hey queen I loveeeee bitchy pogue reader she’s literally what I aspire to be and their dynamic is my fav thing ever ever ever
can I request the proposal/wedding I love them together sm you wrote her character SO WELL
thank you soooo much!! 💘i love writing for her cause im also emotionally constipated but a lover girl deep down lmao, she's very much a part of me, hope you enjoy🥰
┌── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──┐┌── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──┐┌── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──┐
You were sprawled on the bow of the boat—his boat, naturally—feet dangling, a beer sweating in your hand, sunglasses sliding down your nose while you watched him tie off at the little private dock.
“Careful, princess,” you called, “Don’t want you to chip a nail. Or worse—do some manual labor for once.”
Rafe didn't bother looking up, “Keep running your mouth, baby. See where it gets you tonight.”
You snorted. “Promises, promises."
He was taking forever to tie off, you were pretty sure.
You flicked your gaze over to him, broad shoulders, perfect posture, even when he was doing manual labor, that stupid gold chain glinting against his collarbone, which you’d yanked on more times than you could count, usually while calling him every name in the book or in bed.
He’d been there for… what, three full minutes? Four?
You propped yourself up on one elbow, squinting against the sun.
Normally, he did this shit like it was nothing, muscle memory from a lifetime of boats and docks and “yes, Dad, I know how to secure a line.” One smooth loop, yank, done.
Today, he was fucking fumbling, the rope slipping through his fingers, redoing the knot twice. Muttering something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like “come on, you piece of shit.”
You watched him for another ten seconds, brow furrowing.
Weird. Really fucking weird.
Either he was drunk (impossible, he’d only had one beer and you’d watched him nurse it), or something was up. You sat all the way up, legs dangling again, beer forgotten beside you.
“Country Club. You good over there?”
He didn’t look at you, continuing to glare at the rope.
“You’re taking longer to tie a bowline than it takes me to tie my shoes. And I’m shit at knots.”
He exhaled sharply through his nose and redid the loop. Again.
You tilted your head. “Seriously. You need help? I can come over there and do it for you.”
He was rubbing the back of his neck, the classic Rafe tell when he was rattled. You’d seen it at least five times total. Once when his dad almost caught you both in his office. Once when you walked out after a fight and didn’t come back for three days. Once when you got jumped at a party and he thought you were more hurt than you let on.
He finally gave up on the knot, leaving it half-assed, which was a crime in Rafe Cameron World and turned to walk over to you.
“Gonna tell me why you’re acting like a virgin on prom night, or do I have to guess?”
Something in his eyes made your sarcasm die on your tongue. He was towering over you, hands on his hips, as if about to lecture you. Which, historically, usually ended with your back against something and his hand over your mouth.
Your mind started racing in ugly circles. Was he breaking up with you? No. Stupid. He wouldn’t fumble a knot for ten minutes to dump you. Is he sick? Cancer? Heart thing? Or—fuck—did something happen with Wheezie? Rose? Ward?
You swung your legs back onto the deck and stood up fully, closing the last foot of distance. You grabbed the front of his shirt, fisting the soft cotton right over his heart.
“Rafe, you’re freaking me out. What’s wrong?”
“I’ve been thinking,” he started.
You snapped your mouth closed only because he wasn’t mean about it. He sounded...scary soft, which wasn't unusual around you but still scared the living shit out of you sometimes.
When he immediately dropped to one knee, everything inside you screamed abort abort abort.
“Did you—?” You lurched forward. “Are you okay? Did you twist something?”
“You just went down like you got shot. What the fuck?”
"Did you hurt your knee? You okay?”
He blinked up at you, offended, cheeks glowing more than the setting sun. “I’m proposing, you idiot.”
A velvet box appeared between his fingers.
Had been there the whole time?
You pluzzely stared at the little thing. "What?”
Rafe’s jaw ticked; it only happened when he was trying very hard not to laugh or strangle you.
The sun was suddenly way too bright, the water loud, your heartbeat way too fucking fast in your ears. Instead of the graceful, movie-perfect moment you’d seen in approximately zero real-life relationships, your first instinct had been to lunge forward.
Rafe’s brows snapped together as you repeated his words from a minute ago. “What?”
“Get up,” You said it louder this time, reaching down to grab his bicep, thinking you could physically haul all six-foot-something of him off the deck. “Get the fuck up, Rafe. What do you mean you’re proposing?”
He tilted his head, eyes narrowing, trying to decide if you were serious or having an aneurysm.
“I mean exactly what I said,” he answered slowly, “I’m asking you to marry me.
“You’re—what?” Your mouth opened. “You’re fucking with me.”
“I’m literally on one knee holding a ring box. Does this look like a prank to you?”
You glanced around wildly, expecting Topper or Kelce to pop out from behind the bimini with a camera and a “gotcha!” But it was just you, Rafe, and the stupidly romantic orange-pink smear of sunset behind his head.
You let go of his arm and took a full step back, nearly tripping over your own abandoned beer bottle.
“No. Nope. You—stand up right now. This isn’t funny.”
Holy fucking shit. Rafe motherfucking Cameron was asking you to marry him. The girl who threw his keys into the Intracoastal because he called your new bikini “distracting.” The girl who told him on your third date that you’d rather die than ever wear white to a wedding. The girl who—oh shit—he’s looking at you like you’re about to bolt and he’s already calculating how fast he can tackle you if you do.
“You do know what proposing means, right?!”
He gave you the flattest look in his arsenal. “Yeah, pretty sure I do.”
“Well fucking duh!” you burst out, voice cracking on the last word because your throat had gone desert-dry. “I just—holy shit."
His free hand shot out and grabbed your wrist, yanking you down to where you were crouched in front of him. You could spot the faint freckles across his nose that only showed up in golden hour.
Your eyes darted to the box again, which was still closed. He hadn’t opened it yet, waiting for you to stop losing it first.
“This is insane. You know that, right?"
You gestured wildly at yourself, the bikini top askew from the earlier makeout session, salt-crusted hair, chipped nail polish, the faint beer stain on your shorts from when you’d spilled it laughing at one of his dumb jokes twenty minutes ago.
“And you still want to—what? Put a ring on it? Forever-and-ever-amen?”
He tilted his head. “That’s generally how it works. You done?” he asked when you finally ran out of steam.
“Your dad’s gonna have a stroke.”
You licked your lips. “Show me the ring, then."
A tiny, relieved huff left him. “That’s my girl.”
Rafe flipped the box open with his thumb. The diamond caught every last scrap of dying sunlight and threw it back at your face. It wasn't cartoonishly huge (thank fuck—he knew you’d hate that), but perfect.
You stopped breathing for a second. "It’s… really pretty.”
Rafe’s mouth twitched. “High praise.”
“Shut up.” You reached out hesitatingly, then brushed your fingertip over the stone. “You picked this out yourself?”
“Yeah. Took me three fucking months. Kept changing my mind."
“Good.” He swallowed. “Because I’m not getting back up until you say something."
His blue kept flicking from your face to the ring and back again, afraid if he looked away too long you’d jump. Then the rambling started.
“I know this looks crazy,” he said in a rush, faster than you’d ever heard him talk outside of a fistfight. “You said you’d rather die than do the whole picket-fence thing, and I get it, I do. But I’ve been thinking about this for—for fucking ever, okay? I’ve got a plan. Sort of. I mean, not a plan-plan, but—I talked to Wheezie about it, and she cried for like twenty minutes straight, which is apparently a good sign? And I already told Rose to fuck off if she tries to turn it into some country-club circus, so that’s handled. And I know you hate big weddings, so we can do it on the beach or—or on this boat if you want, I don’t care, I—”
He was breathing so fast now, cheeks flushed deeper than the sunset, free hand coming up to rub the back of his neck again—classic Rafe nervous tic number two.
“I want this. I want you. I don't know if I'm husband material, maybe I’ll fuck it up, but I’ll spend the rest of my life trying not to, and if you say no I’ll—I’ll respect it, I swear, but fuck, baby, please don’t say no because I’ve been carrying this thing around for months and I think I might actually throw up if you—”
You couldn’t help but giggle, an actual, stupid, bubbly giggle, slipped out of you. His mouth snapped shut immediately, eyes wide.
You clapped a hand over your mouth when another one escaped, until you were laughing breathlessly, shoulders-shaking laughing—right there crouched in front of him on the swaying deck.
“…What the fuck is so funny?”
You dropped your hand, eyes shining, still giggling as you reached out and grabbed the collar of his shirt, hauling him closer until your foreheads almost touched.
“Yes,” you said through the laughter, voice trembling with it. “Yes, you idiot. Yes.”
His free hand shot out to brace against the deck behind him, knee slipping an inch as Rafe very nearly toppled ass-over-elbows right there on the bow.
You lunged on instinct, grabbing his shoulders to keep him from eating wood. He caught himself at the last second, palm slapping flat against the fiberglass, ring box clutched in the other hand.
He exhaled a shaky, disbelieving laugh. “You—You said yes.”
“Actually yes. Not sarcastic yes."
“Actual yes.” You were grinning so hard your cheeks hurt.
He let out another laugh, this one relieved, almost a groan—and surged up to meet you, crashing his mouth against yours so hard your teeth clicked. His free hand flew to your face, your waist, your hair, making sure this was real. When he finally pulled back, forehead pressed to yours, he was breathing like he’d swam to shore.
He sighed against your lips, “You scared the shit out of me."
“Good,” you whispered back, thumb brushing the corner of his mouth.
Without taking his eyes off your face, Rafe slid the ring free and took your left hand. It slid smoothly, perfect, made for you. You both stared at it, the diamond still catching the last dying light, your fingers tangled with his.
His ring on your finger. His pupils were blown wide enough to swallow the blue. Oh-oh.
“Fuck,” he breathed. “Look at that.”
“Yeah,” Your voice had gone hoarse. “Kinda hard to miss.”
Without warning, as per usual, his shoulder slammed into your stomach. You yelped as the world flipped upside down, air whooshing out of your lungs.
One second you were on the floor; the next you were slung over his shoulder like a sack of fucking laundry, ass in the air, legs kicking uselessly.
He was moving across the deck toward the companionway that led below, one arm banded iron-tight around the backs of your thighs to keep you from sliding off.
“Rafe Cameron, put me the fuck down!”
“Nope.” His free hand came up and smacked your ass. “Not happening.”
You squirmed, laughing outrageously, hair falling in your face as you tried to twist around and glare at him upside-down.
“This is not how you treat your newly fiancée, you caveman!”
“Newly fiancée gets carried wherever I want,” he shot back, ducking through the narrow doorway without breaking his fast stride. He took the short ladder down to the cabin in two easy bounds, like you weighed nothing. “Been waiting too long for this.”
You grabbed a fistful of his shirt for balance as he shouldered open the door to the forward cabin, his private quarters, all polished teak and low lighting and that big berth that took up most of the space.
He kicked the door shut behind him, dropping you carefully enough that you bounced once on the mattress instead of face-planting.
You pushed up on your elbows, cheeks flushed, glaring up at him. “You absolute psycho.”
He was already kicking off his boat shoes, yanking his shirt over his head in one impatient motion. The gold chain settled back against his collarbone, glinting. Muscles flexed under golden skin as he crawled onto the bed, caging you in with his arms on either side of your head.
You tried to look annoyed and failed miserably when your eyes dropped to the obvious bulge straining against his swim trunks.
He caught you looking, smirking like the devil himself.
“Eyes up here, princess,” he teased, “Need to see that ring wrapped around my cock.”
His mouth found yours, hand sliding down your body, hooking under your knee, hitching your leg around his hip so you could feel exactly how not-kidding he was.
You arched up into him, fingers sliding into his short hair, tugging to make him groan against your lips.
When he pulled back barely an inch, his eyes were molten.
“Say it again,” he murmured.
You knew exactly what he wanted.
“Yes,” you breathed, curling your newly-ringed hand around the back of his neck, thumb brushing the pulse hammering there. “Yes, I’ll marry you."
Rafe's forehead dropped to yours, eyes closed as if he was in pain.
“Like seeing your ring on me?”
