#rafe introduction

you were already curled up under the blankets, knees tucked to your chest, hair a little messy from the shower you’d taken earlier. your laptop was propped on the nightstand, paused halfway through an episode of whatever show rafe pretended not to like but still got invested in. he was sprawled next to you, shirtless because he always complained you kept the room too warm. his arm was tossed over your waist, his thumb rubbing lazy circles against the fabric of your tank top. he wasn’t even paying attention to the screen—he was watching you.

“what?” you muttered, glancing at him from the corner of your eye.

“you’re ignoring me,” he said, like you’d committed an actual crime.

“i’m watching,” you defended.

“nah, you’re zoning out. i can tell.” he shifted closer, his leg brushing yours under the blanket. “what’s going on in that head, pretty girl?”

you rolled your eyes, because he always called you that when he wanted to distract you. “nothing. just… thinking.”

“thinking about me?” his mouth curved in a smug smile, the kind that made you want to hit him and kiss him at the same time.

“no,” you lied easily, grabbing the little jar of your laneige lip mask from the nightstand.

he eyed it suspiciously. “what’s that shit you put on your face every night?”

“it’s my lip mask,” you said, unscrewing the lid. “laneige. makes them soft.”

“is that the one that makes you taste like gummy bears?”

you laughed, scooping a small amount on your nail. “no, that’s my purple one. this one’s vanilla.”

he tilted his head, still staring like he was trying to figure it out. “can i try?”

you didn’t even think twice. “sure.”

you reached toward him, about to smear it across his lips, but he caught your wrist halfway. “no—i mean, like this.”

before you could ask, his hand slid to your jaw, tilting your face toward his. and then he kissed you.

“rafe—” you started when he pulled back, but he cut you off with another kiss, slower this time.

“wait,” he murmured, barely giving you space to breathe. “i don’t think i got enough.”

you huffed a laugh, pushing at his chest. “you’re so annoying.”

“nah,” he said, kissing you again, smiling against your mouth. “just making sure, baby. might need… one more. for research.”

and he kept doing it—coming up with the dumbest excuses each time. “needed to check the flavor.” “think i missed a spot.” “hold still, i’m serious this time.” each one followed by another lingering kiss, his thumb brushing over your cheek, his body inching closer until your legs were tangled under the blanket.

⌞ between blue lights ⟡ rafe cameron ⌝

Resumen : Between races, burning memories and silences that weigh more than words, a kook girl who learned to live among pogues faces what was and what could be.

Número de palabras : 4.9k

Nota del autor : English is not my native language, so I apologize for any grammatical errors or mistakes that may appear in the text. I appreciate your understanding and patience while I continue to improve.

Scene 1: “I don’t know if I was ever part of something, but you made me feel like I was.”

Setting: Makeshift camp on the island. Night. The fire crackles at the center, casting dancing shadows over the improvised tents and tired faces. The air smells of salt, smoke, and something that feels like home.

She sits on a rock, legs crossed, Kie’s jacket draped over her shoulders. JJ settles beside her, dropping his backpack with an exaggerated sigh.

“Do you miss Figure Eight?” JJ asks, not looking directly at her. His tone isn’t accusatory—it’s curious. Like he wants to understand without intruding.

She takes her time to answer. Watches Pope stir what’s left of dinner in a pot, Kie arranging flashlights and blankets, John B fine-tuning tomorrow’s plan. Everyone’s busy, but no one’s absent.

“I miss not having to choose,” she finally says, voice low, almost as if speaking to herself.

JJ nods, like he understands more than she says. He leans toward her, offers a canteen.

“You don’t have to here. No sides. Just us.”

She looks at him. There’s something in his expression that reminds her of nights with Rafe, when he, too, seemed human. But JJ isn’t Rafe. JJ doesn’t look at her like she’s a salvation. He looks at her like she’s enough.

Kie walks over, hands her a flashlight with a soft smile.

“In case you want to write or run away. Works for both.”

She smiles. Pope offers her some rice and beans, saying nothing. Just holds it out, like a quiet welcome.

For the first time, she doesn’t feel caught between worlds. Not the kook girl who betrayed her class. Not Rafe’s ex, whispered about behind backs. Just her. And here, in this firelight, with these faces, it feels like belonging.

JJ lies back on the rock, arms behind his head.

“Tomorrow we race. You and me. No excuses.”

“What if I lose?”

“Then you stay. Because losers here don’t leave. They stay for dinner.”

She laughs. Not out of politeness. For the first time, because she wants to.

Scene 2: “I remember Rafe the way you remember a storm: with fear, but also with fire.”

Setting: Cave on the island. Gray afternoon, light filtering through the cracks.

The group moves forward between damp rocks and moss-covered walls. Flashlights carve paths of light across the uneven ground. She walks behind JJ, fingertips grazing the stone, as if searching for something more than clues.

Suddenly, she stops. A carved mark on the rock, barely visible. A curved line, followed by a cross. It’s not part of the map. It’s part of her story.

“You okay?” JJ asks, turning toward her.

She doesn’t answer right away. She crouches down, touches the mark with the tip of her fingers. The texture brings back a memory.

Flashback. Rafe, hands dirty with soil, teaching her to read maps on a crumpled napkin.

“Don’t look at the paper. Look at what isn’t drawn,” he used to say. “What if I get lost?” “Then you run. Without looking back.”

She smiles, but it’s a sad smile.

“He was chaos. But I was his calm. For a while.”

JJ stays quiet. He doesn’t ask. Doesn’t interrupt. Just sits beside her, letting the echo of what’s unspoken settle between them.

“Do you miss him?” he finally asks, without judgment.

She thinks.

“No. But sometimes I wonder if he ever saw me the way I saw him.”

JJ picks up a stone from the ground, tosses it gently toward the stagnant water at the back of the cave.

“Maybe he did. But some people don’t know what to do with what they see.”

She looks at him. JJ isn’t Rafe. He doesn’t push. He doesn’t burn. He stays.

“Thanks for not asking too much,” she says.

“Thanks for not hiding,” he replies.

The group calls from further ahead. She stands. JJ offers his hand. She takes it.

Scene 3: “The Race”

Setting: Dirt road skirting the coast. Golden afternoon, dry wind, open sky.

The bikes are lined up, growling like impatient beasts. The sun slants low, tinting the suspended dust with copper. JJ tightens his gloves, wearing that smile that always seems caught between mockery and complicity.

“Do you dare?” he says, turning his face toward her.

She climbs onto the bike without answering. Fastens her helmet, clicks it into place. Her eyes, behind the visor, shine like the challenge is personal.

“You think I can’t?”

JJ laughs. Not to mock. To admire.

“I think you’re about to surprise us.”

John B watches from the starting line, counting on his fingers.

“Three… two… one…”

They take off. The ground trembles. The wind slashes their faces. She takes the lead, body leaning forward, fingers steady on the handlebars. JJ follows close. John B trails behind, but he knows this race isn’t his.

She feels the air pounding against her chest. But what truly drives her is the memory.

Rafe. Shouting in a race just like this. Accelerating like the world was chasing him.

“Faster! Don’t think—just run!” he used to yell.

But with JJ, everything’s different. He doesn’t shout. He laughs. And that laugh sets her free.

The curve approaches. She takes it without braking. JJ catches up, wheel to wheel. For a second, their eyes meet. There’s no rivalry. There’s recognition.

Final stretch. She accelerates. Not for speed. For choice.

She crosses the line first. Dust rises. Silence falls.

JJ gets off his bike, removes his helmet, walks over with a crooked smile.

“I underestimated you.”

She takes off hers. Hair tousled, breath ragged, but eyes steady.

“Everyone does. Until I race.”

John B claps from behind. Kie lets out a celebratory shout. Pope smiles, like he knows something bigger just happened.

But she doesn’t look at any of them. She looks at the horizon. And for the first time, she’s not thinking about Rafe. She’s thinking about what comes next.

Scene 4: “It’s not that I miss him. It’s that sometimes I wonder if he ever really saw me.”

Setting: Beach, night. The sea breathes slowly. The waves arrive like sighs, break softly, and retreat without a sound. The sand is cold, but the campfire still casts warm flickers in the distance.

She walks alone, shoes in hand, hair tousled by the wind. She sits near the shore, where the water barely brushes her feet. Kie follows, saying nothing, and settles beside her.

For a moment, neither of them speaks. They just listen to the sea. Until she breaks the silence.

“It’s not that I miss him. It’s that sometimes I wonder if he ever really saw me.”

Kie glances at her, without interrupting. She continues, as if the words had been waiting to surface for a long time.

“Rafe looked at me like I was his escape. Like with me, he could forget everything that broke him. But I was never his destination. Never something he chose. Just something he needed when everything else failed.”

Kie lowers her gaze.

“That hurts more than being left. To be used to breathe, but never to stay.”

She nods.

“I loved him. Not for who he was, but for who I thought he could be. And for a moment, I believed he saw me that way too. But now… now I know he only looked at me when he couldn’t look at anyone else.”

The wind picks up. The tide rises slightly. Kie moves closer, wraps an arm around her shoulders. Not out of pity. Out of recognition.

“You’re not his escape. You never were. You’re your own destination. And that… he never understood.”

She rests her head on Kie’s shoulder. She doesn’t cry. She doesn’t tremble. She just breathes.

And in that breath, something closes. Not with noise. With peace.

Scene 5: “JJ and the Silence That Doesn’t Unsettle”

Setting: Overlook above the island. Deep night, clear sky, stars as witnesses.

The group sleeps below, at the camp. Flashlights off, the fire reduced to embers. She climbed up alone, looking for air. JJ followed without asking, as if he knew his presence wouldn’t be an intrusion.

Now they sit on an old blanket, sharing warmth and silence. The wind blows gently, moving her hair like it’s trying to caress her. JJ leans back, arms crossed behind his head, eyes on the sky.

“So… what now?” he asks, without turning. His voice is low, as if he doesn’t want to break the stillness.

She takes her time to answer. Watches the horizon, where the sea melts into the dark. Thinks of Rafe. Of how he always needed noise to feel alive. Of how JJ, instead, offers silence without asking for anything.

“I don’t run to escape anymore,” she finally says. “I run to stay.”

JJ slowly sits up. Looks at her. Not intensely. Calmly.

“That sounds like something worth staying for.”

She smiles. Not out of politeness. It’s a smile born from within, like she’s finally understood that staying can be brave too.

JJ reaches out, places his hand over hers. He doesn’t squeeze. Doesn’t claim. Just touches, as if to say, I’m here, if you want to be too.

There’s no kiss. No confession. Just a quiet promise: Here, you can be yourself.

She lies down beside him. The sky remains, vast and endless. But for the first time, it doesn’t scare her.

Scene 6: “Just Thinking About You” Setting: Lonely beach, night. The sand is cold beneath her bare feet. The sky is clear, but the sea feels restless, as if holding secrets too heavy to speak aloud. She walks slowly, phone in hand, flashlight off, heart on pause.

She stops at the shoreline. The water brushes her ankles. The wind tousles her hair. And on the screen, an unsent note:

“I don’t hate you. But I don’t wait for you anymore.”

She reads it once more. She doesn’t tremble. She doesn’t hesitate. She saves it. Not out of nostalgia. Out of closure.

She breathes deeply. The salty air fills her lungs. And for the first time, she’s not thinking about what could’ve been. She’s thinking about what is.

Behind her, soft footsteps on the sand. JJ.

“Ready for another race?” he says, with that smile that demands nothing—but offers everything.

She turns. Looks at him. And smiles.

“This time, I’m running toward something.”

JJ doesn’t reply. He simply steps closer, offers her the flashlight, and they walk together toward the camp. No promises. No endings. Just two people who chose to stay.

The sea remains, a silent witness. And in her mind, Little Freak echoes softly. Not as a wound. As a memory.

Scene 7 (Extended Version): “What You Run Toward, What You Leave Behind”

Setting: Dirt road, roaring bikes. Golden afternoon, dust suspended in the air.

The race ends. She wins. JJ congratulates her with a crooked smile and a helmet bump. But before she can take hers off, she sees him.

Rafe. Walking toward her. No rage. No arrogance. Just something that looks like… truth.

“I need to talk to you,” he says.

JJ steps away, respecting the moment. The wind quiets. The dust settles.

“I didn’t come to interrupt. I just… wanted you to know I tried. That with you, for a moment, I was someone better.”

She doesn’t answer. Rafe continues:

“I don’t know if it was love. But it was the closest I ever got. And I ruined it. I know.”

She removes her helmet. Holds it like a shield.

“I did love you. But I couldn’t keep waiting for you to learn how to love me back.”

Silence. Rafe lowers his gaze.

“Are you with JJ?”

“I’m with myself. And that’s already a lot.”

Rafe nods. He doesn’t smile. He doesn’t cry. He just walks away. Not like someone fleeing. Like someone who understands.

She turns. JJ waits by the bike. He doesn’t speak. But his eyes say everything: Here, you can be yourself.

She climbs back on. Not to race. To move forward.

And in the air, like a soft echo, Little Freak plays in her mind. Not as a wound. As a song that no longer hurts.

Minutes later. Beach. Sunset.

She walks alone, helmet in hand. Sarah approaches, soft steps, as if not wanting to break the moment.

“I saw the race,” Sarah says, straight to the point.

“And?”

“You ran like you didn’t have to prove anything to anyone anymore.”

She smiles, but doesn’t reply.

Sarah sits beside her, in the sand.

“Rafe… he was always different with you. Not better in the perfect sense. But more human. More… still.”

She looks at her, surprised by the tenderness in her voice.

“Are you saying that as his sister or as a witness?”

“As someone who knows him too well. And knows that with you, he let his guard down. Even if just for a little while.”

Silence.

“I don’t know if that changes anything,” she says.

“It doesn’t have to. I just wanted you to know. Because sometimes, understanding isn’t forgiveness. But it helps you let go.”

She nods. Sarah stands, touches her shoulder gently.

“I saw you run. And for the first time, he wasn’t your finish line. You were.”

Sarah walks away. She stays. And in her chest, something settles.

Not as a return. As closure.

Scene 8 (Final Version): “What Isn’t Said, But Stays”

Setting: Makeshift room on the island, deep night. The wind blows softly. She lies down, flashlight off, staring at the ceiling as if she could read the future in its cracks.

The door opens without a sound. Rafe. Not like a storm. Like a whisper.

She doesn’t move. He stands in the doorway, as if the air itself weighs on him.

“I didn’t come to ask for anything,” he says, barely audible.

She sits up, without turning on the light.

“Then why did you come?”

Rafe steps closer. Sits at the edge of the bed. He doesn’t touch her. Doesn’t look directly at her.

“Because tonight I don’t want to be Rafe Cameron. I want to be the boy who wrote you notes on napkins. The one who stayed quiet just to listen to you breathe.”

She watches him. No anger. No nostalgia. Just a tenderness that hasn’t fully faded.

“That boy made me feel like the world could be soft.”

“That boy still exists. But only with you.”

Silence. She reaches out. Not to take his hand. To touch his face, as if to confirm he’s still there.

“Don’t promise anything,” she whispers.

“I can’t. I just came to stay for a while.”

He lies down beside her. No kiss. No touch. Just two bodies that once loved each other, now sharing the same air without causing harm.

The flashlight remains off. But the room is full of light.

Minutes pass. Silence settles.

“You know what was the worst part?” Rafe says, voice cracking. “Not losing you. Realizing that with you, I was someone who could love without destroying.”

She doesn’t answer. But she doesn’t pull away.

“Sometimes I wake up thinking you’re still there. That you’ll look at me like before. Like I was more than the name, more than the wreckage.”

She turns her face toward him.

“I did look at you that way. But you never knew what to do with it.”

Rafe closes his eyes.

“I know. And still… I love you. Not like before. Not with fire. I love you the way you love something you can’t have anymore—but never stop feeling.”

She breathes deeply. No reply. Just a tear that doesn’t fall. Just a hand that doesn’t let go.

“I don’t know if this changes anything,” he says.

“It doesn’t have to,” she replies. It doesn’t hurt anymore. But it’s not forgotten either.

— pairing: kook!rafe x kook!reader

— warnings: explicit language, mostly just fluff though!

— word count: 1.04k +

— A/N: this has been in my drafts for a while. inspired by nicolandria- i might not love olandria but i want what she has with nic.

you hadn’t even noticed it was missing until you were halfway through digging in your bag like a raccoon.

the check had just landed on the table. you were full and glowing, post-dinner happy, your reflection in the restaurant’s window was begging for a touch-up. you swiped aside your phone, receipts, a polaroid of you and rafe, a mini perfume, a single stick of gum—nothing. no liner, no gloss. your fingers slowed.

“you good?” rafe asked casually, still leaning back in his seat, one arm thrown over the chair beside him.

“no,” you muttered. “i lost my lip combo.”

he blinked.

“you know—my lip liner and gloss. i had it. like i’m positive i had it. it was in the inside zipper with my clips.”

rafe didn’t say anything right away. just reached into his jacket pocket, pulled something out, and slid it across the table like it was a casual transaction. the slim pink liner. the gold-tinted tube of oil gloss.

you froze but before you could say anything, he was already mid-convo with the waiter, handing off his black card with that slow, lazy confidence he always carried when he was about to overtip. the waiter smiled, nodded, and walked away.

you stared at the gloss.

then at him.

"rafe."

“hm?” he looked up, completely unfazed.

“what the fuck is this?”

he tilted his head, pretending to think. “looks like… your lip combo?”

you snorted. “no babe—why do you have it?”

“because you always lose your shit,” he said simply, like it was obvious.

“so you… what? keep it on you? like a backup?”

“yup.”

you narrowed your eyes. “this is mine.”

he nodded.

“you stole my lip stuff?”

“did not steal anything” he said, flashing you that smug little grin. “bought it from sephora”

you scoffed. “you are so weird.” the thought of rafe in sephora doing anything other than holding your bag and saying "that would look great on you, babe" was so off-putting.

“am i?” he leaned forward slightly. “or am i just boyfriend of the year?”

“boyfriend of the—no. no, rafe. normal boyfriends do not carry around lip liners.”

“you act like this isn’t a survival thing,” he said, grabbing his water. “you don’t understand what i go through when you can’t find it.”

“what you go through?” you laughed.

“yes. the panic. the full spiral. you wanting to go home. declaring your face ‘incomplete’ like you’re a sim. it’s terrifying.”

you covered your face, laughing, slightly embarrased. “i hate you.”

“you love me.”

you peeked at him through your fingers.

“you memorized the shade, too?”

“you say pillow talk more than you say my name.”

"i do not." your lip curled. “i still can't believe you remembered.”

“charlotte tilbury,” he said smoothly. “sounds like a princess. looks good on you. i pay attention.”

you swallowed a smile. “you’re ridiculous.”

he shrugged. “you’re welcome.”

you pulled the little mirror from your phone case and started reapplying. he watched — unashamed, eyes dragging across your mouth like he wasn’t even pretending not to be obsessed.

“you're staring.” you muttered.

“you're pretty” he shot back, voice a little rougher this time.

you slowed your hand, heart catching in your chest. you put down the makeup, psuhing them to the middle of the table. his hands reached for them, tucking them back into his jacket pocket.

“you’re holding on to it?” you asked, trying not to smile.

casually, he said, “you’ll forget again tomorrow.”

you stared at him, lips parted like a laugh was coming but didn’t land. his fingers tapped against the table, slow and easy. the check was already paid, waiter long gone, and yet he still sat there like he had nowhere better to be — like sitting across from you, half-smirking and carrying your favorite lip combo in his jacket, was exactly where he wanted to be.

and something about that just… settled in your chest.

you tilted your head a little, watching him. he wasn’t even looking at you — just messing with the edge of a sugar packet, and somehow that made it worse. or better. you couldn’t tell.

“what?” he asked without glancing up.

you blinked. “nothing.”

but it wasn’t nothing.

it was everything, actually.

it was the way he always pulled you onto the inside of the sidewalk. the way he remembered your coffee order better than you did. the way he said “you’ll forget again tomorrow” like it didn’t annoy him, but instead made him love you more.

and right then, in a tiny table with your lip liner in his jacket and your heart way too loud in your chest, you realized something you hadn’t been ready to before.

you were in love with him.

and for once, that didn’t scare you.

— pairing: kook!rafe x kook!reader

— warnings: MDNI 18+, sexual innuendoes, explicit language, established relationship, reader and rafe live in the same house, teasing, dirty talk, sleepy sex, unprotected sex

— word count: 2.1k +

— A/N: not proofread

you were drained, but that wasn't the worst of it.

the night had gotten away from you, and now you were finally wrapped up in bed, buried under soft blankets that still carried the faint scent of detergent and rafe. the sheets were cool against your skin, your body sinking into the mattress like it had been waiting for this all day.

rafe was home—just not in bed yet—but his pillow was. and it still smelled like him. that familiar mix of clean cotton, ocean air, and whatever cologne he always used without telling you the name. you curled around it instinctively, tucking it close like it could fill the space he’d left behind.

you wanted to fall asleep—really, you did—but something else was stronger. you needed rafe.

not in like a clingy, dramatic way. just in the way your body was all warm and fidgety under the blankets, your skin a little too sensitive, your thoughts nowhere near as innocent as they should be for this late at night.

you’d kind of been like this all day, if you were being honest. it started when he’d kissed your neck this morning, all lazy and slow, and then walked away like it didn’t do anything to you. and then he’d worn that grey shirt, the one that clung to his arms. you swore he knew exactly what he was doing. and then, at lunch, he’d unknowingly tugged your skirt back into place after you bent over to grab something you dropped. his hand brushed the back of your thigh—light, barely there, but it was enough to make your whole body tense.

so yeah—now you were stuck here, alone in the bed you shared, wearing a loose long sleeve top and a pair of vs underwear, practically overheating under the covers. every time you shifted, the fabric dragged across your skin in that annoying, teasing way that made you bite your lip and squeeze your thighs together. you huffed and rolled onto your back, glaring at the ceiling like it was somehow responsible.

the door creaked open and in he came, shirtless and sleepy-eyed, with your white stanley in one hand. it was already sweating from how much ice he’d packed in, just the way you liked it. he didn’t say anything at first—just walked over and set it down gently on your nightstand.

“the freezer’s so full of random shit,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. “i had to move, like, three frozen waffles just to get the tray out.”

you smiled into your pillow, biting back a laugh. “thank you.”

“yeah, yeah,” he said, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead. his lips were warm. his voice was soft now. “don’t say i never do anything for you.”

he made his way around the bed, slipping under the covers on his side. the mattress dipped a little with his weight. you felt the cold of his body hit yours immediately and you let out a small whimper when his leg brushed yours.

rafe chuckled low. “what?”

you shook your head and turned slightly, facing him. “nothing.”

but he was already onto you. his eyes were half-lidded, hand sliding under the covers to settle on your waist. “you’ve been acting weird all day.”

you played dumb. “what do you mean?”

he raised a brow, fingers flexing just a little on your skin. “you think i don’t notice the way you look at me when you think i’m not paying attention? or how your hand was on my thigh all through dinner?”

he smirked now, leaning closer. “you wanna tell me what’s going on, pretty girl?”

you didn’t answer right away. mostly because your brain short-circuited the second he called you pretty girl in that low voice.

he noticed. of course he did.

rafe shifted closer, curling into you under the blanket, his hand still resting on your waist like it belonged there. like it always had.

“you’ve been needy all day,” he said, teasing but gentle. “what, being around me 24/7 not enough anymore?”

you scoffed, hiding your face in the pillow for a second. “you’re so annoying.”

“mhm,” he hummed, brushing his nose along your cheek. “annoying, but right.”

you sighed, giving in—because you always did with him. “i don’t know. i just... i’ve been thinking about you all day.”

he pulled back slightly, just enough to look at you. “thinking about me?”

you bit your lip. nodded.

his smirk softened a little. “what part?”

you smacked his chest. “shut up.”

“nah,” he grinned, catching your wrist and bringing it to his mouth. he kissed the inside of it, then whispered, “what part, baby?”

you swallowed. “all of you.”

his hand slid down your waist slowly, his thumb rubbing a slow circle just above your hip.

“yeah?” he said, voice a little lower now.

and then his hand slipped lower too, slow and familiar, fingers tracing the edge of your panties beneath the blanket.

you felt your breath hitch. and he definitely noticed that too.

he didn’t rush. didn’t say anything. just leaned in and kissed you again—messy this time, like he’d been holding back all day too. your lips moved together like muscle memory, his tongue brushing yours just enough to make your toes curl.

you barely noticed him tug your panties down until they were halfway down your thighs, soft fabric caught between the tangle of your legs under the covers. "fuck, baby...already so wet for me.." he muttered, throwing your underwear somewhere on the bedroom floor. "should've said something before, y/n...wouldn't have let you wait this long." he placed kisses down your jaw, then neck slowly making his way to your collarbone. you let out a quiet whimper at the feeling of his lips. "shh, baby. i got you.." he whispered, his hands grabbing your thighs, hooking your legs around his waist before reach down to pull his boxers away—just enough for his cock to spring free.

rafe’s hand wrapped around himself, slow and sure, his thumb brushing over the tip before he lined himself up. his eyes stayed on you the whole time, watching your face, reading every twitch and breath like it was second nature.

“look at me,” he murmured, his length nudging at your entrance. “wanna see you when i’m inside you.”

your fingers curled into his shoulders, grounding yourself, heart pounding in your ears as you felt him start to push forward—slow, deliberate, making sure you felt every inch.

you let out this shaky little gasp, your nails dragging lightly over his skin without even thinking. the stretch burned in that good way, the kind that made your toes curl under the blanket.

rafe’s eyes darkened, his jaw tightening like he was holding himself back. “fuck… you feel so good,” he muttered, voice almost breaking as he bottomed out, hips pressed flush to yours.

he stayed there for a second, just breathing, one hand gripping your thigh while the other slid under your shirt, splaying wide over your stomach like he needed to touch more of you.

you could feel him—every pulse, every twitch—so deep it made your head spin.

“move,” you whispered, barely getting the word out.

that was all it took. rafe pulled back slow, dragging against your walls until just the tip stayed inside before pushing forward again, a little harder this time. the bed creaked softly, the rhythm unhurried but deep, like he wanted to draw it out and ruin you at the same time.

your head fell back into the pillow, a soft whimper slipping from your lips.

he leaned down, his forehead brushing yours, breathing you in. “been thinkin’ about this all day,” he admitted, his voice almost a growl. “you… wrapped around me like this.”

his words made your stomach flip, and you clenched around him without meaning to. his answering groan was low, wrecked, and it shot straight through you.

“baby…” he warned, but it sounded more like a plea. his movements were slow at first, almost lazy, like he wasn’t in any rush. the blanket was still pulled up over both of you, trapping in the warmth, your legs locked around his waist as he pushed in deeper.

you could hear the faint sound of the ceiling fan and his breathing in your ear. it made everything feel quieter, smaller—just the two of you in your own little world.

rafe’s hands slid up your sides, fingers tracing over your shirt before curling into the fabric. “mm… feel so good, pretty girl,” he murmured, voice thick with sleep. his lips brushed against your cheek, the kiss so soft you barely felt it.

you didn’t even bother trying to say anything back. you just made a small sound, tilting your head so your nose brushed against his neck.

he moved slowly—deep, steady thrusts that had you melting under him. his chest pressed to yours, his weight grounding you in the best way.

“been wanting you all day,” you whispered, the words barely audible.

he let out a low hum, like he already knew. “yeah? couldn’t tell,” he teased lightly, though his smile faded into another kiss to your temple.

the pace stayed unhurried, his hips rolling against yours in a way that made your toes curl without overwhelming you. it felt more like drifting than anything else—like you could fall asleep mid-movement and still be wrapped up in him.

“love you like this,” he mumbled, almost to himself, his hand coming up to cradle the back of your head.

you tightened your legs around him in answer, pulling him closer.

rafe’s breathing got heavier, but he still didn’t rush. every push into you was slow, drawn-out, like he was trying to make it last as long as possible.

his nose brushed yours, his forehead resting against you. you could feel the faint tremble in his arms as he held himself up, his thumb stroking lazily at your hip.

“you’re so warm,” he murmured, almost like he was talking to himself again. “don’t wanna let you go.”

your fingers curled into the hair at the back of his neck, nails just barely grazing his skin. “then don’t.”

he gave you a small smile at that, the kind that barely reached his eyes but was so soft you felt it in your chest.

the steady rhythm made you ache in the best way—like every nerve in your body was tuned to the feel of him. you let out a quiet whimper without meaning to, your lips brushing the curve of his jaw.

“there you go,” he whispered, kissing your cheek. “just let me take care of you, baby.”

the sound of your breaths tangled together in the dark, the rest of the world shut out.

his hips rolled deeper, and your legs tightened instinctively, the blanket slipping lower but still pooling around your waists.

you could feel yourself getting closer, that slow build in your stomach tightening with each thrust.

rafe noticed—he always noticed. his hand slid down, tilting your hips just enough to hit the right spot. “yeah… right there, huh?”

you bit your lip, nodding quickly, your forehead pressing into his.

“good girl,” he mumbled, kissing you once—soft, messy, like neither of you cared about aim.

the last few thrusts had his breathing ragged, your nails gripping his shoulders. and then, with a low groan, he pressed in deep, holding you there as you both came—his hand still at your hip, keeping you close.

neither of you moved for a moment, your chests rising and falling together.

finally, he shifted just enough to pull you fully into his arms, your legs still tangled.

“rest,” he murmured against your hair, brushing a kiss there. “i got you.”

you let your eyes close, still feeling him warm and heavy against you.

neither of you moved for a long moment, your chests rising and falling together in the quiet.

rafe finally eased out of you, moving slow so you wouldn’t whine at the loss, and pulled the blanket back up over both of you. he reached for your stanley on the nightstand, pressing it into your hands. “sip,” he murmured.

you obeyed, because honestly, you were too blissed out to argue.

once you set it back down, he pulled you in again—your cheek on his chest, his arm snug around your waist.

“still think i’m annoying?” he teased softly, voice already dropping into that half-asleep tone.

you let out a tired laugh. “yeah. but you’re my annoying.”

he smirked against your hair. “good answer.”

you closed your eyes, the steady beat of his heart lulling you. he rubbed his thumb along your side, slow and absent, until your breathing evened out.

the last thing you heard before drifting off was his quiet, almost slurred whisper—like he didn’t even mean for you to catch it.

“love you, pretty girl.”

and then, nothing but the warmth of him, and sleep.

— pairing: actor!drew x actress!reader

— warnings: MDNI 18+, explicit language, smut, oral (fem receiving), p in v, unprotected sex, slightly jealous drew, little bit of fluff at the end

— word count: 1.7k +

— A/N: i need this problem irl.

your suitcase is already open, exploding with outfits that looked way cuter on pinterest than they do in your hands. shoes are lined along the bottom of the hotel bed, your toiletry bag is wide open on the nightstand, and drew’s sitting on the armchair like it’s his own personal fashion week.

“okay—be honest with me”, you say, stepping out in your third outfit, a silky bronze two-piece that’s half slinky, half classy. “this or the black one?”

drew raises his brows, tongue poking the inside of his cheek. “the black one was hot. but this one? you look like a golden trophy. like i just won something.”

you laugh, adjusting the top in the mirror. “you’re so dramatic.”

he shrugs. “you’re so hot.”

you roll your eyes, already heading back to change. this has been the cycle for like twenty minutes now: you try something on, he hypes you up like it’s his full-time job, you pretend not to melt a little, repeat.

“don’t forget i need something for the press thing too,” you call out from the bathroom, peeling off the bronze outfit. “like, something pretty but not too ‘look at me’ just ‘i’m that girl’ energy.”

“so...anything you wear,” he says casually, and you can hear the smile in his voice. "babe, try on that dress i bought."

"yea?" you call out, trying not to grin like an idiot as you shimmy into the white dress drew had gotten you out of nowhere. it’s simple—thin straps, open back, short—but it fits like it was sewn onto you. you smooth it down, frown at your reflection for a second, then step out.

and drew goes quiet.

his head lifts slowly. his hand actually falls from where it was resting on his cheek. and his jaw—his jaw.

“jesus christ,” he mutters.

you shift your weight. “...too much?”

he blinks once. then again. “you can’t wear that without me there.”

you blink back. “what?”

he pushes up from the chair, walking toward you with that look in his eyes—slow and sharp, like he’s trying to decide something dangerous.

“you look like…” his hands reach out, barely touching your waist, his fingers grazing the fabric. “i don’t even have a fucking word. you look illegal in this.”

you swallow. “so…not press appropriate?”

he laughs, but it’s all breath. all chest. “nah. you wear this, i’m flying to venice with you. no discussion. no solo red carpets. no fans—actually anyone—getting ideas.”

you roll your eyes, but his fingers slip behind your waist and pull you closer. “drew—”

“nah, baby, i’m serious,” he says, voice low now, lips brushing your neck. “you walk out in this dress and you don’t take me with you? i’ll lose my mind.”

“mm,” you hum, heart skipping. “so what’re you gonna do about it?”

and that’s when he kisses you.

not the sweet, lazy kind he gives you in the mornings. it’s urgent. messy. his hands on your hips, your back hitting the full-length mirror, the white dress riding up as he pushes between your legs. your laugh gets caught in his mouth, and his breath hitches when your hands slide under his shirt.

“god, please don't wear this without me...” he mutters, voice all gravel and heat, his lips dragging down your collarbone.

“guess you’ll have to ruin it before anyone else sees.” you whisper, tugging him closer.

“oh, i plan to.” he kisses you like he’s mad. like you did something to him.

your back’s still pressed to the mirror, and the dress is already bunched up around your hips from the way he’s gripping you. his mouth moves fast—kiss after kiss like he’s been starving, like the second he saw you in that dress, something short-circuited in his brain.

“drew—”

“nope,” he breathes, lips dragging along your jaw. “no talking. this is your fault.”

“how is it my fault?” you gasp when he sucks on the side of your neck, hands gripping his shoulders now. “you told me to try it on—”

“yeah, and then you came out here looking like that,” he says. “you knew what you were doing.”

you try to fire back, but your words dissolve the second his hand slips under the hem of your dress. his fingers skim your thigh, moving higher, teasing.

“drew…really?”

he pulls back just enough to look at you—eyes dark, lips a little swollen already. “you want me to stop?”

you shake your head immediately, already tugging his shirt over his head. “just— i wanna be able to walk tomorrow morning.”

he smirks. “no promises.”

his hands are all over you now—lifting you up slightly so he can lay you on the bed, sliding the dress up even higher, until the thin fabric’s barely hanging on at all. he trails kisses down your stomach, his voice all low and teasing.

“gonna make it hard for me to let you go to venice like this,” he murmurs, slipping your underwear down slow, his hands dragging against your legs. “what if i just kept you here?”

“i’d miss my premiere,” you breathe, already arching toward him.

he grins. “worth it.”

and then he goes down on you like it’s the only thing that matters.

no jokes, no breaks, just him and his mouth and the way he hums when your thighs tighten around his head. he’s cocky about it too—peeking up at you through his lashes, fingers gripping your thighs tighter every time you moan his name. he eats you out like he's been starving his entire life.

when you finally finish, your back lifts off the bed, hands in his hair, chest heaving—and he’s smiling.

“knew that dress was trouble,” he mutters, kissing your inner thigh. “knew you were gonna be the death of me.”

he climbs up over you, kissing you deep this time, slower. your hands fumble with his sweats, pulling them down just enough for him to kick them off, and you feel him—hard and already leaking—pressing against your thigh.

“you good?” he whispers against your lips.

“yes,” you say, too fast, breathless and already pulling him in. “please.”

he doesn’t tease anymore. just slides in slow, groaning into your neck once he’s all the way in. your legs wrap around him instinctively, and the first few thrusts are deep, almost gentle. like he’s trying to memorize how it feels.

but then your hips move with his. and his rhythm stutters.

“fuck,” he mutters. “you feel—i can’t—”

he buries his face in your shoulder, the pace picking up, your body arching to meet every movement. the dress is still bunched around your stomach, one strap hanging down, and he keeps glancing down to watch it all happen—to watch you.

it’s hot. messy. your nails scratch his back knowing you'll be leaving marks. he groans when you clench around him. and when you finish again, he kisses you through it, whispering your name like it’s the only thing holding him together.

he follows a few seconds later, hips stuttering, breath catching in your ear.

after, he doesn’t move for a long minute. just lays there, both of you sweating and barely catching your breath.

“you okay?” you whisper eventually, smiling a little.

he lifts his head, looking like he’s been hit by a truck. “no,” he says.

“you really gonna wear that,” he says quietly. “just walk out in it. like it didn’t do this to me.”

your smile softens. “i mean… i didn’t plan on you absolutely losing your mind over it.”

he doesn’t laugh. just looks at you like he’s trying to memorize every inch of your face.

“you leave tomorrow.”

you nod slowly, fingers tracing the curve of his jaw. “only a few days.”

he swallows. “yeah. i know.”

he lays back beside you, his hand finding yours in the mess of sheets between you. neither of you talks for a minute. there’s just the hum of the AC and the way your pinkies hook like they always do when you’re trying not to say too much.

“it’s dumb,” he mumbles finally. “you’ve been away before.”

you turn your head. “it’s not dumb.”

he looks over at you again—barely a few inches away now. he tries to smirk, but it fades too fast. “just… call me. okay? when you land. and when you get to your hotel. and before the carpet. and after. and at the after party—”

“so… constantly?” you interrupt with a snort.

“yeah,” he says, kissing the back of your hand. “constantly.”

you laugh, tugging the strap back up. “we’ll see.”

he narrows his eyes playfully, then drops his head back onto your chest.

“venice or not,” he mumbles, “i’m not letting you leave this room without round two.”

— pairing: apocalypse!rafe x apocalypse!reader

— warnings: explicit language, slight mention of drugs, past relationship (rafe and reader used to date), slight graphic imagery

— word count: 2.3k+

— A/N: inspired by @prettydaisygirl and their zombie au! if you're reading this, i fricking love your writing. feel free to send requests for this au or literally anything else. but anyways, enjoy!

it had been six months since the world ended.

six months since the normal disappeared without warning.

six months since rafe cameron realized he was no one’s favorite anymore—not even god’s.

it started with the news. then the sirens. then the screams. but it wasn’t real until he saw the blood, smelled the rot, and felt the way his chest stopped moving when ward didn’t get up. rafe had been in the middle of a fight with his dad—about something stupid, probably—and then suddenly ward wasn’t yelling anymore. his mouth was open, but no words. just blood. just silence.

and that’s what the apocalypse felt like. silence. but the wrong kind.

it was easier, at first. tannyhill had enough food, a generator, walls. he stayed there alone for a while, even after everything outside had already gone to hell. but supplies didn’t last, and being alone made him… worse.

worse than he already was.

he told himself that the decision to find sarah wasn’t about family, it was about survival. he knew where she'd be, more specifically who. rafe hated the pogues. every single one of them. but being surrounded by people, even people he couldn’t stand, was safer than starving to death in an empty mansion.

so he found her. his sister who was thankfully still alive. still with that same soft, naive hope that made him feel sick. she’d gotten lucky—john b, jj, kiara, pope, and cleo had taken her in without question. and when rafe showed up, dragging a broken-down motorcycle and smelling like smoke and dirt, they didn’t shoot him.

but he sure as hell thought they should’ve.

rafe didn’t talk unless he had to. he barely even looked at them. every time they set up camp and circled around the fire to laugh, cry, tell dumb stories or just reminiscing about the normal, rafe disappeared. always on the outskirts. always leaning against a tree or sitting on a rock like he’d rather die than join them.

because he would. he’d rather die than pretend they were a family. because they weren’t. not to him.

he couldn’t stand how jj made jokes like the world hadn’t ended. he couldn’t stand how pope still thought everything had to have a plan. he couldn’t stand how john b and sarah acted like they were the last love story left on earth. he couldn’t stand how kiara had hope and he really couldn’t stand how cleo looked him in the eye like she knew exactly what kind of monster he was.

they tolerated him because of sarah—but barely.

he did his part, though. went on supply runs, killed when he had to, helped fortify whatever hideout they were calling home for the week. but even then, it was clear—he wasn’t one of them. he wasn’t with them. he was just…there.

and the worst part? he deserved it.

rafe had been a nightmare in the normal. cocky, spoiled, high out of his mind more often than not. and the worst part? he’d still had her.

y/n.

they’d dated, really dated. not just flirting at parties or late-night hookups—real. for a while, she’d been the only thing grounding him. the only person who could get through all the noise in his head.

but he’d ruined it. pushed her away with the drugs, the mood swings, the sharp edge he couldn’t seem to turn off. he’d lie. disappear for days. come back with glassy eyes and a fake smile like nothing happened.

she broke up with him after one of his worst spirals. after all the yelling and crying she just looked at him like he wasn’t the boy she fell for anymore. like he was already gone.

he never forgot that look.

and even now, after the world had ended, after everything they’d lost… it still haunted him. because out of all the things the apocalypse took, she was the one he’d lost before it even started.

he hadn’t seen her since the outbreak. didn’t know if she was alive or dead. didn’t know if he even had the right to wonder.

but he did. every single day.

because the world ending didn’t make him a better person. it just made him lonelier. and now, stuck in a group full of people who hated him, who had every right to hate him, rafe did what he always did—pulled away. and kept pretending he didn’t care.

it was supposed to be a normal run. or atleast as normal as things got now. rafe and sarah had drawn the short straws that morning, which meant supply duty. he already hated the idea—trudging through mud, dodging half-dead freaks, and babysitting his little sister? yeah. sounded like a blast.

john b and pope had supposedly stumbled past an old supermarket on their run a couple days ago. said they didn't explore because they didn't need to. but now that supplies were running low and that was the only known site, so they went.

they walked in silence for most of the morning. sarah kept trying to make small talk. he didn’t answer.

“you know, it wouldn’t kill you to be a little less miserable,” she said at one point, breath puffing out into the cool air.

rafe didn’t even look at her. “it might,” he muttered.

they found the supermarket around noon. from the outside, it looked like hell. windows smashed in. vines crawling up the bricks like they were trying to choke the place out. a door swinging on its hinges, creaking with every gust of wind.

sarah stared at it, squinting toward the inside. “it doesn’t look that bad.”

rafe scoffed. “you’re kidding, right?”

"you got a better idea?" "yeah, turning the fuck around." rafe spat. but before he could stop her, she was already heading inside. no zombie apocalypse could change sarah cameron and her need to do the exact opposite of what her brother said. reluctantly, rafe followed behind, muttering complaints under his breath, thinking sarah couldn't hear them. the inside was even worse. supplies were scattered across the floor. the faint smell of blood and rot lingered in the air around them. the dim lights flickered, hanging from the sockets they used to be fixed in. the unbearable silence made his ears ring. rafe hated places like this. anything too quiet meant something was hiding.

not paying attention to the ground or where he was going, rafe stumbled, almost tripping over something. when he looked down, his heart skipped—there was a torn limb lying there. he froze, fear creeping up his spine, the sudden reminder of how close death really was.

she spun around, her flashlight beam cutting through the dark, landing on rafe and the torn limb at his feet. her breath hitched—she couldn’t hide how scared it made her.

“we need the supplies. we can’t just walk away.” she said quietly, voice trembling,

“not today,” he said, shaking his head. “this place is fucked. something is seriously wrong here.”

she hesitated, biting her lip. “so we get out of here as quickly as possible. we should split up. you check the backrooms, i'll scan the floor.”

rafe swallowed hard, eyes scanning the shadows around them. “fine. but you yell the second you see something suspicious.”

rafe pushed open the heavy door to the backrooms, the hinges groaning like they were about to give out. the smell hit him immediately—damp, moldy, rotting. like something had been left here too long.

his flashlight cut a shaky line through the darkness, barely enough to see more than a few feet ahead. the beam danced over collapsed shelves, shredded bags of supplies, and walls smeared with god knows what.

his boots crunched over broken glass and loose papers, every step sounding way too loud in the suffocating silence.

gun raised, he moved slow, careful.

his breath came quicker now. something didn’t feel right. he could hear the soft drip of water somewhere deep in the building, the skittering of rats nearby—normal sounds, sure, but it all felt too still.

then—

a noise. not an animal. not the building shifting.

human.

he spun around—and suddenly, a hand latched around his neck.

his back slammed into the wall, shoulder hitting concrete hard. the grip wasn’t tight enough to choke him, but it was enough to throw him off. instinct kicked in.

he grabbed the attacker’s arm and twisted, using his weight to throw them off balance. they hit the floor with a grunt.

his flashlight clattered beside him, spinning wildly across the room. he raised his gun—then froze.

“what the fuck—” he muttered.

it was a girl. dusty, wild-eyed, breathing heavy.

y/n.

before he could say a word, she snatched a shard of metal from the floor and swung it at his head.

rafe ducked, the piece slicing the air right above him.

“shit—y/n, stop!”

she scrambled backwards on the floor, one hand steadying herself, the other gripping the makeshift weapon like it was life or death.

“stay back!” she warned, her voice rough and shaking.

rafe held up his hands. his gun dangled loose in one, finger off the trigger.

“it’s me,” he said, slow, voice calm but serious. “y/n. it’s rafe.”

her eyes flickered. a pause. something almost like recognition. then her jaw clenched. her whole body tensed. he took a slow step back, then turned his head, calling out—

“sarah!” his voice echoed through the backrooms, sharp and urgent. “get in here! now!”

he didn’t take his eyes off y/n, didn’t lower his hands. "what the hell are you doing here?" "protecting myself."

“from me?” he snapped. “you literally just tried to kill me.”

“didn’t know it was you.”

“well, now you do.”

her jaw clenched. she didn’t lower the metal.

“and it still doesn’t matter,” she muttered. “you’re the last person i want to see.”

rafe’s head jerked back slightly like she’d slapped him.

“god, y/n,” he muttered, voice breaking into something between pissed and breathless, “you’re really gonna act like i’m the problem when you left—”

a flashlight beam cut through the dark.

“rafe?”

sarah’s voice rang out sharp and confused as her footsteps pounded closer.

“back here!” he snapped, eyes still locked on y/n.

sarah turned the corner and skidded to a stop. her jaw dropped. “holy shit.”

y/n didn’t look away. didn’t flinch.

rafe dragged a hand through his hair, heart still racing from the whole damn ambush. “she just jumped me,” he said to sarah, pointing at y/n like she wasn’t right there.

“you scared the hell out of me,” y/n shot back. “you’re lucky i didn’t stab you in the neck.”

“lucky? you almost split my head open with a rusty pipe—”

“okay, okay,” sarah said quickly, holding her hands up. “can someone tell me what the hell is happening?”

silence.

rafe glanced away, jaw tight.

y/n finally dropped the piece of metal with a loud clatter. her hands were still curled into fists.

“nothing,” she muttered, dusting herself off. “nothing that matters now.”

sarah raised a brow. “could’ve fooled me.”

rafe exhaled, trying to calm the storm still buzzing under his skin.

the piece of metal hit the floor with a sharp clang, but y/n didn’t move at first. her breathing was still uneven, her jaw tight like she was holding something back. eventually, she pushed herself off the ground with a wince, brushing dirt off her jeans even though it barely made a difference.

she stood stiffly, not looking at either of them.

“you in here alone?” sarah asked carefully, shining her flashlight down the hallway, as if expecting someone else to jump out next.

y/n’s eyes flicked up for just a second before she shrugged. “my group left me.”

her voice was flat, too flat. like she wanted it to sound casual. like it didn’t hurt. but rafe noticed the way her mouth twitched right after. the way she blinked too fast, like she was trying not to react to her own words.

“what?” sarah said, brow furrowed. “they just… what? left you here?”

y/n didn’t answer right away. she swallowed hard, eyes darting toward the broken window at the far end of the corridor.

“they thought i slowed them down,” she finally said, her voice quieter now. “we got surrounded a few days ago. i twisted my ankle, and… i guess survival’s more important than loyalty.”

the second the words left her mouth, she wished she hadn’t said that much. she hated how small it made her feel.

sarah’s face softened. “jesus, y/n…”

“it’s fine,” y/n said quickly, sharper now, like she was trying to shove the softness away before it cracked her. “i’m fine.”

but she wasn’t. not really. she was dirty and tired and alone and it showed, even in the way she stood—like she didn’t want to lean too far in any direction because she might fall apart.

rafe hadn’t said a word. he was still staring at her, frozen in place. his chest rose and fell a little too fast. he didn’t know what the hell he was supposed to say.

how do you comfort someone who looks like they’d punch you if you even tried?

“how long have you been on your own?” sarah asked gently.

“three days,” y/n muttered. “i’ve been walking and hiding ever since.”

sarah cursed under her breath, reaching into her backpack and pulling out a water bottle. she handed it over without a word.

y/n hesitated before taking it. rafe watched her the whole time. his throat felt tight.

he remembered her crying in his passenger seat once, after a fight with her mom. remembered how she hated asking for help, even then. and now she looked like she hadn’t slept in days, like she’d been swallowing down panic for hours on end just to make it to the next hiding spot. and he hadn’t seen her in months.

not since—

not since she walked out of his house with tears in her eyes and said, “i can’t do this anymore, rafe. i’m tired of watching you destroy yourself”.

and now she was here.

alone.

with that same look in her eyes, but harder now.

“i didn’t think i’d see anyone again,” y/n said suddenly, like she was saying it just to say something. her voice cracked slightly toward the end. “definitely didn’t think it’d be you two.”

sarah gave her a soft smile. “we’ve been sticking with a group. john b, jj, pope, cleo… even kiara. we’ve got a base set up a few miles from here.”

y/n looked at her, then at rafe. her expression shifted, unreadable.

“he with them too?” she asked.

“unfortunately,” rafe muttered before sarah could answer, dragging a hand through his hair and finally looking away.

y/n almost smiled. not quite. but something softened in her face, just a little.

it hurt rafe more than he expected. the way she looked at him now—like he was a bad memory that still lingered.

“look,” sarah said, voice suddenly lighter but a little cautious, “we should get out of here.”

y/n hesitated. “are you sure it’s okay?”

“you’re coming with us,” sarah said firmly. “no question.”

y/n looked down. nodded once.

rafe still didn’t move. he was staring at the flashlight glow on the floor.

because everything in him wanted to say i’m sorry, but it wasn’t that simple.

not after what he put her through. not after the nights she stayed up begging him to stop using. not after the day she said she loved him, and he answered by disappearing for two days with a bottle and a needle.

so instead he just cleared his throat, adjusted his grip on his gun, and followed behind them.

quiet.

but watching her the whole time.

⋆˚࿔ FINDING OUT THE CONDOM SNAPPED

— pairing: fwb!rafe x fwb!reader

— warnings: MDNI 18+, condom snapping, explicit language, post-sex convo, talk of pregnancy, friends with benefits

— word count: 1.4k +

— A/N: thank you so much for the request!! i had a lot of fun writing this.

it had been a few months of this—sex, sleeping over, laughing way too hard, ordering takeout you never finished, and occasionally making out like the world was ending. no labels, no feelings. just two overworked, over-caffeinated, emotionally-stunted twenty-somethings keeping it casual. or atleast trying to.

you were in his apartment this time. the lights were off, windows cracked open to the warm night air, the distant hum of the city below. the sheets were half on the floor, your legs still tangled, skin warm, both of you catching your breath in the quiet aftermath.

“solid performance,” you muttered, voice still hoarse.

he huffed a laugh. “you sound like you just reviewed me on yelp.”

“four stars. lost one for almost elbowing me in the face.”

“i was into it!”

you grinned, eyes still half-closed. “you’re lucky you’re kinda hot.”

he nudged you with his knee. “kinda?”

you chuckle, shaking your head. you were just starting to drift—barely coming down from the high, body melting into the mattress—when rafe suddenly shifted beside you.

and froze.

"...y/n?"

you blink, head turning slowly. "what?"

he sits up a little, frowning. the discarded condom's in his hand, and his expression drops fast. "fuck."

you sit up too, instantly wide awake. "rafe?"

he holds it up. there's a clean tear down the side — small, but definitely there.

you stare at it. then at him.

"rafe."

“okay,” he says quickly, already panicking. “don’t freak out—”

“you had one job!”

"it wasn’t me! it was the condom’s job, not mine!"

you groan, burying your face in your hands. “this is exactly why i thought this wasn't a good idea.”

he’s already scrambling to find his sweats, one leg in, hopping toward the bathroom. “do you have— like a plan b?”

“do i have a—” you mock him before launching a pillow at him. “why would i have one?!”

“i don’t know! you’re more responsible than me!”

"that's not a compliment right now!"

he disappears into the bathroom for a second, comes back out, hair a mess, face pale.

"okay," he says again, rubbing the back of his neck. "okay. i can run to the pharmacy. right now. five minutes max. i’ll get everything. snacks. emergency stuff. a new condom box. a plan b. plan c. all the letters."

"sounds like you're reassuring yourself more than me." you’re just sitting there now, still sheet-wrapped. rafe sighs. obviously it wasn't entirely his fault but you couldn't help but blame him. “did you… finish?”

rafe blinks. “you were there. what do you think?”

you glare.

he swallows. “…yeah.”

you fall back on the bed, hands over your face. “god, i’m gonna be pregnant with a sports editor’s baby.”

“okay wow,” he says. “that’s dramatic. it didn’t even break inside you— i think. maybe.”

you sit up so fast the sheet falls. “maybe?!”

he throws his hands up. “i’m getting the pills!”

and he actually sprints out the door in just his hoodie and sweats, wallet in one hand and phone in the other.

you sit there for a second, completely still.

“…i cannot believe this.”

you look over at the ripped condom still sitting on the nightstand and mumble under your breath,

“...one job.”

twenty-five minutes later, you’re still in bed, hoodie thrown on, staring at the ceiling like it’s gonna give you answers.

your phone buzzes beside you.

rafe: i got it rafe: i also got mini eggs rafe: and a blue gatorade

after your lack of response, he types:

rafe: did u want red instead?

you sigh, typing back:

you: just come upstairs, dumbass

you hear him fumble with the keys like he’s never opened a door before. the second he steps inside the room, he’s holding a plastic bag like it’s a sacred offering.

“peace treaty,” he says, gently placing it on the bed. “i got the good brand of...you know and some water for that, mini eggs, gatorade and backup condoms.”

you give him a look, staring at the pack of condoms. “you think there’s gonna be a next time?”

he doesn’t answer that. just shrugs and plops down next to you.

you pop out a pill and the water. rafe watches you like you’re defusing a bomb. you take a sip, place the pill in your mouth and chug it down with water. the two of you sit in silence, taking in what had just happened.

“you okay?” he asks, a little quieter now.

you glance over. “yeah. just… wasn’t expecting this, y’know?”

“yeah,” he echoes. then adds, “me neither. i thought that thing was on tight.”

you shoot him a look. “please don’t ever say that again.”

he laughs, rubbing a hand over his face. “sorry. just trying to lighten the mood.”

you twist open the gatorade and down half of it in one go.

rafe’s quiet for a second, then nudges your arm. “hey. if anything… happens, i’m not gonna bail. i’m not a piece of shit.”

you look at him, a little surprised. “i didn’t think you were.”

“just saying. i mean, technically, we did swear on the bible, even if it was on your ipad.”

that actually makes you laugh. “true.”

“plus, our kid would be hot.”

you stare at him.

“kidding. kidding!” he says, hands up in surrender. “too soon?”

“way too soon, carolina.”

you lean your head back against the wall, the pill box still in your lap. he’s sitting next to you now, shoulder touching yours.

“you sure you’re okay?” he asks again, this time a little softer.

you nod, chasing down the last bit of the gatorade.

then you sigh, loud and dramatic. “so much for just sex.”

rafe snorts. you let out a tired laugh, resting your head on his shoulder.

“next time,” you mutter, “you’re wearing two.”

he chokes. “that’s… not how it works.”

“don’t care. double it up. staple it on. i’m not taking chances.”

"yes ma'am" he’s still laughing when his head falls back against the wall too. “honestly— i'm happy i'm even getting a next time.”

— pairing: kook!rafe x kook!reader

— warnings: MDNI 18+, sexual innuendoes, explicit language, teasing, dirty talk, reader gets a new tattoo

— word count: 1.07k +

— A/N: so i just got a lower back tattoo just like reader && wanted to write about it cuz reader is living my fantasies! sorry this is lowk kinda short 😶

you dragged him to the mall and yeah, rafe bitched about it the entire way there—called it hell on earth, said he’d rather be waterboarded than be seen carrying ten shopping bags—but you knew he didn’t mean it. you knew he’d follow you through every store just to watch you try on clothes.

he liked pretending he hated it. liked leaning on the wall all moody and bored while you picked out outfits, pretending to scroll on his phone, then locking in the second you stepped out of the change room.

he did it again today—his body manspread against the plush seating of the aritzia’s change rooms, watching you like he was trying to memorize the way you moved.

you stepped out barefoot, jeans hanging low on your hips, a tiny black tank riding up slightly as you tugged at the waistband.

“okay. honest opinion,” you said, turning toward the mirror. “do these make my ass look weird?”

he didn’t answer right away.

you caught his eyes in the reflection—already half-lidded, his jaw working like he was trying not to say something filthy.

you adjusted the jeans again, lifting your shirt to check the fit in the back—and that’s when everything shifted.

rafe straightened. blinked once. and then his hand was on you—flat over your lower back, warm and firm and slow.

“...what the fuck is that?”

your stomach dropped. his voice was rough. not playful. not casual. just low.

“what?” you asked, too fast.

“that little—” he brushed his thumb across your skin, pushing your shirt up a little more. “that’s a tattoo.”

“no it’s not,” you said quickly.

he laughed once, dry. “you’re kidding.”

you watched his eyes darken as they locked on the black ink—his initial, small and curved in delicate cursive, sitting just above the dip of your spine.

“rc?” he read out, like he didn’t already know. “you tattooed my fuckin’ initials on you?”

you pulled your shirt down, heat flooding your face. you'd gotten that tattoo a couple days ago. you'd seen it on pinterest and instantly fell in love. it wasn't long before you showed up at the nearest tattoo artist with the request. you'd held rafe off for the past two days, wanting to let the tattoo fully heal before you surprised him with it. you did not expect that day to be today.

“it’s not that deep.” you swallowed.

“are you—” he blinked again. took a step back like he needed space, then stepped right back into it like he couldn’t help himself. “you got my name—on you—and you didn’t think to mention it?”

you crossed your arms. “it was supposed to be a suprise.”

he dragged a hand through his hair.

“baby,” he said, voice strained, “you cannot just keep that a secret. you branded yourself for me.”

you laughed, shaking your head. “it’s literally two letters. get over it.” but no he didn't get over it and that was lowkey sexy.

“nah,” he said, moving in behind you again. he pushed your shirt up just enough to see the full thing, fingers ghosting over it like he didn’t believe it was real. “this is permanent. this is… god. you know what this does to me?”

you looked at him in the mirror. “apparently a lot.”

“i’m serious,” he said, and his voice dropped again, darker now, his mouth brushing the shell of your ear. “you’re walkin’ around with my initials stamped on your back like some fuckin’ fantasy and expect me to be normal?”

you didn’t answer.

“jesus,” he muttered. “you know how many nights i’ve had you bent over thinking about shit like this? and you’re out here actually wearing it?”

your breath hitched.

his hand slid around your waist, palm pressing just below your bellybutton, fingers dipping toward the low waistband.

“you’re lucky we’re in public,” he whispered, lips dragging over your neck. “or i’d drop to my knees and show you exactly how obsessed you made me.”

you closed your eyes.

“rafe—”

“nah,” he said, tugging your shirt back down and stepping back, voice tight. “we’re leaving.”

“what?”

“you heard me,” he said, already pulling his card from his pocket and handing it to you. “buy the jeans and the tank or whatever you want— we’re getting the fuck out of here.”

you were laughing as you followed him, flustered and hot and a little dizzy.

he didn’t touch you again until you were in the car.

and then it was everywhere.

his hand on your thigh. his mouth against your collarbone. his voice in your ear, all low and strained and full of heat.

“can’t stop picturing it,” he muttered, dragging his fingers under the waistband again, just enough to feel your skin twitch. “you in those jeans, my initials right there. makes me wanna ruin you.”

“you always wanna ruin me,” you whispered.

he grinned, breathless. “yeah, but now i own it.”

you shivered. he leaned in closer, lips barely touching yours.

“you’re gonna let me fuck you with that tattoo showing,” he whispered, voice wrecked. “you’re gonna let me watch it bounce every time you take me.”

your nails dug into the seat.

“rafe—”

“shhh,” he said, tongue sliding against your bottom lip. “we’ll be home soon.”