Rafe Cameron x Pouge! Reader
Summary: She’s a Pouge, sure, but her energy is what pulls Rafe in. However other people can’t help but point out that she is just a Pouge.
She stepped into the small store, sunglasses slipping slightly atop her head. The flowy sundress she wore clung softly to her frame, graceful and easy, the kind of effortless elegance that made her look like a Kook—even up close. Her hair tumbled onto her shoulders in gentle waves, and she offered the person behind the counter a warm, genuine smile.
But that’s what gave her away—what made it clear she wasn’t one of them. She was a Pogue. The kindness that radiated from her couldn’t be masked: always holding the door for strangers, always flashing a soft smile to anyone who passed, always striking up little conversations like the world hadn’t hardened her yet.
Her fingers drifted lazily across the edge of a hanging plant, brushing over the velvety green leaves with gentle curiosity. The store was quiet, filled with the soft hum of an old fan and the faint scent of lavender and soil. She wandered farther in, eyes scanning the shelves of handmade candles and potted succulents, completely at ease in the stillness.
Then—ding—the bell above the door chimed, the sound cutting through the calm like a ripple in water. She glanced over her shoulder without thinking, more out of instinct than interest—and froze.
Her eyes caught on the tall figure in the doorway. Rafe Cameron. Dressed in a black tee that clung just right to his frame, a lazy smirk playing on his lips like he already knew something she didn’t.
“Oh,” he said, voice low and dripping with that infuriating charm, “didn’t expect to see you here.”
The amusement in his tone made it clear he absolutely did expect to see her here.
She blinked, rolled her eyes with a soft exhale, and turned to face him completely. Her sundress swayed slightly with the movement, and she crossed her arms—more to keep her cool than anything else. It was hard to ignore the way his eyes scanned her, or the way his presence seemed to take up the entire room.
“Hi, Rafe,” she said softly, even as her heart tapped a little faster against her ribs.
He stepped further into the store, his gaze fixed on her like he had all the time in the world.
“Hi, Bunny,” he said, voice smooth and teasing, the smirk on his lips enough to make her knees go weak.
But she’d never let him see that.
Of course he still called her that. It started back in middle school—when he used to tease her for being sweet, soft-spoken, always jumping a little when startled. The nickname stuck, and somehow, over the years, it morphed into something more than a joke.
Their relationship had always been… complicated.
Yes, she was a Pogue. But he never treated her like the others. In Rafe’s world, lines were thick and rarely crossed—except when it came to her. She was his exception.
Whenever someone would question why he flirted with her, he’d brush it off with that casual, practiced charm:
“She’s just easy to flirt with.”
Or, “It’s not like that.”
Except—everyone knew it was like that.
She was beautiful—anyone with eyes could see that. But Rafe noticed the things most people overlooked.
Like the time she helped an elderly woman cross the street without a second thought, gently holding her arm like it was the most natural thing in the world. Or the afternoon a little boy was crying because his dog had gone missing, and she refused to stop searching until he was back in the boy’s arms, tail wagging, safe and sound.
Rafe remembered all of it. Every little act of kindness. Every softness she carried in a world that didn’t always deserve it.
But she’d never know that.
She had no idea how often he saw her—really saw her.
“So you decided to hunt me down today?” she asked lightly, brushing past him to get a better look at the necklaces displayed on the shelf behind him. Her sundress swayed with the movement, and she didn’t miss the way his eyes followed her, lingering just a second too long.
Rafe turned slightly, leaning against the edge of the shelf like he had all the time in the world. “What can I say?” he said with a grin. “You make stalking look worth the felony.”
She shot him a look over her shoulder, fighting the smile tugging at her lips. “Charming. That’ll definitely hold up in court.”
“I’ll just tell the jury you smiled at me once and I never recovered.”
She let out a soft laugh, fingers tracing the edge of a delicate gold chain. “Mm, dangerous precedent. You planning to use that line on all your future victims?”
He stepped closer, voice low and playful. “Nah. You’re kind of a one-time deal.”
She rolled her eyes, but the faint blush creeping up her neck betrayed her. “You say that like it’s supposed to be smooth.”
“Oh, it was smooth,” he teased, reaching around her to pick up a necklace she’d been eyeing. “You just don’t want to admit it because then I win.”
She took the necklace from him with a raised brow. “I don’t think flirting with me counts as winning, Rafe.”
He leaned in just slightly, voice softer now. “Then you really don’t know how much I’ve already lost to you.”
That quiet caught her off guard—but just for a second. She quickly masked it with a soft smile and looked down at the necklace again, pretending she didn’t feel her heart racing.
After a few quiet moments, he smirked and stepped closer, his hand grazing the small of her back like he had every right to touch her. But she wasn’t going to stop him.
“What else are you doing today, Bunny?” he asked, voice low and teasing.
She glanced up at him, meeting those mischievous blue eyes with a calmness she didn’t quite feel. But instead of answering, she lifted the necklace she’d been holding and placed it gently against her neck, tilting her head slightly as if testing how it looked.
His gaze dipped, lingering on the soft line of her bare, sun-kissed neck—and just like that, the smirk faded from his face.
Without saying a word, he took the necklace from her smaller hands. His touch was careful, almost uncharacteristically gentle, as he reached around her to fasten it. One hand brushed her hair over one shoulder, the other clasping the chain behind her neck.
“This good, Bunny?” he murmured, voice rasping close to her ear.
A shiver rippled down her spine at the warmth of his fingers and the way his breath tickled her skin. She swallowed and gave the smallest nod, suddenly unable to find her voice.
Rafe didn’t move right away. His hands lingered, his gaze flicking to her lips, then back to her eyes—like he was waiting for something.
And God, if her heart wasn’t doing somersaults in her chest.
“Bunny?” he hummed, low and expectant, clearly wanting her to say it out loud.
Her eyes flicked up, meeting his in the small mirror in front of them—and that alone made her heart trip over itself. The look he gave her was all confidence and mischief, and she hated how easily it made her flustered.
“Yes,” she managed, her voice barely above a whisper.
His lips curved into a slow, satisfied smirk, like her answer had been some kind of victory. He opened his mouth, probably to deliver another one of his signature teasing remarks—
“Yo, Rafe! C’mon, man, Topper said the country club’s doing a golf tournament!” Kelce’s voice rang out from the front of the store.
Rafe’s entire mood shifted. His jaw tensed, eyes snapping toward the door in clear annoyance. “Just go wait in the car,” he called back, sounding thoroughly unimpressed. “I’m coming.”
As the door swung shut behind Kelce with a half-hearted grumble, Rafe’s hand stayed right where it had landed—resting low on her hip, not even pretending it was accidental.
She stood there, heart racing, only now realizing she’d been holding her breath. The second the door closed, she finally exhaled, shoulders easing just slightly.
“Guess I’m ruining your grand plans,” she said softly, a playful glint in her eye despite how breathless she still felt.
His gaze returned to her like a slow drag. “Nah,” he murmured, thumb brushing the fabric of her dress where his hand still lingered. “They can wait.”
She let out a soft chuckle, amused by how effortlessly smooth he always tried to be.
“Rafe,” she said, eyes twinkling, “please go rescue Kelce and get him to the country club. The poor guy looked like he was suffering.”
Rafe groaned dramatically, stepping back with a roll of his eyes, tossing his head like it physically pained him to leave. But when he looked at her again, that smug grin was right back in place.
“Come watch me play?” he asked, voice dipped in suggestion, as if he already knew the answer he wanted.
She raised a brow, lips twitching with a smile. “What, so I can watch you hit golf balls and flirt with the waitress?”
He smirked wider. “Nah. I only flirt with girls who wear sundresses and look at me like that.”
She blinked. “Like what?”
He was already heading for the door, grin over his shoulder. “Like you don’t want me to leave.”
She scoffed as the bell above the door chimed again, signaling his exit. He paused in the doorway, glancing over his shoulder with that signature smirk tugging at his lips.
“See you soon, Bunny,” he called out, voice smooth and teasing—like a promise wrapped in trouble.
And then he was gone, leaving the scent of his cologne and the flutter in her chest behind him.
She sighed softly, tilting her head up to take in the pristine country club sign overhead. This wasn’t her place. It never had been. A Pogue didn’t belong somewhere like this—and she knew it.
Still, somehow Rafe’s easy smirk and smooth-talking charm had gotten her here anyway. He had a way of making things sound like less of a bad idea than they actually were.
She took a steadying breath and pushed open the door, automatically holding it for an older woman walking out. The woman barely acknowledged her, just gave a stiff nod and kept moving.
Inside, the club buzzed with conversation, laughter, and the clinking of glasses. Everything felt polished, curated, and a little too shiny—like the people inside were more focused on appearances than anything real.
Her eyes scanned the room, eventually catching sight of the large glass doors at the back that opened onto the porch. Just beyond it, a crowd had already gathered around the edge of the golf course, dressed in pastels and name brands, drinks in hand as they watched the game like it was high-stakes entertainment.
She swallowed, her fingers tightening around the strap of her bag.
You don’t belong here, a voice in her head whispered but she shook her head putting a smile on her face.
Rafe had asked her to come. And somehow, that meant something.
She weaved her way through the crowd, gently brushing past groups of people in polos and pearls until she made it to the front. Spotting an empty table near the edge of the porch, she quickly slid into the seat, exhaling a quiet breath of relief.
Her gaze drifted out to the course, scanning the players until it landed on him. Rafe stood confidently, dressed in a fitted black shirt that clung to his arms and shoulders like it had been made just for him.
She couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at her lips. He really had no business looking that good.
Turning her eyes back toward the rest of the club, she took in the chatter, the clinking of glasses, the effortless way everyone seemed to belong. Not far off, a group of girls stood near a high table, their heads bent together in laughter and conversation. For a moment, she admired them—their sleek hair, polished nails, and the easy way they fit into this world.
But then one of them looked over. Then another. A not-so-subtle nudge. A whisper. And laughter that was suddenly less casual and more cruel.
Her smile faltered. The air around her shifted, heavy with the familiar sting of not quite belonging.
And just like that, the warmth she’d felt a moment ago began to slip quietly out of reach.
Normally, she tried not to let it get to her. It wasn’t supposed to matter—what people thought, what they whispered behind perfectly manicured hands. But ever since she and Rafe had started talking more, the comments had grown sharper, more frequent, and far less subtle.
She wasn’t blind to it. The looks. The judgments. The constant reminder that in their world, she wasn’t supposed to be standing next to someone like him.
With a quiet sigh, she shook her head, as if physically trying to push the thoughts away, and turned her focus back to the course.
Rafe was facing her now, his body relaxed but his brows slightly furrowed—even behind his sunglasses. His head turned slowly as he scanned the crowd, eyes flicking from one person to the next like he was searching.
The moment his gaze locked onto hers, everything changed. His smirk slid into place, slow and knowing, and he gave her a small, casual wave—like they were the only two people who mattered in the entire club.
Her face broke into an involuntary smile, but she tried to play it cool, rolling her eyes as she waved him off like he hadn’t just completely flipped her mood with a single look.
And he knew it too. That smirk lingered long after he turned away not ignoring the way he suddenly felt giddy and the need to show off.
She let out a breathless sigh and glanced around, spotting a waiter weaving between tables just a few feet away. Straightening slightly, she cleared her throat and raised her voice just enough to be heard.
“Excuse me?” she called softly.
The waiter turned, his expression already laced with boredom as he looked her over. “Yeah?”
Her eyes dropped to the menu in her hands as she tried to decide quickly, not wanting to hold him up. “Um… could I get a lemonade, please?”
Her voice was gentle, warm—even polite. Sweet, the way she always was. But it didn’t seem to register with him. He stared at her, blankly at first, his eyes narrowing slightly like he was trying to figure out where he recognized her from.
“Yeah, sure,” he muttered, scribbling on his notepad.
But instead of walking away, he lingered.
She glanced up, uncomfortable under the weight of his gaze. And then, as if something finally clicked in his mind, his face lit up with smug amusement.
“Oh,” he laughed, pointing lightly like he’d solved some riddle. “You’re that Pogue who follows Rafe Cameron around, right?”
The words hit her sharper than she expected, like a slap disguised as a joke.
“I’m sorry?” she asked, blinking in disbelief. Her voice was soft, but laced with something sharp—shock, yes, but also embarrassment creeping in at the edges.
The waiter just chuckled, shaking his head like she was the joke. “You know this club is strictly for Kooks,” he said, his smirk growing. “You’re on the wrong side of town, sweetheart.”
Her cheeks flushed, heat rising to her face not just from humiliation but from the casual cruelty of it. She opened her mouth to say something, to defend herself, but nothing came out right away. Her fingers curled slightly around the edge of the menu as if anchoring herself to the table.
She could’ve told him she was invited. That she wasn’t “following” anyone. That she had every right to be here just like the rest of them. But the way he looked at her—condescending, amused—made her feel small. Like no matter what she said, it wouldn’t change the way people here saw her.
Just a Pogue. A girl who didn’t belong.
Before she could even form a response, he scoffed and turned on his heel, walking away without another word—leaving her alone with a bitter taste in her mouth and the quiet question of whether that lemonade was ever going to show up.
She pressed her lips together, chewing lightly on the inside of her cheek as she tried to steady herself. The conversation lingered in her mind, and even though no one was looking directly at her, it felt like the laughter around her had shifted—like it was suddenly sharper, more aware.
She glanced down at her hands in her lap, then around the crowded patio. Her chest felt tight, not in an obvious way, just enough to make it hard to take a full breath.
Maybe this was a mistake.
Without drawing attention to herself, she stood up slowly, tucking her chair in behind her. She took one last look toward the course, hoping to catch a glimpse of Rafe, but he was too far out to see her from where he stood.
Her chest ached knowing she was leaving without saying goodbye. But she couldn’t be here any longer.
She slipped quietly through the crowd, weaving between tables and polite chatter, and stepped back inside the club. The noise dulled behind her as she pushed open the front door and walked out into the fresh air, her shoulders relaxing slightly now that she was away from it all.
He was a Kook, and she was just a Pogue. How had she ever convinced herself she could fit into his world?
Part two titled ‘Treasured’
