— 𝜗𝜚 ⋆ i wouldve loved you forever part two
SYNPOSIS: dating rafe has never ever been easy, but when he shows his true colours it changes the both of you.
pairing: toxic!rafe cameron x reader
cw: insane angst, toxic!rafe cameron, push-and-pull relationship, (mentions of) drinking/weed , swearing, implications of abuse , violence , 9.9K word count
the party was loud enough to make your ribs shake.
bass through the floorboards. bass through the walls. bass through your teeth.
someone had spilled beer across the kitchen island hours ago and nobody cleaned it, so now everything smelled sticky and sour and expensive in that way figure eight parties always did. girls in tiny dresses leaning against marble counters. boys yelling over each other. somebody laughing too hard upstairs.
you stood at the sink pretending to read a text you’d already read six times.
where are you?
sent twenty minutes ago. no name attached. didn’t need one. you could feel him before you saw him: everybody else arrived loudly while rafe arrived like a pressure change.
the noise around you bent strangely. people looked over without meaning to. conversations stuttered. one of the guys near the fridge muttered “shit” under his breath.
and then — “there you are.”
his voice landed right behind you. you closed your eyes for exactly one second before turning around.
Rafe Cameron stood too close immediately, smelling like cigarettes and ocean water and whatever liquor he’d drowned himself in tonight. his hair was damp like he’d shoved his hands through it a hundred times. pupils blown wide already.
angry. or high. or both. usually both.
“you ignored me,” he said.
“i was busy.”
“doing what?”
“living a full and meaningful life, rafe.”
that almost made him smile. instead he stared at you in that horrible focused way he had, like he was trying to peel your skin back and look directly at the thing underneath.
“you left without telling me.”
“i’m pretty sure i’m legally allowed to leave buildings.”
“not mine.”
your jaw tightened because there it was. that thing he did. the subtle ownership. like every room belonged to him. every person inside it too. you should’ve moved away then. you didn’t. that was the problem with the two of you. nobody ever left when they should.
“you said you weren’t coming tonight,” you said quietly.
“changed my mind.”
“obviously.”
his eyes dragged slowly over your face. not sexual. not even affectionate. worse. possessive like he was checking whether you’d changed while he wasn’t looking.
“who drove you?” he asked.
“what?”
“who. drove. you.”
“why?”
“answer the question.”
you laughed once under your breath, exhausted already. “god, you’re insane.”
“yeah,” he said softly. “little bit.”
you hated when he admitted things. it took all the fight out of you.
for a second neither of you spoke. around you the party swelled louder, bodies pushing through the kitchen, music changing songs. somebody bumped into rafe’s shoulder and immediately apologized after recognizing him.
he didn’t even look at them. still staring at you. you remembered once — months ago maybe — asking him why he did that.
what?
look at me like that.
and he’d smiled without humor and said: because if i stop, you disappear.
you should have run then too. instead you’d kissed him which turned out to be the beginning of the end. or maybe the middle. with rafe, it was impossible to tell.
“you’re shaking,” he said suddenly.
you crossed your arms tighter. “i’m cold.”
“bullshit.”
“okay.”
his jaw ticked and he stepped closer. you stepped back automatically and hit the counter. there was the smallest pause after that. you watched the exact moment it happened — the exact moment he realized you’d moved away from him instinctively like you were scared which maybe you were.
sometimes, especially when his eyes got too empty, especially when he was using too much again, especially when he grabbed too hard without realizing it.
the silence stretched. then he laughed quietly, looking down at the floor.
“right,” he murmured. “forgot.”
your stomach twisted. “rafe —”
“nah, it’s okay.”
it very clearly was not okay.
he shoved a hand through his hair hard enough to pull at the roots. restless energy radiated off him violently tonight. he looked strung too tight beneath his skin.
“you been avoiding me all week,” he said.
“i’ve been working.”
“you didn’t answer my calls.”
“you called me fourteen times in one night.”
“because you hung up.”
“because you were screaming at me.”
“i said i was sorry.”
“after you punched your dashboard.”
“didn’t hit you, did i?”
the second the words left his mouth, everything froze. even him. your face changed. very slightly. but enough because suddenly he looked sick. actually sick like he wanted to climb out of his own body.
“that’s not —” he started.
“i know.”
“i didn’t mean —”
“i know.”
but your voice sounded far away now. flat and gone and that scared him more than if you’d yelled.
“hey,” he said immediately, stepping forward again. “hey, look at me.”
you looked somewhere over his shoulder instead. people were still moving around you. laughing. drinking. existing normally. it felt unreal.
rafe’s breathing got sharper. “don’t do that.”
“do what?”
“shut down.”
“i’m not —”
“yes you are.”
he knew you too well. that was another problem. his hand wrapped around your wrist before you could think about it. your eyes dropped to it instantly and his did too. again, that horrible silence because rafe always realized things too late.
always after, never before. his fingers loosened immediately like he’d touched a hot stove. “shit,” he muttered quietly.
you swallowed. “i should go home.”
his head snapped up. “no.”
“rafe —”
“don’t.” there was panic underneath it now. real panic. you could hear it clawing under his voice. you hated that too because you knew him well enough to understand what panic turned into with him. rage. recklessness. destruction.
anything to avoid being abandoned first.
“i’m tired,” you said carefully.
“you’re leaving because of what i said.”
“i’m leaving because i’m tired.”
“don’t lie to me.”
you laughed softly then, but there was no humor in it. “that’s funny coming from you.”
you watched it land. to your immense satisfaction, he looked away first this time. tongue pressing into his cheek. breathing uneven. “i’m trying,” he said eventually.
and god. that was the worst thing he could’ve said. because he was. in his own horrifying way, he was trying all the time. trying not to explode. trying not to spiral. trying not to ruin every good thing that touched him.
the problem was that trying for rafe looked violent compared to normal people. trying looked like fists through walls instead of into faces. trying looked like screaming into pillows at three in the morning because he knew if he called you he’d say something unforgivable. trying looked like showing up outside your house just to make sure your car was there, then leaving before you noticed. trying looked obsessive and ugly and desperate.
and you kept loving him anyway which probably said something terrible about you too. his eyes lifted back to yours, red-rimmed now. you felt your chest cave in a little at the sight.
“don’t look at me like you already left.”
you didn’t realize he was holding his breath until you touched him. just your hand against his jaw. immediate relief flooded his face so fast it made you feel ill. there it was again. that unbearable dependence.
he leaned into your palm instinctively, eyes closing for half a second. and you thought, with sudden terrifying clarity: this is going to kill both of us.
not metaphorically. not poetically. actually.
someday there’d be blood on something expensive. a hospital waiting room. a slammed door. a phone call at 2 a.m. something final because nothing between you and rafe had ever known how to be small.
his hand covered yours. “come upstairs with me,” he said quietly.
you should’ve said no. you knew what he meant. but instead: “okay.”
the hallway upstairs was quieter.
not actually quiet — the bass still throbbed through the walls, people still shouted somewhere distant, a girl was laughing too loudly behind one of the closed bedroom doors — but quieter enough that you could hear rafe breathing in front of you.
fast and uneven. he kept looking back to make sure you were still following him like you might disappear halfway down the hall. like you’d change your mind. you almost did. twice.
but then he’d glance over his shoulder with that wrecked look in his eyes and your feet kept moving anyway. that was how it always happened.
you knew better. and then you loved him harder than your own self-preservation. rafe pushed open the guest room door at the end of the hallway and immediately locked it behind you.
the click echoed and your stomach tightened.
“it’s so nobody comes in,” he said quickly.
“i didn’t say anything.”
“you looked at the lock.”
“because you locked it.”
his jaw flexed.
there was a bruise blooming along it tonight. dark purple under tan skin. probably from some fight. with rafe it was impossible to tell anymore whether injuries came from other people or himself.
the room smelled faintly like cologne and smoke and the ocean drifting in through the cracked balcony door.
he paced once, twice, clearly restless. you stayed near the door. watching him unravel in real time. “say something,” he muttered finally.
“about what?”
“anything.”
“you brought me up here.”
“yeah, and now you’re standing over there like i’m gonna fucking hurt you.”
the words cracked out of him harsher than he intended. you saw regret hit immediately afterward. he turned away before you could answer, pressing both hands against the back of his neck.
“fuck,” he whispered to himself.
you looked down at the carpet. “i never said that.”
“you didn’t have to.”
silence. you hated this version of him. not the cruel one. not the screaming one. this one. the one that knew exactly what he was because that version made you stay. you could survive his anger easier than you could survive his honesty.
“come here,” he said eventually, quieter this time.
you hesitated: there it was again. that tiny pause but this time you watched it destroy him. his face shut down instantly. not dramatically. not loudly. just — gone like somebody turned the lights off behind his eyes.
“right,” he said with a short nod. “okay.”
“rafe —”
“don’t pity me.”
“i’m not pitying you.”
“then what are you doing?”
you opened your mouth and closed it again because you didn’t know anymore. you didn’t know what this was. you just knew every time you tried to leave him for real, something inside you started tearing at the seams.
and he looked worse. thinner lately. more exhausted, more unstable. you wondered sometimes if loving rafe was less like being in a relationship and more like standing in front of a collapsing building trying to hold the walls up with your bare hands.
eventually your arms were going to give out. the scary part was that his probably would first. he laughed suddenly, bitter and low. “you know what topper said to me yesterday?”
your chest tightened immediately. “why were you talking to topper?”
“because he’s a dickhead who likes hearing himself talk.”
“what did he say?”
rafe looked at you then and for one horrible second you saw genuine vulnerability underneath all the wreckage. “he said you look tired.”
your throat went dry. “and?”
“and he said i’m bad for you.”
you stayed very still. “he’s not wrong,” you said softly.
that did it. you saw the exact second something snapped: rafe laughed again but this time it sounded ugly. sharp around the edges. “yeah,” he said, nodding fast. “yeah, okay.”
“rafe —”
“no, you’re right.” he pointed at himself mockingly. “i’m fucking poison, right? everybody says it, so it must be true.”
“that’s not what i meant.”
“then what did you mean?”
his voice rose suddenly.. “because i’m getting a little tired of hearing how terrible i am from everybody all the fucking time —”
“lower your voice.”
that stopped him cold. you hadn’t meant to say it like that, soft and careful but also a little afraid but the second the words left your mouth, the entire room changed. rafe stared at you and you watched horror spread slowly across his face. “you’re scared of me.”
it wasn’t accusatory: that would've been easier. it sounded devastated. you felt tears sting immediately. “i didn’t say that.”
“but you are.”
“sometimes i just —”
“sometimes what?”
you looked away. big mistake. he moved toward you instantly, not aggressive exactly, but frantic now. “look at me.”
you pressed back against the door unconsciously. another mistake because his expression physically crumpled after that.
“jesus christ,” he whispered.
he stepped away from you so fast he almost stumbled. then came the sound. a laugh. wrong. “that’s fucking crazy,” he muttered to himself, dragging both hands through his hair. “you’re actually scared of me.”
“rafe, stop.”
“no, no, i get it now.”
“you’re spiraling.”
“am i?” he snapped. “because from where i’m standing, this seems pretty fucking clear.”
you hated when he got like this. once he started falling apart, he dragged every conversation into deeper water until both of you drowned in it.
“i never wanted that,” he said suddenly quieter.
you looked up - his eyes were glassy now. “wanted what?”
his throat bobbed hard.
“for you to look at me like everybody else does.”
your chest ached so violently it almost made you angry because this was the trap. this was always the trap with him. he’d hurt you then bleed all over the floor afterward until you forgot your own bruises trying to stop his.
you moved before thinking. crossed the room, grabbed his face. “hey,” you whispered. his breathing caught instantly. you felt it happen beneath your hands. that terrifying dependence again. “look at me.”
he did. immediately. always immediately for you. his eyes were bloodshot. exhausted. furious and miserable all at once.
“i’m still here,” you said softly.
he stared at you like the words physically hurt him. “don’t say shit like that.”
“why?”
his hands wrapped around your wrists carefully, carefully like he was forcing himself to remember his own strength. “because one day you won’t be.”
the room went still. your heartbeat thudded unevenly. he looked away first, voice quieter now, almost embarrassed. “and i don’t think i survive that.”
there it was. the thing neither of you said out loud. the real thing underneath all of it. it wasn’t love anymore. not fully. it was dependency. attachment sharpened into something dangerous. he needed you in a way that went beyond romance and crossed into ruin.
and maybe the sickest part was that some hidden awful piece of you needed it too. needed being wanted that desperately. needed being the only thing capable of calming him down. needed being chosen over everything else. even his sanity.
you kissed him before you could stop yourself. hard and desperate. his reaction was immediate like a match hitting gasoline. one second he was staring at you and the next his hands were in your hair, pulling you flush against him so fast your back hit the wall beside the door.
the kiss turned messy instantly. teeth. breathing. anger hidden inside want. he kissed like he was trying to crawl inside your ribcage and stay there. your fingers tightened in his shirt and for a few terrible perfect seconds, everything disappeared.
the fighting. the fear. the damage.
just him. just this. then his hand slid against your neck.
not choking. not hurting but enough pressure that instinct flashed through your body before your brain could catch up.
you flinched. tiny. barely there but he felt it. rafe pulled away so fast it almost looked like you burned him. silence crashed into the room. your breathing sounded too loud.
his eyes were locked on your face now with pure horror inside them. “i didn’t —”
“i know.”
“i wasn’t —”
“rafe.”
he stepped backward hard enough to hit the dresser behind him. “fuck.”
you reached for him automatically and this time, he recoiled. actually recoiled. “don’t.”
your chest dropped. “what?”
“don’t do that right now. don't try to make me feel better.” his voice broke on the last word and suddenly he looked young. not scary. not violent. just deeply, catastrophically damaged. “you should go home,” he said.
you stared at him. “what?”
“before i ruin this worse.”
“rafe —”
“please.”
the word almost didn’t sound like him.=he looked like he was trying not to come apart at the seams. “just go tonight,” he whispered. “please.”
but you didn’t leave of course you didn’t. for a second neither of you moved. the music downstairs kept shaking through the floorboards, distorted now, like the entire house was underwater. rafe stood across from you breathing hard, one hand braced against the dresser behind him like he needed it to stay upright.
you could see it happening. the war inside him: half of him wanted you gone before he hurt you worse while the other half wanted to lock the door and keep you there until the world ended. and the terrifying thing was that you genuinely didn’t know which side would win if he stopped trying.
“say something,” he said hoarsely.
you swallowed. “i don’t want to go home.”
his eyes closed. just for a second, like the answer physically hurt him. “don’t make this harder.”
your chest tightened painfully. “you think this is easy for me?”
he laughed under his breath, exhausted and ugly. “no, i think you’re fucking addicted to drowning.”
that landed because it was true. you hated him for saying true things out loud without sugarcoating it. it's exactly what he did when he confessed his love for you.
rafe looked at you again then, and there was something dangerously open in his expression now. stripped raw. no performance left. “why do you stay?” he asked quietly.
you didn’t answer. because there wasn’t one answer. because you could’ve listed a thousand reasons and none of them would’ve made sense to normal people.
you stayed because he looked at you like you were the last thing tethering him to earth. you stayed because sometimes at three in the morning he held you so gently it made your chest ache for days afterward. you stayed because underneath all the violence and ego and destruction was somebody deeply terrified of being unlovable.
and maybe because part of you believed if you loved him hard enough, he’d finally become someone safe.
which was stupid. people weren’t projects. you knew that.
and still.
“i don’t know,” you whispered finally.
rafe stared at you for a long time after that then he nodded once like you’d confirmed something terrible. “yeah,” he murmured. “that’s what i thought.”
before you could respond, somebody started pounding on the bedroom door downstairs. “rafe!” a drunk voice shouted from the hall. “bro, where the fuck’s your coke?”
his entire face changed instantly. rage flooding in so fast it was almost frightening to watch. “go away,” he barked.
the person outside laughed. “you with your girlfriend?”
girlfriend. the word hung weirdly in the room because neither of you ever used it. whatever this was had grown too sharp for labels months ago. “i said fuck off.”
more laughter. footsteps retreating eventually. silence again. you looked back at rafe and found him already staring at you.
“what?” you asked quietly.
his jaw tightened. “you didn’t say anything.”
“about what?”
“girlfriend.”
your heart skipped strangely. “do you want me to be?”
the question slipped out before you could stop it. immediate regret because rafe’s expression shifted into something almost painful. “you know that’s not what this is.”
there it was. that awful ache again. you crossed your arms tighter around yourself. “right.”
“don’t shut down again.”
you looked away and he moved before thinking. you saw it happen in real time — the instinctive step toward you — and then the moment he caught himself.
stopped. forced distance back between you. god, that somehow hurt more. “i don’t know how to do this right,” he admitted quietly.
your throat tightened. because that was true too. rafe loved like somebody who’d only ever been taught possession. keep. hold. consume. destroy before being destroyed. gentleness didn’t come naturally to him.
sometimes neither did empathy.
but want? need? those he understood perfectly.
“come here,” you whispered.
he hesitated this time. you almost laughed at the irony.
slowly, like approaching something dangerous, he crossed the room again. you took his hand carefully. his fingers twitched immediately around yours. he looked down at them like he couldn’t believe you were touching him voluntarily after everything.
“you’re shaking again,” you murmured.
“i know.”
“have you slept?”
a pause. “not really.”
“how long?”
another pause. “does it matter?”
yes. because suddenly you could see it clearly — the exhaustion under his eyes, the twitchiness in his movements, the emotional whiplash. he’d been spiraling for days. probably longer. “rafe.”
“don’t start.”
“you can barely stand still.”
“i’m fine.”
“you’re absolutely not fine.”
his expression hardened instantly. there he was. the second he felt exposed, he shoved knives back into his voice. “you wanna know what’s funny?” he said coldly. “you only act like you care when i’m falling apart.”
you blinked because that was the only time he let you see him. “that’s not fair.”
“isn’t it?”
“i’m here all the time.”
“physically? sure.”
that hurt more than it should’ve because lately maybe he was right. lately you’d started pulling pieces of yourself away from him quietly. subconsciously. trying to survive him in small hidden ways.
taking longer to answer texts. sleeping over less. flinching sometimes. looking at him differently. and rafe noticed everything, especially rejection, the one thing he had been trying to escape.
“i’m trying,” you whispered.
“fuck,” he muttered, squeezing his eyes shut. “don’t say that.”
“why?”
“because that’s my line.”
you almost smiled. almost. then his phone buzzed somewhere in the room. he ignored it. buzzed again and again. finally he yanked it off the bed hard enough to nearly throw it. his expression darkened instantly when you saw the name reflected briefly across the screen.
wheezie.
“what happened?” you asked.
“nothing.”
“rafe.”
he rubbed a hand over his face violently. “my dad’s looking for me.”
cold spread slowly through your stomach. “why?”
“because i left dinner.”
“that’s it?”
he didn’t answer which was answer enough. you’d seen the aftermath of ward and rafe too many times already. broken glasses. split knuckles. screaming matches that sounded less like arguments and more like mutual destruction.
you stepped closer instinctively. “did you fight?”
his laugh came out sharp. “when do we not?”
“what happened?”
“he said i was embarrassing him.”
your chest ached immediately. “rafe —”
“and i told him to go fuck himself.”
“okay.”
“and then he grabbed me.”
you froze. he looked away instantly after saying it like he regretted letting you see that piece. “he was drunk,” rafe muttered quickly. “it’s whatever.”
but your eyes were already on the bruise along his jaw. suddenly it made sense. rage curled hot in your stomach.
“he hit you?”
“don’t look at me like i’m pathetic.”
“i’m not.”
“you are.”
his breathing started getting uneven again. too fast. you knew this version of him now — the one balancing right on the edge between fury and collapse.
“hey,” you said softly. “come sit down.”
“i’m not a fucking child.”
“i didn’t say you were.”
“stop trying to fix me.” he almost begged. “please stop trying to fix me.”
your eyes burned suddenly because he sounded tired. like he genuinely believed he was beyond saving now. “i don’t know how to love you without trying,” you admitted.
his head lifted slowly. and there it was again that terrifying softness. the one nobody else ever saw. “that’s the problem,” he whispered.
you didn’t realize you were crying until he touched your face. gentle. so gentle it almost broke something inside you. his thumb caught a tear beneath your eye.
“don’t cry,” he murmured immediately, panic slipping back into his voice. “shit, baby, don’t —”
baby. he only called you that when he forgot to be careful.
you laughed shakily through the tears. “you’re so fucked up.”
a weak smile pulled briefly at his mouth. “yeah.”
“and you make me fucked up too.”
that smile disappeared. he looked at you for a long time after that. then very quietly: “i know.”
rafe was still standing close enough for you to feel the heat coming off him. his hand lingered near your face like he wanted to touch you again but didn’t trust himself to. you should’ve left twenty minutes ago. instead you whispered, “kiss me again.”
his eyes shut instantly. the request hurt. “don’t ask me like that.”
“why?”
“because i’ll do it.”
your heart twisted. “that’s kind of the point.”
he stared at you for one long awful second before kissing you hard enough to push you backward a step. all restraint gone this time. anger lived inside every movement he made. not at you — never really at you — but at himself, at the world, at whatever hollow thing inside him kept ruining everything he touched. you kissed him back anyway which probably made you just as bad.
his hands slid around your waist, pulling you flush against him, and immediately you felt it — the desperation. the way he held you like he was scared somebody would rip you away if he loosened his grip for even a second.
the kiss turned messy fast. his breathing uneven. your fingers tangled in his damp hair. he made this quiet wrecked sound against your mouth that nearly shattered your resolve entirely because nobody ever saw this version of him. nobody else got the trembling hands. the exhausted affection. the terrifying vulnerability hidden underneath all the violence.
they got the monster. you got the aftermath.
“i missed you,” he admitted suddenly against your lips.
your chest ached so hard it almost made you angry. “it’s been four days.”
“felt longer.”
his forehead dropped against yours. you could feel him breathing, could feel the slight tremor running through him now. coming down. crashing. whatever cocktail of adrenaline and drugs and rage had been keeping him upright tonight was fading, leaving something rawer behind.
you brushed your thumb beneath his eye softly. “you’re exhausted.”
“don’t psychoanalyze me right now.”
“you can barely keep your eyes open.”
“still prettier than everybody else here.”
you laughed despite yourself and rafe’s expression changed instantly at the sound. that was it, that terrifying thing again. he looked at your happiness like a starving man looked at food. for him, your emotions controlled the oxygen in the room. it scared you sometimes, how much power he gave you accidentally.
because one day you were going to disappoint him in a way neither of you could come back from. you felt it coming already. some inevitable disaster waiting at the end of the road.
“what?” he asked quietly.
you hadn’t realized you were staring. “nothing.”
“that’s a lie.”
“you know,” you murmured, “normal relationships aren’t supposed to feel like this.”
his jaw tightened immediately. “you want normal?”
“i didn’t say that.”
“answer the question.”
you looked away. his fingers tightened slightly at your waist.
“do you?”
“i don’t know.”
he laughed once under his breath, but there was no humor in it. “yeah,” he whispered. “that’s what i’m afraid of.”
before you could answer, his phone buzzed again and again and again. he ignored it until the fourth call then finally snapped, grabbing the phone and answering violently. “what?”
you flinched slightly at the sudden volume. his eyes flicked to you instantly afterward, regret immediate. he turned away.
“i said i’m busy.” pause. his jaw hardened. “tell him i’m not coming home.”
another pause. then: “i don’t give a shit what he said.”
you heard muffled yelling even from across the room. wheezie, probably. or ward. likely both. rafe’s breathing sharpened. “stop calling me,” he snapped suddenly. “seriously, just leave me the fuck alone for one night —”
the line disconnected. silence. he stared at the phone screen for a second before hurling it across the room. it smashed against the wall violently. and you couldn't help it: you jumped.
immediate stillness. rafe froze too, horror spreading slowly across his face, because he saw it. saw your reaction. the fear. small but there.
“shit,” he whispered.
he stepped toward you instinctively. you stepped back instinctively. his face just fell apart. “right,” he said softly.
you hated yourself immediately. “rafe, i didn’t mean —”
“no, it’s okay.”
it wasn’t okay. his voice sounded empty now. dangerously empty. he dragged both hands down his face hard enough to redden his skin. “i’m trying so fucking hard with you.”
the words cracked in the middle and your throat tightened painfully.
“i know.”
“do you?”
he looked at you then with genuine devastation in his eyes. “because every time you look scared of me i feel like i’m losing my fucking mind.”
you blinked quickly against fresh tears. “you think i want this either?”
“then why can’t you trust me?”
you laughed softly, disbelieving. “because sometimes you scare me.”
silence. real silence this time. rafe stared at you like you’d shot him. you watched the exact second the words sank in fully. his mouth parted slightly, eyes glassy, breathing gone uneven again. “oh.”
just that. oh. like some final piece finally clicked into place. you instantly wanted to take it back. “rafe —”
“no, no, it’s okay.”
again with that awful calm voice. the dangerous one. “i get it now.”
“please don’t spiral.”
“i’m not spiraling.”
he absolutely was. he turned away from you abruptly, pacing once across the room before stopping at the balcony doors. his shoulders looked tight enough to snap. “i would never hurt you,” he said finally.
“i know.”
“no.” he shook his head hard. “i don’t think you do.”
you opened your mouth, closed it again because the horrible truth was that you did know and that somehow made this worse. you genuinely believed rafe would rather die than intentionally hurt you. the problem was that rafe destroyed things accidentally all the time, himself included.
“look at me,” he said suddenly.
you did. his eyes were red now. angry tears sitting there unshed, humiliation all over his face. “tell me exactly what you’re scared of.”
“rafe…”
“tell me.”
you swallowed hard. “sometimes when you get angry, i don’t recognize you.”
he went very still. “and?”
“and i never know what’s gonna happen.”
the room felt freezing suddenly. he nodded slowly. he was forcing himself to hear it. “okay.”
you hated how calm he sounded now. “say something.”
“what do you want me to say?”
“anything.”
he looked down at the floor for a long moment. then laughed quietly to himself. completely broken. “that’s so fucking embarrassing.”
your chest tightened. “what is?”
“that i love you this much.”
the tears finally spilled down your face. because he said it like a confession. like a wound just ugly and devastating and far too real. rafe noticed the tears immediately and swore under his breath, crossing the room before stopping himself halfway there.
that hesitation again. that horrible learned restraint. “baby,” he said softly. “please don’t cry.”
you covered your face with your hands suddenly because everything hurt too much at once. the room. the conversation. him.
your entire body shook once and then he was there anyway. careful this time. so careful. his hands slid around your wrists gently, pulling them away from your face. “hey,” he whispered. you couldn’t look at him. “hey.”
his forehead rested against yours. you felt him trembling. “i’m trying to be somebody you can feel safe with.”
that almost broke you completely because you believed him. that was the tragedy. you believed every word and still didn’t know if love was enough to survive him.
for a while neither of you spoke. you just stood there breathing the same air, foreheads pressed together, both pretending this wasn’t already doomed.
downstairs, the party kept going. people laughed. music shook the walls. somebody yelled drunkenly from outside near the pool. normal life continued while the two of you stood in the middle of something quietly catastrophic.
rafe’s hands stayed loose around your wrists. too loose. he was terrified you’d notice if he held on too tightly. “say something,” he whispered eventually.
and suddenly all you could think was: he’s never going to get better like this.
the realization hit so hard it made you feel sick.
because you loved him. god, you loved him. but love had started feeling like enabling a slow death. for both of you. your lips parted before your brain caught up. “i think i’m losing myself.”
the words barely made sound leaving your mouth but rafe heard them anyway. he always heard everything. his entire body went still while you watched panic creep slowly into his face. the kind that hollowed him out from the inside.
“what does that mean?” he asked carefully.
you started crying harder immediately because there wasn’t a way to explain it without hurting him. and hurting him felt unbearable even now.
“baby,” he whispered quickly, “hey, hey, don’t cry, just talk to me.”
you shook your head. he looked terrified. actually terrified. “please.”
your chest hurt so badly it felt impossible to breathe through it. “i don’t know who i am anymore,” you admitted shakily. “everything in my life revolves around whether you’re okay or not.”
his face crumpled instantly. “i never asked you to do that.”
“i know.”
“then don’t make that my fault.”
the defensiveness came automatically. reflex. you saw him hate himself for it immediately afterward. “fuck,” he whispered, letting go of your wrists completely. “i’m sorry.”
you wiped at your face roughly. “i’m tired all the time.”
rafe stared at you silently. “i jump every time my phone rings because i think something happened to you.” still silent. “and when you disappear, or get too high, or stop answering me, i feel like i’m gonna throw up until i know you’re alive.”
you could see it. see him trying not to fall apart right in front of you. “i know you don’t mean to,” you whispered. “but loving you feels like waiting for a disaster.”
that did it. you saw something inside him break. actually break. his eyes dropped immediately to the floor because he couldn’t look at you anymore. and when he spoke, his voice sounded small. small enough to ruin you.
“i told you not to stay.”
tears blurred your vision completely because he had. over and over. not directly but in all the ways that mattered. through every ruined night. every split knuckle. every terrifying outburst followed by shaking apologies.
he’d warned you the entire time. you just loved him more than your own judgment. “rafe…”
he backed away suddenly. like he physically couldn’t stand near you after hearing that. he laughed afterward, but it sounded awful. empty. “god.”
you’d never seen him look this destroyed before. not even after fights with ward. not after police reports or overdoses or nights where he came to you bleeding and furious and half-conscious.
this was worse. because this time you were the thing hurting him.
“i ruined you too,” he said quietly.
your heart stopped. “don’t say that.”
“it’s true.”
“rafe —”
“look at you.”
his eyes finally lifted back to yours. “you used to be happy.” the room tilted slightly because he sounded genuinely heartbroken about it. “you used to laugh at everything,” he whispered. “you used to sleep through the night.”
you couldn’t stop crying now. he noticed every detail. every change. every piece of damage. and somehow that made it infinitely worse. “i still love you,” you said helplessly.
his face twisted painfully. “i know.”
“then why does this feel so awful?”
he laughed softly through tears that finally started falling. you froze.
you had seen rafe angry. furious. violent. drunk. high. bleeding. screaming.
you had almost never seen him cry.
and somehow it looked more frightening than all the rest because he cried silently like he was ashamed of it. he turned away from you immediately, wiping hard at his face.
“please don't look at me right now. sseriously.” his voice broke again. “please don’t fucking look at me.”
you’d never heard him sound this shattered.
slowly, carefully, you walked toward him anyway. he didn’t move this time. didn’t pull away. didn’t stop you. you wrapped your arms around him from behind and felt him inhale sharply like he’d been stabbed.
for a second he stayed rigid. his hands grabbed your arms hard enough to tremble. his head dropped forward and you felt the exact moment he started crying for real.
trying not to make noise. your own tears came harder immediately. “i’m sorry,” he choked out.
you pressed your face against his back, shaking your head even though he couldn’t see it.
“i’m so fucking sorry.”
“stop.”
“i never wanted —”
you felt him trying to breathe through it and failing. “i tried so hard not to fuck this up.”
that sentence. that fucking sentence. because you knew he meant it. every awful broken piece of him had genuinely tried. he just didn’t know how to love without destruction attached to it. you tightened your arms around him instinctively and rafe made this horrible wounded sound in response. like comfort hurt now too.
“you should hate me,” he whispered.
“i don’t.”
“you should.”
he finally turned around in your arms then, and the sight of him nearly destroyed you. just a boy who had never been taught how to be loved correctly. his hands cupped your face desperately. “i would’ve done anything for you.”
your breath caught painfully. “i know.”
“no, you don’t understand.”
fresh tears spilled down his cheeks. “i would’ve burned my whole fucking life down if you asked me to.”
you started sobbing because he meant that too. that was the problem. his love had no survival instinct in it. it consumed, destroyed, devoured everything around it until there was nothing left. including himself.
“i don’t know how to save us,” you whispered.
the expression on his face after that was something you’d remember for the rest of your life because it wasn’t anger. wasn’t desperation, wasn’t even sadness anymore.
it was acceptance. the slow horrible realization that maybe there was no saving this. that maybe love alone had never actually been enough. his thumb brushed under your eye automatically, wiping tears that wouldn’t stop falling. “yeah,” he whispered brokenly. “i know.”
a week later, you stopped answering his calls. not all at once. that would’ve been easier. instead it happened slowly, painfully, in tiny cowardly pieces. you let the phone ring longer before picking up. you answered texts with shorter replies. you stopped sleeping at his house. stopped driving by figure eight automatically. stopped checking the news every morning in fear you’d see his name attached to something awful.
you tried to remember who you were before Rafe Cameron became the center of your nervous system. it felt like trying to remember a language you used to speak as a child. everything was quieter now. that should’ve felt good. instead it felt like withdrawal because your body had gotten used to chaos.
used to checking your phone every five minutes. used to decoding his moods through text punctuation and response times. used to the intensity of him. and without it, you felt strangely hollow which was humiliating.
you hated that part most.
the fact that even after everything, some pathetic ruined part of you still missed him constantly.you missed his hands. his stupid laugh when he was genuinely amused. the way he touched your waist absentmindedly in crowded rooms. the way he only ever slept properly with you there.
you missed being needed. that was the ugly truth underneath all of it. you missed how desperately he loved you. even if it was killing you. your phone buzzed again against your bedsheets. you stared at the screen without opening it.
rafe:just answer me once.
another message immediately after.
please.
your chest tightened painfully. you turned your phone face down instead. coward. coward coward coward because if you answered him, you knew exactly what would happen.
you’d hear his voice. hear how wrecked he sounded and fold instantly. you always folded for him. that night, sarah found you sitting on the beach alone.
Sarah Cameron slowed when she saw you, expression immediately shifting into concern. “hey.”
you wiped quickly at your face before she could see. too late. she sat beside you in the sand without asking. “you okay?”
you laughed softly. “obviously.”
sarah was quiet for a second. waves crashed somewhere in the dark. “he’s bad,” she said finally.
your stomach dropped instantly. “what happened?”
“nothing happened.” which somehow sounded worse.she hugged her knees to her chest, looking out toward the water. “he’s just…” she hesitated. “really bad.”
you stared at her. “define bad.”
she looked uncomfortable now. that terrified you immediately. “sarah.”
“he’s barely sleeping.”
your chest tightened. “okay.”
“and he got into some fight at the country club three nights ago.” you closed your eyes. of course he did. “and ward’s losing his mind because rafe keeps disappearing for hours.”
“sarah —”
“he asked me if i knew where you were yesterday.”
your heartbeat stumbled.
“what did you say?”
“nothing.”
silence stretched.
then quietly:
“he looked awful.”
you swallowed hard. don’t do this. don’t go back. don’t go back just because he’s hurting. but your brain had never mattered much where rafe was concerned. your body already knew the route to his house by memory.
sarah looked at you carefully. “did something happen between you guys?”
you laughed again. this one sounded closer to breaking. “something’s always happening with us.”
she didn’t smile. “he loves you, you know.”
the words hit like bruises now instead of comfort.“i know.”
“i’ve never seen him like this over anyone.”
you looked away toward the ocean because suddenly you felt sick again. “that’s kind of the problem.”
sarah went quiet after that because she understood. more than anybody else probably. she’d grown up inside the same house as him.
she knew what loving a cameron could cost somebody.
that night you dreamed about him. of course you did. in the dream he was standing in the ocean fully clothed, staring at you from far away.
not angry. not yelling just looking tired. waves crashed harder and harder against him, but he never moved. and somehow you knew — with dream logic certainty — that if you walked away, he’d let himself drown.
you woke up crying. your phone lit up beside you immediately.
3:14 a.m.
one voicemail from him. your hands shook before you even pressed play. for a second there was only silence then breathing.
“hey.”
his voice sounded wrecked, raspy like he hadn’t slept. you squeezed your eyes shut immediately.
“i know you’re ignoring me.” a weak laugh. humorless. “which… fair enough.”
silence again. you could hear wind in the background. maybe outside. maybe driving.
“i just wanted to hear your voice tonight.”
your throat tightened painfully. another pause then quieter: “something happened today and you were the first person i wanted to call.” your chest physically hurt now. “but i couldn’t.”
his breathing cracked slightly. “that’s probably good for you.”
you pressed your hand over your mouth hard. “i’m trying really hard not to come see you.”
the tears started immediately because he sounded honest.
“and i don’t know if you understand how hard that is for me.”
you could hear him swallow. hear the slight shake in his breathing.
“i keep reaching for my phone before i remember.”
another silence so long this time that you almost thought the voicemail ended. then:
“i miss you so bad it feels embarrassing.”
your entire body folded inward around the pain of it.
“i know you said you’re losing yourself,” he whispered. “and i swear to god i’m trying to let you go because maybe that’s what’s best for you.”
his voice broke completely there. you started crying harder.
“but i don’t know how to do that.”
the wind crackled sharply through the speaker. then very softly: “i don’t know how to exist in a world where i can’t reach you anymore.”
the voicemail ended.
you stared at the screen for a long time afterward then finally looked at the call button. your thumb hovered over it.
one press. that’s all it would take and every wall you’d spent the past week trying to build would collapse instantly.
you knew that. you knew it with horrifying certainty. your thumb shook harder. then your phone buzzed suddenly before you could decide.
incoming call.
rafe. 3:27 a.m.
your breath caught. he was calling again. probably because he knew you listened to the voicemail. you stared at the screen while your heartbeat hammered painfully against your ribs.
ringing.
ringing.
ringing.
without fully meaning to you answered. silence. you could hear him breathing immediately. sharp inhale on the other end like he couldn’t believe it actually worked.
neither of you spoke.
then finally, in a voice so small it barely sounded like him at all: “hi, baby.”
the second you heard his voice, every carefully constructed thought in your head collapsed. all week you’d been trying to turn him into something survivable.
a lesson. a phase. a relationship that hurt too much and therefore had to end. but then he said hi, baby in that exhausted wrecked voice, and suddenly he was just rafe again.
your rafe. the one who fell asleep with his hand wrapped in your shirt like you might disappear overnight. the one who got mean when he was scared. the one who loved you so intensely it felt radioactive.
you covered your mouth hard to stop the sound that almost came out of you. on the other end of the line, his breathing shook. “you answered.”
you squeezed your eyes shut. “i shouldn’t have.”
“probably not.”
god. even now. even now he sounded sadder about ruining you than losing you. silence stretched between you. you could hear tires against pavement. he was driving. immediate panic hit your chest.“where are you?”
a pause. “nowhere.”
“rafe.”
another pause. “outside your house.”
your entire body went cold. you sat upright instantly, heart hammering. “what?”
“i’m not doing anything,” he said quickly, hearing the fear immediately. “i swear. i just—” his voice cracked. “i just wanted to be close to you for a minute.”
you looked toward your bedroom window automatically even though the curtains were closed.
suddenly you could picture it perfectly. his truck parked somewhere down your street. hands gripping the steering wheel. eyes exhausted and bloodshot. waiting not because he wanted to scare you because he genuinely didn’t know where else to put all this love.
your chest hurt so violently it felt impossible to breathe through it. “how long have you been there?”
“like an hour.”
“rafe —”
“i know.” you heard him laugh softly at himself. “i know it’s fucked up.”
tears burned instantly behind your eyes again. “why didn’t you call?”
“because i said i was trying to leave you alone.”
the silence afterward nearly killed you because that was the tragedy of him.
he was trying. in all the wrong ways, maybe, but he was trying so hard it was tearing him apart.
“i hate this,” you whispered.
you heard his breathing hitch sharply through the phone. “yeah,” he whispered back. “me too.”
another silence then suddenly: “can i see you?”
your heart twisted so hard it felt dangerous “rafe…”
“just for five minutes.”
“it’s three in the morning.”
“i know.” his voice sounded thin now. fraying at the edges. “please.”
that word again. please. rafe never begged anybody for anything except you.
you pressed the heel of your hand hard against your eyes. “you can’t keep doing this.”
“i know.”
“showing up outside my house —”
“i know.”
“calling me crying at three a.m.—”
“i know.” each answer quieter than the last. “i just don’t know how to stop.”
there it was. the truth. raw and ugly and impossible to fix. you started crying silently againbecause he sounded genuinely ashamed.
“talk to me,” he whispered immediately when he heard your breathing change.
you couldn’t. your throat hurt too badly on the other end, you heard him exhale shakily. “are you crying?”
you laughed once through tears. “what do you think?”
his silence said everything. you imagined him gripping the wheel tighter. head tipped back against the seat. eyes shut trying not to come apart. “don’t cry because of me,” he said softly.
the sentence hit so wrong it almost made you angry. “everything is because of you.”
he inhaled sharply and you regretted it immediately.
“no, it’s okay.” that awful calm voice again. “you’re right.”
“that’s not what i meant.”
“yeah, it is.”
you could hear the self-hatred bleeding through him now slowly poisoning everything. “i keep thinking about what you said.”
your stomach dropped. “what part?”
“that you’re losing yourself.” his voice sounded far away suddenl like he was speaking from somewhere underwater. “i can’t stop hearing it.”
you pressed your hand harder over your mouth.
“you know what’s fucked up?” he whispered. you stayed silent. “i think i knew already.”
fresh tears slipped down your face. “rafe…”
“i saw it happening.”
his breathing cracked slightly.
“every time you looked tired. every time you flinched at loud noises. every time you checked your phone too fast because you thought i got arrested or overdosed or wrapped my truck around a tree.”
you squeezed your eyes shut harder because all of it was true. every word.
“and i kept loving you anyway.” his voice finally broke completely there. “i loved you more every time you stayed.”
your chest caved inward because that was the sickness of it. your suffering had become proof of love to him. how could it not have? nobody had ever stayed before. not really. not after seeing the ugliest parts.
except you.
you stayed through every shattered thing and somewhere along the way, rafe started measuring love by endurance by who could survive him longest. “i’m sorry,” he whispered suddenly.
not loud. just devastated. “i’m so fucking sorry for what loving me turned you into.”
you started sobbing hard enough it hurt and on the other end of the line, you heard him make this horrible broken sound in response like hearing you cry physically injured him.
“baby,” he choked out immediately. “baby, please—”
“i miss you,” you admitted suddenly.
the confession ripped out of you before you could stop it. silence. dead silence.
“don’t say that if you don’t mean it.” his voice sounded terrified. actually terrified.
“i mean it.”
you heard him inhale shakily hope itself hurt. “i miss you every second,” you whispered. “it feels like there’s something under my skin all the time.”
a quiet wrecked laugh escaped him. “yeah.”
“and i hate you for making me like this.”
another silence then very softly: “i know.”
you looked toward the window again. your entire body aching with the urge to run outside and climb into his lap and let him hold you until morning.
which was exactly why you shouldn’t because loving him had started feeling less like a relationship and more like a mutual suicide pact.
emotionally first. everything else later.
“can i ask you something?” he said quietly.
“okay.”
you heard him swallow. “if i was different…”
your heart immediately started breaking all over again. “rafe—”
“just answer me.”
his voice trembled slightly. “if i was better… would this still have worked?”
tears slipped silently down your face.
because underneath all the anger and obsession and destruction, that was the real thing haunting him.
not does she love me. he knew you did. the real question was: would she have survived loving me if i’d been someone else?
you stared blindly into the dark of your bedroom then whispered the worst possible truth. “i think i would’ve loved you forever.”
you heard him stop breathing. completely. for one terrible second neither of you moved or spoke and then on the other end of the line, very quietly — like the sound was dragged out of him against his will — you heard rafe start crying.
you had never heard him cry like that before. not the quiet tears from the party.
not the angry frustrated choking-back-emotion thing he usually did. this was different. this sounded helpless like something inside him had finally given out.
you sat frozen in your bed listening to him try and fail to breathe normally on the other end of the phone, and it felt like somebody was reaching into your chest with bare hands.
“rafe…”
he laughed weakly through it, humiliated already. “sorry.”
that almost destroyed you more than the crying itself because even now, falling apart felt embarrassing to him.
“don’t apologize.”
“can’t really help it.”
his voice sounded wrecked beyond repair. you could picture him perfectly now without even looking outside. head bent forward over the steering wheel.
eyes squeezed shut.
trying desperately to pull himself back together before you heard too much.you realized suddenly that nobody had probably ever held him through this before.
through grief. through fear. through shame. people only ever dealt with rafe in extremes — anger, violence, ego, recklessness. nobody stayed long enough to witness what happened after.
the collapse and somehow that made your love feel unbearably sad.
“i didn’t mean to cry,” he admitted quietly.
your eyes burned again. “you don’t have to sound guilty about it.”
“yeah, well.” a shaky exhale. “kinda hard not to.”
“are you alone?” you asked finally.
“yeah.”
“have you been drinking?” a pause. “a little.”
your stomach tightened. “how much is a little?”
another pause. “enough.”
you shut your eyes hard. of course. you heard him shift around in the truck. “don’t do that.”
“do what?”
“go quiet like you’re disappointed in me.”
your throat tightened painfully. “i’m not disappointed.”
“then what?”
you didn’t answer immediately because the truth was exhausting. you were scare all the time. scared he’d die. scared he’d hurt somebody. scared he’d destroy himself slowly while you stood there loving him helplessly. scared that one day the phone would ring and this entire nightmare relationship would suddenly become irreversible.
“i’m tired,” you whispered finally.
he went silent after that; you could hear the engine idling softly in the background. then “yeah.”
just that. yeah like he understood exactly what kind of tired you meant. not sleepy: soul tired. the kind that settled into your bones after loving someone too destructively for too long.
you wiped at your face roughly. “you should go home.”
he laughed softly. “you know that’s the last place i wanna be.”
“rafe.”
“i know.”
you heard him sniff once quietly. trying to recover. trying to sound like himself again. it hurt worse somehow.
“do you remember that night on the boat?” he asked suddenly.
your heart twisted immediately. of course you remembered.
it had been late august, storm coming in. the two of you alone off the marsh because he’d shown up at your house bleeding from the mouth after another fight with ward.
you’d cleaned his face up in silence while he stared at you like he was dying.
later, the storm got worse. rain hitting the boat roof hard enough to sound violent. and rafe — half-drunk, exhausted, eyes soft in that dangerous vulnerable way — had suddenly asked:
do you ever think maybe we met at the wrong time?
you hadn’t answered then either because what could you even say to that?
“yeah,” you whispered.
he was quiet for a long moment. then: “i think about that night all the time.”
your chest ached. “why?”
another pause.
“because that was the first time i realized loving you felt good and horrible at the same time.”
tears slipped down your face silently. “rafe…”
“i remember looking at you and thinking…” his voice cracked slightly. “thinking that if i touched you enough maybe i’d stop feeling so fucking empty all the time.”
you covered your mouth hard because that was the tragedy of him in one sentence.
he didn’t love gently. he loved like starving and eventually starving people consumed everything around them, including themselves to satisfy her hunger.
“you know what the worst part is?” he whispered.
you couldn’t answer. “sometimes it worked.”
you started crying again immediately because you knew exactly what he meant.
there were moments.
moments where lying beside him felt so intimate and raw and devastatingly human that it almost convinced you this could survive.
late nights tangled together while he talked quietly about things he never told anyone else.
his sleepy hand finding yours automatically under blankets.
the rare genuine smiles. the way he looked at you like the world got quieter when you walked into it.
those moments ruined you because they made leaving impossible.
“i loved those parts of you,” you whispered.
you heard him inhale shakily. “which parts?”
“the soft ones.”
silence then a broken laugh. “there’s not enough of those to save this.”
you cried harder because he sounded certain now. certain in a way that terrified you. “don’t say that.”
“why not?”
his voice stayed painfully calm. “you already know it.”
you couldn’t breathe correctly anymore. your entire chest felt crushed under the weight of this conversation.
“i think…” he stopped. started again quieter. “i think i loved you so much i stopped seeing you as a person.”
your heartbeat stuttered. “what?”
he swallowed audibly. “you became…” another shaky breath. “everything.” the word hung horribly between you but you continued. “my mood depended on you. whether i slept depended on you. whether i felt okay for five fucking minutes depended on you.”
he laughed weakly at himself. “that’s not love, is it?”
you shut your eyes tightly because part of it was love. that was what made this so awful. buried underneath all the obsession and fear and dependency was real genuine love. which meant neither of you got to dismiss this as fake. it would’ve been easier if it was fake.
“i don’t know,” you whispered honestly.
he was quiet for a long time after that. then finally: “i think i ruined the best thing that ever happened to me.”
your chest physically hurt. “you were the best thing that ever happened to me too.”
the second the words left your mouth, you heard him break all over again. a sharp inhale, similar to one of a kicked puppy.
“don’t.”
“it’s true.”
“please don’t say shit like that right now.” his voice trembled violently.
“why?”
because maybe if you hadn’t loved him back so deeply, this would’ve been easier. because maybe mutual destruction hurt worse than one-sided heartbreak. because maybe hearing that he mattered this much to you was the final thing pushing him toward collapse.
you heard movement suddenly. a car door opening.your stomach dropped instantly.
“rafe?”
“i just need air.”
“where are you going?”
“nowhere.”
panic crept sharply up your spine. “are you driving?” silence. “rafe.”
“i can’t sit here anymore.”
your pulse hammered. “you’ve been drinking.”
“i’m fine.”
“don’t lie to me.”
he breathed shakily into the phone. “i just…” his voice cracked apart again. “i just wanna see you so bad.”
you started crying harder immediately.
because he sounded desperate, so unbearably desperate.
“please,” he whispered suddenly. “please just let me see you for five minutes.”
you looked toward your bedroom door. toward the window. toward the version of your life that existed before him and then toward the one that existed now.
the terrifying thing was that you already knew which one you were about to choose.
© BITTERSWEETLYBLUE , do not copy, translate or edit my work as your own nor feed it into anything for your amusement.
a/n: divider credits to @pixopix ! join the taglist here and please let me know how yall feel about this!
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