tahlia ᡣ𐭩

lia

[xoxtahlia]

# 🐚 . ᶻz ﹢ tahlia ! ✿ she/her black writer taurus bisexual rafe cameron’s luvr ᥫ᭡. introvert mostly will write for outerbanks master list… recent…

i am taking requests, although i will not write anything too violent, male!reader and i wont often write nsfw — if i do, i will not write, pet play, scat, incest including step siblings, noncon/dubcon, piss kink or any other hard kinks.

˖ㅤㅤ۫ㅤㅤ ꕮ ㅤ۫ㅤ[xoxtahlia]. ˖ㅤㅤ۫ㅤᘞ ˚ ۪

[darksturnz]

hi guys. my entire time of being on this app all i’ve seen is people complain that “all anyone writes is smut,” same plot, different foreplay, blah blah blah. but the thing is y’all don’t actually read angst or fluff.

I went through the tags. people are posting fluff. people are posting angst. either the tags are full of unrelated junk or those posts sit for days with 2 notes. maybe 160 if they are lucky. i’ve literally seen week old posts with three notes. y’all rotate between the same six writers and then complain everything feels the same. but when someone tries something different, nobody reads it, nobody reblogs, nobody interacts.

i know everyone says “notes don’t matter, write for yourself,” but if we are being honest, they do. interaction matters. it keeps people want to keep going.

this is coming from someone who does get a good amount of notes on their stuff, and i’m beyond grateful for every single one. i do my absolute best to keep my shit original and creative for the most part and i’ve said it before but if something gets three notes, i’m still thankful someone liked it. but when a post gets 20+ replies telling me they loved it? of course i fucking eat that shit up. hell it basically lights a fire under me and i will burn myself out writing 4+ pieces in a day when i usually take a week to two just to drop one chapter. that is what interaction does. it fuels people to keep creating new shit.

if we’re being real, y’all are not in as high of a demand for angst or fluff as you claim. most requests are for smut. if you want angst or fluff, ask for it, boost it, reblog it. even write it yourselves!! this space is supposed to be fun and full of creative minds but people keep falling into the trend of just doing whatever is popular at the moment and then if it doesn’t compare well to another persons fic + the interactions they got, it’s not enough.

if you want variety, you have to show up for it.

proof is in the pudding </3

[xoxtahlia]

🌊　　 ݃　 how to fall without drowning 𓈒﹒﹙🐋﹚﹒ — a rafe cameron series (ep2)

➜ @ summary ﹕ after losing your brother to the ocean, you haven’t set foot near the ocean in years, until your therapist urges you to face your fears. because of that, you meet rafe cameron - a surf instructor with his own demons. what starts off as an attempt at closure becomes something deeper, as two broken people learn to trust the tide and each other. ✩

➜ @ a/n ﹕ this might be the best thing i’ve written on the blog so far ✩

➜ @ taglist ﹕ @sweetnastybunny ✩

you made it to the shore in fifteen minutes, not ten like he’d asked.

the wetsuit hugged your body, somehow damp from nerves before the water had even touched you. you stood at the edge of the sand again, feet bare and sinking slightly. the water looked different to how you first saw it when you overlooked it by the shack - hungrier, but also still, like it was waiting to see what you would do. you stood with your arms folded tightly over your chest and your board stood upright beside you. from a distance, you probably looked ready.

inside, there was a roaring storm, swirling with a mixture of memories and fear that plagued you.

rafe was already ready and barefoot with his board tucked underneath his arm. the leash curled loosely around his fingers, and he walked in a kind of quiet and relaxed confident manner that made you feel somewhat at ease, but also envious. he stopped in front of you and nodded curtly.

“you made it.” rafe said simply.

“you didn’t think i would?” your eyebrows knitted slightly, and rafe’s mouth twitched, but not quite into a smirk. “didn’t say that.”

you rolled your eyes and looked over the water with trepidation hovering over you like a tsunami. it was calm, but no less infinite. there was something in your chest that clenched just by looking at it, and you swallowed harshly.

“still want to do this?” rafe asked, quieter this time, yet your eyes did not break from the ocean. “my therapist says i don’t have to want to, i just have to show up.” you said, a sigh escaping your lips as you blinked rapidly. rafe went silent for a moment, fidgeting with the leash before he spoke. “that’s usually the hardest part.”

then a small pause came from you, and another heavy sigh escaped your lips. “except for the part where you have to get in.” you muttered. your response allowed for a small exhale from rafe - not quite a chuckle, but something close to that. he stepped past you and dropped his board into the wet sand with the nose pointed towards the sea.

“we’ll stay close to the shore. i’m not going to push you, this is just about getting familiar, okay? no expectations.” he said it quickly and smoothly, like he’d said that a million times, and you raised an eyebrow. “you do this often? teach beginners?”

“nah, not anymore,” rafe said, almost too casually. “but i’ve done this with scared people before.” scared. the word stung in a way, despite the fact that he wasn’t wrong. you picked up the board that was upright beside you, and you straightened your back slowly. “okay.” you whispered.

then, you two started walking. with each step against the warm sand, your body trembled. your worries that you tried to keep at bay seemed to claw to the surface - the memories of slipping under the water, the silence flowing in, and waiting to recieve a hand that never came. your throat tightened but you didn’t say anything and kept moving. the water lapped at your toes, your ankles, your knees. you stopped. rafe was a little ahead, but he turned back to face you with a cautious expression. “you alright?”

“no,” you said with a shuddering breath. “but i’m not leaving.” he looked at you with a hint of understanding hidden beneath his cerulean eyes, and he waded back to you. “put your board down,” he spoke gently. “let’s start there.”

you lowered it into the water, fingers curled around it ever so slightly, and you felt it lift ever a little as a wave slid beneath it. it wasn’t violent, to your surprise - just moving. in an attempt to calm your pounding heart, you tried to breathe with it and match the rhythm.

“let it rock,” rafe said. “you’re not… wrestling with the water, alright? you’re just feeling it.” he looked down at your knuckles, which were white as you gripped the waxy board. “i’m not sure i know how to feel anything but panic.” you muttered in a quiet admission.

“it’ll come to you,” rafe reassured you. “it’s in your muscles. you just have to remember, and give them permission.” rafe was still as he watched you. he wasn’t crowding you in any way, just standing knee-deep in the water like a quiet lifeline. “try lying on the board.” he said after a moment.

you hesitated for a moment, and your eyes looked up at him with a mixture of fear, and determination. “i’ll hold it steady.” he added. you took a breath, another wave of fear hitting you. but carefully and slowly, you climbed onto your stomach and settled against the board. the sudden elevation made you feel unsteady, and you closed your eyes momentarily to calm the emotions trying to surface in you.

rafe’s hand steadied the tail of the surfboard, firm enough to remind you that you were not alone. “good,” rafe said softly, his eyes intently on you. “you’re doing good.” you knew he meant well with the compliment, but it hurt in a way. you didn’t feel good - not at all. you felt like a child: fragile and exposed, and your arms trembled slightly as you adjusted your grip. “now just let it move,” rafe spoke. “let the board float.”

so… you did.

the board bobbed gently, and the water rose beneath your chest while it dipped below your feet. somewhere in the distance, a gull cried out. your breathing was sharp at first - shallow and panicked - but eventually it began to slow. rafe didn’t say anything more. he just stayed there, one hand on the board and the other wiping water from his face with his forearm as a soft wave passed them.

“can- can i ask you something?” you finally said after a while. “sure.”

“why, uh… did you say yes? when i asked you to teach me?” rafe thought for a moment, and a deeper wave passed you both. “i don’t know.” he admitted. “maybe because when i read your email, you seemed like someone who needed saving. and… i know what that feels like.”

your gaze averted from the water and strayed over to him. he wasn’t looking back; his eyes were distant but focused, looking outward towards the ocean. the wind lifted his hair, the light touched the side of his face.

he looked like a storm before it breaks.

“i’m not trying to be saved,” you uttered, your voice barely above a whisper. “i just… i wanna stop feeling like i’m still drowning.”

with that, rafe’s blue eyes finally met yours. something flickered across his face: understanding. recognition. compassion. maybe a little fear of his own. he merely nodded once. “then let’s keep going. one wave at a time.”

and for the first time in years as you floated there since your brother’s death, you didn’t feel like you were sinking.

[xoxtahlia]

🌊　　 ݃　 how to fall without drowning 𓈒﹒﹙🐋﹚﹒ — a rafe cameron series (ep2)

➜ @ summary ﹕ after losing your brother to the ocean, you haven’t set foot near the ocean in years, until your therapist urges you to face your fears. because of that, you meet rafe cameron - a surf instructor with his own demons. what starts off as an attempt at closure becomes something deeper, as two broken people learn to trust the tide and each other. ✩

➜ @ a/n ﹕ this might be the best thing i’ve written on the blog so far ✩

➜ @ taglist ﹕ @sweetnastybunny ✩

you made it to the shore in fifteen minutes, not ten like he’d asked.

the wetsuit hugged your body, somehow damp from nerves before the water had even touched you. you stood at the edge of the sand again, feet bare and sinking slightly. the water looked different to how you first saw it when you overlooked it by the shack - hungrier, but also still, like it was waiting to see what you would do. you stood with your arms folded tightly over your chest and your board stood upright beside you. from a distance, you probably looked ready.

inside, there was a roaring storm, swirling with a mixture of memories and fear that plagued you.

rafe was already ready and barefoot with his board tucked underneath his arm. the leash curled loosely around his fingers, and he walked in a kind of quiet and relaxed confident manner that made you feel somewhat at ease, but also envious. he stopped in front of you and nodded curtly.

“you made it.” rafe said simply.

“you didn’t think i would?” your eyebrows knitted slightly, and rafe’s mouth twitched, but not quite into a smirk. “didn’t say that.”

you rolled your eyes and looked over the water with trepidation hovering over you like a tsunami. it was calm, but no less infinite. there was something in your chest that clenched just by looking at it, and you swallowed harshly.

“still want to do this?” rafe asked, quieter this time, yet your eyes did not break from the ocean. “my therapist says i don’t have to want to, i just have to show up.” you said, a sigh escaping your lips as you blinked rapidly. rafe went silent for a moment, fidgeting with the leash before he spoke. “that’s usually the hardest part.”

then a small pause came from you, and another heavy sigh escaped your lips. “except for the part where you have to get in.” you muttered. your response allowed for a small exhale from rafe - not quite a chuckle, but something close to that. he stepped past you and dropped his board into the wet sand with the nose pointed towards the sea.

“we’ll stay close to the shore. i’m not going to push you, this is just about getting familiar, okay? no expectations.” he said it quickly and smoothly, like he’d said that a million times, and you raised an eyebrow. “you do this often? teach beginners?”

“nah, not anymore,” rafe said, almost too casually. “but i’ve done this with scared people before.” scared. the word stung in a way, despite the fact that he wasn’t wrong. you picked up the board that was upright beside you, and you straightened your back slowly. “okay.” you whispered.

then, you two started walking. with each step against the warm sand, your body trembled. your worries that you tried to keep at bay seemed to claw to the surface - the memories of slipping under the water, the silence flowing in, and waiting to recieve a hand that never came. your throat tightened but you didn’t say anything and kept moving. the water lapped at your toes, your ankles, your knees. you stopped. rafe was a little ahead, but he turned back to face you with a cautious expression. “you alright?”

“no,” you said with a shuddering breath. “but i’m not leaving.” he looked at you with a hint of understanding hidden beneath his cerulean eyes, and he waded back to you. “put your board down,” he spoke gently. “let’s start there.”

you lowered it into the water, fingers curled around it ever so slightly, and you felt it lift ever a little as a wave slid beneath it. it wasn’t violent, to your surprise - just moving. in an attempt to calm your pounding heart, you tried to breathe with it and match the rhythm.

“let it rock,” rafe said. “you’re not… wrestling with the water, alright? you’re just feeling it.” he looked down at your knuckles, which were white as you gripped the waxy board. “i’m not sure i know how to feel anything but panic.” you muttered in a quiet admission.

“it’ll come to you,” rafe reassured you. “it’s in your muscles. you just have to remember, and give them permission.” rafe was still as he watched you. he wasn’t crowding you in any way, just standing knee-deep in the water like a quiet lifeline. “try lying on the board.” he said after a moment.

you hesitated for a moment, and your eyes looked up at him with a mixture of fear, and determination. “i’ll hold it steady.” he added. you took a breath, another wave of fear hitting you. but carefully and slowly, you climbed onto your stomach and settled against the board. the sudden elevation made you feel unsteady, and you closed your eyes momentarily to calm the emotions trying to surface in you.

rafe’s hand steadied the tail of the surfboard, firm enough to remind you that you were not alone. “good,” rafe said softly, his eyes intently on you. “you’re doing good.” you knew he meant well with the compliment, but it hurt in a way. you didn’t feel good - not at all. you felt like a child: fragile and exposed, and your arms trembled slightly as you adjusted your grip. “now just let it move,” rafe spoke. “let the board float.”

so… you did.

the board bobbed gently, and the water rose beneath your chest while it dipped below your feet. somewhere in the distance, a gull cried out. your breathing was sharp at first - shallow and panicked - but eventually it began to slow. rafe didn’t say anything more. he just stayed there, one hand on the board and the other wiping water from his face with his forearm as a soft wave passed them.

“can- can i ask you something?” you finally said after a while. “sure.”

“why, uh… did you say yes? when i asked you to teach me?” rafe thought for a moment, and a deeper wave passed you both. “i don’t know.” he admitted. “maybe because when i read your email, you seemed like someone who needed saving. and… i know what that feels like.”

your gaze averted from the water and strayed over to him. he wasn’t looking back; his eyes were distant but focused, looking outward towards the ocean. the wind lifted his hair, the light touched the side of his face.

he looked like a storm before it breaks.

“i’m not trying to be saved,” you uttered, your voice barely above a whisper. “i just… i wanna stop feeling like i’m still drowning.”

with that, rafe’s blue eyes finally met yours. something flickered across his face: understanding. recognition. compassion. maybe a little fear of his own. he merely nodded once. “then let’s keep going. one wave at a time.”

and for the first time in years as you floated there since your brother’s death, you didn’t feel like you were sinking.

[xoxtahlia]

🌊　　 ݃　 how to fall without drowning 𓈒﹒﹙🐋﹚﹒ — a rafe cameron series (ep1)

➜ @ summary ﹕ after losing your brother to the ocean, you haven’t set foot near the ocean in years, until your therapist urges you to face your fears. because of that, you meet rafe cameron - a surf instructor with his own demons. what starts off as an attempt at closure becomes something deeper, as two broken people learn to trust the tide and each other. ✩

the ocean didn’t look like the place where your world had fallen apart.

it looked beautiful - wild and endless, with a captivating blue. but for you, it was a reminder. a cold and cruel one.

you stood on the cracked asphalt of the parking lot, clutching at the straps of your backpack like it was your lifeline, your eyes locked on the rolling waves. the whispering wind tugged at your hair and carried memories you tried to keep locked away.

your brother had loved the ocean. he loved the rush of riding the waves, the spray of salt on his face, the feeling of flying on his board. you remembered the way his laugh - so full of joy and life - would sound over the lapping waves. and then, you remembered the day the ocean took him. the way the wave was too high, the current was too strong and the sea didn’t let go. the image was burned into your mind: the moment he was engulfed by the water, how you screamed his name, and the helplessness that followed like a second tide pulling you over.

for several months after, you avoided the coast of outer banks altogether. the therapist you’d been seeing after the accident, who was soft yet unyielding, insisted on confronting what you feared. “you can’t heal if you keep running,” she’d told you in one session. “the ocean took your brother, yes. but it doesn’t have to take your life too.”

that’s how you ended up here, standing in front of the surf school you never imagined you’d be at, as you felt your stomach twist and turn with nerves and anticipation. your therapist’s words echoed in your head like a quiet mantra: “face it. don’t let it break you.”

the door creaked open before you could even move, and a tall man stepped out. rafe cameron. sun-bleached hair tossed and tangled like seaweed, eyes blue, dark and sharp underneath a furrowed brow. he carried a surfboard lackadaisically under one arm, and his stance was casual but guarded - like he’d seen a lot of people come and go, and too many give up. rafe’s gaze swept over her, unreadable beneath a half-lidded squint. you wondered if he already regretted saying yes.

“you’re the new one?” he asked, his voice low and calm, but with an edge. you swallowed hard as you felt the lump in your throat begin to form and your stomach churning. “y-yeah. i, uh- i emailed you.”

rafe tilted his head slightly. “right… the one who hasn’t been in the water since-“ he stopped himself. “since a while.” you flinched but nodded again. he studied her for a moment. his eyes weren’t cruel - just cautious, because he’d seen numerous people panic halfway through a lesson and bolt for the parking lot. “you sure you’re ready for this?” he asked quietly. “you look like you’re about to pass out.

“i’m not.” you said simply, your voice shaking ever so slightly. “but i have to do this.”

rafe raised an eyebrow. “that’s not the same as being ready.”

“yeah,” you agreed quietly. “but… i’ve waited long enough.”

his eyes searched yours, as if looking for the truth beneath your words. maybe it was the way your hands trembled even as you refused to walk away. or the way you held his gaze, scared but steady. whatever it was, he saw it. after a long pause, he nodded and exhaled through his nose. “m’kay. you’ll need a wetsuit, a board and a stubborn heart.” you forced a small, bitter smile on your face which even surprised you. “i’ve got the stubbornness.” rafe handed you a leash and a helmet, his fingers brushing yours in a light but steady manner. “wetsuits are inside, grab your size and meet me on the beach in ten. don’t fall before you even get in the water.”

you glanced back at the sea, the same sea that had cruelly taken your brother. your mind raced with memories of that day and with the fear that still gripped you each time the waves crashed too hard. but underneath that all was something new: a fragile hope that maybe - just maybe - you could learn to stand against the tide instead of being held under. the wind whipped around you, carrying both memories and possibility. you took a deep breath as your grip tightened on the equipment and started walking towards the shack.

rafe stepped aside from the doorway and watched you go, knowing this wouldn’t be just another lesson.

[xoxtahlia]

🌊　　 ݃　 how to fall without drowning 𓈒﹒﹙🐋﹚﹒ — a rafe cameron series (ep1)

➜ @ summary ﹕ after losing your brother to the ocean, you haven’t set foot near the ocean in years, until your therapist urges you to face your fears. because of that, you meet rafe cameron - a surf instructor with his own demons. what starts off as an attempt at closure becomes something deeper, as two broken people learn to trust the tide and each other. ✩

the ocean didn’t look like the place where your world had fallen apart.

it looked beautiful - wild and endless, with a captivating blue. but for you, it was a reminder. a cold and cruel one.

you stood on the cracked asphalt of the parking lot, clutching at the straps of your backpack like it was your lifeline, your eyes locked on the rolling waves. the whispering wind tugged at your hair and carried memories you tried to keep locked away.

your brother had loved the ocean. he loved the rush of riding the waves, the spray of salt on his face, the feeling of flying on his board. you remembered the way his laugh - so full of joy and life - would sound over the lapping waves. and then, you remembered the day the ocean took him. the way the wave was too high, the current was too strong and the sea didn’t let go. the image was burned into your mind: the moment he was engulfed by the water, how you screamed his name, and the helplessness that followed like a second tide pulling you over.

for several months after, you avoided the coast of outer banks altogether. the therapist you’d been seeing after the accident, who was soft yet unyielding, insisted on confronting what you feared. “you can’t heal if you keep running,” she’d told you in one session. “the ocean took your brother, yes. but it doesn’t have to take your life too.”

that’s how you ended up here, standing in front of the surf school you never imagined you’d be at, as you felt your stomach twist and turn with nerves and anticipation. your therapist’s words echoed in your head like a quiet mantra: “face it. don’t let it break you.”

the door creaked open before you could even move, and a tall man stepped out. rafe cameron. sun-bleached hair tossed and tangled like seaweed, eyes blue, dark and sharp underneath a furrowed brow. he carried a surfboard lackadaisically under one arm, and his stance was casual but guarded - like he’d seen a lot of people come and go, and too many give up. rafe’s gaze swept over her, unreadable beneath a half-lidded squint. you wondered if he already regretted saying yes.

“you’re the new one?” he asked, his voice low and calm, but with an edge. you swallowed hard as you felt the lump in your throat begin to form and your stomach churning. “y-yeah. i, uh- i emailed you.”

rafe tilted his head slightly. “right… the one who hasn’t been in the water since-“ he stopped himself. “since a while.” you flinched but nodded again. he studied her for a moment. his eyes weren’t cruel - just cautious, because he’d seen numerous people panic halfway through a lesson and bolt for the parking lot. “you sure you’re ready for this?” he asked quietly. “you look like you’re about to pass out.

“i’m not.” you said simply, your voice shaking ever so slightly. “but i have to do this.”

rafe raised an eyebrow. “that’s not the same as being ready.”

“yeah,” you agreed quietly. “but… i’ve waited long enough.”

his eyes searched yours, as if looking for the truth beneath your words. maybe it was the way your hands trembled even as you refused to walk away. or the way you held his gaze, scared but steady. whatever it was, he saw it. after a long pause, he nodded and exhaled through his nose. “m’kay. you’ll need a wetsuit, a board and a stubborn heart.” you forced a small, bitter smile on your face which even surprised you. “i’ve got the stubbornness.” rafe handed you a leash and a helmet, his fingers brushing yours in a light but steady manner. “wetsuits are inside, grab your size and meet me on the beach in ten. don’t fall before you even get in the water.”

you glanced back at the sea, the same sea that had cruelly taken your brother. your mind raced with memories of that day and with the fear that still gripped you each time the waves crashed too hard. but underneath that all was something new: a fragile hope that maybe - just maybe - you could learn to stand against the tide instead of being held under. the wind whipped around you, carrying both memories and possibility. you took a deep breath as your grip tightened on the equipment and started walking towards the shack.

rafe stepped aside from the doorway and watched you go, knowing this wouldn’t be just another lesson.

[xoxtahlia]

🌊　　 ݃　 how to fall without drowning 𓈒﹒﹙🐋﹚﹒ — a rafe cameron series

pairing: surf instructor rafe cameron x grieving!reader

IN WHICH… you swore never to go back to the beach of outer banks again - not after what happened. but loss doesn’t stay buried forever. after a push from your therapist, finally on the 2nd anniversary of your brother’s death, you return back to the coast. but you’re not there to make peace with it. you’re there to confront it.

rafe cameron is outer banks best surf instructor: he’s quiet, rough edged and emotionally unavailable. he’s got his own baggage and he doesn’t do beginners anymore; he definitely doesn’t do people who cry in the parking lot before stepping out and into the water. however, he understands grief more than he lets on.

something in you - your anger, your honesty, your refusal to hide behind a facade and pretend you’re okay pulls him in. and something in him - the way he teaches you to fall, to float and to get back up again, starts to mend what you thought was beyond repair.

as he teaches you how to fall safely, you begin to teach him how to stay.

— chapter 1

— chapter 2

˖ㅤㅤ۫ㅤㅤ ꕮ ㅤ۫ㅤ[xoxtahlia]. ˖ㅤㅤ۫ㅤᘞ ˚ ۪

[xoxtahlia]

an unexpected visitor — ballerina!reader x fratboy!rafe

➜ @ summary ﹕ you stayed behind after ballet practice at college to practice some moves. after finishing, you walk into the locker room to meet an injured rafe cameron. ✩

➜ @ a/n ﹕ this story is apart of the au ballerina!reader x fratboy!rafe and is basically the story of how they first met; if you want to do some reading on them click the link! it would provide some context ✩

friday, 11:04pm — the royal ballet academy

the ballet studio was hushed and serene, wrapped in the gentle stillness of the late night. a faint pink light bathed the room, cast from a few lights hanging from the ceiling, its glow reflecting off the smooth white walls. on one side, pale tutus hung on a rack in the corner. along the other side, a long wall of mirrors stretched out with blush-pink draped curtains on the each end. in the mirror was the reflection of your spent and tired body sitting on the polished floor of the studios, undoing the ties of your pointe shoes.

of course you’d stayed behind on campus after practice had ended to perfect your grand jeté and cabriole. it was so typical of you - seeing as you were one of the top ballerina’s at your college’s company, and everyone knew just how passionate you were. it wasn’t the first time you’ve done something like this, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last. however, you knew your limits. with your feet feeling like they were about to fall off and the clock on the white wall showing ‘11pm’, you knew it was probably time to go back to your dorm.

so after slipping off your pink pointe shoes, you waltzed off to open the locker room door whilst humming a pop song melody to yourself, to see…

what?

rafe cameron sat on a pink bench amidst the lockers, bruised, bloodied and dazed. your heart dropped at the sight — not only because you didn’t expect anyone to be with you and you hadn’t heard the front door open, but because the kook prince, the most popular frat boy on campus was tainted and alone, in a ballet studio.

in this moment, you could properly examine him. he was definitely a frat boy through and through - with his backwards baseball cap and his half-torn hoodie with greek letters on it. he was slumped over on the bench, the signature pink one every dancer in the studio had tied their shoes on a hundred times. but it looked wrong now. he looked wrong on it. his face was a mess of purple shadows and dried blood, caked just under his nose and speckled across his cheek. rafe’s hands were trembling on his lap, knuckles split. the bench creaked beneath him, not from movement - he’s still - but like it doesn’t want him there.

he didn’t look up at first. he just breathed shallowly, shoulders shaking ever so slightly, like he was trying not to cry or already had and was pretending he hadn’t. the usually warm and cheery studio felt colder now, like he dragged the night in with him. and even though he hadn’t noticed you standing in the doorway yet, his presence was eerie and intimidating, just like everyone had said about him. you’d never met him before this, and that made this surprise encounter all the more unnerving for you.

you took a step in, and finally his eyes shifted to you. it was wild and wary - not the cocky gaze you expected from someone who might’ve been boldly flirting with the hottest girls in college a few hours ago. it was a look that said something happened. something bad. and for a split second, the softness of the place - pink walls and satin slippers - wrapped around him like a cruel joke.

“are you okay?” you finally spoke to remove the blanket of silence that had wrapped around you two. he stared up at you for a moment, his hardened gaze cutting through you like a knife as your heart pounded so hard, you swore he could hear it knocking against your ribs. “why the fuck are you here?” rafe asked, completely avoiding your question, his gruff and loud voice echoing through the otherwise empty locker room. it was hilarious: him asking you, a ballerina, why you were in a ballet studio, and you almost laughed seeing as you were usually so happy-go-lucky. but the air was different in the room that night.

you shifted uncomfortably on your feet as you stood in front of him, and you folded your arms over your chest. “i could ask the same about you.” you said with a kind yet tentative look, your voice gentle and bubbly like always. “i don’t take you for someone who’s fond of ballet.” you said with a small smile, and you danced over to the bench, sitting beside him with a comfortable distance between you two. his split lips parted as if he wanted to object, to tell you to get the hell away from him, but ultimately no words came out.

he let out a sigh as he took off his baseball cap and ran a hand through his hair - what once was a combover now resembled a bird’s nest more than anything. “your voice is grating on me,” he said in a grumble. perhaps he was trying to be mean and brooding like he usually was, but his voice came out as a weak whisper. “are you always this goddamn cheery?”

you gave a small chuckle at his words, and simply shrugged to answer his question. you had quite the reputation of being practically the happiest girl on campus. some people called you naive, saying that the world isn’t just sunshine and rainbows. some people admired your ability to stay optimistic all the time, or at least it seemed all the time. some people were envious and bitter of your character. unlike rafe, you didn’t care so much about reputation and what people thought of you. maybe that’s what kept you so upbeat.

your eyes, however, couldn’t stop wandering over his bloodied and tattered figure sitting casually on the bench like this was another friday for him. clearly there was more to the story, but he wasn’t willing to share, and that was fine. however, you weren’t going to act like this wasn’t an unusual sight to see. him, banged up in the locker room of the college ballet studio. how the hell did he get in and why was he even here of all places? you decided not to ask. “there’s a med kit… in the back. if you need it.”

rafe looked like he wanted to laugh at your offer. he considered it for a moment, however, judging by his silence. his wounds stung, and he could feel the dried blood sticking to his knuckles and on his philtrum. rafe let out a scoff, trying to convince himself that he didn’t need your help. he was rafe cameron, the kook prince, a frat boy and the most popular guy in college. he didn’t need some ballerina’s pity. but the pain was growing, and the thought of going back to his dorm like this felt pathetic. “fine, whatever.” he muttered as he brought up his fists to his eyes.

you smiled as if you’d won something by him giving his answer. you were expecting him to cuss at you, but here he was. being graceful and actually accepting you help. you quickly walked into the back room of the locker room, and shuffled through the supplies until you found the med kit. when you walked back to him and placed the kit beside him in the bench, you swore you saw a flicker or something warm in his eyes. perhaps… appreciation? but just as quickly as you saw it, was just as quickly as it disappeared.

you sat beside him and opened the kit, pulling out a pack of cotton wool and a bottle of antiseptic. you could feel the heat of his gaze on you as you carefully poured the antiseptic onto the cotton wool. “give me your hand,” you said quietly, your voice so sweet it was practically dripping in honey. rafe reluctantly presented his bloodied hand to you, teeth gritted as he braced himself for the stinging of the antiseptic. “just… hurry up.” he snapped, a hint of impatience in his voice.

as soon as you placed the drenched cotton wool over his knuckles, he tensed and involuntarily winced. but soon after, the pain began to fade away, and although he’d never admit it to you, something felt strangely soothing to rafe about the way you handled him with such care. “you always in here?” rafe asked suddenly, and the question slipped out before he could stop himself. he didn’t know why he was taking interest in you so suddenly, but he was. “practicing your… pirouettes and stuff, with your silly pink flat shoes.”

you let out a scoff, pretending to be hurt by his words while you dug into the kit for adhesive bandages, and then placed them over his open wounds gently. your tender touch was diametric to the violence he had been apart of that night. “yeah, sometimes. and my silly pink flat shoes are called pointe shoes.” you corrected him in a teasing manner while you placed the last bandage on and released his hand to zip up the medical kit.

rafe sat there, slightly disoriented. the whole night had been a strange whirlwind of emotions and experiences, but this was the cherry on top. you, a carefree silly little ballerina, had taken care of his wounds, and he had let you. worst of all, he seemed to like being in your care. he had accepted that he was too weak to take care of himself in that moment, and that somehow stung more than the antiseptic. rafe ran a hand through his disheveled hair, trying to regain his composure. he was rafe cameron, after all. his ego was wounded just as his knuckles were.

finally he stood up, realising that he’d probably overstayed his welcome. he wasn’t meant to be there, anyways. “thanks.” he reluctantly mumbled under under his breath in a rough voice. you simply nodded with a smile, and he walked out of the locker room swiftly.

[xoxtahlia]

an unexpected visitor — ballerina!reader x fratboy!rafe

➜ @ summary ﹕ you stayed behind after ballet practice at college to practice some moves. after finishing, you walk into the locker room to meet an injured rafe cameron. ✩

➜ @ a/n ﹕ this story is apart of the au ballerina!reader x fratboy!rafe and is basically the story of how they first met; if you want to do some reading on them click the link! it would provide some context ✩

friday, 11:04pm — the royal ballet academy

the ballet studio was hushed and serene, wrapped in the gentle stillness of the late night. a faint pink light bathed the room, cast from a few lights hanging from the ceiling, its glow reflecting off the smooth white walls. on one side, pale tutus hung on a rack in the corner. along the other side, a long wall of mirrors stretched out with blush-pink draped curtains on the each end. in the mirror was the reflection of your spent and tired body sitting on the polished floor of the studios, undoing the ties of your pointe shoes.

of course you’d stayed behind on campus after practice had ended to perfect your grand jeté and cabriole. it was so typical of you - seeing as you were one of the top ballerina’s at your college’s company, and everyone knew just how passionate you were. it wasn’t the first time you’ve done something like this, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last. however, you knew your limits. with your feet feeling like they were about to fall off and the clock on the white wall showing ‘11pm’, you knew it was probably time to go back to your dorm.

so after slipping off your pink pointe shoes, you waltzed off to open the locker room door whilst humming a pop song melody to yourself, to see…

what?

rafe cameron sat on a pink bench amidst the lockers, bruised, bloodied and dazed. your heart dropped at the sight — not only because you didn’t expect anyone to be with you and you hadn’t heard the front door open, but because the kook prince, the most popular frat boy on campus was tainted and alone, in a ballet studio.

in this moment, you could properly examine him. he was definitely a frat boy through and through - with his backwards baseball cap and his half-torn hoodie with greek letters on it. he was slumped over on the bench, the signature pink one every dancer in the studio had tied their shoes on a hundred times. but it looked wrong now. he looked wrong on it. his face was a mess of purple shadows and dried blood, caked just under his nose and speckled across his cheek. rafe’s hands were trembling on his lap, knuckles split. the bench creaked beneath him, not from movement - he’s still - but like it doesn’t want him there.

he didn’t look up at first. he just breathed shallowly, shoulders shaking ever so slightly, like he was trying not to cry or already had and was pretending he hadn’t. the usually warm and cheery studio felt colder now, like he dragged the night in with him. and even though he hadn’t noticed you standing in the doorway yet, his presence was eerie and intimidating, just like everyone had said about him. you’d never met him before this, and that made this surprise encounter all the more unnerving for you.

you took a step in, and finally his eyes shifted to you. it was wild and wary - not the cocky gaze you expected from someone who might’ve been boldly flirting with the hottest girls in college a few hours ago. it was a look that said something happened. something bad. and for a split second, the softness of the place - pink walls and satin slippers - wrapped around him like a cruel joke.

“are you okay?” you finally spoke to remove the blanket of silence that had wrapped around you two. he stared up at you for a moment, his hardened gaze cutting through you like a knife as your heart pounded so hard, you swore he could hear it knocking against your ribs. “why the fuck are you here?” rafe asked, completely avoiding your question, his gruff and loud voice echoing through the otherwise empty locker room. it was hilarious: him asking you, a ballerina, why you were in a ballet studio, and you almost laughed seeing as you were usually so happy-go-lucky. but the air was different in the room that night.

you shifted uncomfortably on your feet as you stood in front of him, and you folded your arms over your chest. “i could ask the same about you.” you said with a kind yet tentative look, your voice gentle and bubbly like always. “i don’t take you for someone who’s fond of ballet.” you said with a small smile, and you danced over to the bench, sitting beside him with a comfortable distance between you two. his split lips parted as if he wanted to object, to tell you to get the hell away from him, but ultimately no words came out.

he let out a sigh as he took off his baseball cap and ran a hand through his hair - what once was a combover now resembled a bird’s nest more than anything. “your voice is grating on me,” he said in a grumble. perhaps he was trying to be mean and brooding like he usually was, but his voice came out as a weak whisper. “are you always this goddamn cheery?”

you gave a small chuckle at his words, and simply shrugged to answer his question. you had quite the reputation of being practically the happiest girl on campus. some people called you naive, saying that the world isn’t just sunshine and rainbows. some people admired your ability to stay optimistic all the time, or at least it seemed all the time. some people were envious and bitter of your character. unlike rafe, you didn’t care so much about reputation and what people thought of you. maybe that’s what kept you so upbeat.

your eyes, however, couldn’t stop wandering over his bloodied and tattered figure sitting casually on the bench like this was another friday for him. clearly there was more to the story, but he wasn’t willing to share, and that was fine. however, you weren’t going to act like this wasn’t an unusual sight to see. him, banged up in the locker room of the college ballet studio. how the hell did he get in and why was he even here of all places? you decided not to ask. “there’s a med kit… in the back. if you need it.”

rafe looked like he wanted to laugh at your offer. he considered it for a moment, however, judging by his silence. his wounds stung, and he could feel the dried blood sticking to his knuckles and on his philtrum. rafe let out a scoff, trying to convince himself that he didn’t need your help. he was rafe cameron, the kook prince, a frat boy and the most popular guy in college. he didn’t need some ballerina’s pity. but the pain was growing, and the thought of going back to his dorm like this felt pathetic. “fine, whatever.” he muttered as he brought up his fists to his eyes.

you smiled as if you’d won something by him giving his answer. you were expecting him to cuss at you, but here he was. being graceful and actually accepting you help. you quickly walked into the back room of the locker room, and shuffled through the supplies until you found the med kit. when you walked back to him and placed the kit beside him in the bench, you swore you saw a flicker or something warm in his eyes. perhaps… appreciation? but just as quickly as you saw it, was just as quickly as it disappeared.

you sat beside him and opened the kit, pulling out a pack of cotton wool and a bottle of antiseptic. you could feel the heat of his gaze on you as you carefully poured the antiseptic onto the cotton wool. “give me your hand,” you said quietly, your voice so sweet it was practically dripping in honey. rafe reluctantly presented his bloodied hand to you, teeth gritted as he braced himself for the stinging of the antiseptic. “just… hurry up.” he snapped, a hint of impatience in his voice.

as soon as you placed the drenched cotton wool over his knuckles, he tensed and involuntarily winced. but soon after, the pain began to fade away, and although he’d never admit it to you, something felt strangely soothing to rafe about the way you handled him with such care. “you always in here?” rafe asked suddenly, and the question slipped out before he could stop himself. he didn’t know why he was taking interest in you so suddenly, but he was. “practicing your… pirouettes and stuff, with your silly pink flat shoes.”

you let out a scoff, pretending to be hurt by his words while you dug into the kit for adhesive bandages, and then placed them over his open wounds gently. your tender touch was diametric to the violence he had been apart of that night. “yeah, sometimes. and my silly pink flat shoes are called pointe shoes.” you corrected him in a teasing manner while you placed the last bandage on and released his hand to zip up the medical kit.

rafe sat there, slightly disoriented. the whole night had been a strange whirlwind of emotions and experiences, but this was the cherry on top. you, a carefree silly little ballerina, had taken care of his wounds, and he had let you. worst of all, he seemed to like being in your care. he had accepted that he was too weak to take care of himself in that moment, and that somehow stung more than the antiseptic. rafe ran a hand through his disheveled hair, trying to regain his composure. he was rafe cameron, after all. his ego was wounded just as his knuckles were.

finally he stood up, realising that he’d probably overstayed his welcome. he wasn’t meant to be there, anyways. “thanks.” he reluctantly mumbled under under his breath in a rough voice. you simply nodded with a smile, and he walked out of the locker room swiftly.

[xoxtahlia]

⪩ ﹒🌪️﹕ ⊂⊃﹒masterlist，↺

— rafe cameron・

ㅤthe blue haired girl ✮

just friends? ✮

— au’s ・

ballerina!reader x fratboy!rafe ✮

— series ・

how to fall without drowning ✮

˖ㅤㅤ۫ㅤㅤ ꕮ ㅤ۫ㅤ[xoxtahlia]. ˖ㅤㅤ۫ㅤᘞ ˚ ۪

[xoxtahlia]

﹒ ᐢ..ᐢ ﹐@ BALLERINA!READER x FRATBOY!RAFE

BALLERINA!READER who is the human embodiment of sunshine in pink pointe shoes: bubbly, radiant, and always moving. with endless enthusiasm and a heart as big as her dreams, she glides across the college campus with the grace of a ballerina and the friendliness of a golden retriever. she’s the kind of person who remembers everyone’s name (and their dog's name), waves at strangers like they’re old friends, and somehow makes you feel better just by smiling at you.

BALLERINA!READER in which there’s always a touch of glitter on her cheeks from rehearsals or a spontaneous dance video she filmed with friends. she talks about ballet with joy and total conviction. she dreams - no, knows - she’ll be a prima ballerina one day, and her passion is so sincere, no one even doubts it.

BALLERINA!READER who brings snacks to practice, compliments your hair even when hers is in a perfectly slicked bun, and laughs at her own clumsy moments - rare as they are. she’s driven, but never harsh - more likely to hype you up rather than outshine you. everyone waves at her not just because she’s familiar, but because she radiates the kind of warmth you want more of in your day.

BALLERINA!READER who does charity work on the weekends - not because she wants to make herself ‘look good’ like other kooks do, but because she genuinely cares. she’s a person you can vent to, even as a stranger, and she’ll listen to you with a quiet understanding, not even a flicker of judgement reflected in her kind eyes.

BALLERINA!READER who doesn’t try too hard with her style, but that’s what makes it whimsical. when not at practice, she might wear an off-the-shoulder cropped sweatshirt, with a flowing midi skirt or joggers, and sneakers with ribbon laces. her makeup is natural: dewy skin, some glitter on her lids and pink-tinted lip balm. her nail polish is probably half-chipped, but she doesn’t care.

FRATBOY!RAFE who is the kind of guy that enters a party like he owns the place and demands attention without even needing to saying a word. with a jaw that’s always clenched and eyes always scanning the room like he’s ready to throw the first punch or take the first shot, maybe even both, he’s got a foreboding presence that people are dangerously drawn to.

FRATBOY!RAFE who is just about as passionate about white powder and girls as ballerina!reader is about ballet. she stays behind after practice at 10pm practicing her fouettés? he’s manspreading lazily on a worn-out couch snorting white powder ‘till his nose feels like it’s about to fall off. fueled by purely adrenaline, white powder, alcohol and testosterone, his weekends bleed into weekdays with little distinction. he thrives in chaos: fistfights on lawns, blackouts from drinking too much, waking up with a mystery bruise and no regrets.

FRATBOY!RAFE who is charming when he wants to be - a big flashy smile or a cocky smirk with his backwards cap on, playing the frat prince part perfectly. but there’s a simmering intensity underneath it all that never really shuts off. girls are trophies to him, parties are basically battlegrounds, and the line between confidence and aggression blurs often with him. he’s fun until he’s not. and you don’t ever wanna get on his bad side.

FRATBOY!RAFE who people cross the street upon seeing and lower their heads when he walks by. he’s got problems he won't publicise, yet everyone’s aware of, and a burning need to feel something - anything - that drives his reckless habits. underneath his bravado, there's a guy who's scared to stop moving, afraid of silence, and terrified of who he might be without the high and his overwhelming demeanour.

FRATBOY!RAFE who plays golf on the weekends and brags about how many birdies he makes in a session, when really he uses golf as an anger outlet and swings his club with a force like he’s hitting a pogue.

FRATBOY!RAFE whose style gives private school rich boy. he often wears wrinkled polo shirts and button downs with chino shorts, slip ons, and a baseball cap worn backwards. he might wear oversized sunglasses, and a silver chain or bracelet for a simple accessory.

blurbs and stories coming soon…!

˖ㅤㅤ۫ㅤㅤ ꕮ ㅤ۫ㅤ[xoxtahlia]. ˖ㅤㅤ۫ㅤᘞ ˚ ۪

[xoxtahlia]

﹒ ᐢ..ᐢ ﹐@ BALLERINA!READER x FRATBOY!RAFE

BALLERINA!READER who is the human embodiment of sunshine in pink pointe shoes: bubbly, radiant, and always moving. with endless enthusiasm and a heart as big as her dreams, she glides across the college campus with the grace of a ballerina and the friendliness of a golden retriever. she’s the kind of person who remembers everyone’s name (and their dog's name), waves at strangers like they’re old friends, and somehow makes you feel better just by smiling at you.

BALLERINA!READER in which there’s always a touch of glitter on her cheeks from rehearsals or a spontaneous dance video she filmed with friends. she talks about ballet with joy and total conviction. she dreams - no, knows - she’ll be a prima ballerina one day, and her passion is so sincere, no one even doubts it.

BALLERINA!READER who brings snacks to practice, compliments your hair even when hers is in a perfectly slicked bun, and laughs at her own clumsy moments - rare as they are. she’s driven, but never harsh - more likely to hype you up rather than outshine you. everyone waves at her not just because she’s familiar, but because she radiates the kind of warmth you want more of in your day.

BALLERINA!READER who does charity work on the weekends - not because she wants to make herself ‘look good’ like other kooks do, but because she genuinely cares. she’s a person you can vent to, even as a stranger, and she’ll listen to you with a quiet understanding, not even a flicker of judgement reflected in her kind eyes.

BALLERINA!READER who doesn’t try too hard with her style, but that’s what makes it whimsical. when not at practice, she might wear an off-the-shoulder cropped sweatshirt, with a flowing midi skirt or joggers, and sneakers with ribbon laces. her makeup is natural: dewy skin, some glitter on her lids and pink-tinted lip balm. her nail polish is probably half-chipped, but she doesn’t care.

FRATBOY!RAFE who is the kind of guy that enters a party like he owns the place and demands attention without even needing to saying a word. with a jaw that’s always clenched and eyes always scanning the room like he’s ready to throw the first punch or take the first shot, maybe even both, he’s got a foreboding presence that people are dangerously drawn to.

FRATBOY!RAFE who is just about as passionate about white powder and girls as ballerina!reader is about ballet. she stays behind after practice at 10pm practicing her fouettés? he’s manspreading lazily on a worn-out couch snorting white powder ‘till his nose feels like it’s about to fall off. fueled by purely adrenaline, white powder, alcohol and testosterone, his weekends bleed into weekdays with little distinction. he thrives in chaos: fistfights on lawns, blackouts from drinking too much, waking up with a mystery bruise and no regrets.

FRATBOY!RAFE who is charming when he wants to be - a big flashy smile or a cocky smirk with his backwards cap on, playing the frat prince part perfectly. but there’s a simmering intensity underneath it all that never really shuts off. girls are trophies to him, parties are basically battlegrounds, and the line between confidence and aggression blurs often with him. he’s fun until he’s not. and you don’t ever wanna get on his bad side.

FRATBOY!RAFE who people cross the street upon seeing and lower their heads when he walks by. he’s got problems he won't publicise, yet everyone’s aware of, and a burning need to feel something - anything - that drives his reckless habits. underneath his bravado, there's a guy who's scared to stop moving, afraid of silence, and terrified of who he might be without the high and his overwhelming demeanour.

FRATBOY!RAFE who plays golf on the weekends and brags about how many birdies he makes in a session, when really he uses golf as an anger outlet and swings his club with a force like he’s hitting a pogue.

FRATBOY!RAFE whose style gives private school rich boy. he often wears wrinkled polo shirts and button downs with chino shorts, slip ons, and a baseball cap worn backwards. he might wear oversized sunglasses, and a silver chain or bracelet for a simple accessory.

— how they first met

˖ㅤㅤ۫ㅤㅤ ꕮ ㅤ۫ㅤ[xoxtahlia]. ˖ㅤㅤ۫ㅤᘞ ˚ ۪

[xoxtahlia]

the blue haired girl — rafe cameron

➜ @ summary ﹕ rafe falls in love with you, a mystifying blue haired girl, only for him to be forced to ghost you by his father, ward, and leave for the military. ✩

➜ @ a/n: ﹕ not too sure where i was going with this tbf, i was just inspired by that one tiktok sound iykyk but i hope you still enjoy! ✩

rafe cameron didn’t do love or relationships.

at least, he thought he didn’t.

getting attached to someone, being tied down to only one person seemed like too much of a commitment to him. he had girls falling at his feet left, right and centre - a myriad of women who would give themselves up for him at any given moment, and he was content with that. besides, how could anybody love him, truly love him, with all the baggage he carried? his daddy issues, anger management problems, violent tendencies and the weight of feeling like a disappointment constantly dragging him down. no girl wanted to stick around for that. and honestly, he couldn’t blame anybody for running away. he would run away from himself too.

but that all changed when he saw you. away from the party at the boneyard and sitting on the sand at the edge of the coast instead, your toes occasionally dipping into the rising salty ocean water while you watched the restless waves lap in front of you peacefully. there was a weightlessness to your presence, how you smiled as though the world spun just to keep up with your joy. like you didn’t have a care in the world, whilst rafe had 99 problems sitting at the front of his head. he noticed the long, feathery eyelashes that framed your eyes like delicate fans, fluttering with each blink, casting small shadows that danced across your cheeks.

and then, your hair. it cascaded like midnight ink, a deep navy blue that shimmered subtly under the moon. in the darkness, it appeared almost black, mysterious and untouchable, but when you moved slightly to pick up a seashell beside you, faint glimmers of sapphire danced along the strands like distant galaxies stirring to life. the colour was bold but not loud, a quiet rebellion whispered through each silky lock. it was the kind of blue that held secrets, the kind that made a person look twice - not just at the color, but at the person bold enough to wear the night in their hair. and just like that, he was enraptured.

“who’s that?” rafe shouted over the loud music, holding a half-empty beer in one hand while he used the other shoulder to nudge topper, and he nodded towards you. the blue haired girl. topper simply shrugged, his eyes lingering on you at the coast longer than they should, before he looked back at rafe. “no clue. she’s new to outer banks, i heard.” topper said casually, before he walked off to a group of kooks, leaving rafe to be in his thoughts and to watch you from a distance.

that night be went up to you. of course he did - he’d never been one to shy away from a beautiful girl, but that night was different. despite his usual charming and nonchalant demeanour, beneath that was a quiet nervousness that only your presence brought about in him, one that even liquid courage couldn’t wash away from him. and for once in rafe’s life when talking to a woman, he felt a fluttering in his chest like a thousand wings. it felt warm and pleasurable, like standing in sunlight after days of rain. but it was unfamiliar, almost vulnerable in a way. rafe knew he should pull away and leave you alone before he became too captivated. but it was too late. because when he walked you back home after talking that night, and you shut the door in his face with an endearing smile and a “goodnight”, he wanted more of you. and he didn’t feel like pulling away anymore.

every time you two met up afterwards, you looked at him in a way in which he felt you saw past his rough edges and into his soul, beneath the cracks in his heart. like you saw through him, like you knew him. he always waited for the flinch. the recoil. the familiar flicker of fear that always followed once people truly looked at him. but it never came. you always met his eyes and never looked away. no edge in your voice when you spoke, no false kindness: just a quiet, steady presence, like you weren’t trying to fix him or fear him, only see him. it caught rafe off guard because he realised he wasn’t being seen as a creature or a cautionary tale by you, but as a man. a flawed, fractured man. it was both comforting and overwhelming, but not once did rafe every shy away. rafe didn’t feel worthy of your love and understanding. he wasn’t sure he wanted it. and yet, a part of him, long buried and almost forgotten, ached for it.

even his first kiss with you was different. rafe was used to quick fucks and rough kisses filled with lust and domination, not whatever the hell he had with you. rafe had never been the romantic guy, but that day he’d brought you out of your home with a bouquet of roses and sat down with you in a flower field to watch the sun set. before he kissed you, time seemed to slow, the world zooming onto the small space where your eyes met and everything unspoken hovered in the silence. he gave a hesitant lean, a pause, the briefest flicker of doubt - and then, the kiss. it was gentle at first, almost like a question, lips brushing like the whisper of a secret. soon after, warmth bloomed in rafe’s chest, unexpected and dizzying, as if gravity had shifted just for you two. when he finally pulled away, the air felt different - charged, golden, like something sacred yet mysterious, mysterious like your hair, had just passed between you two. and in that moment, rafe knew no other girl would ever compare to you.

but of course, like everything good in rafe’s life, it was only temporary. because soon, ward got tired of his drug addiction, his anger issues, his failure to live up to the cameron name. so he sent rafe away to the military with a contract of two years, forcing him to leave without a trace. he couldn’t even say goodbye to his blue haired girl, the girl he had loved the most, the girl who saw through him with understanding and not at him with disdain.

-

a year and 10 months had passed since rafe left outer banks behind without letting anyone know of his whereabouts, since he had to leave you behind. he laid on the bottom bed of his shared bunk bed in the army barracks, wearing a measly slightly torn tank top and his combat uniform pants.

he reached over to the wooden bedside table next to him, picking up his wallet and slipping out a slightly crumpled photo of you - his blue haired girl - and him on the night of your first kiss together. a small smile formed on rafe’s face as he ran a thumb over the picture of your face almost reverently, before he let out a bittersweet chuckle. that photo of you two together was the only thing he had left of you and the only thing that kept him going these days. he had no idea how you were doing, what you were doing, whether you were still even in outer banks, if you still thought about him every night like he did. he hoped that maybe, just maybe, you were waiting for him, despite not knowing yourself if or when he’d even come back. it was a silly thought - rafe knew that - but it was a fantasy that made the idea of going back to outer banks after two years less dreadful to him.

his thumb traced over your flowy blue hair in the photo as if he was trying to remember what it felt like to run his hands through those navy locks, before he noticed a person standing at the foot of his bed. when he tore his gaze away from the beloved photo, alan was staring down at him while he lay on his respectable bed. an acquaintance he’d made in the army. “they’re serving dinner downstairs, dude. what the hell are you doing up here?” alan said with a slight confused furrow of his eyebrows, and he sat by the foot of rafe’s bed. rafe gave a huff filled with annoyance. he hated his alone time being interrupted, especially when he was thinking of you. “not hungry.” rafe said shortly and curtly, pressing the photo of you two to his chest. alan noticed that piece of paper in his hand. a small smirk formed on his face.

“is this about that blue haired girl whose picture you keep in your wallet?” and suddenly, rafe sat up in his bed with surprise, his back against the wall, and his cerulean eyes darkened with something unrecognisable. perhaps defensiveness. “wait. you snooped in my fucking wallet?” rafe spoke with his voice rough and gruff, his eyebrows knitted. but before rafe could say anything more, alan cut him off. “stop deflecting. the girl with the blue hair. what’s the deal with you two?”

the question caught him off guard. ‘what’s the deal?’ rafe scoffed at alan’s question. he’d never been good at words, so how the hell was he supposed to articulate that you were the one person that really saw him - not the dangerous version he gave the world, but the one underneath? “i just…” rafe stuttered before he cleared his throat and shifted uncomfortably on the hard mattress. “she’s someone who means a lot to me, okay? my girlfriend.” he snapped, trying to sound tough like he always did, but he could never be harsh when speaking about you. you always brought out the softness in him. alan seemed to like that answer, because his smirk only widened at rafe.

a beat of silence wrapped around the two men like a blanket, before alan spoke up quietly. “she waiting for you back home?”

rafe stared blankly at alan for a moment, before three words left his lips in a desperate plea.

“i hope so.”

[xoxtahlia]

the blue haired girl — rafe cameron

➜ @ summary ﹕ rafe falls in love with you, a mystifying blue haired girl, only for him to be forced to ghost you by his father, ward, and leave for the military. ✩

➜ @ a/n: ﹕ not too sure where i was going with this tbf, i was just inspired by that one tiktok sound iykyk but i hope you still enjoy! ✩

rafe cameron didn’t do love or relationships.

at least, he thought he didn’t.

getting attached to someone, being tied down to only one person seemed like too much of a commitment to him. he had girls falling at his feet left, right and centre - a myriad of women who would give themselves up for him at any given moment, and he was content with that. besides, how could anybody love him, truly love him, with all the baggage he carried? his daddy issues, anger management problems, violent tendencies and the weight of feeling like a disappointment constantly dragging him down. no girl wanted to stick around for that. and honestly, he couldn’t blame anybody for running away. he would run away from himself too.

but that all changed when he saw you. away from the party at the boneyard and sitting on the sand at the edge of the coast instead, your toes occasionally dipping into the rising salty ocean water while you watched the restless waves lap in front of you peacefully. there was a weightlessness to your presence, how you smiled as though the world spun just to keep up with your joy. like you didn’t have a care in the world, whilst rafe had 99 problems sitting at the front of his head. he noticed the long, feathery eyelashes that framed your eyes like delicate fans, fluttering with each blink, casting small shadows that danced across your cheeks.

and then, your hair. it cascaded like midnight ink, a deep navy blue that shimmered subtly under the moon. in the darkness, it appeared almost black, mysterious and untouchable, but when you moved slightly to pick up a seashell beside you, faint glimmers of sapphire danced along the strands like distant galaxies stirring to life. the colour was bold but not loud, a quiet rebellion whispered through each silky lock. it was the kind of blue that held secrets, the kind that made a person look twice - not just at the color, but at the person bold enough to wear the night in their hair. and just like that, he was enraptured.

“who’s that?” rafe shouted over the loud music, holding a half-empty beer in one hand while he used the other shoulder to nudge topper, and he nodded towards you. the blue haired girl. topper simply shrugged, his eyes lingering on you at the coast longer than they should, before he looked back at rafe. “no clue. she’s new to outer banks, i heard.” topper said casually, before he walked off to a group of kooks, leaving rafe to be in his thoughts and to watch you from a distance.

that night be went up to you. of course he did - he’d never been one to shy away from a beautiful girl, but that night was different. despite his usual charming and nonchalant demeanour, beneath that was a quiet nervousness that only your presence brought about in him, one that even liquid courage couldn’t wash away from him. and for once in rafe’s life when talking to a woman, he felt a fluttering in his chest like a thousand wings. it felt warm and pleasurable, like standing in sunlight after days of rain. but it was unfamiliar, almost vulnerable in a way. rafe knew he should pull away and leave you alone before he became too captivated. but it was too late. because when he walked you back home after talking that night, and you shut the door in his face with an endearing smile and a “goodnight”, he wanted more of you. and he didn’t feel like pulling away anymore.

every time you two met up afterwards, you looked at him in a way in which he felt you saw past his rough edges and into his soul, beneath the cracks in his heart. like you saw through him, like you knew him. he always waited for the flinch. the recoil. the familiar flicker of fear that always followed once people truly looked at him. but it never came. you always met his eyes and never looked away. no edge in your voice when you spoke, no false kindness: just a quiet, steady presence, like you weren’t trying to fix him or fear him, only see him. it caught rafe off guard because he realised he wasn’t being seen as a creature or a cautionary tale by you, but as a man. a flawed, fractured man. it was both comforting and overwhelming, but not once did rafe every shy away. rafe didn’t feel worthy of your love and understanding. he wasn’t sure he wanted it. and yet, a part of him, long buried and almost forgotten, ached for it.

even his first kiss with you was different. rafe was used to quick fucks and rough kisses filled with lust and domination, not whatever the hell he had with you. rafe had never been the romantic guy, but that day he’d brought you out of your home with a bouquet of roses and sat down with you in a flower field to watch the sun set. before he kissed you, time seemed to slow, the world zooming onto the small space where your eyes met and everything unspoken hovered in the silence. he gave a hesitant lean, a pause, the briefest flicker of doubt - and then, the kiss. it was gentle at first, almost like a question, lips brushing like the whisper of a secret. soon after, warmth bloomed in rafe’s chest, unexpected and dizzying, as if gravity had shifted just for you two. when he finally pulled away, the air felt different - charged, golden, like something sacred yet mysterious, mysterious like your hair, had just passed between you two. and in that moment, rafe knew no other girl would ever compare to you.

but of course, like everything good in rafe’s life, it was only temporary. because soon, ward got tired of his drug addiction, his anger issues, his failure to live up to the cameron name. so he sent rafe away to the military with a contract of two years, forcing him to leave without a trace. he couldn’t even say goodbye to his blue haired girl, the girl he had loved the most, the girl who saw through him with understanding and not at him with disdain.

-

a year and 10 months had passed since rafe left outer banks behind without letting anyone know of his whereabouts, since he had to leave you behind. he laid on the bottom bed of his shared bunk bed in the army barracks, wearing a measly slightly torn tank top and his combat uniform pants.

he reached over to the wooden bedside table next to him, picking up his wallet and slipping out a slightly crumpled photo of you - his blue haired girl - and him on the night of your first kiss together. a small smile formed on rafe’s face as he ran a thumb over the picture of your face almost reverently, before he let out a bittersweet chuckle. that photo of you two together was the only thing he had left of you and the only thing that kept him going these days. he had no idea how you were doing, what you were doing, whether you were still even in outer banks, if you still thought about him every night like he did. he hoped that maybe, just maybe, you were waiting for him, despite not knowing yourself if or when he’d even come back. it was a silly thought - rafe knew that - but it was a fantasy that made the idea of going back to outer banks after two years less dreadful to him.

his thumb traced over your flowy blue hair in the photo as if he was trying to remember what it felt like to run his hands through those navy locks, before he noticed a person standing at the foot of his bed. when he tore his gaze away from the beloved photo, alan was staring down at him while he lay on his respectable bed. an acquaintance he’d made in the army. “they’re serving dinner downstairs, dude. what the hell are you doing up here?” alan said with a slight confused furrow of his eyebrows, and he sat by the foot of rafe’s bed. rafe gave a huff filled with annoyance. he hated his alone time being interrupted, especially when he was thinking of you. “not hungry.” rafe said shortly and curtly, pressing the photo of you two to his chest. alan noticed that piece of paper in his hand. a small smirk formed on his face.

“is this about that blue haired girl whose picture you keep in your wallet?” and suddenly, rafe sat up in his bed with surprise, his back against the wall, and his cerulean eyes darkened with something unrecognisable. perhaps defensiveness. “wait. you snooped in my fucking wallet?” rafe spoke with his voice rough and gruff, his eyebrows knitted. but before rafe could say anything more, alan cut him off. “stop deflecting. the girl with the blue hair. what’s the deal with you two?”

the question caught him off guard. ‘what’s the deal?’ rafe scoffed at alan’s question. he’d never been good at words, so how the hell was he supposed to articulate that you were the one person that really saw him - not the dangerous version he gave the world, but the one underneath? “i just…” rafe stuttered before he cleared his throat and shifted uncomfortably on the hard mattress. “she’s someone who means a lot to me, okay? my girlfriend.” he snapped, trying to sound tough like he always did, but he could never be harsh when speaking about you. you always brought out the softness in him. alan seemed to like that answer, because his smirk only widened at rafe.

a beat of silence wrapped around the two men like a blanket, before alan spoke up quietly. “she waiting for you back home?”

rafe stared blankly at alan for a moment, before three words left his lips in a desperate plea.

“i hope so.”

[xoxtahlia]

just friends? — rafe cameron

warnings: slight description of sex and one night stands

a/n: this is my first ever blog and ff so i would love feedback! please lmk if i made any mistakes too <3

the sun rose slowly, the first soft strokes across the horizon. a faint, golden hue brushed the edge of the sky, deepening as the sun climbed higher. through the open window, the morning light spilled in gently, filtering past the fluttering curtains and casting onto your face. the sudden rays of light caused you to stir gently - one eye peeked open, then the next followed after. your vision was blurry from prolonged inactivity, so you brought a heavy hand up to your eyes, rubbing gently at your eyelids with a soft groan. a polished brown dresser, a leather king-sized bed that you were laying on, a glass chandelier hanging from the ceiling. all items that you noticed while you looked around. all items that weren’t in your bedroom. you turned your head left, your hair sprawled out on the silk pillow, to see rafe’s cerulean pair of eyes already looking at you - watchful yet unreadable. then all the memories of last night came back to you.

you remembered how he called you over to his house because he ‘felt stressed’. you remembered how he suddenly pressed you against the wall and captured your lips in a rough kiss laced with lust, your tongues fighting for dominance. you remembered how he laid you down on his bed, placed kisses down your stomach, how he thrusted into you with a groan, how your moans echoed through his lavish bedroom, how-

fuck.

once again, you’d ended up in his bed, your bodies tangled together in the bedsheets. it’s not like you ever regretted it, though - ‘just friends’ was what you two were meant to be. ward and your father were high school buddies, and your families were absolutely inseparable: whether it was a bbq on sunday, or a cruise vacation together, your families were always together. how could anybody blame you two for being intimate when you were forced into close proximity at every moment by your families?

it started off as sneaking away at family gatherings to steal kisses under the moonlight. then it became rafe, your best friend, harmlessly taking your virginity because you trusted him. after, it became fucking at every chance you two got while using any lame excuse that came to the top of your heads to justify your actions. and every time afterwards, you got to see the real side of rafe. the vulnerable side of rafe, the side that didn’t feel like he needed to be aggressive and punch walls. just the true, raw him. and those moments always made you feel like you two were more than just a casual fling to each other.

“fuck, we shouldn’t have done this.” rafe muttered in his gruff, low morning voice that you’d become accustomed to. he was talking to himself, but of course you’d caught on. he dangled one arm over the bed lazily to grab his shirt that he had slung off swiftly yesterday night, and pulled it over his face quicker than you could object. you stared at him blankly but with resignation, because his morning voice wasn’t the only familiar thing to you now. it was his words.

“this was a mistake.” “what the fuck are we doing?” “we can’t be doing this.”

it was a different variation, but the same message each time that brought you back down to earth and to reality. he didn’t want you. not like you wanted him, at least.

after putting on his shirt, rafe clapped you playfully on the back with a lopsided smirk - like what you’d done last night meant absolutely nothing to him. “get up, sleepyhead. aren’t your parents wondering where you are?” he asked with sleepiness still riddled throughout his voice as he sat on the edge of the bed, his back facing towards you while he slipped on his jeans and buckled his belt with a soft sigh. “they’re on vacation for their anniversary.” was all you could mumble before you sat up in his bed and propped yourself up on your elbows. rafe simply responded with an amused huff and turned back to face you with a look that always made your stomach flip.

“we’re still, uh, just friends after this, right?” rafe murmured quietly with his gaze on you unwavering, and suddenly the air felt a lot thicker to you. he clarified this everytime you two had gotten together, but the sentence always managed to send a wave of disappointment crashing into you and drowning other emotions out. you wanted to tell him that you yearned to be more than just a fling or a friend to him. you wanted to tell him that you dreamed of being able to call him ‘yours’.

but the words couldn’t made it past your tightly shut lips.

so you simply scoffed like it would be absurd to think of him as anything other than just a friend, and you forced a nonchalant smile.

“of course. just friends.”

[xoxtahlia]

just friends? — rafe cameron

warnings: slight description of sex and one night stands

a/n: this is my first ever blog and ff so i would love feedback! please lmk if i made any mistakes too <3

the sun rose slowly, the first soft strokes across the horizon. a faint, golden hue brushed the edge of the sky, deepening as the sun climbed higher. through the open window, the morning light spilled in gently, filtering past the fluttering curtains and casting onto your face. the sudden rays of light caused you to stir gently - one eye peeked open, then the next followed after. your vision was blurry from prolonged inactivity, so you brought a heavy hand up to your eyes, rubbing gently at your eyelids with a soft groan. a polished brown dresser, a leather king-sized bed that you were laying on, a glass chandelier hanging from the ceiling. all items that you noticed while you looked around. all items that weren’t in your bedroom. you turned your head left, your hair sprawled out on the silk pillow, to see rafe’s cerulean pair of eyes already looking at you - watchful yet unreadable. then all the memories of last night came back to you.

you remembered how he called you over to his house because he ‘felt stressed’. you remembered how he suddenly pressed you against the wall and captured your lips in a rough kiss laced with lust, your tongues fighting for dominance. you remembered how he laid you down on his bed, placed kisses down your stomach, how he thrusted into you with a groan, how your moans echoed through his lavish bedroom, how-

fuck.

once again, you’d ended up in his bed, your bodies tangled together in the bedsheets. it’s not like you ever regretted it, though - ‘just friends’ was what you two were meant to be. ward and your father were high school buddies, and your families were absolutely inseparable: whether it was a bbq on sunday, or a cruise vacation together, your families were always together. how could anybody blame you two for being intimate when you were forced into close proximity at every moment by your families?

it started off as sneaking away at family gatherings to steal kisses under the moonlight. then it became rafe, your best friend, harmlessly taking your virginity because you trusted him. after, it became fucking at every chance you two got while using any lame excuse that came to the top of your heads to justify your actions. and every time afterwards, you got to see the real side of rafe. the vulnerable side of rafe, the side that didn’t feel like he needed to be aggressive and punch walls. just the true, raw him. and those moments always made you feel like you two were more than just a casual fling to each other.

“fuck, we shouldn’t have done this.” rafe muttered in his gruff, low morning voice that you’d become accustomed to. he was talking to himself, but of course you’d caught on. he dangled one arm over the bed lazily to grab his shirt that he had slung off swiftly yesterday night, and pulled it over his face quicker than you could object. you stared at him blankly but with resignation, because his morning voice wasn’t the only familiar thing to you now. it was his words.

“this was a mistake.” “what the fuck are we doing?” “we can’t be doing this.”

it was a different variation, but the same message each time that brought you back down to earth and to reality. he didn’t want you. not like you wanted him, at least.

after putting on his shirt, rafe clapped you playfully on the back with a lopsided smirk - like what you’d done last night meant absolutely nothing to him. “get up, sleepyhead. aren’t your parents wondering where you are?” he asked with sleepiness still riddled throughout his voice as he sat on the edge of the bed, his back facing towards you while he slipped on his jeans and buckled his belt with a soft sigh. “they’re on vacation for their anniversary.” was all you could mumble before you sat up in his bed and propped yourself up on your elbows. rafe simply responded with an amused huff and turned back to face you with a look that always made your stomach flip.

“we’re still, uh, just friends after this, right?” rafe murmured quietly with his gaze on you unwavering, and suddenly the air felt a lot thicker to you. he clarified this everytime you two had gotten together, but the sentence always managed to send a wave of disappointment crashing into you and drowning other emotions out. you wanted to tell him that you yearned to be more than just a fling or a friend to him. you wanted to tell him that you dreamed of being able to call him ‘yours’.

but the words couldn’t made it past your tightly shut lips.

so you simply scoffed like it would be absurd to think of him as anything other than just a friend, and you forced a nonchalant smile.

“of course. just friends.”