Only Hoax I Believe In @carrerascameron - Tumblr Blog

DIRTY LITTLE SECRET〻ᯇ # rafe cameron

06. occupied | smau+irl | masterlist — previous — next

IN WHICH ✶ Rafe Cameron is the last person Y/n should ever be acquainted with—her friend’s older brother, a cocky Kook, and the guy her and her friends despise most. He doesn’t want to get caught with a Pogue, and she doesn’t want to be caught with a Kook—especially him. But no matter how wrong it is, she’s still his dirty secret… and he’s hers.

warnings! nsfw (MDNI) 18+

You stirred awake to the smell of breakfast that had just finished cooking. You glanced over to the empty side of your bed, noticing that Kie and Sarah had already gotten up, probably in the kitchen talking your mother’s ear off.

You sat up slowly, rubbing the corners of your eyes as you tried to wake yourself up. Grabbing the edge of your comforter, peeling it off of your body and swung your legs over the side of your bed, letting them dangle for a moment before your feet touched the cold hardwood floor.

bookishbelle2312

DROWNING IN HIM (PART 6)

♪ spotify playlist

pairing: kook!Rafe x pogue!ptsd!Reader

summary: after falling off a boat during a storm, you'd given up adventuring with the pogues. and dating all together. but the nightmares and panic attacks stayed with you all these years. you bared it alone, until an unlikely kook keeps showing up when you need help.

wc: 2.8k

warnings: 18+ due to later explicit chapters and heavy subject matter. this particular chapter is some fluff and slight angst if you squint.

a/n: something soft and sweet to make up for the upcoming chaos. I keep crying while writing this series I love it so much lol let me know what you think!!

banner: @/rumbleonthemill

table of contents: PART 1, PART 2, PART 3, PART 4, PART 5

Once all your Pogues are back in town, everyone wants to hit the beach. The waves aren’t quite big enough to surf today, so most of you lounge on the shore while JJ and John B swim. You’d texted Rafe to see if you could come to the pool in the afternoon on Tuesdays and Thursdays, but you hadn’t heard back from him yet. It made you wonder if he regretted agreeing to it. If he wanted to take it back.

“It feels so nice to sleep in. And not be up all night studying.” Kiara yawns, interrupting your thoughts.

“Speak for yourself, Kie. Some of us have to work.” Pope jabs, but he’s smiling to soften it.

“Yet you’re still here, laying around. So, I don’t wanna hear it.” Kiara playfully rolls her eyes. Your phone vibrates next to you, and you’re quick to grab it. To your relief, it’s Rafe.

Rafe Cameron: sure works for me. i’ll be ur personal lifeguard.

That makes you smile, which Kie is quick to notice.

“Oooo, who are you texting?” She coos, leaning toward your screen. You’re quick to shut it off. The Pogues have never been subtle about disliking Rafe. Trying to pretend you’re not flustered, you smile back and try to keep your voice even.

“Just some touron I met the other day. He’s leaving soon, so it’s whatever.” You shrug.

“Boo,” Sarah sighs. “Was he cute at least?”

“Yeah.” You murmur, feeling heat rush to your cheeks. Because you weren’t thinking about some tourist boy. You were thinking about Rafe. In his red swim trunks. Already tanned and toned at the start of summer. You pictured how it would be to have him helping you in the pool. Remembered how his muscles felt when he pulled you out a few months ago. How it felt when he roughly backed you against the wall at the boathouse.

petalmisu

Maggots for Brains

Author’s note: this is like my third blog and I promised myself I wasn’t going to write any Rafia stuff here. But… I’m listening to Olivia’s new album on my cd player and this idea hit me. This is sincerelypetal.. if anyone remembers me lol.

I’m a sad shell of a woman and I’ve got maggots for brains

But that’s just what happens when my

Baby goes away

Sofia downs another beer, some of it slushing the sides of her mouth. It burns the back of her throat, but she was hoping for the sting. Needed something to distract her, and the cheap beer was doing somewhat that. Her purse hits her gently on her arm, she ignores it.

This was never her crowd, she was never one to be found here, lounging around with people she hardly spoke to. Drinking disgusting beer and laughing at jokes she didn’t actually find funny. But lately, she found she’d been ripped by the seams.

Old Sofia wouldn’t be here. This new her, despite not knowing why she was in the boneyard, was here to find… something. She was even dressed like everyone else today. Short shorts with a tight halter top. Her sandals the only thing she kept the same.

“Sofia?”

She doesn’t turn, just bends down to grab another beer from the cooler. Handing over her last few dollars to the Kook selling it.

“Rafe wouldn’t like this.”

Her eyes closed, her lips stretching into a thin line. She finally leveled her eyes to Topper, who annoyingly has a worried look on his face. Here he goes, wanting to be some kind of hero to someone who doesn’t want him to be. She hugs the beer close to her chest.

“He’s not here, is he?” She tastes the venom in her voice, her heart tells a different story. One of aching harrowing pain.

She feels the wind tousle her hair, doesn’t bother to push it off her face. Glad it obscures Topper’s face, she doesn’t want to see him either.

“But I am. And I know he wouldn’t want me to leave you… like this.”

Her face scrunches up in annoyance, who the hell did he think he was? She could take care of herself just fine. It was only two beers.

“And from the looks of it. It seems you came alone. Which means you drove here alone.”

“Seems like you’re being observant.” This time her voice falls flat on venom.

“Look, I can take you home—”

“I didn’t ask you too.”

“Rafe—”

She drops her beer; both. Feels the liquid spill against her sandals.

“Rafe isn’t here, Topper! I don’t need you to babysit me! He doesn’t care what the hell happens to me! So why should you?”

The unused resentment spills out of her, she isn’t even drunk, she’s just angry. Topper mouth opens like a fish out of water and she wants to laugh. He must have thought she was going to make it easier for him. That she wouldn’t push back. But fuck it, new Sofia does.

“He wouldn’t want you here. Look, I don’t know what happened between you. But I know he care—”

Sofia lets out an ugly scoff, she crosses her arms, head shaking.

“He didn’t even like you.” Sofia says, her eyes narrowing at him. “He thought you were hung up on his sister and it made you pathetic. He thought you were the worst kind of Kook.”

“Okay.” Topper says, blinking rapidly, his brows furrowing into confusion, his hands in front of him like he’s actually trying to process it. Like it hadn’t been so obvious.

“You’re just upset.”

“Sure.”

“And you’re saying mean things so I’ll leave you alone.”

She doesn’t bother refuting, he’s clearly not used to the idea of someone he considers like him, not liking him.

“But look, this isn’t your kind of scene Sofia. And I wouldn’t want something bad happening to you. It’ll just kill Rafe.”

Each time his name slips out of Toppers mouth, just feels like another jab to her heart. It’s all her fault anyway, she’d ruin it, crushed it beneath her toe. His icy blue eyes flashes in her head and she winces.

“He cares. So let me just take you home.”

“What if it is?”

“Huh?”

She gesticulates around her, at the boneyard, at the people dancing and getting drunk. People giggling at jokes they probably didn’t truly find funny around the bonfire, the fire cracking, turning to ash.

“This. What if this is me now? Who are you to tell me this isn’t my kind of scene?”

“Sofia—”

“Whatever, take me home. Doesn’t make a real difference.”

She sits in the back seat of Topper’s bmw, staring out the window, tears flowing down her face. The music covering up the little hiccups that escape her lips. The ac is on full blast, if Rafe had been here, he would have known she didn’t like it that way. He would have known, she feels the phantom touch of his thumb rubbing circles against her thigh.

Maybe they’d been some truth to Topper’s words. Maybe Rafe did care.

His words echo in her head again.

“Just because we hook up doesn’t mean she’s my girlfriend, okay.”

She remembers the way his words slurred but he had still said them. No matter what she wanted to believe, Rafe still didn’t see her as someone who he could see himself with.

But he had proposed.

It all felt so contradictory, she wiped her eyes, hoping Topper hadn’t seen. The last thing she needs is him running to tell Rafe. How he found her at the boneyard, trying to get drunk. “She looked heartbroken dude.” With his stupid frat boy voice of his. She places her hands in her lap, staring at them, she could only forgive so much. Could only excuse so much. Could only conclude, Rafe didn’t really care.

God, she really wished she could change everything. Had stopped herself from hearing what he had said. She wouldn’t have lost him and therefore wouldn’t have lost a part of herself. The naive part of her who believed they could have worked out.

“Uh… we’re here.”

Sofia glances up, her rickety old house, the juxtaposition of her sitting in Toppers expensive car. She bursts into a fit of laughter, her shoulders shaking, tears springing out of her eyes. She probably looked crazy from the inside looking in. But the whole thing felt like a weird fever dream she was going to wake up from. How weird was it that Topper was the one who found her. She couldn’t help but let out another shriek of laughter.

“I know break ups are hard. Especially with someone like Rafe. But—”

“Thanks Topper for driving me home. But I don’t need any advice.”

She opens the car door, slamming it shut, not bothering to say anything more to him. She digs around her purse, retrieving her keys and entering her house. She only hears the engine of his car before he drives away.

She’s pathetic, that’s probably how everyone sees her now. A naive girl fed a dream. So naive that she even quit a “decent” job for a man who wasn’t reliable. The town’s piranha, but if they really knew Rafe, they would know he really didn’t bite.

The most he could do was sting. Deep down, she knew he didn’t even know why he did. Everything he did was a reaction from what others did to him. Not because he really felt inclined to it. There was no real danger. Just a scared little boy wanting to throw the first punch so he didn’t look like a coward.

But he was.

She slipped back into her room, jumping straight onto her bed, burying her face into the sheets. She wanted this night to be over with already.

Rafe

That’s how many times Topper had said Rafe’s name. Too many times. She felt as if he was stitching his name into her brain, so she didn’t forget him. So she could see that no matter how much she thought she was finally getting over him. Rafe was still worming his way into her, even if it wasn’t for love.

She closed her eyes, praying sleep dragged her under.

#rafe x sofia

bookishbelle2312

DROWNING IN HIM (PART 5)

♪ spotify playlist

pairing: kook!Rafe x pogue!ptsd!Reader

wc: 2.4k

warnings: 18+ due to later explicit chapters and heavy subject matter. this part has protective Rafe and is mostly his POV but he still doesn't know what he's doin' yet, go easy on him lol

a/n: I am so thankful that you all are reading and liking this series, it's become really special to me! feedback always appreciated, ily

banner: @/rumbleonthemill

table of contents: PART 1, PART 2, PART 3, PART 4, PART 5

Summer couldn’t come quick enough for you. You couldn’t wait to have all your Pogues back on the Outer Banks. Everything had been going so well. You’d aced your first year of classes. Still had your job at the Wreck and were now making extra money at High Tide Tavern, the same dive bar your aunt would bartend at. Your aunt had even gifted you her old Chevy pickup, rewarding you for your good grades while she upgraded to a used F150.

And you hadn’t had a panic attack in weeks. The last time it happened, it was in the middle of the night. You’d been dreaming about falling off the boat, you think, because you woke up heart racing. But your runs had been going well, and you were running on the beach now.

#bookishbelle2312

mcybank

Good Intentions (4) — Rafe Cameron

part one ⋆ part two ⋆ part three ⋆ part fourᵎᵎ

pairings — rafe cameron x fem!reader, topper thornton x fem!reader

summary — rafe cameron has never wanted something he couldn’t take. it’s not his fault topper’s girlfriend turns out to be one thing he can’t stop thinking about.

warnings — 14.4k words. MINORS DNI! cheating (reader cheats on topper, topper’s rafe’s best friend), toxic dynamics, super messy morals, substance use (cocaine, alcohol), addiction themes, codependency, public confrontation/humiliation-adjacent, physical violence, parental disapproval, reputational consequences and social fallout, skinship, non-sexual shower, lots of intimacy without sex, morally grey characters

author’s note — I’M SO SORRY FOR DELAYING THIS LIKE A MILLION TIMES it was so immensely stressful to write i hit my vape every 20 seconds. i hope this does feed you guys though i was kind of at a loss with where to take it and half of these scenes came to me in my dreams

Getting what you want makes you stupid. Rafe had spent his whole life lean and paranoid and correct about the worst-case; he was a guy who walked into every room already knowing where the exits were and who in it had a reason to dislike him. Three months of having you had scrubbed all of that down to nothing. He’d gone soft in the head. He could feel it happening and he didn’t care, which was the softness talking.

Case-in-point: he was leaning against a column on the south side of the bar, shirt gone damp against the stone, doing the one thing he promised himself he wouldn’t do today, which was think. His thinking had gone greedy. He was running the last twenty-four hours the way someone counts an inventory he’s scared someone’s coming to take (every item, twice, in order). Because twelve hours ago, he’d had more of you than he’d ever had. The whole night. Nine-forty-six until sunup, a quantity of you he had no idea was orderable, hadn’t dared put in for.

#mcybank

bookishbelle2312

DROWNING IN HIM (PART 4)

pairing: kook!Rafe x pogue!ptsd!Reader - no use of y/n, no description of reader, pic for aesthetics only

summary: after falling off a boat during a storm, you'd given up adventuring with the pogues. and dating all together. but the nightmares and panic attacks stayed with you all these years. you beared it alone, until an unlikely kook keeps showing up when you need help.

wc: 2.1k

warnings: 18+ due to later explicit chapters and heavy subject matter. grief. angst. slightly obsessed rafe is spiraling again.

a/n: I may have just recently gone through grief again in my life recently and used this to cope so thank you for reading and I hope it's not too bad

banner: @/rumbleonthemill

table of contents: PART 1, PART 2, PART 3, PART 4

One problem Rafe had was that once he had a taste, he found it impossible not to go back for more. He was like that with drugs. With fights. Money. Alcohol. Cars. Bikes. Girls.

And the fact that you’d only kissed, and insisted it would never happen again, drove him a little crazy. It felt like unfinished business. Wanting what he couldn’t have. He went back to UNC with you on his mind. Any girl that looked even remotely like you at a party, he would try to get into bed.

But he didn’t text you. If you were scared of him before, you’d be terrified if you knew how obsessed he got. Maybe if you hadn’t said those words, he’d be fine. Maybe if he never kissed you at all, you’d both be fine.

Rafe thought after he fucked the first girl that looked like you, or the third, or the fifth, the feeling would pass. It didn’t. Instead, he kept thinking about when he’d come back to OBX. Kept listening to Sarah’s babbling to see if she’d mention you.

Only one thing snaps him out of it, and it’s a phone call he didn’t see coming.

#bookishbelle2312

tw1sters

Fight or Flirt (Part One)

There are many things Scott has given you in a short period of time: migraines, high blood pressure, and a son you would do anything for. A son he doesn’t know exists. Cutting him off was hard enough — welcoming him home might be worse.

▸ PAIRING: Ex-FWB!Scott Miller x F!Reader ▸ WARNINGS: NSFW 18+, former situationship to baby daddy to lovers (all at the same time tbh), pull-out method, fingering, degradation, oral (f!receiving), pussy pronouns, bickering is their foreplay, breeding kink, mean in bed!scott, grumpy scott in general, hurt/comfort, miscommunication (my favorite, of course) ▸ WORD COUNT: 13.6K ▸ A/N: if i had a nickel for every time i wrote reader hiding getting knocked up by the baby's dad until he's back in town, i'd have two nickels, which isn't a lot, but it's weird that it happened twice. this became the longest fic i've ever written which is insane to say about this man who had 3 minutes of screen time??? but anyways i love him and his dumb ass! if you enjoyed this, please leave comments and reblog on top of liking it!! i'd love to hear your thoughts <3 second and final part coming in two weeks!!!! special thanks to @kryptidfiles for helping me with reader's job heh

↤ main masterlist | part two ↦

You meet Scott Miller at the tail-end of summer — that not-so-sweet spot between your junior and final year when you find yourself bankrupt and barely breathing. Between completing the mandatory hours at Mass General for your program and the countless hours sticking your nose in multiple textbooks, the last thing you want to deal with is an arrogant asshole.

Specifically, an arrogant asshole at your favorite café, with your favorite brown sugar oatmilk shaken double espresso after a long night at the library and a few more hours needed to finish your final paper for this summer course. All you want is peace and quiet with your barely functional eyes.

Unfortunately, you are instead met with the sight of this man’s massive back as he berates the barista out in the open.

#scott miller x reader

rafeobx

crawling back to you, r.c

pair: ex!rafe + maybank!reader

masterlist

plot: *takes place in season 4 of obx* rafe is your ex and you haven't really spoke in a few months and the wound is still fresh. when rafe decides to come along and help the pogues in morroco, your relationship rekindles and you realize your feelings for him never changed.

trying out a new font lol

the heat in morocco is heavy, but the tension between you and rafe is heavier.

it’s been months since you guys called it quits, right before everything went completely off the rails and he somehow ended up on the same side as the pogues.

you didn’t expect to see him here, let alone be crammed into the back of a sketchy transit van sharing joint with him while jj and john b argue about a map upfront.

"you look hot," rafe says softly, his voice cutting through the noise of the engine.

you glance over, eyebrow raised. "like-like attractive or like i'm sweating to death?"

a small, familiar smirk tugs at the corner of his lips. the kind that used to make your heart skip. "both. but mostly the second one."

"hilarious, cameron," you mutter, but you can't help the tiny smile that tugs at your own mouth.

it’s supposed to be fine. you both agreed before the flight that whatever happened back in the cut and figure eight stayed there. you’re here for the treasure, he's here for whatever redemption arc he’s trying to pull off, and you're supposed to be just friends. or at least, civil exes.

but then the van takes a sharp turn down a dirt road, throwing you sideways. rafe’s arm shoots out instinctively, catching your shoulder to steady you before you hit the door. his hand lingers for a second too long, his thumb brushing against your collarbone. his skin is warm, and the sudden contact sends a jolt straight down your spine.

you look up, meeting his blue eyes. the easygoing smirk is gone, replaced by that intense, heavy stare that always used to make you forget what you were saying.

"you good?" he asks, his voice dropping an octave.

"yeah," you breath out, suddenly hyper-aware of how close he is. "i'm good. thanks."

he doesn't move his hand right away. his eyes dip to your lips for a fraction of a second before he pulls back, clearing his throat and looking out the dusty window.

"just don't need you breaking an arm," he mutters, though his tone lacks any real bite. "your brother would blame me.

the mention of jj sours the air instantly. it’s the reminder of the massive, jagged line drawn between your past and your present. jj's hatred for rafe isn't just pogues versus kooks anymore.

it’s deeply personal, a volatile mix of old figure eight grudges and the fact that rafe represents everything that's ever hurt your family. jj looks at rafe and sees the guy who nearly drowned his best friend, the guy who walked around with unearned immunity while the rest of you bled for every inch of survival.

"he's right to blame you," you say softly, the words hanging between you in the stifling heat of the van. you don't pull away, though. instead, you let your gaze drop to his hand, which is still resting just an inch from your knee on the worn vinyl seat.

"he's trying to protect me, rafe. you can't exactly blame him for not trusting you after everything."

the weight of 'everything' sits heavy in the small space between you. it’s the history jj can't look past, but for you, the pain is entirely different. you had loved him so deeply, more than you had ever loved anyone, and when you were alone, he treated you like you were his entire world, doing absolutely everything for you.

however, you couldn't block out the reality of what happened whenever he stepped outside your door. even while he was holding you close, he was turning around and hurting the people you considered family, constantly putting your friends in danger.

you were trapped in a brutal cycle of loving a guy who would give you the world, but would ruthlessly destroy theirs. in the end, you couldn't live with the guilt of choosing your happiness over your friends' survival, and you had to walk away from the only boy you ever truly wanted, breaking both of your hearts in the process.

"i know what i did," he says, his voice dropping to a rough whisper that barely carries over the rattling engine. "but i'm here now. i'm helping you guys. i'm helping you."

"are you?" your breath catches as his eyes lock onto yours, heavy and searching. the space between you feels microscopic, charged with months of unspoken texts, angry breakups, and the lingering heat of how things used to be before the world fell apart. "or are you just running away from the obx?"

"i'm not running," rafe says, his gaze dropping down to your mouth, holding it there long enough to make your pulse hammer against your ribs. the tension is thick, suffocating, a dangerous reminder of how easily you two always collided.

his hand moves, his fingers brushing the fabric of your shorts as he shifts even closer. "if i wanted to run, i wouldn't have come to the one place where everyone hates my guts. think about it." up front, jj barks out a laugh at something john b says, the sound loud and abrasive, shattering the quiet bubble you and rafe are trapped in.

you blinks, the spell breaking just enough for him to pull back a fraction, though his eyes remain dark and fixed on you. "just-don't do anything stupid out there," you mutters, your voice strained as he looks out the window.

he swallows hard, his jaw tight as he processes your words. for a second, it looks like he wants to argue, to give you one of those defensive, reckless excuses he used to use back in the outer banks. but instead, he just lets out a slow, heavy breath, looking away from you and staring out at the blurred horizon of the moroccan desert.

"i'm not trying to make things harder for you," he says quietly, his voice completely stripped of the usual cameron bravado. "i know i messed up with your friends, with you. but i’m trying to fix it. for you"

you look down at your hands, your fingers tightly laced together in your lap to keep them from shaking. the proximity of him, the familiar scent of his cologne mixed with the dusty heat of the van, is making it impossible to think straight.

"you can't fix everything in one trip, rafe," you murmur, your voice barely audible over the hum of the tires on the dirt road. "and you can't expect me to just forget."

"i don't expect you to forget. i just- i need you to know that losing you was the worst thing that ever happened to me. and being near you right now, pretending like we're just strangers sharing a ride, is tearing me apart."

the honesty in his voice hits you like a physical wave. it’s the exact tone he used when it was just the two of you, away from the chaos of his family and the loyalty to your friends. it's the rafe you fell in love with, the one you had to leave behind.

you swallow hard, trying to blink away the sudden sting in your eyes. "rafe, don't. don't do this here."

"i'm serious," he presses on, leaning a fraction closer, his warmth radiating across the small gap between you. "every time i see you look at me with that look in your eyes, like you're waiting for me to screw up again, it kills me. i did everything for you. you know that."

"but you also hurt the people i love," you whisper back, the reminder sharp and painful. "you can't separate the two, rafe. you can't be everything to me and a nightmare to them. i couldn't keep carrying that guilt."

his gaze drops to your lips for the third time, the silence between you suddenly loud and suffocating. the air in the van is hot, but the pull between you is an electric current, dragging you both backward into memories of late nights, quiet promises, and a love that was too heavy to survive.

"alright, we're here!" john b’s voice suddenly booms from the front, the abrupt sound shattering the heavy quiet in the back.

the van brakes hard, sending you forward slightly, but this time rafe doesn't reach out. he just holds your gaze for one last, agonizing second before the side door is thrown open by jj, letting the harsh moroccan sunlight pour into the cramped space.

jj’s eyes immediately dart between the two of you, his brow furrowing as he takes in the lingering tension. he holds out a hand to help you down, his posture rigid. "come on," he mutters, shooting a brief, cold look at rafe before guiding you away from the van.

the moroccan heat hits you the second your boots touch the dusty ground. the group clusters near the back of the vehicle, huddled around a worn map spread out on the hood. john b, jj, pope, and kiara are in deep conversation of how to follow the clues to find the blue crown.

the group moves further into the market, the crowded streets forcing everyone to walk in pairs. john b and jj lead the way, while sarah deliberately slows her pace to walk side-by-side with rafe.

"you're staring," sarah says quietly, her eyes scanning the colorful stalls but her attention completely on her brother.

rafe tears his gaze away from your back, looking down at his sister. "i'm not staring."

"rafe, you're practically burning a hole through her," sarah replies, a soft, teasing smile on her face. it's a massive change from how things used to be between them; the sharp edges of their past have finally started to blur into real, mutual support. she shifts her map to her other hand. "she still loves you, you know. she just-she carries a lot of jj's weight."

rafe sighs, running a hand through his hair. "i know. she's his sister, sarah. every time he looks at me like he wants to kill me, i can see it tearing her apart. i hate that i put her in the middle of that."

"so show her you're different now," sarah says gently, bumping her shoulder against his. "you're doing it with me. you can do it with her too."

rafe looks ahead at you again. the crowd suddenly surges as a vendor moves a large display, and you're pushed slightly off balance. before jj can even turn around, rafe steps forward instinctively, his hand catching your elbow to steady you.

"i got you," he murmurs, his grip warm and solid.

you look up, your eyes meeting his blue ones, and the familiar spark between you two flares up instantly. his hands instantly find your waist to steady you, his touch firm and certain amidst the chaos. you don't pull away. instead, you let your hand rest against his forearm for a lingering moment. "thanks, rafe."

jj turns around then, his eyes immediately dropping to rafe's hand on your arm. his jaw clenches, but before he can snap, sarah steps in smoothly, grabbing jj's attention with a question about the map.

"you okay?" he asks, his voice low, his head tilting down so his breath brushes your forehead.

"yeah," you whisper, looking up into his eyes. the harsh moroccan sun catches the blue in them, but the look he's giving you is soft, entirely stripped of the anger that used to define him. "i'm okay."

up ahead, sarah notices the shift. she catches your eye over jj’s shoulder and gives you a small, encouraging nod before deliberately asking jj another loud question about the map, keeping his back turned to give you both space.

rafe doesn't let go of your waist, and you don't move your hands from his chest. the noise of the market seems to dull into background hum, the heavy guilt and the painful memories of the outer banks finally starting to give way to the simple, undeniable pull that has always existed between you.

the crowd swells again, a sudden rush of people separating the two of you from the rest of the group. rafe takes your hand, his grip firm and reassuring, and gently guides you down a quieter, shaded alleyway to get out of the main path. the noise of the market fades, replaced by the quiet rustle of tapestries hanging from stone walls.

you stop against the cool stone, catching your breath. rafe stands close, blocking out the rest of the world, his eyes scanning your face with an intensity that makes your heart race.

"we lost them," you breathe out, looking back toward the busy street.

"sarah knows what she's doing. she'll keep jj busy," rafe says, stepping a fraction closer. the shade of the alley does nothing to cool the sudden heat flare between you. "i'm glad we're alone. i feel like i haven't been able to actually talk to you without feeling like a target."

"it's hard, rafe," you say, looking down at his shirt before meeting his gaze again. "being near you... it brings back everything. the good things, but also how much it hurt to leave."

"i know i put you through hell," he murmurs, his voice cracking slightly. he reaches up, his fingers gently brushing a stray piece of hair behind your ear, his touch so tender it makes your eyes sting. "but i swear to you, i'm trying to be the guy you always deserved. i haven't stopped thinking about you. not for one second."

the honesty in his voice cracks the last of your restraint. the tension that has been building since you first sat next to him in the van completely takes over, thick and heavy with months of unspent longing.

"i never stopped thinking about you either," you admit softly.

rafe’s breath hitches. his gaze drops down to your lips, and this time, he doesn't pull back. he leans down, closing the remaining distance between you, and presses his lips to yours.

the kiss is slow at first, full of all the unspoken words and built-up ache of your time apart, but it quickly deepens as his hands move to cup your face. it feels exactly like coming home, the chaos of the treasure hunt and the complicated family ties melting away into the quiet alleyway, leaving just the two of you finally finding your way back.

the kiss shifts, the slow hesitation completely melting away as rafe pulls you flush against him. his hands slide from your face down to the nape of your neck, his fingers tangling in your hair to hold you close, while your hands grip the fabric of his shirt. the sheer weight of the months you spent apart pours into the space between you, making the moment feel desperate and electric.

he presses you slightly back against the cool stone wall of the alley, his lips moving against yours with a fierce, possessive intensity that completely blocks out the rest of the world. it’s heavy, breathless, and packed with all the tension that had been building since you first looked at him in the back of the van. you can feel the slight tremble in his touch, a silent admission of how much he’s missed you, and you pull him even closer, letting go of the past entirely.

when he finally pulls back a fraction, his forehead rests against yours, both of your breaths coming in short, uneven gasps. his thumb gently traces your lower lip, his blue eyes dark and completely blown out as he looks down at you.

"i'm not letting you go this time," he whispers, his voice rough and certain in the quiet shade. "i don't care what it takes."

the sound of rapid footsteps echoing down the stone alleyway shatters the quiet, and you both jump apart just as the pogues round the corner.

within seconds, you're completely surrounded. jj steps out in front, his face flushed from the heat and his jaw locked so tight you can see the muscle ticking. john b, pope, and kiara form a tense semi-circle behind him, while sarah lingers slightly to the side, looking between you and rafe with wide, knowing eyes.

jj ignores rafe entirely at first, stepping directly into your space. his blue eyes scan your face, searching for any sign that you're hurt or in trouble. "where the hell did you go?" he asks, his voice low but vibrating with protective anger. "we turned around and you were just gone. i told you to stay right behind me."

you try to focus on your brother, to listen to his voice, but your gaze instinctively drifts past his shoulder.

standing just a few feet away, rafe is leaning casually against the stone wall, his hands tucked loosely into his pockets. he isn't even trying to look innocent. instead, his eyes are fixed entirely on you, and a slow, smug grin is spreading across his face.

"i'm fine, jj," you say softly, your voice still a little breathless, though your eyes never leave rafe's. "the crowd just pushed us back."

jj glances between you and rafe, his eyes narrowing as he takes in the flushed, happy look on your face and the unmistakable grin on rafe's. he lets out a sharp breath, clearly not buying the story, but the urgent shouting of merchants down the main street cuts off whatever he's about to say.

"we need to move," john b says, stepping between jj and rafe, his hand on jj's shoulder to pull him back. "the guys we're looking for are heading toward the square. we don't have time for this right now."

as you're led out of the alley, you look back over your shoulder one last time. rafe is falling into step right behind you, his hands in his pockets, his grin softening into something more genuine as his eyes lock onto yours. the secrets, the danger, and your brother's anger are still waiting, but as you walk out into the crowded heat, the heavy weight in your chest is finally gone.

#rafeobx #rafe cameron x reader

bookishbelle2312

DROWNING IN HIM (PART 3)

pairing: kook!Rafe x pogue!ptsd!Reader - no use of y/n, no description of reader, pic for aesthetics only

summary: after falling off a boat during a storm, you'd given up adventuring with the pogues. and dating all together. but the nightmares and panic attacks stayed with you all these years. you beared it alone, until an unlikely kook keeps showing up when you need help.

wc: 2.7k

warnings: 18+ due to heavy subject matter and some angst and smut later

a/n: things are starting to heat up for these two. let me know what you think as always and thanks for reading!

banner: @/rumbleonthemill

table of contents: PART 1, PART 2

Rafe spent the morning on the water. Rose was annoyed that he’d come home in the middle of the night. And Ward just went along with whatever she felt. As usual, it wasn’t a problem that Sarah hadn’t even come home.

So, he left. On the water, nobody bothered him. Gave him dirty looks. Complained about him. He’d surprisingly had fun at the boneyard party. Hooked up with the blonde girl in his Camaro. He should have just stayed at Topper’s, like he had been most of spring break. But he knew Ward was unhappy he hadn’t been home much.

#bookishbelle2312

bookishbelle2312

DROWNING IN HIM (PART 2)

pairing: kook!Rafe x pogue!ptsd!Reader - no use of y/n, no description of reader, pic for aesthetics only

summary: after falling off a boat during a storm, you'd given up adventuring with the pogues. and dating all together. but the nightmares and panic attacks stayed with you all these years. you beared it alone, until an unlikely kook keeps showing up when you need help.

wc: 3.2k

warnings: 18+ due to heavy subject matter and some smut later

a/n: Rafe cannot help himself, he's always protective! let me know what you think as always and thanks for reading!

banner: @/rumbleonthemill

table of contents: PART 1

You wake up expecting to be in your room at your aunt’s trailer, the air slightly stuffy and smelling like bacon and coffee. But instead, you’re sprawled on a couch, under fluffy blankets, AC hitting your face. And the air smells too luxe to be home. Like a hotel lobby.

“Good. You’re up.” Rafe’s voice makes you flinch. He’s by the fireplace, downing the last of his water bottle. Right. This is Topper’s house. The party. You got thrown into the pool. Rafe pulled you out. And offered to drive you home. “Let’s go.”

#bookishbelle2312

loveharlow

↷ ⋯ ♡ᵎ FUTILE DEVICES

Rafe Cameron x Fem!Reader [ more rafe content ]

SYNOPSIS & WC─•❥ After weeks of silence following his confession, a midnight car breakdown finally forces you to face Rafe

WARNING(S) & A/N─•❥ swearing, mentions of past self-harm, mental illness, mentions of substance abuse, mild toxic/co-dependent relationship dynamic

part one | part two

FOR Rafe, the silence wasn't quiet. It was a more physical thing—a suffocating weight that settled over his chest the second the front door of his apartment slammed shut behind you, weeks ago.

In the days that followed, he tried everything, everything, to put on the face of a man who was doing just fine.

He went to his classes. He sat in the front rows, his posture straight, his shoulders broad, staring at whiteboards and projectors while professors droned on about economics and marketing logistics and other shit he couldn’t care less about. He went to the campus gym every single afternoon at precisely six o'clock, lifting until his muscles burned and his veins strained against his skin, channeling every ounce of rage he had in him.

#loveharlow

loveharlow

↷ ⋯ ♡ᵎ WINTER WOMAN

Rafe Cameron x Fem!Reader [ more rafe content ]

SYNOPSIS & WC─•❥[7.4k] During your sophomore spring semester of college, you and Rafe navigate a volatile, codependent relationship

WARNING(S) & A/N─•❥ swearing, mentions of past suicide attempt, substance abuse, mental illness, toxic relationship, co-dependency, not sure how i feel abt this

part one

YOU were a sophomore now, nearly two years into a psychology degree that you initially chose just to understand the mess of your own mind—and his.

But college didn’t have the same rules as Kildare. There were no Pogues or Kooks here—there were just kids like you trying to survive early lectures, cheap food, and the freedom of being entirely on your own. The circles you had spent your whole life keeping separate from began to bleed into one another.

Topper and Kelce had followed Rafe down to school, neither having a real personality without him. But now, they sat at the same tables in dive bars as Kat and Janae, your roommates. And when your friends watched you and Rafe together, they finally began to understand. Understand why the two of you were so inseparable.

They saw it in the way Rafe didn't have to put on his typical show when you were in the room. They saw it in the way his entire posture shifted—the tightness of his broad shoulders dropping the second you slid into the booth beside him. He was different now, less unpredictable. The dark circles that used to carve themselves under his eyes throughout high school had faded and he had swapped the white lines on coffee tables for hours in the gym, channeling the rage that Ward had gifted him.

He looked older, bigger, his jawline sharper, but his eyes were calmer.

Most of the time anyway.

You were doing better, too. At least, on the surface. You were getting out more, you went to the beach, you went to thrift stores, and you didn't spend days on end staring blankly at the ceiling of your dorm room while the world moved on without you, mindlessly flipping through the limited ways of making your mother even the least bit proud. You were social and you felt alive. For the first time in a long time.

But you were both still deeply flawed underneath it all.

The truth was, the distance hadn't healed the scars.

Rafe was still a slave to his father's voice. Every time a text from Ward popped up on his phone, or every time his dad called to lecture him, his progress crumbled. The gym wasn't enough then, and he would slide right back into a bottle of whatever, drinking until his words slurred and he'd forgotten about whatever his father spat at him that day.

And you? You had stopped taking your meds. You hated the way they made you feel like you were living underwater—how it flattened the peaks and valleys of your emotions until you were nothing but a shell of whatever you called ‘yourself’. The exact shell your mother loved. But she wasn’t here. So, you dropped the pills in the trash every time a new prescription was mailed, replacing them with something more recreational. Weed didn't make you numb, but it made the sharp edges of the world fuzzy enough that they didn't cut you when you bumped against them.

You kept it hidden from him for a while, knowing Rafe cared for you, probably more than himself. Because he was dependent on you. If you were okay, then so was he. But you couldn't keep anything hidden from Rafe for long. Especially, when your dealer quits.

The argument happened one evening in your dorm room. You were sitting on the edge of your bed, your fingers nervously tapping against your kneecaps, while Rafe paced the length of the floor.

"No," Rafe said, his voice flat. He didn't look at you, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his gray gym shorts. "No, I'm not getting it for you."

You let out a sharp laugh, sitting up straighter. "Are you serious, Rafe? It’s literally just a text.” You rolled your eyes. “I’m just asking you to grab me an eighth. It's not a big deal..."

"It is a big deal," he snapped, finally stopping his pacing to glare down at you. "You're supposed to be taking your meds. The ones the doctor gave you."

You stood up, stepping directly into his space. "They make me feel like a fucking zombie. I can't think, I can't..." You huffed, trailing off. "The weed actually helps me sleep at night.” You snarled, turning away from him. “Why are you being like this? You’ll get anything for anyone else, but not for your best friend? You’d buy a bag for Kelce or Topper without a single question, but the second I ask, you turn into some kind of moral saint?"

"Because Kelce and Topper don't—" Rafe yelled, his jaw twitching as he took a step closer, towering over you as he cut himself off, emphasizing his words to you as if you were a child. "You're trying to replace medication with weed, and you think I'm just gonna sit back and let you do that? You think I'm gonna be the one who hands it to you?"

"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't realize I was in a therapy session, right now," you spat, your vision blurring with a sudden rush of angry tears. "You replace much needed therapy with a bottle every single time your dad calls but you're gonna lecture me about smoking? What's the fucking difference?"

Rafe turned, his face turning a dark shade of crimson, your words clearly striking a nerve. The mention of his father hurt, and for a second, the air between you was so tense.

"The difference," Rafe started, his voice dangerously low. "is that I don't care if I destroy myself. But I care if you do."

"Yeah, well, maybe you should work on that," You snapped, shooting the boy a sharp look. "Worry about your fucking self..."

He stared at you, his breathing heavy, a look of bitter defeat washed over his features. He yanked his hands out of his pockets, turning on his heel.

"You want it so bad? Get your own shit," he muttered, marching across the small room, grabbing the doorknob, and yanking it open. A second later, the heavy wooden door slammed shut behind him with a force that rattled the posters on your walls.

You stood in the silence of your room, your heart pounding with your hands balled into fists at your sides.

"Get my own shit?" you muttered, stomping around your room. "Fine."

IT took you less than twenty-four hours to find a new source. In a college town, finding marijuana wasn't exactly a hard task. You asked a guy in one of your classes, who pointed you toward a sophomore named Dominic.

Dominic was the exact opposite of Rafe. He was easygoing and alarmingly laid-back, and he lived in an off-campus apartment that smelled of incense and take-out. He had curly brown hair that fell into his eyes, a lazy smile, and an effortless charm.

The first time you went to his place to buy, you expected a quick, awkward transaction. Instead, Dominic handed you a glass of water, sat down on his worn couch, and asked you about yourself.

"Psychology?" he smiled, rolling a joint. "Dangerous.” He hummed. “You're gonna start analyzing me, aren't you?"

"Maybe," you murmured, letting the unfamiliar ease of the room settle over you. "Or maybe I just wanna figure out why everyone is so messed up."

"Fair enough," Dominic laughed, lighting up and offering it to you.

And over the next few weeks, Dominic went from your dealer to your friend. You found yourself walking over to his apartment even when you didn't need anything. He was cool because he didn't know your past, or anything about you really. Only what you cared to share. With Dominic, you could just be a normal college girl, laughing at stupid reels and smoking on his balcony while the sun went down.

Though, Rafe and you eventually made up, because you always did. The separation never lasted more than a few days before you were dragged back into each other's orbit. A muttered apology from him in the parking lot of the gym, a quiet apology from you, and you were back to sitting side-by-side in bars with your friends.

But you didn't tell him about Dominic.

And you definitely didn't tell him you were still smoking.

THAT revelation happened weeks later at a house party. The house belonged to some senior lacrosse players, and it was packed to the brim, the air inside suffocating, the bass from the speakers vibrating violently through the floorboards.

You had arrived with your entire group—Topper, Kelce, Kat, Janae, and Rafe. For the first hour, everything felt normal. Rafe stayed close to you, his large hand occasionally resting on the small of your back to guide you through the dense crowd, a barrier between you and the sweaty bodies of strangers. He was drinking a beer, looking relaxed, laughing at something Topper was saying.

But then, the house became too much. The walls felt like they were closing in, the noise turned into a nagging buzz in your ears and, suddenly, you needed air.

You slipped away while Rafe was distracted, navigating the crowded hallway until you found the back exit leading to a dimly lit side yard. The night air hit your skin, a much appreciated relief.

"Hey, you."

A voice caught you off guard. You turned to see Dominic sitting on an upturned crate near the overgrown bushes, a glowing ember hovering between his fingers. A relaxed smile spread across your face as you walked over to him.

"Hey," you sat down on the low concrete step beside him. "Didn't expect you were gonna be here. I didn’t think these things were your scene."

"I go where the crowds are, gotta follow the money." Dominic murmured, taking a drag before handing the joint to you. "You look like you could use a hit."

You sighed, taking it gratefully and bringing it to your lips. You inhaled deeply, letting the smoke fill your lungs.

But inside the house, Rafe’s entire demeanor had changed the second he realized you were gone. He turned around, his eyes scanning the sea of faces, his chest tightening with that panic that always gripped him when you were nowhere to be found.

"Hey, you see where she went?" Rafe asked, cutting off Kelce mid-sentence as he was talking to some girl.

"Who?” He asked, Rafe cocking an impatient eyebrow. “Oh, she probably went to the bathroom, man, chill," Kelce muttered, taking a sip of his drink and returning to his convo.

But Rafe couldn’t. He pushed past everyone as he checked the kitchen, the hallways, his irritation and anxiety rising with every second that passed.

He threw open the back door, stepping out into the shadows of the side yard, his eyes darting around until they locked onto the corner by the bushes, his blood running entirely cold.

There you were, sitting in the dark, your head tilted back against the brick wall, a plume of grey smoke escaping your lips. And next to you was a guy he had never seen before in his life.

He marched across the grass, his face contorted into a terrifying expression of fury. Before you could even register the sound of footsteps, your head turning mere inches in his direction, a large hand descended into your space, violently snatching the joint right out from between your fingers.

"What the fuck?!" you gasped, your eyes flying open as you looked up.

Rafe stood over you, chest heaving with his jaw clenched. He dropped the joint onto the dirt, crushing it beneath the sole of his shoe.

Dominic blinked, thoroughly high and completely caught off guard by the sudden outburst from the guy in front of him. He looked between Rafe’s glare and your furious expression, tilting his head in confusion.

"Whoa, man...," Dominic muttered, holding his hands up defensively as he looked at you, his voice lazy. "Is he your boyfriend or somethin’?"

The question hung in the air, neither you nor Rafe saying a word. You both just sighed, looking at Dominic, before your eyes snapped to each other.

Rafe’s chest rose and fell, his lips parting slightly, but no sound came out.

You broke the stare first, your face hardening into a look of annoyance. You didn't want to do this here. You didn't want a scene in front of hundreds of people. Hell, you didn’t want to do this at all.

"Dick," you muttered, standing up and brushing the dirt off your clothes. You didn't look at Rafe as you brushed right past him, heading down the dark gravel driveway toward the street, wanting nothing more than to leave.

"Hey!” Rafe called, following behind. “Stop!"

His voice boomed down the empty street. You kept your pace fast, your heels clicking sharply against the asphalt, your arms crossed tightly over your chest. You could hear his heavy footsteps catching up to you.

Suddenly, his hand wrapped around your upper arm. His grip wasn't meant to hurt, but it was firm, heavy, manhandling you to stop and look at him.

His touch was the last straw as you whipped around, pushing hard at his chest with both hands, forcing him back a step.

"Get off me!" you shrieked, your voice trembling with a mixture of adrenaline and frustration.

"Then stop walking away from me!" he shouted back, stepping right back into your space, his face inches from yours under the yellow glow of a streetlamp. "What the hell were you doing? And who the fuck was that guy—"

"His name is Dominic, and he's my friend." you fired back. "Not that it's any of your business."

"Your friend? The guy selling you drugs is your friend?" Rafe barked. He grabbed your shoulders, his fingers digging into the fabric of your sweater, his eyes wild.

“What're you, an informant?" You shot back. "Yeah, he is, Rafe. I am allowed to have those outside of you.” You retorted, snatching away from him. “You’re making a big deal of nothing—"

“What the fuck is ‘nothing’ to you, exactly?” He cut you off, pressing his fingers to his temple. “You have clinical depression.” He emphasized, your eyes going wide. “Or do you forget that? What if the weed makes it worse—"

"Shut the fuck up,” you hissed, “and keep your voice down! There are people everywhere, Rafe! Anyone could hear you—"

"I don't give a shit!" he told you, though he lowered his pitch slightly, his chest heaving as he leaned into your space. "...Look, I'm scared that, one day, when you come down from a high, it’ll be worse for you than it is for most people. I know you think you're just having fun, but you're... you're playing with fire, and you're doing it with some random dude—"

"Oh, look at you," you laughed bitterly. "You're the last person to talk to me about drugs. Who kept you in line for years? I did! So don't you stand there and act like you have some moral high ground over me smoking a joint!"

Rafe huffed, a frustrated sound escaping his lips. He ran a hand through his hair, turning away for a second before snapping his gaze back to you, his eyes narrowing.

"Fine. Whatever. You want to talk about the past? Great," he sneered, stepping closer until you could feel the heat radiating from his skin. "But what about now? What about that Dominic guy? You're hanging out with random guys now? Is that what we're doing?"

"Why do you care so much who I hang out with?" you challenged, crossing your arms. "You hate when I hang out with guys, period. Every time a guy even breathes in my direction, you look like you want to kill him."

Rafe didn't deny it, but he didn't address your words either. "I don't know what's going on with you lately. You're…careless."

"I'm careless?" you let out a sharp laugh. "Because I'm actually trying to live my life the way I want? You think you're some kind of saint now just because you quit sniffing lines? News flash—you're not."

"And I did it because you asked!" Rafe snapped, rendering you completely silent. He stared at you, his chest heaving, eyes wide and vulnerable. "Exactly," He continued, his voice cracking slightly as he stepped closer, his hands hovering near your face before dropping back to his sides. "So why can't you just do the same for me when all I'm trying to do is look out for you? I changed everything because you told me we had enough problems. I stopped the coke because you asked me to. Why can't you just listen to me for once?"

You stared at him, your throat tight, a wave of guilt fighting with your pride. You narrowed your eyes, trying to harden your heart against the look of desperation in his eyes. "You listen to me one time and all of a sudden, what, I owe you?" you scoffed, your voice trembling.

"I listen to you all the time—" he fired back, exasperated.

"Half," you corrected sharply.

"I do whatever you want all the time!" Rafe shouted, his arms gesturing wildly between the two of you.

The silence settled over again, neither of you speaking—just heaving in front of each other. He was right, and you knew it. Since the moment you moved to college, Rafe had been almost a completely different person than who he’d become. He had done the impossible—conquered his demons all because you had looked at him with tears in your eyes and asked him to. But, right now, he was entirely unwilling to admit the deeper truth— that he couldn't stomach the sight of you with other men.

He hated the way guys had been flocking toward you recently, attracted to the bright, social light you were finally letting show. It upset him, selfishly beyond words, because he liked to be the only one who knew how to guide you through the dark.

Rafe let out a long, shaky breath, the fight draining out of him, leaving only exhaustion.

"Look," he muttered, looking down at his sneakers before locking his eyes onto yours. "Fine. If you want the weed so bad... I'll get it for you. From my dealer. I'll buy it, I'll bring it to you. But…promise me you’ll stop talking to that guy.” Rafe requested. “I don't want you getting laced or some shit.” He defended. “Deal?"

You stared at him, stunned by the sudden compromise, but more so by the lengths he would go to just to remove another man from your life.

"Fine, I'll take the weed from your guy," you said softly, your voice small. "But Dominic is my friend, Rafe. And you can't just dictate who I talk to."

You didn't wait for his response, turning around and walking back toward the house to rejoin the party, leaving him standing alone under the streetlamp, his fists clenched deep in his pockets.

WEEKS passed, and the ‘compromise’ did nothing to calm Rafe’s jealousy. If anything, it made it worse.

True to his word, he dropped a small plastic baggie on your desk every two weeks, never asking questions, his face flat whenever he did it.

And despite the conversation, you didn't completely cut Dominic off. He was in your major, your classes, and you saw him in the courtyard in passing.

One afternoon, Rafe was walking across the campus quad after a workout, a gym bag slung over his shoulder, when his eyes locked onto the stone benches near the library.

You were sitting in the sunlight, your head thrown back as a laugh escaped your lips. And next to you was Dominic, leaning over, showing you something on his phone, his shoulder brushing against yours.

Rafe didn't even register the movement of his own legs as he stormed across the grass, his face thunderous. Before you could finish your sentence, Rafe’s large hand gripped your elbow, pulling you up from the bench with jarring force. It wasn’t harsh or painful, but firm enough that you could tell he was upset.

"Hey," Rafe said, his voice dropping. "We gotta go.”

“What, why—”

“Topper needs help with his truck.”

“Topper's truck got towed last night—”

"He got it back. It...won't start."

"What the hell does that have to do with m—"

“Now."

"Rafe, what the hell?" you stumbled, pulling your arm out of his grip, shooting an embarrassed glance at Dominic who was now several feet away and whose smile had instantly vanished.

"Nice seeing you, man," Rafe shot a cold look the boy’s way as he practically dragged you down the concrete path, away from the benches.

"Stop it!" you yanked yourself away once you were far enough into the shadows. "What is wrong with you? I was just talking to him!"

"I told you I don't trust that guy," Rafe growled, his jaw ticking as he loomed over you. "You said you’d stay away from him."

“I actually explicitly remember not agreeing to that,” you hissed. "Okay, seriously, give me the real reason for all of this, Rafe," you pushed, stepping closer, staring directly into his eyes, demanding the truth that had been hovering between you for two years. "You don’t know him enough to not trust him. So, what is it, really?”

“Exactly. I don’t know him at all—”

“Say the real reason you don't want me around him. Say the real reason you don’t want me around any guy.” You pleaded. “Just say it."

Rafe stared down at you with his lips parted and his chest heaving, the words trapping themselves in his throat. His eyes darted down to your lips, a look flashing across his features before he forced it down, his face hardening. He couldn't say it. To say it would mean ruining everything.

"...I just don't trust him," he muttered, looking away.

You let out a disappointed sigh. "Right,” your tongue prodded the inside of your cheek. “Whatever. Well, you'll just have to get over it then." You turned and walked away, leaving him alone.

A week later, Rafe met Sofia— a junior, and a beautiful girl with dark hair and a bright smile. And she didn't know the version of Rafe Cameron you did. She just saw a broad-shouldered, breathtaking, handsome guy with money, a hung smile, and a nice truck.

It happened at a house party that you had skipped in favor of studying for a midterm.

They flirted for hours, made out on the couch in the middle of the living room, Rafe doing it half-drunk with his eyes open for a split second, scanning the crowd as if he were looking for someone who wasn't even there.

But Sofia clung to him after that night.

She began showing up at the diner where your group ate breakfast. She inserted herself into the booths, sitting next to Rafe with her manicured hand resting casually on his thigh.

And your demeanor surrounding their presence shifted almost instantly.

You didn't make a scene. You never did. Instead, you became uncharacteristically cold. Your other friends weren’t used to it, but Rafe was. Whenever Sofia spoke, you stared at your phone, giving short, dry responses that made the atmosphere noticeably awkward.

Rafe tried to corner you about it after breakfast one morning, catching you by his truck.

"What’s up with you?" he said, blocking your path. "You been acting weird since Sofia started hanging with us."

"Nothing’s ‘up with me’," you said, your voice dripping with annoyance as you looked up at him. "And no one’s worried about your girlfriend."

"She's not my girlfriend," Rafe stepped closer, his voice dropping, desperate. "Why do you even care?” He pressed, but you avoided his gaze, biting your lip. “...Why would it matter?"

You looked at him, your eyes flat, hiding the burning jealousy that was eating your chest alive. You didn't answer his question. You just forced an empty smile, patted his chest, and walked right past him.

THE breaking point happened on a crowded night in one of the bars you all frequented. Rafe was at the pool tables with Topper and Kelce, and Sofia had followed you and your friends into the girls' bathroom, cornering you by the mirrors while you were fixing your hair as Kat and Janae left, not without weary glances back at you.

Sofia leaned against the sink, turning to look at you with a curious, slightly insecure look.

"Hey," Sofia started, running a hand through her hair. "I know you and I don’t really, uh, talk, but...can I ask you something?” she asked, laughing nervously. “Since... you know, you and Rafe are like childhood best friends and all?"

You stopped adjusting your hair, your eyes locking onto her reflection in the glass. Your fingers tightened around the edge of the countertop. "Yeah?"

"...Am I his type?" Sofia asked, her voice dropping into a hopeful pitch. "Like... he's sweet when we're alone, but then he just gets so distant. And I really like him, and…” she trailed off. “I guess I’m asking…do you think he wants something real? Like, a real relationship?"

A sudden spike of something venomous sparked in your chest. The image of her hand on his thigh, the thought of his lips on hers at that party—it stripped away your restraint, or whatever was left of it. You turned around slowly, crossing your arms, your face nonchalant, feigning casual indifference.

"Sofia," you said, your voice entirely casual. "You're really pretty and sweet, but... you're not really Rafe's type."

Sofia’s smile faltered, her brow furrowing. "I’m not?"

"It's not even you, really. It's just, Rafe doesn't really do... serious," you shrugged, turning back to the mirror to apply a layer of lip gloss. "He likes to have fun and move on to the next thing. I’ve known him almost all my life and that’s just how he is.” You shrugged. “Honestly, it would probably be best if you just dropped him now before you get hurt. Plus, he doesn't seem to think you guys are super serious anyway. At least not from what he told me..."

Sofia stood there, her face draining of color as your words systematically dismantled her confidence.

"Oh," Sofia choked out, her eyes welling with tears. "I... I didn't know."

"Yeah," you gave her a tight smile, sliding your lip gloss into your purse. "Just thought you should know.”

"I, well...thank you, I guess." She said, sniffling.

You planted a hand on her shoulder as you moved to leave with a pitiful smile. You walked out of the bathroom, leaving her alone, your heart hammering with a sick sense of satisfaction. Not because you hurt her feelings. But because you knew you'd be giving Rafe a taste of his own medicine.

THE consequences arrived at two o'clock in the morning.

You were lying in your bed, the room dark, when a sudden banging rattled your dorm door. You jumped, eyebrows pinching as you slid out of bed, yanking the door open.

You sighed, rolling your eyes at the sight of Rafe standing in the hallway, his face twisted and his breathing ragged. He stepped into your room without an invitation, slamming the door behind him so hard the frame groaned.

"What the fuck did you say to Sofia?" he snapped, turning on you instantly.

You shrugged, walking back to your bed and sitting down, pulling the blanket over your legs, looking completely unphased. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Don't pull that shit," Rafe hissed. "She just called me, crying her eyes out, breaking things off. She said you told her she wasn't my type and that I told you we weren’t serious. Why would you say that shit to her?"

"Because it's the truth?" you shot back, sitting up. "That’s what you told me, so that’s what I told her." You said like it was the most casual thing in the world. "You didn’t care about her, Rafe. Why are you acting like I ruined some epic love story?"

"It doesn't matter if I care about her or not," Rafe stepped closer to the bed, his hands clenched into tight fists. "It's the fact that you went out of your way to ruin it! You had no right to tell her that—"

"Oh, I had no right?" you laughed, a bitter sound as you stood up from the bed, facing him down. "What about you? What about every single guy who tries to talk to me?" You cocked an eyebrow. "The guy from my stats class you hovered over at the library until he was too terrified to ask for my notes? Or the guy at the bar last weekend who asked for my number that you stared down until he left the booth? Or even Dominic?” You spat. “You scare them off until you’re the only guy left! You do the exact same thing to me—"

"T-that's different!" Rafe yelled, his face inches from yours as you both danced furiously around the 'why' of your behavior.

"How is that different?" you shrieked.

"Because I'm…protecting you!" Rafe shot back, his voice breaking. "I don't think you should be with anyone right now, alright? You have a lot of shit goin’ on, you can't handle a relationship!"

"And you can?" you fired back, the words cutting like razor blades. "Rafe, you're a functional alcoholic who can't handle a single text from his father! You're just as fucked up as I am!" You stepped closer, your breathing shallow, heart breaking into a thousand pieces as you looked into his eyes, the truth screaming between the inches of space left between your lips. "So, are you saving them from my 'baggage'," you whispered, your voice shaking violently as the tears finally spilled over your eyelashes. "...Or are you actually just saving me for yourself?"

Rafe froze, his jaw loosening slightly, his eyes locked onto yours.

The question crashed and burned the illusion of denial you’d be holding onto for years. The silence that followed was suffocating and terrifyingly cold. Rafe stared at you, his chest rising and falling, his lips trembling slightly as the implication of your words stripped away every single layer of denial he had used to protect himself since he met you.

He looked caught, terrified, and entirely overwhelmed.

But he didn't answer. He couldn't.

Rafe turned around, grabbed the doorknob, and walked out into the hallway, leaving you alone in the quiet room.

And for the next four days, the silence lasted.

It was the longest you had ever gone without speaking to each other, voluntarily, in your entire lives. You didn't text him, he didn't text you. You sat on opposite sides of the diner during group breakfasts, ignoring each other's existence completely, while Topper, Kelce, Kat, and Janae watched wondering what the hell could’ve possibly happened for the two of you to not speak.

You both spent hours staring at your phones late at night, your thumbs hovering over each other's contact names, debating the text, before locking your screens and throwing them onto the mattress, too stubborn to break the ice.

BUT then came a Saturday night.

You had gone to a frat party with Kat and Janae, determined to drown the ache in your chest with cheap liquor. By midnight, the plan had succeeded. Entirely too well.

The jungle juice was pure alcohol, and you were completely wasted, unable to even stand straight on your heels as you leaned against the walls, the world spinning.

Your friends weren't doing much better, and realizing none of you could drive or even navigate an Uber app, and with their phones dead, Kat slid down the hallway wall, pulled out your phone, and dialed the only person she knew would always answer for you.

Rafe was lying on the couch in his campus apartment, staring blankly at the TV when his phone buzzed. He picked it up instantly, his heart jumping when he saw your name.

"Hello?" he said, his voice tense.

"Rafe..." Kat slurred into the speaker, the loud bass of the party thumping in the background, and his shoulders fell at the sound of her voice. "You gotta come get us. We're at…” She slurred out the name of the house, her own head pounding. “We're all really wasted and she... she can't even stand up. Hold on, I’m gonna—"

Rafe didn't even hang up the phone as he heard Kat puking on the other side. He shot up, grabbed his keys, and sprinted out the door and down the stairs to his truck, his heart hammering. The anger from four days ago evaporated like nothing.

He arrived at the frat house ten minutes later, pushing through the crowds of drunk college kids like a hurricane. He found Kat and Janae in the upstairs hallway, supporting you between them. Your head was hanging low, your eyes glassy, your heels dragging on the floor.

"I got her," Rafe muttered, his face dead serious as he easily lifted you into his arms, your body heavy, your head instantly rolling into the crook of his neck. He looked at Kat and Janae. "C’mon, get in the truck."

He drove back to the campus dorms first, the silence in the car tense. He helped Kat and Janae out, carrying them to their door, before returning to the truck where you were slumped in the passenger seat.

Rafe looked at you—your face that had a light sheen of sweat, your frizzy hair. He couldn't leave you alone in your dorm room like this. He didn't trust you not to get sick or fall.

So, he drove you back to his apartment.

He carried you up the stairs to his bedroom, gently placing your limp form onto his mattress. You groaned, rolling onto your back, staring at the ceiling with hazy eyes.

"The room is spinning..." you whispered, a drunken chuckle escaping your lips.

Rafe didn't say a word. He sat at the foot of the bed, his large hands reaching down to gently unlace the straps of your high heels, sliding them off your feet and setting them neatly on the floor. He stood up, walked into the bathroom, and returned with a damp washcloth.

He sat on the edge of the mattress beside you, leaning over. His movements were tender as he used the damp cloth to gently wipe the smudged makeup and glitter off your face.

"You're wasted," Rafe muttered softly, his voice heavy with frustration as he wiped a streak of mascara from under your eye. "You know a lot of the kids at this college are from Kildare? Anything you do could easily get back to your mom."

"I don't care," you mumbled, your eyes closing as the warm cloth touched your skin. "If I’m lucky, she’ll kill me."

Rafe froze. The washcloth remained pressed against your cheek, his fingers tightening. His face turned incredibly tense, his eyes locking onto yours with complete seriousness.

"Don't say shit like that," he whispered, his voice trembling as his face twisted. "And I'm serious. Don't you ever say that shit to me. Ever again."

The reminder of that night always flared between you. Rafe was starting to think it affected him more than it did you.

You opened your eyes, looking up into his face, your drunken state stripping away all of your defenses, leaving nothing but curiosity from your last argument.

"Why do you care?" you pressed, reaching up with a hand, your fingers tangling into the fabric of his shirt, pulling him down slightly as you tried to sit up.

Rafe sighed. "Because you're my best friend, believe it or not. No matter how much you piss me off—"

"No, not *hiccup* that," you waved him off mid sentence. "Tell me the real reason why you don’t want me around anyone?" you slurred.

Rafe let out a long, defeated sigh, his forehead dropping down until it was nearly touching yours, his breath warm against your lips.

"...You already know why," he whispered, his voice a soft surrender. "And I don't wanna do this tonight."

You stared at him, the alcohol slowing your brain but amplifying the ache in your chest. You let out a quiet, drunken sigh, your fingers loosening on his shirt.

"Did you *hiccup* fuck Sofia?" you mumbled, the insecurity ripping out of you before you could stop it.

Rafe blinked, taken completely aback by the question, his brow furrowing. "What?"

"Did you sleep with her?" you deadpanned, rolling your eyes and looking away from him, your voice small. "It's fine if you did... it's not like it matters, considering you've fucked other people... I just... I want to know—"

"No," Rafe said firmly, his voice cracking slightly as he grabbed your chin, forcing your face back to his. "No, I didn't."

"...Why?" you whispered, your eyes wide.

"Because," he started, debating his next words. "I haven't had sex with anyone," Rafe confessed, the truth pouring out of him like blood from an open wound.

You laughed in your drunken state. "You're lying,"

He looked down, his jaw tightening. "I've hooked up with people, touched up on girls at parties when I was drunk and trying to forget... but I haven't actually slept with anyone. At all."

"...You're not lying." your face fell. "...Why?" you asked again, your voice a tiny gasp.

Rafe went completely silent. He couldn't say the words. He couldn't tell you that every time he closed his eyes with another girl, his brain just showed him your face. He couldn't tell you that he felt like he belonged to you, even if you were both too broken to admit it.

"I'll tell you when you're sober." He ended the conversation, gently pulling the blanket up over your shoulders, tucking you into his bed as moved to stand up, wanting to sleep on the couch to give you space, but your hand shot out from beneath the covers, your fingers locking tightly around his wrist.

"Stay," you begged, looking up at him through the dark with an earnestness that shattered his chest. "Please? Just for tonight."

Rafe stared down at your fingers on his wrist, the image of that night of banquet flashing through his mind—the way you had detached his fingers from your hair. He looked at your glassy eyes, heard the faint slur in your voice, and he knew the boundaries were too blurred. He couldn't cross them. Not like this. Not while you were using alcohol to escape the reality of your questions.

"I can't," he whispered, his voice breaking.

He gently detached your fingers from his wrist, placing your hand back under the warm blanket. He turned around, walked out of the room, and closed the door behind him, leaving you to fall asleep.

THE next morning, the sunlight was blinding.

It cut through the cracks of the blinds in Rafe’s bedroom, triggering your headache that was bound to make an appearance no matter what. You sat up, groaning, your tongue dry as you yawned.

You walked out into the small kitchen, your bare feet quiet on the linoleum but Rafe was already awake. He was standing by the counter, wearing nothing but sweatpants, his broad back to you as he poured a glass of water.

"Good morning," you murmured, your voice raspy. You were used to bouncing back from your arguments, and you only remembered snippets of last night—the makeup wipe, the ride home.

"Morning," Rafe said. He didn't turn around. His voice was flat, distant.

You walked over to the cabinet, grabbing a bowl and a box of cereal, trying to shake off the awkward tension. "My head is literally splitting open.” you groaned. “I had way too much of that jungle juice, or whatever the fuck they were calling it..."

"Yeah, well, you're not drinking it anymore," Rafe said, finally turning around to face you. His eyes were dark, absent of any of the tenderness from last night, his jaw set into a hard line. "And I'm not getting you weed anymore, either."

You froze, the cereal spoon clinking sharply against the porcelain bowl. You looked up at him, your irritation flaring instantly. "We're back to this again?"

"I'm dead serious," Rafe said, stepping closer, leaning his hands against the kitchen counter. "You were saying some crazy shit last night—"

"I was drunk." you defended, your voice rising as you slammed the cereal box onto the counter. "Everyone says stupid things when they're drunk, it couldn’t have been that bad. Besides, I probably didn’t mean anything by it—"

"Yeah, that's the problem." Rafe retorted, frustratd.

"Oh, so you can drink your problems away but I do it for fun and you try to cut me off?" you yelled back, stepping directly into his space. "You're a hypocrite."

"Call me whatever you want. You’ve called me worse—" he shrugged, his chest heaving as he stared down at you.

"Why the fuck do you care so much?!" you protested, the words ripping out of your throat.

The question hit Rafe hard. His face contorted, a flash of hurt crossing his features for a split second before he put his walls back up, his eyes turning to ice. The stupidity of the question burned his blood.

"It doesn't matter why," Rafe said, his voice dropping. "You’re done. I'm not getting you weed. I'm not letting you drink.” He started, jamming a finger into your sternum. “You're gonna call your doctor, and you're gonna start taking your meds again. And if you find someone else to get drugs or alcohol for you,” He paused, contemplating his next words. “I won't hesitate to call your mom and tell her everything."

You stared at him, fixing him with a challenging, skeptical look, narrowing your eyes. "...You wouldn't."

"Try me," Rafe whispered, dead serious. "I don’t care if she hates me, or you, I'll do it. I'll call her, and I'll tell her everything.” He threatened.

A surge of fury took over your limbs—your teeth clenching so hard your jaw ached, your chest shrinking. You let your cereal bowl hit the counter, the milk splashing over the edge, before turning on your heel and storming back into his bedroom.

"Fine,” you hissed. “Fuck you.” You started grabbing your heels, your purse, and your belongings from last night.

Rafe followed you into the room, easily catching up as he tried to reason with you. "I’m not doing this to try and control you, I—Just listen to me for a second—"

You ignored him entirely, continuing to snatch your stuff up.

"Move. I don't know when you got so uptight but I'm sick of you acting like you're my dad or something." you scoffed. "You're not some redeemed individual, Rafe! So, stop trying to fucking crucify every thing I do—" you muttered, pushing past him as he stood in the doorway when Rafe’s restraint finally snapped. He lunged forward, his large hands wrapping around your arms with an overwhelming force that forced you to stop.

"Calm down!" Rafe ordered, pinning you back against the bedroom wall as your things fell to the floor.

He loomed over you, his chest rising and falling violently against yours, his eyes wild with tears, his entire body shaking.

"You make it so damn difficult for people to give a shit about you!" Rafe spat, the tears finally spilling over his eyelashes, hot and fast down his cheekbones.

You stopped struggling, your breath catching in your throat.

"I'm not perfect, alright? I know that!" Rafe yelled, his grip on your shoulders tightening. "But I did everything you ever asked me to do! I've been trying to be easier... I've been trying to cut down on the drinking, trying to stop making an ass of myself at events when we go home... I did it all for you! I've been trying to make things easier so you wouldn't always have to worry about me and yourself!"

He stopped, his breathing ragged, his forehead dropping down to rest heavily against your shoulder.

"Fuck, I did it because I love you," Rafe whispered into your neck, the truth slipping out.

The silence that settled over the bedroom was more breathtaking than anything you’d ever experienced.

You stood pinned against the wall, your arms hanging limp at your sides. Your heart had stopped entirely, the blood freezing in your veins. The words hung in the air like a knife dangling from the ceiling. You were caught entirely off guard, your eyes welling with tears.

"Rafe..." you whispered softly, your voice trembling so violently you could barely form his name.

Rafe lifted his head, his eyes searching yours. "Don't," he choked out, his voice cracking as he squeezed his eyes shut. "Don't you dare tell me I don't. Because I do. I've loved you since I was eight and I've loved you every single day since—"

A sudden, overwhelming wave of panic slammed into your chest and walls felt like they were closing in, the air leaving your lungs. You loved him too, you knew you did. But the realization didn't bring comfort.

Because neither of you knew how to handle something so pure without breaking it.

"No..." you choked out, shaking your head frantically as you pushed hard against his chest, violently knocking his hands off your shoulders. “Rafe,” you started, speaking like you had to force air out of your lungs, holding back tears. “...I don’t think either of us even knows what love looks like. Not the good kind, anyway, so…” you continued, choking down your emotions. “How the hell could we love each other?"

The words were the truth of your existence, and Rafe flinched as if you had stabbed him in the chest, his face turning entirely pale, his hands dropping limply back to his sides. The look of heartbreak that washed over his features was the most agonizing thing you had ever had to look at.

You didn't wait for him to speak, couldn't take his words for another second. You dropped your eyes, scooped your shoes and purse up from the floor with trembling fingers, and ran out of his bedroom, slamming the front door of his apartment behind you, and sprinting down the stairs with tears streaming hot and fast down your cheeks.

part three

feedback is appreciated! thanks for reading.

©loveharlow

#loveharlow

loveharlow

↷ ⋯ ♡ᵎ THE BIRDS PT. 1

Rafe Cameron x Fem!Reader [ more rafe content ]

SYNOPSIS & WC─•❥ [8.6k] Raised under the suffocating pressures of Figure Eight, two best friends anchor each other through family tragedies while spiraling into opposite, deeply destructive coping mechanisms...

WARNING(S) & A/N─•❥ swearing, suicide attempt, overdose, substance abuse, physical violence/abuse, mental illness, toxic relationship, co-dependency, pls lmk what y'all think i rlly love this concept

YOU were seven years old the afternoon your world collided with Rafe Cameron’s. The country club was hosting a mid-summer gala—an excuse for the island’s elite to drink high-end scotch while solidifying real estate syndicates and shipping logistics. Your mother had spent three hours smoothing out the pleats of your dress, her fingers pinching your shoulders with a warning to be on your best behavior.

You stood on the veranda, the glare of the Marsh blinding you while the adults congregated. Your parents were in a corner with Ward Cameron, their voices dropping into that low register reserved for serious deals and contract closures. And you and your two older brothers were entirely forgotten, per usual.

"Go play," your mother had murmured, not looking at you as she waved a manicured hand toward the lawn. "And don’t get that dress dirty. Again."

At her dismissal, you wandered down the steps toward the edge of the forest. That was where Sarah Cameron found you. She was younger, a bright-eyed burst of energy in a pink sundress, dragging a boy by his wrist.

"Look, Rafe! I told you there were other kids. Hi!” Sarah announced, her voice high as she stopped in front of you, your brothers running off further. She looked between you and her brother, her nose crinkling as you both stood in silence. "You guys are boring. I'm going to feed the ducks." She rolled her eyes, skipping off. Sarah dashed away, leaving the two of you standing under the shade of a massive live oak.

Rafe was eight, adorned in khaki shorts and a polo shirt that already had a faint grass stain near the hem. He looked at you, his blue eyes squinting against the sun with his hands shoved deep into his pockets. He looked just as stiff, just as bored, and just as suffocated as you felt.

"Your mom looks mean," Rafe said plainly, pointing to the woman staring at you from afar..

You blinked, shocked by the blunt honesty of it, looking carefully over your shoulder at her before looking back at Rafe. "She's just... serious." You muttered.

"My dad is too," Rafe muttered, shrugging and kicking at a rock in the dirt. "He keeps telling me I have to stand straight because people are watching. I hate it."

"I hate it too," you whispered. “But my mom says ‘hate is a strong word’.”

A slow smile broke across Rafe’s face, clearing away the tense look he had been wearing all afternoon. It was a sweet smile, completely devoid of the sharp edges that would define him later in life. "Want to go look at crabs? There’s a whole bunch of them by the dock.” He invited. “If we're quiet, they don't hide."

You looked back at the veranda. Your parents were still nodding along to Ward Cameron's booming laughter. They wouldn't notice your absence for hours.

"...Okay," you said, nodding.

That afternoon was the foundation being laid. While your parents signed documents, the two of you sat on the edge of a weathered wooden dock, your legs dangling over the water, discussing the annoyingness of the adult world.

You discovered you were born in the same hospital, raised on the same private streets, and held to the exact same impossible standards for children. You were cut from the identical piece of luxury cloth, and you both already knew the fabric was itching you alive.

From that day forward, you were inseparable.

Throughout elementary school, Rafe was your constant. He was a sweet, hyper-attentive boy whose devotion to you was uncomplicated. At the private academy you both attended, he would sprint across the courtyard the moment the lunch bell rang, just to ensure he secured the seat directly across from you.

"I brought you those fruit snacks you like," he’d say, tossing three plastic pouches onto your tray. He knew your mother had started monitoring your ‘calorie intake’ under the guise of "healthy habits," restricting you from candy and sweets, so he took it upon himself to ensure you never went unsatisfied.

When the older kids tried to crowd you at the swings, Rafe would step in, his chest puffed out, his small fists clenched at his sides until they backed down. He shared his toys without a second thought—his limited-edition comic books, his favorite skateboard, his video games. If you expressed even a passing interest in something he owned, it was yours.

Every single afternoon, when the yellow school bus hissed to a stop on Figure Eight, Rafe would sling his backpack over one shoulder, get off, and wait for you. Your house was three blocks past his, down the oak-lined avenue. He would walk you all the way to your front steps, his feet dragging as the distance closed.

"I’ll see you tomorrow" he’d smile, standing on the bottom step, looking up at you with an earnestness that made little you smile.

THE downfall didn't happen gradually. No. It happened violently.

You were ten years old, finishing up fifth grade when everything fell.

It began on a random Tuesday. Rafe hadn’t shown up at the bus stop that morning, and when you arrived at lunch that afternoon, he was sitting at a table alone, his food untouched and his face pale.

You sat beside him, your shoulder brushing his. "Rafe? What's wrong?"

He didn't look at you, his eyes fixed on the wood of the table. "I think…my mom left."

The words were tiny, barely carrying across the noisy cafeteria.

"What do you mean?" you asked.

“I don’t know," Rafe whispered, his voice cracking, though he fought with everything he had to keep from crying. "Her and my dad got into this big fight last night. I heard things breaking and I heard the front door slams, so I looked out of my window. I saw her ger in her car, and…she drove away.” He told you, voice small. “...It’s been three days. My dad told us she’s not coming back and we aren't allowed to ask about her anymore."

You reached out, wrapping your small fingers around his wrist. His skin was freezing despite the indoor heat. You didn't know what to say, because in Kook world, mothers didn't leave. Mothers stayed and maintained appearances, no matter how rotten the house was on the inside.

And three long weeks later, tragedy snuck it’s way into your own home.

Your father—the only person in your house who ever truly looked at you with kindness, the man who would secretly buy you ice cream when your mother wasn't looking—suffered a heart attack in his office. There was no warning. One minute he was checking your homework, and the next, your mother was standing in the foyer, informing you and your brothers that your father was gone.

The news fractured the very ground beneath your feet, replaced by an adult grief that your ten-year-old mind couldn’t comprehend.

Almost immediately, the ways you chose to survive your individual grief diverged.

Rafe exploded outward. The sweet boy who shared his lunch dissolved into an angry boy. He began picking fights at school, disobeying his teachers. If a boy looked at him too long in the hallway, Rafe’s fists were flying. He became a regular visitor in the principal’s office, his knuckles constantly skinned and bleeding. The teachers began to look at him with a mixture of fear and pity, whispering about him while he was less than a foot away.

You, conversely, imploded—retreating into a deep silence. The world lost its color. You stopped raising your hand in class—your grades, which had always been immaculate, plummeted into a sea of red ink. You stopped speaking to your friends, choosing instead to spend recess leaning against the chain-link fence, staring blankly at the horizon. And stopped smiling entirely.

Yet, amidst the chaos, your friendship held, even growing tighter.

Whenever Rafe got into a fight, you were the one who walked him to the nurse’s office.

"You can't keep getting in trouble," you whispered one afternoon, walking him back to class. "I heard Ms.Barkley say that they might have to expel you…"

"Let them," he snarled, his chest heaving with a scowl on his small face. "I don't care. My dad doesn't care…” He trailed off, huffing. “Nobody does."

"I do," you said softly, peering at the boy. That’s when Rafe’s breathing hitched, his face softening. He looked at you, the anger draining from his face for a split second.

"I know.” He nodded, looking away. “You're the only one."

From that point on, you became his ultimate personal voucher. When the principal called your mother because you had lied to cover for Rafe—claiming the other boy had started the fight, swearing up and down that Rafe had only been protecting himself—you took the scolding without flinching. Prepared to do it all again.

And Rafe was there for you in return, unconditionally. When everything became too loud, when your brothers were screaming at home and your mother’s criticisms were suffocating you, Rafe was there when you came to his door to “play”.

He would sit with you in absolute quiet, sometimes for hours, just letting his presence act as a buffer between you and the rest of the world. He tried, in his own clumsy ways, to bring you back. He would bring you weird shells he found on the beach, or tell you stupid jokes he’d heard from the older kids, just trying to catch a glimpse of the girl he met under that oak tree.

But the true depth of your parents' cruelty became clear on the day of your father’s funeral.

The wake was held at the country club—the very place you had met. The room was heavy with the scent of floral arrangements and perfume. You were in a black velvet dress that felt like a straightjacket, standing beside your mother as she received condolences with an unbothered dignity that made you sick to your stomach.

Unable to breathe, you slipped away under the guise of needing to use the restroom, hiding behind the velvet drapes of the library corridor.

A few feet away, hidden by the height of a massive marble pillar, Rafe was standing. He had followed you, as he always did, but he had stopped because he heard voices approaching from the adjoining lounge.

It was your mother and Ward, the clink of ice against crystal punctuating their conversation.

"She’s taking this all entirely too hard," your mother’s voice rang out, sharp and absent of any warmth. "I had to take her to a child psychologist last week. The woman had the nerve to call it 'Prolonged Grief Disorder.'” She scoffed. “She’s just being dramatic. You know, her brothers lost their father too, and look at them—they’re doing perfectly fine. They’re back to their sports, their grades are alright. But she just sits there, moping.” She rolled her eyes, sipping from her glass. “I won't have a child of mine acting like a martyr for the rest of her life."

Rafe’s jaw clenched so hard you could see the muscle ticking from across the hall.

Ward sighed. "It’s the same with Rafe. Ever since his mother left, the boy has been unbearable.” Ward sneered. “He’s doing it for attention, of course. I tell him every day—'look at your sisters'. Sarah and Wheezie have stopped asking questions. They’ve moved on. They understand. But Rafe…” He sighed, shaking his head. “I’m giving him one more chance before I start taking things away. Or sending him away."

Behind the curtain, your breath hitched and you looked at Rafe—he was staring at the floor, his hands curled into fists by his side.

BY the time you entered middle school, the cracks in your foundations had widened.

Rafe was twelve, nearly thirteen, and he was a persistent disciplinary problem. He spent more time suspended than he did in the classroom and his anger had grown sharper, fueled by his father's growing disappointment in him.

You, on the other hand, had become entirely invisible. You were a ghost in the hallways—silent, fleeting, and entirely checked out. You didn't study anymore, you didn't do homework, you didn’t participate in class. You sat at the back, staring out the window, waiting for the bell to ring.

It was a Tuesday evening in late spring when you realized you were more alike than either of you cared to notice.

It had to be nearly ten o'clock at night and Rafe had just ended a screaming match with Ward, his father calling him a failure, a burden, because he wasn’t fond of his new stepmother, Rose. The words had burned like acid to his heart, Rafe slamming the front door of Tannyhill and marching down the dark streets of Figure Eight. He was fuming with rage, kicking violently at loose gravel, sending neighbors’ plastic recycling bins crashing into the gutters—hoodie pulled up with his hands in his pockets.

But as he rounded the corner onto your street, he stopped.

In the dim glow of the porch lights on your patio step was a small figure, curled up. You were sitting with your knees tucked into your chest, your head resting on your arms, your shoulders shaking with violent sobs.

Rafe’s anger evaporated instantly and he rushed to sit on the pavement beside you, his hand coming to rest on your trembling back.

"Hey," he said, his voice unusually soft. "What happened?"

You lifted your head. In the harsh fluorescent light, Rafe felt his blood run cold. Your left cheek was clearly swollen, a distinct handprint rising against your skin. Your eyes were bloodshot, your lips trembling.

"My report card came in the mail today," you whispered, your voice cracking. "I... I failed three classes."

"Did she…hit you?" Rafe’s voice dropped into a whisper.

You didn’t offer a clear answer, looking down between the two of you instead. "...She said... she said she's going to have to write a check to the school board just so they don't hold me back a grade. She called me a disappointment, said my father would be ashamed.” You explained, holding back tears. “She told me to get out of her sight."

Rafe stood up so fast his sneakers squeaked against the asphalt. He looked toward your house, his eyes wild. "She can’t—"

"Don't," you cried, grabbing the hem of his oversized hoodie, pulling him back down. "Please. Just... don't. You'll just make it worse. For both of us."

He looked down at you, his chest heaving. He reached out, his thumb gently brushing just below the red mark on your cheek, his touch surprisingly tender for a boy who spent his days breaking things.

"Fuck adults," Rafe said, the words heavy with absolute conviction. It was the first time you’d ever heard him swear. "They suck."

"They do," you agreed, wiping your eyes, a light laugh escaping you.

Rafe looked around the quiet neighborhood, the residents of Figure Eight were sleeping peacefully. And a reckless grin broke across his face.

"Come on," he said, grabbing your hand and pulling you to your feet. "Let's go make them miserable."

“Rafe, what—”

“They make us mad all the time. We can make them mad, too,” He looked at you. “Are you in or out?”

And you stared at him for a long while before following behind the Cameron boy.

That night, for hours, you and Rafe ran wild across the island. You didn't do anything truly criminal, but you were definitely in for it if either of your parents found out. You ran through the private golf course, tearing up the pristine sand traps with your bare feet. Rafe found a crate of expired fireworks behind a maintenance shed, and you spent an hour lighting firecrackers and throwing them into the empty swimming pools of the residents, laughing hysterically at the booming echoes as you ran off.

You climbed to the roof of the country club's boat house, stealing a cooler full of sodas and throwing the empty aluminum cans at the yachts docked in the slips.

For the first time in a long time, the devastating fog in your chest cleared away.

You caught Rafe's eye as you both sprinted away from a private security patrol car, ducking behind the dunes, a sound escaping your throat—it was a laugh. A real, breathless, genuine laugh.

Rafe froze, staring at you under the moonlight. The security car's headlights swept over the dunes, illuminating the lines of his face—he looked awestruck.

"What?" you whispered, pressing your back against the sand to stay hidden.

"...You smiled," Rafe said, his voice dropping. "You laughed. I haven't seen you do that since fifth grade."

The weight of his words settled over you, sweet and somehow still deeply painful. You looked at him—this boy who was constantly angry, yet always safe for you—and threw your arms around his neck, burying your face in his shoulder.

"...You're my best friend, Rafe," you whispered. "You're like... me, but in boy form."

Rafe’s arms hesitated before they tightened around your waist, holding you so close it nearly bruised your ribs.

HIGH School was harder.

When you turned fourteen, just weeks before the start of your freshman year, your mother, realizing your performance had slipped for the last time, dragged you to an upscale, discreet clinic in Charleston.

The diagnosis was unsurprising—severe clinical depression.

The doctor had handed your mother a pamphlet and a prescription as you left. And your mother had waited until you were in the parking lot before tearing the pamphlet into pieces and dropping the prescription slip into a trash can.

"You are not going to be dependent on medication because you refuse to control your emotions," she had said, her voice icy as she started the car. "You are fine. And you have responsibilities.” She spat. “Your brothers are utterly immature, they have no sense of…anything. And it’s up to you to represent this household."

The weight of the family name was officially transferred to your shoulders by the time you hit fifteen. While your brothers were allowed to be absent-minded teenage boys, you were expected to be the perfect daughter—the pristine hostess, the straight-A student, the family ornament at every event.

Meanwhile, Rafe was facing his own version of hell. As the oldest Cameron kid and only son, Ward had begun bringing him into the business meetings, demanding he understand the world of business. But Rafe didn't have the stomach for it, and his failures were met with scolding from Ward.

Throughout your freshman year, you watched each other die in slow motion.

He would sit with you on the beach after school, trying to talk about his day, and you would simply... drift. You would zone out in the middle of his sentences, your eyes locking onto a piece of driftwood or a wave breaking on the shore. He would catch you staring into nothingness for twenty, thirty minutes at a time, your face completely blank, your hands resting limp in your lap.

He’d take you to your favorite diner and you wouldn’t even touch the food. He’d drive you down to The Point to watch the sunset and you wouldn’t look up from your lap. Nothing made you happy.

In a desperate attempt to do something other than watch you become a fraction of who you were, Rafe did the one thing he swore he’d never do—he went to an adult.

He showed up at your house on a Saturday afternoon when he knew your mother was home. He stood in your living room, his voice cracking as he confronted her.

"Something is wrong with her," Rafe said, his tone desperate. "She isn't eating, it’s like doesn't hear me when I talk to her. She just stares at the wall. I think…she needs help.” He voiced. “Please,"

Your mother had looked at him with a blank expression. "Rafe, I think you forget that I know you.” She started. “You are a deeply troubled boy who has no right to lecture me on how to care for my daughter. She is perfectly fine, simply focused on her studies.” She lied, shrugging. “Now, I think it may be time for you to go…” She urged. “Before I call your father."

His efforts blew up in his face almost immediately. That evening, Ward cornered Rafe in the kitchen. Your mother had called him regardless, furious, claiming Rafe was trying to "stir up issues" around your family’s private life. Ward had cut deep that night, screaming at him for embarrassing the Cameron name.

But two weeks later, the final thread snapped.

It was a warm Friday night, the end of the year around the corner. The Kook kids were throwing a house party and Rafe was already there, a red solo cup clutched in his hand, his head buzzing from the cheap beer.

He’d spoken to you earlier, managing to get you to agree to show up. You told him you’d catch a ride with one of your girl friends. But when everyone started to trickle in and no sign of you, he pulled out his phone, his thumb hovering over your contact name.

Rafe where are you at?

Ten minutes passed. No response. You always responded to Rafe within seconds.

Rafe hey. you there?

You i dont think im coming rafe.

Rafe come onnn it sucks without you here :( Is your mom home? i can sneak you out

You no. im just tired. im really tired rafe.

Rafe youre always tired lately. i’m omw to get you.

You don’t rafe im sorry.

And that was the last text.

Rafe stared at the words 'im sorry.' A sudden surge of fear and adrenaline slamming into his chest. It wasn't a standard apology, and even if it was—it was so out of place, unwarranted. You hadn’t done anything. But then he remembered, remembered you opening up about the diagnosis, about your mom ripping up the help you needed and trashing it.

He was right. About you needing help, he was right. And if he was right, then he was late.

"Whoa, Rafe, where you goin’ man?" Topper called out as Rafe dropped his beer cup onto the dirt and sprinted toward his truck.

He didn't answer. He threw his truck into reverse, the tires screeching against the gravel as he sped toward your house.

He ran every single stoplight on the island, his heart hammering against his ribs while he cursed to himself, hitting turns so fast that his truck held itself up on two wheels.

When he pulled into your driveway, the house was completely dark and he didn’t even bother to cut his car off. Rafe leapt out of the truck, taking the porch steps three at a time, rattling the front doorknob—It was unlocked.

He threw the door open, slamming it against the wall as he called your name.

"Hello?!" he yelled into the silent house. "Where are you?"

No answer. The silence was deafening as Rafe sprinted up the staircase, his feet heavy against the hardwood.

He checked your bedroom. Empty, but the bed was neatly made, too perfect.

He checked the other rooms. Nothing.

Then, he saw the faint sliver of light bleeding out from beneath your bathroom door when he checked your room one more time.

He called your name, cursing and throwing himself against the door, rattling the handle.

It was locked.

He pressed his ear to the wood. Inside, he could hear it—a ragged, shallow sound. You were hyperventilating, your breath coming out in tiny, desperate gasps.

"Open the fucking door!" Rafe screamed, banging his fist against the wood. "It's me! Can you hear me?! Unlock the damn door!"

Still silence from the other side, save for the desperate gasping for air. He could hear you panicking, your body shifting.

"Fuck—get away from the door!" Rafe roared, his voice breaking into a terrified sob.

He backed up two steps, throwing his shoulder into the heavy wood paneling. The wood groaned but didn't give. He cursed, his vision blurring with tears. He backed up further, raising his leg, and kicked the lock with everything he had.

The door frame splintered with a deafening crack as the door flew inward., hanging from a singular hinge

Rafe stumbled into the room, and the image before him burned itself into the framework of his brain for the rest of his life.

You were curled on the cold marble tile beside the bathtub, your knees tucked to your chest. Your face flushed with a thick sheen of sweat coating it, your eyes wide and glassy, fixed on the ceiling. Next to your limp left hand lay a small, orange plastic bottle—completely empty.

"No, no, no," Rafe chanted, dropping to his knees, his hands trembling violently as he grabbed your shoulders. "What did you do? What did you take?” He shook you, pulling you into him. “Shit, look at me, hey, look at me!" He panicked. “Why did you do that, huh, why would you do that?!” He cried, chest shaking as he watched you fall out of consciousness.

Your eyes rolled toward him, struggling to focus on his face as your lips turned blue.

"I'm sorry," you choked out, a tiny, fractured sound—sounding scared and genuinely sorry. "Rafe... I'm... I just... I didn't want to do it anymore."

"No, don't say that shit, don't you dare say that!" he screamed, his tears spilling over, hot and fast onto your cheeks. He reached for his phone, his fingers slick with sweat as he dialed 911. "I need help!” He sobbed as he read them your address. “Hurry, please, she's—"

Before he could finish the sentence, your body went entirely rigid. Your eyes locked, rolling back into your head as a violent seizure took hold of you.

Rafe dropped the phone, sobbing your name,cradling you and trying to keep your head from cracking against the marble tile. He held you, his own body shaking.

"Don't do this," he sobbed into your neck as the distant sirens began to wail across the water. "I need you. Why didn’t you just tell me you needed me?"

THE paramedics carried you away on a stretcher, a white sheet covering your trembling form with a mask over your face. Rafe had ridden in the back of the ambulance, his fingers locked around your limp hand, refusing to let go until the doctors at the hospital forcibly pushed him out of the trauma bay.

An hour later, your mother, brothers, and Ward arrived.

There were no tears from your mother. She looked panicked, afraid, but only for a moment. And mostly for herself. There was a hushed, frantic conversation with the attending physician and two local police officers in the corner of the waiting room. Words like 'accidental’ were thrown around, accompanied by the subtle implication of a substantial donation to the hospital.

The narrative was being rewritten in real-time, the truth being buried before your stomach was even fully pumped.

Your mother spoke with Ward before they both walked over to where Rafe sat on the chairs lining the walls, his clothes stained with your sweat and vomit from the bathroom floor.

"Thank you for…finding her, Rafe," she said, her voice entirely flat. "But the doctors said that she is stable. So, it’s probably best if you go and get some rest, now.” But it wasn’t a suggestion. “I can handle it from here."

Rafe stood up, his eyes bloodshot and his jaw set. "I'm not leaving."

"Yes, you are," Ward’s voice boomed from beside him, his father’s heavy hand clutching Rafe’s shoulder, his fingers digging into the muscle with a certain force. Ward looked at your mother, giving her a tight, understanding nod. "We’ll be leaving. Give her our best.” He offered, patting Rafe on the shoulder. “Come on, Rafe."

Ward dragged him out to the parking lot, even when Rafe tried to protest, to scream, but Ward threw him against the side of the truck, his face inches from Rafe’s.

"Son, listen to me," Ward hissed, his voice low and lethal. "You will never speak of what happened tonight. To anyone.” His father clarified. “Not to your sisters, not to your friends, not to her when she wakes up. If this gets out, it will ruin her family's reputation, and it will ruin ours by association. Okay?” He emphasized, voice rising as Rafe opened his mouth to speak before being cut off. “It never. Happened. Do you understand me? It was an accident."

And Rafe swallowed, eyes tracking his father as he backed away, rounding the car to get into the driver’s seat.

But Rafe didn't anticipate not seeing you for the rest of the summer.

Your mother moved you to a private inpatient facility in the mountains of North Carolina under the guise of a "summer camp". Rafe spent those three months trapped in the torture chamber of his own mind.

Every time he closed his eyes, he heard the sound of the bathroom door splintering.

Every time he looked at his hands, he felt your body seizing beneath him.

To cope with it all—his dad’s glare, his sisters questions, classmates wondering where you were, to drown out the absolute terror of not knowing if you were truly okay—Rafe turned to the only things that offered him comfort.

He started going out every single night, partying, drinking until his vision went black, pouring alcohol down his throat like water just to stop the shaking in his fingers and the feeling like the world was ending.

You watched it all from a distance, unable to stop him this time. When you were finally allowed to have your phone back in August, you scrolled through his stories and his friends' stories in the dark of your bedroom, your chest tightening.

He looked different. Unhinged.

THE first day of sophomore year was a hot morning. You walked through the courtyard of the academy, wearing a pristine, fitted, high-collared sundress when Rafe intercepted you by the lockers. He looked awful—there were dark circles under his eyes and he smelled faintly of smoke and expensive cologne. But the moment he saw you, a light found his eyes.

"Y-you're back," he said, stepping into your personal space, his hands hovering near your arms as if he wanted to touch you but was terrified you’d break. "You didn't call me." He frowned. "The whole summer. I called your mom like fifty times, but she told my dad and.... I didn't know if—"

"Rafe," you whispered, looking around frantically. Several girls were watching you from down the hall, whispering behind their hands. "Please. Drop it."

"...Drop it?" Rafe’s voice rose, before he looked around, lowering it. "Are you serious? You almost —"

"I said drop it." you snapped, your voice cracking with an overwhelmed panic. "Just... stop. Seriously."

Rafe flinched as if you’d struck him. The hurt in his eyes was agonizing to look at as he swallowed hard, his hands dropping back to his sides. "Just... tell me you're okay. Alright, just tell me that."

You looked at him, forcing your face into that flat expression that made you look too much like your mother. "I'm fine, Rafe. I'm…medicated now.” You said, shame creeping onto your face. “Everything is taken care of."

You nodded before you turned and walked away, leaving him standing alone in the crowded hallway.

But from that moment on, the dynamic of your friendship shifted into something deeply complicated and dangerously blurred. Rafe was always a step behind you, watching your every move. If you talked to another guy, Rafe was there, staring the guy down until he left. If you sat alone for too long, Rafe would appear, sliding into the seat beside you, his eyes scanning your face for any sign of the vacancy that had preceded that one night.

But while he was trying to watch you, his own life was descending into chaos. The pressure from his father had amplified astronomically. Ward was constantly comparing him to other kids his age, demanding he step up.

And to survive it all, Rafe graduated from beer to hard liquor, and eventually, to prescription pills and whatever else he could buy from the dealers on the Cut.

You noticed. Of course you noticed.

You’d catch him in the parking lot before school, his pupils dilated, his hands twitching against the steering wheel.

"You need to… slow down, Rafe," you told him one afternoon as you both sat in his truck. "You're drinking like a fucking sailor. And everyone’s talking about it..."

Rafe laughed, a bitter sound that made your chest ache. "Everyone drinks.” He muttered. “Topper drinks, Kelce drinks. You drink even though you’re not supposed to…” He trailed off, shooting you a look. The reminder of the bathroom floor hung between you like a knife. You dropped your eyes, swallowing the lump in your throat. “It’s just alcohol. I'm fine."

"It's not just alcohol," you said, your eyes dropping, not elaborating any further.

"You don’t know what you’re talkin’ about" he retorted, his eyes flashing with a sudden anger. "And you don't get to lecture me..."

IT all boiled over during the winter of your junior year.

You rarely went to parties anymore. Your mother preferred you to attend mixers and volunteer events. But on a Friday night in January, your phone wouldn't stop buzzing.

Group chats were lighting up with an address on the north end—a beachfront property under construction. You ignored them, until Kelce, one of Rafe’s friends, had sent you a direct message on snap.

Kelce Hey, u might want to come get Rafe. He’s losing his mind. Thought u were the best person to hit up.

Needing to escape the suffocation of your own house, you slipped on a thick sweater that probably belonged to Rafe, took your car keys, and drove towards him.

The house was a half-finished mansion crawling with hundreds of drunk teenagers. The bass from the speakers was vibrating through the floors as you pushed through the crowd of sweaty kids, your eyes scanning the rooms until you found him.

Rafe was leaning over a glass-topped coffee table, a rolled-up hundred-dollar bill pressed to his nose, as a thick, white line of cocaine vanished up it. You watched as he straightened up, his jaw twitching, his eyes completely bloodshot.

He caught your figure through the crowd of people, his vision zeroing in on you and the look of disapproval on your face. He froze, the rolled bill dropping from his fingers. He looked caught, a sudden flash of panic crossing his features before he quickly masked it with a smug, intoxicated grin.

"Hey," he slurred, getting up and dragging himself over to you. "What’re you doing here? You don't do parties."

You didn't say a word, the reality of how far he had fallen slammed into you. And you could only wonder if it had anything to do with you. You stepped forward, grabbing the collar of his shirt, and dragging him forcefully out of the room. He was high enough that he let you pull him, stumbling down the unfinished staircase and out onto the dark, chilly beach, away from the noise.

The moment the cold sea air hit your face, you let him go, turning on him with a fury you hadn't felt in years.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" you screamed, your voice tearing through the sound of the crashing waves. "Coke, Rafe? Really? Are you trying to kill yourself?"

Rafe laughed, a loud, jarring sound that made your jaw clench. He began pacing the sand, his arms swinging wildly. "Oh, now you care?”

“I always cared—”

“I'm having fun! Everyone does it!"

"No, they don't!" you shrieked, tears of frustration stinging your eyes. "It’s like you’re trying to ruin yourself and I’m sick of being the one to try and help—"

Rafe stopped pacing. He stepped into your space, his face contorting into an expression of unadulterated malice. The coke was burning through his veins, stripping away whatever filters he had left.

"You're sick of me? I’m trying to ruin myself?" he roared, his chest inches from yours. "That's funny…That's really fucking funny coming from you, because finding my best friend on her bathroom floor then not hearing from her for a whole fucking summer will do that! Forgive me for hangin’ out with people that are less fucked up than me and you!"

The words slammed into your chest like a physical blow. It was the unspoken rule. And he had thrown it in your face.

And before you could even think, your hand flew out, the sound of your palm cracking across Rafe’s cheek echoing over the empty beach. The force of the slap turned his head to the side.

The silence that followed was absolute. Rafe didn't move, his cheek turning a violent shade of crimson in the moonlight. He looked down at you, the wild look in his eyes dying out, replaced by a devastating horror at what he had just said.

"So, it’s my fault?" you whispered, your voice shaking so violently you could barely form the words, though your face was still contorted with anger as your eyes welled with tears.

“No.” Rafe's face softened, his hands reaching out for you. “You know I didn’t—”

“Get one of your ‘less fucked up’ friends to take care of you then, asshole,” You spat, voice shaking as you turned and walked toward your car, your heart shattering into a thousand pieces as you hugged yourself.

"Hey! Wait, please!" Rafe’s voice called out behind you, but his shoes slipped in the sand, and he couldn't catch up before you got into your car and threw it into drive, speeding away.

TWO hours later, you were sitting in your bedroom, staring blankly at the ceiling, as music played softly, replaying the argument over and over until a faint scraping sound against your window made you tense.

You stood up, knowing exactly who it was as you pulled back the curtain.

Rafe was standing on the roof, his clothes soaking wet from the midnight rain, his hands gripping the window frame. His face was soft, entirely sobered up by the cold and the reality of what he’d said.

You unlocked the window, pushing it up an inch. "Go away, Rafe.”

"Let me in," he pleaded, his teeth chattering. "Just let me talk to you. C’mon, I'm freezing."

"No," you said, your voice cold. "You threw that shit in my face and basically blamed me for your drugs problems, hey—"

Rafe shoved the window up the rest of the way and scrambled into your room, bringing the cold, wet scent of the rain with him. You backed away, sighing, but he was faster. He caught your wrists, his grip tight, backing you up until your spine hit the bedroom wall.

"I'm sorry, okay?" he whispered frantically, his face inches from yours. He was breathing heavily, his chest rising and falling against yours as you turned your head to the side. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean it. The... it just makes my brain go crazy.” He explained.

“Yeah, cocaine will do that to you,” You sassed, narrowing your eyes at the boy.

He just nodded, accepting the blow. “But I can’t pretend that I'm not scared for you, all the time. I'm scared I'm going to lose you again." Rafe told you, eyes locked on your face. “I know you don’t wanna talk about it, but that shit was scary for me, too. I didn’t know what to do—your mom wouldn’t let me talk to, my dad wouldn’t tell me anything. I…can’t lose you. And I've already come so close once...”

"...You're losing yourself, Rafe," you choked out, looking up into his blue eyes. “And, clearly, you blame me for that—”

“I didn’t mean that.”

“You had to.” You corrected. “Otherwise, you wouldn’t have said it…”

The proximity between you was close to none and you could feel the heat radiating from his skin despite the cold wafting in from the open window. You could smell the faint tang of liquor and the distinct scent of him.

“...It’s not your fault. Okay, I don't blame you,” Rafe reiterated. “It’s my fault for not knowing what to do with myself without you.”

For a second, the lines that had blurred over the years became completely transparent, hanging in the quiet space between your lips.

"Promise me," you whispered, your hand coming up to rest against his wet jacket as you finally looked at him. "Promise me you'll stop the coke. At least. Please."

Rafe stared down at you, his eyes flickering down to your lips. He wanted to promise. He wanted to be the boy who could save you again. But he stood there, silent, just breathing you in, his forehead coming to rest against yours in a silent surrender.

The moment violently broken by the loud buzz of his phone.

Rafe flinched, pulling back just an inch to pull the device from his pocket. The screen illuminated his face, displaying Ward’s name. He answered it, his voice dropping into a tense register. You could tell by his face that the conversation was far from casual or pleasant.

Ward’s voice was loud enough that you could hear the distortion through the speaker. "It's past midnight…Get your ass home. Now." And then the line went dead.

There was a banquet tomorrow and Ward was probably on Rafe’s ass as much as your mother was on yours.

Rafe closed his eyes, a defeated sigh escaping his lips as he lowered the phone. He looked back at you, the tension turning bitter. He moved toward the window, moving to climb back out until your voice traveled across the room, calling his name.

"Try not to make a scene this time," you said softly, referring to his habit of getting into arguments with the older members at these functions.

Rafe paused on the window sill, a slow smirk returning to his face as he looked over his shoulder, his eyes glinting.

"Yeah, make sure you wear enough lipgloss to leave a mark on all the asses you'll be kissing tomorrow," he retorted, his voice dripping with that boyish sarcasm you missed.

You rolled your eyes, a small, involuntary smile tugging at the corner of your lips. "Fuck you."

"In your dreams," he whispered, winking, and then he disappeared into the dark.

THE banquet was like every other mind-frying event. The country club ballroom was packed with Figure Eight’s wealthiest, all dressed in formal attire, smiling and pretending the world outside their island didn't exist.

Your mother had spent the entire morning criticizing your posture, ensuring your dress was flawless, reminding you that you were the face of the family today. You stood by her side for hours, nodding politely to associates, your smile plastered wide.

Across the room, Rafe looked nice in his tailored suit, but you had been watching him all night. Every twenty minutes, he would slip out to the terrace or the men’s lounge, returning with increasingly glassy eyes.

He was sneaking drinks from a silver flask he’d hidden in his jacket, drowning out the feeling of Ward’s watchful eye. By nine, he was visibly swaying, his laughter a little too loud and Ward’s face was turning a dangerous shade of red.

You knew what would happen if Rafe was caught drunk by his father in front of these people. Slipping away from your mother, you intercepted Ward just as he was marching toward Rafe.

"Mr. Cameron," you said, forcing your voice into its sweetest pitch, knowing the man had a sweet spot reserved for you—whether it was real or fake. "I'm so sorry to interrupt, but I’ve actually developed a terrible headache and Rafe offered to drive me home.” You lied, noticing the flare of the older Cameron’s nostrils. “Would it be alright if I stole him away for the evening? I’d hate to make a scene by fainting here."

Ward stopped, his eyes shifting from you to Rafe, who was leaning heavily against a cocktail table.

"...Of course, honey," Ward said, his face smoothing into a charismatic smile. "Take care of yourself.” He squeezed your arm, calling out to his son. “Rafe, get her car keys. Take her straight home." He ordered, fixing Rafe with a sharp, lingering glare.

Ten minutes later, you were in the driver’s seat of your car, the formal gown gathered around your legs, driving back toward Tannyhill while Rafe rode shotgun, the silence in the vehicle thick.

"Why can't you ever just survive the night?" you snapped, sighing as Rafe continued sipping from his flask before you snatched it from his hands and threw it out of the window, your hands returning to grip the steering wheel until your knuckles splintered. "One night, Rafe. Why do you always have to do this?"

“You sound just like him…” Rafe scoffed, leaning his head back against the leather seat, staring out the window at the passing streetlights.

“Don’t ever,” You warned, shooting the boy a warning glance.

"I'm sorry I'm not a perfect little puppet like you.” He slurred. “It must be so nice, huh? Just putting on that fake little smile, talking to those old creeps like they actually give a shit about you."

"Or maybe I think that we both have enough problems that I don’t feel like creating more," you snapped, the frustration boiling over. “ I lied to Ward tonight to protect you, Rafe, like always—"

"I didn't ask for your protection!" he yelled, turning his torso toward you, his breath smelling heavily of bourbon. "I don't need you to save me!"

"Yeah, you kind of do!" you yelled back, your voice cracking as you pulled into the driveway of Tannyhill. The house was empty. "You're a mess—"

"So are you!" he fired back.

You slammed the truck into park, both of you jerking forward as you turned off the ignition. The silence that followed was heavy with the weight of everything. You looked at him—his tie was loosened, his suit jacket wrinkled, his face beautiful.

You sighed, not wanting to argue, especially not when he was drunk. You composed yourself and kept your comments to yourself as you opened the driver’s side door.

"Come on," you whispered, the anger draining out of you, leaving only exhaustion. “I’m not arguing with you.”

You helped him out of the truck, his heavy arm draping over your shoulders for support. You guided him through the door of Tannyhill and up the stairs to his bedroom, the room you had spent half your childhood playing in.

You pushed him gently onto the mattress as he collapsed backward, groaning as he kicked his legs up.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, you leaned over him, your fingers working efficiently to unbutton his stiff collar and pull the tie from his neck. You reached down, unlacing his formal shoes and sliding them off his feet, before pulling his heavy suit jacket off his shoulders.

Rafe watched you through sleepy, hooded eyes. “...’M sorry for yelling at you,” The alcohol had slowed his rage, leaving behind that flirtation that always hovered when you were alone.

“It’s fine, Rafe.”

He reached up, his fingers catching a loose strand of your hair, twisting it gently. "...You look really pretty in that dress," he murmured. "Even if it's for them. You're the prettiest girl on this stupid island. To me."

Your heart skipped a beat as you swallowed hard, your fingers freezing on his shirt cuff. "You're drunk, Rafe."

"I am," he whispered, a drunken, lopsided smile spreading across his lips as he tugged lightly on your hair, pulling your face a few inches closer to his. "But I'm not blind.” He defended. “Just stay here. Just for tonight."

It was the line you had been dancing around for years—the blurred boundary between best friends who saved each other's lives and two people who were destructively in love. But you looked at his glassy eyes, heard the faint slur in his voice, and you knew you couldn't cross it.

Not like this. Not while he was using alcohol to escape the reality of who he was. To love him now would mean drowning with him. And you were already drowning all on your own.

You gently detached his fingers from your hair, placing his hand back on his chest.

"I can’t,” You forced out. “Goodnight, Rafe,"

He stared at you for a long moment, a flash of heartbreak crossing his features before his eyelids grew too heavy to hold open. Within minutes, his breathing evened out as he fell asleep.

You stood up, smoothing down your gown, taking a deep breath as you walked out of Tannyhill with a heavy, aching chest, driving yourself back home—ready to receive a mouthful from your mother the next morning for leaving.

THE next two years were a blur.

As junior and senior year passed, the mirrors of your lives grew increasingly warped.

Rafe got worse. The cocaine became a regular habit, his debts to local dealers grew, and his outbursts at Tannyhill became almost daily.

You got worse in the opposite direction. You became the absolute pinnacle of perfection. You won the academic awards, you chaired the charity galas, you became the perfect daughter your mother had always envisioned…at the cost of whoever you really were.

You hid your depression behind a wall of prescription pills and big events.

Rafe hid his troubles and flaws behind white lines and empty bottles.

You screamed at each other on weekends— arguments where you tore each other’s choices to shreds—and then you would show up at each other’s windows on Sunday nights, because the rest of the world was a lie, and you were the only two people who knew the truth.

You both applied to the same university. It wasn't discussed. But it wasn’t accidental. Neither of you could survive where the other wasn't.

On the scorching hot morning of your high school graduation, the country club lawn was decorated with white tents and rows of folding chairs. The families of Kildare were gathered to celebrate the bright futures of their children.

You had just received your diploma, your mother nodding with a stiff approval from the front row and as the crowd dissolved, Rafe found you by the edge of the veranda you’d met near all those years ago. He was wearing his graduation cap crookedly, his gown open over his suit. He looked even older—the sharp lines of his jaw completely formed, shoulders broad, a map of muscles. But when he looked at you, the boy from fifth grade was still there, buried deep beneath.

"Well," he said, stepping into your space, his hand coming to rest on the small of your back. "We're out."

"We're out," you agreed, the weight of the college years ahead pressing down on your chest as a professional photographer hired by the school approached, his camera raised.

"Smile, kids!” He urged. “And congrats!"

Rafe’s arm slid around your waist, his grip tightening, pulling your side flush against his. You turned toward the lens, your posture straight, your face instantly smoothing into that perfect, practiced smile. Rafe leaned in, his jaw tightening as he forced his own confident smirk for the cameras.

The flash went off, capturing the two of you.

To anyone, you looked like the epitome of privilege and success.

Nobody would ever know about the bathroom floor, the white lines, the bruises or the empty bottles.

You stood side-by-side, your bodies locked together, completely unaware of how much more complicated your lives were bound to get.

part two

feedback is appreciated! thanks for reading.

©loveharlow

#loveharlow

suncoved

STICKS AND STONES!— FRAT!RAFE CAMERON

pairing; frat!rafe cameron x fem!reader

summary; Whispers around campus that remind you of Rafe's player past and his less than squeaky clean reputation leads you to play the silent game with your loving boyfriend. When he's finally had enough of your ghosting, an argument sparks that leads you do something you never thought you would do, break up with Rafe.

warnings; angsty times, BAD COMMUNICATION!!!, slightly mean!rafe. i have already started writing part two and will probably merge them into one fic in the future, i just wanted to share this with you all asap!

You never let Rafe's reputation drown out the constant acts of love he had shown you during your relationship.

I mean, sure, it was hard to fully trust his motives when he first asked you out. But after his 5th attempt and you 4th rejection, you let yourself fall in love with him on your first date at a diner outside of campus.

He didn't blame you of course.

Everyone that attended your college knew who Rafe Cameron was.

Star Quarterback, Fraternity President, and the biggest fuckboy on campus.

It's not like he hadn't earned the reputation that had been stamped onto him. Girls flocked to him, at his beck and call. He had been known to have made girls perform the walk of shame out of his dorm room a few times a week, holding their heels and giddy due to getting Rafe's attention.

Rafe Cameron didn't date.

Until you.

You didn't know the effect you had on him until you met his sisters, who confessed to you that they had never seen Rafe this stable. This happy.

After one night of far too many beer pong rounds and shots of expensive vodka, you dragged him to bed while he continued babbling into your ear about how lucky he was to have you, and that he didn't deserve you.

To him, you took his hand and led him out of the darkness and showed him that love actually did exist, and it could only exist to him in the form of you.

He had never once in your relationship made you feel like you couldn't trust him, having no interest whatsoever in any other girl but his.

But when you heard rumours floating around about his past and his old escapades, you couldn't help but feel like you were just something to toy around with for fun.

It was your 3rd class of the day, and thankfully your last for this week. It was a Friday and the end to a gruelling week of non-stop assignments and frankly, you were utterly exhausted.

Pushing through, you put all your effort into listening to your professor drone on and on about authorial intentions for your English Literature class.

Your pen felt like a thousand tons in your hand as you scribbled down notes that you were sure were going to make no sense to you when you reread them.

The door to the lecture room suddenly slammed open as someone walked into class 20 minutes late. You didn't even lift your head at the sound, your eyes stuck to your notebook.

Chairs scraped close to you as the person sat in the row just behind yours. Hushed voices began echoing in the air as the group of girls behind you began to talk to the person who just arrived.

"Everywhere i went, i swear he was there too. He just wouldn't leave me alone the whole party" One of them whispered.

"Oh, he wants you back bad babe. I mean, he'd be stupid to let you go" Someone else replied

You could almost hear how hard your friend Jamie was rolling his eyes beside you at their not very quiet whispers.

"I know! I mean we fucked nearly 6 months ago and then he full-on ghosted me! The next time i saw him, he didn't even remember my name, now he wants me again!" The girl replied, her voice close to a whine.

"I mean, he is known for being quite the dick." One replied back

"Well, yeah. But he's also known for his dick period." Another quipped, making you quirk your lips up in amusement at their conversation.

You thought it was quite entertaining actually, well, more entertaining than anything your professor had to say today. I mean, a little eavesdropping never hurt anybody, right?

"Wait, who are we talking about?" A new voice asked behind you to her friends.

"Rafe Cameron"

You could almost hear your heartbeat rise at that statement, your face instantly dropping along with the pen that was previously in your hand.

Rafe?

"No way! He forgot your name after too?" The same voice replied from hearing Rafe's name.

"I can't lie though, i would let him do it again. That boy is a fucking god in bed"

"Right!"

"I heard he has a girlfriend now"

"What!" "No way" "As if"

"He's probably just keeping her around for fun, then when he gets bored, he'll just throw her to the curb and act like she never existed"

You could feel the tears begin to well up in your eyes as you stared straight forward, not daring to turn around and look at the girls behind you that were now discussing how hot your boyfriend was, and how there was no way the Rafe Cameron had a girlfriend.

"Want me to tell them to pipe the fuck down about your man?" Jamie whispered to you, leaning in so only you could hear him.

You shook your head immediately, your mind racing and your palms getting sweaty.

You trusted Rafe with everything, and you knew his past didn't reflect on the man he was to you. But, in this moment, you couldn't help but feel insecurity bubble up inside of you at the conversation you were overhearing.

Your mind drowned out everything around you, especially the girl's voices behind you. But also including your professors voice announcing the end of class and bidding everyone a good weekend.

Before you could realise, the only people that remained were you and Jamie in the lecture hall.

"Hey, don't listen to that shit, ok? They are just trying to get attention from anyone and everyone because they are miserable" Jamie voiced as you quickly gathered your books and shoved them into your bag.

"Yeah, i guess" You replied, walking with him to the door and out into the hallway.

"Listen, I know how you get. So, please try to talk to Rafe about it, or even just me, anyone really. Don't start overthinking, yeah?"

You absentmindedly bit your lip in anxiety at Jamie's statement, of course you were going to overthink!

Jamie walked with you as far as he could before you got to the entrance of your dorm building, wrapping you in a bear hug before saying goodbye.

As you walked up the stairs to your dorm, your mind reeled with thoughs about you and Rafe. Questioning why out of all girls he would choose to date you, choose you to be the girl that he would break his no dating rule for.

Your thoughts were interuppted by your phone bussing aggresivly in your pocket, your hand reaching for it and bringing it into view.

Rafey 💞

u comin to watch my practice baby?

want u to sleep over after

You sighed as you read the message, making sure not to open the app so he hadn't seen you read it.

Letting out a huff to no one but yourself, you unlocked your dorm and threw off your shoes in a hast before dramatically flopping onto your bed.

You knew you needed to talk to Rafe about it. To communicate this in a healthy way like adults.

But sometimes, it doesn't always turn out that way.

A few hours passed, and Rafe's messages were still left standing idly in your inbox. You used the stress and turmoil of the last hour to sit in your bed with a box of chocolates you had stashed from the last time Rafe gave you a suprise gift, then realised how pathetic you looked and rage cleaned your room for the next 2 hours.

You could hear your phone buzz on your bedside table as you decided whether it would be a good idea to shift around all of your heavy furniture by yourself on a limb.

You knew it had to be Rafe, wondering why you weren't replying and whining that he missed you.

On Fridays, You always watched Rafe's football practice after your last class ended. Then, he would often take you to dinner somewhere near campus and you would sleepover after.

Rafe wasn't clingy per-say... but your shift in this routine lead him to send a string of texts littered with sarcastic angry faces and crying emojis.

The rest of your night after your non-spring deep clean consisted of a scolding shower and you tucking yourself into bed before 8 oclock.

This, unfortunately, gave you ample time to lay there with your thoughts.

He just wouldn't leave me alone the whole party

He wants you back bad babe

He's probably just keeping her around for fun

When he gets bored he'll just throw her to the curb

And act like she never existed

The words you overheard from the girls behind you in class stuck to you like superglue, clinging onto any insecure thoughts you thought were long gone and dragging them up to the surface.

You knew Rafe loved you, and you loved him. But it didn't take much to break down the dam that was holding the vulnerability you had about his past to break.

The weekend went by without any contact with Rafe, dragging yourself out on walks and to the library with your friends to avoid wallowing alone in your dorm room.

You didn't miss the multitude of Rafe's texts that flooded your phone, choosing to mute any notifications you were getting to try to avoid the issues with your feelings in your relationship you knew you had to soon face.

And that soon, was now.

You had just finished your first class of the week, trudging out of the hall of your 9am Monday lecture and now right outside your dorm. You planned on going straight back to bed after it, evident in your lack of effort to dress up for class and just clad in your comfy hoodie and leggings.

You were still in a battle with your bag while fishing for your dorm key when you felt a hand grab onto yours and drag you out of the hallway and into your dorm room. Now you regret giving him a key.

You looked up swiftly, your face laced with shock as he shut the door behind him.

Stood before you was a still perfect, but slightly dishevelled version of your boyfriend. Not enough for anyone but you to notice.

Rafe stood in his signature look, a baseball cap resting backwards on his head and his letterman jacket slung over his frame. Though, His eyes looked more tired than usual, and his hands were slightly shaking.

"What the fuck is happening?" Rafe asked, all the non-existent composure he had flying out the window with his biting tone.

You looked back at him dumb founded, shocked by his tone and choice of words despite your recent obvious ghosting. "What are you talking about?" You asked, deciding in the panic to take the immature route.

Rafe rolled his eyes in response, running his tounge over his teeth and nodding subtly to himself. "I'm talking about the fact that my girlfriend has been ignoring me for the past 3 fucking days. Ring any bells?"

"I haven't been ignoring you Rafe. I've just been really busy" You lied through your teeth, looking down at your feet to avoid facing him.

You knew if you looked into his eyes for just a second too long you would break and spill out all your insecurities and the reason they had risen. You thought it was pathetic, feeling the way you did over a few overheard comments from girls you didn't even know.

"That's bullshit and you know it" He replied, getting angrier by the second that something was clearly going on with you, and you wouldn't tell him what it was.

"Look, baby, just tell me what's going on so i can fix it. Please. " he continued, growing more desperate the longer you continued to avoid eye contact with him.

Rafe reached out to you, collecting your hands in his own and forcing you to look at him.

Him calling you baby, like he had always done even before your relationship, first struck a cord in your heart of tenderness and love. But, that feeling quickly turned into vulnerability as the thought of the hundreds of girls before you that he had also called that.

You weren't the jealous type. But in this moment, you would rather feel jealously than the sense of mistrust of Rafe's true intentions in your relationship you felt for in this moment. Mistrust that, in reality, Rafe had done nothing to cause.

"Baby" He croaked out at your silence, watching as the dangerous thoughts swirled around in your head with a look that felt like he could hear them aloud.

Your eyes welled with tears at the nickname he had repeated, pulling your hands out of his in one swift motion. The look on his face alone at your action felt like a dagger in your heart, his expression growing more heartbroken and helpless by the second.

"We need to take a break." You announced, the words tumbling out before you could truly understand what they meant.

"What?" Rafe replied, wondering if he was now stuck in a nightmare due to your statement. "Are you being serious?"

"I-I just think we both need sometime to think if we make sense together anymore. We are both such different people." You continued, now in a spiral of insecurity that led to the thing you do best, isolation.

"Who is we?" He replied, his words again raising in volume and his tone harshening. "I don't need time to think about anything. I don't want us to break up, I-its the last thing i would ever want." Rafe continued, his words now breaking in his throat in hurt and desperation.

"Well, It's what i want"

Your words cut through him like a dagger. The declaration sucking all emotion out of him in an instant as his expression hardened into a blank stare. His eyes now holding no emotion.

"Okay" Rafe replied, turning around and opening the door as if he had no care in the world for had just transpired.

Tears were now streaming down your face with a vigour that showed no signs of stopping any time soon as you watched him pause in the door way of your dorm.

He turned around to look at you, staring for what felt like a century before speaking.

"You know i love you. More than anything in this whole fucking world. So, When you're done with this fucking game your playing at, and you're ready to tell me what the hell is going on with you, like an adult, come find me."

He ended his words with a swift slam of your door as he walked out, causing you to jump. The air felt thick as you stood alone in your dorm that suddenly had a chill that sent shivers down your spine.

The tears continued to fall rapidly down your face. Tears spurred on by a situation you had caused.

You had no one to blame but yourself.

As you stood almost paralysed in the middle of your empty dorm that fact lodged itself in your heart, right in the middle of the love you would never stop feeling for Rafe Cameron.

#suncoved #frat!rafe

bookishbelle2312

DROWNING IN HIM (PART 1)

pairing: kook!Rafe x pogue!ptsd!Reader - no use of y/n, no description of reader, pic for aesthetics only

summary: after falling off a boat during a storm, you'd given up adventuring with the pogues. and dating all together. but the nightmares and panic attacks stayed with you all these years. you beared it alone, until an unlikely kook keeps showing up when you need help.

wc: 3.4k

warnings: 18+ due to heavy subject matter and some smut later, angst, panic attack

a/n: I'm so happy to be writing a reader series that involves the pogues more, this has been so fun! ptsd/panic attack/anxiety girlies, I see you, I'm with you, and this is for you. enjoy loves!

banner: @/rumbleonthemill

“Come on, please. It’s Friday night.” Kiara begs over the phone. “Put down the books and party with me while I’m in OBX.”

“I really shouldn’t.” You sigh, flipping the pages of your Statistics textbook to the next practice problem. “Can’t we just get brunch tomorrow?”

“You know JJ will be too hungover.” You could picture her eyeroll and found yourself smiling. She really only came back to visit him most of the time. Long distance was tough.

“I’m surprised you want to go to a Killdare party. I’m sure UNC parties are much better.”

“Oh, they are,” Kiara insists. “But I gotta see my Pogues. Brought Pope down with me this time. Figure we could have a whole reunion.”

#bookishbelle2312

starkeymeow

— CRASH COURSE

PLOT After a near-fatal car accident, Rafe wakes up with memory loss, remembering only you as the last person he loved. Now, he trusts no one but you, even as his family tries to keep you away, forcing you both to navigate the fragile line between past and present.

CONTENT CHAPTER TWO, car accident / trauma, memory loss, bf rafe cameron and gf reader, more to come !

MAIN | SERIES | NEW TAGLIST FORM * | LAST

the next few days pass in a haze that leaves you feeling disconnected from your own life. every morning starts with the same drive to the hospital. doctors come and go carrying clipboards and scans, nurses adjust medications and check vitals, and somewhere between all of it, rafe continues waking up every day believing exactly what he believed the day before.

there are no sudden breakthroughs, no dramatic returns of memory, no miraculous moment where everything falls back into place. there is only repetition, and the longer it continues, the more dangerous it becomes because everyone is getting used to it.

you watch him improve in small ways that are easy to miss if you aren’t paying attention. the bruising along his jaw fades from dark purple into dull yellow, the cuts across his arms begin to knit together, and the stiffness in his movements slowly disappears until he no longer looks like someone who crawled out of a wrecked vehicle.

each improvement should make you feel relieved, and part of you is relieved because despite everything that happened between you, you never wanted him hurt. another part of you feels a growing sense of dread every time a doctor smiles and says he’s progressing well. the healthier he becomes, the less the hospital can justify keeping him here, and the less the hospital can justify keeping him here, the closer everyone gets to facing problems that white walls have been temporarily hiding.

#starkeymeow

nadvs

like fuel to fire (part eight) (end)

pairing fratboy! rafe cameron x kook!sororitygirl! reader

rating explicit 18+

summary when rafe’s friends bet that he can’t charm you into sleeping with him, he can’t say no to the challenge. he has no idea that you decide to make a game out of his advances. you have a secret bet to win, too. and you’re determined to break his heart.

< prev

#lftf

Trending Blogs

Recently Viewed Blogs

Only Hoax I Believe In