futuremrscameron

[futuremrscameron]

“tranquilo baby.”

“dude, tranquilo, okay?”

RAFEBARRY/JJPOPE PARALLELS EVERYWHERE

“tranquilo baby.”

“we’re back in the g-game baby.”

don’t even get me started on jjpope and rafebarry parallels lad

[futuremrscameron]

got my sister watching obx s1

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i know miriam doesn’t play about ldr

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novarah for those with eyes to see

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raficia

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no one has originality anymore, its all bimbo dolly bunny regurgitated same stuff

oomfie opened a portal but nobody else had the finesse

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love island pissed me the fuck off this episode and killed my writing streak so here’s a little sneak peek cause it’s probably gonna be awhile

[futuremrscameron]

CHERRY BLOSSOM — .☘︎ ݁˖

WARNINGS — codependency, age gap (reader is older) mommy issues, rafe calls her mom — he sees her as a mother figure

The first time you meet Rafe, he was just a young adult.

Tall, tan, a little too sharp around the edges, all reckless grins and sunburnt skin. His father stands beside him, shaking hands, making deals, drowning Rafe in expectations he will never meet.

He is polite to you that day. A little shy, a little curious, looking up at you like he can already tell that you will be different.

Like he can already tell that you will ruin him.

"What cruel world is this?"

It starts slow.

He calls you sometimes. At first, it’s harmless—just a younger boy with too much loneliness in his voice, too much weight on his shoulders. He tells you things he doesn’t tell anyone else.

"What you don’t tell anyone, you can tell me."

And he does.

Late at night, when Ward is drunk and his mother is missing and the house is too empty to feel like home—Rafe calls you.

And you pick up.

Years pass.

Rafe is no longer a boy, but he still looks at you like one. Like you're something soft, something kind. Like you're the only thing left in this world that hasn’t turned its back on him.

You are older now. Wiser, maybe. You should know better.

But when he stumbles into your apartment at two in the morning, reeking of whiskey and bad decisions, you still let him in.

He collapses onto your couch, head tilted back, breathing hard. His shirt is wrinkled, buttons uneven, blood drying on his knuckles.

You sigh, pressing a damp cloth to his split lip. "Rough night?"

He hums, eyes half-lidded, watching you through the dim glow of the lamp.

"You should leave the light on for me."

You shake your head, smoothing back his hair. "I always do."

He shifts, gaze dropping to your lap, then back to your face. He is quiet for a long moment.

Then, softly—so softly you almost don’t hear it—

"Mommy is here."

And when he falls asleep like that, curled into you, fingers fisted in your shirt—you pretend it’s not a problem.

You wake up to warm breath against your collarbone.

Rafe is draped over you, one arm slung around your waist, his face pressed into the crook of your neck. His grip is tight, almost desperate, like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he lets go.

You exhale slowly, fingers threading through his hair. "Rafe."

He stirs but doesn’t move.

You shift, trying to untangle yourself, but his grip tightens. His lips brush against your skin, breath warm, voice thick with sleep.

“Stay.”

Your heart clenches. "Rafe, you can’t keep—"

"Please."

You should leave. You should push him away, tell him to go back to his own life, remind him that this is not healthy.

But then he looks at you—stormy blue eyes filled with something raw, something fragile—and you can’t.

So, you stay.

And that is your second mistake.

—

"And when you're scared, I'll be right there. You feel afraid, Mommy is here."

It happens slowly.

The way Rafe stops calling you by your name. The way he lingers too long, stares too hard, touches too much.

The first time he says it sober, you freeze.

"Mommy."

Your breath catches. "Rafe—"

"You always take care of me." His voice is soft, almost sweet. His fingers trace the curve of your jaw, his eyes dark and unreadable. "Don’t you?"

You swallow hard. "That’s not—"

"You hold me." He presses closer, his lips almost brushing yours. "You tell me I’m good. You let me sleep in your bed."

You don’t know what to say.

Because he’s right.

You have let him.

And Rafe has never been good at understanding boundaries.

"You love me." His voice is barely above a whisper. "Don’t you?"

Your heart pounds. "Rafe, this isn't—"

"You won’t leave me." His fingers tighten around your wrist. "You can’t leave me."

And for the first time, you wonder if he’s right.

Because maybe—just maybe—you’ve let him take too much.

And maybe—just maybe—you don’t know how to stop.

"Cherry blossom, don’t leave me."

It’s a whisper in the middle of the night, a call you can’t ignore. Rafe’s voice is thick with desperation, his breath coming faster, more frantic. He reaches for you, his fingers brushing your skin like he’s afraid of what he might lose if he doesn’t touch you.

You’ve tried before to set boundaries, to remind him that you’re not his mother, that you’re not here to save him.

But those words mean nothing now. Not when you feel his body pressed against yours, not when his lips brush your neck in the darkness.

"Stay." His voice cracks, a broken sound you can’t escape. "I need you."

You want to tell him that he doesn’t need you—not like this, not in this way. That he needs to find a way to fix himself, to stop using you as his crutch.

But when you see the desperation in his eyes, you can’t.

So, you stay.

And when his arms wrap around you, holding you tighter than ever before, you whisper, “Mommy’s here.”

You can’t bring yourself to say anything else.

—

Rafe’s obsession grows darker, more suffocating. You can feel it every time he touches you, every time he calls you, every time he says your name with that desperate edge. He has become so entwined with you that you no longer know where you end and he begins.

Every time you think you’re ready to walk away, to remind him of the line between what’s right and what’s wrong, he pulls you back in with those blue eyes, with the soft promises of needing you.

"Cherry blossom, don't leave me."

And you don't. You can't.

Because somewhere along the way, you stopped being his caretaker and started being his only salvation.

And now, he’s not just your responsibility.

He’s a part of you. And you don’t know how to untangle yourself from that.

[futuremrscameron]

any fics where rafe has a mommy kink👀

asking for a friend

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my drafts keep growing…

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so sorry to y’all. i understand what it’s like waiting for a fic/smau to get updated (it’s happening to me rn)

[futuremrscameron]

gonna need this again tonight🙏🏾

nicolandria you will be seeing that 100k if i have anything to say about it

GO VOTE FOR THEM

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nothing scares me like the inevitability of obx season 5

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always😁🫶🏾

I thought John b was a butch the first time I saw him ngl

@futuremrscameron saw the vision

[futuremrscameron]

he is for #thosewitheyestosee

I thought John b was a butch the first time I saw him ngl

@futuremrscameron saw the vision

[futuremrscameron]

Maybe it's not that serious but I learned today that Drew asked Rudy to help him record an audition tape for Queer. Knowing how intimate and delicate the whole process was for Drew and how much he found out about himself through that job (his words not mine) I feel like it truly is a testament to how much he trusts Rudy and how deep their friendship goes, don't you think?

i posted about this so much when the info first dropped bc look at how ppl reacted to it like...ppl were so mad that theyre friends and he called rudy of everyone to help and he name dropped him in the interview saying hes his good friend like theyre soul tied idk. im parasocial yes but also i think that says a lot given what we know about the both of them and their times on set