinda high on yayo, he's not wasted, just fuzzy enough to be dangerous. He's surrounded by people who laugh too loud and talk too much.

Then he sees you again.

You are sitting on a log with JJ and Kiara, roasting a marshmallow. You're laughing at something JJ said, your head tilted back, hair catching the firelight. You look happy, soft, untouchable.

Suddenly Topper slaps Rafe's shoulder. “Dude, you're staring.”

Rafe jerks his gaze away. “I'm not staring.”

Kelce spoke, a little tipsy. “You've been staring at that Pogue girl for like... twenty minutes. Which one is she? The quiet one?”

Rafe spoke again, his voice it's like ice. “I don't know what the fuck you're talking about.”

Topper laughed, oblivious. “Whatever, man. She's cute, but she's a fucking Pogue. She's not worth it.”

Rafe doesn't respond to that, he finishes his drink in one swallow and walks into the ocean fully clothed. When he comes out, soaking wet and shivering, he doesn't look at the bonfire again.

That night, he lies awake in his four-poster bed, staring at the ceiling, and thinks about a girl who doesn't even know his name.

***

THE GAS STATION, 6 MONTHS AGO...

Your car is sputtering, you're at the pump, counting change. You're ten dollars short and you are trying not to cry.

At the next pump, a black SUV. Rafe Cameron is filling his tank. He's wearing a gray t-shirt and sunglasses.

He's staring at you and you feel it, that prickling awareness, but you don't look up. You never look up, you're too scared of what you might see.

The truth is, there's some tension between you and Rafe because of all the altercations he's had with and towards the Pogues. And while the Pogues and Rafe are always fighting, you, on the other hand, you're the calm one in the group, the one who separates JJ when he's arguing with John B and vice versa; you hardly ever go on the treasure hunts with them, but you're always there to heal their wounds.

Rafe have an internal talk to himself. “Offer her the money you bitch, just offer. It's ten dollars. You have hundreds, you have thousands... Just walk over and—”

But he doesn't move, he watched you put back the change, get back in your car, and drive away with your gas light on. He stands at the pump for a long time after his tank is full.

“Coward... I'm a fucking coward to be a drug addict.” he speaks to the empty air.

But the real thing is that he doesn't know you're crying in your car, he doesn't know you've been in love with him for months, since the farmers market, maybe longer. He doesn't know that you look for him in every crowd, that you've memorized the way he walks, that you've written his name on the inside of your notebook and then scribbled it out...

But what she doesn't know either, just like he doesn't, is that he always liked her for years, long before Sarah was a pogue; whenever he wanted to hurt the pogues, he would first verify that she wasn't there with them, she doesn't know that every time he went to Barry's house in The Cut to get some yayo, he would make a detour to see if she had gone to work, when Sarah started hanging out with the Pogues, he discreetly and despite the hatred he felt for them, he subtly asked about her; what she did, what she liked, if she has a family, and so on... Sarah called him a psychopath and unhinged, but he never cared.

They are both cowards, they are both in love with each other, and they are both alone...

***

PRESENT DAY...

Rafe was driving aimlessly through the heavy rain; he had had a nasty fight with Ward before he boarded a plane to Guadalupe hours earlier. Ward had discovered that Rafe had been using the gold money to buy himself drugs and, on top of that, he had hidden some of that money for himself. This enraged Ward, who then beat him multiple times in the face, when Rafe saw that he was alone in Tannyhill, he shot a line and started driving with no apparent destination.

“Fuck him, fuck everything, I'll never be his golden son” he muttered as he drove.

Rafe was so engrossed in his internal monologue that he didn't notice a tree in front of him and had to brake, but it was too late, the tires screeched, and a sickening crunch of metal against an oak tree. Then, silence, except for the hissing of rain on a hot engine.

You are driving home from your late shift at the little cafeteria, your car headlights cut through the downpour and you see the wreck; Rafe's black SUV wrapped around a tree, steam pouring from the hood.

You pulled over, heart hammering. You're terrified of Rafe Cameron, everyone is. But you can't drive past, so you grabbed your first-aid kit, pulled your hood up, and runs to the driver's side door.

“Oh my God, oh my God. Hey! Can you hear me?” you shout over the rain, your voice is trembling.

The driver's side airbag is deflated and Rafe is slumped against the headrest, blood trickling from a gash on his temple. He's unconscious. You reached a shaking hand to his neck, checks for a pulse and it's there, weak, but there.

You sigh. “Okay okay, stay with me. I'm calling 911.”

You fumbled for your phone, and dialed and as you're giving the location, Rafe groans. His eyes flutter open and they're unfocused, confused, but not the cold, angry blue she's used to seeing.

He spoke up, his voice's raw, barely a whisper. “…where's the water?” he asked and unconsciously touches his head.

You're talking to the operator, hurried. “Yes, the corner of Sand Dollar and the Marsh Road. Yes, one male, unconscious but breathing. Head injury.” you spoke to Rafe now. “Don't move please, you've been in an accident.”

“Accident?” he tries to lift his head, winces, drops it back down. He squints at you. “Who are you?”

“I'm… I'm y/n. I'm just… I saw the crash.” you murmured.

He just stares at you, not with suspicion, but with a strange, raw innocence. “You're pretty.” he gave you a lopsided smirk.

You blinked, rain drips off her chin. This is not a sentence Rafe Cameron has ever said to you without a sneer attached.

You spoke again flustered, awkwardly. “You hit your head. Just… stay still, the ambulance is coming.”

“I don't…” he stopped and frown, looking past you at the mangled hood of his car, then at his own hands on the steering wheel. “I don't remember the road, I don't remember driving.”

“That's the shock, just hold on.”

Sirens wail in the distance, Rafe's gaze drifts back to your face, studying it like a puzzle he desperately wants to solve.

“Y/n... Do I know you?”

You do a painful and complicated pause. “We… run in different circles.”

“That's not an answer.” he says almost smiling despite the blood.

Paramedics arrive and they pulled you away. As they strap Rafe to a backboard, he keeps his eyes fixed on you, craning his neck against the restraints.

Suddenly he call you out, weak but insistent. “Hey! Y/n!”

You turned back, a little hesitant.

“My head feels like a broken radio, there's a lot of static. But you… you're the first clear thing I've heard.”

They load him into the ambulance, the doors close. You stand in the rain, absolutely soaked, your heart's racing for reasons that have nothing to do with the wreck.

***

DAY 2 – The Hospital

You shouldn't be here, you know you shouldn't. But you couldn't sleep, so you asked around to a friend of yours that works in the hospital cafeteria. And she told you that Rafe Cameron is in room 214.

No family has come, Ward is out of town. You tells yourself that you're just checking, just being a decent human being.

You knocked softly on the doorframe of a private room, Rafe is sitting up in bed: the gash on his head is stitched, he has a black eye. He looks smaller somehow, diminished. When he turns and sees you, his face lights up like a sunrise.

“You came.” he spoke softly.

You linger near the door, clutching a bag of cheap gummy bears from the gift shop. “I… I brought these, I didn't know if you liked them. It's not… it's not much.”

He smiled weakly. “I love gummy bears!” he pats the bed beside him. “Sit, please. The nurses are mean, they keep asking me questions I don't know the answers to.”

You sit on the very edge of the chair next to the bed. “What kind of questions?”

Rafe sighed frustrated, rubbing his temple. “Like… who is the President, I said… some guy? And they looked worried, then they asked me my address, I said… a big house? On the water? That's not an address, and they asked me about my sister.”

You stiff. “Your… sister?” you ask him.

“I said I have a sister?” he looks genuinely uncertain. “I think so... The name 'Sarah' feels like a splinter. Not a bad one, just… stuck. But the nurse asked if we were close, and I honestly don't know. My whole life feels like a book with half the pages ripped out.”

You stare at him, this is not the Rafe who screamed at Sarah and John B outside in the street.

“You don't remember… how you feel about people?” you ask him cautiously.

“I remember how you feel.” he says it softly, like a secret.

You're taken aback. “What?”

“In the car, when you were leaning over me. You were scared, but not of the wreck. You were scared of me and you still stayed, you put your hand on my neck to check my pulse. Your hand was shaking, but you didn't run. Why?”

You look down at your hands. You're twisting the hem of your hoodie. “Because no one deserves to die alone in a ditch, even if they've… even if they've been unkind.”

Then a flicker of something dark crosses his face, then vanishes. He doesn't remember the unkindness. “I was unkind to you?”

You shake your head. “Not directly, not ever. You just… you exist in a world that doesn't like people like me, and I exist in a world you were taught to hate.”

Rafe leans forward, wincing slightly. He reaches out and, very gently, takes your hand. You freeze, his fingers are warm.

“I don't hate you, y/n. I don't think I could. Even with the static, even with the missing pages. You're the only thing that makes sense.”

You whisper. “Rafe… you don't remember, you don't know what you're saying.”

“I remember this.” he squeezes your hand. “Sitting in a white room, looking at a girl with rain in her hair who brought me gummy bears. This feels more real than anything the nurses have told me.”

The door opens and a nurse walks in. You pulled your hand back like you've been burned.

“Visiting hours are over in ten minutes.” the nurse spoke softly and you nodded, she leaves.

Rafe turns back to you, his expression shifting, looking softer. “Come back tomorrow, please?”

You bite your lip. “I don't know if that's a good idea Rafe.”

“Because of who I was?” he asked gently.

You sighed. “Because of who you might remember you are.”

Rafe made a long pause, he looks out the window and sighed.

“Then let's not find out tomorrow, let's find out today. Tell me one thing, one bad thing. Something I did.” he says

You are quiet for a long moment. The rain has started again, tapping against the glass.

“You beat Pope up with a golf club when he was delivering food at the country club.” you said.

Rafe blinked and there's no recognition, no pride. “That sounds exhausting.”

“It was terrifying.”

He turned back to you, serious. “I'm tired of being terrifying to most people here.” he pauses. “Will you sit on the bed? Just for a minute... The chair is too far away.”

You hesitate a little. Then, slowly, you moved from the chair to the very edge of the hospital bed. He doesn't try to touch you again, he just looks at you.

“Thank you... For the gummy bears and for being the first clear thing.”

You're just looking at him: the stitches, the bruise, the unguarded eyes. “You're welcome, Rafe.”

You stays until the nurse comes back and gently kicked you out. As you walk down the hospital corridor, you hear him call out:

“Don't let the static win, y/n!”

You paused and pressed your palm to your chest. And you know that you're going to come back tomorrow.

-

DAY 5 – Discharge

Rafe is being discharged from the hospital and although his memory hasn't returned, Sarah, against every instinct, has agreed to let him stay at The Chateau temporarily. "He's not safe at Tannyhill alone.," she told John B. "He's not dangerous right now, he's just sad."

You're there at the hospital entrance. You brought him a hoodie, your hoodie, because he mentioned being cold.

Rafe holds the hoodie like it's made of gold. “This is yours?”

You nodded shyly. “You can keep it, I have others.”

He puts it on immediately. It's too small in the shoulders, but he doesn't care. “I'm not giving this back.”

Sarah watches you two from a few feet away near Twinkie, talking to John B under her breath. “I've never seen him like this.”

“Like what?” John B asked her.

“Like he actually wants to be good.” Sarah said quietly.

***

Rafe is awkward in the small space of The Chateau, he doesn't know where anything is, and he keeps apologizing for taking up room.

The Pogues are tense around him: JJ won't be in the same room alone with him, Pope watches him like a hawk, Kiara tries to be neutral and Cleo just shrugs and says, "Everyone deserves one chance."

But you are there, every single day. You brought him books, you teaches him how to untangle fishing nets (badly).

You fell asleep on the couch next to him while watching a movie, and when you wake up, he's moved to the floor so you could stretch out.

“Why are you on the floor?” you spoke up groggily.

He shrugged. “You looked comfortable, didn't want to move you.”

Your heart swelling by his words. “You're kinda weird.”

Rafe gives you a small smile. “You're just figuring that out?” he asks and you giggle.

Rafe has started coming to the dock with you in the evenings, he doesn't know why he's doing it, but he just knows that he feels calm there next to you.

You two talk for hours about nothing and everything. He tells you about the fragments of memories he does have; like his mother's laugh, the way Sarah used to steal his sweaters, the feeling of sailing before sunrise.

And you tell him about your family; messy, poor, loving. About your dream of opening a little marine rescue center someday, about the stray cat you feed behind the supply store.

You're the best person I've ever met.” he says while watching you talk, completely spellbound.

You blinked and blushed. “You've met like five people since the accident. That's not fair!”

“I meant before the accident too. Even if I don't remember why, I just... know it.”

You don't know that he's describing love, and neither does he. But everyone else can see it.

By the third week of Rafe living at The Chateau, it feels like you and he are dating. And although you're not dating, not officially, you are doing couple things like holding hands under tables, he walks you home every night and you make him coffee in the morning with three sugars, which he now drinks without complaint.

The Pogues have started to thaw. JJ still doesn't trust him fully, but he's stopped flinching every time Rafe moves, Pope actually asked Rafe for help fixing an engine, and Rafe knew exactly what to do. A muscle memory from a life he doesn't remember living.

You and Sarah are having a private conversation on the porch. “He looks at you like you're the sun.”

You look down, a little embarrassed. “He's just... grateful, Sar. For the help!”

Sarah shakes her head. “Nope, that's not gratitude.” she smiles. “I know my brother, y/n and he's in love with you! I think he's been in love with you for a long time... He just couldn't say it before.”

You spoke up quietly, terrified, but hopeful. “What if he gets his memory back and it all goes away?” you asked Sarah.

Sarah put a hand on your shoulder. “Then you deal with it then, but don't punish yourself for something that hasn't happened yet.”

-

6 DAYS AFTER THAT...

It's 3:17 AM at The Chateau, Rafe is on the couch, tangled in a blanket. He gasps awake: drenched in sweat, heart slamming, his lungs are burning.

It all comes back, not in pieces, but in a flood. Every cruel word, every violent act, the gun, the boat, the drugs, the way his father looked at him, the way he looked at himself.

Years of self-hatred, anger and drugs, all of it, crashing over him like a wave he can't breathe through.

He stumbles to the bathroom, grips the sink, and stares at his reflection. For a long time, he doesn't recognize himself.

“You're a monster, you've always been a monster.” he whispered to the mirror.

But then it appeared your face, at the farmers market, at the beach, at the gas station, in the rain. Your smile, your soft face, you two shaking hands, your stupid gummy bears from the hospital.

He remembers loving you quietly, desperately for two years.

And he remembers being too much of a coward to do anything about it...

He puts his face into his hands, his voice's broken and sad. “I'm sorry y/n. I'm so sorry.”

He doesn't sleep the rest of the night. He lies on the couch, staring at the ceiling, holding the hoodie you gave him. And he makes a decision: he won't tell you, not yet, not until he can figure out how to be both versions of himself.

He doesn't want to lose you, and he's terrified that the truth will.

***

For a whole week Rafe pretends perfectly. He laughs at JJ's jokes, he helps Pope with the boat, he sits beside you on the dock like every single evening and listens to you talk about marine biology and stars.

But you noticed. He's quieter, he holds your hand tighter, he looks at you like he's memorizing your face.

“You're different Rafe.” you said.

He spoke up too quickly. “Different how?”

You search his eyes. “I don't know, like deeper, like you're carrying something on your shoulders.”

He pulls you into a hug, and hides his face in your hair. “I'm just tired, 'kay. A bunch of bad dreams.”

You don't push him, you never push. And that's what kills him.

-

It's nighttime at The Chateau, outdoor fire pit. Four weeks have passed since the accident and one week since Rafe recovered his memories. The fire pit has the whole vibe: marshmallows and chocolate, music and the whole group.

Rafe is quiet all night, quieter than usual. You noticed that, you're tucked into his side on the bench, your head on his shoulder.

You tilted your head up. “Hey... You okay? You haven't made fun of JJ in almost an hour.”

Rafe looks down at you. “I'm just thinking.”

“About?” you ask him.

He gives you a small, careful smile. “About everything, nothing and you.”

You blushed and JJ groans from across the fire.

“You two gonna keep being disgusting, or are we gonna play a game?”

Kiara giggles. “JJ, let them be. They're in the honeymoon phase.”

Then Rafe spoke up without missing a beat. “We're not even officially dating.”

Everything stops and you freeze.

“Wait, you're not?” Sarah ask slowly.

Rafe looks at you, then at Sarah, then at the fire. “I haven't asked her properly. I wanted to... do it right.”

John B spoke. “You've been holding hands and making heart eyes for five weeks. What's "doing it right"? A marching band?”

Rafe speaks with a hint of his old sharpness, but softened. “Something like that.”

“Rafe... we don't need a marching band.” you say shyly.

He turns towards you, eyes full of fear and love. “I know, but you deserve one.”

“I'll bite. What's the hold-up? You clearly like her, she likes you. Just... be together.” Pope says.

Rafe stands up abruptly making everyone to look at him.

“There's something I need to say... To all of you.” he spoke up.

Your blood runs cold.

You're standing too, reaching for his hand. “Rafe, whatever it is—” you try to continue.

Rafe takes your hand, holds it tight, he doesn't look at you. “I got my memories back.”

There's silence while the only sound it's the fire crackling.

“When?” Sarah stands up, her face is pale.

“Six days ago.” he looks at her. “I woke up around three in the morning. And somehow I remembered everything. The boat, the gun, the way Dad looked at me when I wasn't enough, the way I looked at myself.”

John B moved slightly in front of Sarah. “And you didn't think to mention this?”

Rafe sighed tiredly. “I was scared.”

JJ laughed bitterly. “Rafe Cameron scared? Okay, that's new.”

Rafe meets JJ's eyes. “It's not new, I've been scared my whole life. I just used to cover it with anger and pills.” he looks around at all of them. “I remember everything I did to you Pope, I remember punching you with that golf club like you were garbage. JJ, I remember putting a gun to your head and meaning it. John B, I remember hunting you like you were an animal.”

No one speaks, and you hasn't been pulled away.

Rafe continues. “Sarah, I remember pointing a gun at you and drowning you. My own sister... The same girl who used to steal my sweaters, the same girl I taught to drive.” he let out a sob. “I remember choosing anger over you again and again. And I remember hating myself for it, and then choosing it again anyway.” he says with a cracked voice.

Sarah speaks, tears stream down her face. “Why didn't you tell me?”

Rafe sighed. “Because I was hoping I could keep being the version of me you all started to tolerate, the one who didn't remember... The one who was just confused and sad instead of volatile and cruel.” he laughs, bittersweet. “I liked him better, he was easier to be.”

Kiara spoke quietly. “But you're not him, right?”

Rafe shakes his head. “No, I'm both. I'm the guy who punched Pope with a golf club and the guy who taught Sarah how to skip stones. I'm the guy who terrified you guys for years and the guy who fell asleep on y/n shoulder last week.” he finally looks at you, you're crying. “I'm both... And I don't know how to be both.”

You stepped closer to him, you don't let go of his hand.

“Rafe... you should have told me.” you say softly.

His voice breaks. “I know. I was a coward, I've always been a coward. I got my memories back and the first thing I felt was relief because I remembered you. Not the version I met five weeks ago, but the version I watched for years. The one at the farmers market buying strawberries, the one who left a sandwich for a stray cat, the one who smiled at me once, just once, and I almost pulled my car over because my heart stopped.”

Your breath catches on your throat.

He speaks faster now. “I remember being in love with you for two years and doing nothing about it because I thought I didn't deserve you, and I was right, I didn't. I did terrible things, I hurt people you love, I hurt my own family.” he looks at Sarah, then back at you. “But here's the thing I figured out in the last couple of weeks, sitting in this house, eating cereal out of a chipped bowl, watching Pope get excited about a rare bird and JJ pretend he doesn't care about anything while caring about everything.”

Pope looks up sharply while JJ crosses his arms.

Rafe continue. “The old me would have taken those memories and used them as armor. Would have said, "See? This is who I am. This is all I'll ever be." But the new me, the one who forgot for five weeks, he taught me something. You taught me something...” he turns to face you fully, takes both of your hands. “You can be a different person, not because you forget the past, but because you choose, every single day, to be something else.”

“Rafe...” you whispered.

“I'm not asking you to forgive me for who I was, I'm not even asking the Pogues to forgive me, but I'm asking for a chance. A real chance to be the guy who deserves the girl who brings gummy bears to a hospital room, the guy who sits on a dock and watches the sunset and doesn't think about who he used to be.” he swallows hard. “The guy who loves you, because I do. I've loved you since before I forgot, and I loved you through the forgetting, and I love you now with all the terrible memories and all the good ones.”

The fire pops and no one speaks.

“You love me?” you asked him, barely audible.

Rafe nods, a tear slips down his cheek. “I love you, I think I was born loving you. I just... had to break my own brain to figure it out.”

You let out a little laugh, a wet, shaking laugh, and then with the courage held back for two years, you're kissing him. Your hands on his face, his arms around your waist, pulling you close like you're the only solid and stable thing in a world that keeps tilting.

JJ looks away smiling. Sarah sobs into John B's shoulder, Kiara holds Pope's hand, Cleo wipes her eyes.

You break apart and Rafe rests his forehead against yours.

“Is that a yes?” he whispered.

You whisper back, laughing. “It's a yes, it's always been a yes... You just had to catch up.”

Rafe turns to the group, he's still holding your hand.

“I know I don't deserve to stand here, I know I've done things that can't be undone. I'm not asking for your trust, not yet, maybe not ever. But I'm asking for a chance... One day at a time.”

John B makes a long pause and looks at Sarah, she nods. “You hurt her, and I'll put you in the ground. Amnesia or not.”

“I know.” he nods.

Pope stands and extends his hand. “I don't forgive you, not yet, but I see you trying. And I can respect trying.”

Rafe shakes his hand. “I'll take it.”

JJ is the last one, he makes a long pause. Then he walks over, throws an arm around Rafe's shoulders.

“Listen, I still think you're a walking red flag. But Y/N is basically a sister to me, and she's been in love with your psycho ass for years. So if she's stupid enough to choose you, I'm stupid enough to let her.”

Rafe let out a genuine laugh. “That's the nicest thing you've ever said to me.”

JJ grinned. “Don't get used to it.”

Sarah walks over slowly, she's still crying. She stops in front of Rafe.

“I missed you.” her voice breaks. “I missed my brother, not the one who pointed a gun at me. The one who taught me to skip stones, the one who let me steal his sweaters.”

Compassion cracks completely over Rafe and he pulls Sarah into a tight hug.

“I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Sarah.”

Sarah spoke, muffled against his chest. “I know, just... stay, please. Stay this version.”

Rafe pulls back from Sarah's hug, he looks at you and then back at Sarah. “I'll try, every day.”

***

Two hours later the fire has died to embers. Everyone else has gone inside while you and Rafe are alone on the bench, you're tucked into his side, his arm around you.

You are playing with his fingers. “You really remembered me... From before.”

He pressed a kiss to your hair. “Everytime, every single time I saw you. The grocery store, the beach... Everytime.” he smiled. “And the version who sings while making coffee.”

You giggled. “I sing terribly!”

Rafe laughs and smiles. “You sing like an angel who's been smoking cigarettes. It's my new favorite sound.”

You laugh and shoved him gently. “You're so annoying.”

He pulls you closer, tilts your chin up. “And you're so beautiful... And I wasted two years being too scared to tell you, I'm not wasting any more time.”

You look up at him, searching his eyes. “Are you okay? Really? Having all those memories back, the bad ones.”

He nods, considering your worries. “It's heavy... Some days it's going to be really heavy, but.” he looks at the Chateau, at the warm light, at the sleeping forms of people who have every reason to hate him. “...I'm not carrying it alone anymore, and that makes all the difference.”

You reached up, touched his face, the faded scar on his temple. “I'm proud of you.”

He closes his eyes. “Don't say that... I haven't done anything yet.”

You shake your head. “You showed up every day, you sat on this dock and let people who hate you throw marshmallows at your head, you let Sarah yell at you for hours without walking away, you helped Pope fix a boat that belonged to a man you once threw in the water.” you shake your head again, smiling. “That's not nothing, Rafe. That's everything.”

Rafe opens his eyes and they are bright, wet, and full of hope.

“I love you.”

You smile, shy and sweet. “I love you too. Even when you're annoying, even when you steal all the marshmallows, even when you pretend not to cry during sad movies.”

Rafe grinned. “I have never cried during a movie.”

You spoke, deadpan. “You sobbed during Finding Nemo.”

He throws his head back and laughs, loud enough that someone inside yells at him to shut up.

“The dad lost his son, Y/N! It was emotional!”

You laughed with him, leaning into his chest. “You're ridiculous.”

He wrapped both arms around you, holds you tight, and looks up at the stars. “Yeah... But I'm your ridiculous.”

Inside The Chateau, through the window, Sarah watches. She sees her brother laugh, really laugh, for the first time in years. She sees you tucked against him like you belong there.

Sarah spoke softly to John B, who's half-asleep beside her. “I think he's going to be okay.”

John B mumbled. “Which one?”

“Both of them.” Sarah smiles.

Outside, the embers glow, the stars turn overhead. And Rafe Cameron, former monster, current mess, future something better, holds the girl he's loved for years and finally, finally lets himself believe he deserves her.

Rafe whispered softly, so only you can hear. “Thank you.”

You spoke drowsy, content. “Mhm? For what?”

“For seeing me... Even when I didn't want to be seen.”

You lift your head, kissed his jaw, then settled back down. “You were always worth seeing, Rafe. You just had to forget everything else to believe it.”

Pairing: Nerd!Rafe x Needy!Reader (i didn’t make him subby bc i still wanted him to be the big meanie we love)

Warnings: A bit non-con, choking mentioned (not reader & rafe)

Word Count: 1.4k

𐂯  ⁰ᨵᩥ⁰  𐂯

You’d finally gotten a day off from work, after weeks of packed schedules and poor sleep. To relax, you planned a lazy day of lounging around, running a few errands, and spending time with your boyfriend. 

Except, this morning, you woke up in an empty, cold bed. It wasn’t unusual, but it did catch you off guard, considering he always wrapped you up in his arms, bear-hugging you through the night. You didn’t give it too much thought, turning over and going back to sleep for another few hours. 

You’d grown used to him taking on more work than he could handle. Rafe excused his workaholism as being a perfectionist who’d get a promotion. Despite your reminders that his boss is a penny-pinching bastard.

𐂯  ⁰ᨵᩥ⁰  𐂯

By the time you arose, forcing yourself to get out of bed, you walk down the hall to the spare bedroom-turned-office, to find Rafe consumed by the pixels of his computer screen. He’s swamped with work, though you don’t know which part exactly. You usually just nod when Rafe talks about it. Not because you don’t care, but because you don’t know anything about computer science.

You stand there quietly, watching his fingers fly across the keyboard and the pen scribbling messily before being dropped again in favor of the mouse. He didn’t even acknowledge you. He hadn’t spoken to you at all today, in fact, which was unlike him. But instead of starting the conversation, you decide to leave him be, willing him to finish quickly.

You return to the master bedroom, opening up twitter. It wasn’t your fault the video popped up. You didn’t watch porn often. Not when you have Rafe. But this one, it messed with your head. 

The way the guy gripped his girlfriend’s hips. Her eyes rolling back. Hickies down his neck. Hand wrapping around her throat as he got faster.

His glasses and her hair and the way their bodies fit together, like they were designed for each other.

You needed Rafe.

𐂯  ⁰ᨵᩥ⁰  𐂯

You enter the office once more, where Rafe sits at a small desk, typing almost frantically. His eyebrows are furrowed, glasses resting lazily on the bridge of his nose. Your eyes trail down to his clenched jaw and the frown on his lips. He’s focused. So focused it’s hot. You know you shouldn’t, but you decide to poke the bear. 

Walking up behind him, you place a hand on his shoulder.

“You’ve been working all day.” You murmur after a moment of quiet observation. He looks up at you, irritation clear as day, holding himself back from snapping.

“I’ll be finished soon.” His voice held a sharper undertone, but his eyes seem to soften amidst the storm brewing below the surface.

“Mm, let me help you…” you purr, taking a seat on one of his thighs. Facing him, you wrap your arms around his neck, admiring all of his features with a longing. He glances at you for a moment, silently. Then he scoffs, focusing his attention back on the computer.

You sigh, feeling deflated by his rejection. Usually he was putty in your pretty little hands.

A few more agonizing minutes go by before you begin slowly rocking your hips back and forth against his leg. He looks back over at you, the annoyance evident on his face as he rolls his eyes. Ignoring his clear disinterest, you pick up the pace, becoming a bit rougher, yet he still refuses to give you the pleasure of a reaction. 

You whimper, forehead dropping against his shoulder as your soaked cunt ruts against his leg, “Raaafe” you breathe, picking your head up to check for a reaction. To your dismay, the attempts at seducing him keep falling flat, leaving you frustrated.

His lack of attention dims the flame that burns in your lower belly. Slowing down, you realize it’s time to leave him be. You even start to feel a bit bad, the longer you think about it.

He’s trying to work, clearly stressed, but here you are getting off on him.

As you finally stop, settling back on his leg, you look at him, waiting for his eyes to meet yours. They do for a moment, his adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows thickly. He leans back, pushing his glasses back up and running a hand over his hair. You watch his bicep flex, only slightly with his action.

He licks his bottom lip, “Get outta here.” he finally says, regretting it not even a second later.

As you stand up to leave, his hands land on each of your hips with an iron grip, slamming you back down onto his thigh. You let out a yelp, feeling your pussy grinding into his tense muscle. You keep your mouth closed, trying not to moan too loud, but god, you wanted to.

That’s when he finally looks at you. “This what you wanted, baby?” He asks gruffly, now sporting a small smirk.

You whine in response, too lost in the sensation of your clit against his denim-clad thigh. He continues to roughly rub your soaking pussy back and forth across his leg, making your body tingle with arousal. His fingers sink further into the flesh of your hips, hard enough to leave bruises in their wake. Rafe uses his strength to keep you snugly, tightly against him. Your moans grow louder as the feeling of pure, unbridled bliss slowly consumes your entire being. 

The fuzzy sensation coursing through your body feels overwhelming, inching you closer to the brink of explosion with Rafe’s every impatient drag.

Your clit is starting to ache as you pick up the speed again, trying to fuck Rafe’s thigh as hard as possible, desperate for that otherworldly feeling of friction. Your panties are soaked, maybe the crotch of your leggings too.

Your breath hitches, “Mm, Rafe...” With your arms around his neck, letting your head rest on his broad shoulder, you’re riding his thigh at a harsher pace. You whine again, feeling the knot in your stomach growing painfully tighter.

“You gonna cum, pretty girl?” He taunts you, reveling in the sight of you falling apart because of him.

“Yes,” you breathe, getting closer.

“Yea? How close, angel?” he asks, mocking you.

Your mouth falls open, choking on a gasp as you cry out, “Raaafe!!” once more. He lets out a low hum, placing a kiss to your neck when your head falls back, enjoying the scene of his girl getting closer.

“Fuck!” you yell, feeling yourself on the brink of release. Rafe brings his face closer, his lips grazing yours.

“Look at me, baby. I want you to look at me.” he speaks in an octave lower than his baseline. That alone was enough to make your legs shake. 

Your whining grows louder, words getting caught in the back of your throat as your pace grows urgent and needy.  Rafe brings one of his hands from your hip to your hair, letting the roots wrap around his long fingers, pulling you back with a brute force you aren’t used to.

His eyes flicker from your face to your restless movements. “You’re so perfect. So good.” he purrs.

“Oh, Rafe!” you wrap your arms tighter around his shoulders, feeling a hot ecstasy flood your body, overcoming you with absolute euphoria. Rafe keeps one hand squeezing your hip, helping it roll sloppily against his body. He bites your shoulder to muffle a soft groan as he watches you ride out your high. 

You clench around nothing, walls aching and pulsating with your orgasm, “Oh my god.” you choke.

“That’s it, baby.” he murmurs, watching you fully fall apart on his lap. Rafe smiles, “Good girl.” he praises, letting go of your hair and allowing his fingers to run through it.

As you catch your breath, he leans in and kisses your forehead. Your eyes meet when he pulls away, giving you the chance to take in his expression. His annoyance is still festering, but he’s visibly less tense than before.

“Now, go. I have to work.” He nudges you off his lap, forcing you to stand on trembling legs. You want to protest, but knew it would be pointless. 

Besides, he let you fuck his leg, you got what you wanted. The knowledge that even when he’s mad, Rafe still pleases you, settles something warm in your chest.

And with that, you leave the office, walking down the hall and taking a left into the bathroom for a shower, secretly hoping he’ll join you in there too.

𐂯  ⁰ᨵᩥ⁰  𐂯

𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐞𝐫 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐟𝐢𝐥𝐞 : john logan x fem! chronic fainter! reader

𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐤 𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 : little bit of angst, self-sabatoge! reader, ermmm, healthy communication? Logan..being a green flag? comfort!

𝐞𝐯𝐚𝐥𝐮𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 : You couldn't get it out of your mind. the devastated, unbearably broken look on your boyfriends face from that evening. The evening where you didn't recover as easily as you did, all those times before. You noticed it the next day, how wound up he was- how tired and exhausted he looked. And if 1+1=2, you calculated that he must be done with you, done with your baggage and your inbuilt extra effort. So you did the most logical thing you could think of, create distance, let him make you the villain in your untimely end and break it off.

What you didn't anticipate was that he was more stubborn than you ever could've imagined.

𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐨𝐧 𝐢𝐜𝐞 : 8.9k words

𝐛𝐮𝐧𝐧𝐲’𝐬 𝐥𝐨𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐫 : I told ya'll this was a big mama fic. almost double the amount of words than pt 1! I got so so so many requests for a part 2, so I thought I'd do it right. Hopefully it doesn't disappoint, I decided to end it on a good note (spoiler!) since I felt bad for leaving ya'll with an unintentional cliff hanger. Enjoy!! Thank you @pinkyups for the gif and @somebitchprobably-graphicdump for the dividers !

𝐥𝐨𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐫 𝐩𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 : I would really appreciate if you could send in an ask to be on my taglist, it's easier for me to manage and make sure everyone is added!! here is the post of my current taglist. Also, if your user is bolded, I'm going on a prayer that youve been tagged but Tumblr wouldn't let me properly do so. I would recommend checking your privacy settings to allow other people to tag you.

𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐞𝐫 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐟𝐢𝐥𝐞 : john logan x fem! chronic fainter! reader 𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐤 𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 : angst, mentions of fainting, breakup implied or atleast taking a break implied, dizziness, medical inaccuracies for the plot. 𝐞𝐯𝐚𝐥𝐮𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 : Being a chronic fainter was a little annoying. but you learnt how to manage and by junior year at Briar, everyone around you had adapted to it too; Hannah and Allie knew how to catch the signs before you hit the floor, Garrett keeps electrolyte packets in his backpack, and the hockey house has practically developed an emergency response system.

Everyone adapts except John Logan.

Because no matter how many times you wake back up smiling and insisting you’re okay, Logan never quite learns how to treat it like something ordinary. And when one particularly bad fainting spell leaves you unconscious long enough to genuinely terrify him, the careful balance the two of you have built between normalcy and fear finally begins to crack.

Or: two times John Logan watched you faint, and the one time he realised loving you meant learning how to be scared without letting it consume him.

𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐨𝐧 𝐢𝐜𝐞 : 5.7k words 𝐛𝐮𝐧𝐧𝐲’𝐬 𝐥𝐨𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐫 : First time fulfilling a request, I hope you like it anon, im sorry that it probably isn't the fluff you are looking for but I hope you like it nonetheless. thank you @mieluno & @kthice for the text dividers

I need you to know that right before I took this picture he was laid on the carpet and I said, "Stru, do you want to come snuggle?" and he hopped up onto the bed and flopped down like this and my heart just went full grinch weirdo expansion

Summary: where the girls take you to a costume party and things change a little bit for you.

Warning: off campus au (kind of), puck bunnies, shy reader, dumb, toxic and lame ex, dean being a gentleman (in his own way), drunk reader, one bed trope, a little angst, teasing and fluff.

Beau Maxwell's house is packed to the rafters: strobes of red and blue light cut through a thick haze of sweat, cheap beer, and expensive cologne. The bass from the speakers is vibrating so hard it rattles the red Solo cups stacked on the kitchen counters. You're dressed like Christina Aguilera in her 2002 Dirrty era, you're really trying something new and that reason alone is probably why the girls dragged you to Beau's costume party.

Allie was walking next to you, dressed in a flawless, glittery 2000s J-Lo tracksuit, yelling over the music. “I told you! Beau promised this would be the party of the semester, and he actually delivered!”

Beau came to her side in full Top Gun flight suit as Goose, wrapping an arm around Allie's waist. “Babe you need to have some faith in me, the Maxwell brand never misses.”

Hannah was wearing fluffy bunny ears and a white bodysuit, nudging you with her elbow. “Look at you, sweetie! Miss Malone’s waitress of the month is absolutely rocking the 'Dirrty' era. I knew we just needed to get you out of your oversized sweaters.”

You're tugging anxiously at the edge of your cropped halter top, your face is flushing with embarrassment.

“Hannah, I feel like half my body is exposed. If a customer from Malone's sees me like this, I’m going to have to fake my own death and move to Canada.”

Brianna was laughing, her halo tilted slightly as she laughs. “Oh, please honey. You look stunning! Besides, look around. Logan is literally just wearing bird wings and no shirt.”

Logan's flapping a giant pair of feathered wings behind Brianna, he's grinning. “Hey, it takes a lot of confidence to pull off the avian look, okay? G, back me up.”

Meanwhile Garrett was wearing a magician's cape, clearly matching with Hannah. He's holding a Solo cup like a prop. “Can't hear you, Birdman. I'm currently preparing to make this keg disappear.”

You try to laugh and blend into the background, taking a hefty sip of your drink to calm your nerves just a little. As your eyes wander through the crowded living room, your heart drops, because, standing by the punch bowl is a shockingly familiar face...

You choked slightly on your drink. “Oh my god. No! No, no, no.”

Hannah frowned, she followed your gaze. “What? What is it- oh.” she paused. “You have got to be kidding me, is that...?”

You just nodded, panicking. “Yes! It’s him. My ex, Stuart. Why is he here? He hates hockey and its players, he hates american football players, he hates big crowds, and his idea of a wild and crazy night is watching documentaries on tax law! We broke up, like... two months ago and I am not dealing with his boring lectures and energy tonight.”

Allie grabbed another drink from a passing tray and handed it to you. “Babe, drink this okay? You are a popstar tonight! You work hard, you look hot, and you are going to vibe. Just... Forget about him and his boring ass.” you accepted the drink and downed it in one gulp. “Damn, that was easy.”

The drinks have fully kicked in, the initial shyness has melted away into a warm, buzzing confidence. You’re standing near the edge of the makeshift dance floor, fully lost in the rhythm, your hips swaying to the heavy beat, feeling so good and free. You feel alive, your head is fuzzy because of the drinks, the stress of school and Malone’s are completely forgotten.

Through the crowd, a guy in a full, fuzzy yellow and black bumblebee suit bumps into you. “Oh, whoa! Sorry about that, Xtina. Didn't mean to buzz into your personal space.” Tucker said smiling warmly.

You giggled, waving your cup. “Tucker! Oh my god, hi! You're a bee! That's amazing!”

He grinned. “Garrett picked it out, don't ask him about it. You're having fun?”

You nodded vigorously, your vision is a little swimmy. “The best! I am just... living life!”

Tucker chuckles and moves toward the kitchen, and as you turn back to the dance floor, your eyes lock onto the center of the room in where Dean Di Laurentis is standing there. He’s wearing aviator sunglasses inside, dog tags resting over a suit against a completely bare, perfectly toned chest. He looks like Maverick if Maverick spent twenty hours a week on the ice. Naturally, there is a literal flock of puck bunnies surrounding him, hanging onto his every word.

Dean's eyes scan the room, cutting through his circle of admirers, and stop dead on you. His jaw slackens slightly as he takes in the outfit.

You started shouting way too loudly, waving both arms in the air with zero chill, because when you're drunk you feel invincible. “DEAN!! HI!!! DEAN, OVER HERE!!!”

Dean blinks at you, a slow, utterly wicked smirk spreading across his face, he doesn't hesitate. He murmurs something to the girls around him, leaving them mid-sentence, and struts directly through the crowd toward you.

He stopped a few inches away, taking off his aviators to reveal burning blue eyes. “Well, hello there, sweetheart. I didn't know Briar’s sweetest girl had a wild side... What's all this?”

You giggled, doing a little uncoordinated but enthusiastic dance step, your hips bumping into his thigh. “I'm a popstar, Dean! Do you like it? Allie and Hannah made me do it, but I think I love it!”

His voice dropped an octave, a low chuckle escaping his throat. “Like it? Honey, I'm trying very hard to remember my manners right now. You look incredible.”

Before you can think, you step closer into his space, completely unbothered by your usual shyness. Dean’s smirk softens into something warmer, he steps in, his large, warm hands finding their way to your hips. The contact sends a jolt straight down your spine, but it’s not uncomfortable or awkward like when your ex tried to do that, it feels grounding.

Dean's guiding your rhythm smoothly, pulling you a fraction closer. “Well... Let's see those moves then, popstar. Don't let me stop you.”

You dance with him, your head spinning from the alcohol and his sheer proximity. And every time your body brushes against his bare chest, your heart does a flip, he keeps his hands firmly on your waist, navigating you away from any rowdy partygoers, his eyes never leaving yours.

Hours after that the music has died down to a low murmur, the house is a wasteland of crushed cans and deflated balloons. You are leaning heavily against Dean, your chin resting on his shoulder and your legs feel like absolute jelly.

You're slurring slightly, looking around the empty couch area. “Wait... where did Hannah go? Brianna? And Allie? Did they leave me? Am I abandoned?”

Dean rubs his thumb in soothing circles against your hip. “Relax, babe. Hannah went upstairs with Garrett about an hour ago. Allie and Brianna did the same with Beau and Logan. They're all crashed out in the boys' rooms.”

You're pouting, your eyes are heavy. “Oh... So I'm lone... lonely. The lonely popstar.”

Dean smiled softly to you. “You're not lonely, you're with me. And you are officially cut off, sweetheart. Let's get you off your feet, okay?”

You try to take a step forward, but your heel catches on a stray solo cup, you stumble, but you don't hit the floor. Dean catches you effortlessly, scooping you up into his arms before you can even gasp by his action. One arm is securely behind your back, the other one is under your knees.

“Whoa... You're strong, like a hockey player.” you say while wrapping your arms around his neck.

He laughed softly as he carries you up the stairs. “Funny how that works. Just hold on, I've got you.”

Dean's room is surprisingly neat for a college guy, smelling of cedar, books and clean laundry. Dean gently deposits you onto his large mattress, you immediately flop backward, sighing contentedly against the pillows.

Dean's standing over the bed, unlooping his dog tags. “Alright, popstar. Since there's only one bed, you can have the left side of the bed, I'll take the right. Just get comfortable."

You're trying to sit up, tugging frantically at the back of your halter top. “Dean... Maverick... we have a problem. A big, sticky, terrible problem.”

He arch an eyebrow. “Yeah? What's that?” he says amused.

Your fingers are fumbling uselessly against the fabric, your vision blurring with frustration. “I'm trapped! The fabric... it's like cheap faux-leather or something, and I sweat, and now it's stuck to my skin. And my hands aren't working! They're like little clubs, I can't unclip the back. I'm going to have to live in this costume forever.”

He walks over to the edge of the bed, kneeling down so he's at the same eye level as you. “Hey, take a breath. Breathe... You're not living in the costume.”

You look at him with big, innocent, tipsy eyes, your lower lip is slightly trembling. “Can you help me? Please? I can't get it off.”

Dean freezes for a fraction of a second, his gaze drops to your lips, then to the intricate, tangled straps at the back of your neck. The playful playboy facade completely drops, replaced by a tense, hyper-focused intensity.

His voice is thick, deadly serious but incredibly gentle. “Okay, turn around. Sit up for me, please.”

You clumsily turn your back to him, sitting cross-legged on the bed. You feel his large, cool hands brush your hair over one shoulder, his knuckles graze your bare skin, sending a wave of goosebumps across your arms.

His fingers are working meticulously at the stubborn clasp. “Jesus, you weren't kidding. Whoever designed this outfit did not think about the exit strategy.”

“Don't rip it, please. It's Hannah's.” you whispered while staring at the wall.

He chuckled softly, his breath warm against the back of your neck. “I won't rip it, sweetheart. Trust me, just hold still for a second...”

He carefully detangles the sticky fabric from the clasp, his touch light and deliberate. With a soft click, the tension in the top gives way. He holds the fabric against your front gently, making sure it doesn't just drop, completely respecting your boundaries and privacy.

Dean steps back, and he grabbed one of his giant, soft Briar Hockey t-shirts with his number "66" and surname on the back from his dresser.

“There, the clasp is undone. I’m turning around now. Put this on, slip the costume out from underneath it, and slide under the covers, yeah?” he turns his back to you, facing the door.

You clutched the soft, oversized shirt to your chest, your heart's pounding for a completely different reason now. “Dean?”

He looks at you from over his shoulder, a soft smirk returning to his lips. “Yeah, popstar?”

You smile softly, your eyelids are drooping. “Thank you.”

He smiled. “Anytime, sweetheart. Now get changed before I lose my mind.”

The rustle of fabric fills the quiet room as you quickly slip into Dean’s massive Briar Hockey t-shirt. It swallows you whole, the hem falling all the way down to your mid-thigh, smelling intensely of his signature cologne: sandalwood and success. You slide under the crisp, cool sheets, pulling the duvet right up to your chin.

You spoke again softly, your voice muffled by the blanket. “Okay... I’m decent. You can turn around.”

Dean turns around, a slow, appreciative smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he sees you practically drowning in his clothes under the duvet. Without a word, he reaches down and effortlessly unbuttons the suit, kicking them off along with his aviators and dog tags. He's left in just a pair of dark gray Calvin Klein boxers. He climbs into the other side of the mattress, the bed dips significantly under his weight.

He's prop-ping his head up with one hand, looking over at you in the dark. “Are you comfortable, popstar?”

You nodded shyly, burying half your face in the pillow. “Yeah, the shirt is really soft.”

He lowers himself onto his pillow, his voice dropping into a sleepy, raspy rumble. “Keep it if you want. Go to sleep, sweetheart. I'll see you in the morning.”

***

The bright morning sunlight streams through the window blinds, cutting across the room as stripes. As consciousness slowly returns to you, the fog of the alcohol has cleared, leaving behind a mild headache and a very sudden, overwhelming awareness of your surroundings.

You can barely move, there is a heavy, solid weight draped securely over your waist, pinning you to the mattress.

You blink your eyes open and realize you are tucked firmly against a wall of absolute muscle, Dean is acting as the perfect big spoon, his chest is pressed flush against your back, his breathing deep and even against your shoulder. Because he’s only in boxers, you can feel the direct, radiating heat of his bare skin right through the thin fabric of your t-shirt. His strong arm is wrapped completely around your middle, pulling you back so there is zero space between you.

Your heart starts hammering against your ribs, you try to gently shift forward to create some breathing room, but the moment you move, the grip around your waist tightens.

Dean groan softly, his voice incredibly deep and raspy from sleep, burying his face deeper into the crook of your neck. “Stop moving... 'S too early.”

You're completely freezing by his voice, your face flushing a bright, fiery crimson. “Dean... Dean, wake up.”

His thumb lazily brushing against your hip through the shirt, entirely unfazed. “Mmm, no. Bed is warm, you're warm. Stay still.”

You squeak slightly, overwhelmed by the sheer intimacy of the position. “Dean, please. You're... you're holding me really tight. And you don't have a shirt on.”

That seems to wake him up a little, you feel him chuckle against your skin, the vibration sending a shiver down your spine. Slowly, he lifts his head from your neck, though he doesn't untangle his legs from yours.

You blinked sleepily, a lazy, incredibly charming morning smirk spreading across his face. “Good morning to you too, sunshine. And for the record, I didn't have a shirt on last night either. You didn't seem to mind it when you were dancing with me.”

You hide your face in your hands. “I was tipsy! I didn't know what I was doing. And I... I usually don't do this. Wake up like this, with anyone.”

Dean’s smirk softens slightly at your clear embarrassment. He carefully rolls onto his back, finally releasing his grip on your waist, though he stays close enough that your shoulders are still touching. He props himself up on an elbow, looking down at your flustered, messy-haired state with an expression that is surprisingly tender.

"Hey, look at me." you slowly lower your hands, your big, innocent eyes meeting his burning blue ones. He reached out to gently tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “You don't have to panic, okay? Nothing happened. Well, besides you screaming my name in front of the entire hockey team and demanding I help you out of a sexy, sticky popstar outfit.”

You groan, pulling the duvet over the lower half of your face. “Please tell me you're making that up.”

He laughed out loud, the sound rich and clear in the quiet room. “I wish I was, but honestly? It was the highlight of my night, by a mile. Your ex-boyfriend looked like he was going to cry when I carried you up those stairs... It was funny.”

You peek out from over the blanket, your eyebrows knitting together.

“You saw him?” you asked.

His jaw tightened just a fraction, his playboy swagger returning full force. “Yeah, I saw him. Total buzzkill. You're way too vibrant for a guy who looks like he calculates taxes for fun, sweetheart. You deserve someone who actually knows how to have a good time.”

He leans in just a little closer, his gaze dropping to your lips for a fleeting second before locking back onto your eyes.

“Now, how about we go downstairs, get some coffee into that system of yours, and after that you can tell me all about why Briar’s sweetest waitress has been hiding from me all semester?”

***

You are practically hiding behind Dean as you walk down the stairs. You’re clutching the hem of his oversized Briar Hockey t-shirt, which still smells heavily of him, and your bare feet pad softly against the wooden steps. Your hair is a messy, sleep-tousled cloud, and your cheeks are still burning from the bedroom conversation.

Dean, on the other hand, is the picture of effortless confidence. He’s thrown on a pair of grey sweatpants, but he’s still shirtless, his broad shoulders and tattooed chest completely on display. He glances back at you over his shoulder, a devastating smirk on his face.

He's whispering, leaning back toward you. “Relax, sweetheart. You look adorable and if anyone opens their mouth to tease you, I’ll just tell them I’m cutting off their supply of my premium hair products.”

You tugged his arm, frantically whispering back. “Dean, they're going to think we... you know! And I work with Allie and Hannah! I'll never hear the end of it at Malone's!”

Dean winked. “Let them think whatever they want, it keeps life interesting.”

As you round the corner into the massive, sunlit kitchen, the sheer volume of the room hits you. The smell of sizzling bacon, fresh coffee, and maple syrup is overwhelming. The kitchen is a war zone of morning-after chaos: Tucker is standing at the stove, looking like the only responsible adult in the house, he’s wearing a ridiculous pink apron over a plain t-shirt, methodically flipping a mountain of golden-brown pancakes on a massive griddle.

The rest of the crew is gathered around the long kitchen island. Garrett is slumped in a barstool, still wearing his magician's top hat sideways, looking completely hungover, Hannah is next to him, sipping coffee, her bunny ears now resting around Garrett’s neck. Logan is face-down on the counter, his giant bird wings draped over the back of his stool like a deflated prop, while Brianna gently rubs his back like a soft caress. Beau and Allie are literally sharing a stool, Beau still in his flight suit trousers, looking entirely too energetic at 9am.

The moment Dean’s heavy footsteps echo on the tile, all heads turn.

A dead silence falls over the kitchen and then, the realization hits them.

Garrett lifted his head and a massive evil grin is spreading across his face. “Well, well, well... Look what the cat dragged in. Or rather, look who Di Laurentis managed to avoid scaring away.”

Allie's eyes widening as she spots you, specifically targeting the giant hockey jersey swallowing your frame. “Oh my god. Is that... number 66? The sacred jersey?”

Hannah choked on her coffee, standing up immediately. “Wait, you're wearing his shirt! Xtina, you survived the night!”

You instantly shrink behind Dean’s broad back, your face turning a shade of red that rivals a tomato. You try to look down at your bare toes, wishing the kitchen floor would just open up and swallow you whole.

You were mumbling behind Dean. “It’s just a shirt... my costume was sticky...”

Logan muffled his voice into the counter. “Sure, sure. A sticky situation, classic Di Laurentis play.”

Brianna smacked Logan’s arm. “Shut up, Logan, your wings are dipping into the butter. Let her breathe, she’s sweet.”

Beau pointed a spatula at Dean. “I gotta hand it to you, Maverick. You left the party early, missed the epic beer pong finals, and we all thought you just went to sleep like an old man.”

Dean stepped forward smoothly, wrapping a casual, protective arm around your shoulders and pulling you into his side. “Alright, alright, clear your ears out, you hyenas. First of all, I was being a perfect gentleman. Our favorite Malone's waitress here had a little too much to drink, and I wasn't about to let her drive or deal with her buzzkill of an ex-boyfriend.”

The mention of your ex makes Hannah and Allie instantly switch gears.

Hannah snapped her fingers. “Oh, that’s right! That boring guy was hovering around the punch bowl like a dark cloud, did he bother you sweetie?”

You peeked out from behind Dean, feeling a little braver. “No... Dean carried me upstairs before he could even come over.”

Suddenly, Tucker banged his spatula against the rim of a pan, his voice cut through the noise.

“Alright, y'all need to shut your traps and leave the poor girl alone. Can't you see that y/n's about to faint from embarrassment? Go sit down at the table before I starve the lot of you.”

Tucker turns around, holding a massive platter loaded with a tower of pancakes, a mountain of crispy bacon, and a bowl of perfectly scrambled eggs. He walks over to you, his expression warm and completely understanding.

Tucker handed you a massive ceramic mug filled with steaming black coffee. “Here you go, sweetheart. Drink this. Don't mind these idiots; they've got the collective brain cells of a single hockey puck this morning.”

You take the mug gratefully, the warmth instantly soothing your hands. “Thank you, Tucker. You're a lifesaver!”

Dean guide you over to the two empty stools at the far end of the island, safely away from Garrett’s reaching hands. “Sit here, babe. Tucker, slide those pancakes over before Garrett tries to perform a magic trick and make them disappear into his mouth.”

You slide onto the stool, pulling the oversized shirt tightly around your knees. Dean sits right next to you, his thigh brushing against yours. The proximity is dizzying, but as everyone digs into the food, the tension in the room shifts from teasing to comfortable, chaotic breakfast banter.

Garrett shoved a whole piece of bacon into his mouth. “Seriously though, Tucker, these are amazing. Marry me.”

“You can't afford my dowry, Graham.”

Dean reaches over, loading a plate with two massive pancakes, several strips of bacon, and a neat pile of eggs. He places it directly in front of you, along with a fork.

“Eat up, popstar. You need the fuel... Then, if you're feeling up for it, I can drive you back to your dorm to get a change of clothes or you can just stay here and keep wearing my stuff... Personally, I think it’s a massive upgrade.” his voice dropped into that low, sweet murmur he meant only for you.

You look up from your coffee, meeting his intense blue eyes. The playboy charm is there, but beneath it, you can tell he’s genuinely watching to see if you’re okay. You take a bite of a pancake, a small, shy smile finally breaking across your face.

“I think I’d like that coffee first.” you smile softly.

He grinned, leaning his elbow on the counter, entirely captivated. “Deal.”

***

Dean’s sleek, expensive car pulls up right to the curb outside your freshman dorm. The campus is relatively quiet, with only a few hungover students blinking at the daylight, wrapped in sweatpants.

You open the passenger door, immediately wincing as your feet slide around inside Dean's massive Briar Hockey slides. You have to walk with a ridiculous, wide-stanced shuffle just to keep them from flying off your feet. You’re clutching your crumpled "Dirrty" costume and silver heels to your chest like a shield, still swallowed alive by his number 66 jersey.

Dean round the front of the car, effortlessly grabbing the bundle of clothes and shoes from your arms. “Give me those before you trip and face-plant into the concrete, popstar. You’re like a hazard to yourself right now.”

You flushed, shuffling alongside him as he guides you toward the heavy glass doors of the dorm. “I told you I look ridiculous, people are staring! The girl at the front desk is looking at me like I just robbed a sporting goods store.”

He flashed a dazzling, blinding smile at the sleepy desk attendant as he holds the door open for you. “Let them look, they’re just jealous you’ve got the best chauffeur on campus. What floor, sweetheart?”

“Third floor. And please, keep your voice down. My RA is incredibly strict about morning-after guests.”

Dean just winked, stepping into the elevator with you and pressing the button. “Relax, I’m an expert at stealth operations. Your secret is safe with me.”

You fumble with your room key, your clumsy, tired fingers dropping it once before Dean gently takes it from you and unlocks the door.

The room is dark, the blinds pulled tightly shut. Your roommate is clearly gone for the weekend, leaving the space completely quiet. The room is a perfect reflection of you: a little messy, with stacks of heavy English literature textbooks on the desk, a string of unlit fairy lights draped over the headboard, and a pile of soft, oversized blankets neatly folded at the foot of your unmade bed.

Dean steps inside, tossing your silver heels and costume onto your desk chair. He looks around the cozy space, his eyes lingering on a stack of highlighters and sticky notes.

He have a soft, amused smile tugging at his lips. “So this is where the magic happens. Lots of heavy reading, huh? You really are a little nerd under that popstar exterior.”

You dropped instantly onto the edge of your mattress, kicking off his giant slides with a sigh of absolute relief. “I have a mid-term on Tuesday, Dean. Some of us actually have to study, we can't all just coast on raw athletic talent and... and perfect hair.”

He let out a low, rich chuckle, walking over to the side of your bed. “Hey, maintaining this mane takes serious dedication. Don't minimize my hard work.”

He stops right in front of you, in the dim light of the dorm room, the playful banter suddenly softens. The reality of the situation settles in: you're sitting on your bed in his clothes, and he's standing over you, looking at you like you're the only person in the world.

You look up at him, your voice small, fighting off a massive yawn. “I’m so tired, my brain feels like mush.”

His expression softening completely, stepping closer and pulling back the heavy comforter for you. “Then get under the covers. Stop talking and just crawl in.”

You don't argue, you slide beneath the sheets, curling onto your side and pulling the blanket up to your chin. Your head sinks into your fluffy pillow, and you let out a long, contented breath.

Dean stands there for a moment, watching you settle. Then, he reaches down, picking up his thick black hoodie that he had slung over his shoulder, and gently drapes it over the top of your comforter, adding an extra layer of warmth.

After a moment you peeked out from under the blanket, watching him. “Are you going back to the house?”

Dean sit down on the very edge of your mattress, his weight is slightly shifting the bed. “In a minute, I want to make sure you actually pass out first. Can't have you wandering back to Malone’s in your sleep.”

He reaches out, his large, warm hand gently smoothing over the top of your messy hair. The gesture is so unexpectedly tender, so completely un-playboy like, that your breath hitches in your throat. You lean into his touch just a fraction, your innocent, sleepy eyes locked onto his.

He whispered, his thumb lightly grazing your forehead. “You're safe here, sweetheart. Go to sleep.”

You closed your eyes, and a soft smile forming on your lips. “Don't take your shirt back while I'm sleeping.”

Dean let out a quiet, raspy laugh, his hand lingering on your hair for just a few seconds longer before he slowly stands up. “It looks better on you anyway. Sleep tight, popstar. I'll text you later to make sure you're alive.”

After a while, maybe an hour, you hear his quiet, heavy footsteps move across the linoleum floor. The door clicks shut with a soft, secure sound, leaving you wrapped in his warmth, his scent, and the absolute certainty that your life is about to get a whole lot more interesting.

***

The Tuesday morning air is sharp and brisk, rustling the leaves along the cobblestone pathways of the main quad. Students are bustling past in every direction, clutching travel mugs of coffee and rushing toward their morning lectures. It's been a couple of weeks after the party and you and Dean are taking things slow, he's funny, loyal and so sweet when he wants to, he's been such a support helping you study for midterms while you're taking work breaks at Malone's.

You are walking alone, hugged tightly by your favorite, heavily oversized knit sweater that swallows your hands. In your arms, you are hauling a precarious tower of heavy English literature anthologies, a messy binder bursting with loose-leaf notes, and three different colors of highlighters tucked into your pocket. Your mind is completely occupied with thoughts of your upcoming midterm, mixed with a lingering, warm flutter in your chest from a text Dean had sent you just an hour earlier.

You take a deep breath, focusing on the pavement, completely minding your own business and then, you lift your eyes. About twenty yards ahead, walking straight down the center of the path toward you, is Stuart. He is dressed exactly the way he always is: a stiff, perfectly pressed pastel polo shirt, ironed khaki trousers, and a leather briefcase. He looks entirely out of place among the casual college crowd: rigid, clinical, and completely unbothered by anyone else.

Your stomach instantly drops into a cold, heavy pit. Your heart begins to hammer against your ribs.

“No, no, no. Please, god, no. Not today, not here.” you talk to yourself, almost panicking.

You look frantically to your left, then to your right. To your left is a wide-open lawn with absolutely nowhere to hide, to your right is the Science building, but the doors are too far away. You try to abruptly pivot on your heel, pretending you forgot something in the opposite direction, but your clumsy foot catches on the edge of the cobblestone. You stumble slightly, your heavy textbooks shifting dangerously in your arms.

Stuart voice cut through the morning air, cold and sharp. “Oh. I thought that was you. Don't bother turning around, I already saw you.”

You freeze, your shoulders tensing up until they practically touch your ears. Slowly, you turn back around, clutching your books to your chest like a literal shield. Stuart closes the distance, stopping right in front of you, completely blocking the path. He looks down his nose at you, his eyes scanning your oversized clothes and messy hair with an immediate expression of deep disapproval.

He crossed his arms, leaning back slightly. “You know, it’s funny. I’ve lived on this campus for three years and I barely ever ran into you. Now, suddenly, I can't seem to escape you. First at that rowdy, classless hockey party, and now out here.”

You spoke, your voice's barely a whisper, your natural shyness locking your throat up. “Stuart... hi. I’m actually really late for my literature lecture, I just need to get through—”

He cut you off instantly, raising a hand. “You're always rushing, always disorganized. Look at you, you’re practically dropping your notes on the ground. Some things never change, do they? You’re still the same messy girl I spent two years trying to fix.”

The word fix stings like a slap to the face, you take a half-step back, your knuckles turning white as you grip your binder tighter.

Stuart let out a heavy, self-righteous sigh, shaking his head. “You know, I’ve been waiting for an apology from you for two months... Two whole months since you ruthlessly blindsided me and walked away from everything we built. And instead of showing any remorse, what do I see? I see you at a hockey house, dressed in a vulgar, completely inappropriate outfit, acting like a child.”

You're feeling tears of frustration burning behind your eyes, trying to find your voice. “It wasn't a vulgar outfit, it was a costume party... and I didn't blindside you, Stuart. We were unhappy. I was unhappy for months, and I told you that—” he cuts you again.

He's scoffing loudly, waving his hand dismissively. “Oh, please. Don't rewrite history to make yourself feel better. You were unhappy? Try to think about someone other than yourself for once in your life. I gave you absolute stability, I had our entire five-year plan mapped out, I tolerated your messy schedule, your constant shifts at Malone's, your total inability to keep your life together... and how did you repay me? You threw it all in my face because you claimed I was 'boring'.”

Stuart steps a fraction closer, his shadow completely falling over you, making you feel incredibly small and trapped on the busy walkway.

His voice dropping into a venomous, hushed tone. “You humiliated me. Do you have any idea what it felt like for me to stand at that party and watch you get carried up the stairs by some brainless, arrogant jock? Dean di Laurentis? Seriously? You left a man with a future, a man who actually cared about your intellect, to become a temporary plaything for a guy who changes girls faster than he changes his hockey stick.”

Your voice is trembling, a tear finally slipping down your cheek. “Dean was just helping me... he didn't do anything wrong! He was nice to me. He treated me better than—”

He let out a harsh, mocking laugh. “Nice to you? Wake up! You are so incredibly innocent and naive it’s pathetic. A guy like that sees a shy, sweet girl like you and thinks you’re an easy target. He doesn't respect you, he’s using you to look good, or maybe just to pass the time until a prettier puck bunny comes along. And you’re just blindly falling for it because you don't know any better.”

He looks at you with a mixture of pity and disgust that makes your stomach turn. “I was the victim in this breakup. I spent weeks staring at my spreadsheets, wondering how I failed to guide you properly. But now I see the truth. You’re just immature, you couldn't handle a real, adult relationship with expectations and maturity, so you ran away to a boy who plays games for a living. You ruined the best thing that ever happened to you, and when he’s done with you, don't you dare come crying back to me expecting me to clean up your mess again.”

You stand there, completely frozen, the heavy books in your arms feeling like lead weights. The insults press down on your chest so hard you can barely breathe. You want to scream at him, you want to tell him how miserable he made you feel, how he always made you feel small and stupid, but the old, sweet, non-confrontational version of you is completely paralyzed by the cruelty of his words.

Stuart looks at your tear-stained face, entirely satisfied with the damage he’s caused, and straightens his ironed polo shirt.

“Go on to your little class then. Try not to drop your notes on the way.” he spoke and he steps around you, his leather briefcase brushing against your arm as he struts away down the path, leaving you standing entirely alone in the middle of the crowded quad, trembling and completely shattered.

The world around you feels dizzying and loud. Your hands are shaking so violently that as you try to readjust the heavy burden in your arms, the top-heavy English literature anthologies slide sideways. Your binder flips open, and a cascade of loose-leaf notes, highlighted outlines, and three different colored highlighters spill across the cold, hard cobblestones.

You drop to your knees, your oversized knit sweater pooling around you on the ground. Blurry-eyed, you frantically start grabbing at the papers, but your vision is so swimming with tears that you can barely tell the outline sheets apart. You reach for a pink highlighter that has rolled into a crack in the pavement, your fingers fumbling clumsily. You feel completely exposed, small, and utterly broken by every single word Stuart just hurled at you.

"I spent two years trying to fix you."

"You’re so incredibly innocent and naive it’s pathetic."

"A temporary plaything."

You let out a small, ragged sob, pressing the palm of your hand against your forehead, trying desperately to stop crying in the middle of the busiest walkway on campus.

A heavy, dark leather backpack drops onto the cobblestones with a loud, solid thud right next to your scattered notes.

Before you can even look up, a pair of large, familiar hands: strong, broad, and calloused from a hockey stick, begin gathering your loose sheets with lightning-fast, effortless efficiency.

“Hey. I’ve got 'em. Don't move, sweetheart, I’ve got the papers.” Dean says, his voice's a low, smooth recognizable rumble.

You freeze, your breath catching in your throat, you lift your tear-stained face. Dean is kneeling on the pavement right in front of you, he’s fresh out of the Social Sciences building from his Political Science seminar, wearing a dark fitted jacket that accentuates his broad shoulders, his hair perfectly pushed back. He’s holding a stack of your literature notes in one hand, but the moment his burning blue eyes lock onto your face, his entire posture changes.

The easy, playboy smile he usually wears completely vanishes. His jaw tightens so hard a muscle twitches in his cheek, he takes in your red-rimmed eyes, the tear tracking down your cheek, and the way your shoulders are trembling.

His voice's dropping into a deadly serious, raspy register, tossing the papers onto his lap and reaching out for you. “Hey, what's wrong? Why are you crying?”

You're instantly looking down, trying to wipe your face with the sleeve of your oversized sweater, your shyness taking over. “Dean... hi. It's nothing, I'm just—I'm just clumsy. I dropped my midterm notes and I got stressed out, I'm fine—”

He's grasping your wrists gently but firmly, stopping you from hiding your face. “Don't lie to me, you don't cry like this over a couple of dropped papers. Who did this?”

He looks up, his sharp eyes scanning the crowded quad. In the distance, about fifty yards away, Stuart’s rigid, pastel-polo wearing frame is still visible, walking toward the upper campus. Dean’s eyes narrow into slits as he connects the dots.

His grip on your wrists softening into a gentle, reassuring hold, his voice laced with an icy fury. “Was that him? The spreadsheet guy? The ex?”

You don't say anything, but a small, fresh sob escapes your lips, and you look away. And that’s all the confirmation he needs.

Dean doesn't hesitate and, instead of going towards Stuart, he just gathers the rest of your papers in one swift motion, shoves them safely inside his leather backpack, and zips it up. Then, he stands up and reaches down, wrapping his hands under your arms and lifting you effortlessly to your feet.

Instead of letting you go, he guides you away from the center of the path, pushing you gently against the brick wall of the nearby library, completely shielding you from the view of the rest of the campus with his massive frame.

Dean placed his hands on the wall on either side of your head, leaning down so he’s inches from your face, his eyes blazing. “What did he say to you?”

You shaked your head, tears spilling over again. “It doesn't matter, Dean. He's right. I'm just... I'm messy, and I'm disorganized, and I'm too naive. He said I threw away stability for... for a temporary plaything. He said you're just using me because I'm an easy target.”

Dean lets out a harsh, dark breath, his forehead almost touching yours. The sheer gravity of his anger is palpable, but none of it is directed at you.

“Look at me... Just look right at me.”

You slowly lift your eyes to his, the blue of his eyes is incredibly intense, completely stripped of any playboy facade.

His voice's fierce, thick with genuine emotion. “Listen to me very carefully, because I am only going to say this once. That guy is a miserable, insecure little coward who couldn't handle the fact that he had a girl who is a thousand times brighter, sweeter, and more beautiful than he will ever deserve. He didn't try to 'fix' you, sweetheart, he tried to break you so you wouldn't realize you were completely out of his league.”

Your heart thumps violently against your ribs, his words cutting right through the cold venom Stuart had left behind.

Dean reached up, his warm thumb gently wiping the tears from your cheek, his touch incredibly tender. “And as for me? A temporary plaything? An easy target? I have spent the last couple of weeks doing nothing but thinking about you. I haven't looked at another girl, I haven't wanted to. I walked you to the library because I wanted to be near you. I left you my jersey because I wanted you wrapped in my stuff. You are not an easy target, you are the best thing that has happened to me all semester, and I am not letting some boring, dynamic-less idiot make you feel small for even a second.”

You stare up at him, your lips parting slightly, your breath is trembling. The sincerity in his voice is undeniable. The arrogant, untouchable Dean di Laurentis is standing in the middle of the campus quad, entirely unbothered by who sees him, comforting a messy, crying girl with everything he has.

You whispered, a small, fragile smile finally fighting its way through your tears. “You really mean that?”

The corner of his mouth finally tugging up into a soft, devastatingly handsome smirk, his thumb lingering on your cheekbone. “I don't lie about things that matter, popstar. Now, screw your literature lecture. We're cutting class.”

He drops his hands, reaching down to grab his leather backpack full of your notes, and firmly links his fingers through yours, pulling you into his side.

“We're going to my car, I'm taking you back to the house, and I'm going to make Tucker cook you whatever you want while I sit next to you and read you those stupid literature definitions until you know them by heart. Sound like a plan?”

You squeeze his hand back, the warmth of his fingers completely melting the last of Stuart’s chill. “Yeah, that sounds like a perfect plan.”