sunsetmade

[sunsetmade]

A Golfers Girl

Rafe Cameron x Reader

Summary: Rafe always takes his girlfriend along with him every time he golfs. Now it’s her turn to actually play.

“You ready, pretty girl?” Rafe asked, strolling over as she admired her pink skirt in the mirror. She let out a soft chuckle, eyes meeting his in the reflection just as his arm slid around her waist.

“Ready to beat you at golf? Absolutely,” she teased with a playful smile.

Rafe grinned, lowering his head slightly so his lips brushed just behind her ear. “Mmm, confident today, huh?” he murmured, voice low and smug. “That skirt got you feelin’ unstoppable?”

She rolled her eyes, but the way her cheeks warmed gave her away. “It’s cute. Doesn’t mean I won’t destroy you out there.”

He chuckled, hands still resting on her waist as he gently turned her to face him. “You know I’ve gotta teach you first, right, baby?” he said, voice low and teasing.

She smiled up at him, sweet and unbothered, nodding without hesitation. “I know,” she said softly. “I’m a fast learner.”

Rafe’s grin deepened, one brow lifting as he leaned in just a little, close enough that she could feel the warmth of his breath. “Yeah?” he murmured. “Good. Means you won’t mind me standing behind you… real close… guiding your hands.”

Her breath hitched, just slightly, and he caught the way her fingers fidgeted with the edge of her skirt. She glanced away with a flustered smile, cheeks already warm.

“You’re impossible,” she mumbled, biting back a laugh.

He tilted his head, clearly enjoying himself. “Nah, I’m just dedicated,” he said, brushing his thumb gently along her side. “Gotta make sure my girl’s got a perfect swing.”

She looked back up at him, heart fluttering at my girl even if he said it so casually.

“And what if I end up beating you?” she asked, trying to sound bold.

Rafe smirked, leaning down just enough to almost kiss her but stopping short. “Then I’ll never live it down… but I’ll still be proud,” he whispered. “Because you’ll look hot doing it.”

Her laugh bubbled out before she could stop it, and he grinned like he’d won something.

“Come on,” he said, stepping back but slipping his hand into hers.

⸻

The golf course was quiet, bathed in the golden glow of the morning sun. Rafe steered the golf cart effortlessly with one hand, the other resting between them, his fingers tracing slow, lazy circles against her palm. He was humming a country song—one that had played on the radio just before they pulled into the lot—his voice low and unbothered.

“Rafe,” she laughed as he took a sharp turn, her hand tightening slightly around his. “You’re gonna crash us.”

He scoffed, casting a smug glance her way. “Baby,” he said with mock offense, “I’m, like, the best golf cart driver on the entire Outer Banks. And don’t even get me started on regular cars.”

She raised a brow, biting back a smile. “That’s a bold claim.”

“It’s not a claim if it’s true,” he said confidently, bumping her shoulder with his. “I could drive this thing with my eyes closed.”

“Please don’t.”

He grinned. “Fine, fine. I’ll keep my eyes open—for you.”

She shook her head, laughing softly as her thumb brushed along his. And Rafe just kept humming, looking like he had everything in the world right there in that little cart.

When they finally pulled up to the next hole, Rafe parked the cart a few steps away and headed to the back to grab his clubs. Since it was her first time actually playing, he’d insisted she use one of his.

She’d tagged along with him plenty of times before—watched him line up his shots, swing with that annoyingly perfect form, and sink putts like it was nothing. By now, she was pretty sure she knew the game like the back of her hand.

Or at least… she thought she did.

Rafe set the bag of clubs down and pulled one out, handing it to her with an easy grin. She took it with a giddy smile, practically bouncing as she made her way to the tee.

He watched her with a smirk, taking his time following behind, eyes lingering as she pranced ahead like she owned the place. “Slow down, baby—it’s not going anywhere,” Rafe called out, his tone teasing.

She huffed and glanced back at him over her shoulder, slowing her steps just enough to make a point. He was already grinning as he caught up, slipping his arm around her shoulders and pulling her into his side.

“Impatient,” he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to the top of her head.

She tried to hide her smile, but it was impossible with him that close.

A few minutes later she stood at the tee, club in hand, leveling her eyes at the ball like she knew exactly what she was doing—even if she didn’t. She could feel Rafe watching her, and when she glanced back, her suspicions were confirmed.

He was leaning casually on his club a few steps away, hair freshly buzzed, sunglasses sliding low on his nose, smirk tugging at his mouth like he already knew how this was going to go.

“Okay, coach,” she said, lifting a brow with a touch of sass. “Impress me.”

“Oh, I plan to,” he replied, walking up behind her without hesitation. “Alright, hands here,” he said, stepping flush behind her. His arms reached around, gently guiding hers into place on the club.

She chuckled—he was so close she could feel the steady rise and fall of his chest against her back. His voice was low, practically in her ear. “Not too tight, but don’t go all noodle arms either.”

She huffed a quiet laugh, adjusting her stance. “You think I’m gonna drop it or something?”

Rafe grinned, arms still brushing hers as he helped line her up. “No. I think you’re gonna pretend you’re a natural so I’ll be impressed.”

She glanced at him with a smile. “You’re really enjoying this aren’t you?”

He hummed. “Maybe a little. You smell good. Distracting.”

She turned her head slightly to give him a look, but he was already smirking, chin brushing her shoulder.

“Eyes on the ball,” he teased, nudging her playfully. “Not me.”

“You’re the one talking about how I smell.”

“Yeah, because I’m losing all focus,” he murmured, before clearing his throat. “Okay. Now when you swing, twist with your hips—not your arms.”

Her eyebrows shot up. “You just wanted to say the word ‘hips.’”

“Absolutely,” he said, shameless.

She rolled her eyes, but the smile on her lips said it all. Taking a breath, she followed his instructions, swinging carefully, sending the ball a decent distance across the green.

“Damn,” Rafe said, watching it land. “That was actually good.”

She turned to face him slowly, a sweet smile on her lips. “Beginner’s luck, right?”

Rafe stepped in closer, tugging playfully at the hem of her skirt. “Or maybe you’ve been holding out on me.”

She gave him a look, brushing past him as she moved to switch spots. “Maybe. Or maybe I just pay attention.”

His hand caught hers briefly as she passed. “I like when you surprise me,” he said, voice quieter this time—more real.

She stared at him before letting out a soft groan, cheeks warming as she turned her head. “Rafe,” she whined, half-scolding.

He just laughed, clearly enjoying himself, and gave her waist a quick squeeze. “Sorry, baby,” he said, not sounding sorry at all.

They made their way back to the golf cart, Rafe tossing his club lazily in the back before hopping into the driver’s seat. She slid in beside him, still shaking her head with a small smile tugging at her lips.

“I think you like messing with me more than actually playing,” she said, brushing her hair off her shoulder.

Rafe shot her a grin as he started driving. “Not true. I’m a serious athlete. Very competitive.”

She laughed, eyes wide with mock disbelief. “Sure. That’s why you’ve spent more time talking about how I smell and squeezing my waist than focusing on your score.”

He reached over to nudge her knee playfully. “Don’t act like you’re not enjoying it.”

She didn’t respond right away—just gave him a sidelong glance and tried not to smile too hard. “Maybe a little.”

Rafe’s grin deepened at that, satisfied. “Thought so.”

They pulled up to the next hole, this one shaded slightly by tall trees and nestled near a small pond that shimmered in the afternoon light. The air was warm but breezy, the golden sun casting long shadows across the green.

“Alright, pro,” he said, climbing out and grabbing a club from the back. “Let’s see if you can do it again or if that last one was a total fluke.”

She took the club from him with a confident little smirk. “You’re just nervous I’m actually better than you.”

Rafe scoffed, following her with slow, amused steps. “Please. If you beat me, it’s because I was distracted.”

“By what?” she asked innocently, setting up at the tee.

“You,” he said simply, not even trying to hide it.

She blinked, caught off guard for just a second, then shook her head and turned back to face the ball, trying to ignore the way her stomach flipped.

Her swing wasn’t perfect, but it was smooth—steadier than she expected. The ball sailed low and clean, landing just short of the green. A grin spread across her face as she turned around, proud and maybe a little surprised.

Rafe laughed under his breath, shaking his head as he watched her bounce a little on her feet. She looked so damn cute standing there in that pink skirt, her face lit up with excitement.

“That was good, baby,” he said, striding over to set his ball down. “Not bad for a rookie.”

She shot him a mock glare. “Excuse you—future champion.”

He smirked, positioning himself for his shot, but before he could swing, his eyes flicked over to where she stood by the cart, arms folded, watching him with quiet concentration.

“Baby,” he called out, straightening up a little. “You’re being distracting.”

She blinked, caught off guard. “Me? I’m literally just standing here.”

“Exactly,” he muttered, turning back toward the ball with a grin. “It’s a problem.”

She laughed, loud and unbothered. “Focus, Cameron.”

“I’m trying,” he called back, smirking as he lined up again. “But my girlfriend’s over there lookin’ way too good and messin’ with my game.”

“You’re just scared I’m winning,” she said sweetly, leaning against the cart.

Rafe swung, sending the ball flying with ease. He barely looked where it landed—he was already glancing back at her, that cocky smile still tugging at his lips.

“Let’s just say I’m motivated,” he said, slinging the club over his shoulder.

She met him halfway, swaying unintentionally as she walked with that same proud smile on her face. He watched her shamelessly, eyes trailing down to the way her pink skirt moved with each step.

“Alright, I’m starting to think you wore that on purpose,” he said, his tone low and teasing.

She blinked up at him, feigning innocence. “Wore what?”

“That little skirt,” he said, reaching out to tug gently at the hem and give her hip a sqeeuze. She swatted his hand away.

“Rafe!” she laughed, eyes wide.

He grinned, totally unbothered. “What? You’re the one distracting me. I’m just trying to survive out here.”

“You’re so dramatic.”

“And you’re dangerously cute,” he said, fingers brushing her hip before he dropped his hand. “It’s unfair, really. I’m out here trying to play a serious game of golf and you’ve got me thinking about everything but.”

She rolled her eyes, but she was smiling again—flushed and flustered in the way he always seemed to pull from her so easily.

“Well, I guess I’ll take that as a compliment,” she said softly.

“You better,” he murmured, eyes lingering on her for a beat longer than necessary.

For a second, neither of them moved. The breeze was warm, her skirt fluttering just slightly as the sun lit her up like something out of a dream. Rafe looked at her like he could stand there all day with a dreamy smile.

And then, of course, he smirked. “Now get in the cart before I start blaming my whole score on you.”

She laughed, brushing past him with a playful bump of her shoulder. “You already have been.”

“Yeah,” he called after her, grinning as he followed, “and I’m not sorry about it.”

They pulled up to the next hole, the afternoon sun stretching shadows across the grass, warm and golden. Rafe got out first, stretching his arms overhead with a content sigh as he walked to set up the balls.

“Alright,” he called, glancing over his shoulder at her. “C’mon baby.”

She stepped out of the cart with a little skip in her step, confidence buzzing through her now. Rafe watched her with a grin, already charmed by how into it she was.

She stepped up to the tee, brows slightly furrowed in concentration as she adjusted her grip—just the way Rafe had shown her. The soft breeze lifted the bottom of her pink skirt slightly, but she didn’t notice. She was focused, determined, and just a little nervous.

From his place by the cart, Rafe leaned against the seat, arms crossed lazily over his chest, watching her with a quiet sort of pride. His voice came out low and warm. “Very good, baby,” he murmured to himself, a small smile tugging at his lips.

Then she swung.

The sound of contact was crisp, clean. They both followed the ball with their eyes as it soared through the air, dipped down—and rolled straight into the hole.

She blinked once, then gasped, a hand flying to her mouth. “Rafe! I made it in!” she squealed, spinning to look at him, eyes wide with disbelief and delight.

Rafe straightened immediately, laughing in surprise. “No way—you did?!”

She nodded rapidly, nearly bouncing in place. “It went in! It actually went in!”

Without thinking, she took off toward him, heart pounding with excitement. And Rafe was already moving too, meeting her halfway, arms wide.

She practically flew into him, and he caught her easily, wrapping her up in a tight hug and lifting her off the ground in one smooth motion. Her laughter was light and breathless against his ear as he spun her in a slow circle.

“You did it, baby,” he chuckled, hugging her closer. “That was perfect.”

“I didn’t think it was gonna go in,” she said between laughs, pulling back just enough to look at him. Her cheeks were flushed with happiness, eyes shining.

He grinned, brushing her hair back gently. “Well, it did. And I’m so proud of you.”

Her smile softened then, less shocked now—more full. She looked at him for a second longer, like she didn’t quite know what to say, but didn’t need to.

So Rafe leaned in, pressing a kiss to her forehead before setting her down carefully.

“You just made a hole in one,” he said, still sounding a little awed. “How does it feel to be officially better than me?”

She giggled, still glowing. “Pretty amazing.”

And when she looked at him again, he wasn’t just smiling—he was looking at her like she’d just become his favorite moment.

[sunsetmade]

Two Left Feet

Rafe Cameron x Clumsy! Reader

Summary: Rafe’s girlfriend had always been clumsy—it was just part of who she was. And somewhere along the way, without meaning to, Rafe had started living differently—like his entire purpose had shifted into something simple and instinctive: protecting her.

Rafe had always known she was clumsy. He figured it out on the first day they met, when she tripped on the curb outside the gas station and nearly fell into his chest. He hadn’t even said anything at first—just steadied her with both hands on her hips and stared at her like she was something strange and soft and fragile. She’d apologized, cheeks burning, and he’d just grinned and said, “You good, princess?” like she hadn’t almost face-planted into the pavement.

He liked it, though. That softness. That flustered way she’d look at him. It made him feel—needed. Like he was allowed to take care of someone for once.

Now, months into their relationship, Rafe knew all her patterns. He knew how her feet liked to betray her, how her balance didn’t always show up to work. He could spot the moment before she bumped into a table or missed a step. And every single time, he was there—quiet, steady, and a little smug.

It was little things, at first.

At parties, when the floor got too crowded or someone bumped into her too hard, Rafe would slide his hand down to her hip and hook his fingers through her belt loop. Not possessive. Just… careful. Anchoring her. Like he knew she’d get jostled and stumble into someone’s beer-soaked shoes if he didn’t.

“Stay close,” he’d murmur, brushing his nose against her temple and kissing her cheek like it was nothing.

She always blushed when he did it. But she’d nod, every time, and scoot back into the safety of his side, the denim of her jeans tugging slightly where he kept hold of her.

One night, at a party Kook-style bonfire on the beach, it was worse than usual. She was wearing sandals—bad choice. The sand was uneven and there were crushed cans and driftwood hidden beneath the surface, just waiting to mess with her.

She caught her toe on something sharp and stumbled forward. Would’ve eaten sand if Rafe hadn’t been standing behind her with his hand already halfway to her waist. He caught her easily, arm wrapping around her middle, and tugged her upright like she weighed nothing.

“You alright?” he asked into her ear, a little grin on his lips even as his brow creased with concern.

“I’m fine,” she said, breathless, brushing sand off her knee.

“You weren’t watching where you were walking again, huh baby?”

She made a face making him shake his head with a chuckle.

“Okay, new rule,” he said. “If you’re walking anywhere near wood, fire, or dumbasses with drinks in their hands, I’m holding onto you. Deal?”

She bit her lip to hide the smile. “Deal.”

⸻

It wasn’t just parties.

Rafe learned to walk on the street differently, too. She had a tendency to drift—step too close to the road, get distracted by her phone, or forget to look both ways. So he started doing it for her.

Whenever they walked down sidewalks or across parking lots, Rafe would quietly switch sides so he was between her and the cars. Sometimes he didn’t even realize he was doing it—just a natural instinct now.

She noticed, though.

Once, when they were walking downtown and the light changed, she didn’t realize how close she was to the edge of the curb. A car turned the corner a little too fast, and before she could even flinch, Rafe’s arm shot out across her chest.

He didn’t yell. Didn’t make a scene. Just stepped into her space and gently guided her back with a hand on her waist, his body shielding hers like it was second nature.

“Jesus,” she mumbled, staring at the car that sped off. “I didn’t even see it.”

“You don’t usually,” Rafe said, his voice warm but teasing.

He didn’t move his hand from her waist. Just stood there for a second, close enough to feel her heartbeat flutter against his chest.

“You okay baby?” he asked more quietly this time.

“Yeah.”

“Good.”

He leaned down and kissed her forehead tugging her close again. “You seriously need a bubble or something.” She just shrugged leaning into his side.

She didn’t mean to be clumsy. It was just how her brain worked—always thinking of something else. Daydreaming, distracted, heart too full to always track where her feet were going.

Rafe never made her feel bad about it. He just… worked around it. Like he’d memorized all the things that could go wrong and made it his job to stop them.

Once, she was trying to help him carry boxes into his truck. She’d insisted—“I can carry things, Rafe, I’m not made of glass.”

And she did carry them. For about ten steps.

Then she missed the bottom stair and fell forward hard. The box flew out of her hands and she hit the ground with a surprised yelp.

Rafe was on her in seconds. He didn’t even ask if she was okay at first—he just knelt beside her, cupped her face, and scanned her with those sharp blue eyes like he was checking for broken bones.

“Where’d you hit?” he asked quickly. “Baby, talk to me.”

“My knee,” she said, cringing.

He looked down. A scrape. Not bad, but it was already bleeding.

He exhaled hard and stood, scooping her up like it wasn’t even a question.

“Rafe—!”

“Nope,” he said firmly. “You’re done carrying things.”

She wrapped her arms around his neck, cheeks flushed, while he carried her inside and set her down on the couch. A moment later he came back with the first-aid kit.

She expected him to be annoyed. But he pulled her into his lap inspecting her ankle before cleaning the scrape like it was the most important thing in the world.

“You’re always looking out for me,” she whispered.

He glanced up, eyebrows raised. “Someone’s gotta.”

Her eyes softened.

He pressed a Band-Aid to her knee and kissed it gently, then smiled. “There. Now stop fighting me when I tell you to let me help.”

Some of his favorite moments were the quiet ones—like when they were walking back to his truck after a late-night grocery run.

The parking lot was slick with rain, and she almost slipped on the paint of a handicap symbol. Rafe caught her, as usual, muttering “gotcha” as he pulled her upright by the belt loop again.

After that, he just kept his hand there. Loose and casual but steady. She walked a little slower, careful now, and Rafe let the silence settle between them, his thumb brushing back and forth against the denim.

He liked that she trusted him. That she leaned into his touch without thinking, like her body already knew he was her safe place.

When they got to the truck, he opened the door for her, made sure she was in and buckled, then tossed the groceries in the back.

Sliding into the driver’s seat, he looked over at her. “You really would’ve gone down hard if I wasn’t there.”

“Probably.”

He smirked. “You ever think about what you’d do without me?”

“I’d have a lot more bruises.”

He laughed, leaned over, and kissed her cheek settling his hand on her thigh. “Damn right.”

The thing was—he wasn’t always soft about it. Sometimes Rafe got mad when she got hurt, even if it wasn’t serious. Like her being in pain made something twist in his chest.

One quiet afternoon, she reached up into the kitchen cabinet for a mug, stretching on her toes. She didn’t notice the glass bowl teetering on the top shelf—at least, not until it crashed down beside her with a sharp, echoing shatter.

She gasped, stumbling back a second too late. The glass splintered across the floor, and a sharp edge grazed her ankle on the way down. She winced, breath hitching, and looked down to see blood beginning to pool, bright against her skin.

Rafe heard it from the other room—the crash, the yelp, the silence that followed. He rounded the corner fast, eyes scanning the mess. The second he saw her—standing frozen in the middle of it all, one hand braced on the counter, blood trailing down her leg—he stopped cold.

Only for a second.

Then something in him flipped. “Don’t move,” he ordered, voice low and cutting through the air. “Stay right there.”

She stilled, blinking like she hadn’t expected the edge in his voice.

He didn’t hesitate. He crossed the room in three strides, grabbing a dish towel from the oven handle on his way. He crouched in front of her, ignoring the glass under his knees, and wrapped the towel firmly around her ankle, hands steady but tight, movements deliberate.

“Rafe, it’s not that bad—” she started, wincing.

“Not that bad?” he echoed, looking up at her, jaw clenched. “You’re bleeding. And you’re standing in a pile of broken glass.”

She tried to shrink back, but his touch didn’t waver. Not rough, just focused. His brows were drawn tight like he was trying to hold something in.

“I just wasn’t thinking,” she murmured.

He sighed, quieter this time. “That’s the problem,” he said, eyes locked on hers. His voice dropped, something raw flickering in it. “You never think about how easy it is for something to go wrong. How fast it can happen.”

Her throat tightened. There was something in the way he said it—like it wasn’t just about the cut on her ankle. Like it was about every reckless second she underestimated how breakable she really was. And how much that terrified him.

She looked at him, sad and soft, and gently reached out, brushing her fingers against his cheek. “I’m sorry.”

He closed his eyes at the touch, like her hand steadied something in him. “I just… I hate seeing you hurt,” he murmured.

“I know,” she whispered, thumb grazing his cheekbone.

He helped her over to the couch, arms under her like she weighed nothing. Once she was settled, he disappeared for a moment—only to return with the first aid kit, quiet and efficient as he cleaned the cut and wrapped it with gentle hands.

Then he stayed there, seated beside her, her foot resting in his lap like it belonged there. He didn’t say much. Just traced soft circles against her skin with his thumb, over and over, eyes down and brow furrowed. Like he needed the quiet. Like he needed to feel her there—solid, safe, breathing—in order to calm the storm still raging under his skin.

A few nights later, they were at a small get-together at Topper’s. The backyard buzzed with lazy music and the low hum of drunken laughter, tiki lights flickering in the warm breeze. Rafe had one arm slung over the back of a patio chair, half-listening to Kelce ramble about some dumb bet he’d lost, but his attention—his instinct—was somewhere else entirely.

She had been beside him a moment ago. He was sure of it.

Rafe glanced to his left, expecting to see the familiar shape of her shoulder brushing his, maybe feel the tug of her belt loop hooked around his finger like always. But his hand came up empty. The space beside him was cold and quiet.

His brows furrowed. He straightened in his seat, eyes scanning the dim glow of the backyard.

“She was just here,” he said under his breath, more to himself than to anyone else.

Kelce kept talking. Rafe didn’t care.

The party blurred around the edges of his focus as a low, unsettled buzz started in his chest. He rose slowly, methodically, like he was trying not to give away the sudden tension threading through his shoulders. A hundred possible things went through his mind, none of them reasonable, but every one of them too loud.

He weaved through the yard, past the fire pit, eyes searching. No sign of her near the snacks. Not by the cooler. Not tangled up with one of the girls on the porch swing. She wasn’t anywhere.

Where the hell did she go?

Rafe ducked inside the house, jaw clenched tighter now, steps heavier. The kitchen was empty except for a couple making out by the fridge. The music from the living room was louder in here—Topper’s playlist cycling through something slow and reverb-heavy—but her laughter didn’t cut through it.

Not in the hallway. Not in the bathroom.

He passed by the guest bedroom, then paused outside the den.

The door was cracked open, light from the hallway slipping across the hardwood. It was quiet in there. Still.

He pushed the door open with the heel of his hand—and there she was.

Curled up on the couch in a little crescent, her shoes kicked off and one arm tucked beneath her head like a pillow. A throw blanket had half-fallen over her legs, tangled with a soft pillow she was hugging to her chest. Her hair was messy from the wind, one hand still loosely curled as if she’d drifted off mid-thought.

Rafe stood there for a second, heart exhaling all the pressure it had built up. Relief hit him so hard it made his chest ache.

She was okay. Just… tired. Curled up like a cat and remote to the world.

He stepped inside quietly and crouched beside the couch. His hand reached out automatically, brushing her hair away from her cheek with the backs of his fingers. Her skin was warm, her breathing even. She stirred at the touch, lashes fluttering open slowly, eyes glassy with sleep.

“Hey,” she whispered, voice all drowsy and soft with a sweet smile.

“You wandered off,” Rafe said, but the edge he’d felt earlier had vanished from his voice. Now it was just low and careful.

Her eyes blinked again. “Got sleepy. Didn’t wanna bother you.”

He shook his head with a quiet, breathy laugh. “Bother me? You think I’m not gonna notice when you’re not next to me?”

She gave a sleepy little shrug, cheek pressing deeper into the couch cushion. “You were talking.”

“I was pretending to listen to Kelce talk about poker,” he corrected, smirking. “Not the same.”

She gave the smallest smile, already drifting again.

“Next time, just tell me, okay?” he said, leaning in to kiss her forehead. “Don’t like not knowing where you are.”

“Mmkay,” she mumbled, reaching out blindly for his hand.

Rafe took it without hesitation, her fingers cold and small in his. He held them gently, like he always did—like she might float away if he wasn’t careful.

“You wanna go home?” he asked softly.

She nodded against the couch cushion. “Only if you drive.”

His mouth curved upward. “Always.”

With a soft grunt, he slipped an arm under her legs and the other behind her back, lifting her into his arms before she could even protest. She curled into his chest instinctively, head tucked beneath his chin, her body boneless with exhaustion.

As he carried her out of the house, he ignored the way Kelce raised an eyebrow or the look Topper shot him from the porch. None of it mattered.

What mattered was the way she sighed quietly against his hoodie, trusting him to carry her through the noise.

⸻

One night, wrapped up together in the quiet hush of their bedroom, she laid nestled against him, legs tangled with his under the sheets. Her fingers moved slowly over his chest, drawing idle shapes, soft and thoughtful.

“You always take care of me,” she whispered, barely louder than the hum of the ceiling fan.

Rafe turned his head, his eyes heavy with sleep but warm as they met hers. He didn’t smile right away—just looked at her for a moment, like he was trying to memorize her voice, the curve of her mouth when she said things like that.

“You let me,” he murmured back, voice rough with exhaustion and something deeper.

She leaned up and pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth—tender, grateful—then settled back down on his chest, her head rising and falling with his steady breaths.

“That belt loop thing you do?” she said after a moment, voice muffled against his skin.

“Yeah?” he asked, already grinning a little, even before she answered.

“I like it.”

His chest shook gently with a laugh. “Good,” he said, reaching down to run his fingers through her hair. “Because I’m not planning on ever letting go.”

And he didn’t.

Not when they went to the beach and she almost tripped over a rock—he had a hand at her waist in a second.

Not when they were out with friends and she almost walked into a glass door—he caught her shoulders, pressed a kiss to the back of her head, and whispered “Careful, baby.”

Not when she tripped going up the stairs, again, and he just sighed, picked her up, and carried her the rest of the way, muttering “Unreal. You’re a hazard.” with nothing but love in his voice.

He held her belt loop when they walked through crowds. Pressed a hand to her back when the world got chaotic. Protected her like it was written into his bones.

And she let him.

Because being loved by Rafe meant being protected. It meant fingers curled in denim and kisses to scrapes and teasing threats to bubble-wrap her.

It meant he saw her. Knew her. Every messy, clumsy part.

And he loved her exactly like that.

[sunsetmade]

Don’t get Caught

Rafe Cameron x Reader

Summary: She thinks the house is empty but when a door is heard, she has to be quiet so they don’t get caught. Smut!

She knocked on his front door, rocking on the balls of her feet like she couldn’t stand still—like her heart already knew who’d be answering. When no one came right away, she sighed softly and raised her hand to knock again, but the door swung open first.

There stood Rafe Cameron, very shirtless and very smug about it.

Her breath caught for a second. “Hi, Rafe,” she managed, laughing under her breath as she looked anywhere but his bare chest.

He grinned lazily, cocky like he’d been expecting that exact reaction. “Hey, baby,” he said, pulling her into him without hesitation, his arms wrapping around her in that too-tight, too-long kind of hug that always made her head spin. “What’s goin’ on?”

She buried her face briefly in the crook of his neck—God, he always smelled like soap and sun—and then pulled away quickly, cheeks warm. “Nothing. Just needed to see you.”

Without waiting for a reply, she slipped past him, practically sprinting toward his room like it was second nature. It was second nature at this point.

Rafe watched her with a slow chuckle, running a hand through his already-messy hair. He closed the door behind him—unnecessary, since no one else was home, but he always did that when it was just them. Like being alone with her was something he didn’t want to share with the rest of the house.

She threw herself back onto his bed with a dramatic sigh, arms flopping above her head as she stared at the ceiling like she belonged there. Like she always had.

Rafe leaned against the door for a second, just looking at her. “You know you don’t have to knock, right?” he said. “You live here more than I do at this point.”

She smiled, still not looking at him. “That would make me your live-in best friend.”

He raised a brow, walking toward her slowly. “Pretty sure that makes you my live-in girlfriend,” he said, teasing, watching carefully for her reaction.

Her smile twitched wider, but she still played it cool. “Is that what this is?”

“You tell me,” he said, falling onto the bed beside her, propping himself up on one elbow. He was too close. His skin was warm from the sun or maybe the shower, and she could feel the heat of it through the space that wasn’t between them.

She finally turned her head to look at him. “We’re not fooling anyone, you know.”

“Good,” he said, brushing a knuckle over her thigh. “I’m not trying to.”

And just like that, the air shifted—still playful, still familiar. But heavier too.

She grinned up at him, and Rafe couldn’t help but return it—just a flicker of a smile at first, but it spread before he could stop it.

Without a word, he began to crawl across the bed toward her, slow and deliberate, his eyes never leaving hers. She held her breath as he leaned in, his face stopping just inches from hers. She could feel the warmth of his breath ghosting across her lips, and she instinctively bit down on her bottom lip.

“You look cute,” he murmured, his voice low as his gaze dipped, taking her in.

She followed his eyes, suddenly aware of her tiny pajama shorts and the thin tank top clinging to her frame. Her skin flushed under his attention, but she didn’t move away. She didn’t want to.

His hand slid up over her thigh, fingers dragging gently across her cool skin until they settled just above her knee. The warmth of his touch sent a shiver through her.

She looked down at his hand, then met his eyes with a playful raise of her brow. “Are you distracting me, Rafe?”

He smirked, thumb grazing small circles against her leg. “Maybe… is it working?”

She leaned in slowly, lips barely a breath away from his, eyes sparkling with challenge. “You tell me.”

But before she could close the distance, his free hand reached up, catching her chin between his fingers—gentle, but firm. His smirk deepened, thumb brushing along her jaw as he tilted her head just enough to expose her neck to him.

Her breath hitched.

Without breaking eye contact, he dipped his head and pressed soft, lingering kisses to the curve of her neck—slow and careful, like he was savoring every second. Her lips parted, a quiet breath catching in her throat as she bit down gently to keep from making a sound.

Her fingers curled into the sheets, pulse fluttering under his mouth. And still, he didn’t rush—like he could take his time, like he wanted to.

And God, she wanted him to.

It wasn’t like they hadn’t kissed before. They had—more than once, more than enough to blur the line between friends and something else. But this… this was different. This was heated. Intentional. Like something had finally snapped loose between them.

His mouth moved with purpose, kissing her like he meant every second of it. Like he’d been waiting for an excuse to lose control.

One of his hands slid up, fingers trailing over her jaw before wrapping lightly around her throat. The pressure was careful, just enough to make her pulse stutter beneath his touch, just enough to make her breath hitch. His grip grounded her, held her still as his mouth found her neck.

Then he went lower—hot, open-mouthed kisses dragging across her skin until he found that spot just beneath her ear. He sucked down, slow and deliberate, swirling his tongue over the sensitive skin as she gasped and instinctively arched into him.

Her hands curled against his sides, nails grazing his skin, desperate to hold onto something as his mouth worked over her neck—claiming her in a way that left no doubt.

A soft whimper slipped from her lips as his mouth found a new spot just below her jaw, the sensation sending a shiver down her spine.

Rafe chuckled against her skin, low and rough, his voice brushing over her like velvet. “You like that, baby?” he murmured, his lips ghosting over the fresh mark he’d just left.

His tone was teasing, but his eyes were locked on her—dark, focused, like he was memorizing every reaction. Every sound she made.

She nodded, eyes hazy, and melted further into him, but he wasn’t done—not even close. In one swift, confident motion, he pulled her fully into his lap, guiding her until she was straddling him, her thighs on either side of his.

His hands slid to the backs of her legs, fingers pressing into her skin as he held her there, close. Right where he wanted her.

She looked at him, breath shaky, heart racing, and he tilted his head, all smug heat and knowing eyes.

“Am I making you feel good, baby girl?” he asked, voice like sin.

And the way she looked at him—wide-eyed, needy, undone—was answer enough.

Her fingernails traced slowly down his chest, dragging over every line of his abs with a teasing lightness. She didn’t stop when she reached the waistband of his shorts—just hovered there, fingers lingering, deliberate.

His breath caught, sharp and shallow, and his eyes snapped to hers—dark, focused, hungry. There was a flicker of surprise in them, but it was drowned out by the heat.

A low, guttural sound rumbled from Rafe’s chest—a mix between a groan and a growl—as her fingers toyed with the waistband of his shorts, her touch maddeningly light. His jaw clenched, eyes darkening with something feral.

Without a word, he grabbed her chin, fingers curling firmly but gently, and yanked her mouth to his.

The kiss wasn’t sweet. It was fire—raw, hot, messy.

His lips crashed against hers with a hunger that stole her breath, his mouth moving with a rhythm that was anything but patient. Their teeth grazed, lips parting, tongues colliding in a clash of want and need. She moaned into him, and he devoured the sound, deepening the kiss like he couldn’t get enough.

One of his hands slid into her hair, gripping just enough to angle her how he wanted. The other stayed at her waist, holding her in place as she rocked closer. Her fingers dug into his shoulders, nails dragging down his back as the kiss grew heavier, sloppier.

Every breath was stolen between kisses, every second building heat like a spark to dry kindling. His tongue slid against hers again, slow and possessive, and she swore her whole body melted into his.

There was no space, no air—just him. Just them.

A soft, breathy moan slipped from her lips as she rolled her hips against his, slow and deliberate. Rafe groaned, low and rough, his hands flying to her waist, fingers digging in hard enough to leave a memory.

“Fuck—don’t do that, baby girl,” he muttered, voice strained like he was hanging on by a thread.

She rested her forehead against his, both of them breathing heavy, mouths just inches apart. “Why not?” she asked, voice soft but teasing, laced with mock innocence.

He closed his eyes, exhaling sharply before dropping his head to the crook of her neck like he needed to escape the look in her eyes.

She laughed, the sound light and wicked, and rolled her hips again—just to feel him, just to hear that sharp inhale he couldn’t quite hold back. She could feel him now, hard and heavy through his shorts, pressing right where she knew he didn’t want her to notice.

He bit down on her neck—not too hard, but enough to make her gasp—as if it were the only way to keep a moan from spilling out.

“Keep playing, sweetheart,” he murmured against her skin, voice thick and dangerous, “and I’m not gonna be so nice.”

Her breath caught, heat flashing through her at his words. She felt the way his teeth lingered at her neck, the edge in his voice—rough and low and barely in control. It made her pulse jump.

She pulled back just enough to look at him, eyes wide, daring. “Yeah?” she whispered, her voice still teasing, but thinner now, breathier. “What if I don’t want you to be nice?”

That did it.

His eyes snapped to hers, dark and unreadable for half a second—then he was flipping her effortlessly onto her back, settling between her thighs like he belonged there. His hands pinned her hips to the mattress, grinding down just enough to make her gasp.

“You have no idea what you’re asking for,” he muttered, his voice more growl than words now, breath hot against her lips.

She arched into him instinctively, fingertips dragging down his back as her body answered before her mouth could.

“Try me,” she breathed.

Rafe let out a low, dark chuckle, then rolled his hips into hers again—slow, deliberate, and punishingly good. She whimpered, eyes fluttering shut, overwhelmed by the heat of it.

“Uh-uh,” he murmured, voice thick with command, “keep your eyes on me, pretty girl.”

She opened them just in time to see him tug her top over her head and toss it aside, leaving her in a delicate pink lace bra that barely hid anything.

For a second, Rafe froze—his eyes sweeping over her like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Lust flickered across his face, quick and sharp, and his lips parted slightly as if the sight knocked the breath out of him.

Her soft giggle pulled him back in.

He raised a brow, fingers already sliding up to her chest, rough palms brushing lace. “This isn’t very innocent, baby,” he said, voice low and teasing as he cupped her breasts through the fabric, thumbs dragging slowly across the peaks.

The way she bit her lip in response nearly undid him.

“And here I was trying to behave,” he added with a smirk, leaning in to kiss her collarbone, “but then you go and show up in this…”

She could feel the hard length of him against her thigh, thick and undeniable, and it made her breath hitch. Biting her lip, she let her eyes drag over his face—teasing, deliberate—as he trailed kisses along her collarbone and up the side of her neck.

Then, slowly, her hand slipped down between them, her fingers finding the bulge straining against his shorts. She started to palm him through the fabric, soft and slow at first, just enough to make him feel it.

Rafe froze.

His mouth stilled on her skin, a low, guttural groan escaping him as he dropped his head beside hers. “Fuck,” he whispered in her ear, voice wrecked, like just that small touch had undone him.

The sound of it, the way his body tensed beneath her hand, only made her move a little firmer, a little slower—watching the way his jaw clenched and eyes darkened.

“Rafey” she whispered back, lips brushing his jaw.

He let out a breathless chuckle, head tipping back slightly. He couldn’t decide what was driving him crazier—the feel of her small hand resting on his cock, or the way she’d called him that in that sweet, innocent voice that didn’t match the way she was touching him.

“Fuck,” he muttered, eyes half-lidded as he looked down at her, “you really don’t play fair, do you?”

A soft, knowing smile tugged at her lips, and the sight of it only made him ache harder beneath her touch. He caught her hand, guiding it beneath the waistband of his boxers until her fingers met his dick with nothing in the way. A low groan rumbled in his throat as he buried his face in the curve of her neck.

He groaned low in his throat as he bucked his hips up into her hand, matching the slow pressure of her strokes. The tension in his body coiled tighter with each movement, like he was holding on by a thread.

She sucked in a quiet breath, feeling every ridge and vein beneath her palm—the way his tip was already slick, warm, and leaking against her fingers. The weight of him, the way he moved for her, made her thighs press together instinctively.

“Rafe…” she whispered, voice shaky, teasing, needy.

His jaw clenched at the sound of his name falling from her lips like that, and he throbbed harder in her hand.

His breath hitched sharply, hips twitching beneath her touch. “Shit—baby, slow down,” he muttered, voice rough and strained, like he was fighting to stay in control. “Just—hold on.”

But she didn’t stop.

Her hand kept working him, slow but steady, sliding up and down his length with just enough pressure to make him curse under his breath again. His forehead dropped to her shoulder, breath hot and ragged against her neck as he tried not to lose it right then and there.

She could feel it—how hard he was trying to hold back, how each stroke made his breathing grow heavier, shakier. And she loved it.

She giggled softly, feeling his mouth on her neck, the way he sucked gently at her skin like he was trying to muffle the sounds he couldn’t quite hold back. His breath was warm against her throat, uneven with restraint.

Then his hand slid up, rough and sure, and grabbed a firm hold of her left breast. The sudden pressure made her gasp, the moan slipping out before she could stop it.

“Rafe…” she breathed, her voice soft and shaken, “that feels so good.”

He hummed low against her skin, fingers kneading and caressing her through the lace, like he knew exactly how to unravel her—slow and deliberate and just a little greedy.

If he was going to be a mess so was she.

“Yeah? That feels good?” he murmured against her neck, voice low and laced with heat.

He felt her hand slow on him, her rhythm faltering as his own touch distracted her. Smirking, he pressed a kiss beneath her jaw, his fingers expertly teasing over her lace-covered nipples—pinching, rolling, dragging soft moans from her lips.

Her breath hitched again, body arching into his touch, and he chuckled darkly. “Can’t focus when I play with you like this, huh?”

Her moan caught in her throat as his thumbs circled her nipples again, slow and taunting. Her grip on him faltered completely now, all focus lost under the heat of his hands and mouth. Rafe smirked, clearly satisfied with the effect he had on her.

“I barely touched you,” he murmured, his breath hot against her collarbone. “And you’re already falling apart for me.”

Before she could respond—before she could drag him back into a kiss or beg for more—

The sound of a door slamming somewhere in the house made her freeze, every muscle going still—but Rafe didn’t.

If anything, it only seemed to thrill him more.

His free hand slipped down between her thighs, fingers sliding beneath the fabric of her panties. He found her clit with practiced ease, circling it slowly, deliberately, until her body trembled against his.

A moan spilled from her lips—loud, helpless—but he caught it with a kiss, swallowing the sound as his tongue tangled with hers.

When he finally pulled back, his eyes were dark, smug, lips brushing hers as he whispered, “Careful, baby… someone’s here.”

He grinned, devilish and unbothered, fingers still working her in slow, teasing strokes. “You don’t want them hearing how sweet you sound for me.”

She removed her hand from his boxers and trailed it up his abs resting them on his shoulders. Her nails dug lightly into his shoulders as she buried her face in his neck, trying—and failing—to stay quiet. Every slow, purposeful circle of his fingers sent another wave of heat through her, her thighs tightening around his hand as her breath caught.

“Rafe…” she whispered, the warning in her voice completely undone by the way her hips rolled into his touch.

He grinned against her skin, kissing her jaw lazily. “Mmm, that little voice doesn’t sound so convincing, baby girl.”

His fingers dipped lower, teasing her entrance before sliding back up to her clit in a slow drag that made her whimper into his neck. He loved how reactive she was, how her body begged even when her voice couldn’t risk a sound.

From down the hall came muffled voices—whoever had entered clearly lingering nearby—but Rafe didn’t stop. If anything, he moved slower. Crueler. Just enough to keep her on edge without giving her what she wanted.

“You’re shaking,” he whispered, smirking as he pressed his forehead to hers. “All those pretty noises, and you’re trying to hide them from me?”

She bit her lip, eyes glassy, her hand clutching at his chest. “Please…”

“Oh, now you beg?” he murmured, his voice dark with heat. “Guess I’ll have to take my time then.”

And with that, he slid two fingers inside her, his thumb resuming its slow torment, and her head dropped back with a silent cry—her body burning, the danger of getting caught only making it worse.

“Rafey…” she moaned out, barely above a whisper, but it sent a bolt of heat straight through him.

God, the way she said his name—soft, breathy, desperate—it unraveled something inside him.

His lips ghosted over her ear, his voice low and teasing. “You know what that does to me, baby.”

He curled his fingers inside her and felt her body jolt, the walls of her slick heat clenching down like she was already close. Her hips rocked against his hand, chasing the pressure, the high she was teetering on.

“You sound so pretty when you’re falling apart for me,” he murmured, pressing a slow kiss beneath her ear. “And we’re not even halfway there.”

She clung to him, her breaths coming faster, chest rising and falling as he worked her expertly—his thumb flicking her clit with a rhythm that was just shy of mercy. Every time she got close, he’d ease up, pulling her back from the edge, watching her squirm with a wicked smirk on his lips.

“I should stop,” he whispered, nipping at her jaw. “Someone’s right down the hall. You really want them hearing you moan my name like that?”

She shook her head, but the whimper that followed betrayed her.

He chuckled darkly. “That’s what I thought.”

And just when she thought he’d slow down again—he didn’t.

He curled his fingers deeper, faster, his thumb pressing harder until her hand flew to his chest, her whole body tensing, a broken moan tumbling from her lips that he caught in another kiss.

“Come on, baby,” he whispered against her mouth, “let go for me.”

Her body tensed, thighs trembling around his hand as he worked her relentlessly—his fingers deep, thumb circling just right. Her head dropped to his shoulder, breath hitching in her throat as the pleasure built fast, overwhelming.

“Shit—” she gasped, her voice breaking as her nails dug into his skin.

“That’s it,” he murmured, lips brushing her ear, “you’re right there, aren’t you? Let me feel it, baby.”

One more curl of his fingers, one more perfect flick—and she shattered.

Her body arched against him, a soft cry slipping past her lips despite her best effort to stay quiet. Her muscles clenched, pulsing around his fingers as she clung to him, trying to ride it out in silence while her world went white behind her closed eyes.

He held her through it, kissing her jaw, her temple, his hand slowing as she came down from the high, body limp and boneless in his arms.

“Good girl,” he whispered, tucking her hair behind her ear with a smug grin. “Didn’t even care who heard you, huh?”

She breathed out a shaky laugh, hiding her face in his neck, flushed and still catching her breath.

“Shut up,” she mumbled, smiling despite herself.

He chuckled, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her close. “Not a chance.”

She stayed curled into him, her cheek pressed against the warm skin of his neck, still humming with the aftershocks of everything he’d just done to her. His hand rubbed slow, soothing circles along her back now, his other still possessively splayed on her thigh like he wasn’t ready to let her go—like he wanted to remember exactly how she felt when she came apart for him.

“You okay?” he asked quietly, voice dipped in something softer now—still smug, but tender underneath.

She nodded into him, smiling as her fingers traced idle shapes along his chest. “I’m more than okay.”

Rafe tilted his head to look down at her, his lips tugging into a crooked grin. “You’re dangerous when you say my name like that.”

She laughed, a soft little breath against his collarbone, and he could feel her cheeks warm again.

“I didn’t mean to,” she murmured, though the glint in her eye said otherwise.

He raised a brow. “Liar.”

She gasped in mock offense, but before she could say anything, he rolled her onto her back, settling between her thighs with ease, his arms bracketing her head. His nose brushed hers, his voice rough with want.

“Think you can keep quiet this time?” he asked, his tone low and teasing.

Her breath hitched again, fingers curling in the sheets as she looked up at him—completely flushed, completely wrecked, and still wanting more.

“Not a chance,” she whispered.

Rafe smirked like a man who’d just been given permission to ruin her all over again. “Good.”

[sunsetmade]

Doing this Together

Rafe Cameron x Reader

Summary: She finds out she’s pregnant but isn’t sure how Rafe will react.

She sat in the chair tucked against the wall of Rafe’s master bedroom, her head cradled in her hands. The ticking of the clock seemed to grow louder with every passing second, like time itself was mocking her. But it wasn’t moving any faster.

The pregnancy test sat on the marble counter across the room—on her side, though it wasn’t technically hers.

She squeezed her eyes shut, willing her thoughts to slow down. What if it was positive? What if it wasn’t? Each outcome carried a weight she didn’t feel ready for. Drawing in a shaky breath, she tried to calm the fuzzy, anxious feeling churning in her stomach.

It felt like everything in her life had been set to fast-forward except her. And she didn’t even know if Rafe was ready for something like this or if he even wanted this.

The sharp beep of the timer pierced through her spiral of thoughts, snapping her back to reality. Her breath hitched as she slowly pushed herself up from the chair. With each step toward the counter, her heartbeat grew louder, pounding in her chest like a warning she couldn’t ignore.

She picked up the test, her hand trembling as it covered the result. For a moment, she just stood there, breathing deeply, trying to slow the rush of emotions building in her chest. “It’s okay… it’s gonna be okay,” she whispered, more to herself than anything.

Slowly, she pulled her hand away.

Positive.

A soft, shaky laugh slipped from her lips as her hand flew up to cover her mouth, this time in stunned joy. Her eyes filled with tears, but they weren’t just from fear—they were from something warmer, something that felt like hope.

But as the reality settled in, her smile faded just slightly. Her heart still fluttered, but now it was with uncertainty. What would Rafe say? Would he be ready for this? Would he be happy too?

Tears rolled down her cheeks as she stood there, overwhelmed by the flood of emotions washing through her. She was happy—there was no denying that. A quiet, stunned kind of joy bloomed in her chest. But tangled up in that happiness was a flicker of fear, not for herself… but for what this meant for her and Rafe.

They were solid. Sweet, even. Rafe wasn’t always the easiest person, but with her, he tried. He showed up. He held her hand when she was nervous, kissed her forehead when she overthought things, and always made her laugh when she needed it most. He wasn’t perfect—he could be stubborn, and a little rough around the edges—but he loved her in a way that was so undeniably real.

He’d leave little notes for her in his messy handwriting, just because. He’d tug her into his lap when she was upset and stroke her hair until she calmed down. He knew when to tease and when to be gentle, when she needed space and when she needed him close.

But this? This was bigger than anything they’d faced.

She brushed a tear from her cheek, her lips trembling into a small smile as she looked down at the test again.

Would Rafe be scared? Would he panic? Or would he smile that soft, crooked smile and pull her into his arms like he always did?

She didn’t know. And that uncertainty made her heart race. She didn’t even know if she would be ready for it.

⸻

Rafe let out a content sigh as he pulled his truck into the driveway, the tension in his shoulders easing the second he saw his large house. It was five o-clock, and the day had dragged—calls, heat, endless noise—but just knowing she was inside waiting for him made everything feel lighter.

He could already picture it: her curled up on his bed in one of his worn t-shirts, those soft pink sleep shorts she always wore when she was extra cozy. Probably scrolling on her phone or half-asleep, the TV playing low in the background. That image alone made his chest ache in the best way.

He cut the engine and climbed out, shutting the door with a soft thud. Every part of him felt tired—except the part that wanted to be near her. All he wanted now was to crawl into bed, wrap himself around her, and forget about everything else.

Being with her, even in silence, was the only part of his day that never felt like work. It was comfort. It was home.

The front door creaked open with a soft click, and Rafe stepped inside, greeted by the faint smell of her shampoo lingering in the air and the low hum of the TV playing from the bedroom down the hall. He kicked off his boots by the door, dropped his keys in the bowl on the entry table, and ran a hand through his hair as he called out, “Baby? I’m home.”

Usually, she’d answer right away—some soft little “Hey,” or the sound of feet padding down the hallway to meet him. But today, there was nothing. Just the quiet, and the sound of whatever old sitcom she liked to play for background noise.

His brows pinched slightly, not in worry—at least not yet—but enough to make him pause.

He wandered toward the bedroom, unzipping his hoodie halfway as he walked. The door was cracked open, afternoon sunlight spilling through the window and casting soft stripes across the floor.

And there she was.

Curled up in the corner of the bed, knees drawn to her chest, one of his oversized t-shirts swallowing her frame. She wasn’t reading or watching TV. Just sitting there, hands clasped tightly in her lap like she was trying to hold herself together.

The smile that had been tugging at Rafe’s lips faded gently as he leaned against the doorframe, watching her for a moment.

“Hey,” he said softly, voice low and careful now. “You okay?”

She looked up quickly, like she hadn’t heard him come in, her eyes slightly red, cheeks a little flushed. And Rafe’s chest tightened at the sight.

Something was off.

She gave him a small, wavering smile—the kind she used when she was trying too hard to look fine. “Yeah,” she said, voice barely above a whisper. “I’m okay.”

But he knew her too well for that.

He stepped into the room without another word, making his way to her side. As he sat down on the edge of the bed, his hand reached for hers, thumb brushing over her knuckles.

“Talk to me,” he murmured, eyes never leaving her face. “What’s goin’ on, baby?”

Her breath hitched like she wanted to speak, but couldn’t quite get the words out yet.

And he didn’t rush her. He just stayed there, close and quiet, holding her hand like it was the only thing anchoring him in place.

She didn’t answer right away. Just looked down at their joined hands, her thumb rubbing slowly along his in a nervous rhythm. Her breathing was shallow, like she was thinking too hard about how to say whatever was sitting heavy on her chest.

Rafe didn’t push. He never did, not with her. He just brushed his thumb across the back of her hand again and leaned in, his voice softer now, like they were in their own little world.

“Is it something I did?” he asked gently, tilting his head to catch her gaze. “’Cause if it is, just tell me, alright? I’ll fix it. Whatever it is.”

Her eyes flicked up to his then, full of emotion, and she shook her head quickly. “No. No, it’s not you.”

“Okay,” he said, nodding slowly. “Then what is it?”

She hesitated, her lip caught between her teeth, and Rafe could see it—all the thoughts spinning around in her head, all the feelings she didn’t know how to untangle. It made his heart ache a little. She always tried to be so strong, so calm, even when she was crumbling a little inside.

“You’re scarin’ me a little,” he said softly, with a small half-smile, trying to ease her tension. “You’re not gonna tell me you ran over my surfboard or somethin’, right?”

That got the tiniest laugh out of her—barely there, but real—and it made him exhale just a little.

She turned toward him more fully, one leg folding underneath her as she faced him. “I just… I don’t know how to say it,” she murmured, her voice trembling like she was afraid of how he might look at her once it was out. “It’s a lot. And I don’t want it to change anything.”

Rafe’s expression softened completely. He reached up, brushing her hair behind her ear, his fingers lingering gently at her cheek. “Hey,” he said, looking her straight in the eyes, “whatever it is—it doesn’t change the way I feel about you. Ever.”

She blinked fast, like she was trying to hold back tears. And when she didn’t answer, he leaned in a little more.

“Wanna give me a hint?”

Her breath caught again. “I took a test,” she whispered, barely audible.

His brows lifted slightly, not quite catching on.

“A test?”

She nodded, slowly reaching toward the nightstand drawer with a hand that trembled just enough for Rafe to notice. When she pulled it open and held out the small stick in her palm, he finally understood.

He stared at it. Then at her.

His lips parted like he wanted to say something—but nothing came out just yet.

And she watched him like her whole heart was in his hands.

Rafe stared at the test in her hand, the little word on the screen hitting him like a wave. Positive.

For a moment, everything went still—no sound, no movement, just the two of them frozen in that sliver of time. He didn’t flinch. Didn’t pull away. His expression was unreadable, like he was trying to process something that didn’t quite feel real yet.

She held her breath, watching him. Her heart pounded in her chest so loud she swore he could hear it.

Then finally—finally—Rafe blinked. His eyes lifted to hers, wide and a little dazed, but soft. So soft.

“You’re pregnant,” he said, like he needed to say it out loud to believe it.

She nodded, her throat too tight to speak.

And then, to her surprise, his mouth lifted into the faintest, stunned smile. He let out a quiet, shaky breath and laughed under it—just a little. Disbelieving. Not because he thought it was bad… but because he didn’t know what to do with the feeling blooming in his chest.

“Holy shit,” he whispered, running a hand through his hair. “You’re really…?”

She nodded again, still unsure of what he was thinking, her hands twisting in her lap. “I didn’t plan it,” she said quickly, her voice trembling. “I was just late, and I thought maybe I should check, and then—”

“Hey, hey,” Rafe cut in gently, reaching for her hand again. “I’m not mad.” He said hearing the nervousness in her voice that gave his heart an ache.

Her eyes flicked up to his, wide with surprise.

He scooted closer, his hands wrapping around hers now, grounding her. “I’m not mad,” he repeated. “Just… surprised. Like—crazy surprised.”

He gave a small, breathless laugh and shook his head like he still couldn’t believe it. But then he looked at her again, really looked at her, and the emotion behind his gaze changed. It softened. Deepened.

“We’re gonna be parents,” Rafe said softly, like the words were just sinking in as they left his mouth.

Her eyes welled up all over again, but this time she smiled through the tears, her whole face lighting up despite the nerves still fluttering in her chest. “Yeah… we are.”

Something in him melted at the sight of her—tearful, smiling, so full of quiet strength. Without another word, he reached out and gently wiped her cheeks with his thumbs, then wrapped his arms around her and pulled her into his lap like he couldn’t stand another inch of space between them.

She curled into him easily, like it was the only place in the world she felt safe.

Rafe tilted her chin up, his blue eyes locked on hers, and then leaned in to kiss her—slow and deep, full of things he couldn’t say yet. It wasn’t rushed or frantic. It was soft and full of emotion, laced with wonder and the beginnings of something new.

The kind of kiss that said we’re in this together.

When they pulled apart, his forehead rested gently against hers, their breaths mingling in the quiet.

“I’ve never wanted anything more,” he whispered.

“And you’re not freaking out?” she asked, voice barely above a whisper.

“Oh, I’m freaking out,” he said with a crooked grin. “But like… in a holy shit I get to do this with you kinda way.”

She let out a watery laugh, and Rafe reached up to wipe her tears with his thumb, his other hand still holding hers.

“We’re gonna be okay,” he murmured, leaning forward to press a kiss to her forehead. He rested his forehead against hers and spoke, “You and me? We’re so okay.” She smiled and kissed his lips wrapping her arms around his neck.

They stayed like that for a while—wrapped up in each other, her face tucked into the curve of his neck, his arms locked tightly around her like he never wanted to let go. The room was quiet, filled only with the soft rhythm of their breathing and the distant hum of the afternoon outside.

Then, breaking the silence with a shaky little laugh, Rafe pulled back just enough to look at her.

“Holy shit,” he said, wonder in his voice. “We’re gonna be a family.”

She lifted her head, eyes still glassy but glowing now, and let out a soft laugh that sounded lighter than anything he’d heard all day.

“I know,” she whispered, grinning up at him. “I can’t wait.”

And in that moment, with her curled into him and the weight of the unknown still ahead, none of it felt scary. Not with him holding her like this. Not when they were in it together.

[sunsetmade]

Nothing but Obsessed

Rafe Cameron x Reader

Summary: During a night with friends, sweet, flirty moments allows the tension between two people—who obviously like each other— to come to a head.

It was one of those late OBX nights where the air was thick with salt and laughter, the fire crackling in the middle of the Cameron backyard. A few of Rafe’s friends were scattered around, half-drunk on beer and summer boredom, sunk into mismatched lawn chairs and blankets that smelled like sun and smoke. Music played low from someone’s speaker, and the clink of bottles met the easy rhythm of old stories and harmless teasing.

She hadn’t meant to come—she rarely did when there was a crowd. But Rafe had sent her a text earlier that afternoon (trying to act as if he didn’t care that much), something simple like you should come. fire later. I’ll save you a spot. She’d stared at it for a minute too long before typing back only if there’s s’mores followed by a smiley face that she almost deleted twice before hitting send.

So here she was, stepping out of her car and making her way around to the backyard. Tugging at the sleeves of her hoodie, she opened the wooden gate and slipped inside. The yard was dotted with many guys and some of their girlfriends, laughter mingling with the low hum of music playing from a speaker. It was more laid-back than she’d expected—casual, almost calm.

Rafe’s head turned at the sound of the gate creaking open. The moment he saw her standing there, looking a little unsure, his whole demeanor shifted. A slow grin tugged at his lips as he stood up from his chair and walked toward her.

“Hey,” he said, voice low and easy. “You made it.”

She smiled as Rafe pulled her into a hug, his arms wrapping around her with familiar warmth. “Thought I’d surprise you,” she mumbled into his chest, her voice slightly muffled.

He chuckled, holding her tight for a second longer before pulling back to look at her, a smile still playing on his lips. Without a word, he laced his fingers through hers and led her over to the fire.

A few of the guys—most of them familiar faces—called out casual greetings as she sat down beside Rafe. She offered a warm smile in return, settling in close to his side as the fire crackled quietly between them.

A few hours later she was still sitting a little too close to the guy she kept pretending not to like.

Rafe was lounging beside her on the edge of an old deck chair, long legs spread, one arm slung lazily across the back, the other wrapped around a beer he wasn’t even drinking. His buzzed hair was still damp from an earlier swim, and there was a sun-faded band of color around his wrist where a bracelet used to be.

He hadn’t looked at anyone else all night.

Any time she laughed—whether at something genuinely funny or her own dumb joke—his mouth curled like he couldn’t help it. Like her laugh had crawled under his skin and settled there. And every time she got up to grab another soda or adjust her seat, his eyes followed, even if he tried to play it cool.

She was careful, though. Goofy and sweet, always playing it off, deflecting with some silly comment or dramatic gasp when he teased her. She didn’t want anyone to notice—not him, not the others. The last thing she needed was to be obvious about the way her heart beat a little faster when he looked at her like she was the only one at the fire.

Still, she could feel the tension growing between them like a slow burn.

At one point, their shoulders brushed, and neither of them moved away. His hand dropped from the back of the chair to the space just behind her—so close she could feel the warmth of it ghosting over her spine.

“You cold?” he asked, voice low and casual. She could feel the smirk even though she didn’t look at him.

“Nope,” she said with a little grin, hugging her knees. “Just trying to survive the trauma of watching Kelce try to play the ukulele.”

Rafe let out a quiet laugh. “Yeah, that was painful.”

For a minute, the conversation at the fire faded into background noise. The only thing she could hear was her own heartbeat, way too loud in her ears.

And then she noticed it—the ring.

Simple. Gold. Worn. It sat on his index finger, and it caught the light every time he flexed his hand. She wasn’t sure why it made her nervous, but it did.

Maybe because she’d noticed it before. Maybe because he always wore it, even in the water, even when he was fidgeting or thinking too hard. It felt personal. And something about it being his made her mouth move before her brain could stop her.

She leaned in, so close her shoulder touched his chest.

“I like your ring,” she said softly.

Rafe blinked, caught off guard. For a second he didn’t say anything, just looked at her like he was trying to read the meaning under her words. Then he glanced down at his hand.

“This one?” he asked, wiggling the finger.

She nodded, still looking at it. “It’s cool. Feels like it means something.”

He was quiet for a moment, then turned his body a little more toward her. “Why’d you say it like that?”

“Like what?” she said too quickly, pulling back slightly.

“Like it means something,” he echoed, eyes on hers now.

She shrugged with a crooked smile, trying to keep it light. “I dunno. You always wear it. Figured maybe it’s lucky. Or like, you know—your villain origin ring or something.”

He laughed—really laughed—and nudged her shoulder with his. “You’re such a dork.”

“Thank you,” she said brightly, like it was the highest compliment in the world.

Rafe just shook his head, that smile lingering longer than it should’ve. And then someone called his name from across the yard, breaking whatever that little moment had been.

But he didn’t move. Not yet.

Not until later—when the fire had burned lower and the group started drifting inside for snacks or more beer. She was still sitting on the deck alone, tugging at the frayed hem of her hoodie, when Rafe came back.

He dropped down beside her again without a word. For a while, they just sat in comfortable silence, listening to the cicadas hum and the ocean whisper somewhere in the distance.

Then he slipped the ring off his finger.

She looked at him, confused.

“Hold onto it for me,” he said, handing it to her without looking directly at her.

Her fingers curled around the cool metal slowly, eyes wide.

“What?” she breathed.

He glanced at her, then back at the dark trees beyond the yard. “I don’t know. You said you liked it.”

She stared at him, heart thudding.

“But it’s yours,” she whispered, like maybe he’d forgotten.

“Yeah,” he said simply. “Still is.”

And that was it.

He stood up a second later, like he hadn’t just handed her a piece of himself. But as he walked away, his hand brushed the back of her shoulder again—warm, grounding. Deliberate.

She looked down at the ring in her palm.

And for the first time all night, she didn’t bother hiding her smile.

She slipped it onto her index finger before she could second-guess herself. It was too big, of course—it slid loose, cool against her skin, heavy with something unspoken. But it settled there all the same.

She sat like that for a while, legs tucked under her, hoodie sleeves covering her hands, twisting the ring slowly as the fire burned down to soft embers and the chatter inside grew more distant.

It wasn’t long before the sliding door creaked open behind her. She didn’t turn around. She didn’t need to.

Rafe’s steps were easy to recognize—confident, lazy, a little too casual to actually be casual. He walked like someone who always expected the ground to catch him.

She felt him stop behind her, then sink to the chair again at her side.

“You didn’t run off,” he said lightly.

“Still waiting on my s’mores,” she answered, not looking at him.

Rafe smirked, eyes dropping to her hand. “You put it on.”

She hummed. “Don’t worry, I’m not cursed yet. Unless you cursed it. Did you? Is this your way of turning me into your minion?”

He leaned in slightly, voice low and teasing. “It’s worse. Now you’re mine forever. I thought that was clear.”

Her heart tripped. She shot him a quick glance, only to find he was already watching her.

And even though she knew he was joking—knew the game they always played—something about the way he said it sent warmth crawling up her spine.

“You’re so dramatic,” she mumbled, suddenly flustered.

“Says the girl who gave an entire speech about being spiritually bonded after I let you borrow one ring.”

She looked at him, eyebrows lifted. “Borrow? That sounded more like a here, keep this while you break the news to our fictional children that you’re going to war.”

Rafe laughed, his head tipping back slightly. God, he had a good laugh.

“You’re ridiculous,” he said fondly.

“You love it.”

He didn’t respond immediately. She could feel the silence stretch between them, tighter than it had any right to be.

Then: “Yeah,” he said softly. “I do.”

Her head turned sharply. The teasing edge was gone from his voice. He was still looking at her—really looking this time—and she knew, without him saying it, that he wasn’t just talking about her jokes.

Her fingers curled around the edge of her hoodie sleeve.

She opened her mouth, but he cut in gently.

“I’m not taking it back, by the way.”

She blinked. “The ring?”

Rafe nodded. “It looks better on you.”

She stared at him. Her mouth felt dry. She could’ve teased him, like always. Could’ve made a joke, called it their friendship bracelet, said thanks, I’ll add it to my Rafe Cameron memorabilia shelf. But something about the look in his eyes made all of that fall away.

So instead, she said the first honest thing that came to her.

“I didn’t think you actually liked me.”

Rafe blinked like he’d just been slapped. “Are you serious?”

She nodded, suddenly finding the fire fascinating. “I mean… I figured you liked being around me. But I didn’t think you liked me liked me.”

“You’re literally wearing my ring.”

“That could’ve been symbolic,” she mumbled. “Like… platonic jewelry.”

He laughed again, incredulous. “You think I give my jewelry to just anyone?”

“You gave Topper your hoodie once.”

“I was high and it was raining,” he shot back. “Don’t bring that up.”

She giggled, which seemed to relax him—just a little.

“I’ve been into you for months,” Rafe said suddenly. “Everyone knows it. I thought you knew it.”

She shrugged helplessly. “I don’t always know when people are serious. Especially you. You act like you don’t care about anything half the time.”

“Except you,” he said simply.

The fire popped. Her throat tightened.

Rafe leaned forward, his elbow brushing hers. “I don’t have to say it the right way, not tonight. But I do mean it. You don’t have to keep pretending like it’s not a thing.”

She looked down at the ring again. Her fingers turned it slowly.

Then she grinned. “So what if I’m wearing it when I meet someone else? Will the curse kick in and you show up in a puff of smoke to challenge them to a duel?”

Rafe groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Why do I like you so much?”

She smiled, cheek caught between her teeth. “Because I’m charming and mysterious.”

He nudged her knee with his. “Because you’re weird as hell and somehow still the sweetest person I’ve ever met.”

Her heart stuttered. “Oh.”

“And,” he added, with a tilt of his head, “because you’re the only person who’s ever made me want to be normal around them. Like I don’t have to prove anything.”

She turned her head slowly, that smile melting into something softer. “That was actually… really sweet.”

“Don’t tell anyone,” he muttered, bumping her shoulder. “I have a reputation.”

“You gave me your ring and talked to me all night. I think it’s already ruined.”

He leaned in a little closer. “Yeah?”

Her voice went quiet. “Yeah.”

There was a beat. The fire crackled. Their knees were touching.

She swallowed hard. “So what now?”

Rafe shrugged, but his eyes flicked to her lips like he already knew. “We sit here for a minute. You keep my ring. I keep pretending this is casual until I finally kiss you.”

“And when does that happen?” she asked, heart in her throat.

He smirked. “Whenever you stop pretending you don’t want me to.”

Her breath caught. But she didn’t pull away. Didn’t make a joke.

Instead, she looked down at the ring on her finger—then at him.

She smiled softly, that sweet, secret kind of smile she always saved for him when she wasn’t thinking too hard. The firelight flickered against her skin, warm and golden, and before either of them could say another word, she rose slowly from where she sat.

Rafe’s brows lifted slightly, watching her with amusement as she brushed off her hands and took a quiet step toward him.

“Where you goin’?” he asked, voice low, lazy—like he already knew something was about to shift.

But she didn’t answer right away.

She just came closer.

And when she reached him, heart pounding like crazy, she gently eased herself down into his lap—not straddling him, just curling up sideways, soft and slow, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Rafe’s body tensed in surprise for a second, breath catching. His eyes flicked down to where her legs draped across his, her weight settling into him like a question she didn’t need to ask.

Then his hand came up without hesitation, broad and steady, wrapping around her waist like a reflex. Protective. Possessive. A little stunned. A lot pleased.

He hummed low in his chest, a gravelly sound that sent heat curling in her stomach. “Whatcha doin’, baby?” he rasped, that nickname falling out so naturally it made her skin tingle.

Butterflies exploded in her chest.

She turned her head slowly to meet his gaze, heart thudding hard as she looked into those ocean-blue eyes—calm and bright, a little smug, a little soft. Like she’d just handed him something precious without meaning to.

“Just getting comfy,” she said softly, the words shy but teasing as her fingers played lightly with the hem of his sleeve.

Rafe’s lips curved, slow and knowing. “Yeah?” he murmured, voice low against her temple. “You sure that’s all it is?”

She tilted her head toward him, chin barely brushing his shoulder, pretending to think. “Mhm. I mean, it’s either this or fight off the cold alone. And I’m not above using you for your body heat.”

He chuckled under his breath, arm tightening around her just a little. “Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

“I will sleep great actually,” she said, grinning as she rested her head lightly against his shoulder. “This seat’s not bad.”

“You’re unbelievable,” he muttered, but there was no heat in it. Just that familiar, fond edge—the one he always saved for her. The one no one else ever got.

She glanced up again, eyes dancing, her voice soft as she traced the stitching on his sleeve with a fingertip. “You’re not gonna kick me off?”

Rafe looked at her like she’d lost her mind.

A slow smirk tugged at his lips as he lifted one hand—calloused and cool—and gently brought it to her face. His thumb brushed just beneath her cheekbone, rough fingertips settling against her soft skin like he wanted to memorize the shape of her.

She shivered under his touch, heart stuttering in her chest like it didn’t quite know how to keep rhythm anymore.

“Why would I do that, baby?” he said lowly, his voice rough, almost a grunt. His fingers didn’t move from her cheek, just rested there like he needed the contact as much as she did.

Her lips parted, but she didn’t say anything—didn’t trust her voice. Especially not with the way he was looking at her now, all intensity and something deeper.

God, he wanted to kiss her. She could feel it in the air between them. In the way his thumb hovered so close to her bottom lip, the way his eyes flicked down, just briefly, like he was weighing the moment—measuring how much longer he could hold out.

And the truth was—he couldn’t.

But he didn’t move, not yet.

Instead, his fingers curled slightly against her skin, jaw tight like he was holding back every instinct telling him to just lean in and close the space.

She swallowed hard, barely breathing. “Rafe…”

“Yeah baby?” he murmured saying the nickname again, gaze never leaving hers.

Her cheeks flushed deeper, that sweet nervous smile starting to break through again. “You’re really… close.”

“I’m know,” he said, voice rougher now, quieter.

His hand slipped slightly, brushing the side of her neck, and she felt the heat of it everywhere. Her breath caught in her throat.

“You want me to stop?” he asked, the words low, serious. But there was a glint of something cocky in his eyes, like he already knew the answer.

She shook her head once—tiny, nervous, sure. “No.”

Rafe’s smile turned softer, a little crooked. A little in love.

And then—slowly… or at least, it felt slow to her—he leaned in.

Her breath caught in her throat as his face came closer, inch by inch, like the moment was stretching just to mess with her heart. His breath was warm against her skin, fanning over her lips, and she swore everything else around them disappeared.

The world faded into nothing but the feel of his hand still on her cheek and the steady thrum of her pulse in her ears.

He paused, hovering just close enough for her to feel the heat of him, his eyes locked on hers, unwavering.

“You want this?” he asked, voice low, rough, and barely above a whisper—like he was offering her a secret instead of a kiss.

She nodded, barely—just enough to be seen, but more than enough to mean yes.

Rafe’s lips curved into a subtle, satisfied smile, like he’d been holding his breath waiting for that answer. He dragged his tongue slowly across his bottom lip, like he was steadying himself… or savoring the moment.

Then he leaned in.

No rush, no hesitation now—just pure, focused intent.

Their lips met in a warm, sure kiss that sent a rush through her entire body. It wasn’t rough or overly eager—just full. Like he meant it. Like he’d been thinking about it for way too long and finally had the green light.

His hand tightened at her waist, fingers pressing through the fabric of her shirt, grounding her—claiming her. She gasped softly into his mouth, and he smiled against her lips, like he loved the way she melted.

And she did.

Everything about him—the way he held her, the low hum in his throat, the heat of his chest under her palms—it made her feel like gravity itself had shifted.

Like this was where she was always meant to land.

When they finally pulled apart, it was only by an inch—just enough to breathe, just enough to look.

Her heart pounded in her chest, lips tingling from the kiss, and she was still tucked securely in his lap, his hand still curled around her waist like he had no intention of letting go.

Rafe’s forehead rested against hers, his breath brushing her face, uneven and warm. His eyes opened slowly, and when he looked at her, he looked wrecked in the softest, sweetest way—like kissing her had knocked something loose inside him.

“You okay baby?” he asked, his voice low, laced with a crooked grin and something gentler beneath it.

She nodded, smiling shyly, cheeks flushed. “Yeah,” she whispered. “You?”

Rafe let out a short, breathy laugh and leaned back just enough to look at her properly, eyes sparkling under the firelight. “I’ve been waiting to do that for so damn long.”

Her smile widened, bashful and glowing. “Yeah?” she asked, like she needed to hear it twice just to believe it.

“Yeah,” he said without hesitation, his thumb brushing over her side through the fabric of her shirt. “You think I just let anyone crawl into my lap and get away with it?”

She laughed, tucking her head into the crook of his neck, hiding her grin even as her heart soared.

“I dunno,” she mumbled against his skin. “You seem pretty cozy with me now.”

Rafe’s hand tightened again, just slightly, and his voice dipped as he murmured, “That’s ‘cause you’re mine now.”

Her breath hitched, eyes flicking up to his.

He smirked, teasing but still serious in that Rafe Cameron way—half laidback, half completely unguarded when it came to her. “Unless you’ve got any objections.”

She shook her head instantly, giggling. “Nope. Zero complaints.”

He hummed, brushing his nose lightly against hers. “Didn’t think so.”

And just before she could say anything else, Rafe leaned in and pressed another kiss to her lips—softer this time, more certain. Like it wasn’t a maybe anymore.

Like it was real.

[sunsetmade]

Future Knowledge

Rafe Cameron x Reader

Summary: Based off a TikTok I saw!! (Link)

“Rafe, at least tell me where we’re going!” she laughed, trying to dig her feet into the ground as he tugged her gently by the wrist, his grip firm but playful.

He glanced back at her with that signature smirk, the one that always made her heart flutter no matter how many times she saw it. “Just trust me,” he said, voice low and teasing.

He had shown up at her door no more than five minutes ago, hair still tousled from the wind, hoodie on, and eyes alight with mischief. No explanation—just a quick, “Get dressed. Something comfy,” before he leaned against her doorframe like he had all the time in the world.

And of course, she listened. She always did when it came to him. Even if he gave her nothing but that stupidly charming grin and zero context. Now here she was, barely keeping up as he led her down the sidewalk, the late afternoon sun catching in his hair, her heart racing with curiosity.

“Is this a kidnapping?” she teased breathlessly, narrowing her eyes at him as she jogged a few steps to keep up.

“If it is, I’m the hottest kidnapper you’ve ever had,” he shot back without missing a beat, his fingers sliding down to connect with hers as they rounded the corner.

And the truth was—if Rafe Cameron was taking her anywhere, she probably didn’t care where they ended up.

She rolled her eyes and looked down at her feet with a dramatic sigh. “Rafe… I forgot my shoes,” she whined, her voice laced with disbelief at herself.

Rafe paused mid-step and turned to look at her, a slow grin spreading across his face. “You seriously walked out barefoot?” he asked, already laughing as he glanced down at her toes wiggling against the pavement.

She pouted up at him.

Without a word, Rafe reached for her hand again and gently tugged her along, guiding her toward his car—a sleek, jet-black Porsche that looked freshly washed and completely out of place in her quiet neighborhood. “ ‘S okay, baby,” he said with a shrug, opening the passenger door for her like it was the most natural thing in the world. “You don’t need ‘em.”

She blinked at him. “I kind of feel like I do,” she mumbled, half-laughing as she carefully climbed into the leather seat.

But Rafe just leaned down, resting one hand on the car door and the other on the roof, his blue eyes scanning her face like he was trying not to smile too wide. “Nah,” he said. “You’re with me. I’d carry you if I had to.”

Her cheeks flushed instantly, warmth crawling up her neck. “You’re ridiculous,” she muttered, looking out the window to hide the grin tugging at her lips.

He shut the door with a soft click, but she could still hear him chuckling as he rounded the front of the car.

And as he slid into the driver’s seat beside her, glancing over with that stupidly charming smirk, she couldn’t help but think about what they were about to get into.

His hand found its way to her bare thigh, fingers brushing gently against her skin before settling there, warm and steady. Slowly, he began to trace lazy circles with his thumb, the touch subtle but deliberate.

She let out a soft chuckle, the corners of her lips lifting as she glanced down at his hand. Without a word, she rested her own smaller hand on top of his, letting her fingers curl loosely around his in a quiet, affectionate response.

With his free hand, Rafe started the engine, the low growl of the Porsche coming to life beneath them. He spun the wheel effortlessly, backing out of her driveway with a practiced ease that made it clear he’d done this a hundred times before.

She leaned forward and flicked on the radio, the familiar hum of the country station filling the car, soft enough to melt into the steady purr of the engine. Neither of them said anything, letting the music and the road speak for a moment.

Once they rolled out of the neighborhood and onto the winding, tree-lined stretch of road just past the last stop sign, Rafe didn’t hesitate—his foot pressed harder on the gas, and the car surged forward, speeding well past the limit.

She glanced over at him and shook her head with a small smile, unbothered. “You’ve got a problem,” she muttered, more amused than scolding.

Rafe just grinned, eyes locked on the road ahead, wind tousling his hair through the cracked window. “You love it,” he said without missing a beat.

And maybe… she did.

“Are you going to tell me where we’re going now?” she asked, glancing over at him with raised brows, her tone half-curious, half-teasing.

Rafe didn’t answer right away—just kept drumming his fingers rhythmically on her thigh, his touch light and absentminded like he didn’t even realize he was doing it. When he finally looked over at her, it was with that familiar, goofy smile that always managed to melt a little part of her.

“The new ice cream station,” he said simply, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

She blinked. “You dragged me out of my house… for ice cream?” Her voice pitched somewhere between disbelief and amusement.

He shrugged, completely unbothered, the proudest little grin tugging at his lips. “I was hungry.”

She let out an exaggerated huff and turned back to the window, but she couldn’t hide the smile tugging at her mouth. Typical Rafe. So dramatic for no reason—and yet, somehow, it was kind of perfect.

He was ridiculous.

She pressed her finger gently against the window button, letting it roll down as a stronger breeze rushed into the car. The wind caught her messy bun immediately, sending loose strands of hair flying across her face. She brushed them away with a soft laugh, eyes squinting slightly against the sunset.

Rafe glanced over and let out a low chuckle, amused by the chaotic state of her hair. That familiar mischievous glint lit up his eyes, and before she could question it, his foot pressed harder on the gas.

The Porsche roared beneath them, surging forward as the speedometer climbed—easily 30 over the limit.

She squealed, laughter bubbling out of her as she was pushed back into her seat by the force. “Rafe!” she giggled, grabbing onto his arm—not because she was scared, but because she always reached for him. It was instinct. Safe. Familiar.

He just grinned, completely in his element, and without taking his eyes off the road, he reached over and laced their fingers together. She didn’t let go of his arm, holding him like he was her anchor in the chaos, laughter still spilling from her lips.

The sound of it filled the car—light and effortless—and Rafe swore he could live off it. Her laugh, her hand in his, the wind whipping around them like they had nowhere to be and all the time in the world.

He didn’t say it out loud, but moments like this… they made him feel like everything was exactly where it should be.

“You’re so reckless!” she shouted over the rush of wind, her voice breathless but full of laughter. Her eyes sparkled as she looked at him, cheeks flushed from the speed and the sun and maybe just a little from him.

Rafe glanced over with a grin, clearly pleased with himself. Without a word, he lifted their joined hands, bringing hers to his lips and pressing a soft, lingering kiss to the back of it.

“Only when you’re with me,” he said smoothly, his voice low and teasing.

She rolled her eyes, but her smile gave her away. Her heart fluttered at the gesture—how casually he could make her melt with just one look, one simple touch.

“You’re impossible,” she muttered, turning her face toward the window to hide how much he was getting to her.

Rafe just smirked, eyes back on the road, thumb brushing gently across her knuckles like he wasn’t in a hurry to let go. And truthfully, neither was she.

⸻

“Ready to go, baby?” Rafe asked, his voice low as he placed a hand on her hip, eyes dipping down to meet hers.

She turned toward him, glancing up with a soft smile that quickly bloomed into something brighter. With a nod, she wrapped her arms around his waist, hugging him tightly.

Rafe pulled her in without hesitation, his arms locking around her as he held her close, like he never wanted to let her go. He pressed a kiss to the top of her head, gently swaying her side to side in that slow, easy way of his.

For a moment, neither of them moved. Just silence, warmth, and the quiet beat of his heart beneath her cheek.

Then, with a quiet breath, she pulled back just enough to rise on her toes and press a quick, sweet kiss to his lips.

He let out a soft, half-playful grumble the moment she pulled away, already leaning in for more. But she only laughed, eyes twinkling with mischief, and turned to head for the door.

Rafe stood there for a second, watching her with a crooked grin—then followed right after her like he always did.

Rafe closed the door behind him, glancing back at the house they now shared. It still hit him sometimes—just how far they’d come. From chaos and uncertainty to this quiet little life they were building together.

He turned around, only to catch her smiling at him like she knew exactly what he was thinking.

“What?” he asked, a playful edge in his voice as he walked over and slid an arm around her waist.

“You have my keys, baby,” she said with a soft chuckle, holding out her hand expectantly.

Rafe rolled his eyes but couldn’t help the smile tugging at his lips as he placed the keys gently in her palm. He watched her walk off toward her light grey Cayenne Porsche, the morning sun catching in her hair.

Shaking his head with a quiet laugh, Rafe turned toward his own car—a sleek, jet-black Taycan Porsche—and jogged over, heart feeling a little too full for this early in the day.

Sliding into the driver’s seat, she started her car and placed both hands on the wheel. As the engine purred to life, a small ache settled in her chest—being in the car without Rafe suddenly made everything feel a little too quiet, a little too empty.

She pulled out of the driveway with a soft sigh, but before she could linger in the thought, a familiar roar cut through the silence.

Rafe’s Taycan revved loudly behind her, the sound sharp and dramatic—just like him.

She rolled her eyes, a smile tugging at her lips. Of course he couldn’t let her drive off without making a scene.

With a playful smirk, she pressed her foot harder on the gas, speeding up just a little—teasing him, daring him to keep up.

He took the challenge without hesitation, his car matching her speed effortlessly.

Just like always, he was right behind her

After a quick ten-minute drive, the two matching cars—his and hers—rolled into the familiar neighborhood where her parents lived. She pulled up beside the house and shifted into park, glancing into the rearview mirror just in time to see Rafe already heading her way.

Of course he was.

By the time she unbuckled her seatbelt, he was at her door, smirking like he owned the moment.

He pulled it open with an exaggerated flourish. “For you,” he said, his voice full of charm.

She laughed, shaking her head as she stepped out. “You’re silly.”

Rafe just grinned. “And yet, you still married me.”

She gave a grin and waited for him to gently shut the car door before instinctively leaning into his side as they walked toward the front door. His arm slid naturally around her waist, pulling her in like he always did, fingers resting just above her hip.

When they reached the porch, Rafe knocked three times and then stepped back, already bracing himself with a knowing smile. He didn’t have to wait long.

The door swung open, and in the blink of an eye, a blur of energy launched straight at him.

Rafe crouched low with open arms just in time to catch their five-year-old son, who had clearly inherited every bit of his father’s spirit. He scooped him up into a tight bear hug, letting out a soft laugh. “Hey, bud,” he said, ruffling Noah’s already messy hair as the boy giggled against his shoulder.

She stood back, smiling so wide her cheeks ached. Her heart swelled at the sight—Rafe and Noah, the same grin, the same mischief in their eyes.

Then, her gaze shifted to the doorway again, where her mom stepped out holding a sleepy Lyla, their three-year-old daughter. She reached for her instantly.

“Hi, sweetheart,” she whispered as she took Lyla into her arms. The little girl let out a sleepy sigh, her head resting on her mom’s shoulder, small arms curling around her neck.

Rafe stood upright beside her, one hand still resting gently on Noah’s head as he leaned over to tickle Lyla’s cheek. She let out a drowsy giggle, eyes still half-closed.

It was chaos and calm all at once—arms full, hearts fuller. And in that quiet, love-soaked moment, nothing else mattered.

While Rafe leaned in to greet Lyla, still resting sleepily on her hip, she turned her attention to Noah and knelt slightly to meet his eyes.

“Did you have a good time?” she asked softly, her voice warm with affection.

Noah beamed up at her, his face lighting up with a wide, toothy grin. “The best!” he said proudly, eyes gleaming with excitement.

She laughed gently, reaching out to brush his hair back. Just like his dad—full of energy and always lighting up a room.

Rafe placed a gentle kiss on Lyla’s forehead before looking back at her grandparents “Thanks for watching them,” he said with a soft smile, brushing his hand down the back of Lyla’s tiny curls.

“Anytime,” she replied warmly “They were perfect. A little wild, but that’s your fault,” she added, sending a teasing look toward Rafe.

He smirked. “Guilty.”

After a few more hugs, thank-yous, and promises to text when they got home, they headed back toward the driveway. Lyla falling slowly asleep in her arms while Noah raced to Rafes car.

Rafe jogged, effortlessly catching up to Noah before sweeping him up into the air like an airplane. The little boy shrieked with laughter, arms stretched wide as he soared through the air in his dad’s hold.

She chuckled at the sound, her heart swelling, and turned toward her car with Lyla snuggled in her arms. Carefully, she opened the back door and gently settled the sleepy toddler into her car seat, buckling her in with practiced ease.

Behind her, Rafe walked over with Noah still wriggling in his arms, all giggles and joy. “Need help, baby?” he asked, voice low and sweet.

She shook her head with a smile, closing the door with a soft click. “No, you already have your hands full,” she teased, nodding at their son, who was practically buzzing with energy.

Rafe grinned and flipped Noah upside down without warning, holding him by the legs as the little boy squealed with laughter. She couldn’t help but grin at the sight, warmth blooming in her chest.

“See you two crazies back home,” she called over, amusement dancing in her eyes.

Still laughing, Rafe carried Noah to his Taycan. The boy scrambled into the back seat, still giggling as he buckled himself in. Rafe gave his shoulder a gentle pat and shut the door, then looked up just in time to see her heading toward the driver’s side of her car.

“Hey, baby?” he called out.

She glanced over the roof of her car, brows raised. “Yeah?”

He leaned casually against his door, that signature smirk tugging at his lips. “Race you home?”

She laughed, shaking her head. “You wish.”

He winked and slid into his seat, engine already rumbling to life. She shook her head with a smile and got into her own car, the soft hum of her Cayenne filling the air as she started it.

A glance in her mirror, and there he was again—right behind her, just like always.

Just a little different this time.

⸻

“Dad, go faster!” Noah shouted from the back seat, kicking his feet excitedly against the edge of his car seat.

Rafe chuckled, glancing at him through the rearview mirror. “You wanna beat Momma, huh?”

Noah nodded eagerly, his grin stretched wide.

With a smirk, Rafe pressed a little more firmly on the gas—just enough to pull up beside her, still well within the speed limit. The engine purred as the sleek black Taycan glided up next to her car.

He turned his head and caught her eye through the window. She was already looking at him, one eyebrow raised, amused. Rafe blew her a dramatic kiss, and she rolled her eyes with a laugh before nudging her foot on the gas just a bit more.

She eased ahead, still cautious, still under the limit. They had kids now—responsibility riding in the back seat. But that didn’t mean they couldn’t have a little fun.

From behind him, Noah’s giggles filled the car, and Rafe’s smile widened. Moments like this made him feel like the luckiest man alive.

“Go, go, go!” Lyla chimed in softly from the back seat, her little voice full of excitement.

She glanced in the rearview mirror, smiling at the sight of her daughter kicking her feet gently, eyes wide with playful determination.

“Don’t worry, baby,” she said with a grin, eyes flicking to Rafe’s car beside them. “Daddy’s not getting home before us.”

The two cars cruised down the quiet road, side by side like they always seemed to be—connected even when they weren’t touching. With the sun shinning bright now behind them and soft music humming from the radio, it all felt a little like a dream.

As they pulled into the driveway together, the kids were already bouncing with leftover energy. Lyla clapped her hands in her car seat, and Noah was practically unbuckled before Rafe could park. She laughed softly to herself, heart full.

Rafe climbed out of his car first and opened Noah’s door, lifting him up and tossing him gently into the air before catching him again, earning another round of giggles. She stepped out of her car and met his eyes over the roof of the car—he was already looking at her, that boyish grin on his face like it never left.

“Told you we’d win,” she teased, unbuckling Lyla and cradling her sleepy form in her arms.

Rafe smirked, walking over and brushing a kiss to her temple as he peeked at Lyla. “Only because I let you.”

“Sure you did,” she murmured, leaning into him for just a second longer.

The four of them headed inside together, Lyla resting her head on her shoulder and Noah tugging on Rafe’s hand, already asking for a snack. The house welcomed them in with soft light and quiet warmth, and in that moment, everything just felt right.

[sunsetmade]

Treasured

Rafe Cameron x Reader

Summary: After hearing the things people have told her, he goes to comfort her, reassuring her that he doesn’t care if she’s a Pouge.

Part two of Cherished

Rafe stretched his arms overhead with a lazy sigh, the final cheers of the tournament still echoing in the distance. Unsurprisingly, he’d won—it wasn’t even close. But his victory didn’t hold his attention for long. His gaze instinctively drifted back toward the table where Bunny had been sitting not long ago.

Empty.

His brows knit together in a faint frown as he scanned the crowd, eyes darting from group to group. She wasn’t there. He barely registered the footsteps beside him until Topper’s voice broke through his focus.

“Rafe?”

Rafe tore his gaze away, his jaw ticking slightly as he looked over at his friends. “What?”

Topper smirked knowingly, but it was Kelce who chimed in, chuckling. “You looking for that Pogue again?”

Rafe exhaled sharply, turning his face away as he dragged his tongue across his bottom lip. Something about the way Kelce said it grated on him.

“Why do you say it like that?” he muttered, voice low but edged with irritation.

Kelce raised a brow, caught off guard. Rafe didn’t elaborate. He didn’t need to. Sure, he’d run with the Kooks his whole life, and yeah—he’d thrown a punch or two at a Pogue for sport. But she wasn’t like the rest.

She never had been.

Topper let out a laugh, nudging Kelce. “Don’t get all pissed at us just ’cause you’re whipped, bro. I mean, I get it—she’s hot.”

Rafe shot him a glare sharp enough to silence him. “Shut the fuck up,” he muttered, his voice low but firm. He wasn’t in the mood to explain himself—not to them. Not when they’d never get it.

Without waiting for a response, he scoffed under his breath and turned away, his strides long and unbothered as he moved down the steps, barely touching each one.

His pace slowed once he reached the paito, his eyes sweeping over the sea of familiar faces. People he knew from his parents’ galas. People he recognized from business deals, fundraisers, parties.

But not her.

Not the one person he actually wanted to see.

“Where are you, Bunny…” Rafe muttered under his breath, eyes scanning the crowd as he moved.

People swarmed around him—handshakes, congratulations, back pats—but it all blurred together. He forced a polite smile, nodding when he needed to, but his attention was elsewhere. His mind was somewhere else.

“Hey, good to see you, man. You haven’t seen Bunny, have you?” he asked more than once, trying to keep his voice casual.

Every time, the answer was the same: a confused blink, a shake of the head.

“Who?”

Rafe exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down his face as he stepped away from the noise. She wouldn’t just leave. Not without saying something. That wasn’t her.

He found the edge of the club’s back porch and leaned against the railing, letting the cool breeze wash over him as he looked out at the now-empty stretch of the golf course.

His jaw clenched. Something didn’t sit right.

He heard footsteps approach behind him—slow, deliberate. He glanced to the side, already disinterested, hoping it wasn’t another person trying to talk about his swing.

But a small part of him still hoped it might be her.

Any flicker of hope Rafe had vanished the second he saw who it was.

Jake.

“Hey, man! Congrats on the win. Wouldn’t have happened if I was out there, though,” Jake joked, nudging Rafe playfully.

Rafe didn’t even flinch. His eyes stayed fixed on the horizon, expression unreadable.

Jake tilted his head. “What’s up with you? You look like someone kicked your dog.”

Rafe finally straightened to his full height, jaw tight. “Just looking for Bunny. You seen her?”

Jake blinked, confused for a second, before realization hit. His face twisted into something between amusement and pity. “Nah, haven’t seen her. Oh—actually, bro, you’ll never believe who showed up!”

Rafe didn’t answer, barely looked at him. His attention was already drifting back to the empty space where she’d been sitting.

Jake kept going anyway. “That girl that’s always trailing after you—what’s her name? The Pouge.”

Rafe’s head snapped toward him.

Jake laughed. “Yeah, she was here earlier. Looked totally outta place, man. Noah—you know him, works here—totally called her out. Put her in her place.” He grinned like it was funny. “She looked real awkward, just standing there like she didn’t know what to do with herself. I mean, come on, this isn’t her kind of scene. But hey, that’s a Pouge for you.”

Rafe’s jaw clenched hard. His ears rang. His vision narrowed.

His blood simmered, boiling just beneath the surface.

Jake kept talking, but Rafe wasn’t listening anymore. All he could think about was Bunny—alone, uncomfortable, embarrassed—and the sharp sting in his chest knowing she left without telling him.

And that she left feeling like she didn’t belong.

Rafe turned without a word, walking off and leaving Jake mid-sentence, confused and still chuckling to himself. But Rafe didn’t care—not even a little.

His jaw was tight, fists clenched at his sides as he pushed through the crowd, ignoring the congratulatory pats on the back and the string of people still trying to talk to him. None of it mattered. Not the tournament. Not the club. Not the damn trophy.

Only her.

He barely remembered crossing the parking lot. The second he reached his truck, he yanked the door open and slammed it shut behind him. The engine roared to life, and with a deep breath, he peeled out of the lot, tires kicking up gravel.

He didn’t have to think about where to go. He already knew.

There was one place she always went when she needed to breathe—when the world felt too loud or too much. And that’s exactly where he was headed.

⸻

When he pulled up to the secluded stretch of beach behind her now-abandoned childhood home, the first thing he saw was her small figure silhouetted against the waves. She sat on a patch of overgrown grass, knees drawn to her chest, arms wrapped tightly around them like she was trying to hold herself together.

His chest tightened at the sight.

Rafe shut his truck door softly, careful not to break the quiet that surrounded her. He walked across the sand with slow, measured steps, the sound of the ocean filling the space between them. When he reached her, she looked up—eyes wide and glassy, full of hurt she hadn’t said out loud.

Without a word, he lowered himself beside her, close enough that his leg pressed gently against hers.

“You know they’re wrong, right?” Rafe’s voice was low, barely above the sound of the waves as he looked down at her.

She didn’t respond right away. Instead, she let out a soft sigh and rested her head against his shoulder, her fingers playing absently with the bracelet rested on his wrist— the one she left in his car.

“Are they, though?” she murmured. “I mean… I am a Pogue, Rafe. And you’re a Kook. You’re not supposed to be with someone from my side of the island. It’s not how things work here.”

He turned his head slightly, watching her with something fierce in his eyes—not anger, but protectiveness. Frustration at the walls everyone kept trying to build between them.

“Since when do I care how things are ‘supposed’ to work?” he said, his tone teasing but edged with truth. “I don’t remember signing up for the island rulebook.”

She gave a soft laugh through her nose, but it was tired. Worn thin.

He nudged her lightly with his shoulder. “You’re not just some Pogue, Bunny. You’re you. And if they don’t get that—if they’re too busy judging to see it—they’re fucking idoits.”

Her eyes fluttered closed at the sound of his voice, so certain and steady. For a second, she let herself believe it—believe him.

But she still whispered, “They looked at me like I didn’t belong.”

Rafe’s jaw ticked. “Then they’re lucky I didn’t see it.” He shifted just enough to glance down at her, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “Because anyone who makes you feel small doesn’t get to be around you. I don’t care what side of the island they’re from.”

She blinked up at him, surprised by the quiet intensity in his voice.

And before she could say anything, he added with a small smirk, “Besides… if anyone doesn’t belong, it’s probably me.”

Her lips curved despite everything. “Yeah, well… you do cause a lot of chaos.”

Rafe let out a quiet laugh and wrapped his arm around her, pulling her closer until her side was flush against his.

She rolled her eyes, but her smile didn’t fade as she tucked herself into him, letting his warmth settle around her.

“You’re my favorite girl, you know that, right? Bunny?” he added, softer now—sincere.

Her heart skipped at the nickname and the way he said it, like it meant something more.

She gave a playful shrug, wiggling a little in his hold. “Well… I guess I can live with that.”

He grinned, leaning down to nudge her forehead gently with his. “You better.”

The two sat like that, wrapped in eachother both physically and mentally, longer than they had expected.

It was Rafe who eventually broke the stillness, his voice low against the sound of waves.

“Bunny?”

She hummed softly in response, opening her eyes to glance up at him.

“If I asked you to dinner… what would you say? Hypothetically.” His brows lifted in mock innocence.

A quiet laugh slipped from her lips, heat blooming on her cheeks.

“Hypothetically?” she echoed, biting back a bigger smile.

He nodded, playing it cool. “Yeah. You know… just wondering.”

She grinned, shaking her head. “You’re such an idiot.”

Then his voice dropped, more hopeful now.

“So… is that a yes?”

She didn’t answer right away—just leaned her head back on his shoulder with a smirk, letting him sweat it out for a few seconds longer.

Then, finally, “Hypothetically? Yeah. I’d say yes.”

Rafe smirked and let out a satisfied sigh, the weight of victory settling into his chest—second win of the day, and this one meant way more.

“God, I love being undefeated,” he teased, stretching his arms behind her on the grass.

She just shook her head with a soft laugh before shifting, laying herself across his lap without a second thought.

Snuggling closer, she mumbled against his chest, “You’re so dramatic.”

His hand instinctively found her waist, fingers tracing lazy patterns there.

“And yet… here you are. All over me,” he said smugly, looking down at her.

“Mm, don’t let it get to your head,” she muttered, though her smile gave her away.

“Too late,” he said smirking, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “You’re basically in love with me now.”

She rolled her eyes but didn’t move, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Hypothetically… maybe.”

That had Rafe completely still for a beat—before his smirk softened into something more real. Something almost shy.

“Yeah?” he asked.

She looked up at him with a small smile.

“Yeah.”

Rafe looked down at her, the teasing gone from his eyes now—replaced with something quiet, something that felt a lot like falling. He leaned down just a little, forehead brushing against hers, their breaths mingling in the space between.

“No more hypotheticals then,” he murmured.

She didn’t answer with words, just smiled and let her eyes fall closed, letting the sound of the waves and the steady beat of his heart anchor her. He held her tighter like she was something precious, something he’d protect no matter which side of the island tried to tear her down.

And for the first time in a long time, sitting there with him beneath the fading sky, she didn’t feel out of place. She felt like she belonged—exactly where she was.

With him.

[sunsetmade]

Cherished

Rafe Cameron x Pouge! Reader

Summary: She’s a Pouge, sure, but her energy is what pulls Rafe in. However other people can’t help but point out that she is just a Pouge.

She stepped into the small store, sunglasses slipping slightly atop her head. The flowy sundress she wore clung softly to her frame, graceful and easy, the kind of effortless elegance that made her look like a Kook—even up close. Her hair tumbled onto her shoulders in gentle waves, and she offered the person behind the counter a warm, genuine smile.

But that’s what gave her away—what made it clear she wasn’t one of them. She was a Pogue. The kindness that radiated from her couldn’t be masked: always holding the door for strangers, always flashing a soft smile to anyone who passed, always striking up little conversations like the world hadn’t hardened her yet.

Her fingers drifted lazily across the edge of a hanging plant, brushing over the velvety green leaves with gentle curiosity. The store was quiet, filled with the soft hum of an old fan and the faint scent of lavender and soil. She wandered farther in, eyes scanning the shelves of handmade candles and potted succulents, completely at ease in the stillness.

Then—ding—the bell above the door chimed, the sound cutting through the calm like a ripple in water. She glanced over her shoulder without thinking, more out of instinct than interest—and froze.

Her eyes caught on the tall figure in the doorway. Rafe Cameron. Dressed in a black tee that clung just right to his frame, a lazy smirk playing on his lips like he already knew something she didn’t.

“Oh,” he said, voice low and dripping with that infuriating charm, “didn’t expect to see you here.”

The amusement in his tone made it clear he absolutely did expect to see her here.

She blinked, rolled her eyes with a soft exhale, and turned to face him completely. Her sundress swayed slightly with the movement, and she crossed her arms—more to keep her cool than anything else. It was hard to ignore the way his eyes scanned her, or the way his presence seemed to take up the entire room.

“Hi, Rafe,” she said softly, even as her heart tapped a little faster against her ribs.

He stepped further into the store, his gaze fixed on her like he had all the time in the world.

“Hi, Bunny,” he said, voice smooth and teasing, the smirk on his lips enough to make her knees go weak.

But she’d never let him see that.

Bunny.

Of course he still called her that. It started back in middle school—when he used to tease her for being sweet, soft-spoken, always jumping a little when startled. The nickname stuck, and somehow, over the years, it morphed into something more than a joke.

Their relationship had always been… complicated.

Yes, she was a Pogue. But he never treated her like the others. In Rafe’s world, lines were thick and rarely crossed—except when it came to her. She was his exception.

Whenever someone would question why he flirted with her, he’d brush it off with that casual, practiced charm:

“She’s just easy to flirt with.”

Or, “It’s not like that.”

Except—everyone knew it was like that.

She was beautiful—anyone with eyes could see that. But Rafe noticed the things most people overlooked.

Like the time she helped an elderly woman cross the street without a second thought, gently holding her arm like it was the most natural thing in the world. Or the afternoon a little boy was crying because his dog had gone missing, and she refused to stop searching until he was back in the boy’s arms, tail wagging, safe and sound.

Rafe remembered all of it. Every little act of kindness. Every softness she carried in a world that didn’t always deserve it.

But she’d never know that.

She had no idea how often he saw her—really saw her.

“So you decided to hunt me down today?” she asked lightly, brushing past him to get a better look at the necklaces displayed on the shelf behind him. Her sundress swayed with the movement, and she didn’t miss the way his eyes followed her, lingering just a second too long.

Rafe turned slightly, leaning against the edge of the shelf like he had all the time in the world. “What can I say?” he said with a grin. “You make stalking look worth the felony.”

She shot him a look over her shoulder, fighting the smile tugging at her lips. “Charming. That’ll definitely hold up in court.”

“I’ll just tell the jury you smiled at me once and I never recovered.”

She let out a soft laugh, fingers tracing the edge of a delicate gold chain. “Mm, dangerous precedent. You planning to use that line on all your future victims?”

He stepped closer, voice low and playful. “Nah. You’re kind of a one-time deal.”

She rolled her eyes, but the faint blush creeping up her neck betrayed her. “You say that like it’s supposed to be smooth.”

“Oh, it was smooth,” he teased, reaching around her to pick up a necklace she’d been eyeing. “You just don’t want to admit it because then I win.”

She took the necklace from him with a raised brow. “I don’t think flirting with me counts as winning, Rafe.”

He leaned in just slightly, voice softer now. “Then you really don’t know how much I’ve already lost to you.”

That quiet caught her off guard—but just for a second. She quickly masked it with a soft smile and looked down at the necklace again, pretending she didn’t feel her heart racing.

After a few quiet moments, he smirked and stepped closer, his hand grazing the small of her back like he had every right to touch her. But she wasn’t going to stop him.

“What else are you doing today, Bunny?” he asked, voice low and teasing.

She glanced up at him, meeting those mischievous blue eyes with a calmness she didn’t quite feel. But instead of answering, she lifted the necklace she’d been holding and placed it gently against her neck, tilting her head slightly as if testing how it looked.

His gaze dipped, lingering on the soft line of her bare, sun-kissed neck—and just like that, the smirk faded from his face.

Without saying a word, he took the necklace from her smaller hands. His touch was careful, almost uncharacteristically gentle, as he reached around her to fasten it. One hand brushed her hair over one shoulder, the other clasping the chain behind her neck.

“This good, Bunny?” he murmured, voice rasping close to her ear.

A shiver rippled down her spine at the warmth of his fingers and the way his breath tickled her skin. She swallowed and gave the smallest nod, suddenly unable to find her voice.

Rafe didn’t move right away. His hands lingered, his gaze flicking to her lips, then back to her eyes—like he was waiting for something.

And God, if her heart wasn’t doing somersaults in her chest.

“Bunny?” he hummed, low and expectant, clearly wanting her to say it out loud.

Her eyes flicked up, meeting his in the small mirror in front of them—and that alone made her heart trip over itself. The look he gave her was all confidence and mischief, and she hated how easily it made her flustered.

“Yes,” she managed, her voice barely above a whisper.

His lips curved into a slow, satisfied smirk, like her answer had been some kind of victory. He opened his mouth, probably to deliver another one of his signature teasing remarks—

Ding!

“Yo, Rafe! C’mon, man, Topper said the country club’s doing a golf tournament!” Kelce’s voice rang out from the front of the store.

Rafe’s entire mood shifted. His jaw tensed, eyes snapping toward the door in clear annoyance. “Just go wait in the car,” he called back, sounding thoroughly unimpressed. “I’m coming.”

As the door swung shut behind Kelce with a half-hearted grumble, Rafe’s hand stayed right where it had landed—resting low on her hip, not even pretending it was accidental.

She stood there, heart racing, only now realizing she’d been holding her breath. The second the door closed, she finally exhaled, shoulders easing just slightly.

“Guess I’m ruining your grand plans,” she said softly, a playful glint in her eye despite how breathless she still felt.

His gaze returned to her like a slow drag. “Nah,” he murmured, thumb brushing the fabric of her dress where his hand still lingered. “They can wait.”

She let out a soft chuckle, amused by how effortlessly smooth he always tried to be.

“Rafe,” she said, eyes twinkling, “please go rescue Kelce and get him to the country club. The poor guy looked like he was suffering.”

Rafe groaned dramatically, stepping back with a roll of his eyes, tossing his head like it physically pained him to leave. But when he looked at her again, that smug grin was right back in place.

“Come watch me play?” he asked, voice dipped in suggestion, as if he already knew the answer he wanted.

She raised a brow, lips twitching with a smile. “What, so I can watch you hit golf balls and flirt with the waitress?”

He smirked wider. “Nah. I only flirt with girls who wear sundresses and look at me like that.”

She blinked. “Like what?”

He was already heading for the door, grin over his shoulder. “Like you don’t want me to leave.”

She scoffed as the bell above the door chimed again, signaling his exit. He paused in the doorway, glancing over his shoulder with that signature smirk tugging at his lips.

“See you soon, Bunny,” he called out, voice smooth and teasing—like a promise wrapped in trouble.

And then he was gone, leaving the scent of his cologne and the flutter in her chest behind him.

⸻

She sighed softly, tilting her head up to take in the pristine country club sign overhead. This wasn’t her place. It never had been. A Pogue didn’t belong somewhere like this—and she knew it.

Still, somehow Rafe’s easy smirk and smooth-talking charm had gotten her here anyway. He had a way of making things sound like less of a bad idea than they actually were.

She took a steadying breath and pushed open the door, automatically holding it for an older woman walking out. The woman barely acknowledged her, just gave a stiff nod and kept moving.

Inside, the club buzzed with conversation, laughter, and the clinking of glasses. Everything felt polished, curated, and a little too shiny—like the people inside were more focused on appearances than anything real.

Her eyes scanned the room, eventually catching sight of the large glass doors at the back that opened onto the porch. Just beyond it, a crowd had already gathered around the edge of the golf course, dressed in pastels and name brands, drinks in hand as they watched the game like it was high-stakes entertainment.

She swallowed, her fingers tightening around the strap of her bag.

You don’t belong here, a voice in her head whispered but she shook her head putting a smile on her face.

Rafe had asked her to come. And somehow, that meant something.

She weaved her way through the crowd, gently brushing past groups of people in polos and pearls until she made it to the front. Spotting an empty table near the edge of the porch, she quickly slid into the seat, exhaling a quiet breath of relief.

Her gaze drifted out to the course, scanning the players until it landed on him. Rafe stood confidently, dressed in a fitted black shirt that clung to his arms and shoulders like it had been made just for him.

She couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at her lips. He really had no business looking that good.

Turning her eyes back toward the rest of the club, she took in the chatter, the clinking of glasses, the effortless way everyone seemed to belong. Not far off, a group of girls stood near a high table, their heads bent together in laughter and conversation. For a moment, she admired them—their sleek hair, polished nails, and the easy way they fit into this world.

But then one of them looked over. Then another. A not-so-subtle nudge. A whisper. And laughter that was suddenly less casual and more cruel.

Her smile faltered. The air around her shifted, heavy with the familiar sting of not quite belonging.

And just like that, the warmth she’d felt a moment ago began to slip quietly out of reach.

Normally, she tried not to let it get to her. It wasn’t supposed to matter—what people thought, what they whispered behind perfectly manicured hands. But ever since she and Rafe had started talking more, the comments had grown sharper, more frequent, and far less subtle.

She wasn’t blind to it. The looks. The judgments. The constant reminder that in their world, she wasn’t supposed to be standing next to someone like him.

With a quiet sigh, she shook her head, as if physically trying to push the thoughts away, and turned her focus back to the course.

Rafe was facing her now, his body relaxed but his brows slightly furrowed—even behind his sunglasses. His head turned slowly as he scanned the crowd, eyes flicking from one person to the next like he was searching.

And then he found her.

The moment his gaze locked onto hers, everything changed. His smirk slid into place, slow and knowing, and he gave her a small, casual wave—like they were the only two people who mattered in the entire club.

Her face broke into an involuntary smile, but she tried to play it cool, rolling her eyes as she waved him off like he hadn’t just completely flipped her mood with a single look.

And he knew it too. That smirk lingered long after he turned away not ignoring the way he suddenly felt giddy and the need to show off.

She let out a breathless sigh and glanced around, spotting a waiter weaving between tables just a few feet away. Straightening slightly, she cleared her throat and raised her voice just enough to be heard.

“Excuse me?” she called softly.

The waiter turned, his expression already laced with boredom as he looked her over. “Yeah?”

Her eyes dropped to the menu in her hands as she tried to decide quickly, not wanting to hold him up. “Um… could I get a lemonade, please?”

Her voice was gentle, warm—even polite. Sweet, the way she always was. But it didn’t seem to register with him. He stared at her, blankly at first, his eyes narrowing slightly like he was trying to figure out where he recognized her from.

“Yeah, sure,” he muttered, scribbling on his notepad.

But instead of walking away, he lingered.

She glanced up, uncomfortable under the weight of his gaze. And then, as if something finally clicked in his mind, his face lit up with smug amusement.

“Oh,” he laughed, pointing lightly like he’d solved some riddle. “You’re that Pogue who follows Rafe Cameron around, right?”

The words hit her sharper than she expected, like a slap disguised as a joke.

“I’m sorry?” she asked, blinking in disbelief. Her voice was soft, but laced with something sharp—shock, yes, but also embarrassment creeping in at the edges.

The waiter just chuckled, shaking his head like she was the joke. “You know this club is strictly for Kooks,” he said, his smirk growing. “You’re on the wrong side of town, sweetheart.”

Her cheeks flushed, heat rising to her face not just from humiliation but from the casual cruelty of it. She opened her mouth to say something, to defend herself, but nothing came out right away. Her fingers curled slightly around the edge of the menu as if anchoring herself to the table.

She could’ve told him she was invited. That she wasn’t “following” anyone. That she had every right to be here just like the rest of them. But the way he looked at her—condescending, amused—made her feel small. Like no matter what she said, it wouldn’t change the way people here saw her.

Just a Pogue. A girl who didn’t belong.

Before she could even form a response, he scoffed and turned on his heel, walking away without another word—leaving her alone with a bitter taste in her mouth and the quiet question of whether that lemonade was ever going to show up.

She pressed her lips together, chewing lightly on the inside of her cheek as she tried to steady herself. The conversation lingered in her mind, and even though no one was looking directly at her, it felt like the laughter around her had shifted—like it was suddenly sharper, more aware.

She glanced down at her hands in her lap, then around the crowded patio. Her chest felt tight, not in an obvious way, just enough to make it hard to take a full breath.

Maybe this was a mistake.

Without drawing attention to herself, she stood up slowly, tucking her chair in behind her. She took one last look toward the course, hoping to catch a glimpse of Rafe, but he was too far out to see her from where he stood.

Her chest ached knowing she was leaving without saying goodbye. But she couldn’t be here any longer.

She slipped quietly through the crowd, weaving between tables and polite chatter, and stepped back inside the club. The noise dulled behind her as she pushed open the front door and walked out into the fresh air, her shoulders relaxing slightly now that she was away from it all.

He was a Kook, and she was just a Pogue. How had she ever convinced herself she could fit into his world?

Part two titled ‘Treasured’

[sunsetmade]

A Little Obvious

Rafe Cameron x reader

Summary: The morning after a confusing, tension-filled night, Rafe shows up unannounced, forcing a vulnerable confrontation that finally cracks the wall between them

She really needed to stop falling for boys who wore trouble like cologne.

But how was she supposed to stand a chance when trouble came in the form of Rafe Cameron—shoulders leaned against pickup doors, shirt sleeves pushed to the elbows, gold chain peeking beneath the collar. That trademark smirk. Those heavy-lidded eyes that felt like they knew exactly where your mind wandered.

And the worst part?

He was being nice to her.

Not the flippant, distracted kind of nice he used on strangers. Not polite. Not fake.

No—this was something else.

This was intentional.

This was him spotting her at a crowded kegger and brushing past people to bring her a drink she hadn’t asked for.

This was him glancing over at her in groups, catching her eyes like they were having a conversation no one else could hear.

This was when her drove her home one afternoon, after her car wouldn’t start in the parking lot behind The Wreck.

“I can walk,” she’d insisted, bright and overly cheerful, trying not to look directly at him.

Rafe had just raised a brow, leaned against his truck door like he had all the time in the world, and said, “You’re not walking anywhere. Get in.”

And because there was something in his tone—something quiet and certain—she had.

He didn’t even play music. Just drove with one hand on the wheel and glanced over every so often like he was amused.

“You always this nice?” she’d asked after a minute.

“Not usually,” he’d said. “Guess you bring it out of me.”

Her face had gone hot. She didn’t say another word the rest of the drive.

And now?

Now he texted her.

Late at night, usually. When the world had quieted and her guard was lower, when she was curled up in bed with her phone glowing against her cheek and her hair messy on the pillow.

“You still up?” Or,

“Didn’t know the sun slept.” Or,

“Bet you sleep with three blankets like a princess.”

She never replied right away—she’d stare at the screen, biting her lip, heart thudding just a little too hard. But he knew she’d respond. And when she did, he never missed a beat.

Flirty. Teasing. Never fully serious. But never meaningless, either. His words lingered like fingerprints on the inside of her ribs.

And when she asked why he was texting her at 1:23 a.m., he’d just send:

“Felt like hearing from you.”

He started showing up too.

To things he definitely had no business being at.

A bonfire at Kie’s that was mostly Pogues. A late-afternoon beach day organized by her and a few Outer Banks girls he usually never acknowledged. A fundraiser car wash where she wore cutoff shorts and a tied-up tank top, soaked to the skin from spraying her best friend with the hose.

She’d turned—and there he was.

Leaning against his truck, Aviators pushed up in his hair, wearing a half-smile like he’d been there the whole time.

He never called out to her.

Didn’t interrupt or act out of place.

He just stood there, arms crossed, watching her. Those heavy-lidded blue eyes trailing her like they had their own gravity.

She tried not to let it shake her.

Tried not to let her hand falter when she wiped water off her cheek, knowing he was watching.

But then later—after the day had settled and her skin was still warm from the sun—he’d text her again.

“Cute shirt.”

Just that. No context. No question.

But she knew.

⸻

She didn’t know what they were.

Friends? Probably not.

Friends didn’t look at each other like that. Not the way he looked at her when she walked into a room in a cute dress—spaghetti straps slipping off her shoulder, smile wide and unaware of the effect she had. Not the way his eyes swept her like he was trying not to stare, and failing spectacularly.

Friends didn’t linger after parties until everyone else had peeled off, just to stand beside her in the dim porch light and ask questions like, “What makes you laugh like that?” or “You always let people talk over you?”

Friends didn’t slide an arm around her waist at crowded events like it meant nothing, steadying her just because someone brushed too close. And they definitely didn’t trail their fingers along the curve of her back when they let go.

But he never said anything.

Never crossed a line.

Not really.

No declarations. No kisses. No moves too bold.

He was just always… there.

Right on the edge.

Hovering close enough to burn.

Just enough for her to feel it—to feel him—in the air when he leaned against walls and watched her through lashes so long they didn’t seem fair. When he smirked every time she got flustered, then pretended like it wasn’t on purpose.

It was maddening.

And addictive.

Because he made her feel noticed. Like he saw her in a way no one else had ever taken the time to. Like she was something rare and worth paying attention to.

And maybe that was what scared her most.

Because if he ever did say something—if he crossed that line, if he closed the space between them—she wasn’t sure she’d have the strength to pretend she hadn’t been waiting for it all along.

⸻

The night it cracked wide open, it was a party at someone’s beach house — one of those too-loud, too-crowded nights where music poured out the windows and spilled into the sand like it had a heartbeat of its own.

She almost hadn’t gone.

It was hot, the air thick with summer and salt and the promise of something she couldn’t name. Her hair wouldn’t cooperate, her dress felt too much, and she didn’t know if he would even be there.

But when she walked through the front door, he was already leaned up against the far wall.

Drink in hand.

Head tipped back.

Watching her.

He didn’t smile, not really. His mouth twitched like he was fighting it, like she always made it hard for him to keep whatever little mask he wore in place. And maybe she was imagining it, but she swore his jaw flexed when his eyes traced the line of her bare shoulders.

She tried to pretend she didn’t see him.

Tried to focus on the girls she’d come with, let their chatter fill the air as she floated between rooms, between conversations. But she felt him the way you feel static before lightning — close, even when he wasn’t near.

She caught him watching her three more times.

Once from the kitchen when she laughed too loud at a joke that wasn’t that funny. Once when she leaned against the railing outside with a red cup and the ocean breeze playing with her dress. And once—longest of all—when she reached up to twist her hair off her neck, revealing the gold chain he always seemed to notice when she wore it.

She turned, and there he was.

Closer now.

Leaning against the deck post like it was all so casual. Like he hadn’t moved through the party with one purpose.

His gaze dropped to her hand, then rose again, slow. “Drinking that like it tastes good,” he murmured.

She blinked. “It’s fine.”

“Pretty sure it’s half tequila, sunshine.”

Her mouth parted, unsure if he was teasing or concerned.

He took a step toward her. “You letting random people make your drinks now?”

“Jules made it.”

Rafe tilted his head. “And she bartending now?”

She didn’t answer.

Didn’t have to, because he reached out and took the cup from her hand like he had every right to. Like she’d handed it to him.

He took a sip, expression unreadable.

Then, slowly: “Too much for you.”

Her brows lifted, breath catching. “Excuse me?”

He grinned, just barely. “It’s cute, though.”

She tried to ignore the warmth creeping up her chest. “You show up just to judge my drink choices?”

“Nah.” His voice dropped low. “Showed up for you.”

The words hit her like a wave. Not loud. Not dramatic. Just… true.

Or at least, they felt true. And that was worse.

She opened her mouth — to say what, she didn’t even know — but he was already stepping back, casually turning to glance at the party like the moment hadn’t just happened.

Like he hadn’t just unraveled her in six syllables.

Later, after the crowd had thinned and the moon had climbed higher, she found herself alone on the porch swing. The music inside had softened to a thump. Her heels dangled. Her drink had long since been abandoned.

The door creaked.

She looked up.

Rafe stepped out like it was nothing — hands in his pockets, black shirt clinging to his frame in the breeze. His hair was a little messy. His jaw looked sharper in the moonlight.

“Whatcha doing out here?” he asked.

She shrugged. “Needed air.”

He moved closer.

Didn’t sit beside her. Didn’t ask.

Just stood there in front of her, looking down with that same unreadable look he always wore when he wasn’t sure if he wanted to say something or keep it safe.

“I know what you’re doing,” she said suddenly, surprising even herself.

He raised a brow. “Yeah?”

“You flirt,” she said, trying to sound braver than she felt. “You show up. You text me at night. You look at me like…” She stopped, the words catching.

“Like what?” he asked, voice low.

She swallowed. “Like I’m yours.”

Silence stretched. His eyes never left hers.

Then, slowly, deliberately, he stepped forward.

His hands braced the armrests on either side of her, boxing her in without touching her. His face was close now — too close — and the swing creaked beneath her as her breath stuttered in her lungs.

“I don’t flirt,” he said softly. “Not with just anyone.”

She blinked. “So what is this?”

His gaze dropped to her lips for the briefest second before coming back up. “You tell me, sunshine.”

Her heart beat like it was trying to escape her chest. She could smell the cologne on his skin. See the gold flecks in his eyes.

“I don’t know,” she whispered.

His mouth quirked, but there was no humor in it. Just something raw, something real.

“I do.”

She didn’t breathe.

Didn’t move.

He hovered just long enough to make her think he might close the distance — that he might finally cross the line.

But then—

He pulled back.

Let go of the swing. Took a step away.

Control. Always in control.

And she hated how much she loved it.

“Come inside,” he said, voice calm again, casual. “Before you catch a cold.”

She stared at him.

At the boy who had slowly, deliberately burned his way into every corner of her mind.

And then she stood.

Followed him inside.

Not because he told her to.

But because she didn’t want to be anywhere he wasn’t.

⸻

The next day was cruelly bright.

Too blue. Too hot. Too loud.

It felt like the sun had climbed straight into her bedroom just to glare at her for the night before. The sheets were twisted at her feet, the fan hummed with indifference overhead, and the memory of the party still clung to her skin like salt.

It felt like a dream. Or a fever. Something overheated and out of step with reality. And now it wouldn’t let her go.

She kept replaying it — the swing creaking beneath them, the weight of the silence between words, the way his knee brushed hers and stayed there like it meant something. And most of all, the way he looked at her.

Not just looked — saw her.

Like he wanted to say something and bit it back. Like he was handing her a match and daring her to light it, all while keeping the gasoline just out of reach.

And then he walked away — like he had all the time in the world.

Like it hadn’t set her whole body on fire.

She didn’t expect to see him the next day.

Which meant, of course, that he showed up.

No warning. No text. Just the deep, familiar growl of his dirt bike pulling up out front, followed by the dull thud of his boots on the porch steps, and a knock on the screen door so casual it made her stomach flip.

She opened it slowly, fingers curled around the edge of the frame.

And there he was.

Black t-shirt, low-slung jeans, helmet tucked under one arm, his hair still damp like he’d showered and bolted out the door without a second thought. His mouth was a little parted, and his eyes were as unreadable as ever — heavy-lidded and quiet, like he’d already made up his mind about something.

“Hey,” he said, voice easy. Familiar.

She blinked. “Hi.”

He raised a brow. “You gonna invite me in?”

She hesitated, heart pounding like it wanted out of her chest. “Depends. Are you here to confuse me some more?”

That got a reaction — the subtle twitch of his mouth, half a smirk, half a wince.

“What did I do?” he asked.

She folded her arms over her chest, chin tilted up. “You tell me.”

He looked at her for a moment, the kind of look that made time stretch and bend. Then he stepped inside, slow and deliberate, not waiting for permission. He moved past her like he belonged there, like her house — her space — had never been off limits to him.

Maybe it hadn’t.

And maybe that’s what irritated her most.

The way he moved through her life with such practiced ease. Slipping in and out of her world, circling her like gravity. Close enough to feel, never close enough to hold.

He leaned back against the kitchen counter like he’d done it a thousand times before, the late morning light catching on his cheekbone, casting the rest of his expression in a soft shadow.

“You mad, baby?” he asked, voice calm — maybe too calm.

She crossed her arms tighter across her chest, pulse flickering in her throat, trying to ignore his nickname. “I don’t get you, Rafe.”

He didn’t flinch. Didn’t fidget. He just waited.

She swallowed. “You say things that sound like they mean something. And then you act like they didn’t. You show up, you look at me like—like you want me, but then you leave before I can ask what it meant. You hover, but you never stay.”

The words felt reckless in her mouth. Too much. Too honest. But she didn’t take them back.

And Rafe? He didn’t laugh. Didn’t deflect.

Instead, something in his face shifted — like a curtain pulled back just a little. His posture didn’t change, but his focus narrowed. His eyes found hers and didn’t let go.

“Say it,” he said quietly.

Her breath hitched. “What?”

“You want me to stay? Say it.”

She blinked, thrown. “That’s not fair.”

“No?” He pushed off the counter, taking one measured step forward. “’Cause it sounds to me like you’re the one caught in the middle. You want a name for this. You want something solid. But the second I try to give it to you, you pull back.”

Her cheeks flared with heat. “I’m not scared of you.”

“No,” he said, voice low and even, “you’re scared of what it means if I’m not playing.”

The silence that followed cracked like static.

The fan above them clicked softly with each spin.

And then—barely above a whisper:

“Do you?”

Rafe’s gaze darkened. “Do I what?”

“Mean it,” she said, her voice unsteady but her eyes locked on his. “The way you look at me. The way you show up. Last night… all of it. Was that real, or were you just—” Her voice broke. “Just messing with me.”

He moved closer again — slow, deliberate. Until her back met the edge of the counter, and she was trapped between cool granite and something much warmer. Much more dangerous.

His hand braced beside hers. His other hovered near her face, just inches from touching, the tension a live wire between them.

“I haven’t wanted something this badly in a long time,” he said, voice rasped at the edges. “And I’ve been careful. So fucking careful. Because I didn’t want to scare you off. I didn’t want to be the guy who ruins things.”

Her lips parted. “Rafe…”

“But if you think I don’t mean it—” he shook his head slowly, jaw clenched, “then you haven’t been paying attention.”

And then—finally—he touched her.

Just the lightest brush of his fingers along her jaw. A single stroke of his thumb against her cheekbone. Barely there, but it undid her completely.

“You’re not some game to me, sunshine.”

Her breath caught. “Then what am I?”

His lips curled — not in that cocky way she was used to. It was soft. Earnest.

“You’re the one I think about when I can’t sleep,” he said, every word like a secret. “You’re the reason I show up places I don’t belong. The reason I stopped chasing all the things that never mattered.”

She blinked, tears prickling behind her eyes. “That sounds a lot like meaning it.”

His smile curved slow. Real.

And then he leaned in — not to take, but to offer. His nose brushed hers, his breath warm against her lips. But he didn’t kiss her. Not yet.

“I’m not gonna take something from you,” he said, voice hoarse. “Not until you want me to.”

He pulled back a fraction, just enough for her to feel the space again — the ache of it.

But this time, she closed the gap.

She reached for him, hands fisting in the front of his shirt, pulling him forward until his forehead rested against hers.

“I do,” she whispered, so quiet it was almost nothing. “I want you.”

And Rafe—finally—let go of his restraint.

He kissed her.

Slow. Deliberate. Like he’d been waiting for permission, and now that he had it, he was going to take his time.

His hands framed her face gently, thumbs stroking the edges of her jaw like she was something precious. And when he pulled away, his voice was soft. Steady.

“You’re not gonna be rid of me now, you know.”

Her chest ached, full in the best kind of way.

“I don’t want to be.”

[sunsetmade]

Wipeout!

Rafe Cameron x Reader

Summary: After a surf lesson filled with Rafe’s relentless teasing, his bed feels most comfortable.

The sun was barely peeking over the ocean, casting the shore in a soft golden glow, when she stepped onto the sand with a surfboard that looked way too big for her.

“I can’t believe I let you talk me into this,” she muttered, struggling to drag the board behind her as it sank into the sand like a stubborn anchor.

Behind her, Rafe Cameron was already shirtless, board under one arm, grinning like he was having the time of his life. “You begged me to teach you.”

“I said I might be curious about learning,” she corrected, glaring at him over her shoulder. “That doesn’t mean—”

“Same thing,” he interrupted, catching up easily. “You said the words, I took the hint. Now here we are, and you’re about to become the next surf queen of the Outer Banks.”

She snorted. “More like ‘emergency room regular.’”

Rafe just smirked and leaned closer, his voice dropping into that cocky, drawling tone that always made her forget how to breathe properly. “You crash, I’ll save you. That’s part of the lesson package.”

Her cheeks went warm—predictably—and she turned away before he could see her smile. He always did this. Flirted too easily, touched too often. Sometimes she wondered if he even realized the effect he had on her, or if it was just a game.

Probably both.

They waded into the shallows, and Rafe gave her a quick rundown—how to balance, where to place her feet, when to pop up. He gestured as he talked, all confidence and surfer charm. She nodded along, though her brain was more focused on how tanned his chest looked and less on wave timing.

“Okay,” he said, giving her board a gentle nudge into the water. “You’re up.”

She stared at the ocean like it had personally offended her. “This feels like a terrible idea.”

“Too late to back out,” he said brightly, wading beside her. “You’re already in. Show me what you got.”

With a deep breath—and a lot of internal swearing—she climbed onto the board, managing to paddle out a few feet. Her limbs flailed awkwardly as she tried to steady herself. Rafe was right next to her, effortlessly floating, show off.

“Okay, pop up!” he called as a small wave approached.

“I’m not ready!”

“It’s not a marriage proposal, it’s a wave!”

Too late—she tried to stand, shifted her weight too far back, and immediately wiped out with a full-body slap into the water.

She surfaced with a gasp, coughing and sputtering as saltwater stung her nose and eyes. When she finally blinked her vision clear, Rafe was doubled over in the water, laughing like he’d just seen the best comedy of the year.

“Rafe!” she shouted, wading toward him. “Stop laughing!”

He didn’t. “You looked like a baby giraffe trying to walk for the first time.”

“I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.” He ruffled her dripping hair as she reached him, still grinning like a fool. “You’re too cute when you fall.”

Her heart stuttered. “You think I’m cute when I faceplant?”

“Absolutely. It’s the highlight of my week.”

She shoved him halfheartedly, but he didn’t budge. If anything, he leaned closer, brushing water droplets from her cheek with his thumb. His voice softened, teasing but affectionate.

“You okay?”

“I think my dignity’s broken.”

“Nah,” he said. “Still got enough of that left to try again.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Do you wipe out?”

“Of course. Not lately, but I used to. That’s how you learn. One wave at a time.”

“Easy for you to say. You make it look effortless.”

Rafe’s smirk turned into something slower, more intent. “Come here. I’ll help.”

Before she could argue, his hands were at her waist, guiding her back toward the board. Her breath caught at the contact. His fingers were warm, steady, lingering longer than necessary as he helped her balance.

“I got you,” he said quietly, meeting her eyes. “Promise.”

She swallowed hard and nodded, trying to ignore the way his thumbs brushed bare skin just above her bikini bottoms.

They practiced again—small waves, lots of coaching, and only a few more wipeouts. Each time she fell, Rafe was there, teasing and smug but weirdly sweet. He never let her drift too far, never let her doubt she could do it.

By the time they returned to shore, she was exhausted, salt-crusted, and grinning like an idiot. She collapsed onto her towel and groaned.

“I’m never moving again.”

“You crushed it,” Rafe said, flopping down beside her. “Didn’t even cry once.”

She turned her head to glare at him. “You’re lucky I’m too tired to throw sand in your face.”

“Oh, don’t threaten me with a good time.”

He winked, and she groaned again, this time from secondhand embarrassment.

As they lounged in the sun, a group of guys passed nearby, boards under their arms. One of them glanced at her, then smirked.

“Hey, you’re that girl who ate it like five times in a row, right?”

She stiffened. Rafe did too.

“Pretty sure my grandma could balance better than that,” the guy added, laughing with his friends.

She didn’t reply, shrinking slightly into her towel.

Rafe, however, stood up.

“Hey,” he called after them, voice sharper than before. “You wanna run your mouth again, or you gonna keep walking?”

The group slowed, exchanging amused glances. “Relax, man. Just a joke.”

Rafe’s jaw was tight, eyes cold. “Yeah? Doesn’t sound that funny to me.”

The guy rolled his eyes and kept walking, muttering something under his breath.

When they were out of earshot, Rafe sat back down, still scowling.

She touched his arm gently. “You didn’t have to—”

“Yes, I did.” He looked at her, all that usual cocky ease replaced with something fiercer. “You’re out there trying. That’s more than most people ever do. They can’t touch that.”

Her heart swelled. “Thanks.”

He shrugged, a little awkwardly. “I just hate when people talk down to you.”

She smiled. “Even when you make fun of me?”

“That’s different,” he said quickly, grinning again. “I’m cute when I do it.”

“You’re insufferable.”

“And you like me anyway.”

She rolled her eyes but didn’t deny it. Not when he looked at her like that, like she was the only person on the beach. His hand found hers in the space between them, fingers brushing slowly.

“You wanna go again tomorrow?” he asked casually. “Catch a few more waves?”

She squeezed his hand. “Only if you promise not to laugh when I wipe out again.”

“No promises,” he said, lips curving. “But I will be there to catch you.”

⸻

They ended up back at Rafe’s house—dried off, sun-tired, and half-limp from saltwater and too much laughing. He tossed her a hoodie that smelled faintly like his cologne and chlorine from his pool, and she pulled it on without hesitation, sleeves dangling past her fingers.

“You look like a drowned marshmallow,” he said, flopping onto his bed with zero grace.

She made a face and crawled in beside him. “A very fashionable marshmallow.”

“You’re just saying that because it’s my hoodie.”

“Exactly.” She grinned, scooting closer until her shoulder bumped his. “It’s basically armor against the embarrassment of today.”

Rafe turned on his side, propped on one elbow. “You did good.”

“I fell on my face three times.”

“Yeah, and you got up four. That’s the part that matters.”

She blinked at him, surprised by the softness in his voice. Rafe was usually all teasing and smug smirks, but right now, the way he was looking at her—it felt like more.

She looked away, suddenly self-conscious. “Thanks for not letting those guys get to me.”

“They were idiots,” he said simply. “You deserve better than that.”

Silence settled between them—comfortable, warm—and when she looked back up, he was still watching her. His fingers reached out, brushing a strand of damp hair from her cheek. The touch lingered.

She felt her heart stutter in her chest.

“Stop looking at me like that,” she whispered, half-flustered, half-teasing.

“Like what?”

“Like you’re about to kiss me.”

Rafe’s lips curved. “What if I am?”

Her breath caught.

He moved slowly, giving her time to pull away—time she didn’t use. Their foreheads brushed first, then his nose nudged hers, and finally, his lips pressed gently to her mouth. Just a soft, easy kiss. Not rushed. Not a joke. Just real.

When he pulled back, he didn’t move far. His voice was low, a little shy for once.

“You can still say no. Or punch me. Or both.”

She smiled. “Not planning to.”

“Cool,” he murmured. “’Cause I’d like to keep doing that. Eventually. When you’re not too sore from surfing.”

“Who says I’m sore?”

“You groaned climbing the stairs.”

“Okay, maybe a little.”

He laughed, wrapping an arm around her waist and tugging her closer. She curled into his chest without hesitation, her cheek resting just above his heart.

They stayed like that—tangled together, legs brushing, the late afternoon light pouring in through the windows. Rafe’s fingers traced lazy shapes over her back, and every now and then he’d press a kiss to her hair, like he couldn’t help it.

“You ever think about doing this again?” she asked sleepily.

“Surfing?”

“No. This.”

He squeezed her waist gently. “Yeah,” he said, voice soft. “All the time.”

And maybe it was the exhaustion, or the salt air, or just the fact that she felt safer in Rafe’s arms than anywhere else—but she believed him.

And she fell asleep with a smile on her face, with him rubbing small circles on her cheek.

[sunsetmade]

Temporary Troubles

Roomate! Rafe Cameron x Reader

Summary: A temporary living situation turns into something far more complicated—and when the tension finally snaps, it’s anything but innocent.

*A little spicy but mainly fluff*

It was supposed to be temporary.

A month. Maybe two, if she played it right.

She needed a cheap place to live, and Rafe Cameron—mysterious, slightly cocky, and annoyingly pretty—needed help covering rent after one too many spontaneous shopping sprees and too few hours at work. The deal was simple: she’d take the spare bedroom in his apartment, help with the bills, and they’d mind their business.

But two months in, her toothbrush was next to his. Her mug was always in his hand. And his shirt—soft and oversized—was now practically part of her morning routine.

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

The first time she wore one of his shirts, it was an accident.

She’d stumbled out of the bathroom in a towel, hair damp and curling at the ends, only to realize the clean clothes she thought were in her room were actually still in the dryer. Rafe had been on the couch, sprawled out watching some low-effort action movie with the volume too high. She tried to sneak past, but his voice cut through the room without looking away from the screen.

“Closet’s open. You can grab something. Top shelf has clean stuff.”

She paused. “You sure?”

“Unless you wanna walk past me and wait in a towel,” he added, finally glancing her way with a lazy, amused smirk. “I’m not complaining.”

She rolled her eyes and muttered something about him being insufferable, but the heat in her cheeks betrayed her.

His shirt smelled like cedar and detergent, soft with slightly worn sleeves, and she didn’t take it off until well into the next day.

Since then, it had somehow become a thing.

He never commented on it. Not when she wore it while cooking breakfast, not when she yawned and pulled the collar over her nose, and definitely not when she brushed past him in the hallway, the hem riding up a little too high on her thighs. But his eyes lingered longer. His goodnights got quieter.

And her heart got louder.

⸻

The kitchen was warm that morning—sunlight spilling through the blinds in lazy stripes, dust floating in the beams like confetti. She stood barefoot at the stove, flipping pancakes, the back of his shirt just barely showing her sleep shorts. She hummed something under her breath, swaying slightly to music that wasn’t playing, completely unaware of the way she looked.

Rafe leaned against the doorway, arms crossed over his bare chest, watching her.

He told himself he wasn’t staring. That he just happened to walk in and see her there. But the truth was, he’d woken up to the smell of coffee and syrup, and his first thought wasn’t about food—it was about her.

“Pancakes again?” he asked, voice still thick with sleep.

She startled slightly, turning with the spatula in hand. “You scared me.”

He grinned. “You always make breakfast in other people’s clothes?”

She narrowed her eyes at him but didn’t stop smiling. “Only when the other person is too lazy to fold laundry.”

“Wow. That’s how you’re spinning this?”

She shrugged and went back to the pancakes. “They’re comfier than mine.”

He came up behind her, just close enough to reach over and grab a piece of fruit from the counter. She didn’t move away. Neither did he.

“Smells good,” he murmured.

“Thanks.”

There was a pause. She could feel his presence behind her—warm, solid, and just a little bit dangerous in that way that made her skin tingle. His hand brushed her lower back as he stepped aside, a touch so brief it could’ve been nothing.

But it didn’t feel like nothing.

⸻

They danced around it for weeks.

It started small.

Late-night movies on the couch, a bowl of popcorn balanced between them. At first, they sat on opposite ends, her legs tucked under her, his arm thrown lazily over the back cushion. But by the third week, her sock-clad feet were resting on his thigh, and neither of them mentioned it. She’d laugh too hard at his sarcastic commentary. He’d pretend not to glance down every time her head tipped back against the couch, neck bare, throat soft and unguarded.

It was never obvious. Not enough for either of them to call out.

But it was there.

The grocery runs started as errands—quick stops for milk and bread. But somewhere along the way, they became a reason to linger in aisles too long. She’d ask if he thought she should try a new cereal, and he’d pretend to debate it just to keep her talking. He’d toss random snacks in the cart just to see her wrinkle her nose and call him “a trash gremlin.”

Once, they spent nearly thirty minutes in the baking aisle because she couldn’t decide between brownie mix and cookies. He offered to buy both. She said that was excessive. So he leaned in and said, low and smug, “Guess you’ll just have to make me both from scratch, then.”

She flushed. Shoved a box of brownie mix into the cart and walked off without answering. But he caught the smile she tried to hide.

And it only got worse—or better, depending on the angle—at night.

That was when the apartment got quiet. When the TV was off and the only sound was the hum of the fridge or the occasional creak of the old pipes. He’d walk past her bedroom door after brushing his teeth, pausing just long enough to murmur, “Goodnight.”

At first, she replied through the door.

“Night, Rafe.”

Then she started standing in the doorway when she knew he’d come by. Sometimes in shorts and maybe his shirt, hugging a pillow to her chest like a shield. Sometimes just in sweats and a tank, her hair pulled back, sleep already softening her edges.

The way he looked at her changed.

His eyes didn’t just skim—they lingered. Trailed from her eyes to her mouth to the spot where her fingers fidgeted with her sleeve. And he always said it soft. Like the word meant more when it came from her.

One night, she whispered it back too quietly to hear.

He leaned against her doorframe, rubbing the back of his neck. “What was that?”

“Nothing,” she said quickly, cheeks pink. “Just—night.”

He smirked, but didn’t press. “Sleep good.”

It made her stupidly giddy. The way his voice dipped low and warm just for her. Like it was their little thing now. A shared ritual. Something gentle in a world that rarely slowed down for either of them.

And every night, she thought about how easy it would be to step forward and kiss him. Just once. Just to see.

But she didn’t.

And neither did he.

However, it all came to a head on a rainy Thursday.

She’d had a long day. The kind that made everything feel heavy. Her shift at work had run late, her phone died before she could call him, and by the time she got home, it was already pouring. The wind flipped her umbrella inside out halfway through the parking lot, soaking her completely. Her hair stuck to her face, shoes squelched on the stairs, and she barely had a free hand to knock.

But she didn’t have to.

Rafe opened the door before she could even reach for it.

He took one look at her—drenched, makeup smudged, shoulders sagging—and started laughing.

She scowled, dripping in the doorway. “This is funny to you?”

“A little,” he grinned, eyes twinkling as he stepped aside. “Did you fight the sky and lose?”

“You should see the umbrella. It’s dead.”

He chuckled and disappeared into the hallway, returning a moment later with one of the big, fluffy towels she always “borrowed” from his laundry basket. Without hesitation, he threw it over her head and started rubbing at her hair, gently but with enough force to make her squeak.

“Rafe—!”

“Shh,” he muttered. “Let me do my good deed for the year.”

She batted his hands away, but he kept rubbing until her hair was only damp and her scowl had mostly faded. When he finally pulled the towel back, her face was flushed, strands of hair curling in all directions, and something soft passed between them.

“You okay?” he asked, quieter now.

She nodded, voice small. “Just tired.”

He didn’t make a joke this time. Just studied her for a second, like he was holding back something. Then, in that voice he only ever used with her, he murmured, “Go shower. I’ll make you tea.”

She hesitated. “You don’t have to—”

“I know,” he said, already turning to the kitchen.

“Go.”

She didn’t move.

Not at first.

She just stood there in the entryway, damp and staring at him like her feet had rooted to the floor.

Rafe blinked, halfway into the kitchen. “What?”

“You always do that,” she said, voice low.

He turned. “Do what?”

“That.” She gestured loosely toward him. “Act like this is casual. Like we’re just roommates who split the rent and that’s it. But then you do things like—this.” Her fingers twisted in the edge of the towel now draped over her shoulder. “You wait for me at the door. You make me tea. You give me your clothes and then look at me like that.”

His brows pulled together. “Like what?”

“Like you want me to wear them.”

The silence was instant and thick. It stretched, snapped, and coiled between them like a pulled rubber band waiting to fly.

Rafe exhaled slowly. His tongue pressed to the inside of his cheek as he stepped closer, but not close enough to touch her. His jaw ticked.

“Maybe I do,” he said simply.

The words were quiet. Uncomplicated. Honest in a way that made her stomach twist.

Her heart pounded.

She should’ve gone to shower. She should’ve grabbed her tea and slipped down the hallway, ignored the heat crawling up the back of her neck, let it blow over like she always did.

But she didn’t.

Instead, she asked, “Then why don’t you do anything about it?”

Rafe’s eyes dropped to her lips. Just for a second. When he looked back up, he gave a small, tilted smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Because I don’t want you to think I’m just doing this to hook up,” he said. “Because this apartment started as a convenience, but now…” He paused, throat working. “Now I get weirdly excited when you come home. And I buy your stupid tea. And I wash that hoodie twice a week so it always smells clean when you steal it. And yeah, I look at you. But not in a way I can walk back from.”

Her throat went dry.

“Rafe—”

“I don’t want to scare you off.”

She swallowed. “You’re not.”

He searched her face like he didn’t believe her. Like he was still waiting for her to laugh it off or pretend she hadn’t heard.

But she just reached forward—quiet, gentle—and tugged at the hem of his shirt, fingers curling there like an anchor.

“Just don’t say goodnight like we’re nothing.”

Rafe’s brow twitched, but his mouth curled—slow, crooked, dangerous.

He bit the inside of his lip, trying to suppress the smug grin tugging at the corner. So this was finally happening.

“Is that a threat?” he asked, voice low and teasing, eyes flicking over her like he didn’t care how obvious he was being. She stood there—small, damp, wrapped in his towel, cheeks pink from either the cold or the confession—and he swore she’d never looked more irresistible.

He stepped closer.

Not rushed. Not hesitant.

Just enough to make her breath hitch.

She held her ground, but her chin tilted up ever so slightly to keep his eyes. Her lashes were still wet, stuck together at the corners. A drop of water clung to her jaw.

He wanted to wipe it off with his thumb.

She swallowed, trying to look unaffected. “Maybe.”

He reached out, his hand finding her hip like it belonged there. His palm settled warm against the fabric of his hoodie on her, and his thumb moved in slow, lazy circles that sent heat crawling up her spine.

“Yeah?” he murmured, the word almost a smirk, low and coaxing as he leaned in—closer, slower, like he was savoring every inch of space that disappeared between them.

She narrowed her eyes, trying to focus, trying not to show the way her heart was pounding, but the flutter in her chest betrayed her. He saw it. She knew he did.

His smile curved wider, all confidence and teasing heat, before he tilted his head slightly and dipped closer—so close she could feel the warmth of his breath brush her lips.

Her breath hitched.

Rafe didn’t kiss her.

Not yet.

He stopped just short, lips hovering over hers with maddening precision, like he was daring her to close the distance. Like he wanted her to make the move.

Her breathing went rigid, shallow. She swore time folded in on itself, stretching the space between heartbeats.

“You always breathe like that when I get this close?” he whispered, his lips ghosting over hers but never touching.

She tried to speak, but her voice caught in her throat, so instead she gripped the hem of his shirt, holding onto it like it might ground her.

His other hand came up, brushing a damp strand of hair behind her ear, fingertips barely grazing her skin.

“I could stay right here all night,” he said, his voice nothing but velvet and heat, “just to see how long you’ll let me torture you.”

She gave a shaky breath, eyes flickering to his mouth. “Who says you’re the one in control?”

That made him grin, slow and wicked.

“Careful,” he warned playfully. “I like it when you talk like that.”

And still—still—he didn’t kiss her.

He just hovered there, one hand warm on her hip, the other brushing along her jaw, watching her like he had all the time in the world to unravel her.

In one swift motion, she gently tugged on his shirt connecting their lips.

But the second their lips touched—he took over.

Rafe growled low in his throat, gripping her hips with both hands and spinning her until her back hit the wall behind them. The towel she’d been holding slipped to the floor, forgotten, as his body pressed flush to hers, pinning her there like she was his and he’d finally decided to claim it.

He deepened the kiss instantly—hot, possessive, breath-stealing—tilting his head and sliding a hand up her side, fingers dragging across the thin fabric of his hoodie on her. He kissed her like he’d been holding back for weeks. Like he was starving. Like now that he had her, he wasn’t going to let her forget what she did to him every time she walked around in his clothes and gave him that shy little smile.

She gasped into his mouth, her hands still fisted in his shirt, but he didn’t give her a chance to breathe. His tongue slid past her lips, slow and sure, coaxing a soft whimper from the back of her throat that made him smirk against her.

“You pull me in like that,” he murmured roughly between kisses, his lips brushing her jaw, her cheek, down to the shell of her ear, “you better be ready for what comes next.”

Her breath hitched, head falling back against the wall as he trailed his mouth down her neck—teeth grazing, lips pressing heat into every inch of exposed skin. She was trembling now, but not from nerves. From the way his hands were gripping her thighs, sliding up beneath the hem of the hoodie like he wanted to memorize the curve of her body.

“Rafe,” she breathed, barely able to form the word.

He lifted his head, eyes dark and heavy-lidded. “Say it again.”

She swallowed, voice trembling. “Rafe.”

His mouth was back on hers in an instant—rougher this time, needier, like hearing his name come out of her mouth had undone something in him. His hand came up to cradle her jaw, tilting her head so he could kiss her deeper, like he wanted to own every sound, every breath.

But before she could even process the heat between them, he pulled back—slow and deliberate, like he wanted her to feel every inch of space he was putting between them.

Her eyes fluttered open, lips parted, breath caught in her throat as she stared up at him, dazed.

Rafe smirked.

“It’s getting late, baby,” he murmured, voice low and sinful as he dipped to press one last kiss to the curve of her neck.

A shiver rippled down her spine, and her fingers instinctively tightened at the back of his neck, trying to keep him there.

But he was already slipping away.

He stepped back, smooth and cocky, leaving her breathless and aching and utterly wrecked. She blinked at him, still caught in the high of the moment, and he had the audacity to grin as he flopped down lazily on the couch like nothing had just happened.

“Goodnight, sexy,” he tossed over his shoulder, voice teasing and smug.

She let out a sharp huff, crossing her arms and glaring even as her stomach fluttered traitorously. “You’re such an ass.”

He just laughed, arms stretched behind his head, perfectly content and way too pleased with himself. “And yet… you still kissed me.”

She spun on her heel, cheeks burning as she stormed toward her room, muttering, “Infuriating.”

But behind the door, hand over her racing heart, she couldn’t stop the grin spreading across her face.

God, he was infuriating.

And she wanted him even more.

[sunsetmade]

Rearranged (again)

Rafe Cameron x Reader

Summary: When she calls Rafe over in a panic, he rushes to her side—only to find himself caught in the middle of her latest “urgent” mission… involving a couch and a vision.

The call came in just after seven.

Rafe had been lying on his bed, one arm flung over his eyes, his phone resting on his chest when it started buzzing. He didn’t even look at the screen before answering—her name flashing across it was already familiar, already welcome. But the second he heard her voice—urgent, slightly breathless—he sat up straight.

“Rafe? Can you come over? Like… now?”

He blinked. “Yeah. What’s wrong?”

A pause. A suspiciously long one.

“Just… come quick, please?”

She hung up before he could press for more.

Rafe was in his truck in less than five minutes.

⸻

He didn’t bother knocking when he got to her place—she never made him. The door was unlocked like always, and when he stepped inside, heart thudding a little faster than usual, he found—

Nothing burning. Nothing broken. Nothing screaming.

Except her.

Well, not screaming. More like standing in the middle of her living room with her hands on her hips, head tilted in deep concentration. Her hair thrown up into a quickly-done-messy-bun. Her brows were furrowed, her bottom lip caught between her teeth, and she was staring at the couch like it had personally offended her.

Rafe glanced around, adrenaline fading into something between amusement and disbelief. The coffee table was pushed halfway across the room, the rug bunched up against the far wall, and her books were in uneven piles scattered along the floor.

She didn’t even notice him at first. She was too busy squinting at the window, then at the couch, then back again like she was solving a complex puzzle.

He cleared his throat.

Her head snapped up, startled. “Oh! You’re here.”

“Yeah,” he said slowly, eyeing the chaos. “You sounded like the place was on fire, baby.”

“I—okay, I know, I panicked a little. But I really needed a second opinion. Or, like… your muscles.”

He raised a brow, a crooked grin pulling at his mouth. “You called me over like it was life or death… because you’re rearranging your furniture. Again?”

She straightened, half-sheepish, half-defensive. “It’s not again if it wasn’t working before.”

“You changed the layout three days ago,” he said, stepping over a stack of paperbacks to get closer to her. “Pretty sure I still have bruises from tripping over that lamp.”

“That was a design flaw, Rafe,” she replied with faux seriousness. “I’ve evolved since then.”

He let out a short laugh, coming to a stop in front of her. “I drove here thinking you were being robbed or bleeding out, and you’re in here giving the loveseat the stink eye.”

She pouted and gave him a look. “You said you liked when I called you.”

He smirked. “I do. Just didn’t realize you’d be calling me to fight a war against your furniture.”

“It’s not a war,” she sniffed, arms crossing gently over her chest. “It’s a vision.”

“Baby,” Rafe said, voice all teasing affection, “you have so many visions. At this point, I’m convinced you just get bored and start pushing things around to see how fast I’ll show up.”

She didn’t deny it.

Instead, she turned and gestured grandly toward the couch. “I’m thinking we angle it this way so the light hits it just right during the day. But then I lose the view of the TV unless I mount it on the other wall, which might be too much commitment for me right now.”

Rafe pretended to ponder deeply. “So what you’re saying is, I need to lift the couch and walk it around the room like a video game character until you get that look on your face.”

She grinned. “You do know me.”

With an exaggerated sigh, Rafe rolled his shoulders and made his way over to the couch. “Alright, tell me where you want it.”

“Hmm,” she mused, tapping her chin. “Maybe turn it toward the window?”

He grunted as he lifted the side of the couch, maneuvering it with the practiced ease of someone who had clearly done this before. She hovered beside him, guiding him like a very gentle, very adorable general.

“Little more to the left—no, my left. Okay, now back—wait. That’s too much. Rafe!”

He stopped, breathless but smiling. “You’re the worst GPS I’ve ever used.”

She laughed, the sound bright and full, and for a moment, Rafe just watched her. The way her hair caught the light. The way her oversized t-shirt slid off one shoulder as she bent to smooth the rug. The way her nose scrunched when she was thinking too hard about something that probably didn’t matter to anyone but her.

But it mattered to him. Because it mattered to her.

“Okay,” she said finally, stepping back. “I think that’s it. It’s perfect. Look at it!”

Rafe looked. It… looked exactly like it had last week.

But he looked back at her—hands on her hips, proud and bright-eyed and so clearly pleased with herself—and he smiled.

“Yeah,” he said, wiping his hands on his jeans. “It’s perfect.”

She turned to him, glowing. “Thanks for coming. I know it wasn’t exactly an emergency—”

He cut her off with a shrug. “Didn’t matter. You called. I’ll always come.”

That softened her completely. Her shoulders relaxed, her voice gentled. “You’re kind of my favorite person, you know that?”

Rafe stepped closer, lifting a hand to brush a thumb over her cheek. “I better be,” he murmured, smirking. “I risked my life to move that beast of a couch.”

She laughed again, leaning into his touch. “You did so bravely.”

“I try.”

There was a beat of quiet between them, comfortable and warm. Then—

“Okay,” she said, suddenly animated again. “Hear me out. What if we swap the bookshelf and the desk?”

Rafe groaned dramatically. “You are trying to kill me.”

But he was already moving toward the bookshelf.

Because she had a vision.

And he’d follow her through a hundred furniture layouts if it meant being near her when her eyes lit up like that.

[sunsetmade]

His Sunshine

Rafe Cameron x Reader

Summary: She’s a drop of sunshine, always talking, laughing, and telling stories. But someone dims her light and Rafe isn’t happy about it.

Rafe Cameron wasn’t the talkative one in the relationship—and he liked it that way.

He preferred to keep his arm wrapped loosely around her waist, fingers curling into the soft fabric of whatever sundress or oversized tee she wore that day, chin dipping to nod at her stories while her voice animated every room they entered. Her voice was always light and full of feeling, rising in excitement over small things like funny-shaped clouds or a new candle she found at the store.

He didn’t always understand how she could find so much joy in the ordinary. But he loved it.

He loved her voice, and how it didn’t quiet even when people didn’t listen. He loved how she always looked for the best in people—even when they didn’t deserve it. And he loved the way she filled in all the spaces he left behind: with warmth, with softness, with sunshine.

So it should’ve been just another night—her talking, him holding onto her.

But tonight felt different from the second they stepped into the Boneyard Country Club ballroom.

⸻

She looked radiant.

That was the only word Rafe could think of. Radiant.

She wore this pale yellow silk dress with a low back and tiny straps that tied behind her shoulders. Her hair was curled a little at the ends, and she had this natural glow about her that wasn’t makeup—it was just her.

And she was excited.

“Okay, so I’m not saying I’m not nervous,” she chattered, looping her arm around his as they walked inside. “But also, like… a little bit? I don’t know. Maybe Rose will actually like me tonight because I promised myself I’d keep my elbows off the table.”

Rafe snorted. “That’s your strategy?”

She beamed up at him. “Polite elbows. That’s all it takes.”

He bent his head down to kiss her temple. “You don’t have to do anything different.”

She just hummed and squeezed his hand, like she knew he meant it but didn’t fully believe it.

Ward and Rose were already seated at the far end of the room, surrounded by familiar faces—business partners, country club wives, donors with too much money and too little sincerity.

She didn’t fit here.

Rafe knew it. She knew it.

But she never let it stop her.

She greeted everyone like they were old friends, complimenting dresses, asking genuine questions, laughing at half-funny jokes. Rafe didn’t say much—he never did at these things—but he stood tall and quiet beside her, his hand never leaving the small of her back.

She belonged beside him. Even if no one else could see it, he did.

Until she went quiet.

⸻

They were standing in a little cluster near the bar—Rafe had just stepped aside to get her a glass of champagne. She was mid-sentence, retelling a story about how their dog had barked at a paper bag for a full five minutes last week, and people were laughing, smiling, leaning in the way they always did with her.

And then a girl—one of those daughters of a board member types, with sleek hair and a designer clutch—tilted her head and said, too sweetly, “That’s adorable. You’ve got, like, a kindergarten teacher vibe, you know? It’s cute. Like a little golden retriever.”

The smile on her face flickered.

Only for a second.

But Rafe noticed it from across the room.

She laughed it off, of course she did—offered a light, “Guess I’ll take that as a compliment,” and turned to someone else. But something in her shoulders had changed. She wasn’t glowing anymore.

She was dimming.

When Rafe returned, she smiled at him, took the glass from his hand, and slid her fingers between his like nothing happened.

But he saw through it.

She was quiet the rest of the night.

⸻

They didn’t talk about it in the car. She hummed softly to the radio and leaned her head against the seat, watching the houses pass by through the window. Rafe kept glancing at her, jaw tight, one hand on the wheel, the other resting on her knee.

She usually talked the whole way home—about the food, about someone’s dress, about how she tripped a little on the rug but swore no one noticed.

Tonight? Silence.

When they got to his place, she slipped her heels off at the door and padded into the living room. She wasn’t crying. She wasn’t mad. She was still smiling.

But it wasn’t the same.

“Hey,” Rafe said quietly, tossing his keys into the bowl by the counter. “You good?”

“Yeah.” She nodded too fast. “I’m good. Just tired. Long night, you know?”

He walked up behind her, wrapped his arms around her waist, and rested his chin on her shoulder. She melted into him, like always, but her smile didn’t reach her eyes when she glanced back at him.

“Talk to me.”

She hesitated.

Then, with a small shrug: “I’m just being sensitive.”

“No, you’re not.”

“Rafe—”

“Was it that girl? The one who called you a dog?”

She let out a soft laugh, but it was thin. “Golden retriever. And she said it was cute.”

He turned her around gently to face him. “I don’t think you’re cute.”

She blinked. “Oh.”

He smirked a little. “You’re beautiful. And smart. And funny. And if she saw even a fraction of that, she wouldn’t have said that passive aggressive bullsh—”

“Rafe…”

He quieted when she touched his chest, her eyes soft but sad.

“I’m used to people not… really getting me,” she said, voice small. “I know I’m a lot. I talk too much. I get excited about dumb stuff. I’m not polished like those girls your family knows. I probably do seem like a golden retriever.”

“Hey.”

Rafe’s voice dropped, and he reached up to cradle her face in both hands.

“You’re not ‘a lot.’ You’re everything.”

She blinked hard. He saw the tears she was trying to hide.

“You light up every room, and people who don’t get that?” His thumb brushed her cheek. “They don’t deserve to be in the same room.”

Her lips parted like she wanted to argue, but he shook his head.

“I like your stories. I like that you talk too much. You make every boring moment better just by being there. You make me better.”

She let out a shaky breath.

Rafe leaned in, brushing his nose against hers.

“You don’t ever have to quiet down to fit into their world,” he whispered. “You’ve already built your own. And I’m the lucky one who gets to be in it.”

Her eyes shimmered. And then she buried her face in his chest and hugged him like she never wanted to let go.

Rafe held her tighter.

She was still quiet that night.

But this time, it wasn’t because of anyone else.

This time, she was just wrapped up in the way he made her feel—safe, loved, enough.

And that was all she needed.

[sunsetmade]

Dirty Business

Rafe Cameron x Reader

Summary: Everything changed for Rafe after he met you. No more drugs, no more using, but he’s still wrapped up in the business of selling.

Rafe’s fingers throb with a dull ache as he counts yet another stack of cash. Another deal. Another drop. Another day stuck in the cycle. Across from him, Barry lounges on the couch, casually chopping lines and snorting them without hesitation.

Rafe doesn’t flinch—just rolls his eyes. Yeah, he’s still tangled in the business, but he’d left the drugs behind a long time ago.

“C’mon, country club. Just one hit,” Barry rasps, that wicked grin stretching across his face.

Rafe barely looks up. “Nah. I’m done with that.”

Barry clicks his tongue, leaning back with a smirk as he wipes his nose clean. He reaches for a blunt already rolled, lighting it like it’s just another part of his routine.

“Gone soft now?” he goads.

Rafe’s elbows rest on his knees, jaw tightening as the irritation flickers across his face. “I’ve told you. I’m not like that anymore.”

Barry laughs lowly. “Guess that’s what happens when you get yourself a girlfriend.”

Rafe’s teeth clench. If he had it his way, he’d be out of this mess completely. But with his dad off on one of his mysterious business trips, someone had to keep the money flowing.

But Barry wasn’t completely wrong.

Rafe had changed—because of her.

He hadn’t planned on it. He never does. She just sort of appeared, soft-spoken and bright-eyed, in a world that never had room for people like her. And somehow, she stayed. While everyone else saw the worst in him, she looked right through the smoke and blood and chaos and saw something worth saving.

Maybe that was the problem. She believed in him more than he ever had.

She never asked him to stop. Never begged or judged. She just existed in his life with so much light that the darkness started to feel less comfortable. And eventually, he didn’t need the high. Didn’t need the numbness. He just needed her.

So no—Barry wasn’t wrong. But he didn’t get to talk about her.

“Don’t talk about her,” Rafe muttered, voice low and sharp as he thumbed through another stack of cash on the table, jaw tight.

Barry held his hands up in mock surrender, a lazy grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Relax, country club. Just sayin’.”

The smirk didn’t fade, but Rafe didn’t look up. He focused on the money—because if he didn’t, he might actually do something about that look on Barry’s face.

⸻

The first time he had ever seen her, it had been raining that day—one of those warm Outer Banks downpours that soaked you in seconds and didn’t care who you were. Rafe had been parked outside of a corner store, waiting on a guy who was already late, already pissing him off. His patience was wearing thin, and the storm hadn’t helped.

He saw her before she saw him—hair plastered to her face, arms wrapped around a bag of books like it was the only thing keeping her upright. She was standing under the awning, watching the rain like it was something magical instead of miserable.

It didn’t make sense. People like her didn’t belong in his world. Sweet, soft-looking, with that kind of quiet energy that made you want to get closer just to hear her speak. Rafe hadn’t looked twice at anyone in a long time—but something about her made him stop.

And then she looked over. Caught him staring. Instead of glaring or turning away, she offered him the smallest, gentlest smile. Like he wasn’t soaked in anger and frustration. Like she wasn’t afraid.

He remembered rolling down his window, calling out something dumb just to keep her there a second longer. Something like, “You know there’s a storm, right?”

She’d smiled wider, clutching her bag tighter. “Yeah. I like the sound it makes.”

And that was it. That was the moment. The quiet click of something shifting inside him.

He didn’t know her name yet. But he’d spend the next week finding excuses to run into her again.

Because for the first time in a long time, Rafe Cameron didn’t want to disappear into the darkness—he wanted to stand in the rain.

And the first time he realized he wanted to stop- stop all the drug shit- it was when he was with her.

It had been late—bordering on midnight—when she’d fallen asleep on his couch for the first time.

They weren’t together, not officially. But she was always around. Drifting in and out of his days with that soft voice and kind heart, like she didn’t notice—or chose not to care—that he was someone people warned others about.

Rafe had just gotten back from a drop, pockets full of cash, nerves buzzing, the kind of itch in his skin that used to have a very specific fix.

The little baggie sat on the kitchen counter. Same spot it always did. He could’ve crushed a line in seconds. No one would’ve known. Hell, Barry probably expected him to.

But when he turned around, she was there.

Curled up on his couch with one of his old hoodies swallowed around her, hair messy, face peaceful, chest rising and falling slow like she had no idea how close he stood to unraveling.

She trusted him.

That thought hit him harder than anything ever had. She trusted him enough to sleep soundly in a house that had seen things it never should’ve. She believed he was safe. And somehow, just being in her orbit made him want to be that.

His hand hovered over the bag for a moment. Then he pushed it off the counter. Watched it fall into the trash without a second glance.

Rafe stepped into the living room, the dim glow from the hallway light casting soft shadows across her sleeping form. Quietly, he slid onto the couch beside her, easing into the space like it belonged to him—because she did.

She stirred at the motion, a sleepy sigh escaping her lips as she reached out instinctively, searching for him in the dark. Still half-asleep, she scooted closer, her head settling against his chest like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Rafe’s breath caught for a moment. Then he smiled—soft, real. The kind of smile he didn’t show anyone else.

He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her in gently, like he was afraid to wake her or lose her. Her warmth pressed against him, grounding him in a way nothing else ever could.

This—she—was the calm he never thought he deserved.

He didn’t need the high anymore.

He had her.

And for the first time, that felt like enough.

⸻

The sound of the front door closing snapped Rafe out of his thoughts.

“Rafe? Baby?”

Her voice—soft, sweet, familiar—floated through the house, and he felt it like a jolt to the chest. His ears perked up, heart lifting for a split second.

Barry let out a dramatic sigh. “Yo, your girl’s here.”

Just like that, the warmth drained from Rafe’s face. The comfort of knowing she was home twisted into dread the moment he remembered who else was in the house—and what they were doing.

Lines on the table. Cash in stacks. Plans for more drops.

It made him sick.

“Hey, I need you to go. Pack all this shit up,” Rafe muttered, standing quickly from the couch. His voice was low, urgent, already heading toward the bedroom to stash the money before she saw any of it.

Barry didn’t move. Just frowned, arms crossed lazily. “She doesn’t know what you do?”

The question wasn’t just a jab—it held judgment, sharp and pointed.

Rafe didn’t even look back. “Doesn’t matter. Just get out.”

Because she didn’t belong in this world. And the longer Barry stayed, the more he’d poison it.

Rafe knew one thing for sure—Barry didn’t deserve to breathe the same air as her.

“I’m not playing—I need you to fucking get out,” Rafe snapped, voice sharp and final.

Barry rolled his eyes, scooping up his stash with no real urgency. As he passed, he flipped Rafe off with a smug grin before slipping out the back door.

Rafe exhaled hard, running a hand down his face. The relief hit instantly.

He cracked open the bedroom door. “Up here, baby!”

Her response was immediate—footsteps on the stairs, her presence filling the space before she even stepped through the doorway. When she appeared, her face lit up the way it always did when she saw him.

She walked over with ease, stopping between his legs as he sat on the edge of the bed. Rafe looked up at her with that lazy smile that always carried the edge of a smirk, his hands already sliding around her waist like they belonged there.

“How was lunch?” he asked, fingers tracing slow paths along her hips.

She sighed, shoulders relaxing as she shrugged. “It was good,” she murmured, visibly softening just from being near him.

Rafe watched her carefully—the way her eyes fluttered shut as she took a deep breath, the way she melted under his touch.

But then she paused. Her nose crinkled.

“It smells weird in here,” she said, glancing around.

Rafe’s stomach tightened. He cursed Barry silently, jaw clenching.

“Yeah?” he said, trying to keep his voice casual. “Like what?”

She chewed on her lip, eyes wide and uncertain as she looked down at him. “I don’t know… something strong.”

Rafe let out a heavy sigh, dragging a hand down his face as guilt settled hard in his chest.

“Barry was here,” he admitted, voice low. He didn’t want to lie—not to her. Not ever.

She studied him quietly for a moment, eyes dropping to the way his shoulders tensed. Then she leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to the bridge of his nose.

“What’s wrong with that?” she asked softly, like she could already sense the storm behind his words.

Rafe swallowed hard, eyes flicking away for a second before coming back to hers. “He’s bad… really bad. The kind of influence I don’t want anywhere near me anymore. Used to be easy to fall into that shit with him, but I swear—I don’t do that now. I don’t want to. It’s just for quick money.”

Her smile came slowly, warm and honest, grounding him in a way nothing else could.

“Rafe,” she said gently, cupping his jaw. “I know you don’t. You’re not who you used to be. You’re a good person.”

Something in his chest cracked at that—because maybe he didn’t fully believe it yet. But she did. And for now, that was enough to make him want to try.

“I know you stopped for me,” she said softly, easing onto his lap and threading her arms around his shoulders. “And I can’t even tell you how much that means to me.”

Rafe didn’t say anything at first. He just pressed his face into the crook of her neck, breathing her in like she was the only thing keeping him grounded. His arms wrapped around her tightly, steadying her—but more than that, steadying himself.

“Everything I do now… it’s for you,” he murmured against her skin.

She giggled, the sound soft and breathy as his lips brushed gently along her neck. But she knew he was serious.

“You’re such a sap,” she giggled again, fingers playing with the hair at the nape of his neck.

Rafe lifted his head just enough to smirk at her. “Yeah? And you love it.”

She scrunched her nose, pretending to think. “Mmm… I tolerate it.”

“Oh, really?” he challenged, eyebrows raising as his hands slipped under the hem of her shirt, fingertips brushing the bare skin of her back.

She let out a squeal, squirming in his lap. “Rafe! Stop!” she laughed, but didn’t actually try to get away—if anything, she leaned closer, completely curled into him.

He was grinning now, that rare, boyish grin he only ever showed when he was with her. “Don’t act like you don’t melt every time I get all sweet.”

“Okay, maybe a little,” she admitted with a mock sigh, letting her forehead rest against his. “It’s just… not what people expect from you.”

His voice softened, “Yeah, well… people don’t get to see me like this.” He traced a finger down her spine. “Only you.”

She looked at him then, really looked, her expression growing quieter—more serious beneath the softness.

He held her gaze, heart thudding. “I mean it. You’re it for me.”

Her breath caught slightly, the teasing gone, replaced with something delicate and real.

“I love you,” he said, no hesitation.

She blinked, like she hadn’t expected it but had been waiting to hear it all along. And then a smile bloomed across her face—slow and radiant.

“I love you too,” she whispered, brushing her lips against his.

And in that moment, with her wrapped around him and her heart in his hands, Rafe felt more high than he ever had before.

[sunsetmade]

Mysterious

Rafe Cameron x Reader

Summary: She caught his eye the first time without even trying—and after that, he kept noticing her. She wasn’t his usual type, not even close, but maybe that was exactly what made her impossible to ignore.

The bar buzzed with low music and half-drunk laughter, the kind of night where everything felt a little blurry around the edges. Rafe stood near the back, a glass of bourbon in his hand, leaning casually against the wall like he owned the place. He wasn’t looking for anything tonight—just killing time with Topper and Kelce, watching people drift in and out.

Then he saw her.

Sitting at the far end of the bar. Quiet, almost out of place in the usual Outer Banks crowd. She wasn’t loud. Wasn’t drunk. Just… there. In her own little world, playing with the condensation on her glass, occasionally tucking her hair behind her ear or politely smiling at the bartender when he made small talk.

Something about her stuck in his chest like a hook.

Rafe tilted his head, eyes narrowing slightly. “Who’s that?” he asked, nudging Topper with his elbow.

Topper followed his gaze and squinted. “Where?”

“End of the bar. The girl with the red tank top.”

Topper laughed. “Oh—her. No idea, man. I’ve seen her around maybe once? Quiet type.”

Rafe nodded slowly, but his eyes didn’t move. “She’s not from Figure Eight.”

“Definitely not,” Topper muttered. “Probably lives somewhere near the cut. Why? You into shy girls now?”

Rafe didn’t answer. He was too busy watching her slide a few bills under her glass and slip off her stool, moving toward the exit with that same soft grace—barely noticed, barely heard. But Rafe noticed. Oh, he noticed.

⸻

The next morning, he caught himself scanning the beach café while waiting for his coffee. The air smelled like espresso and sunscreen, and the usual crowd cluttered the tables—loud college kids, surfers with their boards propped up, a couple of hungover locals.

No red tank top. No soft smile.

He told himself he wasn’t looking. Just curious.

But then came Wednesday.

He’d stopped by the grocery store for water and some snacks before heading out on the boat. Nothing major—just in and out. But as he turned the corner near the cereal aisle, he stopped cold.

There she was.

Hair pulled up loosely, tendrils falling around her face, a soft hoodie hanging off one shoulder. She stood still, comparing two boxes like she was solving a puzzle, her lips pursed slightly in thought.

It was such a normal thing. But watching her—quiet, gentle, completely unaware of how captivating she looked—made something shift in his chest.

Rafe didn’t move toward her. Didn’t say a word. Just lingered at the end of the aisle for a second longer than necessary. Watching her read the ingredients list like it meant something. Like she was the only person in the store who didn’t feel the need to rush.

On Thursday afternoon, he saw her again.

This time at the gas station.

Rafe had pulled into the far pump, windows down, music low. He was texting someone when he noticed movement across the lot—and looked up to see her again. Alone, as always. Filling up her car with one hand tucked into the pocket of her skirt, the breeze catching strands of her hair and lifting them around her face like a damn movie scene.

She had headphones in and was humming faintly to whatever she was listening to, her lips moving with the beat. Oblivious to him. Unbothered. Happy, even.

He didn’t look away. Not even when the pump clicked. Not even when she glanced up briefly and made eye contact for just a second—eyes wide and curious, then flicking back to her phone like she hadn’t noticed him at all.

But Rafe felt that glance like a jolt.

⸻

Friday came with heat and a stormy breeze rolling off the ocean, and Rafe was restless in a way he couldn’t explain. That night, the bar was louder than usual, more packed. The lights lower. Bodies weaving together under pulsing music.

And still—he noticed the second she walked in.

Different shirt this time. A fitted blue one that made her skin glow. She looked a little more confident tonight. A little more sure of herself. Maybe it was the way she laughed with the girl beside her, or the way her eyes scanned the room like she wasn’t looking for anyone but knew she belonged.

Rafe barely heard Topper saying something beside him. He was already sliding off his stool.

This time, he wasn’t going to ask.

This time, he was going to find out for himself.

Rafe weaved through the crowd like he wasn’t even trying, his eyes locked on her the whole way. She’d settled at a high-top near the back, one hand curled around her drink, the other tracing slow, absentminded circles on the rim. Her friend had disappeared into the crowd, probably chasing a guy or the bathroom line, leaving her alone again.

It was his moment.

She looked up when he stopped in front of her, eyes blinking wide, like she hadn’t expected to be approached—not by him, not by someone who carried himself like he owned the room.

Rafe didn’t say anything at first. Just offered a small smirk, a tilt of his head.

“You always sit by yourself?” he asked, voice low and calm.

She blinked, then gave a soft, polite smile. ���Not always.”

“Could’ve fooled me. Seen you here twice now. Both times you looked like you were trying to disappear.”

Her brows lifted, just slightly. “You’ve been watching me?”

He laughed under his breath and shrugged, not denying it. “Hard not to. You don’t exactly blend in, you know.”

That made her smile—small, but real. “I thought I was good at blending in.”

“You’re not,” he said, sitting on the edge of the stool beside her without asking. “You just think you are.”

She glanced at him from beneath her lashes, quiet for a moment. Then: “You have a habit of saying things like you know me.”

“I don’t,” he said easily. “That’s why I’m here.”

Something shifted in her expression—surprise laced with curiosity. She wasn’t used to this, being approached so directly. Especially not by him, with his sharp jaw and summer-gold skin, his buzzed hair and slow, sure confidence that made people part when he walked.

She tilted her head, eyeing him. “What’s your name?”

He smiled. “Rafe.”

“Of course it is.”

He laughed again, head tilting back slightly. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

She shrugged, her fingers still tracing the rim of her glass. “You just… look like a Rafe.”

“Is that good or bad?”

“I haven’t decided yet.”

That made him grin, slow and lazy like it caught him off guard. He leaned in a little, his forearms resting on the table, watching her like she was the only person in the bar.

“Let me know when you do,” he murmured.

She smiled, cheeks tinted with the softest flush, and just as she parted her lips to speak, her friend came stumbling back into view—slurring words and barely staying upright. The light in her expression faded, concern taking over as she reached out to steady the swaying girl. Rafe’s jaw tensed, his gaze flicking away with a quiet sigh. He didn’t know this friend, but he already didn’t like her.

⸻

It wasn’t a bar this time.

It was the small coffee shop tucked between the bookstore and the post office—the one that stayed open late for the night owls and quiet wanderers who didn’t quite fit the OBX rhythm.

Rafe hadn’t meant to stop. He was just driving, restless again, mind too loud for his house. He figured a cup of something strong might settle him.

What he didn’t expect was to push open the glass door and see her at the corner table, curled up with a book and a warm drink in front of her.

She didn’t notice him at first.

Her hair was a little messy from the wind, and she wore an oversized hoodie, sleeves pulled over her hands as she absently turned the page. The light above her made her skin glow soft and warm, like the universe was trying to put a spotlight on her again.

Rafe stood still for a second, hand on the door, the quiet bell above it still jingling behind him.

She glanced up at the sound. And when she saw him, her eyes widened just slightly—recognition flickering there, uncertain but real.

He walked over slowly.

“Didn’t take you for a coffee-at-midnight kind of girl.”

She blinked once. Twice. Then gave a soft shrug, her voice barely above the hum of the shop.

“I like it when it’s quiet.”

Rafe slid his hands into his pockets, watching her. “Me too.”

A pause stretched between them. The smell of espresso and rain drifted in through the cracked front door. Her thumb hovered above the corner of the next page, but she didn’t turn it.

“You mind if I sit?”

She hesitated. Then shook her head, just once. Quietly.

He pulled out the chair across from her and sat, not leaning back, not playing cool. Just… there. Looking at her in that way he did—like he already knew there was something about her he wasn’t going to be able to walk away from.

“What’re you reading?” he asked, voice low.

She slid the book slightly toward him. He didn’t recognize the title.

“You always read in public places like this?”

She gave the smallest smile. “I like being around people… without having to talk.”

That made him smile, too. Not out of amusement—just understanding.

“I get that,” he said. “Sometimes talking ruins it.”

She nodded. And just like that, the silence returned—but it didn’t feel empty.

She didn’t ask why he was there. Didn’t press him with small talk or pretend to be bold. She just sat there, sipping her drink, her eyes occasionally flicking up to his like she wasn’t sure if she was allowed to look too long.

“You’re different now.”

His voice broke the quiet between them, low and thoughtful. She looked up from the page she hadn’t really been reading—just staring at the same paragraph for five straight minutes.

“What do you mean?” she asked, her voice as soft as the steam rising from her cup.

Rafe’s bright blue eyes met hers, and something about the way he looked at her made her chest tighten. Not in a bad way. In a good way.

“I just mean that yesterday you seemed more…” He paused, squinting a little like he was trying to find the right word. “Outgoing?”

Her lips curved before she could stop them. She looked down, teeth catching her bottom lip as she tried to hide the smile that wanted to give her away.

“Yeah?” she murmured.

Rafe leaned forward a little, elbows on the table now, watching her closely. “You didn’t seem quiet.”

She shrugged, still looking at the rim of her mug instead of him. “It’s different in a bar.”

“How so?”

“There’s noise. People. Lights. It’s easier to slip in and out of things when no one’s paying attention.”

He tilted his head. “I was paying attention.”

She glanced up, a little caught off guard. He said it so plainly, like it was the simplest thing in the world.

“I noticed you before you even looked at me,” he added, voice quieter now, like he wasn’t used to saying things like that out loud. “You didn’t try to be noticed. That’s why I couldn’t stop.”

She swallowed, unsure what to say to something that honest. She wasn’t used to being seen like that—especially not by someone like him. Not by Rafe Cameron, who usually lived in loud rooms, all swagger and certainty.

He rubbed the side of his thumb along his coffee cup. “But here? You’re… softer. Quieter.”

She exhaled a small breath. “This is more me.”

“I like this version.”

Her eyes flicked to his, startled by the weight of his words. But he wasn’t teasing. He wasn’t trying to charm her.

He meant it.

And she felt it—somewhere deep, somewhere warm, like the heat from her drink soaking into her bones.

“I don’t really talk to people much,” she admitted, voice low, almost shy.

“Then why are you talking to me?”

A smile ghosted across her lips—small, barely there, but real. Rafe caught it and smirked, something a little softer than usual curling at the edge of his mouth. He leaned in just a bit, catching the faint trace of her perfume—sweet, delicate, like something you’d only notice if you were close enough to listen carefully.

“Because you—” she started, then stopped, eyes flicking upward like she was reaching for the right words in the air between them.

He watched her quietly, the corner of his mouth twitching with curiosity.

“Hmm?” he hummed, low and easy.

Without thinking, he shifted in his seat, the distance between them thinning. His arm came to rest just beside hers—close enough that the warmth of him brushed her skin, but not quite touching.

She noticed.

He could tell by the way her breath caught just slightly. But she didn’t move away.

And neither did he.

“You—you noticed me,” she finished softly. “Most people don’t.”

Rafe’s brows pulled together, his smirk fading into something more thoughtful. He hadn’t expected that. He liked that she noticed he’d seen her—that she felt it. But the way she said it, like being overlooked was normal for her… that didn’t sit right.

He looked at her for a long moment, like he was trying to see what the hell everyone else had been missing.

“How?” he said quietly. “How could people not notice you?”

Her eyes flicked down again, almost like she regretted saying anything.

But Rafe leaned in just slightly, his voice lower now. “I don’t get it.”

She gave a small, almost self-conscious shrug. “I’m quiet. I kind of… fade into the background.”

He shook his head slowly. “You don’t fade.”

He meant it. Every word.

“Not to me.”

And maybe it was how he said it—gentle, but certain—or the way his eyes didn’t move from hers for a second too long, but something about that moment settled deep in her chest like warmth spreading through a cold room.

The words hung there, warmer than the coffee between them. Her fingers tightened slightly around the mug, eyes darting up to his before she looked away again—half-flustered, half-curious.

“You’re kind of intense,” she said softly, a tiny smile tugging at her lips.

Rafe smirked, leaning his forearms on the table like he was settling in. “Yeah?”

She nodded, barely. “You stare a lot.”

He didn’t even try to deny it. “Can you blame me?”

Her eyes met his again—caught. He was still close, that same subtle lean that made her heart feel like it had moved up into her throat.

“I don’t really know what to do when people flirt with me,” she admitted, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear.

“That’s okay,” Rafe said, voice low and lazy. “I’m good with slow.”

She looked at him—really looked at him—and for the first time, didn’t look away so fast.

“Are you always like this?” she asked, half teasing, half breathless.

“Only when I’m sitting across from someone who makes quiet look this good.”

That got her. Her cheeks flushed, her mouth opening like she had something to say back—but no words came.

So he just smiled, all ease and low heat, and added, “You’re cute when you’re flustered, by the way.”

She let out a quiet breath of laughter, shaking her head. “You’re a lot.”

He simply smirked, like he was proud of himself. Not arrogant, not overconfident—just smug enough to make her roll her eyes in the gentlest way.

She shook her head, amused, lips tugging into a smile she didn’t bother hiding this time. “You really think you’re charming, huh?”

Rafe shrugged, leaning back just enough to stretch his long legs under the table. “No,” he said casually, sipping his coffee. “I know I am.”

She laughed—quiet and unexpected, like it slipped out before she could stop it.

“That confident?” she teased.

“That convincing,” he shot back, eyes sparkling now. “You’re smiling, aren’t you?”

She raised a brow. “Maybe I just find overconfident guys entertaining.”

He grinned, clearly enjoying the back-and-forth. “Good. I find quiet girls kind of irresistible.”

That caught her off guard again. She blinked, but didn’t look away this time.

“Kind of?” she challenged softly.

He tilted his head, lips twitching. “Fine. Completely.”

Her smile broke wider, and for a second, neither of them said anything. Just the two of them, tucked in a booth that somehow felt smaller and warmer now, like the rest of the coffee shop had faded out of focus.

She could feel his gaze on her—warm, steady, almost too much. Slowly, she turned to face him, her voice light but curious.

“What?”

Rafe only shrugged, the smirk on his lips softening into something more sincere. “You’re just… really pretty.”

He said it so simply. No hesitation, no performance—like it was just a fact, like he didn’t even realize the way it knocked the breath right out of her lungs.

Like it didn’t send butterflies spiraling through her chest.

But it did.

And somehow, that made it mean even more.

Her cheeks flushed, the kind of blush that crept slowly but burned warm, and she dropped her gaze, lips pressing together to hide the shy smile tugging at them.

He chuckled under his breath, the sound low and amused, before reaching out gently. His finger brushed under her chin, tilting it up so her eyes met his again.

“Don’t go all shy on me now,” he murmured, eyes flickering over her face.

She swallowed, still a little breathless, her voice barely above a whisper. “Kind of hard not to when you say things like that.”

He smiled—closer now, a little crooked, a little knowing. “Then I’ll say it again.”

And he would’ve, too.

But for a second, the silence between them said enough.

They lingered like that—close, quiet, caught in something neither of them really wanted to break. Her eyes still held his, her cheeks still pink, but she didn’t pull away. If anything, she leaned into the moment just slightly, like she didn’t mind the way he was looking at her now.

“Come on,” he said gently, nodding toward the parking lot. “I’ll walk you.”

She hesitated for a second, then nodded, slipping her bag over her shoulder. They stepped outside together, the early evening air cool but not cold, dusk settling in around them like a soft blanket.

For a minute or two, they just walked. No rush. Their footsteps were slow, falling into an easy rhythm. He didn’t say anything, but his hand brushed hers once—twice—and by the third time, he let his fingers lightly graze along her knuckles, just enough to make her glance up at him.

She didn’t pull away.

When they reached her car, she paused, turning to face him again. He leaned against the passenger side door like he wasn’t quite ready to let her go.

“You always hang out at coffee shops alone?” he asked, teasing gently.

She smiled. “You always talk to strangers who don’t say much?”

His grin widened. “Only the really cute ones.”

That earned him a quiet laugh and another look—shy, but not retreating.

He glanced down, then back at her. “Would it be weird if I asked to see you again?”

Her heart skipped.

“No,” she said softly, then added, “It’d be weirder if you didn’t.”

That made him smile—real, slow, a little proud.

“I’ll text you,” he said, stepping back so she could open her door.

She looked up at him one last time before slipping inside. “Okay.”

Rafe watched her pull away, hands in his pockets, his heart thudding somewhere unfamiliar in his chest.

She’d been quiet. Sweet. Shy.

But damn—she stuck with him.

And he had a feeling she wasn’t going to fade anytime soon.

[sunsetmade]

Car Troubles

Rafe Cameron x Reader

Summary: A broken down car leads her to meeting the one and only Rafe Cameron, except that he’s different from what she’s heard.

Her car gave out with a pathetic sputter just as the road began to curve. One last gasp, a resigned wheeze—and then silence. She turned the key again, hopeful, then desperate. Nothing. Not even a click.

The steering wheel creaked beneath her hands as she leaned forward, pressing her forehead lightly against it. Of course. She was already lost, her phone had been on one bar for the last hour, and now the car had decided it was done trying.

She exhaled softly, trying to stay calm. No use getting upset—things always had a way of working themselves out. That’s what her mom always said. Still, she sat there for a moment, letting the hush of the late afternoon settle around her.

Then, quietly, she opened the door and stepped out onto the gravel shoulder. A soft breeze tugged at the hem of her dress, lifting it just enough to brush her knees. Trees lined the narrow, winding road, and beyond them were glimpses of enormous houses set back on wide, gated properties.

This wasn’t exactly the neighborhood she was supposed to be driving through. The GPS had rerouted her twice after a wrong turn, and the voice had gone silent about ten minutes ago. Now she was somewhere deep in Figure Eight, the kind of place where the gates had call boxes and every house looked like it belonged in a magazine.

She lifted the hood like she’d seen people do in movies. The sight beneath made her feel hopeless—just a tangle of metal and pipes and… maybe a bird nest? Her bottom lip tucked between her teeth. She brushed her hair behind her ear and looked up the road, squinting at the haze of sunlight in the distance.

That’s when she heard the slow crunch of footsteps behind her.

Her spine straightened.

They weren’t hurried, or heavy. Just calm. Confident.

She turned, heart fluttering—but not in fear. Not exactly.

He stepped out from behind the iron gate of a nearby driveway, tall and golden from the sun, his hands tucked loosely into the pockets of his gray sweats. A white t-shirt resting over his toned chest. He didn’t say anything at first, just took her in with unreadable eyes, blue and sharp beneath thick lashes.

She swallowed. He was handsome in the way that made your breath catch, like you weren’t sure whether to stare or look away out of sheer politeness. Her instinct was the latter—so she dropped her gaze, brushing imaginary dust from her skirt.

“Car trouble?” His voice was low, smooth, almost lazy.

She nodded, glancing up quickly. “Y-yeah. It just… stopped.”

He drifted closer, slow and casual like he had all the time in the world. “You’re a little far from town.”

“I took a wrong turn,” she said softly. “I didn’t mean to end up here. I think the GPS got confused.”

His lips tugged into something between a smirk and a smile. “They usually do out here. This neighborhood doesn’t like to be found.”

Her brows pulled together slightly. “That sounds ominous.”

He shrugged. “It’s quiet. People pay for that.”

She didn’t know what to say to that, so she just looked back at her car, wishing she’d worn something a little less soft, a little less stuck-in-the-middle-of-nowhere.

“Pop the hood?” he asked.

“Oh—already did.” She stepped aside quickly. “But I, um… I don’t really know what I’m looking at.”

He leaned forward, peering into the engine like he half-cared and half-expected to find something obvious. She stood awkwardly off to the side, twisting the hem of her dress between her fingers, watching him from under her lashes.

He didn’t say much as he poked around. Just let the silence stretch, heavy but not uncomfortable.

After a minute, he stood upright again, brushing his hands on the sides of his sweatpants. “It’s not the battery. Probably overheated. Could be worse.”

“Oh.” Her voice was small. “That’s… good?”

He gave a slight nod, studying her again. “You got anyone coming to get you?”

She hesitated, fingers tightening around the strap of her bag. “No service.”

His jaw flexed slightly. “Figures.”

A beat passed. She didn’t know what to say. Her usual sunshine charm—smiling through the awkward, making conversation to fill space—flickered nervously behind her ribs. It was hard to think clearly when he looked at her like that.

Like he’d already figured her out.

He finally broke the quiet. “You can wait at my place if you want. Just up the hill.”

Her eyes widened slightly. “Oh, um—I wouldn’t want to intrude.”

“You wouldn’t,” he said simply. “And it’s better than waiting out here.”

He wasn’t pushy. Wasn’t overly warm, either. Just… calm. Certain.

Still, she hesitated, fingers fidgeting against her bag strap. “You live nearby?”

He nodded toward the tree line. “There. Tannyhill.”

Her eyes followed his gesture. She hadn’t noticed the sprawling house behind the trees—half hidden by ivy, elegant and old. It looked like it belonged in a Gatsby novel.

She glanced back at him. There was something unreadable in his expression. Like he was amused she hadn’t known. Like he was used to people knowing his name before he said a word.

And suddenly, she felt very small in her sundress and scuffed sneakers.

But still—his offer was kind. And he hadn’t made her feel unsafe. Just… a little off balance.

“I guess that’s better than standing on the side of the road,” she said softly, offering a hesitant smile.

Something flickered in his eyes. Not quite surprise. But close.

“You always this trusting?” he asked.

She flushed. “I—I mean, you seem…”

She stopped herself, flustered. Her voice dipped. “You don’t seem like a bad person.”

He laughed under his breath, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You’d be surprised.”

The air shifted. She blinked up at him, unsure what he meant—but he was already turning, nodding for her to follow.

“This way.”

She trailed after him, clutching her bag tighter, her heart tapping against her ribs—not from nerves, not exactly. Just… the weight of something beginning.

The path to Tannyhill was all smooth stone and sprawling shade trees, with carefully trimmed hedges that seemed too perfect to be real. She followed Rafe up the winding drive, sneakers crunching quietly on gravel, her gaze flicking between the towering columns of the house and the sweep of the sky above it.

He walked a few steps ahead, hands still tucked in his pockets, head tilted toward her just enough to make her wonder if he was listening in case she spoke.

She didn’t—not yet.

The mansion looked even more expensive up close. Imposing and quiet, like the kind of place where people didn’t raise their voices. It made her nervous, though she couldn’t say why.

“Are you always this quiet?” Rafe asked suddenly, not looking back.

She blinked, startled. “Oh. Um—sorry. I didn’t mean to be.”

He glanced at her then, a sideways look, the ghost of a smirk tugging at his mouth. “Didn’t say it was a bad thing.”

She looked down, trying not to smile too hard.

Rafe turned and pulled open the heavy front door like it weighed nothing. “Come on in. Shoes off, though.” He said remembering how Rose got onto him about it.

“Right.” She toed them off on the entry rug, setting them neatly to the side. Her eyes swept over the foyer—high ceilings, soft light, polished floors you could see your reflection in. The silence inside was thicker than the one outside, like the house itself was holding its breath.

She stood there for a moment, unsure of where to go.

Rafe didn’t seem to notice her hesitance—or maybe he did, but didn’t comment. “Kitchen’s through here. You want water or something else?”

“Water’s perfect,” she said quickly, following him through a wide archway into a sunlit kitchen with marble counters and barstools that probably cost more than her car.

He grabbed a bottle from the fridge and handed it to her. Their fingers brushed.

“Thanks,” she said softly, unscrewing the cap.

He leaned against the counter, arms crossed now, watching her. Not in a rude way. Just… focused.

“You got a name?” he asked after a beat.

She looked up, a little startled, cheeks coloring. “Oh. Yeah. Sorry—um, I’m …..”

“…..,” he repeated, slow like he was testing how it sounded. “Pretty.”

Her eyes widened just a little. “Oh. Thank you. Yours?”

“Rafe.”

She paused. “Rafe Cameron?”

His mouth twitched. “That’s the one.”

“I’ve… heard that name before, I think.” She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “You’re kind of known around here.”

“Depends who you ask,” he muttered.

She didn’t respond right away. But her eyes stayed on him longer this time.

He wasn’t what she expected.

Everyone always described Rafe Cameron like a warning sign. Too rich, too reckless, too angry. But the version standing in front of her didn’t look like a storm waiting to happen. He looked… tired. A little guarded. Like he didn’t let people in unless he wanted to.

But something in the way he looked at her—like he was trying to figure her out—made her feel oddly steady.

“So,” she said, fiddling with her water bottle. “Is this what you do? Rescue stranded girls from the side of the road?”

He smirked. “Only the cute ones.”

She laughed—quick and quiet, eyes darting to the floor. “I walked into that one, didn’t I?”

“Pretty much.”

She bit the inside of her cheek to hide the grin. “I promise I’m not usually this helpless.”

“I don’t mind it,” he said, tilting his head slightly. “It suits you.”

Her brows lifted, but he didn’t elaborate.

Instead, he pushed off the counter. “Come on. You want to wait outside? It’s nicer on the porch.”

She followed him back through the house, trailing fingers lightly along the edge of a table as she passed. When they stepped out onto the porch, the breeze caught her hair and Rafe looked at her from the corner of his eye.

The sun hit her face in full, and he had to blink. Damn.

There was something about her in the light—glowing like a page from a dream. Not loud, not flashy. Just there, in the kind of way that made it hard to look anywhere else.

He dropped onto the porch swing and gestured for her to do the same.

She hesitated, then sat beside him—leaving just enough space to be polite.

He let the silence sit for a second.

Then: “So. What do you do when your car does work?”

That got a soft smile. “You mean, like… for fun?”

“Sure.”

She tilted her head, thinking. “I like painting. Not like good painting—just little things. Flowers. Mushrooms. I put them on cards and give them to my friends.”

His mouth curved. “That’s kind of adorable.”

She rolled her eyes, embarrassed. “Don’t say it like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you’re going to make fun of me.”

“I’m not,” he said, and something in his voice turned sincere for a moment. “I mean it.”

She glanced over at him, then back down at her hands. “What about you?”

“What about me?”

“What do you do for fun?”

He leaned back, letting the swing creak beneath his weight. “You mean when I’m not rescuing helpless girls?”

She gave him a look. “I said I’m not usually helpless.”

“I’m teasing,” he said smoothly. “Sort of.”

She shook her head, but she was smiling now.

“I don’t know,” he said after a beat. “I surf sometimes. Run. Go out when I feel like it.”

“You live here alone?”

“For now,” he said simply. “It’s better than it used to be.”

She looked like she wanted to ask more, but held back.

Rafe didn’t mind. He liked that about her—curious but careful. Sweet without needing to prove it.

“So what are you gonna do?” he asked.

“I guess I’ll wait until it’s not overheating anymore?” She said but really she was asking him.

Rafe smirked nodding at her answer.

“Then you’re stuck here a little longer.” His voice went lower, softer. “Poor thing.”

She laughed, covering her face with her hands for a second. “Stop saying things like that.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re flirting with me.”

“I know.”

That caught her off guard. She lowered her hands slowly. “You’re not even pretending you’re not.”

“Nope.”

She bit her lip, trying not to smile. “Is that a rich-boy confidence thing?”

He shrugged. “Maybe. Or maybe you’re just too easy to flirt with.”

That shut her up—just for a second. Then she smiled, eyes warm. “You’re kind of annoying.”

“But you’re still sitting here,” he said.

“Not like I have much of a choice.” She smiled jokingly.

He rolls his eyes and looked away out into his lawn that stretched miles upon miles.

The breeze moved gently between them. And when her shoulder brushed his by accident, she didn’t pull away right away.

Rafe noticed.

His gaze flicked toward her, lingering for half a second too long before returning to the trees ahead.

But the corner of his mouth twitched again—barely there, but she saw it.

“You could’ve waited in the car,” he said, voice quieter now, more thoughtful. “Could’ve locked the doors. Called roadside, if you had service.”

She tilted her head toward him, brow raised gently. “Are you saying I made a bad decision?”

“I’m saying,” he replied, turning his head just enough to meet her eyes, “you made a lucky one.”

That made her stomach flip. In a good way.

Maybe it was the sun, or the stillness, or the way his voice dropped just slightly at the end—but she felt it. That subtle tug in the air. Like something leaning forward between them.

She tried to laugh it off, breaking eye contact as she reached to brush hair from her face. “Well, I’m glad you think so. My mom would definitely disagree.”

“Oh yeah?” he asked, stretching one arm along the back of the swing. It brought him closer—not quite touching, but she could feel the warmth of him behind her now.

“She thinks I’m too trusting,” she said. “Too quick to see the good in people.”

He hummed, low in his chest. “You probably are.”

She blinked, a little caught off guard. “Wow. Brutal honesty.”

“I didn’t say it was a bad thing,” he added, his tone softer now. “Just means you’ve probably been hurt before.”

That shut her up.

Not because it was rude—because it wasn’t. It was unexpectedly observant.

She looked over at him, brows drawn, lips parting slightly like she wanted to ask what made him say that—but he was already looking away again, jaw flexed.

Suddenly, she wanted to know what had hurt him.

The swing creaked beneath them, the space between their shoulders nearly gone now.

“I think it’s better to assume the best,” she said finally, voice quieter. “Even if it means getting let down sometimes.”

He looked back at her, eyes lingering on her face a little longer this time. “Yeah,” he said. “That sounds like something someone like you would say.”

She smiled. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Rafe tilted his head, almost smiling. “You’re like… a daisy.”

She blinked. “A daisy?”

He nodded once. “Bright. A little out of place out here. But still standing.”

That might’ve been the most romantic thing anyone had ever said to her—and it came from a guy in gray sweatpants and a half-smirk who looked like he didn’t believe in romance at all.

She looked down, flustered. “You’re not as scary as people say.”

“You don’t know me yet,” he murmured.

She looked up, her voice featherlight. “Maybe I’d like to.”

That did it—Rafe leaned back, grinning, almost smug. “Careful, sunshine. You’re flirting with me now.”

She laughed, hiding her face again. “You started it.”

“You kept it going.”

“I was being polite.”

He raised a brow. “Sure you were.”

The porch fell quiet again, but it wasn’t awkward. It felt like the lull after a song you didn’t want to end.

She glanced sideways, heart tapping a little faster now. “You really don’t mind me being here?”

Rafe shook his head, gaze on the trees. “Nah. Kind of nice, actually.”

She smiled to herself.

Just then, her phone buzzed—a tiny miracle. One bar.

She pulled it out quickly, blinking at the sudden signal. “Oh. I might actually be able to call a tow.”

Rafe didn’t say anything right away. Just leaned over to glance at her screen, then leaned back again.

“You could,” he said. “Or…”

She glanced up. “Or?”

He shrugged, playing it cool, but his voice dipped just slightly. “Or you could stay a little longer. I was about to make something to eat.”

She blinked. “You cook?”

“Not well,” he said dryly. “But I’ve got a mean takeout order and a microwave that works half the time.”

She laughed again. “That’s… a tempting offer.”

“Come on,” he said, standing and offering her his hand without overthinking it. “You haven’t even seen the view from the back porch yet.”

She took it—small fingers slipping into his warm palm—and let him pull her up.

“Just for a little longer,” she said.

But they both knew she wasn’t in a hurry to leave.

Not now.

Not with him.

Not when the breeze felt this easy and the world had gone soft around the edges.

And definitely not when Rafe Cameron looked at her like she’d just brought sunlight straight to his front door.

[sunsetmade]

Blank Face

Rafe Cameron x Reader

Summary: Ward’s words cut deep, deeper than normal. But she’s there to pick up all the broken pieces and remind him who he really is.

She didn’t mean to hear it.

She’d been walking through the side yard, sun catching on the condensation of the lemonade glass in her hand, headed toward the back door like she always did. Rafe had asked her to come by. Something about boredom. Or needing backup against Rose’s weird dinner party. She wasn’t sure. She just came.

That’s what they did, her and Rafe. Showed up. Even if they didn’t always say it out loud.

But as she rounded the back porch, she heard voices—sharp, hard, cutting through the thick Outer Banks heat like a blade. Ward’s voice.

“You’re lucky I let you stay under this roof. The amount of embarrassment you bring on this family—Jesus, Rafe.”

Her footsteps faltered.

“You think anyone on this island takes you seriously anymore?” Ward continued, tone curling with disdain. “They look at you and see a screw-up. Spoiled. Out of control. And you prove them right every time.”

Rafe’s voice came quieter, rougher. “I didn’t ask for your approval.”

“Yeah, well. You sure as hell need it if you want a future. Which—news flash—you’re flushing down the goddamn drain.”

She stood frozen, one foot still halfway on the porch step, fingers tight around the sweating glass. She shouldn’t be hearing this. But something kept her there. A weight in her chest she couldn’t ignore.

Ward went on for another minute. Rafe didn’t say much. Just silence, heavy and resigned.

And then the door slammed.

She barely got the lemonade onto the porch railing before it slipped from her hand entirely. The sound of glass clinking against wood startled her, but not enough to snap her out of it.

Ward’s voice had cut through her like ice, but Rafe’s silence—that hit harder.

⸻

She found him almost an hour later.

Not at the beach. Not with Topper or any of the others. No, he was alone, exactly where she’d figured he’d be—parked at the far end of the Tannyhill property, leaning on the hood of his truck in the shade. His arms were crossed. Head down. Shoulders hunched.

She approached quietly, slowly, the sound of gravel crunching under her sandals the only warning she gave.

“You look like the poster child for ‘leave me alone,’” she said softly.

Rafe glanced over, not startled. He’d heard her. Probably the second she walked up. His eyes were rimmed in red—not crying, but… something close.

“Didn’t expect you to still come,” he muttered.

“I always come.”

He looked away, jaw tight. “Yeah, well. You shouldn’t have.”

She crossed the distance, leaning her hip against the hood beside him, close but not too close. “You want me to leave?”

He didn’t answer.

That was answer enough.

For a moment, neither of them said anything. The only sound was the wind through the trees, and a distant lawnmower. Rafe stared down at the ground like it had something to say.

“I heard him,” she said, finally. Quiet. Honest.

His shoulders stiffened.

“I didn’t mean to. I was just walking up. But I heard what he said.”

“Yeah?” Rafe said bitterly, tilting his head back to stare at the sky. “Hope you enjoyed the show.”

“Rafe…”

He shook his head. “Look, you don’t have to give me the whole ‘you’re better than that’ speech, okay? I’ve heard it. Doesn’t change anything.”

“That’s not what I was going to say.”

He finally looked at her. Not guarded. Just… tired.

“I hate how he talks to you,” she said, her voice breaking around the edges. “Like you’re nothing.”

His mouth twitched, like a laugh was about to form, but it died before it could start. “He’s not wrong.”

“He’s completely wrong.”

Rafe let out a breath, one hand dragging over his buzzed hair. “You don’t know, alright? You don’t know the half of it.”

“I know you,” she said, with more force than she’d expected. “I know you better than anyone else. And I know you’re not the screw-up he says you are.”

Rafe let out a soft, almost amused scoff. “You really think that?”

“I do.”

He turned toward her, eyes tired, unreadable. “You think I’m a good guy or something?”

“I think you try. I think you carry more than anyone realizes. I think you get stuck in your head because people expect you to mess up, and it makes you feel like there’s no point in trying. But you still do. You still try.”

He looked at her like she’d just cracked something open he wasn’t ready to deal with.

“You’re the only one who says that,” he said, voice low.

She nodded. “I know.”

He blinked slowly, jaw working like he wanted to argue, but couldn’t find the words.

“You’re not broken,” she said. “You’re just… hurt. And angry. And you’ve never really been given space to be anything else.”

His throat bobbed. He looked away again.

She didn’t reach for him. Not yet. But she let her hand rest next to his on the hood of the truck, fingers barely touching. The contact was featherlight, but he didn’t move.

“You can pretend like it doesn’t matter,” she added, softer now. “But I saw the way you looked after. When he left.”

He didn’t answer.

“You looked like someone who wanted to prove him wrong,” she said. “More than anything.”

That got him.

His eyes flickered back to hers—startled, almost, like she’d said something too close to the truth.

“You make it really hard to lie to myself when you talk like that,” he muttered.

“Good.”

The corners of his mouth twitched, but it didn’t become a smile. Just something softer. Something barely there but real.

“I don’t know what the hell I’m doing,” he admitted, almost under his breath.

“Me neither,” she said. “But we don’t have to figure it out all at once.”

He went quiet again. Then, after a long pause: “You ever get tired of this?”

“What?”

“Trying to pull me back from the edge.”

She turned to him fully then, really meeting his eyes. “Never.”

He looked like he didn’t believe her.

But he also looked like maybe, maybe, he wanted to.

⸻

They didn’t move for a while. Just sat there, side by side on the truck’s hood, letting the silence fill in the cracks.

Eventually, he tilted his head toward her.

“You wanna go somewhere?” he asked.

She raised a brow. “Like where?”

“Anywhere but here.”

She considered it. Then nodded. “Yeah. Okay.”

He jumped down first and held a hand out to her. She took it, warm and familiar, and for a moment longer than necessary, he didn’t let go.

⸻

They drove down the coast with the windows down and music low. Not talking, not needing to. She watched him out of the corner of her eye. He looked more relaxed now, but there was still tension in his jaw. Like he was waiting for it all to crash down again.

She reached across the center console, brushing her hand over his. His pinky hooked around hers.

“Hey,” she said.

He glanced at her.

“You’re not alone, Rafe.”

He didn’t answer right away. Just nodded once, almost imperceptibly. Then, finally: “Yeah. I know.”

And maybe he did.

Or maybe he didn’t.

But for the first time in a long time, he looked like someone who wanted to believe he could be more than what his father said. More than what everyone expected.

And with her beside him, hand still brushing his, maybe he finally would.

They drove until the sun dipped low, painting the sky in soft gold and lilac streaks. Neither of them had said much since leaving Tannyhill, but the silence wasn’t heavy anymore. It was the kind that felt understood.

They ended up parked by the marina, where the world was quiet except for the water brushing against the dock and the distant cry of gulls. Rafe sat on the tailgate of his truck again, elbows on his knees, hands flexing like he wanted to say something but couldn’t quite find his grip on the words.

She sat beside him, their shoulders brushing. She didn’t press—just stayed close. Steady. Like always.

After a long moment, his voice came low. “Most people look at me and see what they want. What they’ve decided I am. I don’t even think they hear me anymore.”

She looked over at him, expression soft.

“But you…” His voice faltered, then steadied. “You see me. And not just the parts I try to hide. You see the whole thing. Even the mess.”

She didn’t say anything, just slid her hand over his.

Rafe’s eyes dropped to where their fingers met. He didn’t pull away. If anything, he tugged her hand closer, turning it over so her palm rested against his and his thumb could trace soft, slow circles there.

“I don’t say stuff like this,” he said, not looking at her. “You know that.”

“I know.”

“But I need you to hear this anyway.”

He turned to her then, eyes dark but open—like the words he’d always kept locked up were slowly beginning to spill.

“Thank you,” he said, and it wasn’t casual. It was weighty, from somewhere deeper than she’d ever seen him let anyone reach. “For being there. For not giving up on me. For making me feel like I’m not… unfixable.”

Her throat tightened. She looked at him like she could see every cracked, hurting piece he was trying to hold together.

“I don’t think you’re broken,” she whispered. “I think you’re just hurt. And you’re healing. And that’s allowed.”

Rafe’s jaw flexed, but his gaze didn’t leave hers. Then, without saying anything, he lifted her joined hands and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to the back of her knuckles.

Her breath caught.

“I don’t know what this is,” he said quietly. “Me and you. I just know when you’re around, I don’t feel like I’m drowning.”

Her chest ached in the best kind of way. She leaned her shoulder against his and tipped her head lightly onto it.

“You don’t have to figure it out tonight,” she murmured. “Just let me stay.”

He leaned into her a little more, breathing out like her presence alone let him drop a weight he didn’t realize he’d been carrying.

“I want you to,” he said.

She looked up at him then, and for once, there wasn’t anything guarded in his face. Just something raw and open and real.

His hand let go of hers only so he could wrap an arm around her waist, drawing her closer, like he needed her there—needed her. And she let herself curl into him, resting her cheek against his chest, hearing the steadiness of his heart underneath it all.

“You’re not alone, Rafe,” she whispered again, even softer this time.

His hand splayed warm against her back, holding her like a lifeline.

“I know,” he murmured into her hair. “Because you’re here.”

And for now, in that quiet cocoon of shared breath and soft touches, that was more than enough.

It was everything