Rafe Cameron Imagines

I Predict a Riot🤍

The first time you met Rafe Cameron, he knocked your drink out of your hand and didn't even say sorry.

You blinked down at the spilled cup, then looked up at him, fully ready to launch into your usual polite sarcasm. But he beat you to it.

"Watch where you're standing," he said coolly, barely sparing you a glance as he walked past like you were the one in his way.

That was the beginning.

And ever since then, it was on sight.

You couldn't be in the same room without heat rising — not the fun kind. The "I'm going to murder you in your sleep and frame your friends" kind. The "why are you breathing near me" kind.

"You have a resting bitch face," he'd mutter when you walked into a room.

"And you have a resting dickhead personality," you'd snap back without hesitation.

Rafe Cameron wasn't just your enemy — he was your nemesis. Your favorite fight. Your go-to verbal sparring partner. He was entitled and smug and so irritatingly hot that it pissed you off.

And the worst part?
You couldn't stop touching each other.

No one else knew. Not officially.

But there were rumors.

And if anyone did happen to walk into a dark hallway at the exact wrong moment, they might catch a glimpse of you shoving him against a wall... only to kiss him like you were starved. Or Rafe dragging you by the wrist into a closet during a party, just to argue in whispers until his mouth was on your neck.

It didn't make sense.

You hated him.
But your body? It didn't listen.

—

Tonight was no different.

The Boneyard was packed, bonfire roaring high into the dark sky. The air smelled like smoke, cheap beer, and too many bad decisions waiting to happen.

You had just settled into a fold-out chair beside Kie and Sarah when the energy shifted.

He was here.

You didn't even need to look — you felt him. That specific electric hum that only showed up when Rafe Cameron was nearby and in the mood to cause a scene.

Sarah glanced at you knowingly. "Don't."

"I'm literally just sitting here," you said, sipping from your drink.

"And yet you're already scowling."

"I'm not—"

"Oh look," Kie cut in with a smirk, "there he is."

You finally looked up — and yep. There he was. Walking toward the fire, hoodie half-zipped, jaw sharp, hair a mess in that stupid perfect way. Laughing at something Kelce said. Acting like he didn't already see you.

"Asshole," you muttered under your breath.

"Still obsessed with him?" Sarah teased.

"I will drown myself in the ocean."

But then his eyes met yours. And that smirk — that smirk — appeared.

Game on.

—

Rafe made his way over way too slow, like he was taking his time just to piss you off.

"Didn't know they let snakes into the Boneyard," you said before he even opened his mouth.

Rafe raised a brow. "Didn't know they let in loudmouths with superiority complexes, but here you are."

"Superiority implies I'm wrong."

"You are wrong."

"Prove it."

His eyes narrowed slightly, grin still intact. "Oh, I will."

"You always say that. You never do."

"That's because the second I do, you'll cry."

You leaned in just a little. "Try me."

"Oh, don't tempt me, sweetheart."

Sarah threw a pebble at your feet. "Can you two shut up before someone combusts?"

"No promises," you and Rafe both muttered at the same time.

Kelce, walking by, whistled. "Genuinely can't tell if you're gonna fight or fuck."

Topper nodded. "Could go either way."

"I vote fight," Kie added.

"I vote neither," Sarah sighed.

You looked Rafe dead in the eye. "I hate you."

He leaned in, smirking. "No, you don't."

—

And he was right.
Because less than twenty minutes later, you were behind the dunes, shoved up against his truck with your hands in his hoodie and his lips on yours.

Your kiss was angry. His hands were rough. You bit his lip and he groaned into your mouth like it wasn't the first time — because it wasn't. It was the seventh. Maybe eighth.

"I'm gonna regret this," you mumbled against his skin.

"You always say that," he whispered, dragging his teeth down your jaw. "But you keep coming back."

"Because you're infuriating."

"You're obsessed."

"You wish."

"I know."

He kissed you again, deeper now, one hand under your thigh, pulling you closer until your spine hit the door with a thud.

"You're so smug," you whispered.

"You're so easy," he smirked.

You slapped his shoulder. "Don't push it."

He grinned. "Make me."

—

When you finally stumbled back into the party, both of you pretending you hadn't been gone for twenty minutes, Kelce glanced between you and Rafe and said, "Well. The sexual tension was getting unbearable."

Sarah raised an eyebrow. "You good?"

"Peachy," you said, tugging your shirt down.

Rafe walked past, grinning like the devil.

"See you later, princess," he said over his shoulder.

You flipped him off.

He winked.

—

Later, sitting on the hood of your car alone, you heard him approach again. Of course.

"You following me now?" you asked.

"Just making sure you're still pissed," he said.

"Always."

He stopped next to you, brushing hair from your cheek like he hadn't just spent the last hour being a menace.

"You like the way we do this," he said softly.

You scoffed. "Do what?"

"This. Me and you. The fighting. The kissing. The never knowing what comes next."

You didn't say anything.

Because he was right.

And you hated that he was right.

"You gonna admit it?" he asked.

"No."

"Not even a little?"

You looked at him.

"I predict a riot if I do."

He smirked, mouth brushing yours again. "Then let's start one."