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CAUGHT ON CAMERA

you and rafe navigating through the chaos of coachella, where a single moment turns into something bigger than either of you could’ve ever imagined. one stolen glance, one spontaneous dance, and suddenly the world can’t stop watching. from the sparkle of the crowd to the flash of cameras, your love story becomes more than just a secret between the two of you, it’s a viral sensation.

a collection of one-shots / stand-alones that capture the chaos of the world’s new it couple.

#𐚁̸ 𓆸͙ ᖭི༏ᖫྀ ˚ caughtoncamera + #influencer!reader +#rafechella2025

𐚁̸ 𓆸͙ ᖭི༏ᖫྀ ˚

{ couples interview } ; { dj booth } ; { agora hills } ; { back off } ; { } ; { } ;

loveharlow

SEX ON THE BEACH

Receipts and Recouplings (Day 5+6)

SYNOPSIS‧₊˚ Tensions boil over in the villa as a messy "Dirty Laundry" challenge exposes hidden truths, and as fractured alliances lead to screaming matches at the fire pit, a surprise voting twist offers the remaining couples a temporary moment of relief

WARNING(S)‧₊˚ swearing, verbal altercations,

˗ˏˋ series masterlist ˎˊ˗

THE morning air was always crisp before the humidity settled in. You woke up slowly, the gentle swaying of the outdoor daybed duvet almost forcing you back to sleep. For a second, you forgot you were surrounded by dozens of hidden cameras and a production crew, tracking your every breath. All you knew was the heavy, comforting weight of Rafe’s arm draped over your waist, his chest pressed firmly against your back as his breath floated over the skin of your neck.

xoxosblogsblog

awhhh obsessed

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

xoxosblogsblog

utter perfection. thus read so well the emotions angst pain was all there love this so so much

starkeymeow

❛ we make each other alive . .

does it matter if it hurts? ❜

I’M COMING, WAIT FOR ME.

PLOT you enter the hunger games a proud weapon of your district, only to find your sharpest blade is the boy beside you, and you’re not sure which one of you the capitol wants to break first.

CONTENT chapter thirty-two, best read in dark mode, rafe cameron x reader au, rafe being tortured by jabberjays, reminding me that y/n has to be the one captured soon im gna cry, small rafe & y/n moment to rmbr that theyre tg honest (edit: hi i didnt know i wrote so much of this draft already so ill finish it off and release w no mistakes hopefully)

main masterlist | series ml | tag list | previous

you’re crouched low in the sand, pressed into the shade of a tree whose branches dip so far down they nearly brush the ground. finnick has his chest braced against the trunk while peeta sits across from him, resting on a root.

“so besides castella and harmon, who’s left?” katniss asks.

your head perks up. castella and harmon. your first time hearing their names said aloud. it hits you in some way, proof that katniss truly had done her research before this.

“maybe chaff,” peeta says. “just those three.”

“they know they’re outnumbered. i doubt they’ll attack again,” finnick adds, rolling a bit of sand between his fingertips.

“seven against two?” rafe’s voice cuts in low, and for a second his eyes flash toward the group like he’s measuring them all out.

“we’re safe here on the beach,” finnick finishes with a nod.

“so what do we do? we hunt ’em down?” johanna throws out, itching for something to do. you don’t blame her for being the one to kill cashmere earlier. she spent all that time trying to keep wiress and the others alive, just for her to go like that.

but before anyone can answer, a scream rips through the air, cutting from the jungle. it’s a girl’s scream.

xoxosblogsblog

girl I LOVE rhis series

loveharlow

SEX ON THE BEACH

Muggy Mornings and Moonlit Pasts (Day 3+4)

SYNOPSIS‧₊˚ [6.2k] The heat in the villa reaches a breaking point as Day Three brings hidden betrayals to light. You and Rafe solidify your bond while the villa’s existing loyalties crumble around you.

WARNING(S)‧₊˚ swearing, mentions of parental neglect/abuse, mentions of grief/loss/death, mentions of past trauma, reference to substance use

˗ˏˋ series masterlist ˎˊ˗

THE MORNING LIGHT in the villa always felt a little too aggressive, draping itself over the scenery like it was personally offended you were still asleep. You felt a dull ache in your back from the hammock, but the memory of Rafe’s arms wrapped around you acted like a shot of espresso to your heart. You’d managed to sneak back into your bed next to JJ just before the sun peaked, but you weren’t exactly stealthy.

xoxosblogsblog

ahhhb cute

loveharlow

SEX ON THE BEACH

The Deep End (Day 1+2)

SYNOPSIS‧₊˚ [6k] After making a splash in the "Kiss and Tell" challenge, you find yourself drawn to the magnetic but "taken" Rafe Cameron.

WARNING(S)‧₊˚ ruthie's a mean girl, deception, swearing, suggestive content, emotional stress, not proofread ywt

˗ˏˋ series masterlist ˎˊ˗

“IT’S OUR COUPLES FIRST NIGHT IN THE VILLA. As our four couples sit shaking in their seats, our lovely Ariana is waiting to give them their first challenge.”

xoxosblogsblog

omg girl. this is phenomenal 👏

bittersweetlyblue

rafe getting angry over you talking with some dude in a bar and ignoring you :<

the bar is loud, packed, bodies pressed too close together, but all you can focus on is rafe. or — trying to focus on rafe.

because he won’t even look at you.

you spot him across the room, leaning against the bar like always, drink in hand — but the second your eyes land on him, you know something’s off.

he’s seen you.

you know he has. but he looks right past you, like you’re not even there.

at first, you frown. confused. then a little annoyed. so you try again. you walk over, stopping just beside him. “rafe?”

nothing. he takes a slow sip of his drink, eyes fixed ahead, completely ignoring you.

your chest tightens. “rafe,” you try again, softer this time.

still nothing.

you shift closer, nudging his arm slightly. “hey — what’s your problem?”

he exhales through his nose, slow, like you’re the one bothering him. finally, he glances at you. just for a second.

flat. unreadable. then looks away again. that hurts more than it should.

“seriously?” you mutter. “you’re just gonna ignore me?”

no response. you swallow, frustration mixing with something a little more desperate now, stepping in front of him so he has to look at you.

“rafe, look at me.”

his jaw tightens. he looks at you, finally. but there’s something sharp in his eyes.

“what?” he says, low.

you blink, thrown off by the tone. “what do you mean what? you’ve been ignoring me —”

he lets out a quiet scoff, shaking his head slightly. “funny.”

“what?”

he tilts his head, eyes narrowing just a fraction.

“you didn’t seem to have a problem ignoring me five minutes ago.”

oh. your stomach drops slightly. “i wasn’t—”

“you were,” he cuts in, calm but edged. “standing over there, laughing with some random guy like i wasn’t even in the room.”

you hesitate. “i didn’t see you.”

“yeah,” he says flatly. “that’s kind of the point.”

there’s a beat, and suddenly the tension makes sense.

“so you’re ignoring me back?” you ask, a little incredulous.

he shrugs, taking another sip of his drink. “thought i’d see how you like it.”

your chest tightens properly this time. “rafe, that’s not the same —”

he doesn’t answer. just looks away again like he’s done with the conversation.

that gets to you. you step closer, voice dropping, softer now, almost pleading. “rafe, come on. don’t do that.”

no response. you reach for his arm, fingers curling lightly around his sleeve. “i’m talking to you.”

he still doesn’t look.

“please.”

that does it. his shoulders shift slightly, like something in him gives, just a fraction. a quiet sigh leaves him, heavier this time, like he’s been holding it in.

then he finally turns his head, looking down at you properly.

“you’re annoying, you know that?” he mutters, but there’s less bite in it now.

you don’t let go of his arm. “you started it.”

he huffs, running a hand through his hair, frustration still there but dulled now, replaced with something else.

something softer.

“you didn’t even look at me,” he says, quieter this time.

your grip tightens slightly. “i told you, i didn’t see you.”

he studies your face for a second, like he’s trying to decide if he believes you. then his gaze drops briefly to your hand on his arm. “yeah,” he mutters.

there’s a pause. then his hand comes up, settling low on your back, pulling you just a little closer like it’s instinct, like he can’t not.

“just — don’t pull that shit again,” he says under his breath.

you nod slightly. “then don’t ignore me.”

a small, almost reluctant smirk tugs at his mouth.

“we’ll see.”

xoxosblogsblog

new fave

severedlamb

rafe just can't stop kissing you ♥︎ .

warnings: none!

rafe hadn't stopped giving you kisses since he showed up at your apartment earlier that evening.

it started out with soft pecks all over your face that left you in giggles, and soon turned into a full blown makeout session that rafe wasn't going to stop any time soon.

you had somehow managed to free yourself, coming up for a gasp of some much needed air time. rafe would keep this up all night if he could, so this was your only chance.

xoxosblogsblog

so frickin cute

bittersweetlyblue

Heyy idk if you’ve seen the pheromone perfume prank on TikTok but it’s basically a perfume that makes your partner super attracted to you. Rafe is going out with Top and Kelce and we really don’t want him to leave so while he’s getting ready to leave after about 30 minutes of begging him to stay, we get in a cute comfy outfit like as low cut tank and some sleep shorts or smt and put on the pheromone perfume and while he’s kissing us goodbye he smells it on us and asks what that smell is and we act all oblivious. He is now hellllla turned on and has completely forgotten about his friends

"they can wait"

bf!rafe x fem reader // perfume prank

rafe is by the door grabbing his keys, already halfway out. top and kelce have been blowing up his phone telling him to hurry up. you’ve spent the last thirty minutes half begging, half teasing him to stay.

"come on, just one night," you say, leaning against the doorway with a little pout. "they’ll survive without you."

he laughs, shaking his head while slipping his jacket on. "nice try. i already told them i’d go."

you disappear for a minute, then come back out in a cute comfy outfit — soft sleep shorts and a low-cut tank, hair a little messy like you’re settling in for the night. you’d sprayed on your favorite perfume earlier, something warm and sweet that lingers just a little in the air.

rafe glances over while he’s checking his phone.

and just stops.

"what?" you ask, pretending not to notice the way he’s suddenly staring.

he takes a few steps closer, brow furrowing slightly like he’s trying to figure something out. “what is that smell?”

you blink innocently. “what smell?”

"that—" he leans in a little closer, catching it again. his hand finds your waist without him even thinking about it as he kisses your forehead, then sniffs like a dog. "your perfume."

you shrug lightly like it’s nothing. "just my normal one."

for a second he’s quiet, looking at you like he’s suddenly reconsidering every plan he had tonight. his phone buzzes again with another message from top.

rafe glances at the screen . . . then slowly flips the phone face-down on the table.

"they can wait," he mutters, pulling you a little closer like he’s already forgotten he was about to leave before yanking the both of you onto his bed.

do not copy, translate or edit my work as your own nor feed it into anything for your amusement.

xoxosblogsblog

ahh I love this trend

bittersweetlyblue

rafe cameron x reader angst p2

authors note: so sorry for postponing this late because i got carried away with other stuff but heres the part two !! part one is here

warnings: none !!

you woke up the next morning to puffy eyes.

the rest of last night was a blurr. you remembered muttering something incoherently to the blurred faces of your concerned parents before collapsing onto your bed. but what happened last night rings in your head, clear as day.

you and rafe were over.

you took a shower. brushed your teeth. did anything except think about him. journalled and roll over on your bed and stretch. anything but touch your phone that was set down under your bed that you didnt switch off but can still hear notifications coming through.

hearing another call go through before going straight to your voicemail, you sighed and gave in to the urge, reaching under your bed and grabbing your phone.

there were over 100+ notifications from rafe, his name still unchanged:

rafe ❤️: baby im so sorry

rafe ❤️: y/n

rafe ❤️: please forgive me

rafe ❤️: i was drunk y/n

rafe ❤️: i wasnt thinking

rafe ❤️: please im so sorry i screwed up

rafe ❤️: give me one chance

you inhaled loudly, running a hand down your face before chucking it across your duvet and burrowing your head into your pillow. while you know he is sorry - because rafe cameron almost never apologised - what he said still stings.

school tomorrow is going to suck.

when you get there, unsurprisngly, you saw rafe waiting by the school entrance, flowers in his hands, massive arms folded. you got out of kiara, who offered to give you a lift, car. you cant stop your eyes meeting his baby blue ones that widen and soften when he saw you, taking a step forward.

he beegan to walk after you, eyes earnest like a puppy. but the cruelty of his words slapped you back to the present. kie saw this and exchanged a look with you before you go the longer route into school, or namely the one that doesnt involve you having to talk to him at the moment.

"y/n." you turned, seeing rafe jogg up to you.

well, shit. you know it was gonna happen now. trying not to, you speed up your pace and attempted to ignore him, but he gripped your wrist so gently you cant help but stop. "y/n, please."

you yanked your arm till he dropped his grip, turning around and seeing in your surroundings now that it wasjust you two. "fuck off."

"y/n. i was drunk and i am so, so -"

"dont say youre sorry." you snapped sharply. he didnt seem to hear you.

"baby, give me two minutes." he pleaded.

you crossed your arms in response, shifting your weight. the wind blew your hair into your face and he inhaled.

"i was drunk, okay? and i didnt mean any of it. you arent like your father. youre the most beautiful person ive ever met, inside and out, and you dont compare to that piece of shit. im not justifying what i said, but you deserve to have an explanation of why i keep drinking. i drink because it shuts everything up,” he continued, voice rough. “my head, my dad, everything. when i’m sober it’s like -" he let out a short laugh that held no humor. “it’s like i can hear every mistake i’ve ever made.”

you had looked at him then, really looked. his eyes were red, not just from last night. from not sleeping.

“that doesn’t give you the right to say that to me,” you said quietly.

his face fell immediately. “i know.”

“you compared me to my dad, rafe.” the words came out steadier than you felt. “do you know how fucked that is?”

he nodded quickly, stepping closer but stopping himself halfway when you didn’t move. “i know. i know it is. and i hate myself for it.”

the wind had rustled through the trees lining the school path. people were starting to walk past now, but neither of you moved.

“i didn’t mean it,” he said again, softer this time. “i was angry and drunk and i took it out on you. and you didn’t deserve that. you never do.”

you had swallowed, looking away from him toward the school building.

“y/n,” he murmured. “please look at me.”

against your better judgment, you dod.

“i know saying sorry doesn’t fix it,” he continued. “but i am. i’m really fucking sorry. i’d take it back if i could. i would never want to hurt you like that.”

you had let out a slow breath. part of you wanted to scream at him again. another part of you wanted to believe him, the love of your life.

and that was the worst part. because rafe cameron almost never apologized.

yet here he was, standing in front of you with crumpled flowers in his hands and guilt written all over his face.

“i’m not asking you to forgive me right now,” he said when you stayed quiet. “just… don’t shut me out completely.”

your fingers had curled into your sleeves. you saw kiara across the green, giving you an anxious look but you nodded to her in encouragement. “i don’t know if i can just pretend it didn’t happen,” you had admitted.

“i’m not asking you to.”

he had hesitated before holding the flowers out slightly, like he wasn’t even sure he deserved to give them to you.

“i just want the chance to make it right.”

you stared at the flowers for a long moment. then back at him, swallowing.

the silence stretched between you like an elastic band on its last edges.

rafe shifted where he stood, clearly fighting the urge to reach for you again. his fingers tightened around the stems, knuckles pale.

“say something,” he muttered quietly.

you exhaled through your nose, looking down at the ground before meeting his eyes again. "you really fucked up."

"i know."

"like… badly."

"yeah," he nodded quickly. "i know."

another pause.

his eyes searched your face like he was trying to read every thought passing through your head. like he was bracing for the moment you told him to get lost for good.

you rubbed a hand over your face. "you compared me to my dad, rafe.”

his jaw clenched again. "i know."

"that’s not something you just say."

"i know," he repeated, voice rougher now. "and i hate that i said it."

you studied him. really studied him.

he looked wrecked. dark circles under his eyes, hair messy like he’d been running his hands through it all morning, shoulders tense.

rafe cameron looked nervous. that alone almost made you laugh because in your relationship your boyfriend was for from that.

"you’ve been blowing up my phone all morning." you said.

"all night," he corrected quietly.

you raised a brow.

"i didn’t sleep," he admitted. "i thought if i stopped calling you’d think i gave up."

you sighed, looking away again.

the anger was still there. the sting of his words still sat in your chest. but the way he was looking at you - open , desperate, completely stripped of his usual arrogance - made it harder to keep the wall up.

"you’re an idiot," you muttered.

a small breath of relief left him, like the insult alone gave him hope. "yeah."

you hesitated before finally taking the flowers from his hand.

his shoulders dropped immediately, like a weight lifted off them.

"this doesn’t mean i’m magically over it," you warned.

"i know," he said quickly.

"and you’re still on thin ice."

"that’s fair." he agreed quickly.

you looked at the flowers in your hands before glancing back up at him. "you’re gonna have to work really hard to make this up to me."

"i will," he said instantly. "whatever it takes."

you rolled your eyes slightly. "don’t say that like you’re signing a contract."

"i’m serious."

you knew he was. another moment passed before you stepped a little closer to him. not much. just enough that the distance didn’t feel like a canyon anymore.

rafe looked down at you carefully, like you might bolt if he moved too fast.

"can i hug you?" he asked quietly.

you hesitated. "fine. but if you say anything stupid again i’m kneeing you."

"understood."

the second you stepped into him, his arms wrapped around you like he’d been holding himself back for hours. his face buried into your hair as he let out a shaky breath.

"i’m really sorry,”"he murmured against your head.

you closed your eyes, letting yourself relax into him for a moment.

"i know."

his arms tightened slightly, like he was afraid you’d disappear if he let go.

after a second you pulled back, pointing a finger at his chest. "don’t make me regret forgiving you."

"never," he said quickly.

you narrowed your eyes. “that sounded suspiciously confident.”

"because i’m gonna behave."

"you?" you snorted.

he smiled a little then - the first real one since you’d walked up.

"yeah," he said. "for you."

you shook your head, but a small smile slipped out anyway.

"come on," you muttered, starting toward the school building.

he fell into step beside you immediately, careful not to touch you unless you reached for him first.

which you did.

just briefly.

your fingers brushed his hand before lacing with it. and the relieved look on rafe’s face was almost embarrassing.

but you knew you two were going to make up. no matter what happened, the pair of you would always find each other again.

do not copy, translate or edit my work as your own please!

taglist: @emilylolll , @midnightalbatross , @bambimads ,

@hihohihololhahagirll , @lillell467

xoxosblogsblog

ahhh cuties

bittersweetlyblue

rafe cameron x reader angst

you've always hated how much rafe drank.

you knew it was inevitable when you guys started dating. but when he had came up to your doorstep with flowers and that smile you couldnt ever resist the day he asked you out, it was the furthest thing from your mind that you had to deal with it.

but tonight was the last straw.

you two had attended toppers party together by figure eight. but within minutes, just as you announced to your boyfriend that you needed to pee, his pupils blew wide and he mumbled something about finding kelce before walking off.

hoping he'd find you, you stayed in the area and talked to kiara, who you hadnt seen in ages. "hey, kie."

her eyebrows shot up in a pleasant surprise when she saw you, "oh hey y/n, long time no see!"

"how are you?"

"good, good." she grinned, "hows you and rafe?"

the truth? horrible. last night you found him sniffing a line despite your argument with him an hour before where he then promised to stop doing drugs. instead, you just plastered on a fake smile. "fine."

"okay, well," she looked over her shoulder, "we havent hung out in ages. the whole group misses you." the unspoken problem being rafe hung in the air before she cleared her throat. "see you around."

"see you." you echoed, then turned to go find rafe.

inside, the smell of whiskey hit before you even saw him. turning left, you saw rafe slouched against the corner while laughing with kelce, a half-empty bottle glinting under the kitchen light. for a second, you dont do anything, just watch rafe — it’s like watching someone you love drown slow.

“rafe.” your voice cut through the chatter. he turned and for a moment, you saw the spark of recognition, the man you fell for, behind the fog of alcohol.

kelce looked over his shoulder, and even though he was drunk there was no mistaking the annoyance in your gaze. saying something under his brewath, he excused himself, leaivng you to talk to rafe alone.

"hey, baby," rafe said, turning, ready to curl his arm around your waist. but you shove him off, and you already feel the tears coming. "hey whats wrong?"

"you said last night that youd stop. you know how much i hate it when you drink." you said, but you hated how much it sounded like you was whining. youd already told him so many times why you hated when anyone drank — because it reminded you of your father.

"yeah sorry." rafe said, trying to rest his forehead against yours. under any other circumstances, youd sigh and lean yours back, but you just about had enough.

"baby," he whined as you had to bite your bottom lip from crying. "its not that big of a deal."

"you think it’s not that big of a deal that you promised me you’d stop, that you’d try, and now i find you drunk, laughing like it’s nothing?!”

rafe flinched, but you could tell he wouldnt even remember the whole conversation when he woke up tomorrow. "i said i’d try. come on, y/n, it’s just—”

"no, rafe. im not doing this anymore with you."

"you'll come back anyways," he mumbled under his breath into the cup.

you paused in your tracks, and he swallowed when he noticed. rafe loved you — he really, truly, did, but his temper always got the best of him. he was exactly like his father like that.

"what?" you hissed, noticing several people now watching the interaction.

"you always talk about," he gulped the rest of the whiskey down, slamming it onto the counter, "leaving me, but we all know you cant."

"really?" hurt swelled in your chest. "well, guess what. we're over."

several gasps rung out on the eavesdropping crowd. you and rafe were known for being in love, for being the ultimate power couple and here the pair was, breaking up infront of half of the kooks eyes.

something flared in his eyes. "like fuck we are."

you didn't deign a reply and instead turned for the door. within seconds, rafe yanked you back so hard you nearly felt your arm break as you twisted into his chest.

"ow, rafe, that hurt!"

he didn't acknowledge that. "we're not over."

"and doing that makes it better for you?" you snapped. "we are over. dont talk to me again."

"no." now the pleading was in his tone. "no, y/n —"

"i can't do this!" you shouted, yanking his grip off you. "ive told you my reasons why and yet you still ignore all of them. ive given you excuse after excuse," your voice cracked and you could feel the tears now burning your eyes, the ones you refused to fall, "and ive let you prove yourself, but that whole —"

"get the fuck over it." he deadpanned, "how do you think it is for me?"

"how can you make this about yourself right now?"

"did you ever ask me why i drink?" he retorted, running his hand through his curtain bangs. "or how —"

"and did you ever tell me?"

"you never asked!" he shouted, so loudly you jerked slightly. seeing the motion, rafe stepped closer, hand coming to brush your shoulder to which you shook it off.

"no." you said simply. "we're over."

hurt that you were leaving him — his girlfriend of two years — but also his brain being slightly foggy, he shook his head, "fuck you. dont say i didnt warn you when you come back crawling to me."

jaw open, you wouldnt let him get the last hit, "yeah and you wont because youre exactly like your father. arrogant bastard."

he spun around so quickly you reeled backwards. "oh yeah? what about yours? quite the pair we were, huh?"

you felt the tears run down your cheeks before you ran out the house. you hated that you hurted him.

but little did you know that he had hated how he'd made you flinch. he'd scared you. and that was quite possibly the worst thing he'd ever done.

do not copy, translate or edit my work as your own please!

this is actually such a flop i lost motivation as soon as i started so please forgive me for the shit writing

xoxosblogsblog

this is good asf.

mggssocks

The Eighth

the eighth masterlist

pairing: fem!kook!reader x Rafe Cameron

cw: first fluffy chapter in a while sooo I don't think there's any. I could be wrong though.

a/n: sorry for waiting until the end of the month to update I had some things to deal with. But I'm back and hopefully better.

part twenty

It’s been two months.

Two months since your trip to New York. Two months since Rafe stormed into your house, demanded to go through your phone, shattered it against the hallway floor- and then shattered himself right after, crying and begging for forgiveness. You didn’t let him back into your life the way he wanted, not fully. But you forgave him. You had to. For your own peace. For the baby growing quietly inside you.

The wind whips through your hair as you angrily type on your brand-new phone from the passenger seat of Becca’s new convertible, the sun beating down and the OBX air thick with salt and heat. The two of you had just left prenatal yoga -prenatal- somehow Becca had managed to slip in wearing a fake belly she bought off Amazon, stretched under a tank top like she belonged there. No one questioned it. You tried not to laugh throughout the entire class.

“I don’t understand why you won’t just go,” Becca says now, cutting the wheel sharply and unapologetically hopping the curb. You brace yourself, grabbing the side of the seat. Becca has never been a good driver, and somehow you always forget that until you’re already in the car with her.

awhh

— LIKE GASOLINE

PLOT Years after their messy breakup, Y/N, now a rising documentary filmmaker, is assigned to direct a film about Saint Halo, the world-famous band fronted by her ex, Rafe Cameron. What starts as a professional reunion turns into an emotional collision, as old wounds resurface under the lights of fame and the camera starts catching more truth than either of them planned.

CONTENT CHAPTER ONE, strong language, emotionally charged intimacy, emotional infidelity, & me overdoing this whole thing and writing way too much. i lowkey dont check my taglist app so just dm me or comment underneath !

MAIN MASTERLIST | SERIES MASTERLIST

you sit in the back of the conference room with your coffee going cold. your producer for the documentary, mae, is standing at the front beside a whiteboard that’s already crowded with color-coded notes: names, dates, arrows, scribbles about logistics, flights, permissions. somewhere between week 2 and week 5, she’s managed to fit a doodle of a little guitar.

her handwriting is almost too neat for what she’s saying. “access to saint halo will be limited at first,” mae’s explaining, marker cap clicking in her hand. “they’ve had issues with press, and management is being cautious. we’ll need to be careful about tone early on. don’t push for anything too personal until they trust us.”

you nod automatically. your pen is between your fingers, but you’re not taking notes, mostly because you don’t need to. you could do this half-asleep and still nail it. and honestly, part of you probably is half-asleep, if not physically then somewhere in your head.

mae’s voice blurs into the background. she’s walking through the plan: week one is sit-down interviews, week two is live tour footage, weeks three through (hopefully) six is studio and off-days.

xoxosblogsblog

ahh babes this is so good!! love it can't wait for more

mrsbarnesblog

˖˚⊹ piggyback

➤ summary: your and the girls' little trip into nature ends up in you getting hurt and having no other option but to call Rafe ➤ w/c: 4.3k ➤ warnings: fluff, mild injury, lots of tension, grumpy Rafe, protective and soft Rafe, best friend's brother trope

masterlist taglist

xoxosblogsblog

SONFRICKM CUTE

keikikait

ᴍᴏᴛɪᴏɴ ꜱɪᴄᴋɴᴇꜱꜱ (ʀᴀꜰᴇ ᴄᴀᴍᴇʀᴏɴ x ꜰ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ)

pairing: rafe cameron x pogue!f!reader, (not au, both are early 20s)

word count: 4.3k

summary: maybe you're not as special to rafe as you think you are

warnings: SUGGESTIVE (read at ur own risk, minors dni), slow burn???????, angst???????, kook!rafe x pogue!reader, fratboy!rafe x goodstudent!reader, mention of drugs, alcohol, and nicotine [vaping], injury, i made up a university, reader is friends with sarah, reader is on the anxious side, pining!reader???, not proofread

a note: i may or may not have based some of rafe's actions off of the guy i've been seeing

please reblog and like, it means a lot! let me know what you think!

xoxosblogsblog

ah this was so good. girliey leave that man go get with his best friend or something

sc3ptre

Hiii! I have this idea what if there’s a singer or an actor who is very openly crushing on y/n and keeps mentioning her on concerts, interviews, or posts because they think she’s single but in reality she’s with Drew? I wanna see his reaction to it omg

Read the room

Pairing: Drew Starkey x fem!reader.

⟡ Main Index | ⟡Archive for Earth-1104

Classification: fluff

Word count: 0.9k

Divider by me ;)

By the time the Netflix awards rolled around, you were already braced for chaos.

xoxosblogsblog

such a good ask an execution

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