rafecameronssl4t

[rafecameronssl4t]

History || Rafe Cameron x fem!reader

Summary: You and Rafe used to hook up at parties—casual, no strings. Until suddenly, he’s seeing someone else: Sofia. She’s polite. Too polite. You sense the shift, and it makes your skin crawl. Especially when you realise she had no idea about you and Rafe’s past.

Warnings: slight angst if u squint

Word count: 1,921

MASTERLIST

It was always supposed to be nothing. That was the unspoken rule. You and Rafe were never anything official. You were just two privileged, reckless Kooks with too much free time and too many late-night parties to burn through.

Rafe would show up late to parties—cologne clinging to his skin, shirt half buttoned, that cocky smirk already knowing you’d end up leaving with him. Or maybe he’d find you first, hand slipping around your waist like it was second nature. You’d play it cool. You always played it cool. Never texted first.

Never asked where he was when he wasn’t at the party. It wasn’t love. It was just convenient. Familiar. Fun. It started after that summer bonfire when you ended up in the backseat of his truck, your dress hiked up and your lipstick smeared, both of you breathing hard and drunk on each other.

From there, it was sporadic. Sometimes every weekend, sometimes a few months of silence. But it always found its way back—those looks across the room, the heat between you when his hand brushed your hip on his way to the bar, the way he said your name like it tasted too good to forget.

No strings. No questions. Until, of course, Sofia.

~

The first time you saw them together, it didn’t hit like a punch to the gut. More like a slow, sharp twist. A realisation. She was everything your relationship with Rafe wasn’t. Polished. Public. Safe. He held her hand. Bought her drinks. Let her sit in his lap by the fire pit like he didn’t once tell you he hated when girls clung to him like that.

He didn’t look at you once. Not when you walked past in that white minidress—the one he once yanked up in the back of his car. Not even when you caught eyes with Topper and Kelce and they did that thing where they glanced between the two of you like shit’s about to go down.

Nope. Rafe didn’t blink. Not until later, when you caught him sneaking glances during the bonfire. But by then, Sofia was curled into his side like a house cat, and you were halfway through your third drink, trying not to care.

~

You bumped into her at a boutique event, some champagne-soaked fundraiser for a Figure 8 charity you didn’t care about. She approached you like you were an old friend, voice sugary sweet and words laced with that fake Southern charm girls like her wore like a necklace.

“You’re Y/n, right? I’ve heard about you,” she chirped, smile a little too tight. “Guessing not from Rafe.” That caught her off guard. A flicker in her expression. Small, but enough. She let out a high-pitched laugh and tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. “No, just from around. People talk, you know?”

“Sure,” you said, letting your gaze drift past her for a moment. “People love to talk.” “I didn’t realise you and Rafe were… like, close,” she added, voice casual but the kind of casual that was trying too hard. You raised a brow, leaning back in your chair. “We weren’t. Just had some fun. At parties. You know how it is.”

Sofia’s smile froze for half a second. It was almost impressive how quickly she recovered. “Oh,” she blinked. “I didn’t know that.” Of course she didn’t. Of course he didn’t tell her. Why would he? That would complicate things. God forbid his perfect little brunch date knew he used to have you bent over the marble counter in his dad’s pool house.

“Well,” she said, plastering on that sugar-sweet grin again. “That was before, right? Ancient history.” You looked at her, one brow arching. “That’s one way to put it.”There was a beat—just long enough to catch the flicker of something bitter in her eyes.

“Well,” she said brightly, “I mean, everyone has a past, right? No big deal.” “Sure,” you said, voice flat. She nodded. Smiled wider. But her eyes? Her eyes looked like she wanted to throw her mimosa in your face.

~

You didn’t even plan to tell Rafe. But you saw him again a few days later, walking out of the golf shop with a cigarette tucked behind his ear and that same smug look he always wore when he knew he looked good. And maybe it was the heat. Or the memory of Sofia’s stupid fake-smile.

Or maybe it was just that you hated how small it made you feel—like you were something shameful, something to be tucked away and never mentioned. So you called out, “Hey, Romeo.” He turned, cocking a brow. You approached slowly, arms crossed. “Just wanted to let you know—your girl knows we used to fuck.”

His expression didn’t change at first. Just a beat of silence as he studied you. Then he exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. “She ask?” he muttered. “Not exactly. Tried to play it off. But she didn’t know. And I’m guessing that’s because you never told her.”Rafe’s jaw flexed. “It wasn’t serious, Y/n.”

“No shit, Rafe” you snapped. “But maybe next time, don’t act like I’m some dirty little secret. You want to date a wannabe Barbie, fine. Just don’t let her pretend I’m some story she made up.” He looked at you then—really looked at you. Like he was seeing the edge in your voice, the tightness in your throat. You hated that your heart was pounding. Hated that part of you still cared.

“She’s not like that,” he said quietly. “She’s just—”“Insecure?” you cut in. “Territorial? Trying to be sweet while throwing daggers with her eyes?” His silence was answer enough. You scoffed, shaking your head. “Whatever, Rafe. You do what you want. Just keep your new girl from playing nice with me if she’s got a problem.”

You turned to walk away, but his voice followed. “You miss it?” You froze. He didn’t say it smugly. Didn’t even sound cocky. Just honest. You didn’t turn around. “Do you?” Silence. Then the soft flick of a lighter. You didn’t need to hear his answer. You already knew.

~

Then came the party. Midsummer. Loud music. Liquor running like tap water. Someone’s sprawling beach house packed with every Kook under 25. You were leaning against the kitchen counter, laughing with some guy you barely knew when you saw him—Rafe, walking in alone.

You didn’t let your smile falter. But it pulled at your mouth in a different way. No Sofia on his arm. Just him. And that tension that never really left. He made his way through the room slow, taking it all in, until finally, his eyes met yours. You tipped your cup toward him. “Where’s your shadow?”

He smirked. “Gone.” “Gone like… the bathroom? Or gone like dumped-your-ass gone?” He slid up next to you, close enough to smell the expensive cologne and beer on his breath. “Broke it off.” You blinked. “Seriously?” “She couldn’t drop it,” he muttered, eyes on your lips, then flicking back up to meet your gaze.

“The whole you and me thing.” Your laugh was automatic. Sharp. “What, she thought she was your first?” He chuckled once. “Nah. She just couldn’t get over how long you and I… kept going.” That stopped you. Your brow rose slowly. “What, she thought we hooked up one time at a party and called it?”

“She knew I had a past,” Rafe said, eyes still on you, like he was seeing every memory at once. “But she didn’t know how far back we went. Or how many times we didn’t say it was over.” You looked away, shaking your head. “Jesus. That girl needs a thicker skin.” “She thought you were a phase.”

You scoffed, drinking again. “I was.” Rafe leaned in, voice low now, almost private. “Yeah, well… funny how none of the others lasted half as long as you.” Your heart skipped once. Stupidly. You rolled your eyes. “Don’t flatter me, Cameron.” “I’m not,” he said, eyes burning into yours now. “It’s just the truth.”

And for a second, there it was again—that heat. That thing between you. Dangerous and familiar and reckless. You looked at him, heart thudding louder than the bass vibrating through the floor. But before it could go any further, you pushed off the counter and shrugged. “Guess she should’ve done her homework.”

You left him standing there. Because if you didn’t, you weren’t sure what would happen next. And you’d already made that mistake before. But God, did it feel good knowing he still remembered every single time. And that she never stood a chance.

[rafecameronssl4t]

no words..

[rafecameronssl4t]

Hey saw u wanted more Rafe x reader x Sofia so what abt reader and Rafe being bsfs but Sofia doesn’t like reader because she’s always with them bc Rafe invites her to everything and they go tach shopping and Rafe invites you and Sofia is just annoyed by your presence and eventually blows up

All Aboard || Rafe Cameron X fem!reader

A/n: sorry this took abit, thank u for the request!!

Warnings: none rlly

Word count: 1,676

MASTERLIST

The water shimmered under the late afternoon sun, glittering as it lapped gently against the wooden docks of Figure Eight. A light breeze rolled in off the sound, just enough to ruffle the hem of Rafe’s linen shirt where it was unbuttoned low on his chest, gold chain glinting in the light.

He was leaned back in his driver’s seat, sunglasses perched on the bridge of his nose, the engine off, the car parked in a prime position overlooking the marina. Sofia was in the passenger seat, legs crossed, glossy lips pursed in a tight smile as she scrolled through her phone—barely glancing at the boats floating ahead.

They were supposed to be yacht shopping. Supposed to be doing it together. But Rafe was checking his phone for the fifth time in ten minutes. His thumb hovered over your name. “Why do you keep looking at your phone?” Sofia asked, not looking up. Rafe smirked, slipping his phone into the cup holder. “She’s pulling up now.”

A moment later, a familiar porsche pulled up beside them with a quiet purr of expensive tires on gravel. Rafe’s entire posture shifted—shoulders squared, his bored expression immediately replaced with something sharper, more present. Sofia’s stomach sank, even as she forced a smile. “What’s she doing here?

She said it lightly. Soft, almost amused, but her tone didn’t escape Rafe. There was a pinch of something sour behind it. Something she tried to mask, but failed. He didn’t even glance at her when he answered. “She’s here to help us choose.”Sofia’s eyebrow twitched. “Help?”

“Yeah. She’s been on more boats than both of us combined,” he said with a small smirk. “She knows what I like. And what I don’t.” “Oh. So I don’t?” Sofia snapped, voice sharper now, “shouldn’t I be the one helping you pick it out?” “She’s my best friend, Sof,” Rafe said, finally turning toward her. “She’d be on it a lot.”

Sofia let out a clipped, disbelieving laugh. “What, more than me?” There was a pause. “I’m your girlfriend, Rafe.” He exhaled through his nose. “This isn’t a competition.” His eyes were still trained on your door, already anticipating you stepping out.“Could’ve fooled me.” And then you stepped out of the car.

You stepped out in white linen pants and a navy halter top, sunglasses pushed up into your hair, skin golden from the sun. Rafe’s face softened instantly. He was out of the driver’s seat before you could even shut your door. You greeted him with that signature, easy grin of yours, and without thinking, Rafe opened his arms and you fell into him like gravity.

Your arms wrapped tight around his torso, and he leaned into you without hesitation, his chin brushing the top of your head. “Missed me already?” you teased into his shoulder. He chuckled, arms circling your waist firmly. “Maybe.” Then he kissed your cheek—a little too close to the corner of your mouth. “Took you long enough.”

“I stopped for coffee,” you teased, pulling away just enough to flick his sunglasses up. “You look like a dad.” Sofia stepped out of the car and slammed the door harder than she needed to. You turned, offering her a pleasant smile. “Sofia, you look so cute today, I love that colour on you.” She gave you a tight-lipped smile. “Thanks.”

~

The walk down to the docks was short but thick with unspoken things. Rafe strolled between you both, but his body always leaned slightly toward your side. His hand kept brushing your lower back. He laughed at your jokes. He pointed out the yacht he thought you’d like best—not Sofia.

The sales rep, an older man in boat shoes and Ray-Bans, greeted you with a handshake. “Mr. Cameron! Ms. Y/l/n. So good to see you again.” Sofia blinked. “Again?” “Oh, yeah,” the rep smiled. “She’s seen a few of our models already. Knows her stuff.” Sofia turned sharply toward Rafe. “You’ve been looking at boats with her already?”

“She was helping me narrow it down,” he said, like it wasn’t a big deal. “You were in Charlotte last week, remember?” Sofia’s smile faltered. The tour began. You, Rafe, Sofia, and the rep climbed aboard a gleaming white yacht—high-gloss wood interiors, Italian leather lounges, marble-topped bars, and two levels of decks with views for days.

You took the lead almost naturally. You asked about engine types. Interior layout. Guest capacity. Hidden compartments for champagne coolers. Whether the lounge cushions were sunproof. If there was enough space for a wet bar upgrade. You had opinions. Suggestions. You knew Rafe’s taste.

You’d grown up with him. You’d spent entire summers on boats just like these, sprawled out beside him, soaked in salt water and secrets. Of course you knew what he’d want. Rafe kept nodding along, asking your opinion, looking at you when the sales rep asked about preferences. Sofia trailed behind, increasingly invisible.

She didn’t ask questions. She barely looked around. She watched you instead—watched the ease between you and Rafe, the way your shoulder brushed his as you leaned over a floor-plan together, the way he smiled at your suggestions like they were gospel. You stepped into the master cabin, frowning slightly.

“Bed’s too small. You’d be annoyed after a week.” Rafe nodded. “True.” Sofia scoffed. Loudly. You turned just as she snapped, “Are you the one buying this or are we?” You blinked. “Excuse me?” Sofia folded her arms. “You’ve got all the answers, don’t you? You’re asking all the questions. Acting like it’s your name on the paperwork.”

The rep took an immediate step back. You stepped forward, voice calm but cold. “I’m just trying to help. That’s what friends do.” “Yeah, well, maybe your help looks a lot like taking over.” “Sofia,” Rafe warned lowly. But you were done letting her pretend she wasn’t being rude. You tilted your head.

“I’m sorry, do you always talk like that to people who are just trying to make sure your boyfriend doesn’t buy a $2 million boat with no wine fridge?” Sofia’s mouth parted. You kept going. “Because if that’s how you handle being uncomfortable, I’d hate to see you on open water, sweetheart.”Rafe blinked, eyes flickering between the two of you.

Sofia’s cheeks flushed deep red. “Wow. So this is what it is? You just tag along on everything we do, act like the second girlfriend, and I’m supposed to be okay with it?” “I’ve known him since we were thirteen,” you snapped. “Where were you then?” “That doesn’t give you a free pass to disrespect me.”

“I haven’t disrespected you. But if you keep talking down to me like I’m some extra on your romantic little boat fantasy, I will start.” “Sofia,” Rafe interjected finally, voice steel. “That’s enough.” She turned to him, furious. “You’re not seriously—” “I said enough,” he bit out. “She didn’t come here to fight with you. She came because I asked her to.”

Sofia shook her head like she was dizzy, her voice trembling. “And what am I, Rafe? What the hell am I doing here?” “You’re making a scene.” That landed like a slap. You stepped back, giving them space. The sales rep had long since retreated to the upper deck. Sofia scoffed, laughed, bitter and breathless. “Unbelievable.”

Then she turned and walked off the yacht. You and Rafe stood in silence for a beat, the tension buzzing like static between you. “I’m sorry,” you said quietly. “I didn’t mean to—” “No.” Rafe shook his head, eyes still on the dock where Sofia disappeared. “She’s been waiting for a reason to blow up on you for months.”

You looked up at him. “Then why keep inviting me?” “Because I don’t do things without you,” he said simply. “And I never have.”

[rafecameronssl4t]

Reposting my fav fics I’ve written <33

Pilates princess || Rafe Cameron x fem!reader

Summary: you let Rafe come with you and your daughter to his first Pilates session 🙈

Warnings: pure fluff hehehe

Word count: 662

A/n: dad!Rafe melts my heart PLEASE SEND MORE DAD!RAFE REQUESTS PLS N TYY

MASTERLIST (dad!rafe au masterlist)

divider @yoonitos

“How come no one’s here?” Rafe asks, locking the car and scanning the empty car park with a puzzled expression. You chuckle, adjusting your bag on your shoulder. “I always book out the studio so it’s just me and Mabel, and the instructor, of course,” you explain with a shrug.

Rafe nods in understanding, a small smile forming on his lips. At the mention of her name, Mabel babbles in Rafe’s arms, prompting both of you to chuckle. “See, Mabel knows where we are, don’t you, sweetie?” you coo, leaning in to tickle her gently as you approach the door to the Pilates studio.

The door swings open, and Stella beams at you both. “Hi!” she exclaims, her enthusiasm infectious. “Hi, Stella!” you reply warmly. “Hello, Mr. Cameron! Good to finally meet you,” Stella says, extending her hand towards Rafe. “Rafe is fine,” he chuckles, shaking her hand, as you giggle beside him.

“And hello, Mabel,” Stella coos, her eyes lighting up as your daughter grins in recognition. She gestures to Mabel, encouraging her to lean forward so she can carry her. Rafe hesitates, his protective instincts kicking in as he considers handing over his baby girl to someone he just met.

“Babe, it’s fine. Stella’s great with kids and she’ll take care of Mabel while we do our session,” you assure him, placing a comforting hand on his arm. He glances at you, then back at Stella, his concern slowly easing. “Sorry,” he says awkwardly as he carefully passes Mabel to Stella.

“Oh, don’t even worry about it,” Stella waves off his apology, lightly bouncing Mabel in her arms, making her giggle. “Shall we get started?” she suggests, her tone cheerful and inviting. You nod, taking Rafe’s hand and leading him to the reformer machines.

Around 15 minutes in, Rafe was already feeling the burn. He glanced over at you, noting your perfect posture as you effortlessly executed the moves. Meanwhile, he was struggling to keep up. “Rafe, try to hold that leg straight,” Stella gently corrected his posture, her tone encouraging yet firm, Mabel still in her arms as she watches her dad.

He groaned, adjusting his position as instructed. You turned your head slightly, giggling to yourself. “How do you do this shit every day?” Rafe shook his head in disbelief, his leg trembling with effort. “It takes practice,” you replied with a smile. “You’ll get the hang of it.”

Rafe attempted to mimic your form, his brow furrowed in concentration. Despite the difficulty, he couldn’t help but admire how graceful and strong you looked. “Remember to breathe,” Stella reminded him. “Inhale as you extend, exhale as you contract. Let’s do 5 more.”

Rafe tried to follow her instructions, but the movements felt anything but natural. “I don’t know how you make it look so easy,” he admitted, glancing at you. You flashed him an encouraging smile. “Just keep at it. You’ll be a pro in no time.”

About ten minutes later, Rafe decided he needed a “break.” He sat on the machine beside you, Mabel perched in his lap. The two of them watched and encouraged you as you continued your session. “Look at mommy go,” Rafe said, bouncing his leg gently. Mabel’s tiny hands were wrapped around his thumb as she gazed at you with wide eyes.

“Seriously, babe, how are you moving your body like that?” Rafe’s lips parted in awe as he watched you steadily execute a challenging move. “Like what?” you asked innocently, glancing back at them with a playful smile.

“I dunno know, you’re just so good at this. You’re not even sweating!” he marveled, lightly shaking his head at your impressive flexibility. You laughed softly, enjoying his reaction. “I think you forget I’ve been doing this since our days at kook academy,” you replied, effortlessly transitioning into the next move. “So like, 4 years ago?.”

Rafe watched you with a mix of admiration and disbelief, bouncing Mabel gently on his knee. “I don’t know, babe. You make it look so easy,” he chuckled, as Mabel’s tiny hands reached up to touch his face. You glanced over with a smile. “I’m almost done, baby,” you said gently to Mabel, who responded by clapping her hands, making everyone chuckle.

“Rafe, I’ll see you tomorrow?” Stella asks playfully as you all gather your things, preparing to leave the studio. Rafe’s face contorts into one of awkwardness. “Uhh, I think I’ll stick to the gym,” he chuckles, scratching the back of his neck.

You laugh, giving him a playful nudge. “Come on, it wasn’t that bad! You did great for your first time.” Rafe grins, shaking his head. “I’ll leave the Pilates to you and Mabel,” he adjusts Mabel in his arms before leaning in to kiss your cheek.

[rafecameronssl4t]

Round two || Dad!Drew Starkey x fem!reader

Summary: It’s ovulation week, and watching Drew hold your baby girl does dangerously unholy things to you.

Warnings: slightly suggestive

Word count: 828

MASTERLIST

The late afternoon sunlight poured through the living room windows, casting a warm golden hue across the hardwood floors and dancing along the cream coloured walls. You stood silently in the doorway, one hand curled around your coffee mug, the other lightly resting on your hip.

The smell of lavender baby lotion hung in the air, soft and clean, mingling with the warm scent of Drew’s cologne. And God, he looked good. You weren’t even trying to stare—at first. But then he turned just slightly, cradling your baby girl against his broad chest, and you almost dropped the mug.

His hair had grown out—longer and a little messier than usual, the back curling slightly into that dangerously hot mullet you’d teased him about weeks ago but secretly loved. His facial hair had come in thicker too, and now he had a proper moustache.

One that sat confidently above his upper lip, making him look rugged and a little dangerous, like a Southern outlaw in a romance novel. Your baby was babbling softly against his shoulder, completely at ease in the safe cradle of his big arms.

His massive hand covered half her back as he gently bounced her, whispering something to make her smile. It should’ve been a sweet, domestic moment. But instead, your thighs pressed together instinctively, your skin prickling with heat, every nerve suddenly on fire.

He looked up from your daughter at the exact moment you were eye-fucking him, and the corner of his mouth curved up into a slow smirk. His moustache twitched with the motion. “You okay over there, mama?” You blinked. “What?” He laughed low and smooth, shifting your daughter a little higher on his hip.

“You’ve been staring like I just walked outta a Calvin Klein ad.” You scoffed, flushing but trying to stay composed. “You wish.” “Mm,” he hummed, still grinning as he walked toward you, bouncing the baby with practiced ease. “Is it ovulation week or somethin’, baby?” Your stomach flipped.

“No,” you lied, way too quickly, heat crawling up your neck. “Don’t flatter yourself.” But he was standing in front of you now, taller than you, towering really, and God, he smelled like cedar wood and that warm, smoky something that always made your head spin. He lowered his head slightly, his blue eyes locked onto yours with that lazy, teasing heat.

“You sure?” he murmured, voice dipped in syrup and sin. “’Cause you’re lookin’ at me like you wanna drag me into the pantry and do things I can’t say out loud in front of our daughter.” You bit the inside of your cheek, trying not to moan at just the sound of his voice.

He always had this cocky drawl when he was playing with you, low and knowing and dripping with confidence. His moustache brushed your temple as he leaned closer, nuzzling lightly behind your ear. “I’m not ovulating,” you repeated, your voice a little breathless this time.

But he just chuckled and kissed the side of your jaw. “Uh-huh.” You couldn’t take your eyes off of him. The way his arms flexed as he held your baby, how his forearms were veined and tan, his t-shirt stretched just slightly over his chest. It was criminal. Absolutely unfair.

He handed you the baby slowly, kissing her chubby cheek and murmuring something soft, and you took her without a word — still flushed, still spiralling. Drew wrapped one arm around your waist and pulled you in tight, his mouth brushing your ear again.

“You know,” he murmured, “she’s getting big.” You nodded, swaying slightly with her. “Yeah. She’s growing so fast.” “She could use a sibling.” That stopped you cold. You tilted your head to look up at him. He was already watching you. “What’re you saying?”

He smirked, rubbing slow circles on your hip with his thumb. “I’m saying, if you are ovulating, might not be the worst time to make another one.” Your stomach dropped in the best way possible. You swallowed hard. “You serious?” He leaned in again, his moustache scraping gently along your skin, voice low and dirty now.

“You tell me, baby. You’re the one who can’t keep her eyes off me. You’ve been squeezin’ your thighs together for the last five minutes like I don’t notice.” Your voice was tight. “What do you think about having another baby?”

His mouth brushed against your ear, his breath hot. “I think I’d put one in you right now if she wasn’t in your arms.” A sharp pulse went straight between your legs, your breath catching. “And if I told you I am ovulating?” you whispered. Drew’s eyes darkened instantly.

His grip on your hip tightened. “I’d tell you to put her down for a nap and meet me upstairs in five.” You looked up at him, your entire body buzzing, heart pounding, your baby girl gurgling happily in your arms, completely unaware her parents were seconds away from starting the journey toward her future little sibling.

“You better be ready,” you muttered. Drew kissed your temple, his smile slow and hungry. “I was born ready, mama.” And just like that, you were hurrying to the nursery — because five minutes was way too damn long to wait.

[rafecameronssl4t]

Who’s your daddy || Dad!Rafe Cameron x fem!reader

Summary: inspired by the who’s your daddy tiktok trend!!!

Warnings: noneeee

Word count: 1,193

MASTERLIST (dad!rafe au masterlist)

You and Sarah were perched on the porch swing, the late afternoon sun spilling golden light across the wooden floorboards. A faint breeze rustled the trees, carrying with it the scent of grilled meat and summer grass.

Mabel sat contentedly in your lap, her tiny fingers wrapped around her pastel rattle, shaking it with quiet concentration. You bounced her gently on your knee as her soft baby giggles mixed with the hum of conversation from the backyard.

Rafe had invited a few of his friends over for a backyard barbecue—Topper, Kelce, John B, and a couple of others. From where you sat, you could see him, shirtless and sun-kissed, standing by the grill next to Topper.

His back glistened with sweat as he flipped steaks, laughing at something Topper said, his head thrown back, relaxed and in his element. You couldn’t help but stare—your man, the father of your child, effortlessly good-looking even in the most mundane moments. Beside you, Sarah snorted a laugh, breaking your gaze.

“Okay, you have to do this with Rafe and the guys,” she said, turning her phone towards you with a mischievous grin. On her screen was a video of a current TikTok trend—women passing a baby around to a group of men while the comments guessed which one was the father.

You blinked at the video, then smiled slowly, already knowing where this was going. “This is going to be hilarious,” you grinned, adjusting Mabel in your arms as you stood. Sarah was already walking ahead, phone raised and recording.

The two of you made your way down the steps and onto the lawn, Mabel nestled against your chest. Topper was the first target. He was mid-conversation with a few guys, but his eyes immediately caught yours as you approached. You held Mabel out wordlessly, and without hesitation, he reached for her.

As always, Topper used both arms, supporting her head and back like a pro, his hands big and gentle. He patted her back a few times, and she let out a happy squeal. “She loves him,” Sarah whispered behind the camera, making you giggle quietly. Next up was Kelce, who narrowed his eyes suspiciously as you approached, Sarah filming openly now.

“Okay, what are y’all up to?” he asked, though he still took Mabel when you offered her over. He held her with one arm, comfortable and confident as she blinked up at him, clearly unimpressed. “Just a TikTok thing,” Sarah shrugged with a smirk. “You’ll thank us when you go viral.”

Kelce rolled his eyes dramatically, bouncing Mabel a little. “Y’all are trouble.” “John B’s next,” Sarah said, tugging your arm. You turned toward the porch, where John B stood with a beer in one hand, talking to someone. “Hey babe,” Sarah called sweetly. “Mind holding Mabel for a second?”

John B raised an eyebrow but smiled, putting his drink down and reaching for your daughter. He held her cautiously, like he was afraid she might break, but he was gentle, whispering a soft, “Hi Mabes,” as she gurgled back at him.

You smiled at the sight, the sound of her babbling making your chest warm. “Have you seen Rafe?” you asked him. “He disappeared.” “I think he went inside—probably grabbing more food or a drink,” John B replied, shifting Mabel in his arms.

You took her back with a soft thank you, brushing your lips across her forehead before heading back toward the porch. Sarah followed, still filming. “Rafe? Baby, where are—” you started to call out as you reached the top of the stairs, but your voice cut off when the door opened.

Rafe stepped out, balancing a plate stacked with food in one hand and a beer in the other. He paused when he saw you and Mabel, immediately setting everything down on the outdoor table. He didn’t need to be asked—didn’t even hesitate.

He wiped his hands on the front of his shorts and came straight over, eyes flickering only to Mabel before settling on you. There was something instinctive in the way he reached for her, something intimate and practiced.

He took her from you with a kind of reverence, carefully adjusting her so she lay against his forearm like a natural extension of him. His gaze lingered on your face as he spoke, his voice lower than before. “Have you eaten yet?” Before you could answer, he glanced sideways and spotted Sarah’s phone still pointed at him.

He gave the camera a slow, amused smirk. “What’s going on?” he asked, but he already knew. You couldn’t help but laugh, brushing your fingers through your hair. “We’re doing a TikTok trend—passing Mabel around to different guys and seeing if the comments can guess who her dad is.”

He raised an eyebrow, his smirk deepening. “Think they’ll figure it out?” “Guess we’ll see,” you teased, folding your arms. Rafe looked down at Mabel, who gurgled up at him, then back at you. “I mean… she does look like me.” His tone was light, but there was unmistakable pride in his voice.

You rolled your eyes playfully, brushing your hand over Mabel’s fuzzy head. “Maybe. But I’m betting it won’t be her face that gives it away.” Later that night, curled up in bed with Mabel sleeping soundly in the bassinet beside you, you and Sarah watched the final cut of the TikTok.

From Topper’s practiced hold, to Kelce’s casual cradle, to John B’s awkward but sweet attempt. But when it got to Rafe—the way he reached for her without needing direction, the way his eyes were only ever on you, the softness in his smile when he held his daughter—it was clear as day.

You hit post. Two hours later, the video had already gone viral. And the comments? They didn’t guess Rafe was the dad because of how he held her. They guessed because of the way he looked at you.

[rafecameronssl4t]

fire fighter!drew PLEASE

Southern heat || Drew Starkey x fem!reader

A/n: I love fire fighter!drew 🤭

Warnings: smut!! not proofread

Word count: 1,428

MASTERLIST

The scent of kettle corn and fresh peaches clung to the warm breeze as you strolled beside Drew, fingers interlocked, sun blazing down on the crowded weekend market. He’d come straight from the firehouse—still in his uniform, his turnout pants cuffed at the ankle and navy t-shirt pulled taut across his broad chest.

His mullet curled slightly at the ends from the heat, and that damn moustache twitched every time he smiled or smirked. Unfortunately for you, everyone was noticing And not subtly.

A group of girls standing near the smoothie truck whispered and giggled behind their sunglasses, one of them even blatantly biting her straw as Drew passed by. Another woman openly eyed him over her shoulder, doing a slow double take. One older lady gave him the kind of approving look you only ever saw in romcoms. Someone actually whistled.

You raised a brow. “Do you feel objectified yet, or should I give them your OnlyFans link?” Drew let out a snort, dropping his head toward yours, voice all deep and lazy Southern drawl, “Ain’t got one of those, babe. But I like that you’re gettin’ territorial.” “I’m not territorial,” you lied immediately, jaw clenching slightly when another pair of eyes lingered on his arms.

“I just think it’s weird that people can’t look away from you for two minutes.” He turned toward you mid-walk, still holding your hand, his other resting on your lower back as he leaned in, moustache brushing your cheek. “Don’t blame ‘em,” he murmured. “They’ve never seen a man with a mullet this majestic.”

You groaned. “You are so proud of it, it’s actually sick.” “I should be. Took months to grow it right,” he said smugly. “You were the one who said it made me look like a country music god.” “I was drunk.” He smirked. “And married me sober, so what does that say?”

Before you could come up with a smart retort, someone walked past and muttered, “Damn,” under their breath—audibly—like Drew couldn’t hear. Like you couldn’t hear. You stopped walking. Drew glanced down. “What?” You tilted your head and smiled sweetly at the next person who tried to sneak a glance.

“Hi! Yes, he’s taken. Husband. Firefighter. Has a wife. That’d be me.” You point to yourself. “Just in case the ring wasn’t clear enough.” Drew burst out laughing, cheeks tinged pink under the moustache. “Babe.” “What? You look like a walking thirst trap. The mullet-moustache combo is causing a public disturbance.”

He stepped in front of you, grin softening into something gentler. “You think I care who’s looking?” You gave him a narrowed-eye squint. “You don’t?” “Not when I’ve got the only set of eyes that matter right here.” His hand curled around your waist. “And honestly? You stormin’ around being all jealous and possessive? Kinda hot.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the smile tugging at your mouth.

~

You didn’t speak much in the car ride home—arms crossed, legs pressed tight together as you stared out the window. But Drew could feel it: the pout you were trying to hide, the little spike of jealousy still burning hot beneath the surface. He thought it was adorable.

He also thought it was going to be fun to deal with. As soon as the front door clicked shut behind you, his hands were on your hips, your back pressed gently into the wall of the foyer. “You gonna stay mad all night,” he murmured, voice low, “or are you gonna let me take care of that little attitude?”

You glanced up at him, eyes narrowed. “I’m not mad.” “Mm.” His lips brushed along your jaw, moustache tickling as he pressed hot, open-mouthed kisses to your neck. “Not mad, but I saw you about to go full bitch mode on that girl who winked at me.” “You winked back.” “I squinted. The sun was in my eyes.”

“You smirked.” His hand slid between your thighs, thumb teasing at the soft seam of your leggings. “You gonna keep fightin’ me, or are you gonna let me remind you who I come home to every damn night?”You didn’t respond. Not with words. Just a soft little sound from your throat—half huff, half whimper—and Drew took it as permission.

He dropped to his knees without a second thought, tugging your leggings down in one fluid, practiced motion. He didn’t even bother dragging you to the bedroom—your back hit the wall, leg thrown over his shoulder as he buried himself between your thighs. Moustache brushing over sensitive skin, tongue slow and filthy, groaning like he’d starved without you.

You couldn’t keep quiet. Your fingers laced through the back of his hair, tugging on the curls of his mullet, drawing a deep moan from his chest. “Fuck, sweetheart,” he groaned against you. “You get soaked every time you get jealous, or is this just for me?” “Just you,” you whispered, already trembling.

He stood back up, grabbing you by the hips, lifting you like you weighed nothing. “All fuckin’ mine.” He carried you to the kitchen counter, kissing you hard as he unbuckled his belt with one hand. His cock was already straining against his boxers—thick and flushed and needy. No teasing, no slow build-up—just raw heat as he pulled you forward, dragging you to the edge of the counter.

“Drew—” He slid in without warning, bottoming out on the first thrust. Your gasp was swallowed by his mouth, your fingers digging into his back as he moved—rough and slow, like he wanted to ruin the memory of everyone who’d looked at him today. “Look at me,” he growled into your ear, fucking up into you with every word.

“You think I care who’s starin’? I walk through hell for a livin’, and I run home to you. Every. Fucking. Time.” Youwere seeing stars—hips clashing, his hand around your throat just enough to tilt your head back, lips finding that spot beneath your ear that made you clench around him like a vice.

“Jealous little thing,” he rasped, breath hot. “So fuckin’ pretty when you’re angry.” You whimpered his name, nails clawing at his shoulders. “You feel that?” he asked, voice like gravel. “How deep I am in you? That’s mine. You’re mine.”

Your release hit fast, your whole body tightening as his name spilled from your mouth, loud and needy. Drew chased his own high seconds later, groaning into your neck, hips jerking until he was spent, buried in you, panting and flushed. When he finally pulled back, he didn’t move far.

Just cradled your face in both hands, forehead to yours. “Still mad?” You were breathless, dazed. “Yes. But only ‘cause you’re too hot for your own good.” He chuckled, still inside you, moustache brushing your cheek as he kissed it. “Guess I’ll have to fuck the attitude outta you more often.”

[rafecameronssl4t]

reposting my fav fics I’ve written <33

Playing with fire || Rafe Cameron x fem!reader

Summary: inspired by a scene in one tree hill when Lindsey confronts Peyton asking her if she called her a bitch 😛

Warnings: bitchy!kook!reader

Word count: 1,153

MASTERLIST

The golden hour settles over the country club terrace, bathing the manicured lawns in a soft, amber light. You’re seated at the usual table, legs crossed elegantly, one hand wrapped around the stem of your cocktail glass while the other rests on your lap. The ice cubes in your drink clink softly as you swirl them, but you’re only half-paying attention.

Kelce is in the middle of recounting some ridiculous story, one that has Topper throwing his head back with laughter. Rafe sits beside you, slouched comfortably in his chair, his phone resting on the table with Sofia’s name occasionally lighting up the screen. You glance at it briefly, your stomach twisting in annoyance.

She’s not here yet, thankfully. You can enjoy the moment while it lasts—Rafe relaxed, laughing softly at Kelce’s story, his blue eyes glinting in the fading sunlight. He looks so good it’s almost infuriating. Every time you glance at him, the ache in your chest sharpens. Best friends. That’s all you are. But lately, it’s been harder to keep that title from feeling like a curse.

The problem isn’t just Rafe. It’s Sofia. Sweet, doe-eyed Sofia, who’s too soft-spoken and out of place to ever truly belong on Figure 8. You’d made that perfectly clear the other day over drinks with your friends, letting your thoughts spill with a sharp tongue and a sense of superiority that came as naturally to you as breathing.

You thought it was harmless, just blowing off steam. But apparently, Sofia heard. The sound of heels clicking against the terrace pulls you from your thoughts. Your eyes shift to the figure approaching your table, and your heart sinks just a little. Speak of the devil. Sofia’s making her way toward you, her expression set in a determined glare. She’s wearing a sundress—simple, feminine, and so very her.

Her gaze flickers briefly to Rafe, who hasn’t noticed her yet, then zeroes in on you. She stops at the edge of the table, her arms folded tightly across her chest. “Did you call me a bitch?” she asks, her voice trembling but clear enough to cut through the chatter around you. The conversation at your table dies instantly.

Kelce and Topper glance at each other, their amusement shifting into intrigue. Rafe looks up slowly, his brows furrowing as his attention shifts from his phone to Sofia. You, however, stay perfectly composed. “Bitch?” you echo, letting the word roll off your tongue as if it’s foreign to you. A soft chuckle escapes your lips, but it doesn’t reach your eyes.

“No.” You shake your head slowly, feigning innocence. “No, I didn’t call you a bitch.” Relief flickers across her face for a brief moment before you lean forward, resting your elbows on the table. “I said I didn’t like you,” you continue smoothly, your voice dropping to a low, saccharine tone as a small smile curves your lips.

Her throat bobs as she gulps, and you catch the faintest flicker of uncertainty in her eyes. It’s satisfying in a way that makes your blood sing. The corners of your smile lift just a little higher. Sofia shifts uncomfortably, clearly flustered but unwilling to back down. “Why?” she asks, her voice cracking as she forces the word out.

You tilt your head, considering her for a moment. The silence is palpable now, stretching taut across the table. Kelce leans back in his chair, his gaze darting between the two of you, while Topper watches the scene unfold with poorly concealed glee. Rafe, on the other hand, sits stone-faced, his expression unreadable.

“Why don’t I like you?” you echo, tilting your head like you’re genuinely considering the question. “Where do I start?” Your tone is sharp but playful, as if you’re enjoying every second of her discomfort. Her lips part, but no sound comes out. She glances at Rafe, her eyes silently pleading with him to intervene, to defend her, but he doesn’t. He just watches, his hand idly turning the glass of water in front of him.

You take her silence as permission to continue. “Look, Sofia, you’re sweet. I’ll give you that. But you’re exhausting,” you say, your words sharp but delivered with an almost playful air. “This isn’t you. You don’t fit here, no matter how hard you try. It’s like…watching someone play dress-up. Cute, but a little pathetic.”

Her face flushes bright red, her composure slipping as her nails dig into her palms. “You don’t know anything about me,” she snaps, her voice trembling. “Maybe not,” you admit with a casual shrug, leaning back in your chair. “But I know enough to see through the act. You’re trying too hard, Sofia. And honestly?” You glance at Rafe, just long enough to make her notice, before turning your gaze back to her.

“It’s painful to watch.” The tension at the table is unbearable now. Sofia’s breathing quickens, her chest rising and falling as she struggles to hold herself together. “Rafe,” she says finally, her voice breaking as she looks at him again. “Are you really not going to say anything?” Rafe exhales slowly, his gaze flicking to you before settling on her. “Sofia, I don’t think this is the place—”

“No,” she interrupts, her voice rising. “She’s your best friend, and she’s sitting here humiliating me, and you’re just going to let her?” The frustration and hurt in her voice make something twist in your chest, but you bury it deep, keeping your expression carefully neutral. Rafe’s jaw tightens, but he doesn’t respond.

Her eyes well with tears, but she blinks them back, taking a shaky step away from the table. “You know what?” she says, her voice trembling but still sharp enough to cut. “You two deserve each other.” She turns on her heel and walks away, leaving the table in heavy silence. Kelce clears his throat awkwardly, muttering something under his breath to Topper, who smirks but says nothing.

Rafe remains silent, his eyes fixed on the spot where Sofia had been standing. You pick up your glass, swirling the liquid lazily as you glance at him. “You okay, Cameron?” you ask lightly, your voice breaking the tension. His eyes snap to you, and for a moment, you think he might actually say something. Call you out, maybe. Defend her now that she’s gone. But he doesn’t.

Instead, he shakes his head. “You’re a bitch, you know that?” You grin, raising your glass in a mock toast. “You wouldn’t have me any other way.”

[rafecameronssl4t]

Too late || Rafe Cameron x fem!reader

gif by @hmione

Summary: He’s with her now—but he still fucks you like he’s yours. One night, one fight, and all the secrets come spilling out. And when you finally walk away, it’s the first time Rafe doesn’t follow.

Warnings: angst galore!!!! Kinda Nate + Cassie coded

Word count: 1,208

MASTERLIST

You’re breathing is still irregular. Your back is pressed against the silky sheets of Rafe’s bed, sweat drying on your skin, lips swollen from the way he kissed you like he was trying to erase someone else from his mouth. His scent clings to your body—earthy cologne and the heady musk of sex.

He’s sitting on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, shirtless, head bowed. Your voice cuts the silence. “Is this what you do when she’s not around?” He doesn’t answer. Of course he doesn’t. Because there is no right answer to that question. You sit up slowly, the sheet slipping down your chest, revealing the bruises he left along your collarbone.

You don’t cover yourself. You want him to look. You want him to see what he did. What he always does. You watch the tension coil through his shoulders, the way his jaw ticks like a ticking bomb. “Sneak away to fuck me and then crawl back to her like you didn’t just ruin me?” Still, nothing.

You let out a dry laugh and shake your head. “God, Rafe. You’re pathetic.” That gets his attention. His head whips around, and the burn in his eyes hits you like a slap. “Don’t fucking start.” “I’m not starting,” you bite back, yanking the sheet tighter around your body. “I’m just wondering how long you plan to play this pathetic little charade. Acting like she’s enough for you when we both know she’s not.”

He stands up now, slow and deliberate, his eyes narrowing. “Don’t do that.” “Do what? Tell the truth?” You rise too, throwing on the silk robe you left hanging from the doorknob two nights ago—the last time he brought you here. “She doesn’t get it, Rafe. She never will. She still sees you as the golden boy. The tortured rich kid she can fix. But I know better.”

His voice is low, venomous. “You think that makes you better?” You scoff, stepping closer, your tone sharpening. “I am better. She’s a pogue, Rafe. You think she can survive your world? The real one? Generational expectations and all that fucking rot in your bloodline? You think she’d still love you if she saw what I see?”

He doesn’t move, but something behind his eyes snaps. A flash of something between shame and fury.“She’s just your distraction. Your safe little fantasy,” you whisper, standing toe to toe now, your voice trembling with bitterness.

“But I’m the one who takes the hits when you spiral. I’m the one you call when you’re wrecked and drunk and clawing at your own skin.” You see it—right there in his face. That flicker of guilt. Or rage. Or both. He’s trying to hold it in, but you know exactly where to dig. “Say it, Rafe,” you challenge, eyes shining. “Say she means more to you than I do.”

And that’s when he breaks. “You think you’re so fucking above her, don’t you?” he barks, stepping into your space like it’s a threat. “Because your daddy owns half the island and you’ve had everything handed to you.” Your chest tightens. “That’s not what this is about—” “Yes, it fucking is!” he shouts.

“You look at her like she’s trash. Like she doesn’t belong in the same room as you.” “She doesn’t!” you snap. “And neither do you when you’re with her.” That does it. He slams his hand against the dresser, making the perfume bottles jump and rattle. “You walk around like you’re untouchable,” he growls.

“Like you’re the only one who knows me. Like she doesn’t matter because she didn’t grow up sipping champagne by the club pool or driving her daddy’s Range Rover to school.” You stare at him, breath trembling, voice barely above a whisper. “Because I do know you.” His face twists.“You think you’re some saviour?” he spits.

“You think just because we’ve been doing this shit since we were fifteen, I owe you something? That this—” he gestures between you, “—makes you better than her? You’re not. You’re just another girl who lets me use her.” Your expression shatters. It’s not even anger anymore—it’s betrayal, heartbreak, disgust.

Your throat burns, but you swallow it down. You shake your head, blinking away the sting. “Wow,” you whisper. “You actually believe that?” He doesn’t answer. You grab your clothes, heart hammering in your chest. “I hope she never sees this version of you,” you say, quietly, venomously.

“Because if she does, she’ll finally understand why you don’t deserve her either.” You walk toward the door. “Wait.” You stop. Hand frozen on the doorknob. He’s standing there, shirt still off, eyes stormy and wild. His voice is hoarse, breathless. Like regret is burning a hole in his chest. “I love you.”

You close your eyes like the words hurt. “Don’t say that,” you whisper. “I mean it,” he insists. “I fucking love you.” You turn slowly, face wet with tears you didn’t even feel fall. “Then why are you still with her?” you whisper. His face crumples. He opens his mouth. But nothing comes out.

That’s the thing with Rafe Cameron—he’s always almost enough. Almost honest Almost yours. And still, never quite. You shake your head, letting out a quiet, heartbroken laugh. “I hope one day she sees through you,” you say, “and runs before you ruin her too.”

Then you’re gone. Door slamming behind you. And for the first time in a long time, Rafe doesn’t chase you. He sinks to the floor like he’s been shot. Fists clenched. Lips trembling. Regret clouding his mind, but too late. Too fucking late.

[rafecameronssl4t]

reposting my fav fics I’ve written <33

Chasing Smoke || Rafe Cameron x fem!reader

Summary: canon fic based off season 2 ep 4 where Rafe and Barry visit John B's house while they were all hiding

Warnings: gun use, swearing, drinking, if theres anything else lmk

Word count: 1,423

A/n: boy do i love writing canon fics hehehehe. I’m also compiling a bunch of fics in my queue because I’m going to be busy w school so pls put in your requests!!!!!

MASTERLIST

divider by @yoonitos

You were sipping on your fruity drink as you conversed in conversations with a few of your girlfriends, Rafe standing just a few feet away animatedly chatting with his friends. “Bro, the kick on a Glock 17, man. You load it up, line it up, and it's like—" he mimed the motion enthusiastically. Before you could warn Rafe about the guy sitting close behind him, he had already backed into him. "It knocks you off your freakin' feet."

"Hey, excuse me," the guy interjected, his expression one of clear annoyance. "Yeah?" Rafe responded, completely unfazed. "Do you mind?" The man stared at Rafe in disbelief. "I'm so sor—" you began, trying to smooth things over, but Rafe cut you off. "Hey, hey, don't apologize. Let me handle it, yeah?"

Rafe turned his head around, leaning casually on the counter. "I'm sorry?" he asked with a hint of sarcasm. The man raised an eyebrow, his irritation clear. "I said, do you mind?" he repeated, his voice growing sharper.

Rafe took a moment before replying, "Yeah, I do mind, Bob." He smirked as the man scoffed in disbelief. "Take a shot with me, pussy," Rafe challenged, his voice dripping with mockery. You slapped his shoulder, "stop it," you hissed at him.

"Come on. Take a shot," Rafe continued, his voice steady as he poured his drink onto the man's hand. The man shot up from his seat, shoving Rafe hard. "Hey! What the hell are you doing?" he yelled, his voice loud enough to draw the attention of everyone around. Your eyes widened in alarm as heads turned.

In the corner of your eye, you caught sight of Kelce rushing towards you, his expression frantic and urgent. His footsteps echoed in the dimly lit bar as he approached, weaving through the tables and chairs.

"Take a seat. That's what you need to do," Rafe commanded firmly, his voice cutting through the tension as he pushed Bob back into his seat. The atmosphere was full of unease, the murmurs of other patrons now audible as they glanced over at the commotion.

“Whoa! Whoa!" Kelce interjected, his hands instinctively reaching out to grab Rafe's shoulders, attempting to calm him down. You exhaled a breath you didn't realise you were holding, grateful for Kelce's intervention. "Go get the manager. He's crazy!" Bob's voice rose above the murmurs.

"Eat shit," Rafe retorted sharply, his frustration palpable as he resisted Kelce's efforts to pull him away from the conflict. Kelce persisted, trying to redirect Rafe's attention. "Hey," he began, his tone soothing yet urgent. "What?" Rafe snapped, his gaze still locked on Bob with a mixture of defiance and irritation.

"Calm down, all right?" Kelce urged, his voice steadier now, trying to reason with his friend. Rafe rolled his eyes in exasperation, but the tension in his shoulders began to ease slightly. "I swear to God, 20 minutes ago, I just saw John B and your sister, bro."

Your eyes widened in disbelief, your lips parting as your mind struggles to process Kelce's words. "You're joking, right?" you managed to utter, searching Kelce's face. "I'm not kidding! They're alive," Kelce insisted.

Rafe and you exchanged a stunned glance. "Me and my girl are just tryin' to relax, and you're telling me this bullshit?" Rafe responded, disbelief and annoyance laced in his tone.

"I know you're trying to relax, bro, but I saw them buying beer at Geechie's!" Kelce pressed on. "That's bullshit," you interjected, not believing him. "Do you guys wanna go see for yourselves?" Kelce challenged, his eyes darting between you and Rafe. "I'm telling you, I saw them. Go sober up, man." Without waiting for a response, Kelce dragged both of you towards the exit. "Hey, put it on Cameron!" Rafe called out.

~

"I need to know who's over here at John B's spot," Barry's voice cuts through the tension in the car, his grip on the gun drawing your annoyance. "Barry, could you please not hold the gun like that? Seriously, I don't even know why I'm here!" you groan from the backseat, frustration evident in your voice.

Rafe turns around from the passenger seat, fixing you with a stern look. "You're here because I told you to be, alright? So just be quiet," he grumbles, turning back to Barry.

"Listen, I don't know if he's there, okay? I just know he's on the island," Rafe says, trying to reason with Barry. "That's a complete lack of discipline, man," Barry shakes his head, irritation coloring his tone.

"Then what's your suggestion? We're about two minutes from the fuckin’ place, alright?" Rafe snaps back. "We do some recon," Barry suggests firmly. "Why don't you just follow my lead for once and shut up? all right?" he adds, frustration clear in his eyes as he looks at Rafe.

"Recon, huh?" Rafe mutters under his breath, clearly not thrilled with Barry's suggestion. "This is ridiculous," you interject from the backseat. "Yeah, Princess here agrees. Why'd you bring your girl out here with us, Rafe?" Barry questions, prompting an eye-roll from Rafe. "She's here because I told her to be, alright? Just shut up and drive," Rafe retorts, his tone edged with impatience.

~

"Tranquillo. You feel me?" Barry says to Rafe as he pulls up just a few meters from John B's house. "Tranquillo?" Rafe repeats skeptically, his gaze fixed on the house ahead. "Tranquillo, baby," Barry reassures him as you roll your eyes at the two.

"Let's be smart," Barry advises as you all exit the car. "Rafe, just to be clear, the gun is just for show, right? You're not planning on shooting anyone," you whisper urgently to Rafe as he hums in affirmation, as you exchange a look with Barry.

You follow closely behind the two men, your senses heightened as you scan the surroundings. "Okay, check it," Rafe whispers as the three of you huddle behind some bins. "All right, I ain't see shit, what 'bout you?" Barry asks quietly.

"Nothing," you add nervously, your eyes darting around anxiously. "No. They can't be far though," Rafe whispers, his voice tense with anticipation. "Right, here's what we gon' do," Barry begins, and you lean in closer to hear him clearly. "I'm gonna go inside. I'm gonna flush them out if they're in there. I want you to flank left, meet me out there by the porch."

"And princess, well, you're gonna be with Rafe, aight'? Make sure he ain't gonna do something he'll go cry about later on to us," Barry instructs, loading his gun that you were unaware he was carrying. "You have a gun too?" you whisper sharply at him as Rafe quickly covers your mouth with his hand. "'Course I do. Now, let's go!" Barry commands, rising from the cover, and Rafe pulls you along with him.

You and Rafe step cautiously into the front yard, your hand gripping his arm for reassurance. You point silently to the recently extinguished fire pit, sharing a worried glance with him. Rafe clicks his tongue in frustration, muttering under his breath, "Where the hell are you?"

~

You flinch instinctively at the sharp sound of glass shattering nearby, turning with Rafe to see Barry angrily tossing aside a few bottles. "Yo!" Rafe calls out, his voice tense with frustration as Barry storms out of the house, slamming the door open. "Anything?" Rafe asks urgently.

Barry scoffs, his expression darkening. "No, ain't shit in there, bro," he replies curtly, rubbing his forehead in exasperation. Rafe closes his eyes briefly, disappointment evident on his face. "No? Nothing?" he presses, hoping for a different answer.

"No, nothing, Rafe," Barry responds firmly. "They were obviously just here though, judging by the smoke," Rafe points out, scanning the surroundings. "Yeah, yeah, yeah. Great observation, boy scout!" Barry retorts mockingly, earning an eye-roll from you as you observe the banter between the two boys.

"They can't be far, you know?" Rafe continues, his voice tinged with determination. "Smokey the bear! Look at you, bro!" Barry laughs with sarcasm. "They gotta be around here somewhere," Rafe reassures himself, running a hand through his hair in frustration, while you sigh and settle onto a nearby log.

As the tension mounts, Rafe falls silent, his gaze shifting towards a massive tree nearby. Both you and Barry follow his gaze, noticing the initials carved into the bark. "P4L," Barry reads aloud with a chuckle, and Rafe joins in, shaking his head in disbelief. He makes eye contact with you as you stand up from your spot.

"So your sister's a pogue for life, huh, Rafe? Who would've thought?" you mutter under your breath, a hint of irony in your tone, prompting a laugh from Barry. Rafe remains quiet for a few seconds, shaking his head in frustration. You immediately regret your remark as his anger visibly simmers.

"Shit!" Rafe suddenly erupts in anger, causing you to flinch back instinctively. Barry moves swiftly to place a hand on your back, his expression shifting to concern. "Rafe, chill, man," he urges calmly, sensing Rafe's escalating temper. You gulp nervously, knowing Rafe was beyond furious right now.

Without warning, Rafe starts shooting his gun wildly at the tree, bullets whizzing dangerously close to you. The loud bangs echo in the quiet surroundings, and you instinctively cover your ears, fear gripping you. "Hey! Whoa! Hey, chill, bro! Rafe!" Barry intervenes, grabbing Rafe's shoulders in an attempt to restrain him.

Your hands tremble as you yank the gun out of Rafe's grip, your voice shaking with anger and fear. "What the fuck, Rafe! You're going to get us caught, you idiot!" you yell at him, adrenaline coursing through you.

Barry looks around anxiously, realizing the precariousness of the situation. "Let's bounce, let's bounce. Let's go!" he urges urgently, starting to move away quickly. You follow suit, grabbing Rafe's arm firmly. "Hurry up!" you plead, snapping him out of his daze, and together you rush back to the car.

[rafecameronssl4t]

Any requests with Rafe and reader w Sofia in it????

[rafecameronssl4t]

maybe a fic where reader wears a super short skirt to a party and Rafe not having it??

Bonfire || Rafe Cameron x fem!reader

A/n: Ty for the request I hope u enjoy this :)

Warnings: none rlly!!

Word count: 1,702

MASTERLIST

The sun was just starting to dip below the horizon, when you stood in front of the mirror, lips pursed and brows furrowed. Music blasted from your friend’s speaker on the floor, some bass-heavy remix that vibrated the bathroom tiles, but you were too focused on the smear of bronzer that now stained your white linen skirt to really pay attention.

“Shit,” you muttered, dabbing at it with a tissue. No luck. It had set in. From across the room, your friend popped her head out of the closet, half-dressed and already halfway through her drink. “What happened?” “I dropped my fucking bronzer. Look.” You turned, frustrated. “It’s ruined.”

She padded over, chewing her lip, assessing the damage. “Yeah, that’s not coming out tonight.” You sighed dramatically, tossing the tissue down. “Here,” she said, turning to her dresser, “you can borrow something of mine. I’ve got a black denim mini that’ll match your top.”

You caught the skirt she tossed over her shoulder. You held it up. “This is a belt.” “It’s a skirt,” she said, amused. “And it’s cute. You’ve got the legs for it.” “You’re five inches shorter than me. This is gonna look obscene.” She only grinned. “Then maybe Rafe’ll behave himself for once.”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t argue. Time was running out and the fire was already being lit. So you tugged the skirt on. It barely covered you. The raw hem rode low on your hips and high on your thighs, your long legs suddenly ten times more exposed.

You tried tugging it down—again. Useless. Any wrong move and you’d flash the entire Outer Banks. But still… it looked good. Sexy. Wild. Dangerous in the way Rafe liked you to look. You let your hair down, touched up your lip gloss, and told yourself you’d just stay seated most of the night.

The beach bonfire was already roaring when you arrived. The salty wind tousled your curls as you and your friend climbed down the wooden path, the sun finally dipping below the horizon and casting everything in dusky gold. Bodies swayed to the muffled thump of music coming from someone’s speaker buried in the sand, bottles clinked.

You spotted him immediately. Rafe was leaning against the side of his truck, beer in hand, sleeves pushed up, the collar of his shirt unbuttoned just enough to show off his tan and the chain he never took off. He looked like he’d stepped out of a daydream—casually hot, like he didn’t even try.

His eyes cut across the firelight and landed right on you. And they stayed there. You could feel his stare like heat, burning down your legs, over the snug fit of the borrowed skirt, across your midriff, up to the soft smirk curling your lips. He looked like he was trying not to smirk, but couldn’t help himself.

You didn’t go to him right away. You needed a drink first. Three drinks turned to four. Then five. You lost count somewhere around the time someone passed you a seltzer with no label and said, “Just try it.” The world felt warmer, fuzzier, lighter.

You were glowing from the inside out, laughter spilling from your throat, your skirt forgotten as you twirled in the sand barefoot, dancing with your friends. You felt free. And then—somewhere between a bad remix of Drake and a girl falling face-first into the cooler—you remembered Rafe.

You stumbled back toward his truck, cheeks flushed, hair tousled from the sea breeze. You were giggling before you even reached him. He hadn’t moved much, still nursing the same drink, eyes trained on you like a sniper on a mark. “Hi,” you sing-songed, grinning as you tripped toward him, arms flailing.

“Why didn’t you come find meee?” “You didn’t look like you needed help,” Rafe muttered, jaw clenched. He reached out and caught you by the waist as you nearly tipped into him, steadying you. You fell into his chest with a soft oof, your fingers clutching the front of his shirt.

“God, you’re tense,” you slurred, poking at his collarbone. “You should relax. You’re at a party.” He didn’t smile. Instead, he glanced over your shoulder, jaw ticking harder. You blinked up at him. “Why’s everyone looking at me?”

Rafe let out a breath through his nose, slow and heavy, like he was trying to keep it together. Then he leaned in, his hand sliding from your waist down to your lower back, fingers pressing possessively. “They’re looking because your skirt is riding so far up your ass I can see your underwear,” he said flatly.

You gasped, hands lowering down your skirt . He was right. The skirt—already dangerously short—had ridden up even more while you were dancing. The firelight lit up every curve, and the way the wind pressed your top against your skin?

You might as well have been naked. And those guys you passed by? Yeah, they weren’t just glancing. Rafe’s hand gripped the hem of the skirt and yanked it down sharply, dragging the fabric back over your thighs with a rough tug. “Jesus, Rafe!” you hissed, swatting at his hand. “You can’t just—”

“I can when you’re being this reckless,” he snapped, his voice low but sharp. “Do you even realise what you’ve been walking around like? You’re lucky I was watching or someone else would’ve tried something.” Your eyes widened. “I’m not that drunk.” “You’re drunk enough to forget how short that skirt is.”

His voice dropped, his hand still resting on your bare thigh. “Drunk enough to forget you belong to me.” The words hit low and hot in your stomach. You stared up at him, heart hammering, breath catching at the way he was looking at you now—like he wanted to start a fight and kiss you all at once.

“I didn’t mean to—” “I know,” he muttered, tugging you closer. “But that doesn’t mean I’m letting it slide.” You leaned into his chest, the scent of him grounding you—salt, musk, beer, and that expensive cologne you loved. His hands stayed low on your waist, protective and firm.

“You mad at me?” you asked, voice small. “No,” he said after a pause. “I’m just mad at the way they looked at you.” You buried your face in his neck. “So… are you gonna punish me?” His breath hitched. His fingers dug into your skin. “Get in the truck.” “What?” “I said,” his voice rasped, right into your ear, “get in the truck, baby. We’re leaving.”

[rafecameronssl4t]

yikes….

my drafts keep growing…

[rafecameronssl4t]

Mrs. Cameron || CEO!Rafe Cameron x wife!reader

Summary: Rafe’s assistant denying you entry into his office because not knowing who you are until Rafe steps in and sets her straight.

Warnings: none!!

Word count: 1,390

MASTERLIST (CEO!Rafe au masterlist)

You didn’t normally come to Rafe’s office unannounced. It wasn’t that you weren’t welcome—far from it. You had full access: your own keycard, your own car space in the underground garage, and even your name subtly engraved on the leather lounge in his office—a quiet little anniversary surprise he’d arranged months ago. But today, you just wanted to see your husband.

No planning, no calls. Just drop by with his favourite green smoothie and maybe sit on his lap while he went over a quarterly report. A simple surprise. You stepped into the sleek, marbled lobby of Cameron Development , nodded at the security guard who gave you a warm “Mrs. Cameron” and made your way to the private elevator that led straight to the executive floor.

You even texted him: “Coming up. Missed you.”

But when the elevator doors dinged open to the 52nd floor, and you stepped out into the minimalist, glass-walled space, something felt off. Your arrival wasn’t met with the usual warmth. Instead, it was met wit hesitation. A woman stood from behind the sleek reception desk—polished and pretty, with a high-neck blouse and perfectly curled hair that hadn’t moved all day.

“Excuse me,” she said crisply. “This floor is for senior executive staff only. If you’re lost, I can escort you back downstairs.” You blinked. “I’m not lost. I’m just here to see Rafe.” Her lips thinned. “Mr. Cameron is in a meeting. I can take your name and number and have his assistant reach out to you.”

Your brow furrowed. “You are his assistant.” She tilted her head slightly. “I’m Mr. Cameron’s executive assistant.” The emphasis was hard to miss—clipped, cold, and entirely unapologetic. You held your smoothie a little tighter, a little annoyed now, but still calm. “Right. I’m his wife.” There was a pause.

The woman gave you a once-over—your low heels, the silk blouse you’d knotted at your waist, the expensive-but-soft curls, and the bare face you hadn’t bothered to dress up. Clearly, she hadn’t gotten the memo. She folded her arms. “I don’t see your name on his calendar.” You smiled tightly. “I don’t need to be on his calendar to kiss my husband. Kindly move.”

Before she could respond, the familiar click of a glass door echoed through the hallway—and then there he was. Rafe. Suit jacket unbuttoned, sleeves rolled to the forearms, his white shirt crisp against sun-kissed skin. A Rolex flashed at his wrist with every step he took, confident and direct, like the whole damn floor belonged to him. Which, of course, it did.

“Hey baby.” Your whole body softened at the sight of him. But the warmth in his eyes vanished the second he registered the tension in the room. His strides were long, purposeful, as he crossed the floor to you. “What’s going on?” “I was just explaining to this woman—” the assistant began, but Rafe cut her off with a glance so sharp it could split wood.

He turned fully to you, stepping into your space, hands resting low on your hips. “You okay?” You nodded, suddenly self-conscious. “She wouldn’t let me through. Didn’t know who I was.” Rafe’s jaw ticked. His eyes flicked back to the assistant. “You didn’t know who my wife was?”

“I haven’t met her before,” the assistant said defensively, straightening her blouse like she was still trying to salvage her authority. “She didn’t have an appointment—” “She doesn’t need an appointment.” Rafe’s voice cut through the hallway like ice, low and controlled, the kind of calm that only meant a storm was about to hit.

You felt the air change around you, the heaviness of his presence anchoring you where you stood. “She’s my wife.” He stepped closer, eyes locked on the assistant like she’d just committed corporate treason. “It doesn’t matter if you’ve met her or not. You’re my assistant—you should know what my wife looks like.”

Then, with a sharper edge, he added, “Her picture is everywhere in my office. Framed on my desk. In the bookcase. Hell, it’s the lock screen on my phone. So what exactly are you not seeing?” The woman visibly faltered. “You don’t stop her. Ever,” Rafe added, voice like steel now, his hand sliding gently around your waist as contrast, possessive and steady. “Clear?”

The woman could only nod, lips pressed into a tight line, her earlier confidence vanishing under Rafe’s glare. He looked down at you. “Come on, sweetheart.” You followed him into his office, letting the doors shut behind you. The tension slipped off your shoulders the moment they did.

He pressed a kiss to your temple and helped you out of your coat, smoothing your hair with his fingers like he was grounding himself. “You good?” he murmured, thumb brushing your cheek. “I’m fine,” you said softly. “She just had a bit of an attitude.” Rafe’s lips curled in irritation. “Not anymore, she doesn’t.”

-

The next day you returned around noon, invited this time with a quick text from Rafe: “Come up when you’re free.”

But when the elevator doors opened again, the desk outside his office was empty. Not a trace of his assistant. No coffee mug left behind. No expensive perfume clouding the air. Just silence and the distant sound of Rafe’s voice on a call behind the smoked-glass doors.

You stepped in and waited a minute before he saw you through the glass and hung up quickly. “Hey, baby.” He tugged you inside again, arms around your waist before you even had a chance to sit. “You fired her?” you asked. “Damn right, I did.” You blinked. “Rafe—wasn’t that a bit extreme?” He pulled back slightly, eyes sharp and unwavering.

“No. My assistant has one job—manage my time, run point. But above all? She should know who the hell my wife is.” Your lips parted in protest but he shook his head. “No excuses. You’ve been on the cover of Forbes with me. Your photo’s in every investor deck, not to mention framed on my damn desk. If she didn’t know you, it means she didn’t care to do her job properly.”

You exhaled, still half-smiling. “You’re dramatic.” “I’m married,” he said simply, leaning down to kiss the corner of your mouth. “And I don’t tolerate people disrespecting my girl.” “So who’s your new assistant?” He grinned. “Haven’t hired one yet. Might just promote you.”

You scoffed. “No thanks. I like kissing you without scheduling it three days in advance.” “Mmm.” He nuzzled into your neck, breath hot against your skin. “I’ll pencil you in for a desk appointment anyway.” And just like that, your husband had you pressed into the edge of his billion-dollar desk, your name still engraved on the leather lounge behind you.

[rafecameronssl4t]

Reposting my fav fics I’ve written <33

Tennis || Rafe Cameron x fem!reader

MASTERLIST

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Sarah’s voice is laced with disbelief, her eyes wide as they fixate on a distant point behind you.

“What?” you ask, lowering your racquet and turning to follow her gaze. The unmistakable roar of a motorbike engine grows louder, reverberating through the air. A sleek black bike speeds towards you, its rider’s identity obscured by a matte black helmet.

“Rafe, what are you doing here?” you ask, a smile tugging at your lips as you step forward. Rafe’s eyes soften as he approaches you. “I just wanted to check on you,” he says, his voice low and sincere. “Make sure everything’s good.”

Sarah crosses her arms, her earlier shock giving way to irritation. “Seriously, Rafe? You literally saw her this morning. Can’t you let her breathe?”

Rafe’s smirk fades slightly, his expression hardening. “I don’t remember asking for your opinion, Sarah,” he retorts coldly. His focus shifts back to you, his gaze intense but filled with affection. “So, who’s winning?”

You grin and point to yourself. “Me, obviously.” Rafe’s smirk returns, his eyes glinting with pride. “Atta girl,” he says, his tone filled with admiration.

Sarah lets out an exaggerated gag, rolling her eyes. “Oh my god, you two are nauseating,” she jokes, trying to mask her amusement with disdain.

Rafe chuckles, his gaze still fixed on you. “So, are you coming to Topper’s party later tonight?” You chuckle—you knew knew Rafe too well—shaking your head slightly. “Are you asking me or telling me to go?” you smirk up at him, a hand coming up your face to shield the sun from your eyes as Rafe takes the chance to peek down at your cleavage from your sports bra.

Rafe’s smirk deepens, a familiar glint in his eye. “What do you think?” he says, his tone playful but leaving little doubt about his intentions. You laugh, feeling a mix of exasperation and warmth. You glance at Sarah who’s already staring at you before looking back at Rafe. “I’ll be there.”

Rafe’s expression softens, a rare moment of vulnerability showing through his usual bravado. “Good. I’ll see you there.” As Rafe gets back on his bike, Sarah nudges you with her elbow. “You two are so gross, you know that?” she teases, a smile tugging at her lips despite her words.

“Yeah, yeah,” you say, waving her off but unable to suppress your own smile. “Kinda your fault for introducing us.” Sarah chuckles, shaking her head. “Well, I introduced you two, but I didn’t expect you to start sucking each other’s faces on the first day,” she retorts with mock indignation, her playful tone echoing across the court as she returns to her side.

[rafecameronssl4t]

idk if you’ve done this but maybe reader who sees Rafe putting the body in the back of the truck like during season 2 where Sarah( i think😭) sees him but maybe reader helps him but she’s still like in disbelief.

Yess I’ve written this before!! Here it is :)

[rafecameronssl4t]

Farmer’s Market || dad!Rafe Cameron x fem!reader

Summary: a day out at the farmer’s market :)

warnings: none

Word count: 622

MASTERLIST (dad!rafe au masterlist)

The heat clung to your skin like a second layer, sticky and relentless even in the late afternoon. The Carolina sun dipped lower behind the trees as Rafe’s jacked-up Chevy rolled into the gravel lot behind the little roadside farmers market, tires crunching against stone.

You tugged gently at the hem of your white sundress, one hand resting instinctively over your bump as the truck came to a stop. “Wait—don’t move yet,” Rafe said quickly, throwing the gear into park and cutting the engine.

You were already reaching for the door handle, but he was around to your side in a flash, hat turned backward, those denim jeans slung low, and his white tee hugging his chest in all the right ways. He opened the door for you and held out his hand. “Careful, mama.”

You rolled your eyes, but you took his hand anyway. “Rafe, I’m pregnant. Not made of glass.” He didn’t let go. “Yeah, and you’re carrying my kid. So, yeah, I’m gonna be careful. That smirk of his softened when he caught the slight wince you tried to hide as your sandals touched the gravel.

His arm came around your waist immediately, warm and solid. “You good? Want me to carry you?” “I can walk,” you laughed, but it was soft, because the way he looked at you—protective, tuned in, like your well-being was the only thing that mattered in the world—made something in your chest ache.

Still, he didn’t let go. Not as he helped you down the uneven hill toward the booths, not when you paused to press a hand to your lower back, not when you grumbled about the heat. He wiped at your forehead gently with the edge of his shirt. “Too hot?” he asked, squinting down at you.

“You want a drink? Or we can just go home. I’ll make you one of those lemon slushy things you like.” You blinked up at him, slightly overwhelmed by how tender he’d gotten. “Why are you being so nice today?”Rafe frowned, brushing a strand of hair from your face.

“Because you’re carrying our baby. And because I love you, obviously.” Your heart squeezed. A group of older women nearby gave you both a fond smile, one of them whispering something about how “young love always shows.” Rafe didn’t even notice.

He was too busy making sure you didn’t step wrong on a rock, adjusting his pace to match yours like it was second nature. You walked slower now, one hand on your stomach, the other in his. And when you were done at the market, when your feet were sore and your patience had thinned, Rafe helped you back up into the Chevy like you were made of spun sugar.

“Alright, in you go,” he muttered, hands strong around your waist as he hoisted you up effortlessly. He even buckled your seatbelt for you. “You’re gonna be such a good dad,” you whispered, head lolling back against the headrest as he shut the door.

He grinned, walking around to his side. “That’s the plan, baby.” And as he drove off, one hand on the wheel and the other resting lightly on your thigh, you knew you were exactly where you were supposed to be.