helena

You were the only one who could disarm him when he got irritated like this. You told him once that you don’t take his bad moods personally because you can see them for what they are - he’s not angry, he’s anxious. He realized then that you’re the only person who’d ever really understood him, that you might understand him better than he understands himself. 

It’s why his shoulders relax now, it’s why he can take a deep breath. There was no one else in the world who could convince him to let them drive his boat while he’s blindfolded or walk through the tall, marshy grass without knowing where he was going. Only you.

“Can I open my eyes now?” He asked.

“We’re not there yet,” you shook your head, hand still on his arm to lead him closer to your surprise. “You can go one more minute without seeing where you’re going.”

“Maybe, but I don’t know if I can go another minute without seeing you,” he flirted.

You smiled, tempted to rip the blindfold off him and forget all about the surprise. Too bad for him you already knew all his tricks.

“Nice try, Cameron.”

As you got closer, your stomach twisted. Maybe this was stupid. After all, wouldn’t it be underwhelming to Rafe after all he’s seen? This place meant so much to you, you didn’t know if you could handle any criticism from him. You considered turning around, but you’d already made such a big deal out of this, how would you explain it to him?

“Okay, this is a good spot, I guess,” you said, your voice shaking with trepidation.

“You good?” Rafe asked. Of course he could tell your mood shifted without even looking at you.

“Yeah, I think, just open your eyes.” At this point you just wanted to get his inevitable disappointment over with.

Slowly, Rafe opened his eyes. He blinked a few times to adjust to the blinding Carolina sunlight before finally sizing up your big reveal.

It was your house, the one he’d been to a hundred times before - sneaking into your window so your brother wouldn’t hear, showing up in the night to investigate when you “heard a noise,” defending you from Luke when he got violent. Except, this wasn’t the same house. It was bigger, for one. And slightly better, with new walls, a new roof, and a big, hand painted flag in your brother’s handwriting: “Poguelandia.” 

It wasn’t much, but it was your dream come true. In your eyes, you may as well have been standing in front of a magic castle. As you watched Rafe’s expression stay completely unchanged you realized that to him, it probably still looked like some shitty shack on The Cut. You wished you never brought him here.

“This is what you guys have been working on this whole time?” He asked, still looking at the house and not at you.

“Yeah, I mean, and the store,” you gestured to the dock behind you where you and your friends had built yourselves a small business. Another thing that would surely seem pathetic compared to what Rafe was used to.

“It’s nice, I like it,” Rafe said.

“No it’s okay, you don’t have to lie,” you said, voice small. You started to turn to leave. “I shouldn’t have made such a big deal out of it, let’s just go-”

“Hey, woah, woah,” Rafe interrupted you gently.

He approached you from behind, arms twisting around your waist, forcing you to turn back and look at your home. He had to duck down to slot his chin into your shoulder, swaying you both gently.

“If I had to come all this way, I think I at least deserve the grand tour, don’t I?” he mumbled into your ear.

Your smile returned, you nuzzled your cheek into his, heart swelling.

“I guess, if you insist,” you said with a cheeky grin.

“I do,” he nodded, tickling your neck with his buzzed hair. He tilted his head down to place a sloppy kiss into the crook of your shoulder. “I’m especially looking forward to seeing your bedroom.”

“You mean the one I share with your sister?” 

He groaned, “why do you torture me like this?”

“Because it’s fun.” You twisted away from his hold and slid your hand down his arm to interlock your fingers with his.

Rafe followed you onto the porch. You paused at the front door for dramatic effect.

“Hello MTV, welcome to my crib!”

Rafe smiled as you cracked up at your own joke, but his momentary joy turned sour when you opened the door and revealed an unwelcome sight on the other side; the Pogues.

The lively discussion that had been filling your shared living room stopped dead in its tracks. The room turned cold. Six icy stares were aimed in your boyfriend’s direction.

You understood why they disliked him so much. He didn’t put much effort into changing their minds. But he’d changed yours. And though you’d tried for years not to, you loved him. Neither of you had said it yet, but you knew it was true, at least for you. 

There had been countless arguments between you and your brother and the shared friends that were basically family about Rafe. Countless fights you’d stopped between JJ and Rafe, countless nights begging Rafe just to try a little harder, begging JJ just to give him a chance. They both cared for you enough not to kill each other, but it was a reluctant ceasefire. A fragile peace you were always vigilant to protect. A truce that could be broken at any moment. You prayed this wasn’t that moment.

“Sorry, I didn’t think you guys were home,” you explained. The six pogues shared concerned glances with each other, something unsaid that you felt had nothing to do with you walking in with their least favorite person. “What’s going on?”

Kie stood, shot a brief but blazing glare towards Rafe, and handed you a piece of paper. You read it carefully, your eyebrows creased in confusion that was slowly morphing into great concern. Rafe read over your shoulder.

It was an official warning from the Kildare City Council. The land you were standing on and the home you’d built would be rezoned. They were taking Poguelandia.

“What the hell?” You shouted. “Can they actually do this?”

“Looks like they already are,” John B confirmed.

“No, no. There has to be something we can -”

“There’s not!” JJ stood from his seat at the far end of the room. 

You could see it all over his face, the anger that was always lying just beneath the surface starting to make its way to the top. Everyone thought of JJ as a happy-go-lucky, silly, mischievous kid. And he was all those things, but he was something else, something only you really saw; a hurt kid who never healed. 

“There’s never something we can do,” JJ continued, stalking slowly toward you, but keeping his eyes locked on Rafe the whole time. “Not when Kooks are involved. They always win.”

“Back up, Maybank,” Rafe snarled, looking down at JJ, who’d gotten close enough to break the barrier of Rafe’s personal space. 

You stepped between them instinctually, a move you’d made a hundred times before. 

“Stop.” You put a gentle hand on JJ’s chest to back him up, but he didn’t budge. “This isn’t his fault, J.”

“How do we know that, huh?” JJ finally tore his eyes off Rafe to look at you. “How do we know he’s not behind it somehow? Trying to steal our land for another bougie ass development project. You can’t trust these people, sis. How many times do we have to get screwed by them before you realize it?”

You and your brother looked at each other for a long time. The rest of the room watched as the two of you seemed to have a conversation none of them could hear; the unspoken language of siblings who’d been to hell and back together.

After a long moment, you turned your gaze toward Rafe.

“Do- do you know anything about this?” You asked him hesitantly. 

His face fell. A series of emotions flashed across his features so quickly, you were sure you were the only one in the room who caught them all; surprise, betrayal, hurt, anger, and finally, back to his go-to: detached stoicism.

“That’s really what you think of me? That I’d do something like this?” His tone was even, his voice far away even though you were inches apart.

You knew you’d hurt him by even entertaining the idea that he’d betray you like this. But this ground was shaky, and you had been screwed over by Kooks your entire life. The trust you put in him did not come easy, and sometimes it wavered, even though he’d never given it any reason to.

Rafe’s jaw clenched when you didn’t answer. He nodded once, his lips twisting into the kind of smile that had absolutely no joy behind it. 

“Unbelievable.” He muttered.

He took one last searing look around the room, twelve hateful eyes met him, and he didn’t look at your watery ones before turning and storming out of the house, the newly installed screen door banging shut behind him.

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Your knees were tucked all the way to your chest, your chin resting on them as you wrapped your arms around yourself, trying to manufacture any sort of comfort. It wasn’t working.

The zone change notice sat on the bed in front of you. You read it over and over, as though if you just wanted it badly enough, the words would change into something less devastating. 

You were going to lose your home. You’d probably lost the love of your life, before you could even tell him he was the love of your life. Your brother was one step from completely falling over the edge, the rocky path toward destruction that you’d pulled him back from your whole lives getting steeper by the minute. A few hours ago you were excitedly cleaning this room so you could show Rafe. How could so much change in so little time?

A knock at the door pulled you from your spiraling thoughts.

“Come in,” you said quietly.

The door creaked slightly despite it being brand new. Sarah tiptoed into the room gently, searching you for any signs of distress.

“Sar, you don’t have to knock to come into your own room,” you told her.

“I know, I just thought maybe you needed some space.”

You shook your head and scooted over on the bed to make space for her. She took your invitation with a smile and settled in next to you.

“So…how’s your day going?” She asked in a singy-songy voice.

You both erupted in bittersweet laughter.

“Oh y’know, I’ve had better.”

She nudged your arm with her elbow.

“Everything’s gonna be okay, you know.” She assured you.

“Is it though? I mean really, Sar, is it?” No laughter hung in the air now. “I mean, what if I just lost my home and my boyfriend? Or worse, what if I just lost my home to my boyfriend.”

“You really think Rafe would’ve done something like this?” She asked.

“I don’t know. I mean, I don’t want to. You heard him though, when I asked him about it, he didn’t deny it.”

Sarah sighed, a deep exhale that usually signaled she was about to say something she didn’t want to.

“What?” You prodded. 

“Look, I’m not my brother’s biggest fan, you know that,” she began.

“Um yes, you’ve made that very clear,” you chuckled, thinking of all the times Sarah had warned you not to get involved with Rafe. 

“But, just this one time, I’m going to…” She paused dramatically, her eyes screwed shut with reluctance. “...defend him.”

Your eyebrows shot up in surprise.

“Be honest, how hard was that for you to say?” You teased.

“I’m holding back vomit right now,” she laughed.

“Well then defend him quickly before you yack on my bed.”

“Okay, I just,” she paused to consider her words carefully. “I know you know Rafe really well. I mean you’re the only one he’s ever really let in, so you probably know him better than anyone. But I’ve known him longer than anyone. I’ve seen every version of him. I knew Rafe before he met you, and now I know him after he met you, and believe me when I tell you, those two are not the same guy. As cliche as it sounds, you changed him.”

You sat in silence, letting the words settle over you, surprised by how emotional they were making you. You willed the tears forming in your eyes not to fall.

“Don’t get me wrong, he’s still a dick,” Sarah added. You were grateful for a reason to laugh before you started crying. “But he’s not the same. There was a time where I’d say ‘absolutely, Rafe definitely did this just to screw us over,’ but not anymore. Not since he fell in love with you.”

You looked up in surprise, the tears at your lash line threatening to finally spill over.

“You think he loves me?”

“Girl, be so for real. That man has never looked at anyone the way he looks at you. Believe me, he’s yours.”

Your heart skipped, and the tears finally fell. You rose from the bed so suddenly, Sarah almost fell back onto the mattress. You didn’t know what had taken over you, just that you needed to go, now. Everything in you was being pulled toward him, like sand being dragged back out to sea by the tide. If you spent one more minute of your life without him knowing what you were so certain of now, you might not make it.

Sarah smiled at you, she read it all over your face.

“Go!” She urged.

“Love you!” You shouted over your shoulder as you raced out of your bedroom.

“Love you too, you freak,” she smiled to herself, knowing you were already long gone.

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Where could he have gone? Your mind flipped through all the possibilities as you ran across the lawn toward the dock. JJ would probably be pissed that you took The Snapper without asking first, but didn’t even care about that right now. You just needed to find Rafe.

You didn’t have to search for long.

As soon as your feet hit the wooden dock, they stopped in their tracks.

At the end of the pier sat Rafe’s boat bobbing in the water. The long figure of your boyfriend leaned over the bow. You watched with a big, bright smile as he untied the line, then retied it, then untied it, and retied it once more. He was clearly having a silent disagreement with himself. All that mattered to you was that he hadn’t left.

You approached slowly, avoiding the planks in the dock you knew would creak and give away your presence. The closer you got to him, the faster your heart beat. The words you were dying to say sat perched at the end of your tongue, you knew they wouldn’t be able to hang on much longer. 

Half way through untying the boat again, Rafe stopped and sighed.

“Need a push?” You said.

His eyes shot up to yours, startled. Tension filled his shoulders as he took you in, his shock quickly fading to something softer, yet still unsure.

“That depends,” he squinted in the sun to see you better. 

God, he was gorgeous. You could not let him get away.

“Depends on what?” You played along.

“If my girlfriend will forgive me for being a dismissive prick,” he said.

You forced your lips not to twist into a smile, pretending to consider his words.

“I think she might. If you forgive her first,” you said.

His eyes softened, lips twitching. You were both failing not to smile at each other now. 

Rafe finally tied up the boat for good, hopping up onto the dock. You admired every movement of his body as it drew closer to yours. When he reached you, he placed his hands on your waist, your arms drawing up to wrap around his neck, stretching up on your tiptoes to get as close to him as possible.

“She has nothing to apologize for. The only home she’s ever known is being threatened. She’s just scared. I get that.”

Every word fanned over you like a soft summer breeze. Your heart warmed, impossibly full despite all the anxieties today had brought. He just got you, he understood without you having to say it. This must be the closest two people can get to making magic, you thought.

“Thank you,” you let your head fall forward to rest on his chest. He kissed the top of your head.

“Everything’s gonna be okay,” he whispered into your hair.

You looked back up at him, shaking your head. 

“How is everything gonna be okay, Rafe? What if there really is nothing we can do? I mean, who’s even behind this?”

Rafe didn’t answer, but one name popped into his mind. Even with his suspicions, he didn’t know if he could help you. Helplessness was the feeling he despised more than any other, especially when it came to you.

“I don’t know,” he said, his heart breaking at the despairing look on your face. “But you’ve still got me. You could always move into the condo with me, like I’ve been begging you for months.”

“Can I bring my friends with me?” You scrunched up your nose, hoping he’d find you cute enough to say yes.

“I love you, but there’s no way in hell…”

A bolt of lightning shot through you, goosebumps erupting over your entire body. Did he really just say…?

He instantly read the shock on your face, but there was no look of regret on his.

“What? Haven’t I said I love you before?” 

“Umm, no, I think I would’ve remembered that!” You couldn’t help the big, goofy grin taking over your whole face.

“Oh, well that’s weird,” he shrugged, his hands sliding from your waist to your lower back, wrapping his strong arms around you and lifting you off your feet. “Because I do love you, so fucking much.” 

You yelped as he lifted you into the air, head falling back in laughter as he almost tumbled you both off the dock in his effort to sweep you off your feet.

You looked down at him and he lowered you slowly, tucking his head into the crook of your neck, arms still wrapped around each other like you’d never let go. You stood there embracing for a long time, so long that the sun was starting to set, casting a golden shimmer across the water. 

Finally you said, “I never gave you the grand tour.”

“And I was really looking forward to seeing your crib,” he teased, his lips brushing against the skin of your neck when he talked.

“Well, c’mon then.” You grabbed his hand, leading him back toward the house, both of you buzzing with the excitement that there was something much better than a tour waiting for you inside.

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“...And this is John B and JJ’s room,” you opened the door only a crack, afraid to unleash the stench that permanently filled the space. “They insisted on getting bunk beds even though they’re, like, forty. And Pope insisted on having his own room because, as he said, ‘JJ is a walking biohazard.’ Which is…fair.”

Rafe was just watching you with adoration as you showed him around the house. He was barely looking at the rooms you were showing him because he was so focused on the way you glowed with joy. It was true that he wanted you to move to Bayline with him, it was his life’s goal to get you there, actually, but he had to admit that you seemed like you really belonged here. He’d never seen you look more at home. 

“And this is our gallery wall.” You gestured to the display of framed photographs hanging in the upstairs hallway.

Rafe surveyed them dutifully with his hands tucked politely behind his back, like an old man in an art museum. Most of the photographs were of you and the pogues at various times in your life. Out fishing in the marsh, riding dirt bikes, post-surf at the beach. You admired the way Rafe was looking so intently and resisting the urge to grimace at so many photos of you with his once sworn enemies.

He explored the wall, eyes lingering on any photo of you a little longer than the rest. The hall continued to lead down toward your bedroom. At the very end, in a high corner, just above a series of photo booth pictures you’d taken with Sarah and Kie last summer, hung a delicate circular frame featuring a worn-out picture almost too small to see. Rafe leaned in for a better look.

In the photo, which was a tad faded and clearly taken several years ago, was a young guy, probably about 30, holding two young kids on his lap. The slightly bigger one, a boy, held up a trout he’d just caught, flashing a toothless grin. The little girl beamed at the man holding her.

It took Rafe a moment, but when he felt your weight shift next to him uncomfortably, he put it all together. The photo was you, JJ, and Luke. Probably the only one you had. And despite everything Luke had put you through, you’d hung it on the wall to see everyday.

Rafe turned to you, you were looking down at your feet, toes digging anxiously into the rug. His heart ached. If anyone knew what it was like to have a complicated relationship with their father, it was him. The fact that you’d still given Luke some dignity in this house he almost destroyed so many times said so much about you, and reminded him why he loved you so much.

“You wanna show me your room now?” He asked gently.

You looked up at him with glassy eyes and a small smile, “yeah.”

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The door clicked closed softly. Rafe took in the room, immediately identifying which bed was yours and which bed (the messy, half-made one) was his sister’s.

“Sarah doesn’t spend much time in here,” you admitted.

“No?” He asked, keeping his eyes off of you, the closed door suddenly adding a nervous energy to the room he wasn’t expecting.

“She mainly sleeps with John B.” Rafe grimaced, you hurried to reassure him. “Like, in his bed I mean, or his bunk I guess. Not, like sleep with him sleep with him, although I’m sure there’s plenty of that -”

“I’m literally begging you to stop talking,” he said, his eyes finding the ceiling, no doubt trying to erase the mental picture you just created for him.

“Sorry,” you chuckled.

Rafe wandered around the room some more, taking in all your decorations. He never understood why someone could collect so many knick-knacks that seemed to be worth nothing, but there was something endearing about it that drew him to you even more. Just another in a long line of things that would annoy him with someone else, but enchanted him with you.

As your time alone in the room dragged on, the air became tenser. You felt yourself watching him, but unable to move, back pressed up against the door, frozen in anticipation. 

You and Rafe had been alone together before - and you had been together before - but something had shifted out on that dock. Something that you knew you couldn’t take back, and didn’t want to. In fact, you only wanted to solidify it more.

“Rafe,” you said softly, finally pulling his attention away from your decor.

He looked up at you expectantly, like he had been waiting for you to give him permission to. He didn’t respond, just walked slowly toward you, his eyes on yours the whole way. Your heart was beating out of your chest.

“I don’t know why I’m so nervous,” you said, trying to laugh to break the tension, though the sound came out more like a hiccup.

“Has something changed?” He wondered aloud.

“Yeah, I guess it has.” You chewed on your bottom lip. “Because today I realized two important things.”

“What two things?” He asked, surprised, and a little alarmed, by your answer.

“The first is that this is my home, and that in a way, it will always be my home. And yet at the same time, I also realized that you’re my future, and I love you.”

Rafe’s smile spread slowly, like he was taking in each word one at a time. His blue eyes sparkled - like actually sparkled - with joy. Maybe you were imagining it, but it didn’t matter, you just wanted him to keep looking at you like that.

“Oh you love me, huh?” His voice was low and dangerous, he stepped closer until he was towering over you.

“Yeah, haven’t I said that before?” You echoed his words from earlier back to him.

He just shook his head at you, tucking his tongue in the corner of his cheek to try and tame his smile. His hands found your waist like they were made to fit there. His voice carried down to your very core as he leaned in.

“You know you can’t take it back now, right?” 

“Why would I take it back? I mean it, Rafe, with everything I have. I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

And he showed you. His body enveloping yours as he backed you up against the door and kissed you deeply. A whole new energy between you now, your need and your affection for each other stronger than ever. 

Before you could get carried away, footsteps on the stairs reminded you of a very crucial step of bringing your boyfriend home. 

“Wait, hold on.” You pulled away from Rafe and he frowned. His disappointment was so cute you were tempted to kiss the pout right off of him, but first you rummaged through a drawer in you and Sarah’s shared dresser.

“What is that?” Rafe asked when you pulled out a conch shell glued to a piece of twine.

“Just a little system Sarah and I have.” You winked at him, opening the door just a crack to hang the shell from the doorknob.

“Do I want to know?” Rafe asked.

“I don’t know, do you want to talk more about your sister’s love life, or work on ours?” You bit back your smile when he cringed at your words, suddenly realizing Sarah’s use for the shell with a shudder.

“You’re lucky I love you,” he said, before scooping you up and carrying you over his shoulder, just to drop you on the bed with a bounce.

“Yes, I am,” you smiled up at him.

And he showed you, over and over, just how lucky you were.

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It was different this time, more passionate, more intense, more everything. And when he held you after, whispering more I love you’s into your hair, and neck, and the side of your face, you knew it must’ve felt the same for him, too.

You laid tucked into his side, his arm wrapped around your shoulders so he could intertwine his fingers with yours as you both stared up at the ceiling in pure bliss.

You sighed a happy, airy sigh and nuzzled closer to him.

“You know I just mean for now, right?” You said.

He twisted his neck at what must’ve been an uncomfortable angle to try and see your face.

“You just love me for now?” He asked, incredulous.

“No, no!” You couldn’t help but laugh. “Sorry, no, that’s not what I meant. I meant to say, this is just my home for now.”

“Oh, okay,” he rested his head back onto the pillow. “That’s better, I guess.”

You sat up, shuffling through the sheets so you could see him. You brought your legs up and sat criss cross on the bed next to him. Rafe lazily reached out a hand to tuck your hair behind your ear as he waited for the words he knew you were trying to formulate. He loved that you thought so hard before speaking, always determined to say what you mean. You loved that he waited to hear what you had to say, a patience he reserved almost exclusively for you.

“I know it must seem weird,” you began, “that I’m so attached to a place with so many bad memories. And I know you want me to live with you, and I want that too, eventually. But you have to understand, for so much of my life, it was just me and JJ. It was just us in this house. Even though a lot of it was us hiding from Luke or fending for ourselves when he didn’t come home for days at a time, there are good memories hidden in all the bad ones. Like, at the bottom of the stairs, there’s a spot where JJ and I accidentally ran our sled into the wall when we were stair-surfing. We covered it with chewed bubblegum and colored it in with marker, and Luke never noticed. Or in the kitchen, there’s tally marks under the countertop where we used to keep track of how many beers Luke had so we knew when it was time to go to John B’s for the night. And on the old dock, where our store is now, we made each other a pinky promise that someday we’d grow up and make something of ourselves and buy this house right out from under him. And we did it! And now, they’re just going to, what, take it away? Punish us for rising above the low expectations that they set for us? We were hurt here, yeah. But we also survived here. We did it together. I can’t leave that, or him, not now, not yet.”

Rafe drank in your words, and when tears came, he didn’t wipe them away or tell you to stop crying, he just let them fall. Let you feel what you needed to feel. His hand stayed firmly rested on your leg, there to hold only if you wanted it.

Through sobs you finally said, “this is our home, Rafe. We’re gonna lose our home.”

He’d heard enough. He stood from the bed quickly, pulling on his khakis and polo wordlessly.

“Where are you going?” 

Rafe turned to look at you, saw the worry in your eyes and leaned over your bed so his face was level with yours. You would have been frightened by the steel in his eyes if you weren’t so excited by it.

“You asked me how it was going to be okay, right?” He said, voice low and tinged with danger. 

You just nodded, unsure what to make of this sudden change in demeanor. 

“It’s going to be okay because I’m going to make it okay.”

With that he stood and stalked toward the door, stopping to look at you one more time.

“Get some sleep, yeah? I’ll be back in a bit.”

You didn’t bother to ask where he was going, you knew he wasn’t going to tell you. When he had a plan like this, there was no slowing him down. Usually, his plans were self-serving. He was a strategist, like his father. Only now, it seemed, you were the beneficiary of his plot, and you weren’t sure what to expect.

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It sure as hell wasn’t the doorbell ringing at two in the morning. 

It had started to storm and the thunder was rumbling through the house. It took a few rings before you could even hear the doorbell over the sound of the rain. Sarah lay on one side of you, Kie on the other, Cleo at the foot of the bed. They’d come to comfort you after Rafe left and you all cried yourself to sleep talking about the future of Poguelandia.

You accidentally kicked Cleo when you got up, who then kicked Sarah, who reached over and hit Kie in the arm as if it was her fault. Everyone was awake now.

“Noise. Bad. Make it stop,” Sarah grumbled into her pillow. 

“Hit me again and I’ll make you stop breathing,” Kie said, her threat a little deflated considering she made it with her eyes still closed.

The doorbell rang out again, in rapid succession this time, causing everyone to groan and cover their ears.

“Who the hell rings the doorbell at 2 a.m.?” Sarah whined.

“If it’s those goddamn Jehovah’s Witnesses again, I’m gonna shove their little pamphlet down their throats,” Cleo said.

“I’ll get it,” you said through a yawn.

“Wait, you’re gonna go alone?” Kie grabbed your hand to pull you back.

“What if you get murdered?” Sarah said, sitting up and rubbing her eyes.

Kie and Sarah both climbed out of bed with you, but Cleo didn’t budge.

“If you get murdered let me know,” she said, pulling the blankets tighter around her. “I will avenge you.”

Kie rolled her eyes and pulled the blankets off Cleo, Sarah grabbed her hand to drag her from the bed.

“You’re coming with us, babe,” Sarah said over Cleo’s protests. “And bring your knife.”

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂

Lightning struck somewhere across the marsh at the exact second the door flew open. You and all three girls, wrapped in your blankets and holding various kitchen utensils, screamed at the sight on the other side. A dark figure of a man stood on the front porch, too far from the light for anyone to make out his identity. Cleo stepped in front of you all with her knife wielded.

“Hey! You better show yourself or get lost,” she shouted at the figure. 

As the man slowly made his way into the flickering porch light, you realized you recognized the broad curve of those shoulders, the slope of that neck.

“Rafe,” you whispered.

Just as you identified him, the porch light swept across his face, and all four of you gasped. 

The same places on his face you’d laid gentle kisses just a few hours ago were now black and blue, except in the places they were bloody. And he wasn’t walking slowly toward the light, he was limping, barely able to stand. He leaned against the door frame, holding his right hand in his left, his knuckles were raw and wounded. 

“Rafe!” You repeated, pushing past your friends to get to him. You tried to support his weight but you couldn’t manage it alone. Sarah came to his other side to help catch him as he stumbled forward.

Kie, however, took a defensive step backward, her arms crossed over her chest. Cleo kept her knife raised.

“Think you can put down the knife now, babe,” Sarah told her.

“You never know,” Cleo said, narrowing her eyes at Rafe.

“Cleo, look at him,” you scolded. 

She gave Rafe a once over, finally determining he wasn’t a threat in this state.

“Let’s get him on the couch,” you told Sarah. “Quickly, before he falls.”

Cleo stepped away to allow you to walk Rafe further into the living room. Kie created more distance between herself and your bloodied house guest. You searched her face quickly, it was a mixture of alarm and defensiveness. You could see the decision as it was being made, you tried to stop her but you were too late.

“Kie, wait!” 

But she was already running up the stairs, surely to wake the boys. There was no version of these circumstances that would be made better by your half-awake, hotheaded brother.

You and Sarah finally got Rafe on the couch. He leaned forward, grimacing in pain as he propped his head in his hands. You knelt in front of him, trying to find his eyes with yours.

“Rafe, baby, what happened? Are you okay? Please talk to me.”

You placed your hands on his legs, rubbing soothing circles, begging him to fill the silence with an explanation. You looked at Sarah with pure panic in your eyes, she looked back with concern. Whether it was for you or for her brother, you weren’t sure.

“Rafe, it’s okay, whatever it is, you can tell us,” she encouraged him.

You’d never been more thankful for your best friend. You knew how much it took for her to offer him comfort like that.

You reached up to cup Rafe’s cheek in your hand, touching gently so as to not worsen his pain.

“Please, baby, what happened?”

He finally looked at you, and your heart skipped a beat. You thought maybe he was going to confess something terrible, or else cry out in agony. But instead, he just smiled that soft, sleepy half-smile of his and placed his hand over top of yours, caressing your skin with his thumb.

“I made it okay,” he whispered to you.

Before you could react, footsteps thundered down the stairs behind you, the fury of their descent louder than the storm outside.

“What the hell is going on?” JJ bellowed.

“What are you doing here, Cameron?” Pope followed up.

John B rushed to Sarah’s side, placing a hand on her shoulder.

“Everything okay?” He asked the both of you.

“I don’t know,” you shook your head, rising to sit next to Rafe on the couch, slipping your hand into his. The sight only enraged JJ further.

“You have ten seconds to explain yourself and stop bleeding on our fucking couch, Rafe.” JJ barked.

“Jay, can’t you see he’s obviously hurt?” You snapped at your brother.

“Looks more like he did the hurting,” JJ replied.

“You don’t know that! You always assume the worst!” You yelled.

“Because he is the worst!” JJ yelled right back.

You stood in anger, ready to fight your own brother in defense of the man at your side. But Rafe grabbed your hand and pulled you back towards him, not lifting his head as he held you in place. His other hand reached into his back pocket, pulling out a piece of paper that had been folded to protect it from the rain.

Rafe looked up finally, but not at you, at JJ. He extended his arm to offer JJ the piece of paper. 

JJ tiptoed over as if Rafe had somehow booby trapped the floorboards between them. You rolled your eyes at his dramatics.

With all eyes on him, and no sound but the storm outside, JJ unfolded the piece of paper. He read it for a long time. Like, a really long time. The little sister in you had to bite back a joke about his intellect, and you met eyes with Pope to see he was holding back the same comment. Even in this incredibly adult moment, you were kids together.

Finally, JJ looked up from the paper. Staring incredulously at Rafe.

“Is this for real?” JJ asked him, eyebrows raised.

Rafe just nodded, the movement causing the cut on his lip to open, making him wince in pain. You sat down beside him again, watching him anxiously for signs that he was hurt elsewhere. 

JJ just stared at the two of you for a moment before turning and leaving the room, dropping the piece of paper on the coffee table as he left. Pope and John B went to it immediately to read what had caused JJ to storm out, but you didn’t even care at this point, all that mattered was Rafe being okay, you needed him to be okay.

Except, JJ hadn’t stormed out. He had only gone to the kitchen, from which he was now returning, a bottle of whiskey and a bag of frozen peas in hand. He offered both to Rafe, Rafe opted for the whiskey. He twisted open the cap and took a sip, wincing as it went down.

You grabbed the peas from your brother, holding them up to Rafe’s black eye. He flinched at the contact but settled after a minute. JJ watched as Rafe placed his hand on your leg gratefully and handed back the bottle of whiskey.

“What’s the bourbon for? Drowning our sorrows?” Cleo asked.

“No,” John B said, he and Pope looking up from the paper with disbelieving grins. “Celebrating.”

“What does it say?” Kie asked, stepping further into the room, though she continued to eye Rafe like he was a wild animal that could go feral at any minute.

“We got the land back. They’re not rezoning,” Pope explained. “We’re keeping Poguelandia.”

The room froze for a minute, then erupted in a burst of hoots and hollers. Finally, the storm had some noise to compete with. The others hugged and cheered. Sarah rose from the couch and threw herself into John B’s arms.

“How’d you do it, man?” John B asked Rafe.

“Don’t worry about it,” Rafe said, squeezing your leg three times. “I just took care of it, okay?”

He sounded aggressive, like he always did when addressing these six people, but you saw this for what it really was - a peace offering. A grand gesture. A declaration of his love for you. He gave you your home back, he gave you everything. 

As the others continued to celebrate, the volume in the house reaching new heights as they passed around the bottle of whiskey and toasted Poguelandia, you leaned into Rafe, your chin tucked into his shoulder so you could whisper something in his ear.

He smiled at your words, raising his arm to wrap around your shoulders and curling you toward him so he could bring his lips to your temple.

“I love you, too.”

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a/n: had to come out of retirement for this one, missed my boy too much. and holy shit did I have fun writing for rafey again. also this is as canon as I'll write Rafe lol

you weren’t like the rest of the kooks, but you weren’t cut either. you existed somewhere in the middle—close enough to understand both worlds, far enough to belong to neither. your family wasn’t rich, but your house wasn’t falling apart. you had rules, but not so many that you couldn’t sneak out. you wore hand-me-downs and thrifted clothes, but somehow always looked put together. to jj, you felt… safe. like a place he could land without being reminded of everything he didn’t have.

you and jj had always been close. not loudly, not dramatically—just naturally. like you gravitated toward each other without even trying. he’d sit closer to you than anyone else, lean into your space, rest his arm behind you without thinking. when the group split up, he always ended up at your side. it was instinct, muscle memory, something deeper than friendship but softer than something he knew how to name.

jj thought you were the most adorable person in the world. genuinely. painfully.

the way you scrunched your nose when you laughed. the way you said his name like it was the easiest thing in the world to love him. the way you looked up at him with those big, hopeful eyes whenever you wanted something, like you truly believed he’d come through for you. and the worst part? he always did.

he couldn’t keep his hands off you. not in a way that felt wrong—just… constant. a hand on your shoulder as he passed by. fingers brushing yours when he handed you something. tugging you closer by the wrist, spinning you around just to hear you laugh. sometimes he’d rest his chin on your head, or pat it absentmindedly like it was the most natural thing in the world. you never flinched. never pulled away. and that alone made his chest ache in ways he didn’t understand.

anything you did felt amplified to him. everything you did mattered.

and if jj maybank had a weakness— one thing in this world that could undo him completely, it was you, smiling at him like he was someone worth trusting.

the chateau is melting.

not literally, but the air inside is thick, unmoving, heavy with heat and the faint smell of sunscreen and old wood. the fan in the corner rattles uselessly, blowing warm air around like it’s trying its best and failing miserably.

john b is stretched across the couch, shirt abandoned somewhere on the floor, one leg hanging off the armrest. “i’m not even kidding,” he groans, dragging a hand down his face. “i think i’m gonna pass out.”

“you say that every time it hits ninety,” pope says, sitting on the floor with his back against the coffee table, scrolling through his phone.

“yeah, and every time i mean it.”

kiara’s curled sideways in the armchair by the window, sunglasses still on even though she’s inside, iced tea sweating in her hand. “we should go to the beach,” she says lazily. “or the backyard. or literally anywhere with water.”

the screen door creaks as you push it open.

conversation dies instantly.

the heat has already kissed your skin, leaving your cheeks lightly flushed. your hair is pulled back in a loose half-up, secured with a simple clip, the rest falling freely down your back. a few strands have slipped loose, curling softly around your face and sticking to the back of your neck from the warmth.

you’re wearing denim shorts—soft, worn-in, sitting higher on your thighs than usual, short enough that it’s immediately noticeable. the yellow babydoll top is light and airy, fabric thin and slightly sheer in the sunlight, the hem floating away from your body when you move. it’s simple, sweet, unmistakably you and somehow that makes it hit harder.

the room goes quiet.

john b lowers his arm. pope looks up from his phone. kiara tips her sunglasses down just enough to get a better look.

everyone kind of stares.

not in a weird way. just… surprised.

jj, though?

jj lights up.

he’s on his feet before anyone says a word, grin already spreading across his face like he just won the lottery. “well damn,” he says, loud and unapologetic, eyes dragging over you without even pretending to hide it. “what’d i do to deserve this blessing today, huh?”

he crosses the room in three long strides and grabs your hands, spinning you once, twice, your laugh cutting through the stagnant air. the hem of your top flutters, sunlight flashing across your legs, and jj’s hands settle at your waist a beat longer than necessary when he finally stops you.

“look at you,” he adds, softer now, head tilting as he grabs your hand and spins you to checks you out again like he’s committing the sight to memory. “absolutely killin’ it.”

you smile, a little bashful, like you have no idea why everyone’s acting so weird, and that somehow makes it worse for him.

john b lets out a low whistle. kiara raises her eyebrows over the rim of her sunglasses. pope shakes his head, muttering something about this guy.

jj doesn’t care.

he’s still looking at you like the rest of the room doesn’t exist, thumb brushing lightly over your knuckles as if he forgot he’s even holding your hands. “seriously,” he says, shaking his head with a crooked grin. “you can’t just walk in here like that. you got this look on your face that you're scared to ask me something.”

you tilt your head up at jj, sunlight catching the loose strands of hair that fell forward from your half‑up style, and say it like it’s the most casual thing in the world: “so… since you always do the twinkie… could you help me wash my car later?”

for a beat, time sort of pauses.

jj’s grin falters just a little— that exact moment where he wants to pretend he’s annoyed but can’t keep the amusement out of his eyes. “girl…” he starts, that drawl so familiar, “you serious right now?”

you nod silently with a smile painted on your face.

“you really wanna do that in this heat?"

you blink up at him, completely earnest. “well… it’s actually kind of–” “–hot?” jj interrupts with a smirk. “–yeah,” you finish with a little laugh. “but that’s why i figured if anyone can make it fun it’d be you.”

pogues immediately perk up.

john b raises an eyebrow from the couch. “make it fun? what kind of ‘fun’ are we talking here?” pope snickers, “because last time fun involved way too much ice and somebody almost dumping a cooler on kie’s head.”

“c’mon, jay,” john b says from the couch, one brow raised, iced tea sweating in his hand. “you heard her. don’t leave her hanging.”

“yeah,” pope laughs, leaning forward a little, “you’re not gonna let her wash it with marsh water and old rags, are you?”

kiara just smirks at jj, like she’s quietly studying him and already knows exactly how this is gonna go.

jj holds your gaze for a beat longer— like he's trying to decide if you're being cute or if you're plotting something absolutely ridiculous.

“y/n,” he says, this time with a slow grin, “you know i’m gonna do it just because you asked, right?” you blink, totally innocent, like that wasn’t obvious to everyone in the room. “well… i mean… yeah?”

jj’s eyes flick back to you— and just like that, he sighs, a long, exaggerated thing that could’ve been annoyed but honestly sounds fond. “alright, fine,” he says, hands in the air, “but you owe me big time. i could die of heat stroke out there.”

you brighten immediately— a soft, pure little smile and before you even think about it, your arms have looped around his neck in a tight, grateful squeeze. “thank you!!” you whisper, voice all warm and happy.

for a second, jj just stands there, frozen, maybe because he didn’t expect a hug, maybe because you smelled like sunscreen and summer air and home, and then, almost gently, he hugs you back, one arm around your waist, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

the sun feels softer outside, still warm but gentle now that you’re out in the open air. you grab the hose with a little nervous excitement, watching water arch through sunlight like tiny rainbows before it hits the driveway. jj steps up beside you, buckets of suds and sponges waiting at your feet, and somehow it already feels like the most perfect summer afternoon.

everyone else is settled in their beach chairs nearby, iced drinks in hand, sunglasses on, content to be spectators to whatever mess you and jj are about to make. kie leans back with those big shades tilted just right, sipping slowly like she’s watching a movie she knows will get good. pope has one foot propped over the other, already laughing every time jj makes some ridiculous comment about how suds “offend his personal space.” john b, on the couch with his iced tea, has apparently appointed himself official car wash commentator, offering dramatic, unsolicited tips like this whole thing is a televised event.

you’re in your one‑piece now— pastel and sweet, the straps occasionally slipping just a bit when you stretch over the car and the way the light catches your hair makes it glow around your face. jj glances at you, smirk tugging at his mouth, then reaches over and pats your head like it’s the cutest thing in the world. “loving the new suit, baby,” he says, voice warm and teasing. “you look so adorable.”

you turn toward him with this soft little smile, cheeks warmed by the compliment and the heat and everything in between, a shy happiness that feels just right in the moment. your hair, loosely half‑up with a few curled strands stubbornly framing your face, bobs with the movement, catching the sun like it’s part of the whole golden scene.

and just like that, the hose in your hand, the suds glistening, the sounds of laughter and warm summer air wrapped around you— it hits you how perfect this kind of afternoon feels: sunlight, friends, warmth, laughter, and him right there beside you, easy and soft and right.

the pogues have basically claimed their lawn chairs like it’s the world’s slowest, most chaotic front‑row show. kie’s perched back in her seat, oversized sunglasses on, iced tea in hand while pope’s already cracking jokes about how jj’s “suds intensity” might be a threat to national safety. john b’s lounging with his drink propped against his stomach, offering commentary like he’s the unofficial host of car wash irl, but honestly, none of them even come close to what’s actually happening between you and jj.

you’re bent over the hood of your car, sponge in hand, sunlight catching the pastel of your one‑piece and turning everything golden around you. your hair is still that soft, loose half‑up, strands nudging against your neck in the warmth, and every so often you tilt your head just a little— enough for jj to notice.

“here,” jj says beside you, voice low and a little rough from laughing too much already. he places his hand over yours on the sponge, guiding the motion like it’s nothing. his fingers are warm, and for a second, there’s this pause— not awkward, just… close. the kind of moment where the sun feels softer and everything sounds just a little quieter except for him.

“suds first,” he murmurs against your ear, tone low enough that you feel it in your chest, not just your ears.

you blink up at him through lashes that catch the light, and for a second your cheeks heat— not from the sun, but because he’s that close, and the world feels warm and contained between his shoulder and yours.

you try to focus on the car… but suds slide off the sponge and down your hand, and jj’s thumb brushes against your wrist as he readjusts. there’s this soft electricity to how natural it feels— like a familiar pull you didn’t even realize was there until it’s right beside you.

“okay…” you say, voice a little breathy, “suds first.”

he smirks, eyes flashing— not with sarcasm, but something softer, almost like pride. “yeah,” he says, voice low, “that’s the way.”

the way the sun hits his face makes every warmth in the world feel pointed directly at you, and his hand lingers just a heartbeat longer on yours before he pulls back— not far, just enough that you can still feel his energy there.

it starts with a suspicious amount of quiet.

you’re rinsing suds off the hood, hose arcing clean water over the paint, when jj squints toward the porch. “why are they being so quiet,” he mutters. “that’s never good.”

you barely have time to turn before—

SPLASH.

ice-cold water smacks against your side, soaking your ribs and making you gasp. a second later, another wave hits jj square in the chest.

“OH—ABSOLUTELY NOT,” jj yells, jumping back as pope stands up from his chair holding a red cup absolutely packed with ice water, laughing way too hard.

john b’s already halfway across the yard with another cup. “commentary break!” he shouts. “introducing: pogue car wash EXTREME!”

kie doesn’t even get up — she just casually flicks her wrist and sends a perfect splash your way, iced tea cup long abandoned for something far colder. “you two looked way too comfortable,” she says sweetly. “had to fix that.”

you squeal, stumbling back as freezing water soaks your swimsuit, the shock of it ripping a laugh out of you whether you want it to or not. “KIE—”

the click of the hose.

jj’s head snaps up. “oh no.”

john b is already grinning like a menace, hands tight around the nozzle as he cranks it open. “ladies and gentlemen,” he announces, “the main event.”

the hose erupts.

a powerful stream of water shoots straight toward you.

you barely have time to gasp before jj moves.

“HEY—!” he shouts, but his body’s already in motion.

he grabs you by the waist and yanks you behind him in one smooth pull, turning his back fully to the spray as he wraps both arms around you, tucking you tight against his chest. your face presses into his shoulder, your hands clutching his sides as the water slams into him full-force.

cold spray explodes everywhere.

“JOHN B!” jj yells, half-laughing, half-yelling as the hose pounds into his back. “WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?”

you squeak, laughing and shrieking at the same time, fingers fisting in his soaked shirt. “JAY—IT’S SO COLD!”

“I KNOW,” he shouts back, tightening his hold on you, feet planted wide so you don’t slip. “I GOT YOU—YOU’RE GOOD—”

water runs down his neck, his hair plastered to his forehead, shirt completely drenched, but he doesn’t budge. he leans forward just a little, like a human shield, taking every hit so you don’t have to.

pope is losing it, bent over laughing. “BRO IS SACRIFICING HIMSELF.”

kie finally stands up, laughing so hard she has to wipe her eyes. “jj you look like a soggy golden retriever!”

john b keeps spraying, cackling. “this is cinema!”

the force of the water makes you both stumble a step back and you yelp, instinctively clinging tighter.

“WOAH—” you squeal.

jj immediately locks his arms around you. “NOPE—NOT FALLIN’ TODAY,” he yells, laughing like a maniac. “I GOT YOU, SWEETHEART!”

finally, kie shouts, “OKAY, OKAY, CUT IT—” and pope lunges for the hose, wrestling it down as the spray shoots straight into the air, raining back over the driveway.

the water cuts off.

for half a second, everything is dripping silence.

then you and jj just lose it.

you’re laughing so hard you can barely breathe, forehead pressed into his chest as water drips from both of you. jj throws his head back, laughing loud and wild, still hugging you like he forgot how to let go.

“worth it,” he wheezes.

“absolutely worth it,” you laugh, still half-screaming as another giggle rips out of you.

around you, the pogues are yelling, laughing, soaked, pointing at jj like he didn’t just volunteer as a human shield.

and honestly neither of you corrected them. “you know kelce asked me if we were dating today,” you muttered.

jj snorted from the hammock. “what’d you say?”

“told him you cry after one beer and have severe mommy issues.”

“wow.” he placed a hand over his heart dramatically.

“you do cry after one beer.”

“only emotionally.”

pope groaned. “please stop flirting. some of us are trying to win.”

“jealous?” jj shot back instantly.

you laughed softly, shaking your head.

it was easy with jj. always easy. people saw the touching, the teasing, the way he always looked for you first in every room, and made assumptions.

the pogues especially which was exactly why none of them noticed when your phone buzzed with a text that made your stomach flip.

rafe: outside.

your heartbeat immediately sped up. you stood too quickly. “uh — i gotta go home for a sec.”

kie narrowed her eyes. “at nine?”

“my aunt needs help.”

jj looked suspicious for exactly two seconds before shrugging. “bring me back chips.”

“using me for my body.”

“using you for sour cream and onion, actually.”

you flipped him off affectionately before hurrying down the porch steps. and the second you rounded the side of the house there he was, leaning against his bike in the dark, black tee clinging to his arms, silver chain catching in the moonlight.

Rafe Cameron looked unfairly pretty at night. “you took forever,” he said.

“my friends exist, rafe.”

he grabbed your wrist the second you got close enough, tugging you between his legs where he stood beside the bike. “missed you.”

your face warmed instantly. “i saw you yesterday.”

“still missed you.”

his hands slid around your waist like muscle memory, and god, this was exactly why the rumors about you and jj were so convenient.

nobody suspected a thing because if the pogues found out you were secretly hooking up with rafe cameron? especially jj? absolute disaster. “you know everyone thinks i’m dating jj now,” you murmured.

rafe rolled his eyes immediately. “yeah, heard about that.”

“you jealous?” his jaw ticked which was answer enough and you grinned. “aw.”

“don’t start.”

“you are jealous.”

“i just think he touches you too much.”

you barked out a laugh. “you literally have me pinned against a bike right now.”

“different.”

“how?”

“because you’re mine.”

the words came out low. automatic. like he didn’t even realize he’d said them. your stomach flipped violently. rafe noticed your expression and immediately looked away, muttering, “whatever.”

“rafe.” you reached up, forcing him to look at you again. “that was kinda cute.”

“shut up.” he was blushing. actually blushing. you started laughing so hard he grabbed your face with one hand. “keep laughing and i’m leaving.”

“you adore me.”

“unfortunately.”

then he kissed you ,slow at first.

which nobody would believe if you told them, because rafe cameron acted meaner than he actually was. but with you, he always kissed you like he had something to prove and something to protect at the same time.

your fingers curled into his shirt when headlights suddenly flashed down the road. you both jerked apart instantly. “shit,” you whispered.

rafe glanced toward the street. “is that —”

“jj’s van.”

“you’re kidding.”

panic exploded through your body as the van got closer. “hide.”

“hide where?”

“i don’t know, rich boy, figure it out—”

before you could finish, rafe grabbed your waist and pulled you behind the side fence just as jj’s van rolled past slowly.

the window was down and for one horrifying second jj looked directly toward the yard.

your breathing stopped, rafe’s hand tightening on your hip. the van paused then finally kept driving. silence. you both waited another few seconds before exhaling at the same time.

“that was close,” you whispered.

rafe looked down at you, lips twitching slightly. “kinda hot though.”

you smacked his chest immediately while he laughed quietly against your forehead.

© 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 @suupersonic ! join the taglist here

you know, the guy who sells weed to everyone on campus. or who's always at parties, despite not attending the school. yeah, him. 

so just why would sororitysweetheart!reader be meeting with such a character? or more importantly, be folded into a literal mating press by that same guy? going against her morals, high out of her mind, right in the sorority house . . . 

your bedroom smelled of the pungent scent of weed and sex. the combined scents were sure to leave a warm, musky odor long after jj left.  

a thick cloud of smoke curled in the air from the joint he lit a while ago, now unattended as jj pounded into your sloppy pussy. 

"thought you didn't wanna see me again?" he panted, grinning smugly. the rough slamming of his hips forces a shrill cry from your throat. 

you instantly slap a palm over your mouth as jj laughs. he purposely left your bedroom door cracked, not caring that your roommates could hear all the downright filthy sounds coming from your room. 

"i—i," you stammered, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. you can’t even muster up a response at the way jj mocks your expressions. 

"s'okay, sweet girl, no need to waste your breath, already knew you missed me," he answers cockily. this guy was so full of himself, you had no idea how you tolerated this relationship. 

you weakly push at his chest, groaning, "ugh, you're so—hngh—irritating." he only takes your hand to kiss the back of it. 

he nuzzles his cheek into your soft palm, pouting, "well that's not what i wanna hear after giving you free weed and dick, is it?" 

you huff, “it's true though!"

"bet m'not irritatin' when i do this?" a sharp gasp is stolen from you when a particularly strong thrust of his nudges your cervix. 

"now that's more like it. keep makin' them noises and cum f'me like the good girl you are" . . .

well maybe sororitysweetheart!reader wasn't the good girl everyone made her out to be. but that'll just be her and plug!jj 's dirty little secret ♡

xo, blissedbunni

You weren’t good at many things.

Flirting with guys you didn’t like.

Keeping a boyfriend for longer than two weeks.

Pretending not to cringe when a guy said something dumb in your DMs.

The bar was so low, and yet every single guy managed to trip over it.

Like the one at prom.

Cute enough. Nice enough. Until he fumbled the condom like it was a Rubik’s Cube and whispered “sorry, I’ve never done this before.” That was all it took for your vagina to shrivel up and your hand to reach for your clutch. You left him there, pants down, face red. Never looked back.

But you were smart.

Painfully so. The type of smart that got you labeled a bitch when you corrected the teacher. The type of smart that made group projects a solo mission. The type of smart that was going to finally come in handy.

Because Rafe Cameron had just failed his math test. And he needed you.

All your friends were obsessed with him.

“Rafe’s so hot.”

“Rafe has the best car.”

“Rafe knows what he’s doing, if you know what I mean.”

You didn’t care about the car. Or the last name. Or the fact that he looked like sin in khakis.

But you did care about the rumors.

Because if you were going to give up your virginity, it needed to be fast, forgettable, and by someone who knew exactly what they were doing.

So when the math teacher set up a tutoring session in the library, you didn’t even flinch when Rafe rolled his eyes and slouched into the chair across from you like he was being sent to the gallows.

“This gonna take long?” he grunted.

You flipped open your notebook.

“That depends.”

He raised a brow. “On what?”

You met his eyes without blinking.

“On whether or not you’re gonna take my virginity me after.”

He stared. Blinked once. Then he laughed. Right in your face. Loud, incredulous, like you were the joke of the century.

“You’re serious?” he said eventually, leaning back like he was getting comfortable. “Little Miss Know-It-All wants me to take her virginity?”

You didn’t answer. Just stared. Daring him.

He looked you up and down—tight cardigan, plaid skirt, thigh-high socks. Virgin uniform. You knew exactly what you were doing.

“You got a kink for assholes or something?”

You finally cracked a smile.

“No. I just want someone who won’t ask me if I came after two minutes.”

That shut him up.

He agreed.

You pulled your chair closer to the table, reaching into your bag for a pencil, but before you could grab it, his hand was on the back of your chair—pulling you. One sharp tug and you were gliding across the tile right up next to him. Your thigh hit his. He was warm, too warm, and way too solid.

You looked at him out of the corner of your eye.

He was already smirking. “Told you I don’t do math.”

“Good thing I do,” you said, opening the textbook.

You started explaining the first problem—something about slopes, something stupid—and that’s when you felt it.

His hand on your knee. Right above the band of your sock. Hot. Firm. Confident.

Your voice didn’t falter. But your breath caught, just for a second.

He noticed.

Of course he noticed.

“Didn’t peg you for the type to wear these,” he murmured, fingertips brushing higher.

“Didn’t peg you for the type to care.”

“I don’t. But they make your thighs look fuckable.”

You clenched your jaw. Kept talking about integers like he wasn’t slowly sliding his hand up your leg, fingers creeping beneath the hem of your skirt.

“So what,” you snapped under your breath, “you gonna feel me up while I tutor you?”

“Thought this was a two-way deal,” he said, lips way too close to your ear. “I let you play with my dick after, and I get to play with this now.”

His fingers curled around your inner thigh.

You should’ve stopped him.

Should’ve slapped his hand away.

But you didn’t.

Because he was warm and mean and capable, and your thighs were trembling.

“You ever been fingered before?” he asked suddenly, casual as ever.

You didn’t answer.

He smiled. “Didn’t think so.”

Two fingers slid under your panties. No warning. No softness. Just heat and pressure and the wet sound of your own arousal betraying everything your mouth refused to say.

“Fuckin’ soaked,” he muttered, almost annoyed. “All that mouth and you’re just sittin’ here letting me finger you like a good little slut.”

You slapped your pencil down. Grabbed his wrist under the desk.

“If you’re gonna do it,” you hissed, “do it right.”

His eyes flared. Your thighs parted.

You turned to face the textbook again, but your eyes couldn’t focus. Not when two of his fingers were working you open, slow and smug, like he had all the time in the world and knew exactly what he was doing.

“So, triangle bullshit,” he murmured, voice low in your ear. “What’s the one with the equal sides again?”

You clenched your jaw.

“Equilateral.”

“Mmm,” he hummed. “And if one side’s longer than the others?”

“Scalene,” you breathed, tightening your grip on the chair as he crooked his fingers just right—and God, if you weren’t careful, you’d—

“What’s this spot called?” he whispered suddenly, fingers curling again, teasing that perfect pressure point like he was answering his own question. “You know the one that makes you suck in your breath like that?”

You exhaled hard through your nose.

Bit the inside of your cheek.

“It’s called shut up,” you snapped, voice shakier than you wanted it to be.

He grinned.

“Smart mouth. Wet pussy.”

You let your head drop forward, breathing fast, fighting it—fighting him—but it was no use.

Because you couldn’t focus. Not when he was sliding those fingers deeper, not when his thigh pressed against yours like he was ready to pin you down and make you cum on his hand in a silent, dusty corner of the library.

“You wanted this, remember?” he murmured. “Big brain girl with her virgin pussy just begging for someone to ruin it.”

You clenched around him involuntarily.

“Jesus,” he groaned, pressing his palm flat against you now, grinding into that sweet spot until your legs trembled. “You’re gonna cum just like this, huh?”

You swallowed hard. Refused to give him the satisfaction.

So you stared down at the textbook, still open on the desk, and muttered: “Only if you shut the fuck up and let me teach.”

And somehow that made him even harder.

He pumped his fingers slow and deep, deliberately now, like he wanted to drag it out—wanted to see how long you could pretend this was still about math.

But your knees betrayed you. Shaky. Weak. Useless beneath the desk.

You bit your lip, trying to focus on the numbers blurred on the page, but then—

That molten heat coiled low in your belly.

And before you could stop it—before you could even warn him—your back arched slightly, your thighs tensed, and you came.

Hard. Quiet, but messy.

Hands trembling as they gripped the sides of the chair, knuckles white, breath caught in your throat.

He didn’t say a word.

Just pulled his fingers out slowly, wet and glistening—and then, like a fucking menace, wiped them clean on the hem of your skirt. Your skirt.

“So,” he said casually, like nothing had happened, flipping the page of the book and leaning back in his chair, “how do I find the hypotenuse again?”

You blinked at him. “Seriously?”

He gave you a look. Innocent. Infuriating. Smug.

“What? You’re the tutor. Teach me.”

You stared. Jaw tight. Skirt damp. Legs still recovering.

And he had the audacity to reach for your pencil and twirl it between his fingers like he hadn’t just fingered the attitude out of you in under five minutes.

“You’re such a dick,” you muttered.

He smirked. Didn’t even look up from the page.

“Yeah,” he said. “But I’m a dick who passes math now, thanks to you.”

You rolled your eyes and turned your attention to the book again. And began explaining the difference between sine and cosine, tapping your pencil against the page with that practiced patience that came from being the smartest girl in a room full of idiots.

Rafe Cameron just looked like your latest idiot.

“Okay,” you said, underlining a triangle on the worksheet. “If angle A is here, then sine is the opposite over hypotenuse. Cosine is adjacent over hypotenuse. Got it?”

“Not really,” he muttered, blinking at the page like it was written in Greek. “Can’t even see from here.”

You rolled your eyes. “It’s not my fault you’re sitting like you’ve got a court-mandated fifty feet between you and the concept of effort.”

He grinned at that—wolfish. And then he leaned forward, way too close. “Then come show me.”

Before you could object, he reached for your waist—bold, cocky, like he'd done it a thousand times—and pulled you down right into his lap.

“Rafe,” you warned, trying not to react, but your ass was already on his thighs.

“What?” he said, tone feigned-innocent. “You said I’m failing. Desperate times, right?”

His breath was warm on your cheek. His hands still on your waist, holding you there like it was his desk, his chair, his rules. And when you tried to shift away, that’s when you felt it.

The very-not-subtle pressure beneath you.

Your body froze. Your mouth went dry.

He noticed. Of course he did.

“See?” he said, low and smug. “Now I can hear better. And see everything.”

You swallowed. “You’re disgusting.”

“You’re still sitting here.” He gave your hips the smallest tug. Your thighs clenched. You hated how warm you were getting, how heavy the air felt.

“So go on,” he murmured. “Teach me something, tutor girl.”

You narrowed your eyes, defiantly reaching for the pencil and tapping the page again. “Fine. Next problem. You’ll probably screw this one up too.”

But you didn’t stop shifting in his lap.

And he didn’t stop smirking like he’d already passed the class.

You cleared your throat, trying to focus on the paper in front of you, your finger tracing the triangle you’d sketched out for the fourth time.

“So, sine is the ratio of the side opposite the angle to the hypotenuse,” you said, voice a little too sharp to sound calm. “And cosine is—”

You tensed when you felt his hands shift at your waist.

A slow tug.

Then your hips were moving—no, he was moving them—grinding you down against the hard line in his pants like this was part of the lesson.

“You seriously—” you started, breath catching.

“Keep going,” he said smoothly, lips brushing just behind your ear. “I learn better with visuals.”

You hated how your thighs clenched.

You hated how your body was responding to him. Because he could feel it. The damp heat pressed against the front of his pants. The way your breath had started to catch after every slow rock of your hips.

“You’re pathetic,” you muttered, forcing your voice steady.

“And you’re soaking through your panties on a library chair,” he shot back, smug and low. “Guess we’re both full of surprises.”

Your fingers curled around the pencil, knuckles white, and still—you didn’t get up. Because the worst part wasn’t that he was cocky. Or right. Or impossibly hot. It was that you wanted him to keep going.

“...cosine is adjacent over hypotenuse,” you managed to whisper, eyes on the paper, voice thin.

He chuckled against your neck, teeth grazing your skin. “Smart and filthy. Keep teaching me, baby.”

That caught you off guard and you dropped your. It rolled forward, toward the centre of the library table, just out of reach. And without thinking—still trying to act normal—you shifted forward to grab it.

Just a small movement. A slight lift of your hips.

But it was enough.

You stood halfway, leaning forward to snatch the pencil, your skirt riding up in the process.

And Rafe? He went completely still.

You didn’t even need to turn around to feel it—the way his hands clenched against your hips, the tension in his thighs, how quiet he suddenly got.

But when you glanced over your shoulder—

His eyes were locked between your legs.

Right where your panties clung, still damp, the hem of your skirt barely covering you.

He didn’t even blink.

“You done staring?” you asked, voice cool, fingers curling around the pencil.

“No,” he said bluntly.

You rolled your eyes and sank back down into his lap, slower this time. Deliberate. “Pervert.”

“Say it like you don’t love it,” he muttered against your jaw, hands finding your thighs again, thumbs stroking up toward the edge of your skirt.

You should’ve moved.

You should’ve told him to knock it off.

But your thighs parted just a little when his fingers brushed between them. And when he caught that? He grinned like he’d won a bet.

“Thought you hated guys like me,” he whispered smugly.

“I do,” you shot back, leaning in close. “You’re just barely human.”

“Good,” he murmured, palm pressing against your pussy. “Because I’m not trying to be your boyfriend.”

“Good,” you hissed, biting your lip. “I wouldn’t let you.”

His grin widened. “Then let me do this instead.”

He yanked you up by the hand with a grin that made your stomach twist—not in a romantic way. In a what the hell am I doing way.

You didn’t resist. Of course you didn’t.

“Come on,” he muttered, already tugging you toward the back of the library.

You knew where he was headed. The old staff room. That forgotten space no one used anymore since the teachers got upgraded to a lounge upstairs. It still smelled like paper and carpet glue and ancient coffee.

You hesitated in the doorway.

“This is gross,” you said, wrinkling your nose. “I should’ve picked literally anywhere else.”

“Too late for that, smart girl,” Rafe replied, voice low, already stepping inside.

And just like that, his hands were back on you—sliding around your waist, bold and rough like he owned you. You hadn’t even said yes. You hadn’t said no either. That was the problem.

“Still time to back out,” he murmured, but his tone said he didn’t think you would.

You didn’t move.

“Didn’t take you for shy,” he added, hands inching lower, finding the hem of your skirt.

“I’m not,” you said flatly, locking eyes with him. “I just like to think before I do something irreversible.”

He chuckled. His hands tightened just slightly on your hips.

“Too late for that too.”

Then—suddenly—you were off the ground. Your legs wrapped around him without thinking, and he carried you toward the center of the room like you weighed nothing, ignoring the dusty books scattered across the table. He swept a few aside with one arm and sat you down like you belonged there.

His hands slid to your thighs, slow and greedy, like he was memorizing everything before you changed your mind. You didn’t. Then he slowly tugged your underwear down your legs

“What?” you asked when you caught him smirking.

“Didn’t expect a bow,” he said, nodding toward your underwear with a grin. “Didn’t think you’d want to look cute.”

You gave him a flat look.

“I do. It’s for me. Not for you.”

“Sure,” he said, stepping between your legs. “Keep telling yourself that.”

You shoved his shoulder—but didn’t push him away. Your hands stayed on him. And your heart was beating a little too fast for someone who supposedly hated boys.

He reached down, fingers unzipping his pants without hesitation. You, meanwhile, loosened your tie with a flick of your wrist and undid the top two buttons of your blouse. Suddenly the room felt suffocating, the dust, the books, the way he was looking at you—all of it.

But then you saw it. Him. And your legs instinctively closed.

Your heart jumped, your breath caught somewhere in your throat, and you looked away for the first time since this whole thing started. Your confidence cracked just slightly.

"What?" he drawled, clearly amused. "Second thoughts now?"

You didn’t answer.

"All that talk just to let me drag you in here to get shy now?"

You swallowed hard, your throat dry. You hated the smug way he looked at you—but it was also the reason you were here. You wanted someone who wouldn’t get too soft. Who wouldn’t ask if you were okay ten times. Someone who would just… do it. You just didn’t expect it to feel this real.

"You look like you're about to bolt," Rafe added, stepping closer, his hands resting on your knees.

You didn’t move. You were frozen. But your silence spoke volumes.

He leaned in, voice low, almost a growl. "I’ll go slow."

You finally looked at him again. That cocky, sharp grin was gone. His eyes were serious now. Grounding.

You nodded.

That was all he needed. Gently, his hands parted your knees again, his touch slow but firm, and he stepped between your legs. One hand gripped the back of your thigh, the other braced against the table. You felt the tip of his dick against you—your breath hitched.

“Scared?” he muttered with a smirk.

“Shut up,” you breathed.

You tilted your hips just slightly. Just enough. And he adjusted himself, guiding his hips closer, letting you feel the pressure but not the full force—not yet.

"Breathe," he said.

You didn’t realize you’d been holding it.

He met your eyes, dark and unreadable, then slowly pulled the foil off the condom. The crisp tear echoed in the quiet room. You swallowed hard, watching as he rolled it down with deliberate care.

“Ready?” His voice was low, teasing, but there was something sharp underneath it.

You bit your lip, feeling your heart thudding in your chest. “I’m not backing out,” you said, though doubt flickered beneath your words.

He smirked, but didn’t say anything. Instead, he pressed his fingers into your hip, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you.

Then he pushed in—slow, careful at first—but you gasped sharply. The ache was immediate, raw, unfamiliar.

“Fuck, you’re tight,” he muttered, voice rough.

You clenched your jaw, gripping the edge of the table, trying not to show how sharp the pain was.

“Tell me if it’s too much,” he said, his hand tightening on your hip. “I can stop.”

You shook your head, voice barely a whisper. “No. Keep going.”

He moved again, slow and sure, but you still winced.

“You’re not making this easy,” he growled with a half-smile, eyes locked on yours. “But you’re tougher than I thought.”

You gave him a glare but said nothing. You hated how much it burned, hated how your body betrayed you by trembling.

“Breathe,” he said softly, as if it was the simplest thing.

You forced a shaky breath, cheeks flushed.

“Good girl.” His voice softened just a bit, but the edge never left.

You swallowed hard and leaned forward, letting the sting mix with something hotter that made you hate yourself for wanting it.

He paused the moment he started to push inside, holding you still so you couldn’t pull away. His palm flattened against your hip, keeping you steady.

“Breathe,” he murmured, voice low and firm. “In… and out.”

You gasped, teeth clenched, fingers digging into the edge of the table as he eased that first inch in.

“Fuck, that hurts,” you hissed, brow creasing.

He froze, thumb stroking your cheek as if to soothe you, but his eyes were hard.

“Shut up and breathe,” he ordered softly.

You swallowed the protest that rose in your throat and did as he said, each breath shaky. He paused again, angling himself so the pain sharpened into a burn.

“Jesus,” he groaned, pushing forward a little more. “I forgot what virgins felt like.”

You bit your lip to keep from crying out, nodding once so he’d keep going. He gave a single, slow thrust, just far enough to stretch you further.

“You good?” he asked, voice surprisingly gentle now that the worst was over.

You closed your eyes, both in pain and—confusingly—in relief.

“Yeah,” you whispered. “Just… keep going.”

He steadied you against his chest, one arm around your back, the other braced on the table. Then he set into a deliberate rhythm, every movement measured.

“Damn,” he muttered, leaning close enough that you felt his breath catch. “Look at you. Squeezing me like that.”

You opened your eyes, met his gaze. Pain and defiance flickered on your face.

“Shut up and move,” you shot back, voice raw.

He smirked against your ear.

“That’s my girl,” he whispered, and then he did.

The sharp sting began to dull, replaced by a slow, consuming warmth that spread through you. Your breath hitched, caught somewhere between surprise and something dangerously close to pleasure. Your head fell back, exposing your throat, and you gasped—half in shock, half because it felt... good.

Rafe’s smirk deepened at the sight, like he’d just won some private battle. His lips found your neck in a slow, claiming kiss, teeth grazing the sensitive skin beneath your jaw. Your mouth parted instinctively, breath coming heavy and ragged.

“Like that, huh?” he murmured, voice thick with satisfaction.

You didn’t answer, too caught up in the flood of sensation—the rough pull of his hands, the steady rhythm that was no longer just taking, but something raw and urgent, something that made your knees shake beneath you.

He pressed closer, his breath warm against your skin, and the room seemed to shrink until it was only the two of you—broken breaths, racing hearts, and the electric heat of a first time you never saw coming.

Your teeth sank into your lip, holding back a scream as your thighs trembled uncontrollably and your stomach clenched tight with the wave crashing through you. The way your walls clenched and sucked around him made Rafe grunt deep in his throat, his grip on you tightening, arms like iron locking you close against his chest.

He sped up, every thrust rougher, more desperate, dragging you both toward the edge together.

“Fuck,” he growled, voice raw and low.

The world spun, breaths tangled and hearts hammering as you both rode the tide, muscles quivering, skin slick with sweat.

You came hard, shuddering around him, and his release followed moments after, his body stiffening as he groaned your name into the quiet room.

For a beat, everything was still — just the sound of ragged breathing, and the heat of him pressed against you.

Then Rafe pulled back slightly, smirking like he’d won some private battle. “Not bad for your first time,” he teased.

You shot him a glare, breath still heavy.

“Don’t get used to it,” you snapped, but your cheeks burned—partly from the intensity, partly from something you weren’t ready to name.

You swung your legs off the table, nearly collapsing as the exhaustion hit you full force—your legs trembling so badly you had to steady yourself against the edge. You were still dripping, slick and warm, your body buzzing in a haze that made thinking impossible.

Rafe smirked, sliding your damp panties into his back pocket with a devilish grin as he zipped up his jeans, silently hoping you wouldn’t notice they were missing. And honestly, you didn’t—the fog in your head was too thick. All you wanted was the bathroom, to rinse off and get some distance from whatever the hell just happened.

But as you pushed the door open, the librarian stood there, arms crossed, eyebrows knitting together in a strict frown.

“What… exactly…” she started, voice low and suspicious, “…is going on in here?”

You froze, cheeks burning hotter than you thought possible, your mouth suddenly dry.

Rafe stepped up behind you, cool and collected, like this was just another day.

“Just helping her with some extra credit,” he said smoothly, his gaze flicking to you for backup.

You swallowed hard, trying to look innocent even though every nerve screamed otherwise.

“Yeah, extra credit,” you echoed, voice tight.

The librarian didn’t look convinced, but with one last glare, she turned and walked away, leaving you both standing there in the awkward, charged silence.

Rafe grinned, nudging you lightly. “Looks like we’ll have to be more careful next time.”

You rolled your eyes.