If You Were Mine | Rafe Cameron x reader
Pairing: Rafe Cameron x pouge!reader
Summary: you meet up at a bar, and he confesses his feelings but you just can’t let yourself give in
wc: 1,543
~ inspired by the song “If You Were Mine” by Morgan Wallen
The neon sign outside The Wreck buzzed like it was clinging to life. Purple and blue light splashed across the parking lot, casting your shadow long on the cracked concrete. You were supposed to be inside with Kiara, and the rest of the pouges. It was rare that the group went out to actual bars, but after a particularly rough day, we decided to spend the night high off alcohol and that carefree attitude. Dancing alongside Sarah and kie while the boys played darts.
It was easy.
But it didn’t last. The noise got too loud and the air too thick, so you stepped out for a minute.
You weren’t alone.
Rafe Cameron leaned against his motorbike, cigarette unlit between his fingers, staring at the moon like it had personally offended him. He didn’t see you at first.
Or maybe he did, and he just pretended not to.
You looked up at the sky, almost asking it to save you.
A neon moon, yeah, it’s gettin’ late…
You swallowed, fighting the instinct to turn around. Every part of your life warned you against him. Pogue vs Kook, Sarah’s drama vs Rafe’s violence, your heart vs his reputation. You weren’t just opposites. You weren’t supposed to exist in the same frame.
But your feet didn’t move.
When you looked at him, you couldn’t think straight.
Like a horse to the water, prolly shouldn’t drink.
“Didn’t expect to see you here,” he said without looking over, like he knew it was you.
His voice was rough like he hadn’t spoken in hours. “Seems to be having fun in there,” he added.
Of course he was watching you, cause you were also watching him.
“And I didn’t expect you to be sober enough to stand up,” you shot back.
He huffed a small laugh. “Funny.”
You crossed your arms. “I wasn't joking. Why are you out here, and not inside?”
“Fresh air.”
“Rafe Cameron doesn't need fresh air.”
His eyes flicked to yours then, sharp, ocean-deep, startlingly clear. You hated how they made your breath stutter.
“Maybe he does when he’s trying not to think.”
Your eyebrows rose. “About what?”
But he didn’t answer.
Instead, he pushed off the bike and stepped closer, slow, like he was testing if you’d flinch. You didn’t. You kept your chin high, refusing to give him the satisfaction.
He smirked. “You look nervous.”
“I’m not.”
“You should be.”
Because the truth is, we both wanna taste…
“So,” you said, lifting a brow, “you’re not drunk, not high? No rich-boy rage? No punching people who breathe too loud?”
He smirked a little. “Not tonight.”
“That's a promise?”
“No. But it’s the truth.”
The waves rolled in, washing over the bank, and for a moment the two of you just listened. It felt wrong. Dangerous. Like standing at the edge of something you couldn’t back away from.
“You shouldn’t be alone out here,” he said.
“I’m fine.”
“Didn’t say you weren’t. I said you shouldn’t be.” His voice dropped, quieter. “Big difference.”
You scoffed. “You don’t get to care about what I do.”
“You think I don’t?” he said, a little too fast.
Your breath hitched.
His gaze dropped to your lips for one dangerous second before he pulled back just enough to breathe properly.
You could feel your phone buzz in your back pocket, you reached back to push it down more.
“You don’t gotta hide your phone,” he added, voice low. “I know you got people waiting for you back there. People who’d lose their minds if they saw you talking to me.”
“Yeah,” you whispered. “And for good reason.”
He gave a humorless smile. “Probably.”
He wasn’t wrong. JJ would throw himself between you and Rafe like a guard dog. John B would drag you back inside. Kie would cuss Rafe out on principle.
“And what?” you snapped softly. “You’d enjoy that? Watching everyone freak out because you cornered a Pogue?”
His voice dropped lower than you’d ever heard it.
“I didn’t corner you. You stayed.”
You opened your mouth. Then closed it, because he wasn’t wrong.
Another wave crashed. You should’ve walked away. You should’ve run.
Instead you stayed, letting the neon glow from the beer sign spill across the shore, painting everything in impossible colors.
“What do you want from me?” you finally whispered.
His throat bobbed. “If I ever got you alone…”
He paused.
“Just so you know… I wouldn’t rush it.”
The ocean wind gusted across the parking lot, cool and briny. For one moment, everything felt suspended. Like the world was waiting.
Rafe exhaled, and the sound was almost a confession.
“Look…” he muttered, glancing away, “I know this is messed up. I know we don’t work. I know I’m not… your usual type.”
“You’re not my type at all,” you said quick.
But it came out too soft.
His jaw clenched.
“Yeah. I know.”
He stepped closer again, slower this time, like he was giving you every chance to walk away. When you didn’t, he lifted a hand, stopping inches from your cheek. Not touching. Just… wanting.
“Damn,” he whispered. “If I ever got you alone…”
Your breath hitched.
“…just so you know? I’d lay you down. And I’d take my time.”
Heat rushed up your chest, your throat, your cheeks. You should’ve walked away. You should’ve said no. You should’ve slapped him.
But you didn’t do any of those things.
You stared at him, at the boy who was everything you shouldn’t want and whispered, “You can’t say stuff like that.”
He studied you carefully. “Why? Because it’s wrong?”
“Yes.”
He stepped even closer. “Or because you don’t hate hearing it?”
Your stomach dropped. “Rafe—”
“Tell me I’m imagining it,” he said. “Tell me you don’t feel it.”
You couldn’t.
And he saw the truth in the way your breath shook.
Would you let me drown in your ocean eyes?
His gaze locked on yours like he could fall straight into them if he wasn’t careful.
“You have no idea what you do to me,” he said quietly.
You swallowed hard. “Rafe…”
“Ain’t a part of you my hands wouldn’t wanna find,” he added, so quietly it was practically a prayer.
Your knees weakened. “You’re not being fair.”
He laughed softly, tired, lonely. “I’m being honest.”
“Why now?” you demanded. “You’ve hated me for years.”
He shook his head. “I never hated you.”
“Could’ve fooled me.”
“I hated the way everyone else looked at you,” he said.
“Free. Happy. Safe. Everything I wasn’t allowed to be.”
You blinked, surprised by the rawness in his voice.
“And I hated,” he added, “that you looked at me and saw someone dangerous instead of someone… who wanted you. Badly.”
Silence stretched between you like a live wire.
Inside, music thumped faintly. Laughter spilled outside when the door opened. The gravel crunching under cars pulling in and out of the parking lot. But none of it reached you. Not in the way Rafe’s eyes did.
He ran a hand through his hair, frustrated.
“If you want it to happen…” he said quietly, “…I’m gonna let it.”
Your breath caught.
“Rafe—”
“I swear,” he murmured, stepping so close you felt the warmth of him, “in a second… I’d take you home. Lay you down. Slow. Careful. Like you deserve.”
It was too much.
Too honest.
Too intoxicating.
“Stop,” you breathed.
He didn’t touch you. He didn’t push. He just looked at you like he was memorizing every detail.
The ocean wind in your hair, the neon light on your skin, the rise and fall of your chest.
“In another life,” he whispered, “I think you’d be mine.”
Your heart twisted painfully.
God. Why did it feel like you believed him?
“In another life,” you murmured back, “maybe.”
“And in this one?” he asked.
You hesitated but only for a moment.
“In this one,” you whispered, “we just wouldn’t work.”
His lips parted.
He leaned forward, forehead gently brushing yours, the lightest contact, but it felt like electricity.
“But we could try,” he whispered.
You closed your eyes, breath trembling.
He didn’t kiss you.
He didn’t touch you.
He just stayed there, letting the moment stretch until it hurt.
But he knew it would never happen, he knew you were too stubborn, too loyal to your friends to ever let something like that happen, with him.
Finally, he pulled back.
“You should go back inside,” he murmured. “Before they notice.”
You nodded, trying to breathe.
He lingered one second longer, taking you in like he’d never get another chance.
Then he stepped back.
Letting you choose.
And somehow, walking away felt harder than giving in.
But you did it.
You pushed open the door.
You slipped inside.
And halfway through, you looked over your shoulder.
Rafe Cameron stood under the neon moon, hands in his pockets, chest rising unsteadily, watching you like you were the one thing in his life that wasn’t poison.
Like if you were his, truly his. He’d treat you like you were holy.
Like if you were his…
He’d never let you go.
The swing of the door slammed behind you. And suddenly you were pulled away by Sarah who was so drunk she barely noticed your absence.
And Rafe? Well he had enough of tonight.
He got on his bike, and went home.