#obx kooks

[camerxnlove]

texts with ex!babydaddy rafe cameron

[obsourie]

— THREE TO ONE

summary: being the only girl 'bsf' allowed in the toxic boys friendgroup on figure eight means you belong to all three of them | 18+ mdni. messy grammar

pairings: nasty!trio kook boys x shy!kook!reader

masterlist here

“you actually gonna wear that?” kelce’s voice cuts through the low hum of the outboard machine, heavy with mockery. gaze scanning to your whole body without any shame. its just funny seeing you wearing a grey zip up hoodie with denim shorts. cause, ironically and usually, you wear slutty fits infront of them—hell, or even naked. theyve seen your body. and they never miss a beat to not praise it, how could they not? they loved seeing your flustered face. plus, youve got a nice body to keep.

sometimes you wonder, what kind of best friends that see each other naked? not to mention youve fucked the three of them and suck their cocks too. they absolutely have nasty pics of you saved on each their phones too.

“i—”

“leave her alone, man.” topper’s arm shoots around your waist. holding you close and steady. pressing your ass against his cock underneath the garment intentionally. you gasped and turn your head. he looks down, eyes taking in the blown out eyes and flushed cheeks. “didnt i buy you a new bikini last night?”

you gulped, “yeah.. im wearing it, actually.”

“take them off, baby.” the command was low and raspy. it made your stomach drop. rafe leans lazily in the helm of the boat, pulling from his vape. blowing icy mint smoke out into the salty warm air. he kept his dark gaze locked to you. abandoning the wheel and walked forward. his tall and broad frame completely swallowing you. cedarwood and something spicy of his expensive cologne fills your nose.

you tensed. but you cant help to feel your cunt getting wetter, rubbing your thighs together. topper’s arm around you tightens, not in jealousy, he was smug about it. “dont make him wait,” low voice murmuring against your ear. “show him how fucking sexy you look in what i bought you.”

kelce let out a crude laugh. leaning back and manspreading onto the vinyl seat. “put on a show for us, babe. wouldnt miss any of it.”

rafe’s rough thumb pressing against your lower lip. parting your lips slightly and brushing it slowly. undressing you with his eyes. “well?” he smirked. you can hear the pulse in your ears. “strip.”

his dirty command sent a thrill down to your spine. with trembling fingers, you reached up to the zipper of your hoodie. but you couldnt bring yourself to pull it down.

youre trapped in a cage with men times bigger than you. suddenly youre very aware of topper’s arm around your waist. you could feel burning, heavy predatory gaze from the three of them. waiting for you to strip and perform for them like youre nothing but for them to play with.

well, youve worn bikinis to bonfire or boat parties. but the one youre wearing now? its a micro string bikini. the tiny triangles of silk barely covers your tits. threatening to spill out any time, only hiding your hard nipples. the strings riding high on your hips. making your plump ass and thighs pop more. the fabric only covers your puffy cunt. either way, you look sexy and slutty but, youre too shy to strip. especially not in a broad daylight like this, at a boat where any passing yacht could drift by.

every second felt longer. the predatory eyes are watching you to strip yourself. it made your skin crawl. you take too fucking long. you hesitate too much. i mean, its not like youve never strip infront of them—you have, alot of times even. but still, it all felt too much sometimes. your shaking hands still holding the zipper. biting lower lip unconciously. “im not sure if im—”

kelce let out a loud mocking sigh from the vinyl seat. “boring.” followed by a theaterical yawn. to humiliate you. you turn, a shameful flush burning spreading across your face and neck. you were so terrified and he treats it like its nothing.

“aw, you feelin’ shy now?” you even forgot topper was holding you close. his fingers digging into your waist.

“too fucking long.” rafe cuts impatiently, jaw clenching. he stood closer to you. watching his eyes go dark.

and just suddenly, he didnt ask for permission—stripped you from beside you. rough hand unzipping it down and throwing it away. he shoved the denim shorts over your hips until it pooled at your ankles.

the boat went silent.

you were completely exposed now. fingers intertwined as you fidget on them. you dont even dare to look at the three of these guys.

“holy fuck,” kelce let out a low whistle. “top, you deserve a goddamn medal for finding this.” hes practically drooling. you glanced between his spread legs, his bulge almost prominent now.

“hot, aint she?” topper’s fingers on your waist were long gone. he drifts them lower to the back of your hip now. slowly palming and cupping the fat of your ass. you went still, frozen.

“bet you were dripping bein’ our whore, huh? waiting for us to fuck you ‘til youre brain dead?” rafe gets behind you, whispered low on your ear. his hot breath makes your skin crawl.

you feel two thick fingers—and one of them with a ring, brushing against your pussy underneath the thin thong. he rubs you back and forth slowly. teasing your buds, feeling your wetness. a soft moan escaped you. you clamped both thighs while rafe’s fingers still between your thighs. but you press down harder against his fingers, chasing the friction.

topper’s arm around your waist are long gone now. he licked his lip when he watches rafe rubs your folds and your almost rolled eyes. “turn around, sweetheart. show kelce the back.”

your feet still glued. mind too hazed with lust because of how good rafe fingers are rubbing you. just then, his fingers are gone. you pouted in annoyance, not even listening at what topper said. but before you could even whine, he stepped behind you—next to rafe.

topper clicks his tongue in annoyance. “i said turn around.” he demanded, dropping the fake sweetness. he gripped both of your hips and forcefully spun you.

now your ass is facing kelce. he leaned closer in his seat. while you stare up to meet rafe and topper’s gaze. they both just smirk, eyes dark.

you feel kelce’s big hand rubbing your ass. he squeezed it hard, moving it around to watch your ass jiggle. he groans at the sight. “youve got some nice ass, slut.” he spanks you. you whimpered, body flinching. kelce tugged at the thong between your legs, then letting it go to watch the thong slap against your slick cunt.

“feels even better when im bending her over, best three hundred bucks ive ever spent indeed.” topper hooked his fingers under the string at your back. unraveling the knot in one swipe. the bikini top slid down and fell. your soft tits exposed to the air and hungry gazes now.

rafe’s fingers tangled firmly in your hair, making you feel the sharp sensation. he dragged down by your hair and making you kneel right between his legs. you look up to him, hes already fumbling with his belt. shoving his denim and boxers down. his fat cock slapping against his abs. the tip flushing, slick with pre cum. veins visible.

he rubs his dick against your cheek, wet with your humiliated tears from earlier and from his pre cum. he grunts at the sight. your expression is lewd too. you look like a fucking whore. he slides his cock from your cheek, tapping against your lips.

“suck.”

© obsourie 2026. do not copy/repost my work or use my idea to ai. likes, reblogs, comments are appreciated!

[bookishbelle2312]

DROWNING IN HIM (PART 3)

pairing: kook!Rafe x pogue!ptsd!Reader - no use of y/n, no description of reader, pic for aesthetics only

summary: after falling off a boat during a storm, you'd given up adventuring with the pogues. and dating all together. but the nightmares and panic attacks stayed with you all these years. you beared it alone, until an unlikely kook keeps showing up when you need help.

wc: 2.7k

warnings: 18+ due to heavy subject matter and some angst and smut later

a/n: things are starting to heat up for these two. let me know what you think as always and thanks for reading!

banner: @/rumbleonthemill

table of contents: PART 1, PART 2, PART 3, PART 4

Rafe spent the morning on the water. Rose was annoyed that he’d come home in the middle of the night. And Ward just went along with whatever she felt. As usual, it wasn’t a problem that Sarah hadn’t even come home.

So, he left. On the water, nobody bothered him. Gave him dirty looks. Complained about him. He’d surprisingly had fun at the boneyard party. Hooked up with the blonde girl in his Camaro. He should have just stayed at Topper’s, like he had been most of spring break. But he knew Ward was unhappy he hadn’t been home much.

The wind picked up. The clouds darkened along with the ocean, waves growing. There hadn’t been any distant thunder or lightening, but he pulled back into the dock anyway. No point in chancing it.

The rain drops fell in scattered, heavy drops. Then it poured all at once. Relentless. Rafe cursed as he tied off the boat, his clothes immediately soaked through. Heading up the dock, he glances up to see someone standing on the sidewalk past the dunes. Even this early in the morning.

As he walks, even in the heavy rain, he realizes it’s you. Just standing. At first, he thinks you saw him. But you’re looking at the ocean. Frozen. And he knows that expression. It’s the same one you had when he’d pulled you out of the pool.

“Shit,” He mutters, changing direction. Instead of heading to the parking lot, he veers toward you, charging forward like he was running out of time.

Something that surprisingly helped your anxiety, as much as you wished it didn’t, was going for a run. It interrupted the spiraling thoughts, forced you to focus on something, and got some of the anxious energy out so you could sleep. And after a panic attack, you found yourself running longer. Harder.

You ran early in the mornings, before your shift at the Wreck. This particular morning you’d made it to Figure Eight. Running along the sidewalk, you could see the docks out of the corner of your eye. The ocean dark on this cloudy morning. Maybe one day you’d run on the beach. Get closer and closer to the water.

The boneyard party wasn’t so bad last night, you tell yourself. You’d survived it. Only one party ended in a panic attack, out of the hundreds of parties you’d been to. The only difficult part was running into Gavin, the Pogue you’d hooked up with last summer who was more than happy to leave you alone in bed the next morning and never talk to you again. But he was busy chatting with a new girl, so he didn’t even notice you.

A large raindrop splatters onto your bare shoulder. Then another. And another. Before you could even turn around, the sky let loose. No lightening or thunder. But rain that fell so heavy and hard you could barely see.

You slow your pace, your tank top and running shorts already soaked through. A convenience store comes into view and you try the door. Locked. Of course it is. It’s barely 7 AM. The wind picks up, the heavy rain smacking you as you turn back.

You glance at the ocean, only briefly. And that’s when your body freezes. Your mind is back on that boat. In the rough waves tossing your body from side to side. The rain had felt almost just like this. Falling in heavy sheets.  John B was trying to keep control of the boat. Your friends were yelling but you could barely hear them.

One big wave, and you slid off the boat and hit the water. The current didn’t care that you knew how to swim. The waves didn’t care that you knew to swim sideways to try to get out. And the longer you fought to stay afloat, the more your brain started to panic. You’d just slipped under when one of the Pogues grabbed you. That’s the last thing you really remember, other than coughing up ocean water on the floor of the boat.

Someone says your name. Someone real, not a memory. You inhale sharply, eyes snapping toward the sound. Rafe. No. Not here. Not now. Not again. You try to get your legs to move, but they refuse. Rafe steps closer, his blue eyes barely open as he holds up an arm against the harsh wind and rain. But he still scans you like you’re damaged.

“C’mon,” he says loud enough to carry over the storm. “Gotta move.” His hand presses against your back, firm and warm, and your body lets him guide you. Your brain is still coming back to reality. Remembering how to swallow, how to breathe. Remembering where you are. Why you were here.

Rafe leads you to a small, tattered boathouse almost hidden in bushes and dunes. He guides you inside, firmly shutting the heavy rust red door against the wind. It’s dark, a small window your only light. And it smells like old wood and ocean water that’s been stagnant too long.

“It’ll pass soon.” Rafe says, his voice cutting through the sound of the rain slamming against the roof. He’s glancing at his phone, fiddling with the radar on his weather app. You know he’s talking about the storm, but you make it apply to your panic too, trying to slow your breathing.

“What were you doing out here?” You ask curiously, noticing his soaked crewneck and jeans and needing a distraction. Rafe was the last person you expected to see at 7 AM on a Saturday.

“I should be asking you that, Pogue.” He quips, raising a brow. “Was on my boat. Getting some time to myself. What were you doing?”

“I was going for a run.” You reply. He chuckles dryly, and you think he’s about to make fun of you. What kind of person goes for a run when they seem to constantly have panic attacks where they barely breathe?

“Shit luck getting caught in a pop-up storm. You always run in Figure Eight?” He says instead.

“I’ve been trying to push myself.” You answer.

“Wait, you ran here from the Cut?” He looks up from his phone.

“Yes.” You answer, feeling heat rush to your cheeks.

“Damn.” He whistles. The wind smacks against the door, making it shudder. You flinch, breathing spiking again. Rafe’s eyes flick to you, like he’s waiting for you to snap.

“You don’t have to stay.” Your voice comes out sharper than you mean it to.

“I’m not going back out in that.” He scoffs. And with that you had no choice. This boathouse was only one small room. You had nowhere else to retreat to. You’d have to ride out this panic with Rafe watching you.

Clenching your fists, you turn away from him, crouching onto the ground. Facing the corner of the house, full of old and broken fishing poles, you pretend you’re alone and try to steady your breathing again.

“Hey,” Rafe says, reminding you of his presence one again. His voice is gentler than you thought he was capable of, and that makes you feel worse. “Just take a deep breath.”

“I’m trying, dumbass.” You grit out, squeezing your eyes shut.

“I was just-”

“I don’t need your help, okay?” The words spill out of you before you can think. “I don’t need you to pretend like you get it.” The rain was too loud. You could feel how shaky your breathing still was. Rafe was too close. You just wanted to be alone. In the quiet. “Is this a Kook thing for you? Help a Pogue girl so you feel better about yourself?”

“What?” His voice goes low. “Is that what you think?”

“Yes. I’m trying to breathe. Trying to calm down. But it’s fucking hard when someone who hates me is staring-”

“Hates you?” Rafe cuts in. “I barely even know you. How the fuck could I hate you?” You don’t want to admit he has a point. Your mind is too scattered to let your emotions settle and let logic take over. And you still won’t look at him, but you can hear him take another step closer.

“I always assumed you hate all Pogues.” You mutter, but feel the urge to bite your tongue. This always happened when you couldn’t get a grip on your panic. Everything would feel too all-consuming, and you’d snap. At your friends. At your aunt. And now at him.

“You know what, if you want to bring up Kook and Pogue shit, fine.” Rafe huffs. “It’s just like you Pogues to act like you’re the only ones who ever have problems. That you’re the only ones who have ever gone through shit. Fuckin’ forgive me for tryin’ to help. Jesus Christ.”

You’re angry enough to turn toward him, hating the way he towers above you. Eyes cold and almost grey. Jaw set. You slowly rise to your feet, your emotions fueling you.

“Yeah? And you Kooks have everything handed to you on a silver platter,” You start, stepping even closer. Rafe Cameron didn’t deserve to think you were weak. To see you at your worst. “All the resources at your fingertips. Everything we’d kill to have and you don’t even care. And somehow even with all of that, you still can’t get it together. Forgive me if I’m not really sympathetic.”

Rafe still looks down at you, and as he goes quiet, you realize how close you two are. He’s breathing almost as heavily as you are. The silence feels charged. Heavy. Something’s pricking under your skin, and it’s not panic anymore.

Rafe didn’t hate you. Like he said, he barely knew you. But he was starting to notice you. Really notice you. Your cheeks were flushed. Your bottom lip red from biting it. Rain-soaked clothes clinging to your skin. And you’d lashed out and riled him up.

Chest heaving, he feels like he can’t look away. He didn’t fully understand it. Twice this week he’d gotten laid. Should’ve been enough. He shouldn’t want you. Not another Pogue. Not when you were struggling. Angry. But he was finding it hard to care, like he should.

You were too close. Didn’t even realize he’d kept moving toward you. As much as he worked on himself, some things didn’t change. He liked how this felt. He liked how you looked. His gaze fell to your lips, then flicked back up to your eyes. You didn’t back away. Didn’t say anything. That was all he needed.

He crashes his lips to yours before he can change his mind. You gasp in surprise, but that’s not enough to stop him. It feels just as good as he thought it would. Your lips soft, your subtle perfume intoxicating. He grips the back of your neck. And when a different, softer sound comes from you and you kiss him back, he loses any hope of having enough control when it comes to you.

Rafe backs you into the wall of the boathouse and deepens the kiss. His hands move to your waist, fingers grazing the skin exposed from your tank top riding up. The parts of him he’d buried deep still rumbled. He felt the urge to rip off your top. Tear off your shorts. Bend you over the stack of canoes in the other corner and fuck you stupid. But he’d seen enough of you to know he should go a little slower.

The wind slams against the door again, making it shudder against the hinges. The sound wasn’t new. It’d happened a few times already. But you still flinch. Pull away. Push him off, eyes wide. It looked to Rafe like he’d woke you up from a dream. Like you’d realized what you’d done. His stomach clenched. You look afraid of him again. And you step to the side, scrambling to put some distance between yourself and him.

“We shouldn’t have done that.” You whisper, voice almost lost to the sound of the rain. He looks away from you, jaw tightening.

“Yeah.” He agrees, even though he doesn’t mean it. You look at the ceiling, waiting for the rain to slow.

“Won’t happen again.” You say like a promise. He doesn’t answer that one. It’s true he didn’t want to hook up with a Pogue. Not for a little while, at least. He wasn’t intending for this to happen. You needed help, he was there. That’s it. But he doesn’t regret it.

Rafe had snapped you out of your panic attack without meaning to. At first, it was annoyance, anger, that all drowned out the panic. But when it got quiet between you, he was close enough that you could see his nose was slightly red from the cold rain. Faint freckles dotting it.

And then he’d kissed you and your brain shut off and your body stilled. This man, who’d always unnerved you, had seen the worst version of you, at your worst. The pathetic, unappealing version of you that you’d tried to hide. And he wanted you anyway.

It felt good. So good. His hands felt warm and strong. His chest felt sturdy, like the anchor you’d needed. But the sound of the storm brought you back to reality. You’d kissed Rafe, of all people. Someone who didn’t care about Kook or Pogue when it came to sex, based on what all the girls at school said. But who also would never actually care about you either.

Growing up, you used to dream about a boy falling in love with you and saving you from home. A Pogue who was tough enough to take on your dad and run away with you, willing to scavenge and squat with you in the abandoned, tattered homes on the Cut. Or a Kook, who had enough money to whisk you away to their family estate and buy you all the things you never got growing up.

The reality was that no one came to save you. You had to get out on your own. A boy was never going to be your savior. Never going to be your anchor, even if it felt like it for a second. And you didn’t need them. Rafe was just trouble dressed up nice.

“I can drive you back.” He says once the sounds of the storm were gone for a few minutes, voice still low.

“I’m calling my friend.” You tell him firmly, taking out your phone and wiping off the screen enough to call John B.

“ ‘Ello?” He answers on the second ring, voice half asleep. You try to steady yourself.

“Hey, can you give me a ride back home? I went for a long run and got caught in that pop up shower.”

“Oh, shit. Yeah, ‘course I can. Where are you?” He asks, and you can feel Rafe’s eyes boring into you.

“The old boathouse by the docks.”

“Okay, be there in 10.” He promises.

“And bring Pope, please. If he’s not busy.” You plead, because Pope was your oldest friend and the most logical. Any time your panic got worse, you liked to talk to him. It was usually over the phone since he was at UNC now. But he was here on break for now, leaving tomorrow. You needed his support.

Pope always said things like “this is just your body trying to protect you” and “your brain doesn’t know the difference between real danger and whatever triggered you”. He made it so you didn’t feel stupid or broken. There was a reason for these things. And you would be okay.

“I’ll wait with you for your ride.” Rafe mutters, and you turn to look at him again. He’s staring at his phone like the past few minutes didn’t happen. The only sound now is both of your clothes dripping rain water onto the boathouse floor.

You want to tell him to go, that he doesn’t have to stay. You’d like him far away from you, so you never thought about kissing him again. But Rafe was probably headed back to school soon, too. Maybe that would be enough distance. And you wouldn’t have to cast out the guy who, as much as you didn’t want to agree with him, was just trying to help. So you just nod.

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[rafeobx]

crawling back to you, r.c

pair: ex!rafe + maybank!reader

masterlist

plot: *takes place in season 4 of obx* rafe is your ex and you haven't really spoke in a few months and the wound is still fresh. when rafe decides to come along and help the pogues in morroco, your relationship rekindles and you realize your feelings for him never changed.

trying out a new font lol

the heat in morocco is heavy, but the tension between you and rafe is heavier.

it’s been months since you guys called it quits, right before everything went completely off the rails and he somehow ended up on the same side as the pogues.

you didn’t expect to see him here, let alone be crammed into the back of a sketchy transit van sharing joint with him while jj and john b argue about a map upfront.

"you look hot," rafe says softly, his voice cutting through the noise of the engine.

you glance over, eyebrow raised. "like-like attractive or like i'm sweating to death?"

a small, familiar smirk tugs at the corner of his lips. the kind that used to make your heart skip. "both. but mostly the second one."

"hilarious, cameron," you mutter, but you can't help the tiny smile that tugs at your own mouth.

it’s supposed to be fine. you both agreed before the flight that whatever happened back in the cut and figure eight stayed there. you’re here for the treasure, he's here for whatever redemption arc he’s trying to pull off, and you're supposed to be just friends. or at least, civil exes.

but then the van takes a sharp turn down a dirt road, throwing you sideways. rafe’s arm shoots out instinctively, catching your shoulder to steady you before you hit the door. his hand lingers for a second too long, his thumb brushing against your collarbone. his skin is warm, and the sudden contact sends a jolt straight down your spine.

you look up, meeting his blue eyes. the easygoing smirk is gone, replaced by that intense, heavy stare that always used to make you forget what you were saying.

"you good?" he asks, his voice dropping an octave.

"yeah," you breath out, suddenly hyper-aware of how close he is. "i'm good. thanks."

he doesn't move his hand right away. his eyes dip to your lips for a fraction of a second before he pulls back, clearing his throat and looking out the dusty window.

"just don't need you breaking an arm," he mutters, though his tone lacks any real bite. "your brother would blame me.

the mention of jj sours the air instantly. it’s the reminder of the massive, jagged line drawn between your past and your present. jj's hatred for rafe isn't just pogues versus kooks anymore.

it’s deeply personal, a volatile mix of old figure eight grudges and the fact that rafe represents everything that's ever hurt your family. jj looks at rafe and sees the guy who nearly drowned his best friend, the guy who walked around with unearned immunity while the rest of you bled for every inch of survival.

"he's right to blame you," you say softly, the words hanging between you in the stifling heat of the van. you don't pull away, though. instead, you let your gaze drop to his hand, which is still resting just an inch from your knee on the worn vinyl seat.

"he's trying to protect me, rafe. you can't exactly blame him for not trusting you after everything."

the weight of 'everything' sits heavy in the small space between you. it’s the history jj can't look past, but for you, the pain is entirely different. you had loved him so deeply, more than you had ever loved anyone, and when you were alone, he treated you like you were his entire world, doing absolutely everything for you.

however, you couldn't block out the reality of what happened whenever he stepped outside your door. even while he was holding you close, he was turning around and hurting the people you considered family, constantly putting your friends in danger.

you were trapped in a brutal cycle of loving a guy who would give you the world, but would ruthlessly destroy theirs. in the end, you couldn't live with the guilt of choosing your happiness over your friends' survival, and you had to walk away from the only boy you ever truly wanted, breaking both of your hearts in the process.

"i know what i did," he says, his voice dropping to a rough whisper that barely carries over the rattling engine. "but i'm here now. i'm helping you guys. i'm helping you."

"are you?" your breath catches as his eyes lock onto yours, heavy and searching. the space between you feels microscopic, charged with months of unspoken texts, angry breakups, and the lingering heat of how things used to be before the world fell apart. "or are you just running away from the obx?"

"i'm not running," rafe says, his gaze dropping down to your mouth, holding it there long enough to make your pulse hammer against your ribs. the tension is thick, suffocating, a dangerous reminder of how easily you two always collided.

his hand moves, his fingers brushing the fabric of your shorts as he shifts even closer. "if i wanted to run, i wouldn't have come to the one place where everyone hates my guts. think about it." up front, jj barks out a laugh at something john b says, the sound loud and abrasive, shattering the quiet bubble you and rafe are trapped in.

you blinks, the spell breaking just enough for him to pull back a fraction, though his eyes remain dark and fixed on you. "just-don't do anything stupid out there," you mutters, your voice strained as he looks out the window.

he swallows hard, his jaw tight as he processes your words. for a second, it looks like he wants to argue, to give you one of those defensive, reckless excuses he used to use back in the outer banks. but instead, he just lets out a slow, heavy breath, looking away from you and staring out at the blurred horizon of the moroccan desert.

"i'm not trying to make things harder for you," he says quietly, his voice completely stripped of the usual cameron bravado. "i know i messed up with your friends, with you. but i’m trying to fix it. for you"

you look down at your hands, your fingers tightly laced together in your lap to keep them from shaking. the proximity of him, the familiar scent of his cologne mixed with the dusty heat of the van, is making it impossible to think straight.

"you can't fix everything in one trip, rafe," you murmur, your voice barely audible over the hum of the tires on the dirt road. "and you can't expect me to just forget."

"i don't expect you to forget. i just- i need you to know that losing you was the worst thing that ever happened to me. and being near you right now, pretending like we're just strangers sharing a ride, is tearing me apart."

the honesty in his voice hits you like a physical wave. it’s the exact tone he used when it was just the two of you, away from the chaos of his family and the loyalty to your friends. it's the rafe you fell in love with, the one you had to leave behind.

you swallow hard, trying to blink away the sudden sting in your eyes. "rafe, don't. don't do this here."

"i'm serious," he presses on, leaning a fraction closer, his warmth radiating across the small gap between you. "every time i see you look at me with that look in your eyes, like you're waiting for me to screw up again, it kills me. i did everything for you. you know that."

"but you also hurt the people i love," you whisper back, the reminder sharp and painful. "you can't separate the two, rafe. you can't be everything to me and a nightmare to them. i couldn't keep carrying that guilt."

his gaze drops to your lips for the third time, the silence between you suddenly loud and suffocating. the air in the van is hot, but the pull between you is an electric current, dragging you both backward into memories of late nights, quiet promises, and a love that was too heavy to survive.

"alright, we're here!" john b’s voice suddenly booms from the front, the abrupt sound shattering the heavy quiet in the back.

the van brakes hard, sending you forward slightly, but this time rafe doesn't reach out. he just holds your gaze for one last, agonizing second before the side door is thrown open by jj, letting the harsh moroccan sunlight pour into the cramped space.

jj’s eyes immediately dart between the two of you, his brow furrowing as he takes in the lingering tension. he holds out a hand to help you down, his posture rigid. "come on," he mutters, shooting a brief, cold look at rafe before guiding you away from the van.

the moroccan heat hits you the second your boots touch the dusty ground. the group clusters near the back of the vehicle, huddled around a worn map spread out on the hood. john b, jj, pope, and kiara are in deep conversation of how to follow the clues to find the blue crown.

the group moves further into the market, the crowded streets forcing everyone to walk in pairs. john b and jj lead the way, while sarah deliberately slows her pace to walk side-by-side with rafe.

"you're staring," sarah says quietly, her eyes scanning the colorful stalls but her attention completely on her brother.

rafe tears his gaze away from your back, looking down at his sister. "i'm not staring."

"rafe, you're practically burning a hole through her," sarah replies, a soft, teasing smile on her face. it's a massive change from how things used to be between them; the sharp edges of their past have finally started to blur into real, mutual support. she shifts her map to her other hand. "she still loves you, you know. she just-she carries a lot of jj's weight."

rafe sighs, running a hand through his hair. "i know. she's his sister, sarah. every time he looks at me like he wants to kill me, i can see it tearing her apart. i hate that i put her in the middle of that."

"so show her you're different now," sarah says gently, bumping her shoulder against his. "you're doing it with me. you can do it with her too."

rafe looks ahead at you again. the crowd suddenly surges as a vendor moves a large display, and you're pushed slightly off balance. before jj can even turn around, rafe steps forward instinctively, his hand catching your elbow to steady you.

"i got you," he murmurs, his grip warm and solid.

you look up, your eyes meeting his blue ones, and the familiar spark between you two flares up instantly. his hands instantly find your waist to steady you, his touch firm and certain amidst the chaos. you don't pull away. instead, you let your hand rest against his forearm for a lingering moment. "thanks, rafe."

jj turns around then, his eyes immediately dropping to rafe's hand on your arm. his jaw clenches, but before he can snap, sarah steps in smoothly, grabbing jj's attention with a question about the map.

"you okay?" he asks, his voice low, his head tilting down so his breath brushes your forehead.

"yeah," you whisper, looking up into his eyes. the harsh moroccan sun catches the blue in them, but the look he's giving you is soft, entirely stripped of the anger that used to define him. "i'm okay."

up ahead, sarah notices the shift. she catches your eye over jj’s shoulder and gives you a small, encouraging nod before deliberately asking jj another loud question about the map, keeping his back turned to give you both space.

rafe doesn't let go of your waist, and you don't move your hands from his chest. the noise of the market seems to dull into background hum, the heavy guilt and the painful memories of the outer banks finally starting to give way to the simple, undeniable pull that has always existed between you.

the crowd swells again, a sudden rush of people separating the two of you from the rest of the group. rafe takes your hand, his grip firm and reassuring, and gently guides you down a quieter, shaded alleyway to get out of the main path. the noise of the market fades, replaced by the quiet rustle of tapestries hanging from stone walls.

you stop against the cool stone, catching your breath. rafe stands close, blocking out the rest of the world, his eyes scanning your face with an intensity that makes your heart race.

"we lost them," you breathe out, looking back toward the busy street.

"sarah knows what she's doing. she'll keep jj busy," rafe says, stepping a fraction closer. the shade of the alley does nothing to cool the sudden heat flare between you. "i'm glad we're alone. i feel like i haven't been able to actually talk to you without feeling like a target."

"it's hard, rafe," you say, looking down at his shirt before meeting his gaze again. "being near you... it brings back everything. the good things, but also how much it hurt to leave."

"i know i put you through hell," he murmurs, his voice cracking slightly. he reaches up, his fingers gently brushing a stray piece of hair behind your ear, his touch so tender it makes your eyes sting. "but i swear to you, i'm trying to be the guy you always deserved. i haven't stopped thinking about you. not for one second."

the honesty in his voice cracks the last of your restraint. the tension that has been building since you first sat next to him in the van completely takes over, thick and heavy with months of unspent longing.

"i never stopped thinking about you either," you admit softly.

rafe’s breath hitches. his gaze drops down to your lips, and this time, he doesn't pull back. he leans down, closing the remaining distance between you, and presses his lips to yours.

the kiss is slow at first, full of all the unspoken words and built-up ache of your time apart, but it quickly deepens as his hands move to cup your face. it feels exactly like coming home, the chaos of the treasure hunt and the complicated family ties melting away into the quiet alleyway, leaving just the two of you finally finding your way back.

the kiss shifts, the slow hesitation completely melting away as rafe pulls you flush against him. his hands slide from your face down to the nape of your neck, his fingers tangling in your hair to hold you close, while your hands grip the fabric of his shirt. the sheer weight of the months you spent apart pours into the space between you, making the moment feel desperate and electric.

he presses you slightly back against the cool stone wall of the alley, his lips moving against yours with a fierce, possessive intensity that completely blocks out the rest of the world. it’s heavy, breathless, and packed with all the tension that had been building since you first looked at him in the back of the van. you can feel the slight tremble in his touch, a silent admission of how much he’s missed you, and you pull him even closer, letting go of the past entirely.

when he finally pulls back a fraction, his forehead rests against yours, both of your breaths coming in short, uneven gasps. his thumb gently traces your lower lip, his blue eyes dark and completely blown out as he looks down at you.

"i'm not letting you go this time," he whispers, his voice rough and certain in the quiet shade. "i don't care what it takes."

the sound of rapid footsteps echoing down the stone alleyway shatters the quiet, and you both jump apart just as the pogues round the corner.

within seconds, you're completely surrounded. jj steps out in front, his face flushed from the heat and his jaw locked so tight you can see the muscle ticking. john b, pope, and kiara form a tense semi-circle behind him, while sarah lingers slightly to the side, looking between you and rafe with wide, knowing eyes.

jj ignores rafe entirely at first, stepping directly into your space. his blue eyes scan your face, searching for any sign that you're hurt or in trouble. "where the hell did you go?" he asks, his voice low but vibrating with protective anger. "we turned around and you were just gone. i told you to stay right behind me."

you try to focus on your brother, to listen to his voice, but your gaze instinctively drifts past his shoulder.

standing just a few feet away, rafe is leaning casually against the stone wall, his hands tucked loosely into his pockets. he isn't even trying to look innocent. instead, his eyes are fixed entirely on you, and a slow, smug grin is spreading across his face.

"i'm fine, jj," you say softly, your voice still a little breathless, though your eyes never leave rafe's. "the crowd just pushed us back."

jj glances between you and rafe, his eyes narrowing as he takes in the flushed, happy look on your face and the unmistakable grin on rafe's. he lets out a sharp breath, clearly not buying the story, but the urgent shouting of merchants down the main street cuts off whatever he's about to say.

"we need to move," john b says, stepping between jj and rafe, his hand on jj's shoulder to pull him back. "the guys we're looking for are heading toward the square. we don't have time for this right now."

as you're led out of the alley, you look back over your shoulder one last time. rafe is falling into step right behind you, his hands in his pockets, his grin softening into something more genuine as his eyes lock onto yours. the secrets, the danger, and your brother's anger are still waiting, but as you walk out into the crowded heat, the heavy weight in your chest is finally gone.

[digitaldaydreamm]

we need more rafe and bsf reader content pls☹️☹️

unspoken claim

rafe x childhood friend!reader

| summary | you just got dropped off from a totally casual hangout with a guy, but you didn’t tell rafe—because, well, he’s not your boyfriend… right?

warnings: possessive, overprotective, “he’s not even your boyfriend but acts like it” energy

a/n: i'm baaaaack, did you miss me? 🤭

part 2 | masterlist | taglist

⋆｡𖦹 °.🐚⋆❀˖°

You barely notice the tension in the air until the car slows to a stop in your driveway.

“So, this is you?” the guy—Noah or Nathan or whatever—asks from the driver’s seat, drumming his fingers nervously against the wheel.

You nod, giving a polite smile as you unbuckle your seatbelt. “Yeah… thanks for driving.”

“It was fun,” he says, then hesitates. “So… who’s that?”

Your stomach dips the second you follow his gaze. There, sitting on your porch steps with his elbows on his knees, brows furrowed, is Rafe. His truck’s parked all jacked up in the driveway like he’d swung it in with no care for lines or curbs.

He’s not even looking at you. Just staring dead ahead, jaw tight, tongue pushing against his cheek like he’s trying real hard not to lose it already.

“Oh, uh,” you say quickly, fumbling with the door handle, “that’s just Rafe. He’s my—he’s basically my best friend.”

The words feel stupid as soon as they leave your mouth.

The guy raises his brows. “He looks… pissed.”

You force a laugh and open the door. “He always looks like that. I’ll talk to you later, okay?”

You don’t wait for a reply.

The second your shoes hit the driveway, it’s like the energy shifts—hard. Rafe’s eyes finally meet yours, sharp and cold and unreadable. He stands up slow, all six feet and something of him, broad and angry and radiating that you’re in trouble silence.

You swallow. “Hey…”

He doesn’t respond. Just nods toward the car still idling behind you. “That him?”

You glance back, awkward. “Rafe—”

“S'that him?” he repeats, firmer now, like he’s two seconds away from walking up and yanking the guy out through the window.

“Yes,” you snap, suddenly annoyed. “Not that it’s your business.”

He scoffs, stepping closer until you’re practically backed into your own front door. “Not my business?” he laughs bitterly, eyes flicking down to your outfit—casual but cute, the kind of thing you only wear when you’re trying. “You went out with some random asshole, didn’t tell me where you were going, didn’t answer your phone—nah, you’re right, not my business at all.”

You roll your eyes. “Oh my god, Rafe, it wasn’t a date.”

He gets in your face then, low and intense, voice full of venomous sarcasm. “Ohhh, right. Not a date. Just you, dressed like that, giggling in some guy’s passenger seat, letting him drop you off like he’s doing you a fucking favor. Real casual.”

“You’re overreacting.”

“And you’re outta your fuckin’ mind if you think I’m just gonna sit back and watch you get played by some dude who probably asked you out on Snapchat.”

You shove his chest lightly. “Jesus, Rafe, chill.”

He catches your wrist, holding it—not hard, but firm. “You forget who the fuck’s always been here, kid?”

Your heart skips. That damn nickname.

“You think he gives a shit about you?” Rafe sneers. “You think he knows how you take your coffee? That you can’t sleep with the closet door open? That you cry during vet commercials when the dog dies?”

You try to pull your hand back, but he doesn’t let go.

“He doesn’t know shit about you,” he growls. “But I do. And I always fucking have.”

Your voice is small. “So what, Rafe? You jealous?”

His jaw ticks.

And then, suddenly, he lets go of your wrist, takes a step back, and rips his phone out of his back pocket. “Nah,” he mutters, turning away and heading back down the porch steps.

He turns, takes two steps off the porch, then throws a look over his shoulder with that unhinged kind of calm.

“Is that the little fucker you’ve been giggling on your phone with?” he spits. “That the reason you’ve been ignoring me like some bratty fuckin’ teenager?”

You blink. “I haven’t—”

“Save it,” he snaps. “You think I don’t notice when you switch tabs the second I walk in? When your phone’s flipped face-down every time I show up? You think I’m fucking stupid?”

“Rafe—”

“Don’t,” he cuts in sharply, marching to his truck, fury practically vibrating off him. “Next time he drops you off, tell him to stop halfway up the block—unless he wants me waiting at the curb.”

You cross your arms. “You’re insane.”

“And you’re lucky I didn’t pull him outta the car,” he says, climbing into his truck like he didn’t just full-on stalk your casual hangout and threaten a guy with only eye contact and attitude. “Next time you’re bored, call me. Don’t go playing games with little boys who don’t know what the fuck to do with you.”

You stare at him.

Then he slams the door, starts the engine with a roar, and peels out like he’s doing it for dramatic effect—like the growl of the tires is part of the statement.

You’re left in the silence, heart hammering.

Not his girlfriend. Not his problem. And yet...

(you still haven’t blocked your location on Find My Friends.) (and he still shows up.)

[houseofblve]

𝙖𝙣𝙜𝙚𝙡 𝙛𝙖𝙘𝙚 - 𝙤𝙗𝙭 𝙨𝙢𝙖𝙪

𝖿𝗋𝖺𝗍 𝖻𝗈𝗒!𝗋𝖺𝖿𝖾 𝖼𝖺𝗆𝖾𝗋𝗈𝗇 𝗑 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋 (𝗆𝖺𝗂𝗇) - (𝗂𝗇𝖼𝗅𝗎𝖽𝖾𝗌 𝖾𝗌𝗍𝖺𝖻𝗅𝗂𝗌𝗁𝖾𝖽 𝗃𝗃𝗉𝗈𝗉𝖾)

𝗉𝗈𝗀𝗎𝖾 𝗉𝗋𝗈𝖿𝗂𝗅𝖾𝗌 - 𝗂𝗇𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗀𝗋𝖺𝗆 - 𝗍𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗍𝖾𝗋

𝗄𝗈𝗈𝗄 𝗉𝗋𝗈𝖿𝗂𝗅𝖾𝗌 - 𝗂𝗇𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗀𝗋𝖺𝗆 - 𝗍𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗍𝖾𝗋

𝗋𝖺𝖿𝖾 𝗑 𝗒/𝗇 𝗆𝗈𝗈𝖽𝖻𝗈𝖺𝗋𝖽

𝗈𝗇𝖾𝗌𝗁𝗈𝗍 𝗌𝖾𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗌

01. 𝗉𝖺𝗒𝗈𝗅𝖺 𝗆𝗈𝗇𝗌𝗍𝖾𝗋

02. 𝖿𝗋𝖺𝗍 𝖻𝗈𝗒 𝖼𝗎𝗅𝗍

03. 𝗂 𝖺𝗆 𝗌𝗈 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾𝖽

04. 𝗂𝗌 𝖿𝗎𝖼𝗄𝖻𝗈𝗒 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗍𝖺𝗀𝗂𝗈𝗎𝗌

05. 𝗂𝗇𝗌𝗉𝗂𝗋𝖾𝖽

06. 𝗃𝗈𝗁𝗇 𝖻 𝗌𝗁𝖺𝖽𝖾

07. 𝗋𝗈𝗈𝗆𝗂𝖾𝗌

08. 𝗐𝖺𝗋

09. 𝖺𝗆 𝗂 𝖻𝖾𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖽𝗋𝖺𝗆𝖺𝗍𝗂𝖼

10. 𝖿𝗎𝖼𝗄 𝗆𝗒 𝗅𝗂𝖿𝖾

11. 1𝗆𝗂𝗅𝗅𝗂𝗈𝗇 𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾𝗌

12. 𝖿𝗂𝗋𝖾 𝖿𝗋𝗂𝖽𝖺𝗒 𝗇𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍

13. 𝗏𝗂𝗈𝗅𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇 𝗈𝖿 𝗉𝗋𝗂𝗏𝖺𝖼𝗒

14. 𝗅𝗂𝖿𝖾 𝗂𝗌 𝗀𝗈𝗈𝖽

15. 𝖿𝗂𝗇𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗒 𝖻𝖾𝖼𝗈𝗆𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺 𝗌𝗆𝖺𝗋𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝗉𝖾𝗋𝗌𝗈𝗇

16. 𝗂’𝗆 𝗌𝗈 𝗌𝗍𝗎𝗉𝗂𝖽

17. 𝖼𝖺𝗇 𝗂 𝖼𝗈𝗆𝖾 𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗋

18. 𝖺𝗆 𝗂 𝖾𝗏𝗂𝗅

19. 𝗂𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗏𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇

20. 𝗂 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾 𝗆𝗒 𝖿𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗇𝖽𝗌

21. 𝗄𝖺𝗉𝗉𝖺 𝗉𝗂𝖾 𝖺𝗅𝗉𝗁𝖺 𝗆𝖺𝗅𝖾

22. 𝖽𝗂𝖼𝗄 𝖽𝖾𝗉𝗋𝗂𝗏𝖾𝖽

23. 𝖻𝖾𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗁𝖾𝗅𝖽 𝗁𝗈𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗀𝖾

24. 𝖻𝗂𝖽 𝖽𝖺𝗒

25. 𝗉𝗅𝗈𝗍𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀

26. 𝗀𝖺𝗆𝖾 𝗇𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍

27. 𝗌𝖾𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗍𝗈𝗆𝗈𝗋𝗋𝗈𝗐

28. 𝖿𝗂𝗋𝗌𝗍 𝗆𝖺𝗃𝗈𝗋 𝖽𝖾𝖼𝗂𝗌𝗂𝗈𝗇

29. 𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗒 𝖺𝗐𝖺𝗒

30. 𝗍𝗈𝗈 𝗉𝗋𝖾𝗍𝗍𝗒 𝗍𝗈 𝖿𝖾𝖾𝗅 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗐𝖺𝗒

31. 𝗐𝗁𝗈 𝗐𝖺𝗇𝗍 𝗆𝖾

32. 𝖽𝗈𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗀𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗍

33. 𝗆𝖾𝗇 𝗇𝖾𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝖽𝗂𝖾

34. 𝖺 𝗅𝗈𝗍 𝗈𝖿 𝖿𝗎𝖼𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗇𝖾𝗋𝗏𝖾

35. 𝗂 𝗌𝗆𝗂𝗅𝖾𝖽

36. 𝗋𝖾𝗊𝗎𝖾𝗌𝗍𝖾𝖽

37. 𝗆𝖾 𝗂𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖼𝖺𝗋𝖾

38. 𝗉𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗌𝖾 𝗁𝖾𝗅𝗉 𝗆𝖾

39. 𝗀𝗈𝗍 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗒𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝗈𝖻𝗌𝖾𝗌𝗌𝖾𝖽

40. 𝗂 𝗐𝖺𝗇𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝗁𝖾𝗋

41. 𝖻𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖿𝖺𝗆𝗂𝗅𝗒 𝖻𝖺𝖼𝗄 𝗍𝗈𝗀𝖾𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋

42. 𝗂 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾 𝗍𝗈𝗋𝗍𝗎𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗆𝖾𝗇

43. 𝖿𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗇𝖽𝗌 𝗈𝖿 𝖼𝗈𝗎𝗋𝗌𝖾

44. 𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝗌𝖼𝗋𝖺𝗉𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖻𝖺𝗋𝗋𝖾𝗅

45. 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗇𝗄 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌

46. 𝗂 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎

𝖺𝗎𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗇 𝖺𝗅𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗇𝖺𝗍𝖾 𝖾𝗇𝖽𝗂𝗇𝗀

𝗌𝗈𝖿𝗂𝖺 𝖺𝗅𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗇𝖺𝗍𝖾 𝖾𝗇𝖽𝗂𝗇𝗀

[mysteriuoxmbre]

Rafe Cameron x Pogue!Mother!Reader

Warnings: None. Pure fluff| Reader is an adoptive mother to her late friend’s daughter, who has and is ridiculed for being a “teen mother”/ “knocked up.”

Inspired by @/bittersweetlyblue & @/matthewswifeyy

Rafe Cameron who grew up hating you because you were a pogue, laughing about you with the other kooks.

Rafe Cameron who believed the rumors that you got knocked up by some random guy during a one-night stand—that you were a “knocked up” teen mother.

Rafe Cameron who, after catching you, watching your interaction with your daughter, pulls his eyes away, conflicted.

Rafe Cameron, whose eyes began to trail you and your daughter whenever he would catch a glance of you in public.

Rafe Cameron who found himself drawn to you whenever you were around, chugging his beer, and casting his eyes away in an attempt to get you out his mind.

Rafe Cameron who slowly gets close to you, and learns the truth about your daughter; you took in your late friend’s daughter.

Rafe Cameron who finds comfort in you and your daughter.

Rafe Cameron who, when Topper brings you up and calls you a whore and slut, clenches his jaw in an attempt to restrain his emotions.

Rafe Cameron who loses his cool when Topper brings up catching him around you, “a sluttly pogue who couldn’t control herself.”

Rafe Cameron who punches Topper to the ground, getting himself into a fist fight.

Rafe Cameron who has to be pulled off of Topper, his lips cracked and bleeding.

Rafe Cameron who glances at every kook surrounding the two of them, processing what happened. He clenches his jaw before wiping off the dripping fresh blood from his lip.

Rafe Cameon who storms off in anger.

Rafe Cameron who finds himself knocking outside your door in the middle of the night, his forehead inclined toward your door.

Rafe Cameron who, when you’re wiping and dabbing the blood off his face, tries to turn his face away in embarrassment, your daughter sleepily clinging onto his arm.

Rafe Cameron who is more calm at the sight and presence of you and your daughter.

Rafe Cameron who refuses to sleep in your bed or the master bedroom and chooses to sleep on your couch.

Rafe Cameron who watches as you walk to your bedroom with your daughter, whose hands cling to your back, her head situated between the nook of your neck.

Rafe Cameron who can’t sleep the entire night, and finds himself staring at your ceiling.

Rafe Cameron who finds himself standing outside your bedroom door, softly knocking as to not wake your daughter.

Rafe Cameron who looks into your confused and sleep-induced gaze as you stare at him from the other side of your bedroom door.

Rafe Cameron who relaxes into your presence, his arms wrapped around your waist as he rests his face into the nook of your neck—the both you lying on your sides on your bed.

Rafe Cameron who presses a soft kiss to your shoulder at the sound of your soft snores, mixing in with your daughter’s.

Rafe Cameron who finally finds sleep at the sound of your heartbeat.

[jayjsbabydoll]

BABY FEVER♡

rafe cameron x fem!reader ♡︎

♡︎summary: rafey gets baby fever. pretty self explanatory <3

♡︎warnings: none rlly ;))))

♡︎a/n: this is so cute to meeeee.︎

You never expected to see Rafe Cameron holding a baby. Truthfully, you weren’t sure he’d even want to. But the two of you had agreed to stop by Topper’s cookout, and his cousin had shown up with her six-month-old son.

At first, Rafe kept his distance. He made some sarcastic comment about how “babies were just loud, tiny drunk people who can’t hold their heads up.” But when the baby started fussing and his mom asked if someone could hold him while she got a plate, Rafe—out of nowhere—offered.

“Uh, yeah. I can take him,” he said, almost too quickly.

You raised your eyebrows, fighting a smile as she carefully handed her son over. And then it happened. Rafe, awkward for all of two seconds, adjusted his arm just right until the baby settled against his chest, clutching a fistful of his shirt.

And the baby stopped crying.

Everyone around made those quiet “aww” sounds, but you were too focused on Rafe. The way his whole face softened, his jaw unclenching, his voice dropping low as he murmured, “You’re good, huh? You like me?”

He bounced the baby gently, and for once, Rafe Cameron—loud, cocky, intimidating Rafe—looked absolutely smitten.

When you teased, “Didn’t take you for the babysitting type,” he just glanced up at you with a small, almost shy smile.

“I didn’t either,” he admitted. His hand instinctively cradled the baby’s head like he’d been doing it all his life. “But… damn. He’s kinda perfect, isn’t he?”

Something in your chest flipped, because you could tell he meant it. And when the baby grabbed his finger and wouldn’t let go, Rafe let out this quiet laugh you rarely heard from him—genuine, warm.

You swore you saw the exact moment it hit him, too. That sudden look in his eyes, the mix of wonder and a spark of longing. Later, when you were leaving the cookout, he slipped his arm around you and kissed your temple, mumbling, “Don’t freak out, but I think I could actually… see myself doing that. Someday. With you.”

And that was the first time you realized Rafe Cameron, of all people, had baby fever.

Back home that night, you’d barely finished brushing your teeth before Rafe was sprawled across the bed, hands behind his head, staring at the ceiling like he was solving the universe’s problems.

When you climbed in beside him, he immediately pulled you against his chest. You figured he’d fall asleep any second—until he spoke.

“So…” he started slowly, “if we had one, do you think it’d look more like you or me?”

You blinked. “Wait. Are we really doing this right now?”

Rafe just smirked, eyes flicking down to yours. “What? I’m just asking. Because if it looked like me, it’d obviously be ridiculously good-looking. But if it looked like you…” He paused, brushing his thumb along your cheek. “It’d be the cutest kid on the planet. No competition.”

You tried to hide your laugh. “You’ve really thought this through, huh?”

“I can’t stop,” he admitted, almost sheepishly. “Like, that baby today? He grabbed my finger, and I swear my brain short-circuited. I just kept thinking about what it’d be like if it was ours.”

Your heart melted at the softness in his voice. Rafe Cameron didn’t let himself be vulnerable often, but when he did—it hit different.

“You’d be a good dad,” you said quietly.

That made him freeze for a second. His blue eyes softened, and his mouth curved into a small, almost boyish smile. “You really think so?”

“I know so,” you replied.

He kissed you then, slow and tender, like the conversation had cracked something open inside him. When he pulled back, he grinned.

“Alright, but just so we’re clear—I’m not saying we need one right now,” he teased, tucking you closer. “I just… I like thinking about it. About… us. The whole future thing.”

And with that, he finally let himself relax, tracing lazy patterns on your arm until you both drifted off—Rafe Cameron, the last person you’d ever expect, falling asleep with a smile on his face because of baby fever.

It was well past midnight, and you’d just started to drift when you felt Rafe shift beside you.

“Hey,” he whispered.

You groaned. “Rafe, it’s two in the morning.”

“I know, but hear me out,” he said quickly, voice low but way too energized for someone who should be asleep. “What do you think of the name Avery?”

Your eyes flew open. “…Are you seriously still on this?”

Rafe smirked in the dark, rolling onto his side to face you. “I’m just saying. Avery Cameron has a nice ring to it.”

You laughed into the pillow. “Rafe—”

“Or Noah. Noah’s solid. Strong. You can’t mess up a Noah,” he went on, completely ignoring your protests. “If it’s a girl, maybe Isla. That’s cute, right? Like… beachy.”

You buried your face against his chest, giggling uncontrollably now. “You’ve officially lost it.”

He tilted your chin up, mock-offended. “Lost it? Y/n, this is serious business. We can’t be unprepared.”

“Unprepared for what? We don’t even have a baby!” you said, swatting at him.

But he just grinned, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Not yet.”

That made your heart stumble a little, though you tried not to show it.

A few minutes later, when you thought he’d finally fallen asleep, you heard him mumble one last suggestion into the quiet: “What about… Cameron Cameron? Double the power.”

You burst out laughing, and Rafe just smiled smugly, clearly proud of himself.

“Go to sleep, Rafe,” you said, shaking your head.

“Fine,” he sighed dramatically, tugging you closer. “But admit it—you’re kinda picturing it now too.”

And maybe you were.