>>>warning: cancer, hints of character death, angst (??)
SUMMARY:
Sam suddenly gets a fever while you’re together and it scares you in more ways than one.
<<< VISIT 4 | VISIT 6 >>>
The fever came fast.
One minute Sam was teasing you about stealing his hoodie again—
the next, he was shivering so hard his teeth clacked, skin burning, face pale and flushed all at once.
You were halfway through a story—something stupid about a patient in the lobby mistaking you for a nurse—when you looked up and realized Sam hadn’t laughed nor said something sarcastic. He was staring at the wall. Breathing fast. Blinking slow.
“Sam?” You stood. Crossed the room. Touched his forehead.
Too hot.
“Sam—hey.” Your voice cracked.
He didn’t answer.
Didn’t even look at you.
You hit the call button.
Then the fear hit.
*
They rushed in. Nurses. A doctor. Someone said “infection.” Someone else said “low white count.” Words like dangerous and neutropenic and platelets. They pulled the curtain. They didn’t pull you. You stood just outside the fabric wall, arms around your middle, hearing Sam’s ragged breathing and trying not to crumble.
Please don’t let this be it.
*
The next 36 hours blurred.
He was out cold most of it. IV drips doubled. Machines beeped too fast. You didn’t leave. You curled into the chair beside his bed, hoodie pulled tight around you like armor. His hoodie.
You only left when they forced you to.
And the whole time you’re thinking; he doesn’t even know.
*
On the second night, he stirred.
Eyelids twitching. Brow furrowing. Hand jerking slightly under the blanket like he was reaching for something. You stood quickly, wrapped your fingers around his. “Hey,” you whispered. “It’s okay. You’re okay.” His fingers twitched. Then curled tighter around yours.
And just like that, he settled.
Your hand didn’t move the rest of the night.
*
In the morning, his eyes cracked open.
Bleary. Bloodshot. But there.
Sam looked around, disoriented, until his gaze landed on you, curled in the chair beside him, legs tucked up, cheek pressed to his mattress, still holding his hand. He blinked. Swallowed. “You’re here,” he rasped.
You smiled sleepily. “Of course I’m here.”
His throat worked. “You… stayed?”
“I didn’t want to miss you waking up. Would’ve ruined the dramatic reunion.”
He let out a breath that was almost a laugh. “You’re an idiot.”
You squeezed his hand. “Takes one to know one.”
Silence. A long, quiet beat filled with things haven’t said.
He stared at your hand in his.
Didn’t let go.
Didn’t want to.
<<< VISIT 4 | VISIT 6 >>>
ROOM304 MASTERLIST
ROOM304 BOT
TAGLIST (lmk if you wanna be added): @rorysbrainrot @bookfan210
Ugh. I’m really sorry for not updating at all guys😭 I’ll try to update visit 6 sooner!
>>>warning: cancer, hints of character death, angst (??)
SUMMARY:
You decide to sneak Sam out to the rooftop for a night out and get to know each other even more.
<<< VISIT 3 | VISIT 5 >>>
The plan wasn’t complicated.
Which made it your kind of plan.
“Come on,” you whispered as you slipped into Sam’s dark room one minute after lights out, holding a blanket like contraband and your finger to your lips in warning.
Sam blinked, half-asleep, IV cord still clipped to the rolling pole beside him. “What the hell—”
“Shhh. Get up. We’re breaking out.”
“Breaking out? What is this, The Shawshank Redemption?”
“More like Ferris Bueller.” You tilt your head towards the door. “Come on.”
He grumbled but didn’t fight you. Not really. Not when you knelt beside him to unhook the brake on the IV pole, not when you handed him his hoodie, not even when you said, “Trust me.”
Because somehow, he did.
*
The hospital rooftop was colder than you expected. Windy. Vast. You spread out the blanket in the corner, just beneath a patch of sky not blocked by fluorescent glow or steel scaffolding. The stars were faint. But they were stars.
Sam stared at them like he’d forgotten they still existed.
For a while, you didn’t talk. You just sat; both of you on the blanket, IV pole beside him like a loyal dog, your legs curled beneath you.
“This is illegal,” Sam muttered.
“Technically, so is your attitude.”
He smirked.
You leaned back, arms propped behind you, staring upward. “What would you do if you could do literally anything?”
He scoffed. “Loaded question.”
“You said you’d answer next time.”
He was quiet for a long beat. Then, like cutting through the wind he finally answers. “..I’d run away. Somewhere no one could find me. Somewhere I could scream if I wanted. Maybe Montana.”
You glanced sideways. “You’d last three hours without Wi-Fi.”
Sam scoffed. “I’d be fine. I’m emotionally complex. I could meditate or some shit.”
You turned your head. “You? Meditate?”
He sat up straighter. “I could. I’m very zen.”
“You literally flipped off a nurse for waking you up during your nap.”
Sam shrugged. “Disturbing my peace.”
You rolled your eyes. “You’re like a raccoon who developed anxiety and a nicotine addiction.”
He laughed, really laughed, and for a second, you forgot this was a hospital rooftop. Forgot about IV poles and labs and things you hadn’t told him yet.
Another beat of silence. Then he asked it—carefully, the words were balancing on the edge of something sharp.
“What would you do if you could disappear?”
You didn’t look at him.
You didn’t have to.
“I’d fall in love with someone.. go on a roadtrip to nowhere. Just us and the vast open road.”
He didn’t say anything for a while.
The air between you pressed down like a blanket soaked in unsaid things.
Then—
“Alright, Hallmark card. That was dramatic.”
You turned to him, offended. “Excuse me?”
“Just saying. You could’ve said something like, ‘open a bakery’ or ‘ride a motorcycle.’ But nah, you went full Nicholas Sparks.”
“You’re such a dick.”
“You started it.”
You reached over and poked his side, and he flinched. Your eyes widening at the sudden revelation. “God, are you ticklish?”
“No,” he said too fast.
“That sounded like a lie, Monroe.” You smirked.
“Touch me again and I’ll yeet your soul off this roof.”
You burst out laughing—real, loud, head-tilted-back laughing—and it was so infectious Sam couldn’t even pretend not to smile.
He watched you like you were the only bright thing on that rooftop. Maybe the only bright thing in his entire goddamn life.
You didn’t notice.
…And he wasn’t brave enough to say it.
<<< VISIT 3 | VISIT 5 >>>
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ROOM 304 MASTERLIST
TAGLIST: @rorysbrainrot
A/N: this took too long to write I’m so sorry 😢 I’ve been so busy lately I hate it! Next chapter will be a bit of a plot mover so I’ve been putting out some filler lol
may i get a cheeseburger (rafe cameron), a side of chicken wings, and a coffee? please? (｡•̀ᴗ-)✧
ORDER #3
rafe cameron nsfw oneshot ۶ৎ
content warning!!: smut | oral (m receiving), deepthroating, d/s dynamics, finger sucking, strong language, praise kink, size kink, hair pulling/tugging, tiny bit of breath play
🏷️: @chuuchuutrain @angel06babysworld @rafeysvenicebitch @alize2007 @ellayahhs @missmaybankk @tezzzzzzzz @deanswifeyy @my-diary1 @starkeyjoseph @silkylovey @usuiswifelol @loveesiren @lynst91 @mymelii @challengers4ev @melancohol1c @hibiskissedsoul | click here to be added!
700 followers celebration!
It was an unusually quiet day at the Cameron Estate. The rooms were empty and every small noise seemed to echo. It was the kind of silence that only came around once in a while when Rafe was gone. Peaceful and Refreshing.
He left earlier that morning, claiming he had to go help out with "Cameron Development" and that you "shouldn't worry your pretty little head."
So you didn't.
Not until he got home.
You were sprawled out on your sofa, fresh out of the shower, wrapped in a comfy hoodie and sweats as you scrolled away on your phone–until his presence broke the calm that enveloped the home.
He threw his keys onto the counter without a second thought, barely acknowledging your presence as he walked into the kitchen to make himself a drink.
You could practically feel the tension in his body as you watched him, his shaky hands almost dropping the bottle of Whiskey he'd taken out.
Your feet moved before you could think, slowly padding over to him–cautiously standing by the kitchen island.
One wrong move and he could just explode.
You tip-toed closer as he turned his back around, your arms carefully wrapping around his middle from behind.
He was tense beneath your palms, his muscles firm under your fingertips as you hugged him.
"Rafe...?"
"Mm." He grunted, taking another gulp of his drink before setting the glass down onto the counter. Any harder and it would've shattered onto the ground, a million tiny pieces all over the wooden floor.
"Are you okay?"
"Am I okay?" He barked, finally twisting out of your hold so he could see your face. "Gave out a loan tonight, the bitch ghosted me. Fifteen thousand dollars." He huffed, the noise a mix between a laugh and a scoff.
"That fucker hadn't even seen a hundred bucks in his life–much less fifteen grand."
" 'Sorry about that." You whispered, hugging him properly–arms around his neck and all. He let you hold him for a moment, his hands falling to your waist as you pressed your chest against his own.
"Yeah, sorry won't get me my money back." He sighed, muscles finally relaxing as your nails gently scratched at his nape, eyes fluttering shut when your lips pressed against his chin.
Your poor boyfriend was all stressed out–at his wits end. And you knew exactly how to cheer him up.
"C'mon let me make you feel better."
"Yeah, how're you gonna do that, sweetheart?" He chuckled, the noise low and gravelly. He looked down at you, his gaze focused on that mischievous little twinkle in your eye–and then it all clicked.
"Oh, you're dirty tonight, huh?" His lips curling into a smirk as you suddenly shyed away, tucking your face into the curve of his bicep.
"No, no. Y'wanna make me feel good? Hm?"
You nodded your head, slowly looking back up at him once again.
"I'm not gonna stop you..y'know that."
"Go on, baby. Cheer me up." He cooed, rubbing your cheek tenderly with his thumb, his finger eventually slipping between your lips.
You looked up at him through your lashes as your tongue swirled around the digit, his patience eventually snapping as you deliberately sucked on his finger.
"On your knees. Now."
You were eager to oblige, holding onto his thighs as you slid to your knees–the cold tiles hitting your skin instantly.
His hand gently tugged on your hair as you began to undo his belt, the sight of you beneath him enough to make his cock twitch in his pants.
Your mouth found his happy trail as his jeans fell down to his ankles, placing soft kisses against the line of hair until you reached the waistband of his boxers. Your fingers dipped into the spandex material as you dragged it down, watching his dick spring out. Flushed to the tip, leaking small beads of pre-cum that slid down the side of his length.
One hand slowly wrapped around him while your mouth kitten licked the pre away, each drop swallowed up by your tongue as your fingers gently moved along him.
"Yeah..just like that." He praised, his hand going behind him as he held onto the counter top, leaning back to get comfortable.
You twisted your hand around the base, slowly stroking him as your tongue met his slit, swirling around the pink flesh–moaning against him as his hand fisted your hair harder.
"C'mon, you can take it." He groaned, forcing your mouth down on him, watching the way your eyes grew glassy as you fully took his length–the sight enough to make him cum right then and there.
But he had a little more self-control than that.
"Thought you said you want to make me feel better." He teased, as your pace grew faster–so overwhelming that spit began to dribble down your chin.
And he loved it.
"Yeah..just need some convincing, and you get it, hm?"
You sucked at him harder, hollowing your cheeks as he hit the back of your throat, your tongue gliding over the underside of his dick as he fucked himself into your mouth until he came.
Hot, white ropes of cum shot down your throat as he buried himself deeper, watching your eyes roll back before he considered himself done and pulled away.
"Y'so good, y'know that? So...so fucking good."
Completely spent and breathless.
His eyes never left you as you rose to your feet, your knees visibly red and throbbing in pain, a slight limp in your step.
He noticed instantly, pulling you into his chest with two hands on your ass.
"My poor baby..'so sorry." He whispered in faux concern, gently kissing your temple, wrapping an arm around your neck–comically small compared to his bicep.
"It's okay, Rafe."
"No..no it's not. C'mon ...let me make it up to you. Y'gonna let me take care of you too?"
You nodded your head hesitantly, watching his worried expression melt into something more confident. Cocky.
"Hop up on that counter baby, spread your legs nice and wide."
hi, love your writing so much. It is literally so good. Can I request JJ date? Super cute dates even though it may be very simple but a really cute simple beach day and his personality and like silliness makes it the date super special even though it may not be much 🫶🫶🫶🫶
“Part mermaid…”
>>>pairing: bf!jj x gf!reader
>>>warning: none. pure fluff.
You knew the date would be something simple. He’d said, “Wear something you don’t mind getting sand in,” with the grin of a boy who definitely had no reservations. And that was fine. You didn’t need fancy. You had JJ. Which meant you had loudness. And kisses. And a beach cooler full of snacks he probably begged off Sarah.
He picked you up barefoot.
Literally. No shoes. Board shorts, a worn down tank, and a stupid grin that made your stomach flutter. “I brought sandwiches,” he announced, lifting the cooler like a trophy. “And also… a surprise.”
“Is the surprise that you made them yourself?”
“No. The surprise is that I didn’t eat them on the way here.”
You blinked then nod. “Growth.”
“I’m a changed man.”
*
The beach was quiet. Just the sound of the tide and a few distant gulls as he laid out two towels then tugged you to sit exactly where your arm would brush his every time you moved. “Skin-to-skin proximity builds emotional intimacy,” he said, completely serious. “Read it on a relationship blog.”
“You were reading relationship blogs?”
“I was trying to figure out what kind of love language you have. I’m committed.”
You couldn’t help but laugh as he peeled off his tank and flopped back dramatically like a sunbathing cat. Every few minutes, he’d sit up to make sure your sunscreen was rubbed in (“You missed a spot. No, the other spot. No, let me—hold still—okay, this is for your safety.”)
You swam. He tried to dunk you. You screamed. He screamed louder. Then he carried you bridal-style out of the water just to be obnoxious, acting like he just saved your life.
“You okay?” he whispered, as if he wasn’t the one who just almost drowned you for fun.
“JJ, I can literally touch the floor.”
“Shhh. Don’t ruin my hero moment, babe.”
You buried each other in the sand. He made you a “throne” out of towels. And when a crab scuttled past, he gave it a full name and backstory and said you should feel honored to witness its wedding to a seashell.
“You’re officially invited. Plus one. It’s a big deal..babe—where you going—”
*
By the time the sun began to dip low and gold across the water, you were curled up on the towel together, sticky with salt, full of half-melted chips, and just… content.
He held your hand. Played with your fingers. Drew invisible lines on your wrist, tracing out a map of your skin like he always did.
“You wanna know something?”
“Always.”
“If I had to pick one day to relive forever, like—Groundhog Day style? It’d be this one.”
You turn to face JJ, eyebrows raised.“Really?”
“Yeah. ‘Cause I got everything I want right here. My girl. The ocean. And a slightly warm ham sandwich.”
“Wow,” you deadpanned. “So romantic.”
“Don’t get it twisted. I’d throw you into the sun.” He paused. “Okay, maybe not throw you, but like… place you gently in the sun’s general direction.”
You kissed him anyway. Because beneath the jokes, the boy who tackled you into the water and gave a hermit crab a name also looked at you like the whole beach was nothing compared to your smile.
And when he tucked a piece of sea-glass behind your ear and said, “Look. You’re part mermaid now. Which explains why I’ve been drowning in you this whole time,” you knew this wasn’t just a cute beach day.
It was JJ Maybank falling in love. Loudly. Wholeheartedly.
And damn if it didn’t feel like magic.
Ugh. I’ve been so busy I hate it 😫 I literally have like 17 drafts right now that I’ve been wanting to post.
hiii making jj a super meaningful gift maybe for his birthday? he rlly loves it because he never got something this thoughtful b4. thank youuu
In my headcanon all the bracelets JJ wears are from Y/N. Like he’s got a whole collection up in there.
It wasn’t much. Not fancy. Not expensive. But you spent hours choosing every detail, your fingers clumsy with thread and your heart full of please let him like it.
A bracelet; woven with colors that reminded you of him.
Ocean blue. Sun-bleached tan. A thread of gold you’d had to dig out of an old sewing kit. And in the center, a small, flat charm. It wasn’t store-bought. You’d carved it from a seashell yourself — the same shell he gave you the first time he ever said, “You make my brain go stupid.”
You knew he wouldn’t remember the shell. But you did.
You hand it to him on his birthday. Just you and him. No crowd. No Pogues. You say nothing at first just hold it out in your palm, a little nervous, a little proud.
He blinks. “Wait, you made this?”
You nod.
He’s quiet.
Too quiet that you started fidgeting with the hem of your shirt. His fingers hover before he even touches it. Like he’s scared he’ll break it just by looking too long. “It’s stupid, I know,” you rush, suddenly unsure. “I just wanted you to have something. That’s… always with you. Something good.”
“This is—” his voice breaks, and he laughs, almost like a defense. “This is the nicest thing anyone’s ever given me.”
He says it as a joke. But his eyes say otherwise.
JJ Maybank, whose birthdays were usually forgotten, whose gifts came with strings or apologies or pity is staring at a bracelet like it’s a diamond-studded crown.
“Do I put it on now?” he asks, holding it like it’s fragile.
“You can if you want.”
“Want? Babe, I’m never taking this off. Ever.”
And he means it.
He wears it like armor. Touches it when he’s anxious. Kisses your hand and mumbles, “You gave me this,” like a quiet reminder.
To anyone else, it’s just string and shell. To him, it’s proof he’s loved. On purpose. Without conditions.
>>>warning: cancer, hints of character death, angst (??)
Sam, newly diagnosed with leukemia, is jaded, bitter, and emotionally shut down. He spends his days pushing people away. Then, one afternoon, a girl appears —claiming to be a hospital volunteer. He tries to ignore her, but she’s persistent. Soft. Different.
>>>warning: cancer, hints of character death, angst (??)
SUMMARY:
Sam, newly diagnosed with leukemia, is jaded, bitter, and emotionally shut down. He spends his days pushing people away. Then, one afternoon, a girl appears—claiming to be a hospital volunteer. He tries to ignore her, but she’s persistent. Soft. Different.
<<<VISIT 2 | VISIT 4 >>>>
“You’re going to keel over.”
“Shut up. I’m pacing myself.”
“You’ve walked, like, six steps.”
“Yeah. And they were impressive steps.”
Sam grunted as he adjusted the IV pole, dragging it beside him like a reluctant dance partner. His hospital slippers scuffed over the sidewalk while the early morning sun filtered through the trees, painting gold on everything it touched.
You held the gate open with one hand and your drink in the other, waiting for him to catch up like you weren’t deliberately slowing down.
“You good?” you asked, softer now.
“Peachy,” he muttered, but he didn’t stop walking.
The hospital garden was quiet this early — just trimmed hedges, a few tired rose bushes, and benches that creaked like they were holding secrets. You had asked him to come out here all week. He’d resisted, rolled his eyes, said things like “what’s the point of looking at plants I can’t eat?”
But today, for whatever reason, he said yes.
You didn’t question it.
You just walked beside him in silence for a while. Not awkward. Not forced. Just quiet. Like the world had taken a breath with you.
*
There was a patch of lavender near the stone wall. You plucked a sprig and offered it to him without saying anything. He took it. Rolled it between his fingers. “…You like this place?” he asked finally.
You shrugged. “Yeah. Makes the hospital feel a little less like a prison.”
Sam’s jaw tightened. “Don’t say that.”
You tilted your head. “Why? It’s true.”
He didn’t answer right away. Just stared at the lavender in his hand like it might give him a reason not to break. You nudged him with your shoulder. “You’re allowed to talk about it.”
“Yeah, well… I don’t want to. Not right now.” His voice cracked. “I just want to—pretend. Like this is normal. Like I’m normal.”
You looked around at the garden. The morning sun. The empty bench you’d end up sitting on soon. “Okay,” you said. “Then it’s normal. We’re just two messed-up teenagers skipping school to look at boring flowers.”
Sam exhaled a breathy laugh. “God,” he muttered. “You’re annoying.”
You grinned. “You like it.”
*
Later, while you were brushing crumbs off your jeans, he said something quieter. “You don’t talk about yourself much.”
You shrugged. “I’m here for you.”
He tilted his head, jaws locked. “You don’t owe me anything.”
“That’s what makes it real.”
Sam didn’t reply. Not right away.
He just reached for the marker and started drawing something on the edge of his tray. A girl in a hoodie with a giant frog on her shoulder and a heart floating above her head like a cartoon thought bubble.
You rolled your eyes. “Is that supposed to be me?”
“Dunno,” he said, not looking up. “She looks too nice.”
You leaned over and drew devil horns on the head. “Fixed it.”
wearing jj clothes and hats and he think: ur the cutest thing ever 🥹🥹🥹
Thank you for all the ask😆 I’m working on the other ones but this was by far my fav one to write. I picked this gif cuz we know what hat and hoodie we’re talking about 🤫
“I’m drowning.”
>>>pairing: bf!jj x gf!reader
>>>warning: pure crack and fluff with a bit of vulgar language aka JJ being JJ
You were supposed to be packing for the beach.
Instead, you plopped JJ’s worn-out hat onto your head with a dramatic “Ayo, bro.” and struck a surfer dude pose in front of the mirror.
JJ, mid-search for the speaker, looked up and immediately staggered backward like he’d been physically struck. “No. Nope. I’m dead. I’m literally dying right now.” He dropped the speaker on his foot. Didn’t even flinch. “I haven’t even made it to the water and I’m already drowning.”
You raised a brow. “Over a hat?”
“Over you in my hat with your face—looking like that.” He pointed aggressively like it was your fault.
You snorted, flipping your hair dramatically under the cap. “You mean I look better in it?”
“Okay, disrespectful and illegal,” JJ gasped. “That’s my hat. My soul is in that hat. And now you—” he gestured helplessly, “—you’re just walking around being the cutest thing to ever exist?? I didn’t train for this.” He launched himself face-down onto the bed in mock agony.
You walked over, hat still on, and poked him. “So.. you like when I wear your things?”
"Like?" He repeats with a shake of his head, his eyes never leaving your face with his hat on. "Baby, I'm pretty sure my dick just stood up and cheered."
You grin, leaning down to where JJ was still laying on the bed and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Well then. This hat is mine now.”
“Fine. But only if I get visitation rights.”
And as you tugged on his hoodie next, JJ made a soft, suffering noise that could only be translated as “Lord help me, I love this woman.”
Just a quick blurb cuz it’s all I could conjure up
>>>warning: toxic, playful, possessive, and deeply co-dependent, unfortunately no smut
>>>summary: Rafe flirts with a girl to make you jealous since he loves seeing you angry.
A/N: inspired by Chuck and Blair in season 3 of GG iykyk. this is probably as close to smut as I can write🫣
Rafe saw you the second you walked into the room.
You always made an entrance even when you pretended not to. Even now, dressed like trouble in heels that were made to crush egos and a dress that clung like sin. But you didn’t look at him. You looked everywhere else, nursing your drink like the glass offended you.
So he played his card.
The girl at the bar was easy enough to pull in. Soft smile, basic flattery, the kind of desperation that mistook his silence for mystery. Rafe barely touched her. Just leaned in, slow and calculated. Just enough to let her fingers graze his bicep. Just enough to make sure you saw.
And you did.
You always did.
He felt your presence behind him before you even said a word. The temperature dropped. The air changed. You stepped between them, your body a wall of practiced elegance and venom. “Sweetheart,” you said to the girl, tone faux-kind, “do you always hang off men who aren’t yours or is tonight special?”
The girl blinked. “Excuse me?”
“I mean, it’s adorable. Really. Trying so hard with a man who hasn’t looked at you once.”
Rafe sipped his drink, watching the moment like a front row seat to his favorite show.
The girl stammered. “I didn’t—he said—“
You tilted your head. “He’s mine. But don’t worry, you’ll make a great pity post in a group chat.”
The girl’s face crumpled. She fled, heels clicking too fast across the floor.
Rafe didn’t move.
You turned to him, eyes still blazing, glossed lips —that Rafe loved to bite— turned down in a frown. “You enjoyed that.”
“Did I?” he said, smug. “Looked like you did.”
“You’re sick,” you snapped, breath short.
Rafe grinned, leaning down your height just enough that you smell the bourbon on his breath. “You’re worse. And I love it.”
You dragged him by the wrist out the side exit, not saying a word as you headed straight to his truck. He followed without hesitation, enjoying the way your nails dug into his skin far too much. The door slammed behind you both, and the second you turned to speak, he was already kissing you.
It wasn’t gentle.
It was teeth and tongue and tangled limbs across the bench seat. His hands in your hair. Yours fisting his button-up. You bit his lip; he growled into your mouth.
“She really thought she had a chance,” you muttered against his jaw, voice breathless.
“She was a pawn,” he drawled, lips trailing down your throat. “You’re the queen.” He kissed your pulse like a brand, his voice thick. “And I like when you get mean.”
You laughed—wild and giddy, drunk on jealousy and adrenaline and Rafe.
He pulled back just enough to look at you, hand still cradling your thigh. “I’d let you ruin me,” he murmured. “You know that, right?”
You smirked. “I already have.”
He kissed you again, deeper this time. Slower. His hands slides beneath your dress, mapping out your soft skin like he always does.
You let him. You move down his neck, glossed lips leaving tacky residue on his skin as you murmur,
Summary: Some Kook girl spreads a rumor that she hooked up with Rafe—just to piss you off. When you confront him, it turns into an argument where you start to doubt him. But Rafe? He refuses to let you walk away.
You weren’t even looking for drama tonight.
You just wanted a chill night at the party—have a drink, dance a little, maybe even get Rafe to actually behave himself for once. But no. Instead, you had to hear some random girl tell everyone that she hooked up with your boyfriend.
At first, you laughed it off.
Because really? Rafe Cameron? Cheating on you? Not a chance.
But then you saw her—smirking, flicking her eyes in your direction, looking entirely too pleased with herself. And suddenly, you weren’t so sure.
So now here you were, arms crossed, standing in front of Rafe, daring him to explain.
“She’s saying you hooked up,” you snapped, voice sharper than intended. “Are you gonna deny it, or just stand there looking like an asshole?”
Rafe, leaning against the counter with his beer, just sighed—like this was a mild inconvenience rather than a full-on crisis.
“Babe, really?” He raised a brow. “You actually believe her?”
You hesitated.
And that hesitation? Oh, Rafe did not like that.
His jaw ticked, and suddenly, he was pushing off the counter, closing the space between you in two slow steps.
“Let me get this straight,” he murmured, towering over you now. “You think I’d let some desperate, pathetic Kook girl anywhere near me—when I have you?”
You hated that he said it like that—like it was the most ridiculous accusation ever. Like you should’ve just known better.
You huffed, looking away. “I don’t know, Rafe. You weren’t exactly shutting her down.”
His fingers tilted your chin up, forcing you to look at him.
“I don’t even know her name,” he scoffed, shaking his head. “You really think I’d fuck around on you? You think I’d risk losing you for some nobody?”
Your stomach flipped at how serious he looked—blue eyes dark, lips pressed into a firm line.
You swallowed. “…I don’t know.”
That was the wrong answer.
Rafe’s gaze hardened. “Bullshit.” He stepped closer, voice dropping lower. “You know damn well, no matter how mad you get at me, we’re always gonna work it out.”
You blinked up at him, heart hammering. “Rafe—”
“No, listen to me.” His voice was firm now, like he was making a point you weren’t allowed to argue. “You don’t get to walk away over this. Not from me.”
You sucked in a breath, nails digging into your palms. “You act like I don’t have a choice.”
Rafe grinned. “You don’t.”
His fingers curled around your jaw, holding you in place. “Because I love you. And I don’t give a shit how upset you are, you’re still mine.”
Your breath hitched. Your body was betraying you, leaning into him even as your brain told you to stay mad.
Rafe’s smirk turned smug. He could feel you giving in.
“You wanna be mad at me?” His fingers traced your jaw, down to your neck. “Fine. But don’t ever doubt that I’m yours.”
Then, just to make his point, he turned his head slightly—locking eyes with that girl across the room. The one who started all this.
And then?
He kissed you.
Hard.
His hand gripped your waist, pulling you so close there wasn’t a single inch of space between you. His other hand slid into your hair, tilting your head back, deepening the kiss.
He made a point to make it slow. Intense. Unapologetic.
By the time he pulled back, you were breathless, fingers curled into his shirt.
Rafe leaned in, lips brushing against your ear, voice low and smug.
“Nice try, though.”
Across the room, the girl’s expression was pure embarrassment.
And Rafe? Rafe just grinned—like he had just won the best game he’d ever played.
You sighed. “You’re such an asshole.”
Rafe just laughed, squeezing your hip. “Yeah, but I’m your asshole.”
hiii dad jj with this TikTok 🥺 thanks! https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZP8kUvbAN/
I looove this ask so much! The son is from my Legacy Series that I haven’t posted anywhere else yet 🤫
“That’s my dude.”
>>>Legacy Series™️
>>>pairing: dad!jj x son!hurley (feat. amused mommy!reader)
>>>warning: pure fluff
>>>summary: two-year-old Hurley wants to go surfing with JJ but he can’t swim
A/N: I really need to post more from my Legacy Series! Ugh. I love dad!jj and uncle!jj so much!!
The sun’s barely up when you hear the backdoor creak open.
You peek out the window and there he is; JJ, board under one arm, wax in his teeth, hair still messy from sleep. Morning light hitting the ocean just right. He’s always said he feels most like himself when the tide’s low and the world’s quiet.
But this morning?
“Papaaa!”
Tiny feet slap the deck.
Two-year-old Hurley barrels after him, wearing nothing but shark-patterned swim trunks, one Croc, and his determined little frown.
“No no no, buddy,” JJ calls over his shoulder, already dropping his board in the sand. “Not today, okay? You can watch from the beach with Mama—”
“I go, too!” Hurley yells, proudly dragging his “surfboard” behind him — a foam kitchen cutting board with stickers all over it.
JJ freezes mid-step. Turns.
“Hurley…”
“My board!” he insists, chin wobbling. “I paddle wif you. I go, Papa.”
JJ walks back up, kneels low, hands on Hurley’s bare shoulders. He’s trying so hard to be gentle. “You can’t swim yet, little man. It’s too deep out there.”
“But I got my cutting bowd!” Hurley cries. His eyes glass over. The lip starts to tremble.
JJ immediately breaks.
“Oh, don’t— buddy, don’t do the lip—”
Hurley sniffles. Wipes his nose on JJ’s bandana. “I go in da watah, papa…”
JJ pulls him into his lap, burying his face in Hurley’s wet curls. “One day, yeah? I promise. One day, you and me; riding waves like pros. But today? Today you gotta be my little beach captain. You’re on mommy protection. Super important job.” JJ pats Hurley’s back. “Can you take care of mommy for me?”
Hurley mumbles into JJ’s chest. “O’tay…”
“That’s my dude.”
JJ kisses the top of his head, then stands up and sets Hurley on a beach towel beside you. “He’s literally me,” he whispers, raking a hand through his hair. “But smaller. And louder.”
You kiss JJ’s cheek. “And cuter.”
“Okay, rude.”
Hurley sits on the sand, clutching his cutting board, sniffling but still watching JJ paddle out like it’s the most magical thing in the world.
And of course JJ keeps glancing back at the shore, just to see his boy watching.
⸻
BONUS
“Alright, lil’ dude,” JJ calls from the kitchen, grabbing his board and slipping his arms through a faded tank. “Tide’s good, wind’s soft. Perfect waves today. You comin’ with me?”
Silence.
He peeks into the living room.
Hurley, now five, is lying belly-down on the floor, surrounded by crayons and a sketchpad the size of his head. His tongue’s sticking out in concentration as he colors something in with short, furious strokes of green.
JJ steps closer.
“Buddy?”
“Can’t. I’m making grass.”
JJ blinks. “What?”
“For the hill. In the back.” Hurley doesn’t even look up.
JJ lowers his board. “You don’t wanna come surfing?”
“Not today.”
“But you used to wanna come.”
Hurley shrugs, still drawing. “That was when I was two.”
JJ pauses in the doorway, staring at the back of his son’s shaggy blond head. “Damn,” he mutters to himself. “Why didn’t I just say yes when you were two?”
You laugh softly from the couch. “Because he couldn’t swim, and he was using a cutting board as a surfboard.”
“Still.”
He lets out a dramatic sigh and turns to head out, only to stop when Hurley calls, “Wait!”
JJ turns, hopeful. “Changed your mind?”
Hurley tears a page out of his sketchbook and pads over barefoot. “No. But I made this for you.”
He hands JJ a crayon drawing.
It’s messy, bright, and perfect.
A wobbly stick-figure JJ stands on a surfboard, arms out wide, hair sticking up. Next to him, in huge purple letters:
“Dada surfing da BIGGEST WAVE!”
JJ stares at it, heart tightening in his chest.
“Dude… I love it.”
“I know,” Hurley says, already back to coloring. “I draw better than surfing the ocean anyway.”
JJ tucks the drawing gently into his bag like it’s sacred.
“Best surf sesh ever,”
I named the son Hurley since JJ is definitely the type to name his son from a surfboard brand. In my head Hurley is more artistic and quiet —opposite of JJ but they have a lot of cute moments that I can’t wait to post!
>>>warning: hurt and comfort, slight angst(??), talks of miscarriages
>>>summary: you and Rafe have been trying for a baby for months but it just doesn’t go as planned…
A/N: I just had to do it I’m sorry 😭
You find Rafe on the back porch, hands clasped together, forehead pressed against them like he’s praying.
He isn’t. But he’s close.
You don’t have to ask what’s wrong.
You already know.
Because this morning, you sat on the bathroom floor with a test in your hand and that same dull ache in your chest.
Negative.
Again.
Rafe doesn’t hear you at first. He’s too caught up in the tightness of his jaw, the way his foot taps like his body needs somewhere to put the disappointment.
“Hey,” you say softly, stepping beside him.
He lifts his head. His eyes flicker. Red-rimmed. Exhausted.
“It didn’t stick,” you whisper. “Again.”
He doesn’t say anything. Just breathes slow. Like if he says it out loud, it might break something in him he’s spent years holding together. “I thought this time felt different,” he finally murmurs. “You were tired. You were eating weird stuff. I was so sure.”
You lean your head on his shoulder. “I know.”
He swallows hard. “I just… I wanna be a dad so bad.”
“You will be.”
“But what if I can’t—what if I don’t deserve—” His voice cracks “What if I end up like my dad?”
You pull him close. One hand behind his neck, grounding him. “You’re nothing like Ward.”
“I lose my temper.”
“And then you apologize.”
“I didn’t grow up with love.”
“But you give it anyway. Even when it’s hard.”
He finally exhales. Closes his eyes.
You press a kiss to his temple.
“We’ll get there,” you whisper. “And when we do? That kid’s gonna grow up with the softest dad in the world. The one who loves too hard and tries too much.”
A pause.
“Maybe next month,” you add quietly.
Rafe leans into you. Wraps his arms around your waist and nods against your shoulder.
“Yeah. Maybe next month.”
I don’t know if I want to give him and Y/N a baby 😫
Once upon a time on the Outer Banks, a group of misfits chased treasure, dodged death, and swore they’d never grow up.
But eventually… they did.
Now, years after Morocco and the wreck of the Royal Merchant, the Pogues are still standing. A little older, a little wiser (arguably), and now raising a new generation who knows the waves just as well as the legends.
══════════════════════════
Introducing:
Jackie Routledge —the sun-kissed daughter of John B and Sarah. She’s part whirlwind, part heart, and exactly what you’d expect from two Pogues who fell in love while running from a death sentence.
Hurley Maybank — Y/N and JJ’s son and the quiet storm. Artistic, observant, and full of soul, he’s the calm to Jackie’s chaos — but he’s got his dad’s wildness buried deep in his bones.
Amari Heyward —daughter of Pope and Cleo, brilliant and bold. The future strategist of the crew.
River and Skye —the adopted twins of Kiara and her girlfriend, two fiercely loved kids raised on revolution and sea turtles.
“Uncle Wafe” —Rafe Cameron, now half-redeemed and fully obsessed with spoiling Jackie, Hurley, and whatever chaos Kiara’s kids get into. His girlfriend Y/N, known affectionately as Auntie Tea-Tea, is the glamorous stirrer of the tea (and the only one who can keep him soft).
══════════════════════════
🍼 UNCLE JJ 🍼
UNCLE JJ X JACKIE HEADCANONS
UNCLE JJ X JACKIE FIRST ERRAND
UNCLE JJ X JACKIE FIRST DAY OF KINDERGARTEN
UNCLE JJ X GF! READER LETS START A BABY
UNCLE JJ X JACKIE X UNCLE WAFE
🍼 DAD JJ 🍼
SURFING WITH HIS SON
🍼 UNCLE WAFE 🍼
UNCLE WAFE HEADCANONS
UNCLE WAFE X JACKIE WHERE’S YOUR BABY
UNCLE WAFE X JACKIE X UNCLE JJ
UNCLE WAFE TRYING FOR BABIES
🍼 JOHN B 🍼
JOHN B X JACKIE IMAGINARY FRIEND
🍼 SARAH 🍼
>>> coming soon…
I’ll add some more when I post my drafts!
Send me some requests if you guys want to see more!
>>>warning: cancer, hints of character death, angst (??)
SUMMARY:
Sam, newly diagnosed with leukemia, is jaded, bitter, and emotionally shut down. He spends his days pushing people away. Then, one afternoon, a girl appears—claiming to be a hospital volunteer. He tries to ignore her, but she’s persistent. Soft. Different.
<<< VISIT 1 | VISIT 3 >>>
Sam didn’t expect you to stay long.
No one ever did.
But on your fourth visit, you showed up balancing two sodas, a crumpled bag of hot Cheetos in your mouth, and a sleeve of vending-machine cookies tucked under your arm like contraband. He blinked at you from his bed, IV line hissing softly beside him.
You didn’t say hi. Just dropped the food dramatically onto his tray and said, “Your taste in snacks sucks. So I brought better options.”
Sam raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “And you thought Oreos would change my life?”
“No, I thought they’d keep you from turning into a full-time cryptid.”
He almost smiled.
Almost.
You flopped into the chair beside his bed, ripping open the Cheetos with practiced ease. “You know, for someone who’s half-ghost, you have a very punchable energy.”
Sam scoffed. “Glad I brighten your day.”
“You do, actually,” you said, chewing. “Like a little storm cloud I adopted.”
He rolled his eyes and grabbed one of the sodas. Didn’t say thank you. But you noticed the way he popped the tab and took the first sip immediately. Like maybe it mattered that you brought it.
You talked the way you always did—lightly, without pity. You rambled about a vending machine conspiracy (how none of the D7 slots ever gave you your food), the weird metal sculpture in the hospital lobby that looked like a blender, and how one of the nurses had a “secret TikTok” where she reviewed Jell-O flavors.
Sam listened. He always listened.
He’d never admit it, of course.
*
About halfway through the visit, your tone shifted.
Softer. A little quieter.
You leaned back in the chair, legs folded under you, and asked, “Do you ever wonder what you’d be doing if none of this had happened?”
Sam didn’t look at you right away. He stared at the heart monitor. Watched it blink. “Probably still failing trig. Smoking in the boy’s bathroom. Pretending I didn’t care about anything.”
You hummed. “I bet you were annoying as hell in high school,” you said, watching him sketch in the margins of a crossword someone had abandoned.
He didn’t look up. “That’s because I was.”
You grinned. “What did you do? Set piranhas in the pool or something?”
“No. But I did convince the substitute teacher that I was allergic to tests.”
You laughed. “How?”
“I told her pencils gave me hives.”
“God, you’re so full of shit.”
He smirked, finally glancing at you. “Okay,” he said, twirling his pen. “Your turn. What’s your tragic teen backstory?”
You paused.
Your smile wavered for half a second. Barely enough to catch unless someone was watching too closely.
Sam was.
You sat back down in the chair, hugging your knees to your chest. “I’m just… a volunteer. Boring. Normal.”
He raised an eyebrow. “No one normal chooses to hang out with me voluntarily.”
You looked at him. Softly. “Maybe I don’t want normal.”
He blinked at that.
Didn’t ask more.
Didn’t press.
But he kept looking at you, like you were a question he hadn’t decided whether or not to answer.
*
Before you left that day, you dug around in your bag and tossed something into his lap. A folded napkin. Inside it: three Oreos, neatly stacked.
“Emergency rations,” you said, standing.
He looked up at you. Really looked. Hair messy from the hoodie hood, IV cord looped beside him like a leash. And something else; something softer in his eyes than yesterday.
“Why do you keep coming back?” he asked, voice low.
You tilted your head. “Do you want me to stop?”
Silence.
Then, in a quiet barely audible voice, Sam murmurs. “..No.”
You smiled. “That’s why.”
And then you were gone.
He waited until the door clicked shut before pulling the napkin open again.
cw: smut, fuck buddies dynamic, p in v, first protected then unprotected sex, creampie, praise, explicit language
“rafe—” you gasped, the back of your head thudding against the pillow as he drove into you, hard and fast, the bed creaking beneath you with every sharp thrust. your hands gripped his shoulders like you were holding on for dear life, nails dragging down his back, a broken moan falling from your lips. “fuck—don’t stop—”
he didn’t. couldn’t. not with the way you were clinging to him like you needed him inside you just to breathe. sweat slicked skin, hair sticking to his forehead, jaw clenched as he tried to keep control, but it was slipping. you made it impossible.
being friends with benefits with rafe cameron meant wild and relentless sex. morning, day, and night. and even when you felt like it couldn’t get any better, there always was this little five percent missing to make it absolutely perfect.
it was this damn rubber that was wrapped tightly around his thick shaft, always keeping that little percentage hidden inside, and waking your curiosity like nothing else.
it was a mutual decision when you both started this little arrangement, of course it was, at least you thought so. rafe on the other hand would’ve loved to just toss that little annoying thing out the window at any given chance.
not that he didn’t care. oh he cared. more than anyone else, that’s why he decided to agree in the first place. just for you and your comfort. and of course you didn’t know that once you guys started hooking up, he went and didn’t dare touch another woman.
not because you two were something exclusive, no. he simply didn’t want to. you were already giving him everything he needed, even if things were just casual. so now, with rafe hitting something deep inside you, you couldn’t help but want more.
you were totally soaked, clenching around him, but your expression said it still wasn’t enough. his hands gripped your thighs, spreading you wider. the slap of skin echoed through the room, mingling with your breathy moans and the rough rasp of his name spilling from your lips like a prayer.
that’s when you stilled beneath him, your thighs tightening around his hips to stop his movements. “pull out.” you demanded and rafe froze mid-thrust, blinking down at you, chest rising fast. “what?” his voice cracked with confusion, panic flickering in his eyes.
“just—” your voice was ragged, pupils blown wide, lips swollen. you were panting, shaking, like your body was on fire. “just do it.” rafe couldn’t help but feel his heart stutter as he pulled back, chest heaving in disappointment. “did i—?”
“no,” you breathed, shaking your head, your hair clinging to your damp forehead. your hand slid between you, fingers curling around the base of his cock. he hissed through his teeth, nearly losing it right then and there. “it’s just—” you looked up at him, eyes blazing. “i want more.”
leaning up, you kissed him hard, tongue brushing his lip before whispering into his mouth, “i want you raw, rafe.” for a long moment rafe didn’t move, he was too stunned, until you started rolling the condom off his cock yourself.
it was slow and deliberate, watching his face the whole time. your fingers were slick, trembling just a little, but your touch was confident, and god if that didn’t undo him. the thin rubber slid off inch by inch, and you tossed it somewhere into the room, reaching for him again like you were starving.
“come on,” you whispered, voice wrecked and dripping with want. “please let me feel you.” and then, without hesitation, he grabbed your hips, dragging you down the bed, and slammed back into you with a raw, guttural groan. you both swore at the same time, almost relieved.
the difference was immediate. no barrier. no distance. your bare cunt hit him like a punch to the gut. it was even wetter and tighter and so much more. you cried out beneath him, hands flying to his back, holding onto him like a vice.
you could feel every single vein of his cock, every time his tip nudged your cervix without any protection. you were soaking him, wrapping around him, dragging him in. “jesus—” he growled against your throat, teeth grazing your skin. “you feel—fuck—you feel unreal.”
you wrapped your legs higher around him, clawing at his back, pulling him deeper, rougher, harder. “don’t stop,” you begged, your voice cracking. “don’t you fucking stop.”
his rhythm turned brutal, desperate, the kind of pace where none of you cared if the neighbors heard. you met every thrust with a needy whimper, the whole bed shaking as your fingers tangled in his hair, dragging him in for a kiss that was all tongue and teeth.
he slammed into you again and again, chasing that sweet spot, chasing your moans, like he’d die if he couldn’t get more. you were already falling apart under him, body arching, hands scrambling for anything to hold onto.
“i can’t—i’m gonna—” your voice broke off in a gasp, head thrown back, mouth open in a silent cry. “cum for me,” he growled against your ear, hips snapping faster. “fuck, baby, cum on me.”
and you did. your whole body locked around him like you were pulling him down with you, your poor cunt clenching around him hard that it triggered his own release, hot and overwhelming. he buried himself in you with a rough groan, the feeling of his hot seed inside you making you moan out as your orgasm rolled over you.
both of you collapsed at the same time, panting, completely wrecked, skin slick and sticky with sweat. your legs stayed locked around him, his face buried in your neck, both of you shaking from the aftershocks.
“that,” you whispered hoarsely, barely able to speak, “was so much better.” rafe laughed, breathless and fucked out, brushing a kiss over your chest. “you think we’re done?”
you just smirked, still catching your breath but fingers already sliding slowly down his stomach, teasing his cock again. “i fucking hope not.”
I saw a tweet that people associated the “—“ dashes with AI writing 😟 I abuse that shit in my fics since it’s grammatically correct.. sometimes American culture confuses me ngl
