“english Isn’t My First Langua—“ Say No More.

Dublin in ecstasy // wanted to write something silly for st patrick’s day so here’s this (two days late...)

paring: artrick x fem!reader

word count: 3.5k

warnings: oral m and f receiving, spitroasting, drunk sex, hastily proofread lol

a/n: this is highkey all over the place so keep in mind i am NOT claiming this to be my best work by any means lol... just something silly for the holiday (I say that and then I somehow ended up writing 3.5k words but that's besides the point)

The circumstances couldn’t have been more perfect. Art had decided to do a semester abroad in Ireland while Patrick conveniently was playing tournament in Dublin. And better yet, it all lined up over St. Patrick’s Day.

“C’mon man, it’s my fucking day after all,” Patrick insisted as he stretched out his arms as if basking in his own glory. The two men were holed up in Art’s dorm, a single, of course, since the Europeans always seemed to have more class when it came to university living situations.

“You’re playing the day after tomorrow and I’ve got a mountain of assignments I’m behind on. We’re not getting drunk tonight,” Art retorted quickly, shooting Patrick a stern glance. This hard front, though, swiftly melted when Patrick brought his hands to Art’s shoulders, leaning down so he was at eye level as Art sat at his desk.

“You don’t wanna help me celebrate my day?” He gave him a puppy dog stare, really trying to break down his best friend’s cool exterior. And he knew deep down that Art could be like putty in his hands if he played his cards right. Art’s eyes scanned Patrick’s dramatized expression, leaving him sighing in resignation.

“Fine,” Art groaned, rolling his eyes. “Can we just take it easy though?”

“Yeah man, sure. Whatever you want.”

Art should’ve trusted his gut when he had even an inkling that they wouldn’t be taking it easy. It was St. Patrick’s Day in Dublin for fucks sake. Patrick had outfitted them both with hastily made (sharpied on) “kiss me I’m Irish” shirts much to Art’s protest.

“It’s gonna be a let down when girls see me in this shirt and then hear my American accent,” Art huffs, tugging at the ends of the shirt.

“Nah man, it’s a conversation starter. You just have to be a conversation continuer. Plus, it’s straightforward. It’s a holiday. Girls will kiss you if your shirt says so.” Patrick seemed very confident about that.

“I’m like one-sixteenth Irish man, this feels like false advertising.”

“Forget about it, it’s not like I’m Darby O’Gill or anything, it’s just a t-shirt.”

Art sighed yet again, feeling more and more like this was a bad idea. His mind changed, however, when he and Patrick saw you from across the pub.

They’d been there for about an hour now, standing off to the side, pints of Guinness in hand, trying to feel out what kind of night it’d be. Of course, Patrick was eyeing nearly every girl in the place, most of them with their strong Irish boyfriends, though, but he wasn’t really interested until he noticed you.

You were notably without a boyfriend, currently arguing with the bartender about the pour on your Guinness. Both Art and Patrick were awestruck. The way you were so passionate was admirable, and it definitely helped that, to the both of them, you were the most beautiful girl in the place.

“I’ll be back, don’t wait up too long,” Patrick murmured, slipping away from Art and towards you.

Art stammered, trying to think of a way to stop Patrick, but Patrick just turned around, reminding him how he wanted to “take it easy” tonight. Damnit. Art was eating his own words.

“You seem like you know your beer,” Patrick mused, trying to seem nonchalant from behind you. You turned and he had to physically restrain himself from letting his jaw go slack. From a distance you were already something else, but up close, even a ladies man like Patrick would be flustered.

“Not really. I just know when they’ve screwed me giving me more air than actual drink,” you joked, taking the handsome stranger in as you turned around.

“I like a girl who knows what she wants.” It was excessively bold, but Patrick had already downed two pints, quickly going on three, and was feeling ballsy.

He watched as your eyes flitted down then, reading the messily written words on his shirt. You giggled. “Are you really Irish? You don’t have an accent,” you asked then, an eyebrow quirking up as you looked up at him.

“As Irish as you want me to be,” he chuckled before shaking his head. “No, really, I’m like 10% Irish. It hardly counts.”

A smirk flashed across your lips as you shot him a devious look through your lashes. “So I shouldn’t kiss you then?” That left him grasping for words, unsure where to take this. Of course, he wanted to kiss you. But his desperation (and slight drunkenness) was getting in the way of his sarcastic, charming banter.

Just in time, though, Art swooped in, much to Patrick’s dismay. “Hi, uh… I saw you from across the room, I just wanted to come say you’re, uh, really beautiful.” Smooth.

Patrick stifled a chuckle, giving Art a skeptical glance from behind you. Art’s eyes narrowed briefly as he glanced at Patrick, a subtle sign that the game was on, but you didn’t miss it.

“Do you two know each other?” You looked between the two of them, brows furrowing as you took a sip of your drink.

They had to give in, of course. The pair formally introduced themselves, gave you the whole spiel about how they go way back and they both play tennis, and Art was sure to mention that he was there for school (selfishly hoping that would impress you).

“So what are you doing in Ireland,” Art asked, ever the gentleman.

“I’ve taken a semester off of school to travel. I guess I’m sort of seeking new experiences; new opportunities, y’know.” You couldn’t help but notice that as you spoke both of them seemed to be hanging off of every word.

“New experiences, huh,” Patrick repeated, smirking before taking a heavy swig from his drink. He didn’t miss the wink you gave him from over the rim of his glass, but he decided to keep any more comments to himself for the time being.

Art kept the conversation going, mostly because he was drunk too at this point and he didn’t want you to leave. You talked for a while, the pub slowly getting more and more crowded (it was St. Patrick’s Day after all), until you were abruptly run into, causing you to spill your drink all over yourself.

“Fuck,” you cursed, the cold of the drink running down your body and soaking right through (and staining) your now see-through white shirt.

Neither Art nor Patrick knew exactly what to do, but Patrick ran to your rescue immediately, shouting at the guy who had run into you. Art had, more passively, made a break for the bathroom, getting paper towels. It was all no use, though. You were soaked; cold, wet, and uncomfortable. And it was looking like Patrick was on his way to a bar fight.

That’s how the three of you ended up stood outside the bar, you clutching your jacket around your body, Patrick pouting about getting you guys kicked out, and Art feeling sorry that he couldn’t help either of you more.

Patrick moved for his pocket, pulling out his pack of cigarettes and holding it in your direction. Though you didn’t typically smoke, you took one. It had been a night. As Patrick held his lighter up to the end of the cigarette, you two exchanged glances, still lust filled despite the unsavory events that got you here.

All of you sat in silence, taking steady drags off the cigarettes until you laughed, a dry, sarcastic little laugh. “Y’know what’s great?” You looked in their direction. “I don’t even live around here. I came cause I’ve got some friends here, but they all ditched me for their boyfriends and now I’ve got to take the bus home like this,” you spoke frustratedly, looking down at your state. That’s when a sneaky little idea came to Patrick.

“Well, my hotel’s only a 5 minute walk from here. Come shower there, you can dry off and then you can take the bus back to wherever it is,” he nearly insisted. Art shot him a look that you couldn’t quite discern, but Patrick didn’t seem moved by it. “What do ‘ya say? It’s not a bad idea…” he gave you those same puppy dog eyes he had given Art before, and damnit, they really did work. Patrick Zweig could convince the Pope to convert if he wanted to.

“Sure. Yeah, ok, lead the way.” Obviously, you knew deep down that this would not just be some sort of act of convenience and kindness, but hey, you weren't really opposed to that.

On the walk over, Art huddled up close to Patrick, whispering endless questions and concerns. "Dude, what am I supposed to do? Walk of shame back to my place while you get to fuck her?" He snuck a glance back at you trying to make sure you hadn't heard him. Patrick slung an arm around him, though, pulling him in closer.

"Don't you worry, Artie," his tone was mocking, but still somehow reassuring. "Let St. Patrick handle it. I have a feeling both of us will be getting lucky tonight." Art rolled his eyes, absolutely sick of the holiday related talk, but he took it in stride, trusting his friend (against his better judgement). It's not like they hadn't talked about sharing girls before. Maybe it really was that Irish luck that had sent you their way.

Back at Patrick's hotel, which was much nicer than you had expected (it was on his parents' dime, after all), you made a break for the shower, dying to free yourself from the confines of your drenched shirt. While you showered, the guys were talking strategy.

"So if it turns out she is only into one of us, then what," Art asked from the armchair in the corner.

"Then one of us gets to fuck her, obviously. If it comes to it, I'd get out of here for you." Art shakes his head at Patrick's crude words. "But like I said earlier, I think we could both luck out tonight. I mean, she did say she was looking for new experiences after all..."

"Right," Art quipped sarcastically. Both of them in their drunkenness had failed to realize that the water had stopped running, though.

"Imagine the noises she'd make...fuck man. And the way she'd probably give you the best head of your life. You saw her lips, right?"

"Jesus, Patrick, you've gotta stop,” Art sighed, a light laugh escaping though.

"But I'm right, right?" A silence lingered between the two before Art looked to Patrick, a goofy smile painted across his features.

"Yeah. Yeah, you are. I wouldn't make her do that, though. I mean, she seems like she'd be more into receiving than giving anyways, y'know..." And Patrick nodded. He knew exactly what Art meant.

Just then, the bathroom door clicked, making the boys' heads snap back in your direction. Now in only Patrick's t-shirt, which he had promptly stripped off and offered you when you got to the hotel, you padded out of the bathroom.

“Shit, did you hear that,” Art asked, embarrassed. Clearly, he couldn’t have been that embarrassed though, his eyes raking down your bare legs hungrily. Patrick, similarly, took no discretion in ogling you, leaning back and smiling like a cat who got the cream.

“You look good in my shirt, babe.” The nickname was maybe a bit much, but then again, when was Patrick ever afraid of too much?

Taking a seat on the bed, you smiled, looking down at the shirt again, chuckling lightly to yourself.

“You’d look better with it off, though…” he mutters under his breath, loud enough so you could hear it.

One thing led to another and now you, Art, and Patrick were all on the bed, Art kissing your neck and along your jaw while Patrick had lifted up your shirt and was paying close attention to your tits. It was unfamiliar, feeling two sets of lips on you at once, but there was something so euphoric about it too.

“Have you guys done this before-,” a slight gasp escaped your lips, cutting you off. “Shared the same girl?” Art hummed a quick ‘no’ against your skin, but Patrick didn’t even move to speak, only shaking his head ‘no’ as he continued to mouth at your hard nipples.

Patrick pulled away, taking a second to watch the way his best friend sucked at your neck, sure to leave a spot. Call him a cuck, but he felt harder than he’d ever been.

Nestling in behind you, he pulled you in away from Art so you were leaning against his bare chest. He dragged his hands up your waist to your tits, massaging them while placing little kisses along your shoulders. “C’mere Art…” he beckoned. Patrick’s big hands reached down, spreading your legs and holding them open.

Art practically scrambled up to you, a hopeless look in his heavily lidded eyes. You’d lost your shirt long ago, now only in a pair of lacy (soaked) panties.

He pulled them to the side, running a finger through your folds. His fingers were cold causing you to inhale a sharp breath. “Fuck…” he sighed, looking over your shoulder at Patrick. “She’s perfect.” Art slipped your panties down your legs, you helping a bit to kick them off your ankles, and pocketed them, not missing Patrick’s look of impressed approval. He leaned down, then, his fingers returning to your slick heat. He prodded at your hole, pushing one, then two fingers in, the feeling of you tightening around him sending a rush to his cock. He pumped in and out at a rapid pace, making your chest heave and your eyes flutter shut.

He leaned in closer to you, tonguing at your clit, absolutely obsessed with the way you were moaning with your head settled back against Patrick’s shoulder. He licked thick stripes along your pussy, fingers so deep inside you that it was hard to keep your legs spread, squirming and whimpering like a mess. “Fuck, Art… t- too much. M’ gonna… fuck, gonna cum.” That only encouraged him, pressing his face into you with so much dedication. You could feel his nose rub against you as he tongued around your hole, still filled by his fingers. Your hands tangled in his hair while Patrick kissed your neck feverishly, still holding your legs open for Art.

When you came, it was ecstasy. You felt like you were melting into Patrick as you leaned back into him, hips bucking up against Art’s face. Your legs were shaking as Art pulled his fingers out, still sloppily licking into you.

“Okay man, don’t get greedy,” Patrick murmured, pushing Art’s head away boyishly and pulling you up to sit up a little more. You giggled, still a little blissed out but wanting more, wanting to impress them.

“Here,” you started, moving onto all fours. “Let me return the favor.” Art was now in front of you, hard as a rock, while Patrick was left behind you, staring at your glistening pussy. You arched your back a little, ass in the air as you looked back at Patrick. “Well don’t just stand there…”

Patrick found his place behind you, the sound of his zipper coming down music to your ears as you worked on ridding Art of his pants. When you looked up at him, he was blushing, and you couldn’t tell if it was from the alcohol doing it to him or the situation at hand. He let out a shuttered breath when you slid his boxers down, his length slapping up against his stomach.

You bit you lip, eyeing his cock and noting the way his tip was pink and leaking precum. "Artie," you say, looking up at him doe eyed as if you weren't about to get spitroasted by two best friends.

"Y- yeah..." he replied, looking down at you pathetically, mouth hanging open as he waited for your reply.

"It's really pretty," you lilt before licking from the base to the tip. His eyes screw shut immediately and he makes a sound unlike any you'd heard before.

Patrick, clearly over the praise for Art, though, thrusts into you with no warning, bottoming out quickly and leaving you gasping for air. "Fuck, warn a girl next time..." you sigh as he stills, the feeling of being completely full overwhelming, but exciting.

"I'm so good I need a warning? I haven't even started moving, babe." Patrick speaks with a mocking tone, but you eat it up. Art, feeling left out then, reaches for your jaw, guiding your lips to his cock again. Everything he does, he does with a gentle, polite sort of touch, and you can admire that, especially when it's so starkly contrasted by Patrick.

When you finally take Art into your mouth, it's hard to miss the way his abs ripple while his cock twitches. You could tell he was long when you looked at it, but you realize just how long when his tip is forcing itself against your throat.

Unbeknownst to you, the two boys exchange looks, Patrick mouthing a '3...2....1' before they both started moving in tandem. Patrick's pace was quick and you could feel just how big he was by the stretch. Art, as if he wanted to outdo his friend, was now uncharacteristically bullying his cock down your throat. Though in true Art fashion, he combed a hand through your hair slowly, sweetly, as if he wasn't practically defiling you.

You couldn't help but gag, the sound only encouraging the two men. "She's so tight, man. You've gotta feel her pussy," Patrick huffed.

"You...were...right..." Art panted, lost in the feeling of your lips wrapped around him. "It's like she was made for this..." He almost felt guilty for being so crass... almost. But he was nothing if not easily influenced by his friend.

"Oh- she definitely liked that," Patrick slurs. "She's squeezing me so tight man -fuck." His hands were firmly holding your hips in place as the sound of skin slapping filled the room, his pace unrelenting.

And with each thrust from Patrick, you only pushed further down onto Art, now a drooling, gagging mess beneath him. You could hardly tell now, unable to focus in light of the mess being made of you, but Art kept a hand holding your jaw, caressing it even, as if to silently say 'good girl'.

Noticing your squirming, Patrick knew you were close. He reached a hand around to your clit, thumbing at it in swift circles and grunting like a mad man when you tightened around him. "Fuck, you like that baby? I know you're close... shit- I can feel it."

With Art still stuffing your mouth, all you could do was nod rapidly, pushing back onto Patrick now. Feeling him hit that spot over and over again, you lost yourself a bit, legs getting shaky as you moaned and whined around Art's cock. And then it snapped, that tight feeling in your stomach released as you came hard around Patrick's cock.

Patrick, reveling in the feeling, kept thrusting in and out, each thrust getting sloppier and more shallow. "Shit, don't worry babe," he breathed out heavily. "I'll -fuck- I'll pull out." But right as he moved to do so, you pulled off of Art abruptly, turning to face Patrick shaking your head. Your lips were swollen and glimmering as you shook your head desperately at Patrick.

"I'm on the pill," is all you said, turning back to Art then. You kissed at his tip before taking him back, deep down into your throat. When Patrick pushed back in, it was like the first time again. In pulling out for even a few seconds, he'd forgotten how good you felt, how tight and warm and wet you were.

And when Patrick's hips began to stutter, the feeling of him completely overstimulating you, he made sure to look Art right in the eyes. "Fuck," he gasped, staring right at his flushed, sweating friend as he came inside you, filling you up.

The image of Patrick, jaw slack and making eye contact, drove Art over the edge. Without any sort of warning, you could suddenly feel hot ropes of cum shooting down your throat. He pulled out a bit prematurely, some of his cum spurting onto your lips too, but you made sure to look up at him and lick it up like a champ.

"Holy shit..." he mumbled.

"Holy indeed..." Patrick hummed, pulling out and settling on the bed behind you.

Once you were cleaned up, the three of you nestled into bed, you drifting off in their arms quickly, completely spent from the night's activities. Before either boy could fall asleep, though, Patrick startled Art by ruffling a hand through his hair.

"What's that for," Art asked, bewildered.

"I told you St. Patrick would deliver."

MY FAMILY I MISS THEM SO MUCH………

let my hubby out of the house for once!!

DREW STARKEY at the National Board of Review Annual Awards Gala

dating jj maybank coded texts

Rafe x Reader texts

FEARLESS

chapter one. eggs and fist fights

pairing ⇢ rafe cameron x plus size!reader

word count ⇢ 5.2k

warnings ⇢ curse words, mean girl talk, sexual innuendos and gestures, reader being called fatphobic names, fist fight, reading gets roughed up (not as bad as the other girl 🙌)

authors note ⇢ i haven’t written fanfiction in a very long time sadly, but i actually quite like this! sorry if there’s any mistakes, this is all written in between my days, mostly at work while im on break lol. Hope u enjoy!!

social media part at the very end!

Growing up, you were vehemently told you aren’t like other girls. You didn’t paint your nails. You didn’t like makeup. You didn’t like dressing up. You weren’t the size to be like other girls.

But you wanted to be like other girls. You wanted to giggle over a guy that had a crush on you. You wanted to shop at the same trendy places other girls went to. You wanted to follow trends. You wanted to paint your nails. You wanted to put makeup on. But you couldn’t. Your size draws enough attention to you, you can't put makeup on or dress in crop tops like other girls. And that sets you behind a lot.

Like now, your friend is happily giggling about prom. Prom. The night every girl in Kildare Academy has been dreaming of. Where they’ll rent limos, go out to eat at expensive restaurants, go to landmarks and take gorgeous pictures to post on twitter and reminisce about later on in life. But you can’t think of it positively. All those dress fittings. Hair put in updos that will only showcase your round face, dates that you can’t get.

“Jonah’s definitely going to ask me.” The mention of Jonah piques your interest. The stunning looks of your closest friend always catches your breath. Her stunning blue eyes, her perfectly smooth skin that’s always got a natural tan to it, blonde locs that look effortless no matter what she’s been up to.

The day Scarlett decided to be your friend was a day worth remembering. No one wanted to be friends with the weird pogue girl who was suddenly shoved into the Kook world. You had been eating lunch all by yourself for weeks, at the very end of the cafeteria until she came along and told you your jeans were ugly. You thought she was bullying you. But she kept talking. And talking. And you two just stuck.

“Jonah’s asking you to prom?” You speak after a few quiet moments. Jonah Carpenter. The hottest guy in school. The quarterback. The typical high school stereotype. Only, he’s not dating the head cheerleader. Scarlett’s been pining after Jonah since the eighth grade but the guy was always in his own world to pay attention to any girls.

And maybe that’s what drew you in. He wasn’t like the other guys in the academy. He cared about his grades. He gave his all to the sport he was passionate about. He wasn’t about lame hookups and harsh words like the other guys on the football team. He smiled at you while others sneered. He didn’t see you at all. Which is a lot better than the way other guys see you. You prefer it this way, even if late at night you picture romantic scenarios that you would die to share with him.

Scarlett nods, fixing her lip gloss using the mirror in her locker. Her makeup is flawless as usual, which sends another pang of envy to you. “I’ve been in his DM’s for weeks. I think I’m breaking down his walls.”

Your eyebrows rise at this. “He actually responded to you?” The look she sends you makes you tense. “I don’t mean it in a bad way, Scar. He’s just… him, you know? The last girlfriend he had was in the seventh grade.”

Scarlett shakes her head, waving you off, your words going in one ear and out the other. “I just have to wear him down. Men don’t know what they want until a woman tells them.”

Your nose scrunches at her words, reminding you of your mother. But you can’t say it didn’t work. She was a poor teen mom from the cut one day and married to the second richest man on the island the next. And there’s no better hustler than your mother.

“Don’t look at me like that,” she scoffs as she shuts her locker and pulls the strap of her bag up some more on her shoulder. “Look, you said it, he’s him. He’s a little dimwitted and oblivious.” You want to fight her words. He’s not. He’s smart. And kind. But it’d seem silly to do so. You’ve never had a single conversation with him and she’d point it out to you. “He just needs to realize I’m the girl for him.”

“Right.” You try to hide the judgement in your voice as the two walk side by side. The bell signaling the end of the day had rang a while ago but Scarlett had to stay behind for a cheer team meeting and she was your ride. Scarlett’s talking about god knows what as you make it out of the prestigious school, the sun belting down on the two of you.

The plaid uniform skirt you’re forced to wear blows in the wind but you pay no mind to it. You wear your uniform the way that an upright teacher would present to the school as a good example. Frumpy. Scarlet accessorizes her uniform. She rolls her skirt up at the top, showcasing her long and pretty legs. Cute buttons on her shirt that fits her perfectly.

“Sarah!” Scarlett’s loud and chirpy voice pulls you out of your thoughts. Sarah Cameron. Kook Princess. The perfect example of another effortlessly beautiful girl in Kildare. Sarah’s stunning hair blows with the wind as she waves to the two of you. You don’t respond, not when it’s meant for Scarlett.

The two of you walked over to the girl who was standing with her own friends. Her smile is bright and endearing, yours is awkward as you stand with her and your best friend. “Did you see the prom announcement?!” Scarlett squeals happily. “God, I’m so excited! Are you bringing Topper?”

Sarah shrugs and that catches your attention. They’ve been the talk of the academy for weeks. The top couple. The IT couple. They had been flirting for a while and made it official just a month ago. Scarlett had complained about it. Said the title should be for her as the head cheerleader. “Ugh, what? Are you guys fighting? But you’re so cute!” Her voice makes that high pitched tone that tells you she’s lying. She vies for the attention and title that Sarah holds.

“What about you?” You stare at her blankly until Scarlett nudges your side. This snaps you out of it, eyes widening for a split second.

“Uhm… sorry, were you talking to me?” You ask a little loudly, clearing your throat awkwardly.

Sarah lets out an amused laugh, nodding. “Duh, are you going to prom?”

You’re about to answer but Scarlett beats you to it. “No, she’s not. It’s not her thing, like, at all. I think she’s allergic to makeup.”

Your eyebrows furrow at her rude words, the energy turning awkward as Sarah looks between the two of you with a curious look. “Well… your thing can change, right? I hope to see—“

A loud honk of a car horn makes you jump in your spot, eyes turning to the source. “Sarah, get your ass in the car!” A strong voice calls out to the girl you were speaking to. A familiar grey truck was pulled in the parking lot, engine still running but the windows down to get a good view of the man.

Rafe Cameron.

Your mother tells you to get together with a rich Kook every single day. Begs you of it, actually. But Rafe is out of bounds. He’s trouble. Danger. Too much baggage, she whispers to you at Kook events. His reputation follows him like a shadow. Coke head. Drinker. Parties too much. Always at odds with his family.

You spoke to him once. You didn’t share many classes with him because he was two years ahead of you but your mandatory Spanish class was a mixture of all the grades. He asked for a pencil. He didn’t ask, actually, reached for the pencil on your desk and said he would be using it. You’ve silently held that against him for two years.

“Wait, Rafe!” Sarah yells back to him and it stuns you how little she cares about the eyes on her.

“Stop chit chatting and get the fuck in!” He yells back. You feel incredibly awkward. Maybe it’s the fact that you never had any siblings but this feels too… private to be doing out in public.

Scarlett and you share a look, one that speaks many words between the two of you. “Why are you being a dick?!” Sarah’s words make you speak up.

“Uhm… we should go.” You take a hold of Scarlett’s arm but she shakes her head as she scrolls through her phone.

“Fuck, one of the girls needs my help on our routine.” These words make you frown.

“But you’re my ride.” You sigh.

“You can ride with me.” Sarah’s words send a shiver of fear down your spine. The idea of getting in a car with Rafe Cameron terrified you.

“N-no, that’s fine. Really, I’ll—“ Scarlett interrupts you. Again.

“Don’t be silly, ___, you live too far to walk. Just accept.”

Sarah nods with a kind smile as she loops her arm with yours as if you two were friends. But you can’t be mean. Sarah starts dragging you away and you look back at Scarlett with a look of fear. You mouth a few words to her, begging her to save you. She just laughs you off, making a lewd motion with her two hands and mouth. You regret every telling her about your one sided beef with Rafe, now she’s running with it.

“Sarah, really, I’m fine.” You try to beg her. “I can, I can call my step-dad, really.”

“No, no, no need to bother him when my brother can take you home.”

Your heart stops when you stop at his car door. “You’re taking my friend home.”

You hear him scoff. “I’m not a fucking Uber.”

“Don’t be a fucking asshole, she lives far away.”

“I don’t give a fuck, Sarah. Get in.”

“Not unless she can.”

“Oh my god—“

“You’re gonna let a girl walk all the way home by herself and possibly be murdered—“

“Holy shit, shut the fuck up and get in the car! Both of you!”

You’re tense as you get in his truck. Your hands shake as you put your seatbelt on, unsure of what to say or what to do. This is the most awkward and anxiety inducing situation you’ve ever been put in. “Where do you live?” He questions roughly making you look up at him with a look of fear. He’s looking straight ahead at the road as he starts driving off.

“H-Hill-Hillary Hills.” The second biggest house in the OBX. Of course, the Cameron’s own the biggest. They own the biggest everything. Like yourself, your step-father seems to be in one sided competition with a Cameron.

This makes him look up into his rear view mirror and for the first time in the last two years, you two make eye contact. His eyes are strong, holding what seems to be very little emotion. You feel put on the spot, like there’s a limelight on you. You tear your eyes away and let them flitter around his truck.

“Your mom’s that MILF that’s always hitting on everyone?” A frown immediately falls onto your lips at his words, feeling the anxiety waft through you in waves.

“Rafe, are you fucking serious?” Sarah snaps at her older brother as you bite your bottom lip over how damn shitty that feels.

You can hear Rafe scoff but you can’t look at him. You want to be let out of this damn truck. You can’t breathe.

“Shit, I didn’t know you’d be sensitive about it. My bad.” His words feel like glass in your skin. You need to leave.

Sarah wants to cut the tension, clearly, so she speaks up. “Scarlett’s kind of a bitch.”

You shrug gently, hands holding onto the seat belt tight. “She can be… but she means well.”

You can feel his eyes on you as he speaks. “Who’s Scarlett?”

“Mind your business.” Sarah snaps at him before smiling over at you. “If I tell you something, would you hate me?”

Your eyebrows furrow at this. There’s a part of you that doesn’t want to hear it. It can’t be any good. But your curiosity wins. You nod, urging her to go on. “She was talking shit about you last week.”

Your blood runs cold. Your face falls and you’re sure you look unbelievably pale. Your best friend. The girl you thought was by your side, always, isn’t? “What did she say?” You ask with a small clear of your throat.

Sarah bites her bottom lip nervously as her eyes flicker around your face. “Do you really want to know what she said?”

You nod, trying your hardest not to look over at Rafe who’s eyes keep flickering over to you through the rear view mirror. “She said you were a scared loser who was just dragging her down. Said something about how you… you let your insecurities slow you down.”

“Jesus, Sarah.” You’re surprised to hear Rafe speak up about this.

She scoffs and smacks his arm. “It’s not like I said it about her. I actually defended you.” She looks over at you with a sad smile.

“Is… is that all she said?” Maybe you were naive to think that she really was your friend. But five years of constant hangouts, sleepovers, and long talks, you thought she’d feel something for you.

“I don’t feel comfortable repeating the other things she said.” Sarah admits and your stomach churns. You need to throw up.

“Now that shits gonna eat her up alive. Just tell her, instigator.” You can’t even pay attention to Rafe as he speaks.

“She said you were a big bitch who could crush anyone you come near. I mean… I think she meant the last part metaphorically. Oh my god, I’m horrible. I swear I don’t… I don’t think of you as—“

But you laugh. You laugh out loud. You can’t help it. The fucking irony. She spent countless nights crying to you about how she feels like a failure. How she can’t do anything in life correctly. And she thinks you crush people? She’s a fucking vulture and you can’t stop laughing.

Rafe and Sarah share a look before turning back to you. “You’re insane.” Rafe is the one to say such a thing to you but you can’t stop.

“Holy shit,” you cackle, wiping the tears of laughter that had fallen. You can’t even find it in yourself to be sad. You’re mad. You're enraged. You went around defending her, loving her and supporting her and she goes around and talks shit about you? You’re not sure you’ve ever felt anger like this. “That’s fucking hilarious.”

“I… I don’t know what to say.” You can tell the girl is being honest and you just nod and shrug. This visibly confused Sarah. “What are you gonna do about it?”

“Nothing.” Is your plain and simple answer. What are you supposed to do? Fight her? Trash talk her on social media? There’s nothing you can do.

Rafe’s loud scoff reverberates throughout the truck. “Your best friend was talking shit about you and you’re not going to do a single goddamn thing?”

Your attention turns to him, eyes meeting through his rearview mirror before he focuses on the road. “What am I supposed to do?”

Rafe sighs like this is a problem for him. As if he’s in your position. This bothers you. To have him be so bothered for you and annoyed at you is irksome. And if you were a bigger person, you’d speak up. But you’re not, so you stay silent.

“Scarlett Hillcrest, right?”

Sarah confirms his question by nodding. And he makes a u-turn. This raises some alarms within you. “What are you doing?” You speak in an almost panic.

“We just passed her house.”

“How do you know where Scarlett lives?” Sarah questions her brother in the front seat.

He shrugs and speaks nonchalantly. “I hooked up with her sister.”

Sarah makes a dramatic gagging sound and pretends to throw up all over his truck. A small smile finds its way to your lips at the drama she exudes. You never thought Sarah would be so… funny.

Rafe pulls up the house that you spent countless days inside of. The place where you ate dinner with her parents and siblings. Where you shared your deepest and darkest secrets to each other. And you start to feel that sadness creeping in. But it’s shoved away when Rafe tosses something at you and luckily, you catch it in time.

“Is this an egg?” The question tumbles out with a ludicrous tone.

“Why do you have eggs in your car?” Sarah laughs as she grabs a few as well.

Rafe shrugs lamely, “Rose made me pick some up on the way to pick you up.” The cars fully stopped moving and Rafe’s looking at you. He’s not glaring. Or trying to get a read of you. He’s just looking at you. And this oddly makes you feel confident. At this moment, he’s on your side. The scariest guy in all of Kildare is going to help you egg your ex-best friend's house. “Ready?”

And for the first time in your pathetic and less than thrilling life, you speak with confidence. “I’m ready.”

Your hand meets his as he helps you out of the truck, feet touching the ground, ugly plaid skirt fluttering around you. Sarah is snickering behind you, happily tagging along. The three of you don’t walk too far from his truck, for a quicker run back into it. “You should do the honors.” Sarah smiles at you. A genuine smile. Unlike the smiles that Scarlett gave you, full of pity and contempt.

You stare at the colonial home. The perfect lawn. The sunflowers and tulips that the two of you had planted to placate her mother about getting some sun. You two had giggled the afternoon away, even throwing some soil at each other and having to hose off outside. It was all fake. And a rage overcomes you. You grab two eggs and you throw them at her house. They land in two gross splats high up on her walls.

You laugh. A real and infectious laugh as Sarah tags along and starts throwing more and more eggs along with you. It’s surprising to you that even Rafe is egging this house alongside you and his sister. There’s a small turn to his lips but you can’t decipher whether it’s a real smile or not.

You don’t realize how close to the house you’ve gotten until the front door is swung open and out comes Scarlett’s mother. “Hey, you imbeciles!” She screeched.

“Fuck! Run! Run! Run!” Sarah laughs as you all turn and start running back to Rafe’s truck. Sarah easily jumps into the backseat of his truck and you’re almost there with her. At the last second, your shoe slips off and you land on the floor. You can’t even feel embarrassed as you turn to see that her mother is gaining on you guys.

The last thing you expected was a pair of strong arms around you, lifting you up. Actually lifting you up off the floor. It’s not just a tug. Rafe Cameron has picked you up off the floor, your feet not touching the floor. You have no time to think about this any longer when he helps you in the car. He slams the door and you see him disappear for a second before climbing into the driver's seat and speeding off. You turn in your seat and manage to see Mrs. Hillcrest run off into the street and shout at the leaving truck.

“That was…” Sarah breaks the silence. “So much fucking fun!” She starts loudly laughing.

Your heart is beating hard and fast. And for the first time in a long time, you’re not anxious. You don’t feel bad. You feel good. So damn good. Laughter begins to bubble out of you and the two of you fall into each other in a complete fit. You two can barely talk in between the laughter but you still share funny anecdotes, your sides aching.

A familiar shoe falls into your lap and you look up and over at Rafe who you had genuinely forgotten was there. “Feel better?” Your eyes meet his again and you don’t feel nervous like before. You don’t want to run away. Being in his truck feels freeing, no longer suffocating.

“Way better.” Your smile is bright as you answer him.

—

You had blocked Scarlett on every platform you had her on, severing all ties. You had cried while doing it when the adrenaline of egging her house left your body. To have someone you cared for deeply not care for you at all was a pain you never wanted to experience again.

Getting to school that morning filled you with dread but it had to be done. The idea of being alone, of no longer having her by your side was scary but you didn’t have that little self-respect. She hated you while all you did was love her. It was embarrassing.

“Uhm, what the fuck?” Scarlett had been leaning on your locker, standing up straight as she saw you. Her face is twisted up in confusion and anger. “You fucking blocked me on everything?”

You sigh as you stand across from her, a hand holding onto the strap of your backpack unbelievably tight. It feels like your only lifeline right now. “That’s what one does when you find out your friend is a lying bitch.” The words just slip out of you. You can’t control them. You can’t hold back. Not anymore.

Scarlett’s eyes widen and she gapes her mouth, like a fish out of water. Usually, you’d rush to her. Take care of her when she’s like this. But you can’t, not without looking even more pathetic. “What does that even mean? What the fuck did I do?”

“It means that I won’t drag you down anymore.” You throw her words back at her. “This big and insecure bitch won’t bother you anymore. Sound familiar?”

It visibly takes Scarlett a few seconds to catch up to what you’re saying. And you see her face fall. And for a second, you feel bad. And then she speaks. “What? Come on, I said that out of anger. You pissed me off that morning and I was just venting.”

“That’s how you vent about your best friend?” You scoff, the pity you felt for a moment being crushed and dusted away. “By calling her fat? Spewing hate about her?”

“Don’t act like you haven’t done the same.”

“I haven’t!” You snap, the anger now radiating off of you. People are watching now. Trying to get a good listen. “I’ve never talked badly about you because you were my best friend! Did you get on my nerves? Obviously, that’s bound to happen when you spend every day together but I’ve never disrespected you or called you names to others!”

“Okay, I get it.” Scarlett’s eyes nervously look around the two of you, clearly not wanting anyone to get into it with people around. “Look, I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t mean for you to find out.”

You’re looking at the girl you held so close to your heart and you don’t recognize her any longer. All those days together catch up to you. Her snide remarks about your choice of meal at restaurants. The digs about how she can share clothes with her other friends. Her skinny friends. You had romanticized your friendship because you were scared of not having any. “That’s what you’re sorry for? You’re sorry that I found out you were talking shit about me?”

“Well…” she sighs loudly, crossing her arms over her chest defensively. “What do you want me to say? I was angry. It just came out!” Now it’s clear that they’re arguing and everyone has stopped to watch.

And you feel that wave of anger coming back. All the love. All the memories. They’re squashed. Looking around at the group, you let out a scoff. You point to a girl in your math class. “She calls you Tammy DumpTruck.” You point to a guy. “She calls you pepperoni.” She points to another girl. “She made out with your boyfriend and then lied to you when you cried to her.” Your eyes meet Jonah, his green eyes watching you the entire time. “And she doesn’t really like you. She's just using you because she thinks being with the quarterback will up her social status. She called you dimwitted and oblivious yesterday!”

Scarlett scoffs loudly, laughing. “Are you fucking kidding me? I call you a mean name and you start fucking exposing me?” She shoves your shoulder, your back back falling to the ground in a loud thud. There are murmurs around the two of you, no doubt already gossiping about the mean crap you exposed. “You think you’re so fucking innocent? You sat and listened to it all! Not once did you stand up for them while I said all this shit!”

Angrily, you shove her shoulders right back, her bag falling to the floor now. “Because you would bully me too! What the fuck was I supposed to do? You kept me on a leash like a fucking puppy!”

She shoves you again. “Oh, shut up, whiney bitch! You loved being my puppy! It’s the only way anyone ever knew you existed! You’d be nothing without me! You *are* nothing without me! Leaving my side is going to be the worst thing you’ve ever done! You’re gonna be a fucking weirdo loser with no friends!”

You shove her again and she’s pushed up against the lockers. She’s enraged but so are you. And there’s loud cheering around you two. “Fight! Fight! Fight!” Kids chant.

“And you’re going to be a trophy wife who will never achieve anything in life!” You yell right back at her. Low blow. She would tell you that was her biggest fear. But she knew yours too and she used it to talk behind your back. In your angered and muddled head, this was an eye for an eye. “You better enjoy the rest of your high school career because that’s the only time you’ll ever matter!”

“You stupid skank!” And hands are flying. She pushes you, smacking you. You shove her off of you and manage to get her to fall onto the floor, only she drags you with her. Now, the two of you are punching each other. Pulling hair. Scratching. You feel a pair of arms wrap around you while someone else tugs Scarlett off of you.

Scarlett’s screeching like a wild animal, wanting to be let go to keep fighting you. She's got a few scratches on her face, lip and nose bleeding. And you’re not any better, the same scratches, hair wild and your single nostril bleeding.

“Fake bitch!” You call out as you’re dragged away from her.

—

The sound of the phones ringing in the office is what’s keeping you at bay. The principal had called your mother but she didn’t pick up. Now, your step-father is on his way over to pick you up and sign a form to solidify your two week suspension. You’re not scared of your step-father. He’s more scared of you than anything but you are scared of your mother finding out. And you’re not ready whatsoever.

A soft voice breaks you out of your thoughts. “You look like you need this.” You look up and meet the pair of green eyes you’ve fantasized over.

Jonah is smiling softly at you. His plump lips turned up. Eyes crinkled gently. A wave of nervousness washes over you and you can’t speak as he holds out an ice pack for you. Shakily, you take it and place it on your forehead, the tender part that’s already bruising.

“Did she really say all that?” He breaks the silence as he stays standing across from where you sit on the office chair.

Gently, you nod. “Y-yeah.” Your voice cracks but you’re too tired and aching to care about it.

“Woah… I knew she wasn’t nice but I didn’t think she was a… bully.” He lets out a shaky laugh. You can’t look away from him while he speaks, not until he looks at you and you divert your eyes.

“Yeah… uhm… I didn’t even realize how shitty she was until… until yesterday.” You comment, leg bouncing up and down.

He takes this as his sign to take a seat next to you. You slowly scoot away from him, feeling shy and exposed with him. Even more so knowing that he saw it all. And how you spoke to him.

“I just… it’s funny that she thinks I’m the oblivious one, you know? She kept flirting with me through DM’s and I kept rejecting her and she wouldn’t take a hint. It was just kind of ironic.”

You snort out a laugh. “Yeah. Tell me about it. She got mad that I used her insecurity against her but I was supposed to be fine with her using mine.”

He exhales another small laugh. “Yeah. You guys… are ruthless.”

A small grin falls onto your lips, bringing the ice pack to your bruised lip to hide it from him. It’s silent again. It’s awkward. He clears her throat and speaks again, “I thought it was cool.”

You glance over at him with raised brows, breath quickening when his green eyes meet yours. “What you did. I thought it was cool.” The way his eyes flicker across her face, taking her in, makes her leg bounce more.

“Your mother is going to kill you.” The sound of your step-fathers voice cuts through your shared moment with Jonah.

Quickly, you hop up out of your chair and rush up to him. “Oh my god, Anthony. There has to be a way we can hide this. Please. Please. She’s going to murder me. This beating is going to be nothing compared to what she’ll do to me.”

The older man sighs loudly, rubbing the empty spot between his eyebrows. “Honey, your face is… messed up. God, how good did that little snob get you?” His hand falls to your chin, moving your head around to take a good look at the damage.

You scoff at his words and jokingly bring your fists up as if prepared to fight him. “You should see her face. More busted than mine.”

He rolls his eyes but there’s a playful smile on his face. “Okay, Ninja, let’s go.”

social media part!

✰ 𝐭𝐞𝐱𝐭𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝!𝐣𝐣

— silly texts between you and your best friend, jj maybank

rating: sfw — cw: none — links: part one • part two

 personapeters 2024 — all rights reserved • masterlist

GIRL OF THE SEA | Rafe Cameron

MASTERLIST (Blurb)

Pairing – Rafe x Mermaid!Female Reader

Summary — After leaving the Island Club, Rafe hadn't expected to find a mermaid on the beach.

Word Count — 1.0K

Content — fluff, mentions of nakedness.

Dedication — to @erwinsvow whom I talked about this concept months ago, and to The Little Mermaid (2023) movie that's currently playing at the corner of my screen as I write this.

Rafe hadn’t expect to find you.

Half-past eleven, he was leaving the Island Club and found intrigue in the distance. A glimmer against the harsh currents, banging against the coastline. He hadn’t given it much thought—until it looked like the sea was glowing like stardusts had fallen into the ocean.

Drunk, he trekked down the valleys of the beach, slipped against the coarse sand, and made his way to the shoreline. He hadn’t expected much—perhaps it was a mirage, a trick of his sight—but what he found was completely out of his realm of predictions.

It was you.

Naked.

Your legs stretched across the wet sand, your body bare of any fabric, saved for seashells covering your breasts. Your hair was damp, freshly pulled from the ocean, and your fingers traced the skin of your thighs, mesmerized, as if you had never seen such a thing.

Because you hadn’t.

You were a mermaid, sworn to keep away from the surface world, to stay off humans. But you were fascinated—you saw the Island Club’s fireworks, the twinkles in the sky, and the bare beach, voided of humans, voided of predators, that you just wanted a taste for it yourself.

Somehow, you pulled to the coast, dragged your tail against the sand, pulled your weight till it found dry land. Afterward, with permission of a secret potion, you digested the ingredients and shifted into legs. Human legs. You gasped at the fascination of it being attached to your own, that they were yours to control.

Rafe followed the trail. He saw the thick tail outlined against the sodden sand, before being transformed into a pair of legs. It looked odd, but he wasn’t going to assume mermaids; he always thought they were a myth, a folktale.

He just thought you were crazy.

“Hello?” Rafe asks with a slur of his words, blinking in surprise at your lack of modesty. You look up, eyes twinkling, and a smile curves at your lips. You don’t have a sense of danger, a sense of fear for the humans everyone warned you about.

Instead, you were intrigued, your eyes trailing down the length of Rafe’s body, the way he held the bottle of beer in his hands. You don’t have that back in the ocean.

“Legs,” you point at him, and for a second, Rafe grows self-conscious.

“What?” He gapes.

“You have legs,” you repeat, a grin broadening your face with childlike wonder. Your fingers shifts, pointing at yourself. “Me too! Isn’t it wonderful?”

Rafe assumes you’re high. That you’ve taken something from the Pogues, and you’re here, in the middle of the beach, alone, naked, with no consideration other than the fact that you had legs. Whatever you took, he wants a taste of it himself.

But it’s also odd. Because you didn’t look intoxicated. Your eyes are a little wild, but that’s from enthusiasm, from curiosity, not from narcotics. They’re clear, they’re wide, and they’re wrinkled with this spark of joy Rafe had never seen in a human before.

“Yeah,” Rafe drawls slowly, “Yeah, they’re good.”

You beam, your hands propping your upper body on the sand as you attempt to pull yourself up. On the first try, you fell miserably, landing harshly against the coarse grains, and an oomph leaves your throat. Rafe winces at the sight, at the pain you must endure, but all you do is laugh.

You’re laughing because you never done this before.

You try again, but your knees buckle under your weight. Gravity, it seems, is against you. But you’re resilient. You pull yourself up, several times if necessary, so you can finally use the opportunity to walk on land as you always dreamed of.

You fall again.

“Alright, alright,” Rafe steps forward, and wraps his arm around your waist, helping to your feet. “Come on, Bambi, it ain’t that hard,” he says in a light tone, and you smile.

“It’s new,” you confess in a soft, sirened whisper.

“Yeah?” He asks, turning to you, your face centimeters from his. The glow of your expression is enchanting, like all the right proportions, all the right features that Rafe had always seen in a woman. It steals his breath away. “This your first time walkin’?”

You grin, “Isn’t it amazing?”

“Yeah, yeah, amazing,” he shakes his head, holding you upright, as you slowly find your footing. Your feet touch the sand, and it sinks under your weight, grains trickling between your toes. Toes, things you’ve never had before, and you wiggle them. Oh, it feels glorious.

“Good?” Rafe asks, recognizing now that it’s not going to be easy helping you out of this beach. He isn’t sure if you’re not drunk, if you’re not doped up, but he is sure that there’s absolutely no way you’re in the right state of mind to tell him which direction is your home.

He has to take you back to Tannyhill.

But he can’t if you’re completely naked, hidden modesty behind two shells that look like they were strung together from a costume.

He has to help.

He doesn’t know why he wants to.

Shrugging off his jacket, Rafe steadily lets you go to cover you up. Thankfully, the jacket falls mid-thigh, covering up the essentials so that you won’t get arrested for public indecency.

You feel the weight of the fabrics on your shoulders, unfamiliar, but not unwelcome. It’s a luxury to receive items like these, to cover yourself up, and it’s only done in the case of mating.

You turn to him, loose strands of hair falling over your face, delicately dancing over your eyes, in a way that makes you have this innocence, natural beauty. “Where I come from, this is considered a marriage proposal,” you declare, using your arms to wrap around his bicep, using Rafe as a walking crunch.

The corner of his mouth lips, amused. “Yeah?”

You nod. “Yes.”

“Let’s get you covered up first, and we can talk about that later.”

You nod, agreeing, and as you plant a small kiss on his cheek, Rafe pulls you inland, across his beach, to his car, and back to Tannyhill.

He’ll figure out everything later.

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