Hello lovelies, welcome to my blog! I’m a chatty Communication graduate (!) with lots to ramble talk about so, feel free to chat with me over similar interests!
I absolutely love reading fanfiction so, I decided to make a fic library for some of my favorite works from the lovely writers out here so, all fics linked below are not mine! If you come across this, I hope you enjoy them as much as I did, and give love to these lovely and talented writers! I’m most likely to update this every month if you want to keep posted :>
Note: Some works are rated 18+ so minors please be responsible of the content you view and do not interact when warned!
pairing – husband!rafe cameron x wife!reader
summary – a violent coughing fit, one terrified husband and a tiny late-night visitor carrying her most prized possession.
warnings – illness, intense coughing fit, temporary difficulty catching breath, chest and rib pain, fever, sleep disruption, sickbed cuddling, family fluff
notes from me – probably slightly out of character for rafe but IDC!! i've woken myself up coughing every night for the last week so i wrote this for me and me only
word count – 1.2k
navigation – masterlist |
The cough drags her awake so violently she doesn’t understand where she is at first. One second she’s asleep beneath the heavy warmth of the duvet, face turned into Rafe’s pillow because hers has somehow ended up on the floor, and the next she’s folded forward with one hand braced against the mattress, coughing hard enough that her ribs seem to pull inward around it.
It comes from somewhere low and ugly in her chest, each breath catching halfway before another cough tears through, wet and barking and impossible to get ahead of.
Her eyes flood immediately. She tries to swallow, tries to breathe through her nose, but there’s nothing graceful available to her body anymore. Only coughing, gasping, coughing again, her hair falling into her face while the dark bedroom blurs around the water in her eyes.
Rafe wakes all at once. His hand lands between her shoulder blades before his eyes seem properly open, broad and warm through the thin cotton of her sleep shirt.
“Oh, baby,” he says, voice rough with sleep and immediate alarm. “Jesus.”
She would tell him she’s fine if she could force enough air around the cough to lie convincingly. Instead, she makes a horrible spluttering sound that causes his other hand to close around her upper arm, steadying her while she curls farther over herself.
“Easy,” he murmurs. His palm moves slowly up and down her back, never patting, never thumping at her, just following the cramped movement of her lungs beneath the fabric. “Breathe when you can. Don’t fight it.”
She coughs until her throat burns and her stomach muscles begin to shake with the effort. Every attempt at an inhale catches against something thick in her chest and turns into another fit, her forehead nearly touching her knees while Rafe stays beside her, one hand rubbing between her shoulders and the other keeping her upright.
It finally begins to loosen by degrees. One cough instead of four. A breath that reaches almost all the way in. Another smaller cough that scrapes painfully through her throat before leaving her hunched and watery-eyed, gulping the cold bedroom air like she’s been underwater.
“Holy shit,” she groans.
Rafe’s hand slides to the back of her neck, thumb pressing into the damp hair there. “Yeah. Sounded real healthy.”
She turns her head enough to glare at him, which only starts another cough, though this one is short and miserable rather than life-threatening. Rafe’s mouth tightens immediately, the joke disappearing from his face as he reaches across her for the water on the nightstand.
“Here.”
She takes two careful sips. The water hurts going down, cold against the raw strip of her throat, but it settles something enough that she can breathe without her chest rattling quite so dramatically.
Rafe watches every swallow. He flew home from Charleston that afternoon after Banks called him from school and casually mentioned that she’d fallen asleep sitting upright at the kitchen island while waiting for the kettle to boil.
By six, Rafe had been through the front door with his suitcase still in one hand, furious at the entire household for not having informed him sooner and especially furious at her for using the phrase little cold over the phone.
Now he puts the glass down and shifts behind her. “C’mere. Lean back.”
“I’m disgusting,” she mutters, wiping beneath her eyes with the heel of her palm.
“You’re my wife.”
“That doesn’t answer what I said.”
“Yeah, it does.” Rafe braces himself higher against the headboard, rearranging the pillows behind his shoulders with one irritated shove, then guides her carefully onto her side against his chest. “Come on.”
She lets him move her, he settles her with her cheek beneath his collarbone and one arm curved around her waist, his body propped at enough of an angle that she’s almost sitting up while still lying against him. His hand returns to her back, moving in slow circles now, warm through the shirt.
The position opens her chest slightly. She exhales and feels some of the pressure ease, though every rib still aches as if the children have spent the week kicking her from the inside rather than coughing directly into her face.
“Better?” Rafe asks.
“Mhm.”
“That mean yes?”
“It means stop making me talk.”
His mouth presses into her hair. “Bossy when you’re dying.”
“Not dying.”
“You scared the shit out of me.”
She feels the admission in the way his arm tightens around her. Rafe has never been particularly talented at fear unless he can disguise it as annoyance, household management or yelling at an airline employee until they find him an earlier flight.
Before she can answer, a soft sound comes from the hallway. Bare feet against wood. Slow, uneven little pats, followed by the faint scrape of something being dragged behind them.
Their bedroom door pushes open by several inches, and Lila appears in the gap with her hair flattened on one side and her stuffed rabbit hanging from one hand by an ear. “Mama?”
Rafe’s palm stills against her back. “Mama’s okay, baby. She’s just got that same cold you had last week, remember?”
Lila stands there considering this, small and solemn in pink pyjamas patterned with strawberries. Then she crosses the room without invitation and begins climbing onto the bed, knees and elbows everywhere.
Rafe catches her beneath the arms before she can plant one directly into his wife’s spine. “Careful.”
“I am careful,” Lila whispers loudly, offended by the accusation.
“Sure.”
She crawls across Rafe’s legs and holds the rabbit toward her mother. “For Mama.”
Her chest aches for a different reason now. She takes the rabbit and lays it against herself, its fur worn thin around the nose from three years of being loved aggressively. “Thank you, sweet girl.”
Lila tucks herself into Rafe’s other side, fitting beneath his arm as though the space has been left there specifically for her. She reaches across him to pat the rabbit where it rests on her mother’s chest, her small hand landing with grave little taps. “Sleep, Mama.”
A laugh escapes her and catches painfully at the back of her throat. “Thanks, baby. I will.”
Rafe looks down at both of them, his wife wrecked and fever-warm against one side, his youngest daughter wedged beneath the other with one foot already shoved under his thigh. Then he bends to kiss the top of Lila’s head before pressing another kiss into his wife’s hair.
Neither of them minds the crowding. Banks is fourteen now and reacts to physical affection as though his parents are attempting to embarrass him for their entertainment. Marlowe, at ten, will still lean against her mother during movies but insists she is absolutely not cuddling and usually puts a cushion between them as protection.
Lila still comes running. She still offers the most important thing she owns when somebody is sick and climbs into their bed without asking whether she’s wanted there.
She closes her eyes, the rabbit soft beneath her hand and Rafe’s chest rising steadily behind her. His palm resumes its slow path over her back while Lila’s breathing begins to deepen against his side, the three of them propped awkwardly beneath the blankets like a badly assembled piece of furniture.
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What if Steve Rogers left you for Peggy? And it’s okay now, because you’re very happily engaged to Bucky. In fact, you think maybe the universe just had a really strange way of bringing you both together. That your souls were intertwined from the very start. The trauma bond that was Steve Rogers abandoning you is the spark that ignited the flame.
But now, he stands before you both after all these years in the New Avengers tower. In your home. You’re not sure why or how. And all your anger and grief that you’ve buried is bubbling up to the surface. But you know you’re all going to have to work together, even if you hate him with everything you have.
Modern AU where Eddie rides a little viral moment into a music career, becomes one of the biggest acts in music...and now he's being trolled online.
There is a guy across social media platforms who comments under everything Eddie posts with a little 'Eddie Munson Fun Fact.'
It's very annoying because these facts range between mundane to embarrassing, and they're all true. This is clearly someone who is from Hawkins and went to school with him but Eddie has no idea who it could be.
Their profile picture is a poorly made ice cream cone and all their non-Eddie related posts are about StarCourt Mall conspiracies.
He'll post a little thank you to the fans or give updates on show dates, and without fail, Ice Cream Guy is there like, Fun Fact: Eddie Munson is a three time senior.
Fun Fact: Eddie Munson fell off a cafeteria table into a trash can once.
Fun Fact: Eddie Munson is a String. Cheese. Hater.
This guy is trying to get him canceled by Big Cheese.
Eddie's label hates him but his fans like him so Eddie kinda just deals with it because the engagement is good.
And then Eddie comes out.
He lets the whole world know he likes men and Ice Cream Guy is the first to comment under the post like, Fun Fact: I knew it.
Followed by: Fun Fact: Eddie Munson has a crush on me.
Eddie comments back: Prove it
Ice Cream Guy replies: Fun Fact: Ask me on a date first, freak
Eddie replies: How would I know it's you if I don't know who you are??
Ice Cream Guy says: You'll know.
Eddie's fan eat this up. They start bringing ice cream to his shows. They start making ice cream themed fan merch. They're drawing NSFW fan art of Eddie with a sentient ice cream cone.
Nothing really comes from this interaction and hype died down until one day, Eddie posts a photo of him and Steve 'The Hair' Harrington with the caption, Fun Fact: He was right.
summary: rafe takes you back to the cameron house, though you don't get many answers about why he needs to go there. you decide to explore the rest of the place and find yourself face to face with one of the dead
cw: zombie apocalypse and all associated warnings, zombie killing described in detail, mention and use of knives/guns,
AN: this is a rewrite of the second chapter. the original version can still be found linked on the masterlist
chapter two: you kill your first zombie ✿ 1.5k words
°˖✧✿✧˖°
The house is quiet when Rafe opens the door, but he knows better than to assume it’s empty.
You trail slowly behind him, unaware (or uncaring) of the danger and immediacy of the situation, eyes wide as you take in the foyer.
“Wow.” Your voice echoes and Rafe flinches, reaching out for your wrist with one hand and raising a finger to his lips with the other.
“The fuck are you doin’?” He jerks you toward him, eyes darting in every direction like the not-Wheezie thing might be lurking just around the corner. Or worse, some fucked up, mangled version of Ward, dead-reanimated and missing half his face.
When nothing immediately presents itself as a danger, he pushes you away, a sneer on his lip. “I mean it. Shut the fuck up.”
“Fine.” You raise your hands innocently, and he narrows his eyes at you. He doesn’t have time for this.
He jerks his head in the direction of one of the hallways. “C’mon.” He doesn’t even give you a response when you pretend to zip your lips closed and salute him, just stalking off down the hall, shoulders tight and fists clenched.
Things go from really bad to horrific when Rafe pushes open the door to his father’s office, and Ward’s body is gone. There’s nothing left except for a large pool of blood and some bits and pieces of flesh. Rafe curses under his breath, stepping over the large, red puddle and approaching the desk.
You grimace at the sight of the blood pool on the floor. Your eyes dart between Rafe and the crimson puddle, but you know better than to ask him if he knows what happened. You don’t think he’d give you a straight answer anyway.
He rifles through drawers, shuffling through things quietly. You walk around, avoiding the blood, eyes taking in the (likely extremely expensive) interior decorating. Rafe lives here?
Or… used to? What will happen to everything now that the world’s gone to shit?
You don’t get a chance to dwell on it too much, as Rafe lets out a frustrated growl and his digging doubles down. He tosses things aside, and his hands run frustratedly through his hair when he doesn’t seem to find what he’s looking for.
“What are you looking for? Maybe I can help you find it.” You immediately regret speaking when he fury in his eyes whirls around and is directed at you.
“No, you can’t help me. You can shut the fuck up and make sure Wheezie doesn’t-” He cuts himself off with a strangled sound. “Make sure none of those fuckin’ things come in here while I’m lookin’ around.”
“With what weapon?” You barely get the words out before he’s tossing a knife at you. You manage to dodge, sending him a glare as the metal clings against the wooden floor. You pick it up, the handle smooth and firm in your grasp, and your lips purse. You should scream at him, but then he might leave you behind. So instead, you grit your teeth, and let out a terse, “Thanks…”
Rafe whispers gruffly, angrily, under his breath. When he starts grabbing books off the bookshelf and tossing them around, you decide to make yourself scarce. You don’t want to be the one at end of his wrath if you can help it.
Also, you’re nosy, and you want to look around. You haven’t heard anything amiss, any kind of noise to suggest that something unsavory is lingering in the halls of Rafe’s home. And with the amount of grunting and throwing things around that he’s been doing in the office, you’re sure any zombies would’ve already crawled their way over here to check it out.
You hope.
It’s nicer than any house you’ve ever been in. You drag a hand along the walls as you try and tiptoe down the hall. You don’t want to meander too far, don’t want to get lost in what seems to be a never-ending floor plan, but the more you explore, the further you want to go.
There are more bedrooms than you can count, and most of them are over double the size of any bedroom you’ve ever had. And that doesn’t include the bathrooms. Everything is decorated in pearl and gold, marble and sterling silver. Somehow everything is beautifully arranged, but clearly untouched. You wonder how long these rooms have sat empty, why any family would need a house with all of these rooms just for them to sit here, impeccably clean despite the state of the world around them.
It makes you resent Rafe a little more than you already do.
You take each step down the next hallway as carefully as you can. There’s a set of large wooden French doors at the end of the hall, and they’re so enticing that you can’t do anything but continue. They’re already slightly ajar, croaking open with the lightest push of your arm. Your steps echo as you move forward, and the smell hits you immediately.
Not death, not the stench of rotting corpses that has been forced into your sinuses since the beginning of the End. It’s food. Not good food, it’s food that’s been left out for a day, but unmistakably food.
You begin to search through cabinets, trying to find something to stash in your pockets. Granola bars, a can of fruit, something that you can have just in case. But there doesn’t seem to be much of that. It’s mostly kitchenware and gadgets that you have no idea what their purpose is.
The attack comes out of nowhere. You’re opening and closing cabinet doors when there’s a thump next to you. You turn, and there’s a snarling, growling face in front of your own. You scream, scrambling away from the zombie as it lunges for you. Its face is mangled, bitten and torn apart to the point where parts of the flesh hang loose from the bone, including its jaw. You don’t doubt it still has the ability to bite, though.
Your hand slips from the handle of the cabinet and you lose your balance, fumbling backwards until you land on your ass. The zombie stumbles forward after you, falling to its knees so it can crawl in your direction. You try to kick at it, but your foot ends up too close to its mouth for comfort.
“Fuck!” You cry out, reaching into your pocket for the knife. It doesn’t feel nearly as sturdy in your hand now that you actually need to use it. You try not to think, you try to follow your instincts as you scamper back up to your feet. You put your foot on the thing’s back, managing to hold it down while you bring the knife down into its flesh. Again and again, over and over the blade in your hand meets skin and muscle, until finally the thing stops squirming, laying still below you.
You breathe in heavily, grimacing as the scent of death returns like a heavy fog in the room. Your arms are covered in blood and bits of the zombie’s flesh. You gag, doubling over at the waist as you empty the bits of the granola bar you’d eaten this morning out onto the floor of the kitchen.
The french doors burst open, and Rafe is standing there with a frantic look in his eyes. His gun is gripped tightly in one hand, a bunch of papers in the other. His gaze finds you and he takes a step forward before his eyes fall, landing on the corpse on the floor. He tenses, and you move back, using your shirt to wipe at your mouth.
“I think it’s dead.” You manage to say, your stomach churning violently and more bile threatening to come up. Rafe’s face is dark, and his gaze lingers on the knife in your hand. He steps forward again, using his foot to nudge at the corpse, harder than he needs to but you don’t say anything.
“Good.” Is Rafe’s only response. He quickly folds up the papers gripped in his hands, tucking them into his waistband before doing the same with his gun. “We can stay here tonight, but then tomorrow we have to get going.”
“Go where?” You ask, and though he should’ve expected your question, he still looks pissed off.
He lets out a huff. “We need supplies. Food, medicine. I thought there would be some here but I was wrong. So, we have to go.”
You knew that was going to be as much of an answer as you’d get from him.
“You can find a bag from one of my sister’s rooms. Take whatever you need that you can find, but pack lightly. Otherwise we’ll head out and start looking for supplies tomorrow.” He gives you a once over, his lip curling up in disgust. “And clean up.”
You glare at him as he turns and retreats further into the house.
Did you get everything you ever wanted? (almost, but not quite)
let me wrap my teeth around the world - series masterlist here
pairing: sirius black x reader, implied poly marauders x reader (gender neutral, no use of y/n)
length: 1.4k
genre: angsty hurt/comfort
warnings: post-graduation distance, trying to juggle your own life and future and a relationship with three people is bound to have some rocky moments, you all sort of drifted apart, but dw you're going to come back
a/n: I'm working two jobs and I might be getting a third I hope everyone else is doing well lol xoxo
"Oh, I -" you falter as you look up at the person you've nearly collided with, wide grey eyes staring back at you in the glow of the flickering street light. "Oh."
When Sirius says your name in response, it sort of just falls flat between the two of you and lets the silence swallow it, aching and unfamiliar. The street around the two of you is nearly empty, the sun dipping low over the horizon and leaving a swirling darkness to crawl up your legs.
"What are you doing here?" you ask quietly, and it comes out as a bit more of an accusation than you really mean for it to, but -
"I live near here," is his clipped reminder.
"I mean this late," you say pointedly, something about the set of his shoulders and the scowl on his face making your head hurt.
"I was at work late," he tells you stiffly. It's odd, you think, to have him look at you like that - weary and betrayed in a way you're not sure you really deserve. It makes you press your lips together, looking down at the space between you both.
"Ok," you say slowly. "Well, I'll let you… go, then."
"Just like that?" he murmurs - like he was expecting it, like he was waiting for you to let him down.
"I'll call you," you say pointedly.
"Well, I won't hold my breath," he retorts, but whatever sharp edges he's intended to put into it crumble a bit under the heartache that slips through, instead.
"Sirius," you murmur, hurt and surprise mixing and muddying together. It makes him flinch, just the slightest bit - gives him that waver of self-hatred that makes your stomach roll.
"I will call," you insist gently - because, really, you'd always meant to.
"You can do what you want, babe," he responds tiredly, anger making way for something wearier. "You always do."
"I don't think that's fair," you respond quickly, something sharp digging into your voice. "This is what you - this is what we all agreed on."
"We agreed to give one another space. Not… not -" Sirius clenches his jaw, the muscles straining slightly. He looks older now, you think with a panicked sort of unfamiliarity, stubble scratching against his jaw and hair growing longer. He looks like he's grown up a bit - away from you, outside of you.
"You look good," you blurt out, and it's really not what you meant to say. He reels back, just a bit.
"You're not flirting with me right now," he retorts - like he's begging you.
"No, I'm… just saying," you try. "I haven't… we haven't seen each other in - a while."
"I don't think that's my fault," Sirius insists as he shoves his hands into the pockets of his heavy leather jacket.
"I don't think it's mine, either," you counter, and you wonder sort of painfully when this became a fight.
"So you think it was inevitable?" he tries, and your heart cracks a bit.
"I didn't -" you falter. "I didn't mean that. Just that, maybe, you know… our own decisions brought us here."
"Here?" Sirius echoes, and the night sort of deadens around you, the street quiet and lonely. Shadows begin to crawl across the cobblestones and you feel panic pool in your mouth as you force the next words out.
"Have we broken up?"
That seems to stop Sirius in his tracks - seems to make something crack in him as he stares at you, anguish flashing across his face. Of course not, he wants to say. I love you, he almost spits out. Please don't leave me again, he nearly begs.
"Well," he ends up saying eventually, the anger having left him in a big wave. "I certainly wouldn't call this being together."
A group of friends walks down the street opposite the two of you, laughing and jostling one another about, clearly on their way home from a night out. The ground beneath you, you find, opens up enough to swallow you whole.
"Are you in a rush to get home?" you ask waveringly, something unsteady in your demeanour.
"I'm…" he trails off.
"Let me buy you a drink?" you ask - and it's sort of desperate. He knows it is, can hear it in your voice, but Sirius finds that he's a bit desperate, too.
"Just one," he agrees, and he's as good at lying now, you think, as he always was.
"What are you thinking about?" Sirius asks once you're settled in a nearby pub, two pints on the table between you. The distance, you find as you sip absently, seems to stretch with the silence.
"This, I guess," you offer vaguely.
"What about it?" he asks, and you watch the way he twists the silver rings on his fingers. You remember, a bit achingly, the first time the two of you had gone out alone - the way you'd fiddled and twisted the rings on your fingers and the way that he's tangled his own hands with yours so that you had something else to hold onto.
You wonder, now, sitting in a pub at a table tucked so far into the corner that the warmth of the fireplace can't reach you, how many other bad habits he's picked up from you.
"I've never seen you angry at me like that before," you say. "Until tonight."
"I wasn't really angry with you," he responds quickly - and you recognize an apology from Sirius when he tries to offer one.
"You were a little," you remind him, but you're not so angry anymore, either.
"Yea, but not really," Sirius insists, and then he stops fidgeting to place his hands palm down on the table. "I miss you," he admits - a bit exposed, a bit cracked open. "We all do."
"I don't know how this happened," you murmur, a whispered sort of thing as you stare down at his hands.
"I do," he offers gently. "We grew up."
"We were supposed to grow together," you insist, desperation painting your voice a frightened colour. "Why didn't we? Why did we… why would anyone choose to do this alone?"
Sirius looks at you, then, a bit like you've split his heart down the middle - like he wasn't prepared to be faced with such a thing. When your hands clench so tightly into fists that your nails bite into your palms, though, it's nearly instinct for him to reach across the table and intertwine his fingers with yours, instead.
"I don't think we're alone," he says firmly, and your vision blurs slightly as he squeezes your hands in his. "We just… took some time apart. That was - that was our plan, remember? It was temporary - it is temporary, love."
"It doesn't feel temporary, does it?" you murmur in response, and it has Sirius's grip slackening just a bit. Looking down at his hands on yours, you try to remember the last time he'd touched you - even like this.
"Do you think we made a mistake?" you ask quietly, and he huffs out a breath.
"Let's all go our separate ways after graduation?" he echoes, a sad little rendition of a hopeful, bittersweet memory. "We'll find ourselves and then come back to one another."
You press your lips together, letting his words hang in the air as your question rolls around in the space between the two of you, over and over and over.
"I don't know," Sirius eventually murmurs. "Maybe it was worth it. Did you get everything you wanted?"
"I…" you falter, and when his eyes meet yours across the table, you find that you almost recognize him again. Older, yes - more sure, more stable, more honest. But still him - still yours.
"Almost," you admit at last, a small word for something much bigger.
"Almost?" he echoes.
"I feel like I'm missing something very important," you press forward, sure that he can feel the tremble of your hands - the way you grip onto him like he'll disappear.
"Well," he responds, and you're sure his voice is supposed to sound cool and unwavering, but he grips your hand back so hard that it steadies you, and there's an earnest tilt to him that he just can't hide. "I think we can help each other find that again."
"And… James? Remus?" you ask, hesitant where you shouldn't be. The smile that Sirius sends you is real - honest and relieved.
"Oh, baby," he nearly laughs. "Don't worry - they'll be right behind us."
pairing – husband!rafe cameron x wife!reader
summary – rafe cameron becomes a father in pieces: scared at twenty-two, steadier at twenty-five, and still impossibly protective by the third baby.
warnings – pregnancy, pregnancy nausea, family conflict, disapproving parent, implied discussion of pregnancy options, toddler tantrums, parenting stress.
notes from me – i love rafe. i love rafe. i love rafe. as requested here!! x
word count – 3.5k
navigation – masterlist |
The first time she’s pregnant, they’re twenty-one and twenty-two and still living among boxes.
There are two unopened cartons of college textbooks in the spare room of the little rental near the marina, a saucepan in the kitchen that technically belongs to Kelce, and a pale rectangular patch above the couch where the previous tenants took their television mount and half the paint with it.
Rafe has been working for Cameron Development for four months and wearing collared shirts every morning like the stiffness might force him into becoming the sort of man who knows what an escrow account is without quietly Googling it beneath his desk.
She has a positive pregnancy test wrapped in toilet paper at the bottom of her handbag because she couldn’t bring herself to throw it out, and every time she remembers it’s there, something warm and frightened turns over beneath her ribs.
Ward asks them to come to Tannyhill for dinner. He doesn’t serve dinner.
Instead, they sit in his office while the late-afternoon sun falls in expensive gold strips across the rug, Ward behind his desk and Rafe beside her on the leather sofa, one knee bouncing so subtly she only notices because his hand is resting over hers and the movement travels through both of them.
She’s been nauseous since breakfast. The smell of Ward’s scotch isn’t helping. Neither is the way he keeps looking at her stomach despite the fact there’s nothing to see yet, only the soft fold of her dress when she sits and Rafe’s palm spread low against her thigh like he could physically keep the conversation from reaching her if he held on tightly enough.
“You’re both very young,” Ward says finally, voice arranged into something calm and reasonable. It’s the same tone he uses with contractors who have disappointed him and waiters he intends to have fired later. “You’ve only just finished school. Rafe’s barely started at the company.”
Rafe’s jaw moves. “I know how old I am.”
“I’m trying to be practical.”
“Then be practical.”
Ward’s eyes harden slightly. “There are options here. You don’t need to announce anything until you’ve had time to think clearly.”
Beside her, Rafe goes still. Still in the particular way he gets when anger has moved past heat and found somewhere colder to live, his thumb stopping against the side of her hand, his shoulders settling beneath the pale blue cotton of his shirt.
She feels her own fingers curl inward before she can stop them, nails pressing into her palm, and Ward notices. His gaze flicks toward her face with something almost sympathetic in it, which is somehow worse.
Rafe sees that too. “Don’t look at her like that,” he says.
Ward blinks. “Like what?”
“Like she– she did something to me.”
“Rafe–”
“She didn’t.” His voice stays low, but she can feel the pulse beginning to beat hard in his wrist beneath her fingertips. “We came here to tell you we’re having a baby. Not ask what you think we should do about it.”
“I’m your father. I’m allowed to be concerned about your future.”
“My future’s sitting right here.”
The words leave him before he can seem to decide whether he wants them exposed. For half a second, something young and naked moves through his face, the boy who’s spent most of his life waiting for Ward to approve of the next version of him and finding each one slightly wrong. Then Ward leans back in his chair, mouth thinning, and it disappears beneath Rafe’s anger.
“You need to understand what this looks like,” Ward says. “People are going to assume she–”
Rafe stands so quickly the leather cushion lifts behind him. She catches his hand before he can do anything else. She doesn’t think he’ll hit Ward. She doesn’t really know what she thinks he will do, and that uncertainty is the problem.
His fingers close around hers instantly, and when he looks down at her, the whole room seems to drop away from his attention.
“You feel sick?” he asks.
“A little,” she mumbles.
“We’re leaving.”
Ward says his name sharply, but Rafe has already bent to collect her handbag. He puts his hand at the small of her back and guides her toward the door with none of the usual uncertainty he carries through this house. Ward calls after him once more. Rafe doesn’t turn around.
His hands shake when they reach the car. Only slightly. Enough that the key scrapes once against the ignition, then again, and she covers his wrist before he can try a third time.
Through the windshield, Tannyhill sits huge and white against the water, every window catching the sun. Rafe stares at it with his mouth pulled tight, breathing through his nose like he’s run here instead of walked.
“You didn’t have to fight with him,” she says softly.
“Yeah, I did.”
“He’s shocked.”
“So am I.” His head turns toward her, eyes bright and furious and scared in a way he would hate anyone else for noticing. “But I’m not making you sit there while he talks about you like you trapped me.”
“I know I didn’t.”
“I know.” Rafe’s grip loosens beneath her hand. His thumb turns, dragging once over the inside of her wrist. “I was there. Very involved, actually.”
A laugh catches unexpectedly in her throat.
His mouth twitches, but the anger doesn’t leave his eyes. “Enthusiastic participant.”
“Rafe.”
“What? It’s an important distinction.”
She looks down at their hands and feels the nausea settle somewhere lower, becoming something else. Still fear. Still the enormous, impossible shape of a life arriving before they’ve bought a dining table. But Rafe lifts her hand to his mouth and kisses the centre of her palm with a tenderness that doesn’t suit the hard line of his jaw, and the fear no longer feels like hers alone.
“We’re not going back in there tonight,” he says.
“Okay.”
“Maybe not tomorrow either.”
“Okay.”
“Could be a while.”
She smiles faintly. “Start the car, baby.”
Rafe looks once more at his father’s house. Then he turns the key, puts the car into reverse, and takes her home.
Marlowe begins causing problems before she’s developed fingerprints. At twenty-five weeks, she’s turned her mother’s ribs into a private climbing wall, made the smell of coffee unbearable, and inspired Banks to completely reject the concept of sisterhood.
He’s two and a half, deeply suspicious of change, and has spent the past week responding to any mention of the baby by shouting no with the sombre conviction of a tiny, corrupt villain.
“No baby,” he says when they show him the painted nursery.
“No baby,” he says when Sarah brings over a bag of miniature dresses.
“No baby,” he says directly to her stomach one morning, then bursts into tears because Rafe tells him he cannot cover Mama’s belly with a couch cushion to make the problem go away.
That night, after Banks throws half his dinner onto the floor and kicks the bathroom door because she cannot physically fit beside him and the tub anymore, she leaves bedtime to Rafe.
Her back aches. Her ankles have begun disappearing by late afternoon. She stands beneath the shower until the water goes lukewarm, then pulls one of Rafe’s old shirts over her head and walks down the hallway with moisturiser still cooling against her legs.
Banks’s bedroom door is open by three inches. Through the gap, she can see Rafe sitting on the rug beside the toddler bed with his work trousers still on and his tie pulled loose around his neck.
He has one forearm resting across his raised knee, the other hand wrapped around Banks’s small bare foot where it sticks out from beneath the dinosaur quilt. Banks is lying on his stomach, cheeks swollen with the final remnants of a tantrum, glaring at his father with wet lashes and exhausted hostility.
“I don’t want her,” Banks mutters into the pillow.
Rafe rubs his thumb over the soft curve of his heel. “Yeah, you’ve made that pretty clear, buddy.”
“Baby takes Mama.”
“No.” Rafe’s voice loses its dry edge. “Nobody takes Mama.”
Banks turns his face enough to look at him. “She’s mine.”
Rafe’s mouth moves like he has to bite back the first response that occurs to him, probably because it’s difficult to explain marriage-based territoriality to someone who still eats bath bubbles. “She’s everybody’s,” he says after a second. “But she was mine first.”
From the hallway, she closes her eyes.
Banks considers this grave injustice. “No.”
“Yeah. Sorry.”
His little brows furrow. “No, Daddy.”
“Ask her. She’ll tell you.”
The mattress squeaks as Banks shifts, little fingers twisting into the quilt. “Mama likes me best.”
“Probably,” Rafe says, then lowers his voice to a whisper. “You’re shorter. People fall for that.”
But Banks doesn’t laugh. His mouth wobbles instead, and Rafe’s expression changes immediately. He leans closer, forearm sliding onto the edge of the mattress.
“Hey. Listen to me.” His voice is quieter now, shaped for the dark room and the boy inside it. “You’re allowed to be mad. New baby’s weird. She’s gonna cry, and she’s gonna take your stuff, and everybody’s gonna look at her all the time because babies can’t do anything for themselves.”
“I can do things,” Banks huffs.
“I know. You can put your own shoes on the wrong feet.”
Banks frowns, uncertain whether this is relevant. Rafe squeezes his foot once and continues before he can argue.
“But you don’t get to be mean to Mama because you’re mad. Mama’s making your sister right now. That’s hard work. Makes her tired. Makes her back hurt. Makes her cry when the grocery store doesn’t have the cereal she likes.”
“That was one time,” she whispers beneath her breath in the hallway.
“So we’re easy with her,” he says. “We help her. We don’t kick doors, and we don’t throw food, and we definitely don’t try to hide her stomach under couch pillows.”
Banks looks mildly ashamed. “Baby was gone.”
“Baby was still there.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah.” Rafe brushes Banks’s hair away from his forehead, awkwardly gentle in the way he still is sometimes with softness, like he knows what he wants his hands to do but has to think through every movement first. “You know how Daddy looks after Aunt Sarah and Aunt Wheezie?”
Banks nods.
“Even when they’re annoying?”
Another nod, more enthusiastic.
“That’s you now. You’re the big brother.” Rafe taps two fingers lightly against his chest. “We look after our girls. You look after your Mama, and when your sister gets here, you look after her too.”
Banks is quiet for long enough that her throat begins to ache.
“What if she’s mean?”
“Then you come get me.”
“What if she takes my truck?”
“You take it back.”
“Rafe,” she murmurs from the hallway.
His eyes flick toward the door. “Politely,” he adds.
Banks pushes himself up onto his elbows. “Can I hold her?”
“Yeah.”
He tilts his head. “She little?”
“Very.”
“Smaller than me?”
Rafe’s eyebrows lift. “For a while.”
That seems to satisfy something in him. Banks lies down again, turning onto his side this time, his face pointed toward Rafe. “I look after her.”
“Good man.”
“And Mama.”
“Especially Mama.”
Banks’s eyes begin to close. Rafe stays where he is, hand resting around his son’s ankle, until the soft resistance goes out of the small body beneath the quilt. When he finally rises and steps into the hallway, she’s leaning against the opposite wall with both hands folded beneath the curve of her stomach.
He takes one look at her face and exhales. “Don’t.”
“I’m not doing anything.”
“You’re crying.”
She sniffles. “I’m pregnant.”
“You’ve been using that one a lot.”
She laughs wetly and catches the front of his loosened tie, drawing him closer. Rafe puts both hands around her waist, careful of the belly between them, and bends his head until his forehead rests against hers.
“‘We look after our girls’?” she whispers.
His eyes move over her face, suddenly wary beneath the humour. “Too much?”
She shakes her head. “No.”
“Sounded better than telling him I’ll throw him off the dock if he makes you cry again.”
“He’s two.”
“Mm. He’ll bounce.”
Her laugh presses them closer. Rafe kisses the damp corner of her eye, then crouches without warning and puts his mouth against the stretched cotton over her belly.
“Your brother’s being difficult,” he tells the baby. “Don’t take it personally.”
She places her hand on the back of his head. “She’s a Cameron. She’ll make it everyone’s problem.”
Rafe smiles against her stomach. “That’s my girl.”
By the third pregnancy, protection has become an administrative position. There are vitamins in her handbag, the kitchen, Rafe’s truck and both upstairs bathrooms because he’s decided folic acid should be available at emergency exits.
There’s a standing grocery order every Tuesday, three numbers written beside the house phone even though everybody owns a mobile, and a family group chat called DO WHAT YOUR MOTHER SAYS that includes Sarah, Wheezie, ten-year-old Banks, six-year-old Marlowe, and, briefly, the plumber until Rafe notices and removes him without explanation.
The baby wasn’t planned. She had stood in their bathroom at thirty-one with the test in her hand and laughed once, sharply, because crying felt too obvious. Rafe had stared at the two pink lines, then at her, then back at the test as if one of them had committed accounting fraud.
After nearly a full minute, he said, “I thought you said that app was accurate,” and she threw a hand towel at his head.
Now she’s seven months pregnant, Rafe is in Charleston twice a week overseeing a development project that appears to require his physical presence whenever the universe senses she has slept badly, and the children have developed a coordinated ability to need separate, urgent things at the exact moment her pelvis begins to feel as though it’s been assembled incorrectly.
He gets home after ten on a Thursday night and finds her halfway up the stairs carrying a laundry basket against the underside of her stomach while Marlowe trails behind in fairy wings, explaining that tomorrow isn’t technically costume day, but could be if her teacher was flexible. Banks is calling from the kitchen that the dishwasher is making a noise. One of Rafe’s socks is stuck to the side of the basket by static.
He leaves his suitcase in the foyer. “What are you doing?”
She looks down at him over the towels. He’s still dressed for work, sleeves rolled, collar open, travel sitting beneath his eyes in dark, tired shadows. “Laundry.”
“I can see that. Why are you carrying it?”
“Because towels remain tragically unable to climb stairs.”
Rafe comes up three steps at a time and takes the basket from her before she can object, his jaw already tightening. “Banks!”
From the kitchen, their son calls, “What?”
“Get over here.”
Banks appears at the bottom of the stairs with the wary expression of someone summoned by his father’s business voice. He has Rafe’s height beginning in him already, all knees and shoulders and hair that refuses to lie flat. “What happened?”
Rafe hands him the basket. “New rule. Your mother doesn’t carry laundry upstairs.”
Banks looks at the towels, then at her stomach. “Okay.”
“And fix the dishwasher.”
Banks frowns. “I don’t know how.”
Rafe sighs. “Neither do I. Press buttons until it stops.”
“That’s not how appliances work,” she says.
“It’s worked for me so far.”
Marlowe pushes between them, wings scraping along the wall. “What’s my job?”
Rafe looks down at her. “Keep your mother’s water full.”
Marlowe’s face lights up with the dangerous purpose of a child newly granted jurisdiction. “Always?”
“No,” she says quickly.
“Yes,” Rafe says at the same time.
Marlowe runs downstairs.
“Rafe,” she sighs.
He puts a hand against her back and guides her up the remaining steps, slower now. “What?”
“I don’t need a household task force,” she grumbles.
“You were carrying a basket you couldn’t see over.”
“Also can’t see over my belly, why don’t you snatch that from me?”
“You nearly stepped on Marlowe.”
“She has wings. She should’ve flown.”
His mouth twitches, but the tension remains beneath it. In their bedroom, he sets his watch on the dresser and begins unbuttoning his cuffs with the short, irritated movements he uses when the anger isn’t really anger and both of them know it. She sits on the edge of the bed, pressing her fingers into the soft swelling above one ankle.
Rafe notices immediately. He drops into a crouch in front of her and takes her foot into his lap before she can pull it away. His thumbs press carefully along the arch, then circle the puffed skin beneath her ankle bone, his gaze fixed downward.
The buzz cut has grown out slightly around the crown. There’s a faint crease through his shirt from the plane seat and a missed call glowing on the phone beside him.
“I’m fine,” she says.
“Yeah.”
“I am.”
“I know.” His thumb moves along her heel. “You’re always fine.”
Something in the way he says it makes her stop. Not sarcastic. Frustrated by the word and everything she manages to hide inside it.
Rafe looks up. “Banks said you fell asleep at the table Tuesday.”
She groans and rolls her eyes. “He’s a snitch.”
“He’s ten.”
“He’s your son.”
“Exactly. No loyalty.”
She tries to smile, but his hands have gone still around her foot.
“I can move Charleston,” he says.
Her brows draw together. “You can’t move a city.”
“The meetings.”
“Rafe–”
“I don’t need to be there twice a week,” he mutters.
“The project’s yours.”
“So is this.”
His eyes drop briefly to her stomach, then travel around the room as though this means the house too: the costume wings abandoned against the doorframe, the pile of school forms on her nightstand, the laundry moving down the hallway in Banks’s arms, the life waiting for Rafe every time his plane lands and continuing, somehow, on the days it doesn’t.
She brushes her fingers over the back of his neck. “I’m not asking you to stop working.”
“I know.” His jaw shifts. “That’s not the same as me pretending none of this is work because you don’t send an invoice.”
At twenty-two, he would have needed an enemy – Ward, the world, somebody standing close enough to push back against. At thirty-two, he sits on the bedroom floor with her swollen foot in his lap and understands, slowly and unwillingly, that sometimes the thing wearing her down has his name on the travel itinerary.
His phone lights again. Rafe picks it up, opens the email containing his flight confirmation for the following Thursday, and presses cancel.
She watches him. “You’re going to make everyone hate me.”
“They already hate me. You’re safe.”
A small set of footsteps comes charging down the hallway. Marlowe appears with a water bottle filled so completely it spills over her hands and onto the carpet. “Mama! Water duty.”
Rafe nods approvingly. “Good job.”
She takes the bottle before their daughter can flood the room. “Thank you, baby.”
“Drink it.”
Her eyes narrow. “Excuse me?”
“Daddy said.”
Rafe looks down quickly, suddenly very interested in her ankle.
“Rafe.”
“What? She’s taking the position seriously.”
Marlowe stands over her until she drinks, then races away to report her success to Banks. Rafe’s shoulders begin to shake beneath her hand. She nudges his thigh with her foot, and he catches it before she can pull back, pressing his mouth to the inside of her ankle.
“You’re an idiot,” she says.
“Mhm.”
“And bossy.”
“Yeah.”
“And you cannot turn our children into your private surveillance network.”
He kisses her skin again, smiling now. “Already did.”
The baby moves beneath her ribs, a long, slow roll that makes her inhale and place one hand against the side of her stomach. Rafe’s palm leaves her foot and spreads over the movement, broad and warm, waiting until the small body shifts against him again.
“There she is,” he murmurs.
“She’s been there all day. On my bladder.”
“Missed me,” he grins.
“She doesn’t know you left.”
Rafe looks up at her. “Yeah, she does.”
She could argue. Usually would. Instead, she runs her fingers over the soft growth at the back of his head while his thumb moves absently over her stomach, his cancelled flight still open on the phone beside them and his suitcase untouched in the foyer downstairs.
Outside the bedroom, Banks tells Marlowe she’s giving Mama too much water. Marlowe tells him he’s not in charge of water duty. The dishwasher makes one final, miserable clunk and falls silent.
Rafe glances toward the hallway, then back at her. “See? Everything’s handled.”
“The dishwasher may be dead,” she sighs.
“I’ll buy another one.”
“You say that about everything.”
“Usually works.”
She smiles despite herself, and Rafe watches it happen with the same intent attention he has given her since they were teenagers, like every version of their life still begins with checking her face first.
Then he leans forward, rests his cheek against her stomach, and stays there while the house keeps moving around them.
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pairing – frat!rafe cameron x reader
summary – a midnight study spiral in rafe’s room ends with flashcards, blunt logic, and the least gentle reassurance imaginable.
warnings – exam anxiety, panic spiral, academic stress, swearing, blunt comfort, suggestive banter.
notes from me – as requested here!!! frat!rafe my beloved.
word count – 3.3k
navigation – masterlist |
Rafe Cameron’s lying across his bed in the kind of lazy sprawl only available to men who have never once wondered if they were taking up too much space, one arm tucked behind his head, backwards hat pushing his hair into loose, sweaty little bends around his ears, phone balanced on his chest while some half-muted video plays without either of them watching it.
His room smells like clean laundry that probably came back folded from a service, expensive cologne, old beer in the carpet near the door, and the faint medicinal bite of the highlighter she has been uncapping and recapping so aggressively it’s started leaving neon yellow on her thumb.
She has done, by her count, twenty-seven laps from his desk to the window. Maybe twenty-eight.
The number matters less than the fact that her body refuses to sit down. Sitting down feels like agreeing to something. Sitting down feels like being pinned to the fact that her exam is in nine hours and her notes have begun to look less like study material and more like evidence left behind by a smarter, calmer version of herself who has since died.
Her stomach has gone tight and sour from coffee. There’s a deep ache between her brows from squinting at the same lecture slide until the words lost all meaning. Her shoulders keep climbing toward her ears without permission, and every time she tries to force them down, they go right back up like they’re getting paid by the minute.
Rafe watches her pass the foot of his bed again. His eyes move over her slowly, not in the usual way, but in the sharp, assessing way he looks at things when he’s trying to decide whether they’re about to become his problem.
“Can you stop doin’ that?” he says finally.
She stops so abruptly the floor seems to keep moving under her for half a second. “Doing what?”
He lifts his chin toward the path she’s carved across his room. “The little pacin’ routine. S’annoying.”
Her mouth opens. Closes. Opens again, because there are at least seven things wrong with that sentence and all of them have arrived at the back of her teeth at once. “Sorry, is my visible distress inconveniencing your extremely important lying-down time?”
“Yeah,” Rafe says, without shame. “It is.”
She stares at him. He stares back, unbothered and stupidly pretty under the low lamp light, all loose limbs and blue eyes and the kind of mouth that makes terrible statements worse because it looks good making them.
Outside his closed door, the frat house is still alive in ugly little pieces: somebody laughing too hard downstairs, bass thudding faintly through the floor, a door slamming, a muffled yell that might be a fight or might be someone discovering another man has finished his DoorDash.
Rafe’s room is warmer than it should be, the window cracked open just enough to let in humid night air and the smell of wet grass from the lawn where the sprinklers have kicked on.
“You’re so bad at this,” she tells him.
“At what?”
“Comforting me.”
“I’m not comforting you.”
“Clearly.”
“I’m telling you you’re being weird.”
Her laugh comes out high and incredulous. “Oh, thank God. That’s so much better.”
Rafe shifts onto one elbow, his phone sliding off his chest and onto the comforter beside him. “You’ve been pacing for, like, twenty minutes.”
“I have an exam.”
“Yeah, I picked up on that. The three open textbooks and the little…” he gestures toward her loosely, “meltdown gave it away.”
“I’m not having a meltdown.”
“Baby,” he says, dry as dust, “you just apologised to my desk chair when you bumped into it.”
She looks at the desk chair, traitorous and silent beside his desk. “It was in my way.”
“It’s a chair.”
“It has edges.”
“It has edges,” he repeats, like this is the single dumbest thing anyone has ever said in a room that has absolutely heard fraternity brothers discuss cryptocurrency. Then he sits up properly, elbows on his knees now, all that careless laziness tightening into attention. “What’re you even nervous about?”
The question is so blunt that it almost misses the place where it could hurt. Almost. She turns back to the desk, shuffling her flashcards into a stack that was already a stack, because her hands need a task or they’ll start doing something worse, like shaking. “The exam, Rafe. The exam I have tomorrow? We’ve established this.”
He clicks his tongue once. “No, I know, but what about it?”
“What do you mean, what about it?”
“I mean what about it,” he says, impatience already roughening the edges of his voice. “You keep sayin’ exam like it’s gonna come in here with a fuckin’ knife. What part?”
She exhales through her nose, sharp and hot. “I don’t know. All of it.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“Okay, professor.”
“I’m serious.”
She turns then, because something in his tone has gone too steady to ignore and because if she looks at her notes one more time she might actually start crying, which would be embarrassing in Rafe’s room for at least seventeen reasons, most of them wearing backwards caps.
“I’m nervous I’m going to fail,” she says, too quickly, the sentence shoved out before she can make it prettier. “I’m nervous I’m going to sit down and forget everything and all the questions are going to be phrased in that awful little way where every answer looks technically right. I’m nervous everyone else understands it better than me and I’ve just been tricking myself into thinking I know things because I highlighted them in nice colours. Is that specific enough for you?”
Rafe blinks once. His jaw shifts. She can see the first response arrive in him, mean or dismissive or too sharp from habit, and then she can see him catch it behind his teeth like someone grabbing a glass right before it hits the floor.
Unfortunately, what he replaces it with is, “That’s stupid.”
Her whole face goes still. Rafe, because God has a sense of humour and none of it is kind, seems to realise the problem approximately one second too late.
“Wow,” she says. “No, genuinely. Wow. You should volunteer for a crisis hotline. They’d love you there.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“It is literally what you said.”
“I meant the thought is stupid.”
“Oh, the thought is stupid. That’s much more sensitive.”
“It is,” he insists, like sensitivity has ever been something he could identify without being handed a labelled diagram. He stands, finally, and the room feels smaller immediately. “Not you. The thing you’re doing in your head. It’s stupid.”
She laughs once, furious. “You are so lucky you’re hot.”
His mouth twitches. “I know.”
“Not a compliment right now.”
“Still heard it.”
“Rafe.”
“What?” He spreads his hands, walking closer with that slow, spoiled-boy confidence that makes everything in her body prepare to be annoyed and interested at the same time. “I’m right. You’re making up a fake version of tomorrow where you bomb the whole thing, and then you’re getting pissed at the fake version like it already happened.”
She hates him. She hates him mostly because the sentence lands somewhere irritatingly close to the centre of the problem and knocks on it.
“I could bomb it,” she says.
“Sure. And I could get drafted by the fucking Yankees tomorrow. Doesn’t mean I need to start stretching.”
“That comparison is insane.”
“You’re insane.” He points at the desk, where her notes are spread in careful, colour-coded layers, textbook open, laptop bright, practice questions scored in red pen with a level of organization that makes his own academic history look like a hostage note. “Did you study?”
“Yes.”
“Did you go to class?”
“Yes.”
“Did you do the practice test?”
She hesitates.
His eyebrows lift. “Did you?”
“Yes.”
“What’d you get?”
“That’s not–”
He tilts his head. “What’d you get?”
She looks away, biting the inside of her cheek hard enough that the taste of lip gloss goes waxy against her tongue. “Eighty-eight.”
Rafe stares at her.
She crosses her arms. “Don’t look at me like that.”
“No, I’m trying to figure out if you’re jokin’.”
“I’m not joking, but it was open-note.”
“Okay.” He nods, offensively reasonable. “And did you use your notes for every question?”
“No.”
“How many?”
“I don’t know.”
He rolls his eyes. “Guess.”
She glares at him. He waits, patient in the least patient way possible, his eyes fixed on her like he’s not letting the conversation slip sideways into panic just because she would very much prefer it did.
“Maybe six,” she says finally.
“Out of?”
“Forty.”
Rafe’s face does something unbearable.
She points at him. “Do not.”
“You used your notes six times,” he says, stepping around a pile of loose papers on the floor like he’s navigating wreckage after a storm, “got an eighty-eight, and now you’re acting like your brain got repossessed.”
“My brain feels repossessed.”
“Your brain’s being dramatic.”
“My brain is under pressure.”
“Your brain knows the shit,” he says, and because his delivery is awful and his mouth is too blunt and his eyes are still scanning her face like he’s reading what she can’t get out, the warmth of it takes a second to register. “You’re just letting the scared part drive because it’s louder.”
She swallows. Something in her chest shifts, like a drawer unsticking.
Rafe picks up one of her flashcards from the desk, squints at it, then immediately looks offended. “What the fuck is this word?”
She leans over despite herself. “Hippocampus.”
“I know hippocampus.”
She looks at the flashcard he’s now looking at. “Well, that says heuristics.”
“I also know heuristics.”
“No, you don’t.”
“I absolutely do.”
“Use it in a sentence.”
He looks at the card again, then back at her. “Don’t use heuristics to convince yourself you’re gonna fail an exam you studied for.”
She pauses. His mouth curves.
“That was… not terrible,” she admits, resentfully.
“Thank you.”
“I’m still mad at you.”
He shrugs. “I can live with that.”
“You called me stupid.”
“I said don’t be stupid.”
She makes a sound of disbelief, but it comes out weaker than before, because he’s already holding the stack of flashcards in one hand and looking through them with the grim confidence of a man who’s never let not knowing what he’s doing prevent him from taking charge.
There’s something ridiculous about it. Rafe Cameron, frat-house menace, emotional arsonist, man who once tried to microwave foil because Kelce told him it sparked less if you folded it right, standing in his messy room at midnight with her psychology notes in his hand like he’s about to intimidate her exam into being easier.
“Sit,” he says.
She narrows her eyes. “Excuse me?”
He points the flashcards at his bed. “Sit down.”
“Don’t boss me around.”
“You like when I boss you around.”
She frowns, a small pout on her lips. “Yeah, but not like this.”
His grin is quick and wicked enough to heat her face, but he lets it go before it can turn into anything else. That’s, somehow, more annoying. “Sit down before you start apologising to furniture again.”
“I hate you,” she mutters, but she sits on the edge of his bed because her legs are tired and her feet hurt and the mattress gives beneath her in a way that makes her realise, with deep betrayal, that sitting down is actually fantastic.
Her whole body seems to notice at once. The ache in her calves. The tightness in her lower back. The thin, frantic buzz under her skin beginning to dull now that she’s not physically trying to outrun tomorrow inside a ten-by-twelve room.
Rafe notices too, obviously. He notices everything when he’s pretending not to care. His gaze drops briefly to her hands, still worrying at the hem of his old t-shirt she’s wearing, then to the place where her knee is bouncing against the side of the bed.
He doesn’t call attention to it. He just moves closer and nudges the inside of her foot with his own socked foot, just enough to make her look up.
“First card,” he says.
“This isn’t going to help.”
“You don’t know that.” He looks at the card. “Define… cognitive dissonance.”
She sighs, rubbing both hands over her face. “Rafe.”
“Define it.”
“I know this one.”
“Great. Prove it.”
She wants to argue because arguing is easier than answering. Arguing has heat in it, movement, somewhere for the nerves to go.
Answering means standing still in the knowledge and finding out whether it holds. Her tongue feels too big in her mouth for a second. The room hums around her, fan clicking softly overhead, music still thudding downstairs, Rafe watching her with that intolerable steady focus like he’s decided she is going to get through this and has not yet considered asking her opinion.
“Cognitive dissonance is the discomfort from holding two conflicting beliefs or attitudes,” she says, slowly at first, then steadier when the words arrive in order. “Or when behaviour conflicts with beliefs. People try to reduce it by changing one of the beliefs, justifying the behaviour, or minimising the conflict.”
Rafe looks at the back of the card. His eyebrows lift. “That sounded smart as hell.”
“Because it’s the answer.”
“Yeah, no shit. That’s why it sounded smart.” He flips to the next card. “See? Your brain’s not repossessed. It’s just being a little bitch.”
She chokes on a laugh before she can stop herself.
His eyes flick up, pleased in that awful, subtle way he gets when he wins a reaction. “What?”
“Nothing.”
“No, what?”
“You cannot call my brain a little bitch.”
“I just did.”
“It has an exam tomorrow.”
He frowns, very seriously. “And it needs to get its act together.”
She laughs again, smaller this time, helpless and a little cracked around the edges. The sound loosens something behind her ribs. Enough that the room stops tilting toward disaster. Enough that her notes look like notes again.
Rafe asks the next question badly, mispronouncing one theorist’s name with so much confidence she has to interrupt him twice, and by the fourth card she’s correcting him before answering, which seems to please him more than getting it right.
He lets her be bitchy. Lets her scoff and roll her eyes and accuse him of academic vandalism when he skips one she knows and chooses one with a diagram instead.
He doesn’t soften into anything embarrassing. He doesn’t tell her she’s amazing or brilliant or that everything will be okay in that useless, shiny way people do when they want fear to become more convenient for them.
He just keeps holding up cards and asking questions like the answer is already in her and his job is to be annoying enough to make her prove it.
At some point, he sits beside her on the bed, one knee bent on the mattress, shoulder warm against hers. At some point, her own knee stops bouncing. At some point, he gets a bottle of water from the floor beside his nightstand and presses it into her hand without looking away from the card he’s reading.
“Drink,” he says.
She takes it automatically. “You’re so nurturing.”
“Don’t start.”
She grins. “Very maternal.”
“I’ll kick you out.”
“No, you won’t.”
The bottle crinkles under her fingers. She drinks, and the water tastes faintly like plastic and relief. Rafe’s shoulder stays against hers. His room, which had felt too hot and too small twenty minutes ago, has settled into something almost bearable.
The mess is still there. The exam is still there. Tomorrow morning still waits outside the night with its awful fluorescent classroom lighting and rows of desks and multiple-choice answers designed by someone who probably enjoys being hated.
But her body has stopped preparing for impact. Her hands have stopped trying to turn themselves inside out.
Rafe flips another card. “Okay. This one looks fake.”
“It’s not fake.”
“It’s got too many syllables to be real.”
“That’s most of psychology.”
“Respectfully, your major is just naming shit everyone already does and then acting all fancy about it.”
She turns her head and looks at him. “You’re literally a business major.”
“Yeah, and I know it’s fake.”
She laughs, and this time it comes out easily. Rafe looks at her for a second too long after that, the card lowered slightly in his hand. The lamp catches on his face, softening the sharpness without erasing it, leaving him golden and tired and still a little mean around the mouth.
His eyes move over her face, less assessing now, more careful in that way that always makes her chest feel too full because care on Rafe has never looked like care in the ordinary sense.
It looks like stolen shoes. Like locked doors. Like a hand at the small of her back in a crowded party. Like don’t be stupid when what he means is I can see you scaring yourself and I’m not letting you do it alone.
“What?” she asks, quieter.
He shrugs, but the movement is too small to be convincing. “You’re fine.”
She almost corrects him. The instinct rises immediately, familiar and sharp. She’s not fine. She’s underprepared. She’s tired. She’s one bad practice question away from putting her head through his drywall.
But then Rafe taps the flashcards against his palm and says, “Not, like, emotionally. Obviously. But for the exam? You’re fine.”
A surprised laugh leaves her. “Obviously?”
“Baby,” he says, with the driest tenderness known to man, “you’ve been terrorising my room for half an hour.”
She presses her lips together, but the smile gets through anyway. “You’re still bad at comforting.”
“Maybe. But you’re not pacing anymore.”
“That doesn’t mean you win.”
“Pretty sure it does.”
“You bullied me into sitting down.”
“I questioned you into admitting the evidence doesn’t support your little panic case.”
She stares at him, offended by both the phrasing and the fact that it is, annoyingly, not wrong. “My little panic case?”
“Yeah. Weak arguments. No witnesses. A lot of drama.” He flicks the flashcard lightly against her knee. “I’d throw it out.”
She groans, tipping sideways until her shoulder presses more fully into his. “I hate when you make sense.”
“I know.”
“It ruins your whole thing.”
“My whole thing?”
“Being hot and emotionally useless.”
Rafe laughs under his breath, rough and low, and the sound moves through her where their shoulders touch. “I’m not emotionally useless.”
She looks up at him.
He holds her gaze for half a second, then looks back at the cards. “I’m emotionally selective.”
“That’s not a real thing.”
His mouth curves. “Next card?”
She should say no. She should go back to her room, sleep, set six alarms, accept that whatever happens tomorrow will happen under the cruel supervision of university administration and God.
Instead she reaches for the blanket at the end of his bed and pulls it over her legs, leaning into him just enough that he has to shift his arm behind her to make room.
He does it like it’s nothing. Like his body has been waiting for the excuse. Like he didn’t just spend half an hour berating her nervous system into a less embarrassing configuration.
“Next card,” she says.
Rafe looks down at her, and for a second his expression does something softer than he probably intended. Then he clears his throat, because God forbid, and lifts the card with renewed seriousness. “A’ight. Explain operant conditioning.”
She smiles into the warm, worn shoulder of his shirt. “That one’s easy.”
“Good,” he says, voice low and certain beside her ear. “Then don’t be stupid about it.”
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SYNOPSIS‧₊˚ Rafe decides to stay in the villa for one final day, only for a Slumber Party challenge to bring him the best gift of his life, in more ways than one
WARNING(S)‧₊˚ heavy swearing, verbal arguments, minor public humiliation, social isolation ⚠️this chapter has been forcibly labeled 'mature' twice now, there is nothing i can do, so if you are unable to read it, it has also been uploaded to my ao3 (linked in my pinned post), you do not need an ao3 account to read it
˗ˏˋ series masterlist ˎˊ˗
WHEN JJ padded over to Soul Ties, the hot and humid air hit him first, followed by the sight of Rafe.
The man was slumped on the daybed, long legs stretched out, staring blankly at the railing that overlooked the pool. He had on a hoodie, looking like a shell of himself.
"...Hey," JJ said softly, stepping onto the deck. He kept his distance for a second, testing the waters. Rafe’s temper was a fragile thing on a good day, Rafe was a fragile thing, but after last night—after you were dumped from the island in the most brutal twist they’ve witnessed so far—the whole villa had been walking on eggshells.
Rafe didn't look up.
He just let out a dry breath. "Hey."
JJ took that as an invitation, dropping down on the end of the daybed. He rubbed the back of his neck, looking over at Rafe. The line of his jaw was tight, teeth visibly clenched. "You good, man?” He threw out. “...Sofia woke up asking where you were."
"I don't give a fuck what Sofia was asking," Rafe snapped, voice rough and gravelly from lack of sleep. He turned his head, his eyes bloodshot, ringed with dark circles. "And, no, I'm not ‘good’, JJ.” He groaned. “I feel like I'm losing my mind..."
JJ nodded, his expression softening. Although he’d never say it out loud in a million years, JJ was the guy Rafe trusted most. The only one who didn't look at him like he was some kind of ticking time bomb, even when he was.
"I get it, bro," JJ said, leaning forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Last night was…fucked. Nobody saw that shit coming. Nobody, whole house feels empty without her..."
"It's not just empty," Rafe muttered, voice cracking slightly as he shifted to sit up. "It's suffocating. I look around this fuckin’ yard, and every single spot is just a reminder that she's not here. The daybeds, the kitchen, that fuckass fire pit... it's all just her. And now I'm supposed to make breakfast and play nice with the reason she’s gone? Fuck that."
JJ sighed, watching him. "Well, it's the next day now,” JJ starts, careful. “...where is your head at?"
Rafe stiffened, turning to look out over the villa, shoulders dropping as the anger seemed to drain out of him, leaving nothing but an exhausting defeat.
"I'm think I’m jus’ gonna leave," Rafe said quietly.
Rafe just shrugged. "Why shouldn't I?" He turned back to him, arms thrown up in a helpless gesture. "I mean, look around, man. There’s nothin’ left for me. Who else have I had even the least bit of interest in since day one? When has my head ever been turned, aside from it being to her?" He shook his head, drawing his lips into a thin line. "Never. Not once. From the second she walked in, that was it for me. You know that. Everyone knows that."
"I know, but—"
"There are no 'buts,' JJ.” He interrupts. “What else would I be here for beside her? The money? I didn't come here for the fuckin’ money," Rafe added, a bitter laugh escaping him. "I have enough money. And honestly? I don't even know why the hell I came on this show in the first place. If you asked me three months ago if I was in the right headspace to find love, I would've told you fuck no. My life was a mess, I was dealing with shit... I just did it because it felt like... like some weird obligation I couldn't shake."
He shifted closer to JJ, eyes wide.
"But now? Being in here with her?... I feel like it was the universe, or whatever the fuck is out there, just pushin' us together. Like I had to go through all this bullshit just to find the one person who actually sees me, who actually makes me want to be better. And if she's not in this villa... then what am I doing?” He scoffs, scrutinizing himself. “Letting my ex hold me hostage on national television?"
JJ sat in silence for a long moment. He wanted to tell Rafe he was being dramatic, but he couldn't. Everyone had seen who Rafe became when he was around you. The sharp edges of his personality softened, the guard he kept up with everyone else dissolved.
Rafe was in love with you. Whether he knew it or not, whether you knew it or not, whether he said it or not, whether you said it or not. And seeing him without you was like watching a battery die.
"Bro," JJ started, choosing his words carefully. "I hear you. And I respect how you feel right now. But listen to me, just... don't just pack your bags jus’ yet."
Rafe frowned. "Why not?"
"Just... think on it for today," JJ pleaded, standing up to put a hand on Rafe's shoulder. "Just chill for a second. Let your brain process last night without making that big of a decision at eight in the morning. If you sit on it all day, and by tonight you still feel like you're wasting your time here, then fine. I won't stop you. I'll help you carry your bags myself. But…just give it today."
Rafe looked at JJ's hand on his shoulder, then back out at the villa.
"Fine," Rafe muttered, his jaw tight. "Alright, I'll stay. But I'm not sleeping in that bed. Not with her. And I'm sure as hell not pretending everything is fine."
"That's all I'm askin’, man," JJ said, giving his shoulder a firm squeeze. "Just chill. Come down whenever you're ready."
DOWNSTAIRS in the kitchen, the boys were preparing breakfast, per usual. Today, however, it felt like a more like a chore.
Pope was slicing avocados for Cleo, his face focused. Across from him, Theo was flipping pancakes, while Justin carefully plated a fruit bowl for Rima. John B stood by the toaster, staring blankly at the wall as he waited for Kaitlyn’s bagels to pop.
JJ walked into the kitchen, grabbed a blender and began tossing in frozen berries, protein powder, and oat milk. He blended it in silence, the loud whirring of the machine filling the awkward gaps in conversation. When it finished, he poured the thick pink sludge into a cup, grabbed a straw, and turned toward the stairs.
"That for Haja?" John B asked, leaning against the counter.
"Yeah," JJ said shortly. "Peace offering.” He shrugged. “I'm over the drama, man. I don't want any bad blood, but that’s as far as it goes." And he didn't wait for a response, heading up the stairs to the Glam Room.
INSIDE, Cleo, Sarah, Rima, and Kaitlyn were clustered around the vanities while Sofia sat off to the side, aggressively brushing her hair, face dark. Haja was sitting on a stool, scrolling through her villa phone.
JJ walked in, ignoring Sofia's heavy stare, and walked over to Haja, setting the smoothie down on the table next to her. "Jus’ thought to make sure you had somethin'."
Haja looked up, surprised, a small, grateful smile forming on her lips. "Oh. Thanks. That’s…really sweet."
"Mhm," JJ hummed, his tone casual, devoid of the flirtatious warmth he used to give her. He turned his back before she could say anything else, eyes scanning the room. He locked eyes with Sarah, Cleo, Rima, John B who had just walked up behind him with a tray, and Pope, who was standing at the doorway with a plate.
"Yo," JJ said, his voice dropping, disregarding who else was in the room or who might feel excluded. "I need to talk to you guys. Like, right now." He left no room for argument as he walked back out into the corridor, the selected group exchanging bewildered glances before following him out.
Once they were all huddled in the narrow hall, away from the door, Cleo crossed her arms. "What's goin’ on?"
"Guys, it's bad," JJ said flatly, looking at each of them. "Like, really bad."
"What's bad?" Sarah asked. "Are you talking about Rafe? Is he okay?"
JJ just sighed. "I just went up to check on him," he explained, rubbing his face. "...He told me he’s thinking about leaving."
"What?" Pope straightened, surprised but also not. "Why would he leave?"
JJ looked at the man like he had lost his mind. "What do you mean why, Pope? The only girl he has ever cared about in here—the girl he’s most likely in love with—just got booted out of here last night.” He hissed, voice hushed. “Of course he wants to leave."
The hallway went silent. John B looked down at his shoes, while Sarah's eyes pooled with tears. The gravity of Rafe's despair seemed to hit everyone all at once, but before anyone could offer a solution, Rima shrugged.
"Honestly?" She said, voice calm. "Let him."
The entire group turned to her, shock plastered across their faces.
"Let him?" John B repeated, incredulous. "Why would you say that?"
"Because he’s miserable, John B." Rima shot back. "He’s not happy in here. He will never be happy in here, because his happiness left with her.” She deadpans. “He only smiles, he only laughs, he only functions normally when he is with her. And she’s gone.” Rima snarled, like the thought itself offended her. “So why should we force him to stay here and suffer?"
"Rima," Pope argued, stepping forward. "You know how much she cared about him. If she were standing here right now, she would want Rafe to be happy. She’d want him to stay, try to enjoy the experience, and see it through to the end—"
"No, she wouldn't," Cleo chimed in, scoffing and stepping up to back Rima up. "She would want him to do whatever makes him happy, and staying here isn’t it."
"Exactly," Sarah agreed, wiping a stray tear from her cheek. "Their connection is so strong, you guys. We all saw it. It’s not like they’re some random couple that’s going to forget each other in two weeks. This won't be the end of the world for them if he walks out. They’ll come back together."
Rima nodded, crossing her arms over her chest. "That's exactly my point.” She gives the boys a tight-lipped grimace. “So if he wants to leave, let him leave. I truly believe, with every fiber of my being, that he’ll be ten times happier outside of this place than sitting in here without her.” She emphasizes with her hands. “To be completely honest, I expected him to walk out last night. I think the only reason he didn't is because he was just too emotional and overwhelmed to even remember that he’s not a prisoner, that we can choose to leave at any point."
The boys stood in the quiet of the hallway, the weight of the girls' words sinking in.
"...Yeah," John B admitted, a heavy sigh escaping him as he scratched the back of his head. "You guys are right. And plus, there’s really nothing left we can do to convince him otherwise if his heart isn't in it."
"I did tell him to just think about it for the rest of the day, though," JJ added, looking down the corridor toward the stairs. "I told him to just take it easy, breathe, and if he still wants to leave by tonight, then that’s that."
"That's fair," Cleo said, her expression softening, letting the silence hang before attempting to change the subject to something else. "... So did none of you make Sofia breakfast?"
The boys all looked at each other, unapologetic smirks spreading across their faces.
"Hell no," John B muttered, scoffing. "Why the hell would we do that?"
"Yeah, absolutely not," Pope laughed quietly. "My culinary skills are reserved for people who don't ruin couples for fun."
A brief burst of laughter rippled through the group, a fleeting moment of levity in an otherwise heavy morning. But as quickly as the laughter came, it died down.
"...Damn," JJ murmured, his voice cracking slightly. "I still can't believe she's actually gone. Like, it's just crazy."
"Yeah," Pope agreed, leaning his head back against the wall. "I know in some way, we all want to be the ones to win this, obviously.” He sighed, shaking his head. “We all want to make it to the end. But if I'm being honest... I think we all had our bets on them.” He throws out casually. “We all thought Rafe and her were going to take it."
"They've been through so much, since day one," Sarah said, her voice thick. "And every single time something happened, they always came out on the other side better than they went in, even if it was messy.” She smiled softly to herself. “We all came here to find love, but those two found it and so much more."
"I miss her, man," Cleo said softly. "The whole vibe of the house is wrong. And you can see it in Rafe... the light she gave him? It’s gone.” She says sadly. “From his eyes, from the way he speaks, from the way he used to jump out of bed at the crack of dawn just to make her breakfast exactly how she liked it… He looks miserable."
"Alright," JJ said, straightening his shoulders and clapping his hands. "Here's the plan. Make sure someone is keeping an eye on him at all times, keeping his spirits up, but not smothering him, y’know? We all know he can get a bit...snappy.” JJ jokes, light laughter washing over the small group. “He’s down, bad, so let’s just make sure he knows he’s got us."
BY mid-afternoon, the unrelenting heat of the sun was violent, and a sharp ping echoed from Cleo's phone, signaling a text as everyone moved to gather around.
"Islanders, it’s time to find out what the public really thinks in today’s challenge…Mean Tweets! #NoFilter #CaughtInTheNet #SpillTheTea"
When they walked out to the challenge area, there was a clothesline across the lawn. Hanging from the line were various paper cutouts shaped like pieces of clothing—brightly colored underwear, t-shirts, bras, and socks—each bearing a tweet from a viewer with the names completely blanked out.
The rules were simple—an islander would step up, read the anonymous tweet off the clothesline, and then decide who they thought the public was talking about. Once they made their guess, they would grab a giant bucket of ice cold, soapy water and dump it directly over that person's head before peeling off the sticker to reveal the name.
If they were right, they scored a point for their team—Boys versus Girls.
"This is gonna be a bloodbath." JJ muttered to Pope as they lined up on their respective sides, the soapy water already smelling strongly of citrus.
And he wasn't wrong.
The public had been watching 24/7, and they had collected a massive amount of ammunition. And, while almost everyone was slated to get their fair share of criticism, it became clear within the first ten minutes that three specific people were the primary targets of the public’s wrath—John B, Haja, and Sofia.
Sarah was up first for the girls, stepping up to the clothesline as she pulled down a cutout shaped like a pair of boxers and read it aloud.
"____ is a literal wolf in sheep's clothing. He puts on a good nice guy act but he's actually a master manipulator and a liar. And it doesn’t help that he’s just easy."
Sarah didn't hesitate. She grabbed the heavy blue bucket of soapy water, walked straight over to him, and dumped it over his head with a splash that soaked his frame. John B sputtered, wiping water from his eyes as Sarah walked back to peel off the sticker.
Sure enough, his name was underneath.
The tweets kept coming for John B, each one more devastating than the last.
Rima stepped up next, reading a tweet from a paper t-shirt.
"The _____ hate train is departing the station and I am the conductor. I called him not being shit and all my friends called me crazy. Yet here he is flirting with his ex and showering with another girl. He is a nasty, desperate little ogre."
The villa erupted into gasps and laughter. "An ogre?" Theo snorted from the back, covering his mouth, shoulders shaking as he laughed.
John B just stood there, drenched in soapy foam, jaw tight as he took hit after hit, his behavior during and after Casa Amor coming back to haunt him in the most public way possible.
But he wasn’t the only one. The public hadn’t forgotten Haja’s behavior during Casa either, especially her back-and-forth antics with Miles before he was dumped.
Cleo stepped up to the line, pulling down a cutout of a tank top.
"___ is the biggest bird, it’s actually embarrassing to watch. A total bitch who acts like she’s innocent but she’s literally community at this point."
Cleo winced at the harsh wording. "Oof. I think... Haja?" She winced. “Sorry.”
Cleo didn’t look particularly happy, but she grabbed a bucket and walked over to Haja, dumping the soapy water over her with a quiet muttered apology.
She peeled the sticker off, revealing Haja’s name, the other islanders revealing more tweets directed towards her as the game went on—pointing out the hypocrisy of her sleeping with JJ but then letting Miles grope her, labeling her behavior as sneaky and disrespectful.
Haja stood there, eyes blinking against the soapy water, lower lip trembling as the harsh reality of public perception hit her.
And JJ himself didn't escape unscathed, though his hate was minimal compared to the others.
Somewhere halfway during the challenge, Sofia stepped up and read a tweet targeting him.
"I don't even feel bad for ___. He’s so easy, he literally did this to himself because he let his dick do all the thinking."
Sofia smirked, huffing to herself before dumping the water on JJ, who just shrugged, shaking wet hair out of his eyes. "Fair enough," he muttered. "They’re not wrong."
And because no one was perfect, the rest of the islanders had their fair share.
Pope stepped up and read a tweet about Theo.
"___ is so two-faced. He was playing Y/N from the first day of Casa. The second they got that video, he swooped in like a vulture and utilized her emotions against her just to secure his spot."
Justin was targeted next, with a tweet calling him ‘insecure’ and accusing him of ‘using Rima as a safe option and a scapegoat now that Cleo is back into Pope’s arms’.
Kaitlyn's turn brought a brief moment of comedic relief when Cleo read a tweet that made everyone cringe.
"___ is just so boring. She contributes nothing to the villa. She’s the equivalent of the soggy ass pickle on a cheeseburger."
But Kaitlyn just threw her head back and laughed, genuinely amused. "Honestly, that’s hilarious." she giggled, shrugging the comment off as she took her bucket of water with a choked back laugh.
Then Rima was hit with a tweet that read…
"___ came into the villa thinking she was the shit, but she couldn't bag a single guy. When that failed, she turned this shit into Ex Island."
Rima rolled her eyes as the soapy water hit her, flipping her wet hair over her shoulder.
Sarah was called out next, the tweet labeling her as ‘airheaded’ and declaring that her taste in men was ‘probably the worst palette the world has ever seen in human history.’ Sarah just sighed, accepting the downpour of water, eyes casting a dark look over at John B.
Cleo's tweets consistently called her ‘incredibly indecisive’, accusing her of only bringing Justin back from Casa because he was ‘Pope 2.0’, which made both Pope and Justin look incredibly uncomfortable.
And Pope's tweet was a hit to his pride as Kaitlyn read it out from an underwear cutout.
"And ___ is such a loser LMAO. 'I've always felt like the second option'... maybe because you act like one?"
Pope's face hardened as John B dumped the water over him. He wiped his eyes, clearly stung by the public’s perception of him.
But the worst of the storm was reserved for Sofia.
The public was ruthless regarding her arrival in general, her behavior towards you and Rafe, and most recently… her role in your elimination.
Sarah stepped up, eyes flashing with a dangerous spark as she pulled down a paper t-shirt.
"____ is the definition of a desperate, pathetic, male-centered idiot. She’s the real homewrecker, acting like an insecure child and embarrassing herself on national television."
"Oh, this is definitely you," Sarah said, her voice dropping all pretense of friendliness as she lifted the bucket and turned it over, drenching Sofia, leaving her gasping for air.
And the hits kept coming, a tweet in reply to someone defending Sofia reading,
“____ literally 'forgot' Y/N’s name on purpose to be petty, and it's been openly admitted that she used her ex in the past?? She is not that girl. Even if it did come down to pretty privilege, your fave is not taking it."
Sofia stood there, water dripping from her hair, hands curled into tight fists at her sides.
But the final tweet of the challenge was for Rafe.
"Since Y/N is gone, all of the other islanders need to take cover or something, because ___ is probably about to Godzilla the villa."
It wasn't super mean, but it was clearly a dig, and Rafe just shrugged as the water was poured over him, not caring but also not even interested in these games anymore.
And as the challenge ended, the already fragile state of the villa shattered even further.
As they were walking back to rinse off the sticky soap, Sofia snapped. She turned around in the center of the lawn, wet hair clinging to her face, eyes wild with humiliation and rage as she looked at the circle of people.
"Are all of you happy now?!" She yelled, voice screeching. "Getting to humiliate me like you have some kind of personal vendetta—"
Sarah stopped in her tracks, her expression turning ice-cold. "It is a personal vendetta.” She seethed. “You got what you deserved."
"What I deserved? For what? Getting your friend kicked out?” She scoffed. “I was doing what I had to do!" Sofia defended herself, voice shaking as she gestured wildly.
"You didn’t have to do anything, you had a choice," Cleo stepped up, voice booming as she closed the distance between them,. "And you chose the wrong one. You should’ve gone home.” She hissed. “But instead you ruined probably the best connection here because your own ego couldn't handle the fact that Rafe doesn't want you."
"You did it out of spite," Rima chimed in, crossing her arms, brown eyes boring holes into her. "So don't sit here and cry about the consequences of your own actions, now."
JJ stood, arms crossed, watching the confrontation with a cold, unbothered expression. Theo and Justin were watching as well, not really knowing how to feel. John B and Pope remained silent, mentally agreeing that Sofia brought this on herself.
Haja and Kaitlyn had planned on not being involved, but they were watching from the balcony now.
And Rafe, well Rafe had disappeared long ago. He’d been moving like a ghost around the villa—you see him and, if you blink, he’s gone.
"You know what? I don't give a shit!" Sofia shouted, snarling, stepping right into Cleo’s face, her chest heaving. "I came here for myself! I didn't come here to make friends with any of you bitches!”
“Bitches?!”
“Who the hell—”
“I’m going to do exactly what I came here to do, and if you’re all so damn mad about it, then you can go crying and running after your fucking friend!" She let out a harsh, mocking laugh, eyes sweeping over Sarah, Rima, and Cleo.
"Honestly, I’m surprised you all aren't hanging from the fucking plane she’s on by now, considering how far up her ass you all have been!” She mocks, looking them all up and down. “Get a grip. She's gone, and she's not coming back."
With that final, bitter declaration, Sofia turned and stormed off toward the villa.
THE fallout from the Twitter challenge had left everyone exhausted by the time night rolled around.
Everyone was either getting settled into bed or getting ready to get settled—Pope and Cleo were in bed, whispering and giggling. Theo was in his and Sarah’s now shared bed, her right next to him as they flirted mindlessly as John B glared from the edge of the bed he was now sharing with Kaitlyn. Justin and Rima were still getting ready while Haja tucked herself onto the far left side of her and JJ’s bed.
And before heading out to Soul Ties to sleep by himself, again, Rafe was cornered by the boys near in the outdoor kitchen while grabbing a drink before bed—JJ, Pope, and John B standing in a loose semi-circle around him.
"Yo, Rafe," Pope said quietly, breaking the silence. "Just…checkin' in one last time tonight, man.” He edged carefully. “Is it... are you really still planning on leaving?"
Rafe stopped and looked at his friends, expression resolute.
"Yeah," Rafe said, voice flat and steady. "I think so. I’ve spent the whole day thinking about it, and...there’s just no point.” He shrugged. “There’s nothin’ for me here."
JJ stepped forward, putting both hands on Rafe’s shoulders, looking at him.
"Listen to me, bro," JJ said, his tone softening. "We get it. We…understand, and none of us are gonna try to force you to stay if you don’t want to. But…do us one favor,” JJ started, glancing back at John B and Pope who nodded before turning back to Rafe. “Just give us one last day. Spend tomorrow with us."
Rafe groaned, shaking his head. "I’m not—"
"No, listen," John B interrupted, stepping in. "Just one last day where you aren't down in the dumps.” He threw his arms out. “Leave this place on a good note. And then, by tomorrow night? You can walk right out those doors, go find your girl, and get her back. Alright? No pushback. We promise."
Rafe looked at the three of them before he let out a long, slow breath, shoulders dropping.
"Fine," Rafe muttered, the faint ghost of a smile touching his lips. "One last day. And then I’m gone."
MORNING arrived with a strange, yet bittersweet, speed.
The first half of the day moved at a kind of fast-forwarded pace. The boys went through the usual motions—making breakfast, lounging around —but the energy was centered around making sure Rafe had a memorable final day.
And he was genuinely trying his best to engage—he spent an hour in the pool playing catch with JJ and Pope, throwing a beach ball back and forth until his shoulders ached. Later, he sat on the daybeds with Cleo and Sarah, playfully gossiping, or rather, mocking their gossip before they shooed him away.
The guys had told the girls about Rafe’s decision and of course, they respected it.
But during the quiet lulls—the moments when everyone else was pre-occuppied—Rafe would slip away.
He spent a long time sitting on the beanbags by himself, his phone held in both hands. He scrolled through the camera roll, thumb lingering over the photos of the two of you. There were pictures of you both laughing, candid shots JJ had taken of you two napping on the daybeds, and the very last photos you had taken together in the photo booth—him taking a picture of the pictures, just in case.
A deep ache settled into his chest as he stared at your smile on the screen. He missed the sound of your laugh, the way you looked at him like he was the only person in the room, the touch of your hand against his skin.
Just a few more hours, he thought to himself, jaw tightening. Just a few more hours in this place, and I'm coming to find you.
BY afternoon, the calm of the villa was interrupted by that familiar text tone.
Everyone turned their heads as Sarah grabbed her phone from the kitchen counter, her eyes widening as she read the message.
"Islanders! It’s time to get cozy and messy in today’s challenge….Slumber Party! #BlindLuck #WhosWho"
Before heading out to the garden for the event, everyone changed into the mandatory dress code— styled in pristine white for the challenge, the boys wearing crisp white shorts, while the girls looked stunning in matching white silk and lace lingerie sets, leaving the boys breathless.
Everyone was fairly excited to see a massive, oversized bed in the center of the garden, complete with dozens of plush pillows and white silk sheets, and, of course, Ariana standing by it all with her signature poised smile.
The boys were handcuffed to the bed while the girls were sat off to the side, sleep masks atop their heads and pocket-straps full of paint.
"Hello, Islanders," Ariana greeted them, eyes twinkling. "Welcome to the best Slumber Party you’ll probably ever have.” She teases. “Boys, as you can see, you are all going to be handcuffed to the headboard of this gigantic bed. Girls, you are about to be blindfolded and armed with your own specific color of paint."
She gestured to the satchels of paint each woman had.
"One by one, the girls will dip their hands in their paint, climb onto the bed, and feel their way through the boys. Your mission? Recognize the guy you are coupled up with, and then handcuff yourself to him.” She throws out casually. “Boys... you must remain completely silent. No speaking, no whispering, no giving hints. And girls, once you shackle yourself to a boy, you must keep your blindfold on until everyone has completed their turn.” She says firmly. “Let's see who truly knows their partner..." She drawled. “Girls, please lower your blindfolds.”
The boys were lined up and securely handcuffed to the humungous headboard, one of each of their arms stretched out, leaving them vulnerable and at the mercy of the girls. Rafe sat near the center, relaxed, treating this as the final thing before he was out of here.
The line of girls each lowered the sleep masks over their eyes, giggling as they did so as Ariana put her index fingers in front of her lips, reminding the men to stay quiet as she approached the girls, guiding Cleo up to the bed first.
Cleo stepped up, dipping her hands into her pocket full of royal blue paint before carefully climbing onto the bed.
She moved across the line of boys respectfully, careful, light touches of her palms against their chests and shoulders as they flinched from the chill of the paint and tried to hold in their laughs as she crawled around. When she reached Pope, her hands lingered on his jawline and shoulders, recognizing his frame almost immediately as she smiled blindly before straddling him, kissing him deeply before securely handcuffing herself to him.
Next, Ariana helped Sarah onto the mattress, her hands covered in vibrant yellow paint. Unlike Cleo, Sarah had zero shame or reservations.
She giggled, touching her way through the boys, running her hands over their abs and arms, even kissing her way through the line like there was no tomorrow. The boys tried their best to stifle their laughter as she managed to snog Pope, JJ, Justin, and Theo before, unfortunately for her, in her confusion, she mistook John B’s broader build for Theo’s and handcuffed herself to him.
John B looked confused, but satisfied, while Theo, sitting right next to him, raised his eyebrows in shock. The rest of the boys were wide-eyed, exchanging frantic, silent glances. JJ bit his lower lip to keep from bursting out laughing, pointing wildly with his free fingers at John B's smug face, while Pope winced hard, knowing the hell that was going to rain down once Sarah took that blindfold off.
Rima was next, hands coated in purple paint. She used a similar strategy, kissing her way through the boys with a playful confidence until she reached Justin, hesitating just a bit. Having been in a long-term relationship with him, she was pretty familiar with his body.
Her hands traced his chest, a confident smirk spreading across her lips as she found his wrist and locked the handcuffs into place.
Then, Haja stepped up, bright orange paint dripping from her fingers. And she took full advantage—kissing her way down the line up of boys, lingering on their lips. She was clearly having her fun, taking the kisses far past what would be considered necessary. And when she reached JJ, she recognized him, handcuffing herself to him. But JJ didn't even react, his face remained flat as he stared blankly over her head at Pope, looking over this whole thing.
Kaitlyn followed, her hands covered in bright white paint as she decided to just have fun with it. She giggled, smearing white paint on her lips and planting kisses on several of the boys' cheeks and chests before eventually navigating her way back to John B, handcuffing herself to him. Of course, this created an incredibly awkward setup, as John B was now shackled to both Kaitlyn and Sarah, though neither girl could see it yet.
And finally, with Ariana’s help, Sofia navigated her way onto the bed, hands dripping with thick green paint. And she wasted no time.
She was aggressive, messy, and frantic—smearing green paint all over the boys' bodies and faces as she felt around. She moved down the line, seemingly...unable to pinpoint Rafe. The guys were confused but also amused—wondering why she behaved so wildly for a guy that she couldn’t even pick out blindly.
And as Rafe sat, watching her go back and forth between all the guys, he couldn’t help but think about you—how you would’ve recognized him almost instantly, how you would’ve known by any part of him. By his jawline, his chest, his hands, his buzzcut that you loved to run your fingers through—hell, he was sure you could’ve recognized him by the way his breathing always changes when you’re around.
But as Sofia was still blindly groping her way across the mattress, failing to recognize Rafe, it was then that boys noticed Ariana’s eyes focused somewhere far behind them, waving someone over softly.
All of their expressions twisted, heads turning, jaws slightly agape as two figures sauntered into the villa, dressed in white lingerie sets.
They couldn’t see their faces at first, just the bodies of two people that were clearly women—hips swaying as they got closer. And when they got close enough to see the full picture, their jaws dropped.
JJ’s eyes went wide, and Rafe—who had been sitting back with a bored expression—went entirely frozen, his heart hammering.
It felt like the universe had clicked into place, shifting on its axis just for him. For a guy who had spent his whole life feeling like a screw-up, the one who never got what he wanted, Rafe suddenly felt like that helpless little kid who used to look up at the night sky and wish upon a star—except, for the first time in his life, his dream had actually come true. The weight that had been suffocating him since your dumping lifted, replaced by a comforting warmth.
You were here.
It was you.
His real saving grace was walking right back to him, and everything else faded into static. And for all the times he called you that nickname you loved so much, he would protest that you looked like a true angel right now, nothing short of.
You were walking into the garden, looking radiant, that familiar soft smirk on your lips as everything seemed to move in slow motion for him as you blinked, turning slightly to the side as your eyes connected with his, a sparkle in them.
And walking right next to you was a brand-new bombshell—sun-kissed beauty with long, messy beach waves, mismatched silver rings on her fingers, minimalist tattoos littering her skin, and a killer suntan.
Both of your hands were covered in thick red paint, dripping on the wood of the deck as you approached, taking your places next to Ariana.
Sofia was still blindfolded, still oblivious, and currently still feeling around Theo’s chest a few feet away.
The boys were itching to scream, to jump out of their seats.
JJ was literally buzzing, not only at your return but at the mere sight of the girl next to you, eyes locked onto her as she offered him a slow, wicked wink.
And Rafe was breathless, speechless, his eyes flooding with tears as his jaw clenched, his entire body shaking as he realized he wasn't dreaming, and that the girl he was about to leave the villa for was standing right in front of him.
And he thought about how much he’d owe JJ for the rest of his life for convincing him to stay just one more day.
When Ariana gave you and the new bombshell the silent go ahead, you fought a smile as you both climbed onto the bed. You missed Rafe, more than words could ever attempt to convey, but it wouldn’t be you if you didn’t decide to tease him, just a little bit.
You started at the right end of the bed, while the other girl took the left, and paced yourself down the line, lightly running your red-painted fingers over the other boys’ shoulders, making them grin as they knew what you were doing. The newest bombshell, however, had zero reservations—she went down the line from her side, passionately kissing every boy like her life depended on it.
And while she was busy kissing the rest of the lineup, and Sofia was still struggling to pinpoint Rafe, you crawled your way onto the mattress, moving toward him.
And nothing made this sweeter than the fact that, right next to you, Sofia had finally fumbled, failing to recognize Rafe as she mistook Theo's structure for his and handcuffed herself to him instead.
But Rafe didn't even notice Sofia, he didn’t care.
His world had narrowed down to you.
He kept the rules in the very back of his mind, struggling as he didn’t allow himself to say a word. Instead, the second you reached him, he leaned forward, as far as his handcuffs allowed, his one free hand reaching up to grip the back of your neck as he practically yanked you into a kiss that was so desperate, it felt like he was drowning.
You kissed him back just as hard, your red-stained hands wrapping around his shoulders, smearing the color across his skin. Rafe was kissing you like the exchange would grant you both immortality, chest heaving as he held you in place, refusing to let you go as his fingers dug into your skin. A single, stray tear slipped from his eye, tracing a path down his cheek as his shoulders shook, the man forcing himself to hold back a sob of the most relief he’s ever felt in his life.
The kiss went on much longer than intended, or maybe not, breathtaking and deep, on the center of the bed while the rest of the men watched in awe.
And when signaled by Ariana, you reluctantly pulled away, breathless and smiling as you used what little time you had to smear a heart on his chest before wrapping a paint-drenched palm around his neck, pulling into one more bruising kiss, leaving your handprint around his throat, before rising to your feet, looking down at his dazed face, and wiggling your red-painted fingers at him in a playful goodbye as you and the other girl exited the challenge area until you were to be called again.
Rafe sat there, his free hand trembling above his heart, a dazed smirk on his face as he stared out at nothing. He looked down at the red handprints, surrounding the messy heart, on his chest, wondering again if what just happened was even real.
As you and the other girl rounded the corner, mischievous smiles on your faces, Ariana spoke up for the first time since the challenge started. "Okay…that was wild.” Ariana cringed. “Alright ladies," her voice boomed. "You can take your blindfolds off."
The sound of rustling sheets filled the air as the girls lifted off their blindfolds, eyes examining who was where.
Cleo looked down, thrilled to see herself next to Pope, her paint splattered on his chest. "You look sexy in white," Pope whispered, a smirk playing on his lips as his free hand rested on her hip, pulling her closer against him.
"You look sexy in blue," she flirted back, pecking him on the cheek.
Rima gave Justin a smug smile, satisfied. Haja offered JJ a small smile, but his blue eyes were glued to the scenery in front of him, not wanting to make eye contact or make her think his feelings had changed at all.
But the real drama was on the other side of the bed.
Sarah looked up at her handcuffs, her face twisting in fury when she realized she was locked to John B. "You’ve got to be fucking kidding me," she hissed, throwing her head back.
John B tried to offer a weak smile. "Long time no see." He attempted to joke, but Sarah just narrowed her eyes at him.
"Shut up. You’re not funny." She snapped, face flushing with embarrassment as Kaitlyn remained awkwardly silent on the other side.
Meanwhile, Sofia looked up confidently, expecting to see Rafe's blue eyes looking down at her when instead, she found herself staring directly into the face of Theo. “...What the hell?” She muttered under her breath, confused.
She froze, her jaw dropping as she looked down at her green paint smeared all over Theo's chest, very few places untouched. She looked over at Rafe, who was sitting a few feet away, covered in red handprints and lip marks, looking disheveled and dazed and somewhere planets away.
Ariana stepped forward, a dangerous smirk on her lips. "It seems that, for some of you, your chemistry led you right back to each other.” She starts, hands clasped together. “However, for others, it seems that some things got lost in translation…” She drags out, eyes on Sofia and Sarah.
She turned her eyes to each of the miscoupled girls. "Sarah, how do you feel about choosing John B?"
Sarah rolled her eyes hard, slumping where she sat awkwardly beside the boy. "I’m pissed at myself.” She scoffs. “It doesn’t mean anything, though.” She quips, eyes flashing to the boy beside her. “I think it’s just because we spent so much time together, it’s probably muscle memory, nothing else."
“John B?” Ariana turned.
The boy in question just shrugged, a bit smug. "I’m a happy man."
Both Sarah and Kaitlyn just rolled their eyes in disgust as Ariana turned her attention to Sofia, who was trying her best to hold her head up high. "Sofia... you missed your mark with Rafe.” She says casually. “How does that feel?"
"I mean..." Sofia cleared her throat, trying to sound indifferent. "Rafe and I have been apart for a long time, so obviously it’s a bit tricky.” She shrugs, though you can tell she’s humiliated. “I’m not too embarrassed about it, but it obviously doesn't feel great. I’m just... I’m really hoping I didn't hurt Rafe's feelings by it."
Ariana turned her head slowly toward Rafe, who was more present but still had a far away look in his blue eyes. "Rafe... did Sofia hurt your feelings?"
And Rafe didn't even look at Sofia, just let out a short breath.
"I don't give a fuck," Rafe said through a breathy laugh, a lopsided smirk on his face.
The girls all gasped at Rafe’s brutal honesty, fighting smiles, a few of them covering their mouths to hide their grins as the guys lowered their heads to try and do the same, knowing that Sofia was the last thing on Rafe’s mind.
Sofia’s face turned an ugly shade of crimson, eyes flashing with anger as she stared at him, a snarl on her lips.
Ariana huffed, trying to shake her own amusement before she spoke again. “Now, let’s take a look at all the evidence.” She begins. She stepped closer to the edge of the oversized bed, her eyes scanning the multi-colored chaos smeared across the sheets and the boys' skin. "Who was responsible for the purple and blue paint?"
Cleo and Rima both raised their hands with confident smiles. Ariana nodded. "You two seem to have the least amount of paint scattered on the bed and all over the guys. It looks like you found your men pretty easily. Was it hard or easy trying to track them down blindly?"
"Honestly, it wasn't super difficult," Cleo explained, glancing fondly at Pope. "When you spend time with your partner, you just learn the little things about them—how their shoulders feel, the shape of their jaw. If you actually pay attention, it makes it easy."
Rima nodded in agreement, chiming in, "Exactly. You just know their frame. If you lock into your connection, you don't need eyes to know who's in front of you."
Ariana smiled, turning her gaze down the line. "Alright, who’s yellow, white, and...orange?"
Sarah, Kaitlyn, and Haja all slowly raised their hands. Ariana raised an eyebrow, letting out a soft chuckle. "Now, you girls have a good amount of paint all over this bed,” she taunts”...and it clearly looks like you had some serious difficulty finding your guys. So, tell me—was it just genuinely that hard to find your partners, or were you all just using this as an excuse to have some fun?"
Sarah sighed, casting an embarrassed look at John B before speaking up. "I mean, it was definitely a little bit difficult because I haven't known Theo for that long, so I wasn't sure how to pick him out from some of the other guys. But... yeah, I'm not gonna lie, I was definitely having a bit of fun down the line, too."
Kaitlyn broke into a wide grin, shrugging her shoulders casually. "I was one hundred percent just having my fun, I don't think that's a secret to anyone here."
Haja flipped her hair, offering a playful smirk. "I'm always going to have my fun no matter what the challenge is, but honestly, it was still really easy for me to recognize JJ when I got to him."
Finally, Ariana's gaze landed on Sofia, her expression turning unreadable. "And lastly... Sofia. You have green paint smeared across almost every single spot on this bed, and obviously, you've handcuffed yourself to the wrong guy.” She tells her. “It's safe to assume it was a struggle for you out there. What was so difficult about distinguishing Rafe from the other men? Especially considering you two shared a relationship outside of the villa before the show…"
Sofia cleared her throat, face tightening as she tried to maintain her posture. "Rafe and I have been broken up and apart for a very long time. When you're disconnected for that long, it's obviously a bit tricky to remember things perfectly."
But the rest of the islanders weren't buying her excuse. JJ scoffed from his spot, being the first to speak up. "Bro, come on, I don't think it's that hard," he said, throwing his hand up. "Every one of us guys watched you go down the line, going back and forth, literally touching every single one of us from head to toe. It shouldn't be that hard to tell the difference between a fuckin’ buzz cut and a full head of hair." He muses, rolling his eyes
The girls chime in, murmuring and nodding in agreement, while Rafe just let out a loud laugh, shaking his head. He didn't give a shit about Sofia's excuses, he was just ready for his girl to come back out.
But eventually Ariana had to calm all of them down once they started to get a little bit too loud, when Sofia jumps in, "I didn't even get around that bad,” She mutters, slumping. “There’s literally red paint everywhere.” She scoffs, curling her lips. “So, who’s red?"
The guys all struggle to contain themselves while the girls now grow aware of the extra color all over the sheets, growing confused as their eyes scan everyone and everything.
"Wait," Ariana smiled,. "Who is responsible for all the red paint?"
At her words, the girls all groan, shaking their heads with bitter smiles.
“I fucking knew it,” Rima shakes her head, a grimace on her lips as Justin contains a grin.
“Should we tell ‘em?” JJ chokes out, holding in a boisterous laugh.
“Should we tell ‘em,” Cleo mocks, plucking the blonde’s forehead.
“I heard so many people kissing, I knew it.” Kaitlyn throws in casually, leaning back.
“Wait, when?” Sarah leans over, confused as Kaitlyn faces her.
“Towards the end.” She says. “You didn’t hear it? It sounded like an orgy, I swear.”
“Oh, my bad…one more thing,” Ariana laughed, stepping back to center stage as the girls all sighed. "You weren’t the only ones getting up close and personal with the boys…” She dragged out, looking all too happy as she continued, the islanders’ heads already turning back towards the entrance. “Please welcome your newest bombshells…”
“Bombshells?!” The girls all said in unison, emphasizing the plurality of the word as Ariana just grinned.
“Talia…” She called, taking a long pause before a genuine smile spread across her face. “...and Y/N.”
“What?!”
"Oh my God!" Sarah shrieked, as she shifted to sit on her knees on the mattress, whipping around to face the ‘Love Me Not’ sign, shaking. Cleo and Rima were screaming at the top of their lungs, squealing, clapping frantically despite the handcuffs as everyone broke their necks to watch as you and Talia walked into the villa, you for the second time, smeared in red paint as you strutted towards Ariana.
The girls were loud for you as Sofia sat frozen on the bed, her jaw clenched so tight it looked like it might break, her eyes boring into your face with an expression of pure hatred and solemn defeat.
Confessional : Talia
"Hi, I'm Talia,” she smiles widely at the camera. “I'm twenty-one years old, from Fort Lauderdale. If I'm not in a bikini surfing, I’m taking photos, creating digital designs, or working out. I am someone who detests drama and just loves to keep the vibes fun and wild.” She squeals. “My last relationship was a total disaster because he was way too uptight and tried to control me, so I walked away.” She shrugged. “Now, I’m here looking for a guy who can actually match my pace, who isn't afraid to be a little adventurous, a little crazy, and who makes me feel safe just being myself."
As you and Talia came to a stop next to Ariana again, the host smiled warmly at you. "You two have already made quite an impression.” Ariana smirks. “Y/N, welcome back. How are you feeling returning to the villa as a bombshell for the second time?"
You looked around the yard, your eyes locking onto Rafe's form, before you looked back at Ariana with a confident, slightly snarky smirk.
"I’m happy to be back," you said, your voice steady and full of the life it lacked just two nights ago. "To be honest, I really thought it was over for me. But...I guess you just can't get rid of me that easily." You shrugged, eyes locking onto Sofia with a certain dominance and spark that had her scoffing, looking down.
Ariana then turned to Talia. "Talia, welcome to the villa for the first time.” She muses. “How are you feeling?"
Talia stepped up, her bubbly energy evident. "I think this is the most excited I’ve ever been in my life." She smiles from ear to ear like a kid in a candy store. “And... I already have my eye on a few people…” She teases, peering at JJ through her eyelashes.
"Well, bombshells," Ariana said, reaching into her pocket and pulling out two shiny silver keys. "As you can see, our islanders are still locked down. I’m handing you the keys to set them free.” She says, an undertone to her words as she places a key into each of your palms. “It's been fun, but it's about time for me to. I'll see you all soon." She winks. "Maybe much sooner than you think..."
With a final wave, Ariana exits the garden.
You both exchange wide smiles before stepping onto the large bed, splitting the line of boys down the middle to unlock them, you deliberately teasing Rafe by saving him for the very end.
You walked over to Pope and Cleo first, sliding the key into their handcuffs, and the second the lock clicked open, Cleo threw her arms around your neck, pulling you into a rib-shattering hug. "I can't believe you're back!" she gritted, swaying side to side with you in her arms as you giggled, sharing the sentiment.
Next, you moved over to the trio that was John B, Sarah, and Kaitlyn. As soon as you clicked Sarah free from the chains, she threw her entire body forward, pulling you into the biggest bear hug, crying into your shoulder. "Oh my god, I thought you were long gone," She sobbed happily, squeezing you tight. "Ohhh God, I hate you for this but I love you so much." She said softly as she pulled back.
Kaitlyn gave you a casual, soft hug and a warm smile before she got off of the bed while John B offered you a warm, grateful smile and a slight hug. You didn’t even see JJ coming as Talia had unlocked him and he sprinted across the mattress, tackling you into a bear hug as you struggled underneath him.
By the time you finally got over to Rafe, he was jittering with impatience, sitting on the bed, jaw tight, his blue eyes wide, bouncing slightly on the mattress as he looked up at you.
You were kneeling above him, smirking down at him as you made no moves to, well, move.
The man groaned underneath you, desperate. "C’mon, don't make me wait," Rafe begged, his voice a low, rough growl that was entirely unapologetic. "Seriously.” He tried to be firm, setting his eyebrows into a hard line before it fell, a plea on his face. “You’re gonna to do this to me after everything?"
You let out a soft laugh, holding the silver key just out of his reach. "I don't know,” you taunted. “You look kind of cute like this."
"I’m not playin’ with you," he muttered, an amused but desperate grin breaking through his exhaustion. "You’re seriously gonna make me beg?"
"Maybe," you teased, leaning in slightly.
Before you could even slide the key into the lock, Rafe’s free hand shot forward, wrapping around the back of your neck as he pulled you down into a teeth-clashing kiss right there in front of everyone. You laughed against his lips, trying to speak through the exchange, but Rafe wasn’t letting up. "Rafe... hold on... you have to let me unlock you first—"
"It’s probably best if I stay handcuffed for your sake, really," he mumbled against your lips.
All you could do was giggle as you finally managed to guide the key into the lock, clicking the cuffs open. And the second his hand was free, Rafe wrapped both of his long arms around your waist, pulling you down onto his lap on the mattress as everyone watched, jaws dropped, clapping and cheering for the both of you. His hands slid down to grip your ass between his fingers, lifting you higher and dragging you in impossibly closer as he made out with you like there was genuinely no tomorrow, quite literally stealing the air from your lungs.
He was mumbling frantically in between each small gasp for air, his forehead resting against yours as he gripped you like you were dangling off the edge of a cliff. "I missed you so much... God, I was about to leave. I didn't know what the fuck I was gonna do in this place without you."
"I missed you too," you whispered, your heart swelling with an overwhelming warmth as you wrapped your arms tightly around his neck, burying your face in his shoulder. “I’m glad you decided to stay.”
The rest of the islanders were cheering incredibly loud, chanting your and Rafe's names in perfect sync as he stood on his knees with you in his arms, tossed you just high enough to lock your legs on top of his shoulders before leaning forward, letting you drop and pinning you to the mattress beneath him, kissing you breathless.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa," JJ shouted from the grass, laughing as he covered his eyes. "Jesus, guys, save it for the Hideaway!"
"Get a room, man!" Pope yelled, pumping his fist in the air.
"Well, guess we don’t have to worry about him leaving anymore." Rima muttered quietly from the back, nudging Cleo and Sarah’s shoulder, a relieved chuckle escaping her.
Confessional : Cleo
She was creaming and squealing, jumping up and down in her seat. “My girl is back, ahhhh! I am over the moon!” She emphasized, eyes wide and excited. “The baddest bitch has returned to her throne, and the look on Sofia’s face was worth every second spent without her.”
Confessional : Rima
“I am so happy, right now.” She smiled, wiping on stray tear that feel. “Fuck it, I’m rooting for them to win the whole damn thing. Their connection is so unbreakable, and tonight really proved it to everyone in here and pretty much everyone watching.”
Confessional : Sarah
“I so thought she was gone. Like, for real.” She laughs lightly, wiping tears from her eyes, though a grateful smile remains on her face. “I missed her so much. We all did. Those two days without her felt so weird.” She says. “And seeing the light come back into Rafe’s eyes the second she came in... it had to be the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen in my life.”
Confessional : JJ
“Let’s fuckin’ go, dude!” He shouted, punching the air with a grin so wide it had his cheeks red. “My girl is back in the building!” He exclaims. “Having her back feels great, man…And Rafe, man,” He sighs, shaking his head. “That’s my boy right there. We’re back in business, baby!”
Confessional : Sofia
“...What the fuck?” She was sitting straight up, arms crossed, face dark with anger. “I mean, what was the point?” She laughs bitterly, eyes narrowing. “If you all were just going to bring her back fourty-eight fucking hours later, why even give me the option?” She criticizes. “Like, was it just because it was her? If I had gotten anyone else dumped, would you have brought them back?” She grows increasingly more agitated. “This is pathetic, it’s unfair, and honestly, I’m disgusted. Not only by the clear favoritism here, but the sight of Rafe’s tongue down her throat.”
When you and Rafe finally pulled apart, you were still lying flat on your back against the pillows, trying to catch your breath with Rafe hovering over you, his hands resting on either side of your head as he stared down at you with an expression of unwavering adoration.
As you lay there upside down, you cast your eyes among the crowd of people and noticed Sofia standing a few feet away on the grass, far behind everyone else but still visible, staring down at you with a look of pure rage.
A slow, satisfied smile spread across your lips. You lifted one hand, giving her a petty, cheerful little wave.
Sofia’s jaw clenched so hard a vein throbbed in her neck as she turned without a word and stormed off toward the villa, leaving you and Rafe laughing softly on the mattress as he scooped you up and tossed you up into the air, over and over, catching you each time you came back down as your friends all cheered and chanted around you.
Happy that he was happy, and happy to have you back.
A half-hour later, the girls had crowded around you and Talia, dragging the two of you up to the Glam Room so you both could unpack your things and get settled.
You didn’t realize how much you’d missed this.
Before you’d even entered the room—Cleo, Rima, Sarah, and Kaitlyn had all thrown themselves at you in a group hug, pulling apart just to join hands and start jumping around like pre-school kids on a playground.
Now, you and the girls were sat around the makeup room, some of them helping Talia organize her makeup at her vanity as the other half helped you reclaim your closet space.
"Talia, you’re so pretty," Sarah said, leaning forward with a warm smile. "Talk to us! We want to know all about you."
“Oh, you’re all so sweet,” Talia laughed, flipping her hair over her shoulder, blushing. "I’m twenty-one, from Fort Lauderdale, and I’m pretty much just a typical beach brat.” She shrugs sheepishly. “I live in bikinis, I surf every single day, and I hate drama.” She groaned. “I just like to have fun."
Cleo’s eyes lit up. "Ooh, a Florida girl!” Shooting the rest of you a knowing look. “Love that. Do you…have your eye on any of the boys in here yet?"
Talia immediately looked over at you, a slightly shy smirk forming on her lips, remembering the conversations you two had shared in the car on the way to the villa.
“...She’s interested in JJ,” you stepped in for her, a grin breaking across your face. "And I, for one, am convinced they would be perfect together."
"JJ?!" Sarah gasped, her hands flying to her mouth in excitement. "Oh my god, yes!"
"Right?!” You threw in, equally as excited. “She's from Florida, loves surfing, same sense of humor... and I swear she speaks his language.” You hype the bombshell up as she listens, warmth creeping up her cheeks at how warm and welcoming you all were. “And I’d argue she’s his physical type— dark hair, the tan, and her personality matches his so well—wait, why am I talking about you like you’re not here?" You catch yourself, turning to the girl.
“It’s alright,” Talia laughs, her cheeks flushing slightly. "But I hope you’re right. Seeing him from the outside, I don’t know, I just felt like he had this wild, fun energy that I like in a guy. I really want to get to know him..."
Before the conversation could go any further, the door of the room pushed open.
Rafe stood in the doorway, chest heaving, face still flushed as his eyes swept past the girls and locked onto you.
"Uh, hey can I…?" Rafe asked, throwing a hand out in your direction, his voice rough and pleading as he looked at the group of girls.
Cleo threw her head back and laughed, waving her hand dismissively. "Boy, go ahead and take your girl before you spontaneously combust." She threw out, everyone in the room laughing along as Rafe shot her a playful glare.
Rafe didn't wait for another invitation as he walked forward and grabbed your hand, his fingers intertwining with yours as he pulled you out of the room, Sarah letting you know that she’d finish unpacking your things for you, before the man led you down the hallway and out toward Soul Ties.
The moment you reached the secluded area, Rafe turned around and wrapped his arms around you. He pulled you against his chest, burying his face in the crook of your neck, groaning and squeezing you so tight you could barely breathe. All you could do was laugh, wiggling in his crushing embrace.
He began kissing you all over—your neck, jawline, cheeks, your lips— hands moving restlessly across your back, clawing at it. It was the display of a man who had felt hopeless only hours prior.
"Fuck," Rafe whispered against your lips, loosening his grip just enough to allow you wrap your arms around his neck, closing his eyes to take a moment before opening them again. "I almost left.” He says, eyes wide like it just hit him. “If you hadn't shown up, I would’ve been gone by tonight. Hell, I would’ve been gone by this morning, but JJ kept begging me to give it one last day, everyone saying they wanted me to 'leave on a high note'."
He shook his head, a soft, self-deprecating laugh escaping him as his thumb traced your lower lip.
"But it didn't even matter. Because you are my high note. I’m only happy when I’m with you, angel,” He whispered. “That’s what I wanted. That’s all I care about."
You fixed him with a downwards smile moving to hold his face in your hands, looking into his eyes. "I’m back now, Rafe. And I’m not going anywhere." You assured, kissing his cheek.
LATER, after everyone had showered off all the paint and changed out of their lingerie, you walked down into the main yard. Everyone was mingling in small groups, the soft neon lights reflecting off the pool water.
You noticed JJ sitting by himself on the edge of the pool staring out over the water, looking uncharacteristically quiet.
You walked over and sat down right next to him. "Hey, stranger."
JJ turned his head, his face lighting up with that crooked grin. "Hey,” he smiled, leaning over to pull you into a hug before pulling back, hands on your shoulders. “Still can't believe you're back." His eyes were tearing up just a fraction before he blinked it away with a sniffle, letting his hands slide from your shoulders. "We came into this place together, you know? It felt wrong doing this without you."
"I missed you too, J," you smiled warmly, bumping his shoulder with yours. You looked over at the lounge area, where Talia was chatting with some of the guys, before steering the conversation. "So... how are you feeling about the new bombshell? Have you talked to her yet?"
A shy, bright smile spread across his face, a wide contrast to the checked-out look he had been wearing practically all day.
"We, uh…we actually had a conversation not too long ago," JJ admitted, rubbing the back of his neck, his voice turning uncharacteristically soft. "And I think I could really like her.” He tells you. “She’s beautiful, first of all. But even personality-wise, we have the same taste in music, the same hobbies back home, we’re from the same place so that wouldn’t be an issue... she loves surfing, she’s really bubbly, she’s just the kind of girl I always saw myself with...” He smiles, playing with his hands.
You watched him, satisfaction settling into your chest. For the first time since entering the villa, JJ wasn't talking like a typical player. He wasn't discussing just looks or cracking sexual jokes like he usually did. And sure, he’d done somewhat the same thing with Kiara—they had talked about normal things—but you had never heard JJ discuss common interests, personalities, or the prospect of going back home with a girl.
"I'm happy for you," you said sincerely, squeezing his arm. "You deserve this."
JJ smiled, but then his eyes dropped to his hands, his expression turning serious as he leaned closer. "Yeah.” He breathes. “And, at least now, I can be done with Haja." He scoffs. "I’d be lying if I said I didn't have a small thought to try and make things work after Miles was dumped. But honestly? If Miles hadn't been dumped, I think she’d still be doing the same thing with him."
He let out a bitter breath, looking out over the pool.
"Even when we had a conversation about it, she never even apologized to me. Not once.” He shakes his head. “She just kept saying she was 'exploring her options' and ' enjoying the experience.' She didn't see any part of what she did as wrong. And that really hurt me, man.” He slumps next to you. “Because I liked her. But seeing how she handled it? It just broke all the trust. I don't feel bad about walking away anymore, especially now with Talia here.” The soft smile returns to his face. “...I’ve never felt so naturally drawn to someone before in my entire life."
You smiled, patting his back firmly. "Then follow that.” You encourage. “You deserve it.”
JJ shot you a grateful smile, opening his mouth to thank you when a loud ping echoed from his pocket, both of you looking down then back up at each other.
“I got a text!” He shouted, pulling out his phone as everyone whooped, cheering for him to read it.
"Islanders, sorry for the late night interruption. We know tonight has been full of surprises, but tonight, there is one more. Please, gather around the fire pit. #JudgementDay"
YOU were all sat around the fire pit, most of you in your couples, with a few exceptions of course—Cleo was with Pope, Rima had Justin’s arm over her shoulder, Sarah was leaning on Theo, JJ and Talia were sat comfortably next to one another, you were tucked into Rafe’s side, while Kaitlyn sat a weird distance from John B, Haja and Sofia sitting next to each other and relatively far from everyone else.
Footsteps echoed down the wooden walkway, and Ariana emerged from the shadows for the second time tonight, wearing a striking dress, per usual. She smiled as she spotted you all, “Hello again,” she greeted, taking her place at the center of the fire pit as you all greeted her in return, her eyes sweeping over the nervous faces.
"Islanders," Ariana started, her voice calm. "It’s been a rough couple of days,” she added, nodding along with all of you, meeting your and Rafe’s eyes specifically. “Relationships have been tested, hearts have been broken, all while we are nearing the final stretch of this experience." She says matter-of-factly. “We’ve hit the halfway point, and things are about to start getting a lot more brutal.”
She paused, her eyes locking onto you and Talia before she gestured with her hand. "Talia, Y/N... please, come and join me."
You and Talia stepped forward, you leaving Rafe with a kiss on the cheek as he squeezed your hand, his heart racing as you and Talia stood on either side of Ariana, facing your fellow islanders.
Your heart was thumping, dread settling into your stomach from the last time you had to stand up here.
But, at least this time you know. Though, it still hurt, because you couldn’t tell anyone else.
They were blindsided, no idea what was about to happen.
"Islanders, I have some important information to share with you all regarding the arrival of tonight’s bombshells," Ariana explained, looking directly at them. "Originally, Talia was supposed to be the only bombshell entering the villa tonight…and her arrival was supposed to result in the elimination of one islander." She tells them, the group muttering.
She turned her head to look at you, her expression serious.
"However... because Y/N was given the opportunity to re-enter the villa, she was also handed an ultimatum.” She drops, some eyes locking onto you, confused as you let your head fall slightly. “Y/N was told that she had a choice. She could decline the offer to re-enter the villa, which would keep the elimination limit at one. Or…” Ariana dragged. “She could accept the offer, re-enter as a bombshell for the second time… at the cost of an additional islander being dumped."
A gasp rippled through your friends, exchanging wary glances.
"What this means for you all tonight," Ariana announced, "Is that, because Y/N chose to follow her heart and return, two islanders will be dumped tonight instead of one.” She finally announces, everyone cursing under their breath, nervous—they were overjoyed to have you back, of course. But it didn’t diminish their fear of going home. “Furthermore, tonight's dumping was originally supposed to be a collective, unanimous vote where everyone decided which islander would go home. But, because there are now two bombshells standing here, that counts for two eliminations. And we only found it right to divide that responsibility amongst two groups."
Ariana’s eyes narrowed as she took a deep breath. "Tonight, all of you sitting before me will be responsible for sending home one girl and one boy based on who you believe has made the least amount of progress in this villa so far.” She explains, everyone’s eyes wide as you tried your best to not show just how bad you felt or how nervous you were. “Girls... you will be responsible for deciding which boy to send home.” Ariana tells them. “Boys... you will be responsible for sending home a girl."
She clasps her hands together, a sorrowful smile on her lips. "You will have five minutes to discuss and come to a decision.” She throws out, turning back to the pair of you next to her. “Y/N and Talia, you two will have no say in these decisions.” She says casually, and you both simply nod as she turns to the islanders, face serious. “Your five minutes start now."
The islanders stood up, swapping places so that the girls were on one end of the couch with the guys on the other.
You stood next to Talia, holding her hand for comfort. You could tell that she felt as guilty as you did, in some sense—your hands trembling slightly as you watched your friends silently argue, shooting looks across the deck.
God, what have I done? you thought, cursing your own selfishness, your mind racing through the all the possibilities. By choosing to come back, you might’ve possibly just signed the eviction notice for one, or two, of your closest friends.
You were terrified for Cleo and Rima. Rima’s romantic journey had been undeniably stagnant—coupling with Pope who gave her no true effort, stuck in a platonic coupling with Rafe, her recent return to Justin having the potential to be seen as safe rather than progressive.
Cleo was trapped in an exhausting cycle of back-and-forth drama with Pope, constantly branching out to other people but always running back, and they had just settled down.
And you were terrified for JJ. He had made a connection with Kiara that failed, moved way too fast with Haja which blew up in his face, and was currently single and vulnerable—right at the exact moment a bombshell basically custom-made for him had walked through the door.
If the girls voted him out now, he would never get his chance.
And in the back of your mind, a faint fear for Rafe lingered. Aside from you, he hadn't made a single romantic effort in the villa. If the girls viewed his lack of exploration as a lack of progress, they might use this as a reason to dump him...
You didn’t realize you’d been staring at a blade of grass, consumed by your own thoughts, until Ariana’s voice boomed in your ears, your head shooting up.
"Islanders, your time is up," She announced, cutting through the whispering. "It is now time to reveal your decisions…and who is going home tonight." The air was silent and tense as everyone sat back, eyes on the three of you standing before them.
"Girls, we're going to start with you," Ariana said, her eyes scanning the row of women. "Who have you chosen to speak on behalf of the group?"
Sarah stood from her seat, shoulders back as she smoothed her dress down.
“Sarah, please tell us what boy you all have decided to dump from the island?”
"...I want to start by saying that this really was a hard decision," Sarah began, her voice clear but carrying a distinct edge. "But, we have decided to send this boy home tonight because…we feel that he’s been completely disingenuous to everyone here.” Her voice drops, everyone’s eyes going wide at her switch in tone. “From my personal perspective, I believed our connection was real, and, at the very least, it was real…on my part. But after Casa, it became pretty clear that nothing he ever said to me was genuine."
She cast a brief look back at Kaitlyn before continuing.
"Even this boy’s ex-girlfriend agrees that he is still the same self-serving guy he was before he entered this villa. He’s just been hiding behind a nice-guy persona the entire time.” She snaps, standing straighter, her hands clasped behind her back. “Therefore, the boy we are deciding to send home tonight... is John B."
A shocked silence fell over the fire pit, mostly emanating from the boys’ side.
“John B,” Ariana started. “Please, come join me.”
John B didn't look surprised—a bitter smirk crossed his lips as he stood up from the bench and walked took his place next to Ariana, arms clasped tightly behind his back.
"John B," Ariana said, turning to him. "The girls believe you've shown the least amount of progress. How do you feel about their decision?"
John B let out a dry chuckle, shaking his head. "Honestly…I think this decision was made based off of some kind of popularity contest rather than who actually made the least progress here.” He shrugs. “I disagree with them. I’m not the same person I was years ago, or even the same person I was walking in, and I feel like the girls are letting one mistake blindside them to the growth I have actually shown.” He scoffs. “But... whatever. It is what it is.” He nods, a grimace on his lips.
The girls all scoffed, laughing under their breath as John B locked his eyes on Sarah, narrowing them at her. She didn’t know if he was showing some kind of silent remorse or trying to intimidate her, but either way, Sarah lifted a hand to wiggle her fingers at him, mouthing ‘bye bye’.
Some of the islander caught this, snickering under their breath, even the guys, as John B just rolled his eyes, a snarl on his lips.
Ariana nodded before turning her eyes to the opposite side of the fire pit. "Boys... it is now your turn.” She starts. “Which girl have you decided to dump from the island?"
Surprisingly, Rafe stood up, his blue eyes absent of anything warm as he started speaking.
"We're deciding to send this girl home tonight because, quite frankly, we don't believe she should have ever made it back from Casa in the first place." He starts bluntly, gasps washing over the fire pit as he stands with the most satisfied smirk on his face you believe you’ve ever seen. "We feel like this girl is chasing ghosts," Rafe explained, his voice steady, cold. "And in the process, she’s let her own bitterness cloud this place with negativity. She’s spent her time here creating an environment that sucks for everyone, being god awful to people who don't deserve it at all, and, personally speaking, has actively tried to ruin, what I believe to be, one of the best connections in here—Y/N and myself."
Rafe stood proudly, voice dropping as he turned and looked directly at Sofia.
"You told me the other day that you don't think I’ll ever be a good person.” He starts, voice flat. “And I don't accept that. I know I can be a better man. And there is one girl in this villa who actually sees me, who actually believes in me, and who makes me want to be better every day.” He shoots a glance at you, eyes softening almost instantaneously before he slowly turned his blue, icy gaze back to Sofia, who was sitting with her jaw clenched, hands balled into fists in her lap. “You’re stuck in the past, and you’re just dragging everyone else down. So…” Rafe turns, eyes on Ariana. “I think it’s no secret that the girl we are sending home tonight…is Sofia."
Sofia scoffed, the sound coming out more like a deep breath or choked sob she’d been holding in as her eyes flooded with angry tears.
“Thank you.” Ariana nodded at Rafe, a silent signal that he could sit as she turned her eyes to the girl in question. “Sofia,” Ariana spoke up. “Please, come stand next to John B,” She ordered, everyone watching as she stood and marched across the fire pit, her heels clicking against the wood as she took her place next to John B, chest heaving.
"Sofia," Ariana said softly. "The boys have made their decision. How do you feel?"
Sofia let out a shaky breath, a tear escaping down her cheek as she looked at Rafe, voice trembling with a bitter kind of pain. "There’s no point in playing nice up here.” She shrugged, face red. “These people were looking for any opportunity to get me out of here and you all gave them one, humiliating me in the process.” She criticized. “And I would be lying if I stood here and said I wish Rafe and Y/N the best. I don't.” She snapped, eyes slitted. “I was with Rafe through the worst of the worst. I saw the ugliest, most broken side of him, and I stayed. And I can't believe that standing here in front of him all this time later... it all counts for nothing to him." She scoffs, tears running down her cheeks.
She wiped her cheek swiftly, a nasty smirk forming through her tears as she looked at you.
"I still truly believe deep down that Rafe and I are meant to be.” She grits out at you. “I was his first love, and you can't erase that.” You just stare at her, the faintest form of a smirk on your face as she looks down at her feet. “What they have in here isn’t real, it doesn’t mean anything. So yeah... I’m leaving, but I’m leaving knowing exactly who he is." She laughs bitterly before turning to you one last time. “And I can’t wait for you to see it once you leave this place.” She bites, the words sounding like some kind of threat.
Sofia glared at you, but she had nothing left to say as the silence settled.
"Well...John B, Sofia," Ariana announced, her voice carrying. "You are now single, vulnerable…and dumped from the island.” She tells them with a slight frown. “You may pack your bags and prepare to leave the villa. The rest of you... you are safe, and I’ll see you all soon."
THE goodbyes in the villa were split down a line.
Upstairs in the bedroom, none of the original girls went up to help Sofia pack her things. Only Kaitlyn and Haja walked over to Sofia’s wardrobe, helping her fold her dresses and close her suitcases. They weren't particularly close with her, but as fellow Casa girls, they simply didn't want to leave her alone during her final moments, even if that was the system she set up for herself.
Down in the main yard, the original girls looked on with understanding, but they shared zero sentimentality. Sofia had treated you terribly from the second she arrived, and they believed she had earned every single bit of the cold shoulder she was receiving.
With John B, however, the vibe was a bit different. All of the guys—JJ, Pope, Theo, Justin, and Rafe—gathered around his bed, helping him pack his things, and carrying his luggage down the stairs. The guys hugged him, dragging him to take photos before his departure.
While the girls were gathered on the outdoor couches, Cleo looked over at Sarah. "Are you planning on saying anything to him before he leaves?"
Sarah sighed, looking down at her hands, a look of quiet sadness clouding her face. "I think I have to.” She shrugged. “I mean, despite everything that happened... I really liked our connection while it lasted. I genuinely had hope that we would have made it out of this villa and been something real in the outside world. So, it hurts to see it end like this, but it’s just what it is."
She looked up as Kaitlyn walked down the steps beside Haja, both having finished helping Sofia. As they reached the bottom of the stairs, Haja and Sofia stopped to hug and chat while Kaitlyn made her way over to you all. "Kaitlyn, are you gonna say goodbye to him?"
Kaitlyn shrugged, relaxed. "Yeah, I'll give him a hug or something. But I’m not too worried about it.” She says casually. “We run into each other at the same spots all the time, so I know I’ll see him in a couple of weeks anyway. It's not a big deal."
A minute later, John B and the guys returned to the yard, looking over at the group as you and the girls walked over to join everyone.
Sarah took a deep breath, smoothing down her dress, and walked over to him. "Hey. Can we talk for a second?"
"Yeah, ‘course," John B said quietly.
They walked a few paces away, standing near the edge of the pool deck away from the rest of the group.
Sarah was the first to speak, her voice dropping all the previous anger. "Despite what you may believe... tonight's decision wasn't spiteful. It wasn't us girls being bitter, sitting in a circle saying 'oh, he hurt me, so he has to go.' It wasn't a revenge plot."
John B listened quietly, his eyes fixed on her face.
"It was just... what you did at Casa really showed us that there was no real growth from your past mistakes," Sarah explained softly. "And you don’t have to agree, but even Kaitlyn agreed that it felt like the same old patterns.” She explained. “You were the same person when you came into this villa, the same person during Casa, and now the same person leaving."
John B nodded slowly, a genuine look of regret washing over his face. "I understand, Sarah. Honestly, I do. I wish I could've had more time in here to make up for it and show you that I can change, but... I think deep down I know we would have never gotten back to that same level we were at before Casa happened.” He accepts his defeat. “I get it. I just... I really hope you can forgive me some day."
"I forgive you," Sarah said, a small, sad smile touching her lips as she stepped forward. "I do. I wish you nothing but the best, John B...but our ship has sailed, and that's okay."
They pulled each other into a warm hug, holding onto each other for a moment before walking back together toward the main exit where the rest of the islanders were waiting.
Confessional : JJ
“Although I’m happier than ever to see Sofia walk out those doors tonight…I’m not gonna lie, I’m pretty upset to see my guy John B go.” He sighs, trying not to get too emotional. “He made some terrible decisions at Casa, we both did, and I see why the girls made the choice they did—I agree with it.” He admits. “But at the end of the day, that was still my dawg, y’know? It sucks to see your boy leave.”
Confessional : Pope
“Damn, seeing John B get the boot hits hard.” He drags a hand down his face. “I felt like him, JJ, and myself were a real trio in here, so seeing that broken up is tough. But I agree with the girls' decision. A big part of why he’s leaving is because of what went down at Casa, and you can't blame them for holding him accountable.” He says honestly. “Casa is the ultimate test in this villa... and John B failed it. Terribly.”
Confessional : Kaitlyn & Haja
They were sitting side by side, Kaitlyn speaking first. “Look, we’re not best friends with Sofia or anything, we never really got to know her on that deep level we would have hoped for to build a friendship...”
“Yeah,” Haja nods. “But at the end of the day, we were all Casa girls. We just wanted her to have at least a decent memory of us helping her pack her bags and seeing her off, so she didn't feel alone."
Confessional : Cleo, Rima, & Sarah
They were sitting clustered, trying to contain their laughter when it came out, all three of them doubling over.
“Bye!” Cleo exclaimed through her own amusement as they gathered themselves.
“We don't give a fuck that she’s gone.” Rima deadpan, still reeling. “What did you think was gonna happen?”
“I mean, look, I feel a tiny bit bad for her on a human level.” Sarah cut in cautiously. “I’d be pretty pissed off too if I got the worst version of a guy years ago, and then he goes and gives the best, most loving version of himself to another girl later down the line because he finally decided he wanted to be a good person.” She explains, not defending Sofia, but acknowledging her outlook.
“Okay, would we be pissed? Yes.” Cleo throws in. "But would we come onto a national television show and make that new girl’s life a living hell because we're bitter? Absolutely not. You should be mad at the guy who put you in that situation in the first place, not the innocent girl. So yeah, we feel bad... but we also don't."
Then a brief moment of silence fell over the three of them before they turned to the camera in sync, waving. “Bye Sofia!”
Confessional : You & Rafe
He had an arm around your shoulders as you looked up at him. “I’m a little bit sad to see John B go tonight.” You admitted. “I think we were kind of close—not the closest, but we were good friends I would say—but…he made his bed at Casa, and he had to lie in it.” You shrug.
“Yeah,” Rafe nodded, scratching his chin. “He wasn’t too beat up about it either. But, I think the girls made the best choice.” He shrugs, looking down at you with a smirk. “I’m jus’ glad it wasn’t me.”
You giggled, opening your mouth to speak again. “But Sofia?” You edge, eyes on Rafe before bursting out laughing as he held you, a satisfied smirk on his face. “I could literally throw a fucking party, right now.” You breathe. “I do feel a tiny bit bad still about everything that came out, you know, her reasoning for acting that way…” You peered up at him carefully.
Rafe groaned, dropping his head. “I apologized to her so many times and even tried to break up with her after!” He defended. “But she wanted to stay and keep trying, I didn’t—”
“Rafe, it’s fine, I know,” you placed a hand on his chest, chuckling. “You’re a different person, You’re a better person, okay?” You reassure, leaning up to kiss his cheek before turning back to the camera. “Hopefully, when she gets back out into the real world, she’ll go seek the help she clearly needs.”
Standing right in front of the giant, glowing "Love Me Not" neon sign, John B and Sofia stood with their suitcases in hand.
John B let out a heavy breath, a peaceful smile breaking through his sadness. “Love you guys. All of you. Even if I sucked at showing it.” He chuckles. “Take care of each other." He raises his hand in a final wave as he turns and begins walking away.
Sofia doesn’t say a word, just grabs her suitcase and marches behind John B, both of them disappearing around the corner.
Confessional : John B
"Leaving tonight is...something, man.” He drops his head. “It hurts to walk out right at the halfway mark, but I'm just grateful for the experience and for meeting everyone that I did. I really want to say to Sarah that I am sorry and I'll forever cherish the connection we made in here, even if it ended like this. And to the boys—JJ, Pope, Rafe... those are my guys, since day one. Even when I messed up and made some bad decisions, they didn’t defend my mistakes, but they never threw me to the wolves either, and I gotta love ‘em for that.” He laughs to himself. “I'm going to miss JJ's unhinged jokes, I'm going to miss Pope spewing random, useless facts early in the morning, and I'm even going to miss seeing Rafe turn into the guy he wants to be each day. I admire him for that." He adds. "Love them all."
Confessional : Sofia
"I'm pissed off.” She starts. “I came her for Rafe. I have always been the one chasing him, begging him for the bare minimum, and it makes me sick to watch him give everything I ever asked him for to another girl. And the girls in there are nothing but a bunch of mean girls. I never felt welcome for a second.” She scoffs in disgust. “If I had to name my only true friends in that place, it would easily be Miles and Haja, and honestly, they treated those two pretty terribly, too. So, I guess I was just getting along with the other outcasts.” She rolls her eyes. “This entire thing was a waste of my time and nothing but an excuse for people to humiliate me on national television."
As the sound of the car driving off sounded, the remaining group turned back toward the villa, the air feeling lighter and only just a bit heavier at the same time.
Rafe walked over to you, hand sliding around your waist, pulling you against his chest as you both walked back toward the villa, safe, united—every hurdle jumped—and actually ready for whatever the final weeks had in store.
next chapter>
do y'all love me again? (this chapter was so lazy)
pairing – husband!rafe cameron x wife!reader
summary – banks is asleep, and rafe decides midnight is the perfect time to ask for another baby.
warnings – married fluff, pregnancy/baby talk, toddler tantrums, exhausted parents.
notes from me – sliiiightly altered this ask to fit the timeline, but thank u for the ask babe!! i hope u enjoy! xx
word count – 0.9k
navigation – masterlist |
Banks finally goes down at eleven-forty-seven after refusing dinner, demanding three separate baths because the first one was wrong, and having a full-body breakdown over the fact that the moon couldn’t be brought inside.
By midnight, the house has gone quiet in the unstable way houses with toddlers do, less peaceful than temporarily disarmed.
His plastic truck is still upside down in the hallway. One sock is hanging from the lamp in their bedroom for reasons neither of them has the strength to investigate. Somewhere downstairs, the dishwasher makes an expensive, unhappy clicking noise Rafe has promised to look at for six days.
She’s stretched across his chest beneath the sheet, warm and heavy with exhaustion, her cheek pressed over his heart while her fingertips drift lazily up and down his bare skin.
Barely touching, honestly. Just tracing the same absent path from his stomach to his collarbone, then back again, as though some part of her needs to keep confirming he’s there.
Rafe lies flat on his back, one arm bent beneath his head and the other curled around her waist. His hair has fallen loose across his forehead, parted at the side and usually gelled neatly away for work in a style that makes him look more responsible than he has ever felt.
Tonight it’s soft and messy from her hands and Banks’ damp little fingers and the bath water their son deliberately slapped into his face.
He’s been staring at her for several minutes.
She knows because even half asleep, she can feel it: the weight of his attention moving across her face, pausing at her mouth, dropping toward the hand on his chest, then climbing back again.
Rafe has never known how to look at her casually. Even now, married, exhausted, with baby shampoo dried somewhere near his shoulder, he watches her like she may reveal something if he’s patient enough.
“I can feel you thinking,” she murmurs, words blurred against his skin.
A quiet laugh moves beneath her cheek. “Can you?”
“Always.”
His fingers flex at her waist. “Thought you were asleep.”
“Trying.” Her mouth curves without opening her eyes. “You’re being loud.”
“I’m not saying anything.”
“Your brain is.”
That gets another breath of laughter from him. She smiles properly then and tips her chin onto his sternum, blinking up through the dim room. He looks tired too, though it sits differently on him – jaw shadowed, mouth soft, eyes still irritatingly awake.
“What?” she asks.
Rafe studies her face for another second, suddenly serious enough that her hand stops halfway over his ribs. “I want another one.”
Her brows draw together. “Another what?”
He gives her a look. “Baby.”
She blinks.
Rafe’s thumb moves once beneath the hem of her sleep shirt, slow over her side. “I want another baby.”
For a moment, all she can hear is the faint mechanical hum of the monitor on her nightstand and Banks breathing through it in damp, congested little puffs.
Her body feels abruptly less tired and more aware of itself, every inch of her warm against Rafe’s chest, every muscle still carrying the long day.
“Really?” she asks, and the word comes out smaller than she means it to.
His gaze flicks over her expression, searching. “Yeah.”
“I thought we were waiting.”
“We were.” His mouth shifts, almost apologetic, though Rafe has never worn apology gracefully. “I know we said we would.”
“Because we had the first one while our frontal lobes were still developing.”
“We turned out fine.”
She stares at him.
“Okay,” he says. “You turned out fine.”
Her laugh escapes before she can stop it, quiet enough not to wake the tiny dictator down the hall. Rafe smiles and brings his hand up, brushing a piece of hair away from her cheek.
“Business is good,” he says, softer now. “House is good. We’re married.”
“Newly.”
“Still counts.”
She raises an eyebrow. “Banks tried to bite you today.”
“He missed,” Rafe shrugs.
“He didn’t miss me.”
Rafe’s mouth twitches. “We make good kids.”
“We’ve made one.”
“Yeah, and he’s great.”
She looks down at him, at the stubborn hope he’s trying and failing to hide behind the jokes, and something low inside her loosens. The life around them is loud and unfinished and constantly sticky.
They’re twenty-four years old with a mortgage, a toddler, and a marriage still new enough that she occasionally catches herself staring at his ring. And yet.
Her hand slides up into his hair, pushing it away from his forehead. “You really want another baby?”
Rafe leans into her palm before he can pretend he doesn’t. “With you?” His fingers tighten at her waist. “Yeah, baby. I do.”
Her smile spreads slowly, helplessly, and Rafe watches it happen like he has won something.
She nods once, then again because the first doesn’t feel big enough. “Okay.”
His brows lift. “Okay?”
“Okay.”
The grin that breaks across his face is young and bright and so pleased it makes her chest ache. He rolls them before she can protest, pulling her beneath him with a muffled laugh, his mouth landing against her cheek, her jaw, wherever he can reach while she tries not to laugh loudly enough to wake Banks.
“Quiet,” she whispers, shoving at his shoulder. “You’ll wake him.”
Rafe lifts his head, hair falling into his eyes. “We’re having another baby.”
“Not tonight if you wake the current one.”
That sobers him immediately. He glances toward the monitor, then back at her. “Right.”
She bites down on her smile.
Rafe lowers his voice to a whisper. “We’re having another baby.”
And this time, when he kisses her, she can feel him smiling too.
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➤ summary: you decided to test a theory that asking for rafe’s help might push him to finally make a move on you
➤ w/c: 3.5k
➤ warnings: kiiinda obsessive/softie rafe, sexual tension, making out, a bit suggestive at the end
masterlist taglist
You and Rafe have been circling each other for months.
It started seemingly out of nowhere. One day neither of you seemed to care or notice each other’s existence, and the next you became painfully aware that he was everywhere. Like the bulb just lit up in your head, and your eyes started catching him in your peripheral vision all the damn time—at the bonfires, at the beach when you came there with your girlfriends, at the country club with that smug grin on his face as if he knew he was the best, at the dinners that your families held together. Well, at least that's what it was like for you.
You caught his eyes staring at you more times than you could count, and you started looking back, thriving on the attention, loving the way he always noticed you even in a room full of people. Not to mention how hot he actually was and how it made you feel whenever he brushed past you—all big and warm—accidentally touching your arm and mumbling a low “sorry” as if it were just an accident.
You were in somewhat similar circles, so you made sure to give him all the cues that you didn’t mind him actually approaching you to talk for more than two seconds.
But he never made a move.
Which, on its own, was ridiculous to you. You waited. Because duh—he was Rafe. He was the one who usually approached girls and flirted like his life depended on it. He was the one who, apparently, didn’t give two shits about anything or anyone enough to care what people were thinking of him, but when it came to you, he suddenly was hesitant.
Every random run-in became more tense, more weird—the heavy glances, the smirks, the way his tongue ran over his lower lip when you caught him staring again, the way your fingers just barely glazed each other whenever he passed you the cup at the party. You probably would never forget when you accidentally bumped into him when he walked out of the corner so suddenly, because the look in his eyes was priceless. You clearly caught him off guard, and he didn’t expect to meet you. In a few seconds a thousand different emotions flashed through Rafe’s face, from surprise to a sudden, ever so noticeable millisecond of shyness, then back to his usual nonchalance. His eyes then darted down to the floor, and he brushed past you. Just like that.
You knew you weren’t crazy. You could feel it in your bones that you were right about all the little signs. And honestly, after hearing a stupid yet interesting idea from your friend, you were done waiting. She said something about guys getting stupidly attracted when you ask them for small favors. It makes them feel needed and useful, even rewarded, and since Rafe already looked at you like he wanted you, you might as well give him an idea that you don’t mind him taking care of you.
It seemed like you didn’t even have to try to find an excuse to ask for his help, because one day when you and your girlfriends went to the country club for some fun time, Rafe and his buddies were already there, standing in the back area of the main building and seemingly waiting for somebody else.
You saw them when you walked out of the back door to get the forgotten tote bag with all of your swimming stuff you planned to use for a day near the pool. The door squeaked heavily under your weight as you pushed it to open, and you groaned, both palms flat against the slick glass, realizing that they still hadn’t fixed it despite the many complaints from the visitors.
Your eyes caught his immediately after you got under the bright sun, his form straightening up a bit the moment he saw you walking out of the building, and you couldn’t help but smile at the way Rafe's eyes studied you briefly in your baby blue bikini and a cover-up at your hips.
“Hey, guys.” You greeted them, moving past the group with only your flip flops now slapping against the pavement, like nothing was happening, like you weren’t really excited to see a certain someone you’d been planning on. The bag felt heavy on your shoulder, but a few intense gazes at the back of your head were sure as hell even heavier, but you decided to ignore them for now and get back into the building to not cause any more interest.
You walked past them looking straight ahead of you, as confident as ever, but then you reached the handle of the door, pulling it once, twice, and then again with both of your hands. It stayed closed shut, and your slippers were only sliding off your feet the more effort you put into it. You groaned, frustrated instantly, looking back at the guys to see Rafe still looking directly at you like it was the most normal thing.
You smirked to yourself before turning back around to face the group. “Rafe?” You asked softly, your voice smooth and light, which made his brows shoot up instantly. Well, that was new. “Could you help me open the door, please?” He moved before you could even properly end the sentence, slightly jogging towards you to reach you faster, all while his friends were snickering and grinning like idiots at the sight of it all—Rafe Cameron willingly helping someone without a single complaint or roll of his eyes.
And then he was right in front of you. All tall, big, and tanned from the never-ending days on the golf course or his boats, with his cap turned backwards and light shirt clinging to his broad shoulders. You could read the surprise on his face, the sliver of hesitation because of your sudden ask, which quickly turned into something completely different the moment his eyes roamed over you again—the little bit of fabric that you had covering your body had suddenly stripped his mind of all of the other thoughts.
“I really hate that they still didn’t fix this damn door, I can barely move it on my own.”
“Sure.” He rasped finally, hand reaching out to open the heavy door with little to no effort, and stepping aside to let you walk in.
“Thank you, Rafe. You’re my savior.” A smile touched your lips again as you looked up into his bright and surprised eyes. You reached with your hand without even thinking, briefly touching his forearm in a thankful yet innocent gesture, before you walked inside and left him standing there with a million things on his mind.
Not even three days later Sarah called you to say that she maxed out Ward’s card. Which, in your language, meant a shit ton of new clothes that you could possibly steal or borrow from her, and which meant a girls’ night at Tanneyhill.
By the evening basically all of the available surfaces in her room were covered in clothes, while the bed looked like Sarah’s closet had just exploded. In the middle of it all you stood in the shortest turquoise dress you’d even worn, with your friend promising that you looked hot as fuck in it. You twirled in front of the mirror, looking at yourself from different angles, being slightly unsure about the model and an unusual color.
“I am telling you, this dress was literally made for you, babe. Everyone would go nuts if they saw you in it.” Sarah laughed again, while still digging through the pile on the floor to find the skirt she wanted to pair her new top with.
“You think so?” You turned around again, looking at your legs, which did look good with that exact length. You looked at your friend, biting your lip at the lie that was about to roll off your tongue. “I have to go pee real quick, okay?”
You didn’t have to. But there was an idea that sounded way too good in your head, and never-ending voices of the guys from downstairs made your skin itch with the thought that Rafe was not that far away and it was way too good of an opportunity to miss it.
You padded down the stairs into the main room, almost instantly walking into something you knew Ward didn’t allow when he was at home—Rafe, Topper, and Kelse sprawled on the expensive leather couches, beer bottles on the glass table, and some random football match on.
“Rafe?” You turned your head to the side as you called his name, noting the way he, once again, straightened up and gave you his full attention. So damn pathetic, he thought. “Quick question, but do you think the dress looks good? Sarah says it does, but I'm not really sure about the style and color. I need an unbiased opinion.”
Rafe found himself almost choking on air the moment those words left your mouth because, why in the hell, were you asking his opinion? His one was for sure far from unbiased when you looked like that. The tips of his ears instantly started warming up, indicating how thrown off he felt, the palms of his hands slid down the jean material on his thighs in a weirdly nervous way.
He tried not to stare at you like an idiot and tried to get back to his usual routine of rolling his eyes at any stupid question people tried to ask him. But with you it felt different, and he couldn’t bring himself to be rude when you seemed so soft and genuine. When you wanted his opinion out of all people.
You twirled again, the material riding up your thighs just the tiniest bit, but sure as hell enough for Rafe’s eyes to go there. “So?” You smiled impatiently, half actually wanting his approval and attention and half just enjoying how jittery he looked.
“Yeah.” Rafe's voice sounded hoarse. He looked up and down again, eyes heavy-lidded and as intense as always, adjusting himself on the couch as if he felt uncomfortable. “It’s pretty.”
He wanted to say that you were pretty but bit his tongue at the last moment to not make it seem weird. He shifted his body so his elbows rested against his knees and you couldn’t help but focus on the tanned skin of his biceps that now bulged from the polo. You bet he was as soft and warm as he looked.
You smirked, content enough that you managed to throw him off again. You mumbled a small and almost way too intimate “thanks,” looking him straight in the eyes before stepping back toward the stairs.
“We also think it looks good.” Kelse snickered at the fact that you didn’t even acknowledge any of them, making it seem like he was aware of the game that you were playing.
You paused, as if remembering that it was a bit impolite to so bluntly ignore boys who were barely holding back their smirks. You totally forgot that they were even there.
“Yeah, well, thanks!” You smiled at them, a bright contrast with how you responded to Rafe, before turning around and running back upstairs.
He thought he was going crazy. You were making him go crazy. And he wasn’t even sure whether you were just that oblivious or if it was your fucked-up plan all along.
As if the first two instances were not enough, over the next weeks you seemed to become overly dependent on Rafe, or at least somehow you always ended up in a situation where you would be able to ask for something. That one time when you asked him to make you a drink at a party because “Topper’s always tastes like shit,” or when you really needed to make a call from his phone, or when you and your families were sitting at a restaurant and you asked him to bring you your charger from the car. And it was just things off the top of his head.
Each time you looked up at him with those soft doe eyes, a small smile was on your lips that always made him stare just a tad bit longer than it was acceptable. He made you a drink. He let you make a phone call. He got your charger. Just to hear your gratitude each time, as his name naturally rolled off your tongue.
Just to get that weird kick of pride every time he was useful for you.
Just to then step back away from you, sit at the farther corner of the table, and sulk in his own weirdly warm and kind of uncomfortable feelings. Rafe could feel your fragrance stuck around him like some sticky honey even if he still hadn't gotten the chance to touch you. His eyes returned to you not even a minute later to see you already looking at him but then focusing on something else as if he didn’t just catch you.
You smiled to yourself, not looking at him anymore—fixing your hair or your necklace, checking your phone, or already switching your attention to anybody else—as if knowing that that little favor got him hooked on you for the rest of the night. It made his skin itch and leg jump nervously, because whatever you did, it worked.
Now Rafe stared at your name on his phone with a mixture of emotions. You were calling him. For the first time. And he knew that it was you because a few months ago he accidentally found your phone number and had it saved “just in case,” not thinking too much about it.
Now it was ringing in his hand while he looked down at it with brows drawn tightly together and jaw tight from sudden nerves. He couldn’t understand what the fuck was going on for the life of him.
He swiped right with a weird tremor in his hand, his throat suddenly dry as if he had eaten a handful of sand.
“Yeah?” Rafe winced at the sound of his own voice. His hand reached up to the back of his neck, rubbing it even before he could hear your answer.
“Rafe? Hi, it’s me.”
“I know.”
“You know?”
“Yeah.”
“Oh.” Your voice sounded so soft, and he swore he could hear you smile. Rafe fell back against the back of the couch, sprawling against the sleek leather and patiently waiting for you to speak again. His eyes focused on the shadows on the ceiling, but in the back of his mind he thought about how you probably looked now—soft, probably twirling something in your hand the way he saw you doing a million times, and, well, probably planning on torturing him a bit more. “Um, yeah, okay! So I didn’t want to bother you—like, really—but I kinda need some help with the boxes at my place, and I just though…” You trailed suggestively. Rafe shut his eyes, jaw tight. “Maybe you could help me out, please?”
He was there not even fifteen minutes later. Pathetically enough, he couldn’t say "no." He didn’t want to. He felt the tugging feeling in his chest that maybe you were using him because he was so fucking obvious with his crush. Maybe you were, in fact, just like the other girls on the island who were not new to manipulating guys for their money or things they could get, even if deep down he knew that it was dumb to even consider that. But Rafe still, like a desperate teenager who got a sliver of attention from the cool girl from his school, came around and let himself be useful to you, because what if…
“I’m so sorry that I called you, Rafe!” You greeted him the moment he jumped out of his truck, all smiley and friendly as always. You were dressed in a cute little set of shorts and a tank top, which was good enough for Rafe to take a double look down your body. His palms were sweating from the sudden want to run over the soft material that hugged you perfectly and in all the right places. “I really need to get this into my car, and my dad’s out of town.”
He rubbed the back of his neck, jaw tight. “It’s fine.” Short. Gruff. He hated how unsteady he felt around you lately—like his skin was too tight and his thoughts too loud. Yet not a single part of him was able to resist you when you looked at him like that or when you murmured his name. It was something that he could only imagine before that, something that made him feel useful and crave your approval more.
Rafe moved quickly, picking up boxes from the front steps of your house and then loading them into the trunk of your car, while you followed him back and forth. Your eyes never left his body, lingering on the way the veins on his arms bulged from the heavy weight, wondering how they would feel on you when he finally pulls himself together. While Rafe thought of it as sweet, sweet torture, because what else could he call it when you fully enveloped him in your scent and stood way too close to him, so whenever he bent down for a box, he was only met with your silky-smooth legs right in front of his face?
When the last box slipped into the trunk, he closed it with a soft thud, dusting off his hands, and turned to face you. You leaned against the side of the car, hands crossed across your chest, eyes already set on his face as if you were waiting for him to notice. Rafe’s pulse spiked up. He finally got too aware that you two were the only ones standing on the street, and the sun was setting behind him and coloring everything around you in a warm golden light. You were almost too pretty like this, and the nauseous feeling of realization made his face twist involuntarily.
“What?” You murmured softly.
“Why me?” He asked bluntly, his voice low and rough. Rafe stepped closer, backing you against the side of the car, trying to regain at least some part of the control you got over him. “You’ve got friends. Family. Half the island would trip over themselves if you asked them for anything. But you keep picking me. The door. The dress. Drinks at parties. Now fucking boxes. What game are you playing?”
You didn’t flinch. Instead, you tilted your head, lips curving into a slow, flirty smile as you looked up at him through your lashes. Probably for the first time since you've known Rafe Cameron, you saw him being actually nervous with his emotions all over the place.
“Maybe I like that you’re helping me. Maybe I like that you can’t say “no” to me. Maybe I wanted to stay on your mind all the time.” Your hand reached out to the collar of his polo, fixing it. Innocently, but enough for Rafe to feel blood pumping in his ears. “Did it work?”
Fuck.
You could visibly see the realization settling in, the way his pupils dilated and the baby blue got almost fully consumed. His throat bubbled, yet he still couldn’t say a thing. You waited a few long moments, observing his reaction, trying to figure out what was going on in that head of his that seemed to never actually turn off. His jaw flexed like he was fighting every instinct he had.
Rafe’s hand shot up, cupping the side of your face as he closed the last inch of space between you. The kiss hit like a storm—hungry, desperate, months of circling and teasing exploding all at once. His mouth claimed yours with bruising heat, tongue sliding deep and possessive, tasting you like he’d been dying for it, even if you felt just the tiniest tremor in his hand. You moaned into him, fingers tightening in his shirt as you kissed him back just as fiercely, bodies pressing together against the warm metal of the car.
Rafe groaned against your lips, finally giving in to the urge of touching you, allowing his free hand to gently land on your waist and, the next moment, fully circle around it to bring you impossibly closer to him. He was everywhere around you, filling all of your senses, completely shutting down your brain, until the only thought was how right it felt. When he sucked your bottom lip between his teeth and tugged gently, you whimpered, nails digging into his shoulders.
He pulled back just enough to rest his forehead against yours, both of you breathing hard, lips brushing with every exhale. His voice was hoarse this time. “You’ve been driving me insane… on purpose.”
You didn’t deny it. Instead, you smiled, soft and wicked, then silently tightened your grip on the front of his shirt. Your eyes held his as you started walking backward toward your front door, tugging him along.
Rafe followed without a word, like an obedient puppy with big, hungry, and glassy eyes, letting you pull him inside.
pairing – husband!rafe cameron x wife!reader
summary – rafe comes home from a business trip to find his teenage son drunk in the kitchen, his youngest waiting upstairs, and his wife barely holding the house together in one of his shirts.
warnings – teen drinking, underage alcohol use, drunk behaviour, stealing/taking a boat, parental discipline, family tension, swearing.
notes from me – that's dada!!!!!!! as requested, thank u babe!! 💌
word count – 4.6k
navigation – masterlist |
By the time Rafe gets home, the kitchen has become one of those bright, ridiculous domestic crime scenes that only happen after midnight in expensive houses with too many windows.
The island is scattered with the evidence of four separate lives and none of them peaceful: Lila’s purple marker uncapped beside a half-finished drawing of something that might be a mermaid or might be arson.
Marlowe’s water bottle abandoned on its side with a sticker peeling off the lid, a stack of mail Rafe would absolutely pretend to understand and then quietly hand back to her, and Banks Cameron standing under the pendant lights with glassy eyes, damp hair, and the loose, self-satisfied sway of a boy who hasn’t yet realised how close he is to death.
Not actual death. Probably.
But the maternal version. The version where his mother stands barefoot on the cool tile in sleep shorts and one of Rafe’s old button-downs, hair twisted up badly at the back of her head, one hand planted on her hip while the other points at him with the kind of precision that has been built, brick by brick.
Built over four days of solo parenting, a delayed grocery order, one school email containing the words behavioural reflection, and now her sixteen-year-old son sneaking home drunk through the side door like the whole house wasn’t basically designed by paranoid rich people who loved glass too much.
“Do not laugh at me,” she says, low and sharp enough that even the fridge seems to mind its business.
Banks presses his lips together. His shoulders shake once.
Her eyes narrow. “Banks.”
“I’m not,” he says, which would be more convincing if the words didn’t come out rounded and wet around a laugh. He lifts one hand, palm out, all sloppy innocence and inherited audacity. “I’m not laughing. Sorry, Mom.”
“You’re absolutely laughing.”
“I’m sorry.”
“No, you’re drunk.”
He blinks at her very seriously, like this is an important legal distinction and he's about to represent himself poorly in court. “I can be sorry and drunk.”
The terrible thing is that he sounds exactly like Rafe when Rafe is wrong and still thinks charm might drag the body out of the water before anyone notices the crime.
Same blue eyes gone too bright under the kitchen lights, same unfair mouth trying to hide a grin, same broad-shouldered Cameron posture beginning to happen in him like bad genetic weather.
He’s still soft in places Rafe was never allowed to be at sixteen, still boyish around the jaw and long in the limbs, but there are moments where she looks at her son and sees the precise shape of the man she has loved since high school arriving in fragments: the pride first, the deflection second, the fear buried so far down he may not even know where he put it.
And tonight, because she’s tired and Rafe has been gone for four days and Lila cried at bedtime because Daddy always does the second voice in her dinosaur book wrong but better, it does not move her into tenderness. It moves her toward violence.
“You took the boat,” she says.
Banks’ face changes just enough to tell on him before his mouth can lie.
She exhales through her nose. “Unbelievable.”
“I didn’t take it far.”
“Oh, okay. Thank God. You only stole your father’s boat a little bit while drunk.”
“I wasn’t drunk when we went out.”
Her eyebrows lift.
His gaze drops to the counter. “Ish.”
“Ish,” she repeats, and the word comes out so calm it should scare him. It doesn’t scare him enough, because he’s sixteen and male and temporarily possessed by whatever evolutionary defect makes teenage boys believe consequences are a rumour invented by mothers. “You are standing in my kitchen at twelve-thirty in the morning smelling like beer, lying badly, and trying not to laugh while I speak to you. Do you understand how much trouble you’re in?”
Banks nods, too fast and not sober enough to make it respectful. “Yeah. Yep. Totally.”
“Don’t yep me.”
“Sorry, Mom.”
There it is again. The laugh tucked behind the apology. Small. Stupid. Careless in the way teenagers are careless when they’re too loved to understand yet that care has weight.
Her jaw tightens. Something hot climbs the back of her neck, gathering under the loose collar of Rafe’s shirt, and she feels suddenly, dangerously close to becoming the kind of mother who says things like I am not one of your little friends, which is devastating because she’s always considered herself too self-aware for that and also because it would be true.
Then, from the front of the house, the lock clicks. The soft mechanical turn of the front door opening into the cool dark hallway, followed by the low thud of a suitcase wheel catching over the threshold and one tiny, ecstatic gasp from somewhere upstairs that proves Lila Cameron has either been pretending to sleep or was born with sonar specifically tuned to her father.
“Daddy!”
Banks goes still.
It’s immediate. Beautiful, actually. Horrifyingly satisfying. One second he’s loose and drunk and grinning at his mother like he’s negotiating a parking fine; the next, his spine straightens so fast he nearly looks sober.
His eyes flick to the hallway, then back to her, and for the first time all night there is real awareness in them. Not guilt. Not yet. Survival.
She shouldn’t enjoy it as much as she does.
From the stairs comes the sound of small feet hitting wood at a speed that will one day end in urgent care, then Rafe’s voice, rough from travel and smiling through exhaustion. “Hey, hey, slow down– Jesus, Lila.”
A tiny shriek. A deep grunt.
Then Rafe again, closer now, laughing under his breath as he catches their youngest daughter somewhere near the bottom of the stairs. “There she is. C’mere, baby girl.”
Her body reacts to his voice before her brain has finished resenting everything else. It always has, which is frankly embarrassing after this many years and three children.
Some soft, tired part of her loosens toward the hallway, toward the low scrape of his shoes, the familiar weight of him moving through their house.
Relief hits first, warm behind her ribs and low in her stomach. Then the smaller, less noble flicker of panic over how much he heard. Then, because she’s learned nothing from building an entire life with a man who still looks like trouble with a mortgage, something far worse and lower when he walks into the kitchen with Lila on his hip.
Rafe Cameron has no right looking like that after a business trip.
He’s still in his button-up from the flight, white with a thin blue stripe, the top button undone, sleeves rolled to his elbows because he knows. He has to know.
There’s no other explanation for the forearms, for the watch, for the faint crease at his waist where he’s been sitting too long, for the buzz cut making every line of his face sharper under the kitchen lights.
He looks tired in a way that only makes him more unfair, mouth slightly rough from the plane, jaw shadowed, eyes cutting across the room with the kind of focus that can still make her stomach drop even when there’s a six-year-old attached to him in unicorn pyjamas and one sparkly sock.
Lila has both arms locked around his neck and her face pressed to his cheek like she’s trying to absorb him through contact. “I waited for you,” she announces, loud and proud and absolutely incriminating.
“Yeah, I see that,” Rafe murmurs, kissing her cheek once, then again when she giggles and shoves at his face.
His eyes flick to his wife first. Always first. A fast, dragging look that takes in her bare legs, his shirt on her body, her tired mouth, the tightness in her shoulders. Something in his face shifts, almost imperceptible. Then his gaze moves to Banks.
The air changes. Rafe doesn’t raise his voice. He doesn’t need to. He just looks at his son, and all the warmth that had been wrapped around Lila stays there, held carefully against her little back, while everything else in him goes still and cold and awake.
Banks swallows.
Rafe kisses Lila’s temple, eyes never leaving him. “Go to your room, baby girl.”
Lila pulls back immediately, offended. “But you just got home.”
“I know.” His voice softens for her without weakening. It does something horrible to her chest, the way he can split himself like that now, the way fatherhood hasn’t made him gentle so much as more controlled about where the sharp parts land. “I’ll come say goodnight in a minute. Gotta talk to your brother.”
Lila looks at Banks, who’s standing by the island like a drunk little defendant. Her nose scrunches. “Is Banks in trouble?”
“Yep,” Rafe says.
Banks mutters, “Thanks.”
Rafe’s eyes cut to him. Banks shuts up.
Lila, being six and therefore a violent little opportunist, kisses Rafe’s cheek with great ceremony before he sets her down. “He smells like outside,” she whispers, not quietly.
Their mother presses her lips together.
Banks closes his eyes.
Rafe gives one short breath that might have become a laugh in another room, another night, with fewer felonies. “Room, Lila.”
“Are you gonna do my story?”
“In a minute.”
“Promise?”
Rafe crouches enough to fix the twisted hem of her pyjama top where it has ridden up under her arm. Even with the anger held in him, his hands are careful. Ridiculously careful. He smooths the fabric down, taps two fingers beneath her chin, and says, “Go.”
She goes, but only after one suspicious look at Banks and a skipping little run out of the kitchen, like she isn’t leaving behind a scene with the emotional temperature of a gas leak.
For a second, nobody says anything. The house holds around them. Somewhere upstairs, Lila’s door clicks. The fridge hums. Outside, beyond the dark glass, the pool lights ripple blue over the patio and the humid night leans against the windows.
Rafe sets his phone and keys on the counter with too much control. His suitcase remains abandoned in the hall.
Then he looks at Banks fully. “What’d you say to your mother?”
Banks’ mouth opens. “I didn’t–”
Rafe’s chin lowers a fraction. “Try again.”
She watches their son work through three separate versions of denial and abandon all of them because, drunk or not, he knows his father. Knows that tone. Knows the precise danger of Rafe calm.
It’s one thing to be yelled at by his mother, who loves him with her whole exhausted body and will still make him eggs in the morning if he looks pale enough.
It’s another thing entirely to stand in front of Rafe Cameron after midnight, smelling like beer and boat fuel, while Rafe has just come home from four days away to find him disrespecting the person Rafe has spent most of his adult life orbiting like a badly behaved planet.
“I was just–” Banks starts, then stops when Rafe’s eyes narrow. He drags a hand through his hair, making it worse. “I was being stupid.”
“Yeah,” Rafe says. “I got that.”
“Rafe,” she says quietly, because she can feel it in the room now, his temper pulling tight beneath the shirt, beneath the rolled sleeves, beneath all the years of trying not to become his father and all the years of sometimes sounding like him anyway.
He glances at her. A brief, grounding look, like her voice puts a hand somewhere inside him. Then he looks back at Banks.
“You can be stupid,” Rafe says, low. “You’re sixteen. You’re gonna be stupid. You can sneak out, and you can lie badly, and you can get drunk with your little friends like every other idiot kid on this island.”
Banks’ jaw tightens, but he doesn’t move.
“But you will never,” Rafe continues, each word placed with frightening care, “stand in this kitchen and laugh in your mother’s face while she’s talking to you. You understand me?”
Banks nods.
Rafe’s expression does not change. “Use your mouth.”
“Yes.”
“Yes what?”
Banks’ throat moves. “Yes, sir.”
His wife feels it move through her, which is unfair and frankly inconvenient given the current disciplinary context. The low tone. The rolled sleeves.
The sheer exhausted authority of him standing in their kitchen, furious because he heard enough, careful because the boy in front of him is theirs, protective because there has never been a universe where Rafe knows how to love her quietly. Her body warms under his shirt, a traitor in cotton.
Rafe breathes out through his nose. “You took the boat?”
Banks looks at his mother.
“Don’t look at her,” Rafe says. “Look at me.”
Banks looks back. “Yeah.”
“Were you drinking before you took it out?”
A pause.
Rafe smiles, but it has no humour in it. “Careful.”
Banks’ face flickers. Younger suddenly. “A little.”
She closes her eyes for half a second. Rafe goes very still.
That’s worse than yelling. Banks seems to know it too, because his shoulders lose some of their drunk looseness at last. The kitchen lights catch on his face, and beneath the beer and bravado, he looks scared now.
Rafe steps closer, not crowding but near enough that Banks has to tilt his head up slightly. “You ever do that again,” he says, “you won’t touch that boat, my truck, your car, or anything with a key until you’re thirty.”
Banks nods quickly. “Okay.”
“I’m not done.”
“Sorry.”
“Stop apologising to make people stop talking.”
That lands. Their son’s eyes flicker. Rafe sees it and, for one strange second, the room folds backward. She can see him at sixteen, at seventeen, at twenty-one, all sharp elbows and swallowed panic, saying sorry like a door slam, sorry like a weapon, sorry like a receipt he could hand someone so they’d stop holding up the wound. His mouth tightens once before he continues.
“You scared your mother,” he says, rougher now. “You put yourself in danger. You put your friends in danger. And then you came in here and acted like she was annoying you by caring whether you made it home alive.”
Banks looks down.
“No,” Rafe says.
His eyes come up again, wet and angry in that teenage way that means humiliation and fear are fighting over the same chair. “I know. I’m sorry.”
This one sounds different. Smaller. Better.
Rafe holds his gaze another second, then nods once toward the back door. “Go get water from the outside fridge.”
Banks stops, then recalibrates with the visible desperation of a drunk teenager choosing life. “I mean– yes, sir.”
“And before that,” Rafe says, “apologise to your mother properly.”
Banks turns to her.
The change in him almost breaks her. Enough that the tight thing around her ribs loosens by one painful notch. He looks like Rafe and not like Rafe at all. Tall, messy, drunk, ashamed, still with a softness around the mouth that was his before the world got to him.
Her baby, horribly. Her ridiculous, six-foot, beer-smelling baby.
“Sorry, Mom,” he says, and this time the words come without the smirk. “I was being a dick. I love you.”
She stares at him for one second too long because she wants to stay angry cleanly and motherhood never lets anything be clean. Then she lifts her chin. “I love you too. I’m still furious.”
“Yeah,” he mumbles. “Fair.”
He comes around the island and bends to kiss her cheek, awkward and quick and smelling like salt air, beer, and the expensive shampoo he steals from Rafe’s shower because apparently no man in this house can respect ownership as a concept.
Her hand catches briefly at his elbow before he pulls away. A tiny squeeze. He squeezes back, barely, then wanders toward the back door with the tragic dignity of a boy headed to scrub consequences off teak flooring.
Rafe waits until the door slides shut behind him. Then she exhales so hard her whole body bends with it.
The silence he leaves behind is huge for half a second, stretching through the kitchen, over the spilled shapes of their life on the island, across the mail and the marker and the cold cup of tea she forgot to drink three hours ago.
Rafe stands where Banks left him, shoulders still tight, jaw still working, eyes on the back door as their son disappears toward the boat dock.
She looks at him. Really looks now that the immediate crisis has gone outside with a water bottle and a hangover still under construction.
The sleeves are still rolled. The buzz cut is still unfair. His face is tired, older than the boy who used to pull up outside her parents’ house in high school with too much cologne and not enough emotional regulation, but not less beautiful in any useful way. Worse, maybe.
More dangerous to her specifically because every line in him now has history attached. The faint crease between his brows from years of bills and business and children and loving badly, then better.
The hard set of his mouth that softens only when he forgets to guard it. The biceps under the cotton because God and airport lighting had both been committed to her personal ruin.
“Hi, honey,” she says softy.
Rafe’s eyes come to her. Whatever was left of his anger changes shape so fast it almost makes her dizzy. It doesn’t vanish. Rafe isn’t a man anger leaves politely. It just moves aside for her, making room for the thing underneath it.
Relief. Want. The exhausted, private ache of coming home and finding her still there, barefoot in his shirt, holding the whole house together with her teeth.
“Hi, baby,” he says.
That’s all it takes.
She crosses the kitchen like her body has been waiting for permission and pushes up onto her toes, arms sliding around his shoulders. Rafe catches her immediately. One arm locks around her waist, the other spreads hot and broad across her back, pulling her into him with a force that makes the breath leave her in a small, relieved sound she will later deny if questioned by anyone with legal authority.
He buries his face in her neck. For a second, he just breathes her in. His nose presses beneath her jaw, his mouth warm against the side of her throat, and his hands tighten at her waist like he’s checking something. Like four days away have left him with some private, irrational suspicion that she might have evaporated in his absence, replaced by laundry and children and the kind of competence that scares him because it proves she can survive without him even though he would strongly prefer the universe not explore that option.
Her fingers slide over the back of his buzzed head, then down to his neck. “Rough flight?”
“Long,” he murmurs into her skin. “Missed you.”
Her eyes close. The kitchen is still too bright. Her son is outside cleaning a boat as penance. Their youngest is upstairs waiting for dinosaur voices. Their middle child is asleep at Sarah’s, probably sprawled diagonal in a guest bed like she pays property tax. There’s nothing sexy about this moment except her husband, unfortunately, has never needed conditions to be ideal to ruin her.
“I’m so glad you’re home,” she says.
Rafe’s mouth moves against her neck. Not quite a kiss yet. Almost worse. “Yeah?”
“Mhm.”
His hand slides higher up her back, bunching the loose fabric of his shirt. “House still standing.”
“Barely.”
“Kids alive.”
“Also barely.”
He huffs once, and the warmth of it hits her throat. “Banks drunk?”
“Very.”
“Took the boat?”
“Apparently only a little.”
Rafe lifts his head enough to look at her, eyebrows raised.
“I know,” she says. “I nearly became my mother.”
His mouth curves, tired and mean and fond in the way that still makes her stomach flip after all these years. “You’d be hot as your mother.”
“Do not ever say that to me again.”
“What?” His grin deepens. “You’d be hot.”
“I’m ignoring you.”
“No, you’re not.”
She isn’t. Obviously. She has never successfully ignored him a day in her life, not in high school when he used to lean against her locker like an expensive warning sign, not in college when they broke up for three months and she still knew exactly when he entered a party by the shift in her own bloodstream, and certainly not now, married with three children and a mortgage and a teenage son outside reenacting several of Rafe’s worst instincts with worse alcohol tolerance.
Rafe’s gaze drops to her mouth.
Her grip tightens around his shoulders. “Marlowe’s at Sarah’s.”
He nods slowly, like this information has been placed into a private and immediately inappropriate filing system. “Yeah?”
“Sleepover.”
“Mm.”
“Don’t mm me like that. Your six-year-old is awake upstairs.”
“Our six-year-old,” he corrects, already leaning in.
“She adores you and has terrible boundaries.”
“Gets that from you.”
“I have excellent boundaries.”
“You married me.”
“That was charity.”
His laugh is low against her mouth. “Yeah? Feeling generous?”
She answers by kissing him.
It starts sweet, or close enough. The kind of kiss that belongs to the front end of a reunion, the relieved press of mouths after days of bad hotel pillows and solo bedtime routines and phone calls cut short because one of the kids was crying or someone in Charleston needed Rafe to pretend not to be angry in a conference room.
His lips are warm and a little dry from travel. His hand comes to her jaw, thumb settling just beneath her cheekbone with that steady pressure that still makes the world narrow, and when she opens for him, his whole body pulls tighter around hers.
The kiss deepens hard enough to make her fingers curl into the back of his shirt. Rafe steps her back into the island without looking, his other hand low at her waist, fitting her against him like he has been thinking about exactly this in airport lounges and rental cars and whatever polished hotel room he slept badly in without her.
The edge of the counter presses into her lower back. Somewhere outside, a hose turns on, then Banks swears faintly at the dock, which should make this less hot and doesn’t, because marriage is an illness.
Rafe smiles against her mouth when she makes a sound.
“Missed you so much,” he says, low and rough, the words scraped into the kiss rather than set apart from it.
She nods, because talking would require more dignity than she currently has available. “Missed you more.”
“No.”
She laughs into his mouth. “Competitive freak.”
“About you?” His thumb drags along her jaw, tilting her face higher. His eyes are dark now, still blue but nearly swallowed by the kitchen light and whatever he’s been carrying home for her across state lines. “Always.”
Her stomach goes warm and loose. “That was almost romantic.”
“Almost?”
“You were doing so well.”
“I’ll try harder.”
He kisses her again, and this one is worse. Slower. Deeper. His hand on her jaw, his body pressing closer, the familiar shape of him pinning her lightly to the island while her toes lift off the tile for half a second.
She feels the hard line of his watch against her back, the heat of his palm through the shirt, the little groan he tries to swallow when she bites softly at his bottom lip because she knows him and his restraint and exactly where both start to come apart.
Then, from upstairs, Lila yells, “DADDY, WHERE ARE YOU?”
They freeze.
For half a second, neither of them moves. Rafe’s forehead rests against hers. Her mouth is still open beneath his. His breath comes out rough and amused, and then she starts laughing, quiet and helpless.
Rafe’s mouth twitches against hers. “Coming, baby girl!”
“NOW?”
He closes his eyes. “Yeah. Now.”
She laughs harder, and he kisses the corner of her mouth once like he can’t help it, then the other corner, then her lips properly but too quick to count as anything satisfying.
“We’ll pick that up later,” he murmurs.
She hooks two fingers in his collar before he can pull away entirely. “Promise?”
His eyes drop to her mouth, then lift again with the kind of look that makes her deeply grateful their oldest child is outside and their middle child is elsewhere and their youngest has the patience of a lit match.
“Baby,” he says, voice low enough to land under her skin, “I’ve been thinking about that since I left.”
Her breath catches. “Go read the dinosaur book.”
Rafe grins, awful and bright and tired around the edges. “Bossy.”
“You love it.”
His face softens so quickly it almost hurts. He kisses her once more, softer this time, like even now, even with Lila beginning to chant daddy from upstairs and Banks probably spraying himself in the face with a hose outside, he has to put the love somewhere before he leaves her.
“Yeah,” he says. “I do.”
Then he steps back, dragging his hand from her waist like it takes effort, and starts for the stairs.
Halfway to the hall, he turns around. “Hey.”
She lifts her brows.
His eyes move over her again, slower this time, lingering on his shirt hanging loose off one shoulder, the tired set of her mouth, the bare legs, the whole unruly shape of the life he came home to and still looks at like he cannot believe he gets to touch it.
“You look ridiculous in my shirt,” he says.
She smiles. “That means hot, right?”
His grin cuts sideways. “Stupidly hot.”
Warmth blooms low in her stomach, pleased and familiar and still somehow girlish after all this time. “Go upstairs, Mr. Cameron.”
“Yeah,” he says, backing toward the stairs, eyes still on her. “Don’t go anywhere, Mrs. Cameron.”
She looks around the kitchen – at the markers, the mail, the cold tea, the open back door, the damp footprints Banks has left on the tile, the whole beautiful disaster of what they’ve made together – and then back at him.
“Where would I go?”
Rafe doesn’t answer right away. His smile shifts, something quieter slipping through the heat and humour and fatigue. Something almost young. Almost wounded. Almost the boy who used to ask impossible things badly and the man who still sometimes does.
Then Lila yells, “DADDY!”
He looks toward the stairs and exhales. “Jesus Christ.”
“Your favourite child calls.”
“They’re all my favourite.”
“That’s not true.”
“No,” he says, already heading up, “but it sounds good.”
She laughs, and from the stairs he glances back once more, catching the sound like it belongs to him. Outside, Banks curses again under his breath and the hose clatters against the dock. Upstairs, Lila launches into a detailed complaint about dinosaurs waiting. And in the bright, messy kitchen, with Rafe home and the house loud around her again, she finally lets her shoulders drop.
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🐦⬛ — i’m obsessed with clinginess. please throw me a man who’s obsessed with me PLEASE 🙏🏻
The curtains in Rafe’s room need to be fixed as soon as humanly possible. How he hasn’t gotten them replaced yet is beyond his own comprehension, but right now, he can barely give more than two fucks about the extra sunlight filtering through his shitty ass curtains.
Rafe groans softly, muscles aching with misuse, skin warm beneath the thick covers. The moment his mind registers his surroundings fully, he freezes.
Something’s missing.
Is it his shirt? No, he took that off yesterday. He remembers chucking it into the laundry basket right before he went to sleep with—
You.
You were right beside him when he fell asleep last night. You were in his arms when he woke up at the ungodly hour of five AM at a sudden loud noise he never found the source of.
But you’re not here now. That’s weird. You’re always here when he wakes up.
“Baby,” Rafe calls out in hopes that you’re just in the bathroom. He stares at the ajar door leading to the toilet, but it doesn’t move. No one responds to him. A few birds chirp outside his window, and he finally realises that he’s completely alone right now.
He pouts. Rafe Cameron pouts, because there’s no one here to see him act like a child and he’s missing his pretty girlfriend too much. You left him to wake up alone, so that must mean you hate him.
Fuck. He knew it. He knew you hated him. He’s had a feeling for a good amount of time. An angel like you should never settle for a bullshit of a boyfriend like himself, and you realised that yourself at last.
So Rafe trudges down the stairs of Tannyhill in an absolutely foul mood, sending glares toward every corner despite being alone in the Cameron estate. But even then, even as he’s pouting and frowning and waiting to punch anyone who appears in front of him, he’s still hoping that with every edge he turns, you might appear.
You don’t. Maybe that’s because he hasn’t really turned any corners at all, but still. You don’t appear. You just don’t.
Have you really left? Left Rafe alone to wallow in his misery once again? He hasn’t not had you in a while, and truth be told, he’s gotten too used to it. He knows he shouldn’t, but he can’t help it. He loves you too much, and he needs you too much. Every second of every day.
“Baby …” he whines in frustration, to no one in particular, as he enters the kitchen, expression contorted like he’s holding back tears. He runs a rough hand through his buzzed hair and tries to grip and pull on his strands, but then he remembers that he doesn’t have that hair anymore.
(He should’ve listened to you when you told him not to shave off all his hair. Is that why you left him? Fuck. He hates his past self now. Why didn’t he listen?)
Rafe heads straight for the coffee machine, grumbling under his breath about how you “better be surprising me with head for scaring me like this.”
“The fuck?”
He whips around, almost spraining a muscle. His eyes are as wide as saucers, pupils blown so wide that the blue of his irises is almost nonexistent. Rafe swallows hard, Adam’s apple bobbing as he stares straight at you.
Shit. Did she hear that?
“What’s got your panties in a fuckin’ twist?” you scoff lightheartedly, amusement lacing your features as you laugh softly. You’re holding a mug, filled with your morning coffee already, and Rafe thinks he might cry.
Your lips part again so you can say something, but Rafe doesn’t hear a single word at all. His mind is racing, and his heart is beating too loudly in his chest. He can hear his heartbeat speeding up with every second that passes, and the pace with which he approaches you almost matches the rate his heart is going at.
“No— Nonononono, my coffee—” you sputter, attempting to save your day’s life support by leaving it safe on the nearest counter. A good half of it spills anyway when Rafe throws himself at you, clutching you so tightly you wonder if you’ve done something wrong.
The base of your mug clatters against the marble counter. Rafe buries his face into your neck, inhaling your scent like he’s forgotten it over the time he spent without you in bed with him. He lets out a soft sound that’s a little too similar to a dog’s pitiful whimper.
His nose twitches. “Why did you leave?”
You roll your eyes, but hug him back just as firmly. You’re a little pissed that you’ve lost some of your energy in the form of caffeine, but you have no capacity to think about that as Rafe hugs you so close you’re practically one figure now.
“I was literally just going back up,” you deadpan, patting his back gently, trying to soothe him. You swear he’s crying into your shoulder — is he sniffling? Whining? You’re not sure. You do know that he’s sulking, though. He always does.
And then the proof comes: Rafe groans, the sound muffled from the way he presses his face against you. It’s familiar, because you’ve heard it countless times over the course of your relationship. Which is practically every single fucking day.
He doesn’t say anything, much to your exasperation. He never says anything though, so you don’t know why you’re so pressed. You file that thought away and focus on soothing your big baby of a boyfriend.
For a few very long moments, the two of you stay like that. You’re not sure how much time has passed, but it’s enough for you to grow tired on your feet (because you haven’t had your morning coffee yet).
“Can we—?” you begin, but Rafe cuts you off promptly.
“I thought you left,” he says sadly into your neck, and you can hear the slight crack in his voice. The shakiness and fear of his statement possibly being true when he woke up without you by his side. “For real, baby. I thought you actually packed your shit and left.”
Your annoyance fades into a fond sort of concern. Rafe has attachment issues, and you’re the one person he actually loves too much to let go of. He’s made it clear that anyone else can fuck off when he gets tired, but you? The six feet two future CEO of Cameron Development never wants you to be out of his sight. He needs to have you with him every time.
It’s clear to even a blind person that Rafe can’t function properly without you. Ward’s labelled you a liability countless times before, but Rafe doesn’t care — he hasn’t cared in a long time, and neither have you.
Your head turns to press a kiss against his temple. “Sorry, baby,” you murmur, warm breath tickling his skin. He shifts a little and buries his face deeper into the crook of your neck. “I didn’t think you’d wake up yet. You know I’ll never leave you like that.”
Rafe makes an unintelligible noise that you’re about to question, but then he pulls away from your neck and stares down at you with that pout. You fall silent immediately, watching closely as Rafe’s expression changes from sulky to hopeful and relaxed.
“Yeah,” he whispers, like raising his voice even just a little would chase you away. “You won’t. You love me too much.”
You flash a smile at him, cupping his face tenderly, when he suddenly leans down to kiss you. “Rafe—!”
He plants a giddy kiss on your lips, short and sweet, before pecking your entire face over and over again like he can’t get enough of you. Rafe’s relishing the soft laughs you’re letting out, his heart lurching at the realisation that he’s making you laugh like this.
How could you leave him when you look so happy having his kisses all over your face?
“Come back to bed,” he mumbles, focusing his affection on the corner of your mouth. When he locks eyes with you, you can see the plea in the blue. “We haven’t cuddled enough.”
You nod despite yourself, already reaching for your mug (now half-filled because of a certain someone), but Rafe has other plans.
The fucker picks you up bridal style, ignoring the yelp you make.
“You’re not escaping me this time,” he reasons simply, already walking out of the kitchen despite your protests about your abandoned (and spilt) coffee. You eventually quieten down about it when you realise Rafe won’t be turning around.
Now your coffee’s going to get cold, and you’ll have to make another one.
“You don’t need coffee when you’re gonna spend the whole day with me,” Rafe huffs petulantly, as if he can read your thoughts (and at this point, he probably can, with how well he’s able to decipher your expressions).
“You are exactly why I need coffee,” you grumble under your breath, then let out a high-pitched scream when Rafe almost drops you. “Hey! You know it’s true!”
“But you still love me.”
“Debatable.”
“I’m gonna throw you out the window.”
“You won’t do that. You almost cried ‘cause you woke up alone.”
SYNOPSIS‧₊˚ After starting the day by reaching new heights and having a little bit of sweet fun and revenge in the Hot Girl Bakery Challenge, you and Rafe’s newly restored bond is tragically shattered
WARNING(S)‧₊˚ heavy swearing, angst, light sm*t, i'm going to post this and then pray (just remember i love you all)
˗ˏˋ series masterlist ˎˊ˗
YOU blinked against the bright glare of the sun, the humid island air already settling over your skin.
For a second, you just lay there, listening to the rhythm of his breathing against your neck. After the chaotic mess of movie night and the emotional rollercoaster of the last few days, being back in his arms felt like finally catching your breath after being underwater.
You shifted slightly, trying to turn around under the weight of the duvet, and that’s when you felt it— hard and unmistakable, pressing right against your hip.
You rolled over fully, propping yourself up on one elbow to look down at him. Rafe was still half-asleep, his eyelashes fluttering against the bright sun, his buzzcut slightly frizzed from the pillows as he hummed at your movements.
"Well," you whispered, voice holding a small morning rasp. "Someone’s happy to see me this morning. Do you always carry a weapon around, or are you just happy to wake up with me again?"
Rafe’s eyes blinked open then, a sleepy, deep chuckle leaving his lips. He didn't even look embarrassed. Instead, he reached up, wrapping a hand around the back of your neck to pull you down until your forehead rested against his, pecking your cheek softly.
"Shut up," he muttered, his voice deep and rough from sleep. He rolled his eyes, but the grin on his face gave him away. "You think you're so funny.” He scoffed. “I’ll have you know I had one the entire time we were sleeping out here before, and your oblivious ass never even noticed."
“No, you didn’t.” You deadpanned, tilting your head at him.
"Swear," he teased, hands sliding down to grip your waist, pulling you against his body. "You were sleeping like somebody’s dad, and I was just lying here, suffering in silence because I didn't want to wake you up. So don't act like this is a new development, baby."
You couldn't help the giggles that bubbled up, leaning down to plant a soft kiss on his lips. "You're a perv."
"Yeah, but only for you," he murmured against your mouth.
The playful banter dissolved into something much sweeter as Rafe’s hands moved up your back, fingers tracing the skin beneath your oversized t-shirt as he kissed you again and again—it was slow, lazy, and full of affection. He kissed your lips, your cheeks, the tip of your nose, and down the side of your jaw, making you squirm and laugh against him, just so incredibly happy to be back where you belonged.
Eventually, you pulled back slightly, clearing your throat with a grimace. "Okay, okay, wait,” you said, hands on his shoulders. “As much as I want to stay here, we need to go inside. I know for a fact I am overly crusty, right now."
Rafe scoffed, rolling his eyes as he sat up with you. "I don't care.” He shrugged. “You look fine to me." He smirked, leaning in again before you pushed him back by the forehead.
"I’m serious!" you laughed, scrambling out of his grip. "Let me go get ready!"
"Fine," Rafe said, bottom lip held between his teeth as, before you could even process what he was doing, he threw the sheets off his legs and scooped you up into his arms. You let out a squeal, wrapping your arms around his neck as he lifted you effortlessly into his arms.
As Rafe carried you into the main villa, the silence of the house hit you. When you were outside, the rustling palm trees, the warm air, and the sound of the ocean made it seem later than it was. But looking at the sky through the windows, the sun was only half way risen in the sky.
Rafe stopped right at the entranceway to the bedroom as you both peered inside—everyone was still knocked out.
JJ was sprawled out backwards on his bed with a pillow between himself and Haja, one leg hanging off the mattress. Pope had the covers pulled all the way up to his nose, Kaitlyn snoring next to him. Sarah was buried under a pile of pillows, looking like she was trying to hide, and the rest of the room was filled with the soft sound of heavy breathing and light snoring from everyone else.
"Geez," you whispered into Rafe’s ear, keeping your voice low. "I guess we could’ve stayed out there a bit longer." You shrugged in Rafe’s arms, hands clutched behind his neck as he held you in front of him, legs locked around his waist.
You looked up when he didn’t say anything, and the moment you saw the wicked smirk spreading across his face, you tilted your head innocently.
"What?" you whispered. "Why're you looking at me like that?"
But Rafe didn't say a word. Instead, he shifted his grip, quickly throwing you over his shoulder. You gasped, clapping a hand over your mouth to stifle a loud laugh as your head hung down past his back.
"Rafe!" you hissed, swatting at his lower back. "Where are we going? What are you doing?"
He just gripped the back of your thighs tighter, walking down the corridor away from the bedroom. "Keep your voice down unless you wanna wake up the whole house."
He pushed open the door to one of the bathrooms, stepping inside and locking the door behind him with a soft click. He lowered you down, letting your feet hit the cool tile floor. Before you could even question him, he turned around and reached to twist the knob behind the frosted glass of the shower, the sound of water filling the enclosed space, steam slowly starting to rise toward the ceiling.
Rafe turned back to you, a certain glint in his eyes. "No one's awake," he said, his voice low, shrugging with a lopsided, boyish grin on his lips. "And I wanna shower with you."
Your eyes drifted over his bare chest, the lines of his abs, watching as he reached down to untie his sweatpants, stepping out of them until he was standing there just in his grey boxer briefs, but when he looked up and noticed that you were still standing by the door, fully clothed and clutching the hem of your shirt, he stopped.
He arched an eyebrow, a soft smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "You nervous or somethin’?"
You bit your lip, looking at the steaming shower and then back at him. "Lowkey... yeah, kind of."
Rafe softened then, and he stepped across the small distance between you, placing his hands on your waist. "You don't have anything to be nervous about with me. Ever.” He reassured. “And look, we don't have to if it makes you uncomfortable. I just thought it’d be fun, y'know?"
"No, I want to," you said, looking up into his eyes so he wouldn't think you were rejecting him. "I really want to. I’m just... I'm nervous.” You cringe. “You haven't actually seen me naked, I haven't seen you naked. It’s just…scary?"
Rafe let out a breathy laugh, shaking his head as he leaned in closer. "Baby, I literally had my hand down your pants last night, and you had my dick in your hands.” He deadpans with a small smile. “But showering together is what scares you?” He muses.
An embarrassed laugh leaves you, your cheeks burning as you hid your face in his bare chest. "Do you have to say it out loud like that?"
"I'm jus’ sayin’," he chuckled, his arms wrapping around your waist to hold you tight. He held you for a second, letting you get used to the feeling of your skin against his, before he gently pulled back. "C’mere, let me help you…"
His movements were gentle as his hands gripped the bottom of your t-shirt, slowly lifting it up as you lifted your arms, letting him slide the shirt off and discard it on the floor. When it came to your shorts, he knelt down slightly, sliding them down your legs along with your underwear until you were standing before him in just your bra. Rafe stepped closer, eyes boring into your own as he reached around, unclasping your bra with ease, letting it fall to the floor.
Your heart was pounding as you instinctively brought your hands up, crossing your arms over your chest as he stripped himself of his underwear and your eyes darted to anywhere else, not wanting to stare.
Rafe stood up, straightening as his eyes locked onto you. There wasn't any judgment or lust in his gaze—just awe.
"You’re beautiful," he said, voice serious, hand reaching out to softly cup your jaw. "Seriously. You're perfect."
You only gave him a tight, nervous smile, not knowing what to say.
To prove it to you, Rafe leaned down and captured your lips in a deep kiss, his mouth moving against yours as his hands slid down to your wrists, gently but firmly pulling your hands away from your chest. He guided your arms up and around his neck, and you leaned into him, the remnants of your anxiety melting away under his touch.
His hands settled onto the skin of your waist, thumbs digging into your hips as he slowly walked you backward, stepping over the threshold into the shower.
The moment the water hit your skin, you both let out a gasps, followed by light laughter. The water was splashing everywhere, running down your faces. Rafe wiped his eyes, laughing quietly as he pulled you under the stream with him, chest pressed against yours. It was a sweet moment, the kind of domestic intimacy you hadn't realized you were craving so badly.
Things stayed calm and sweet for a little while.
You grabbed the bottle of body wash from the ledge, squeezing a dollop onto his loofah.
"Hey," you said, turning your back to him and tilting your head forward under the water. "Help me since you’re here?” You asked. “I can never reach the middle properly."
"My pleasure," Rafe murmured, his voice sounding a lot thicker than before.
You laughed. “Okay, Chick-fil-a,” you teased. “You gonna tell me to pull forward and pay at the first window, next?”
“Y’know,” Rafe started, “It’s times like these I really wish I could threaten to fuck the attitude out of you.” He says, sounding far too casual for the words that came out of his mouth. They caught you so off guard that you didn’t have anything clever to say, swallowing harshly as he smirked behind your head. “But I guess I don’t have to.” He says cockily.
“Fuck you.” You hiss playfully.
“Soon,” Rafe smirks, sighing. “Hopefully.”
You scoffed as you felt him spreading the soap across your skin in slow circles. But as the suds built up, Rafe’s touch quickly shifted from gentle to lingering. His hands didn't just stay on your upper back, they slid down to your waist, tracing the curve of your hips, before moving back up.
And then, he stepped closer, and as he pressed himself against your back, his dick settled right atop your ass, hard and warm. You let out a soft breath, fingers gripping the tiled wall in front of you as Rafe leaned down, pressing his lips against your wet shoulder blade.
He bit down softly, making a shiver run straight down your spine, before his lips traced a burning path right down the center of your back.
"Rafe..." you breathed out, your voice shaking slightly. It was meant to be a warning, a reminder that people could wake up at any minute, but it came out sounding like a plea.
He didn't care. He let out a low groan against your skin, his hands moving around to the front of your body as he abandoned the loofah, gripping your hips and pulling your back firmly against his chest. "Tell me if you want me to stop," he whispered, voice raspy against your ear, breath hot against your wet skin. "Just tell me."
But you didn't say a word. You couldn't.
And, taking your silence as a green light, Rafe spun you around in one swift movement, backing you against the tile of the shower. The water was cascading over his head, dripping down his nose and chin as he looked down at you with a gaze so dark, it made your knees weak. He leaned down, capturing your mouth in a kiss that was different from before—hungry, dirty, and desperate.
His hands ran down your body as his mouth left yours, burying his face in the crook of your neck, biting and sucking on the sensitive skin there until you were panting, head tilted back against the wall. His hands cupped your breasts, squeezing them firmly, thumbs rolling over your aching nipples until a high-pitched moan escaped your throat.
"Rafe, please," you whimpered, hands flying to grip his shoulders.
He smirked against your skin, loving the way his name rolled off your tongue as one of his hands slid down your stomach, moving past your waist until his fingers buried themselves between your thighs. He found your clit easily, his thumb circling it with a pressure that had you lifting one leg to wrap around his hip.
Out of arousal, you bit your lip as your own hand reached down, fingers wrapping around his length. He was so hard, throbbing and hot, poking right against your stomach as your fingers traced the most prominent vein underneath. The moment your palm made contact with his skin and you gave him one solid stroke, Rafe’s body shook.
His knees buckled slightly, a curse ripping out of his throat into the skin of your shoulder. "Fuck," he growled, his grip on your hip tightening until it was almost bruising.
His fingers between your legs started circling harder, faster, matching the rhythm of your hand stroking him, occasionally stopping to squeeze the tip which ripped a grunt from him every time. The sound of the rushing water mixed with the lewd noises was overwhelming your senses. You were slick, dripping wet from the water and your own arousal.
And without warning, and after a particularly satisfying tug, Rafe pushed two of his fingers straight into you, your eyes flying open as a loud, sharp moan ripped from your lips. Rafe’s fingers were thick, stretching you perfectly, hitting a spot deep inside that made your core pulse around him.
"Gotta keep quiet, angel," Rafe whispered, though his own breathing was shot. He moved his mouth back to your neck, sucking hard on a spot right beneath your jaw, fingers pumping in and out of you relentlessly.
You tried so hard to stay quiet, but you couldn't help the broken whimpers, the heavy panting, and the desperate chants of his name that kept slipping out. You were grinding your hips helplessly against his hand, your walls clenching tightly around his fingers as the tension in your stomach coiled tighter and tighter. You were so close.
And right as you felt yourself about to snap, Rafe suddenly pulled his fingers out of you, his dick sliding out of your hand right when he looked like he was about to finish himself.
"Rafe? What—" you panted, looking at him in confusion and desperation.
He didn't say anything, just dropped straight down to his knees on the wet shower floor. His hands grabbed your thighs, spreading them wide, hooking one of them over his shoulder, and before you could even process it, he buried his face between your legs, shoving his fingers back inside, pumping them while his tongue sucked your swollen, sensitive bud into his mouth.
You were biting your bottom lip so hard, you feared you might bite it off as your fingers buried themselves deep into his buzzcut, nails scratching against his scalp as your orgasm washed over you.
You cried out, whimpering, riding it out before you started to grow too sensitive, trying to push his head away, but he wouldn't budge. He held your hips in place, fingers gone now but his tongue was still working, the sound of his mouth on you filling the bathroom until your legs started to shake.
Only then did Rafe pull away, standing up slowly, a satisfied smirk plastered across his wet face. His blue eyes were practically glowing as he stepped close to you, one hand coming up to lie loosely around the base of your neck, thumb wiping a stray drop of water from your lip as you still panted softly before he leaned down and kissed you.
When he pulled away, you leaned your head against his chest, exhausted, trying to catch your breath, your heart still pounding. "You’re an ass, you know that?"
Rafe chuckled, his hand sliding down to squeeze your butt in both hands. "You—"
He was cut off by the sound of muffled voices and laughter, and your eyes went wide as saucers.
"Oh my God," you hissed, frantically pushing him away.
Rafe sighed and twisted the knob, the sudden silence in the bathroom making the sound of footsteps outside sound incredibly loud. “Shit,” he breathed out in a laugh as you both scrambled out of the shower, grabbing towels and drying yourselves off as fast as possible.
You threw your t-shirt back on, gathering the rest of your clothes in your hands as Rafe threw his sweats back on, looking equally disheveled.
"Okay," you whispered, gripping the doorknob. "Just...walk out, and don't look at anyone."
"I got it, I got it," Rafe muttered, looking amused and not in any kind of hurry at all.
You shot him a pointed look as you unlocked the door and stepped out into the hall only to run directly into JJ, of all people, who was standing there with his toothbrush in his hand.
He stopped dead in his tracks, tired eyes darting from you to Rafe, back and forth.
JJ slowly lowered his toothbrush, a knowing grin spreading across his face. "Looks like somebody took the early bird and the worm a little too literally." He jokes, amusing himself.
"Shut up," Rafe scoffed, his face turning slightly red as he pushed past him, his hand in yours as he dragged you with him.
"Hey, I won’t say nothin’!" JJ called out, laughing loudly as you both practically sprinted down the hallway.
BY the time you made it to the glam room to actually get dressed for the day, you realized JJ had already opened his mouth exactly like he said he wouldn’t. And, because word travels faster than the speed of light in the villa, the moment you pushed the door open, all the girls stopped what they were doing and turned to look at you.
"Oh, look who decided to join us," Cleo piped up from the corner, a smirk on her face.
You groaned, covering your face with your hands as you walked inside. "Please tell me JJ didn't."
"Oh, he did," Rima chuckled, shaking her head as she curled a strand of her hair.
Cleo walked over, grabbing your arm as you whined like a child, pulling you into the bathroom connected to the glam room. She nudged your shoulder with her own, her eyes full of mischief. "Alright. What happened? And I want details.”
You let out a breath, a small, helpless smile forming on your lips. "Nothing really happened…” You dragged out. “I think we're just...happy to be back together, you know?” You shrugged shyly. “After everything with Casa and Theo, it just feels like our hormones are completely out of whack or something."
You leaned closer, lowering your voice so only Cleo could hear in case any of the other girls may have been eavesdropping. "We were out on the daybeds and just, like, touching each other everywhere."
Cleo’s eyes went wide, a gasp leaving her mouth as she smacked your arm. "No!” She gasped. “Right out there in the open? Girl, you’re a freak." She leaned in closer, her eyes glittering. "...But I gotta ask. Is it... you know…big?"
You felt your cheeks heat up, but you couldn't suppress the proud, dirty little smirk that slipped onto your face as you bit the inside of her cheek. "I don’t wanna say too much out of respect, but…” you teased, rolling your eyes. “I don’t know how he hides that shit.”
Cleo burst out laughing, clapping her hands together. "I knew it!” She cracks herself up. “He got that energy about him. Good for you, girl."
The laughter died down into a softer, more comfortable silence as you grabbed your toothbrush. "Yeah... it just feels right." You shrugged one shoulder lazily. "I talked to Theo and ended things. We're back to normal, and I feel really, really good about us."
You paused, turning around to look at her fully. "But enough about me. What about you and your whole situation?" You asked, leaning against the sink, brushing your teeth.
Cleo’s playful expression softened, a sigh escaping her lips as she looked down at her nails. "I really want to pull Rima for a chat first.” She said firmly. “I don't want any drama between us at all. We’re all girls and I love every single one of you. And now that the day’s passed, I think my head is a bit clearer and I can kind of see where Rima was coming from. I just want to sit down and talk to her."
"I think that's really mature of you," you said softly, spitting into the sink and wiping your mouth, rinsing your hands. "But... where is your head at with Justin and Pope? Do you…know who you actually want?"
Cleo looked up, her expression certain. "Although I do really like Justin, and we had a good vibe... there’s just no point. Every single connection I’ve made after Pope, or every time I'm even tempted to make a connection, it doesn't matter. Pope is always in the back of my mind. I can't shake him...” Cleo shrugged as you washed your face and finished freshening up before moving to exit the bathroom with her by your side. “I feel like I'm just going to take it as a sign at this point to continue my connection with Pope and just see it through."
You opened your mouth to reply as you settled in front of your vanity, Cleo leaning on the table next to you, but before you could, the door to the glam room clicked open, drawing everyone’s attention.
Sarah walked in, and the moment she stepped into the light, your heart broke for her.
Her eyes were puffy, surrounded by dark circles, and her nose was red. It was obvious she hadn't slept a wink and had spent the entire night crying her eyes out. She looked fragile, wrapping her arms tightly around herself as she slumped onto one of the chairs.
You and Cleo dropped the topic of conversation, shooting each other pitiful glances, walking over to sit on either side of her.
"...Hey," you said softly, rubbing her back. "How you holdin’ up?"
Sarah blinked, a tear immediately rolling down her cheek as she shook her head, her voice cracking. "... I don’t know, I'm really heartbroken, you guys.” Her voice shook. “I just can't fathom the fact that me and John B were together for weeks. And within a matter of days, he showed some other girl every part of him... and then had the nerve to try and tell me that it ‘wasn't that serious’."
She let out a bitter laugh, wiping her face. "Like, if it wasn't serious, why did you lie to my face?"
"He knew he was wrong." Cleo squeezed her hand. "...Do you think you want to… try and continue things with him?"
"...No," Sarah whispered, looking up at both of you with honest eyes. "I don't. I can’t. I just feel so embarrassed and disrespected. Because, not only did he lie straight to my face when he walked back in, his lies came out in front of everybody. I was so blindsided...” She cries. “I don't think that's something I could ever put behind me in a relationship. The trust is just dead."
"We understand," you said, pulling her into a quick hug. "You don't deserve that, especially not after staying loyal."
Sarah sniffed, nodding as she pulled back. She quieted down for a second, her eyes darting over to you nervously. “Um,” She cleared her throat, shifting her weight. "I was planning on exploring…other people. And... I want to pull Theo for a chat, eventually." She took a deep breath, looking at you with a pleading expression. "Would you feel some kind of way if I did? Like, is that going to cause an issue between us?"
You smiled gently, shaking your head to reassure her. "Sarah, I ended things with Theo last night. I think everyone in here—including Theo—knew that my endgame was always Rafe. So please, go ahead. Feel free to talk to him." You paused, your expression turning a bit more serious as you placed a hand on her knee. "But... I do want to warn you, just because I care about you—There are definitely two sides to Theo. He can be super sweet, but he can also get very bitter and petty when things don't go his way, like we saw at movie night. So just... keep that in mind, okay?"
Sarah nodded, looking relieved. "Yeah, 'course."
Confessional: You
"I really, really just want Sarah to be happy. I think her ending things with John B is probably the best move, because honestly? What John B did at Casa, and the way he lied about it afterward, is unforgivable. Or, at the very least, it's unforgettable if you're trying to build a relationship.” You say, sighing in disappointment. “But... I’m not entirely sure how I feel about her pursuing Theo. It’s clear to me now that Theo is capable of putting on a persona of someone he’s not when he’s trying to win a girl over. I just hope that maybe things will be different between him and Sarah than they were with me. But I really do wish the best for her, she's been through it."
The conversation was then interrupted by a knock on the door, all of you turning as the door swung open, and the boys walked in, each holding plates of food and smoothies.
Rafe walked in first, and the moment his eyes found you, that soft smile returned to his face. He walked straight over to your vanity, waving you over as he set down a smoothie, and you couldn't help but snort as you came to a stop next to him, noticing he had cut a little slit into a strawberry and wedged it onto the rim of the cup. On the plate next to it were three small pancakes, but they weren't round—he had hacked them into the shape of hearts. Even the strawberries scattered around the plate were sliced into little hearts.
You looked up at him, arching an eyebrow, trying to conceal your own smile. "Oh, wow. Look at you, Chef Cameron.” You teased. “Did you accidentally walk into a Hallmark movie this morning?"
“Whatever,” Rafe’s face flushed, but he just smirked, leaning down to plant a quick kiss on your lips right in front of everyone. "Just eat your food. I spent like ten minutes trying to get those pancakes to not look like blobs."
"I love it," you laughed, picking up a heart-shaped strawberry and popping it into your mouth, perching yourself up on your tippy-toes to plant a wet kiss on his cheek. "It's sweet. Thank you."
Around the room, the other boys were handing out their plates. Pope walked over to Cleo, handing her a plate with a hopeful smile, which she accepted with a grateful nod. Justin, surprisingly, walked past Cleo and brought a plate over to Rima. Miles entered, carrying two plates—one for Sofia and one for Haja. Pope also made a plate for Kaitlyn, handing it to her with a friendly smile, which she smiled widely at.
Then, John B walked in.
He was holding a plate of eggs and toast, his expression cautious, meeting everyone’s lingering eyes as he walked straight toward where Sarah was sitting.
She avoided his gaze but he continued towards her anyway.
"...Hey," John B said, his voice quiet, tentative as he stood behind her chair now. "I know you're probably still mad, but I thought maybe you—"
Sarah didn't even let him finish the sentence. Before he could even place the plate down, she reached out behind herself, pushing her hand flat against the center of the plate, shoving it right into John B's chest.
The eggs smeared against his chest, and he had to awkwardly catch the plate to keep it from falling to the floor.
She didn’t say a word either, just started her skincare as he stood behind her and the rest of you looked at them with your jaws on the floor.
John B stood there, face turning red. He looked around the room, embarrassed. None of you girls offered him an ounce of sympathy, just stared at him with cold expressions. A couple of the guys winced though, feeling a bit bad, but they ultimately understood why Sarah was reacting that way.
So, defeated and humiliated, John B clutched the plate, turned around, and walked out of the dressing room.
"Well," Cleo muttered into the silence. "That went well."
BY the afternoon, the heat of the sun had driven most of you out to scatter the lawn. You and Rafe had claimed two of the loungers by the pool.
You were lying flat on your back, and Rafe was lying right next to you, his chair moved so that there was no space between you as his large body lay half-draped over yours. One of his hands was resting comfortably on your stomach, fingers stroking the skin beneath the edge of your bikini top while your fingers ran through the short, prickly hairs of his buzzcut.
It was quiet, peaceful.
"So," Rafe murmured, shifting his chin so he could look up at you. You couldn’t help but note how adorable he looked peering up at you. "What d’you think is gonna happen with Sarah and John B?"
You let out a soft sigh, shaking your head. "Well, Sarah’s done. Like, done.” You emphasized. “We were talking to her right before you guys walked in and I really don't think she's ever going to give him another chance, says the trust is dead."
Rafe sighed, his eyes drifting out toward the pool where John B was sitting by himself, kicking his feet in the water, looking miserable. "Damn. That sucks, man."
You fingers stilled in his hair, looking down at him with a slight frown. "Why do you say that?” You pressed. “Don't tell me you're about to defend him."
"No, no, I'm not," Rafe said quickly, shaking his head. "What he did was stupid as hell. I'm just sayin’... The guy’s been spiraling all morning, feels guilty about the whole thing. He’s just a mess.” He shrugs. “He’s thinkin’ of all these ways to try and make it up to her, talking about writing her letters ‘n shit."
You rolled your eyes, letting out a skeptical snort. "Well, he should feel bad.” You quip. “But he’s wasting his time. Sarah seems serious about moving on. She even asked me if it was okay for her to pull Theo."
Rafe’s body stiffened a bit at your words. He stopped stroking your stomach, head tilting up as his blue eyes locked onto yours. Even though everything between you two was resolved, Rafe was just a naturally jealous, possessive guy by nature.
"And what’d you say?" Rafe asked, his voice dropping an octave, trying to play it cool but failing miserably.
You couldn't help the amused smile that grew on your face. You reached down, cupping his face with both hands, forcing him to look at you. "Relax.” You rolled your eyes. “I told her to do whatever she wants. I reminded her—as I am reminding you right now—that I am completely over Theo.” You reassure him. “I chose you. I want you. You don’t have anything to worry about."
Rafe’s face softened, the notch between his eyebrows smoothing over as a relaxed smile graced his lips and he leaned up, pressing his lips to yours in a soft kiss.
Though, the kiss was broken when the familiar sound of a text notification echoed.
Everyone sat up straighter wherever they were, Cleo grabbing her phone from the edge of the daybed where she was sitting, reading the text out loud.
"Islanders, it's time to find out who can really handle the heat in the kitchen! Get dressed and head to the Glam room for the Hot Girl Bakery Challenge! #BunsInTheOven #GetTheBag"
WHEN you walked into the glam room, you found a rack of themed, sexy outfits waiting for you all.
And while you and the girls were pulling on tight, pastel colored corsets, thigh-high lace-trimmed socks, and little baker's hats, the guys were downstairs putting on matching baker's hats and matching pastel shorts.
You were standing in front of the mirror, Rima helping you lace up your corset when suddenly, the door of the glam room slowly creaked open.
You expected one of the guys or even Ariana but when they stepped into the room, all of your heads turning, waiting to see who it was, your jaw dropped and you damn near stopped breathing.
"Oh my God!" you shrieked, throwing your hands over your mouth, accidentally jumping out of Rima’s reach as the entire room fell into high-pitched screaming and squeals. The girls were jumping up and down, losing their minds.
It was Megan Thee Stallion.
Megan laughed loudly, her infectious laugh echoing through the room as she waved at all of you, equally as excited.
"What's up, hotties?!" She shouted, standing at the head of the vanity table with her hands on her hips, glowing. "Y'all look so cute!” She gushed, pointing at you all. “You know I had to come through the villa and check on my girls, because I've been watching the TV, and whew... y'all are going through it in here!"
You all laughed, still in awe as she fixed her face with a pointed look, going down the line of girls to address everything she’d been watching.
Her eyes landed on Cleo and Rima first, pointing a long, manicured nail at them. "First of all... I don’t know what is going on between y'all two over these men, but we got to figure it out real soon, ‘kay? Because hot girls stick together, we don't fight over no boys!"
Cleo and Rima both laughed, nodding quickly, the awkwardness between them still hovering.
Megan then turned her eyes to Haja, arching an eyebrow. "And Haja... girl, what are you doing sneaking around with that man? You ain't ever heard the saying 'exes for a reason'?"
Haja bit her lip, looking embarrassed.
Megan then moved down to Kaitlyn, softening. "Now Kaitlyn, you are like the damsel of the villa, right now. You are so unproblematic. I love you, girl." Kaitlyn blushed furiously, mouthing a sweet 'thank you.'
Then, Megan fixed her sights on Sofia, her expression turning stern, almost motherly. "Sofia, baby... we have to let things go, honey, because green eyes do not suit you." Sofia forced a tight, incredibly defensive smile, shrugging her shoulders.
Megan turned to Sarah, pouting and trotting over to wrap her arms around the girl. "Sarah, my baby,” She cooed. “Do not waste your tears on no man who don't know how to act.” She reprimanded, pulling back, holding the girl by her shoulders. “You are so beautiful, baby, you’ll find a man to shower with sooner or later!"
The entire room burst into laughter at that, Sarah cracking a genuine smile for the first time all day.
Finally, Megan stopped right in front of you, a hand on her hip. "Girl..."
"I know, I know," you laughed, covering your face.
"You had two men fighting for you!" Megan hyped you up, shaking her head. "But, like, you knew it was gonna be Rafe though…” She shrugs, rolling her eyes towards the ceiling. “We all knew it. The chemistry is crazy."
You grinned widely, feeling a flush of pride as she walked back towards the front of the room.
"Alright hotties," Megan said, heading toward the door. "I’m gonna go talk to these boys before the challenge starts. So, y’all get ready and get your minds right, because we are about to get down and dirty!"
You all said bye to Megan and the moment the door clicked shut behind her, all the girls lost it again—you, Sarah, Rima and Cleo grabbing each other's hands, fangirling.
"Oh my God, I can't believe she's actually here!" you squealed.
"Bro, I am obsessed!" Cleo expressed her excitement, cheesing hard. "I was literally about to start singing 'Body'!” She laughed.
And you all couldn't wipe the smiles from your faces as you added finishing touches when suddenly, Megan’s voice echoed from the hallway. "Alright hotties, let's go! Bring them buns downstairs!"
YOU all filed out into the challenge area, which had been turned into a giant, pastel-themed bakery. There were giant sacks of flour, a table of cakes, comically large rolling pins, and a square platform in front of it all.
You and the girls were sitting on a set of bleachers opposite the guys while Megan stood off to the side of the platform, holding a pair of large, silver cymbals.
"Islanders,” she started, a bright smile on her face. “Welcome…to the Hot Girl Bakery!" Megan announced excited. "The first part of today's challenge is something I like to call… Musical Hot Cakes! It's very simple—it’s musical chairs. But with cakes.” She shrugged cutely. “When the music plays, you better shake what ya mama gave you. But when I clap these cymbals together? You better find a cake to sit on.” She explained. “And anyone left standing is eliminated. And we’ll keep goin’ until we have a winner!"
You all cheered as she called the girls to come up first—you, Sarah, Cleo, Rima, Sofia, Haja, and Kaitlyn making your way down to the platform.
The minute the bass-heavy music started pumping through the speakers, you all started dancing around the cakes—twerking, twirling around each other, dropping—when suddenly, Megan smashed the cymbals together.
You were all squealing as you threw yourselves onto a cake, the feeling of icing on your skin not the best thing in the world. Kaitlyn was a second too slow and got eliminated in the first round.
In the second round, the competition got fierce, and a hell of a lot more slippery, and both Haja and Sofia were left standing and joined Kaitlyn on the bleachers.
By the final round, it was down to you, Sarah, Rima, and Cleo. The floor was slippery with icing and crumbs and the feeling of cake between your ass wasn’t exactly the most pleasant. The music started, and you danced around each other, stopping abruptly when the sound of the cymbals rang out, and the four of you started slipping, sliding, and shoving each other trying to get the last seat, looking like baby penguins on ice, in a fit of giggles before Cleo managed to throw herself onto the last cake.
"And Cleo takes the cake!" Megan shouted, everyone clapping for her as you and the girls all went to sit down, trying to scrape as much cake off of your bum as possible.
Though, next up were the boys—John B, JJ, Pope, Rafe, Miles, Theo, and Justin all getting up from their seats once the platform had been cleaned and set up for them.
And the moment their turn started, they were ridiculous—JJ immediately started doing a terrible, hilarious twerk, making all the girls double over with laughter. Rafe was standing near you, catching your eye and doing a goofy little shoulder shimmy that had you giggling as you told him to ‘shake that ass’ and he flipped you off with a smile just before the cymbals smashed.
In the first round, John B missed a seat, getting eliminated.
In the second round, both Justin and Miles were knocked out after a slippery wrestle for a seat.
By the third round, it came down to JJ, Pope, Theo, and Rafe, and though all three of those men were much larger than him, JJ utilized his lankiness to slide between the triangle of men as they wrested for the seat and quite literally take the cake, winning the round for the boys as everyone cheered.
As the boys took their seats and the platform was cleared once again, Megan stepped forward. "Now, JJ won for the boys, and Cleo won for the girls.” She pointed to each of them. “But as the official judge of the Hot Girl Bakery, I gotta decide which side was actually more entertaining to watch…” She pretended to think, her eyes narrowed. “And... because my girls know how to twerk and actually get down, the point for this round goes to the girls!"
You all cheered, the boys clapping with smirks on their faces, still entertained despite the loss.
"But now,” Megan’s voice broke through. “It's time for part two." She smirked, pointing to a large structure that had been wheeled out. It looked like a giant, pink cake, but it had seven holes cut out of the top, exactly like a whack-a-mole game. “This is called Sweet Revenge.” She told you all dramatically. “Girls, go ahead and climb inside the cake!"
You all walked behind the structure, climbing inside, poking your heads through the holes. Only your heads were showing, the rest of your bodies trapped inside the pink wooden cake contraption.
A few feet away was a small, circular, raised podium. "Boys,” Megan began. “One by one, you’re gonna grab yourself a cake, pick a girl, and let her know what’s been pissing you off, and serve it...with a cake to the face.” She told them.
The boys all clapped as you and the girls exchanged weary looks and eye-rolls, knowing not much good could really come out of this.
“Don’t look like that, ladies,” Megan started, looking at you girls. “‘Cause y’all are gonna get y’all's time for y’all's sweet revenge.” She comforted, and you started nodding, smiling, concealed hands clapping.
“Hell, yeah!”
“Boys,” Megan turned back. “First up…is Justin.”
And Justin stepped onto the podium as the guys all cheered, a small cake balanced in his hand. As he took his place, he didn't even hesitate, locking his eyes onto Cleo. "I’ve chosen this girl,” He started, shifting on the spot. “Because I'm still pissed off at her for having to find out she kissed someone else behind my back through Movie Night, and it just made me feel like she was just playing with my feelings this whole time." He says honestly. “So, the girl I’m choosing is Cleo.”
“C’mon, then.” Cleo taunted, holding her head high.
He scoffed and took aim, launching the cake. It hit Cleo's hole in the structure, splattering across her neck and chin.
Megan winced, looking at Cleo. "Cleo, how do you feel about that?"
Cleo looked unbothered, stretching her tongue out and licking a dollop of the sweet frosting off the side of her mouth before looking at Justin. "I get why he's upset.” She took it on the chin. “But I also remember that Justin did the exact same thing. So, I guess we’ll call it even." She gave him a deadpan look, looking unaffected.
Next was John B, and it was incredibly tense as he stepped up the podium, looking straight at Sarah.
Everyone made a face, whispering to each other.
"I'm choosing this girl," John B said, his hands shaking slightly as he held the cake. "Because she’s super mad at me right now, and she won't even speak to me or look at me. So, honestly, I'm hoping a cake to the face will make her mad enough to at least curse me out or something. Because right now, something is better than nothing." He shrugged, biting the inside of his cheek.
And you all winced, curling your lips and squeezing your eyes shut as he threw the cake, and it hit Sarah dead in the face, icing covering her eyes, nose, and mouth.
Megan looked shocked, tentatively asking her question. "...Sarah... how you feelin’ about that?"
Sarah stood still, wiggling a hand through the hole to wipe the cream from her eyes so she could look John B right in the face. "...You know what? I was actually going to curse him out.” She says honestly. “But just because that's exactly what he wants me to do... I'm not going to." She stared at him, a bitter smile on her lips. "Sit down."
The entire villa went "Ooooooh," and Megan even stepped in, shaking her head at John B. "A cake to the face is definitely not the way to get a girl to talk to you." She reprimanded, shaking her head.
Then it was Theo, all of you watching as he stepped to the stand, looking directly at you. You arched an eyebrow in skepticism.
"Even though this girl and I talked it out, I still believe it’s only right," Theo said, shrugging his shoulders. "So, the girl I’m choosing is..." He declared, calling out your name, reeling his arm back before tossing the cake in your direction.
But you saw it coming, pulling your head back slightly as the cake splattered against the wooden border, missing most of your face.
Megan cringed, a hand on her hip. "That's the first one for you! How you feelin’?"
You shrugged, rolling your eyes. "I don't know if he was trying to throw shade by saying 'it's only right,' because it literally makes no sense.” You threw out. “We already agreed that I was honest with him from day one. But it’s whatever." You smirked, looking at Theo as he returned to his seat. "He missed anyway."
Pope was up next, walking up, looking serious with his eyes focused on Haja. “I feel like this girl played with the feelings of one of the guys I’m closest to in here, and seeing him actually get out of his old ways and try to form a genuine, real connection with someone, only for her to take advantage of that and sneak around is something I can’t respect. So," Pope shrugged. “Sorry, Haja.”
He launched the cake, hitting Haja right on the cheek as she turned her head to the side.
And when Megan asked Haja for her reaction, she just scoffed, rolling her eyes as she wiped her face. "I just feel like this is Cry Baby Island or something. I’m so sick of everyone acting like we are these married, real-world couples.” She snarls. “JJ isn't a baby, he's a grown-ass man, and he'll be fine." She dismissed his feelings, causing a few of the guys and girls to murmur in disapproval.
Then, it was JJ's turn. He walked up to the podium, his expression dropping into something mischievous.
"I’m choosing to cake this girl because, I don’t think it’s any secret that Y/N’s my girl in here, we came in together, and I hate seeing someone talk down on her when I know how much of a genuinely good person she really is." He offers, making you smile softly, mouthing a ‘thank you’. “Maybe this’ll sweeten up this girl’s bitter soul.”
And without another word, he tossed the cake forward, watching as it hit the side of Sofia's face, splattering into her hair.
"Sofia, how you feeling about JJ choosing you?" Megan asked.
Sofia just shrugged, her face twisting into a bitter, tight expression. "I'm used to everyone in here fighting Y/N’s battles for her, so it's really nothing new."
You didn't even bother giving her words life, just rolled your eyes, looking away.
Then it was Miles. He stepped onto the podium, a smug grin on his face.
"During movie night, I feel like this girl got super rowdy and loud for someone who jumped partners the first second she got.” He taunts. “In my opinion, she's not nearly as innocent as she likes to come off in here." He shrugs. “Sorry, Y/N.” He said, but the wink at the end of his words said otherwise as he threw the cake, but his aim was terrible. It sailed past your head, hitting the table behind all of your heads, knocking over a few of the other cakes.
"Second person to target you!” Megan threw out, surprised. “What’s tea?"
You glared at Miles, your voice dripping with venom. "Miles is the last person in this entire villa to talk about someone not being as innocent as they come off.” You shoot back. “He just needs to be quiet and sit his ass down. Maybe work on his aim while he’s at it."
"I've never tried to hide the fact that I'm not a perfect person." Miles tried to defend, acting unbothered.
Before you could even say anything back, the rest of the girls jumped in. Cleo, Rima, and Sarah all started taunting him.
"Buddy, that's literally all you do." Cleo laughed in his face.
The small shouting match had the whole villa rippling, and Megan had to step in, laughing as she ushered Miles off the podium. "Alright, alright, sit down." She calmed, holding her head down as she laughed and walked back to her spot.
Finally, Rafe stepped up, gripping his mini cake and he took his place, bouncing the small dessert in his palm.
"I feel like this girl has been consistently trying to ruin something good that I have going on for myself.” He started, chewing the inside of his cheek. “And I just want her to get a taste of her own medicine for once, considering she’s been tormenting a girl who never deserved it since she got here. This one’s for you." Rafe teased, pointing at you like a celebrity at a concert as the other girls giggled before he threw the cake, the small dessert hitting Sofia right in the middle of her face, icing covering all of her features.
Your jaw dropped as you watched, along with the other girls, Rima trying not to laugh as Sofia wiggled a hand free to wipe the sugary cream from her face.
“Sofia, how you feelin’ about that?”
And the girl just took a deep breath, a tight smile on her lips. “I’m not surprised.” She bit out, not saying much more.
And since Rafe was the end of the line, you and the girls were allowed to climb out of the cake and wipe yourselves off a bit as the platform was cleaned and set up for the boys.
"Alright, switch it up!" Megan shouted once everything was reset. "Boys, get inside the cake!”
The boys took their places, poking their heads through the holes and getting comfortable.
Megan then turned her gaze to the girls’ bleachers. “Girls, it's your turn for some sweet revenge!” She smiled. “And don’t worry," she starts, grabbing the comically large piping bag she had behind her, holding it up. “I brought backup.” She winks.
You all clapped and cheered at the sight of the bakery themed weapon. Sure, the guys had their fun, but this would make it a hell of a lot easier to aim. You could dodge a cake, you couldn’t dodge this.
Cleo was up first and she was all too happy as she marched up to the podium, lifting the heavy object in her arms.
"I feel like I was as honest as possible with this guy. I apologized for lying, but at the end of the day, he went ahead and kissed someone out of pure spite, and I don't respect that.” Cleo shrugged, aiming the gun straight at Justin.
She squeezed the trigger, and a thick stream of buttercream shot out, blasting Justin in the face as he turned his head to try and dodge it but failed.
“Damn,” Megan hissed. “Justin! How’re you holdin’ up?”
But he just sat there with buttercream dripping off his nose, saying nothing as he wiped his mouth and Cleo took her seat.
Sarah was up next. She walked up to the podium with a purpose, her jaw set as she lifted the piping gun, her grip steady.
"I’m choosing this boy because he is the biggest liar I have ever met,” She starts, eyes locked on a certain brunette. “And clearly, his attraction to me was nothing but superficial. I want nothing to do with him anymore, and this is my get-back for him throwing a cake at my face." She smiled bitterly, lifting the gun and pointing it straight at John B’s face. “Say ‘ah’.” She snarked, pulling the trigger and blasting John B with a mountain of buttercream.
He sputtered as the stream kept going, trying to move his head to escape the line of fire. And as the stream of icing died out, Sarah lowered the piping bag, a satisfied smirk on her face as she stepped down from the podium. "Have fun showering that off.” She quipped. “Alone."
You and the girls, as well as some of the boys, struggled to hold in your laughs and sounds of amusement as Sarah took her seat, high fiving all of you.
“John B,” Megan dragged out, her tone somewhat disapproving as she shook her head at the boy. “Tell us how you’re feelin’ after that one.”
John B wiped the cream from his eyes, looking miserable. "I mean, I won't make excuses for what I did. But I don't get why you're saying my attraction was superficial.” He looked to Sarah. “I don’t think that’s fair."
Megan suddenly stepped in, adding her input before Sarah could. "Well, when your head gets turned by the first girl that looks exactly like her in less than a week, I think it’s understandable for her to assume your attraction was only at a surface level, boo."
John B tried to defend himself, stuttering, "It—it wasn't just the way she looked that attracted me to Delaney, it was—"
Megan and all you girls cut him off in unison, faces twisted. "But that's what you said." You all laughed, amused and somewhat mocking his lies.
“Don’t lie, now!” Megan shouted, pointing at him with a sharp look. "’Cause I watched you say it on the screen! I saw it!"
John B sighed, mouth slamming shut, admitting defeat as he hung his head.
Then, it was your turn. You walked up to the podium, a grin on your face as you lifted the piping bag. You decided to play with them a little bit, eyes going across the board, pointing the barrel at different boys.
You pointed it at Miles first. "I could cream Miles, since he tried to throw a cake at me and missed terribly... and honestly, I have more than enough reasons." Miles shifted uncomfortably.
You slid the barrel over to John B. "Or... I could cream him, since he likes to play with people's feelings."
Then you let the barrel drift to Rafe, a dark look in your eyes as he stared right back at you. “Or I could cream you just to have an excuse to lick it off later,” you teased, everyone making various noises of amusement as Rafe’s face flushed and he let his head hang to try and hide it.
But finally, you swung the barrel around, pointing it straight at Theo and he just sighed, knowing what was coming. "I thought we put everything behind us, but clearly, someone’s still feeling a little bit bitter.” You taunted, shifting the piping bag to hold it correctly. “I think you need a little bit of sugar to even things out." You smiled, not wasting a second as you pulled the trigger, blasting Theo in the face with a thick stream of off-white frosting.
“Theo!” Megan called out, laughing. “Any words?”
He just wiped his eyes, shrugging calmly. "No hard feelings, I guess.” He said casually. “We're even now."
Then it was Kaitlyn’s turn, and she surprised everyone when she walked up, took aim, and pointed the gun straight at John B.
"Being his ex from the outside world, I really thought this boy was actually changing in here.” She said, shaking her head, disappointed, “He had everyone fooled, including me, and this is the least he deserves." She snapped, pulling the trigger, blasting him a second time.
John B just sighed through the frosting, speaking before Megan even had the chance to ask her signature question. "I'm just gonna keep my mouth shut."
All the girls, in sync, shouted as Kaitlyn returned to her spot, "Good choice!"
Haja went next. Surprisingly, she walked up and chose to cream JJ, her reasoning completely nonsensical, trying to paint JJ as the villain of their situation instead of herself or Miles.
As she prepared to shoot, you, the girls, and the guys started shouting at JJ from the side.
"Just turn your head to the side and take that shit, bro! It’s alright!" Pope called out, annoyed.
Haja shot him, and JJ just stood there perfectly calm, eyes squeezed shut and lips curled in as he let the frosting hit him without moving a muscle, Megan asking him how he felt afterwards.
JJ wiped his face calmly, looking at Haja. "I’m not bothered.” He shrugged, licking icing from his lips. “I know the truth. Every single person here does. But if you want to blame me so you can feel better about yourself, then feel free." You all clapped, applauding JJ’s words while Haja returned to her seat, looking furious that she didn't get a rise out of him.
Then it was Sofia. She walked up to the stand, that same irritating smirk on her face.
"I'm choosing this boy because I think he needs to come to his senses.” She said simply, hiking the piping bag up and aiming it at Rafe. “And... maybe this will remind him of just how sweet things used to be between us." She snarked, pulling the trigger, letting buttercream splatter against Rafe’s features as he just nodded through it, turning his head to the side near the end.
Confessional: You
"Like... are you serious right now?" You deadpanned, scoffing. “This corny ass bitch…She’s actually so exhausting."
Megan turned to Rafe as he shook the frosting from his face, using one hand to pinch the sticky sweet substance from his eyes. "Rafe, how you feelin’ after that sweet reminder?" She teased.
He wiped a piece of cream from his chin, looking at Megan. "I think she’s a bit too bitter to be talking about sweet shit."
A chorus of chuckles and laughs rang out softly, the line shutting Sofia down as her face turned a bright, embarrassed red, and she stomped off the podium to take her seat.
Finally, Rima walked up. She aimed her gun straight at John B, making it his third time getting blasted. "Out of everyone, this guy really deserves it.” She says, a smirk on her face. “Seeing Sarah walk around looking miserable is heartbreaking. That girl is always so bubbly and lively, and she never deserved what he did. I really hate John B for taking the spark out of a girl who did nothing but give him the chance that he literally begged her for." She sighed. “So, the guy I’m choosing is John Booker.” She snarked, various reactions ringing out as she winked at him. “Open wide.” She teased, pulling the trigger, blasting him.
Megan didn't even bother asking John B how he felt this time, muttering, "Yeah, I ain't even gonna ask him, because I don't think that boy wants to open his mouth anymore." She giggled to herself as Rima handed her the piping bag and took her seat.
Once the guys were semi-clean and sat, and the platform was cleared, Megan stood in the middle to announce the final results.
"The girls got down, they got dirty, and they did their big one on these boys today!” She hyped you all up. “And while you did your thing, boys, I gotta give the win to my ladies!" Everyone cheered—you and the girls celebrating while the guys clapped respectfully. “And, while it’s been fun, my time in the villa has come to an end.” Megan pouted.
“All my girls, keep turnin' up, keep putting on, keep being hot girls doin’ hot girl things.” She pointed to you all as you blew kisses towards her, waving as she turned to the boys. “All the boys, y’all can step up the gentleman a little bit more.” She threw out, still lighthearted. “But keep havin’ a motherfucking hot boy summer turning it up!” She added, all of the boys clapping and cheering. “...And I’m gone.” Megan posed, throwing up two peace signs.
You all stood up, clapping as she made her exit, shouting after her, chanting ‘Megan’ as she did a little polite twerk and sauntered out of the villa. “Bye, yall!” She called over her shoulder, laughing.
You were all laughing, hopping down from the bleachers as you all started walking back inside the villa to clean yourselves up. As you and Rafe walked toward the stairs, covered in frosting and sticky buttercream, a few of the guys and girls started nudging you both, laughing.
"You gonna shower it off together?" JJ called out with a wink.
"Shut up!" you and Rafe both shouted back playfully, laughing as you headed to separate bathrooms to get clean.
BY the late afternoon, everyone was showered, fresh, and relaxing around the villa.
You and Rafe were sitting on the daybeds, comfortably people-watching.
"So," Rafe said, shifting closer to you, resting his arm behind your head. "Update me," He inquired, fingertips brushing your shoulders. “What’s ‘tea’?” He mocked, the words sounding funny coming from him.
You giggled, settling closer into him. “You sound like someone’s dad trying to use slang.” You teased, looking up at him as he rolled his eyes at you despite the small smile on his lips. "But nothing much, to be honest.” You shrugged. “Well, actually, I talked to Cleo after I showered. She got a chance to talk with Rima, and they cleared the air. Rima admitted that she thinks she might still be in love with Justin, and she apologized to Cleo for the kiss. And Cleo apologized for her part, too, and finally admitted that her feelings for Pope are way stronger than her ones for Justin."
“So, what now?” Rafe chuckles. “They’re just gonna swap guys?” He mused. “That’s funny.”
You shrugged, a small giggle on your tongue. “I guess,” You told him, pointing across the garden toward the kitchen. "Look,"
Rafe leaned forward, following your gaze to where Cleo and Justin were standing by the kitchen counter having a chat. Even from a distance, the body language was tense—Justin had his arms crossed tightly, and Cleo was speaking calmly but firmly, clearly letting him down.
"You think he's takin’ it well?" Rafe asked, rubbing his chin.
"Doesn’t seem like it," you sighed. "But I don't know Justin very well. Though, I really hope he does.” You told him. “Is it bad that I want Cleo and Pope back together? I think they were meant for each other, they've just had a really rocky road in here."
Rafe hummed in agreement, sitting back as you leaned against him.
You shifted, looking up at him. "Has JJ said anything to you guys about Haja?” You ask, concerned. “I haven't had a chance to talk to him."
Rafe’s expression turned a bit more serious, nodding slowly. "Yeah, he did actually.” He shifted beneath you. “He was pretty beat up about it last night. When we were getting ready for bed, he looked upset, like he could have cried right there.” Rafe explains, shaking his head. “But after the challenge today, he told us that he’s just gonna tell Haja that things aren’t gonna work out between ‘em, says he wants to explore other people."
Rafe shook his head, scratching his chin. "He just felt really disrespected and toyed with, you know? Says he doesn't want to be stuck in the middle of 'whatever weird shit she and Miles have goin’ on'."
"Good for him," you said, nodding in approval. "But who does he even plan on exploring? Because there really aren't many options in here right now. Cleo and Pope are obviously about to get back on track. Rima and Justin are probably gonna start a connection. Kaitlyn really doesn't seem like his type at all, and he obviously would never go for Sofia."
Rafe looked around the garden, lowering his voice. "...If I tell you, you gotta promise me you won't say a word...to anyone."
Your eyes widened with curiosity, sitting up straighter as you craned to look at him. "Okay,” you said. “I promise."
Rafe leaned in closer. "When he was talking to me and Pope earlier, he said he wants to try and explore other people, and he’s hoping a new bombshell comes in. But... he said he’s had an interest in someone in here..."
Rafe hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck, clearly dodging the topic.
You groaned, nudging him hard. "Rafe!” You scolded. “Who is it?"
Rafe let out a breath, looking at you. "He wants to try and see if there’s anything there with Sarah."
Your jaw literally dropped. "Sarah?!"
"Yeah," Rafe nodded. "He said ever since they kissed during that workplace challenge thingy, it’s been stuck in the back of his mind. He felt somethin’ after it, but he never felt like he had the right to explore it because he and John B were so close. But now? He feels like John B blew his chance, and Sarah is open to exploring other people now, so he thinks he should take his shot."
You sat there in shock, wrinkling your nose as you processed it. "...I don’t know,” You made a face of uncertainty. “I love them both, but I cannot see JJ and Sarah working out, at all. Like... they look like they could be related!” You laugh. “It’s just really weird to picture. And getting with someone who is that close to John B might not be the best for Sarah right now. But... at the end of the day, they’ve both been through so much shit in here. I just want them both to be happy. So, if it works out, it works out. I'll be happy for them either way."
Before Rafe could reply, footsteps approached the daybed. You both looked up to see Theo standing there, his hands shoved into his pockets, looking slightly uncomfortable.
"Hey," Theo said, his eyes darting between the two of you before locking onto Rafe. "Um... can I pull you for a conversation real quick?"
You felt your heart tighten slightly, but to your surprise, Rafe didn't hesitate or resist. There was no aggressiveness, no tension in his shoulders. He just nodded calmly, sliding from behind you and off the daybed.
"Yeah, ‘course man," Rafe said easily.
Before he walked away, he leaned down, planting a soft kiss on your lips. "I'll be right back," he murmured.
You watched them walk across the lawn, heading toward a spot near the edge of the pool. It was private enough, but still out in the open where you could see them. And, if you strained your ears against the quiet afternoon wind, you could catch pieces of their conversation, though you tried your best to pretend like you were just casually looking at your phone.
Theo cleared his throat, sitting down across from Rafe. "Look, I know things have been pretty...tense between us.” He started. “I don't expect us to be the best of friends or anything, but I also think there's no point in us being enemies."
Rafe nodded, leaning back, his expression open. "Agreed."
"I also wanted to apologize," Theo said, looking down before meeting Rafe's eyes. "For movie night, and some of the things I said to Y/N and to you. Honestly, I think I was just in my feelings about the whole situation.” He nods. “And... I'll admit, the second you walked back into the villa from Casa and I saw her face when she saw you were alone, I could just feel it in my heart that she was still with you.” He says honestly. “Whether it was emotionally or physically, I just had this gut feeling that you two weren't done with each other just yet. I think…I just buried that feeling down for those few days, and it reached a boiling point and just spilled over."
Theo took a breath, his voice sincere. "But I need you to know... she was honest with me the entire time. She stayed one hundred percent loyal to you up until they got that video.” He clarifies, retracting his statements from that night. “You have a really good girl on your hands, man. She really likes you, and I can see how much you care about her. I just wanted to let you know that I'm not here to get in the middle of that. Not anymore."
Rafe listened, his expression softening. He let out a breath, rubbing his hands together. "I appreciate that, man. Seriously.” He offers. “To be honest with you, I never planned on coming back into this villa with any animosity toward you. Even when I walked in and saw her standing there next to you... yeah, I was pissed. As hell.” He chuckles deeply. “But I never wanted to have an issue with you over it. Because at the end of the day, especially during that time... if you were going to be the one to actually make her happy, then I wanted to try my best to accept that. Because her happiness was all I ever wanted." He says. “Still is.”
Rafe looked back over at you on the daybed before looking back at Theo. "She made her choice. Whether it was me or you, at the end of the day, I was never gonna hold that against you. I’ve made a lot of enemies in my past over a lot of stupid bullshit, man, and I’m trying to done with shit like that.” He smiles tightly, though it is genuine. “We're cool. We're good."
Theo smirked, looking relieved as he stood up, extending a hand as Rafe stood up too, wrapping him into a quick bro-hug, patting his back.
Right as Rafe broke away from the hug and started walking back toward you, the afternoon silence was shattered by another loud text sound echoing out.
Everyone froze as you grabbed your phone, your heart suddenly dropping into your stomach as you stood on the daybed and read the words on the screen.
"Islanders, please drop whatever you are doing, get dressed into your best evening wear, and gather at the fire pit immediately for a surprise. #NoTimeToSend #ExpectTheUnexpected"
"A surprise?" JJ shouted from where he was swimming in the pool. "What the hell does that mean?”
“Maybe it’s a recoupling?”
“Or a dumping…”
“Or it could be another challenge?"
"We've never gotten a text this vague before," Cleo muttered, her face fallen as everyone looked nervous.
THE atmosphere in the glam room was chaotic, full of speculation. Everyone was silently panicking, applying lipstick with shaking hands, trying to guess what was in store.
When everyone was finally ready, the girls filed down the steps in stunning dresses, the guys already waiting at the bottom.
Rafe stepped forward as your feet hit the grass, eyes widening as he took in your appearance, grabbing your hand tightly. His grip was firm, as if he was unconsciously afraid to let you go.
Before heading to the fire pit, everyone gathered around the table in the middle of the garden for the usual evening toast. JJ was the one to raise his glass, clearing his throat.
"Alright," JJ said, his voice a mix of humor and genuine emotion. Everyone had this weird feeling about tonight, that much was clear. "I know everyone is really fuckin’ nervous right now.” He admits, light chuckles going around the table. “We don't know what the hell’s ‘bout to happen tonight. There’s been a mountain of drama in this villa over the past few days, but at the end of the day, we’re a family, man. And I'm really glad to be here with every single one of you tonight, despite everything.” He smiles. “Cheers."
"Cheers!" Everyone clinked their glasses together, taking a sip.
But right as you lowered your glass, you spotted a figure walking into the villa and the silhouette of Ariana appeared, all of you watching as she rounded the corner in a jaw-dropping evening gown.
"Hi Islanders," She said, her voice echoing through the quiet garden as you all greeted her back. "Will everyone please join me at the fire pit?"
Everyone exchanged weary, nervous glances as you all filed into the circular seating of the fire pit, the flames crackling in the center. You sat close to Rafe, his arm wrapped tightly around your shoulders, your fingers laced together.
Ariana stood at the front, looking at all of you with her hands clasped.
"Islanders," Ariana began, her voice sending a chill down your spine. "I know you got a text today. And I know it was very vague, and you're probably wondering exactly what is happening tonight.” She started, meeting each of your eyes. “I’m not going to sugarcoat it. Tonight…one of you will be leaving the villa for good."
A collective murmur of shock broke out, you glanced up at Rafe, eyes wide with worry.
"Over the past twenty-four hours, the public has been voting," Ariana continued. "While Casa Amor was the ultimate test for everyone in this villa, the public believes that one boy failed that test the worst.” She drags out, face falling.
“Boys,” Ariana’s eyes scanned the crowd. "Can all who were present at Casa Amor please come stand next to me?"
Rafe, John B, JJ, Pope, and Miles all slowly stood up from the couch, Rafe giving your shoulder a reassuring squeeze as he and the others walked over to line up next to Ariana. Rafe cast one quick look back at you, but you could see the slight tension in his jaw.
Your heart was beating out of your chest.
"Boys, before I reveal who the public has voted as the ultimate failure of Casa Amor," Ariana said, her voice dripping with suspense, "I want to go down the line and ask each of you... where are your heads at standing up there right now? And looking back, how do you truly believe you did during the test of Casa Amor?"
Ariana eyes scanned the line, stopping directly on Rafe. "Rafe, let’s start with you."
Rafe shifted his weight, his blue eyes flashing over to you for a split second before he looked at Ariana. He swallowed hard, adjusting the collar of his shirt.
"I'm not gonna lie and say it was perfect," Rafe said, his deep voice carrying across the silent fire pit. "I definitely had some ups and downs while I was there. But, I do believe that I stayed down. I believe I moved respectfully, as respectfully as possible given the environment. And look, I know there were some... misunderstandings that happened because of other people," he muttered, throwing a subtle, dark glance toward Sofia, "but I know in my heart that I was on my best behavior. I did right by my girl, and I'm just really hoping that the public sees that."
You let out a tiny breath, your fingers twisting in your lap as you offered him a small, encouraging nod.
Ariana nodded slowly, shifting her gaze to the next boy. "Pope, how are you feeling?"
Pope rubbed the back of his neck, looking serious. "Casa Amor was... it was a fun experience on paper, I guess. But for me personally? I only had my mind on one person the entire time. Because of that, it wasn't even really that fun for me. Every time I looked at another girl, I was just wishing I was back here. But I also believe that I moved with respect—not just for myself, but for the people who were here. I didn't do anything to jeopardize what I want, and I feel good about that."
Cleo bit her lip from the couch, her eyes softening as she watched him speak.
"JJ?" Ariana said, turning toward him.
The blonde let out a heavy sigh, looking down at his shoes for a moment before he met Ariana's gaze.
"I obviously have some regrets about how I handled Casa," JJ admitted, his voice rough. "My biggest regret in here is the fact that I wasn't able to sit down and have a real talk with Kiara before she left. I’ll forever regret being part of the reason that she's gone. And... yeah, I do regret moving so fast with Haja. Obviously, everything that happened with her and Miles afterward just came full circle right back around to me, and I believe that everything that went down was just straight-up karma for how I moved."
JJ shook his head, but his jaw set. "But even though it hurts, I’m still grateful for the experience. Because I definitely learned a lesson from it, and I can promise you, I will not be making those same mistakes again."
Ariana held his gaze, offering a small smile for a moment before moving down to John B. "John B,” She called out. “How do you feel about your performance at Casa Amor?"
John B cleared his throat, his eyes darting over to Sarah, who refused to even look in his direction.
"I mean... it's complicated," John B stammered, gripping his hands tightly behind his back. "In some ways, I felt like I did go about Casa the right way... but then in a lot of other ways, I know I went about it the wrong way. I feel like I made some really stupid mistakes, and standing here now, I realize that some of the damage that’s been done between me and Sarah is irreversible. But... I’m just really hoping that I’ll have another chance to show who I really am." He paused, taking a shaky breath. "I do regret my actions at Casa. Or... at the very least, I regret the way they came out in front of everybody."
From the couch, Sarah let out a quiet, unimpressed scoff under her breath, keeping her stare locked firmly on the fire.
Finally, Ariana looked at Miles. "And lastly... Miles?"
Unlike the other four boys, who looked like they were facing a firing squad, Miles had a relaxed smug smirk plastered across his face. He casually shrugged his shoulders, looking unbothered.
"Casa Amor was fun for me," Miles said, his tone casual. "I don’t have any regrets about anything I did there, to be completely real with you. I think that since I’ve been in this villa, I’ve done exactly what we are all supposed to do. You're supposed to follow your heart, you're supposed to make decisions for yourself, and you're supposed to find what’s best for you at the end of the day. That's exactly what I did."
The contrast between Miles's arrogant attitude and the emotional weight of the other guys made the tension at the fire pit spike.
"Thank you for your honesty, boys," Ariana said, her voice dropping into that formal tone. "The public has made their choice. And soon, one of you will be dumped from the island."
You gripped the fabric of your dress, air trapped in your lungs as you waited. You knew the chance of it being Rafe was low, or at least hoped it was.
Ariana let the silence hang before speaking. "The boy who has been voted the ultimate failure of Casa Amor, and as a result, has been dumped from the villa immediately…” She pauses.
“...is Miles."
The fire pit fell into a chorus of soft murmurs as Miles stood there, his hands shoved behind his back. Surprisingly, he took it on the chin, nodding slowly with an unfazed expression on his face, as if he had already expected it.
Ariana looked at him. "Miles, do you have anything you want to say?"
Miles let out a sharp chuckle, shaking his head as he looked at the rest of the boys. "I think I was definitely not the worst person to come out of Casa.” He snaps. “I think a lot of the other guys up here did way worse shit than me. You got JJ over here, who had sex with somebody while he had a whole girl waiting on him back here, leading her on when he wasn't even that into her.” He fires. “And then you got John B, who was leading Sarah on while showering with a whole other girl. So... yeah, I'm definitely confused about the public's vote, but,” He shrugs. “There isn't anything I can do about it now."
Ariana nodded slowly, turning her eyes to the couch. "Girls... do you agree with the public's vote tonight?"
Ariana looked directly at Sarah, letting her speak first.
Sarah started, her voice steady. "I do.” She nodded. “Although there were definitely other guys up there who did things and hurt people deeply... comparing everything from a...less personal standpoint, and not as someone who was directly hurt by one of them…” She shoots a pointed glance at John B. “I think Miles not only failed the test of Casa Amor, but I think he has failed Love Island entirely.” She muses. “He came into this villa manipulating people from day one, and he hasn't made a single true, genuine connection since he’s been here. Casa Amor didn't test his loyalty—it just showed his true colors, which is that he has loyalty to absolutely no one but himself."
All the girls on the couch nodded in agreement, murmuring their support.
"Thank you, Sarah," Ariana said. She turned back to Miles. "Miles,” She began. “As the boy with the most votes, you are now dumped from the island.” She says with a tight smile. “You may pack your bags, and get ready to say your goodbyes."
Miles just nodded, turning around and walking back toward the villa without a single word to anyone.
At that, the boys began to walk away and you girls began to stand.
"But Islanders," Ariana’s voice boomed, stopping everyone from moving. "There is…one more thing before we go tonight."
A collective groan of terror erupted from the couch.
"Oh my God, what now?" Cleo whispered, letting her head fall.
"On top of tonight being a surprise dumping," Ariana revealed with a slight smile, "there will also be a surprise recoupling. And tonight... it is the boys' choice."
The girls all let out a breath, a wave of relief hitting you. Since it was boys' choice, you knew Rafe was going to choose you, meaning you were not only safe, but you’d also be back with him. Officially.
You let out a small sigh, leaning back against the cushions.
"Girls, please come stand next to me," Ariana instructed. “Guys, you may have a seat.”
You, Sarah, Cleo, Rima, Sofia, Haja, and Kaitlyn all stood up, forming a line in front of the now seated men.
"One by one, the boys will tell us who they are choosing to couple up with and why." Ariana said, smiling. "Pope, you're up first. Please, tell us who you’re choosing and why."
Pope stepped forward, clearing his throat as he looked down the line of girls.. "I'm choosing to couple up with this girl because... I've done my fair share of exploring in here. I think we both have. But at the end of the day, no matter who I talked to, I always knew deep down that it was always going to be her.” He shrugged shyly. “She's the only one for me in here, and I'm really hoping that we can finally just get it right this time. So, the girl I want to couple up with... is Cleo."
Cleo grinned widely as you all clapped, walking over to wrap him in a tight hug as they sat down together on the couch.
“Congratulations, Cleo and Pope. You may take a seat.” Ariana prompted. “Cleo, what are your thoughts?”
“I'm happy,” she smiles. “I really am. I feel like I haven't been coupled up with Pope in a very long time, and I'm glad that I'm able to let my feelings, my true feelings, roam free, instead of laying dormant.” She laughed as Ariana called for the next boy.
“Theo, please stand.” He stepped forward, looking down the line. “Please, tell us who you would like to couple up with.”
"I'm choosing this girl because... she caught my eye the first day I walked into this villa. I feel like our journey together might have been a little delayed because of our different situations, but I am incredibly glad that I'm finally getting the chance to explore a connection with her now. Despite us only having a few chats, as of today, I believe that this girl has a lot of layers. She deserves the world, and I hope things go well between us. So, the girl I'm coupling up with... is Sarah."
Sarah smiled warmly, walking over and taking his hand as they sat down, looking genuinely happy.
“Congratulations, Sarah and Theo.” Ariana congratulated them. “Sarah, how’re you feeling?”
“I'm excited, definitely still a bit guarded because of everything that's happened in here with everyone, not just myself. Theo seems like a really good guy and I'm excited to be exploring someone else and be moving on.” She says calmly before Ariana calls for the next boy.
“Justin?”
Justin stepped forward, looking nervous. "I'm choosing this girl because... I actually met her in the real world before this experience, and I'm happy that I get another chance to be with her here. I'm really hoping that maybe this is our chance at another chance, and hopefully, our way of figuring out the kinks of our relationship in the right way this time around. So…I choose Rima."
Rima walked over, joining him on the couch with a relieved smile.
“Congrats, you two,” Ariana smiled with her hands clasped. “Rima?”
“I'm happy. You know, me and Justin aren't strangers, so it's kind of a feeling of nostalgia, but at the same time, it does feel like something new. It does feel like another chance at another chance, like Justin said.”
Ariana smiled, telling the couple that “that’s beautiful” before calling for the next boy. “JJ, please stand.”
Then, JJ stepped forward. His expression was significantly less heartfelt, his speech lacking any romantic warmth. "I’m choosing this girl because... honestly, I was trying to explore other connections in here. And although a real romantic connection with this girl is no longer an option for me, and is completely off the table... I don't really have another choice of anyone else to couple up with tonight. But... I'm hoping that maybe we can be friends in here. So, I’m choosing to couple up with Haja."
Haja walked over awkwardly, the vibe between them icy as they sat down without even looking at each other.
“Haja,” Ariana called. “How do you feel about what JJ said?”
“I mean, I get he’s hurt, but I did what you're supposed to do in here. I explored and I never meant to hurt his feelings, but” She shrugged. “It is what it is. But I will say I'm grateful that he still chose me.”
Next was John B. “John B, please stand.” He stepped forward, looking defeated as he looked down the line.
"...I'm choosing to couple up with this girl because... although I do have a connection that I desperately want to fix in here... that girl isn't open to giving me another chance right now, and I have to respect that for the time being.” He sighs. “But I’m choosing to couple with this girl because, even though we didn't work out romantically, she's a great person, and I want to keep her here so that way she can hopefully find the real connection that she came here for. So, because of that, I choose Kaitlyn."
Kaitlyn gave him a friendly, appreciative smile, walking over to sit with him, Ariana asking for her thoughts.
“I mean, I'm grateful…yeah, definitely grateful. I can't wait to hopefully see the day that I'm in a real romantic coupling,” She laughed. “But, hopefully, I can use this time to help John B do some much needed self-reflection.”
Finally, it was down to Rafe.
And the only girls left standing were you and Sofia.
“Rafe, please stand and tell us who you would like to couple up with and why.”
Rafe stepped forward, and the moment he did, a proud smile broke across his face. His blue eyes locked onto yours, completely ignoring Sofia, who already had her head down, looking defeated.
"I think my choice tonight is a no-brainer," Rafe said as he looked straight at you. "I think every single person here, and everyone watching, knows exactly who I'm choosing. I’ve just been so incredibly grateful for this girl, and for her patience and understanding with me.” He nods, chewing his cheek. “Even when things looked bad and weren't as they seemed... it took a while, but she still gave me the chance to actually sit down and explain myself. I’ll be forever grateful that we were able to jump over the hurdles together. Honestly, I think that with the way that we persevered through all the bullshit in here... it’s gonna be a breeze for us out in the real world. So, the girl I am coupling up with is... Y/N."
You let out a breath, a wide smile breaking across your face as you walked over to him. Rafe wrapped his arms tightly around your waist, lifting you slightly off the ground, planting a passionate kiss on your lips. “Congratulations,” Ariana threw out as everyone cheered as you both walked over to take your seats on the couch, wrapped up in each other.
That left Sofia standing all by herself in front of the fire pit.
Ariana looked over at her. "Sofia... you are now single and vulnerable." Ariana paused, a sharp look entering her eyes. "But tonight... there is a twist."
Everyone on the couch froze.
You looked at Rafe, a horrible knot forming in your stomach.
"When we opened the voting to the public," Ariana explained, "the viewers weren't just voting on which boy failed Casa Amor the worst.” She says. “We also prompted the viewers to vote on who they thought would be left single at the end of tonight's re-coupling.” She explains, her face solemn.
“What we didn't tell the viewers, however, is that if they guessed correctly... that single Islander would be given an advantage."
All of you seated started whispering, confused.
"What?"
“What advantage?”
“When did they start doing that?”
“This is some bullshit…”
"Tonight,” Ariana continued. “Fifty-one percent of viewers—just over half, taking the majority—guessed that Sofia would be left single. Because the public guessed correctly, Sofia, you now have a choice.” She led on, turning towards the girl standing alone. “Tonight, you can either choose to accept your fate, pack your bags, and leave the island... or, you can choose to steal one of the coupled-up boys tonight, keep your spot in the villa, and send his current partner home."
The entire fire pit went dead silent and you felt the air physically leave your lungs. Rafe’s grip on your hand tightened so hard it hurt, his entire body going rigid next to you.
"Sofia," Ariana said. "Now’s the time to decide. Has your time in the villa come to an end…or will you decide to swap fates?”
Sofia slowly raised her head. The defeated expression entirely gone, replaced by a heart-crushing smirk.
She looked directly at you, her eyes full of malice.
"...I feel like everyone came into this villa to find real love, and everyone should be able to do that. And even though I've had people left and right telling me to 'leave things in the past' and 'let things go'... I am always going to follow my heart, regardless of what anyone else thinks."
“I told you,” Her eyes narrowing on you, her smirk widening. "I’ll do whatever I have to.” She reminds you, voice low and steady. “I've decided…and I believe that I'm not done in this villa just yet. And so, I would like to swap fates…and the guy I want to couple up with…” She dragged out, mean and smug, her words sharp as if no one knew what she was about to say, the name that was bound to leave her lips.
“...is Rafe."
"Are you fucking kidding me?" Rafe hissed, leaning forward until his head hung between his knees, head in his head. Everyone on the couch turned to the two of you, watching Rafe spiral while you sat, staring at nothing, hands clasped in your lap as you chewed the inside of your cheek.
"Sofia, you have made your choice to swap fates with Y/N…and couple up with Rafe.” She informs. “Please, go sit next to Rafe.” Ariana said calmly but firmly, calling your name, pulling you out of your own thoughts as you slowly lifted your head”... Please, come join me."
Your legs felt like lead as you slowly stood up, the girls reaching out for your hand but you couldn’t even find the strength to reach back as tears blurred your vision as you walked to stand next to Ariana. Rafe was sitting there, his hands clamped over his face, chest heaving as he tried to hold back tears of pure rage and heartbreak.
Sofia stepped over, sliding to sit right next to him with a triumphant grin. Some of the guys tried to reach over and pat Rafe’s shoulder, telling him that it would ‘be okay’, but he simply scoffed, trying to hold back his own tears, telling them, “no it's not fucking okay”.
Ariana looked at you, her voice full of genuine pity as she called your name. "... How are you feeling right now?"
A tear broke free, running down your cheek as your voice shook violently. "Um…” You struggled for words, still looking as if your mind was ten-thousand miles away from where you stood. “I... I came into this villa not knowing what to expect at all.” You spoke slowly, almost as if your thoughts were forming as you spoke, looking down at the fire the entire time you spoke. “And... I ended up finding one of the greatest connections of my entire life.” Your voice shook as your gaze slowly trailed up to find Rafe’s own burning one. “I think... I think every single person in here has made this journey worth it, from the girls to the guys... and down to Rafe himself." You spoke, voice wavering as you looked at everyone—finding tears building in everyone’s eyes, from JJ to Rima to Cleo to Sarah, even Pope and John B.
You choked back a sob, looking over at him. "I will never, ever forget the memories that I made here. I’ve tried my absolute best to be level-headed and mature in the face of everything that has happened.” You broke, sniffing. “And... yeah, I do wish some people would just leave things in the past and let people grow and move on, but I understand that not everyone is the same."
You turned your eyes to Sofia, your voice hardening through the tears. "I’m not gonna stand here and lie. I don’t wish the best for Sofia, I can’t…because I truly think she’s only here to bring Rafe down and ruin his happiness. But... I wish Rafe the absolute best in anything and everything he does. And um…" Your voice cracked, a heavy sob escaping your throat. "Fuck, I’m sorry— I can’t... I don’t have anything else to say, I’m sorry."
“Don’t cry, baby, it’s okay,” You heard Rima’s voice travel from the couch, shooting her a quick smile.
"Y/N," Ariana said softly, her own eyes shining with sadness as you cursed lowly under your breath, all of your friends head’s dropping as well. "You are now single…vulnerable…and dumped from the villa." You just nodded numbly, biting your bottom lip as the tears came rushing, even as you tilted your head back to the sky, trying to focus on the stars. “It was amazing to meet you,” Ariana stepped forward, pulling you into a small hug before stepping back. “You may now pack your bags and get ready to leave the villa.” She smiles sadly. “As for the rest of you, I will see you soon.”
Ariana exited the villa, and the fire pit crumbled into emotional warfare, you still standing in your spot, putting your head down as you started openly crying. The girls wasted no time, Cleo, Sarah, and Rima, and even Kaitlyn, flew out of their seats, sprinting to you in their heels, throwing their arms around you. They wrapped you into a tight group hug, all of them sobbing into your shoulders.
"This is so fucked" Cleo whispered hoarsely, her own tears soaking your dress.
"You don't deserve this, babe, I’m so sorry,” Rima sobbed.
"I can’t believe this," Sarah sobbed, holding you tight as you got choked up on your own tears.
There was so much going on at once and, through your own emotions and the mess of your friends' emotions, your mind still went to Rafe, but your body couldn't catch up as the girls escorted you up the stairs, surrounding you like a human shield as they walked you straight inside so you could pack your things.
You couldn't even turn around to see the mess of Rafe being comforted by all of the guys as he tried his best not to cry, failing miserably.
THE dressing room was the saddest it’s ever been.
You were standing by your suitcase, tears streaming down your face as you tried to throw your clothes inside, but your hands were shaking too hard.
Cleo was sitting at a vanity, her face buried in her hands, trying to stop crying as she wiped every tear that fell. Sarah was leaning against the mirror, fresh tears ruining her makeup, while Rima was helping you fold your bikinis along with Kaitlyn, her own eyes rimmed red.
"I actually can't believe this bro," Cleo cried out, her voice broken. "You've been here since day one!” She cried. “Even though you came in as a bombshell, you've been here since the start. Seeing you go over something so stupid is actually pissing me off."
"It's okay," you tried to say, your voice cracking as you wiped your face. "Please don't cry. It's gonna be okay, I promise." But even as you said it, a fresh wave of sobs tore through your chest, and you sank down onto the floor next to your suitcase, overwhelmed by the mess of emotions.
MEANWHILE, downstairs, Miles had already packed his bags. The only people who walked out to the front driveway to say goodbye to him being Sofia and Haja.
Goodbye Confessional: Miles
"Honestly, I'm not too bothered about leaving. I think the public just wanted an excuse to get me out of the villa because I actually tell it like it is.” He clapped his hands together, his tone very matter-of-factly. “I'll be fine on the outside. Had a good life before this and I'll have a great one comin’ out."
Confessional: Sofia
"Even though mine and Miles's coupling was... you know, means to an end... I’ll always be grateful to him for that. I definitely see him as a real friend."
Confessional : Haja
"Me and Miles always have our ups and downs, honestly. I think that’s just how our relationship is gonna be for the rest of our lives.” She laughed. “ I’m sad to see him go, but I know I’ll see him on the outside."
BACK by the firepit, Rafe was losing his mind. He was pacing back and forth across the deck, his face a deep, burning red, chest heaving as he tried with everything inside his soul to hold back his tears.
He was completely heartbroken, overly devastated, and utterly destroyed.
The guys were surrounding him, trying to pat his back and comfort him, get him to sit down and breathe but he wasn’t listening.
"Bro, it’s gonna be okay," Pope said softly, reaching out. "Just breathe, man."
"Just—stop touching me," Rafe suddenly snapped, moving away from Pope’s touch as he turned his back, burying his face in one of his hands. "You think I wanna hear that shit, right now? That jus’ because you say 'it’s okay' that it’s actually gonna be okay?"
He was inconsolable, face bright red, eyes puffy and swimming with tears. He raised his hand, pinching the skin between his eyes, his shoulders shaking as he let out a choked breath. He had his head down, refusing to let anyone see him break.
Slowly, JJ stepped forward. He didn't say a word. He just walked up behind Rafe, wrapping his arms around his shoulders and pulling him into a hug.
To everyone's surprise, Rafe didn't fight it. He turned around, letting out a shaky sigh, burying his face right into JJ's shoulder, letting out a broken sob as he slumped in the blonde’s hold. JJ was the only person Rafe really let comfort him, mostly because over the past few weeks, they had grown incredibly close—almost vicariously through you.
JJ was crying too, giant tears rolling down his cheeks as he held Rafe, patting his back. JJ was devastated about you leaving—you were his rock in this villa, and losing you felt like losing a piece of himself.
UPSTAIRS, you had finally finished throwing the last of your things into your suitcase when the door to the room pushed open…and Rafe walked in.
The moment your eyes met his, the girls quietly looked between you two before stepping out of the room, giving you space.
Rafe looked wrecked. His blue eyes were bloodshot and swollen, his face flushed red, looking vulnerable in a way he never showed anyone else.
He walked straight over to you, grabbing your hand tightly.
“Rafe—”
"Come with me," he whispered, his voice shaky and broken. "Please."
He led you out of the makeup room and up the small staircase onto the terrace overlooking the dark ocean. The moment you reached the top and turned to face each other, you both just fell into each other's arms, bawling.
"I hate her," Rafe sobbed openly, burying his face deep into your hair as he held you so tight you could barely breathe. "I hate her so much. I am so fuckin’ sorry for putting you in this situation. I'm so sorry that all my unresolved shit came in here and ruined this for you—"
"Rafe," you cried, pulling back slightly to cup his flushed face, your own tears spilling over. "Rafe, listen to me. You did not put me in any situation. This isn’t your fault, and I don't blame you for anything that she’s done.” You told him firmly, though your voice was still watery. “I can tell that she is still the same bitter person she was back then, even though I didn’t know her... but you aren't. Yes, you made mistakes and they came at the cost of hurting people like her, but you don’t have to let her confine you to them. You’ve made up for it, you’re still making up for it. You've grown so much, Rafe. I didn’t know you then, but I know you now. And even just looking back on the guy you were coming in here, you aren’t the same guy you were on that first night. Okay?” You told him, thumbs stroking his cheeks. “Don't let her take that away from you."
Rafe swallowed hard, his eyes glassy as he stared down at you. His large hands were trembling where they rested on your hips, and he let out a broken breath, leaning his head into the warmth of your palms.
"I won't," he choked out, his voice cracking as a fresh wave of tears spilled over his eyelashes. He shook his head, his jaw clenching. "I won't let her take that away from me. I don't give a fuck about her, or what she wants, or any of the history she keeps trying to drag up. But... but it doesn't even matter, baby. It doesn't matter because she already took you away from me. That's what she wanted, and she got it—"
"No, Rafe, look at me," you pressed, your own voice cracking as you desperately used your thumbs to wipe the hot moisture from his cheeks. You needed him to hear you, to really understand that this wasn't over. "This isn’t the end of the world,” You smiled through your own tears. “I promise you it's not. It feels like it right now because we're in this crazy place, but I promise you, it’s not."
"How d’you know that?" Rafe mumbled, his blue eyes searching yours with despair. He reached up, wrapping his fingers tightly around your wrists, holding your hands against his face like he was terrified you would vanish into thin air if he let go. "How can you promise something like that? This is…a bubble. The second you walk out those doors, you're back in the real world, and I'm stuck inside this house. You can't promise me we're gonna survive that."
A soft, bittersweet smile broke through your tears, and you leaned forward, pressing your forehead against his.
"I can," you whispered. "Rafe, we knew each other before all of this, and we didn't even really remember it when we first saw each other. But somehow... out of all the people in the world that could’ve been here, out of all the people that are here, and out of all the paths we could have taken, we still found our way right back here."
You squeezed his wrists back, your heart swelling even through the ache in your chest. "Something like that? A connection like that is unbeatable. It’s a once in a lifetime thing. We are a once in a lifetime thing. If the universe could bring us back together, this isn't gonna be the thing that breaks us."
Hearing your words shattered whatever tiny shred of composure Rafe had left. He let out a heavy, shuddering sob, his head dropping forward onto your shoulder. He buried his face deep into the crook of your neck, his arms locking around your waist so tightly it stole the air from your lungs, holding you like you were his lifeline in a storm.
"I'm so sorry," he mumbled repeatedly against your wet skin, his voice muffled and entirely ruined by his tears. He was just rambling now, the words tumbling out of him. "I'm so fuckin’ sorry, baby. Just... please don't go."
You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, burying your face in his neck as you both stood there on the dark terrace, holding onto each other and letting the tears fall.
You choked on a sob. "I don't want to go, Rafe...but I have to.” You cried softly. “I'm gonna miss you so much."
He was in shock, mind unable to process the reality of the situation. Without another word, Rafe sat down on the nearest couch, still crying, pulling you down into his lap. He wrapped his arms around you, burying his face into the crook of your neck as you wrapped your arms around his head, both of you just holding onto each other in the dark, crying until your chests ached, unable to accept that your time together in the villa was over.
Confessional: JJ
"Y/N... man, she is just... she was one of the only people in here who would actually hold my ass accountable for the stupid mistakes I made, no matter what, but she still stuck by my side through everything.” He sniffs, wiping the tears that were rolling. “We came in together... I’m always gonna have a spot in my heart for her.."
Confessional: Sarah
She was sobbing, a damp tissue in her hands. "She helped me through everything in here... literally everything. She was always that shoulder to cry on when I felt like everything was going wrong. I knew that if I had absolutely no one else to go to, I could always go to her. I’m just... I'm so upset she's actually leaving."
Confessional: Cleo
"That was my girl, man!” She sniffed, shaking her head. "My actual sister in here. She deserved nothing but the best, and seeing her get ripped away because of something so...” She trails off, angry, before her face softens. “I've never met anyone like her before, and honestly, I don't think I ever will again."
Confessional: Rima
"I remember the day I came in as a bombshell, and even though I was just doing my job and being a little bit bitchy... she never once made me feel unwelcome or excluded.” Her voice shakes, a tear escaping. “I admired that about her so much. And just... even watching her grow with Rafe, I was rooting for them so hard. And I am so sad that this is where their story ends.” She cries, looking down. “Honestly... I’m surprised Rafe isn’t walking out behind her tonight. But... I'm not throwing that out the window yet.” She says openly. “I just think he hasn't fully processed it all. Rafe hasn't made a single other connection in this villa besides her... so honestly? I think by tomorrow morning, Rafe is gonna be packing his bags and trying to leave… because he has no reason to stay here anymore."
Confessional: Rafe
"I just…” He wheezed, looking exhausted. “I blame myself. I feel like I just dragged her into a situation full of my own bullshit, and I tried my best to keep her away from it.” His voice shook, eyes growing glassy again. "I kept trying to reassure her that nothing would ever come between us... and I just fuckin’ hate myself right now because I wasn't in a position to even do anything to stop it."
The loud sound of a car horn honked from the front driveway of the villa, signaling that your time was officially up.
Rafe cursed, slowly standing up, his hand tightly holding yours as he walked you back down to grab your bags and helped you carry your heavy suitcases down the stairs where everyone was waiting. The entire villa was waiting by the front door, even Sofia lingering near the back, though she looked significantly less upset than the others.
The heavy, awful silence was suffocating. You could hear the distant idle of the car engine waiting outside, a brutal reminder that your minutes were ticking down.
Suddenly, Cleo blinked through her fresh tears.
"Wait," Cleo choked out, wiping her damp cheeks with the back of her hand as she looked at Sarah and Rima. "Oh my God, no. We cannot let you leave this house without taking photos."
Before you could even protest, Cleo, Sarah, and Rima scrambled forward, grabbing your arms and dragging you away from your suitcases and towards the photobooth next to the Speakeasy as the others followed.
They all piled into the small, curtained booth, crowding around you so tightly you could barely move. The camera started counting down, and the three of them threw their arms around your neck, squeezing you into a messy group hug.
The flash blinked, capturing the tear-stained smiles on your faces.
Right before the next countdown started, Sarah poked her head out of the curtain, scanning the crowd near the door. "Kaitlyn! Get in!"
Kaitlyn’s eyes widened in surprise, but a grateful, soft smile broke through her nervous expression. Out of all the new girls who had walked in from Casa, Kaitlyn had been by far the most welcoming, sweet, and respectful. She hurried over, squeezing herself into the back of the booth and throwing up a peace sign as the shutter clicked, cementing one last memory with you.
Once the girls filed out, sniffing and wiping their eyes, they practically shoved the guys toward the booth. "Go!" Cleo yelled softly.
JJ, John B, Rafe and Pope didn't hesitate. They crowded into the frame around you. JJ threw a protective arm over your shoulder, pulling your head against his chest as he gave a sad, goofy half-smile. Pope squeezed in on your other side, while John B stood slightly in the back.
The booth flashed twice, capturing a perfect, bittersweet goodbye with the boys who had your back since day one.
"Alright, clear out before the man kills us," JJ muttered, his voice cracking slightly as he patted your shoulder. "Let them have their turn."
The boys stepped out, drawing the curtain closed behind them, leaving just you and Rafe alone in the small, enclosed space.
The glowing screen in front of you reset, flashing a notification—New Session. Four Photos Remaining.
You looked up at Rafe, eyes still bloodshot, face still flushed from crying. The sight of him looking so broken made your heart ache. You wanted to give him something happy to look back on, something that wasn't just pure misery.
"Hey," you whispered, your voice watery as you reached up to weakly nudge his arm. "Let's do a couple of silly ones first.” Your voice was soft as you tapped the screen. “Don't look so serious."
Rafe let out a breathless, watery chuckle, nodding as he sniffled. "Okay. Whatever you want, angel."
Three... Two... One...
For the first photo, you both threw your hands up, sticking your tongues out and tossing up peace signs at the lens. But the fresh, wet tears still drying on both of your cheeks made the silly pose look beautifully tragic.
Three... Two... One...
For the second one, Rafe tried to match your energy to make you smile. He puffed his cheeks out completely and crossed his eyes, making a ridiculous, goofy face right as you used your fingers to pull down the corners of your mouth into a dramatic frown. A tiny, genuine burst of laughter escaped your lips right as the camera clicked, a fleeting moment of normalcy.
But as the timer started ticking down for the third photo, the silly energy evaporated, the reality crashing down as you realized that once this was done…you’d be gone.
Three... Two... One...
Rafe pulled you in, his massive arms wrapping around your waist and pulling your back against his chest. He buried his face into the crook of your neck, his eyes closed tight, while you covered his forearms with your hands. You looked straight into the camera lens with a soft, incredibly sad, and longing smile, the intimacy of how he held you speaking volumes through the screen.
Then, the final countdown began.
Three... Two...
Before the final number could hit, Rafe spun you around in his arms, facing you fully. His large hand came up, his fingers burying deep into the hair at the base of your neck while his palm cradled your cheek, thumb gently catching a stray tear that was falling down your nose.
Your hand flew straight to his chest, flattening over his shirt right above his heart, feeling it thudding beneath your palm.
One...
He leaned down and captured your lips in a heart shattering kiss. It was desperate, heavy, and raw—both of your faces wet with tears, mouths pressing together with all the unsaid promises and love you had left for each other but never got the chance to say. The bright white flash illuminated the booth, freezing your heartbreak and devotion in time forever.
He pulled back slowly, both of you opening your sad eyes as he took your hand and let you out of the booth where everyone was waiting.
Rafe wanted you to keep the photos of you and him but you told him to keep them. So he wouldn’t forget your face.
Rafe and the others walked you to the entrance, his eyes fixed on yours. He didn't care about the cameras, or the other Islanders watching. He lunged forward, capturing your lips in one last, hard, desperate, passionate kiss, hands gripping you, holding you against him as if he was trying to imprint the feeling of you into his memory forever.
"I'll see you soon, angel," he whispered against your lips, voice trembling.
"Soon," you cried back softly, nodding.
You turned around, grabbing the handle of your suitcase. The remaining Islanders filed out, lining up to see you off.
You stopped right in front of the ‘Love Me Not’ sign, turning back to look at the crowd of faces that had become your family over the past month. Your voice was shaking so hard you could barely form the words.
"I... I just want to say that I love every single one of you," you said out loud, tears streaming down your face. "I love you all for exactly who you are... no matter what mistakes we've made in here, or what stupid arguments we've gotten into. I am just so incredibly grateful. And... I truly can't wait to see you all on the outside."
They all waved back, the girls blowing kisses, everyone crying as you turned and walked away.
Goodbye Confessional : You
"I... I definitely didn't see my night ending this way. I really thought I had so much more time left in here... I was really hoping I’d make it all the way to the final with him. But... I guess sometimes, the forces of evil are just greater than the forces of good.” You joked, though it was sad. “...She got exactly what she wanted... and all I can do now is..." You stopped, fresh emotion overtaking you. You covered your face with your hands, leaning forward as you started breaking down, unable to even finish the sentence. You quickly wiped your eyes, looking into the camera one last time with a broken, watery smile. "I just... I love everyone in there. I really do." You choked out, making a heart at the camera. “Don’t forget about me.”
next chapter>
BEFORE YOU SEND THE MILITIA AFTER ME, PLEASE KNOW THAT THIS IS NOT THE END (also peep the TADC reference— oh not the time? okay, gotcha...)
flirty!friend remus x reader
a/n: very slightly inspired by this fic by @star--stilinski (i adore their writing style & how they characterize my dear n lovely stiles) i thought i'd bring the vibe over to another one of my comfort characters! enjoy, my muses.
just thinking about being flirty friends with remus lupin.
imagine it - during hangouts with the marauders, he’d pull you onto his lap and rub at your thighs while discussing pranks with james and sirius. peter would eye you both suspiciously, but the other two boys would barely bat an eye. sirius and james have both seen way worse, and you (quite frankly) did not want to ask.
picture remus’s hands and their inability to separate from you. whether it be his palm pressed against your lower back or his pinky prodding at yours with an unspoken hold me?, he would rather find himself faced with the dark lord’s wand than lose your soft fingers wrapped around his.
visualize remus and his annoyingly attractive habit of casual praise. you come running into the common room, showing him your charms homework? you’ll be met with a “good girl. told you you could do it!” and a quick kiss on the forehead before he wraps his hand around your waist to pull you down onto his knee, nose still stuck in his novel that he just checked out from the restricted section.
suppose that you and remus are prefects together in your seventh year. you’re both pretty widely known for being brilliant, so it was no surprise when you both got picked for the prefect position. when you were both assigned the evening patrol around the castle, remus had the nasty habit of pushing you behind the tapestries and kissing you silly. he liked to say that “you have to act like the enemy to know the enemy, darling” while his lean fingers explored places on your body that have absolutely no business being explored by your friend.
and (obviously) you and remus would get so many allegations. lily and marlene never let up on their incessant teasing of the both of you (and it didn’t help that james used you and remus as a talking point to flirt with lily.) it got to a point where you started to distance yourself from the marauders as a whole for a few weeks to get your teasing friends of of your back. to be fair, they were a pretty lonely few weeks before sirius showed up at your door and made your promise to never do that again because he’d never seen remus this distraught in all of his years at hogwarts.
just thinking about being more than flirty & lovestruck friends with remus lupin.
beach day w/ rafey? if you’re feeling like writing fluff u could add that reader and him are married and have a little baby runnin around?
⎯⎯⎯⎯ 𝐁𝐀𝐍𝐀𝐍𝐀 𝐁𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐊 ✦
pov. it’s a beach day with your little one and rafe but what unexpected is rafe’s new addiction to eating bananas every time he goes to the beach.
content warnings. ⸝⸝ fem reader, fluff, light teasing, bananas, domestic family fic, kissing, no proof read, married!rafe, husband!rafe
the beach had always been the one place where the three of you slowed down, because there was no rush unlike at home. thankfully, when beach day came along there was no ringing phones, no unanswered emails, no people knocking on the front door asking rafe for favors he didn’t want to do.
it was just the ocean, your family, the steady crash of waves, the smell of sunscreen clinging to warm skin, and josh’s tiny laughter carrying farther than the seagulls overhead.
it had become a little tradition since josh was born. every saturday morning, the truck would be packed before the sun climbed too high, towels folded in the backseat. sand toys stuffed into an old tote bag, a cooler filled with juice boxes, bottled water, little sandwiches you’d cut into triangles because somehow josh insisted they tasted better that way.
rafe always carried the heavy things, you always remembered the sunscreen and for josh… well, he was mostly responsible for making sure at least three random toys somehow ended up buried in the sand forever.
it was perfect but now it was off, because somewhere over the last month something had changed. it wasn’t a big thing, not at first at least.
the first beach trip, you’d thought nothing of it when rafe tossed a banana into the grocery cart. “want one?” he’d asked casually. you stared at the bananas and you’d shrugged. “nah.” you shook your head side to side.
he’d eaten it before the towels were even laid out, which at the time was whatever.
then the next weekend came. it was another banana, then two. the weekend after that? there was three, but you hadn’t said anything, that was until today.
“rafe.” you said but he didn’t answer, mostly because his mouth was currently full.
your husband sat comfortably in the folding beach chair wearing dark sunglasses, one ankle resting over the opposite knee, looking entirely too relaxed as he stared out toward the water where josh was determined to fight every wave that came his way. except he was holding another banana. not the same one, another.
you blinked in disbelief. “is that your fourth one?” you asked and rafe slowly looked over at you, while he was still chewing. “maybe.” he answered, you narrowed your eyes. “we’ve been here for forty five minutes.” you said and he swallowed before peeling another section in response.
“potassium.” he replied, simply. “…potassium.” you echo slowly. “mhm.” he hummed, nodding as he hummed to you. “you’ve eaten four.” you mentioned. “doctor would probably be proud.” he comments, and you stared at him, then over at the cooler.
you scoffed. “did you seriously pack six bananas?” you asked. “eight.” he corrected and you went silent. “wanted extras.” he added on, your brow lifted with concern. “rafe.”
he looked genuinely confused by the concern. “what?” he asked, his eyes watching yours, carefully. “why do you suddenly need eight bananas every single time we come to the beach?” you questioned, and he shrugged one shoulder like the answer was painfully obvious.
“beach bananas.” he answered. you paused, staring at him. “that’s not a thing.” you said, shaking your head slightly. “says who?” he asked. “literally everyone.” you shot back, and he took another bite. “nah.”
he replied as you watched him chew with complete seriousness. he looked so confident, so absolutely convinced that this made perfect sense, like he’d been eating beach bananas his entire life, like this was some deeply rooted family tradition that you’d somehow never been told about.
you opened the cooler just to make sure he hadn’t been joking, and there they were, eight perfectly yellow bananas sitting neatly beside the juice boxes, taking up almost an entire corner.
you slowly closed the lid, quietly staring at him. his eyes met yours. “you packed more bananas than waters.” you said. “hydration comes in different forms.” he replied and you laughed, loudly, the kind you couldn’t hold back no matter how hard you tried.
“you’re so weird.” you comment. “that’s why you married me.” but before you could answer, a tiny pair of sandy feet came barreling toward the two of you. “mommy!”
josh practically launched himself into your lap, dripping saltwater onto your towel with absolutely no concern for the mess he was making, his curls were soaked flat against his forehead, his cheeks were pink from the sun, his little swim trunks were half full of sand.
“look!” he shouted proudly, holding up a shell that looked suspiciously like every other shell he’d found that morning. you gasped dramatically anyway. “wow! that’s the coolest one yet.” you admit, and his grin stretched from ear to ear, then his eyes drifted toward his father, toward the bright yellow fruit in rafe’s hand then, josh pointed.
“daddy got nana?” he asked. “yeah,” you answered, smiling. “daddy got another nana.” you added. josh nodded like that was exactly what he’d expected. “beach nana.” josh mumbled and your eyebrows slowly lifted.
“excuse me?” you said, josh looked between the two of you like you were the strange ones. “daddy always eat beach nana.” josh adds. rafe hid the smirk behind another bite, you looked at your husband, and your husband refused to look back.
instead, he innocently adjusted his sunglasses and reached into the cooler. your jaw dropped.
“are you grabbing another one?” you asked. “this one’s for later.” he clarifies. “rafe.” you said, frowning softly. “m’planning ahead.” he said. “you already have one.” you reply. “never hurts to be prepared.”
you stared at him for another long second before shaking your head with a laugh, leaning over to steal a quick kiss from the corner of his mouth anyway. he tasted faintly of sunscreen, saltwater, and, unfortunately banana.
about ten minutes went by. the tide had rolled in just enough for the waves to reach higher onto the shore, crashing around your calves every few seconds before retreating back into the sea.
children squealed somewhere down the beach as they jumped over whitecaps, a volleyball game had broken out behind you, and a radio several umbrellas away was playing old country songs that mixed with the constant cries of seagulls circling overhead.
“mommy, race!” josh yelled, but josh didn’t wait for your answer. he squealed, little legs already carrying him through the ankle deep water, splashing as much as physically possible with every step. “hey!” you laughed, immediately giving chase. “you little cheater!”
he shrieked louder. “you gotta catch me!” he yelled to you. “oh, i absolutely do.”
your feet kicked up sprays of saltwater as you ran after him, your laughter nearly matching his. every time you got close enough to scoop him up, he’d dart in another direction, giggling so hard he nearly tripped over his own feet.
“you’re too slow!” he teased. “too slow?” you echoed as you gasped dramatically. “who taught you to be this mean?” you question. “daddy!” he answered quickly and you roll your eyes. “of course he did.” you muttered under your breath as you lunged and josh squealed, you missed him by inches.
he was already sprinting away again. “i’m gonna get you!” you yelled. “noooo!” he screamed, the next wave rolled in just as you finally wrapped your arms around his waist. “gotcha.” you said.
josh burst into another fit of laughter as you lifted him into the air, pretending to toss him toward the ocean before pulling him safely against your hip instead. he wrapped both little arms around your neck, still laughing so hard he could barely breathe. “again!”
“again?” you echoed as you laughed. “again!” he confirms, you kissed the side of his damp head. “you’re trying to wear your mama out.” you smile and he pouts like a puppy. “pleaseee?” he pleads. “you’re lucky you’re cute.” you replied, pinching his cheek. he grinned triumphantly.
you adjusted him on your hip before turning back toward the beach. “hey, babe—” you started then you stopped.
rafe was somehow standing directly behind you. you hadn’t heard him walk over, hadn’t noticed him leave his chair. he was barefoot in the shallow water, swim trunks dripping around his knees, sunglasses still on despite the fact that the lenses were speckled with saltwater.
and in his hand was another banana. you just stared, silent as he took a bite, and silent as he took another bite. he looked at you over the top of his sunglasses. “what?” he asked, you pointed. “again?”
he looked down at the banana as if he’d completely forgotten he was holding it. “yeah.” he said. “rafe.” you said, calmly. “what?” he replied. “this is your fifth banana.” you almost laughed at him, brows furrowed softly.
“fourth.” he corrects and you tilted your head. “don’t lie to me.” you shot back. “okay… fifth.” he admits, you laughed so hard your shoulders shook. “are you serious?” you asked and he shrugged. “got hungry.” he mutters.
“you ate one ten minutes ago.” you mentioned. “that was ten minutes ago.” he replies, softly frowning. “that’s not helping your case.” you teased. josh looked between the two of you before his little face lit up. “daddy got nana!”
“yeah,” rafe nodded proudly. “daddy got nana.” he continued, josh reached both grabby little hands toward him. “bite?” josh asked, and without hesitation, rafe crouched just enough for josh to lean over from your arms and take the tiniest little bite imaginable.
he chewed thoughtfully, gave a firm nod. “good nana.” josh confirms. “see?” rafe said, gesturing toward your son like he’d just won an argument. “professional opinion.”
you looked between the two banana enthusiasts in complete disbelief. “i’m raising two toddlers.” you said. “that’s kinda rude.” rafe pouts. “you’re literally standing in the ocean eating produce.” you said. “it’s fruit.” he corrects, brows lifted. “i know it’s fruit.”
“healthy.” he adds. “you’ve had five.” you added as well, shortly after him. “doctor recommended fruits and vegetables.” rafe said. “i don’t think they meant all before lunch.” you taunted, he simply hummed, taking another bite, completely unbothered.
you sighed dramatically before shaking your head with the fondest smile. “you know what?” you asked. “hm?” he hummed. “i’m not even surprised anymore.” you add, with a soft smile. “good.”
“i’ve accepted that this is just who i married.” you commented. “a man committed to his potassium.” he adds, and you rolled your eyes so hard it almost hurt. “you’re so weird.” you repeated. he leaned in close enough to press a quick kiss against your forehead.
“yeah,” he murmured with a crooked grin. “but you like weird.” he replied, but you couldn’t help smiling. “i sometimes do.” you teased. “mommy?” josh interrupted. “yeah, baby?” you replied.
“can i have beach nana too?” josh asked, and you slowly turned your head toward rafe. he looked unbearably smug. “stop it.” he smiled. “what?” he asked, hiding his smile. “don’t you dare make this a family tradition.”
he reached into the pocket of the mesh beach bag hanging over his shoulder. you paused, lifting an brow at the new discovery. “why is there another banana in your bag?” you ask. “emergency banana.” he explained.
you stared at him. “there is no such thing as an emergency banana.” you said, rafe looked down at josh, then back at you. “agree to disagree.”
notes. this idea sparked when i was talking with this talented creator( @rafecameronarchive) about their divider! pls pls pls check out their cutie dividers.
pov. it’s about time that daddy comes back home to his baby momma and his son.
content warnings. ⸝⸝ fem reader, fluff, angst, dad!rafe, angst with a happy ending, love triangle, no proof read
the next afternoon arrived warmer than the one before, sunlight poured through the kitchen windows, turning the countertops golden while cartoons hummed quietly from the living room television.
josh sat cross legged on the rug, pushing his new monster truck over the hardwood floors, making soft engine noises under his breath.
he never played loudly, josh was gentle all over, even his imagination was gentle.
the knock at the front door came just after lunch, but before you could stand, josh’s head snapped toward the sound. “is it him?” he asked, his voice lit up with excitement, and you smiled. “probably.”
he was already halfway across the living room before you’d even unlocked the door.
rafe stood on the porch wearing a faded gray t shirt, jeans, and sunglasses hooked into the collar of his shirt. he looked less tense today, he still was nervous, and still so uncertain, but definitely lighter than he’d been the night before.
his eyes immediately found josh. “hey, buddy.” he said, and josh hugged the monster truck tighter against his chest. “…hi.” josh replied, there was still shyness, still a tad bit of distance, but it wasn’t fear anymore.
it was the kind of hesitation children had around someone they wanted to know better.
rafe crouched. “thought maybe we’d go do somethin’ today.” rafe mentions and josh tilted his head. “…like what?” josh asked, curiosity in his tone. “i don’t know.” rafe whispered with a smile before rafe shrugged dramatically. “figured you’d be the expert.”
josh thought for a very long time, his little eyebrows pinched together.
“the playground?” josh asked and rafe grinned. “playground it is.” rafe answered, his smiling growing even softer now, which made josh smile back, it was small, but very real.
he turned and looked at you. “mom?” josh asked and you looked at him. “yeah?” you ask. “come with us.”
you stared at him and then cleared your throat. “honey, i don’t wanna interrupt your time with your dad.” you mutter, josh frowned immediately. “please?” he pleads, and you glanced toward rafe. he rubbed the back of his neck. “please?”
josh asked with those big eyes of his, the exact same eyes that still have the big sparkly light in them that he’s had since he came out of you and laid eyes on you for the first time ever.
he wasn’t asking because he was nervous, and he definitely wasn’t asking because he thought something bad would happen, he simply wanted both of you there, like, in his six year old mind, that was the most obvious thing in the world.
“please, mom.”
you sighed dramatically. “okay.” you agree and josh gasped. “really?” he asks. “okay, fine.” you say, and before you could finish the sentence, he threw both little arms around your waist.
“yay!”
you laughed, smoothing down his messy curls. “all right, all right.” you say. he pulled away just as quickly and looked between the two of you. “let’s go!”
rafe chuckled quietly. “think somebody’s excited.” rafe acknowledged as josh nodded. “i am.” josh corrected, as josh reached for your hand automatically then he looked over at rafe, he hesitated, then slowly he reached his other hand toward him.
it was such a tiny gesture. one little hand, small fingers stretched awkwardly into the space between them. rafe stared, almost like he couldn’t believe it was being offered.
carefully, so very carefully he took it. his large hand swallowed josh’s completely. you watched your son’s gaze drift down to their joined hands. he gave rafe’s fingers one experimental squeeze, then another, apparently deciding he liked it, because he smiled to himself before starting toward the driveway, dragging both of you along behind him.
“come on!”
rafe looked over josh’s head at you, he didn’t say anything, he didn’t have to, the look on his face said enough; hope. the smallest, most fragile kind, the three of you climbed into rafe’s truck together. josh insisted on sitting in the middle.
he claimed it was because he wanted to ‘see both windows’, but halfway to the park, you looked over, his head had leaned against your shoulder, his little hand was still resting on top of rafe’s where it sat on the center console.
neither of you moved it, because neither of you wanted to be the one to break the moment.
the playground was almost empty, probably because it was the middle of the afternoon, the sun hanging warm overhead while a light breeze pushed through the oak trees surrounding the park.
the laughter of a few children drifted across the mulch covered playground.
josh had already disappeared toward the tallest slide. he climbed carefully, always one step at a time, never rushing. his little tongue poked against the corner of his mouth whenever he concentrated, his tiny sneakers finding each rung before moving to the next.
“look!”
he waved from the platform. you and rafe looked up at the same time. “i see you!” you called. “you’re way up there!” you added. josh grinned before disappearing down the twisting slide.
a few seconds later, he shot out the bottom, landing with an excited laugh before immediately running back toward the stairs to do it all over again.
rafe couldn’t stop watching him. “he’s fearless.” rafe said, and you smiled softly. “not really.” you corrected and he looked over. “he checks everything first.”
sure enough, before climbing again, josh stopped to press one tiny foot against the first step, testing it like he’d done a hundred times before.
“he likes knowing things are safe.” you continued, softly smiling. rafe watched quietly. “…guess he didn’t get that from me.” he mentioned, and you looked at him. he smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.
neither of you spoke, you simply watched your son play. his laugh carried across the playground every time he reached the bottom of the slide.
every few minutes, he’d glance over to make sure the two of you were still watching. when he saw you both sitting there, he’d smile to himself before running off again.
rafe rested his elbows on his knees. “i’ve been thinkin’.” he starts and you hummed. “about us.” he added and your stomach tightened. he kept his eyes on josh. “i love you.” he told you, the words were quiet and simple, like he’d been holding them in for years. “i still do.”
you didn’t answer right away, and he finally looked at you. “i know i don’t deserve another chance.” he commented while his voice stayed steady. “i know i screwed up.” he adds.
“rafe…” you start. “let me finish.” he said gently, and you nodded. he took a slow breath. “i can’t change the years i missed.” he whispered, and his eyes drifted back to josh. “i can’t undo what i did.” he added as he paused. “but i wanna spend every day i got left trying to be better.” he assured as he looked at you again.
“for him.” he starts. “for you.”
your eyes burned. “i want us to be together.” he said, brows furrowing softly. the breeze stirred your hair, somewhere nearby, a swing squeaked rhythmically. you looked down at your hands. “…do you love me?” you ask.
his answer came without hesitation. “yes.” he answered as you searched his face. “how much?” you questioned, he couldn’t help but smile sadly. “more than you know.” he whispers, and you swallowed.
you looked away, you simply watched josh race across the playground, his little arms stretched out like an airplane. he looked happy, looked so very safe and most importantly loved.
then finally, you looked back at rafe. “will you promise to stay like that?” you ask, and he frowned slightly. “like what?” he asked. “loving me.” you answered, your voice was barely above a whisper. “loving him.” you continued.
“staying.” he added to your sentence, showing he understood. this wasn’t about saying the words, it was about proving them. slowly, he reached across the bench, he didn’t pull you closer, didn’t assume anything.
he simply offered both of his hands, waiting for yours in response. “i promise.”
his thumbs brushed gently against your fingers. “i’m done runnin.” he told you, his voice was rough with emotion. “i’m done leavin.” he said, his eyes never left yours. “please.”
you closed your eyes for a second to hold back your tears, then when you opened them again, you slipped your hands into his. “okay.” you say softly.
it wasn’t forgiveness for everything, and it wasn’t a promise that tomorrow would be easy. it was something smaller, something quieter. the first brick laid after years of broken ground.
across the playground, josh reached the top of the slide again. he looked over, seeing the two of you sitting together, he beamed. “mom!” he yelled. “dad!” he yelled again.
“watch this!”
before either of you could answer, he pushed himself down the slide, laughing all the way to the bottom. you and rafe laughed together, too. it felt different, more loving and happy that you’re sharing this moment together.
