Happy One Year To The Subtle ‘fuck’...

the feminine urge to fall in love with anyone who has the ability to genuinely make me laugh

this is probably my favorite fluffy read- plus i love taylor so this was a win-win

Happiest birthday.

summary: Y/n gives Harry the best birthday gift he’s ever had. 

word count: 5.3k (got a little carried away)

a/n: hi friends! a little fluff piece for you while i get the longer pieces done, i’m sorry if itsn’t that good. I used Lover by Taylor Swift for this imagine, i hope you don’t mind <3 if you like my work please reblog or give me some feedback, it means the world to me :)

you can read the rest of my work here. 

italics mean flashbacks 

When it came to birthdays, Y/n was the most competitive person ever. She enjoyed showering her loved ones with gifts, wanting nothing more than make them feel special on their special day. Now, she gave very thoughtfully, unique gifts for everybody, so when it came to her boyfriend, her favorite person in the world, every birthday of his had to top the last one. The thing was, it was difficult to buy gifts for someone who already has it all. There was no material thing the man didn’t have or couldn’t buy himself, so Y/n decided to make his presents. She figured that way would be more intimate.

To be completely honest, Harry loved opening the box and not seeing an expensive watch or a Gucci shirt. He was utterly enamored with his girl, so he adored anything she gave him. Their first year together, she gave him a book filled with pictures, notes, receipts, and tickets of different places they went to through that year. It meant so much to Harry how she kept every single little thing from the tickets of the movie they went to see on their first date to a picture of them that Gemma took when they went on a double date. He was so moved by it he was sure he shed some tears and was not ashamed of saying it every time someone would ask him what was that book that left its place on the coffee table of his home.

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I've been saying this since season 1, but FEZCO CAN GET IT THO. That ginger can beat it up on ANY DAY. Damn, I need a sweet, but protective drug dealer in my life.

Manifesting that the fanfiction girlies on here will write some new Fez stuff.

lhh edging u while hes eating u out AND DEGRADING U “look at you puppy… cant stop whining.” “you love when daddy eats your little pussy right?”

One good reason

Warnings: 18+, smut, daddy kink, slight pain kink, slight degrading, edging

part of celebratory LHH concept night

Word count: 1K

Harry loved edging you. You knew that, yet still, somehow, you stupidly always fell for it and ended up a whining, pathetic mess while he had his fun with you.

He always started out promisingly. You even made sure he was properly turned on as well, in hopes that he would give in to his own desire and fuck you sensless, but no, Harry was a huge fan of delayed gratification.

So much so that he took his sweet time, edging you over and over and over again until you got teary eyed.

“Daddy, please…”

“Hush now” his voice had a sharp edge to it. He’d been listening to you whine and pant for the past 40 minutes and you were only getting needier. He hadn’t brought his mouth to your pussy yet, and it was driving you mad. He sat between your legs, slowly teasing your entrance, sliding a finger inside now and then, then retreating it and barely touching your clit as he dragged the wetness around your folds. He’d been doing it for almost an hour and you were ready to beg him to put his mouth on you.

“Please, please, daddy. I can’t take it anymore”

“Oh, my poor baby. You want daddy’s mouth, hm?”

“Yes, please. Please”

“Give me one good reason, and I will”

You threw your head back against the pillow in frustration, wrecking your brain trying to find something he’d get excited about. Not that everything you did didn’t excite Harry, but he was testing your limits now and you were willing to play along. Finally, it came to you. Something Harry had always wanted you to do, but you were just too weary to get yourself to say yes for some reason.

“I’ll sit on your face” your voice barely audible

“What’s that?” he perked up, resting on his elbows

You covered your face “I’ll do it. I’ll sit on your face”

“Argh! Fucking finally!” he groaned, flipping you over and taking your place against the pillow “C’mere, pretty girl. Sit on daddy’s face”

You sighed. You didn’t even know why you were being so apprehensive about this. You were definitely more than adventurous in bed and this was not that big of a deal, but you were somehow afraid of smothering him to death underneath you or something. Yeah, you knew that was highly improbable but you were on the curvy side so that was probably what prompted your apprehension.

You reluctantly scooted up and over his shoulders, thighs on each side of his face as you hovered over him, mindful not to sit on his long hair that was splayed across the pillow. He looked devastatingly handsome when his hair was all wild like that.

“Your tits are fucking perfect from this angle, baby. Love this view. Want you riding my face all the time from now on. C’mon. Lemme have it” he grabbed your thighs, hooking his arms over each and bringing you down against him. You could hear his muffled groan over your own moaning, you were so on edge that the moment he licked a long strip along your folds you thought you were going to come instantaneously “Stop hovering and sit on m’face properly, Y/N. Wanna come or not?”

You whined “But I am…”

He yanked you harder against him until you lost your balance for a moment and fully sat against his hot mouth as your body relaxed fully and your breath caught “Oh God, oh my fucking God!”

Harry went from moving his open mouth back and forth, left to right against you to thrusting his tongue deep inside of you, to then sucking your clit into his mouth like a man starved.

“C’mon” he coaxed, coming up for air and hearing him out of breath did something to you “Who’s a little slut for daddy? Hm? Gonna ride my face, pretty girl? C’mon. Grab my hair” he grabbed your wrists and guided your hands to his hair “Use it for leverage, lemme feel it sting, yeah?”

You nodded from underneath your lashes, seeing him pinned underneath you like that whilst still dominating you was sending you spiraling. You grabbed at his hair and relaxed yourself against his mouth again, feeling his groan vibrate against your clit. You pulled at his hair, as you urged yourself to move against his wet mouth and the sounds were enough to throw you over the edge, let alone the sensation. Harry’s hands went to your ass, guiding it in time with your own movements, letting you set the pace, delivering a swift slap every now and then especially after you yanked on his hair a bit harder.

“Look at you puppy… can’t stop whining. You love it when daddy eats your little pussy, right?”

You nodded frantically, quickening the pace, effectively silencing him as you ground yourself against him even harder, his slight scruff adding just the right bit of sting to the mix.

“There’s my little whore. Look what you’re doing to me. I’m drenched. Got it all over me, got it in m’hair. Gonna come all over daddy’s face, baby? Gonna make a big mess like the filthy slut you are?”

“Yes!” you mewled as he reattached his mouth to you sucking intently and you really dug your nails into his scalp now, making sure to keep his head flush against your cunt. He probably had no way of breathing but you couldn’t care less right then and there, you needed to come, and you needed for it to happen now.

The moment you fell over the edge, you felt him push you even harder against him as your whole body spasmed and he kept lapping up at you all throughout your high as your hands went from his hair to the headboard, trying to hold your limp body upright.

You were both panting heavily by the time you regained your senses and wanted to move aside but he grabbed your hips, holding you firmly in place “Where do you think you’re going? Scoot lower and lemme see you thank daddy properly while I sit and watch” he sent a swift slap to your ass and you watched his hair cling to his face while you mounted him and got right to work.

*you can read all the other lhh blurbs/one-shots here♥️

A/N: someone pls throw holy water over me. DADDY LHH? 💀💀💀🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥

💕 like & reblog if you enjoyed this, lovelies, and most importantly, please come share your thoughts on it here 💌

i love this so much

Just the Two of Us

i've been doing a lot of asks recently, so here's a concept straight from my brain. it's very, very long. enjoy!!

Harry Styles was a thorn in your side.

You didn't even really know him, you knew of him. Both of you worked at the same boat tour company, but thankfully you gave tours on different boats. So why did he irk you so much?

Well, he was insanely attractive, for one, but he knew it and had no qualms using it to lure unsuspecting tourists into his charming little trap.

It really wasn't any of your business, and he wasn't even a tour guide on your boat, but you'd catch him sometimes if your trips happened to come into the dock at the same time, and you'd have to watch him shamelessly flirt with girls (and the occasional boy if the mood struck him). You'd have to watch as these tourists threw themselves at him, practically begging for his attention, and he was more than happy to give it to them. This was a job, not a bar, and Harry was just so smug about his popularity with tourists your age, and it was just so—

"Annoying! He drives me crazy, Paige," you said, falling backwards onto your little sister's bed.

She looked up from behind her book. You could only see the top half of her face, but that was all you needed to see to know she was grinning. "You know, for someone who hates the guy, you sure do talk about him a lot."

"Oh please. That is not what this is. People vent about the people they work with all the time."

Paige shrugged. "If you say so."

"I do say so," you said, narrowing your eyes at her.

You thought she'd let it go. You certainly had. The implication that you were...were interested in Harry was vomit-inducing. He was a player, and he did nothing to hide it. He used his tan, his muscles, his dark curly hair, his stupidly charming and dimpled smile to his advantage. You typically weren't the kind to harp on people's sexual activity, but getting a front row seat to Harry's flirting was exhausting.

"It's okay if you're, like, attracted to him, you know," Paige said, her eyes not once leaving her book.

"Paige!"

"What? He's hot. It's like a scientific fact."

You nudged your sister's knee with your foot. "You are fifteen. Stay far, far away."

"And you're twenty-three. You should definitely strike while the iron is hot, live a little," she said, closing her book and setting it down.

"I have lived. I've done plenty of living."

"I know, but ever since you came home, you haven't. I don't want to be the reason you don't have fun anymore. I mean, when was the last time you picked up a—"

"Paige," you said, sitting up on the bed to look at her better. "I don't regret being here. You're my sister. I'd do anything for you."

She played with the book's cover, not looking you in the eye. "I just feel guilty sometimes. You were living your life, and I—"

"You needed help." Patting the spot next to you on the bed, you urged Paige to sit next to you. Sighing, she got up from her beanbag chair and plopped down next to you. When she was settled, you let her rest her head on your shoulder. "I don't regret being here, Paigey."

"I know."

Your parents disappeared a few years ago, not that they did much when they were present. When you lived at home, Paige was your responsibility, and you took it on like any other challenge. You helped her with her schoolwork, you made her Halloween costumes, you took her to Father/Daughter dances. In your eyes, you were a family of two, and your parents were kind of just tenants living in your home.

And then opportunity struck. When you weren't raising Paige, you were competing in local surf competitions. And winning. After graduating high school, you were offered a sponsorship and invited to tour the world to compete. You initially turned the offer down, knowing you couldn't leave Paige behind. And perhaps it was selfish of you, but you really really wanted to go, so when Paige insisted that you go and live your dream, you did, but not before sitting your parents down and laying into them about how they needed to change their behavior or you would take Paige and never look back. And maybe that's what you should've done in the first place.

But things were good at first. You checked in on Paige constantly, flew home when you could, and even got Paige on a plane to visit you wherever you were when you could. Your parents were marginally better, but you would still send checks directly to Paige and not them, and paying bills from different time zones.

Were you surprised when you got a call from Paige's school saying that apparently your parents had been AWOL for weeks? Yes, but only because you thought Paige would tell you something like that and she didn't.

So you hung up your board and flew home, and had been taking care of Paige ever since. That was two years ago, and things were fine. You made enough money to get by, and even more saved up during the off-season for tourism. Paige sometimes voiced her concerns about you, but you were telling the truth when you said you didn't regret coming home. She was your first and only priority.

"Hey, what do you say to playing hookie tomorrow? I'll give you a marine biology lesson in person," you said. You didn't do it often, but sometimes you decided that Paige needed a life lesson and not an academic lesson, so you took her out with you on a day of snorkel watching tours around the Channel Islands.

You couldn't see her, but you could tell she was smiling. "You just need an extra set of hands again."

There was also that.

"Maybe, but it'll still be fun. And I'll give you some of my tips," you pressed. You gave her a small allowance, but she liked making a little money of her own too.

"Fine, but only because I know I'll get to see Harry at some point. Maybe I should see if he needs a hand."

It was a joke, obviously. One she knew would make you react a certain way. And you did.

"Gross, Paige. Stick to obsessing over boybands and teen vampires or whatever," you said, standing up from her bed.

You wished her a good night, then left her room, cleaning the house up a bit as you went. When you finally settled down for sleep, your thoughts were plagued by green eyes and dimples and colorful swimtrunks that complimented tan skin. Groaning, you put your pillow over your head, waiting for the torture to end.

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A week later you were at the marina, cleaning up the little speedboat you took tourists out on, you enjoyed the silence and sunrise. It was peaceful, a little chilly, but peaceful. At this hour, it was just you, your docked boat, and the ocean.

And then your peace was shattered by footsteps, footsteps headed towards you.

"Oh God," you muttered when you saw who it was. It was Harry and your boss Jackson.

"Boss" was a bit of an overstatement. He ran the snorkel tour service that you worked at, but he was also a close family friend. He was the one who taught you how to surf. He caught you wandering the beach one day when you were seven. You were an angry little thing, and skittish, like a stray dog. You were used to looking out for yourself, you trusted no one but yourself, and when Jackson came up to you, you were seconds away from scratching and kicking.

But he kept his distance and just tossed you a board. He didn't say much, only muttering how to paddle and duck dive and eventually push yourself up. It took a long time to trust him, but heeventually became someone important to you, someone you leaned on for help from time to time, especially when Paige was born.

Jackson wasn't like a father to you, you didn't want one of those. He was more like an eccentric uncle, one who promised to look after you and hooked you up with a job when you came home.

"Hey, Jack," you said, completely ignoring the man next to him.

"Y/n," he said. To this day, Jackson was a man of very few words. "Listen, I—"

"You're not gonna greet me?" Harry asked. He was grinning, like the fact that you didn't greet him brought him immense pleasure.

Not missing a beat, you looked at him briefly. "Hi. You were saying, Jack?"

Harry chuckled and shook his head, but Jack ignored it and continued. "Callie is out with a torn ACL and Gordon is doing relief work in South America, so we have to downsize this season. Harry's with you."

"What?"

"Try not to act so excited, Princess," Harry said, a very satisfied smile on his face. "I do happen to be one of Santa Cruz's best tour guides."

"Says who?"

"Almost everyone who comes aboard my boat."

Even that sounded dirty. "Was that before or after you slept with them?" you muttered.

Harry didn't even seem offended by your jab, only more amused. But before he could say anything else, Jackson cut in. "Okay, that's enough. What's done is done, Y/n. Let him help you prep."

He walked off before you could do anything, and then you were alone with him. Harry opened his mouth to say something, but you cut him off. "No, no. Ground rules before you try to hit on me. Which, rule number one: no hitting on me."

"You're getting ahead of yourself, Princess. You're not even my type," he said, but as he was saying it, he'd looked you up and down twice, his eyes zeroeing in on your chest.

Crossing your arms, you leaned against the boat. "Right. Rule number two: no little nicknames. And three: no flirting on my boat—"

"Your boat?" he asked, holding back a laugh.

"Yes. My boat. And on my boat, we don't flirt with the tourists. Got it?"

"Are you going to let me on your boat anytime soon? Or are we just going to sit around talking about your rules?" Harry's arms were crossed now too, but he still looked like you were entertaining him rather than setting boundaries. Instead of answering, you just raised your brows at him. With a scoff and a roll of his eyes, he said, "Yes, I got it. I didn't realize you were such a prude."

"Not a prude. Professional," you corrected, but his words struck a chord with you. You weren't a prude, not really, you were just careful, responsible. When you were on your own, traveling with all the other surfers, you were carefree, maybe even a little wild. But Paige didn't need carefree and wild, she needed steady and reliable, something your parents never were.

"Look, just—just no checking me out, alright?"

Harry shrugged. "Easy."

He said it like it was so easy, but you knew better. "I mean it, Styles. If you so much as dip your eyes below my chin, I will push you off this boat and leave you in the middle of the ocean."

His responding grin was slow, the dimples in his cheeks deep. "You got it. Now, what time is our first trip?"

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Harry Styles was a pain in your ass.

You didn't think he would listen to any of your rules, but you'd hoped. It lasted one tour. One. And by the second, he was smiling at tourists as he helped them with their rental gear, making them giggle and twirl their hair and pressing their boobs against his arm. It was hard to watch.

So you didn't. You drove the boat, you helped parents and their kids with their flippers and making sure their goggles didn't fog up. You passed out lunch and answered questions and resisted the urge to kick Harry off the boat when he let one of the women who was on a trip with her friend sit on his lap.

When no one was around was when he was the most tolerable. There was no one for him to flirt with, and since you virtually ignored him, he only had himself to entertain. And he bought you lunch occasionally, which was nice, because between tourist excursions and taking care of Paige, you often forgot and ended up starving by the time you made it home.

He was even kind of funny when you gave him the time of day, which was rare in the few weeks you'd spent working together. And as time went on, you started to just get used to his...work ethic.

You still didn't like him, but you didn't hate him either.

"Any plans for after our last trip to Channel Islands, ladies?"

You ignored Harry, figuring he was asking the group of bridesmaids on their way off the boat. You'd gotten used Harry and his behavior, but today it was just you, Paige, Harry, and a bunch of girls on a bachelorette weekend. He didn't even have to do anything, they were immediately all over him, which left you and your sister to do the heavy lifting. And now they were finally leaving, and you were ready for them to take Harry with them.

"Y/n," Paige said, elbowing you.

"What?"

"He was asking you."

"Me? What do you—Oh." Looking up, you saw that the bridesmaids were gone and Harry was in fact looking at you. It was the first time he'd ever asked you that, but perhaps it was because Paige was here and he was just being on his best behavior in front of her.

Shrugging, you said, "Not much. Pizza and a movie?"

"It sounds lame but it's really not," Paige said, looking at Harry. You tried to hide your laugh with a cough, but she heard it and elbowed you again.

"Not lame at all," Harry agreed, not seeming to notice the heart eyes your sister was staring at him with. "I was gonna go surfing if you wanted to join? I noticed boards on top of your car in the parking lot this morning, and—"

"We can't. Maybe another time?" you said. You had no desire to spend more time with Harry than absolutely necessary.

"Oh, can we please, Y/n? We haven't gone this summer, and the swells today were supposed to be amazing," Paige said.

Over the years, you'd taught Paige to surf. You hadn't surfed much since coming back to take care of her, but you sometimes went out and watched, giving your sister pointers and advice. The only time you surfed was before the sun came up when no one else was on the beach. It was how you centered yourself and found peace. And sometimes you were emotional about it too. You wouldn't change your life for anything, nor did you regret cutting your career short to take care of Paige, but sometimes you missed it so much tears sprung in your eyes.

Surfing was the one thing that brought you joy, that took you away from your parents. And you were good at it too, better than good. And sometimes when bills piled up and Paige was being a hormonal teenager and slamming doors in your face, you wondered what life would be like if you were still traveling, still competing. But only in the early morning, and after you paddled in and started your day, you left those doubts behind you.

"Not tonight, okay?" you said, suddenly tired. It was a long day of tours, and you were slowly developing a headache. You just wanted to go home, and you were not about to leave your sister alone with Harry.

"Another time then," Harry said, winking at Paige. She giggled and blushed, then helped you gather your things and get off the boat.

Paige grabbed your keys from you and ran for the car, letting herself into the driver's seat. She got her learner's permit recently and had been pushing you to let her drive ever since. You didn't mind, but you did grab the ceiling handle in the passenger seat anytime she made a left turn or parked between two cars.

"She's sweet."

You jumped at how close Harry was to you, but that only served for him to smile at you. Clearing your throat, you said, "Yeah, yeah she is."

"And it's just you two?" he asked.

You looked at Harry, trying to see what these questions were about. He'd never cared to ask you anything personal before, and you didn't know why he was doing so now. What was his game here?

"Yep. It's just us," you said. "See you tomorrow, Harry."

"Wow. You really don't like me, do you?"

You'd made about two steps before he spoke up again, and his words made you freeze and turn around. "Excuse me?"

"I'm trying to have a conversation with you, and you barely even look at me," he said. "I get that you don't like the way I live my life, but I'm sick of you judging me and treating me like shit. I'm a person with feelings, if you didn't know."

"I—"

"And I am good at my job, you know, despite what you seem to think," Harry continued. "If you ever bothered to get to know me, you'd know that I have a degree in marine biology and was a lifeguard before I started working here. I am competent and I can do this job just as well as you, if not better."

Your mouth just kept opening and closing, unable to form any words. You couldn't say anything because he was right, you did think those things. But hearing Harry say all of that to you made you flush with embarrassment. You never thought you'd be confronted about how you felt about him, and now you were incredibly embarrassed.

"I'm so—"

"No, if that's how you feel, that's how you feel," Harry shrugged, his shoulders straining against his white long sleeve shirt. "I just thought you should know you think a little too loud. See you, Y/n."

Harry walked off towards his car, an old beat up pickup truck with two surfboards sticking out of the bed. You were stunned, unable to do anything but watch him get in his car and drive off. When he was gone, you were finally able to move. You walked in a daze to your car, getting in the passenger's seat in silence.

"What was that about?" Paige asked.

"I—I think I've been a little harsh on Harry," was all you managed to say.

Paige laughed, a small and bubbling thing. You frowned as your sister continued to laugh, but she didn't stop, just kept giggling until you pinched her arm. "Oh brother, Y/n. You just realized that?"

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You thought things would be different, or tense, or at the very least awkward, but they weren't. When you showed up for work the next day, Harry acted like he hadn't called you out for being judgemental or pointed out that you didn't like him. It was like that entire conversation never happened. He went on flirting with tourists and you went on ignoring it, but you tried to keep your thoughts to yourself, remembering what he said to you: I just thought you should know you think a little too loud.

Harry got on your nerves, that didn't change over night. But you also realized that he was right. You weren't a judgy person by nature, so you didn't know why he got under your skin so much. He was just in your mind constantly with his stupid smirks and shorter swim trunks and dark tattoos. He frustrated you to no end, especially now because he hardly spoke to you unless it was about work, a normal thing for the two of you but it felt different now.

And then it hit you.

You were jealous of him.

He was young, maybe a couple years older than you, but you were both in similar places in life. But the difference between you two was that he had freedom you didn't. He got to live life as a young twenty-something while you were helping Paige with math homework and making payments on your parents' house. You would never blame Paige for stepping up and taking care of her, so maybe your subconscious directed the blame at Harry, who was everything you couldn't be anymore.

Sure, he could stand to stare at your boobs less when you were in your bikini, but he never made any lewd comments or sexual advances at you and kept his distance like you'd asked. And if you thought back hard enough, you recalled the tourists making the first move, Harry only reacting to their behavior.

You really were an asshole.

But you were also too proud to apologize. And scared. Harry wasn't rude to you on trips, but he did his job in relative silence, and you didn't know how to bridge that gap that had formed between you. So you just...didn't.

You did your job while he did his, and everything was fine, minus the ever-growing guilt in the pit of your stomach.

"I'm going to the sandwich place down the street. Do you want something before the next tour?"

You looked up from your phone. You'd been enjoying a bit of sun before your next tour group was supposed to show up. Harry had hardly said a word to you all day, and hearing his voice made you jump.

"Uh, sure. Just a turkey sandwich, please."

"Great. I'll be back in ten," he said, not looking twice before stepping off the boat.

Groaning, you leaned your head back. That was why you were so afraid to talk to him now. And perhaps it was deserved, but he hardly gave you the time of day.

You tried making yourself busy. Cleaning surfaces you'd already cleaned and checking the gas gauge even though you knew it was full. By the time you heard Harry's shoes slapping against the wooden planks of the boardwalk, your hands were shaking from nerves.

He'd hardly handed you your sandwich when you blurted, "I'm sorry."

"For...what? Exactly?" he asked, tilting his head curiously.

"You were right. About what you said about me. I judged you too harshly when I hardly even know you. I'm sorry," you said, more to the sandwich than to Harry, but in your defense he had a very intense stare.

"I...don't accept your apology," he said, which did make you look at him.

You'd never had someone not accept an apology before, and it felt weird. "Um...okay?" Well, what the hell were you supposed to do now?

Harry grinned and came and sat down next to you, his arm stretching across the edge of the boat, bringing the two of you closer than you'd ever been before. "Not until you go surfing with me."

"I'm trying to apologize and you're asking me out?"

Harry threw his head back and laughed, clearly finding your assumption amusing. "No, though it's cute that that was your immediate thought," he said, still grinning. "I just want us to be friends. We work together all the time and I hardly know you outside the fact that you have a sister and you're slightly judgemental. I want to get to know you. As a friend."

"Oh, well, um, I suppose that's fair," you said. In theory, you shouldn't have cared about being friends, but you felt bad for judging him so harshly, so you almost felt like you had to say yes. "But—Can I just ask why surfing?"

"Because I feel like I need a leg up on you, and I'm rather excellent at surfing."

Now look who was judging, you thought, but you just nodded. "Okay. When?"

"After work today? There's a great spot close by. It's called Steamer—"

"The Lane. I know where it is," you said. Once you were up for it, Jackson had you training there. To test your skills and to be noticed by the right people. The Lane was where a lot of pros surfed, and Jackson told you that if you wanted to be one too, you needed to not only see your competition, you needed to surf what they were surfing too.

"I'm sixteen," you said. "Aren't they all, like, adults."

"You'll get there," he said.

"You think so?"

"Definitely."

"Oh, so you've been?" Harry asked.

"Mmhm. I grew up here, so," you shrugged, not wanting to give too much away.

"Hey, would you look at that. Another thing I know about you," he said, and you couldn't help but match his grin. And damn it if you started to want to be his friend. "So you'll come? I promise we'll be square."

You didn't really like surfing around anyone else anymore, but you also wanted to make things right with Harry. "Yeah. I can't be out too late, though. I have to make dinner for Paige."

"Fine by me."

The two of you quickly ate lunch after that, only having a little time before the next tour began. You were surprised to find yourself excited about spending time with Harry after the day was over. And things were lighter between the two of you too. He joked with you on the tours, and you surprised yourself by joking back. Harry offered to drive the boat , and you let him while you went out with the group in the water, and when you came out, you didn't feel his eyes on you. Not once. Who knew that all you had to do was be open and honest to have a healthy working relationship?

Okay, that was a stupid question, but you were there now, and you were relieved.

At the end of the day, you and Harry cleaned up and put everything away, and when you walked to the marina parking lot together, he made sure you were still going to the Lane with him. You promised to meet him there, and when you got in your car, you took a deep breath. You were really doing this.

As you pulled out of the parking lot, you smiled to yourself. Harry had no idea what he was in for.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

"So, you have boards, which means you're at least familiar with surfing, right?" Harry asked. He'd already changed into his wetsuit, and now you were the one trying not to openly stare. It just cut his figure perfectly.

"Uh, yeah," you said. You hoped he mistook your stuttering as nerves about surfing and not your dry mouth at seeing every inch of his muscles outlined by the wetsuit. "I—I know my way around."

"If you're nervous, don't be. I've been told I'm an excellent teacher."

That snapped you out of your daze. A small grin twitched the corner of your mouth. "Thank you. That's very kind."

"I'm a kind person. Not that you would know."

"Hurtful, but deserved, I suppose," you said, walking around to hide behind the side of your car to put on your own wetsuit. When you came back around, Harry gave you a once over. It was brief, but it felt...right somehow. And it gave you butterflies, ones that you definitely needed to ignore. "Ready?"

"So ready."

Harry offered to carry your surfboard for you, but you told him you were fine. He was actually very sweet now that you were away from work, giving you all these tips and pointers that you'd given to Paige when she started learning to surf. It was cute that he wanted to take care of you and make sure you were comfortable, but after you saw a perfect wave about to roll in, you couldn't pass it up. So, without even looking at him, you started to paddle for a wave you were sure Harry didn't even see.

"What are you—" he tried to ask, but you were already leaving him in the dust.

"I'll be back!"

And then you were off. Harry was a speck in your mind as the rest of the world fell away until it was just you and the wave cresting beneath your surfboard. You cut your board through the wave, riding it like it was second nature. And when you were getting close to shore, you jumped off, the safety tether tugging at your ankle a little.

As you paddled back towards Harry, you felt ten times lighter, like you were seeing everything in technicolor. That's what surfing did for you. It put everything into perspective, set the world back on its axis, everything just made sense when you were on the perfect wave.

Your smile was brighter than it had been in a while, and when you paddled back to Harry, it only grew.

"You—You're a liar. A dirty, dirty liar."

"I didn't lie," you said, sitting up on your board, your legs straddling either side of it.

"I asked you if you knew how to surf, and you said, 'I know my way around.' Liar!"

You giggled, like actually giggled. "It was very sweet of you to help. I didn't want to hurt your feelings or bruise your ego or anything."

"Bruise my—You really are something else, you know that?" Harry said, paddling closer to you. "I—I literally don't know what to say other than, uh, can you show me how you did that?"

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Surfing had kind of become your thing now.

You and Harry would go after you were done taking tourists out, you went out together and surfed. Sometimes you took Paige with you, sometimes it was just the two of you, and sometimes you even invited him out for your mornings on the water. He had somehow become a part of your life before your very eyes, and you weren't even mad about it.

Seeing him flirt with tourists was only mildly annoying to you, you bought each other lunch between tour breaks, and he constantly peppered you with questions about surfing—how long you'd been surfing, where you'd been, your favorite spots. It was like he suddenly needed to live vicariously through you.

"Portugal, for sure," you said, lying on your back.

"I can't believe you've been to Portugal. I can't believe your only worry was whether there would be good enough swells for a competition," Harry said, laying on his own board. He spoke like he was in awe of you, and it felt nice.

"It was...some of the best times of my life," was all you could say, too wrapped up in the past to think of anything else.

"So, why'd you stop?"

You shrugged. "Paige needed me."

Harry was quiet after that. It didn't take a genius to put the pieces together. You never talked about your parents, and it was just you and Paige.

"But enough about me," you said, eager to change the subject. "What about you? How'd you end up working for Jackson, Mr. Marine biology degree?"

"Oh you know me. Slept around, went to college, slept around some more..."

"Shut up, I said I was sorry," you said, splashing water in his direction. "And to be fair you do flirt with a lot of people."

"So, I'm flirtatious. Is that a crime?" he asked, but you could tell he wasn't offended. It wasn't like he could deny it.

"No, but you are deflecting."

"Only because you're so much more interesting," he said.

Sitting up on your board, you looked at him. "You're doing it again. If you want to remain a mystery just say that."

Harry shrugged, and you wondered why clammed up so much at the mere prospect of talking about himself. You weren't exactly incredibly forthcoming yourself, but you answered his questions, and you didn't know why he wasn't doing the same.

"It's just not that interesting. Moved to California for college, got my degree, fell in love with surfing, and realized I didn't need to be super wealthy to be fulfilled."

"So you just...give snorkel tours and surf. All day long," you said, trying to make sense of his lifestyle. He was like a younger version of Jackson, in a way.

"And have a lot of sex. Don't forget that part," he said, his dimples flashing as he grinned.

"Fuck off with that. I'm serious."

"And so am I!" Harry sat up and faced you. "Life's too short to worry about things you don't need to worry about. I just want to do what makes me happy."

"You sound like a former cancer patient or someone who had a near-death experience," you joked.

It was a joke, that's all it was, but from the look on Harry's face, it appeared you hit the nail on the head.

"Oh my God. I'm so sorry. I'm such a fucking idiot! I shouldn't have said anything. You—You don't have to say any—"

"Y/n, it's fine. You didn't know," he said, but he sounded different. More guarded.

"It was still a bad joke. I'm sorry. I'll just, I'll just go."

You thought he would stop you, but he didn't. He wouldn't even look at you. So after another mumbled apology, you paddled back to shore, not looking to see if Harry followed you. He didn't.

You were more embarrassed than when he called you out for being judgemental. Things for the last two weeks had been good. You and Harry were getting along, you joked with each other, you hung out outside of work. Everything was just clicking, and now you'd gone and fucked it up.

When you got back to your car, you didn't bother peeling your wetsuit off all the way. You just strapped your board to the top of your car and hightailed it out of there, dreading coming into work the next morning.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Harry didn't show up to work the next couple days, which made you feel even worse.

Did you somehow send him into a depressive spiral? Was he okay? Did someone need to check on him? Certainly not you, and you didn't think it was your place to ask Jackson about it.

So you went out on the boat with one of the new hires. They were quiet, a little too quiet. You'd become used to Harry's low drawl and the giggles he elicited from tourists. It was like background noise, and now your work days just felt off. Somehow, you'd grown fond of Harry, and you missed seeing him every day. Something Paige had no issue teasing you about when you brought it up once.

Your new tour partner was nice, but he was quiet and shy, and you were also pretty sure he was afraid of you, though you had no idea why. You tried your best to ignore it for the sake of your tourists, trying to give them the best experience possible. You'd even enlisted Paige's help while Harry was gone. At least then you'd have someone to talk to. Except when she stepped on the boat and met Remy, she was completely smitten, and he suddenly had lots to talk about.

"Figures," you muttered, cleaning up after your first tour of the day. Harry had been gone three days now, and you wondered if he was scared of you too. It seemed you had that effect on people.

Halfway through the week, Harry returned. He was in much better spirits than the last time you saw them, and since you were pretty sure you didn't know how to hold an emotionally charged conversation, you kept your distance. You were amicable, but kept Harry at arm's length, which was hard once you realized just how much you missed him. He brought this energy to the boat that went unmatched, and you'd grown comfortable around him, but obviously he didn't feel that way about you.

And it didn't help that he kept his distance too, so much so that it was almost back to when you first started working together. You stayed on opposite ends of the boat, which was hard considering its size. And the longer you went without talking, the worse you felt. You'd said something stupid, but you didn't think it was worth icing you out over. You felt alone, isolated, drifting farther and farther away from everyone, despite being right next to them.

You spent a lot more time alone in the water, waking up earlier and coming home later. Paige could tell something was up, but she'd been spending time with Remy and his family, and any time she asked if you wanted her to stay home, you told her to go and have fun. "Don't worry about me," was your mantra these days.

Your loneliness led to irritability, a feeling you hadn't felt since you were young and walking the Santa Cruz pier by yourself. It was easy to slip back into old behaviors. If Harry could be cold, so could you, and you were probably a lot better at it, though you weren't sure that was something to be proud of. Not that he noticed, anyway. It felt like he hardly even looked at you anymore. That was something you'd wanted when you first started working on the same boat, but now you missed it. And damn it, you missed him. But if he was going to be an ass, you weren't going to bother.

It was another early day at the marina, but when you got down to where your boat was docked, someone was already there.

"What do you want, Jack?"

"We're taking the day off today. Come on. Hop in," he said, firing up the engine when you were close enough. You knew he would take off without you, but honestly a day off sounded pretty good to you.

You got on and sat down on one of the worn leather benches by the front of the boat. You kept your eyes on the horizion, watching the world come to life as the sun rose, lighting up the sky and slowly warming your skin.

Jackson drove for a while until the coastline was a mere speck. He made sure you were far enough from the rest of the world, but close enough in case you needed to get back to the marina for an emergency. When he cut the engine and dropped the anchor, he sat down next to you, enjoying the stillness.

"I haven't seen you like this since you came up to my kneecaps," he finally said, keeping his eyes on the water.

"I don't know what you're talking about," you said, even though you did. You'd been more impatient lately, and quick to snap at anyone who tried to hold a conversation with you. You were professional with the tourists, but just barely, which was probably why Jackson pulled you from work today.

"He got under your skin, then?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," you repeated.

Jackson sighed. "Well, it makes sense. Both of you are stubborn and have very poor emotional intelligence."

"He doesn't want to talk to me. I'm not going to force someone to have a conversation," you said with a shrug. It was the truth, but there was also more to it than that, and Jack knew it too.

"I know you won't."

You went back to sitting in silence, and you were thankful that Jackson dropped it. You didn't want to talk about Harry. Not when the thought of that day out on the water was the only thing that came to mind. You realized you messed up with that stupid joke you made, but was that really worth completely ignoring you over? You didn't think so, but then again, what did you know? You were the least equipped to handle situations like that, situations that involved feelings. And you did feel for him, you just didn't care to define them, not when Harry wasn't talking to you. There was no point.

"I think I'm unlovable," you said out of the blue. It was merely an observation, one that you only felt comfortable saying around Jackson because you knew he wouldn't judge you for it.

"Well, that's a load of bullshit," Jack said.

"Is it? My parents never cared about me or Paige, I've never had a steady boyfriend, and it only took a couple of weeks for Harry to hate me."

"You're gonna sit there and tell me Paige doesn't love you?" Jack said, and you could see him shake his head out of the corner of your eye. "That kid idolizes you. You're her hero."

That's when the tears came. Because when it all broke down, Paige was at the center of your world. You were eight years apart, and she was very different than you in a lot of ways, but you loved her. And she loved you. And nothing would ever change that.

"You should've never stopped competing. It made you so happy."

Wiping a tear with the sleeve of your sweater, you shook your head. "You know why I had to stop, Jack. I had to be here—"

"And that means what, exactly? You retire for good? We both know there are plenty of competitions around here, Y/n. You could've taken Paige with you, but you're here, wasting away. Why?"

"It's not that simple," you said, shaking your head. "And I couldn't take Paige around the world with me. She was thirteen."

"And what about when she's eighteen?" Jack pushed. "Keep working for a washed up hack like me? I'll fire you if you do."

"I don't know what you want me to say, Jack."

Sighing, he rested a hand on your shoulder. It was the most contact the two of you ever shared, as he wasn't a huge fan of physical touch. "You feel trapped here, but you were the one who built the cage, Y/n."

"That's—"

What? Not true? You knew it was. You'd been hiding in your house, on your tour boat, in Santa Cruz, for the last few years.

If you couldn't be the best, you didn't want to surf, at least not competitively. And hearing that your parents all but abandoned Paige while you were having the time of your life in a new country every few weeks was a harsh dose of reality. Your sister never held it against you, but you felt like you let her down, like deep down you knew that your parents would never stay, and yet you left to pursue your dream anyway. Giving it all up to take care of Paige was your way of making it up to her. And you'd been stuck ever since.

"What do I do about him?" you asked.

"Who, Styles? You scare the shit out of him, probably for the same reasons she scares the shit out of you."

"Gee, thanks. Really helping me feel loveable, Jack," you said, frowning at him.

He shrugged. "You know what I mean. There's a lot more going on ther than you think, but I can't be the one to tell you."

You side-eyed him. "Why do I get the feeling you like being a keeper of all these secrets and wisdom?"

"It's because I do."

You and Jack stayed out on the water for a while before eventually heading back. You were in your head for the entirety of the trip back to the marina, taking in everything he'd said. For a long time, you'd been complacent, living in Santa Cruz and raising Paige. And then you met Harry, and suddenly you're a mess. It didn't make any sense.

You like him, idiot, you could practically hear Paige say. But why was that so terrifying?

Maybe because he hadn't really opened up to you, maybe because you didn't really know him, or maybe because you'd never gotten butterflies around anyone like you did around him.

But what was probably the most likely reason was that you knew he didn't like you back. You'd been mean to him, you offended him, and now he hardly spoke to you. If that wasn't rejection, you didn't know what was. And you'd been rejected by enough people in your life.

Still, it wouldn't hurt to apologize to him one more time. And if things were still weird, you'd just ask Jackson to find you another tour partner. He'd give you a hard time about it, but you'd put up with it.

As Jackson parked the boat and you helped him tie it to the dock, you'd made your decision. It was the safe choice, but it was all you could muster.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

The next day you were back at work, only this time Harry had beat you to the boat. Normally you were the first one there, but you'd taken some extra time at the beach to relax your nerves. You had to talk to him, and you needed to prepare yourself for any outcome, whatever it might be.

"Hey," you said.

Harry looked up from where he'd been cleaning off snorkel goggles. "Oh. Hey."

Then silence. Neither of you said anything, but you didn't know what to say, how to begin.

"Listen, I—"

"I just wanted to—"

Both of you paused, apologizing for speaking over each other. You urged Harry to speak, but he insisted that you go first, so you swallowed the growing lump in your throat and tried to find your words.

"I'm—I'm sorry about the other day. I realize I was insensitive, and it obviously struck a chord with you. So, I'm sorry."

"It's okay, Y/n. I told you that."

Frowning, you said, "Yeah, but I just feel like things have been off lately? And I couldn't help but think it was because of what I said or something I did. I just—I know we have to work together, and I don't want there to be any awkwardness. I know you, like, don't like me or whatever, but I thought we could at least be—"

"Wait, wait, wait. Back up. What do you mean I don't like you?" he asked. He looked confused, though you weren't sure why.

"You haven't spoken to me in weeks. I just thought—"

"You're a very intimidating person, you know that, don't you?" Harry said, taking a small step towards you. He was in a blue sweater and a pair of dark shorts, his feet bare as he stood on the boat.

Tilting your head curiously, you said, "I don't think—"

"You practically hated me when we first met, and it took me ages to get you to even...I don't know, tolerate me? And you're, like, drop dead gorgeous, so that made it ten times harder not to mess up in front of you, but nothing I did seemed to do the trick.

"And then all of a sudden we're friends, and it's great, and I find myself even more drawn to you than I already was because, like, fuck, Y/n, you're hot and interesting, and an amazing surfer, and I didn't stand a chance." He seemed to say all this in one breath, his chest heaving once he was done talking.

You didn't know what to say, or think for that matter. Harry thought you were gorgeous? "But—But you flirted with all those people right in front of me—"

"I told you, I didn't think I had a chance with you. You hardly even spoke to me at first," Harry said. "And, okay, so I like attention, and you weren't giving me any, so I saught it elsewhere, but it's just what I do to protect myself."

"Protect yourself? From what?" Harry sighed and ran a hand over his face. He looked tense, like having this conversation was causing him physical pain. "Harry, if you don't want to tell me, that's fine. I just thought—"

"I had cancer," he blurted.

Your eyes widened. That was not at all what you were expecting, and now you had too many questions. "What? When? Wh—"

"Osteosarcoma on my leg. Right before I left for college. I had to defer a year so I could do all the treatments."

"I'm sorry. That couldn't have been easy," you said gently. You wanted to go to him, but he didn't seem like the type that wanted to be coddled or comforted, so you stayed put.

"Thanks. I'm all good now, but when I was...doing my treatments, I had a girlfriend and friends, and they all checked up on me until one day they didn't, and I was left to face it by myself. My friends had their own lives and my girlfriend couldn't handle seeing me so sick. Imagine actually being sick," he chuckled bitterly.

"My parents were a wreck, and I had to be strong for them, but I had no one. My friends abandoned me, I broke up with my girlfriend because she couldn't stand to see me like that, and suddenly I was very alone.

"So once I was declared cancer free, I flew out here for school, learned to surf, and never looked back. This is my life now, and I try to live it to the best of my ability." He took another step towards you, taking off his baseball cap so he could run a hand through his hair before putting it back on. "But you. I wasn't expecting you."

"Me? What did I do?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "You didn't do anything, and that's my point. You just appeared out of nowhere and upended my life. I suddenly want to know about your day and where you go after work, I want to hear stories about your travels, I want to just lay on the beach with you. And that's just the stuff I feel comfortable saying out loud."

He had you blushing, but his last comment sent you reeling. Trying to keep your composure, you asked, "So you've been ignoring me because?"

"Because I don't want to get hurt again! I'm terrified, Y/n. I'm terrified of the worst happening and being abandoned all over again," he said, his fingers gripping his sweater hard enough to turn his knuckles white. "So I tried to ignore you and hope it went away, and then Jackson tells me I'm an idiot because I was kicking you while you were already down, and he knew that I was only putting off the iniveitable, because while I tried to ignore how I felt, my feelings only grew. So now I'm standing here like an idiot, wondering what your color is and if your lips taste as good as they look."

If it was possible, your jaw would be on the floor. Harry had more or less repeated back to you your own feelings, making you realize you were more similar than you thought. It also occurred to you that Jack had been a very busy man recently, but you decided that could wait. Maybe both of you being terrified wrecks would lead to messiness, but you didn't really care.

"I like orange. Like a nice, sunset orange," you said, fiddling with a stray thread on your sweatshirt.

You'd missed seeing Harry's smile, but now it was back in full force. He closed the short distance between the two of you, his hand slowly and carefully resting on the side of your face. "And the other thing?"

You shrugged. "I've never had any complaints."

"You are just—"

"Shut up and just kiss me already, Harry."

He didn't argue with you then, but he did take his sweet time.

Not that you'd ever admit to it out loud, but you thought about this moment a lot. And in your thinking, you always assumed that Harry would try to rush things, to kiss brusingly with passion in a way that made your toes curl. And they did, but for an entirely different reason.

He was slow, like he really was trying to determine the exact taste of your lips. It nearly drove you insane. His tongue traced the seam of your lips languidly, his free hand holding your chin to keep you in place.

And it was amazing, but you needed more. So you skipped running your hands through his hair for now and went straight for beneath his shirt, splaying your hands across Harry's chest and feeling the taught muscle beneath your fingertips. And just as you assumed, Harry's reaction was immediate. One hand reached down past your lower back and gripped hard while the other was in your hair. He used his teeth, nibbling on your lower lip and laughing lightly when you hissed.

Harry overloaded your senses, made you drunk on the taste and smell of him. His kiss made you see stars and his touch had you putty in his hands. It made you want to drag him off the boat and onto the bed of his truck, but you had work to do, there wasn't any time.

"God, working with you just got ten times harder, and I mean that quite literally," he said, hardly moving his lips away from yours. The implication alone sent shivers down your spine, but just for good measure, Harry pressed himself against you to show just how much a kiss had him reacting.

"Can we go somewhere? After work?" you panted, whining when he began to move down your neck, looking for the places that turned your knees into jelly.

"I'd be devastated if we didn't," he said, voice muffled from the kisses he was leaving on your skin. "You're gonna have to stay covered up, you know that right?"

You huffed a laugh, but you knew Harry was dead serious. All you said was, "We'll see."

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

four months later

You were beyond nervous, your heart racing, practically begging to burst out of your chest.

During competitions, judges called out scores and what you needed to win, but you never paid them any mind, too focused on the task at hand, which was to find the next wave and surf the hell out of it.

Training for competitions again wasn't easy, but it was a challenge you willingly accepted. You realized that Jackson was right (about a lot of things) and you could get back out onto the competitive circuit, even if it was only local stuff.

Harry, Paige, and Jackson helped you train, but mostly Jackson, Harry and Paige were more of a support system, something you'd never had before. It was weird at first, but you welcomed it with open arms. It was a much better alternative to constantly being alone.

And Jackson could only take you so far. If you wanted to win, you had to believe you could, and for a while, you didn't.

That's where Harry came in. He motivated you, kissed away the wrinkle between your brows when you thought too much, and was a very big help in getting you to "relax." Whether that was in the back of his truck, on the boat after almost everyone left the marina, or your place when Paige was at a sleepover, all you had to do was look at each other, and you'd drop everything and be on each other in seconds. You used to think Harry's flirting was over the top and unnecessary, but now that you were on the receiving end of his bedroom eyes you were hardly ever able to say no.

But aside from all that, Harry helped you in the confidence department too. He made you realize that your dreams were still worth pursuing, and told you you were good enough when you couldn't believe it yourself. He revealed to you a softer, more vulnerable side that you'd never seen before, but he always told you that you brought it out of him. "We're in this together," he'd tell you, kissing the top of your hand or the side of your head, or your knee, depending on where he was next to you.

You'd thought you were okay with complacency, that you'd had your fun, and that you'd left it all behind you when you came home. But you found new adventures at home with Paige and Harry, who were also thick as thieves the more they hung out with each other. Harry seamlessly became a part of your lives, and you wouldn't change a single thing about it.

"Y/n, you won!"

"Huh?"

You were just stepping out of the water, your surfboard under your arm when Harry jogged up to you and Paige slammed into your side. She began to jump with her arms still locked around you, jolting you to the point of discomfort, but you let her.

"You won! You had the highest score of the day!" Paige said again.

"I did?" You looked over to the judges booth and saw that your sister was right. Your competition number along with the color of your rash guard was at the top of the leaderboard for your group. You'd won.

"You did, baby. I'm so proud of you," Harry said. Paige stepped aside so he could pull you in for a hug, and you rested your cheek against his shoulder, his skin warm from standing out in the San Diego sun.

You weren't traveling the world, but sometimes you and Paige, or you, Paige, and Harry made road trips along the coast to local competitions. It was fun and a way for the three of you to bond. In the last four months, you'd become something like a little family, a reality you never ever saw for yourself.

"You can relax now, you did it," Harry whispered so only you would hear. He knew how tense you got about these things, even though you'd pretty much gone undefeated since you started competing again.

Pulling back, Harry kissed your forehead and let go of you, telling you to go get your prize so the three of you could go and celebrate. You did as he said, splitting apart from Harry and Paige and smiling faintly as you heard your sister babble to Harry about all the stuff she wanted to see before you had to head home.

It wasn't the life you expected, nor was it the life you ever thought you would deserve, but as you stepped off the podium and into Harry's awaiting arms, you couldn't have asked for a better one.

this man is taking over every fibre of my being and i HATE IT

i want control over my own mind again thanks!

this series was so good!!

FINAL ── TEMPORARY TRUCE ── RAFE CAMERON

SYNOPSIS you absolutely can't stand your roommate's brother, and Rafe can't not take an opportunity to poke fun at you every chance he gets. but when you both accidentally have a jello shot infused with molly, you decide to have a temporary truce and enjoy the night. SERIES MASTERLIST

WARNINGS language, fluff, sssmmmmmuuuut (fingering, oral fem receiving, p-in-v unprotected (do not follow their footsteps) you get the idea), mentions of staples in head. 18+ mdni. please i am not condoning drug use don't take after these idiots for the love of god. also i didn’t feel like waiting until 6pm est to post this so here’s an early last chapter? happy friday? sorry if there’s mistakes alright godspeed.

WORD COUNT 10.4k. alright. no one say anything. it was originally around 5k but like the ptputss final chapter, i couldn't let that happen. hope you enjoy this scrap.

SONG OF THE CHAPTER motion picture soundtrack by radiohead

Sarah is usually a pretty good roommate.

Despite growing up with cleaning services and maids and private chefs, she's always done a good job at tidying up after herself. Dishes are rarely left in the sink (you two normally have a truce of doing the dishes the morning after a night out, rather than dealing with them in your drunken splendor), communal spaces such as the kitchen, living room, and bathroom are, for the most part, always crumb-free and organized, and you'll even take turns cooking for each other on occasion. The two of you have fallen into a nice routine in terms of sharing your own space.

However, Sarah has little to no concept of privacy.

Especially now, as she pounds on your door and yells your name as if there's a fire.

"Why the fuck are all the condoms all over the floor?!"

It takes you a full minute to realize what's going on, where you are, who you're with.

The sliver of sunrise pokes through your sheer curtains, audaciously shining into the room and into your eyes when you momentarily prop yourself up on your elbows and squint. You blink blearily as your senses slowly start to come back to you: the sunrise indicating an early morning, the lingering scent of your body wash littering your skin, the increments of knocking on your door, and the warmth of Rafe right beside you.

He stirs not only from Sarah's loud voice, but from your movement, and you watch him endearingly frown, eyes still screwed shut as he paws for you with the quietest groan, as if the notion of you being away from him in a time like this is offensive. Once his hands find your body, he's gripping whatever he feels first — in this instance, your lower hips — and curling his fingers into your flesh and pulling you tight against him, so tight that you're no longer propped up on your elbows and instead trapped in the confinements of his arms.

You blink from the jolting movement, heart skipping when he lazily slots a leg in between yours as if the gesture is second nature.

Sarah calls your name again.

"I don't care if you have someone in there!" She yells, slightly slurring as if she's just gotten in for the night (morning?). "If you don't answer in five seconds, I'm coming in."

You stiffen in Rafe's arms.

Fuck. Holy fuck.

You think for a brief second on the implications of her walking in right now, and seeing the two of you cozied beneath the sheets after months of telling her that he's the blueprint of a guy you'd never want to be with. A flicker of panic rises in your chest at the thought of seeing him, her fucking brother, laying in your bed like he was made to be here and, apparently, successfully scoring with the girl he's been talking to her about for ages.

The attempt to free yourself from his hold fails, and he only nuzzles further into you.

"Hey," you whisper hurriedly, "wake up."

"I can hear you!" Sarah accuses from the other side of the door. "Five, four-"

You pinch Rafe's abdomen, and your quest to see if he's ticklish falls short as he barely budges, instead humming low and baritone and un-fucking-fazed at the fact that his sister is about to walk in on you two right now. While you can practically hear your own heartbeat, you can feel his beating in a slow, syncopated rhythm, relaxed more than ever despite the premeditated headache you're both about to endure.

"Three!"

Rafe doesn't even open his eyes, using his other senses to simply feel you. He gently nudges his nose against your temple, inhaling deep as his lips find your hairline to press a morning kiss, and he does it delicately enough to avoid the area with the staples. Warm hands splay on your back and waist, mapping out the bareness of your skin and nimble fingers settling under your shirt as if he has every right (he does).

If your roommate (your friend, the sister of the guy you have in your bed right now) wasn't inducing a mild panic on your part, you'd surely swoon over the simple act.

"Two—"

"Sare," Rafe mutters and the baritone of his voice vibrates against your skin, loud enough to get the counting to suddenly stop. "'T's too early for this shit."

Utter silence from the other side of the door.

The implication almost makes you burst out laughing. Almost.

Because you think at how out of left field this must seem to her right now, especially if she hasn't been to bed yet and is coming down from her drunkenness and roll. The two of you have been M.I.A. all night, not even charging your phone and his being somewhere amongst the city in someone's back pocket, so you figure they've spent a long time trying to figure out where you went.

Also because it's Rafe. Her brother. Sleeping in your room after all this time of threatening him with death if he so much as looked at you wrong. Being in your sacred space that you only let few people enter. Staying together behind closed doors after she discovered enough condoms to last a lifetime littered across the floor.

Sarah doesn't even say anything, and instead you hear the bedroom door creak open.

You can't even look at her if you tried, because you're helplessly taut to Rafe with your face buried in the crook of his neck. You can't even turn and shoot her a sheepish look because he simply won't let you, he won't let go, simply holding onto the moment just a fraction longer. Not that you necessarily mind, because — for starters — you're comfortable and warm and he smells very nice, and you could really get used to waking up like this: pressed up to him and peppered with an influx of affection that you aren't sure you deserve.

All you can do is idly lay, butterfly kissing the skin on his neck as you can only imagine the look on her face as well as his. You can picture it: his lazy, shit eating grin and her furrowed brows and incessantly blinking eyes. The image only progresses in your mind when his hand rubs gently up and down your spine, but you figure it's less of an affectionate gesture and more as a possessive stake in his claim of you, almost to rub it in her face.

"Good mornin'," Rafe drawls out, as if he's taunting her. "Fun night?"

There are a few moments of silence between the siblings, and you can only roll your eyes at his proud demeanor. Prick.

She speaks probably after staring between you two for all this time. "What the fuck? I mean, like, what the fuck?"

He only hums, and when you try to turn over onto your back so you can look at your friend, he actually lets you. But not without his hand smushing between your back and the mattress, not that he necessarily seems to mind at all because he doesn't pull it away, nor does he remove his other hand that splays audaciously on your hip, nimble fingers skimming the waistband of your sleep shorts.

The look on Sarah's face is quite literally what you pictured: her brows furrowed yet eyes wide in disbelief, her hand still lingering on the doorknob as if she's been petrified at the sight before her. She's still in last night's outfit, hair a bit mussed and mascara shadowing the slight bags under her eyes, yet she looks more awake than ever as she blinks her gaze between you and her brother. Finally, her eyes settle on you.

Her words are immediate. "Did he pay you?"

Rafe snorts as you reach your arms up, stretching long like a cat and yawning as if you've worked a twelve hour shift. "Only offered to pay off her student loans, 's all."

Sarah narrows her eyes at her brother. "Shut up." Then, she looks back to you. "Did he?"

You find the gall to roll your eyes, even though your heart is racing and your expression is sheepish. "Is it that hard to believe?"

"Yes," she retorts instantly, apparently in the mood to deprecate her brother's dignity. "He's only been obsessed with you since move-in, and it's made him dumber than usual."

"I'm right here?"

Sarah ignores him completely. "I can't believe this is actually happening. I totally called it."

Your face flushes, and you're really, really grateful that you're not facing him right now.

Unfortunately, she’s right. Sarah has been (not) subtly rooting for you and her brother to get together ever since you first threw him a scowl, ever since Rafe’s brows flung high in surprise when you — instead of ogling and swooning over his introductory flirtation — simply looked him up and down, scoffed, and carried on with moving your stuff into the apartment, ever since Sarah doubled over laughing at her brother’s shocked expression. He obviously wasn’t used to that working, and she got the biggest kick out of your no-bullshit attitude.

Ever since that day, the very first time you and him met, Sarah’s been praying to all higher beings to get you two together.

When he’d leave a room, she’d raise her brows at you as if to say “So?” and your answer was always the same: an eye roll, a snort, and a “Yeah, right” that transcended time and space. When you dislocated your shoulder and were retelling the story later to all your friends, she asked three different times to clarify that it was Rafe — the guy you wouldn’t let touch you with so much as a breath — who carried and brought you to the ER (at the time you ignored the giant fucking grin she shot her brother, who glared at her to relax). Every single time the three of you ran errands or went out and about in the city, Sarah always accidentally asked you both to accompany her, telling you it slipped her mind that he was coming along.

Your answer was always the same, consisting either of an eye roll, a groan, a snide comment, or all of the above in one go. She knew that the possibility of you ever being with him was slim to none, yet always subconsciously rooted for the best case scenario for her brother, which would be ending up with a person like you.

So now, as she looks between you and him cuddled together in a way she never thought possible, it’s obvious to tell she is thoroughly confused, yet elated.

“Okay, well,” she starts, failing to suppress a giant grin, “next time you want to rob me and John B of all our condoms, just ask.”

God, if your face wasn’t burning before, it’s definitely on fire now.

“Yup, okay,” you say quickly, “thanks so much. See you later!”

Rafe laughs next to you as Sarah takes one last fleeting glance at the two of you, before slowly retreating from the room and closing the door behind her. From the hallway, she makes a noise of excitement, a squeal? Something along those lines, and you don’t have the vicinities to study the sound since she’s already gradually getting quieter, retreating to her room with a door slam.

Silence is met between you and him for a beat, two, three, before his thumb starts rubbing gentle circles on the bare skin of your hip, just above the waistband of your sleep shorts. It sends goosebumps shooting up your arm.

“Mornin’, Star,” Rafe muses low, almost cautiously.

You wait a few moments to look at him, letting your gaze linger on the door before slowly lulling your head to tilt towards him. The sight of his hair sticking up in a million different directions nearly makes you snort, but the noise dies in your throat when you really notice how pretty he is right now: bleary eyes, tousled hair, a smile so gentle it would’ve made your knees weak if you were standing. He’s so close, closer than ever, and with the rising sunlight backlighting his features, you wish you had the capacities to take a picture, to capture this moment and save it for the books.

Apparently, you stare for too long, because with each second passing, his smile augments.

It takes you a stupid amount of time to find your voice. “Hi.”

His gaze flickers up for a moment, to where the staples lay hidden in your hair. “How’s your head?”

You go to answer, you really do, but his arm that was trapped under your back is slithering itself out, and soon his hand comes up to cradle the side of your jaw, fingers ghosting over your hairline with such delicacy that it short circuits your brain.

“Mhm?” He prompts again at your silence.

You blink stupidly. “T’s okay.”

“Just okay?”

“Yeah.”

Rafe doesn’t really like that answer. Well, you assume he doesn’t because he frowns, eyes lingering on the wound for a few moments longer before settling back into you, bright blues boring into yours with such unnerved intensity that you squirm. Instead of looking away, instead of rolling your eyes and settling on something else, you hold his gaze, and it never dawned on you how pretty his eyes really are, an alluring bright blue.

The words blurt before you can stop them.

“You still have me.” Your voice is impossibly quiet. “By the way.”

It's nothing fancy, no grandeur gesture or announcement. It's a soft spoken promise etched in the basking sunlight under lavender scented sheets, sheets that smell of him already. The words are simple, yet they hold a heavy insinuation about locked off parts of you, parts of you that you never let anyone see or feel or experience.

Yet it's how you say it, sweet and soft and laced with as much honey as a morning voice can have, but also firm and certain as if they hold their own, stand tall without a pillar as their foundation. Perhaps it's enough, at least for now, because even though it it isn't a monologue of any sorts, it's confirmation. It's hope.

Rafe swears he's never heard anything better.

His grin is lazy and relaxed, gaze soft and unnerved as he peers at you as if you've hung the stars yourself. His hands press a little firmer into your skin, simply relishing in the privilege to hold you, to feel you, to open yourself up to him as you never have with anyone before. An overwhelming sense of pride swells in his chest, of possession, because you're his. After what felt like a bedtime story, a far away fantasy, a dream, you're finally his.

His voice is saccharine. "Thank you, baby."

And the moment's ruined, at least the lovey-dovey part of it, because you can't help but scrunch your nose and feel your lip twitch at his words.

"Did you really just thank me?"

All he does is hum in affirmation, not even caring that you're practically laughing at him. He'll be fine if you jab at him until the end of time if it gets you to smile at him like this. The thought of forever with you makes his heart skip, and he attempts to mask it by leaning in, lowering his face into the crook of your neck and placing gentle kisses on your soft skin.

You feel a shiver up your spine as his fingers gently skim over the bare skin of your tummy at the same time he peppers kisses. "Sarah said since move in."

Another hum, and this time he's sucking a particularly sweet spot right under your jaw.

It makes you let out a low sigh, but you're not letting him distract you. "You've liked me since move in?"

I've loved you since move in, he almost says.

Instead, he settles on, yet, another hum.

Your hand flies to the nape of his neck, nails gently scratching the ends of his hair in a way that makes him emit a low groan. It's baritone against your vocal cord that sends warmth immediately to your core, the sensation of his body heat against yours, his lips, his nimble fingers, it's all too much, too teasing, too cruel if he still pushes you away with the fear of your injury.

"Rafe," you say in a hushed tone, embarrassed at how it's borderline a whine.

"Mhm?"

The vibration tickles your neck, and you attempt to hold onto your remaining piece of dignity as you manually shut your mouth to refrain from further humiliating yourself. Instead, you practically writhe beneath him, a hand coming up to grasp the back of his that shamelessly explores your stomach, squeezing once to emphasize your need without explicitly saying anything.

But, of course, Rafe isn't the type to let that slide.

You want to smack him when you feel him grin against your neck.

"You're insufferable," you manage to mumble.

He chuckles against your neck, low and audacious. "Sorry, baby." He doesn't sound the slightest bit apologetic. "What d'ya need?"

The words feel foreign on your tongue, words you've thought time and time again yet never had the gall to say, to speak into fruition, to submit to someone else in such a way.

"I want you."

The sigh that emits from him is guttural, deep from the back of his throat and almost needy at the sound of your words. It's dreamy, almost, as if you'd just set a nice, hot plate of his favorite meal right in front of him, ready to consume and exactly how he likes it. You figure he has been dreaming of this, dreaming of you beneath him and begging for him like a bitch in heat.

Rafe says your name almost painfully, his kisses and fondling coming to a halt.

But you groan, already knowing what he's about to say. "No. No, I literally feel fine."

He says your name again, almost in warning.

You ignore it. "It doesn't even hurt." It does a little. "Stop acting like I'm in a full body cast."

Rafe sighs gutturally, but not like before out of lust and instead out of annoyance, as if him withholding the act of sleeping with you is a giant inconvenience to him, especially when you try and push back. It's bad, really bad, timing, and sure you could wait a few days until he feels as though you're somewhat better, but, frankly, you don't want to. You assume he doesn't want to wait either, but is trying to be better, more gentlemanly with you.

You even go as far as throwing your dignity out the window.

"Please?"

The single word feels strange coming from you, as you've always hated the notion of begging for anything, especially for dick, and especially when the dick is attached to a guy like Rafe Cameron, a guy who's all flirt like it's a sport. And it's something he never hears from you, always double-taking when you add it to make sure he's heard you right.

But right now, he hears you loud and clear. And it kills him.

Rafe takes a beat, digesting the severity of your request and internally battling himself on the morality of the situation. Eventually, what feels like eons when in reality it's only been a minute, he pulls back from you, propping himself up on an elbow so he can stare down at you.

His eyes search yours for any uncertainty, any doubt or shroud of pain in your pretty features. But you give him nothing of the sorts, only peering up at him full blown with lust and need. You can tell he's thinking, the gears in his mind working overtime as he stares at you, eyes flickering from yours to the area with the staples.

"Here's the deal," he starts quietly, yet firm enough to get you nodding eagerly already. "I'm doing all the work."

You frown. "But—“

Immediately, his hand comes up to cover your mouth, palm pressing firmly to get you to shut up real quick. "No. You're gonna lay here and look pretty, and that's all you're going to do."

You're reluctant. You want to engage, to touch him freely, to be able to move to his mercy. You want to give back, to jerk him off and make him squirm just as he has to you, to love on him in the way he deserves for taking care of you all last night. The last thing you want to do here is lay still and offer nothing, not after what he's done for you, how he's made you feel in these past few hours, how he can make you feel from here on out.

It hardly seems fair to him. You're not concerned with yourself.

But all of that flies out the window when you feel him pressed against your thigh.

The breath nearly escapes from your lungs, your need suddenly tenfolds when you understand just how big he is, just how hard he is from a bit of kissing and folding from his end. You haven't even touched him yet, you've only simply said please, and he's ready for you yet patiently prolonging his need to check in on you.

"And at any point your head starts hurting," he continues nonchalantly as if his cock isn't pressing against you, "I'm stopping. Immediately. Understand?"

You blink at him, barely registering his words because you can't get over that this is happening.

"Star." A warning.

Stupidly, you find the ability to move again when you're nodding against his hand, anticipation bubbling in your stomach as your eyes meet. His brows are slightly furrowed in seriousness, blue eyes still bleary from just waking up. His hair, ridiculously, is still incredibly messy, yet as endearing as the sight is, you are seconds away from jumping his bones.

But you need to play this coy, need to behave so he'll indulge your (and his) wishes without any mishaps with your wound.

Rafe removes his hand. It sits idly on your ribcage.

"Words," he demands, fingers twitching with anticipation.

You nod anyway. "I understand." Your lips twitch. "Now, since I'm not allowed to move, can you kiss me or what?"

His mouth is on yours before you can even finish the sentence, and he swallows your words with a low mmrph, a hand teasing up your ribcage under your shirt to rest under the swell of your breast. Instantly, you're gripping his knuckles and moving his hand up so he can shamelessly fondle you where you want him to be, and at the feeling of his cool ring brushing over your nipple, you sigh into his mouth.

Rafe nearly reciprocates the sound, emitting a groan as he feels your hand leave his, instead bracing on the ridges of his abdomen and trailing down his shirt. It isn't until your fingers are skimming the waistband of his shorts where he's wincing, almost as if he's in pain.

"What'd I say, Star?"

You pout with faux innocence. "But I want to."

He nearly scoffs at you. "You'll have plenty of time for that later. For now, sit pretty and lemme eat you out, yeah?"

Your heart skips a beat as you try to rack your brain for the last time someone's eaten you out, more so the last time someone has offered to do so. The excitement outweighs the curiosity.

It's usually a pity reciprocation, as in you blow someone first, they eat you out after or the next time you see each other, or they don't even offer at all. You rarely even finish from it and have faked it more than once, but you know the stories surrounding Rafe Cameron. All of them say the same thing: he knows what he's doing. You're more than willing to find out.

"You want to?"

He scoffs again, nearly offended that you'd think he wouldn't want to. "Only been thinkin' about doin' so for ages."

His mouth is on yours again and you whine quietly, but it leaves as soon as it came before he's kissing your jaw, moving to your neck, descending down your body.

"Been wondering how you taste."

Biting a sweet spot on your neck.

"I think about you every fucking night."

Sucking one of your nipples through your sleep shirt.

"Fuck my hand to the thought of you 'til I'm seein' stars."

Kissing the flesh of your stomach as his fingers dangerously hook under your waistband. And from this angle with his face hovering at your hips, Rafe peers up at you, still searching for any uncertainty or flickers of pain.

"Can I, baby?" He asks, voice saccharine.

You're thrown for a loop, caught off guard by the obscenities of his comments (that you're not even sure he knew he made) that starkly contradict the softness of his tone asking for permission, peering up at you with a sliver of innocence that doesn't match the words he previously spoke, as if they were on his mind for ages, as if they were his second nature.

All you do is nod, blinking down at him.

He doesn’t like that. “Words.”

“Yes.” Your response is immediate. “Yours.”

Rafe lets out a shaky breath that tickles your stomach. “Gonna make me finish if you say stuff like that.”

“Isn’t that the plan?”

All he does is shake his head, shutting you up immediately when his fingers hook under the waistband of your sleep shorts and yank. Your breath hitches and, with a blink of an eye, you’re bare below the waist to him.

The shorts and underwear are thrown carelessly over his shoulder. “Plan is to fuck you right back to sleep,” he murmurs low, almost to himself as he stares at your cunt. “Sound good?”

His breath fanning over your core sends a chill down your spine, and you assume you’re glistening with need with the way his eyes almost darken at the sight of you, legs slowly spreading open and hooking over his shoulders as if you’ve done it a thousand times before. And he settled right in, one hand slithering up your chest to fondle your breast as the other ghosts over your cunt, his index and middle finger spreading you open achingly slow.

Your back arches. “Rafe.”

“Mhm?”

“Stop teasing.”

“I’m not,” he says simply, eyes glued to the way his fingers slowly disappear inside you.

You realize he’s not doing this to torture you, but to make himself actually believe this is happening, to soak in the moment that he’s been dreaming to experience. Here you are: cunt to the wind and begging for him, and he can’t get enough of it, of you. He’s seconds away from losing his mind, especially when you let out breathy moans when his fingers completely bury in you, curling in that sweet spot that has you whining so pretty he nearly finishes from the sound of it.

His eyes hungrily dart between his hand disappearing into you and your face, brows etched in pleasure and lips parted all hot and bothered. Slowly, so achingly slowly, Rafe pumps his fingers in and out, almost leaving your cunt entirely before slamming back in. His thumb, experimentally, rubs firm circles as to where he thinks your clit is.

He misses once, twice, but once he finds the spot that makes you let out a ragged moan, he doesn’t miss again.

A hand flies to his hair, tugging the messy strands harshly yet he pays no mind to it, completely and enamoringly bewitched to the sight of your glistening cunt taking his fingers so well, stretching open for him, inviting them with your warmth as if they were meant to stay buried in you. But he’s starting to get jealous of his hand, jealous of the way it gets to fuck you and his mouth doesn’t.

Without a word, Rafe lowers himself completely between your thighs.

His tongue feels like nothing you’ve experienced before as he eats you out like a man starving. Ravenous. Insatiable.

Selfishly, his fingers leave your cunt so his mouth can have you all to himself, groaning at the sweet taste of you as if it’s been paining him that he’s never gotten to taste you before. When his nose brushes your clit, you writhe pathetically beneath him, so much that his arm flies up to press down on your hip to stop you from moving, even though you continue to attempt fucking his face against his iron grip.

With a particularly firm brush of his nose against your clit, your hips practically buck up into him, and the coil gradually starts to build in your core.

“Fuck,” you breathily moan. "You're so— And I can't— You just— Fuck."

You sound like an idiot. A wriggling, babbling idiot as your mind tugs you in a million different directions, constantly distracted by his mouth, his moans, his fingers that re-enter your cunt and aid his tongue in a way that flips you sideways. You aren't sure what way is up right now, and your fruitless attempt to speak fails miserably, irrevocably rendering you speechless as the added combination of his mouth and fingers and thumb pressed firmly on your clit leave you moaning his name as if it's the only word you know.

His hips stutter into the mattress, both of you rutting like bitches in heat as he can tell you’re getting close. It’s all in the way you tug his hair a little tighter, arch your back a little higher, moan a little louder. His name falls from your lips like a mantra, a prayer, an incantation that renders you completely enamored with him, his touch, his mouth.

Especially when he groans into your cunt, the vibration only spurring you on further.

"Oh my god," Rafe murmurs into you, almost without meaning to. "You taste so sweet, Star."

All you can do in response is writhe, feeling the familiar coil start to build.

"Even better than I imagined," he rasps, inches from your cunt as he hovers for a moment, eyes darting between his hand fucking you and your face. Your head is thrown back on the pillow, eyes fluttered shut at the sensation of him, him, him. An unoccupied hand slithers up your ribcage under your shirt, reaching the swell of your breast and kneading the flesh. The ice sensation of his ring against your nipple only augments the pleasure.

And suddenly, it's bearing too much. His fingers plunging in and out, in and out, in and out, curling into the sweet spot inside your cunt over, and over, and over as his thumb presses firmly on your clit. It's the spot he hasn't missed since he found it, rubbing circles counterclockwise that make you practically see stars. His other hand pinching your nipple and shamelessly fondling the flesh as if he has every right (he does). His breathy moans fanning hot against your cunt as he stares abashedly.

"Never gonna get used to this," he curses, almost pained. "There isn't a fucking day that goes by where I don’t think about you."

The coil builds.

"You make me crazy and you don’t even know it. Wearin' my shirts thinking they were Sarah's, walking around in fucking nothing and lookin' like a fucking sin."

And builds.

He lets out a breath. "I can't count how many times I've thought about you like this, so fucking pretty underneath me."

And builds.

Rafe can tell, because you grip his hair a little harsher and grab the hand that's on your breast, almost as a way to ground yourself to the moment and make sure you don't fly away in pleasure. Your hips squirm and buck into his hand, chasing a high you can already tell is different from the rest. He's decided that you've never looked prettier: laying flush and moaning his name like a prayer.

It nearly snaps. "Rafe, you're— I'm gonna—"

"I know." His voice is saccharine. "Let me hear you, baby."

His mouth is back on your cunt, and the added sensation of his tongue aiding his fingers sends you over the edge, a wave of ecstasy washing to your core and searing hot from the waist down. You come with a strangled moan, a sound that goes straight to his dick as his hips stutter into the mattress, lapping and suuuuuuuuucking the orgasm straight from you.

The low groan he emits vibrates your nerves as he eats you out as a starved man, the noises lewd and straight pornographic as you ride out your high against his face. Your hand that grips his hair is pushing him further into you, further burying his mouth into the spot you need him the most as he laps up every last drop. The act does little to faze him, instead spurring him on to moan into you, the sensation reverberating throughout your waist and sending a shiver down your spine.

Your legs shake around his head and your chest heaves when you slowly come down, blinking the white spots from your vision and, momentarily, coming back to earth. Rafe continues to lick and suck and clean you up, claiming every last drop as he's always thought about doing, mouth still buried between your thighs and even going as far as licking his fingers dry of you.

When he mouth eventually does leave you, he doesn't pull away without placing a chaste kiss over your swollen bud, moving to decorate your thighs in pretty purple hickies and kissing up your body, smoothing your shirt up past your ribcage to take a breast in his mouth. The sensitive bud has you subconsciously arching your back up into his touch, not even realizing you do it as you still fight to come back to earth from the stupidly earth-shattering orgasm.

Rafe eventually makes his way up to your neck, sucking a quick sweet spot before moving to your jaw, then finally your lips.

When you kiss him, the breath momentarily leaves your lungs as you taste yourself on his lips, dazedly smiling from the haze that he caused. Your hand paws at his chest, settling on the firmness of his abdomen before trailing lower, and lower until your fingers are dipping under the waistband of his shorts and boxers in the blink of an eye.

Before he can pull back like he did earlier, your fingers nimbly find the base of his cock and skim down his length as if you're admiring the topography of a map.

Rafe instantly folds.

"Shit," he mutters, a mix between a moan and a whine as he rests his cheek against yours. "You can't just—"

You squeeze his cock for emphasis, causing his hips to stutter forward.

Rafe curses. "Star, oh my fucking god, oh m- You can't keep touching me like that, holy shit."

Of course, you don't listen, and continue to slowly jerk him off. He lets you for a few moments, caught up in the sensation of how nice your fingers feel wrapped around him, thumb smearing the pre-cum from his tip down his length that nearly sends him over the edge. The indulgence lasts maybe fifteen seconds, perhaps twenty, before you're squeezing particularly hard again.

His hand grips your wrist instantly. "You— I can't— You've got to—"

"I gotta what?" You feign innocence, nearly grinning and how he groans in response. "I wanna make you feel good."

"Fuck, you are," he rasps as if it's been ripped from him. "You make me feel so good all the time, baby. You don't even know it."

Pride shamefully swells in your chest at the anecdote.

"Then let me right now," you practically purr. "Please?"

Rafe grips your wrist tighter, actually stopping your movements for real this time. "No."

"No?"

He scoffs, but it comes out shaky.

"I'm not finishing in my fucking pants the first time I'm with you."

He ends the sentence with your name, a word he rarely uses, yet a word that invokes a visceral reaction from you every time he does. It almost makes you whine, almost. Yet, you actually don't know if you do or not because you're so blinded by lust that he could be whispering the secrets of the universe and you'd have no idea. Revealing the ingredients to his famous chocolate chip cookies. Spilling confidential documents that contain the cure to immortality. You'd have no idea.

And you also have no idea where this newfound eagerness is coming from, knowing damn well you've never begged for dick in your entire life.

"Then be with me," you practically beseech. "I'm yours."

Rafe curses at your words, taking a beat, two, before pulling his head back to look at you, to really look at you, his pretty blues boring into yours that are so blown with lust they nearly look black. He searches your expression for any teasing regard, anything to make him think that you're just saying that to get laid.

But you're not. You're pulsing for him, heart beating in tandem with his as if you were made to sync up. The urge to arch into him, to forever be molded to the sculpture of his body, is so devastatingly strong that it nearly pains you. The realization is horrific enough, but you truthfully can't find the energy to care or dwell on the sanctions of your dignity as you peer up at him, certain and bleeding with need for him.

"Mine?" He asks, and the clarification is detrimental.

You oblige. "Yes."

His gaze flickers to the crown of your head, to the wound. "But—"

"We'll go slow," you assure instantly, cutting off what you know he's going to say. "I want you. I don't want to wait."

He's dreaming. He must be. Because how'd he get so lucky to have you underneath him telling him how much you want him? Touching him in a way he only fantasized about? Needing him in the same way he's needed you for a year? The second he's inside you, is he gonna wake up and realize it was all a figment of his imagination? Left to succumb to the hypocrisies of his mind and move back to square one?

How could you not be a dream? Especially when you look so pretty and sound so sweet and feel so heavenly?

Rafe would be stupid to say no since you asked so nice.

So when you tug at the end of his shirt, this time he doesn't second guess the implications of your intentions and aides your act, gripping his shirt by the collar and carelessly pulling it off. You take a long second to glance at his chest, chiseled and crafted by a higher being, before your fingers are back to his pants. When you slowly start to tug his shorts and boxers down, he lets you, eventually letting you get down to his pubic bone before he's leaning back to fully kick them off.

Shamelessly, you stare at his body fully bare to you, and you nearly scoff at the audacity of him actually having a big dick. It's one thing for a guy to act like he has one just for all that smack talk to fly out the window when it's revealed to be small, but it's a completely different thing when the dick matches the attitude. And for him, for Rafe Cameron, to be both a cocky prick who happens to be well endowed is perhaps one of the audacious things you can think of.

Although you barely have time to comment on his size before his hands are all over you again, pushing the material of your shirt up to your sternum until you eventually get the hint to slightly sit up so he can slide it up over your body. You hiss when your breasts are fully exposed to the cool air, and a flicker of excitement (nerves? Whatever it is) sparks when you realize you're both bare to each other, exposing one another to the simplest of vulnerabilities one can share.

"You're beautiful, Star," is all he says before his mouth is on yours.

You kiss him back and paw at his chest as if it's a lifeline, clawing to pull him closer as if he isn't already molded to your figure. He hovers over you and when his cock, hard and aching and beautiful, brushes against your hip, you both moan into each other's mouths, him from the sensation and you from the anticipation.

Rafe's breath hitches, and the air completely leaves his lungs when you wrap your hand around him again. But the way you grab his differs from before, as earlier you were firm and needy, whereas now you hold him delicately, a wordless promise that you’re ready for him, all of him, at any time.

His hand grabs the back of yours. “You okay?”

You nod immediately against his lips, heart racing as he guides your hand that’s holding him down, down, down until his length is slipping through your folds, and you swear that Rafe fucking shudders from the feel of it.

“Holy fuck.” His forehead gently rests against yours, staring down at your almost connected bodies. “I’m not even in you yet and you already feel so fucking nice.”

Your hips buck into him, eliciting a sharp breath from him. “Then be in me.” You hate how pathetic you sound. “Please.”

However, the words are music to his ears and he could bust right here and now from them. “You don’t need to beg, baby. I have you. Always will. I got you.”

His words are saccharine. Soft and delicate in a tone only reserved for you. It’s his version of a declaration of love, an indirect promise that he’ll be here, he’s it for you, he’s all you need. The words are full of life and hope, and you’re eternally grateful that he embraced your need instead of poking fun, and you realize it’s because he needs you just as bad as you need him in this given moment. He has no room to tease. Nor do you.

And when he does slip inside you, the feeling is indescribable.

Rafe’s big. Bigger than you’ve ever had. And he can definitely tell based on the sharp breath you take when he’s halfway in. Although he’s careful with you, gradually pushing in when you give him the green light and immediately stopping when you visibly react, and as much as you appreciate the time and care, it’s so achingly slow, so much slower than you need him to be and he’s teasing you without even realizing.

When he’s completely buried in you, pubic bone to pubic bone, you feel so irrevocably full in a way you never have had before. You can feel his cock twitch inside you when you moan into his mouth at the sensation of being completely succumbed to him, the feel of him, all of him everywhere at once.

“You okay?” His ask is immediate.

“Yes.” Your hands slither up his chest to grip his shoulders, to attempt to find something to ground yourself too. “Feel so full.”

He almost finishes just from that. Almost. And thank god he doesn’t.

“If you don’t start moving,” you shakily warn, “I’m gonna—”

You’re interrupted when Rafe rocks into you once, moving centimeters further into you before pulling out almost completely. You nearly curse at him again, yell at him for basically leaving your cunt until he’s thrusting back in faster than you anticipated. Your nails become talons in his shoulders, indenting crescent moons on his smooth skin and forever etching your mark, your claim.

“You’re gonna what?” His grin is wide and breath shaky, peering down at you with not only amusement, but pure admiration. “Kill me?”

“Shut up.”

Of course, he doesn’t. “You’re all talk, Star, you’ve been sayin’ that forever and you’ve never once tried.”

You moan when he buries in you deep, so deep, it brushes your cervix. “You’re—You’re insufferable.”

“Yet you let me fuck you nice.”

“Who said you do it nice—?”

The words are ripped from your throat when his thumb comes down to press on your clit, and the irony of that plus your previous words is comical. Especially when he grins so fucking wide that it sends you nearly into psychosis, arching your back to further press your chest to his.

He preens as his thumb rubs circles on your clit. “That qualify as nice?”

You want to kill him. You want to smack that stupid smile off his face. Yet you want to kiss him and yank him closer at the same time. The Jekyll and Hyde emotions make your brain feel all fuzzy, and for a moment, all you can respond with is a low moan, almost in annoyance yet dripping in pleasure. You can’t help it— he feels so fucking nice inside you, nicer than you’ve ever had before, rocking in and out of you as if it’s what he was put in this earth to do.

“You always this mouthy in bed?”

The attempt to keep your last shroud of dignity before he makes you a blabbering mess fails.

Rafe thrusts into you a little harder, a warning. “Always this mouthy with you.”

“How flattering.”

“Can’t help it, was made to worship you, baby.”

“Am I su-supposed to thank you?”

He grins at your stuttering, eyes shamelessly watching the way your tits bounce from the force of his thrusts. “A bit of appreciation would be nice.”

You hate that you’re getting close to finishing. In the time that you’ve known him, you’ve been building up walls and closing yourself off to the possibility of getting your heart broken by him. You told yourself that the day you let Rafe Cameron in is the day of rapture, of when all hell breaks loose, of when you finally lose your mind.

Yet his words, his touch, his pretty eyes: it’s all too much. The attention is too much, especially on your clit and how he manages to push himself deeper so delicately that it reaches regions unknown, hitting spots you didn’t think possible and rendering you speechless even further. You hate how he is fucking you nice.

“C’mon, Star,” Rafe muses low, yet there’s a slight strain to his voice that indicates he’s just as fucked out as you. “Tell me how good it feels.”

You don’t want to. You want him to eat that shit eating grin and, for once, be humbled. His ego is too big, too audacious, and you know that he’s only saying this because he knows it’s true, he knows how good it feels, he knows how badly you crave and respond to his touch. He only knows because he feels the same regarding you.

And for once in your life, you secede.

“Feels good.” You let your eyes flutter shut to try and mask your embarrassment. “Feels so good, Rafe.”

You hear him moan. His rhythm stuttering.

“But don’t let it get to your head,” you manage to add, nails scraping on his back as you feel a familiar jolt to your core.

“God, you’re a fucking dream,” he albeit whines, the teasing demeanor dropping immediately as he folds his cards to your hand. “Can’t believe you’re mine.”

The coil builds in your lower stomach.

“You’re so— And I’ve been—” He’s a fucking mess, and you figure he’s close, too. “Fuck, you’re perfect, so tight, so warm, I’m— Shit, baby, I’m losing my fucking mind.”

You’re right there with him, one hand scratching up his neck to grip at the ends of his grown hair, tugging like a bitch in heat to get his lips to hover over yours. And when he does, when Rafe’s mouth brushes yours, you yank him closer to kiss him as your orgasm builds. The kiss is barely a kiss as you both pant into each other’s mouths, breathy and needy and whining as the lewd noises coming from your connected bodies spurs you on further.

“Yours,” you manage shakily, orgasm moments away.

His is too. “Mine.”

And you both finish like that: needy and flush and pathetically encapsulated by the feeling of one another. Your nails indent crescent moons in the smoothness of his muscles, scratching fresh red marks along the porcelain skin while he moans pornographically into your mouth, brows pinched in pleasure as you feel him come hot spurts inside of you.

The intensity is tenfold from your earlier orgasm. It’s searing hot from the waist down plus the added sensation of him irrevocably filling you up in a way you didn’t know you craved until this very moment. Your back arrrrrches into his chest, to fit the mold of his body rocking ferociously into yours as your chests conduct heat from the friction. Your legs hook impossibly tight around his lower back, pulling him tighter than you thought possible by crossing your ankles and using that leverage to bring him closer, to bury him further into you.

The sound is obscene. The lewd noises coming from your simultaneous orgasms plus the shameful moans that escape both your lips. It’s filthy. Downright pathetic. Yet so utterly and completely unapologetic that you can’t find the capacities to care. You can’t even tell which way is up right now, hips bucking desperately into his to chase the high and relish in the feeling of Rafe, Rafe, Rafe.

Your ears have been ringing, body on the verge of floating, senses so incredibly dulled by the ferocity of your orgasm that you don’t realize he’s been speaking the whole time, riding out his high with his words that could come across as prayer.

“—love you, oh my— Never letting you go, never gonna fucking— Oh my god— Oh my— Can’t believe you’re mine, all mine, Star.”

“Yours,” you manage to repeat, breathy and moaning and so fucking pathetic. “All yours. Always.”

That just makes him whine into your mouth. Literally. His hips slam into you over and over and over as his cum gushes out of you and spills onto freshly washed sheets but you can’t find the gall to care, not when he feels this fucking good, not when you feel this fucking great, euphoric on the sensation of him surrounding you. He’s inside you. On top of you. All around you. It’s intoxicating yet alluring. You’re captivated, and your high has never hit harder.

You see white spots momentarily, all the bundle of nerves rushing south so quickly that you’re left with your brain as mush. Feeling your eyes roll back, your hips have a mind of their own as they rut in tandem with his, both of you riding out your highs together in solidarity as everything starts to numb.

Chest heaving, you slowly start to come down from the intensity as your vision slowly regenerates and your hands soon stop shaking. Your thighs, however, are a lost cause hooked around his waist, trembling and shaking his body with the ferocity. He comes down, too, thrusts gradually slowing down as he pumps the rest of his load into you, cum dribbling out of your cunt and down your thighs onto the lavender scented sheets now stained with him.

“Holy fuck,” he rasps when he stops moving, stops thrusting, stops coming, still buried to the hilt inside you.

His cheek is warm against yours. “That was… I’ve never.. You really…”

You’re a blabbering mess, that much is obvious, especially when the spots stop blurring your vision and your body stops trembling as much as before. And as if the moment couldn’t get intimate enough, his hand is leaving your clit (eliciting a low whine from you) and trailing up your stomach to your shoulder, skimming down your bicep and wrist to engulf your hand.

His fingers lace with yours like muscle memory, squeezing once, twice, three times.

It dawns on you right now, in this very moment, that he said that he loved you.

The words had been so sudden, came and went so quickly that you barely registered them in the moment as you were caught up with the intensity of your simultaneous orgasm. But you heard them, felt them roll off his tongue as if he’s been itching to say them for so long, with such ease to them that you figure it’s been sitting docile in his brain and waiting to be revealed.

But he doesn’t register them. Not outright, anyway, and you are thoroughly shocked at how easy you’re taking it.

Love has never come easy to you. Not until you met Sarah and your friends. Family weren’t reliable and home friends were caught in the past, so you’ve been reaching for a version of love you thought you deserved. But then you realized it’s more than blood and childhood obligations to tether yourself to, and more about connection, care, respect. Sarah and your friends made you come to that realization. Yet Rafe makes you believe them.

You’re about to say something, about to address the words and respond with something stupid.

But Rafe slowly pulls out of you, your combined fluids making an audacious mess at the action, as he rolls over onto his back, staring at the ceiling with his hand still laced in yours as if he’ll float away he lets go.

“Oh my fucking god,” he eventually curses, chest heaving. “I didn’t even use a condom.”

You can’t help but laugh. No, cackle.

Because that was the catalyst for the night’s mishap. You needed condoms, he left to get some, you fell in his absence, he discovered you too late. It was your attempt to be good, to be safe and responsible because you always are. But, of course, you were too caught up in the pleasantries of having him, needing him, craving him.

You squeeze his hand without meaning to. He doesn’t mind, lulling his head to the side to stare at your profile.

“So much for being careful,” you muse lightly, voice hoarse. “And so much for changing my sheets.”

You feel his bright blues boring into you as you stare at the ceiling. He boyishly laughs, a sound that is music to your ears as he squeezes your hand back in a way that makes your heart lurch, especially now that you know his true feelings, feelings he doesn’t realize he exposed in the heat of the moment.

“My bad, Star,” Rafe says with such eased nonchalance that it makes your head spin. “I’ll make sure your sheets live to see another day.”

All you do is hum, feeling airy and spacey in the rising sunlight as his hand is warm in yours. When the mattress dips beside you, you don’t flinch or crack a joke or freeze, but rather lull your head to the side to invite him into your space.

And he accepts the invitation, propping himself up on his side to practically peer down at you, taking the hand that isn’t in yours to cradle your face so delicately, so carefully, that your heart skips a beat. Especially when his blues bore into your eyes and gaze on you with a softness that augments the lovey-dovey feeling that you so desperately hate.

“You okay?” He asks for the umpteenth time tonight.

You nod against his palm, figuring that being vulnerable couldn’t hurt. After all, he’s seen you naked and bleeding and crying and still hadn’t run away yet, so you assume that he’s in it to see all your faults, unfazed by the ugly parts of you that you rarely let people see.

“Yeah,” you murmur gently. “Are you?”

Rafe can’t help but snort at your concern. “Baby, I’m on fuckin’ cloud nine right now.”

You manage a grin.

“Let me get you cleaned up,” he adds, leaning in before you can protest to place a soft chaste kiss on your lips. “Stay here and look pretty.”

He’s leaning back before you know it, hand leaving your face and body leaving your vicinity, the warmth leaving with him. You watch groggily as he slips his boxers back on (after standing idly for a moment to look and see where they went) and momentarily exiting your room. The first thought that comes to mind is that you should cover up, you should attempt to appear halfway decent before he comes back to try and gain back an ounce of your dignity.

But the urge never comes. You simply wait for him.

Rafe reappears seconds later, a warm damp towel between his fingers as he sits on the edge of the bed. Flinching when the towel meets your thighs, he cleans up what he can with the utmost delicacy that you’d think he’s handling fine china. And to him, he is.

When your eyelids hang heavy, you catch a glimpse of him smirking, almost to himself, as he finishes up wiping you clean.

You try to frown but you think it comes across as a smile. “What?”

All he does is hum gently. “Told you I’d fuck you back to sleep, that’s all,” he muses, clearly pleased with himself and your fucked our state.

“Rafe.”

“What? I’m a man of my word.”

When you try to stand on your own, he’s there to take place a guiding hand on your elbow, helping you find your footing like a baby fawn. Rafe grabs you your robe when you beckon for it, sliding over your body and maneuvering into the bathroom to use it and do a very, very quick version of your night routine (good morning, world). In the midst of you re-entering your bedroom, you find him just finishing up replacing the (now damp) fitted sheet with a clean (dry) one you had in the closet.

“Found a spare set,” is all he said about the matter, and instead helps you out of your robe to feel you bare again.

You crawl back into bed, nearly sighing at how inviting it is as you flip onto your back. Through sleepiness, you watch him make sure the towel and sheets are in your hamper before allowing himself to relax, wasting no time easing back into your bed and settling in next to you as if he was made to lay here, as if the mattress is already molded to his figure, as if you already haven’t designated that side of the bed to him anyway.

His hand slithers across your tummy, laying rest on your bare hip bone under the sheets and pulling you taut to him. You’re yanked away from your usual spot and held flush against his chest, inhaling his scent like a freak and letting the atmosphere lull you to sleep.

One of Rafe’s hands cradles the back of your head, the other tracing the vertebrae up and down your spine.

“Later,” he says after a long silence, “when we’re feeling okay, I’m taking you out.”

Your heart skips a beat. “You are?”

His response is immediate. “Yes. Dinner. Dessert. Fuckin’ go-kart for all I care. Whatever you want, Star. Wanna show you off ‘nd show everyone you’re mine,” he murmurs, voice low and baritone and so casual as if it doesn’t rattle your brain.

Still, you can’t help but smile.

“Don’t remember you asking,” you tease, seconds away from sleep. “Is this your fool-proof flirting tactic in action?”

He snorts, and it makes his chest bump impossibly closer to yours. “My tactic wasn’t all that fool-proof. It took you a year to notice.”

You preen, even though he can’t see it. “Had to keep you humble, Cameron.”

Your voice is impossibly soft, so genuinely fucking happy that he can’t even poke fun. Not while you feel so nice in his arms, anyway.

“Mhm, Star,” he drawls out. “Speaking of humility, we’re adding a new law to the friend constitution.”

You already know where he’s going with this, and groan against the soft skin of his neck.

“Rafe—“

“No one is allowed to shower in extreme temperatures while a second party isn’t present,” he recites formally, not even bothering to apologize for cutting you off. “I’m proposing that at the next town meeting.”

You manage to roll your eyes. “That’s excessive.”

He probably senses it. “It’s necessary. Your injuries make up at least half the list.”

“Semantics.”

“Never leaving your side from now on,” he murmurs casually, “and if I do, I’m wrapping you in bubble wrap.”

The thought pathetically excites you, biting your lip to suppress a wide grin that he wouldn’t even be able to see anyway. You smooth your fingers over his abdomen, simply taking a moment to appreciate the close proximity, how he opened his heart to you on a silver platter and irrevocably make him yours.

“That a promise?”

He hums, as if he has all the time in the world to indulge, as if it’s obvious that he’d be serious. You’re his now, how could you forget? Especially when his arms hold you close and his knee slots between your legs, latching to you, claiming you in a way no one ever has before. It’s absolutely intoxicating, thrilling, allured to his scent and his touch and him, him, him.

You think you love him. You’d be stupid not to.

And you think he has some sort of idea, especially when you subconsciously pull your head back to stare at him, heads sharing the same pillow and faces inches apart. You simply stare at him, admire the strength of his jaw and the slope of his nose, how his laugh lines are accentuated when he smiles in the slightest, the blue of his eyes boring into yours, feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest against yours.

This is how you come down: bones exhausted from the night before, mind turned to mush by the injury and how he’s made your head spin with every flirtatious comment, every confession, every genuine act of love, compassion, care. You fall asleep in his arms and he falls asleep in yours, lulled by the cadence of his heartbeat and his soft, sweet nothings.

You think you say you love him, you aren’t sure in your practically asleep state, but when he pulls you a fraction tighter in his sleep, you let yourself relax. You let yourself be loved by him.

salem-s please do not copy or replicate work unless given permission. mdni.

notes sorry for the LAME ending hope u enjoyed the series!!! thank you for all the support this has been super fun to write. also NOT CONDONING DRUG USE okay thanks!!!!

this is like my favorite read ever

Not Prick | Tom Holland

masterlist found here

pairing - Tom x reader word count - 1,877 warnings - language A/N - for the anon who requested x

summary - A fan gets a little aggressive with Tom at the mall, and he takes it out on the wrong person. But he’s a good guy, and when he realizes his mistake, he’s determined to make up for it.

Tom was having a bad day. There was no rhyme or reason. He was just cranky and tired and wanted to be home. Instead, he was out at the mall with Harrison. Apparently his favorite store was having a sale, and Harrison wanted a new pair of shoes.

“Why don’t you just order them online?” Tom had asked as Harrison all but dragged him out of his apartment.

“I gotta try them on and make sure they look good,” the other argued. Tom rolled his eyes but agreed to go. Now, they were out, and Tom was regretting it.

Keep reading

HARRY FOR DAZED WINTER 2021

love frat rafe

thought i wouldn’t find out?

pairing. frat¡rafe && reader

content. fluff. suggestive content/thoughts. language. blood. violence(?)

summary. you’re the designated ‘frat girl’, but when rafe’s ‘brothers’ start getting too close, he’s gotta remind them who you belong to psa i have nooo clue about frats so i just used names i found on the internet (yes, i’m in college and still have no idea about them)

“so i told the idiots at kappa sigma that they can suck my dick! i’m not working with them for the annual formal, and if they wanna run their mouths to whoever the fuck’s in charge– i really don’t give a damn,” was the first thing you heard as you walked through the door of rafe’s frat house, pi kappa phi. him and some other ‘brothers’ were scattered about in their messy living room. it was friday afternoon, so they were all just hanging out before frats opened at 11pm. almost all of them had a beer in their hand, including rafe.

he turned once he heard the sound of the door, a smile subconsciously forming on his face.

“there’s my girl,” he said, moving his arm up, waiting for you to take your place next to him. his eyes panned over your body– cropped white t-shirt with a jean skirt, and some country looking belt that hung off you, proving it was just for looks– his eyes landed on the pack of beer in your hand. it was pretty customary for you to bring drinks for the weekends– not for the parties– just for him, and the other guys.

he rested his arm on the back of the couch, telling you to put it in the refrigerator– as if this wasn’t routine.

once you returned from the kitchen, you took your spot in his arm. he craned his head to give you a quick kiss on your cheek, moving his mouth to ghost over your ear.

“how you doin’ baby?,” his voice was low, almost slurring as if he was a bit tipsy– he wasn’t, you knew that he was just getting started.

“‘m good,” you nuzzled into his touch. after a long day of classes, rafe’s presence was calming. it grounded you in a way you craved throughout the stress of your day.

he continued to talk to the guys in the room, his fingers rubbing little circles into your soft shoulder with the hand that was slung around you. your head rested between his chest and the under part of his arm.

“be right back,” he said to the other guys, giving you a quick kiss on the cheek before wandering somewhere in the house.

you suddenly felt a lot of eyes on you. you were used to these guys, but something about this exact moment felt… uneasy. you didn’t make it known that you were slightly uncomfortable though. you knew who you were– you knew how crazy your boyfriend was. they wouldn’t try anything if they knew what was good for them.

“so, y/n… long day?,” jake asked with a smirk before taking a swig of his beer. you knew all of them– unfortunately– it’s not like they were all bad, just a majority. jake included. you tried to hide the discomfort in your face. you thought you were doing a good job…

“dude. what’re you doin’?,” cam butted in before you could answer– apparently your discomfort wasn’t that hidden. he was one of the only ones without a beer in his hand, and he was probably your favorite of the guys– besides rafe, of course. he was the nicest, and he never really made you feel out of place, or uncomfortable. he kept all the other guys in check when rafe was gone– mainly because he was rafe’s right hand man, and his best friend.

“jus’ askin’ pretty girl how her day was,” his smirk still glued to his face, turning from cam back to you, still awaiting your answer.

“cut it out jake,” his tone was serious. you just sat there awkwardly, but you wanted jake to know he didn’t bother you– even if he did.

“no, no cam… it’s fine,” you began, a fake smile on your face, “my day was long. jus’ happy to come home to rafe, y’know?”

jake was clearly tipsy, maybe even already drunk. that’s the only thing that would explain the next words that came out of his mouth.

“rafe… rafe is a little bitch. wouldn’t know a pretty girl like you if it hit him,” cam gave you a look– should i jump in?– you shook your head gently, intrigue plastered over your face. you wanted to see how far jake would go. the other guys surrounding him watched him with bated breath as if he was actually making a valid point. it almost made you laugh.

“bet he can’t even make ya cum… ya ever need a real man you come to me sweetheart,” the words made you cringe. did he really think shit like that would make you… what? swoon? cam’s jaw was slacked, in utter disbelief of what just came out of his ‘brother’s mouth. you went with it– kind of.

“well, jake that is a very kind offer, but i gotta tell ya…,” you stood up from the couch, moving toward the chair he was sat on. you leaned down, right in his face– close enough for him to not just hear the words you were about to say, but feel them too.

“you shouldn’t be concerned about me getting off. rafe’s got plenty of photo proof of that,” your smile was evil, challenging. just as you moved away from jake’s face, walking back to your spot on the couch, rafe reentered the room.

“what’d i miss?,” he was clueless, you knew cam would try and tell rafe, but you didn’t want to cause even more of a scene. you weren’t jake’s biggest fan, but the things rafe would to do him if he found out were… probably illegal. and it’s hard to run a frat from jail.

“not much,” you shrugged, plopping yourself back on the couch. the look on cam’s face was just pure confusion and shock. jake’s on the other hand… well, his was just shock. you smiled to yourself while rafe made his way to sit next to you.

—

the house had so many bodies, loud music, flashing lights that would make anyone’s head spin. you were currently fighting your way through the crowd of people to get to the bathroom. once you closed the door behind you the music was a little more muted, giving you some peace. not for long.

“so i told her– if she wants a real man she can come to me. probably come for me, too,” jake’s agitating laugh could be heard from the other side of the door.

“so she got all up in my face– hot as fuck– told me not to tell rafe. that i’d be hearing from her real soon,” whatever group of people he was talking to began ‘ooo’-ing and laughing. little did you know, cam was in that group– observing. you stayed in the bathroom until their voices faded away, giving you a clear to exit.

you needed to find rafe.

luckily, he hadn’t really moved from the spot you left him in, but once you saw rafe, cam came into view too.

cam was turned away from you. you could see rafe’s face, and he was furious. his face was basically turning red, jaw locked, eyes wide and narrowed at the same time. you watched his hold on his beer bottle tighten, knuckles turning white.

even over the noise in the house, you could hear the sound of rafe’s bottle thud against the counter, followed by a “fuck no. oh, he’s fucking dead. they’re all dead.” he was about to walk away, leaving cam to himself, before his eyes caught yours. suddenly, rafe was right in front of you– towering over you.

“we gotta talk,” was all that he said before grabbing your hand, and dragging you upstairs into his room. he closed the door behind him. most of the noise was muted now, giving you a chance to talk privately.

“what did cam tell you?,” you weren’t scared of rafe when he was like this, but you were still a little concerned. he looked like he could break just about any and every thing in his room right now.

usually rafe would play mind games– ask you what you thought cam told him– but he was in no mood right now.

"told me what that jackass jake said. ‘bout how i couldn’t make you cum?,” breathless laughs were breaking up his sentence, like he couldn’t believe what he had to repeat right now.

“told me what you said…,” he leaned toward you. you swallowed hard, big eyes looking up at him. you weren’t sure how he was going to take you basically telling jake that he had explicit photos of you on his phone.

“‘nd as hot as that was…,” he began, smirking spreading across his lips, “i gotta ask– why didn’t you tell me, babe?”

“‘s not a big deal, rafe. y’know how jake is…,” you started before he cut you off. backing away from you as if he was astonished by your answer.

“yeah. i do. that’s no excuse f’r him to say the shit he did, and then go around tellin’ people you’d actually leave me for him. actin’ like you’re gonna hook up with him behind my back,” how the fuck did he know about that?

“tryna tell people my girl would go anywhere near his tiny dick. it’s laughable,” he ran his palm over his mouth like he genuinely couldn’t stifle his laugh.

“rafe…”

“no, no. he wants to play that game? we can play that game,” suddenly he grabs your wrist again, dragging you downstairs. you didn’t know what he was doing, but before you could process anything he cut the music off. everyone in the house either complaining, or looking around confused. rafe’s loud voice was the next thing to reverberate through the house.

“HEY! LISTEN UP, ANYONE WHO DOESN’T LIVE HERE– TIME TO GET THE FUCK OUT! PARTY’S OVER, ALRIGHT?,” his voice boomed in your ear, making you flinch at first. after some frustrated groans, and some ‘what the fuck’s, people began to flood out of the house.

your confusion was evident, staring up at rafe– his hold on your wrist still there, but looser now.

“what’re you doing?,” you whispered to him, his eyes not moving from the crowd leaving the house.

“don’t worry ‘bout it, baby,” he mumbled back to you before walking away from you to close the door as the last few people trickled out.

“rafe, man– what the fuck?!,” jake was walking up to rafe like he was trying to intimidate him– obviously he wasn’t. the look on rafe’s face was lethal. all rafe’s ‘brothers’ gathered around him, everyone confused except cam. not that he knew what was going on, but he did know rafe, and whatever was going on wasn’t going to be pretty.

you were still stood where rafe left you– just a few steps behind him.

“my bad bro… jus’ got some things i wanna address,” rafe’s tone was dripping with sarcasm, and a sense of humor. jake tried not to seem worried, tried to have a poker face, but you could tell he was sweating under that dingy baseball cap.

“something so important you had to kick everyone out, bro?,” one of the other guys questioned. rafe didn’t answer, just gave him one look and the guy was backing off, hands up in surrender.

"jake… anything you wanna tell me? actually, anything any of you wanna tell me?,” rafe didn’t sound this serious most of the time, so the guy were rightfully scared– well, guys minus cam.

“man, i d’know what you’re talkin’ ‘bout,” jake tried to just shrug it off, make rafe think he was crazy for this.

“don’t know what i’m talkin’ about?,” rafe had that classic fake confusion on his face, walking closer to jake, getting in his face to utter his next words.

“just figured a real man would own up to what he did before i made him own up to it… take some responsibility y’know?,” he almost whispered. he squinted his eyes with a fake smile on his face. the whole room went deadly silent, and jake’s face was nothing short of entertaining.

"you are a real man, right? at least– that’s what you told my girl,” his aggravation was starting to break through his facade. jake just stood there– he didn’t know what to say, didn’t know how to come back from this.

"lemme ask you somethin’… how many people left this house tonight under the impression that my girlfriend was gonna hook up with you behind my back? hm?,” he was furious at this point. it was one thing to speak that way to you in the first place, but run around and lie? tell everyone rafe cameron couldn’t keep his girl satisfied? oh, his blood was boiling. you just stood still where you were. when rafe got like this there was no stopping him– it was no use, and you knew that.

jake was grasping at straws at this point, “listen man, i don’t know what y/n told you… but it’s a lie. okay? i didn’t say shit to her, rafe. and i didn’t say shit to anyone else.”

“jake… jakey boy! how stupid d’you think i am? you really thought i wouldn’t find out? as if the rest of this story wasn’t humiliating enough– i’m almost offended,” rafe had turned his back on him at this point, giving you that evil smirk one more time before quickly turning on his heel, and punching straight into jake’s nose.

a loud crack! sounded through the room, jake’s hand immediately coming to hold his bleeding– probably broken– nose, bending over in pain, droplets of blood hitting the floor. rafe leaned down to get on his level.

“get. the fuck. out. i see you anywhere near this house, myself, or my girl again. you’ll wish i had just killed you tonight,” he spoke quietly, but his message was clear as day. jake quickly exited the house, but not before muttering a quick ‘you’re fucking insane cameron’.

rafe shook his hand out, moving his fingers to combat the pain from direct contact with jake’s bone.

“oh, and just so everyone’s clear… i’m goin’ easy on those of you who let him say that shit– those of you who gassed him up after he said that nasty shit to y/n. you’re on thin ice, yeah? say shit like that to my girl again, and you’ll wish i only broke your nose.”

© 𝐔𝐑𝐂𝐎𝐎𝐋𝐆𝐅.   est. 2025

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