the deal (snippet) - rafe cameron

a/n: my first public writing piece ever! please be nice, i’m sensitive :) let me know what you think and if i should publish the entire thing. this is a small part of a bigger series that i want to do and also this is not the first part, just the first part that i wrote! i’ve been wanting to do an OBX rewrite for a long time, please let me know what you think! this is a snippet of a rewrite of ep 6 of s2.

Series Summary: Rafe Cameron and Josephine Whittaker. The couple of the Outer Banks. Nobody knew how they made it work. He was brash, arrogant, and viewed pogues as nothing more than the scum on the bottom of his shoe. She was soft-spoken, kind, and despised the social and financial hierarchy. Polar opposites who somehow fell in love. But when the two are caught up in a whirlwind of events surrounding half-a-billion dollars in gold and a historic cross, their love will be tested to the fullest extent.

Preview Summary: Jo goes to make a deal with an unexpected ally.

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x OC (*Rafe isn’t in this snippet, though)

Warnings: swearing, mentions of drugs (weed), Barry being a little creepy, not edited

Leaves crunch under her feet after every step. She already sees the beginnings of the mud that caked the bottom of her white Steve Maddens making their way to the sides, becoming more visible the more they trekked through it. She cringes, thinking about how much of a bitch they’re going to be to clean. Her mom was going to have a whole fit if she caught sight of them. She briefly wonders why she wore sneakers, but remembers it’s because her only other options were her sandals and it’s better her shoes be caked in mud rather than her feet.

Y’know what, I’ll just buy a new pair, she thinks as she steps in a particularly deep patch of mud, effectively ruining her current pair. She never stops walking though, her end destination being worth more than ruining a $75 dollar pair of shoes.

She finally stumbles upon the rundown trailer, a place she’d only ever been once before, but had never set foot in. She remembers seeing it through the passenger window of Rafe’s truck, but only for a short moment before he was grabbing what he needed and pulling out of there faster than he had pulled in.

She knew he didn’t want her there longer than she had to be.

She hesitates going up to the front door, realising how out of place she must look. Her stark white jeans, crop top, and (formerly) white shoes are a stark contrast to her surroundings. She’s grateful she didn’t drive because she’s sure her all-white BMW convertible would’ve stuck out like a sore thumb even more than herself.

Climbing the few steps up to the porch, she hesitates again. What was she even going to say? She had rehearsed it over and over again on the way but suddenly couldn’t remember anything she was going to say

Fuck it, she thinks before raising her fist and knocking on the screen door three times. 

“Who is it?” a gruff voice shouts from within the house.

“Um, I’m looking for Barry,” she shouts back, trying to keep her voice as steady as possible. 

She hears footsteps approaching and she takes a couple seconds to take in her surroundings. The wood is rotten and the floor beneath her creaks with every movement, the off-white, gray-ish color the house had faded into making the house seem dingier than it probably once was.

Not dingy, no, that’s rude, she thinks. Old, just old, She decides.

The screen door swings open, startling her out of her own thoughts. She has to move back quickly to avoid it hitting her, the floorboard beneath her letting out a discouraging squeak.

She comes face to face with Barry, or so she assumes. She hadn’t formally met him, only heard his name from around town and from Rafe a couple of times, but it wasn’t hard to tell. His black hair is pulled back in a ponytail and his outfit consists of a worker’s jumpsuit stained in what looks like grease. He leans against the doorframe with a cigarette hanging from his mouth, eying Jo with curiosity.

“Now, what’s a pretty lil’ thing like you doing out here?” he asks, eyes raking down her body.

Everything she practiced goes out the window and the only thing she can manage is, “I need your help.”

He tongues the inside of his cheek and chuckles.

“Well, you’ve come to the right place,” he says with a smirk. He opens the door a little wider and beckons her inside, the smell of weed becoming so strong Jo has to resist the urge to wrinkle her nose in disgust. She knows he’s got the wrong idea of what she wants from him, so she figures she has to say something else quick.

“Now, I usually save my good shit for the regulars, but for a pretty lil’ thing like yourself I could–”

“It’s about Rafe.”

Even though his back is turned, she can see him visibly tense at the mention of her boyfriend’s name. She doesn’t know whether or not to take this as a good sign, so she takes a tentative step inside the house. He turns around slowly to face her, making her regret the step she just took. Then he starts to laugh.

Wait, what?

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Barry chuckles, cracking himself up even more, “If it isn’t Mrs. Country Club herself. A pleasure to finally meet you, princess. ”

She cringes internally at both the nicknames he’d given her.

“You two are quite the talk of the town, y’know? Kook prince and kook princess. Try to bring you up around Country Club but he goes apeshit. Said he doesn’t want you involved in this shit,” he smirks. “If only he could see you now.”

“Can I explain or are you just going to keep making fun of me?” she says with a sudden burst of bravery. The frustration and lack of sleep from worrying had manifested itself into a short temper these last few days and her patience was wearing thin. 

Barry’s face doesn’t falter, only throwing his hands up in mock surrender before taking a seat on the couch.

“To what do I owe the pleasure, Mrs. Cameron?” he jabs, kicking his feet up on the coffee table in front of him. “What’s your name again, sweetheart? Jessica? Jenny? Julia?”

“Josephine.”

He snaps his fingers in the air as if he finally remembered even though she knew he couldn’t give less of a fuck. 

She takes a deep breath before speaking, afraid that if she doesn’t start now she’ll lose her courage.

“Rafe needs help. Like actual, real help. The longer Ward is able to tell him what to do, the worse he’s going to get and I’m afraid of what’s going to happen when worse comes to worst,” she starts, willing herself not to cry in front of Barry. She has a gut feeling that he wouldn’t be the most sympathetic. 

“Rose isn’t going to do anything about it as long as Ward’s involved. I don’t want Wheezie to be involved any more than she is. He doesn’t trust Sarah. He doesn’t trust anyone right now except for me and, for some reason, you,” she states as she crosses her arms defensively. She wishes she could do this on her own but she knows deep down that Rafe opens up more to Barry than he does to her. She ignores the pit in her stomach that forms at that thought.

“We’re his best shot at getting the help that he needs.”

Barry’s face has dropped from the amused grin he had before, his jaw now clenched with a scowl. He kisses his teeth before scoffing, “What makes you think I want to help him, let alone you?”

“Because I know you’ve noticed. And I know you’ve been letting him stay here from time to time,” she challenges. Though they never crossed paths often, Jo knew Barry had been Rafe’s first point of contact with this whole Ward-John B-Sarah situation. Another blow to her chest.

“As for me,” she says, reaching into her crossbody slowly just in case he thinks she has a weapon, “I have this.”

Barry’s eyes lock on the wad of cash between her fingers and she knows she’s got him. If she’d learn anything from being a kook, it’s that everyone has a price. Wildly unethical, but necessary when you lived in a place like the Outer Banks. She throws the wad towards him, watching as he catches it and begins to inspect it.

“And how do I know you won’t fuck me over like your lil’ boyfriend did?” he asks, never taking his eyes off the cash.

“Because there’s more where that came from,” she promises. “And I know you’ll be able to do it.”

Barry ponders for a moment before his amused grin returns.

“Alright, princess, you got yourself a deal.”

theresnothingshecandoaboutit:

my new favorite genre of obx fanfiction: rafe cameron finally getting the girl he’s been simping for and becoming an even bigger simp in the process

*cough*euro trip&college tripby@lurkymurker*cough*

*cough*ambivalenceby@mackenzielovee*cough*

EDIT: I FORGOT ONE OF MY FAVORITE RAFE SERIES

*cough*new lightby@outerbankies*cough*

my new favorite genre of obx fanfiction: rafe cameron finally getting the girl he’s been simping for and becoming an even bigger simp in the process

*cough*euro trip&college tripby@lurkymurker*cough*

*cough*ambivalenceby@mackenzielovee*cough*

I might start writing again, so send in some outer banks requests. I might not write them, but I’ll try

Season 2 requests are welcome

I write mainly for JJ and Rafe but occasionally John B and Topper

I also write for drew and rudy

Send in guys

mother’s day (stepdad!rafe imagine)

read other stepdad!rafe here

this was officially your 4th mother’s day now and your first mother’s day not alone (besides jake). 

you hadn’t expected to wake up hearing jake’s giggles echo through the house. normally, you always joke up before jake as you had your alarm set. 

you looked at the clock and saw it was nearly 10 am, way past when you usually got up at 7. there was a note beside you in bed where rafe normally was, on it was scribbled ’to mommy’

it said, ‘we turned off your alarm. come downstairs for breakfast when you’re ready. we love you. happy mother’s day! love, rafey and jakey’ you teared up and folded the note how it had been, taking it with you as you got up to put it with your sentimental things. 

after you brushed your teeth and put on a comfy robe, you made your way downstairs where rafe and jake were in the kitchen. “mommy’s here!” jake announced proudly, “did you like our note?”

you walked over and lifted him up to hold him, “i loved it baby. you and daddy did great.” you smiled at rafe, your heart content, “did you make me breakfast as a present?”

“we made cimmamon rolls, got you your fancy ice coffee and scramby eggs! also there’s presents but you aren’t supposed to open them till later.” jake grinned and snuggled into your neck. 

you looked at rafe, tears welled in your eyes, “you didn’t have to do presents.”

“why wouldn’t i? you’re the best mama i know.” rafe said, leaning over to give you a soft kiss. “besides you deserve it more than anyone.”

your hand went to his cheek and you smiled, “you deserve the world, rafe cameron.”

—

after eating breakfast, it was present time according to jake. he was very excited as he had helped pick some of the items.

you opened the presents first which you could not believe some of the items. there were things from a new purse, new perfume to a brand new phone. 

rafe just shrugged and said, “gotta treat ya right mama. you treat us good. isn’t that right kiddo?”

jake grinned, “duh, mommy’s the coolest so she gets the coolest presents. now card time!!”

jake proudly handed you his card where he had scribbled mommy on it, the only word he knew how to write besides his name and inside was a picture of the three of you. rafe had also had written a translation of all the lines of scribbles, ‘to mommy, you’re the best mommy. i love you. love, jakey’

you kissed jake’s forehead, “thank you sweetheart.” then you looked at rafe who handed you his card. 

when you opened it your heart fluttered, there was a whole paragraph of love, but at the end it said, ‘thank you for letting me love jake and you. my life wouldn’t be complete without either of you. i can’t wait to have more babies and give jake some pals so he doesn’t have to keep slummin it with me all the time.’

you jumped out of your seat and hugged him, kissing him all over which earned a few ‘ews’ from jake. “i want another baby.” you whispered. 

rafe chuckled, “oh i’ll give ya one darlin, but let’s wait till kiddo is in bed.” rafe grinned and pulled you in his lap to hold you tight. “i love you, angel.”

“i love you rafe. thank you for giving me the best mother’s day.”

letters to you: fifteen - rafe cameron

summary: whoever said you can’t make homes out of human beings clearly never met rafe cameron

warnings: cigarette smoking, swearing, sexual discussions and innuendos, smut at the very end

wc: 7k

a/n: hello i am crying but i hope you enjoy this and as always please let me know what you think <3 thank you all for reading i am emotional

series masterlist

     You wake before Rafe in the morning. The words you think you heard have been on repeat in your brain for exactly seven hours; so much so that you’re not even sure you actually ever drifted off. His arm is draped loosely around your body and his snores are soft, leading you to reach down and guide your hand on top of his from where it rests around you. 

In a way, you consider how perfect it would be. You wouldn’t have to live in a house with two strangers – to you and each other – for the summer until you head off to grad school, and you could be with him all the time. The way you’ve been dying to be since you first met him. 

Another part of you worries. Worries that Rafe might get sick of you, worries that he might regret offering to share his space with you. What if he’d just been too caught up in his post-sex high to even properly remember what he’d said? 

You bite down on your bottom lip and decide not to say a word to him about it, given you don’t want to make him feel obligated to do or say anything. 

You feel him stir after a few minutes; his grip tightening around you and pulling your back into his chest. His lips ghost over your cheek, and he peaks his eyes open just enough to see that yours already are. 

“Honey?” he questions softly, his voice raspy and hesitant. 

You turn in his arms and give him a soft smile, urging the doubt and the uncertainty away. He relaxes a bit when he sees your sweet smile, but his eyebrows remain furrowed 

“Hi,” you murmur. 

“Hi,” he pulls you closer, eyes beading into yours, “You okay?”

Your smile is wider this time, “I’m great.”

Visibly, Rafe’s tenseness falls and he kisses your forehead. His hair is messy and his eyes seem extra blue somehow, a fact you study for far too long. 

“Good. I was afraid you were regretful.”

“What?” you question, scooting closer to him without even realizing it. 

He shrugs shyly, as if his suggestion seems ridiculous to him now. You reach up and press your palm against his cheek, stroking the skin there with the base of your thumb. 

He hums under your movement, giving you a little smile as you do so. 

“Rafe,” you say quietly, “I – no, I’m not regretful.”

You want to say more; to tell him how much you love him and reassure him of everything he could possibly be thinking right now. Instead, you just smile and keep stroking his skin, watching those motions reassure him in ways words never could. 

“I’m glad,” he practically whispers, “Because last night meant a lot to me.”

“Me too.”

He grins, “Go brush.”

You bite your bottom lip to hide your growing smile, then turn and hurry from his bed and into his bathroom. Just as before, Rafe leisurely enters the bathroom after you, pressing himself a little too close and smiling a little too wide when you hand him his toothbrush. 

You giggle, not even caring that you have a mouthful of toothpaste, unable to believe that you’re allowed to be this happy. Never in a million years would you have guessed you’d end up brushing your teeth and showering with Rafe Cameron, but something about it feels like a home that you’ve never had before. It’s easy, comforting, real, and raw. It’s honest; not some place you have to put a mask on and smile or pretend you don’t notice how your parents won’t look at each other. 

Rafe pulls you back to bed after you both finish brushing, sitting on the edge of the bed and pulling you into his lap. 

“You don’t want to lay back down?” you ask him with a teasing smirk. 

“Y/N,” he shakes his head, “If we lay back down, I’m going to end up inside you again, and I know you’re probably sore.”

You giggle, “You really think highly of yourself, huh?”

His eyebrows shoot up, as if daring you to continue, but a smile teases the ends of his lips. His hands innocently roam your body before stopping just above your hips, lightly pinching your side and grinning when you squeal.

“What was that?” Rafe asks.

“Nothing, nothing,” you backpedal, laugh on your lips, “Teasing you.”

“Mhm,” he hums, “Better be. You’re beautiful when you laugh.”

“Thank you,” you whisper, leaning down to kiss him. 

He accepts your kiss with no hesitation; instead reaching up and guiding you down to him. He’s in no rush and he lets it show; letting his lips move slowly against yours and taking his time memorizing how you taste. 

“Can I feed you now?” he asks against your lips, a part of you knowing he doesn’t want to get up from this position. 

His hands remain on your body, tucking themselves under the tee shirt you’re wearing and feeling your skin on his own.

“If you must,” you smile. 

His lips move down to your neck, starting a pursuit from the top down to your collar bones, nipping lightly at your skin. 

“Don’t want you to go,” he mumbles, “Want you in my bed tonight.”

You squirm on his lap before you can help it, his words shooting straight to your lower stomach and causing you to bite down on your lower lip. Just the thought of being with him again is enough to have you drooling. 

Before you can respond verbally, Rafe continues speaking, still against the skin on the opposite side of your neck. 

“Every night,” he corrects, “Every single one.”

He pulls back then, his blue eyes staring into yours and giving you a small smile. You decide then, with him looking at you the way he is, to forget everything you’d told yourself this morning. 

“Even after graduation?” you test it out, your voice high pitched and squeaky. 

Rafe’s eyes widen for half a second before a bit of pink rises to his cheeks. You purse your lips to hide a smile at that, watching as he scrambles for something to say. 

Um,” he stops and clears his throat, “You heard that?”

“Mhm,” you nod, “But if you just said it because–”

“Because I meant it,” he stops you, “Honey, I’d love for you to stay with me after you graduate.”

You bite down on your bottom lip, still unsure even with his convincing nature. He reaches up and brushes a strand of hair from your face, his eyes never leaving yours as he does so. 

“Are you sure?” you ask, “I’m messy, and I hate doing the dishes, and I can’t cook, I can bake, I guess, but I can’t fold shirts very well, you know, like how they do at department stores?”

Rafe laughs and shakes his head, stopping you from babbling on about everything you lack in. As if it’s possible, he pulls you closer , holding your gaze with intent. 

“Well, lucky for you, I lovedoing the dishes, I can cook most foods, but I can’t bake, and I do my own laundry, anyway. We sound like the perfect fit.”

You grin then, unable to help yourself. The idea of this being your life everyday for longer than a weekend fills your mind, and no part of you doubts that you’ll dislike it. 

“We do, don’t we?” you ask him quietly. 

He nods, “Yeah. Let’s give it a try. Please?”

You suck in a deep breath and squirm on his lap before you can help it, watching as he swallows. Slowly, you nod, stroking the hair on the back of his neck with your nails. 

“You promise you’ll tell me if I get on your nerves?”

He laughs, “I really don’t think that’s possible.”

“Rafe.”

“Okay,” he chuckles, “Yes, I promise.”

“Thank you.”

You give him a happy smile, one which he returns, then give him a quick kiss and lay your head on his shoulder. His hands stroke up and down your back, calming and comforting you more than he’s aware. 

“Hungry?” he whispers in your ear, laughing when you nod. 

“Pancakes?” you ask, as you rise from his lap. 

He grins and takes your hand, letting you pull him off the bed. He taps your ass lightly with his other hand, letting you lead him out of his bedroom. 

“Yes. I’ll put chocolate chips in yours if you make coffee.”

“Sold.”

     Saying goodbye to Rafe seems harder this time than the others. You’d come here to fix things, and done just that, but the thought of sleeping alone, of reading alone in bed or watching TV by yourself only makes you sad. 

You can tell he feels the same with the way he squeezes your hand once you stop on the dock, staring out at the ferry as if it might kill you upon approach. 

“Maybe we could have that dinner with your dad next weekend,” Rafe volunteers, “Only if you don’t have any studying to do.”

You smile and look up at him, willing to agree to suffer through a dinner with your father if it means coming back to see him. 

“Yes,” you reply. 

“Okay,” Rafe grins, pulling you closer, “You could bring some of your stuff, if you want.”

You giggle before you can help it, “It’s March, Rafe.”

“So?”

You collapse into his chest, your hands clawing their way up his shirt to feel his bare skin. He shivers under your touch; your hands slightly cold against his warm skin. 

“The semester doesn’t end until May.”

“I don’t care,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss into your hair, “Leave it anyway. It will reassure me that you have to come back every time you leave.”

Your eyes flutter closed, replaying those words over and over in your head. As usual, neither of you are in a hurry to separate, not caring about ferry schedules or the people around you. 

When he squeezes, you know he’s about to tell you it’s time. Silently, you nuzzle deeper into his chest, your way of protesting. 

“Honey,” he urges softly, “I’m sorry. You have to go.”

You swallow and suck in a deep breath, then pull back from his hug. His lips meet yours before either of you know it, moving sweetly and softly, showing you his love without saying a word. 

“I love you,” you remind him when you pull back, your breath fanning his lips as you speak. 

“I love you, too,” he promises. 

Slowly, he removes your duffle bag from his shoulder and places it on your own, giving you one last kiss before he releases you completely. 

You take a few steps away from him before you turn around, finding a cigarette already between his fingers and his eyes on you. 

“My turn to write?” you ask.

He nods, “Yes. Soon, please.”

You grin and nod, telling him that you’ll do it. He waits for you to turn around again before he lights his cigarette, waiting there as he always does until the ferry is out of sight. 

     “Moving in?”

You purse your lips, not sure of what else to say. Emma stares back at you, her glasses resting on the tip of her nose as she gawks. 

You’d made it into the apartment, having had to take an Uber home from the dock, and about twelve feet into the living room before you blurted out that Rafe asked you to stay with him after graduation. Her jaw had dropped instantly, and no words came out for a solid sixty seconds. 

“Y/N, shit,” she mutters, “That’s big. I mean, you guys have only known each other for, like, what? Three months? Maybe?Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

You shrug innocently, “I mean, it’s only for the summer. He knows I don’t want to stay with my parents.”

“Oh, your parents,” Emma tosses her arms up in the air, “Who will probably go batshit crazy when they find out you’re bunking with the biggest party animal in the graduating class of–”

“Hey,” you snap, “He’s different now.”

“So are you,” she replies, “The Y/N I know would chain me to the couch if I tried to move in with Ethan after two months.”

Your jaw clenches a bit, defensiveness rising. You take a deep breath and try to see it from her point of view, which is the only reason why you see where she’s coming from. Before Rafe, these decisions would’ve been insane to you. Now that you’ve been in love, it just seems to be what’s right. 

“You don’t love him,” you point out, “And,you’re not dating him. Officially.”

Emma shakes her head, “Not the point.”

“That’s exactly the point, Em. I feel at home with him. The only other person I’ve felt that with is—”

You stop when you feel the emotions swell in your chest, crossing your arms and unwilling to admit it when the two of you are on the verge of fighting. Her eyes widen when she realizes, taking a few steps closer. 

“Me?” she asks. 

You nod, “Yes, you. And I can’t live with you, so–”

“Oh, Y/N,” she groans, throwing her arms around you, “You know I just had to be the mom for a minute. Since you’ve always been the mom for me.”

You laugh and wrap your arms around her squeezing her closer. A few more months, and your best friend is going back to Virginia with her family, off to her next adventure. Without you. The fear of the friendship fading into social media updates and sporadic ‘It’s been too longI!’ text messages makes your heart ache, even as you cling to her. 

“Does that mean I can move in with him?” you teasingly ask. 

She laughs, “Yes. On one condition.”

“Which is?”

Emma pulls back, giving you a genuine smile. 

“You have to call me everyday.”

You laugh and nod your head, pulling her in for one final hug before the two of you separate. 

“I can and I will,” you agree. 

“Good. Wanna watch Golden Girls?”

     The week drags longer than any other week before it. Your classes get longer, your professors drone on more and more, and the hours pass by at a slower pace. You mailed Rafe a letter on Monday, reading:

Rafe, 

I told Emma about moving in with you after we graduate. She was hesitant at first, but we have her blessing. Just thought you’d want to know that. 

I’m in a class right now. I know I should be paying attention, but all I can think about is you. Can I send you a dirty letter? I’m afraid the guy who delivers your mail will read it. 

Actually, I don’t care if he does. 

All I can think about is the way you feel when you pull me close. The way your hands feel when they move down my back and slip under my shirt. The way your mouth felt on my chest that first night. The way you cover every inch of my body when you’re on top of me, touching me everywhere. I love the way your skin feels on mine. It’s one of my favorite things, actually. I can’t wait to feel you again. Every part of you. We’ll take our time this time. No anxiety, no rushing. I just want to memorize every piece of you.

Now, I’m thinking about hugging you and kissing you, and how much I want to do it for hours on end. To just feel safe with you and loved by you is the most incredible feeling in the world. I can’t stop thinking about how amazing it’s going to feel when I get to see you every single day. 

Thank you for letting me stay with you. Honestly, I think I’d have gotten my own place if you hadn’t come up with the idea. I just can’t stand to live with my parents for another second. Not when I could be coming home to you every day. 

Anyway, sorry my letter seems to be all over the place. That’s kind of been me the past few days, though. My mind is only calm when I’m with you. 

I hope your week is going well. Call if you want to talk, otherwise write to me soon. 

I love you.

Yours, 

Y/N 

When Tuesday evening rolls around, and you’re knee deep in homework, trying to knock it all out before you go back home, Rafe calls. You grin and slam your laptop shut, sitting back on your bed as you answer.

“Hello?”

He’s silent for a moment, but you can hear him exhale. You bite down on your bottom lip, waiting to hear his voice. 

“You sent me a dirty letter?”

His voice is low, raspy, telling you just how much your words have gotten to him. You squirm on your bed, containing your laughter. 

“Kinda,” you tease, “Did you like it?”

“Y/N,” he groans, “Yeah, honey, I fucking liked it. I had to take a shower after I read it.”

“Oh,” you laugh, then purse your lips when you realize what he means, “Oh.”

“You’re killing me,” he mumbles.

“Sorry.”

“It’s worth it. I miss you.”

“I miss you, too,” you say without missing a beat, “So, I get out of class at two on Thursday, and the last ferry leaves at–”

“Take it,” he tells you, “I’ll come get you when you get in.”

“Are you sure? It’s gonna be a bit late–”

“Don’t care, honey. I’ll come get you at three in the morning if it means I get one more night with you.”

You smile; feeling that familiar heat bloom all over your body. It pools in your stomach – evidence of your need for him. 

“Thank you, Rafe,” you whisper. 

You can practically feel his smirk through the phone, but you wait for his words anyway. 

“Yeah, well, we’re going to need the extra night to give you even more to write about in your next dirty letter,” he teases. 

You laugh, “I guess we will, huh?”

“Hmm,” he hums, “Make sure you check your mailbox tomorrow. I don’t want your mailman reading my letter, either.”

“You wrote me a dirty letter back?” you gasp. 

He chuckles. You shift on your bed, laying on your side instead of your back, sitting up with intrigue. 

“I did, honey. All of my excitement for Thursday is in there.”

“I can’t wait to see you,” you tell him, “I’m doing all my homework now so I don’t have to worry about it when I’m there.”

“Good idea. I’ll let you get back to it, okay?”

You frown, but you know that’s probably for the best. 

“Okay.”

“I love you,” he says quietly, “All mine.”

“All yours. I love you, too.”

“Bye, honey.”

“Bye, Rafe.”

Y/N, 

First, I’m glad Emma approves of you living with me over the summer. Don’t forget about my extra bedroom, Emma can always come and stay with us if she wants to visit. Ethan can come too, if they’re still a thing by then. He’s a cool guy, so I wouldn’t mind. 

Now, let’s talk about how riled up you got me with just a few words. I mean, really? You of all people want to talk about how good skin to skin contact feels? Do you even understand how much I love feeling you? Because I do. 

That first night you let me see you, I was putty in your hands, honey. I would’ve given you absolutely anything, right then and there. Touching you, feeling you, it was everything. And when you let me put my mouth on you? I thought I was going to cum in my pants like a fucking fourteen year-old. You taste amazing, and it strokes my ego a lot knowing I’m the only person who knows that. I can’t wait until you’re here. I’m gonna lay you down and memorize every goddamn inch of you. I’m gonna take my time, just like you said, and make you feel good over and over again. I’m counting down the seconds until I can get you back in my bed. Can’t wait until summer, when I can just keep you there. I might have to quit my job just so I can stay home and love on you all day. I’ll put some thought into it. 

So soon, beautiful. See you so soon. 

I love you so much. 

Yours, 

Rafe 

After numerous hugs from Emma and promising her over and over that you will, in fact, come back on Sunday, you’re on the ferry. Rafe’s latest letter sits in your hands, the promise of reading it once more making you giddy. You relax in your seat and open it, careful of any lingering eyes before you dive in. 

You watch the sunset just before the ferry docks, taking a few pictures to show Rafe and send to Emma. Just like it had a week ago, your duffle bag strap meets your shoulder and you hurry off the ferry, desperate to lay eyes on him once again. 

It’s like a breath of fresh air, seeing him in front of you. His hair is a bit messy, and you can tell he’d come straight from work with his outfit. His tie is pulled out from his neck, hanging loose. His blue button down has you practically drooling, his letter now heavy in your bag as you think of all the things you want him to do to you. 

He tosses his half-consumed cigarette on the ground and crushes it before he starts down the dock, easy smile gracing his features. 

“There she is,” he says through his grin, throwing his arms around you once you’re close enough. 

“You look handsome,” you tell him, unable to contain that thought any longer. 

He chuckles in your ear, “Thank you, honey.”

His face nuzzles into your neck, his lips pressing quick, wet kisses there. You scratch up and down his back through his button down, listening to him hum contently into your skin. After a minute, his hands rise and cup your cheeks, pulling you back so he can get a good look at your face. 

“Hi,” he whispers through a smile. 

“Sorry, I forgot to say hi,” you giggle sheepishly, “Hi.”

He laughs easily, “The compliment was appreciated just as much. I missed you.”

“I missed you,” you tell him, pulling him closer by his collar, “I was reading your letter on the trip.”

Rafe smirks proudly, removing your duffle from your shoulder and placing it on his own before he takes your hand. He tugs you into him, then starts walking – rather quickly, you think – toward the parking lot. 

“You’re gonna sleep well tonight, honey,” he murmurs, leading you right up to his truck. 

     Every single word in Rafe’s letter comes true that evening. You’re sure it’s well into the two a.m. hour when he finally collapses beside you, his lips swollen and pink, every inch of your body burning up under the feeling of his mouth trailing over the skin. He’d coaxed a solid three orgasms from you before coming undone himself, disposing of the condom before he climbs back into bed and pulls you into his chest. 

Every part of you feels content, happy, loved. If it weren’t for the sleep clawing at your eyes, you’re sure you would turn around and kiss him for a few more hours. 

Instead, you feel Rafe press a kiss to your flaming cheek, both of you remaining naked, giving you as much access to his skin as possible. 

“Rafe?” you mumble. 

“Yeah?”

You keep your eyes closed as you ask your question, hoping your body doesn’t burn any hotter than it already is. 

“Can I take care of you tomorrow night?”

He swallows audibly, “Honey–”

“Please,” you whine, “You take such good care of me and I want to do the same with you. I might not be any good, but–”

“Stop,” he demands, “You’ll be great. I’ll guide you through it.”

You smile to yourself, “So, that’s a yes?”

“Fuck. Yes. It’s a yes.”

You grin victoriously, leaning your head to the side to kiss his forearm where it rests around you.He squeezes you tighter in response, letting you drift off to sleep without a thought in your head. 

     You wake up in Rafe’s bed alone, tangled in his sheets and his scent, but not him.You can tell it’s early based on the minimal sunlight coming through his blinds, so you pull the blanket over your chest and sit up. 

Right then, he steps back into his bedroom, fully dressed for work with his tie hanging around his neck. He’d showered, you can tell by his hair, and you wonder how he did all of this without waking you. 

“Goodmorning, honey. Sorry if I woke you,” he says quietly, stepping over to the bed to give you a quick kiss. 

You oblige, pecking his lips before you pull back to rub the sleep from your eyes. Your heart sinks at the thought of him having to leave, but the last thing you want to do is make a fuss when he’s being kind enough to let you stay.

“You didn’t,” you inform him, “But I’m afraid you were going to leave without saying goodbye.”

He shakes his head, leaning down for another kiss. 

“I was going to leave a letter.”

You smile at that, which has him giving you one right back. He steps over to his dresser and pulls out one of his tee shirts, walking over to the bed and gesturing for you to raise your arms. You do, letting him pull his shirt over your head. 

Once it’s on, he leans down and kisses the top of your head, then reaches for your hand and tugs on it. 

“Let me show you something,” he requests. 

You nod and stand up, letting him guide you back over to his dresser. He pulls out each drawer one by one, letting you observe the fact that each one is only half-full, clothes all folded and pressed to the right side of the drawer.

“Why are you showing me this?” you ask him. 

He smiles, “I made room for your stuff. So, your shirts can go with mine, and your pants can go with mine, and your underwear–”

“Rafe,” you stop him with a giggle, “That’s so sweet of you. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” he replies, beaming, “Maybe while I’m gone, you can put some stuff away.”

“I will,” you promise him. 

“Good. Now, I have to go. I made you some coffee and left it in the pot. If you need anything, call me.”

“Okay,” you nod weakly, not wanting him to go. 

He squeezes your hand, showing you he feels the same way. He leans down then, his forehead pressed against yours. 

“Give me a kiss,” he demands softly. 

You do just that; grabbing ahold of the back of his neck and pulling him closer while you kiss him. His arm wraps around your back, causing him to groan when he realizes you’re kissing him in onlyhis shirt, and he’s still supposed to leave you. 

“Have a good day,” you tell him when you pull back. 

“Mmm,” he hums, “I’ll just be thinking of you. Here. In my shirt. In my bed. In my shower–”

“You’re going to be late,” you laugh. 

“All right, I’m going,” he promises, “I’ll be home as soon as I can.”

“Okay,” you nod, loving the way those words sound from him. 

“Love you, honey,” he whispers, kissing your forehead. 

“Love you, too.”

You follow him out to the living room, where he picks up his stuff, then strides right back over and presses one last kiss to your lips. 

“Bye,” he murmurs. 

“Bye, Rafe,” you smile. 

He escapes out the front door with one last smile and wave, locking it behind him. You collapse on his couch the second he’s gone, a daze washing over you at the thought of this being your life for the entire summer. 

You’d get to kiss him goodbye every morning, eat dinner with him, show him how much you love him every night, and weekends would be your own, as they are now. It just wouldn’t feel so rushed, so vital to soak up every second of him. 

You pour out a cup of coffee and lounge in the living room for a while before deciding to take a shower. Afterward, you dress and put the items you brought to leave here – just to please Rafe – away in his dresser. You’d brought a few shirts, a pair of shorts and a pair of leggings, and just to tease him, a few pairs of your favorite underwear. The idea of him seeing them every day when he dresses gets you a little too excited, especially paired with the fact that you love the way your clothes look tucked next to his. 

Once your clothes are away, and the boredom starts to set in, you make your way over to his nightstand to look at the books he has there. Then, without thinking much of it, you open the drawer. It’s mostly random items, and you tell yourself you’re not snooping, even though you know you are. He has a spare charger, a box of condoms, aspirin, and other random little things. Just before you close it, your eye catches a photograph at the bottom. All you can see from the exposed piece is Rafe; smiling widely. You grin and pull it out without hesitance, fully not expecting what you find. 

It’s Rafe in high school, holding up a bottle of Patron in his right hand. His left arm is tucked around Ava, who you instantly recognize, and who is smiling widely. She stands in between Rafe and Kelce, who you also recognize, but her body language shows how she leans in just a little bit closer to Rafe. 

He looks happy, young, and carefree. So does Kelce, and so does Ava. You search the picture for a date but can’t find one, deciding eventually that it doesn’t matter. 

The image you paint of Rafe sitting in bed staring at this picture and wallowing in guilt makes your heart ache. You wonder how long it’s been since he’s done that, if he does it often or if he’s forgotten the photo is even in his nightstand. It looks well kept, like he’d taken good care of it over the years. No creases or bends, no fingerprints, either. 

You tuck it back away just as you found it, then leave his bedroom quietly. More than anything, you wish you could take his pain away. To help him recognize that it wasn’t his fault, that he can’t continue beating himself up over this. 

Instead, you decide to do what you did for him when you first met him. You bake. 

     You’re knee deep in snickerdoodle dough when Rafe comes strolling through the front door, grinning widely when he sees what you’re doing. 

“Wow,” he breathes. 

You laugh but continue your work, letting him set down his things before he steps over to you. His arms tuck themselves around your waist and his lips come in contact with your cheek, making you smile. 

“How was your day?” you ask him.

“Don’t even remember it,” he confesses, “This, right here, is all I was thinking about.”

You smile and turn in his arms, forgetting momentarily about the dough. He grips your waist firmly, holding you in place. 

“I missed you,” you tell him, your emotions still present, making your heart heavy. 

He smiles, “I missed you, too, honey. Is that why you’re baking for me?”

You shake your head, wanting more than anything to reach out for him but your hands are covered in flour and dough mixture, so you opt not to. 

“I’m taking care of you tonight, remember?”

He bites down on his bottom lip to hide a smile, which is enough for you to swoon silently. 

“I didn’t know that meant food, too,” he teases. 

“Well, it only kind of does. I was hoping we could do takeout for dinner.”

He laughs, “Of course.”

He leans in, and when you’re sure he’s going to kiss you, he presses his lips to your nose instead. 

He laughs lightly when you pout, chasing his mouth with your own. 

“You had flour on your nose, beautiful,” he tells you. 

“Thank you,” you whisper, body heating up under his proximity. 

“Want me to order now?” he asks. 

“Yes.”

He laughs lightly, “Finish up your cookies. I’ll get you a menu.”

     Your cookies come out of the oven just as the takeout arrives at the front door. Rafe unpacks the food and plates it for both of you, then guides you into the living room to eat. He turns on Seinfeld, his new favorite even though he won’t admit it, laughing through the entire thing. Rafe looks at you expectantly once you both finish dinner, and when you laugh and nod, he hops up and carries both of your plates to the kitchen. 

He returns a few minutes later with a small plate full of snickerdoodles, a smile teasing his lips. 

“These are just for me,” he jokes as he collapses on the couch beside you. 

“Ha ha,” you sneer, stealing one of the cookies from the plate. 

Rafe lets another episode play through while he raves about the cookies, holding you close once the plate is empty. You cuddle into him, ready more than ever to feel him close again. It’s only been less than twenty-four hours, but all you want, all you can focus on, is him. 

“What’s on your mind, honey?”

You chew on your bottom lip, your head resting on his shoulder. The show seems quieter somehow, even though you missed Rafe turning it down. 

“Just thinking about what I want,” you reply weakly. 

You know you don’t sound confident, and you’re sure that’s not sexy to him at all, but his voice remains steady nonetheless. 

“What’s that?” he asks. 

You turn and look up at him, your eyes wide and innocent, “I want to go in your room.”

He swallows, “Yeah?”

You nod and move to stand, taking his hand and pulling him up with you. His eyes never leave yours as you start to tug him toward his bedroom. He leaves the TV on and the plate on his coffee table, forgetting about everything that isn’t you. 

Once you reach his room, you guide Rafe to the bed and let him sit, then crawl into his lap. Without wasting another second, you lean down and kiss him, deepening it immediately. His hands fall under your shirt, pulling it off of you without hesitation. His eyes widen when he sees that you have no bra on, and you watch his lips purse to hide his smirk. 

“Rafe,” you mumble, watching his eyes move from your chest to you, “I want you to tell me if I do something wrong–”

“Stop doubting yourself,” he says, “You’re perfect. And you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”

You nod, but stand from his lap and sit on your knees on the floor anyway. His eyes widen as you do this, jaw falling slightly when your hands meet his belt. 

“I want to,” you tell him. 

He nods slowly, “Okay. I’m all yours.”

He helps you by lifting his hips so you can remove his work pants completely, ridding him of his underwear as well. He’s already hard, and that fact skyrockets your confidence. 

He shakes his head at your expression, scoffing slightly but saying nothing. Instead, he groans when you wrap your hand around him, which is another boost to your confidence. 

Without hesitation, every thought leaving your mind, you lap up the small beads resting on his tip, which has Rafe hissing.

“Shit,” he grunts, “You’re worried about doing something wrong?”

You give him an innocent smile, “I mean, yeah.”

“Fuck,” he mutters to himself, “This isn’t going to take long if you keep looking at me like that.”
You giggle and stroke him up and down a few times in your hand, your eyes meeting his just before your mouth wraps around him. 

His hips buck toward you immediately, but you draw back before he can push further into your mouth. 

“Fucking–” Rafe groans, “Sorry, honey. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you tell him, pressing a gentle kiss to his inner thigh, “Just relax.”

He lets out a shaky exhale, “Hard to do that with your mouth on me.”

You chuckle, your body heating up slightly. You take another look at him, then focus on what you’re doing once more, and take him back in your mouth.

You go slow, having heard horror stories from Emma about gagging and not wanting to embarrass yourself like that now, and stop when you feel him near the back of your mouth. He’s staring up at the ceiling, inhaling and exhaling slowly, and you take that as a good sign.

When you pull back and then forward again, your mouth never leaving him, he groans loudly. Your hand works what your mouth can’t reach, but after a few more pumps, you stop and drop your hand lower. You hollow your cheeks around him at the same moment your hand brushes just underneath him, causing him to swear. 

“Fuck, fuck, f–”

He yanks himself from you, ignoring your pout that he didn’t finish. His eyes squeeze shut as he takes a minute to gather control of himself, and when he opens them again, seeing you shirtless and on your knees, he groans. 

“Rafe, you–”

“Honey, you did amazing,” he promises, “But I’d like to last long enough to fuck you.”

You swallow and nod, holding out your hands for him to help you up. He picks you up once you’re standing and places you on the bed, pulling off your shorts and panties before climbing on top of you. 

“I’m supposed to be taking care of you,” you remind him breathlessly, gasping when he nips at the skin on your neck. 

He smiles against your skin and then rolls over, pulling you on top of him. Your legs fall on either side of his body and he grins when he sees you perched perfectly on top of him. 

“Take care of me, then,” he smirks. 

You just nod, leaning down to kiss him. His hand flies to hsi nightstand, opening the drawer and fishing around for a condom blindly as he moves to deepen the kiss. 

“You’ll help me?” you ask him when he pulls back, tearing the condom wrapper with his teeth. 

“Of course I will.”

You watch him as he reaches around you to roll the condom on, then grabs ahold of your hips and places you right where he wants you. Without him having to direct you, you sit up on your knees and let him reach between your legs to position himself just right. He smirks when you do so, but you sink down on him before he can tease you any more. 

You gasp, stopping when you need to, given that being on top feels different to you than when Rafe is. He inhales sharply, still grasping your hips as if his life depends on it.

“That’s my girl,” he grunts, “Take your time.”

“Feels good,” you tell him. 

He sits up, leaning his back against the wall, so he has easier access to kiss you. Your nails dig into his shoulders as he moves, even though he tries his best to be gentle. 

“So fucking beautiful,” he whispers, “So good for me. Give me a kiss.”

You oblige, letting his lips distract you while you sink down further, taking even more of him. He groans into your mouth, which only urges you to continue. 

You start to move after a minute, hiding your face in his neck as he guides your hips up and down. The new angle of him being under you only increases your pleasure, as if you can feel every single bit of him inside you. 

“Rafe, I–” you stop, whimpering when his hips buck up into yours, “I love you.”

He kisses you quickly, “I love you, too. Always.”

You release around him not long after that, and he follows quickly behind. You collapse on his chest, his hand rubbing your back up and down as you recover. He remains inside you, knowing you like being that close to him even after both of you are through. 

“Did I do okay?” you ask him after a few minutes. 

He laughs incredulously, “Are you fucking kidding? You’re perfect.”

You press a kiss to his chest, remaining on top of him until he quietly reminds you that he needs to take care of the condom. 

When he returns from the bathroom, he moves over to his dresser to grab a fresh pair of boxers. He freezes when he sees your panties in there beside his underwear, and when he spins, your favorite lacy black thong hangs from his pointer finger. 

“So, you’re just going to act like this isn’t going to drive me fucking crazy every morning?” He raises an eyebrow. 

You giggle, “Oops.”

He groans, muttering fuck under his breath before returning them to the drawer and pulling out boxers. When he returns to bed, he pulls you right into him, kissing you slowly.

“Glad you unpacked, though,” he whispers, “Feels like it’s your home now, too.”

You grin and press another kiss to his lips, not rushing anything. 

“You’re my home, Rafe Cameron.”

“And you’re mine, honey.”

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if you reblog the fics you read you get a kiss on the forehead and tummy rubs

Euro trip blurb: late night talking

Masterlist can be found here!

Synopsis:If you’re feeling down, Rafe just wants to make you happier, baby.

a/n:the votes are in. Pre euro trip football blurb !

“C’mon. Swap with me.”

Noah tore his eyes away from the seating chart, surveying his best friend’s features with something akin to mild amusement. “Not sure that’s how it works, bud.”

“Want a bet?” Rafe challenged roguishly, cocking his head to one side, “go on, White. It’s just fucking calc.”

“Hey,” Noah shrugged, raising his arms in surrender, “it’s not like it’s up to me. Mrs Bright’s the one that put you beside Kelce.”

“And the one that put you beside Y/n,” Rafe pressed, eyes widening pointedly, “you’re not seriously going to —”

He was forced to falter as Noah’s palm made contact with his shoulder, grip punishing in an attempt to bring a halt to the conversation. A curt shake of his head, and Noah sent Rafe a meaningful glance, having registered you and Kelce walk into the classroom before he had.

Ironic, really, that he had clocked it first — Rafe was sure that your skin was magnetic; that his senses tended to note your presence before his conscious mind did. Relaxed features, and hair twisted back into a claw clip; something sweet in the air, and Rafe felt his eyes close a moment, taking his time to breathe this in. His figure was straightening just as you sidled in beside him, a crease in your forehead that had his thumb itching to smooth it out.

“Why,” you fixed Rafe with a pointed glare, as though he wasn’t halfway to dropping down on one knee and asking you to please (please) marry him, “are you guys congregating?”

“No reason,” Rafe shrugged easily, eyes alight with mischief. He dipped his head until his lips were at your earlobe, warm breath tickling the sensitive skin beneath it.

“On a completely unrelated note,” he added in a low murmur, and your peripheries blurred then, lashes dangerously close to fluttering shut, “do you have a pen? I need to make a few changes to this seating arrangement.”

The teasing lilt to his tone was enough to bring you out of your reverie, a huff escaping your lips as you separated from his figure.

“Ofcourse you do,” you scoffed, resisting the urge to roll your eyes, “Rafael, I’m sure you’ll have plenty of opportunities to sit beside Amber in your other classes —”

“Amber?” Rafe echoed bemusedly, allowing you space to step forward and pore over the chart. He took a pause before resting his hands on the table either side of you, broad chest warm and welcoming on your back, “what’s she got to do with anything?”

He bowed his head again, flirting with the idea of taking it a step further. “Pretty sure Amber isn’t the girl I’m going to marry, one day.”

You huffed another exasperated sigh, turning toward him with your arms folded across your chest. “And who is?”

A long pause, one that appeared to warp space-time a little. Rafe Cameron held the moon and the stars in his eyes, and you swallowed slightly, breath hitching as his gaze darted down to your lips.

“I think you know the answer to that question,” he said softly, and you wouldn’t have guessed that Kelce and Noah were still standing there — that you were still standing there, knees like jelly and conviction more than a little meek.

You shook your head in lieu of a response, peeling your eyes away from his features to concentrate on the seating chart. Spotting your name first, you sent Noah a polite smile, eyes flitting back toward the plan in order to find Topper and Kelce’s seats, too. Unbeknownst to you, Rafe was using the momentary pause to pull Kelce to one side, firm grip on his shirt collar as he lowered his voice to a desperate hiss.

“Smith,” he ordered, raising his eyebrows pointedly, “swap with Y/n.”

“Rafael,” you frowned, speaking up before Kelce could, “he’s not going to swap with you.”

Your eyes were still trained on the seating chart, bottom lip chewed raw as they settled on Topper’s name. Amber’s right beside him, and you were almost certain he was going to be pleased with the arrangement. The revelation settled heavy in your stomach, and the defeated exhale on your lips was enough to bring Rafe’s brows together.

“What’s wrong?” He frowned, abandoning his hold on Kelce to step back into your side.

“Don’t worry about it,” you muttered, turning on your heel just as he made to catch your wrist. There was a slump in your shoulders that hadn’t been there before; poorly hidden disappointment that appeared to intensify as Topper walked in.

“There you guys are!” He greeted easily, pulling you into his side, “how are we looking?”

“Hey,” you smiled weakly, a pained expression on your features, “good, I think. I mean — you’ll definitely be happy with the arrangement.”

“No he won’t,” Rafe said on instinct, absently tugging on the bill of his backwards cap, “Amber’s swapping with Kelce. Right, Smith?”

“I —” Kelce faltered a moment, sending Rafe a bewildered glance before realisation dawned on his features, “— uh, I guess?”

Topper surveyed Kelce’s features bemusedly, raising an eyebrow before looking toward the seating chart. “Aight. So we’re sitting together, then?”

Your gaze hadn’t yet left Rafe’s, and something within in softened then — an overwhelming sense of appreciation within it. “Mm-hm. And I’m with Noah.”

“Or,” Rafe added, the corners of his mouth twitching mischievously, “Kelce swaps with Amber, who then swaps with you —”

“Rafael,” you interrupted, the smile on your lips betraying your feigned indignation, “that is most definitely not happening.”

“Had to try,” he shrugged, sending you a wink that had you holding your breath, “but hey, no biggie. I’m sure I’ll have plenty of opportunities to sit beside you in all of my other classes —”

“Unbelievable,” you interrupted, shaking your head irately, “you’re unbelievable, you know that?”

“And you’re beautiful,” he responded effortlessly, falling into your step as you headed toward your seat, “and sweet, and trying to fucking kill me with this dress, and way too hot to sit beside White, and —”

“Like I said,” you repeated, seemingly unconvinced, unperturbed, and — well, and trying to ignore the fact that your heart felt the very opposite of those two words, “un-fucking-believable.”

—

You didn’t know Noah White without Rafe Cameron.

They were a package deal — always had been; the same, cocky personality emanating from two, equally handsome individuals. Perhaps that was why you had already written him off when given the opportunity to get to know him — same genre of trouble, same reputation you were looking to avoid, and same, tooth-aching sweet talk that made you feel like a prize.

Except, that he wasn’t. (And perhaps this was because Rafe Cameron wasn’t too; not in the brash sense, anyway, and especially not with you.)

Senior calc was quickly becoming one of your favourite periods, and you had Mrs Bright’s seating chart to thank for this perplexing new revelation. Because Noah White was actually pretty cool, once you gave him a chance — he was insanely good at maths, always had some gum in his backpack, and somehow knew about your broken headphones and brought you a spare pair, second week back.

He was also extremely perceptive — frustratingly so, and perhaps that was why a single glance in your direction brought a furrow to his brow. His gaze shifted past your figure, meeting Rafe’s a moment, before he was leaning right in, peering at the webpage you had open on your laptop.

“You good?” He whispered, speaking through the corner of his mouth in an attempt to remain discreet.

“Huh?” You questioned bemusedly, only just registering his presence, “oh — uh, yeah, no. I’m algood.”

Noah raised his eyebrows at your distracted expression, clearly unconvinced. “College admissions trouble?”

“Kind of,” you sighed, looking back toward the UNC webpage with a small frown on your lips, “just tossing up between a few options.”

“Ah,” Noah responded, sending you an apologetic smile, “well hey, if you ever wanna talk to someone about UNC, my older sister Em’s graduating from there this year.”

You perked up then, interesting piquing. “Is she?”

“Mm-hm,” Noah nodded, “she did a business degree, so I’m not sure how much help she’d be with —” he took a small pause, scanning the screen again in search of your chosen major, “— uh, Art History, but she could probably provide some perspective on the University as a whole.”

“Really?” You questioned, letting out a sigh of relief, “you sure she wouldn’t mind?”

“Nah, not at all,” Noah assured, bumping your shoulder affectionately, “she loves playing big sister. She’s home next week, too — she’ll be at the game if you wanted to speak to her about it in person.”

You nodded slowly, feeling your shoulders begin to relax. “That would be so amazing, seriously. Thank you Noah!”

“Hey,” Noah shrugged, grinning wide, “no biggie. Anything for the future sister-in-law.”

He raised his voice just enough for Rafe to hear the last few words, eyes alight with mischief as he registered your embarrassed groan.

“Unbelievable,” you huffed, feeling a familiar flush creeping up your cheeks, “un-fucking-believable, just like him.”

“White!” Rafe called, furrowing his brow in mock indignation, “stop harrassing my girl.”

“Rafael,” you frowned, fixing him with a pointed glare, “not your girl.”

“Sweetheart —”

“Not your sweetheart either, Cameron.”

—

“You’re welcome, by the way.”

Rafe raised his head bemusedly, halfway through tying up his shoes when Noah’s words registered. “Huh? For what?”

“Dude,” Noah took a purposeful pause, lifting his eyebrows pointedly, “for being the best wingman in history, obviously.”

Rafe surveyed Noah’s features with mild interest, cocking his head to one side. “Go on.”

“Did you know Y/n’s considering UNC?” Noah responded, sending Rafe a meaningful glance, “because she is.”

“Fuck off,” Rafe breathed, feeling something strange and syrupy sweet settle in his veins. The prospect of separating for college in the future had been a source of significant chagrin all summer; he wasn’t sure he was capable of surviving without the promise of your presence — warmth and everything good in this world, soft skin and softer disposition. And though the thought of living without you wasn’t something he wanted to entertain, Rafe knew he wouldn’t dream of standing between you and the college of your dreams. Whether that be UNC, or somewhere else entirely, he would accept your decision — would live life alongside it. Alongside, but not truly within it; he couldn’t, not unless the moon and the stars willed it.

“I know,” Noah nodded, scanning Rafe’s features a moment before continuing, “she’s unsure, though, so I told her she should speak to Em.”

“Your sister Em?” Rafe questioned, cracking a roguish grin, “aw, my two favourite girls getting alon—”

“Is Rose coming tonight, Cameron?” Noah retorted, letting out a dramatic sigh, “reckon she’ll help me warm u—”

“Fuck off,” Rafe gagged, making a face, “you know I was just playing. Why do you always have to take it too far?”

“Because your step-mom is milf central,” Noah shrugged easily, deftly dodging Rafe’s punch, “can’t blame me, bro.”

“Anyway,” Rafe huffed, clearing his throat pointedly before continuing, “has Y/n spoken to her?”

“Nah, told her to find Em at the game,” Noah responded, straightening just as the rest of the team entered the locker room, “which means —”

“Kelce,” Kelce interrupted, raising his voice an octave in a mocking attempt to adopt your reproachful lilt, “please do not tell Rafael that I’m going to be attending the game tonight, because last time I came he was fucking insufferable and — blah blah blah, what’ll it take for you to leave her alone tonight, Cameron?”

“You know I can’t help it, Smith,” Rafe grinned, endeared by the mere thought of his name escaping your lips — as if that was fucking possible, “there’s just —”

“—something about her,” Kelce finished, lowering his voice, this time — gruffer and deeper, caveman-like.

“Exactly,” Rafe nodded, unperturbed by Kelce’s attempt to goad him, “can’t promise shit.”

“I don’t get you, Cameron,” Topper said then, half-amused, half-exasperated by Rafe’s inability to give up, “a million girls in this world —”

“— and none quite like her, you know?” Rafe interrupted, knowing exactly where Topper was going with this, “you don’t get me, Thornton, because you don’t get true love.”

Topper raised an eyebrow at that, sharing a bewildered look with the rest of the team before shaking his head. “Right.”

The rest of the team, barring two, extremely perceptive individuals. And it wasn’t a coincidence that Kelce and Noah looked to each other then — stupid, convoluted love, and it felt as though they were the only two that understood it, sometimes.

A distance away, the spectator stands were filling at an alarming pace. Privately, you never understood the novelty of watching sweaty guys tackle each other on dewy grass (it almost frustratedyou — although, that was another story entirely), but you had promised your best friends your unconditional support, and your unconditional support is what they would receive. The fact that Noah’s older sister would also be here was an encouraging plus; you were hoping to be introduced right after the game was finished, receive some clarity on a decision that was slowly gnawing your insides raw.

You managed to find a few girls from your class just as the first whistle was blown, preparing yourself for an hour or so of menial small talk and polite cheering. Scanning the field on occasion, you would manage to make encouraging eye-contact with Topper whenever he looked toward you — a small flutter, a twinkle in your eye, and something safe and familiar would settle in your stomach. It wouldn’t somersault, nor thrum right out of your chest, wouldn’t be jelly in your knees like Rafe’s brilliant blue gaze. Because though you managed to avoid looking toward his figure, the something strange in your veins made you feel as though his eyes remained on you. Not enough to be distracted, sure, but just enough for his movements to falter with yours.

You would furrow your brow (attempting to understand a game you had long since given up on), and Rafe would feel an overwhelming urge to smooth the creases right out. You would whisper something slight in Yasmin’s ear, and his eyes would flit to your soft lips then, agonise over how badly he wanted to kiss them. You would smile at something silly, cheer when the team scored, and on occasion, you would hug your waist tighter — shiver a little as the cool, night air wrapped around your figure.

“Oi!” Rafe called suddenly, eyes lingering on your figure as he raised his hands in a T, “ref — I need to call a time-out.”

The referee surveyed his features, bewildered, taking a small pause before reluctantly blowing his whistle. “You have a minute, captain.”

“Sweet,” Rafe sent him a thumbs-up, jogging back toward the sidelines where his drink bottle and jumper lay slumped on the bench. The rest of the team stood frozen on the field, sending each other equally perplexed looks before Noah cupped his hands around his mouth.

“Cameron!” He called, making for his figure when he didn’t receive an answer, “the fuck are you doing?”

Rafe grabbed his faded, football jersey before turning toward his best-friend, meeting his bewildered gaze with a relaxed expression, unperturbed by the interruption. “Getting my jumper.”

“You — what?” Noah frowned, perplexed, “you called a time-out because you were cold?”

“No, you fucking idiot,” Rafe snorted, shaking his head as though it was the most obvious thing in the world, “I called a time-out because Y/n was shivering.”

He turned around before Noah had a chance to protest, expertly traversing the stands until he reached your figure within it. Eyes wide and a grimace on your features, it was clear that you were more than a little embarrassed by Rafe’s decision.

“Rafael,” you hissed, and he was standing so fucking close, cologne and sweat and wonderful warmth clouding every one of your senses, “what are you doing?”

Rafe furrowed his brow a little at the question — your teeth were still chattering, eyes narrowed and something sweet on your skin; wasn’t it painfully clear why he was here?

“As much as I’d like to sit here,” he grinned, leaning in close until you could feel the heat radiating off his figure, “and warm you up myself, I have a football game to finish, sweetheart, so I thought I’d give you my jersey instead.”

“I’m not cold,” you muttered stubbornly, refusing to make eye-contact.

Rafe raised an eyebrow at the claim, placing the football jersey in your lap anyway. “You sure?”

“Positive,” you bit back, folding your arms across your chest, “and I would appreciate it if you didn’t call time-outs on my account, Rafael.”

“Not on your account,” Rafe shrugged easily, eyes twinkling a little, “mostly on mine. Pretty selfish, but I reckon my lucky charm wearing number fourteen would guarantee a win, don’t you?”

“Luckycharm?” You scoffed, fixing him with a pointed glare, “I’ve been to two games, maximum —”

“Not true,” Rafe winked, clutching his chest and pretending to swoon, “you’ve been on my mind during all of them.”

“Jesus, Cameron,” came a sweet voice behind you, speaking before you had a chance to, “Noah really wasn’t kidding, huh?”

You furrowed your brow at the sentiment, turning toward the source to find a gorgeous brunette already staring at you. She had the same eyes as Noah, gentle smile that relaxed your shoulders, and her gaze lingered a moment, mischief returning as she looked back toward Rafe’s figure.

“Don’t be jealous, Em,” Rafe grinned, straightening just as a warning whistle rang through the air, “you know you’ll always be my first love.”

“Alright, buddy,” Emma scoffed, shaking her head bemusedly, “now, for the love of God, please go back to playing football.”

“Yes ma’am,” Rafe nodded sagely, sending her a mock salute before jogging back down to the field.

The exchange had thrown you far more than you were willing to admit, and you found yourself staring down at the jersey on your lap — large and warm and him, with intent enough to drown out the second whistle. It was only when Emma tapped you on the shoulder that you were brought out of your reverie, turning back toward her with a weak expression on your features.

“Hey,” she greeted with a smile, pointing to the empty seat beside you, “mind if I —”

“No, yeah, of course,” you nodded eagerly, and another gust of wind then, one you refused to acknowledge in light of Rafe’s stupid fucking jersey in your lap.

She climbed into the seat from the one directly above it, surveying you a moment before responding. “You’re Y/n, right?”

“Right,” you affirmed, angling your body toward her, “and you’re Noah’s sister?”

“Em,” she corrected amicably, sending you another kind smile, “he told me about how you’re struggling a bit with college apps.”

You let out a defeated sigh, absently chewing on your bottom lip. “Yeah. Just a little unsure about where I’d fit best.”

Emma nodded in understanding, mouth half-open in response with she registered the way you were shivering.

“You know,” she said, raising an eyebrow knowingly, “you’re allowed to put on Rafe’s jersey if you want.”

“I don’t,” you scowled, resisting the urge to make a face, “not Rafael’s.”

Emma surveyed you with mild amusement, taking a pause to look toward the field. She caught Rafe’s gaze just as the team scored, his eyes widening pointedly as he mouthed an isn’t she fucking perfect?

She laughed then, a little endeared by his earnest expression, responding a teasing she’s way out of your league, bud before turning back toward you.

“Fair enough,” she nodded sagely, “he’s a bit of a pest, that one.”

You smiled then, crinkling your nose playfully. “Pretty sure he gets a kick out of harassing me.”

“Ah,” Emma said, eyes twinkling a little, “I don’t know if I’d go that far.”

“No,trust me,” you assured, sending her a meaningful glance, “you should see the way he is when we’re in class. He’s —”

“If it’s anything like,” she gestured toward the jersey on your lap, huffing a laugh, “that,then I’m sure harassing you is the last thing he wants to do.”

“You can’t know that,” you frowned, refusing to relent.

“You know,” she said then, pointing toward his figure in the distance, “I’m pretty sure he’s going to get a kink in his neck from how often he’s looked in this direction so far.”

“But seriously, Y/n,” she continued, smiling knowingly, “I’ve know Rafe for a long, long time. And not once have I seen him act like this over a girl.”

You swallowed slightly, a heat in your cheeks as you shifted your gaze toward the field. There Rafe was, combing calloused fingers through sweaty hair, ruggedly handsome as ever as he sent you a cheeky grin. I hope she helps you with your decision, he mouthed then, brilliant blue gaze never wavering, I hate seeing you stressed out.

You crinkled your nose at him, features bright enough to make him swoon. He was halfway to calling another time-out, halfway to pretending to get down on one knee — halfway to actually getting down on one knee when you tore your eyes away from him, a smile on your lips that hadn’t been there before.

“Um, right,” you responded awkwardly, eager to change the subject. It did funny things to your chest, made your skin feel warm and your mind grow hazy. “Anyway, I, um, I’d love to hear a little bit more about your experience at UNC.”

“Yeah, of course,” Emma nodded, all-business now, “do you have any specific questions before I go on my spiel?”

“Well,” you faltered a moment, tucking your bottom lip between your teeth, “I was hoping to do an Art History degree —”

“Oh, one of my sorority sisters did Art History!” Emma exclaimed, smiling wide, “she really really loved it, one of the best programmes in the country I hear.”

“Yeah?” You responded eagerly, leaning right in, “I — I really want to go, but my dad’s a UPenn alum, and he kinda wants me to follow in his footsteps. I just… I don’t know, I guess I wanted to know whether UNC’s worth fighting for.”

Emma was patient and kind in a way you weren’t used you; you hadn’t grown up with an older sibling, the only sage advice you ever received from a parental figure that thought they knew better. You ended up voicing concerns that didn’t just pertain to UNC, but to college as a whole — she was gentle, she was understanding, and you found yourself leaning into her presence in a way you didn’t think possible. She provided you with a fresh perspective on college; on how different life was when you escaped the Figure Eight, and the impossible expectations that came with it. You were so engrossed in the conversation that you were still chatting when the football game came to an end, traversing the stands side by the side to join the crowd congregating on the field.

It was only when Noah’s sweaty figure approached you that you were finally forced to halt, sending him a grateful smile as Emma pulled him into a hug.

“You played like shit,” she teased, ruffling his hair a little, “waste of my fucking time, if you ask me.”

“Fuck off, Em,” Noah scowled, enough height on him to tower over her figure, “you peaked in high-school. I know you secretly love finding excuses to come back here.”

He turned toward you then, raising his eyebrows at your jersey-clad figure. “No longer shivering then, Y/n?”

You grimaced sheepishly, hugging your arms around your waist on instinct. “Hey — its not like I asked him to call a time-out.”

“Worth it,” came a soft voice in your ear, broad chest against your back, warmth and musk and alluring charming prompting you to lean back inadvertently, “besides, it looks way better on you than it does me, sweetheart.”

You turned your head then, frown faltering as you registered how close his face was to yours. The phantom of his lips on your earlobe, and his hand came to rest on your hip then, steadying your figure just as you felt your knees buckle at his proximity.

“Here,” you swallowed, tugging at the frayed hem on instinct, “you can have it back —”

“No way,” he breathed, lips parting slightly, “you need to keep it on for a few more hours, at the very least.”

You could feel your lashes fluttering at the words, and you almost didn’t notice Emma and Noah discreetly rejoin the crowd. They had disappeared from sight before you had a chance to protest — it was just you and Rafe now, and your peripheral vision blurred at the thought.

“Why?” you said weakly, his fingers like fire on your skin.

“Because,” Rafe inched impossibly closer, eyes flitting down to your lips, “that way, when you give it back to me, it’ll smell like you.”

You pressed your palms against his torso half-heartedly, feeling something syrupy erupt in the middle of your chest. “Rafael.”

“Y/n,” he teased, a small smile on his lips, “did speaking to Em make you feel better?”

You nodded a response, creating some distance between your figure and his. “Mm-hm.”

“Good.”

“Good?” You echoed bemusedly, raising an eyebrow at the sentiment, “why do you care?”

“Because,” Rafe shrugged simply, brushing his thumb against the contour of your cheek a moment, “you seemed a little down in math the other day. And I just wanted to see you happy again, you know?”

—

tags:@milkiane@destourtereaux@euphoriapillz@thesimpletype@starkeybae@tempo-rary-fix@girlsneedloovee@skiesvibesss@lilacsandwhiskey@estrellarimar@fallinmaris@atlabeth@mackenzielovee@novxturient@drewstarkey@marveloussensations@heyaitsklaudia@peachyxrosie@itssoweirdyoureher@jordynsharum@gillybear17@emotionalbruv@truewdw1@writingsbehaviour@r0und3bitch@itsalexwin@notdisneychannel@lovedetlost@wrathspoet@browneyedboys

How to get the girl

The original series can be found here!

Synopsis: the Euro Trip told through Rafe Cameron’s perspective.

Word count: a little more than 20k because I’m insufferable

a/n: a cherished project !!! very very excited to share this one. That’s all (ps. i apologise for any grammatical errors and typos, I edited this a million times over but with how long it is, I’m sure some things slipped through the cracks!)

Last hole of nine, and Rafe Cameron was saved by the bell.

His harmless bet with Noah — loser buys winner beers for the rest of summer break — was a single swing away from burning a gaping hole in his wallet, and it was perhaps his acute awareness of this fact that led to the eager way he clawed at his back-pocket. A furtive glance in his best friend’s direction, fingers scrambling to unlock his phone, and Rafe Cameron found himself thinking — hoping, praying, that his saving grace was displayed within his recent notifications. His eyes darted over the screen as he threw his club onto the freshly cut green, free hand tugging at the bill of his backwards cap distractedly.

Around him — the makings of a cruel summer. Balmy breeze on his skin, sunshine held within blue irises, and the promise of all of his Figure Eight lasts before the commencement of college. He scanned over his notifications once, twice, threetimes, just to be certain. Because the last text he had received held a Figure Eight first, not a last — an opportunity that couldn’t possibly be real; he must have imagined it, somehow. Too good to be true, and yet, there it fucking was. His breath hitched, eyes widening hopefully, and there was an undercurrent of something else there — wonderful fate, because why else had he not made concrete plans for his summer break?

Topper:what are u doing over break?

Rafe Cameron was well-acquainted with Topper Thornton, having spent the last two years playing football alongside him. The boy had a friendly enough disposition, and he wasn’t half-bad as a wide receiver, either. Though Rafe thought privately that in amongst all of his amicable qualities, his relation to you was his greatest one. 

The same you that he had fallen head-over-heels for in freshman year — endearingly stubborn, stupidly beautiful, fresh-faced, doe-eyed you. He heard Taylor Swift lyrics in the air every time you were near, felt your lavender shampoo like something syrupy sweet in his veins. Strength and conviction and the way you tended to see right through him, and Rafe Cameron was fairly certain you held fate within your irises. Constellations that felt like bullet after bullet to his chest, like something wonderful and golden and real — as though you and him were the only thing that made sense.

Rafe:whos asking

The answer probably wasn’t you; you were open about your dislike for him, seldom entertained the tongue-in-cheek comments that he teased you with. And it wasn’t as though this revelation was anything new; it was how it always had been between the two of you. But apparently, yearning didn’t mix well with the overconfidence he seemed to exude, because Rafe was a douchebag, sure, but he was also hopelessly in love. And he was working on his blasé behaviour, he swore it; working on it, and on deserving you, and on making his mother proud, too. 

So — alright, the answer probably, definitely,wasn’t you, but that didn’t stop him hoping to God that it was. It didn’t stop the way his heartbeat quickened at the thought, nor the adrenaline in his veins, the anticipatory furrow to his brow. 

Topper:y/n…

Your name, and Rafe felt a wonderful warmth spread through his chest. He closed his eyes for a moment, and his thoughts appeared to fragment. It was like a highlight reel of how he had come to define love; your soft skin, your gentle eyes, the way you tried not to smile when he was around. 

Rafe:im listening

Topper: me, kelce and her had a euro trip planned for the summer. kelce can’t go anymore, so we have a spare ticket

A slew of curses fell from Rafe’s lips then, breathy and disbelieving, and he faltered, meeting Noah’s gaze with a hopeful expression. 

Noah cocked his head to one side curiously, surveying Rafe’s features with a quirk of his brow. “What is it?”

It was a rhetorical question, really — his best friend knew true love like the back of his hand.

“Dude,” a pause, a slow shake of his head. Rafe tugged his backwards cap off distractedly, raking his fingers through his hair. “I — look.”

He thrust his phone in Noah’s direction, the beat of his heart growing increasingly trepidatious. Tongue-tied, and he wasn’t sure he had the courage to read out the text — if it was something he had managed to dream up (a concoction of heat-stroke and pure, honest-to-God love), he wanted to remain in its throes for as long as humanly possible.

Noah’s eyes scanned over the message thread with care, the furrow in his brow growing increasingly skeptical. There was zero way you had willingly agreed to this — you were set in your ways, adamant about your disapproval of Rafe’s antics.

And it wasn’t as though Noah didn’t appreciate your point of view — he knew better than anyone how inappropriate Rafe’s behaviour could be around you. But understanding as he was, he had a protective streak, too, and if there was one thing he knew for certain, it was that Rafe’s heart was in the right place. He was a cocky, insufferable douchebag, sure, but the love he felt for you was genuine and true. It left him vulnerable to heartbreak, inevitably so, and Noah had a funny feeling that was the only way this trip was going to go.

“This seems,” he gesticulated awkwardly, taking a pause to gather his thoughts, “uh, I don’t know. Do you really think Y/n would agree to it?”

“I mean,” Rafe frowned, his tone growing a little defensive, “we did dance together at prom —”

“She went with Topper,” Noah interrupted, cutting Rafe a surreptitious look. “Cameron, c’mon. What if this is a set-up?”

“ByThornton?” Rafe questioned, cocking an eyebrow at the claim. “What the fuck would he gain from that?”

Noah shrugged helplessly, combing his fingers through his hair. “No fucking clue. But I just don’t know if —” he took another pause, lowering his voice to a gentler lilt, “— if Y/n’s… ready to say yes to something like this.”

Rafe faltered. He let out a long, drawn-out breath, willing his restless mind to still. He knew Noah was right (your resolve was his favourite thing about you), but just this once, Rafe wanted to ignore it. He wanted to be selfish — wanted to want something he shouldn’t.

But that wasn’t Rafe; not the Rafael he was with you, anyway. Because shit—his feelings for you drove him insane. They held magnetic, all-consuming love, the kind that prompted selfless acts and choosing your happiness over his.

Rafe:no way y/n would agree to me coming

Topper:we can figure that out later

Rafe’s eyes narrowed a little as he read over the text, his apprehension growing by the minute. It felt hurried, almost terse — as though the decision to replace Kelce with Rafe had been made before first consulting you. His heart dropped at the thought, panic overwhelming his senses. Topper wouldn’t dare do that, would he? The last thing Rafe wanted to do was upset you. He would sooner die than make a decision that could hurt you. Bury himself six feet under if it meant you remained above ground. And he placed emphasis on the six feet under — he would do anythingbefore taking your happiness out of the equation. Did Topper understand that? Did he care?

Perhaps he must have noted Rafe’s hesitance, because in the beat that passed, he sent through another text.

Topper:anyway, we’ll be together all the time. no way anyone can dislike someone that long, right?

And in the technical sense — it was true. A secret part of Rafe was sure you didn’t really dislike him, not as much as you wanted to. You couldn’t. He wasn’t certain he could explain why he was so sure of it, but he was, and perhaps that was what prompted his next text message. 

Rafe: when do we leave ?

At his side, Noah let out a disappointed sigh. There was a sheepish look in Rafe’s eye, but the timbre of his voice never faltered. “You don’t get it,” he said, almost matter-of-factly.

“You’re digging yourself a fucking grave,” Noah muttered in response. “And I’m not going to be in Europe to pull you out.”

—

Ward Cameron didn’t attend his son’s high-school graduation. 

He was on an obligatory business trip in the Bahamas, one that he insisted he absolutely hadto attend. As though he wasn’t the one in charge; couldn’t just as easily move the dates around to remain in Kildare. He definitely could do so without blinking an eye, though perhaps he scheduled it the way he did for a reason. Because if he was on another island, he would remain a safe distance away from soft, baby blues. From memories he had long since buried, and other things that reminded him of his youth. Like fresh peonies and true love and danger, and Lillian Dumont dressed in a cap and gown, too. 

“Ward!” Lillian exclaimed excitedly, an arms length away when she pulled him into a tight hug. His graduation attire was far more tattered than hers, catching reproachful glares as the Kildare Academy graduating class dispersed. “How are you here right now?”

Ward shrugged easily, a devious smile on his lips. “Left mine early. Have something important to say.”

He tugged Lillian away from the crowd and into a hidden corner of the Academy; time was of the essence — he hadn’t escaped his high-school graduation for justanything.

“What?” She asked curiously, searching his features in earnest.

The box in his back-pocket held all of his life savings and then some. He wasn’t sure he had anything else figured out. He wasn’t sure he needed to — not with Lillian soon-to-be-Cameron around.

Rafe Cameron would be lying if he said he didn’t feel a dreadful ache in his absence.

And don’t get him wrong, Rose was absolutely wonderful; she had cheered him across the stage with a blushing bouquet and wide smile, and Rafe was sure that hiring a professional photographer had been her idea. But she didn’t know all of him the way his father did; he held Lillian’s gaze within his own, and that in itself heightened the loss Rafe felt at his non-attendance.

Things used to be so different before she had passed away, and he often found himself reminiscing about his old life with a poignant sense of detachment. As though those memories didn’t belong to him, as though they defined an entirely different Rafael. 

When Rafe Cameron was dejected, he didn’t feel like himself. He wasn’t this guy, the one who dwelled on his own trauma and guilt. He was loud and blithe and carefree to a fault, and it was his connection to you that managed to bring those qualities back out. Because though there was cement in his stomach and shackles tightening at his chest, they gave way almost too easily when you gave your valedictorian speech near the end of the ceremony.

And — once. You met his eye in the crowd exactly once. It wasn’t much at all, but it was enough to oust the heavy lump in Rafe’s throat. You were saying something sweet about how capable the graduating class was, but in that very moment, it felt as though your words were meant only for him.

“And I know that we’re a summer away from going our separate ways,” you continued, wearing a flowing gown and a loose cap that covered looser tresses. Your lips looked soft, your eyes impossibly bright, and your glowing skin reminded Rafe that his mother had once been this young. “But I have a funny feeling that we’ll return to the Banks when all’s said and done.”

—

“Sweetheart,” Rafe greeted with a grin, taking his time dragging his eyes over your figure. You hadn’t bothered changing out of your graduation dress, he noted, and the soft lilac looked ethereal cascading down your curves. He absently loosened his tie, and the fabric of your dress creased as you folded your arms across your chest. “You look —”

“Not in the mood,” you interrupted curtly, attempting to sidle past him to minimal avail.

Rafe faltered at the harsh register of your tone, brow furrowing as he shifted his gaze toward Topper and Kelce. Standing on either side of you, they looked more than a little sheepish, and Rafe realised that they must not have told you yet. You were set to leave tomorrow, and were still none the wiser to the change in plan. Unbelievable. You couldn’t have picked worse best friends. If you and him were together (and his chest thrummed then, soft and anticipatory as though the ‘if’ should have actually been a ‘when’), he wouldn’t dream of throwing you in the deep end like this. If you and him were together —

“Rafael,” you repeated with a frown, bringing him out of his reverie. “What are you doing?”

In the midst of his daze, you must have attempted to side-step his figure. His hand held your wrist against his chest, and it was with a start that he realised he had stopped you without apprehending it. Your skin was unbelievably soft. Rafe’s thoughts fragmented as the pad of his thumb brushed over your palm. 

“You look like you belong,” he pulled you a little closer, eyes trained on the angle of your throat as you swallowed, “right here.”

The ease of his admission left you momentarily disarmed, and Rafe took the opportunity to straighten and send Topper a reproachful glance.

“There’s one more thing,” he added carefully, using his free hand to give his shirt collar a nervous tug. “So, about tomorr—”

Topper’s pointed cough behind you forced a falter, and Rafe cocked his head to one side, silently daring the boy to stop him.

“Cameron,” he let out an awkward laugh, eyes wide and pleading where they met Rafe’s. “Aren’t you going to let us in?”

Rafe scanned Topper’s features with a knitted brow, allowing a pause before letting out a defeated huff. 

“Yeah, of course,” he responded after a beat, loosening his clasp on your wrist to usher Kelce and Topper forward. “Come on in.”

You shivered at the loss of contact, taking a step back to sidle into the space between your best friends. Topper was quick to throw an arm around your shoulder, head bowed as he murmured something sweet in your ear. There rose a heat in your cheeks, and it brought a funny twang to Rafe’s heartstrings. It felt like cruel, ugly jealousy, the kind that didn’t settle quite right in his chest. And it wasn’t as though he could do anything about it — you weren’t his (yet), and you had a soft smile on your lips that he would sooner die than come to ruin. Rafe Cameron was a master at letting you go. Perhaps that was why you were equally skilled at finding your way back home.

“You coming?” 

You turned your head to where he still stood near the doorway — your eyes were keenly trained on Kelce, so why did it feel as though the sentiment was for him? 

“Yeah,” Kelce nodded quickly, hurriedly, eagerly — go, his eyes appeared to say, Topper, please, take her away. “I just need to speak to Cameron about something.”

Your brow knitted at the revelation, forehead creasing in a way that had Rafe’s thumb itching to smooth it out. Scanning his features carefully, you nodded a response in the beat that passed, allowing Topper to whisk you away just as Rafe rounded on Kelce’s figure.

“C’mon,” Rafe accused, raising an eyebrow at Kelce’s sheepish features. “When the fuck were you planning on telling her?”

“Hey,” Kelce responded defensively, raising his arms in surrender. “Not technically my prerogative. Let the record show that I still think this is a terrible fucking idea.”

“But,” he added, wincing preemptively, “it’s happening. And I do think she deserves to hear about it from us, not you.”

“Then fucking tellher,” Rafe urged, fixing Kelce with a punishing glare. “Smith, we’re leaving tomorrow—”

“I know, I know,” Kelce sighed, raking his fingers through his hair. “We will, alright? In a bit. Together.”

They were his parting words, and he managed to push past Rafe’s figure with just enough conviction to find something stronger than sparkling water. He did so just as you stumbled across a box of white-claws in the fridge (clearly labelled: for Y/n, because of course they were — you were at Tanny fucking Hill). So Rafe was alone, again. He was alone, he was antsy, and he needed to find his best friend.

“There you are!” Noah greeted, tipping back his beer before dapping Rafe up. “I was just telling Rose, here,” he cocked a brow, corners of his mouth twitching as he jerked a thumb toward Rose’s figure, “about how fucking bored I’m going to be all summer.”

“Ah,” Rose nodded apologetically, giving Noah’s shoulder an amiable pat. “Well, you’re always welcome to come to Tannyhill, Noah, even when Rafe isn’t around. I’m sure we can find something for you to do.”

“Really?” Noah questioned, making a show of displaying his gratitude. “You’re the best Rose, seriously.”

Rose winked, ever so slight, ruffling his hair playfully before taking her leave. “Have fun tonight, you two! And congratulations again on graduating!”

Noah waited until she was out of sight to flash Rafe a roguish grin, ready to goad him relentlessly until the pained expression on his features registered.

“What?” Noah asked, his smile faltering.

“She doesn’t know,” Rafe sighed, combing his fingers through his hair. “We’re leaving tomorrow, and she doesn’t even fucking know.”

Noah bit back the ‘I told you so’ on his tongue, resigned instead to casting Rafe an apologetic glance. “Shit.”

“I mean — they’ll definitely tell her, they promised they would,” Rafe added in a hurry, sure he knew exactly what Noah was thinking. “But fuck — what if this was a mistake?”

There was a long pause then, one that would come to define this story. There were two routes Noah’s response could take, and years later, Rafe Cameron would still come to wonder — would his life be any different, had his best friend taken the other?

“It’s not,” Noah announced after a beat, drawing his bottom lip between his teeth. “It’s like all that fate crap you go on about. What are the chances that Kelce can’t go, and you’re the first fucking person Thornton texts? No way. This isn’t a mistake. If it was, he wouldn’t have asked you in the first place.”

—

A champagne flute in your hand and Dom Perignon on your lips, and for a moment, Rafe thought, shit. He thought, this has to be illegal, and also, that there was no way you were real. Because how could one person look this beautiful walking away from him?

Somehow, you had agreed to his accompaniment on the Euro Trip, and he wasn’t quite sure he could believe his own luck. His chest bloomed with a wonderful warmth, mind gratified by the mere thought, and he had Topper and Kelce to thank, alongside the moon and the stars. Oh, and also you. He had you to thank — you, you, you.

He stumbled forward just as you stepped out of the kitchen, managing to catch you up as you headed into the living room.

“Sweetheart,” he called easily, absently licking his bottom lip. An uninterrupted month in your presence — loose dresses and soft eyes and warm skin like sunshine, and Rafe Cameron felt like he had won the fucking lottery, for once in his life.

“What do you want now?” you scowled, rounding on him with flushed cheeks and a furrowed brow.

“To thank you,” he murmured, brushing his thumb against the contour of your cheek. He was obsessed with the way your lashes fluttered as it registered, obsessed with the way you leaned into the touch. Obsessed with you — but hey, what else was new? He had known that fact since before he had understood love. “For giving me a chance.”

“I haven’t,” you swallowed, using all of your conviction to take a step backward, “not yet.”

And it was the ‘not yet’ that gained permanence in the back of his head — the ‘not yet’ that he fixated on as the graduation party came to an end. When he found you again, it was after he had spoken with Noah about his plan. The prospect of visiting his mother’s grave had left him more than a little sentimental, and he needed a moment alone to gather his composure.

Perhaps that was why he stumbled across your figure — he may have thought that he needed a moment alone, but it was the exact opposite that would provide him with the peace he so craved. Because there you were as he turned the corner, like fate, and when he guided you to his room, there was a wonderful solidarity in the way your gaze gravitated toward that one, photo frame. The one that held Lillian Cameron’s gaze, that had your features softening in a way that made Rafe melt, just a little.

You said she was beautiful, and it was the only truth that mattered. Rafe agreed, wholeheartedly, and then he picked the photo up and held it. He felt as though he was seeing it with fresh eyes, and he wondered why he hadn’t shown you a picture of her before this. She was beautiful, just like you. Kind, just like you. Soft spoken and tender-hearted and all his, just like you. He wished you could have known her. Why hadn’t he introduced you sooner?

It was the same thing he wondered the very next morning, placing fresh peonies at Lillian’s grave before shoving his hands in his front pockets.

“I’m heading to Europe today, mom,” he said softly, crouching down before slowly exhaling, “and I keep thinking… the last time I was in France, you were there with me.”

“We aren’t going to Nice or anything,” he added quickly, combing his fingers through his hair, “so I can’t say hi to Aunt Clem or Uncle Gabe, but mom — we’re going to fucking Paris. Like, the city of love,Paris.”

There was a wistful smile on Rafe’s lips, unshed tears swallowed down before continuing. “And by we, I mean Y/n. Yeah, the very same. Her and her friend Topper, and me — like, how the fuck did that happen?”

Taking a pause, Rafe shook his head slowly, glancing down at the large bouquet before picking out a single peony from within it. He straightened with the flower held against his chest, gazing heavenward a moment before taking in a deep breath. 

“Anyway,” he said finally, met with an encouraging smile when he looked back toward Noah, “it means I won’t be able to visit for a while.”

“But don’t worry!” Noah grinned, throwing his arm over Rafe’s shoulder as he stepped into his side, “I’ll drop flowers off on his behalf, Lil.”

He had called her Lil since he was a fresh-faced, seven year old. There was something Rafe Cameron loved about the constancy of the address.

Nodding his reiteration, he let out a slow breath, requiring another beat before following Noah back to his parked Jeep. The drive was reasonably quiet, the way it always was after visits, broken intermittently by the static of morning radio and the ocean breeze in the distance.

Noah pulled into the airport carpark just as Rafe’s phone dinged with a ‘where are you?’ text, helping him gather his things and pile it on to a luggage trolley. When they entered the large building, Rafe’s eyes found your figure first — oversized hoodie and tousled tresses, nothing special, but he still found himself thinking it ridiculous that you looked this fucking beautiful.

“Good morning,” Rafe greeted once within earshot, bright-eyed gaze meeting yours a moment. He broke off the stalk and threw it into the nearest bin, tucking loose strands of hair behind your ear before placing the pink peony within them. “This is for you.”

Your eyes widened at his touch, fingers flying to the petals on instinct. “Seriously?”

Rafe shrugged easily, grinning when you didn’t remove it from its spot. “You’re beautiful. Peonies are beautiful —”

“Rafael,” you interrupted sternly, swallowing your hitched breath, “I — please focus.”

“Y/n,” Rafe teased, bumping your chin affectionately, “you look cute when you’re being bossy, y’know that?”

You rolled your eyes in response, focussing all of your attention on Noah (not on the way your traitorous cheeks were heating up).

“Noah, hey,” you smiled politely, and fleetingly, Rafe thought — you could be best friends if you wanted to be. Noah was just Rafe minus the overconfidence and relentless pining, so you would really like him, he decided, his personality was everything. And he was sweet to you, always kind. Perhaps when you and him were together, he could make that friendship happen, somehow.

“Y/n,” Noah grinned, sending you a playful wink. “Excited for the worst month of your life?”

You breathed an easy laugh, shaking your head bemusedly. “I sure hope so.”

“Hey,” Topper lilted, and when he tugged you into his side, Rafe didn’t miss the way your eyes widened at his proximity. “I’ll be there too —”

“And?” You teased, crinkling your nose playfully. “If anything, that makes it even worse —”

“Take it back,” Topper gasped, and it was almost as though he was enjoying this — the effect he had on you, and Rafe fucking hated it. “Take it back, or I swear to god —”

Rafe coughed. His calloused palm found the back of his neck, ghosting over the blonde locks kissing the skin there.

“Anyway,” he said then, clearing his throat awkwardly. “Should we get in line?”

You nodded in response, reaching down to pick up a bag Rafe had already placed on his own trolley.

“I can carry my own bags, Rafael,” you huffed, making to retrieve your suitcase just as he caught your hand.

“And I can carry you,” he shrugged easily, thumb brushing over the pulse point on your wrist, “but that doesn’t mean I should.”

He brought your knuckle to his lips just as your eyes widened, heartbeat in his throat and crazy, stupid love in his chest. “Right?”

“Rafe —” you warned, swallowing slightly.

“Hey,” he murmured, ignoring you. “Reckon I can sit beside you on this twelve hour flight?”

And you might have said no, but fate tended to work in funny ways. Because when you insisted on the aisle seat, when a flight attendant spilled a drink on your lap, when Rafe offered up his hoodie and caught your slight, wistful stare, everything appeared to culminate, and it felt as though this had always been the plan.

“Here,” Rafe offered, pointing between you and Topper before sending the latter a meaningful glance, “swap with Top.”

“What?” Topper questioned blearily, still a little disoriented from his nap. “Why?”

You hesitated a moment, eyes darting between Rafe and Topper sheepishly. “I — uh, the view.”

“Oh,” Topper nodded, rubbing at tired eyes before standing up. “Yeah, s’algood. I need to go pee, anyway.”

“Thank you!” You exclaimed excitedly, smile widening as he sidled past you and disappeared down the aisle. 

And then, a moment where time froze in its place.

You stood at the same time Rafe did, and his hands found purchase on your hips. Wearing a hoodie that held his cologne (that often held him)was dizzying enough as is, let alone feeling his fingers on your skin as you attempted to slip past him. His chest was broad against your back, warm and welcoming and — you must have been really tired then, because a small part of you was loving how this felt. A small part of you was flirting with the idea of staying right there.

You swallowed slightly, forcing yourself to separate and collapse onto Topper’s seat beside him. Refusing to make eye-contact, you fixed your gaze intently on the scene below you — it was early morning, and the promise of Paris was so very near; you could barely contain your excitement, you were finally, finallyhere.

Rafe required more than a beat to regain his composure. His fingers were still suspended in thin air, calloused palms still holding the curve of your waist. It was the only thing that mattered in that moment. In anymoment, really, that involved you and him. And he was fairly certain it couldn’t get any better than this, but then you broke the silence, and he ate his words.

“Holy shit,” you breathed, drinking in the view. “Isn’t it so beautiful?”

Perhaps it was, but Rafe wouldn’t have known — it had absolutely nothing on you, so his gaze remained transfixed on your features.

Your lips were slightly parted, your gentle eyes on the scene below you. And the early morning light was a halo on your skin, it airbrushed it — rendered it ethereal, somehow. A few more words were exchanged, ones Rafe wasn’t sure he would be able to recall. He was too busy trying not to get down on one knee, far too busy resisting the urge to profess his undying love. Your voice sounded gibberish, and it wasn’t registering at all. There was only you now, and shit — he was pathetic over the thought. He wasn’t sure his heart was capable of taking this at all.

“Rafe. What’s that face?”

You didn’t call him Rafael, and it was enough to break his reverie. He gave his backwards cap a tug, searching your features carefully before offering up an awkward shrug. “What face?” He said, “there’s no face.”

You cocked your head to one side, narrowing your eyes in a way that — unbelievable, quite literally tugged at his heartstrings, as if that was fucking possible. “Rule #1. No making that face.”

He cracked a roguish grin then, nodding an amiable response. A fake, half-hearted, teasing response, because Rafe Cameron had never been a stickler for rules. Especially not rules that concerned love, or happiness, or anything at all that involved you. 

—

Rafe Cameron definitely wasn’t going to survive this summer. 

He first came to terms with the revelation on day one — well, night one, if one was being meticulous about the timing of his downfall. Because when you stepped out of your hotel room in a silver sundress, features harried some but still soft in a way that shifted him off-balance, Rafe Cameron thought, fuck, I’m doomed. He thought, you look so beautiful that I’ve forgotten how to breathe. He thought, spaghetti straps are dangerous enough as is, without your figure being the one holding them up. 

Topper was clearing his throat beside him, speaking in an awkward way that didn’t quite register. Your cheeks heated a little, nimble fingers fiddling with the silver chain on your neck, and Rafe found himself fixating on the soft skin there. You were rambling something endearing about how you weren’t sure about the dress, wide eyes and frown lines and — Rafe’s arm moved of its own accord, then.

The small part of him capable of rational thought piped up, assuring you a “no, c’mon” before guiding you toward down the corridor and toward the elevator. Rafe always had a sneaking suspicion that you had a schoolgirl crush on Topper, it was plainly written in the way that you acted when he was around. It was genuine and predictable — a crush, but was it as deep as true love?

Unrequited,maybe, but the way Topper’s eyes lingered on your figure appeared not to agree with the sentiment. And though it didn’t quite settle right in his stomach, your embarrassed smile brought about a selflessness he employed far too often. He wanted to inject your smile into his skin. He could survive off the feeling that your soft smile gave him. 

The past five years of his life had been teasing quips and going all in, but perhaps it was time he proved to you how serious he really was. You were the real deal, and he may have even believed that you and him were endgame, once. But when he registered the subtle chemistry between you and Topper, he realised that that wasn’t it at all. All this time he had assumed that it was you that he desired; you were the girl of his dreams, after all, someone he had pined for as long as he could remember. But really, you, happy — that was what he was chasing. You, content, with someone who deserved you — that was what he wanted.

It was probably why he made the foolish proposition in the first place. He was high on the feeling of your figure on his, the way you had absently reached for his hand earlier, tugged him close as though your life depended on it. Because a small part of you genuinely cared about him — ‘just didn’t want to lose you’, as if that was in any way possible. It was like that Taylor Swift song: invisible string. Rafe made a mental note to ask you whether you listened to it as much as he did.

Later though, when Topper and Amelie didn’t have all of your attention. Rafe presumed they had disappeared in hopes of leaving you and him alone, seemingly unaware that it was doing the exact opposite of bringing you close.

You were sad, so Rafe was, too. He no longer wanted Topper to fulfill his wingman duties, almost hoped for his return, as if that wasn’t the worst possible outcome for his own love. But Topper probably wouldn’t budge on his own, and for a moment, Rafe entertained the idea of whisking Amelie away from him. She had flirted with him too, so he was sure that it would work, but he had a funny feeling it wouldn’t have the kind of lasting effect that would nudge you and Topper together. No — he needed a better plan than just removing other girls from the equation. If he was serious about ensuring your happiness, far more drastic action was required to garner Topper’s attention. 

“You really like him, huh?” Rafe questioned gently, searching your features in earnest. Your eyes were bright, a tell-tale sign that you were tipsy, and the way your expression faltered told him it was liquid courage that prompted your honest response.

“If you’re going to be a dick about it,” you frowned, as if Rafe would so much as dream of entertaining the idea, “then I’m not in the mood, Cameron.”

“I wouldn’t do that,” he murmured with a frown, tucking a stray curl back into your claw clip. “Not with you.”

And you allowed yourself to believe him, just this once. Because when you talked through the proposition, your hesitance appeared to disappear a bit — you were half-way to agreeing, and it was then that you admitted it. A part of you was holding back, you insinuated, was doing so for his sake, not your own.

“This feels mean,” you muttered, swallowed slightly. And you averted your gaze then, or you would’ve seen the way Rafe’s lips parted. Because this “feels mean” to him, apparently, as though some small part of you cared. Rafe’s insides were melting, he realised. They were quite literally melting, bringing a warmth to his cheeks, and something gooey and sweet was settling in every crevice of his chest. He was malfunctioning, and fuck if any of this made sense, but the revelation only heightened his resolve — he neededyou to see that he would do anything for you, and that anything meant absolutely anything, including this. 

“Let me do this for you,” he said firmly. “Whatever there is between us, you hating me, I want to fix it.” 

Fix this, he thought, get us back on track. Maybe I can’t call you mine, but I sure can make you his.

And then you said that you didn’t really hate him, and he found himself teasing Rule #5. One that he couldn’t promise to abide by himself, not with the way he knew all of you off by heart. This feeling, of your figure wrapped up in his strong arms, it was the only thing that made sense in this moment. He gave himself a beat to commit it to memory, slotting you into his side just as a small frown found home on your lips. Because — well, because, he didn’t say ‘noted’, apparently, but he had far more important things to worry about.

“There they are,” he murmured softly, dipping his head a little before meeting Topper’s gaze. He had an arm around Amelie’s waist, eyebrow quirked as he gave your entwined figures a once-over.

You gulped down your nerves as it registered, smiling weakly as Rafe’s cologne overtook your senses. Perhaps you had expected more than a nod in your direction, because when Topper and Amelie disappeared again, Rafe felt your figure tense against him. 

“It’s not working,” you frowned, and Rafe placed his hands on your shoulders then, inadvertently relaxing them, “he doesn’t even care.”

Except that he did, because when he came back around, there was a jealous glint in Topper’s eye that Rafe Cameron knew far too well. It told him that the ploy was working, though he wasn’t able to appreciate it in its entirety — a strong arm wrapped around your neck, a chaste kiss on your temple, and he found himself wondering how it would feel, were all of this real. He was well-versed in keeping his composure, in goading Topper just enough to garner his attention. But there was an ache in his chest — bittersweet like stale syrup, and Rafe Cameron thought: I’m definitely not going to survive this summer.

—

“Rule #7,” Topper muttered, rolling his eyes as he turned. “No flirting.”

Rafe quirked an eyebrow at the sentiment, cutting Topper a surreptitious look. You hadn’t quite managed to catch it, but the furtive glance Topper sent him told Rafe he had meant it. Keeping a strong arm around your waist (all while reminding himself that this wasn’t real — torture he didn’t mind putting his heart through, at this stage), Rafe took his time guiding you toward Musee D’Orsay. A part of him knew this ruse was sure to crack soon; Topper was beginning to come to terms with his feelings for you, and Rafe wanted to fully appreciate calling you his before he would have to let you go. 

Because, shit, there was a permanence in the warmth you brought to his chest. Light and airy, like spun gold to his thoughts, and dizzying enough for his thoughts to stray to a make-out session. Fingers under the spaghetti straps of your dress, bare skin on his, and it didn’t make any sense, but Rafe swore you felt like you belonged this close. In his arms, smelling like balmy summer and Taylor Swift songs on the radio. He posed for photos with you, danced with you, laughed with you, and when he lay in his bed at night, found himself searching the line between what was fake and what was genuine. 

Sure, your smile would falter when Topper disappeared, and sure, you would tense a little when he wasn’t around. But there was something real in the way your eyes twinkled when they met his — something real in how your figure naturally gravitated toward him.

In amongst the fake dating ruse, Rafe had managed to tick certain, selfish things off his own agenda — you had two of his hoodies in your room, the imprint of his lips on your temple and his backwards cap worn through. Your figure was flush against his more often than it wasn’t, and his stupid, teasing quips were no longer falling short. And most important of all, though this was a sacred thought, France knew the two of you together. The country was his mother’s home, once, and there was something about that that felt right, somehow.

“…and,” Rafe exhaled, pacing his room with adrenaline in his veins, “Thornton definitely fucking likes her, because he keeps trying to get her alone. He even got some random French chic to flirt with me when we were at the Museum —”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Noah interrupted with a frown, registering the excited lilt to Rafe’s tone, “you’re happy about this?”

“Yeah?” Rafe answered bemusedly, halting. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Why wouldn’t you — Cameron, the fuck?” Noah pinched the bridge of his nose with a huff, equal parts amused and incredulous. “Maybe because you’ve been pathetic over her since you were fucking fourteen?”

“Bro,” Rafe responded then, shaking his head patiently. “Besides the point. She has a crush on him, not me.”

Noah furrowed his brow at the revelation, unsure whether it was worth voicing his observations. Because truth be told, he didn’t buy your dislike of his best friend one bit. A million stolen glances and the way you found each other like magnets, and Noah always thought it far too predictable for you to be in love with Topper Thornton.

“How can you be so sure?” He asked after a careful beat, drawing his bottom lip between his teeth. 

“Trust me,” Rafe hurried dismissively. “Anyway, we just arrived in Amalfi. Meant to be heading out for dinner soon, so I might confront him beforehand to see if he’s ballsy enough to make the first move.”

Noah huffed a defeated sigh, biting back his disapproval in favour of something far stealthier.

“Cameron…” he started slowly, taking a pause before continuing, “…no way you’re 100% okay with this.”

Rafe faltered, shrugging after a moment. “I — doesn’t matter. The whole fake dating thing was nice while it lasted, but shit… it can’t go on forever, can it?”

“That doesn’t mean you have to just —” Noah winced, back-tracking, “— uh, I mean, I don’t get it. Five years of pining, and you give up just as you’re making progress?”

“It isn’t real progress,” Rafe lied, because he couldn’t afford to think it was — this would hurt far more if he did, and would feel selfish in a way he didn’t want it to. 

“Cameron,” Noah said firmly, shaking his head, “we both know that isn’t true. With all the shit you’ve been telling me about the last week —”

“No, bro, c’mon,” Rafe interrupted, raking his fingers through his hair, “I can’t — it doesn’t matter, okay? I need to do this one thing for her before she leaves me for college. Like — shit, do you know how far UPenn is from UNC? I need to leave a lasting impression, alright, because if I don’t, I’ll just be that stupid douchebag she knew in high-school. I can’t be him. I just — if I make this happen, I’m the sweet guy who helped her find true love. That has to count for something, doesn’t? When she comes back to the Outer Banks with Topper, when they have kids and a dog and all that shit that he better fucking give her, then she’ll smile at me and think — he helped make this happen. Not resent me for standing in her way.”

“True love?” Noah echoed, and it was silent for a while, the words losing their integrity with every beat that passed. “Topper’s her true love?”

“Don’t know,” Rafe shrugged, and he felt like he was lying then, but it didn’t matter; you,yourhappiness,your future — his mind was set. “But on the off chance that he is, I’m not going to be the one that fucks it up.”

So when he confronted Topper a little bit later, he gained immense satisfaction in hearing the boy confess how he felt. He wasn’t sure what prompted the stern talking-to that followed — you weren’t his, and he didn’t have a foot to stand on, being this protective. But when you leaned into hisside (not Topper’s) inside the elevator, he thought that perhaps it was the right decision, after all.

He wanted to memorise the feeling of your figure against his. This was probably the last time you would ever stand in such close proximity, and he closed his eyes a moment, breathing in deep until he reallyfelt it. Because Topper was going to ask you out, soon, and you were just going to let him. And this story would end with you, Topper, and a happily ever after, and Rafe Cameron back in the shadows because of it.

“I don’t think that we need to, uh —”

“What?” You whispered, and shit — you looked nervous, almost sheepish, and he swallowed. He wanted to kiss away every frown line on your forehead. “Oh! You mean…”

You took a pause then, and Rafe felt himself leaning back in. “…you’re warm. That’s all.”

His lips parted as the words registered, the arm he had wrapped around your shoulder pulling you impossibly closer. One last time, he thought. I want to flirt with fate one last time. And when you didn’t quite pull away as silence fell, he heard violin symphonies and smelled lavender and tasted French wine on his lips. Did any of that make sense? Probably not, but it was you, and the selfish part of him thought: his. 

It was only when he met Topper’s withering gaze that he forced himself to separate. He latched onto an excuse about pizza, making minimal eye contact before disappearing in search of it. It was a poorly planned escape, but it was enough of a distraction to numb the foreboding ache that was making its way into his chest.

This was the right thing to do… wasn’t it? He wasn’t sure why it brought about this emptiness he couldn’t shake. Like he was betraying you, somehow, not allowing fate to run its natural course. But if there was one thing he knew, it was that that line of reasoning was a slippery slope. He couldn’t let himself believe it. Ignore, ignore, ignore. 

“If you love someone, let them go,” he said, trying his best to mean it. A leggy blonde whisked him away from you and Topper, and he let her do so with a strained smile and forced farewell. There was nothing left for him here. It was time that he accepted it.

She was gorgeous, all sun-kissed skin and full lips, though Rafe wasn’t sure that those qualities meant anything to him. If he was the douchebag he was attempting to epitomise, he would have used her to forget about you. Why couldn’t he?

“I’m Frankie,” she greeted with a wink, handing him a Bellini before bumping her shoulder against his, “and you’re American.”

“Rafe,” Rafe grinned, tipping it back and licking his bottom lip. “Is the accent really that obvious?”

“Unfortunately,” Frankie nodded sagely, eyes twinkling as they met his, “but hey, you got the fact that you’re cute going for you. That’s definitely something, isn’t it?”

“Something we have in common, then,” Rafe lilted, enjoying the way she blushed as it registered.

She breathed a laugh before leaning a little closer, lips brushing Rafe’s jaw, and — fuck, he felt nothing. Sure, flirting was plenty of fun; he could do it in his sleep, get her in his bed just as easily. He could, but something about it felt wrong.

You had branded him a douchebag back in freshman year, and the descriptor had stuck until very recently, in France. And though he had made peace with this fact a long time ago, a part of Rafe still worried that a meaningless hook-up would garner your disapproval. He didn’t want to be that guy, anymore — the one that disappointed you. He had done so once, with cocaine and shitty decisions losing him your trust, and he wasn’t sure your relationship would survive another indiscretion, on his part.

So he drew backward just as Frankie puckered her lips, meeting her perplexed gaze with a sheepish expression.

“Shit, sorry,” he said apologetically, tucking his bottom lip between his teeth, “I didn’t mean to give off the wrong impression.”

Frankie blinked. She paused, scanning his features carefully, and when she clocked it, she let out an exasperated sigh. She was blind, apparently, and more than a little naive, because all of the clues were right there in front of her and she had still managed to miss them.

“You didn’t,” she winced, combing her fingers through her blond tresses. “I thought that girl was with your friend. It’s my mistake.”

Rafe faltered, brow furrowing. “She is.”

“Ah,” Frankie exhaled, features softening, “sorry. One sided love sucks.”

“I —” Rafe hesitated, realising in the beat that passed that it was fruitless to try and deny it, “— yeah.”

Frankie gave his shoulder a reassuring pat, gulping down the rest of her Bellini before taking a step back. “Well, good luck with that. I better not keep you from her for more time than necessary.”

Rafe nodded a grateful response, watching her figure disappear into the crowd before setting his sights on you. The bar was reasonably crowded, boozy individuals at every turn, but there was something strangely magnetic about the way he knew exactly where to look.

He wasn’t sure he could explain it, but there was an impatience to the way he navigated the dance floor. His demeanour held a gnawing sense of foreboding, as though he could sense that something was about to go wrong. He quickened his pace, steps sharp and terse, trying his best to find you before trouble did.

And it was like he knew, of course he did, that you were being harrassed by someone brawny and unwelcome. The stranger appeared to tower over you, firm hands on bare skin, and the way you were shrinking was enough for Rafe’s anger to bubble red-hot. It swirled in the pit of his stomach like something egging him on, fuelled by guilt and sheer outrage and — shit, you were being heckled. Somewhere in the back of his head, he wondered fleetingly whether Topper was nearby. The thought lingered for a moment before being replaced by something far stronger — it didn’t matter where the other boy was, because this was his fucking responsibility, and he had failed. 

He didn’t deserve you, but you deserved this hulky stranger far less. Because who the fuck did he think he was, teasing an embrace or even just attempting to look your way? Rafe’s shoulders were squared, his figure pushing through the crowd at an alarming pace. You were beautiful, and impossibly gentle, and the way your expression faltered was his final straw.

This, he thought blindly. His fists were blanched at his sides, near-vibrating with adrenaline and acrimony, and Rafe thought, this is the Universe giving me a second chance. He thought, I’m not going to fuck this one up. And it wasn’t as though the idea was in any way rational — fourteen felt too young to understand the true cause of his mother’s death, and that was probably why he felt to blame for it all. But not this time, he thought, a long step forward closing the space between your figure and his. Complacency isn’t going to hurt another person I love.

He was within earshot now, and a muscle in Rafe’s jaw ticked at the stranger’s taunt. 

“I think she said no,” he warned, and you audibly exhaled. His name was impossibly soft on your lips, and it brought forth an entirely new sense of guilt. Because he should have been there — should have been an arm’s length away, but he wasn’t, and you were alone, and now, a stranger’s touch had found purchase on wrists that weren’t his. 

Rafe wanted to make this hurt. He wanted to coat his blanched knuckles with something permanent, and it almost prompted him to throw the first punch. But then his cold, blue gaze met yours a moment, features softening at the panicked way your expression transformed. You took his hand, slotted into his side like home, and though there was a pleading lilt to your tone, the words you spoke told him you didn’t realise how much better you deserved. 

“Apologise to her,” he ordered, because he most certainly wasn’t going to let this one go. He was going to force a muttered sorry through a strangled throat if it was the last thing he did on this Earth. He was going to break this man’s nose and probably do the same with his dirty fingers. He was going to beat him to a pulp, and then some, because how fucking dare he —

“Rafe,” your voice seemed a little far-away, the crack of his knuckles far more resonant. You said, “it doesn’t matter,” as if any part of him was going to believe you. And then, “let’s just go”, as though you really really wanted to. Your voice held an undercurrent of trepidation — something terse and panicked that prompted Rafe’s attention. He forced out a harsh breath, willing his features to soften, because this wasn’t about him, nor his need to get even. You, taken care of, thatwas what he wanted.

“Y/n…” his eyes met yours, zero-ed in like it was his full time job. Your shoulders relaxed. He felt you lean close like you belonged. “You’re sure?”

You nodded several times, appearing hurried, but it didn’t matter how quick you thought you were — the fight was lost before it had even begun.

Because of course the jerk was going to provoke Rafe with you, and of course Rafe was going to throw the first punch. The taunt rang through his ears like something cruel and unforgiving, numbing the harsh sting that his second punch brought. Then his third, his fourth coating his signet ring with blood. It was only when the gash on his forehead began to crust that he allowed a pause, grip punishing as he placed the stranger back onto the ground.

It took several, painful bruises and a crooked nose to get the words out of his mouth, but Rafe didn’t mind — he would get into a thousand more fights to defend your honour. A million more, a billion;he could do this all day, if you wanted him to. Because though Rafe’s satisfaction was momentary, it was enough to vindicate every single, irrational thought. 

He hadn’t yet noticed his own injuries when he turned toward you, and it was perhaps why his brow furrowed as he took in your expression. Your eyes were wide, worry on your lips, and the desperate way you were dragging him away from the scene prompted his thumb to brush over the bleeding gash on his. 

For a single, infinitesimal moment, Rafe wondered whether he could fix this by kissing you slow. Holding you close, soft skin and softer lips, and Rafe found himself thinking — your gentle touch would act better than stitches. There was a metallic taste on his tongue, a deep cut smarting the skin above his eyebrow, but he wasn’t sure he minded either of them, not with the way your nervous gaze met his features. You looked scared, nimble fingers clasping his wrist, and he barely registered Topper’s cursed admonishment behind him. Your breathing was jagged, and he frowned a bit as it registered, more than a little bewildered. Because despite your pained expression, despite your soft touch on his knuckles, your words were saying one thing, and your wide-eyed gaze another.

“You’re bleeding,” you swallowed slightly, and Rafe’s eyes fell to the column of your throat. It looked soft, unblemished, framed by stray curls that appeared disheveled. It was definitely the adrenaline talking (and perhaps the after-effects of several, strong Bellini’s), but for a moment, Rafe Cameron flirted with the idea of purpling your skin. There was a sensitive spot right beneath your earlobe, with raised goosebumps and nerve-endings on fire, and Rafe wanted to do something lawless and stupid. He wanted to taste you, and —

“…not to mention, you’re a fucking idiot.”

The reprimand was stern enough for Rafe to crack a roguish grin, his teasing response an attempt to diffuse the tension. “But I’m youridiot.”

Your brow pinched at the playful quip, and it did something syrupy sweet to Rafe’s conviction. There was a worried lilt to your tone, almost as though a part of you cared about him, and fuck if he was halfway to a head injury, but in that moment, Rafe thought, worth it. He thought, I’ll always take care of you before I take care of myself. He thought, if it was between you getting hurt and me, I’d choose the latter a million times over. God, if only you knew. Do you have any idea the lengths I’d go, just to keep you safe?

“…and, we’re in a foreign country, and —”

We may be in a foreign country, Rafe thought, but it seems I still have those same, Outer Banks feelings for you. 

“You know,” he teased, pressing his tongue against his cheek. “You’re cute when you’re worried.”

“Rafael.”

And there was something about the way his name sounded on your lips — Rafe Cameron wasn’t certain he would ever get used to it. Perhaps a part of him knew he wouldn’t have to; knew that fate tended to work in strange ways, and would lead you back to him eventually. Because something changed then, and it was written in the natural way you leaned right into him. A halo, bright and warm, and Rafe thought, this is it. He thought, I want this feeling to last forever.

—

“I don’t know,” you had said. I don’t know, and then some other words that had stuck to Rafe’s insides like fresh cement. The kind that hardened with every beat that passed; gained permanence through the way Topper’s apprehension matched yours. 

And though Rafe knew that he was selfish to ignore it, a jealous part of him found itself justifying his actions through the exact opposite. Because technically, he had done his duty as a friend and confidante. He had delivered several, stern admonishments when Topper had panicked, and ensured his own scarcity so that your date didn’t include him. Bartender girl was reasonably attractive; someone disposal to distract him from the envy poisoning his thoughts. And, her name on a napkin had passed the ‘i’ test — Noah White would approve, and that was what he decided to focus on.

Not the subtle way you had begun leaning into his touch, nor the way you tended to gravitate toward him when the three of you were out. Not the warmth of your skin, nor the way you reached for his hoodies over your own; more teasing quips, nowadays, more conversations that felt two-sided, instead of one.

But Rafe wasn’t focussing on that. He wasn’t focussing on the fact that two glasses of Sav got you drunk, nor the fact that drunk you tended to get handsier, somehow. He wasn’t focussing on the fact that you often fiddled with the signet ring on his thumb, nor how you mumbled something soft about wanting a similar one. He had broken several rules in succession, but he wasn’t focussing on the fact that you didn’t seem to mind it anymore. Thrown you over his shoulder more times than one, but he definitelywasn’t thinking about the way your waist fell against his palm. Not the curve of your hips, nor the sunshine on your legs, nor that onesundress with thin straps that his forefinger always found.

You had worn it to a wine-tasting near the Amalfi Coast, requiring little more than a Pinot Noir to giggle something sweet and tug Rafe close. It was the first time everyou had teased nimble fingers through his locks, and when your bright-eyed gaze had met his, he was certain his heart had stopped. But Rafe wasn’t focussing on that. And his mind definitely wasn’t doing a play-by-play of it every time his tired eyes shut.

“Rafaellllll,” you lilted, all bright eyes and flushed cheeks as you peered up at him. “Can I say something?”

Rafe nodded a roguish grin, steadying your hips with strong hands as you stumbled. “Careful, sweetheart.”

“I think,” you wrapped an arm around his neck, reaching up to ruffle his gelled locks just a bit, “your hair looks better long. And messy.”

You continued your assail until his hair was adequately hand-mussed, leaning all of your weight against his bicep in order to draw back and survey the damage.

“There,” you nodded, coating soft lips with crimson as you tipped back your wine glass. “That’s better.”

“You look like the boy-next-door types I tend to fall in love with, now,” you added as an afterthought, using the words ‘love’ and ‘you’ in the same sentence as though Rafe Cameron wasn’t already halfway to a heart-attack. And fuck if he understood exactly what you meant by that, but you had called it love,and he felt it like someone had poured maple syrup onto his heart. Sweet and gooey, and it had definitely stuck — but again, Rafe digressed, he wasn’t focussing on it at all.

He had separated from you and Topper a long while ago, sure that keeping his distance was the only way to go. But then, you threw a spanner in the works, and drunk texted him to “come party” as though any part of him could eversay no. 

“Rafael!” You slurred dopily, stumbling right off your barstool and into his chest. And it didn’t help that Sofia’s words still swirled within its depths; she was far more perceptive than he needed her to be, bringing forth a sense of pining he was trying desperately to bury.

He caught you against him, and for a moment, he wondered what it would take to keep you there. Safe, Rafe thought fleetingly, exactly where you belong. But the thought passed as quickly as it had come, and he plastered on the same, roguish grin he always had when you were around. “Y/n! How much did you guys drink?”

“A lot,” you responded, and your voice was solemn, low, double in its meaning and the way it brought Rafe’s stomach a punishing blow, “needed it.”

Topper Thornton wasn’t speaking up. And when he did meet Rafe’s searching gaze, it was to mutter a defeated “she wanted you to come.”

He was missing something, he was sure of it, but before he could bring it up, you were turning on your heel and downing another shot. And wrinkling your nose, and shaking your head, and stumbling right into Topper’s torso now, and it felt as though everything was moving in slow motion because how the fuckdid someone look thisbeautiful when they were drunk?

“Be honest,” you said to him, but Rafe’s mind was miles away when you did, not quite there since “not like you” had fallen from downturned lips.

And Topper was right, you were drunk, but where had that panicked look in his eye come from? 

“S’ruined now?” You asked then, words slurring to the point of no return. The way you wobbled had Rafe’s mind reeling; he wrapped an arm around your waist like damage control, hoping to diffuse the tension before things got out of hand.

But they already had, a long while ago, and Topper’s unawareness of this fact only p

MY OBX REC LIST,part four

( ☾ = angst, ☆ = head-canon, ❀ = fluff, ✧ = smut )

rafe cameron

—first time ❀ ✧

—truly, madly, deeply ☾ ❀

—caught ☾ ❀ (part two)

—forever☾ ( GIMME A PART 2 PLEASE )

—5 days, one boat✧

—finally❀

—holiday in the sun( heartbroken rn )

—high in love and cocanie✧

— the internship( series )

—better ☾ ❀

—stranger in my bed( A MASTERPIECE )

—november rain ❀ ☾

—brother may i( this series omfg- )

—sex with my ex ✧ ☾

—the devil you once knew ❀ ✧ ( softy rafe <3 )

— i want you ☾

—we’re not friends✧

—happy place☾(part 2,part 3)

—single ☾ ❀

—you’re secrets safe with me ✧ ☾

—ambivalence ( im always re-reading this series omfg )

—sweet as honey ❀ ☾

—parties, enemies and desires ✧

—sorry will never be enough ☾(part 2, SOBBING RN )

—5 am✧

jj maybank

—jj maybank x reader☾

—having sex with jj✧( i wish )

—secrets☾(part two)

—high school sweethearts❀( )

—collateral☾

—the affect of keeping secrets ☾

—ransom☾( so good omggg )

—feels too good✧

—wasted time & talent☾

—turn ons✧☆

—eventually☾

—collateral☾(part 2,part 3,part 4,part 5)

—red hot candy ☾ ❀ ( this fic >>> )

—water fountain☾

—dating jj maybank ☆

—right to love☾

sarah cameron

—seeing stars✧

—carrera❀ ( why not meeee )

—stargazing✧

—used to the cold☾

—windowsill✧( lord i- )

—sisters girlfriend☾( NO WHY )

—open eyes✧

—a new kind of love ❀

—bathroom ✧ ( i- )

—swim❀

pope heyward

—my angel my darling ☾ ❀

—high rider✧

—something new ☾ ❀ ( luv luv luvvvv )

—better things to come❀

—where’s the love ☾ ❀

—under loves heavy burden☾( my heart = shattered )

—perfectly imperfect ☾ ❀

—exploration✧

—doing it all for love ☾ ❀

—skin❀

barry

— our little family ❀ ( fluff overload omfg )

—need you ❀

—lazy morning lovin✧

—indebted to you❀( i luv thissss )

—complicated ☾ ❀

—unexpected surprises❀( sobbing, screaming & crying )

—attention❀

—this✧( i absolutely love this but i can’t find a name )

—drown❀

john b

—beer kegs and jealous boyfriends❀

—r u mine?☾

—sharing is caring✧ ( as sarah paulson said, im a whore )

—giggles mcgee❀

—for you, anything ☾ ❀ ( thisssss )

—marks ❀ ☾

—bell tower✧

—hammer to fall ☾ ❀ ( this is 2 cute )

—casanova ✧ ☾ ❀

—if you ever want to be in love ❀ ☾ ( the end )

—primal✧ ( i- )

kiara carrara

—nothing more❀ ( lmaooooo )

—that’s what you get✧( lawd- )

—soulmate ❀ ☾

—kissing girls❀ ( ugh why not meee )

—stay☾

—secret pics✧( i want this so bad )

—dormmate blues❀

—for forever ☾ ❀

—lucky❀ ( so cuteeee )

—bad girl✧

a/n:happy mayyyy

Halloween fic ideas

So I wanna write like 1 or 2 fics for Halloween I was thinking someone from Scream (maybe Randy bc im a simp for him). I haven’t seen alot of horror movies but I’ve seen a decent amount do you guys have any suggestions on what characters you’d wanna see ? Or maybe a Obx au where Rafe is like ghostface and he chooses you to be his final girl . Any one got any suggestions ?

Secret Game

{A pouge princess one-shot}

(Sarah Cameron x Bff Reader)

A/n: This is a little tie in with my pouge princess series I figured I’d dedicate a one shot to the game I’ll be mentioning alot. You don’t need to read this one to understand anything in pouge princess but I figured it would be a cute add on.

Warning ⚠️: none, everyone is aged down so Rafe is 10, Sarah and reader are like 7 and Wheezie is 4

Word count: 1,349

Sarah and you gathered underneath the covers of the tent Ward helped you guys build. Giggling as you pulled out a flash light to illuminate the small space, a notebook with stickers and sparkly pens scattered all around the two of you.

Sarah opened up the notebook to the first page popping open one of the pens in the process. “What should our game be about?”

“Umm i don’t know we should make it so we stay friends forever.” You giggled

“yha definitely we need something that will never tear us apart, something that we can play for years to come.” Sarah said doodling little hearts around the header of the notebook.

“How about we make it a game of truth? So we always have to tell each other everything.”

“That’s boring though we need something more.” Sarah huffed

“Oh I know how about in the truth game we have it where we never lie to each other about anything.”

“And if your caught in a lie you have to do what ever the other one says. But what type of things can’t we lie about” Sarah said writing down in the notebook what the two of you just came up with.

“We always have to let the each other know when we’re mad. You said taking a pen and adding the rule in.

"You always have to let me know if you like someone.” Sarah said turning the notebook towards her to add it.

“What why.” You winned.

“Because I wanna know everything we can’t keep secrets remember.” Sarah stuck her tongue out at you and you busted into a fit of giggles.

“Ok fine what else should we add?” “How about when ever one of us says pop quiz we just ask each other random questions and we have to answer no matter what and if not we do mini punishment.” Sarah pops up scribbling down the new rule.

“That’s a good idea we should keep tally of whoever has the most punishments.” You two continued to scribble in the notebook giggling at each thing you two wrote.

Before you knew it you had pages full of rules covered in stickers and written in glittery pens. The only thing left was to put a name towards your creation so the two of you sat there stumped trying to come up with something to call your game.

Suddenly your tent began to shake rapidly causing the blankets around you two to collapse ontop of you. Sarah and you cried out crawling out from underneath to see Rafe arms crossed with a scowl on his face.

“Your tents in the way, I wanna watch TV so why don’t you two get lost.” Rafe said stating daggers into the two of you.

“RAFE HOW COULD YOU.” Sarah yelled out stomping towards her brother fists clenched, trying her best to meet his eyes as he toward over her.

“You two have been in here for hours its time for you guys to go on in your room.” He said jabbing his finger into Sarah’s forehead.

You could tell by the look on Sarah’s face that she was ready to blow if it was possible you where sure steam would shot out of her ears. You walked over to them clenching the notebook that Sarah and you had spent hours working on trying to break up the brawl before it gone any worse.

“How about we all watch TV together and we can rebuild the tent and all hang out.” You squeeked looking down as you spoke.

Rafe turned his attention away from Sarah to pinch your cheeks shaking your whole body in the process. “Like I wanna hang out with a bunch of damn babies I’m not here to babysit its bad enough I got Wheezie following me around all day.”

Low and behold you turned your head as best you could to the sound of a little Wheezie tottering her way up to you all. Crossing her arms just as Rafe was before.

“Yha a bunch of babies.” She mimicked looking towards her brother for approval.

Rafe didn’t let of of your face only glancing over to Wheezie with a slight smile before turning his attention back to you two. Sarah wasn’t letting Wheezie’s distraction get in the way she pushed herself as close as she could to Rafe getting in his face

“Don’t touch my (y/n).” Sarah yanked Rafe away from you causing you all to tumble down, you sat up trying your best to pry Sarah off of Rafe as she began to slap him her arms flailing rapidly.

Rafe layed back blocking her shots as best as he could as you held onto her waist trying to pull her off.

“Sarah please let’s just go to your room i hate it when you guys fight like this.” You pleaded but Sarah kept on wailing away that was until you heard heavy foot steps aproch and all of you froze in place to see Ward standing by the doorway.

“Now what in the world is going on in here,  I shouldn’t hear you guys when I’m all the way in my office.” He said his voice sounding stern as he looked at us all with his hands on his hips.

“Rafe started it” Sarah cried out  shaking her way out of your hold to go rest her head on her father’s legs.

“He messed up our tent and said the D word Daddy, he even started to pinch (y/n)’s cheeks too.” Ward put his Hand ontop of Sarah’s head sending a look over towards Rafe.

“What did I tell you about messing with the girls Rafe, you should know better then that. We're  gonna have to have a talk in my office later.” He said voice harsh as he looked over to Rafe.

“But dad you seen she was hitting me why aren’t you gonna do anything about it.” Rafe huffed pointing his finger at Sarah as she turned her head to stick out her tounge before nuzzling her face back onto Wards legs.

“She wouldn’t of done it if you didn’t go and start this whole mess now I want you to apologize to the girls and come find me in my office after that.” His voice was harsh feeling like he cut Rafe with each word spoken. Rafe looked down his face hot with rage only nodding at his fathers words.

“Now when I’m done with that I’ll help you girls rebuild your tent.” Wards voice softened as he spoke to the two of you.

Sarah and you flashed him huge smiles thanking him as he walked off back into his office. Rafe turned to you first picking up the discarded notebook and handing it over to you.

“What’s this?” He said looking at the decorated cover.

“It’s the rules to our game.” You said shly before Sarah stomped over once again facing Rafe.

“Its the rules to a secret game,  so only (y/n) and me can play. Your not allowed now say sorry or I’ll tell dad on you again.” Sarah eyed him waiting for him to finally apologize.

“Whatever I don’t wanna play anyway, I guess I’m sorry.” He shoved his hands into his pockets taking one more look at you as you smiled at him before heading towards Ward’s office.

Wheezie followed suit after getting lost in the commotion as she followed Rafe most likely to sit outside of the door to wait for him. “That’s what we should call our game.” You said looking over to Sarah opening back up the notebook.

“It’s perfect since only we can play no one can ever know what our game is about its just for us and us only.” Sarah gleamed as you two wrote down the name.

You both burst into giggles rolling around the floor in pure glee after finally figuring out the name to your game. Neither one of you realizing that a silly little game created by two kids would go on to span years worth of friendship. 

A/n: I hope guys enjoyed I wrote this while I was hiding from my manager at work today