myyheartbeatonthehighline - Tumblr blog

myyheartbeatonthehighline · 2 days

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Blurb where reader and Rafe are friends but they are secretly in love with each other and they go swimming in the lake during moonlight and they end up kissing

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

content warning drug and alcohol use

You always knew that there was more to Rafe Cameron than people thought.

He had a reputation for being reckless and arrogant, but there was something about him that made you think he wasn’t as simple as the gossip made him out to be.

The summer after high school graduation was when he finally got up the courage to speak to you. He’d seen you around school and at parties. It was hard not to notice you.

He’d spent most of senior year wondering how the hell to talk to you. And the longer he delayed approaching you, the more he psyched himself out.

Finally, one night, Rafe saw you standing alone and looking bored at a house party. He chugged the rest of his beer, crossed the room, and jokingly asked if you knew that parties are supposed to be fun.

You spent the rest of the night talking, your conversation flowing so effortlessly that before you knew it, the sun was coming up. Rafe wanted to kiss you, but you left so quickly that he lost his chance.

The next time you saw each other at a party, you both got so high that you decided to run out to the beach and lie in the sand under the stars. All you did was talk - about how fast life was going by, about your plans for the future, about what life beyond the island you both grew up on could be like.

Eventually, the conversation trickled to insecurities. Why the hell you were so easy to talk to, Rafe didn’t know, but he opened up about what he hated about himself. You did the same. And neither of you agreed with the negative things you had to say about yourselves.

He wanted to kiss you, but again, he couldn’t find the right opportunity. Later on, he even resorted to bringing up other girls to you just to see if you’d be jealous. You didn’t seem fazed at all.

He was obviously just a friend to you. The tightness in his chest once he realized this was more painful than he was prepared for.

Once Rafe started asking you for dating advice, it was clear he didn’t return your feelings. You pretended to be okay with it until you eventually were.

You dealt with it because your assumption was right; he wasn’t what everyone said he was. He had a depth to him that he hid behind layers of phony self-importance. If what you had with him was purely platonic, you’d take it.

In August, one of your mutual friends planned a getaway at their family’s lakehouse over one of the last weekends of the summer.

The finality of the season ending, the knowledge that everyone will soon be going their separate ways, is an unwelcome presence wedging its way into the humid air.

You’re sitting around the bonfire with everyone on Saturday night, wood crackling and crickets chirping over overlapping conversations.

After months of friendship, Rafe thought it’d get easier to accept your lack of feelings for him. But as he watches the flames cast shadows on your pretty face, he realizes he’d rather take the hit of your rejection than the agony of never knowing if you feel something, too.

Once your friends start to retire to their rooms, Rafe waits for an opportunity to get you alone. You’re at the bottom of the stone steps leading back up to the house when his warm hand cups yours.

“Let’s swim,” he says into the warm night air.

“Are you serious?” you laugh, looking up at the moon, a crescent in the black sky.

“Don’t tell me you forgot how to have fun again,” Rafe jeers, referencing the first thing he ever said to you.

“Rude,” you say, nudging his shoulder. “I know how to have fun.”

“Then come on.” He tilts his head towards the large lake behind him.

“God,” you sigh with a roll of your eyes. But you step past him, walking towards the water, glancing back at him. “What, were you bluffing or are we actually doing this, Cameron?”

Rafe smirks to himself and follows you.

You strip down to your bra and underwear and plunge into the cold water, swimming up to the surface and shuddering from the cold.

He’s standing on the dock, boxers only, hands on his hips as he looks down at you. It gives you a moment to take in his broad frame and taut muscles in the moonlight. Being friends with him is especially hard in these moments.

“Maybe we shouldn’t,” he teases, dimples deep in his cheeks.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” you mutter, treading water. Rafe laughs and ruffles his hair. “Wuss.”

He is a wuss, but not for the reason you think. He’s been nothing but cowardly, keeping how he feels from you for so long.

Rafe dives into the frigid water. It’s a shock to his system as he bobs up beside you, his body breaking out in goosebumps.

“Fuck,” he shudders.

“It’s painful, right?” you say, matching his laughs. “What a stupid idea.”

Rafe gazes at you, eyes dropping to your bright smile.

He’s quiet for so long that you worry you hurt his feelings. You remember him telling you that he’s insecure about his intelligence. Your heart twists with pain.

“I’m messing with you,” you say. “Sorry. It wasn’t stupid. You’re not stupid.”

This - the opinion you have of him, the way you emphasize that a joke is just a joke after he gets quiet like this - is what made Rafe fall for you. Shit. This isn’t just a crush. He’s falling for you.

“Something’s off,” you say.

“Huh?” His heart is hammering.

“You haven’t insulted me back,” you reply. “You feeling okay?”

You put a hand on Rafe’s forehead, pretending to take his temperature, and the feeling makes his stomach flip. You retreat and break contact.

“What?” you laugh after he doesn’t respond. You gaze at the water droplets scattered over his handsome face as you rock together in the cold water.

“Remember when we got shit-faced on the beach?” he asks.

You think back how loudly the waves crashed on the shore that night as you lay in the sand with Rafe, gazing at his profile while you talked about anything and everything. It was your second time hanging out. And it was unforgettable.

“Yeah,” you say.

“I don’t…” Rafe looks to the side, eyeing the cabins on the far edge of the lake, yellow lights peeking through rectangular windows. “I don’t talk with anybody like that.”

Your throat suddenly goes dry. Rafe is not one to get touchy-feely. It must be the nostalgia of the summer ending that’s making him so sentimental.

“Me, neither,” you respond honestly.

“Be honest with me,” Rafe says. The sound of water ebbing as you float together hums beneath you.

“I always am.”

“Was there…” He breathes out a nervous chuckle. “Did you ever think we’d be more than friends?”

“What?” you say, unsure you heard him right.

Rafe gazes at you through heavy-lidded eyes. The shock in your tone sends a pang of disappointment through his body.

He realizes if he continues to wait for the right time to kiss you, it’ll never come. He can’t keep waiting.

Your heart thrums as he drifts closer to you, eyes darting to your mouth. He cups your cheek and you’re in disbelief that this is happening.

“I said,” he murmurs quietly, “did you think we’d be more than friends?”

“No,” you respond. He stills. “I mean - I hoped. But I didn’t think that you…”

“You hoped?” he says. The sanguinity in his deep voice is soft, but it’s there. You know it’s there.

You nod, your eyes locked on his.

“Say it,” he tells you.

“I hoped we’d be more,” you admit. “But you were…”

“What was I?” he asks, shifting closer, his nose nudging against yours. You realize your breaths are shallow.

“You were asking me about other girls, Rafe.” His lips are inches away from yours, the anticipation twisting inside of you.

He hates himself for playing games. He lost a whole summer with you because he was too gutless to risk rejection. And he refuses to waste any more time.

Rafe’s warm lips press against yours. His touch is so much gentler than you expected. But this is what Rafe does. He surprises you, again and again.

You part your lips, deepening the kiss, head numb from the sensation he’s giving you. You’ve imagined this, daydreamed about it. But you never thought it’d be a reality.

Every time you looked at him from across the room or laughed with him or shared innocent touches, he was longing for you, too. It makes your head spin.

When you pull apart, you stare with anticipative expressions, as if you’re expecting the other to say this was a mistake.

But neither of you do. You smile and he smiles back, his thumb rubbing over your cheekbone.

“You were the girl I wanted,” he rasps.

“Were?” you say, unable to ignore the opportunity to mess with him.

Rafe huffs a laugh, his tongue jutting under his cheek.

“Are,” he corrects himself.

You take the initiative to kiss him this time and his heart buzzes. His friendship with you was a collection of hopeful maybes, but now he’s certain. He’s sure you feel the same way. And he’s not wasting another minute hiding his feelings for you.

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myyheartbeatonthehighline · 2 days

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would rafe ever let reader wear his rings? idk that’s just so hot and i feel like rafe would be the type 😭

godd pussy started doing jumping jacks!! your brain>>

curled up next to rafe, still sweaty and sticky all over but not even close to tired, you trace patterns on his skin with your fingers. it's quiet in tannyhill except for the two of you breathing.

you thought rafe must be deep in thought the way he's gone so quiet, but when you look up from your position to see what he's doing or if, unsurprisingly, he's fallen asleep, you catch him staring right at you.

flustered, face warm, you press back against his chest, blinking fast. your fingers continue their path, now on his forearm, drawing little hearts and hoping he doesn't realize. you go further, all the way to his hand, and though you've been in this position a million times, do this or something similar almost every night, it feels different for some reason.

you run your fingers down the back of his land, looping around his fingers. they catch around his rings, and you move your own hand away when rafe stops you, grabbing your hand and keeping it in place.

"sorry," you let out quietly, wondering if he decided he didn't like the feeling. though you're still held in place against his body, you don't need to see him in order to know he's staring down at you, the way he always does, with the look that makes your heart thud so fast you can hear it in your ears.

"stop apologizin'," he murmurs, pressing a warm kiss to your forehead. he keeps your hand next to his, and you can't help yourself, pressing your palm flat against his.

"your hands are big," you comment, liking the way the two of you are touching everywhere right now—legs entangled and palms together. he doesn't say anything, doesn't have to. rafe moves your hand, holding it next to his, using his other to slip his rings off.

without any words at all, he slips one of them, his golden signet, onto your ring finger. helplessly big, it falls down to the knuckle. if you move an inch, it would fall off. the other ring falls onto your index finger. you extend your hand, admiring how they look on you.

"too big, rafe," you say it with a laugh, not able to hold it back any longer.

"shit. lemme see." rafe takes your hand, holding it a little out and then closer. "jus' a little bit. looks good on you though."

"all your stuff looks good on me," you breathe out, suddenly feeling like there's no air left in your lungs. rafe just slipped his own ring onto your ring finger, your left ring finger. words and thoughts leave you, focused on nothing but rafe.

"that's right. don't worry, kid, i'll get you one that fits soon enough."

your heart beats even faster, realizing what he means. you smile up at him.

"i don't want a new one. i just want yours."

the next morning, there's a pretty chain and his golden ring waiting for you on the nightstand. both of you know that once you put it on, it's never coming off.

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myyheartbeatonthehighline · 2 days

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was watching drew’s old short films and came across this 😩

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myyheartbeatonthehighline · 3 days

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omg hi!! hope ur doing well i love ur writing btw, (play fake is one of my fav fics ive EVER read!!)

could u do a fic where rafe and reader are like best friends, and they’ve always both kinda liked each other but they dont really act upon it, until rafe gets a buzzcut and reader starts acting like real shy and clumsy around him bcs she’s shocked abt how he could get even MORE attractive, and then he gets linda confused so he asks her why she’s acting so different and then she tells him? make it as smutty and fluffy as u want! 🫶🫶

first off, ily 🥹 and omg, YES!! i've been thinking about this ever since i got your req in my inbox, so here's my very earnest attempt at doing it justice 🩷

‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵୨˚̣̣̣͙୧ - - ୨˚̣̣̣͙୧‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

pairing rafe cameron x bsf!female reader

reader type kook, spontaneous, loves adventure, hates silence, loves noises, doesn't exactly like her reality, and friends with topper and kelce, but is only close to rafe!

content (5.3k words) 18+, fluff, smut, soft!rafe to reader only, protected p in v, f receiving oral, lots of banter!, nicknames used: baby and wildflower.

dedication to @mintforadollar for helping me with the nickname and for @erwinsvow for her lovely fic, which i drew inspiration from and i've been obsessing over for the past two weeks <3

lıllılı Wildflower by 5 Seconds of Summer

‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵୨˚̣̣̣͙୧ - - ୨˚̣̣̣͙୧‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

"I want to run away."

It takes a moment for Rafe to register your confession and his response is a drowsy laugh. "Buy a guy dinner first."

You let out a groan, slumping against your wrinkled sheets and abundant pillows spread across your bed. "I'm being serious, Rafe. I'm tired of this house. It's too empty and quiet. I can't stand it. At night, I think I can hear my skin buzzing."

Rafe is accustomed to your sporadic calls regarding whatever issues you had with the world. Last week, it was about the insufficient amount of family portraits that frame the halls of your mansion.

"Maybe you just need to change your sheets."

"Stop!" You chastise. Rafe chokes up with another beat of laughter, low and rich with the deep timbre of his voice. The sound temporarily draws you away from your rant, igniting a small ember in your stomach. You brush away those tingly thoughts. "You're not listening to me."

"I think I'm listening to you perfectly fine, wildflower." He reassures, the solemnity of his tone takes you off the edge. Rafe shuffles on the other line, moving to a sitting position against his headboard. "What do you want? Do you want me to come pick you up?"

You cower from his offer, tucking one of your pillows under your chin. "You don't have to..."

"Don't get all shy with me now. You can't act this way when you're waking me up in the dead of night to report about your getaway plans."

"I feel bad."

Rafe sighs, getting off his bed. He knows the outcome of this conversation and rather prepares himself for the short drive. "I'm heading over."

"I could walk."

"It's freezing outside."

"Your house is down the block. I can survive."

"I'm already out the door. Just stay put." Rafe announces and before he's about to disconnect the call, he adds. "I'm serious."

He arrives in record time. Honking his truck with no regards for the nearby neighbors and you pad downstairs with a bag, descending down the driveway to the passenger side of his truck. A little shiver travels down your spine at the cool North Carolina weather.

"God, what did I tell you?" He scolds, noticing your lack of outwear, and reaches for the blanket in the backseats he keeps just for you. He throws it at your face, suffocating your air with a fluffy white fleece. You roll your eyes, covering your shoulders with it as Rafe reverses. "Where do you want to go?"

"Thought I'm supposed to buy you a meal first."

He doesn't bother entertaining your retort with a glance and flicks the side of your head with his fingers. You giggle. "We're not running away."

"Who said you're included in this adventure? I remember it being a one-person job."

Rafe scoffs. "You can't run away. You'd miss me too much."

"No, you'd miss me too much." You tease back, watching his lips pull to an upward curve at your words. It makes your heart flutters, knowing you always manage to get this side of Rafe. To the rest of Outer Banks, Rafe is seen as a precarious, self-absorbed playboy, but to you, he's your best friend.

And a little more.

The truck parks on the roadside of Tannyhill, the silhouettes of the estate surrounded by shadowy oak trees and a deep reflection of the moon on their waterfront view. Rafe doesn't make a move to leave, nor turn off the engine, before he turns to you.

"You okay?" He asks gravely, all humor stripped off his handsome features. You feel the air of your lungs stolen, at the amount of attention he's paying you, and the atmospheric change turns you to a bashful version of yourself.

"Fine." You answer, looking to your lap. "You know..."

Despite your house being a near-identical model to Rafe's, you hate yours. It's nothing about the architecture but rather the emptiness of the hallways. The cold floors sweep with minimalist decors. The echoes in the chambers where you can hear every little whirl in the air conditioner and creaks in the pipes. You'd rather be at Tannyhill.

Rafe doesn't say anything for the next few moments, observing you, before conceding a sigh. "Tell you what. I'll take you out on the Druthers tomorrow. We'll go bright and early, sail out for a couple of hours, watch the sunrise and it'll be something."

You lift your head, eyes lit up. "Is this our escape?"

"We gotta come back, though."

You frown but the offer remains enticing. It's better than nothing.

"Okay, deal." You nod, holding out your pinkie finger. Rafe scoffs at your gesture, but nonetheless, returns it. "Don't look so glum. You get to hang out with me."

"You do realize we have about three hours of sleep?"

You glance at the clock on his dashboard. He's right. But, you don't want to hold it off till another day. "I can go by myself. Just give me the keys for tomorrow."

He rolls his eyes, as if he would even consider that suggestion, and shakes his head. "I'm coming with you."

"Aren't you afraid you won't get your beauty sleep?"

"Shut up and get in the house."

You laugh and hop out of his truck. When you enter through his bedroom, you throw your bag to a random corner and stroll over to his closet in search for one of Rafe's tees to sleep in.

When you settle on something, you strip out of your clothes—in the middle of his bedroom, just as Rafe enters—and exchange it for his shirt. He had little regard for your act, having grown accustomed to you changing in front of him and vice versa.

All Rafe does is pull off his own shirt, because he likes to sleep naked, and turns back to you. Unlike him, you're never going to get used to seeing him naked—the defined muscles of his chest, the toned planes of his abs, all those hours spent at the gym are clearly not wasted.

You flush, realizing you're ogling him longer than appropriate, and lift your gaze to find a smirk curving his lips. "Oh, shut it," you push his shoulders, causing him to laugh. He takes the opportunity to capture your hand, pulling the both of you onto his mattress, and you yelp.

Rafe changes your position so you're facing him, an arm sprawls over your waist, and there's about a couple of inches of space between the two of you. Here, in the low streams of the moonlight glistening through the veiled curtains and the faint aroma of his cologne on his pillows, you can hear your own heartbeat in your ears.

You say nothing. He says nothing, You stare into his cerulean eyes, knowing all this little emotions you're feeling all over—the light pricks on your skin where he touches you, the lapse in your breathing from how attentive he is, and the sharp incline of your heart rate pulsing through your veins—is because of him.

His voice is low when he says, "you know you're my best friend, right?"

You couldn't find it in you to answer. You just nod.

Rafe swallows hard, not having the ability to string together the next sentence. Instead, all he does is nod along, leaning forward to place a light kiss on your forehead, before falling asleep.

The next morning, just an hour before the sunrise, Rafe and you head to the ports to board the Druthers. Despite the lack of adequate sleep, you were giddily and strumming with high energy. He holds out his hand to guide you up the stairs, afraid your enthusiasm would cause you to miss a step.

When the Druthers is far enough from shore, it pulls to a halt, gently bobbing on the ocean waves of the tame morning. You settle on the deck and Rafe slides into the spot next to you. Here, you have the perfect view of the sun slowly rising from the horizon, painting the sky in a palette of red, orange and yellow.

You're grinning. You're feeling much better, especially after your melodramatic episode. Your head rests on Rafe's chest, observing the skyline until the sun reaches its acme, while he watches you. Something about you, happy, content, and with him brings a warmth no one can replicate.

"We have to go swimming." You announce suddenly, twisting your head to look at him with excitement bubbling on your features, doe eyes pleading with a want.

His expression is flat, trying to contain his emotions. "It's seven in the morning."

"So? When has that stopped me before?"

"It's freezing cold."

"That's your excuse for everything." You scoff, before tilting your head in a challenge. "Are you scared of a little water, Rafe Cameron?"

There's a twinkle in your eyes, something about the way you talk to him, he would never allow from anyone else. It's just you. He had to look away, pretending to shake his head from the idea but knowing, at the end, he lost.

With a long dip into the ocean, you swim around the Druthers with light splashes thrown in his face, causing Rafe to chase after you for your little stunt. When the pair of you returned to the boat, dripping wet on the floor deck, laughter exchanging at the break of dawn.

"You cheated!" You accuse, grinning.

"I did not. You're just slow."

When you change out of your bikini and Rafe changes out of his swim trunks, you return to the cockpit where Rafe dons a new attire: khaki pants, a polo shirt, and his backward baseball cap. The air shifts, a more solemn expression on his face.

"You had enough now, wildflower?" He tips his head to your direction, as you approach him. "Ready to return back to the real world?"

You groan. "What's so special about that place?"

"Nothing that matters to you," he declares, "but I have a couple of errands I have to run today. I have to get back, but I won't leave until you're feeling better."

"Hm." You consider your satisfaction. Standing before Rafe, you watch as his lips curl in amusement at the way you're mauling through the finer details. The itinerary of your day and whether it was enough. When your eyes lock with his, you offer him a sweet smile, albeit a little reluctant.

"What?"

You don't answer him, reaching for his hat and taking it off his head, before plopping it over your own as a keepsake souvenir. "Now, I am."

—

After spending your afternoon with Topper and Kelce at the Country Club, distracting them from their tee time with your commentary about their swings, Rafe finally arrives to join you.

But it's different.

When Rafe said he had a couple of errands to run, you didn't ask for their specifics. He just said he'll join you later and you were content with that assumption.

You should've prepared yourself.

Rafe got a new haircut; a buzz that took away his dirty blond locks and a clean fade on the sides. For some reason, it makes your heart accelerate. Your breath shortens. Rafe has always been attractive before but now, you couldn't even look at him.

When he tries to approach you in greeting, you dip out of the way and return to Topper and Kelce. However, in the middle of your path, you nearly tripped over some hazardously-abandoned golf club one of the boys threw out, but Rafe caught you. A hand on your elbow, his brows drawn together in concern.

"You good?" He asks. You can't help but let your eyes stray up to his hairline, finding it voided of the curtain bangs it previously occupies and the strands you like to mess with. Your gaze instantly drops to the ground.

"I'm–I'm fine." You stutter, heat rising to your cheeks from the embarrassing fact that you couldn't even make a clean getaway. Rafe helps you find your balance and you slip out of his grasp as you excuse yourself back to the other Kooks.

That's how the rest of the evening went. Through another round of golf and a dinner at the restaurant inside the Country Club, you try to ignore Rafe to the best of your abilities. It was a difficult task but a necessary one. Your emotions were fuzzy and harder to control. You couldn't even look at your best friend without flushing or revealing everything on your face.

You thought you could wait it out till you get home.

"Come on, wildflower." Rafe grabs your wrist, just as you're about to join Topper in his car, and you turn to face his contempt expression. Annoyance written over his features. "I'm driving you home."

"No, it's fine. Top said he can give me a ride—"

"We live nearby each other. There's no point for Top to do all that. Right?" Rafe cuts a hard look to the blond in the driver seat, to whom easily backs off with two hands raised in surrender. Coward. Rafe turns back to you. "Let's go."

You end up in the passenger seat of his truck. On the long drive back to Figure Eight, you were uncharacteristically quiet. Often, you would fidget with the stereo, messing with Rafe's presets on country and rap stations, to which he always has to swat your hands away. Today, you sat obediently in your seat, hands tucked between your thighs, looking anywhere but Rafe.

"You're not going to listen to music?" He asks, trying to cut the silence. You shake your head.

"I'm not feeling it."

You try to count the seconds. You try to distract yourself by looking out the window and listening to the chirps of crickets coming out, but all you can focus on is the sound of yours and Rafe's breathing. The acute awareness of something in the air. The amount of space between the two of you. The way something deep in you changed about him.

It isn't his fault. Whatsoever. It's all yours. All those times spent at Tannyhill, stealing his shirts to wear to sleep, cuddling up in his bed after sneaking out of your estate, running around with Rafe doing god-knows-what. You developed something for him. A crush. An inkling.

You always told yourself you could control it. It's natural for best friends to like each other at one point. It'll fade away eventually.

But, unfortunately for you, that isn't the case. it got worse. It grew more desperate. With each inching territory into something else means a larger consequence it can have on your friendship.

You can't lose him.

"Hey." Rafe calls out, his voice softens considerably from the aggression he used with Topper a while back. You don't turn to face him, despite that being his sole objective, and you respond back with a light hum. "Am I driving you home or Tannyhill?"

To you, those are the same things. Home is where Tannyhill is, where Rafe is. But, you knew what he was referring to.

"Tannyhill." You answer in a chipped tone. "I forgot my bag."

"Of course, you did." He teases, trying to break the tension with some lightheartedness. It doesn't work. You don't answer, too lost in resisting the urge to look at him.

Rafe sighs when you refuse to acknowledge him and turns back to the road. That's when you spare a glance from the corner of your peripheral; just a small peek.

And there he is: Rafe with the fresh shave that is such a strange yet welcomed sight. It brings out a clearer definition of his handsome features, the planes of his sharp profile, the cut of his jawline and the wrinkles around his eyes you always adore. It's too much for you.

You can't let him know that.

He's your best friend.

When he reaches Tannyhill, you leap out of the moving vehicle and race up the porch. You take the hidden key from under the mat and turn the lock, slipping into the familiar foyer and up the large stairwell.

Racing against an internal clock, once you enter the bedroom, you search for your bag, but you can't seem to pinpoint its location. When you manage to miraculously find it underneath the covers, you throw it over your shoulders and sprint to the exit.

Only for Rafe to block it.

"Why are you in such a rush?" He asks, his brows furrowed together as he examines you. You quickly drop your gaze to the ground, pretending to be interested in the patterns on the marble.

"I just..." You stammer for an excuse. "I just got to get home."

"Why? You hate your house."

"I don't hate it." You lie. The conversation tips into an awkward tension—the exact thing you were trying to avoid. You think you need to spend a day, or two, or a whole week, to collect yourself and force yourself back to normal. Back to when you can look at him without revealing everything on your face.

"God, what is it? You don't like it?" Rafe laughs with an ounce of nervousness and the sound takes you back. You look up, finding him running a hand over his buzzcut. "It's my hair, isn't it?"

He didn't know why he decided to buzz it off. He just did. He didn't care if his father didn't approve or if Wheezie would make fun of him for the sudden change in appearance. That didn't matter to him.

But your opinions did.

"What?" Your lips part. Were you that obvious? "I never said that."

"You didn't need to. This entire evening, you've barely looked at me."

He's right.

"I was busy."

"Playing golf with Top? You hate that shit." He retorts, dropping his hand to his side, clenching them into whiten knuckles. "And when we were at the restaurant. You were sitting with Kelce. Why the fuck were you sitting with him instead of me?"

You swallow hard. Your throat is tightening with all the words you can't reveal.

"Maybe I just want to change it up. I am friends with them too—"

"But you're my friend first."

You scoff. "Possessive much?"

"Very." He answers nonchalantly. Your heart skips a beat. He can't say that; it's not fair. "And knowing you for so long, I know what you're telling me is complete and total bullshit."

His hand slides under your jaw, lifting your gaze to meet his, and you can't help but feel your walls crumbling. You're afraid. You're so afraid.

"Come on, wildflower." He murmurs softly, swiping his thumb across your cheek. "Tell me the truth."

You have always been able to do that. In ways. When Rafe asks something of you, you're always able to tell him straight. It's one of the qualities he likes about you. Now is the first time you're going against your nature. Because it's too close, too real, that it can change everything.

Your throat grows dry and you lick your bottom lip, causing Rafe to glance down.

"I..." You begin, trying to string together a coherent sentence that won't damage everything. He raises a brow, waiting. "Sometimes it's hard for me to look at you."

You close your eyes after the confession. Your heart is in his hands.

All the air in the room stills, as if the air conditioner turns off and you're all left with a tense, palpable silence. You can't bear it. At least, at your house, you can blast your speakers on full-volume to create some level of noise and block it out. Here, all you can hear is the thumping of your heart in your ears.

"Say something." You urge.

"Sometimes it's hard for me to look at you too."

Your heart drops. You think he doesn't understand. He thinks you can't stand him physically, especially after his haircut, and this is a similar sentiment shared by him about you.

He doesn't feel the same way.

"Oh."

You open your eyes, trying hard not to cry. You can feel them swelling with hot tears but you blink fast, trying to not let Rafe see.

He immediately recognizes the look, drawing back his hand. That’s not what he meant. "Don't cry."

You're not doing a good job at hiding anything today. "No, it's okay," you say with a crack voice, "you don't have to—"

"No, fuck," he swears, "what I mean is that, sometimes, when you look at me, I just—" He couldn't explain himself, not in time, not in the way he wants, that he covers your eyes, flooding your vision with darkness and heightening every other sense.

Rafe releases a deep exhale, collecting himself. "Those eyes..." He mumbles, the resonance of his voice so close, it's as if he's right beside you. You feel his breathing fanning against the curve of your neck, raising goosebumps. "They drive me fucking insane."

Then, he kisses your neck.

The act jolts you by surprise.

"Everything about you drives me insane." He confesses against your heated skin, the vibration of his words sending straight tingles through your body. "I can't go a day without thinking about you. About wanting you."

Not just as a best friend, but as a whole. Everything about you he needs. In his life; forever. Sometimes, he can't believe you exist.

You're overwhelmed with all these new emotions. Your heart is swelling. "Rafe..."

"You're my best friend, right?" He muses, delivering kisses up the column of your throat to the underside of your jaw, and making his way closer to your lips. "But you're also the only one for me."

Before he gets to your mouth, you grab his wrist, the one holding you blindfolded. He stops in place—afraid this is your time to reject him.

"Rafe." You breathe out. "Can I see you?"

He slowly removes his hand, allowing your vision to flood back with his presence. This time, the sight of Rafe doesn't push you into overdrive. There's a new sense of clarity and calm, an elated comfort you don't share with anyone else.

You take your time drinking him in. From his face, to his lips, to the fresh haircut you're feeling entirely too grateful for. You do it all without fear.

"What?" He demands, his insecurities skyrocketing through the roof. "Don't like it?"

"I love you."

His heart lunges in his chest. He couldn't believe the words coming from your lips. When it completely registers that this is not some sweet, wet dream he's going to wake up from, his hands reach forward to cup either side of your face and he finally kisses you.

His force pushes you back against his bed and you land on the mattress with a soft thump. You laugh into his mouth and Rafe grins against your lips.

"Eager, much?"

"I wanted to hear you say that for so long." He admits, his hand travels down your waist to grab your hips and pull you closer. Rafe deepens the kiss, swallowing the little sounds you're making, until you have to pull away to catch your breath.

You can't believe this is happening.

"I didn't know you were such a good kisser."

"Yeah? You wanna know what else I'm good at?"

Your eyes drop to his pants, seeing the subtle outline of his erection straining against his zipper, and he chuckles lowly. "You want it tonight?"

You nod timidly. Your eyes dropping to your lap again, but this time, Rafe doesn't allow you to do such things.

He grabs your chin, forcing your gaze to his. "Don't do that, baby. You know how I feel about you getting shy from asking what you want. Use your words."

The new nickname is making you lightheaded. You can't believe this is real. "I want you, Rafe."

Sweetest goddamn words he ever heard.

He tips his head to your clothes. "Take it off."

"You first."

He laughs at your competitiveness, always trying to challenge him, but he doesn't resist. He pushes himself off the mattress, pulling off his shirt and removing his pants. All that is left is his boxer-briefs, which reveals the outline of his bulge. "Your turn."

You take off your shirt and your shorts and decide, last minute, to go the extra mile and unclasp your bra too. It falls over your shoulders and you throw it out onto the floor.

Rafe takes his time, staring at your tits. He has seen you naked before, the consequence of your intimate relationship that pushes the boundaries into blurred lines and the inevitable collision of morning showers in his ensuite and drunken exchanges after parties.

But this time, it's different. This time, it's a sight that's intentional—just for him.

"Do you know how long I've waited for this?"

You gawk at him, the words send a thrill down your spine. "Do you know how long I waited for this?" You gesture back to him, at his naked frame, and he smirks.

"You got an eyeful last night."

"Oh, shut up," you use your leg to kick him, but Rafe catches your ankle in the process. Your eyes widen as he uses the opportunity to spread your legs apart, sinking between your thighs. His gaze finds your soaked panties.

His thumb traces across your panties, drawing out your wetness against the fabric and collecting your arousal. You whimper, aching into his touch.

"Rafe, please." You beg. His eyes lifts to find yours in a self-satisfied grin. He loves knowing you're this desperate for him, only him, that his fingers hook under the band of your panties.

"Lift your hips for me." He commands and you obey. He pulls off your panties and hauls you to the ledge of his bed. With that, his fingers caress your wet slit, drawing out a low moan from you. "Fuck."

He has imagined that sound a thousand times over, but it's incomparable to the real thing. To know you're feeling this way because of him. He feels himself growing harder, straining against the thin fabric and begging to be inside of you.

But he wants to pleasure you first.

Rafe lowers himself and covers your clit with his mouth. He proceeds to suck, his fingers grazing your entrance before plunging a thick digit inside.

You tip your head against the mattress, reveling in the feel of his tongue against your swollen nub, the way he thrusts into you with a steady pace and the additive finger. Your legs drape over his shoulders, closing him in.

"Fuck, baby, you taste so sweet," Rafe mumbles against you, the vibration of his words stirring something inside of you. "I can't believe I haven't been tasting you every single fucking night."

You draw out with a breathy moan, feeling yourself clench at his words. "We have all the time now."

"I bet I can make you come on my face fast, though."

You don't get a chance to entertain the response before Rafe sucks harder, pumping inside of you with a determined speed that causes you to arch off the mattress and claw at his sheets.

"Shit," you whimper, squeezing your thighs together at the intense pleasure, forcing Rafe to use his free hand to push your legs apart. You feel your climax rapidly approaching. "Oh, god, oh, god."

You come on his face, as promised, and you slump back against the bed, catching your breath. Rafe removes his hand from your cunt, the emptiness causes a little whine.

"What?" He looks at you.

"Nothing," you mumble, "I just want you inside me."

He laughs. "God, you're needy," he teases, causing heat to rise to your cheeks. "Don't worry, baby, you'll get it soon."

He goes to his nightstand and pulls out a condom. Just as he's about to tear it open, he glances down at you, extending the small square. "Want to do it?"

You nod, pushing yourself upright and taking it from his hands. You rip it open, as Rafe removes his boxers, and his cock springs free, red and swollen with a bit of precum. You smile, glancing up at him with your doe eyes. "Is that because of me?"

"Shut up."

You giggle, rolling the latex over his length, taking your time to admire his size. He's big and perfect, the tip of his cock dripping with his precum that you almost wish you could take him inside your mouth instead. However, despite the recent orgasm, your body wants him inside.

"Lay back." He commands thickly. "Spread your legs."

You do as he says, throbbing from the control he has in the room. Rafe sinks his knees into his mattress, approaching you as he pushes your thighs apart and lines his tip against your entrance, causing your breath to shorten.

"Come on, wildflower, breath with me."

You nod shakily, closing your eyes for a moment to inhale a calming breath before he plunges deep inside you, filling you to the hilt. A gasp escapes you, his girth stretching you out, but it soon fades into a pleasure unlike any others.

"God, you feel good," he mumbles, lowering himself to your mouth and capturing your lips into a hot kiss. Your hand drapes over his shoulders as he begins to thrust inside of you. "Too fucking good."

You feel perfect. All of this is too perfect. The way you press against him, your fingernails scraping his back, the way your pussy grips him with the ideal amount of pressure, and the way your lips sync with his as if you were made for him.

The air fills with your whimpers and mewls, increasing in volume with each thrusts that enters and leaves you, while Rafe is heaving in breathy grunts and moans. He pushes your legs back, forcing the new position to grant him deeper access into your sweet cunt.

He's hitting new spots you didn't know were possible. It's making your eyes roll to the back of your head, your cries coming out with desperate pleas, that he had to cover your mouth with his to swallow all the noises.

When you feel yourself reaching a familiar high, the buzz tingling between your legs, you grip his shoulders tight. Rafe feels your walls fluttering around him, and he quickened his pace, sweat breaking across his forehead.

Your breath is heavy, your heart is racing, and as you ascend into your peak, you moan out Rafe's name with such euphoric satisfaction, he comes with you, emptying into the condom.

When he finishes, he falls into the space next to you. His breathing is rough, trying to catch his own breath, that you can't help but turn your gaze to his, examining him under this new light.

Rafe catches you staring, the way your eyes lift to his hairline, and he reassures with a soft brush against your jaw. "It'll grow back, I promise."

"it's not that." You declare, dropping your gaze down to his face. You still can't believe the embarrassment you still feel by how attractive he is. "I like it."

"You do?"

"Why else would I hide from you?"

Rafe scoffs, shaking his head with a ghost of a smile on his lips. His hand drops to your waist, pulling you closer to him until you're skin-to-skin, your breasts pressing against his chest.

"You couldn't tell me the whole time?" He mumbles, kissing your nose. You giggle.

"If I did, we wouldn't be here having sex."

He takes a moment to consider your words, before finding some merit in them. "Fair." He declares, just as his eyes find yours again. This time, he can look at you, knowing you're his. "I guess next time I get a new haircut, I can propose, huh?"

Your heart drops. Your smile fades from surprise. "What?"

He laughs at your expression. "You think I'm letting you go after this? It's either us or nothing."

Maybe reality isn’t too bad.

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myyheartbeatonthehighline · 4 days

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we need a second part of imperfect strangers where he actually comes and visits her for the weekends🤭 (random but i can so see them at chipotle being all cutesy)

aw tysm 💘 wrote a blurb and rly leaned into the goofy fluff but it’s NEEDED with zach imo!!

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

continuation of this fic

Zach acts like a four-hour drive to your college is nothing.

You know he’s tired every time he pulls up in front of your dorm. You can see it in the bags under his eyes and the yawns he tries to hide from you.

But matter how many times you tell him he doesn’t have to come visit you every weekend, he won’t hear it. He’s determined to show you how badly he wants to see you, refusing to take the risk of hurting you again.

When you mention to Zach that you’re craving Chipotle the night before his visit, he finds the closest one to your campus while still on the phone with you.

The second you get into his car the next day, he kisses you before you can even get a chance to put on your seatbelt.

“Missed you, too,” you laugh when he pulls back.

After he buys lunch, you sit in a booth by a window in the restaurant, feet bumping beneath the table. He always wants to find a way to touch you, no matter how minor.

“This is a masterpiece,” he says, holding out his bowl, ridiculously competitive as usual. “I don’t know what that is.”

You gasp as he points at your meal.

“What makes yours so perfect?” you ask. He loves how you always play along with him, that you’re as much of a goofball as he is.

“Look,” Zach says, his delivery deadpan but his motive silly like usual, “I got the protein - the steak, of course…”

“Of course,” you echo amusedly.

“And brown rice, great for lowering cholesterol,” he says.

“You take one nutrition course and suddenly you’re a genius,” you sigh, recalling how he told you about one of his elective classes on the phone a few nights ago.

“Babe, I’m being serious here,” Zach says, the smile curling on his lips telling you he’s not being serious at all.

“Continue.” You take a bite of your lunch.

“Corn, a vegetable,” he says, raising his eyebrows, “salsa, extra cheese-”

“I think you’re cheesy enough,” you interrupt, putting a palm up. Zach laughs and nudges your knee with his.

“You love it,” he says. You smile, confirming it.

“Is this who you are now that you’re a local celebrity?” you tease. “All ego?”

A few days ago, a photo of him playing soccer in a home game was posted on his college’s Instagram account, celebrating the team’s most recent win.

As you expected, the top comment was by a girl who wrote what’s his @ i’m asking for a friend (i’m the friend).

“Afraid so,” he responds.

“I noticed you changed your profile picture on Instagram,” you say. It used to be his athletic headshot, but now his profile boasts an image of the two of you smiling outside of a caf��.

“Yeah,” he says plainly.

“Why?”

“What do you mean? Am I not cute in it?” he jokes.

“Zach,” you laugh. “Was it because girls were messaging you?”

His cheeks flush pink. He pulls out his phone and sets it in front of you.

“Yeah. I changed it so they know I have a girlfriend,” he says, gaze fluttering away. You know him so well. “And I didn’t message any of them back. You can check.”

“You’re so sweet,” you giggle. “I trust you, but I kind of want to look just out of curiosity to see what they’re saying.”

Sure enough, he has a few messages from pretty girls sitting in his inbox, some simple hi’s, others much more flirty.

“Can’t blame them,” you reply, sliding his phone back to his side of the table. “You’re hot.”

“Are you only in this for my looks?”

“I thought you knew that,” you say. “This is awkward now.”

Zach grins, bumping your knee again before sliding out of his side of the booth and settling beside you. You can smell his cologne, clean and gentle.

“Yeah, we’re the kind of couple that sits on the same side of the table, so what?” he mumbles, planting a kiss on your temple. You smirk, kneeling against his shoulder before sitting straight again.

“I’m sorry if that made you jealous, babe,” Zach says after a beat. At times, it’s hard to believe how sensitive he is. “I can ask them to take the photo down.”

“Oh,” you say with a laugh. He has a bit of a jealous streak stemming from insecurities, but you never felt it yourself, knowing how loyal he is. “I have a cute boyfriend. I can accept that it comes with a little competition sometimes.”

“There’s no competition,” he says resolutely, blue eyes hard on you. You squeeze his bicep and smile at him and he dips to kiss your fingers, right above the promise ring he gave you.

“You know that goes both ways, right?” you tell him softly. “You’ve ruined all other men for me, MacLaren.”

Your words send butterflies swirling in his stomach.

“Good thing we’ll be together forever then,” Zach says, a glint in his eyes.

“Good thing,” you agree.

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myyheartbeatonthehighline · 8 days

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Don’t Tell Your Brother

Rafe Cameron x Reader

➸ summary: you’re sick of keeping your relationship a secret, but rafe isn’t so sure about outing it yet

➸ warnings/notes: mentions of sex but nothing explicit, reader is fem

word count: 1.3k

————————

IF THERE WAS one thing Rafe was good at it was keeping secrets. Whether it be for his father, Barry - or even sometimes Wheezie. He was a master at it, which is probably why he found this arrangement so easy.

It wasn’t that he liked keeping you hidden. It was more that it was necessary. Your brother wouldn’t take too kindly to the kook prince “corrupting” his only sister. Plus, a part of him kind of loved sneaking around and having you all to himself (something he would never openly admit to).

Rafe listened to your heavy breathing as he brushed his fingertips across your shoulder blade. Before he met you he would’ve never been caught dead cuddling with anyone; but that was what he liked about you. You pushed his boundaries (within reason) and forced him to see new perspectives. To become better.

Lifting your flushed face to meet his, you decided to break the silence. “Rafe?”

He shifted his gaze from the ceiling to your expectant eyes. He could never get enough of how you looked in bed with him, your hair wild and your eyes glazed over as your spent body curled into his. You were breathtaking.

“Hm?” he responded.

“Will it always be like this?”

Rafe took in your glistening skin and furrowed brows. If you hadn’t been asking him a question he probably would’ve occupied his mind with counting every mark and blemish on your face instead of listening.

“Like what?” he finally asked. He already knew where this was going. Sometimes he just liked to prolong the inevitable by acting clueless - because occasionally you would give up and switch the conversation to something more lighthearted.

“Rafe,” you groaned. “I mean all this pretending we’re doing. I hate acting like I hate you in front of John B.”

Your boyfriend sighed, dejection taking over his once calm features. When you first met him you never ever thought you could be the source of his peace, much less the one to turn him into a ball of domestic mush.

“Baby,” he started to say.

“Don’t ‘baby’ me. You’re not getting out of this one so fast,” you quickly interrupted, already knowing his tricks to try and distract you.

Rafe merely rolled his eyes as his hand lowered to squeeze your waist. “Okay, okay.”

Another sigh.

“What are you in such a rush for, anyway?” he asked, his ringed digits coming to rub at the buzzed hair on his scalp. “You were the one who wanted us to keep this from them.”

You rested your head in your palm now, elbow digging into Rafe’s impossibly soft mattress. He had offered to buy you one for your room after you complained about how much comfier his bed was - but ultimately you had to refuse. There would be too many lingering questions about how you could afford such a luxury.

Truthfully that was one of the hardest things Rafe had to grapple with. He couldn’t spoil you like he wanted to without causing alarm bells to sound in all of the pogue’s minds.

“I know. And you were the one who was against it. Why’re you so adamant on the secrecy now?”

A small glint sparkled in his eye.

“You don’t think it’s hot?”

It was your turn to sigh and roll your eyes. This man always found a way to make things dirty, even when the situation was far from it. “Are you really this horny after all that?” you asked, referring to the several exhaustive minutes you guys just spent in too many positions to count.

“What?” he queried, feigning innocence. “You don’t think all the fake hate act is hot? I like seeing you get all riled up knowing that I’m still the only one who gets to take you home that night.”

Goddamnit he was good at distracting you.

“Rafe,” you all but whined as you dropped your head into the crook of his neck, “I’m serious.”

Hands caressed the back of your head, petting your unruly hair down. “So am I.”

Your hand rested on his naked chest, feeling his heartbeat under your palm. There was something so relaxing and homely about this. Both of you entangled in each other under Rafe’s sheets, your hands roaming over every body part you could reach, your breaths harmonizing into one. If only this was a common occurrence - not just in the confines of his bedroom at 1 in the morning.

“You’re thinking again,” stated the man bluntly. “Don’t.”

“I should get back soon.”

Sitting up you began to look around the room, attempting to find any of your discarded items and clothes. If you left now you could still get some sleep before everybody back at home woke up.

“C’mon don’t be like that,” Rafe said as he grabbed your wrist.

You shook your head in disbelief. “Be like what? If you want this charade to keep going I have to get home.”

“Just tell them you were with-“

“With who, Rafe? Who can I force to lie for me this time?”

You knew it was unfair to get mad at him, but you just wanted to be able to stay at your boyfriend’s house without stress for once. This was getting tiring and you didn’t understand how Rafe couldn’t see it.

Pulling your underwear up your legs you moved to stand up. “I know it was my idea in the first place - but I didn’t think we’d keep it going for so long.”

Your boyfriend only watched as you paced around, grabbing your bra and t-shirt off the floor. “And anyway it’s none of anyone’s business who I date. I don’t know why I cared to start with,” you mumbled.

He knew you were frustrated. Sometimes he felt that way too, but seeing how many things you and your brother had to worry about back at the Chateau, he didn’t wanna add to it by exposing your ongoing relationship so soon.

“Hey listen,” he said, trying to gain your attention.

When you didn’t so much as spare a glance at him, he rubbed his eyes in annoyance. So stubborn.

“Babe, listen. C’mere.”

Still nothing.

Standing up from the bed, he grabbed you by the waist and threw you over his shoulder. It was a shockingly common occurrence. You would ignore him during an argument or disagreement and he would get sick of it and carry you to bed where he’d force you to talk it out. He insisted that he hated when you ‘sulked’.

“Rafe! Put me down!”

You landed on the bed with a bounce, your shirt half on your body and your bra still clutched in your hand. Rafe grabbed it and threw it off the bed.

His hands were at either side of your head. In any other situation you’d have started jumping his bones. These thoughts left your mind as Rafe’s next words left his mouth.

“We can tell them - if you promise to let me help you with the rent this month.”

Of course he would have some sort of stupid bargain for this agreement.

“No I can’t ask you to-“

“You’re not asking. I’m offering.”

He could tell you were thinking about it, weighing your options. If he could pay for this, maybe John B wouldn’t be such a pain in the ass when the eventual news came out. Perhaps he’d see how serious Rafe was about you.

Well, also, he just liked to spoil you.

You groaned. “Fine.”

With a kiss on the lips, the deal was sealed. “But only for that month, right?” you asked in between the final kiss.

Rafe nodded, letting you believe you were in control of this. What he didn’t clue you in on, however, is that he fully planned for you to move in with him after your next due date was paid. He figured he could let the surprise wait.

“Yes. But for now lemme just have you to myself,” he muttered against your collarbone.

Maybe getting home could wait for now.

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myyheartbeatonthehighline · 8 days

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here me out: tattoo!artist reader and businessman!rafe. he tries everything to do right by his dad but he will never be good enough for ward. he has a couple of small tattoos, when he's searching for an artist to create a new tattoo - a sibling tattoo together with sarah and wheezie - he meets y/n. she corrupts him a little bit, in the best way possible. she gets him away from his dad, she gives him the most love and stability he has ever had.

she loves to ink his skin. she loves to design tattoos for him. she loves to mark him in her own way. it doesn't take long and rafe looks like this:

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myyheartbeatonthehighline · 10 days

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𝐓𝐞𝐱𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐫𝐚𝐟𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐨𝐧

𝟭𝟴+ ¡ 𝐌𝐃𝐍𝐈 !

a/n: this is my second post, hope yall are enjoying so far

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myyheartbeatonthehighline · 13 days

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Is it cool that I said all that 🤨 is it chill that you’re in my head 🥴 cause I know that it’s delicate 😬 DELICATE !!!!! 😭

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myyheartbeatonthehighline · 13 days

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i haven't written in years. think it's time to start again.

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron imagines #rafe outer banks #rafe obx #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x you

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myyheartbeatonthehighline · 14 days

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karma is my boyfriend - rc

pairing - (non-canon) Rafe Cameron x female reader

précis - a lil princess treatment from rafe :)

content/warnings - mentions of alcohol/alcohol consumption, fluff,

word count - 673

"Rafe, Rafe!?" You're spinning around, looking for your boyfriend until suddenly you whirl around and bump into a broad chest.

"Hey!" You gasp, until you look up and see his face. "Oh! Hi baby!" You coo, reaching up to cup his cheeks.

"Hi sweet girl." He smiles, running his thumb along your cheekbone.

You greet him happily, leaning in to his touch. "Did you get my drink?" You wonder, suddenly remembering why he left you in the first place.

"Hmm, sure did." He nods, handing you an ice water rather than the vodka redbull you'd requested.

You don't seem to notice though, slipping the paper straw into your mouth and slurping it down happily.

"We gonna dance s'more?" You wonder, straw between your lips.

"We can't, baby," He says, smoothing a hand down the back of your head. "They're closing."

"Nooo!" You groan, throwing your head back.

"I know, I know," He soothes. "But we can go home and get some snacks and watch a show...?" He offers.

"Okay!" You're smiling once again, digging your fingers into his tee shirt.

"Finish your drink and we'll go home, kay?"

You nod, bypassing the straw and tipping the rest of the water into your mouth, before handing your empty glass to Rafe.

You're not even that drunk, really just a little past tipsy but you're fine with letting Rafe handle everything and take care of you.

Suddenly his jacket is being draped over your shoulders, coupled with a soft kiss to the top of your head.

"Thank you." You simper. You slide your arms into the sleeves and blink up at your boyfriend.

"Ready?"

"Ready."

You lead him out of the bar, arms shoved into the pockets of his jacket, while he has your little purse slung over his shoulder, your phone, his phone, and the keys all in one hand.

"How much farther?" You ask a few moments later, looking back at him.

"Not too much," He frowns looking out at the street. When the two of you arrived at the club, hours before, he'd had to park his car somewhat far due to the lack of space. "Your feet hurting, baby?"

You shrug a shoulder. "Yeah." You nod. "But it's just till the car then I'll take my shoes off."

"C'mere," He says, shoving both of your phones into his pocket.

"What?" You wonder, turning to give him a coy smile.

Your sweet boyfriend kneels down on the dirty sidewalk, taking your ankle into his hands so he can unbuckle your heel. You're flustered beyond words, heat rising on your cheeks while Rafe's rough palm softly works your foot out of your strappy shoe.

"Stand on my foot babe, so I can take your other shoe off." He says, running his hand up your calf.

Once both of your heels are dangling from his hand, he scoops you into his arms, bridal style.

"Are you sure, Rafe?" You wonder softly. "I feel bad, you don't--"

"You have nothing to feel bad about." He assures, lips at your temple. "Just let me take you to the car, okay gorgeous?"

"Okay." You hum happily, relaxing in his hold.

Your arms are sling around your neck and you have easy access to his neck if you strain a little--and you do--at least five times on the way to the car, so you can kiss his neck.

He pretends like he's not flustered by it, but you can see the rosy glow of his cheeks from the street lamps, the harsh light making him appear ethereal and you have to shut your eyes for a second to remember he's real.

You’re still in a fond trance when he uses one hand to open the car door and gently deposit you into the passenger seat. He buckles your seatbelt and tugs on it, before pressing a kiss to your temple.

“Love you,” You croon, leaning back against the seat to look at him.

“Love you so much more.” He promises. “C’mere angel, gimme a kiss.”

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myyheartbeatonthehighline · 14 days

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miss my boy

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myyheartbeatonthehighline · 14 days

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"life doesn't end when-" life has ended a billion times for me, you guys just don't suffer like I suffer

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myyheartbeatonthehighline · 14 days

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The Situationship

summary: Rafe Cameron has dealt with enough shit. It's high time he takes his mind off things. But when he sets his sights on you, things don't go exactly as planned.

warnings: mention of drugs, drinking, strained family dynamic

wc: 2.3k

a/n: I imagine there being a couple parts to this, but I'll see how this one goes :)

Ward: This is your last year at UNC. You can’t afford to graze by this time.

Rafe’s hand stills; corona bottle slanted in midair. His chest feels like it’s being squeezed, but the hair on his skin stands at attention. It prickles over instantaneously, a should-be impossible feat given the heat in the room.

He types his response.

It was one class. Hardly grazing if you ask me.

He’s surprised to see an immediate reply.

Ward: It’s a good thing I’m not. I expect more from you, Rafe. So does Cameron Development.

That squeeze feels tighter. His jaw locks, and his shoulders stiffen. It’s all he can do to keep his breaths steady, loosen the grip on his phone so that the veins in his arm settle – but the crease between his brows is a little harder to smooth.

“Rafe, you good?”

The question hits like a sucker punch. It’s more intrusive than the lack of personal space going on in the house right now, partygoers packed into rooms like sardines. Quickly, he pockets his phone and drinks a swig of beer as he nods.

“Fine,” he says, but his tone is dry. It cuts straight through the loud music and boisterous chatter.

Rafe doesn’t know what he hates more at this moment; his father’s insistent reminder or the fact that Topper’s just put him on blast, innocent as his question may be.

“’Course he is,” Dylan covers airily, a quick, sideways glance at Rafe the only confirmation he needs: his words are a lie. He springs from against the kitchen counters and turns to Topper with a smirk, determined to change the subject. “Or maybe he’s just tired of your bitching.”

“Oh fuck off, Dylan,” Topper groans. “I am not bitching. I’m venting.”

“There’s a difference?” Dylan jibes teasingly.

Topper raises his brows, deadpan. “I’m trying so hard to find that sensitive guy all the girls talk about.”

“You’re right,” Dylan concedes easily. There’s a dramatic look of concern on his face when he places a hand on Topper’s shoulder, amped up like he’s performing in some kind of soap opera. “So tell me, how are you feeling now? Any better?”

If only. But the beer Rafe chugs isn’t strong enough to take the edge off. He knows what will, can feel that beguiling itch creep up the back of his spine like a spider. It’s taunting enough to make him stand up straight, to brush the base of his nose absently. He promised he wouldn’t resort to drugs anymore, but it blows his mind that the same person he made the promise to is the same person that makes him crave another hit.

He needs another drink. Something stronger, like whisky. Some sort of distraction from it all.

Topper flicks Dylan’s hand away with a roll of his eyes. “Maybe if I decked you.”

Rafe whistles low in his throat. “That’s one way to get attention.”

He turns to the kitchen island, fishes for a bottle of Glenmorangie and two glasses amongst the mess. As Rafe pours, he’s heavy handed with his own serving. “Come on, Top. You’re not going to get a girl by getting your ass beat. Relax.”

Topper accepts the glass with an amped nod. As Rafe drinks, the whisky leaves a pleasant burn for an aftertaste. Not quite enough to scorch through his ache. His second pour is heavier.

Dylan eyes it with concern. “He won’t get one if he’s shit faced either,” he chides tentatively, cryptic in a way only Dylan knows how to be.

Rafe tenses again. Something about that sentence feels like a dig, as if he’s wrong for making the choice to get drunk. Add it to the list of things Dylan doesn’t understand.

“Good thing we’re at a keggar,” Rafe says tersely, and tips his drink back. Beside the burn, the notes of coffee and dark chocolate leave some bitterness on his tongue. He can’t help but feel it spike in his chest, too.

As if Rafe needs more shit to deal with.

Dylan acquiesces with a slight nod of his head, but his concern simmers on a back burner. In all ten years of their friendship, it’s always been dormant. Always been something he’s had to teeter around expressing. He wishes it wasn’t like this, though. Wishes that there was nothing for either of them to worry about. He says, rather stoically, “Right. Good thing.”

The tension lifts. A trickle of guilt pools in Rafe’s chest. He decides to leave well enough, alone.

“Shiiit,” Topper gasps, just as there’s a small break in the music. He’s staring, mouth ajar, straight through the tudor archway and into the blue tinted living room.

Rafe glances over. It’s nothing but a typical frat party scene: a wasted crowd bathed in technicolor projector lights, sloppy dancers, red solo cups littered everywhere (and the sticky residue he and his fellow frat brothers will have to clean off later).

He’s just about to look away when a gleam of silver catches his eye. It winks with opalescence, swings in and out of focus: the tail end of a waist belt that adorns a swaying set of hips, highlights the opaqueness of a little black dress against dewy skin.

His eyes glide up slowly – linger where your neckline meets the swell of your breasts, the glisten of your collarbones, of your smile. The way that you bite down on the pillow of your bottom lip.

You’re too good to be true. But with the night Rafe has had so far, it’s about time something happened in his favor. What better way to drown out his problems than with a pretty girl in his bed?

“You guys see those girls too, right?” Topper gapes. “What’s my move?”

It’s only then Rafe registers the sleek haired brunette beside you, hand clasped in yours as the two of you dance. Like he’s blinked out of some sort of tunnel vision.

“Your move,” he claps a hand on Topper’s shoulder and nods over to your friend, “is with her. Ask her to dance.”

“You think freshboy here can bag a senior?” Dylan chimes in, teasingly skeptic. Topper slaps a fist at his chest absently, too busy drinking in the sight of your friend. Dylan chuckles.

“Have some faith, bro.” Rafe’s smirk is genuine this time, the lift of tension making room for something more mirthful. “He’s only a little out of practice.”

As he speaks, he never takes his eyes away from you. Not as the last few notes of Danza Kuduro finish. Not as Topper manages to sweep your friend away.

You’re leaning against the wall now, in a sparse corner with less stifling heat, a watchful eye trained on her. Prisms of light skate over your figure like a beacon in a throng of bodies. He pours two fresh glasses of whisky, both on the rocks, before he’s maneuvering through them easily, drunken shouts and off-key sing alongs falling on deaf ears. He’s a few feet away when he clocks the sweat along your hairline; a soft halo that highlights softer looking curls.

You’re even prettier up close.

“You look like you could use a drink.”

His voice is deep, croons closer than you remember anyone being. It startles you with a quiet gasp – but any form of admonishment dies out when you turn to face him.

His eyes are a brilliant blue, framed between a fresh buzzcut and chiseled cheekbones that lead to a sharp jaw. A t-shirt flows lazily over corded muscle. He’s got two glasses of something held in his hands, a golden glint of a signet ring on his finger. He looks vaguely familiar.

“Whisky,” he clarifies. “On the rocks.”

Your head tilts appraisingly. “It’s not advised, you know, accepting a drink from a stranger.”

Rafe’s eyes fall to the exposed column of your neck. A stubborn curl sticks to you there; the only impression on your smooth skin. “Does it help, knowing I don’t want to be one?”

“Hardly.” You pause and watch in amusement as his eyes continue to wander. “I guess I’m just too used to making eye contact when I’m talking to someone.”

Those blue eyes snap to yours, catch like stoke to a kindling fire.

“Shit, you’re right. Where are my manners?” he agrees with a frown. It ebbs in favor of a smile. “Guess I’m just trying to figure out how we’ve never met before.”

You wonder how many times he’s used that line on a girl. How, despite knowing the probable answer, his words still manage to settle soft and syrupy. A well-oiled machine, you guess. But still outdated, still corny.

“And what did you come up with?” you ask, testing.

His smile grows roguishly. “That I’ve been blind. Or you’ve been avoiding me.”

“I haven’t been trying,” you say with a half shrug, the perfect picture of nonchalance as you clasp your hands behind your back. “I guess it’s just not meant to be.”

“Impossible,” Rafe mutters, inaudible if not for the step he takes toward you. This close, the smell of vanilla bean and honeysuckle rolls off of you in waves. It makes his head fog, like he could get drunk off you alone.

“What makes you so sure?” you ask, a little unsteady. Around you, blaring speakers begin to muffle; and the crowd starts to blur together like ink blots, becomes inconsequential compared to the weight of his gaze.

You press yourself further against the wall, a futile attempt at distance that makes Rafe smirk devilishly.

“You,” he says lowly, “this dress. The fact that you’re killing me with it.”

“Softly, I hope,” you quip just the same.

He takes another step. The chill of whisky presses through the fabric of your dress; the only barrier between your bodies. Suddenly, you could really use that drink right now.

“Slowly, painfully,” he adds. He grazes his signet ring along your stomach, its smooth surface buttery soft as he trails more crackling heat along your skin. Lower; until the heat begins to pool. Lower still until it clinks against the metal of your waist belt like a wake up call.

A breath catches in your throat. You swallow it back down and study him for a moment, perhaps with the smidgen of clarity you have left. “What’s your name, stranger?”

“Rafe,” he answers easily. “Rafe Cameron.”

It clicks: the familiarity of his name, of his face. You’ve seen him around campus before, have heard about him a plethora of times. UNC’S golden boy, Alpha Sigma’s kingpin – the guy with an affinity for quick hookups and parties.

It explains his confident gait, the wandering eyes and brazen pick up lines – like he’s never been rejected before. You hate to think it’s still possible for you to fall under the spell of a guy like him. What satisfaction would that bring you anymore?

The realization is a reminder; as much as you can entertain his advances, quick and meaningless just isn’t something you’re looking for.

“Well, Rafe…” your head thumps lightly against the wall as you relax against it, pop the curve of your hip out meticulously. You gaze, tantalizingly slow, at his features before you speak again. “Maybe I should put you out of your misery.”

“Yeah?” Rafe husks breathily. His hand twitches, as does his glass. There’s too much of you dangled close for him to be unable to touch. You’re too alluring, too gorgeous and suggestive.

He realizes, with a booming sense of pride, that he’s got you just where he wants you.

“Mm-hm,” you lilt, impossibly coy.

Rafe dips his head lower, teases that innate need for skin-on-skin contact when his forehead brushes yours. “And how would you do that?”

Another song comes to an end. It barely registers. You lean just until you reach the shell of his ear, your lips a ghost of pressure that sends his nerve endings on fire. “By leaving,” you croon.

For a moment, Rafe is almost blissfully unaware of your words. His head is still clouded with images of you, painted so real he swears they’re an alternate reality. You, leaning this close and asking for a tour of his room, instead. You, pressed up against his bedroom door while he tastes the vanilla on your skin. You, bruise adorned and breathless. But then you’re pulling away smugly, everything from the twinkle in your eyes to the pull of your soft lips.

And shit. You’re going to drive him mad. He’s sure of it.

“Y/n!”

You look towards the voice. Vanessa stands by the front door with her heels in hand, arms crossed and eyebrow raised suggestively at your position.

This is going to make for an interesting conversation later.

When you look back at Rafe, he’s still fixed on you. Studying, like the gears in his head are turning slowly – tepidly, after a short circuit. Maybe he isn’t so well oiled, after all. You pull a glass of whisky from his hand with nimble fingers, ignore the catch of skin that makes your pulse lurch. “Thanks for the drink, by the way.”

You slide out from under him. He doesn’t reach out for you. Cold, amber liquid slips down your throat effortlessly, but it does nothing to cool you down. Rafe watches you go with a gentle kind of ardor; with a pull in his chest that tugs a little harder the farther you walk away.

He’s good with the view, though. Good with you leaving.

You set your empty glass on the entryway table like a memento – as if this is the last time he’ll be seeing you.

As if.

Because there’s one thing he knows for certain: coveting you is just the sort of distraction he needs. He doesn’t know how long it’ll take, much less when he’ll see you again.

But good things come to those who wait, right?

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