#bithewayellie

‘Who’s got you giggling at your phone?’ Gigi prods, leaning over your shoulder to get a better look. You immediately squish the power button, your heart racing at the idea of her finding out about your fling with Rafe.

‘Shut up,’ you grumble, tossing your phone aside. She raises an eyebrow at you, waiting for a further explanation that never comes. When she realizes that you’re not telling her about your mystery giggle man, she stands up from your bed, grabbing her bag.

‘I’ve gotta get ready for this party, see you at Kelce’s?’ she asks, slinging her bag over her shoulder. You nod, trying to contain your excitement at the fact that you can now tell Rafe he’s in the clear.

‘Yeah, I’ll see you there, G.’

Rafe is at your house not even 5 minutes later, greeting your parents before rushing upstairs to your room. It helps that Rafe has been your neighbor for as long as you’ve been alive. He doesn’t even knock when he barges into your room, diving head first on top of you.

‘I missed you,’ he coos, already assaulting you with a dozen kisses all over your face. You’re giggling under him, hands playfully pushing his chest away from you. You feign disgust, when in reality, there’s no better feeling than his doting.

‘You saw me–’ you’re cut off by a kiss. ‘–yesterday! Down boy!’ Your scolding is light, and Rafe knows it by the cheesing grin on your face. To Rafe, your smile is infectious, a similar one curling his lips and crinkling his eyes. 

‘Oh, so now I’m a dog?’ he teases, nuzzling his face into your neck and sniffing loudly, tickling the sensitive skin there. You yelp at his joking attack. ‘Should I fetch you a drink, too?’ he asks, coming back up to plant a kiss on your lips.

You scoff, returning the kiss with your eyes fluttered shut. His hands roam up to your waist, clutching you tight to him, his unspoken words landing on your lips. The way your arms wrap around his neck feels natural at this point, your hands massaging the back of his hair.

His kisses travel lower, softly down your neck, until they turn into a hungry nip at your collarbone. You gasp at the sudden pain, quickly soothed by his swirling tongue. His eyes flit up to your face, admiring the way you respond to his touch.

He uses one hand to hold himself up, the other coming to pull one side of your tank top and bra down, enough to latch on to your nipple. He gives it a teasing bite, before flicking his tongue over the sensitive bud. You moan softly, loving the way he treats every minute with you like his last.

Your hands find the back of his shirt, tugging at the fabric, and he obliges, letting you slip it over his head with ease. With his shirt off, he comes back up to taste your lips, and your hands explore his toned body now settling between your legs. 

He grinds his bulge into you, the covered friction enough to make you whimper out, Rafe’s teeth catching your bottom lip in a silencing bite. ‘Quiet, baby. Your parents know I’m up here, my little property agent.’ 

You frown at him at the mention of your parents while he’s got you so worked up, not wanting to think about how they think you’re working for Cameron Development as a sales rep. The lengths you’ve both gone to, to keep this fling a secret… They’re embedded. 

‘Can you not talk about my parents right now?’ you grunt out against his lips, lifting your hips for him to shimmy your shorts and panties off. He chuckles into you, fingers immediately dropping to your soaking core. 

Your body trembles against his touch, featherlight, yet all-consuming at the same time. ‘You’re so wet, pretty girl…’ Rafe beams, littering your collarbone with sloppy kisses. Your hips buck up into his hand without thought, eager for his touch. 

‘Knock knock!’ Your mom’s bellowing voice echoes through the room, and both you and Rafe scramble to get under the covers. 

‘Fuck–Rafe–fuck!’ you whisper-shout, readjusting your shirt to look presentable. ‘One sec, Mom!’ Rafe tucks himself under your blanket, before realizing his erection is painfully obvious through the thin fabric. 

He groans, rolling on his side, facing you in your bed. You’re grown adults, yet you haven’t felt this stressed about being busted by your parents since you were a teenager. ‘Come in!’ Your mom barely waits for your invitation before cracking the door open. 

‘Hey, I was just seeing if you’re going to be down for dinn–Do you normally do business meetings in bed, shirtless, Rafe?’ Your mom’s smirk is knowing, and your cheeks burn with embarrassment. 

You flick Rafe’s chest under the covers, hoping she can’t see the movement from where she’s standing. He clears his throat, giving your mom an awkward nod. ‘I was just about to nap, your very intelligent daughter seems to have this portfolio all worked out on her own.’ 

Holy shit, there’s no way he thinks your mom is falling for that. 

She smirks, nodding in amusement. ‘Right. I guess your, uh, portfolio… will be more important than dinner then?’ She absolutely knows what she just walked in on, there’s no doubt in your mind. 

You thought she’d be mad, but she seems humored if anything. You shake your head, trying to lubricate your dry mouth, all moisture sucked out by the adrenaline of getting caught. ‘We’re, uh, actually heading to a party tonight. Don’t wait for me.’ 

You internally wince at the fact that you said ‘we,’ because if she wasn’t already piecing together the puzzle, you’ve just added further fuel to the fire. So much for a secret. She smiles at you, eyes glimmering with mischief, before responding. ‘No worries, hun. Have fun.’ 

You press the covers tighter into your chest as she shuts the door, heart still hammering, cheeks on fire. Rafe stretches, leaning back on his elbows, that shit-eating grin still plastered on his face. ‘So… what are we going to do for dinner now?’ 

You glare at him, horrified that he’s even got the nerve to joke about this right now. The conditions of this… fling were clear. Nobody finds out. It’s nothing serious. At least it wasn’t, until he kept coming back, even eight months later. ‘Don’t. It’s not funny. At all.’ 

‘It’s a little bit funny,’ he snickers, his body shifting above you again, dragging you back down into a lying position. ‘You scared of someone knowin’ about our little secret?’ he teases, wasting no time putting his lips back on your neck. 

You swat at him weakly, too flustered to even be in the mood anymore. ‘I swear, you’re impossible.’ He lifts his head up, looking at you with faux offence. His eyes soften, realizing that the throbbing between his legs has just become his own problem. 

‘The funniest part… is this “secret” of ours… It’s got me thinkin’ about you way more than I should.’ He says it with a smirk,  like the words don’t mean anything, but the goosebumps running up your spine tell you they mean more than he’d planned.

He pecks your forehead, before heading to your ensuite, almost definitely to sort out the little problem you’ve left him with. Your mind races back to the first night you spent with him, and how different things were back then. 

‘No one finds out about this,’ he breathed out, ignorantly marking your neck and hips with proof that he was there. You sucked in a sharp breath at the thrill of it, hooking up in his Range Rover out front of a party. 

One too many drinks. One too many lines. One too many insults, and there you were, seats down in the back of his car, his body pinning you down as he fucked into you relentlessly. You didn’t know it at the time, but when he pumped you full of his load, it was the first time he’d cum in months. 

His coke addiction made it nearly impossible, yet the way you pulled at his hair, and praised his every move–it was enough to send him over the edge, groaning out your name. Rafe knew then and there, that regardless of his pride, you filled a part of his soul he didn’t know was empty. 

Your smile, your gentle touch, your weird little interests. He found himself growing more and more interested in you, until it got to a point where he didn’t spend longer than a day away from you. 

‘’m serious. No one finds out. You’ve got a reputation to keep clean. I’m not the kind of guy that makes it look clean.’ His voice was firm as he cleaned himself up in the back of his car, immediately building his walls six feet high. 

‘Oh my god, did you rehearse that in the mirror? Sounded very Wall Street of you,’ you mocked, using a hoodie in his backseat he’d given you to clean yourself up. He sat there, jaw slack, brain short-circuiting, because no one ever spoke to him like that. 

He was used to people fearing him. People sucking up his ass, kneeling to his every demand. But you were different. You weren’t scared of him. You weren’t scared of giving him the same attitude he gave you. 

And he loved it. 

It was that moment that he became certain, he wasn’t going to let it be a one time hookup. You were far too intriguing to be a one time thing. But that didn’t change the way he spoke to you, with arrogance and unwavering confidence, even when you saw right through it. 

He was a dick to say the least. Eventually, he got clean, and he wasn’t so tightly wound. He let himself soften around you, enough to let your lingering touches melt his coldness. But he refused to let the world know how easily you saw through his crystal clear walls. 

He knew that if the world found out about you, his safe place would be ruined. 

So to have him here, today, admitting that he thinks about this little secret more than he should… It’s a spark of something realer than you’d ever expected from Rafe.

‘You look so hot,’ Rafe murmurs, wrapping his arms around you from behind, inhaling the sweet scent of your perfume on your neck. You push his head away, not wanting to ruin your makeup for tonight, smiling widely. 

‘Are you seriously that pent up?’ you tease, locking eyes with him through your mirror. He pulls back, a puzzled look on his face. ‘Was my bathroom not a good enough release for you?’ When he realizes what you’re digging at, he drops his forehead to your shoulder, his cheeks reddening.

‘Unbelievable. You make it sound like I planned it,’ he says, muffled into your behind with his hands settling on your waist. ‘What was I supposed to do? You tease me all mornin’ and expect–no–I’m not even explaining this to you, because you clearly have no idea what you do to me.’ 

You grin, bumping him backwards with a nudge of your ass. ‘Clearly I do. I think you owe my shower an apology.’ He uses the leverage of your bump to hold your ass against him, chuckling quietly into your shoulder.

‘Fine. I’ll buy you a new one. I’ll buy you ten new showers—whatever you want, just don’t pretend like I could ever be in a room with you and not lose my mind.’ He presses a kiss to your bare shoulder, running his hands over your strapless minidress.

You’re glad that your light makeup covers the blood pumping through your cheeks, and hope that your eye makeup is bold enough that it covers the way your eyes glimmer with uncertainty. Not uncertainty towards him, but uncertainty towards what this is becoming. 

‘We should probably get going. We’re already…’ You check the Cartier watch on your wrist, the one he got you for your birthday, before spinning to look at him. ‘At least two hours late.’ He chuckles at your theatrics, massaging your ass, dipping his head down to kiss you. 

‘We could just go back to my place,’ he offers, careful not to smudge your makeup. ‘I could think of at least twenty other things I’d rather be doing than partying. All of them involve you and—‘

‘Uh uh,’ you cut him off, pressing a finger to his lips. ‘It’s Top’s birthday. He’ll kill us both if we’re not there.’ He pouts against your manicured finger, trying to guilt trip you with those pleading blue orbs. 

‘It’d be worth it, but whatever you say, baby,’ he huffs, grabbing your purse and phone off your vanity. The gesture makes you feel warm inside, and the warmth only grows hotter when he opens the bedroom door for you, waiting for you to follow. ‘Ladies first.’ 

‘Thank you, Mr Cameron,’ you nod courteously, knowing exactly how to fluster him, and loving every minute of it. He glares at you without malice, giving your ass a quick pinch as you strut past him. 

He walks you downstairs, saying goodbye to your parents and thanking them for having him. He holds the front door open for you, and is quick to rush to the passenger side of his Range Rover to open the door for you, casually leaning against it as you get yourself situated. 

‘Why thank you, Sir, I wasn’t aware you were trained in personal chauffeuring.’ 

He smirks as you put your seatbelt on, before his face falls flat. ‘Keep runnin’ your mouth and I’ll make you sit in the back like an Uber.’ His attempt at deadpanning you makes you laugh, especially with the way that his mouth twitches, fighting back a grin. 

He shuts the door and walks around the car, before getting in, and leaning over to readjust the vents for you. He hasn’t even started the engine, but you’re sure it’s because you’ve complained about the breeze ruining your hair. 

Charming. 

Also just sex, don’t forget that part. 

You keep your eyes off him for the drive, but it’s impossible to miss the way his hand settles on your thigh like it’s second nature. There’s nothing sexual about it. It’s just a steady, possessive hand, wanting to hold the girl sitting beside him. 

It would almost be easier to picture him having another girl in his passenger seat, holding their thigh, than letting yourself think there’s anything more to the gesture. The thought of other girls in your seat however, makes your stomach constrict. 

Just don’t fucking think about it. 

Easier said than done. 

When you get to Kelce’s, he helps you out of the car with a delicate hand on your waist, before passing you your purse. With your purse in your hand, and you out of the car, he spins on his heel, shooting you a wink over his shoulder.

‘Have fun. Text me if you get bored.’

He’s already waltzing into the party like he owns the place when you manage to wipe the stupid smile off your face, pulling up Gigi’s contact on your phone. You send her a quick text, one that will make your arrival look separate to Rafe’s.

You: where r u

G 🤍: getting drinks out back

You: see u in a sec xx

Straight to the backyard you go. You greet what feels like the entire party on your way through, somehow managing to miss Topper. Gigi is right where she said she would be, on some random guy’s arm, laughing at whatever bullshit he’s talking about. 

‘G!’ you greet obviously, getting her attention away from yet another hookup she’s sure to complain to you about. Her eyes light up when she sees you, immediately rushing to give you a hug. 

‘Your boobs look uh-mazing in that dress, babe!’ The smell of alcohol is almost as loud as her compliment in your ear, making you laugh. You pull back, and before you’ve got a chance to offer her a compliment, a familiar voice cuts you off. 

‘Hell yeah they do. There’s my girl.’ 

‘Top! Happy birthday!’ You pass Gigi to give Topper a hug, wrapping your arms around his neck. He bends down, and the smell of his expensive cologne fills your senses. You ignore his comment, knowing that everyone has already been drinking, and he means no harm. 

He’s been flirting with you since eighth grade. Flattery is normal for him, and to his knowledge, and your own–you’re single. The sharp set of eyes from across the yard however, tell you that your freedom now comes with terms and conditions. 

‘Thank you, doll. Glad you could make it.’ Topper’s voice is fairly sober in your ear, his embrace lasting longer than normal. Maybe he can feel Rafe’s glare and is just doing it to piss him off. Maybe you do just look as good as you feel in your dress. 

‘Sorry I missed cake, my mom had me running errands for her.’ He puts you down, reassuring you with a lingering brush against your hip. The lies come easily now. You’ve had months to perfect them. 

‘It’s okay. I’m just happy to see you.’ The clattering of a beer bottle thrown onto a table behind him cuts your genuine moment with Topper short. You barely get the chance to process the commotion when Rafe is storming past you, eyes sharp, and focused on anything besides you.

Gigi is quick to rush over and nudge you in the side, a look of disbelief etched on her face. ‘Babe, that was a murder look. I think Rafe Cameron is jealous.’ Your look is one of pure horror in return, hoping no one else has clicked on to Rafe’s outburst. 

‘Rafe?’ you breathe out, shaking your head to will more nonchalance into your tone. ‘Please. Not a chance.’ You even force a scoff to make it more believable to the few partygoers who were sure to overhear this conversation. Inside, your heart is sickeningly fast, your whole body buzzing in shock.

It’s easier to laugh than admit the way Rafe’s jealousy clings to your heart.

Was he watching you? Surely he couldn’t actually be… jealous? 

‘Oooh, Sofia? The drop-dead gorgeous Pogue at the Country Club?’ you forced a grin onto your face, managing to avoid sounding anything besides extremely supportive. Rafe rolled his eyes, tossing his phone to the side. 

For someone who felt murderous thinking about another girl letting Rafe fuck her the way he fucks you, you did a pretty good job at surpressing your jealousy. After all, it’s not a fling if you start getting clingy. 

You weren’t a clingy person in the first place. He clung first. Then suddenly, clinging was what felt normal. But clinging in private, and only in private. ‘She’s a Pogue. Why would I waste my time?’ He avoided eye contact the entire time, spitting the word ‘Pogue’ like it was poison on his tongue. 

‘I mean, she’s hot as fuck. Probably willing to do anything in bed for some weird, classism superiority reason. I think you should go for it. She gave you her number, she’s obviously interested.’ You shrugged against him in your bed, your eyes locked on the way his chest rose and fell with each breath. 

Rafe laughed out loud at your words, the action disrupting your peaceful positioning on his pec. ‘Baby, you do anythin’ in bed, without a classism superiority reason. All these girls want a prince charming. I’m no good at that shit.’ 

His voice quietened down on those last few words, and without saying it, he was telling you he appreciated that you never expected more from him. Granted, this was four months into your longstanding fling, and you were both clear about your intentions.

He fucked you good, and he didn’t complain when you’d kick him out through your window so your parents didn’t see you slumming it with a Cameron. The island’s sleaziest realtors, owned by Mr Adultery himself. Ward Cameron. 

They had a shocking name, and although you quickly worked out Rafe wasn’t the same lying, cheating user his father was, you knew your dad would have your head if he knew Rafe had so much as been in the same room as you. 

It just worked. No public appearances. No reputations to uphold. No family disappointments. It was a mutual agreement that seemed to work relatively well with little expectation. 

‘You’ve already got the prince charming hair going on, I’m sure you can fake it until you make it.’

And boy how right you were. 

Just not about Sofia. 

Not about faking his niceness to these girls. 

But about how good he could fake it. 

He wasn’t even sure when it happened, but there came a time where you laid in his arms after hours rolling around in his bed, and he realized that he never wanted to lay beside another girl. He never wanted another girl moaning his name. 

He never wanted anything besides what you gave him. 

He wanted stability. He wanted someone that never took his attitudes so seriously. He wanted someone that was open and honest. He wanted someone who wasn’t scared of putting him back in his place. He wanted someone who trusted him enough to be the realest version of themselves around him. 

He didn’t want to follow in his father’s footsteps. He didn’t want a revolving door of women. He didn’t want to start anything with someone else and have to let you go. He didn’t want anyone that wasn’t you. 

To Rafe, you’d become his biggest weakness, and he wasn’t sure how he could ever gain that strength back. 

‘Sometimes you say some dumb shit.’ 

He never texted Sofia back. 

After two drinks, the lingering ache in your chest still persisted. You wanted to text him, call him, ask him why he stormed out. But you know Rafe better than that. If you confront him, he’ll shut off, and you won’t hear from him for a week. 

He always comes running back, your patience is the biggest influence in his repeated returns. Rafe has never had anyone be patient with him, and that’s only one of the reasons why he’s a little bit in love with you.

‘G, I’m gonna call an Uber. I’m beat,’ you say, chugging the last of your punch. It tastes like cheap vodka and regret, yet it’s done nothing to distract you from his presence lingering in the air since he left.

‘I’ll give you a ride, doll.’ Your eyes flick to Topper, and he seems genuine in his offer. Genuine and a little bit drunk, but you’ve definitely driven in worse conditions. There’s a glimmer of hope in his eyes, and you can’t help but laugh at his inability to control the emotions plastered on his face. 

‘I’m good, Top, but thank you. My place is out of your way,’ you reason, standing up and flattening your dress out. He shakes his head, wrapping his arm around your shoulders warmly.

‘C’mon doll, you haven’t seen the new Merc yet,’ he whines, resting his cheek on the top of your head. You laugh, shrugging him off and looking to Gigi for assistance. She’s absolutely fried, to the point where you’re not sure how she’s still standing. 

‘Top–’ Hiccup. ‘Are you… even… good to drive? If you kill her, then no one will listen to me yap about boys,’ she slurs her words somewhat gracefully, glaring daggers at Topper resting beside you. 

‘I am in a better position to drive than you are, G,’ he tells her, laughing at her childish pout. ‘I wouldn’t offer to drive you home if I wasn’t sober enough,’ he says, tilting his head down to lock eyes with him. 

Fucking hell. 

‘Fine,’ you nod, forcing an appreciative smile. ‘Sure, let’s go.’ 

You say goodbye to Gigi after organizing with Kelce for her to stay the night there, and then you’re on the way home in Topper’s passenger seat. The Merc is nice, but it lacks the comfort of Rafe’s Rover. 

He’s rambling on about the car’s traction control modes, but you’re too in your head to think of anything other than why Rafe stormed out so quickly earlier. You’ve never been jealous of who he talks to. He’s never been jealous of who you talk to.

Has he? 

You’re snapped out of your stupor when you feel the car shift from asphalt to dirt with a large clunk and sudden screech. Topper’s eyes shoot open, and the car slams to an abrupt halt off the road. Did he just crash? Why are we stopped? 

A quick glance around calms you, realizing he’d just lost control trying to show you something to do with the traction control. The relief causes you to let out a quiet laugh, eyes locked on Topper’s fearful ones. 

‘Maybe I’ll just crash at yours,’ you begin, before bursting into a fit of giggles. ‘Let’s make sure I’m the only one crashing anything tonight.’ He seems relieved at your offer, potentially even a little excited, so he doesn’t question it. 

He just goes along with it.

‘Yeah, shit. Sorry, I probably should’ve had water before we left.’ You wave him off, not wanting him to feel anymore embarrassed than he already is, and knowing that you’re barely half a mile from his house. 

The remainder of the drive is quiet, and incredibly safe, no traction control issues taking place. You open the door, grabbing your purse, before following him to his front door. The lights are still on inside, making you wonder if his parents are still up. 

That’d be fucking awkward. You’d have to tell them you’re in fact not here to hook up with their son, and that his beer muscles caused him to nearly write off his brand new Mercedes they probably financed for him. 

Maybe telling them you’re hooking up with him is less awkward. 

The door cracks open, and you’re lucky enough that the immediate surroundings are clear. ‘The, uh, spare bedroom is full of my mom’s artwork. I can stay on the couch if you’d feel more comfortable?’ 

You shake your head, before realizing he can’t see you because his eyes are set ahead, on the staircase. ‘No, it’s okay. I’ve slept in much more… questionable places,’ you joke, voice barely above a whisper as to not wake anyone up. 

He chuckles under his breath, quietly leading you up the stairs. He opens the door to his bedroom, and you’re sure his family has a cleaner with how pristine everything is. It smells like fresh linen and cologne, a smell that screams the wealth you too, were born into. 

‘Do you want something more comfortable to sleep in?’ he offers, voice slightly louder now that his bedroom door is closed behind you. You nod, knowing that if you sleep in a strapless dress, you’re absolutely waking up with at least a singular boob hanging out. 

He grabs you a shirt, and a pair of tracksuit pants that could almost fit you in them twice. You opt to just wear the shirt over your dress, as to avoid any awkward undressing scenarios. Once changed, you join him in his bed, scooting as close to the edge of the bed as possible. 

‘Sorry about that scare on the way here, I probably should’ve just let you Uber home,’ he huffs, staring up at the ceiling. You shrug, a smile on your face lit up by the dim reflection of the lamp on his nightstand. 

‘We survived.’ 

He laughs, vibrating the entire bed, before trying to calm himself down before he wakes the whole house up. 

The pounding on the front door downstairs, however, doesn’t give a single fuck who it wakes up. Topper springs out of bed in his boxers, a frown creasing his eyebrows. You’re up almost as quick as he is, curious as to who could possibly be here at 3am with that much nerve. 

The second the front door cracks open, you’re met with the sight of those blue eyes that make your knees weak, except they’re almost black. He’s absolutely fuming. Topper doesn’t even get a chance to speak before you’re scolding him. 

‘Rafe, what the fuck are you doing here?’ 

He eyes Topper up and down, taking in his practically nude form, and then his eyes settle on you. You. In Topper’s shirt. His jaw locks, and if it weren’t for the fact that you’re right in front of him, he would commit murder right now. 

‘Get your shit. I’m taking you home.’ His words are clipped, and more dangerous than you’re used to. Topper’s eyes flick between the two of you, the tension palpable, completely bewildered by the scene in front of him. 

He’s almost definitely wondering how Rafe knew you were here, and you have an inkling towards the fact that Rafe has your location shared with him on your phone. Was he expecting you to go home with Topper?

Maybe he was checking to see if you got home safe. 

No, that’s crazy. He doesn’t care that much. 

You don’t even bother arguing. There’s no point, when all it is going to do is start an out of proportion fight, over something as simple as Topper trying to help you out. You rush up to Topper’s room, grabbing your phone and purse. 

On the way out, you notice your hair is slightly roused from dressing yourself in Topper’s shirt in his mirror, and your lipstick is slightly smudged from drinking out of those shitty little red plastic cups. Great. It looks a dozen times worse than it already is.

You do a ten-second touch up of your hair and lipstick, before heading back downstairs. Rafe’s shoulders are heaving, and if it weren’t for Topper standing at the door, unharmed, you’d probably be freaking out. 

‘Thank you, Top. Sorry.’ 

Rafe is silent on the way to the car, completely ignoring you, slamming the Rover door shut behind him. You get into the passenger seat, discomfort aching in every inch of your body. The silence lingers like a cloud of smoke, suffocating you. 

‘Rafe, why are you–’ 

‘Take. It. Off.’ 

He can barely get the words out through his gritted teeth, each syllable shaking in the air.

‘What?’ 

‘Take that fuckin’ shirt off,’ he snaps, eyes locked on Topper’s house in front of the car. Topper is inside now, with the inside lights off, probably heading to bed, none the wiser. Your fingers reach confusedly for the hem of the shirt, pulling it over your head. 

He snatches it from your hands, opening the door to throw it out. This is one of those moments where you should be quiet, and you know it, but that doesn’t do anything for the million questions plaguing your mind. 

‘Jesus, Rafe. Is this what we’re doing now? Showing up at three in the morning like some psycho?’ Your words come out more strained than you’d planned, most likely due to the fact you really did want to know what you’re doing now. 

‘Psycho?’ he practically wheezes out in exasperation. ‘I just dragged your ass out of Topper’s bed. You think I’m gonna sit back and watch you be another notch on his belt? Now you’re just another piece of pussy to tell the whole island about.’ 

Your eyes widen at his assumptions, but you know you’re not going to get the truth out of him if you tell him what really happened. He’ll shut down, because he’ll be embarrassed he got so worked up over nothing. 

‘You’re not my boyfriend. Why do you even care?’ Your words are like a dagger straight to Rafe’s heart. They’re cold, and calculated, and everything he never thought he’d hear come from your mouth. 

His head snaps towards you, the road merely an afterthought. His voice comes out harsh. ‘Because I know him. I know what he’s like. He’s already braggin’ about fucking Peeler and Ruthie in the same night–You wanna be his little secret too?’ 

‘So what?’ You cut him off with a snarl in your voice. ‘You barge in, to save me from something that hasn’t even happened?’ He blinks longer than normal, taking a sharp breath in through his nose to calm himself down. 

‘I’m not lettin’ you waste your time with someone who is fuckin’ a dozen other bitches at the same time. I don’t care if you hate me for it.’ The words come out calmer than anything he’s said so far, opening space for a raw silence. 

The vulnerability from him seeps into your cracking walls, watching the way his jaw ticks with his mind as he watches the road. ‘Then why do you care, Rafe? If you don’t want me, why the fuck does it matter who does?’ 

Any sense of calmness was now so deep in the void you’re sure you’ll be seeing black for the next month. He swerves off the road, throwing the car in park, his fists hitting the steering wheel with excessive force. 

The noise jolts you in your seat, his anger spurring an orb of unease throughout the car. 

‘You don’t get it. I can’t–’ He cuts himself off, eyes drifting out his window at the dark backroad surrounding you. You can’t stop. Not when he’s so close to breaking. You need to know. For your own sanity. 

‘Can’t what?’ Your voice is quiet, each breath pushing danger further into the already combustible air. 

There’s no explosion. 

Only silence. 

A stretch of silence longer than any road, tenser than a wound-up spring, and heavier than an elephant on your chest. 

He finally breaks, leaning over the centre console to take your hands in his. He definitely senses the way your fingers tremble, and his throat feels even tighter at the thought of him scaring you. His eyes flicker with vulnerability and pure fear, like a man coming face to face with a predator. 

Because in Rafe’s mind, you scare the shit out of him more than any lion. Any bear. Any snake. Any tiger. They could kill him, sure, but you had the power to strip him of the only good thing he’s got in his life.

‘I don’t give a fuck what we call this,’ his voice is tender, raw, before being possessed with something darker. 

‘You’re mine. You don’t get to forget that just because I won’t put a label on it.’

You truly couldn’t comprehend how honest those words were. Not when you can’t feel the way his chest feels warm when he’s around you. Not when you can’t see your own face behind your eyes every time you try to sleep. 

You couldn’t possibly understand.

His hands are still clamped around yours, knuckles white, when he drags you across the console into his lap and crushes his mouth to yours. You don’t get a chance to ask questions, because his hand is firm in the back of your hair, keeping your lips against his. 

It isn’t the kind of kiss you’re used to. It’s not the lazy, smug ones where he knows he can have you whenever he wants. This one is raw and bruising, like he’s trying to fill you with the proof of his words with every press of his lips. 

He insists he doesn’t do relationships but he kisses you like it's a vow.

His hands cling to any inch of your body he can grasp, fingers silently worshipping you so close to him. There’s already a familiar heat building between your legs, one that he can ignite ever so easily. 

Your mind should be screaming that this is just a manipulation tactic, another way of making you question what you really mean to him. But it isn’t. His grip on your hair and waist is too tight, his groan too guttural, the hammering of his pulse too loud. 

He’s not kissing you to shut you up. 

He’s kissing you because he’s terrified. 

You feel dirty for still wanting him, when he can’t even say he wants you, but the thrill of his jealousy, the heat of his lips on yours–you can’t bring yourself to care. The smell of his cologne dizzies you, that familiar swirl bringing you right back to the place you can’t seem to leave behind.

The second your hands are on his chest, he loses his mind. He doesn’t even wait to slip your panties to the side, your mini dress offering him easy access to where you need him the most. Your hands fiddle with the zipper of his pants between your thighs, blind, because he doesn’t want to forget the taste of your lips on his. 

You finally get the zipper undone, and he wastes no time thrusting upwards, burying himself into you without any warning. The first stroke stings, with barely any preparation, messy and frantic, a little too much. 

He buries his face in your neck, littering kisses along the sensitive skin there as he rolls his hips up into you. ‘Say his name now. Go on,’ he taunts, fucking into you like he’s trying to drive his point into your bones. 

You moan out when a sharp thrust hits a spot inside of you that makes your legs tremble. ‘You can’t even remember his name like this.’ 

You wish you had the energy to fight him on it, to get him to tell you how he really feels, but you can’t. Not when every thrust ignites every nerve in your body. Not when your body is already betraying you, clamping down on him, as if you agree. 

‘Rafe–fuck–’ 

‘No. You’re mine. Nobody else gets to fuck you like this. Nobody.’ 

He pulls you closer, one arm snaking around your back to lock you in place on his cock. Somewhere between his desperate rhythm, and the way he looks at you like he’s about to shatter in your hands, you realize. 

This isn’t just sex. 

This isn’t just Rafe Cameron being possessive. 

This is him begging you, in the only way he knows how, not to make him admit he’s in love with you. 

Because he’s not gonna be the first to say it, but he’s most definitely... a little bit in love with you.

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You were Rafe’s favorite kind of storm. The kind he never saw coming. 

Kelce had just bought another round of Mai Tais. The boys slouched back in their private booth at the Club, half-drunk and obnoxiously loud. Rafe knew he didn’t need another drink, but he wasn’t about to be the first man down. Not with his pride in the room.  

‘Earth to Rafe.’ Topper’s voice dragged him from his thoughts. A hand waved in front of his face, drawing a tired grumble from him as Rafe sipped his Mai Tai like he wasn’t two drinks away from blacking out. 

‘Huh?’ 

‘We were just saying, we didn’t realize she got hot.’ Topper nodded in your direction, where you were bent over a table, cleavage on very clear display. Rafe’s eyes locked on like a sniper before he even realized. 

His heart sank, guilt pooling in his chest as his face paled. He shook it off, trying to brush it off before his friends noticed.

‘Yeah, she’s got a rack on her now,’ he muttered, forcing a playful laugh. The boys around him burst into a fit of laughter, totally missing the way Rafe’s eyes kept flicking up to you. 

He couldn’t look away. 

Something about you was different now. You used to clean his family’s house. You were younger then, quiet, always rushing between jobs, dirt under your nails and exhaustion under your eyes.

You hadn’t cleaned his house in over a year. That night, you looked happy. Your cheeks were flushed with color, your hair different and your posture more confident.

‘I wouldn’t even bother. She’s got that good girl, white skirt, cross-necklace thing going on. You’d be wasting your time,’ Kelce scoffed, dragging Rafe’s attention back to the table.

‘Who said I was bothering?’ Rafe deadpanned.

Rafe’s dry tone caused a scatter of laughs around the table, and Kelce leaned in, eager to get under Rafe’s skin.

‘Bet you couldn’t even get your hand in her panties without her praying about it after,’ Kelce leant forward, his voice dropping to a dirty murmur. Rafe’s smirk twitched, caught between disgust and amusement.

‘You’re a sick fuck, you know that?’

Kelce still had that shit eating grin on his face, shrugging like he was as innocent as ever, ‘I’ll put a band on it. You won’t fuck her by the end of the month.’ Rafe’s eyebrow raised in amusement.

‘What, you tryna pimp me out now?’ 

Kelce wiggled his eyebrows, throwing his hands into the air like a preacher, ‘Call it a challenge. You always act like you’re the king of this place. Prove it. I’ll even give you six months, ‘cause she’s as straight as a nun.’ 

There was a pause. That landed. Rafe’s pride stung. Validation clawed at his gut.

Rafe’s voice dropped low, his eyes sharp on Kelce, ‘Make it two bands. And stop talking about her like that.’  Kelce laughed, whilst a string of hollers crowded the table. 

‘There he is. Savior complex strikes again.’ Kelce mocked, kicking back in satisfaction. 

‘Game on, Cameron.’ 

His heart pounds harder when the door doesn’t open right away. You always answered fast. You’d see his location, peek through the doorbell, and met him with a soft smile and a kiss. 

Not tonight.

He knew he didn’t deserve your gentleness, but fuck, it felt too good to push away. 

‘Rafe? What are you doing here?’ your voice was muffled over the rain, yet it hit him like a wave of calm. You pulled him inside, rushing for a towel.

‘Are you cold? I can make you a hot chocolate-’ he cut you off with a shake of his head. He wasn’t even sure why he came. He felt like a fool. After he’d made the bet with Kelce, he made a point of showing up every night to the Club. 

He was always alone, tipped well, and made it his mission to get to know you. The bet slowly began to fade. Because you never threw yourself at him. You weren’t trying to impress him. You just talked to him.

You were polite, asked how his day was, complimented his work ethic, and always turned down his excessive tips like it was just second nature. You were just working. Just… being kind.

It only made him want you more. Not because of the bet, but because he wasn’t used to the kind of attention you gave him. 

‘No, no. I came here because I know you said storms scare you. I didn’t want you to be alone.’ He felt like a fucking idiot the second the words left his mouth. He winced, but the way your eyes twinkled with adoration made his heart hammer in his chest. 

He had to keep telling himself that it’s just for the bet. 

‘Rafe, you didn’t have to do that…’ you trail off, ‘My jellycat does a pretty good job at scaring the storm-scaries away.’ He had to swallow the lump in his throat forcefully, impossibly fighting the smile plastering his face. 

‘I wanted to though. I can leave, if you want,’ he offered, scratching the back of his neck. You were shaking your head before he could move, moving forward to wrap your arms around his waist in a tight hug. 

The gesture was merely friendly, yet Rafe’s body felt like it was on fire. He could smell the perfume he bought you, and his guilt bubbled in his chest. He was in way deeper than he ever could’ve imagined. 

It took him a moment, but eventually his arms enveloped you, holding you tightly against him. Holding you that close, showed him a feeling he’d never experienced before. He’d been with plenty of girls, yet none of them made him feel all warm and fuzzy like you did. 

He couldn’t even pinpoint when it happened. He began offering to drive you to work. Began texting to check up on you. Began buying you little gifts to drop you at work. He was doing the things he thought would win you over, unaware that you were always going to walk away the winner. 

Hell, you hadn’t even kissed him, and he knew you were something he couldn’t just walk away from. 

You pulled back, the prettiest of smiles on your face, ‘I was just watching a movie, I can make some popcorn and you can pick something else.’ His eyes softened, that burning in his chest making it impossible to not tell you about the bet on the spot. 

It gnawed at his soul every time he saw you. He was swimming deeper and deeper into your life, and wanted nothing more than to tell you. But that little smile, that warmth that followed you into every room–he couldn’t shatter your spirit like that. 

‘I’m not hungry, angel. And I’ll just watch whatever you’re watching.’ You nodded, cheeks beginning to flush with an embarrassed heat. A smirk twinkled on Rafe’s face, pulling away from you, his hands rested on your shoulders. 

‘What? Watching a porno or somethin’?’ Rafe sniggered, forcing your nose to scrunch up adorably. 

‘Ew! No. It’s just–you’re gonna laugh at me,’ you murmured, eyes focused on your bare feet instead of his gaze. He forced your chin up with a delicate hand, shaking his head. Your stomach was flipping at the touch, electricity coursing through your veins. 

‘I’m not gonna laugh at you, angel, I promise,’ he had to practically chew the bile down, knowing how well he knew you already. He knew how seriously you took a promise, yet he let it fall off his tongue so naturally. 

‘It’s stupid, but I’m watching Beauty and the Beast…’ your voice was shy, and he knew in that moment that he was completely fucked. If any other girl had told him that, he’d laugh in their face and leave. 

But you’d worn down his walls, an inch at a time at first, and then they came crumbling down, like a sledgehammer had taken to them. 

The softest, kindest, purest sledgehammer he’d ever seen or felt. 

And you’d just kicked him in the gut with the most ironic movie choice he’d ever seen. 

‘It’s not stupid, come on, we’ve got a love story to go watch,’ he spun you around by your shoulders, ushering you towards your bedroom. He didn’t miss the way you were wearing those Victoria’s Secret satin pajamas he’d bought you. 

You were swooning over him. He made your tummy flutter. He said all the right things. He always bought you sweet little gifts, regardless of how many times you’d told him not to. You couldn’t possibly see why he would care for a Pogue like you though. 

Especially not to that extent. You’d thought it was just for sex in the beginning, but he never even tried to get you into bed. He just started being around. Started making you laugh, started making you feel like home wasn’t always the roof over your head. 

He’d tried to lay on the floor that night, wanting to respect your space. You were instantly scolding him, ‘What are you doing?!’ Rafe had looked at you like you were absolutely insane, and it made you giggle. 

‘Getting comfy?’ You rolled your eyes, pulling the other side of your pink comforter up. The comforter that he never knew you’d saved up for nearly two months to buy. You patted the space beside you, ignoring the dumbfounded look on his face. 

‘I’m not letting you lay on the floor, stupid.’ That cracked him. A real smile. One full of more emotions than he’d ever allowed himself to feel in one moment. He didn’t let the opportunity go to waste, instantly kicking his shoes off and climbing under the sheets that smelt so perfectly of you. 

He had the opportunity to be close to you, and that was all that mattered to him. 

You were asleep by the time the movie finished, and the storm had quietened down outside. He rolled towards you, brushing a wild strand of hair from your face, a million thoughts flowing through his head. 

Maybe if you told him you loved him, he’d transform from the beast he is, into the man he wanted to be for you.

Maybe he was cursed. 

Maybe you were the person who could break that curse. 

‘You’re my Belle,’ his eyes lingered on your face, blissfully unaware, ‘And I’m the reason the story ends differently.’ 

He didn’t even realize the words had slipped out of his mouth until you began to stir, sending him close to the edge of cardiac arrest. Every inch of his being prayed you hadn’t heard him. He didn’t even believe in a god for fucks sake.

‘What time is it?’ you whined, eyes still heavy with sleep. Rafe let out the breath he didn’t even know he was holding, continuing to stroke your hair. You couldn’t have possibly heard him.

‘About two? I should probably get going, angel.’ Your head shook instantly, and he knew he wasn’t going anywhere. 

‘Stay.’ 

Blood flooded his mouth, accidentally biting his cheek. Your words made his head spin, only for a moment. He soon settled back beside you, wrapping an arm under your pillow, drawing you closer to him. 

‘You sure?’ 

Your little ‘mmhmm’ was all it took. When your breathing levelled, and he knew you were asleep, he rested his forehead against yours, and fell into the most blissful sleep of his life. You’d become his safe place as much as he’d become yours. 

‘Angel?’ He pressed the Ring doorbell, rubbing his palms together, trying to calm himself down. You hadn’t texted all day, and he’d put it down to the late-night shift you’d done last night. Maybe you were sleeping. 

Maybe you were in the bath, using one of those bath bombs he’d bought you. 

Maybe you were watching a movie. 

Maybe your phone was flat. 

You couldn’t have possibly seen the text from Kelce last night. You were asleep before him. Right?

‘Leave.’ 

The word slices through the static. Chills crawl down his spine. His brows knit, confusion twisting through him like smoke. 

He’s waiting for you to open the door, and tell him you’re only kidding. To see that smile that lights up the entire town. To feel your lips on his. To feel your arms around him, holding him tighter than anyone has ever held him in his life. 

You swung the door open, watching his location on your phone, like you always did when he rode over. You had baked him a cake for his birthday, and were practically buzzing with excitement to give it to him. 

He’d tossed his helmet, booting the kickstand with a sense of urgency he only had when he missed you. He’d seen you the day before, but it didn’t matter anymore. He rushed inside, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head. 

‘I baked you a cake, y’know, for your birthday!’ Your words dizzied him. The candles flickered, but the brightest light before him was you. He blinked hard, fighting off the warmth burning at the corners of his eyes.

‘Thank you, angel.’ 

‘You have to make a wish before you blow out the candles, though,’ you told him with a sudden sense of seriousness. He’d never understood cuteness aggression, but in that moment, he wanted to grab you and squeeze you so tight you could never leave him. 

His wish was right in front of him. 

‘I already have everything I could have ever wanted.’ 

Your face scrunched up, ready to poke back with a playful jab. His eyes were cracked open, the window to his soul oozing a vulnerability you’d only seen short glimpses of until then. He grabbed the cake from your hands, blowing the candles out, placing it down gently on the counter. 

You froze. His hands swept up to your cheeks, his eyes flicking from yours, down to your lips. There was no sassy remark in your mind, only him. He caressed your cheeks like they were made of porcelain. 

‘Why are you looking at me like you want to kiss me, Romeo?’ your words throw him off guard, a shy smile creeping up your lips. 

‘Because I do.’ 

And when your lips met for the first time, it wasn’t to win any bet. It was to savor something he didn’t know he was allowed to want. To savor the feeling he never wanted to let go of. 

When you fell asleep in his arms that night, in the matching pajamas you’d bought him for his birthday, he knew he had to put an end to it. 

He rolled over, without waking you and texted Kelce. 

‘Just put 5k in your bank. Bet is off, no one says a word about it. Ever.’ 

And he fell asleep, with a weight off his shoulders that had been holding him back for nearly two months at that point. 

Maybe he would’ve told you tomorrow, but he wanted to relish in this bliss you welcomed in him so openly.

You had to know. You’d never left him outside. Not when he’d missed dinner to stay back at work. Not when he’d rode his bike over after drinking, knowing it scared the shit out of you. You’d never left that door closed in his face. 

He should’ve told you the truth. 

He should’ve told you before he ever touched you. 

Before he made you fall for the man that started this with a fucking wager. 

But he didn’t. 

Because he was selfish. 

The kind of selfish who’d let the world burn to keep you in his arms.

The kind of selfish that needed you to feel alive. 

The kind of selfish that knew he’d be nothing without you. 

‘You know you don’t have to do this, angel,’ he whispered, peppering kisses down your neck. He’d never been so nervous at the prospect of having sex, but with you, it felt like he was crumbling to pieces. 

‘I want to. I want it to be you.’ 

That damn near broke him.

Not just your words, but the way you looked at him like he was something to be trusted. 

Like he was something to be kept. 

Like he was a good man, who deserved this. 

He knew he didn’t deserve this. He didn’t deserve you. But you filled every missing piece he’d spent his whole life trying to find. He knew he was destined for hell, but he couldn’t bring himself to stop. 

The bet was on his conscience, but his heart yearned for you, and only you. He wanted to tell you. There had been so many times it nearly slipped out, but he couldn’t bring himself to break your heart like that. 

You’d healed his heart. How would it be fair if he was the one to ruin yours?

He locked his lips on yours, taking his time to undress you. He let you touch every inch of his body, even the parts of himself he hated. The parts he would tell other girls to leave over. There was not a single part of him that didn’t belong to you. 

He pulled his lips back, his forehead pressed against yours. His breathing was ragged, and for a moment, he thought he was going to tell you. But the words that slipped from his mouth were a ton crueler than any mention of the bet. 

‘I love you, my beautiful angel.’ 

And after all was said and done, he’d held onto you like you were all he had in this cold, cruel world. You’d fallen asleep in his arms, wrapped up in his bliss, his gentleness lulling you into a dreamless sleep. 

All he can think about is the way you shook when you let him in. Not into your bed, but into your heart. His whole world revolves around you, and the thought of you not knowing that makes him sick to his stomach. 

All those mornings, talking about your future, where he could’ve told you about the bet. Where he could’ve told you how his love for you was the only thing he knows is real in this world. But he didn’t. 

Because Rafe Cameron is a selfish man. 

‘I want two. Preferably a boy and then a girl,’ you said with a grin, looking up at him through post-sex hazed lids. Your hands trailed down his bare chest, and his hand mocked your movements, running along your back like a silent confession. 

‘Two?!’ he scoffed. ‘One of you is already a full time job.’ 

You rolled your eyes, ever so playfully pushing his forehead into the pillow, ‘Shut up, Romeo. You’d make the best daddy.’ 

Your words stunned Rafe. Hell, they paralyzed him. The room got too quiet, and all Rafe could hear were his dad’s words of not being enough. Of never amounting to anything. 

‘You think, angel?’ he asked softly, his eyes bore into yours with a sincerity that only reared its head every now and again. You paused, not even realizing you were frowning. You’d never doubted Rafe for a single moment. 

‘Of course. You don’t even realize it, do you?’ 

His head flicked down to you in confusion, waiting for you to elaborate. 

‘You already take care of me like you’d take care of them.’ 

Rafe had to swallow the tears back, his voice cracking, ‘Like who?’ 

‘The family we’re going to have one day, baby.’ 

‘Angel, please. Open the door.’ Rafe pressed his head against the cool timber, itching to hear any sign of you on the other side. But he’s only met with silence. The kind of silence that brings him to his knees. 

You don’t know what possesses you to move to the door and open it. Seeing him there, on his knees through the doorbell, you feel guilty. He should be the one who feels guilty, yet you can’t help but open the door. 

A storm seemed comical on an evening like this, yet the rain hits Rafe like it’s trying to drown the truth out of him. You look down, seeing the rain soak through his shirt, and his unmoving figure, pleading with his whole being. 

‘I know I don’t deserve you to open this door. I know I fucked it–god, I fucked the most important thing in my life up, but I love you,’ his voice breaks, twisting cruelly at your heartstrings, ‘I love you. I need you to believe that.’ 

He was playing you like a fucking harp, like he has been these last few months. 

‘The moment you saw me as a bet was the moment you fucked up, Rafe.’

Your words cut through his sobs like a relentless knife. He begins to shake frantically, his words sputtering out, ‘It was never about the bet. Not after that first night. Not after I heard you laugh at my stupid fuckin’ jokes like I was something more than the asshole I am.’ 

His words make you laugh. Not out of amusement, but out of sheer disbelief. 

He’d told you when he was younger, his mom used to put little polaroids of her and Ward in Ward’s phone case when he was sleeping. She’d sneak them in there, and he’d never say anything, but he knew it was there. 

So when Rafe had bought you your very own polaroid camera, you’d made sure to sneak plenty of photos. Enough photos that when you’d finally sneak one into his phone case, it’d be unexpected. 

The universe decided to make a big fat joke out of you though. 

He’d fallen asleep last night, assuming you were also sleeping. You’d snuck the polaroid out of your nightstand, and picked his phone up to place it in the back of the clear case. You tucked it in there neatly, admiring the goofy smile on your faces. 

That day he’d taken you to look at properties for development. He’d grumbled around all day, and you still managed to make him laugh with a stupid joke. 

‘You wanna hear a construction joke?’ 

‘Sure.’ 

‘Hang on, I’m still workin’ on it.’ 

His fingers pinched the bridge of his nose, and you were in a fit of laughter before he responded. He tried so hard to keep the laugh in, but it was an impossible task. 

‘You kill me, you know that?’ 

You giggled quietly beside him, placing his phone back on the nightstand, unsuspecting, just like you’d planned.

That’s when you saw it. 

The text from Kelce. 

Kelce: still can’t believe you’re wifing the girl we all bet you couldn’t fuck 💀💀 does she know?

Kelce: hope she likes the ring tho hahaha

Your arms are crossed, but not for warmth. For protection. Your silence is a thousand decibels louder than his sobs. His trembling hands find their way into his pocket, pulling out the ring that has become an unbearable weight. 

Not just gold, but guilt, regret, and the shape of everything he ruined. 

‘I wake up, and you’re all I think about. I see that stupid stuffed rabbit you sleep with and I feel like I’m home. You made me want more than this fuckin’ place. You made me better. I want to marry you.’ 

Your eyes don’t dare look at the ring. You don’t even acknowledge it, your gaze locked on him like a wound you forgot you had. 

The ring glimmers under the clouded sky, like a joke too cruel to laugh at. 

‘You know what this looks like to me?’ There’s hope in his eyes for a moment, his grip on the ring faltering briefly. Your eyes finally lock down onto the ring. 

‘It looks like a trophy. For a game you were never supposed to win.’ 

His pleas spew from his mouth, but he doesn’t dare move. He watches his heart step away from him, and begins to forget how to breathe. You shut the door, and he hears the lock click, with a softness he could only expect from you. 

When the finality of it settles in, he’s up on his feet, blinking in disbelief, like that might help to open the door. He’s whispering your name like you might come back out. But you don’t. The spare key is gone. 

Reality hits. Hard. 

‘No, no, no! Fuck!’ His knuckles nearly split with the force he uses to knock on the door. Knuckles turn to palms, desperately pounding on the only barrier between your physical presence. 

‘You don’t get to walk away thinking I meant it like that! Please!’ He’s pacing, rain pouring down his face in a blend of hot and cold tears from him and the earth. His chest is heaving. He feels like he’s going to be sick. 

He storms to the car, indifferent to his soaked self, in both rain and self-loathing. Once he’s in the driver’s seat, he’s punching the steering wheel until his knuckles finally burst at the seams. 

When the blood snaps him back to reality, all he can do is grip the steering wheel with bloodied, white knuckles, his head pounding into the seat behind him. He can’t leave. He can’t drive. He can’t think. 

He throws the ring across the car, trying to get even a singular breath in. He can’t breathe without you. You’re his oxygen. His heartbeat. His sole reason for existing. But that ring is all he has left of you. 

His Belle. 

His fairytale. 

He’s scrambling to find it like a madman, unable to see through the tears streaming down his face. You’re the only person who has ever been able to reason with him, and he’s fucked that up. 

The tears turn into pulses of rage simmering beneath his skin, and he doesn’t even remember driving to the Country Club. 

It’s a flash of red and pain that barely registers in his brain. The brief glimpses his brain allows him to see, he’s got Kelce by the neck against the wall, screaming in his face. He knows he’s a mess, but he doesn’t fucking care. 

The only opinion he cared about was yours. 

He hurt you, he deserves to hurt too. He deserves to look like a piece of shit. He knows he is. 

‘You think this is funny? Huh?!’ Kelce’s shit-eating grin doesn’t do him any favors, and Rafe is left seeing black again. 

The next thing he remembers is being dragged off Kelce, and Barry’s voice firm in his ear, ‘Country Clu’! ‘S enough! He’s had enough!’ 

‘She was everything to me!’ 

Blackness. 

Later that night, he’s alone in his room, back against his bed. He’s twirling the ring around his finger in one hand, downing an entire bottle of whiskey with the other. He doesn’t cry. Not really. But his chest throbs with how badly he wants to. 

He doesn’t even think when he calls you. He knows you won’t answer. But he has to get it off his chest. Maybe he’ll regret the voicemail in the morning, but right now, it’s the only form of solace he could possibly find. 

‘I was suppose’ to be better, for you. I was better. And I ruined it, like I ruin everythin’. Fuck. I love you, my angel. Tell me you hate me to m’ face, okay? Dont–don’t just shut m’ out.’

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The night you’d found the text message from Kelce, you hadn’t said anything. The shock hadn’t worn off. It hadn’t settled yet, instead just hovering thick and invisible. 

You went to work like nothing was wrong. But Rafe’s betrayal crept up on you in waves. Not all at once, but enough to make your stomach churn with every memory that came flooding back.

You’d found yourself hollow. Hollow enough to close the door. Hollow enough to shut out the one thing that ever made you feel like you were more than just ‘some girl from The Cut.’

But clearly, you weren’t. 

Like everything good in your life, it crumbled. Not suddenly, but like the punchline of a long-running joke the universe never let you in on.

When your head settled into the pillow that night, no tears came. Just the scent of him, clung to the fabric like something alive, and the other side of the bed resting unnaturally, insultingly cold. 

You’d tried to cry. Willed for the tears to come. Begged for it. But the void was louder. It sucked you into endless spirals of what-ifs that left you wide-eyed and wide awake.

How could he keep that from you?

If he actually loved you, how had he allowed himself to keep such a monumental secret?

Would he have ever told you if you didn’t see that text? 

Would he have said, ‘I do,’ with Kelce watching like the keeper of some terrible secret? 

Would he even have said, ‘I do.’?

You count your steps. 

Not in fear. Never again in fear. 

In defiance. 

Against every odd you were never meant to outrun.

One. 

The night the door shut. The night you stopped pretending Rafe’s betrayal wasn’t going to break you.

Two. 

The day JJ let you fall apart  in his arms without saying, ‘I told you so.’

The Pogues didn’t shut you out. The deeper you’d embedded yourself into Rafe’s affection, they’d still checked in every now and again, but they’d stopped waiting for you to come back.

They never said it out loud, but the further you fell into Rafe’s world, the fewer texts came through. Fewer invites. Fewer places set at dinner. 

They’d stopped asking if you were going to come over. 

Even though it scared the living shit out of them, they let you have it. 

Because for a while, you’d looked happy. 

Kie showed up in the Twinkie like a soldier on a rescue mission. She didn’t ask any questions, just came with open arms. You didn’t want to be at home. Not when the walls still smelled like him. 

Not when every sound made your heart jump with hope and dread.

You weren’t sure what would’ve hurt more. Him not showing up, or him looking at you like he still loved you.

His face always made you feel like he loved you. Like you were the air in his lungs.

But that look on his face when you shut the door, the wounded, pitiful one, made you feel like you were the one who burnt your own happiness to the ground.

Inside the walls that once felt like safety, you cracked open like a smashed glass. JJ caught you mid-fall. He held you whilst you cried, letting you spew out the questions and regrets that clawed at your heart. 

Kie settled by your side, her body heat doing nothing to relax the tremors wreaking havoc through your body. She just let you breathe. 

‘Why did I let myself fall for him?’

Your voice cracked, your hands trembled. 

‘I should’ve known better. He was never going to love a Pogue.’ 

You couldn’t even look at them when you whispered the last part. 

‘Why was I so stupid? How didn’t I see that I was just a piece in his game?’ 

They didn’t try to give you the answers. They held you. Gave you their presence. They fed you. Made you shower. Dragged you outside long enough to feel the sun again. 

And somehow, that was enough. Enough to keep breathing on your own.

They deleted the voice message that you kept playing like a lullaby. The one where he said ‘I love you,’ like it still meant something. They pulled you back before you could spiral into the guilt of not telling him you hated him. 

Because deep down, you didn’t. 

You’d quit the Country Club without a word, ignoring the dozen missed calls from your boss. You couldn’t go back. Not when his presence haunted the walls. That place didn’t just remind you of him. 

It belonged to him.

Even worse, it was the place where you let him claim pieces of your heart, one soft lie at a time.

You’d stopped showing up. To shifts at work. To people. To yourself.

Instead you clocked into the bait shop and didn’t leave until your body forced you to. You clung to the friends who never made you feel foolish for falling in love with a boy who pretended to be a man. 

A man with a heart made of pretty promises and cold silence.

He’d never felt icy. He’d felt like the kiss of a summer breeze right before a hurricane. He’d felt like the shelter from the storm you didn’t know he’d caused. He made you feel like the universe had finally remembered you existed. 

But above all, he felt like a lie with a beating heart and blue eyes that forced you to believe him anyway.

The kind of lie that made you question every time he looked at you like he was your future. 

The kind of lie that humiliated you in front of yourself. 

No one can see your heart pounding. But you feel it. In your ears, your knees, in the way your ribcage can’t seem to hold it still. It’s thrashing. Desperate to claw its way out of your chest to beat normally again. 

 You’re staring straight ahead at those doors. 

You know once you cross that threshold, there’s no turning around. 

Not from this version of yourself.

The night was still. Still enough to hear your own thoughts for once. 

Until it wasn’t.

You’d been cleaning the counter at the bait shop, when you heard the unmistakable roar of Rafe’s bike closing in on you. JJ instantly shot up, slamming his beer down, jaw already clenched like he’d been expecting this.

Always your loyal soldier. 

JJ Maybank, the boy with a reckless heart, bruised knuckles and a moral compass that always pointed in your direction.

You were frozen, rooted to the floor like fear had turned your blood to concrete. He was here. And he was invading the only place that had started to feel like yours again. He tossed his helmet into the dirt, and JJ was on him before he could step foot under the soft light of the shop. 

‘You need to leave, Rafe.’ 

JJ’s voice was steel. No cracks. No wiggle room. But Rafe’s eyes found you, behind the counter, trembling, and it was like nothing else existed. He looked strung out, pupils wide and wild, like he hadn’t seen daylight in weeks.

He hadn’t seen you in weeks at that point. He’d kept his distance physically, instead flooding your phone with voicemail confessions and apologies he never had the courage to say to your face. He told himself he was giving you space. 

But now, he needed to see you. Even if it ruined him.

‘’M not goin’ anywhere, I need to talk to her.’ Rafe’s voice was cold, his hands working to shove JJ aside, his eyes set on you. Even with the tears in your eyes, all he could think about is how badly he missed you. 

Because, as you’d learnt, Rafe Cameron is indeed a selfish man. 

JJ didn’t flinch, shoving Rafe back so hard his boots dragged across the dirt, ‘You’re not talkin’ to her. Not in this state.’ His voice was a quiet growl, dripping promise opposed to threat. 

‘Sober up and get the fuck off my property before I put you in the dirt.’ JJ was practically spitting at Rafe, shoulders arched in a way that dared Rafe to test him. 

Behind the bar, your hands began to shake. You didn’t even realize you were holding your breath until your head began to spin. Rafe shoved JJ again, like he was just a small hurdle in the way of his prize. 

‘Fuck off, Maybank. She needs to know ‘m sorry.’ Rafe snarled, fighting against JJ’s grip, holding him back. Holding him away from you. JJ almost felt bad for Rafe in that moment. Almost. 

Rafe had been a dick to JJ, yet the blonde couldn’t help but feel something that resembled pity towards him. The way Rafe’s eyes reddened when he saw you, the way his tears betrayed his prideful ego. 

You’d fucked Rafe up, just as badly as he had you. 

‘Rafe, leave. Now.’ JJ stood firm, adrenaline keeping himself anchored onto Rafe. He could feel your anguish across the store, and he wasn’t about to let Rafe worsen it. Rafe shook his head, charging forward. 

JJ had no choice. His fist collected Rafe’s jaw in a steady swoop, knocking him right on his ass. You didn’t even stop him. You froze. Your stomach curled up like something had just died inside of you. 

Your brain screamed at you to move. To shout. To step between them. But those concrete veins prevailed. Your heart? It was already bleeding again. 

Rafe was already clamoring to his feet, before JJ struck him with another brutal punch. 

And Rafe just laughed. 

He spat the blood in his mouth onto the dirt, attention now on JJ. 

‘Hit me!’ Rafe laughed, broken and bloody.

‘I fuckin’ deserve it ‘nd you know it.’ 

JJ froze. You did too. Because he wasn’t fighting back. He was begging for pain.

JJ couldn’t bring himself to swing again. He grabbed Rafe by the collar and dragged him to his bike, and stood tall until he left. He left, and once again, you were left picking up the pieces of rubble he always left in his wake.

You felt every emotion under the sun, possibly even emotions science hadn’t yet identified. 

Emotions that sat in your throat like glass, slicing their way into your chest. 

Humiliation, hurt, regret, empathy, sadness, worthlessness, longing, betrayal, anger. 

It was too much to deal with. 

So you did what you could. You couldn’t afford therapy, so you focused on distracting yourself. You broke your lease and moved in with the Pogues. You saved up for a camera like it was your salvation. 

Started taking pictures like your life depended on it.

Tourists, Kook weddings, baby bumps, family photoshoots and seaside sunsets. You fell in love with life again, one shutter click at a time. Each smile, each person reminding you that there’s eight billion people on this earth, and maybe one day, you’ll experience happiness like them again. 

You started making more money than you knew what to do with. Bookings came faster than you could breathe, each shoot a step further from the version of yourself that used to beg for scraps of love. 

You found yourself in country clubs and coastal estates. In the same world that once belonged to him. But now you were behind the lens, and for the first time in your life, you were the one holding the power.

Until one day, he was there. 

And the ground didn’t shake. 

Your heart didn’t break. 

But it did… stir. 

The Pogues surround you, beaming like they’ve just watched you conquer the world. JJ’s hand squeezes yours, steady and silent, reminding you that you’re never alone. You try to focus on the moment. 

But your mind drifts back to that day. The day where the red string tugged. No rain. No thunder. 

Just the quiet pull of fate. 

‘You look good,’ his voice cracked the air like a match. You blinked, pulling your eye from the viewfinder like you’d just been caught committing a crime. Of course he was here. The Camerons and the Lowes were business partners.

‘You look… better,’ you muttered, eyeing him up and down. He did look better than the last time you saw him. When he came to the shop, and left his pride at your feet. He also had no hair now, which made you do a double take. 

‘I’m clean. Seven months.’ Your lips parted, but no words came. All you could do was nod. Speaking felt like betrayal. Betrayal to your dignity, to your healing and to the reputation you’d built from the ashes of loving him.

You weren’t just you anymore. You were your brand. Your name. Your work. And your name didn’t flinch when he said things like that. 

‘Congratulations.’ 

There was an uneasy beat of silence. 

‘Thank you. And ‘m not saying that to win you back. I’m sayin’ it because you deserve to know.’ 

You didn’t get the chance to say, ‘I’m proud of you.’ 

Or, ‘I’m scared of what you still mean to me.’ 

Or anything, really. 

Because as quickly as he appeared, he disappeared. 

Fuck, you’re glad the photos paid for therapy. Real therapy. Not ‘healing through distraction.’ Not Kie’s borrowed journals. Actual therapy, where saying his name for the first time felt like hauling a boulder uphill with bloodied hands. 

But you did it, and every session since has been a brick of emotional turmoil excavated from your chest.

‘I think I hate him.’ 

That’s what you told the box of tissues in front of you, because the tissues couldn’t judge you. 

‘But I miss him so much I feel sick.’ 

Your therapist just nodded, because she knew. Love isn’t always clean. Grief is never clean. 

You’d headed to a local bar to try and ease the thinking your brain was forcing upon you, post-therapy session. You’d drunk enough to sedate a horse, but it was never enough to forget about him–or what he did. 

And of course, the universe had to poke fun at you once more. 

‘That Cameron boy? Been volunteering ‘round my place since spring. Quiet kid, but he works hard.’ Said casually, like the crustless cucumber sandwich between sips of mimosas. The old lady’s words hit you sideways.

Rafe?

Working hard? Volunteering?

The same boy who bought and flipped homes like a game of Monopoly?

He wasn’t a hard worker. He was a talker. A manipulator. 

A charm-your-mama-before-he-breaks-your-heart type.

Wasn’t he?

Rafe’s palms sweat like he’s back in the courtroom. This time though, it’s not the judge he’s scared of. 

Every minute of work. 

Every sober morning.

Every aching, gut-wrenching therapy session. 

It’s all been building to this moment. 

He didn’t even know you were there. But his therapist had said, ‘Keep doing the work. The right people will find you again.’ 

He didn’t think that would include you. 

There he was, side by side with Wheezie, laughing at something she’d said, like the world hadn’t broken both of you a dozen times over. 

It was just the monthly ‘beach tidy.’ Locals. Volunteers. Garbage bags. Nothing poetic. 

Until he was in the frame. 

You went every month. It was your thing. Your breath of clean salted air. Your reset button. A way to give back to the world. 

And he was never there, until he was.

He looked different. Lighter. Like he’d laid something heavy down and walked away from it. His shoulders, the ones that used to carry ego and rage like armor, were loose. Relaxed. It wasn’t performative. It wasn’t a show. 

It was peace, and that terrified you.

You didn’t mean to do it. Your fingers moved on instinct. Your eye slipped behind the lens, where it was safe, and you captured him. The way he smiled. The way Wheezie laughed beside him, hands equally as dirty as her brother’s.

The way he didn’t look broken anymore. 

Later that night, curled up on the top bunk, you stared at the photo like it might blink back. It made something shift in your chest. Something you’d worked so hard to bury beneath logic and pain. 

You’d told yourself you were done with him.

That you weren’t going to will your heart to be shattered in his hands again.

But there he was. Doing something good when he thought no one was watching. Where there’s no party. No camera. No performance. Just his sister, the sand, and the gentle lap of the waves. 

Your fingers twitched over the delete button. You knew you shouldn’t keep it. 

You knew how it went. One photo becomes curiosity. Curiosity becomes memory. And memory becomes the ache to call him, and beg him to tell you he loves you. Because being broken by Rafe Cameron, had left an empty pit in your stomach that craved his validation to fill. 

You didn’t delete the photo. 

You’d talked about men like him in therapy. Users. Liars. Boys who begged for love and offered rot in return. You knew better now, and yet, his soul called to yours like a familiar song in a burning building. 

You could run, or you could turn around and listen. 

Whether it be weeks or months, he always found a way to be there, and chip away at your resolve and anger, one glimpse at a time. 

Despite the way he broke you, despite the betrayal and the deep ugly scar he’d left on your heart, part of you wanted to believe that maybe he might’ve changed. 

And that scared the living shit out of you. 

You remember when you were sure this day would never come. Not like this. And sure as hell not with him. 

‘You ready?’ JJ murmurs, his arm hooking through yours like a lifeline. Unknowingly, he takes half of your weight. Half of your nerves. Half of your fear. You shake out your free hand, trying to toss the jitters onto the floor like spilled rice.

‘As ready as I’ll ever be.’ It’s barely a whisper, but somehow, JJ hears the steel behind it.

You’d gone alone to the beach, wanting to catch a glimpse of the sunset, possibly a photo too. Headphones on, sundress flowing around your body with the slight breeze, you walked aimlessly. 

You’d found yourself in front of the Country Club, by some freak of nature. You hadn’t expected to see him again, especially not only a few days after the photo. A few days for you to try and compose yourself and remind yourself that he splintered your idea of love. 

But there he was. 

Tucked behind the bar, chatting away to Wheezie by his side. His demeanor was delicate with her. He oozed a protective aura around her, yet his eyes stayed gentle, and he actually seemed to be listening to her ramblings. 

He noticed you first this time. 

He didn’t move. Didn’t smile. He just gave you a polite nod. 

You nodded back, continuing to walk further down the beach, trying to get the encounter out of your mind. You’d thought that was it. It should’ve been. History only rewrites itself. No–that’s not what your therapist said, but whatever. 

Wheezie hadn’t missed the interaction. She chased you down, sand-crusted and pink-cheeked, heart on her sleeve. ‘He didn’t know you were gonna be here,’ she blurted out, like she was trying to catch the apology before it slipped too far between you. 

It felt like she was trying to hand you a bandage you weren’t sure you needed. Like she still felt the gravity of your name stitched into Rafe’s heart. 

‘I didn’t know he’d be here either,’ you murmured, offering the young lady an indifferent smile. You hadn’t intended on being rude, but your eyes kept flicking up to Rafe, who sat at the bar, frozen solid. 

He was terrified. Not of you, but of what Wheezie might spill. She was the only person he’d ever really spoken to about you. The only one who knew he still whispered your name every therapy session.

You two were out of earshot, but Rafe knew his gut instinct was right when he saw Wheezie speak, and your brows furrow. 

‘He talks about you. Not like a weirdo or anything,’ she spoke quickly, like you were going to run before she could get the words out, ‘just… like how he wants to be someone you’d still be proud of.’ 

You didn’t trust your voice to respond. Although young, Wheezie could tell there were no more words to be exchanged anymore. She’d seen what Rafe had gone through. She’d seen him get clean. 

She’d seen him cry in front of her. 

She’d seen the way he would take her to the cinema after a therapy session, never talking about it straight away. He’d stew on it in the dark, with his sister beside him like silence could keep him whole.

She’d seen the way he was trying so desperately to make amends with Sarah, who was surely the next Cameron to require therapy. 

She’d seen the way he began to help the community, participated in fundraisers, volunteered to clean and repair boats for the elderly, and helped people carry their groceries to their car. 

She’d seen the impact of you, embedded into every inch of Rafe’s once bleak, arrogant heart. 

She’d seen the way your ghost had pulled him towards goodness.

The way your absence shaped him into something softer. 

Because that’s who he’d fallen in love with all those months ago. 

That’s who he’d been in love with all those months. 

That’s who he wanted to make people feel, because it was the most perfect feeling in the whole wide world to him. 

Sarah tugs one last time on the strap settled against your shoulder, grounding you with the quiet efficiency only a sisterhood can offer. It still doesn’t feel real, but it feels earned.

The music changes, and you know this is as real as it will ever get. 

Raw, honest, broken and healed. 

As fucking real as it gets, like the scar left behind was always supposed to become part of the map.

Your breath stops. 

After talking to Wheezie, you found yourself wandering down to sit on the end of the dock, watching the world fall asleep one shutter click at a time. You didn’t even notice his boots until they were too close to ignore.

Then he sat beside you, quietly, like he’d been summoned by the tide.

There was enough space to pretend he wasn’t there. Just enough wind between you to feign indifference. But you didn’t. You turned your shoulders towards the sea and let yourself feel the weight of him beside you. 

He gave you enough space. Enough to choose if it would’ve been a moment, or just a memory.

He didn’t want to speak. He just sat there, letting the hush of your camera fill the gaps his words would’ve cracked wide open. As with every time you thought about him, your therapist’s voice played in your head. 

‘I think it’d be good to talk to him about your feelings. Putting your cards on the table can provide you with a sense of closure.’ 

‘Absolutely not. I would rather fuck a chainsaw than tell him how bad it hurt. I don’t want to give him the satisfaction.’ 

But fuck it. 

Letting go didn’t mean forgetting. It just meant finally putting the chainsaw down.

‘I still think about that text, you know,’ your voice was sharper than you’d intended. But he nods anyway, because he truly does understand. After all, you couldn’t possibly hate him more than he hated himself. 

You realized in that moment that he wasn’t fighting. He wasn’t trying to make excuses. He wasn’t defending his actions. He just let the weight of accountability sit heavy on his shoulders, alongside the hope that maybe… just maybe, you’d let him keep it.

‘You hate me, and you should because fuck-I hate me. What I did… what I didn’t say–’ 

You cut him off. 

‘You lied to me, Rafe. I saw it all with you. I saw the white picket fence, the perfect wedding, the family. And to have that torn out under me because you couldn’t be honest with me? I trusted you with my life.’ 

‘And I don’t think I’ll ever be able to give anyone that part of me ever again.’ 

His face cracked. He didn’t hide it. His pride was something he savored for his impactful decisions, not his once fragile ego. He leant forward, resting his elbows on his knees, fingers knotted like he was trying to hold himself together. 

‘I wanted to tell you. I swear I did. But every time I looked at you… I-’ his voice cracked, and tears began to pool along the rim of his pretty blue eyes. You wanted to wipe them, but the distance from him was the only thing keeping you sane. 

‘I didn’t want to lose it. I didn’t want to lose you. You’re the only person who ever made me feel like I mattered. I know it was fucked up. I’m sorry.’ 

He swallowed hard, his eyes locked onto yours, like he was prepared for you to tell him you hate him. To get that final piece of closure he’d been searching for through months of his good deeds and unravelling of the worst parts of himself. 

‘You already had me, Rafe,’ your voice shook.

‘You didn’t need to lie.’ 

He looked down at his hands, letting the waves fill the beat of silence between you. 

‘I didn’t think I deserved you. So part of me… I think I was waiting for it to all blow up. Like it always does. I kept waiting for the catch. And when it didn’t come… I guess I let myself become it.’ 

You closed your eyes, turning your head away from him. That was like a kick straight to the heart, stumbling the beat. You knew the taste of self-sabotage all too well. Of not feeling good enough for anyone from the mess you’d become. 

You’d felt like that before him. 

And you’d felt like that after him. 

‘You know, in therapy, they told me that forgiveness isn’t a gift. It’s a decision. A commitment,’ your voice cracked slightly. You wanted to continue, but Rafe had another weight he wanted to get off his chest. 

‘I’ve been going to therapy twice a week for eight months now. At first, it was for you. I wanted you to think I was sorting my shit out, but the more I went, the more I realized I needed it.’ His confession lingered heavily in the air. 

It was a bruising weight. The silence. 

Your eyes finally came up to meet his, blurred by your own tears threatening to spill. You blinked against the sting, ‘I don’t think I’m ready for the commitment of forgiveness yet, Rafe. But I see you’re trying.’

He didn’t reach for your hand like he wanted to. He just nodded, eyes fragile on you, like you were the bear ready to come barrelling through his china shop. He went silent. No breath. No movement. 

This was the closure he came over here for, right? 

‘I’m not ready. I don’t know if I’ll ever be ready again. But I see you trying, Rafe. And I’d be lying to the both of us if I said that didn’t mean something.’

‘I’d wait a hundred years for you to be ready, angel.’

The pet name didn’t sting as bad as it once did. It didn’t make your stomach churn like it did when you’d shut the door in his face. It landed tastefully on your tongue, with a glimmer of hope sneaking in beside it. 

‘You’ve got a hundred years of waiting, you may as well walk me home.’ 

His lips parted. The glimmer of hope seemed to wash over him too, flashing behind his eyes like a dreamy sunset. He didn’t rush anything. He didn’t rush to reach you. He didn’t ask for more. 

Instead, for the first time, he met you where you were. 

And he continued meeting you where you were. 

He stepped in to help with a wedding shoot when JJ bailed last minute. No fanfare. No fuss. Just steady hands on the reflectors, gear fetched before you even asked, kids laughing at his stupid jokes. 

He didn’t make it about him.

Just showed up. Held space. Respected yours. 

He’d packed up every last lens and tripod without waiting for permission. When the sun began to bleed orange across the sky, he lingered by your car.

‘You’re really good at this, y’know?’ 

It had been so long since his praise didn’t feel like a trapdoor. But this time, you didn’t flinch. You didn’t brace. You just heard him. 

He worked his way back into your orbit, not with apologies, but with presence. Every move was deliberate, cautious, patient and grounded in something that felt real. 

He wasn’t chasing forgiveness. He was building trust.

He wanted to be the kind of man you could rely on. The kind of man his father never taught him how to be.

He wanted to be someone you could put every last drip of your faith into, and be able to handle it with the care it deserved. He never wanted to be the boy who broke everything he touched, ever again. 

‘Wait!’ Kie’s voice cuts through the air, her gaze sweeping over you like she’s searching for cracks. 

‘Where’s your something blue?’ 

Your chest finally lets go of its bated breath. You raise your hand.

‘Right here.’ 

The blue diamond glints on your finger, not loud or flashy. Just enough.

It wasn’t grand. It was like your love. It was raw, steady, and unshakably yours. Just the two of you. The same barstools at the Country Club where you first met him. The same spot where he’d fallen in love with you. 

When neither of you knew what love really meant yet. 

‘If you can forgive me,’ he said, the tear tracking down his cheek doing all the confessing for him. He didn’t wipe it away. He wore it.

‘I want to spend the rest of my life proving I deserve this second chance with you.’ 

You didn’t say a word.

You couldn’t. 

Not when your heart had already answered for you.

‘I want to marry you. I want the family, the dog, the white picket fence–fuck, angel–whatever you want to do, I want to do it with you.’ 

You said yes. Not because he begged. But because he didn’t have to. 

He proved that he had become a better man, not just through his words, but through his actions. 

He’d earnt that spot that consumed your whole heart and soul. 

The spot that still remembered how he used to hurt, and chose him anyway. 

He’d earnt your trust back, week by week, month by month. 

And you could confidently say you trusted him with the shattered pieces of your heart that he was grown enough to repair after breaking them. 

It wasn’t perfect. 

You never expected perfect. 

You expected honesty, and reality.

And he was going to spend the rest of his life giving it to you. 

The blue diamond shimmers under the sunlight. Blue, for loyalty. For devotion. It cost Rafe more than half his property portfolio, but he didn’t even flinch.

He would’ve given anything he had if it meant holding your hand at the altar.

When the doors open, and you see him at the end of the aisle, all of your worries melt away. 

He’s standing tall in his sleek navy suit, shoulders squared. But he looks like a man on his knees. Not because he’s weak. But because you still bring him to them. 

Each step you take is certain. There’s no hesitation. No fear. You’ve both worked so hard to get to where you are today, and everyone around you knows it. 

JJ leads you down the aisle, arm locked through yours like it’s holding you up. He leans in, voice low enough that it curls beneath your veil, ‘Last chance to back out, Princess.’

You laugh, breathy and watery, trying not to smudge your makeup, ‘I’m not running.’ JJ brushes his thumb over your knuckles in a quiet way that says: Good. I’ve got you. 

‘Good,’ he says, watching the aisle like a soldier. ’Because if he hurts you again, I’ll have to break every bone in his body.’ You don’t doubt it. You laugh louder this time. Rafe sees the exchange, the way JJ’s hand is still looped through yours. 

The corners of his mouth twitch, like he’s fighting back a smile, and a sob, and a lifetime of regret all at once. He’s definitely not fighting back those tears, but neither are you. 

You reach Rafe. JJ takes your hand and presses it gently into Rafe’s waiting palm. He doesn’t joke. He doesn’t threaten. He just looks at Rafe, blue eyes hard and full of history. Don’t fuck this up without ever saying it.

‘She’s my best girl,’ JJ says. Calm. Steady. ‘Don’t make me regret letting her go.’ 

Rafe nods. Once. Firm. Like it means everything.

No bravado. 

No ego. 

Just reverence. 

‘Never.’ 

The ceremony was small. No microphones. No stage. Just the people who mattered, close enough to hear your heartbeat and the crack in your voice. You didn’t want a production. You wanted a promise.

Kelce wasn’t there. Neither was Topper, or any of the other Kooks who once scoffed at the idea of Rafe Cameron loving a Pogue. And you didn’t miss them. 

‘When we get married, are you going to get all sappy with your vows?’ You’d asked the question, perched on Rafe’s bare chest. Long before the text message. Long before you knew about the bet. When it was just you and him, planning a future together. 

He rolled his eyes. 

‘Like in sickness and in health?’ his gut twisted as he played it coy. He was going to tell you in that moment. Because fuck yes he wanted to marry you, and he absolutely wanted to get sappy with his vows, but only if you knew the truth. 

‘You’re so unserious, like, all the time.’ 

‘You just bring out the calmest side of me I’ve ever known, angel.’ 

You let out a shaky breath, his thumb caressing your knuckles the only thing keeping you tethered to the ground.

‘I didn’t think we’d get here,’ you begin, voice cracking just a little. A nervous ripple of laughter breaks through the small crowd. Everyone knows. The rise. The fall. The redemption. Hell, in the Outer Banks, your love story was practically public record.

Your eyes blur before the second sentence even comes. 

‘There was a time I thought I’d only ever say these words in my head.’

A pause.

‘And even then, they felt too big.’ 

‘When I met you, I didn’t know what it meant to be loved by a storm,’ you glance at him, and he smiles, but his eyes are brimming with heated emotion.

‘You were wild. Untouchable. Like a tide I couldn’t stop.’ 

‘I didn’t want to stop. I wanted every part of you… Even the ones you hadn’t figured out how to love yet.’ 

There goes your makeup. 

‘When it all broke, I thought we were done. I thought that love had to come easy to be real.’ 

Your hand shakes. His doesn’t.

‘But now I know better. Love is the work. It’s the fight. It’s the showing up, even when it hurts.’ 

Your voice breaks, struggling to get the last of your words out, ‘You showed up. Even when I didn’t want to see you. Even when I shut every door. You grew. You became someone who loves honestly. And wholly. And bravely.’ 

You smile through the tears, barely able to see him through the floodgates that have crashed open down your face. 

‘I don’t want a perfect man. I just want you.’ 

The whole room holds its breath as your voice cracks.

‘And I promise to choose you.’

‘Every version.’ 

‘Every day.’ 

‘Every storm.’ 

He pulls away from your hands to wipe his eyes, laughing in pure elation. You dab your eyes, looking around at your closest friends and family. The Pogues are all in tears. Ward even has a stern tear welling in his eye. 

‘How am I supposed to compete with that angel?’ Rafe whispers, only loud enough for you and Pope, who was officiating the wedding, to hear. You let out a sniffle, reaching for his hands again as he begins his vows. 

He takes a deep breath, trying to steady his voice. 

‘I was scared of you at first.’ 

You blink, startled. But then he smiles. The kind of smile he only ever saved for you.

‘Not because you were scary. Because you saw me. Even the parts I wanted to pretend weren’t there.’ He takes your bouquet of flowers from your hand, passing them to Pope. He grabs both of your hands tightly, fingers toying with your engagement ring settled on your finger. 

‘I’ve lied. I’ve hurt people. I’ve run from every good thing that’s ever come close.’

‘But not you. You were the first thing I ever wanted to stay for,’ his voice breaks, and you move closer, knowing it might help calm him down. 

‘I didn’t know how to love you right. But you made me want to.’

‘When I lost you, I realized I couldn’t live proud. Not unless I earned the right to look you in the eye again.’ 

Your lip wobbles, and he has to look down at your dress to stop himself from melting into you. 

‘I don’t deserve you,’ his eyes meet yours now, steadier now, ‘But I honor you.’

‘And I promise–I’ll spend the rest of my life learning how to be the man you saw in me… even when I didn’t believe he existed.’ 

Suddenly, ‘I do,’ felt like the perfect promise to forever. 

Later in the evening, the party has began to quieten down, after your first dance as husband and wife with Rafe, JJ clambered onto a table, clinking his glass obnoxiously. 

‘Ahem! I would like to make a toast… to Mr and Mrs Cameron,’ he grins, pausing to relish in the cheers. ‘When she told me she was marrying Rafe, I thought she’d lost the plot.’ 

Scattered laughter follows, some uneasy, some relieved, but you and Rafe just beam. JJ softens, that playful facade dissolving into the kind of rawness he rarely ever lets through.

‘But then I saw him. Really saw him. He was… scared, man. Scared she’d never forgive him. Scared he’d never be enough.’ Rafe squeezes your waist tighter. Because JJ’s words aren’t just true. They’re him. 

‘And then it hit me. I’ve never seen Rafe Cameron scared of anything. Not the law. Not his parents. Not even himself.’ 

A tear pricks the corner of Rafe’s eye. JJ raises his glass into the air. 

‘So here’s to love. Real love. The kind you bleed for. The kind you beg for. The kind you build for. Because if these two crazy people can make it… maybe there’s hope for the rest of us too.’ 

You raise your glass through blurry eyes, not expecting JJ of all people to be the one to make you cry again today.

Life always has had a funny way of letting love into your heart when you least expect it. 

6 YEARS LATER

Sunlight spills through the curtains, layering golden warmth across your chest. There’s a weight there, not heavy, not burdened. Just solid. The kind of weight you’d spent your whole life longing for.

Your son. 

Rafe walks in, falling in love with you all over again, like he does every single day. The sight of you cradling your two-year-old, safe and small on your chest, makes his heart swell with something deeper than pride.

Not the cheap kind of pride that had him betting on your virginity. This pride felt earned. Grounded. The kind that said he’d done better with his life. 

He’d done better than his dad. As a father. As a husband. 

He passes you a cup of coffee, sinking into the sofa beside you, careful not to wake your boy. Then as softly as ever, he brushes the loose strand of hair from your face, that same smile decorating his pretty face.

‘How did I get so lucky, hmm?’ 

You smile sleepily, fingertips tracing slow circles over your son's back. Steady, soothing and familiar.

‘You showed up, Rafe.’ 

‘You always showed up.’

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He instantly notices your discomfort, his kisses on your neck slowing down as he pulls back to assess your face. ‘We don’t have to if you’re not comfortable, baby,’ he coos, tucking your hair behind your ear.

You shake your head. He’s gotta be joking. These pregnancy hormones are no joke. You’re hornier than ever, and you’ll be damned if you’re not having sex for the next three and a half months.

‘I want to. Like… Really fucking want to,’ you breathe, dragging his lips back down to yours, arms sliding up the toned lines of his biceps as he hovers over you. He smirks into the kiss, brushing his nose against yours.

‘C’mere mama,’ he drawls, guiding you up with one hand cradling your belly. ‘I’ll show you how to sit pretty on me instead.’ His voice is soft, but commanding, and your cheeks heat instantly.

‘What if I’m bad at it?’ 

He chuckles, shaking his head as he leans back against the headboard, hands steadying your hips. ‘Bad? You couldn’t be bad if you tried. Your body was made for me, baby.’

His fingers smooth over your skin, worshipping every second of the sight of you hovering above him. He looks at you like you’re the most intoxicating thing he’s ever seen, because to Rafe, you are.

‘Look at you,’ he beams, lips quirking into a lazy grin. He’s made it clear since you began showing that he loves every part of your pregnant body, especially your bump. You’re carrying a part of him, and it drives him wild.

You shift nervously on your knees, avoiding his gaze, but his voice pulls you back.

‘Baby, you look so fuckin’ hot like this. Don’t hide from me.’ 

That’s all it takes. His hand wraps around the base of his cock, guiding himself to your soaking cunt, the heat of his tip teasing exactly where you ache. He leans forward, stealing your breath in a kiss as your palms brace against his chest.

‘Feel that?’ His voice drops to a husky growl as his tip nudges inside you. ‘That’s mine. Always has been, always will be.’ 

You whimper, grinding down without a second thought, and his jaw tenses. The stretch is sharp, intoxicating, both of you unraveling with each inch that sinks into you. A shaky breath escapes him, control hanging by a thread.

Your gasp breaks the silence when you finally bottom out, your hips instinctively rolling to test the fullness.

‘Fuck, that’s it mama. Just like that.’ His praise drips filth, but there’s a tenderness behind it that makes your chest tighten. ‘Bounce for me.’ 

With his encouragement, you rise and fall in a rhythm, each drop making your thighs quake as his cock drags against every fluttering nerve inside you. Your moans grow louder as your orgasm builds, Rafe’s thumb toying with your clit at a torturous pace.

‘You’re so wet f’me. You hear that?’ His voice is ragged, words broken by the sound of your slick every time you sink down onto him. ‘That’s my cock doin’ that to you.’ 

Your thighs tremble as he grinds up into you, the stretch almost overwhelming. His other hand palms your belly, as if he can’t stop reminding himself that you’re his, inside and out. 

‘Look at you,’ he groans, eyes locked on the way your tits bounce with each desperate grind. ‘Bouncin’ on me with my baby inside you. You’re filthy, mama. Filthy and perfect.’ 

You whimper, walls clenching tight around him. ‘R-Rafe–’

‘Yeah, say my name. Don’t stop. Ride me, baby, fuckin’ ride me ‘til you cum.’ His thumb circles your clit faster, his jaw ticking, the strain in his voice betraying how close he is. ‘Wanna feel you make a mess all over me.’ 

Your nails carve into his chest as the tension finally snaps, pleasure detonating through your veins, your whole body trembling as his name pours from your lips. Rafe breaks with you, a guttural groan tearing from his throat as he bucks up hard, bruising grip on your hips as he spills into you.

‘Fuck–fuckkk, there it is. Take it baby. Take my cum like the good girl you are.’ 

You collapse against him, trembling, as he locks you down on his cock, holding you there while his release floods you deep. Your forehead drops to his, a smug smirk playing on both of your lips. 

‘That’s my girl.’

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You giggle nervously, bringing your hand up to your neck, toying with the styled hair back there. Drew is as calm and collected as ever, and you wonder how he plans on answering this question. 

Madelyn takes the lead, shaking her head, an all-knowing chuckle escaping her lips, ‘Zon’t zo it. Zon’t zo it.’ You and Drew laugh heartily at that. After all, she’s had the most experience with dating a co-star, especially in the public eye. 

‘I agree,’ you laugh out, stifling your amusement with a carefully placed hand over your face. ‘What Maddie said.’ Drew is trying his best to keep it professional, the smile tight on his face, eager to not spur on any online speculation with his responses. 

‘I mean look, it’s a normal thing, right? You spend all day with people, long hours, you get close.’ He pauses, running a hand through his stubble nervously, ‘Crushes happen, but it’s probably not a good idea to act on it.’ 

At this moment, you know you shouldn’t have had those wines with Madelyn. Your giggle lacks any of the acting skills you’ve spent years perfecting, and you can’t help the warmth that spreads across your cheeks. 

Probably not a good idea to act on it. Funny. He was the one who made the first move. 

‘That was very diplomatic,’ you quip, laughing with your eyes locked on Drew’s.

He rolls his eyes, biting back almost instantly, ‘Yeah, well, someone’s gotta be.’ The laughter that falls from your lips is uncontrollable, and you don’t think you’ve ever felt so targeted in an interview, ever.

Madelyn is only spurred on further in her tipsy mocking, flicking her head to you dramatically, ‘Diva, you’re laughing too hard, is there something you’d like to share with the class?’

You’re not even concerned with the exposure at this point, this question having taken you by surprise to the point where you’re sure it’s someone on your team playing some messed up prank on you. 

‘Has anyone answered this question with a straight face?’ you say through a cheeky smile, before composing yourself enough to continue. ‘In our industry, I feel like crushes are bound to happen, but we’re all smart enough to know that it’s always going to end sideways.’ 

Drew’s smirk is dangerous, and you’re almost about to tell him to keep his shit together. ‘Let’s be real. How do you spend all day in a pretend relationship with someone, kissing them, professing your love to them, take after take, and not end up with at least… some feelings.’

Both your eyes and Madelyn’s widen. There’s a beat of silence, before you have to cover your mouth again, trying not to laugh too hard. He’s going to be plastered all over Twitter tomorrow, you’re certain of it. 

‘That sounded oddly specific, Drewmanji.’ Your stomach sinks when you realize that you’ve just dropped an unheard nickname on an interview that is sure to get millions of views, provided this isn’t just a skit prepared by your team. 

Drew chokes on his laugh, waving you off, also starting to blush now. ‘No, I meant it in general! Hypothetically!’

Madelyn continues stirring the pot, grinning right into the camera with a wink, ‘Yeah, uh-huh. Totally hypothetical, Drewmanji.’ She says the nickname in the most torturously teasing tone, and you have to hide your snickering in your sleeve. 

‘You’re so bad at this,’ you chuckle out, eyes locked on Drew. 

He’s just smiling at you, like you’re worth completely bombing this interview for. 

‘You’re going to get me in trouble.’

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Your words are teasing, and they might even come across as banter to him, but you know how true they are. He laughs, a gleam in his eyes directed at you that feels entirely too intimate. You look down at the glass in your hand, drying the nonexistent water off it.

‘One day you’ll let me take care of you properly.’ There it is. The joking promise that always falls from his lips. The words might be different every time, but he’s wasted no time making sure you know he’s never giving up on you. You laugh it off.

‘Are you still heading to Charleston tonight?’ 

He sucks his teeth, not letting your deflection wean his confidence. ‘Yeah, ‘m gonna be gone for a few days. Wanted to come see your pretty face before I left.’ He flashes you a charming grin, and you roll your eyes in response.

‘I’m at work, Baz. Keep it in your pants.’ He snickers at your teasing, dropping two hundred dollar bills on the counter as he stands up. You quirk an eyebrow at him, eyes flicking from the money, to his sheepish grin.

‘For food while ‘m gone. Don’t wanna come back to a snappin’ turtle.’ As always, he turns and leaves you with a fuzzy feeling in your chest. Besides the sex, sometimes it feels like Barry is the only person who truly understands you.

He’ll listen to each and every complaint about work, he’ll help you out with your bills when you need, and he’ll be your shoulder to cry on if you need. He’s always there for you, ignoring the fact that his own thoughts are constantly lingering on you, and how badly he wants to give you his everything.

You struggle to get him off your mind for the rest of your shift, internally cussing yourself out for letting him root himself so deeply under your skin. It’s not until you try to start your rusty old car that you’re distracted. No time to think about Barry when your car won’t tick over.

You press your forehead into the steering wheel with a groan. If Barry wasn’t in Charleston, he’d be here in a heartbeat, waiting for the tow truck with you. But Barry isn’t here, and at this time of night, there’s only one person you’re sure will be awake.

You bring your phone to your ear, huffing into it when you hear the other end of the line buzz to life. ‘My car’s dead. Can you…?’ You let out a sigh, because it’s almost midnight, and there’s not really much that can be done.

‘Can I what? Pick you up? Or come bend you over the hood while we wait for AAA?’ You roll your eyes, amusement far from being the emotion bubbling in your stomach.

‘Rafe, I’m serious,’ you grumble, grabbing your belongings out of the car.

‘So am I,’ he deadpans. ‘Where are you?’

‘In the parking lot at work.’ You try to keep the embarrassment out of your tone, but it’s pointless. You both already know that you only call him when you’re desperate.

‘Be there in five.’ 

‘Man, this girl at the Country Club, she’s the hottest thing I’ve ever had. Best head of my life.’ Rafe chuckled at Barry’s excitement, forcing down the bile rising up his throat. He was always a jealous man, so to hear Barry proudly flaunting your head game, it made him feel sick.

He didn’t disagree with Barry, not in the slightest. He’d never say it to your face, but your head was also the best of his life. The twisted jealousy stemmed more from the fact that he wanted you to himself, even if he was far from wanting to call you his girlfriend.

He just didn’t want anyone else touching you. He didn’t want anyone else to know how pretty you looked when you came. He didn’t want anyone else knowing how ethereal you sounded getting fucked. He didn’t want to know if you were giving someone else more.

‘Yeah,’ Rafe laughed, too sharp, too hollow. ‘Bet it was.’ 

He’d beat Barry to you. On your second shift at the Country Club, he’d spent the whole night flirting with you, before taking you home and fucking you until you could barely keep your eyes open. And it kept happening, every few days, he’d show up at the Country Club, make small talk, and end up in your bed.

He wasn’t the emotional kind of man. He was more of a friend that you could barely tolerate, who happened to be insanely good in bed. He never stuck around for too long, and was never much help when it came to talking about your problems in life. 

With Rafe, things were easy. You’re horny, you call. He’s horny, he’ll call. Don’t call when you’re sad, or in need of advice, because it’ll be overshadowed by a quick-witted flirt that leaves you feeling unheard. You were okay with it, because Barry was always there to help you with the more serious stuff.

You didn’t know it at the time, but both boys would keep you on a tight leash for the months that followed. Rafe’s leash was wound by obsession, whilst Barry’s held your emotions stable. 

Both boys knew they weren’t the only ones, yet they kept coming back for more.

When he gets there, you’re leant against the hood of your car, scrolling mindlessly through your phone. He doesn’t get out of the car, just unlocks it and waits for you to climb into the passenger seat. He sits back and watches you unabashedly toss your bag onto the floor before climbing into his truck.

‘Thanks for coming. Seriously,’ you huff, resting your head against the seat behind you. He watches you, a lazy smirk resting on his face, each movement unhurried. He’s clearly not getting out to take a look at your car, so you put your seatbelt on, and shut the door behind you.

‘Don’t thank me yet,’ he mutters, watching you in hilarity. You open your tired eyes from a long blink to glare at him, as if to ask what he finds so funny. ‘Haven’t decided what I’m chargin’ you yet.’ Charging? For what? You were going to sort a tow out tomorrow.

‘You a mechanic or something now?’ 

He laughs at your biting question, putting the car into drive, but sitting on the break. ‘Nah, just a dick who deserves a blowjob for his time.’ He teases you so casually, his entire presence dripping cockiness. 

You scoff at his boldness, rolling your eyes. He definitely notices the way your cheeks flush, always so easily flustered by his words. It’s hard to keep your cool when he’s got a way of making you feel like the only girl in the world. 

‘That’s your idea of a thank you?’

He shrugs, voice lowering an octave. ‘That’s my idea of fair.’

You have to fight the grin off your face the whole drive to your place, and do your best to ignore the second heartbeat that has taken residence between your thighs. It’s irritating how quickly he can make you fold with a few words and that damned smile. 

He invites himself inside of your house, as he always does, heading straight for your bedroom to throw himself on the bed. You follow after him, tossing your bag on the floor, starting to strip from your work uniform. 

‘Are you, like, planning on leaving? Or?’ You drag out the last syllable, knowing that if he’s sprawled out on your bed like that for much longer, you’re probably going to end up riding him until your legs give way. 

He hums, eyes closed, his knees bent over the edge of the bed, feet flat on the floor. ‘No.’ He says it bluntly, daring you to challenge him. Of course, you do. You always do. 

‘No? The fuck do you mean, “No?”’ 

‘I mean, you needed saving. I showed up. Seems like you owe me.’ He shrugs, eyes still closed, refusing to look at the way you can’t withhold the grin tugging at your lips, which you’re grateful for. 

‘You’re unbelievable,’ you mutter, amusement heavy in your tone. He always had interesting ways of convincing you to have sex with him, but this is a new one. ‘You think I’m a prostitute now?’

‘You? Selling it? Baby, I’d be broke in a week.’ You throw your shirt on him, hitting him square in the face. That gets his attention. He props himself up on his elbows, dirty blonde hair falling messily in his eyes. 

His eyes rake over your figure, in your tight little work skirt, a lacy black bra barely covering your boobs. He’s not sure when, but at some point, seeing you undress began to stir jealousy in the pit of his stomach.

It makes him feel murderous, thinking about Barry seeing you in just a bra. It makes his teeth clench and his cock twitch in his pants at the same time. Even the way you strut over to him confidently, leaning over him with a steady arm holding you up, makes him burn internally. 

‘I’d drain you dry before you even noticed.’ 

Your words drip honey and lust, so easily caving to the darkness swirling in his pretty blue eyes. His eyes are locked on yours, restraining himself from looking at your body and losing his mind before he’s even begun. ‘You can drain me whenever, but tonight…’

He tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear, and if he wasn’t devouring you with his eyes, you’d almost think he was being nice. 

‘You owe me a debt.’

With a sly smile on your face, your free hand slides down his torso, fingers slipping into the waistband of his pants. He always thinks he’s in charge, but he knows that you’re not one to do anything you don’t want to.

He sucks in a breath, stomach flexing at your touch. Like a song you’ve listened to a hundred times before, each movement is a beat that lands just the same. His hips come up to let you tug his pants down, letting his length spring free against his stomach, like every time before. 

‘I wasn’t expectin’ my payment tonight, but if you insist,’ he murmurs smugly, doing his best to play coy. You glare at him, keeping your eyes locked on his as you lick a hot stripe up his length, flattening your tongue against his swollen tip. 

‘I can pay you some other time, if you’d like,’ you whisper out, letting your tongue rake up his balls. His head is immediately shaking, his tongue darting between his lips to try and conceal how flustered he is. 

You have to fight back a chuckle at how quickly he shifts from cocky, to needy, without shame. He doesn’t care. Especially not when you take his tip into your mouth, letting your tongue swirl around the sensitive flesh there.

‘Fuck, baby,’ he breathes out, his eyes locked on yours. You take him into your mouth, inch by inch, until he stuffs your mouth so full that your hand needs to stroke the base. Rafe’s hips buck up into your mouth unintentionally in response to your lips around him, making your eyes water.

You keep your eyes on his, and if it weren’t for the way you’re flicking your tongue up and down his length, he would be spiralling. You look too hot with a mouthful of cock for anyone else to be seeing you like this. Especially Barry.

Why is he still letting you toy with him?

He’s not here for you. He’s here for him. At least, that’s what he tells himself.

Rafe’s hand snakes up to your hair, lacing his fingers through your locks. He uses his leverage to guide your movements, not forcing you, although the added control has his instinctual thrusts growing rougher.

Each time he hits the back of your throat, you moan against him, and it’s not just the vibrations that send shivers up his spine. It’s the thought of you doing this to Barry, making Barry feel as good as you’re making him feel.

You look unreal for him. Like your mouth was made for this. The idea of Barry having those same thoughts with his cock down your throat—it has him spinning the same mantra in his head. 

Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it. Don’t—fuck.

He uses his grip on your hair to pull you off him, smirking satisfactorily when you gasp sharply to fill your lungs with air. Spit drips from your lips in a long string, connecting you to his cock with just your fluids together.

His thumb moves from your hair, falling to your lips. His eyes are darker than they were before, something darker than lust settled behind them. He wipes the glimmer on your lips with a slow drag of his thumb, holding your bottom lip down as you try to blink away the soft tears stinging your eyes.

‘That mouth is mine. You hear me?’

Your lips curl around his thumb, sucking it deeper into your mouth like you’re mocking him, eyes glinting with mischief. His cock throbs at the sight, and that’s all it takes. 

He grabs your waist and flips you onto your back against the mattress, pressing you into the sheets before you can even spit him out.

‘You love pushin’ me, huh?’

His gaze flicks from your eyes, to his thumb in your mouth and your lips slightly parted around him. Your legs are open, letting him between your legs without a second thought, his erection grinding into your clothed core until you whimper.

‘One day you’re gonna find out how far I’ll let you push.’

The words are dangerous, almost threatening, yet you let out a breathless laugh, letting your nails scrape tauntingly down his biceps. ‘What if I like the idea of finding out?’

He curses under his breath, his fingers hiking your skirt up so roughly the fabric almost rips. Do you let Barry undress you this quickly? He pushes the thought from his mind, pulling your panties down your thighs in one impatient movement.

‘Greedy little thing,’ he mutters, dragging the swollen head of his cock through your slick folds, just enough to make you squirm beneath him. ‘Already soaked,’ he tuts. ‘Haven’t even touched you yet.’ 

Do you get that wet for Barry? Do you get wet from choking on Barry’s cock too?

‘Touched me plenty with that mouth of yours,’ you shoot back, hips lifting to chase his friction. ‘Maybe I’ve been waiting for more.’

He smirks, leaning down to bite your collarbone, hard enough to burn. 

‘You’ll take what I give you. Don’t forget who you called tonight.’ 

Your back arches, sucking a hiss between your lips when he pushes into you, stretching you out in one sharp thrust. He doesn’t give you a second to adjust, thrusting deep and unforgiving from the first stroke.

Do you let Barry fuck you raw? Do you make that sinful sound when he stretches you out too?

‘Rafe—‘ you gasp, nails digging into his back, desperate to hold on to absolutely anything as he drives into you, perfectly precise.

‘Atta girl,’ he grunts, snapping his hips harder, his jaw unbelievably tight. ‘Say my name like you mean it.’ Your pussy flutters around him, but you can’t resist the grin creeping up your face with heavy eyes, loving how worked up he gets when you’re a brat.

‘What if I don’t?’

He grunts, low in his throat, one hand sliding up to wrap around your neck, pinning you to the mattress. He doesn’t squeeze, just grips your throat with enough pressure to remind you who’s in control.

‘Then I’ll fuck it out of you,’ he breathes out, something darker than annoyance plaguing his tone. ‘Over and over, until all you can do is beg.’ 

Do you beg for Barry?

Your moan is shameless, loud enough to make his thrusts stutter for a split second. ‘Such—a dick, Cameron,’ you breathe out between your moans, his hips rolling deep inside you, hitting the spot that makes your body tremble.

‘And you love it,’ he bites back, throwing one of your legs over his shoulder, his hand then sliding down to toy with your clit. He always fucks you like his only goal is to feel you cum around him. 

Again and again.

‘Keep talkin’ shit,’ he pants, forehead dropping to yours. ‘See how many times I make you come before I fill this pretty little pussy up.’

Do you let Barry fuck his cum into you? 

‘Promises, promises,’ you attempt to taunt, although your voice cracks when he slams into you even harder, proving his point. His laugh is cruel, his thrusts and relentless pace on your clit refusing to slow down.

Every movement is purposeful, punishing. Each stroke draws a moan out of you that makes him wonder if Barry can force those sounds from your lips. Each time you clamp down around him, he wonders if Barry fucks you so good that your own body sucks him in.

And then his lips are right at your ear, heated breaths only tightening the coil about to snap in your core. He gives your ear a quick bite, running his tongue down your neck through his satisfied grunts.

‘You’ll remember who fucks you like this t’morrow. Every step will remind you—I was here first.’

Your response is a desperate, wrecked moan, nails digging into his shoulder blades so hard that you’re sure you’re drawing blood. ‘Rafe—don’t stop. Please don’t stop.’

‘Not a chance, baby. You’re not gettin’ rid of me tonight.’

His thrusts grow sharper, punishing, like he’s trying to fuck the life out of you. Each roll of his hips has a different edge now, an urgency that feels less about pleasure and more about claiming. 

He doesn’t want to imagine anyone else seeing you like this. Your lips swollen, skin flushed, tits bouncing with every thrust. The slick sounds filling the room, your voice breaking on his name. 

Does Barry ever see you this eager? Do you ever look this ruined for him?

Rafe buries the thought with a rough snap of his hips, so deep you gasp and claw at him like you’re drowning. That reaction… That’s his. He earned it.

His hand stays wrapped at your throat, firm, grounding, but his other circles your clit hard, relentless, and his teeth sink into his lip at the way you jolt beneath him. He doesn’t slow, doesn’t soften. If anything, he doubles down, chasing the way your cunt squeezes him tightly.

‘So fuckin’ tight when I’m hittin’ it just right,’ he rasps, his breath hot on your neck.

Your back arches, a strangled cry falling from your throat. He watches your face, greedy for every twitch, every broken sound, driving into you harder like he can carve himself into your memory, into your body.

Inside, his thoughts are a mess, circling the same desperate refrain: She’s mine. She's mine. She's mine.

When your legs start to tremble against him, his chest heaves. His thumb on your clit doesn’t let up, merciless, pushing you over the edge whether you’re ready or not.

‘Cum on my cock. Right now,’ he breathes, voice rough, almost cruel. You shatter beneath him, practically screaming his name as your body drags him in with tight pulses. The feeling of you cumming around him, so hot, and so tight, has him seeing stars.

He feels something snap inside his chest. He watches you unravel, your brows twisted in pleasure, strangled moans slipping from your parted lips. He watches you like it’s proof, like it’s possession… Like it’s victory.

‘Sound so pretty when you cum,’ he drawls, continuing to fuck you through your pleas for a break. He refuses to let up until you’re sobbing his name, because he has a claim to stake. Not for you, but for himself.

Rafe fucks you like a man possessed, each thrust deep enough to rattle your bones. Sweat drips down his temples, his jaw locked so tight it aches, but he doesn’t let up. 

You’re already trembling, tears catching in your lashes, your body stretched and raw around him, yet he drives harder, chasing something darker than release.

Did Barry ever fuck you this raw? Did he have you crying on his cock like this? Did you squeeze him the way you’re strangling Rafe right now?

The images twist in his skull, ugly and relentless. He hates them, but he can’t turn them off. Every time your cunt clamps down around him, he sees Barry’s smug fucking grin. 

His hand digs into your thigh, pinning it into your chest as he slams deeper, harder, punishing you. Punishing himself. You can’t hold back the broken cry that rips out of you, loud, desperate and pleading. ’Rafe, please—fuck—’

‘Baby,’ his voice cracks, guttural. ‘You’re gonna make me lose it.’

Your walls flutter, soaked and messy around his cock, and he loses his grip on reason. His hand aches at how fast he’s rubbing your clit, because he needs to feel you gush all over him. He needs the evidence. 

Needs proof that no one else can do this to you.

Bet Barry never had you leaking down his balls. Bet he never made you scream like this. 

You let out a pornographic moan, and his thrusts turn savage. That sound unravels him. His cock twitches inside you, his vision blurring at the way your walls seize up, sending him dangerously close to the edge of release. 

He watches you come apart on him again, your whole body shaking, cunt strangling him like it never wants to let go. Your body bows under him, crying out when his cock drags against that spot again, when his thumb won’t let up. 

Fuck unravelling. That sound rips him apart. His vision whites out, and he finally lets go, spilling into you with a snarl. He buries his face in your neck, biting hard enough to bruise. His thrusts grow sloppy, filling you so full his cum starts to spill out around him.

‘Fuck, take it baby,’ he pants against your throat, fucking it deeper, refusing to stop even as his cock pulses inside you. The wet sounds of your bodies crashing together are obscene, each strike stuffing his cum deeper into you.

You’re still shaking, wrecked beneath him, begging breathlessly as he fucks you through your orgasm and his, wringing every last tremor out of you. Your nails carve red lines into his back, your voice breaking on his name until you’re nothing but moans and sobs.

Rafe’s mind spirals even as pleasure consumes him, jealous, obsessive and feral. He wants to split you open until you forget every other cock. He only wants you to remember his. Only his.

He keeps moving, even after he’s spent, hips grinding, rutting into you like he can brand you from the inside out.

When he finally rolls over, a thought settles in your hazy mind. 

You know that Rafe could brand you a million times over, and he’ll still never be the one to hold you after.

That’s just not him.

That’s Barry, the one who leaves food on the counter so you don’t forget to eat, the one who listens when you cry. But Barry isn’t the one who sets your soul on fire. He can soothe your heart, but he can’t scorch it like Rafe does.

So for now, neither boy gets to be the only one.

taglist: @rcwhore (this one is all yours pookie) @cokewithcameron @gillybear17 @outersbanksgirly @lmg-stilinski24 @maybankslover @felinegrate @memoirofasparklemuff1n @rafeysvenicebitch @rafesdrew

‘You can’t be serious right now, Rafe!’ your tone was snappy, borderline fuming. Of course it was. He was still pouring blood from his nose because of his stupid decisions.

‘I was protecting you, baby!’ he exclaimed, tugging at his hair in exasperation. You roll your eyes, storming towards your shared bedroom, throwing your phone charger and other necessities in a bag.

‘Please, baby, c’mon,’ he tried to reach for you, hands wanting and expectant. You swatted them away with a stinging slap.

‘Don’t you fucking dare,’ you threatened, sucking in a sharp breath. He was always like that. He’d start a fight over something stupid, and spend the next week sucking up your ass.

Getting thousands of dollars of flowers delivered to the house, buying you absurdly expensive designer bags, spending every last cent on trying to suck up your ass.

Meaningless words, blowing money to try to sugarcoat his repeated mistakes.

You didn’t care about the money. You never did. What you did care about was being constantly on edge, worrying about if Rafe was going to end up in jail or not. 

‘I’m sorry, baby, I swear. It won’t happen again.’ 

If you hadn’t heard those words a thousand times over, maybe they would’ve held some weight. But when you’d heard them again, and again, for two years, they became just that. Words.

‘Stop!’ you shouted, hands in the air erratically. ‘Just fucking stop! I’m sick of your bullshit apologies. I’m sick of your ego starting fights everywhere we go. I’m sick of you, Rafe!’ 

His brows twisted into something cruel and his lips contorted into a disbelieving scowl. ‘You don’t mean that.’ You came barrelling into his space like a tornado, ready to destroy anything and everything in your path. 

‘Yeah,’ you confirmed with pure venom in your tone, ‘Yeah I do. We’re done, Rafe.’

For some stupid reason, after his fight with Ward this afternoon, he brought the old phone to the club. There was no thought in his mind as to why.

He just found himself craving the inch of sanity you once gave him.

He hasn’t touched the phone, yet. He’s kept his hands busy with rolled up bills and expensive whiskey, trying to inebriate the emotions bubbling in his chest.

When Topper, Kelce and Ruthie made their way to the dance floor, his fingers crept towards the phone in his pocket, something in the pit of his stomach wishful that maybe he’d see a text from you. Anything from you. 

When the shattered screen lights up, there’s nothing. No texts, no calls. There’s a bunch of emails, and scattered social media notifications, but nothing from you. Nothing from the person he wanted to be lighting up his screen. 

At the top of his social media notifications, is a post notification from you, on his old Instagram account. He does a double take, his heart hammering in his chest at the fact you hadn’t just blocked him immediately. 

He doesn’t hesitate, clicking into the post. He kept paying the bill, just in case you ever felt like calling. You never did, but for the last six months, he’s hoped that maybe, just maybe, you would’ve changed your mind. 

The post lights up, and his heart sinks.

Love is supposed to be easy? Are you fucking kidding? He can feel his teeth clench down, hard enough to send a sharp pain down his neck. He had to keep drinking, or he was going to drown in the memories of you. 

The memories of your smile. Your laugh. Your scent. Rafe skulled his whiskey, the burn tasting better than the regret settling on his tongue.

‘Rafe!’ you squealed, looping around the couch, pleading for mercy in between gentle hiccups. ‘Stop! Please, I’ll do anything!’ Your playful laughter was contagious. You had Rafe grinning like a complete fool, tricking you into starting to chase you again. 

A side step was all it took for the wooden spoon to raise in front of you. The iced coffees were long forgotten on the counter, yet the whipped cream can was tight between his fingers. ‘C’mere,’ he cooed, pouting his lip dramatically through his grin. ‘I like whipped cream on my dessert.’ 

‘Ray, please, I’m sorry,’ you laughed out, lacking any remorse, tears of amusement prickling at the corner of your eyes. He still had the smear of whipped cream across his cheek, beginning to taint his hair as he shook his head. 

‘No you’re not.’

‘You’re right,’ you said, stomach beginning to hurt with how hard you’d been laughing. You caught him off guard for a moment, and took the opportunity to sprint towards the staircase. He chuckled at your antics before lunging after you. 

He was quick, but you were quicker, eager to not taint your makeup or freshly washed hair with whipped cream. His steps behind you made your heart race, and your competitiveness kicked in, not wanting to let him catch you. 

You made it to the bedroom, and nearly had the door locked when he pushed it open, snatching you up into his arms. The coolness of the can in his hand made you shriek in surprise as it hit your waist, his other hand hoisting you over his shoulder. 

Your hands gripped onto his lower back as your laughter rumbled against him, ‘You’re finished now, baby.’ Your head spun, your hands clawing at his bare chest as he tossed you onto the bed, caging you in with his toned biceps. 

‘Ray, I’m sorry-I’m sorry, no!’ you pleaded through your giggles as Rafe grabbed the can, bringing it to your neck. You flinched, not in fear, but because he was laughing so hard that the can shook in his grasp. 

You heard the can hiss, and felt the light whip hit your throat, your eyes burnt amusedly through Rafe’s skull. ‘You did not…’ 

‘An eye for an eye, baby.’ 

His tongue came down across the sweet scented skin of your neck, licking up every last bit of the whipped cream. You could feel that shit-eating smirk on his lips, savoring the way he had you squirming under him. 

The sound of your laughter made him feel all warm and fuzzy inside, like he’d never felt before. And to know that he was the cause of that laughter, it made his stomach flip. He was so sickeningly in love with you, it made him blush.

His stomach churns at the memory, a cruel reminder of the warmth he’d lost. He can feel the ghost of your laughter curling around him, mocking the cold apartment he’d be going home to. Every ounce of him aches to hear it again, to touch you again, even if he knows it would never happen.

He hasn’t felt warm since the night you left. Every single breath he took was as cold as ice. Every night was spent craving warmth he could no longer have. Every day felt like the sun didn’t sit as bright in the sky. 

He clicks into your profile. Big mistake. He knows it immediately. 

It’s done. It’s actually done. You’d found another man, one who bought you flowers, and picked you up from work, and made you feel special. There’s no coming back from that. Jealousy claws at Rafe’s heart like a vicious demon demanding its escape. 

His stomach is heaving, bile clawing its way up as he stares at the photos, not having to imagine another man’s hand brushing yours. He didn’t have to imagine when the proof was at his fingertips. 

Every heartbeat is a hammer. Every image burns into his skull. He wants to vomit, scream and vanish, all at the same time. 

No other man deserves to be that close to you. No other man deserves to buy you flowers. No other man deserves to hear that laugh that could melt his worries away. 

No other man deserves you. 

He’s torn between rage and jealousy, and regret and longing. 

His hands tremble around the phone, fingers itching to strangle the man who dared touch you, even as part of him wished he could vanish from the world entirely and take the pain with him. Every laugh you gave, every smile in those pictures was a knife twisting in his gut.

But he also wants to see you smile. He wants to see you happy. 

So he does what he does best. He picks up his credit card, and racks up another line. He tells himself the burn in his nose and throat are enough to dull the ache, but he knows it’s not. Nothing could touch the gaping hole inside him where you used to be.

Hell, he’d kill to hear you even just yell at him one last time. He’d do anything to hear your voice again. 

‘Rafe, did you eat my leftovers?’ you questioned, glaring at him ragefully. He looked up at you with a remorseful grimace on his face, the twitch in his eye proving his guilt without the need for words. You huffed, crossing your arms across your chest. 

‘Are you for real? I told you not to touch them!’ you scolded, waiting impatiently for an apology. But you didn’t get one. Rafe only apologized when he truly fucked up, and even then, they tended to be half assed.

You weren’t much different. Two peas in a pod. Walls built sky high, with a singular door for that one person when it got too hard to keep the walls up. It was easy to keep the walls up when you were in the wrong. 

‘If it makes you feel any better, I choked on the noodles,’ he said, yet it sounded more like a question than a comforting statement. You squinted at him, the tension in your shoulders relaxing slightly.

‘No, it doesn’t, because I’m fucking hungry. I’m glad you choked,’ you deadpanned, not wanting to cave in so easily. Hearing that he choked on your noodles definitely made you feel better, but you wanted to make him sweat before telling him that. 

‘That’s mean,’ he grumbled, a scowl forming on his pretty face. 

‘You’re mean. You ate my leftovers.’ 

‘I bought them. I ate them. I choked on them. I’ll buy you more,’ he offered, and you cracked. The smile that crept across your face was slow, but it reached your eyes instantly. Seeing you smile had Rafe all giddy in seconds. 

‘Whatcha feel like, pretty girl?’ 

You rolled your eyes, tossing yourself onto the couch beside him. His arm instantly wrapped around your waist, tugging you impossibly close to him. You curled into his side, and closed your eyes as he placed a gentle kiss into your hair. 

‘You can’t eat silence for dinner, silly,’ he whispered into your hair, making you swat his chest. 

‘I’ll eat you if you don’t shut up, Cameron,’ you threatened, yet your eyes stayed full of adoration. 

‘I mean, I wouldn’t complain,’ he snickered, beginning to place kisses down your neck. You rolled your eyes, struggling to contain the giggle slipping out of your mouth. 

‘Get… off me,’ you grumbled in faux annoyance, shoving him away. He didn’t take it though. He held you in a vice grip, beginning a vicious attack of kisses across your face. They were wet and sloppy and had you in hysterics, trying your best to fend him off. 

‘But I love youuu,’ he whined between kisses, beginning to kiss down your chest, before making it to your ribs. 

‘Don’t…you…dare…’ 

Too late. 

He was attacking your ribs with kisses in a second, drawing breathless laughter and begs from your mouth as you shoved his head away. He could barely pucker his lips with his own laughter coursing through him, but he didn’t let up, because your laughter made him feel alive.

The sound plays on repeat in his mind, haunting him like an evil ghost. Is he making you laugh like that? Is he telling you that he loves you? Rafe thinks he’s going to be sick. He stumbles from the booth, shoving past strangers, desperate for a door, any door, that isn’t the one in his head.

He’d touched your neck, traced the curve of your ribs, heard you laugh until you cried. And now? Now he sat in the club, feeling like your absence is louder than anything. He could never, ever feel that warmth again. Never.

And it killed him. 

In front of the mirror, the light flickers overhead, teasing him relentlessly. It flickers like the last time you smiled at him. Bright for a second, and then gone before he could hold it. He’s a fucking mess. His hair is a tangled show, eyes ringed in purple shadows like bruises he gave himself.

He knows he can’t keep going like this. His heart yearns to hear your voice, and for a moment, he almost presses call. But you’ve moved on. With somebody else. You’re… happy… with someone else. 

He stuffs the phone back in his pocket, splashing cold water on his face to try to distract himself. With the amount of coke and whiskey he’s consumed tonight, there’s no distractions.

Not when the memories are blurring into real life behind his eyes. 

He never thought he’d see the day he was publicly showing affection. Especially not with another Kook. The Kook queen. The woman of every man’s dreams. You. 

Strawberry scented shampoo, Dior perfume, perfectly manicured nails, outfits that make men trip over their own feet, and an attitude that would make a lawyer forget their argument. You were everything Rafe always thought he hated in a woman. 

Yet there he was, laughing at your stupid jokes, in front of all his friends, with his arms wrapped tightly around your waist. The fire burnt brightly in front of you, and in your drunken state, you leaned your head on Rafe’s shoulder, looking at him upside down. 

He watched you like you hung the moon, his eyes glimmering with a softness the world had never seen from Rafe Cameron. 

‘My grandfather always said to fight fire with fire,’ you murmured, watching the way he listened so intently to each and every word. His eyes never left yours, watching in awe as you reminisced. 

‘He was a great man,’ you pause for dramatic flair, and Rafe’s face softens. ‘Shitty firefighter though.’ 

Your eyes instantly glimmered with childlike giddiness, and he audibly groaned, shutting his eyes to avoid the imminent laughter bubbling in his chest. He shook his head, and the laugh slipped out low and unsteady.

The kind of laugh that made him drop his head into your shoulder like he was trying to hide it. 

‘You’re so annoying,’ he grumbled lightly, inhaling your sweet scent whilst the fire spit and crackled in front of you. 

‘You love it,’ you said, grinning at him upside down. 

‘Yeah,’ he says without missing a beat, placing a kiss on your neck. ‘Love you.’ 

It’s so casual you almost missed it. Those two words tossed out like they meant nothing, except they meant everything. That was the first time he’d said it. The first of a million. 

You blinked, your brain tripping over itself, and you felt him stiffen against you. His hand clenched like he was trying to shove the words back into his chest before you could see them bleeding out.

‘Did you–’ you start. 

He cleared his throat, pretending to be intrigued by the fire, trying to play it off, ‘I meant–like–’

But you were already smiling, letting your gaze drift to the fire with his so he couldn’t see how flushed your cheeks had gotten. ‘I know what you meant.’ 

You didn’t even look at him, afraid that if you saw his eyes, you’d say it back before you were ready. He was already yours, and you didn’t even know when it happened.

The cold water couldn’t wash away the pounding of his heart. He didn’t know if he’d had too much coke, or if it was just that other feeling that’s lingered since you left. Rafe wasn’t a feelings guy, but if he had to take a stab in the dark, he’d say that feeling was grief. 

Fuck it. 

He pulls the phone from his pocket, seeing that it’s 1am, and presses call before he’s got a chance to regret it. Your name seems to be the only thing his vision sharpens in on, the rest of the world a drunken haze.

You pick up on the fourth ring. He didn’t even realize that he’d made his way out of the club until your voice hits him as hard as the cool night air. 

‘...Rafe?’

His lungs collapse in relief so sharp it hurts, like your voice just punched a hole in his chest. ‘I knew you’d pick up.’ Truth is, he didn’t. You’d made it pretty clear you never wanted to talk to him again. You’d left every last piece of you in his house and never looked back. 

‘That’s my hoodie,’ he grumbled, getting into the driver's seat of his truck. You just shrugged nonchalantly, eyes widening as if to say “what do you want me to do about it?”

‘I couldn’t find anything to wear,’ you brushed him off, scrolling through the latest drop of designer heels from your favorite boutique on your phone. 

‘You’ve literally got more clothes in my closet than I do, baby,’ Rafe huffed, watching you in bewilderment. Of course, he loved seeing you in his clothes, but he’d just spent ten minutes having an outfit crisis because he was looking for that jumper. 

‘Well maybe you should wear some of them then. You’d look so sexy in a Prada dress,’ you purred at him playfully, looking up from your phone to watch his reaction. He looked like he was an eighty-year-old man, unable to see their phone. 

‘What is actually wrong with you?’ he huffed out in exasperation, pinching the bridge of his nose like the drama queen he is. You laughed from your stomach, loving the way he pretends to not love your banter. 

‘Probably a lot, but you love me anyway,’ you flashed him a toothy grin, and his lips told a louder story than his furrowed brows. He was smiling before he even realized it, a shocked laugh rumbling from his chest. 

‘No shit I love you, idiot,’ he spoke softly, the tension in his face fizzled out with each moment his eyes were on yours. Those goddamned eyes. 

His closet is still full of your clothes. His bathroom is still full of your makeup, your shampoo, your toothbrush. You’d left it all, and a million lingering heartbreaks around what was once the place you both called home. 

It wasn’t home anymore. Not even a house. Not without you. It was four walls and a roof without you. 

‘It’s… one in the morning.’ 

‘Yeah, well, some things… can’t wait,’ he pauses, a bitter smirk crossing his lips. ‘Like finding out you’ve just… moved on.’ 

Your leg was draped lazily around his waist, your half-asleep head pressed into his bare chest. He stroked your hair, each movement full of the intense love swirling through his head, having you there in his arms. 

‘You’re the only thing that makes sense in this place,’ he whispered against your hair, holding you tightly to him with his other hand. You hummed out a sound of questioning, just loud enough to tell him you were listening. 

‘You’re the only person I’m not scared of hurting me.’ The words came out almost silently, but you’d heard them. One of those rare moments when the door opened, and vulnerability poured through the tiny crack. 

You stayed silent. You didn’t want to say the wrong thing. You would never hurt him. You couldn’t hurt him. He was the light to your darkness, as you were his. You were the umbrella to his rain. 

You were the Princess Peach to his Mario, especially in Mariokart. 

You were the little spoon to his big spoon. 

You were the Bonnie to his Clyde. 

Until you weren’t. 

‘You’re it for me, baby. I hope you know that.’ 

‘Saw your post. “Love’s supposed to be easy.” Cute. Real fuckin’ cute.’ His laugh echoes through the line sharply. There’s no humor in it. It’s pure rage. ‘You think that’s love? Some flowers and holding your hand like some–’ 

He cuts himself off, muttering, ‘You gotta be fuckin’ kiddin’ me baby.’

‘Rafe, I don’t want to do this.’ 

His voice softens, teetering on the edge of more than drunken ramblings, ‘Then hang up. Go back to Mr. Easy. Bet he never makes you cry, huh? I mean– Does he even know you? Like really know you?’ 

‘Rafe–’ 

‘No. Let me finish,’ he breathes out, trying to calm himself down. An impossible task, but he’s trying. ‘Does he know you hum in your sleep? That you talk too fast when you’re lying? That you bite your nails when you’re anxious?’ 

He pauses, a bitter laugh rising in his throat. Your silence feels like it’s going to ignite him into a flurry of flames. 

‘No, he doesn’t. Cause that’s the last piece of you I get to keep, and he doesn’t even know it’s there.’ His voice is a dangerous whisper now. He wants to yell, but your presence, even through the phone, has a grip on his heart so tight, he’s not sure he won't break. 

‘You sound insane.’ 

Rafe laughs at that, with the true vibrations of an insane man. ‘Insane is loving someone who’s out with a loser instead of in my bed, where they belong.’ 

‘Rafe… you’re drunk,’ you manage to whisper out, just loud enough to sound like you haven’t completely shattered at his words. 

‘Drunk, yeah… but also sober enough to know you’re lyin’ to yourself.’ He begins to lose his composure. ‘You think you’re over me? You’re not. You never will be.’ He’s not sure if he’s projecting, but he feels like he’s going to explode if he doesn’t say something. 

His voice dips, tender but jagged, ‘You’re thinkin’ about me. Right now. And I’m thinkin’ about you.’ 

‘All I do is think about you.’ 

The words come out with a crumbling break in between, Rafe unable to keep his cool anymore. He thought he was mad. He thought he was fuming, but the more he unravels, the more he realizes it’s not anger. 

It’s desperation. 

‘When you propose, you better not do it in front of people. If I ugly cry in public, I think I’ll have to say no.’ You hadn’t meant for it to come out like that, but the words hung in the air, light but loaded. You thought he’d just nod, maybe roll his eyes at your dramatic streak. 

But he froze, attention completely taken away from whatever shitty reality TV show you’d put on. His eyes trained on you like you’d just spoken some secret code only he could understand. In true Rafe fashion, the man who made even the most mundane moment feel electric, he smirked. 

‘Uh… Noted,’ he said, tone teasing, but the way his eyebrows twitched betrayed him. He was interested. Not in the show you’d put on. Not anymore. He was interested in you and only you. 

You laughed, the sound small and distracted, trying to play it cool. ‘I mean, it’s very specific. Ugly crying in public is absolutely a dealbreaker.’ 

He tilted his head, mock serious now, and began tracing his name onto your waist with his fingertip. ‘Got it. Private proposal. Only you, me, and your ugly crying.’ 

And even as you rolled your eyes, pretending not to care, there was that warmth in your chest that always flared when it was just the two of you. That moment didn’t scream romance, but it felt like the first step in the promise of forever with him. 

Because in his eyes, you weren’t just a blip on the TV screen of life. You were the channel he couldn’t switch off. The scene he replayed when no one else was watching. 

‘Every photo you post with him? Every caption? It’s a fuckin’ dare, isn’t it? Seeing if I’ll break.’ He’s the one ugly crying in public now. He never got the chance to propose. He never got the chance to see you ugly cry, not that anything you could ever do would ever be ugly in his eyes. 

‘Congratulations,’ he pauses, a sob slipping from his lungs. ‘I’m fuckin’ broken.’

He fights his breath into control pointlessly, each inch of air in his lungs catching in a tight, burning mess that made his chest feel like it was going to explode. You don’t even know what to say. 

‘Do you know how it feels to know someone else gets to hold you like I did? Kiss you like I did?’ An exhausted laugh falls bitterly from his lips. 

‘I’d burn it all down for a second chance. Every stupid bar, every stupid fight, every piece of myself. I’d burn me down if it meant you’d come back.’ 

‘Wait! Don’t go. Please. I’m begging you.’ 

Your bag was already slung over your shoulder, ready to drive to a friend’s house for the night. Into the pouring rain, where his words wouldn’t risk opening your door one last time. You took a deep breath, before spinning on your heel to face him. 

‘You pulled a gun on him, Rafe! Everyone was talking about it! The fucking psycho boyfriend who pulled a gun on a guy mid fight for saying his girlfriend had a nice rack! I can’t do it anymore!’ you exclaimed, throwing your hands in the air. 

‘I can’t keep living like this, wondering if you’re going to make it home every night. Wondering if you’re going to come back from… whatever mess you’re in.’ You opened the door to the porch, turning your back on him and his pleas. 

He took a step forward like a dog who’s just realized the gate’s open and you’re running. ‘Please, please, please! I was defending you baby! I’ll fix it. You don’t mean it, I promise.’

The door didn’t open, but there was a gap at the bottom, and you took one last breath of the breeze. You shook your head, voice as steady as ever.

‘I do. I’ve tried. I’ve loved you. I’ve fought. I’ve forgiven.’ You breathe in, taking the final breath. ‘I’m done. I’m done with the fights. I’m done waiting up, wondering if you’re going to show up bleeding. I’m done with the part of me that hurts all the time. I’m leaving, and I’m not coming back.’ 

You turned and slammed the door behind you, the rain soaking through your hair and bag. 

‘Rafe, I–’ you say firmly, deflecting from the singular tear that slides onto your pillow.

‘No! Don’t you hang up. Don't you dare.’ The music inside the club thuds in time with his heartbeat, his voice cracking without shame. 

‘Promise me… promise me one thing.’ 

‘What?’ It’s quiet, but it’s all you’ve got to give without falling apart yourself. 

‘Don’t let him make you forget me. Not completely. Not ever. You don’t have to come back… just… don’t forget me.’ 

The quiet on the line is a tomb, and he’s already inside, waiting for the dirt.

Your hand trembles around your phone, the rain outside feeling closer than the distance between you. His breathing is ragged, and he’s gripping his phone like it’s a part of you. 

‘Rafe…’ 

‘I love you. Always have. Always will.’ 

The line clicks dead before he can say more. He sways in the rain, alone, staring at your name.

One door stays bolted shut, and the other… it’s not a door. There’s no wall. No guard. 

Just him, with everything he never wanted to say, and no one left to hear it.

taglist: @rcwhore @cokewithcameron @gillybear17 @outersbanksgirly