STOP I'LL CRY 🥹🥹

partners in lies - rafe cameron (smau)

summary: in which two public figures need help getting back into the public’s good graces after being bombarded in scandal. another tale about a fake hollywood relationship and all it's complicated details. because it's never as straight forward as the contract makes it out to be, is it?

content warnings: model!rafe x actress!reader au, original afab!reader, cameron family still gets along au, suggestive content, mentions/allusions to revenge p*rn (HOWEVER ALL CONTENT ITSELF IS SFW), allusions to eating disorders, cyberbullying, mentions of cheating, mentions of alcohol, use of petnames, general fuckboy behaviour.

table of contents

00 ☆ 01 ☆ 02 ☆ 03 ☆ 04 ☆ 05 ☆ 06 ☆ 07 ☆ 08 ☆ 09

10 ☆ 11 ☆ 12 ☆ 13 ☆ 14 ☆ 15 ☆ 16 ☆ 17 ☆ 18 ☆ 19 ☆ 20

21 ☆ 22 ☆ 23 ☆ 24 ☆ 25 ☆ 26 ☆ 27 ☆ 28 ☆ 29 ☆ 30

31 ☆ 32 ☆ 33 ☆ 34 ☆ 35 ☆ 36 ☆ 37 ☆ 38 ☆ 39 ☆ 40

41 ☆ 42 ☆ 43 ☆ 44 ☆ 45 ☆ 46 ☆ 47 ☆ 48 ☆ 49 ☆ 50

asks ☆ extras: 01

This is who he is.

"Missionary so we can keep arguing?"

That's some romantic shit right there

THE CONTRACTED HEART — Rafe Cameron

MASTERLIST

Summary: Coming back from a theater night with your friends only made Rafe hornier for some reason

Warnings: smut, eating out, fingering, p in v.

Word Count: 3.3k

Aliyah's Notes: this is kind of all over the place but wtv. it's a cute little extra that i thought was fun

You: "Where the fuck are you?" You: "This is why you’ve never had a girlfriend." You: "I hope you guys tripped and fell into a river." You: "I’m serious, Rafe. Are you okay? I’m starting to worry."

You stood outside the cinema with Kiara and Sarah, arms crossed as the chilly New York breeze bit at your skin. Despite the gray hoodie you’d stolen from Rafe draped over your white crop top, you still felt cold, silently cursing Sarah for convincing you to wear such a thin outfit. Sure, it looked great, but it definitely wasn’t warm enough for a night like this.

The three of you had been waiting for what felt like forever while the guys—Rafe, JJ, and John B—vanished into the snack counter abyss. You hadn’t even decided on a movie yet, and deep down, you knew that when Rafe showed up, a heated argument about which movie to watch was inevitable.

It was almost tradition at this point: the two of you bickering over the movie choice while everyone else groaned in frustration. But like always, you were confident you’d win. You always did. Rafe would put up a fight for the sake of it, but in the end, he’d cave, and you’d get your way.

Kiara sighed loudly, tugging you out of your thoughts. "What’s taking them so long? Are they buying snacks or building them from scratch?"

“With the time they’re taking, I’m starting to think they’ve decided to move in back there," you muttered, shoving your hands into the hoodie pockets.

Kiara snorted, throwing her hands in the air. “Seriously, what’s their deal? Did they forget we exist?”

“Knowing JJ and John B? Probably. They’re probably debating over candy, and Rafe’s just stuck there, pretending to care," Sarah chimed in, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

“And he’ll come out looking all innocent,” you added, smirking. “Like, ‘What? It wasn’t me.’”

Kiara grinned, brushing her hair out of her face. “Meanwhile, JJ’s going to show up with enough snacks to feed a small country.”

Sarah laughed. “Honestly, we should’ve started a timer on them. This is ridiculous.”

"Or a betting pool," Kiara added with a mischievous glint.

You chuckled, glancing at the glowing movie posters plastered on the walls. Your gaze lingered on the title of the movie you’d been determined to watch all week. It was calling your name, and nothing—not even Rafe’s inevitable stubbornness—was going to stop you from seeing it tonight.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the guys emerged, balancing an obscene amount of snacks between them. JJ led the charge with a sheepish grin, precariously balancing a tray stacked with popcorn, nachos, and candy.

“We’re back, ladies!” JJ called, panting as he reached you. He flashed Kiara a grin and casually slung an arm around her shoulder. “Took a little longer than expected.”

Sarah raised an unimpressed eyebrow. “A little? We were about to send a search party.”

JJ waved her off, popping a kernel of popcorn into his mouth. “You just don’t appreciate the art of snack selection. It’s a process, Sarah. You can’t rush greatness.”

“Greatness, huh?” Kiara deadpanned, staring at the tray in his hands.

“Absolutely.” JJ puffed out his chest but immediately backed down at Kiara’s withering look.

As John B mumbled an apology and tried to lighten the mood, Rafe sauntered up, his gaze locked on you. His blue eyes seemed to search yours, scanning your face for any sign of annoyance—or maybe forgiveness. Without a word, he slid his arm around your waist, pulling you close in one smooth motion.

"Are you mad?" he asked quietly, his voice uncharacteristically soft.

You tilted your head, pretending to think. "Hmm, let me see... You disappeared for ages, left me out here in the freezing cold, and probably picked the most ridiculous snacks. What do you think?"

Rafe's lips twitched, fighting a smirk. "So... that's a yes?"

"Obviously,” you crossed your arms, feigning a pout, though the warmth of his arm around your waist made it hard to stay committed to the act.

“C’mon, baby, it wasn’t that bad,” he teased, leaning closer. “You had Sarah and Kie to keep you company. I bet they were super entertaining.”

“Much better company than you,” you sassed, though the corner of your mouth twitched in betrayal.

Rafe’s smirk grew, and he leaned in even closer, so close you could feel his breath fan against your cheek. “How about I make it up to you?”

You quirked an eyebrow, your heart skipping a beat despite yourself. “Oh? And how exactly are you planning to do that?”

“I’ll let you pick the movie,” he said, as if it was a monumental sacrifice.

You blinked, staring at him. “You were going to let me pick the movie anyway.”

“Yeah, but now I’m offering,” he countered, his grin widening.

Kiara’s voice broke through the moment, her tone dripping with mock exasperation. “God, will you two just kiss already so we can pick a seat? It’s freezing out here.”

Sarah snorted. “Seriously, you guys are worse than an old married couple.”

Your cheeks burned, but before you could respond, Rafe turned his head toward the girls, his expression smug. “Jealous much?”

“Of what? Your inability to tell time?” Kiara shot back, unimpressed.

Rafe chuckled, then turned back to you, ignoring their comments. “So, are we good?”

You rolled your eyes, unable to hide your smile. “Fine. But you’re holding all the snacks, Cameron.”

“Deal.” He winked, stealing a quick kiss on your temple.

As the credits rolled and the theater lights slowly came on, you stretched your arms above your head, trying to shake off the stiffness from sitting for two hours. The group shuffled out of their seats, JJ loudly debating with John B about the "most iconic moment" in the movie while Sarah and Kiara chimed in with their own opinions.

You weren’t paying much attention, though. Your focus was on Rafe, who’d been surprisingly quiet during the movie, his hand casually resting on your thigh for most of it. Every now and then, you’d caught him glancing at you instead of the screen, though he played it off whenever you turned to meet his gaze.

The cool night air greeted you as you stepped out of the theater, the city alive with its usual buzz. You pulled Rafe’s hoodie tighter around you, already feeling the chill sink in.

“You cold?” Rafe asked, stepping closer.

“A little,” you admitted, rubbing your hands together for warmth.

Without another word, he slid his arm around your shoulders, pulling you into his side. The gesture was so natural, so un-Rafe in its quiet thoughtfulness, that you almost didn’t know how to react.

“You’re lucky I let you pick the movie,” he teased, his voice low and warm against your ear.

“You didn’t let me do anything,” you countered, glancing up at him. “I just won, like I always do.”

“Debatable,” he shot back, though his grin betrayed his amusement.

The group paused near the sidewalk, debating where to go next. JJ was rallying for a late-night diner run, while Sarah and Kiara wanted to head home. You stood back with Rafe, content to let them figure it out.

Rafe nudged you lightly. “What’d you think of the movie?”

You smirked. “I loved it, obviously. It’s called having good taste. You should try it sometime.”

“Careful,” he warned, his tone playful. “Or I might change my mind about letting you pick next time.”

“Yeah, right,” you scoffed. “We both know you’ll cave again.”

Rafe stared at you for a moment, his smirk softening into something gentler. His arm slipped from your shoulders, and before you could protest, he reached for your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours.

“Okay, I’ll admit it,” he murmured, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “You were right. It was a good pick.”

You blinked up at him, caught off guard by the sudden sincerity. “Is this your way of saying I have good taste?”

“Don’t push it,” he said, though his grin gave him away.

Before you could respond, JJ called out, breaking the moment. “Ayo, Rafe! Quit making googly eyes with your wife and help me convince them to hit the diner!”

Rafe groaned, rolling his eyes. “This guy…”

You laughed, tugging on his hand. “C’mon, we should at least hear him out. You do owe me for taking so long earlier.”

His eyes lit up. “You’re not letting that go, are you?”

“Never,” you said with a grin, leading him toward the group.

As the group finally parted ways—JJ still grumbling about the lack of a diner stop—you and Rafe headed back to his car. The ride was quiet, the city lights casting soft glows through the windows as the hum of the engine filled the space.

Rafe rested one hand on the steering wheel, his other hand perched casually on your thigh, a touch he hadn’t bothered to remove since the movie started. You glanced at him, his profile sharp under the streetlights, and felt your thighs rub against each other. You hated how effortlessly sexy he looked, even when he was doing something as mundane as driving.

When he pulled into the parking garage of his building, you expected him to make a teasing comment about how you’d owe him for letting you win the movie argument. Instead, he turned off the engine, sat back, and looked at you, his blue eyes flickering with something unreadable.

“What?” you asked, feigning nonchalance, though your voice betrayed the way your heart had started to race.

“Nothing,” he said, though the way his lips curled into a slow, dangerous smirk told a different story. “Just thinking about how much I want to fuck you right now.”

Your breath hitched, but you rolled your eyes, trying to play it cool. “Is that your way of saying you’re admitting defeat? Again?”

“Defeat?” he repeated, his voice dropping an octave as he leaned closer, his hand still warm and steady on your thigh. “Baby, you have no idea who’s about to win.”

Before you could reply, he closed the distance, his lips crashing onto yours with a mix of urgency and purpose. His hands cupped your face, his thumbs brushing over your cheeks as he deepened the kiss, his tongue sweeping against yours in a way that made your head spin.

You barely registered the sound of the car door closing behind you or the way he guided you toward the elevator, his lips never leaving yours. By the time the elevator doors slid open to his penthouse, you were breathless, his hands gripping your waist as he walked you backward into the living room.

“Rafe,” you murmured against his lips, your fingers tangling in his hair.

“What, baby?” he hummed, his lips moving to trail kisses along your jawline and down your neck.

“We—” Your words dissolved into a gasp as he nipped at the sensitive spot just below your ear. “We’re home,” you managed to say, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Exactly,” he muttered against your skin, his hands sliding down to grip your hips and pull you flush against him. “And no one’s here to interrupt us.”

You opened your mouth to reply, but Rafe silenced you with another searing kiss, his fingers slipping beneath the hem of the hoodie you were wearing—his hoodie. The warmth of his touch against your skin sent a shiver down your spine, and any coherent thought you had vanished entirely.

His hands on your body were all you were thinking about. It was so addictive. 

He was laying you down on the couch, taking your—his—hoodie off your body, then your crop-top. “You’re so fucking pretty. My wife,” his thumb ran over your hard nipples as he rapidly took your black bra off, throwing it god-knows-where in the living room. “Mine to fuck,” he bit down on your nipple. “Mine to ruin.”

His hand slid lower, slipping beneath the waistband of your pants, fingertips teasing the edge of your soaked panties. A shiver raced through you as his touch lingered, deliberate and torturously slow. By now, you couldn’t bring yourself to care how desperate, how utterly undone you sounded. Each broken moan and shaky breath betrayed how much you craved him, how badly you needed him. Nothing else mattered but this moment.

“Please, Rafe… please…”

“What, baby? What do you want?

Before you could even muster a response, his hand was already slipping beneath your panties. His fingers found your sensitive bud effortlessly, stroking it with deliberate, teasing motions that sent jolts of pleasure coursing through you. A soft moan escaped your lips, your body instinctively arching into his touch as if it was second nature—a dance the two of you had performed countless times before.

He watched you intently, his eyes dark and smoldering, drinking in every gasp, every shiver you gave him. Slowly, he brought his glistening fingers to his lips, tasting you with a deliberate flick of his tongue. 

“Fuck! I could taste you for a thousand years and still be so obsessed after all those years,” he murmured, his voice low and rough, his gaze never leaving yours as he savored every bit of you like it was a privilege. “You got no idea how fucking obsessed I am with you, baby.”

He didn’t waste a single moment, his hands working to tug your pants down before tearing through the delicate lace of your panties with a sharp rip.

“Rafe!” you exclaimed, a mix of frustration and disbelief in your tone. “Those were expensive!”

He only smirked, his eyes glinting with mischief as he let the ruined fabric fall to the floor. “I’ll buy you a dozen more,” he promised, his voice dark and dripping with desire.

Without hesitation, Rafe’s tongue found your swollen folds, his movements deliberate yet desperate, as if savoring every tremor of your oversensitive body. The sharp gasp that escaped your lips was like music to him, fueling his obsession with every intoxicating second of pleasuring you.

“God, Rafe!” you cried out, your voice trembling as the tension inside you threatened to snap. “I-I’m so close… gonna explode!”

He groaned against you, the sound vibrating through your core as his tongue flattened, dragging languidly across your slick heat. His rhythm was unhurried, teasing yet relentless, each stroke chasing away the weight of the outside world, grounding him in this moment with you. “You taste so good, babe,” he murmured, his lips brushing your sensitive skin.

“You like that, huh?” he rasped, his voice heavy with need as he nipped at you softly, savoring your helpless writhing. “You like riding my face, don’t you, sweetheart? Taking what you need like this?”

Your hips bucked involuntarily, and a broken moan escaped you. “Y-yes! Fuck, yes!”

A dark chuckle rumbled in his chest as he held you tighter, his grip possessive. “This is all I could think of while we were watching the movie,” his hand tracing a path down your chest, he brushed over your nipples, a deliberate pinch causing a sharp gasp to escape you. “The sound of your moans, the way your pussy tastes, imagining myself between your legs... I couldn't stop thinking about it.”

Your body was writhing beneath him, every subtle arch and tremble betraying just how close you were. The way your breath hitched, your cries growing sharper and more desperate, told Rafe everything he needed to know—you were teetering on the edge. His voice dropped into a low, coaxing growl, his lips brushing against your ear.

"That's it, baby," he murmured, his tone both commanding and soothing, a mix of rough encouragement and deep affection. "Let go for me. Cum for me, beautiful."

And just like that, hot pleasure ran through you like lightning, body trembling as you came all over your husband’s pretty face. As the blood roaring in your ears bates, and you blink back your vision, the first thing you see are those familiar blue eyes gazing up at you. Holding you steady, lips brushing gentle kisses along your inner thighs. 

You must have done something right in your past life to have him as your partner.

He pulled back, his lips glistening with the evidence of what he’d just done, and gazed up at you with that trademark smirk—the one that made your heart race and your blood boil in equal measure. As you struggled to catch your breath, he chuckled low in his throat, his voice dripping with smug satisfaction.

"The only time you stop running that smart mouth of yours," he drawled, his eyes dark and playful, "is when I’m buried between your thighs. Not so sassy now, huh, baby?"

Your chest heaved as you processed his words, heat flooding your cheeks. Rolling your eyes, you shoved at his shoulder with your foot, a laugh bubbling past your lips despite your best efforts to stay annoyed.

"I hate you," you shot back, though the corners of your mouth betrayed you, curving into a smile.

He shook his head slowly, the smirk softening into something dangerously close to fondness as he leaned in. Pressing a trail of lazy kisses along your body, working his way from your navel to the hollow of your throat, he murmured against your skin.

"Sure you do..."

You’re catching your breath, trying to steady yourself, when Rafe begins to undress. His gaze doesn’t waver from you as he pulls off his clothes, revealing his sculpted muscles and toned physique. Every inch of him is perfect, his body chiseled and taut, like something crafted from stone. Even the sight of his cock, already leaking with arousal, makes your breath catch in your throat. He’s so hard, it almost feels wrong—like you should apologize for how badly he wants you.

With ease, he spreads your thighs apart, his hands firm yet gentle. "Missionary, so we can keep arguing?" he repeats, teasing you about something you’d said earlier on social media. The words echo in your ears, and a blush rises to your cheeks.

His body leans down toward yours, and his hand grips your hips, holding you in place as the other strokes your cheek with tenderness that contrasts the raw hunger in his eyes. Slowly, deliberately, he sinks into you, inch by inch, a steady rhythm that makes your heart race. You’ve been with him enough times to know the feeling, but each time is different—he stretches you just right, filling you completely, making you gasp.

Perhaps it was because he knew exactly how to touch you, how to make every moment feel electric, or maybe it was the deeper connection you felt with him that stirred something inside you. The way your feelings for him took root and grew, so intense. It was as if he wasn’t just a man you were with—he overwhelmed you, consumed you completely, leaving no room for anything else.

“Shit, Rafe! It’s too much,” you whined, nails raking down his back. 

Rafe’s pace slowed just enough for you to feel every thrust in excruciating detail, and you couldn't help but moan at the feeling. But then, as if on cue, he smirked. "You know," he started, his voice low and teasing, "this whole ‘too much’ thing? Kinda sounds like you’re not enjoying it."

You rolled your eyes, trying to bite back a grin despite the rising heat between you. "Are you seriously talking about this right now?" you shot back, the words almost slipping from your lips in frustration. "You’re the one who—"

"Who what?" He cut you off, his thrusts picking up again, harder, deeper, forcing the words to die in your throat. "Who made you this wet?" He grinned at your flustered expression. "I think you’re enjoying it just fine."

“Y-you’re so… ah… full of yourself," you muttered, though the words come out weaker than you intended.

Rafe chuckled darkly, brushing his thumb over your lower lip. "You love it," he said with that same smug smirk. "You can’t get enough of me, can you?"

"Shut up, Cameron," you snapped, trying to push past the wave of pleasure that clouds your thoughts. "You think you’re so perfect, but—"

"Perfect, huh?" He suddenly stopped, his eyes narrowing playfully. "You really want to keep arguing while I’m literally inside you?"

The tone of his voice shifted, becoming possessive, and you felt his grip on your waist tighten as he pulled you closer, forcing you to feel every inch of him. "I’m not—fuck—perfect, but I know what you want."

You exhaled sharply, trying to suppress a moan. "You’re annoying," you bit out, though there’s no real malice in your words.

Rafe laughed, his lips brushing your ear. "I know." He gave you one more slow, deep thrust, and you couldn’t help but gasp. "But you love it." 

You glared at him, your body still trembling from his movements. 

18+ mdni

Me: “fuck, I need his cock”

Him: *is literally just words on tumblr*

'why come on we're only starting the season'

My man is stronger than me cause i would bawled right there 😭😭

x

This has to be one of the most subdued (if not the most subdued) post-first Grand Prix win radios I’ve ever heard.

I am so disappointed in McLaren for overshadowing what should have been one of the happiest days in Oscar’s life — one that every F1 driver has dreamed of since they were young kids in karts and worked tirelessly towards for years — due to a colossal strategy fuck up for the ages.

Comparing this to Lando’s first win makes my heart hurt. Oscar deserved to experience that pure unbridled joy too 💔

YHE THINGS I'D LET HIM DO TO ME

DREW STARKEY at the National Board of Review Annual Awards Gala

I AM UNWELL I NEED HIM

rafe takes care of u (´・ω・`)/~

rafe leaned against your doorway, arms crossed over his broad chest, watching you struggle with the simplest task, opening a bottle of water. your manicured nails tapped uselessly against the cap, frustration written all over your pouty lips.

“jesus christ,” he sighed, pushing off the frame and snatching the bottle from your hands. “you’re actually helpless, you know that?”

you blinked up at him, doe-eyed, lower lip jutting out in a dramatic little pout. “it’s not my fault,” you whined, twiddling your fingers. “they’re too long, rafe.”

he twisted the cap off with ease, taking a slow sip before handing it back to you. “and yet, you still get them done every week.”

you huffed, taking the bottle and sipping delicately, your lashes fluttering. “’cause they’re pretty.”

rafe shook his head, plopping onto your couch, legs spread wide. “you called me over for this? to be your personal assistant?”

you flopped down beside him, curling up against his side. “mhm,” you hummed, tracing absentmindedly over his arm. “who else is gonna help me, rafe?”

his jaw clenched at that.

you had other people. friends. guys who tripped over themselves to cater to you. but here you were, clinging to him, whining his name, acting like he was the only one who could take care of you.

his fingers flexed against his thigh. “you’re lucky you’re cute, crybaby,” he muttered. “what else do you need help with?”

—

rafe had you sprawled out on your plush pink couch, your lacy little shorts shoved aside, thighs spread wide over his lap. his fingers were buried deep inside your dripping cunt, the cold metal of his rings pressing against your swollen clit as he worked you open.

"so fucking needy," he muttered, watching the way your body squirmed, desperate for more. "cryin’ all day ‘cause you can’t do shit for yourself, but you sure know how to make a fucking mess."

your manicured nails dug into his wrist, trying to slow him down, but rafe just smirked, curling his fingers, pressing right against that spot that made you see stars.

your head fell back against the cushions, a whimper slipping from your glossy lips. "r-rafe—"

"what, baby?" he cooed, his voice dripping with condescension. "this what you wanted? needed me to take care of this too?"

you nodded frantically, hips bucking against his hand, completely at his mercy. your tiny little body trembled in his hold, overwhelmed by the way his fingers stretched you, filled you, owned you.

rafe leaned in, nose grazing the shell of your ear, voice thick with amusement. "bet you could touch yourself," he mused, his thumb circling your clit in slow, deliberate motions. "bet you just wanted me to do it instead, huh? my poor, helpless, spoiled little baby."

your moan was high and broken, your walls fluttering around his fingers as the heat coiled tight in your belly.

rafe chuckled, his free hand gripping your chin, forcing you to look at him.

"gonna cum for me, crybaby?" he murmured, lips brushing against yours.

you could only whimper in response, body tensing as the pleasure overtook you, eyes squeezing shut as your orgasm crashed over you in waves.

rafe groaned, watching you fall apart in his hands, his cock twitching in his sweats.

you were so easy to take care of.

@ rafesbows