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zyafics · 2 months

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brother's rival | rafe cameron (18+)

series: brother’s rival (part one)

pairing: rafe cameron x female reader

summary: you and your brother were born pogues, but once your family made enough to move to figure eight, you became a kook. unfortunately, rafe cameron doesn't welcome pogue-born kooks. and it doesn't help that your brother is determined to steal the title of king of kooks from him. so, if your brother is trying to steal something from him, rafe is going to return the favor.

warnings: MDNI, 18+, smut, angst

zya's notes: hi!! this is my first fanfic, so yeah. i hope you enjoy! also, i like when the reader stands on business and actually talks back to rafe, and i never read anything like that, so yeah, this is my attempt on that lol

𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃 ⋆.˚ ⋆.˚ ⋆.˚ ⋆.˚

"Do you think Kooks actually enjoy this or is this something they do to uphold their image?" You ask your brother, Dean, who swings his golf club, hitting the ball square in the center, and sends the small circular object flying across the land.

He turns back to face you once the ball settles on the grass. His golf club digging into the ground, his arm pressed against the handle. "It's probably an ego thing."

You snort. "If I had to wear this everyday, it would not be an ego thing."

You glance down at your outfit: a simple tennis skirt and top. Since your family moved to Figure Eight a couple months ago, you were also granted access to the prestigious Country Club that sits on the rich side of the island. You and your brother haven't attended any of the events, due to your status as a Pogue-born Kook, but since the summertime rolled around and there's absolutely nothing to do on Figure Eight in the daylight, you two decided to take a little trip.

To get into the role of Kook, both of you decided to wear what the Kooks normally wear. Trading your Pogue attires for tennis skirts, khaki pants, and polo shirts, the two of you almost look the part.

But you still stand out.

"You're next." Your brother tips his golf club in the direction of where he hits his ball. You groan, stepping up to the tee stand where Dean replaced another golf ball for you to swing (and miss). You don't like golfing, you decided, wanting to trade in the Kook uniforms and stuck-up memberships for surfboards and high waves. Unfortunately, your brother does, and he wants to stay.

Not wanting to embarrass yourself, you try to mimic the stance your brother had a few moments ago. You pull yourself into the position, bending slightly over as the end of the club lines in front of the ball.

"You should bend down lower!" A voice shouts and you roll your eyes, knowing exactly who it belongs to. Your head lifts up to see Rafe approaching you, holding his own golf club with a personal caddy following after him from a safe distance.

From the corner of your eyes, you can see your brother's demeanor completely change. His expression pulled taut, his shoulders stiffen, his jaw locked.

Your brother and Rafe do not have a good relationship. Well, if you could even call it a relationship.

You and Dean moved here a couple of months ago. Born and raised on The Cut, your family finally made and saved enough to move you away from a life of poverty and crime to a nice, suburban home on Figure Eight.

However, it wasn't done without a cold welcome. Most of the Kooks don't like you nor your brother. You don't know if it's because you used to be a Pogue or because Rafe Cameron doesn't like the idea of Pogues moving into Kook territory—and made sure everyone followed along—but either way, it caused your experience on Figure Eight to be an unpleasant one.

For the first month, Rafe would send occasional 'gifts' to your door to remind you and your brother of your place. At parties, he would also make sure to let you and your brother know you're not welcomed. He even made a point to throw the keys of his truck to Dean's face, telling him to go do a beer run, and threw some cash alongside as payment. In the heat of the moment, Dean had enough and lost his shit. He swung at Rafe and Rafe swung back.

You had to pull your brother off of Rafe as the Kook King yelled profanities at your brother, blood dripping down his chin, telling him about how he would get him back.

From that point on, it was nonstop rivalry. Whenever they were in the same vicinity, they would either exchange verbal spats or physical altercations. You had to momentarily stop attending any parties because you couldn't handle the possibility of fights.

You didn't want today to be another one.

Dean steps in front of you as Rafe approaches, making sure to block his view from you. The golf club stands between them. "What do you want, Cameron?"

"Just trying to give your sister some advice." Rafe responds with a cocky smile. He raises his own golf club and places the end of the head against Dean's chest. "I didn't know busboys got to play. Must be why this place is going to shit."

You can see the anger rolling off your brother, his hand clenched around the handle of his golf club, causing his knuckles to grow white. Before he does something that would cause the both of you to get in trouble, you step forward, grabbing his forearm.

"Go away, Rafe." You declare, causing the blond to shift his attention from your glaring brother to you. His blue eyes give you a once-over, lingering a little longer at the cutoff of your skirt, before meeting your gaze. "If you think this place is shit, then find another place to play."

"And let a couple of Pogues kick me out of my Country Club?" He declares, twisting his expression in a manner that looks disgusted at the idea before shaking his head with a click of his tongue. "I don't think so, princess."

You hate the nickname that he gave you. It's always in mocking. Since you and your brother arrived at Figure Eight, according to Rafe, Dean has been slowly encroaching on Rafe's territory. Trying to take the crown of King of Kooks from him. This, in turn, caused Rafe to cast you in a secondary role. A mocking declaration of princess as in you will never be one.

You just roll your eyes at him, but you can't help the flutter of warmth that settles on the bottom of your stomach.

"Fuck off, Cameron." Dean declares, his tone laced with aggression, as he steps forward to place some distance between you and the blond. "This place is huge. I'm sure you can find some place where you don't have to see us."

Rafe hums in thought. "That's the thing," he points to the space you and your brother occupies. "What if I want this spot? I'm sure it won't be a problem for you to move." He glances at you and winks. "She can stay. I'm sure she'll be entertaining."

It doesn't take a second later before your brother swings. His fist delivers a satisfying crack against Rafe's jaw, causing him to stubble back a few steps. But, he quickly regains footing. His expression morphs into a deadly one, coming back around and raising his fist to deliver a punch to your own brother before you pull Dean away—stepping in front of him.

"Enough." You declare, clenching down your jaw, in preparation for the blow that never came. Rafe stopped himself a few inches away from your face. But, you don't let that fear show. "We'll move. You can have your fucking game."

With that, you drag your brother and your things away. You don't bother turning around, but you can feel the heat of Rafe's stare in the back of your head, following your every move, until you disappear from his sight.

—

“I’m going to grab something to eat.” You say to your brother, who merely hums in acknowledgement. He’s still a bit pissed off that you stepped in between Rafe and him. But, what else were you supposed to do? You are trying to get situated in this new environment, this new place where everything is a hostile territory. You didn’t want any more trouble that came from it. Yeah, you admit, it was a bit short-sighted of you to step in because you could’ve gotten hurt but fuck him, at least you did something more productive than swinging fists.

You head away from the golf course to the restaurant at the Country Club. You still can't believe you are here. If you had told yourself a year ago that you would’ve be living on Figure Eight, playing golf on the rich side of the island, you would probably laugh and take your drink from you. But, it's true.

You're a Kook.

Well, by classification, but you don't feel like it.

You don't, technically, feel like a Pogue either.

You're just oddly stuck in the middle. You don't know what to make of it. All you want to do is just have fun, live, and not cause any more trouble.

Unfortunately, trouble finds you. As you place your order and wait, leaning against the bar counter and tapping your nails against the granite, a body slides into the space next to you, large and towering. In the corner of your eyes, you catch him playing with the small plastic menu display set on the counter and pick it up with one hand.

He leans against you, pointing to the menu. “What are we ordering, princess?”

You turn your head to face Rafe. “I don’t know. What do assholes eat in their free-time?”

“Well, that depends.”

“On what?”

“What you’re offering.” He’s watching you as if you are part of the specials. The heat of his gaze feels like it’s undressing you, that it makes you shift your own, tapping the menu in his hand to draw his attention back.

“On the menu, Rafe.”

“Nah.” He abandons the plastic menu on the counter, turning his body completely to face you. His elbow pressed against the counter. “I’m craving something else.”

You swallow hard, looking over to the waitstaff behind the counter, wondering whenthey’re going to be finished with your burger so you can leave.

You know Rafe is only messing with you because it gets to your brother. It’s known on the island that Dean is protective of his little sister, sometimes too much, that Rafe takes advantage of this fact.

Standing here, near Rafe, is dangerous. Not to mention your brother could come over at any time and check up on you, but because, if you’re being honest with yourself, you don’t share the same spite and hatred Dean has with the blond.

You’re not sure if you share any of it.

You just think all of it is stupid.

“Speechless now?” He teases, leaning enough where you can catch the scent of his cologne and the woodsy odor from golfing all day. “I never thought I’d see the day.”

You don’t answer him, deciding that the best thing you can do right now is ignore him.

That’s proven to be bad advice because, not moments later, you feel rough fingers grab your chin and force you to turn to Rafe. His eyes are piercing, his gaze studying every little detail of your face as you tried yourhardest to remain unfazed by his presence.

“Ignoring me?” He asks softly, his sight dropping to your lips as he runs the pad of his thumb across the soft plump of your bottom lip. They unconsciously part, just as Rafe’s eyes drift back up to yours. His voice in a mere whisper. “You know I don’t like that.”

Your heart skips a beat and your legs grow weak, barely able to keep you upright. You fight against the instinct to lean into his hand, to take his thumb that lingers on your entrance, into your mouth and suck, but it’s difficult.

He chuckles, watching the internal battle you’re having with yourself, lowering to your height. “You want me badly, do you, princess?”

For a blink of sobriety, you raise your hand to grab his wrist, pulling him off of you, from feeling every little twitch of muscle that changes under his touch, and rolls your eyes. You throw his hand back at him. “You wish.”

The waiter returns with a box of your food and you thank them with a tip, about to grab the to-go box off the counter when Rafe beats you to it. He grabs a hold of your food and raises it just out of your reach.

You glare at him. “Give it back, Rafe.”

“Give me your number.”

You are taken back by that. “What?”

“Give me your number.” He repeats, his determination set on his face as he waits for you to answer. “Or, do you want me to beg for it?”

The sight of Rafe on his knees is not unappealing, but you rather not have another image of him doing something that would return when your hands are between your legs. Instead, you settle on something equally humiliating for him. “Say please.”

He looks at you, bewildered, and scoffs. “I’m not doing that.”

“Then you’re not getting my number.”

“You forget I have your food.”

“You forget I have money now,” you pull out your credit card. “I can order another one.”

His jaw clenches, and for the first time, Rafe Cameron is backed into a corner he doesn’t know how to escape from. With a resigned sigh, he says, reluctantly, “please.”

“I need more enthusiasm.”

He cuts a dark look at you. “Don’t push it, princess.”

You laugh, before holding out your palm. His free hand finds his phone in his back pocket and offers it to you. You easily type the digits, add your contact to his phone and quickly send a text to yourself to remember the number. When you return your phone back to him, he exchanges it for your food.

When you’re about to head back to your brother, you hear Rafe shout behind you, “I’ll text you.”

Suppressing a grin, even though he can’t see you, you throw your response over your shoulder. “I might answer.”

{・❥・read part two here }

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zyafics · 2 months

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brother's rival (part two)

series: brother’s rival → part one here

pairing: rafe cameron x female reader

warnings: MDNI, 18+, smut, angst

zya's notes: if you would like to be added to a taglist (still trying to get the hand of this), pls like the post pinned on my account. thank you!!

𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃 ⋆.˚ ⋆.˚ ⋆.˚ ⋆.˚

True to his word, Rafe texted you. Several times.

You just haven't texted him back.

It's not that you don't want to; you're itching to type back a response and see how he would react. You just can't seem to understand why. Why Rafe Cameron is talking to you, flirting with you, trying to make you feel things that you definitely should not be feeling for your brother's rival.

So, you kept your distance.

But that doesn't mean you've gotten him off your mind.

At night, in your bedroom alone, you close your eyes and let out an exhausted sigh. You've been stressed for the past couple of days, trying to figure out what to do with your summer, that all you want to do now is to find some release.

And you know the best solution for it.

You imagine Rafe in the room with you, taking in the shirt and panties you're wearing and nothing else. You imagine him approaching you, planting kisses against your lips while his hands are exploring every curve on your body. He would find the sensitive spot on your neck and tease, whispering dirty words in your ear.

You would argue back with everything he says, but in truth, all you want to do is submit.

Your hand dips to the space between your legs, kicking the comforter down to your ankles. Brushing your fingers against the cotton panties, you realize it's soaked—a testament to your dirty thoughts.

Your fingers push the fabric to the side, slowly teasing up your slit the way you believe Rafe would. He would go slow, taking in how your body reacts to the slightest touch. He would play with you, until you couldn't help but beg for it, and only then would he slip a digit into your cunt, starting a slow pace.

That's what you do.

You push a forefinger in, feeling your walls grip around the small finger. You start slow, building the sensation in your stomach as you imagine Rafe whispering praises in your ear, telling you all the dirty thoughts he had about you. What he wants to do to you.

Your pussy clenches, but it isn't enough to build towards an orgasm. You add another finger, thinking about what Rafe would say about how tight you are, about how you can barely fit two, and you quicken your pace. The teasing, the imagery, you can't help but let out a small moan, "Rafe."

But even as you build towards the feeling of a climax, it isn't enough. A thin layer of sweat coats your body and your legs ache at their overstretched position while your chest heaves—with want, with need for this release.

You crane your neck back, arching your back, letting out little whines as you feel how close you're getting but not completely there yet. "Please," you mumble softly, to yourself and to any God who would let you finish. "Please, please."

"You're doing it wrong."

The voice isn't your own, but you know exactly who it belongs to.

You eyes rip open, finding Rafe in the dark, standing near the entrance of your bedroom. You let out a little yelp, pulling up the comforter pooled at your feet as you hide your exposed body and readjust your panties under the sheets.

He looks content, leaning against the wall, while your heart is racing, your breathing erratic and, for a second, you don't know if you're hallucinating him or if he's truly here.

"What–what are you doing here?" You demand but your voice is weak, trying to regain some control over yourself after being caught in such an incriminating position.

Rafe appears casual. "I had to get some paperwork for my dad."

Your mother works with Rafe's father as a freelance accountant.

"In the middle of the night?"

He shrugs. "Ward Cameron never stops."

You can see he doesn't want to explain further than that. You want to probe, noticing the slight shift in his demeanor, almost minuscule, at the mention of his father, but you decided against it. You had other problems to be dealing with.

"That doesn't explain why you're in my room," you snap.

"Gave myself a house tour while your mom is looking for it." He says, pushing himself off the wall and stepping into your sanction, closing the door behind him. The lights from the hallway fades out, enveloping your room into a darkness—saved for the faint moonlight streaming through the sheer curtains and a lit lamp sitting on your nightstand.

You say nothing as he approaches you; your voice in your throat.

He stops at the foot of your bed. "You didn't text me back."

You don't know if you detect insecurity in his words or if you're imagining it. You settle on the idea that Rafe Cameron isn't used to not women throwing themselves at him, not demanding his attention, that he doesn't know what to do with it.

"My phone broke."

He watches you for a moment, trying to read you, before nodding silently. You don't know if he believes you.

You glance over at the door, afraid that Dean is going to walk in at any minute—because brothers do that—before remembering that he isn't home. He went out with a couple of his friends, staying the night at The Cut. That lessens the anxiety in your stomach, but it doesn't completely dissipate.

In the quietness of the moment, Rafe gestures out a hand to you. "Don't stop on my account, princess. Continue what you were doing."

You glare at him, heat rushing to your cheeks. "Fuck off."

He laughs.

Rafe settles himself on the corner of your mattress, making himself comfortable, while keeping his eyes pinned on you. You don't know what to do with this level of attention, with this spotlight, and while you had the strongest urge to get up and leave—you can't. You truly are wearing nothing more than a pair of panties and a loose, baggy sleep tee you stole from your brother's closet. If you stand up now, Rafe would receive a free show. You already embarrassed yourself enough, you don't want to add to the list.

You don't want to kick him out the room either.

His eyes studies the room around you; the tangled sheets, the disorganized pillow arrangement. It was an obvious sight of what happened. Cocking a brow of his, he asks, "couldn't come?"

Yes, but you weren't going to tell him that. You cross your arms over your chest and frown, trying to pull together what little pride you had left. "Are you going to tell a woman how to handle her own body?"

"I will if she's doing it wrong."

Your cheeks are flaming hot because it confirms that he did see. He saw you struggling. He saw you intimate. Clenching your jaw to relieve some of the embarrassment you feel, Rafe offers something unexpected.

"I can help you."

You don't know if you misheard him. "What?"

He chuckles softly, his hand grabbing the comforter covering you. "Is that so hard to believe?"

"I have a hard time believing you are that selfless."

"I'm not," he confirms, slowly pulling down the comforter shielding your body. You let him. "But I'm always willing to help you come."

"Knight in shining armor?"

"Just yours, baby."

You don't answer him. Not knowing how to react after he calls you baby. He completely pulls the comforter out of his way, revealing your long legs and the lousy sleepwear. His blue eyes trail up to examine you, tracing the tiny cotton panties that barely covers anything to the outline of your hardened nipples under your shirt.

He moves closer. His hand running up your calves, your thighs, in such a gentle yet sensual manner, a shiver leaves your body. When he stops right in between your legs, near your core, he glances up at you. "Can I?"

Mesmerized by the sight of him, you nod. He lowers his hand to graze against the cover, laughing softly to himself.

"God, you're dripping," he mumbles, pushing the panties to the side as his fingers touch your slick cunt. You slightly jerk forward at the unfamiliar, but not unwelcome, touch of his. "And sensitive. Are you sure you can't come?"

You know he's teasing you. You predicted this. But you couldn't help but turn the conversation onto him. "I thought you were going to help me," you bite back. "Or can you not handle it?"

His eyes darken. "Be careful what you wish for."

"I want—" You stop yourself, hoping he didn't hear you. Rafe stiffens, looking up to your face.

"You what?" He demands.

His eyes are so hard, so commanding, you can't help but submit.

"I want to come." You whisper. "I want to come by you."

His grin is entirely too smug. Without wasting time, he easily slips two fingers into your wet folds and your walls clench around him. "Fuck," he whispers to himself. "You're so tight."

Just as you predicted.

Rafe begins to stroke you, starting at a slow pace as your cunt gets used to his size. His fingers are larger than yours. His pace more rough. His other hand grabs your hips, keeping you in place as your body unwittingly wrestles away from it.

You whimper softly, hearing the wetness of your pussy echoing through the small room. Your hips buck, trying to grind against his hand, but he holds you down, keeping total control over what he can do with your body.

You whine.

You can't help but feel a little disappointed. If he knew you were struggling, he should've also known it was by penetration alone. You can't come, won't come, even if he's the one controlling it.

"Rub yourself for me," Rafe commands, pulling you away from your thoughts. You look down at him, concentrating on your cunt before his eyes flicks up to meet your face, his eyes hungry. "Now."

Your hand tentative slips between your legs. You've never masturbated in front of someone else before, and you're nervous, but the command behind Rafe's voice make you obedient. A need to please. When you find your clit, you begin to move in slow, circular motions.

It builds and builds.

"Oh," you gasps, as the combined action causes your hips to jerk forward more violently. However, Rafe knew, holding them in place. The orgasm builds quicker, especially with his control. "Oh, fuck."

You let your head tip back against the headboard, allowing the pleasure to course through you in rapid succession. Rafe quickens the rhythm he started from, easing a small whimper out of you. "Rafe," you moan quietly, afraid of being too loud.

He notices.

He shakes his head, stopping his thrusts and leaving your core aching. "No, princess, I want to hear you say my name louder. I know you can do it."

You were afraid of being caught. You were afraid of the neighbors hearing. But, you were so close. "What if my mom hears?"

"I don't care." He declares, returning to his strokes, starting at the slow beginning. It causes a needy whine to leave your throat. "Either you say it right or you're not coming tonight."

His fingers curl inside of you, hitting the right spots you didn't even know you had, and an explosion of pleasure erupts inside of you. "Rafe," you moan again, with less restraint, a little louder.

He shakes his head. "Louder," he commands. "I need to hear you."

His strokes are precise and measured. He knows the exact places to go to make you feel good. Adding on, he extends his thumb and begins to rub your clit with you. This act, alone, makes your stomach knot, twist, and tighten in a way that's familiar and demanding. Your legs shake, your fingers quicken on their own, matching the pace of his rhythm, and you let out the loudest moan as you come. "Rafe."

You slump back against your mattress, feeling his grip around your hips loosen as his fingers pull away from your cunt. Through heavy-lids and short breaths, you watch as Rafe brings his slick fingers to his mouth and sucks them clean. An expression of pride and satisfaction etched over his features.

"Fuck," he groans, "you taste so sweet."

Your stomach erupts in little flutters at the compliment, and before you get the chance to make a retort—to thank him, to argue back—a phone rings.

Rafe's head turns to your nightstand, where your phone is plugged in and lit with a name, and scoffs. He pushes himself off the bed and glances down at the caller ID on the screen.

"Your phone broke, huh?" He glances up at you, to which you couldn’t do anything but sheepishly shrug.

"Who is it?"

"Your brother is calling." He says with an hint of disgust, disconnecting your phone from the charger. Just as he's about to hand it to you, he withdrawals his hand quickly and an idea passes through him. He smirks. "What if I answer?"

Your heart lunges out of your chest and you force yourself up from the mattress, on your weak knees, reaching out for the phone. Rafe pulls back, raising it just out of your reach. "Rafe, don't."

"But wouldn't you like to know how your brother would react knowing I made you come?"

He would kill you.

You push yourself to your feet on the bed, using it as an additive height to grab your phone, but Rafe is clever. He steps back far enough where you can't move towards him without toppling over and his hand stretches out all the way out of your reach.

"Rafe," you beg, connecting your eyes with his in a pleading look. "Please."

"Not the perfect sister anymore, are you?"

You don't answer him, watching as his face twists in amusement. His eyes studying your face, his expression smug. "God, if only your brother know how you moaned for me. It would kill him, wouldn't it?"

Your heart is hammering in your chest. You don't know what to do.

"What is stopping me from answering?" He asks to himself, but the question lingers for you. It's a challenge. What can you give him that would make him stop.

And your answer is nothing.

There's absolutely nothing you can give him. He's a Cameron—he can afford anything and everything with the snap of his fingers. The Tanneyhill estate cost more than you could ever imagine and he is the son of a multimillionaire. You're just a Pogue who moved to Figure Eight, masquerading as a Kook.

You were no match.

But, you wonder, for a second, if there is something.

"We'll never do this again." Your voice is small at first, but when the words hit his ears, it caused his smug expression to falter slightly. You take that as a sight to grow confidence. "I'll never let you touch me again. I'll never even touch you."

Rafe's face lost its humor. His jaw slightly tense, his eyes studying yours. For a moment, you thought it wasn't enough. That he will still answer the ringing number flashing your screen.

But he lowers the phone and gives it to you.

"You're thinking like a Kook," he scoffs softly, his words thoughtful, before his eyes finds yours. "There may be hope for you yet."

When you have the phone back in your grasp, the phone call goes to an end. Your heart still beating roughly, your breathing hard, you clutch the device to your chest like it's a lifeline.

Rafe watches you. Just then, you hear your mother calls for Rafe from her downstair office. He glances at the door for a brief second, before turning back to you. "I'll see you around, princess."

Without waiting for an answer, Rafe spares one glance at the device in your arms—a visible annoyance on his face—before rounding the bedframe and exit from your room.

You take a second to compose yourself, to calm your breathing and adjust your sleepwear into their intended position. When you glance down at the light-up screen, you can't believe that you won. That you got Rafe to hand you back your phone without talking to your brother.

You don't want to admit that the threat you threw out scared you. That the idea of him not touching you anymore pains you. That the idea of never touching him makes you sad.

But it worked out.

So, as you click on the notification to return the missed call, bringing the phone to your ear as you wait for Dean to answer, you try to put on an appearance as if everything is normal.

As if Rafe Cameron didn't give you an orgasm.

As if you didn't love it.

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zyafics · 2 months

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stay the night | rafe cameron (18+)

pairing: rafe cameron x female reader

summary: when rafe cameron sees you as just a fuck buddy, you embody the role and remind him what that means.

warnings: MDNI, 18+, smut, jealousy, dominance play, oral receiving (f + m), fingering, p in v sex, unprotected sex, cockwarming, praise kink, a little bit of fluff at the end

word count: 5.5k

zya's notes: i originally had this planned for my “brother’s rival” series but it didn’t fit so here u go

dedication: thank u @xorafe for beta-reading and ur feedbacks, u truly are a real one <3

𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃 ⋆.˚ ⋆.˚ ⋆.˚ ⋆.˚

Rafe Cameron doesn't get jealous.

You two aren't a couple. You are nothing more than casual fuck buddies that are conveniently located within proximity of one another when one of you need to blow off some steam or get off. The feeling is completely mutual.

However, you've been exclusive.

It's unspoken, of course. No one is willing to admit that they don't want the other to be sleeping with other people and you settled on that ambiguity.

You thought it could mean something more.

You thought wrong.

The other day, after fooling around, you laid in his bed, wearing nothing, and asked if you could stay the night. As part of your undefined relationship, you don't do sleepovers. Rafe doesn't do sleepovers. However, he was the one who was calling you after midnight. He was the one who wanted you to sneak out of your house, where your parents placed a curfew. If you go home now, you would be caught dead in the act and get into trouble. It would be easier to save yourself and stay over.

"No." Rafe declared, not letting the suggestion linger for more than a second. You lifted yourself from the bed by propping your elbows against his mattress, staring at the man who's searching for his throwaway clothes on the floor and redressed himself. "We don't do sleepovers. I don't want to be caught with a Pogue."

"Rafe." You said with a hint of annoyance. He saw you naked, but he was afraid of being seen with you in public? "It's fucking four in the morning. My parents are going to see me."

He scoffed. "Not my problem."

"So what? You don't care if I get in trouble?"

He shrugged, pulling his shirt over his chest. "You're just a fuck."

You said nothing. You just stared at him. He quickly gets dressed and finds your clothes around his floor, throwing them on the bed for you to take. With a huff, you pull yourself from the comforts and put them on.

"I'll call you." He said as you walked out of his bedroom, but you didn't answer him. All you did was flip him off and make your way out.

The next morning, you got in trouble with your parents regarding your absence. But, you said nothing, taking the lecture they gave you and headed to your room.

And you thought, if he sees me as a quick fuck, fine. I'll be just that.

The next Kook party, you were there. You always attended Kook parties, despite being a Pogue, simply because the alcohol is all free and it tasted better. No more cheap beer on The Boneyard, but you had to admit—the music was better.

Kooks can't play for shit.

This party happened to be on Tanneyhill, the mansion where Rafe lived. You haven't seen him since the last time you hooked up, and it's been the longest you've gone without seeing each other. Sure, he called you but you let it go to voicemails and all his texts were left on read. You know, without a doubt, Rafe would be looking for you and attempting to pull you to the nearest bathroom to fuck your brains out.

But you didn't care.

(Maybe just a little).

After dancing for a while, grinding against random strangers and making conversations with some friends of yours, you settled into a seat next to a Kook. He introduced himself as Ethan, and you chat with him as you drink from your cup, making small talk about what you're doing this summer.

He seemed interested enough. His eyes shamelessly glance down at your top, which practically shows off your tits, and floats back to your lips a couple of times. You knew if you wanted to, he would've follow you to a bedroom and fuck you.

But you didn't.

You laughed at his jokes. You told some of your own.

All while having an nagging feeling of a pair of eyes on the back of your head.

You didn't need to turn around to know who it was. You know exactly who.

And Rafe Cameron is fuming.

He noticed you when you first walked in, in a top that shows off too much and a skirt that covers practically nothing. You walked into Tanneyhill as if you owned the place, despite being a Pogue, and that's one of the things that irritates him about you.

But it also made him attracted to you.

Your confidence. Your demeanor. You never backed down when Rafe tries to put you in your place and you never let him gain control without a fight. He likes that you make him work for it; there's a thrill in the chase. Because he knows, at the end of the day, it's his bed that you ended up in. It's his cock that you're sucking.

But, at this moment, he isn't so sure. Instead of being in his arms, talking to him, you were talking to some random fucking guy who attended Kook Academy and is making you laugh.

You didn't even bother to tell him you were coming.

Rafe thought he could hold it in until he got you alone.

But that was before the guy put his hand on your upper thigh and you let him.

It takes mere seconds for Rafe to cross the yard, and when he comes behind you, it surprises you at how silent he was. "Get your hands off my fucking girl," he snapped at Ethan and before Ethan got the chance to back off, Rafe grabs your arm and pulls you off the chair, taking you inside of Tanneyhill.

You let him drag you for a few moments. The booze in your system is making your reaction sluggish, but when the realization dawns on you, you finally pull away when you reach in front of his bedroom, hidden in a dark hallway.

"What the fuck are you doing?"

He scoffs at your words. "What am I doing?" He repeats. You nod. He jabs an accusing finger in your direction. "What the fuck are you doing?"

You lift the cup to your lips. "I'm drinking."

His eyes are livid. "With that guy?" He gestures outside where Ethan is, jealousy pouring from his words and he sounds like he's using every inch of restraint he has to hold everything together. You shouldn't be enjoying it so much, but you are. When you don't answer him, feigning a bored expression, Rafe gets more frustrated. He doesn't like that you aren't reacting. He doesn't like it at all. "What's your fucking problem?"

You lift your shoulders in a casual shrug, pressing the red solo cup against your lips and says, "thought I was just another fuck."

He knows you were throwing his words back at him. He knows that this is some fucking test that you're doing to drive him bad. He also knows it's working, so much so that he knocks the cup out of your hands, causing the content to spill all over his marble floor. "Fuck you."

You scoff, unfazed by his aggression. "You already did." You say, and while Rafe is silently raging underneath, you decide to take it a step further. Closing in the distance until you're right in front of his face, you smirk, "and you fucking loved it."

Rafe is breathing hard, his blue eyes searching your face, his chest raising and falling in rapid beats as frustration rolls off of him, all while you tip your head to the side, raising your brow, challenging him to respond.

He does.

By slamming his lips against yours.

One of his hands catches the back of your neck as he presses a bruising and punishing kiss against your lips, eliciting a moan from the back of your throat. Instinctively, you throw your arms around his shoulders, pulling him closer.

"You're mine." He breathes against your lips when you break apart, trailing kisses down the column of your neck as you tip your head back to give him more access, feeling his mouth working against your skin. "And no fucking asshole from the Academy is going to take you away from me."

Wanting to tease him further, you say. "What if I leave?"

He answers you by sucking on a sensitive spot on your neck, causing you to arch into him and let out an involuntary moan as his free hand descends down to your short skirt and roughly palms your ass. Rafe chuckles against your skin, satisfied by your body's reaction to him. "Then no one is going to make you feel like I do."

His hands move to pull down your top, causing your tits to spill out of the fabric. The cold air pricks at your exposed skin and Rafe takes a beat of a second to admire you before lifting his gaze to meet you in an easy, cocky grin.

"So ready for me," he teases, moving his hand up to play with your hardened nipples between his fingers. You let out a small sigh. "God, you're fucking gorgeous."

"Shut up," you say, not liking how his words are making your cheeks flush with heat and a flutter of butterflies to swarm your stomach. This is just a fuck, you remind yourself. He lifts his blue eyes to meet you for a brief second before descending his mouth down to cover one of your nipples.

You always like playing with yourself there. As his tongue swirls around the sensitive tip, his teeth lightly graze against the bud, causing your moan to echo across the hallway and his hand immediately slaps over your mouth, silencing them.

Rafe's eyes lock with yours. "You don't want anyone to hear what a needy girl you are, do you?"

You clench your jaw underneath his hand, at his dominance, but when you don't answer fast enough, he asks again. "Do you?"

You shake your head and he pulls himself off of you, the cold invades the absence of his heat. But, Rafe doesn't leave you for long. He grabs your hand and pulls you into his bedroom. The moment the door slams close, his lips return on yours and his hands explore over your exposed body.

Your core clenches as Rafe slams you against the back of the door, kissing you hungrily as he lowers his hand to the cutoff of your skirt and pushes the flimsy material up to your hips before cupping your pussy.

"God, you're dripping," he says with a small laugh, looking up to you. "Are you this wet for me, baby?"

You are. Rafe Cameron has a way to make your entire body responsive to him, his touch, his kisses, his everything. But, you don't want to let him know that. You don't know how much you want it, how much you need it.

Instead of answering him, you say with a roughness to your voice, "if you don't fuck me, Cameron, I'll find someone else who will."

Humor leaves his face and his expression hardens. He cups your cunt hard, causing you to involuntary jolt forward into his hand and a small whimper to escape you. "This is mine. No other fucking man is going to touch this but me."

"Big words for someone who hasn't made me come."

His eyes darken and, with your taunting and teasing getting to him, he finally pushes your panties to the side and inserts a rough finger inside of your pussy, causing you to wince at the abrupt motion. "Can you handle it?"

You nod with closed eyes, feeling as he adds a second finger, thrusting in a steady but rough pace, his other hand fondling with your tits.

You lean back against the door with heavy breaths, moaning and clenching as your orgasm builds from his rhythm. Rafe knows your body, he knows you're about to come, and as your moans get more erratic and you grind harder into his hand, he quickens his thrusts. Leaning into you, he says to your ear, "let it out, baby."

You do.

Your walls clench around his fingers tightly as you ride on your high, so much so that you hear his muttered fuck under his breath. When you're slowly coming down from your climax, Rafe removes his hand. The loss of his touch causes you to frown but before you get the chance to open your eyes and complain, he pushes the wet digits against the entrance of your lips. "Suck."

You want to argue back, about him telling you what to do, but you can't seem to help but listen. Your eyes open and find his face, watching you as you suck his fingers clean of your arousal. "Good girl."

When he withdraws his fingers, clarity dawns on you. He's wearing too much while you're practically exposed. You didn't like how uneven the playing field is, and with a gesture to his shirt and pants, you demand. "Take it off."

His smirk is smug. "Eager, aren't we?"

"If I have to be naked, so do you."

"You aren't naked." He gestures back to you and you look down at yourself. While your tits are showing and your panties are soak, he's right, you technically aren't naked. Not afraid of backing down from a challenge, you easily pull your tiny top over your shoulders and push your skirt and panties down to your ankles.

Stepping out of them, you look back to see Rafe admiring your naked body. You can see the outline of his erection straining against his pants, and for a moment, a self-consciousness creeps up on you and you blush. With a hard swallow, you point to him. "Your turn."

The corner of his lips quirks up at how demanding you are and he pulls his shirt over his body, revealing the defined and taunt muscles of his chest underneath. Your mouth waters. You watch as he goes for his belt—knowing you’re watching—that he teases it out slowly. He messes with the buckle, taking his sweet time, that you grow impatient.

"Goddammit," you mutter under your breath, approaching him and pushing his hands out of the way, sinking to your knees as you unbuckle the belt with ease—practices from all the other times. When you pull it out of his pants, you stop, looking up to Rafe.

"Go on, princess." He gestures, a cocky grin at the sight of you on your knees for him. "Finish what you started."

You hate how much power he has over you this time, how he is telling you what to do, but because of how needy you are, how much you want him between your legs and his cock to be in you, you listen. You unzip and pull down his pants, revealing an impressed bulge underneath his briefs. With one easy tug, you freed his cock and it stood in front of you, hard and leaking with pre-cum.

On your knees, you look up to see Rafe watching you, waiting to see what you do. His eyes are hungry and his arousal is obvious. Tentatively, you wrap your hand around the thick cock, your fingers barely connecting together because of his girth.

And slowly, you rub up and down his shaft.

A hiss leaves the back of Rafe's throat and satisfaction pools in your core at the realization that you are making him feel this way, that you have this much control. "Faster." He commands, his voice thick with desire.

Instead of listening to his orders, you open your mouth and take his cock in your mouth, swallowing the salty taste as you swirl your tongue at his head. Added with the motion of your hand playing with his balls, and rubbing him up and down, Rafe can’t help but rock his hips against your face.

“Fuck,” he swears, his hand finds your hair and pulls your closer to him, as your grip around him gets firmer and you hollow your cheeks, creating a stronger suction. Rafe groans under your touch, tugging the root of your strands, wanting you to do anything and everything to build him closer to his climax. “Fuck, baby, I’m close.”

With that pride of information, you slow down, your fingers loosen their pace and you pop the cock out of your mouth. Rafe feels the instant loss of touch and he looks down at you, his expression hard and angry.

"What the fuck?"

"Say please."

He says your name in a command, but you don't budge.

Rafe's blue eyes are hard. He knows you do this. He knows you like to mess with him, take back control whenever you find yourself in a small position of power and remind him of his place. Irritation builds in his chest, this time worse than the others, but so does his delayed climax. He needs it more.

With a reluctant sigh, he says, "please."

You return your motion, moving in slow, torturous strokes as your hand moves up and down his slick length, creating enough pleasure for him to feel but not enough friction to ease into his climax. Your mouth has yet to return on his cock and without the added assistance, his jaw tense and his frustration and horniness builds.

In a desperate plea, Rafe begs, "baby, please."

His voice didn't sound like his own and his words are so rough, so willing, that you can't help but alleviate him from his misery. You reconnect your lips on his tip and begin to rub his faster, firmer, sucking him harder. With the edge of delay, Rafe comes fast with a guttural groan, spilling in your mouth as you lap over the taste, swallowing all of it.

Rafe lowers himself and guides you back to your feet, pulling you towards the bed and pushing you flat against the mattress, laying on your back.

He lowers himself off the edge of the bed, sinking to his knees as he steps in front of your exposed pussy, and looks up to see the self-satisfied smirk on your face at the little stunt you pulled back there. In a low voice, he says, "you're going to regret that."

A finger drags up your slit, in a slow motion, gathering your wetness on the digit but producing enough pressure that it makes you whine. You try to grind yourself against his hand but he lays his palm on the flat of your stomach, holding you in place.

When his eyes connect with your needy gaze, he says, “my turn.”

Dipping his head between your legs, he kisses your inner thighs in slow, agonizing touches. It produces an aching feel to your core as he gives careful attention to both of your thighs, slowly creeping up to your throbbing cunt, but not quite giving you a release.

Rafe lingers on a particular sensitive spot near your pussy, sucking and kissing the placement until you're writhing in pleasure and frustration, desperate to feel his tongue in you.

"Rafe," you say with a throaty beg and he grins against your skin.

"I said you're going to regret it."

"Yeah, and if you take any longer, I'm going to go downstairs to find Ethan."

Rafe hates it when you mention other men, or even think of other men, especially when he’s fucking you, but it does the trick as he moves between you and his fingers spread your folds. “You are this wet for me, baby, not Ethan,” he reminds you, before lowering himself to your pussy, flattening his tongue against your center before moving up and down in slow strokes.

“Fuck,” you moan as he finds your sensitive clit and sucks on the nub, the sound of wetness fills the bedroom as the low volume of the music thumps from downstairs. He lets one finger enter your cunt, beginning at a slow pace. “Rafe, ohmygod.”

He moves faster, rougher, lapping out your taste as if he was dying of thirst. With his finger quickening and his tongue working a miracle on you, another orgasm builds.

“I’m close,” you whisper and he nods. He moves with precision and god, Rafe Cameron is good at eating pussy. When his tongue enters into you and the pad of his thumb rubs circular motions around your clit, you can’t help but arch into his pleasure and come on his face.

You fall against the mattress with a heavy breath, but Rafe doesn’t stop. He continues to suck and lap and rub, causing you to wrap your thighs tightly around his head. You’re already so exhausted, so sensitive, coming down from your high, but that does nothing to satiate the man between your legs—fingers and tongue buried inside of you, still hungry.

Your thighs violently shake and your fingers rack through his hair, pulling, “ohmygod, ohmygod,” you moan as he works another orgasm from you, your stomach tightening and the pressure being so unbearable you feel as if you’re going to cave and explode.

“Come for me, baby, I want another one.” He mumbles against your cunt, the low hum of his voice vibrates through your body in a pleasurable sensation. With a rougher pace and a harder suction around your clit, you come for a second time in a row.

You’re an absolute wreck when he pulls away and, assessing the damage he caused, Rafe chuckles at the sight before him. You splay out on the mattress, breathing heavily with low lids and the prettiest pussy. He lowers himself, placing both hands on either side of your head to carry his weight, he plants a soft kiss on your lips.

His eyes set on you, a gentle gaze, and whispers. “Can you take another, baby?”

Though you are weak from all the orgasms you endured, you still nod, looping your arms around his neck as he descends closer to you, planting kisses against your lips, the corner of your mouth, to the edge of your jawline. You can feel his erection grazing at your entrance, waiting to enter, and the thought itself ignites another round of passion and need within you.

Rafe pulls back just enough to line his cock against your wet folds. Before he enters, he looks up to you, waiting for a confirmation sign. When you nod, he slowly pushes the length into your aching core and you jerk forward.

He goes in slow at first, allowing your walls to adjust to his size because, no matter how many times he’s been inside of you, it still takes a moment for your pussy to register that this is him. That this is his pussy. A hiss escapes the back of his throat. “Fuck, you’re so tight.”

You, with what little strength you have left, push yourself up as he rocks against your hips, beginning his thrusts. You get closer to him, grabbing his shoulders, while he takes the opportunity to play with your tits.

This new position allows him to enter deeper inside of you, hitting a new angle, causing you to let out a cry from the explosion of pleasure. In addition to the remnants of the orgasms you had a few moments prior, as Rafe pounds into your very sensitive core, you begin to feel as if you’re seeing stars.

Rafe leans down, closer to your ear as he asks, "who's fucking you?"

You feel your stomach knot and tighten, knowing he’s getting you close. But, you also can feel his cock twitching inside your walls, alerting you that he’s also getting close. With this dynamic power, you turn your head to face Rafe, connecting your heavy-lid eyes with his.

“Ethan.”

Rafe stills. His eyes darken at your words, watching the way your lips curl with an innocent look and he decided he hates it. He hates this little power play you're doing to him, he hates how it's working. He knows that you two are nothing more than fuck buddies, but without the reassurance that you are his—fully, devotedly his—he doesn't know if you haven't fucked another guy before. If you haven't had Ethan's name on your lips.

His hand lowers between the two of you, lightly grazing against your sensitive clit. You jolt into his touch. "Did you fuck him?"

His voice is low, dangerously low, as you watch how serious he turned with the tease of another man's name. You tilt your head to the side, challenging him. "And if I did?"

He pinches your clit and your hips arch forward, but he uses his other hand to grab it still. Your core throbbing while he remains inside of you and does nothing. You realize, in this moment, that you might've gone too far. You feel full and have everything in your possession to make you reach your highest peak but you chose to delay it with a joke that wasn't even that funny.

Especially not now.

Rafe slowly rubs your clit with his fingers, painfully light, teasing and punishing you all in one. You gasp into his touch, but he doesn't let you move. His grip remains firm on your hips, holding you in place as you ache around his cock, as he can feel your walls clench around him, begging to be fucked.

But he needs to hear you say it.

"Rafe," you choke, and his eyes connect with yours. Your eyes are teary, your breathing is erratic, and you are trying desperately to produce some friction between your legs and give you some semblance of pleasure. "Rafe, move."

"No, princess," he says with a deadly calm, shaking his head. "You want to play mind games with me all night, fine. But tonight, I'm going to fucking hear you say my name." He repeats himself with aggression, his fingers skims across your sensitive nub. "Who. Is. Fucking. You?"

You grip his shoulders, your eyes meeting his, and your core aches painfully. You try to grind yourself against him, trying to produce some friction of your own, but he uses both hands to grab your hips, stilling you in place with a deadly grip you are sure is going to leave a mark.

He shakes his head, firm on getting the answer out of you.

With teary eyes, you beg. "Please, Rafe. Please."

He grins with that self-satisfying charm. He loves it when you finally break your dominance. He loves it more when he can break you.

His thrust begins at a slow rate, still on the edge of punishment, but at least you can feel some friction producing between your legs. You look down at his cock entering and leaving your cunt, the image gratifying, but Rafe roughly grabs your chin and forces you to look back up.

"Look at me." He commands, his voice shallow as the slow thrust is killing him, but he needed to teach you a lesson. "I want you to remember this when you're looking at anyone else. Talking to any other fucking guy. Remember how I make you feel."

You nod frantically. Desperate at this point to say anything to get Rafe to move faster, harder, providing you with your climax. He sees it in your eyes, how he finally got you, that it makes him smile.

"God, look at you," he chuckles. "You want me to fuck you so bad."

"Yes," you beg, "yes, please. I'll do anything."

"Anything?" He asks again, the proposition is too nice to tease out.

You nod, blinking through the tears. "Anything."

He grins at this exchange of power, when he holds all of it, that he finally relents and quickens his pace. You grip harder on his shoulders as Rafe thrusts into you, rocking his hips against yours.

You claw and moan against his skin, using it as an anchor for all the pain and pleasure ripping through you, and he takes it as a mark of honor. When he lowers one hand between the two of you, using the pad of his thumb to rub small circles around your clit, you see stars float in your vision.

"I'm coming," you pant against his skin. "God, please, I'm coming."

Rafe's hand finds the back of your neck, pulling you closer to him, and nods. "Come for me, baby."

When you feel your orgasm hit its all-time high, you slump in exhaustion against his shoulders, while he continues to move in and out of you. It takes a few seconds later before Rafe comes, feeling his hot cum leaking out of you.

He doesn’t remove his cock from your pussy and honestly, you don’t want him to. You want to stay like this for a moment, to catch your breath and come to the dawning realization that this is the best sex of your life. You didn’t want it to end.

Rafe lays his chin on your small shoulder, pushing your wet hair to the side as he recovers.

“Be my girl.” He whispers, so quiet, that you thought you imagined it. You weakly pull back, connecting your widened eyes with his.

"What?"

"Be my girl," he repeats once more, his blue eyes vulnerable and tracing your features to see if there's any hint of rejection on the bay. "I can't fucking stand you with other guys. I don't even want you to say their names. I want you. All of you."

You hesitate. "Rafe..."

"You said you'll do anything." He reminds you.

"You said you don't want to be seen with a Pogue."

He growls. "Fuck what I said," he snaps with a shake of his head, raising his hand to wipe the leftover tears from your face. "I want you. I don’t care about anything else. Just say yes."

You look at him and soften your gaze. You have wanted this, you admit, you wanted him to confess to you that he wants you as much as you want him. But, for a moment, in this brief second, you’re afraid that if you agree you would submit to everything you’ve fought against. The control you tried so hard to retain.

He sees it. He knows you’re having an internal battle. Using his hand, he cups the side of your face, the heat and comfort of his palm makes you instinctively lean into him. “Please.” He begs softly, giving you one last shred of power.

With a small chuckle of your own, you finally nod. "Okay."

He grins, and without hesitation, presses another kiss against your lips. This time, it lacks the power and control you two have been fighting for all night but rather is sweet, sensitive and patient. He pushes you back against the mattress, using his arms to hold up his weight.

When he pulls apart, both of you are out of breath and breathing heavily. He offers you a genuine smile, at how proud he is that you’re his, and uses the pad of his thumb to rub across your flushed cheeks. “God, you’re gorgeous.”

You blush, waiting to pull away from his touch but Rafe knows you. He grabs a hold of your face, holding you in place so you can’t tear your gaze from him. “I’m serious. Since you’re my girlfriend now, you have to get used to that or else people are going to assume I don’t compliment you enough.”

You scoff. “You don’t. The only times you say nice things to me is when you’re in me.”

“Yeah?” He challenges, cocking one of his brows. You nod. “That’s going to change. Prepare for me to shower you with compliments every time I see you,” he says, as he lowers himself and plants a soft kiss on your shoulder blade. “Especially when I’m in you.”

You roll your eyes, pushing him off as your eyes find the clock in the back of the wall. You didn’t realize how late it was.

“Fuck,” you mutter under your breath. Rafe turns to you, his brows knit together in confusion.

"What?"

"It's almost one am. I promised my parents I was going to go home at eleven."

He glances at the clock, before returning his gaze back to you. "Stay the night."

"What?"

"You said it would save you trouble, right?" You hesitantly nod. "Just stay the night."

You can’t believe what you’re hearing. You can’t believe how much he’s willing to give in now that you’re finally his. Maybe you should’ve made him jealous a long time ago. Your first instinct is to tease him about it, but you decide that you had enough power play. The both of you deserve some rest and plus, sleeping with Rafe would be a comforting feel after the sex you just had.

When he comes to approach you, settling between your legs as he waits for an answer, you run your hands through his messy blond locks. “Okay.”

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zyafics · 1 month

Text

play fake | rafe cameron (18+)

series play fake (part one) — ( masterlist )

pairing rafe cameron x female reader

summary when rafe cameron needs to secure a gf in order for his father to see him as a stable man, he enlists the help of a bartender who wants nothing to do with him.

content 18+, eventual smut, angst, fake-dating, jealousy, people-pleasing and independent! female reader, ward cameron pinning rafe and sarah against each other, rafe being an asshole

zya's notes i hope u guys enjoy! i'm just writing this as i'm trying to figure out the brother's rival series and what direction i'm going <3

𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃𓂃 ⋆.˚ ⋆.˚ ⋆.˚ ⋆.˚

Who knew Rafe Cameron is a blabbering drunk?

Working as a bartender on the docks, near Heyward's Seafood, you have your fair share of stories about the people who come in. Most of them are locals from The Cut, with the occasional tourists who wander the streets, settling for a clean place to eat.

But it's very rare to have a Kook.

It's been a visit for the past couple of weeks. You don't understand what caused him to come here. There's plenty of bars near Figure Eight—some of which you are sure caters specifically to the Camerons—but you don't question it. Lately, business has been slow, a couple of locals in and out, and with the majority of your income relying on tips, you take it.

Locals don't tip.

Rafe does, however. When he settled down and ordered the largest and most expensive liquor you had on hand, he slipped a fifty into your hands and asked for the bottle as a whole. You don't know if he doesn't have prior tipping etiquette—or because he tips extra for you to keep quiet about his presence—but you gladly take it. Sitting at the end of the counter, his hand cradles a half-empty glass he sips from.

Despite having the whole bottle set in front of him, he still makes you serve him.

Why?

Because he's an asshole.

"You know what he wants to do?" Rafe slurs from across the counter, his eyes flickering to find your presence behind the bar. "He wants to give the company to Sarah."

You hum in response, drying the washed glasses in your hands with a towel as you listen to his nondescript rambles. You knew most of the people he's referring to Sarah Cameron, Ward, and the occasional Pogue you don't know the name of. But, that's how Rafe sees the world: his family, the Kooks, and then everyone else.

"She's nineteen and going around OBX with her fucking Pogue boyfriend and he sees her as stable?" Rafe scoffs, shaking his head as he brings the edge of the glass to his lips and takes a long sip. "Fucking bitch."

Listening to drunk customers vent about their home lives is part of the job description. While it’s dark outside and Rafe is the only customer left, you are technically free to kick him out and make him go about his day elsewhere.

But, there's a rule in your family regarding business: don't go home until the last customer leaves. There's no such thing as kicking someone out at closing time; you were there to wait, serve, and hope they spend a couple more bucks on some more booze. It's a cheapshot of handling enterprise, but that's the way you need to do business and survive as a Pogue.

Rafe taps his empty cup in his hand, eyes pinned on you. "Refill," he mumbles, to which you resist the urge to roll your eyes, and walk over to do exactly as he asks. Lifting the bottle set in front of him to pour him another shot, he watches you as you watch.

"You think it's stupid, right?" He asks, his gaze lifting to study your face. "He thinks Sarah is more equipped to handle Cameron Development because of that Pogue. Because he ties her down. Is that some bullshit?"

His gaze is intense and you don't know whether to answer or not. While you don't know much of the story, of the background behind his persistent rambles, you pieced together enough that it's about Ward deciding to give Sarah the family company because of her stability as a person. Because she's reliable.

You shrug, "I don't know." Because you don't. You don't want to get involved in whatever problems Rafe is dealing with. You don't want to offer unsolicited opinions because who knows if it'll come back to bite you in the ass.

He scoffs, then releases a bitter laugh. "Of course you don't," he leans back against his seat, almost swaying against the backless stool, before shaking his head, disciplining himself. "You're a Pogue. I must be losing it if I'm talking to you."

You roll your eyes, turning away from the Kook and settling on the rest of your tasks. You're used to Kooks putting you down like that, seeing you as nothing more than the bottom of the chain because you don't have some fancy degree from UNC or because you aren't floating on a yacht somewhere.

Just as you're returning bottles back on the shelf, you hear Rafe mumbles to himself. "Does he want me to be tied down or something?"

You let out an abrupt laugh, before quickly stiffening the sound. However, it was too late. When you look back over, you see his blue eyes set on you, a hard expression on his face. "Sorry," you mumble, wishing you had better control over your tongue. "I thought I heard something funny."

You wished you could blame it on the TV, but unfortunately, you had turned that off a while ago.

"You laughing at me, sweetheart?"

"No," you clear your throat, but the look on Rafe's face makes it seem like he's in no mood to hear lies right now. You rectify the answer. "Yes."

"What's so funny?"

"The idea of you getting tied down," you answer slowly. You carefully study his expression to see if anything you say could trigger a bad reaction. "It just seems amusing to me."

Because it is. Rafe is known around Outer Banks as the reckless prince, the one who hosts parties, gets shit-faced drunk, and hooks up with every woman within his proximity. The idea of him losing all of that—the parties, the drinking, the women—was not something you could picture in your head.

"What about it?" He challenges, an edge to his tone. "You think I can't fucking do it?"

From your experience as a bartender, you know he's coming close to unraveling. What you say next could cause him to erupt or calm down, and while you would love to sell him some lies, to get him to back down and leave, something in you doesn't let it pass. All night, he's been nothing short of an asshole to you. To act like he's above you because you are nothing but a Pogue meant to serve him. Why would you pass up an opportunity to deliver some harsh reality?

"Look at yourself," you gesture to him, "you're here, drinking at my bar after an argument with your father. He's trying to tell you that you aren't dependable enough to rely on and the first thing you do is turn to your vices. What do you think?"

Even if you intended it to be harsh, you said it nicely.

He stares at you, hard. You don't like it. You heard the rumors of what happens when he gets pissed—where he throws chairs and smashed bottles. You don't want to be a recipient of that.

"Never mind," you shake your head, returning back to your task. "Just forget it. I'm misreading the situation."

"No," he says with a shake of his head. "You said it. Might as well own it with your chest. Dancing around it wouldn't make you anymore likable."

You clench your jaw. On top of being a blabbering drunk, Rafe is cruel.

Not answering him, you walk over to where he sits and take the glass from his hand, right as he's about to take another sip.

"What the fuck?"

"I think it's time for you to leave."

He scoffs, not moving from his position. "Just because I said I didn't like you?"

"No, because you're acting like an asshole and frankly, I don't want to put up with it anymore," you say, pouring the rest of the content down the sink. "You can take the bottle with you. But other than that, you need to leave."

Rafe stares at you for a few seconds, contemplating what to do, but he doesn't have any grounds here. He may be a Kook, but that means shit when he's in the south side of Outer Banks. When his opponent is a bartender. Instead of responding to you, he slides off the stool and grabs the booze by the handle.

Just as he's about to set out of the door, you shout behind him with a mock farewell, "'pleasure doing business with you!"

—

That day, you thought would be the last of your interactions with Rafe. After all, most people don't want to continue doing business with someone who calls them out on their bullshit and kicks them out of their shops.

But, a couple of days later, Rafe comes through the door of your family-owned pub.

You paid little attention to him. You were trying to log the tips into the cash register, not catering to some entitled prick who has no means being here. Plus, there's another bartender on hand who's more than willing to help Rafe with anything he needs.

You didn't care.

Your coworker can get his tips.

As you're filing in the last of the receipts, Miranda comes over to tap you on the shoulders.

"Rafe wants to talk to you."

You stare at her for a few seconds, as if she was speaking another language. You thought she did. Why in the world would he want to talk to you? You were unpleasant to him. You were nothing of the customer service attitude your parents drilled into you as a child. You thought it was clear grounds for him to look the other direction.

"I'm busy," you say to Miranda, who shifts uncomfortably in her stance, not leaving.

"He said he's willing to wait."

That means he was expecting you to say no.

You scoff. "Tell him I'm not going to be free until closing time."

"But..." Miranda starts again, and you are starting to lose your patience with her. "We don't have a closing time."

You smile at that. "Exactly."

Despite the harsh undertone, Miranda still relays the message back to Rafe. You watch as she does, his eyes briefly pans over to you as you offer him a forced smile with a wave of your fingers and his jaw visibly tense. You thought that would be the end of the conversation but, to be proven wrong again, he slides into the bar stool he previously occupied the other night and orders a drink.

Then another.

You did your best to avoid the area he occupied, but it was proven to be difficult as he spent his time right in front of you. You got busy, running around and assisting locals and tourists who came in to get a taste of the infamous and historical Sailor of Outer Banks. While you're running around, placing orders, making drinks, and trying to navigate the cramped space behind the bar—Rafe remains.

He remained until he was the very last customer.

You sigh as you glance at the clock. Miranda has since left and you're left carrying the shop ever since. All you want to do is go home and relax, but that will be proven impossible until Rafe leaves the establishment.

With a strong reluctance, you step forward to where Rafe sat, his eyes on the TV screen hung on the wall, while his hands occupied another glass.

"Fine," you sigh, causing Rafe to tear away from the screen. The corner of his lips lift into a self-satisfying smirk. "I'm here."

"You finally ready to talk to me?"

"You ready to stop being such a prick?" You quip back, just to see his expression broadens at your snark. You can't lie and say the movement didn't make him more attractive. "What do you want?"

For a moment, you thought he might be here to apologize for asking like an ass the other night.

But, you were too hopeful.

"I came up with a solution," he begins, his words a subtle slur that contrasts the intoxication of the other night.

"For what?" You entertain the conversation, crossing your arms over your chest.

"My dad." He answers. "He wants me to be stable."

"I remember."

"And from when he was talking about Sarah, one of the reasons he thinks he can rely on her is because she's with that Pogue." He explains, "that it somehow makes her dependable. I don't fucking know, the logic is flawed."

"And old-fashioned, but continue."

His blue eyes dart to your face, before he utters the next words. "That means I need a girlfriend."

You nod, glad to see that he came to his conclusion. You thought this was another one of his ramblings, a need to vent to someone he doesn't think matters in the long-run, just to get it off his chest. Now that it is, you're about to step back and turn around to start your night tasks before he holds out a hand.

"Wait," he commands, causing you to stop on your tracks. You raise a brow at him. "I want you to be my girlfriend."

You laugh. It truly is a bad habit of yours but the idea came out as total lunacy and shock. You thought he would join. But, when you look back to his face and have the striking realization that he is serious, you start to sober up. "You're serious."

"Yeah," he says, clenching his jaw, like the moment of wonderful ideas was truly something he was proud of and you struck it down like lightning.

"I'm sorry but," you shake your head, not having the ability to wrap your head around the suggestion. "You barely know me. Isn't there a line of other people who would love to become the next Mrs. Cameron?"

You know that's true. You also know if he had told Miranda this, she would've jumped to the idea before he concluded his brilliant plan. So, you can't, for the life of you, figure out why he's choosing you out of everyone else.

"Yes, but I don't want them." He answers with a shake of his head, leaning closer to the counter. You don't know why but something about that makes your chest warm. "I don't want a real girlfriend. I just need you to pretend to be."

Just like that, the feeling in your stomach dies.

"Pretend?" You repeat.

"Yes," he nods. "It's just like you said. I still have my vices. I don't want to give them up. I just want my dad to think I did."

"I still don't understand how this has anything to do with me," you furrow your brows together.

He sighs, out of frustration or impatience, you don't know. But, he goes to explain, "my dad once told me that John B was a reliable person. That he was a Pogue who was hard-working and determined. That's why he likes him for Sarah—because he hopes it would rub off on her too."

You nod slowly, connecting the dots as he continues. "You're a Pogue," he says with a huff, the title left his tongue with an ounce of disgust you were ready to throw him out of the bar again. "He likes to go on his good samaritan bullshit and employs people from The Cut for certain events. You were one of them."

It takes a second to remember what he was talking about. He's right. A couple of years ago, when you were eighteen, you got a catering job from the Camerons for some big business event. It was the most you made in your lifetime, from all the tips and drunk Kooks who wanted to give back to the poor.

But, he never employed you again.

"Do you see where I'm going now?"

You do, but you hate the attitude he's giving you. Like you were a Pogue who couldn't string together simple facts. Like you should've known what he's talking about.

"I do, but why the fuck you acting like I would've known the whole thing with John B?" You snap, and this surprises him for a moment. Taking a breath to cool the anger in your chest, you calm. "This doesn't explain why it has to be me."

His next statement comes off more nice. "My dad wants someone like that. I doubt he would approve of anyone else, and plus, I don't have to worry about you wanting something more. You clearly despise me."

That isn't true, but you do understand where he's coming from.

"So, let me get this straight." You start. "I'm basically an arm candy for you to parade around in front of your father while the rest of the time, you are free to drink and fuck whoever you want."

"I'm glad that Pogue brain of yours is catching up."

You glare at him, but say nothing else. Picking up the dirty rag off the counter, where you were planning on using to clean, you turn back to Rafe, "as much as I would love to play house with you, I don't have time. Unlike you, I have bills to pay and a job to do."

You turn your back to him but he stops you.

"I'll pay you."

You scoff. "It's not that," you say, because truly, it isn't. A few short-term payments for a couple of missed shifts isn't going to help you in the long-run. You're trying to revive Sailor, to make it a place where it can stand on its own. What is a couple of bucks going to do for that? "I'm sorry, but I don't have the time for it. You're going to have to find someone else."

"I don't want someone else."

He looks at you desperate, as if you would give in, and for a moment, you might. Perhaps it's because you're so used to helping others, or because you were raised to cater to people—to people like him—that your stomach cower at the thought of saying no. But, you have to stand firm on this. You don't have time to go out and party, much less spend your free-time parading around in his arms as some sort of trophy.

You were serious.

"I'm sorry, I truly am."

Your voice is filled with sympathy, and it softens him for a moment. But, that quickly passes as Rafe Cameron has to recoil with the idea that he didn't get what he wanted. Probably for the first time in his life.

With an annoyed huff, he slams the cash for the drinks he's been nursing and leaves.

You thought it would be the end of it.

Not knowing, by the end of this week, you will be known as Rafe's girlfriend.

— read part two —

i know you liked the post to be added to the "brother's rival" taglist, but i also didn't know if u wanted to be added to all my fics, so if u want to get off of this one, pls tell me! taglist: @k00k-princess / @ditzyzombiesblog / @itshellie / @realcolewrld / @grace-sully / @loveyouok / @tayrcse / @mysteris-things / @zzhhvgbhuuh / @ella131989 / @whore4fictionalman / @starrkissezz / @sanriobuny / @user123453226780536 / @onlinemold / @alyssax25 / @chopshopcheesecake / @bobo-bush

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