im just a girl who loves frat rafe, nerd rafe, soft rafe, baby daddy rafe, husband rafe, toxic rafe, ex rafe, druggie rafe, needs a hug rafe, imprisoned rafe, season one rafe, season two rafe, season three rafe, season four rafe, i will love season five rafe, rafe, rafe cameron, kelce and toppers bestfriend rafe, golfer rafe, abusive rafe, sweetheart rafe, college rafe, ghostface rafe, serial killer rafe, rafe in season two with that sexy ass hat on when hiding from the police in the boat with barry, rafe in a grey north face jacket, enemy rafe, wards least favourite child, sarah and wheezies older brother, kook king rafe, highschool lovers rafe, rafe…. did i mention rafe cameron from obx?
a/n: these fics are going to be scheduled!! 4 pm maybe?
ᵕᵕᵕᵕ୨♡︎୧ᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕ୨♡︎୧ᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕ୨♡︎୧ᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕ୨♡︎୧ᵕᵕᵕᵕ
the sun hits different in greece.
it spills through the linen curtains before the kids even wake, painting soft gold over the tangled sheets where georgia lies, one leg over rafe’s hip, her cheek pressed against his bare chest. it’s too warm to be cuddled like this but she doesn’t move. not when he’s still here. not when he smells like sea salt and sunscreen and just a tiny bit like gigi's white wine and his whiskey from the night before.
rafe stirs when he hears maggie's cry — soft, sleepy, but it’s always him now who hears her first on holiday. maybe it’s the slower pace. maybe it’s because he’s actually home.
“i got her,” he murmurs, voice thick and low, pressing a kiss to gigi’s hair. “sleep.”
she doesn’t. she watches him go, half-lidded and quiet, her heart tugging just a little when she sees him scoop their youngest from the crib and whisper something into her baby curls as he walks out onto the balcony, shirtless, baby on his hip.
it still surprises her, sometimes. the way he moves with them now.
the mornings in greece are slow and sweet.
madeline eats half the fruit platter before anyone else is even dressed. emerson wears his bucket hat backwards and insists he’s “in charge of the beach stuff.” grayson refuses sunscreen until gigi bribes him with a chocolate croissant. and rafe? he lets her rub lotion onto his shoulders in the kitchen, eyes half-lidded, grinning when her hands linger too long.
“you’re enjoying this too much,” she mutters.
“watching my wife feel me up before 9 am? yeah, can’t complain.”
she rolls her eyes but blushes anyway. he always notices.
they walk down to the private beach after breakfast - emerson leading the pack, maggie strapped to rafe’s chest in a carrier he swore he wouldn’t wear but now won’t take off. they set up under an umbrella, sand sticking to everything, kids squealing the moment their toes hit the water.
gigi lies on the towel for a second too long, head tilted toward the sun.
“you okay?” he asks.
she hums. “better than okay.”
he kisses her anyway.
the kids build a lopsided sandcastle. madeline demands to be buried. grayson eats the wet sand at least twice. rafe throws emerson over his shoulder and runs into the water while gigi laughs from the shore, camera shaking in her hand.
and when the sun finally starts to dip, they sit all tangled together on the porch of the little rental house, plates of grilled fish and sticky fingers and windblown hair. the wine is open again. gigi’s dress is salt-stained and slipping off one shoulder. rafe rests his hand on her thigh and doesn’t move it.
the kids are half-asleep before the stars even come out.
maggie’s curled on gigi’s chest. grayson’s in a pile of blankets beside them. rafe carries the older two to bed, one in each arm, and gigi watches him with something in her chest that aches in the best way.
later, when it’s just the two of them on the balcony, feet up, the sea whispering below, rafe leans over and kisses her shoulder.
“i like it here,” he says, soft. “you look… happy.”
she turns to him, that small, tired smile in her eyes.
“i am.”
he doesn’t say anything else. just takes her hand, laces their fingers together, and lets the moment stretch as the waves roll in.
they don’t get many like this. but this one, at least, is theirs.
Couldn’t request dad!rafe and the fam getting ready for family pictures? And how the day goes down at the photo studio?
I loved ur one shot on rafe staying home so much and i wanted to read more abt their crazy fam 🙈🙈
family photos
w/c: 802
a/n: eek thank you!!! i love asks
ᵕᵕᵕᵕ୨♡︎୧ᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕ୨♡︎୧ᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕ୨♡︎୧ᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕ୨♡︎୧ᵕᵕᵕᵕ
the morning of the family photoshoot started like a war.
maddie was fighting with emerson over…what was they fighting about? grayson was still in his pyjamas—somehow now inside out—and maggie was doing whatever babies did: gurgling in her swing with one sock missing and a spoon in her mouth that no one remembered giving her.
“madeline. emerson. stop fighting,” rafe said firmly, in his best Dad Voice. it was mostly ignored.
“he said i look like a glitter monster!” maddie shrieked, shoving her brother.
“because you do!”
“you look like a glitter monster!”
“do not!”
“do too!”
rafe ran a hand down his face. “jesus christ.”
from upstairs, gigi’s voice rang out, perfectly clear and terrifying:
“rafe.”
he froze.
“get the kids ready for me in the clothes i put out, and do not let them get messy.”
right. the clothes.
rafe turned to the three-and-a-half spirals of chaos in front of him and exhaled.
“okay. alright. team huddle. we are going to look so good today, alright? mom’s gonna be happy, and we’re all gonna smile and wear matching outfits and not look like we just crawled out of a drain.”
grayson blinked up at him and then sneezed directly onto his own shirt.
rafe looked up at the ceiling.
“i’m going to hell.”
twenty-five minutes later, gigi came down the stairs.
emerson was dressed—shirt slightly wrinkled, but tucked in. maddie had been wrangled into her dress but was wearing two left shoes. grayson had on pants, but the wrong ones, and no socks. maggie was pantsless, but happy.
and rafe… well, rafe looked like he’d gone twelve rounds with a herd of angry animals and barely made it out alive.
gigi crossed her arms. “you had one job.”
“they’re mostly dressed,” he offered. “and no one is bleeding.”
she stared at him.
he grinned.
“still going to hell,” he muttered under his breath.
ᵕᵕᵕᵕ୨♡︎୧ᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕ୨♡︎୧ᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕ୨♡︎୧ᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕ୨♡︎୧ᵕᵕᵕᵕ
the photo studio was aggressively beige.
light backdrops, soft props, a photographer named Holly who spoke in a high-pitched, sing-song voice that made all the kids suspicious.
“okay, everyone! big smiles!”
grayson burst into tears because his sock was “itchy.”
maggie pooped. audibly.
maddie yelled “fart baby!” and emerson laughed so hard he knocked over a stool.
rafe looked at gigi. gigi looked at rafe.
“we’re never doing this again,” she whispered.
“agreed.”
somehow, somehow, they managed to get one shot—one miraculous frame where all four kids were still, smiling, dressed appropriately, and looking in the general direction of the camera.
and rafe and gigi?
they looked exhausted.
but happy.
ᵕᵕᵕᵕ୨♡︎୧ᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕ୨♡︎୧ᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕ୨♡︎୧ᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕ୨♡︎୧ᵕᵕᵕᵕ
later that night, with the kids finally asleep and the house thankfully quiet, gigi flopped onto the sofa beside rafe, phone in hand.
“they sent the preview already,” she said, holding it out.
he leaned in.
paused.
smiled.
the photo showed the two of them in the middle, surrounded by four tiny, chaotic pieces of their hearts. emerson had his arm around maddie (shocking), grayson was showing his dimple, and maggie was wide-eyed and drooly and perfect.
“we don’t look too bad,” he murmured, resting his head back.
gigi smiled, leaning into his side.
“you didn’t even mess it up that bad.”
“high praise.”
“you’re welcome.”
he kissed her temple, his voice low. “i’d take a thousand glitter monsters and itchy socks for one photo like that.”
“you will, next year.”
rafe groaned.
gigi laughed.
and somewhere upstairs, a sock was probably already missing.
a/n: happy easter!! im imagining if this was at gigi's family due to their traditions it would be religious (and intense)
ᵕᵕᵕᵕ୨♡︎୧ᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕ୨♡︎୧ᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕ୨♡︎୧ᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕ୨♡︎୧ᵕᵕᵕᵕ
easter at the cameron-hills household was never simple.
whether it was at the camerons, the hills, or at home, it always came with a side of chaos - strained smiles, too many expectations, and kids way too hyped on sugar before 9 a.m.
but this year, it was at home.
and it started with screaming.
"has the easter bunny came?!"
"CHOCOLATE!"
"i saw something by the sofa!"
"it was probably dad’s sock."
"EW!"
rafe groaned beside her, face buried in the pillow. georgia cracked one eye open and saw the clock blink 6:41 am
“they’re too loud,” he mumbled.
“they’re your kids.”
he rolled over, arm thrown across her waist. “they’re only mine when they’re quiet.”
grayson burst through the door then, basket in hand, cheeks flushed. “mama! mama! the bunny CAME!”
gigi sat up, rubbing her face. rafe stayed horizontal.
it only got messier from there. there was chocolate smeared on the wall by 7:06 am, and maggie had somehow managed to get an entire foil wrapper stuck in her curls. maddie wore her bunny ears upside down and insisted it was fashion. emerson - clipboard in hand - had drafted a detailed egg-hunting map, complete with time slots and a “no dad interference” rule.
gigi gave up after grayson hid an egg inside a shoe.
rafe, to his credit, handled breakfast. store-bought cinnamon rolls, sliced fruit, coffee so strong it made gigi blink twice. he moved slowly but with purpose - and not once did he look at his phone. not once did he talk about work. just… was there.
“you let them eat chocolate before breakfast,” gigi muttered, walking past him in a cloud of bunny stickers and glitter.
“you were still asleep,” he said gently. “you needed it.”
she wanted to argue, but he smiled at her, soft and knowing, and she didn’t. she just stole a sip of his coffee and leaned into his shoulder for a second longer than usual.
photos came after. gigi wrestled the kids into pastels, rafe snapped the pictures, and somehow one turned out perfect - four laughing, wrinkled-nosed babies, and gigi standing behind them mid-laugh, rafe’s hand just barely visible on her waist.
“we’re getting good at this,” he said quietly when he showed her the photo.
“what, parenting?”
“no. surviving.”
the day died down after that. the kids watched a movie, half-asleep in a nest of blankets and sugar comas. maggie drooled on rafe’s chest, grayson curled against his side. gigi watched from the kitchen, heart full in a way that made her ache.
later, when they were alone, rafe found her in the bedroom folding tiny pastel clothes into a too-small drawer.
“you okay?” he asked, voice low.
“just tired.”
he wrapped his arms around her from behind. she leaned back, let herself breathe.
“remember our first easter?” she said.
“you cried in the bathroom.”
“i didn’t cry.”
“you did. your sister sent some passive-aggressive gift basket and you threw a chocolate bunny at the sink.”
she laughed, soft and surprised.
“we were a mess.”
“we still are.”
she turned, rested her forehead against his. “i don’t mind anymore.”
he kissed her then, sweet and slow. like something that had always been there, just waiting for the quiet to come out.
outside, the sky turned that easter-evening gold, and inside, in the warm hush of home, everything felt a little more possible.
a/n: sorry for the late post i forgot to schedule this one!! i havent wrote since thursday
send in requests :))
ᵕᵕᵕᵕ୨♡︎୧ᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕ୨♡︎୧ᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕ୨♡︎୧ᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕ୨♡︎୧ᵕᵕᵕᵕ
the house wasn’t loud, for once.
the kids were all down - grayson tucked against a stuffed bear too big for him, maggie curled in her crib, maddie clutching a well-loved blanket, and emerson finally out cold after insisting he wasn’t tired. georgia had barely made it out of the room before one of them stirred, but now, it was quiet. peaceful. still.
or almost still.
rafe was in the kitchen, back turned, sleeves pushed to his elbows. the dim light caught the edge of his jaw, the line of his shoulders. he was drying the dishes she’d meant to do an hour ago.
she leaned against the doorway.
“you’re doing chores for once,” she said, teasing.
he glanced over. “don’t look so surprised.”
“i’m always surprised.”
he smirked but didn’t say anything. just kept drying. one dish at a time, deliberate.
gigi stepped inside, bare feet silent on the tile. her shirt was oversized, soft from a hundred washes, and her hair was still damp from the bath she barely had time for. she looked tired, and she was, but there was something else tonight - a kind of weightless calm.
“they all asleep?” rafe asked.
“for now.”
he set the last dish down and turned to her. she was close. close enough for his fingers to find her waist and tug her in.
“you’re so pretty like this,” he murmured.
“like what?”
“quiet. soft. mine.”
her breath caught a little. even now, all these years later, he could still do that- wind her up with a word.
“you never said things like that before,” she said, not accusing, just honest.
“i didn’t know how to,” he admitted. “you scare the shit out of me.”
gigi blinked. “i scare you?”
“you always have. you’re stronger than me.”
she laughed. “you’re literally stronger.”
“not like that. you stayed when i gave you a million reasons not to. you kept this family together when i was halfway out the door.”
her fingers found the hem of his shirt. she held it there, looking up at him, eyes soft but sharp.
“you came back,” she said. “that has to mean something.”
he nodded.
“it means everything.”
his hands slid beneath her shirt, rough palms on bare skin, grounding her. her heart kicked hard.
“i wanna be better,” he said suddenly, like it had been sitting in his chest for too long. “i know i mess it up. but i look at you with them, and i think... god, we’re lucky. i’m lucky.”
gigi didn’t cry -not really- but something in her throat tightened.
“you say that now,” she whispered, “wait until maggie starts kicking at two am”
he leaned down, kissed her shoulder, her collarbone, the corner of her mouth.
the house was quiet in that dark hour before the sun fully broke over the hills, the kind of quiet that only came with early mornings and tired hearts.
rafe was already up.
he always was.
the soft click of the en suite door closing behind him, the low rush of water from the sink, the quiet weight of him moving through the bedroom. georgia stirred slightly, half-asleep still, one arm flung over the empty side of the bed.
he leaned over, kissed her temple, then her cheek, then lower, against her jaw.
“i’ve got that meeting downtown,” he murmured against her skin. “i’ll be late tonight.”
gigi nodded, barely awake, but her fingers curled around his wrist for just a second before letting go. she didn’t say anything. didn’t need to.
this was their rhythm now. imperfect and normal.
he left a moment later, the front door shutting quietly behind him.
and then—
chaos.
the baby monitor crackled to life with maggie’s soft cries, followed quickly by the thump of feet down the hallway and a very awake emerson pushing the door open with all the energy of a four-year-old who’d had dreams to tell and a sibling to tattle on.
“Mommy,” he whispered loudly, climbing into the bed, “maddie’s in my things again. she took my blue dinosaur. the fast one.”
gigi blinked up at him, hair thrown across her pillow, voice still thick with sleep. “what time is it?”
“Morning time,” he said, too confidently.
a cry joined in—grayson this time, followed by the soft babble of maddie talking to herself from her room.
gigi groaned and sat up, pressing a hand to her face. she missed rafe most in these moments. not for the help, necessarily. but for the stillness he carried. the way his hand on her lower back grounded her, even when neither of them said a word.
but the kids didn’t wait for longing.
she scooped up emerson with a sleepy grunt and carried him to the hallway, barefoot and already tired. the baby was fussing now—full-throated, hungry. maddie was singing to herself, loud and off-key, and grayson had somehow taken his pyjamas off again.
mornings were relentless.
she started with maggie, the tiniest, nestled warm and wriggling in her crib. gigi pulled her close, kissing her soft round cheeks, breathing her in.
“there’s my girl,” she whispered. “what’re we mad about this time, huh? did the world end between bottles?”
in the kitchen, emerson had climbed up on a stool and was pulling cereal boxes down, maddie trailing behind him in one of gigi’s old silk scarves, claiming it made her a princess-doctor. grayson ran by naked, shrieking with delight.
“pyjamas, gray!” gigi called after him. “we keep them on now, remember?”
he giggled and didn’t stop.
she fed maggie with one arm while pouring cereal with the other, catching a falling spoon mid-air and pulling a rubber dinosaur from the garbage disposal all before 7:00 a.m.
by the time they were dressed (mostly), fed (somewhat), and emerson’s lunch packed for pre-school, she caught her reflection in the hallway mirror and nearly laughed.
her hair was everywhere. there was spit-up on her shirt. mascara still slightly there from yesterday. and still—somehow—she didn’t look unhappy. just soft around the edges. worn in the way only mothers were.
emerson tugged at her hand.
“you forgot to do my hair again,” he pouted.
she crouched down, smoothing his blond curls with gentle fingers, brushing them out of his eyes. “no, i didn’t. this is a new style. messy chic. very cool.”
he gave her a skeptical look. she kissed his forehead anyway.
they were running late, of course. gigi threw her coat over her tank top, baby strapped to her chest, chasing down shoes and jackets, sippy cups and missing socks.
and as they all spilled out the door into the cool morning light, grayson still barefoot, maddie humming to herself and maggie hiccupping against her chest, gigi paused just long enough to glance back at the empty driveway.
she missed him.
even when she didn’t want to.
but this—this circus of routine and crumbs and sticky fingers—was hers. was theirs.
and tonight, she hoped he’d come home early enough to kiss her for real.
ᵕᵕᵕᵕ୨♡︎୧ᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕ୨♡︎୧ᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕ୨♡︎୧ᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕ୨♡︎୧ᵕᵕᵕᵕ
the house was warm with the scent of bathwater and vanilla shampoo.
gigi moved through the hallway in her socks, maggie on her hip, her other arm outstretched as grayson ran past half-dressed, water still dripping from his curls. maddie was behind him, clutching a washcloth like it was treasure, giggling when he shrieked as she chased him.
“stop running or someone’s going to crack their head open,” gigi warned, not for the first time that week, or that hour.
emerson was already in pyjamas, cross-legged on the couch with a picture book and an expression far too serious for a four-year-old. “mama, why are babies always so loud?”
maggie hiccuped in response.
“it’s her job,” georgia said, shifting the baby to her other hip and grabbing a towel from the banister. “some people are born loud. like your sister. or your father.”
she didn’t mean it with edge, not tonight. just that wistful, knowing softness that came when she said his name out loud and the house still felt full of him, even when he wasn’t there.
the day had worn her down. not in a dramatic way. just the quiet drain of keeping four small humans alive and clean and fed. her body ached. her brain was fuzzy. her shirt was still damp from bath splash and spit-up.
but the kids were laughing. the house was glowing with lamplight. and maggie was finally fed and drifting.
after grayson was wrangled into pyjamas and maddie’s hair detangled through much negotiation and one lollipop bribe, gigi dimmed the lights and called them all to the living room.
“books. ten minutes. then bed.”
maddie immediately climbed into her lap, emerson curled into her side, grayson tucked under her arm like a sleepy puppy. she held maggie in the crook of her arm, tiny and dozing. they read about bears and rainstorms and brave little foxes who always found their way home.
and for a moment, it was still. just the sound of her voice and the rise and fall of little breaths.
and then—
the front door.
soft click.
keys on the table.
she didn’t even turn. just said, “you missed bath time. grayson escaped three times. maddie stole your razor from the shower. emerson says maggie’s too loud. so basically... a normal night.”
rafe stepped into view, loosening his tie with one hand, exhaustion lining his face. but his eyes were soft.
“you look good,” he said.
gigi gave him a flat look. “i have glitter in my hair from maddie’s toothbrush cup.”
“still good.”
he came closer, crouched in front of her, brushing a hand over emerson’s curls and pressing a kiss to maggie’s head. then he looked up at gigi, eyes lingering on hers.
“i’m sorry i missed the show.”
she shrugged, shifting a bit to let grayson melt into his dad’s lap. “you didn’t miss it. it’s still going.”
he smiled at that. soft and tired. “can i help with bedtime?”
gigi leaned her head back against the couch. “you can carry gray. he’s like a sack of wet sand tonight.”
rafe scooped him up with practiced ease, whispering something into his ear that made the little boy snort half-asleep laughter. gigi carried maggie, rafe trailed with maddie and emerson, and they all shuffled up the stairs like a sleepy little parade.
twenty minutes later, the house was quiet again.
gigi stood in the doorway of maggie’s nursery, watching her chest rise and fall in that gentle, rhythmic way babies had. rafe came up behind her, wrapped his arms around her waist, rested his chin on her shoulder.
“we made them,” he whispered, almost in awe. “somehow.”
“not sure how they’re all still alive,” she murmured, leaning into him.
he kissed her neck, then her shoulder, then lower, breath warm and slow. “you okay?”
she nodded. “tired. in that way where it feels like i’ll never be un-tired again.”
rafe turned her gently, hands on her hips, their bodies flush in the soft hallway light. “let me take care of you tonight. just a little. nothing big. just... you and me. the quiet kind.”
gigi didn’t speak. just reached up and curled her fingers into the front of his shirt.
they made it back to their bedroom, door closing behind them, and for once, there was no rush. no fire.
gigi sat on the edge of the bed while he undid the buttons of her shirt, kissed the hollow of her throat. his hands were steady, patient, like he wanted to memorize her all over again.
when they fell into bed, it wasn’t cinematic. it was better.
it was warmth and skin and whispered things like “you did so good today” and “i’m proud of you” and “you’re not alone in this.”
he kissed the tired right off her face, held her like he couldn’t believe she was real, and when she finally tucked herself against him, bare legs tangled with his, breath steady again—
he whispered it into her hair.
“angel.”
and georgia, half-asleep, whispered back.
“you too.”
ᵕᵕᵕᵕ୨♡︎୧ᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕ୨♡︎୧ᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕ୨♡︎୧ᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕᵕ୨♡︎୧ᵕᵕᵕᵕ
guys someone give me requests on this au i have limited imagination!!
ever since you were just a girl you were told men only wanted one thing in this world, sex. then you didn't understand, but that was before you experienced it.
the long shifts as a waitress serving rich men with nothing better to do then drink and cheat on their wives who did everything to make them happy, but they never were satisfied. boys like them only sought youth and money, even if their egos seemed to be bigger then their natural hairlines.
but being a waitress didn't pay enough for what you were searching for, freedom, a way to leave the island.
so like all young women living on the cut in their 20's, their legs walked to the club, not to party, they couldn't afford that luxury. but to work.
then did all girls experiencing how cruel the world could be too young realise how right their mothers had been.
it was how everyday was for people like you it seemed. wake up, get ready, go to the country club to serve people rich enough to be already drunk by 12pm, go home and relax for a few hours, then go to the club to work even more just to afford a one bedroom trailer with no working ac and some food in your fridge.
but apparently it wasn't, because a hour into your shift, you saw him. rafe cameron. the man rich enough to get him anything he wanted on that island. and that night, he wanted you. and the next night, and the next, and the next. it was fun, it was exciting, and it made you a lot of money. thats all what you thought it was, fun, exciting.
until you moved in to become his permanent sugar baby.
and then you were his girlfriend.
and then he told you he loved you.
and only then you realised, you mother was right, most boys only want sex. but men? real men? they want more.
they wanted someone to love and cherish for life.
and rafe cameron? he wanted that person to never settle for less.
