#outer banks x y/n

[personapeters]

✰ 𝐭𝐞𝐱𝐭𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐛𝐨𝐲𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝!𝐫𝐚𝐟𝐞 (1)

— random texts with your boyfriend, rafe cameron

rating: sfw — cw: none — links: one

 personapeters 2024 — all rights reserved • masterlist

[pencil-n-pen]

YOUNGBLOOD

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆ . ۫ ꣑ৎ . ⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

rafe x fem! black cat! pogue!reader

masterlist | kofi | next part

wc: 9.3k (sorry)

summary: summary: You’re the girl. Every guy who asks you out gets the same answer: No. You don’t do dating anymore. But as your reputation grows, so does the challenge. And when Rafe Cameron gets you in sights, he’s not about to give up.

cw: Rafe and reader are both assholes (hers is justified bc to me women are always correct) but it works out. oh also this one is a little spicy !! ofc not full smut but this is Rafe Cameron we’re talking about i can’t NOT include a LITTLE. ward jumpscare for like two seconds, references to past shitty relationships

tags/tropes: he falls first and harder (seriously he wants her BAD) black cat x doberman, kind of how to lose a guy in 10 days vibes, at first Rafe wants her bc of the challenge but eventually he just WANTS her, mild hurt/comfort, dom! rafe but also he does whatever reader wants (except stop trying to date her)

a/n: in this fic i imagine reader being one of those super fluffy feral black cats and then rafe is this doberman sitting behind her. walk him like a dog sis walk him like a dog

i’m so glad i finally finished this i’ve been writing it for ages but here it is !! hope u guys like it <3

EDIT 2: part two is up you heathens :) (affectionate)

songs i listened to while writing: Youngblood by 5 Seconds of Summer, Meddle About by Chase Atlantic, Champagne Coast by Blood Orange, Salvatore by Lana Del Rey, Brooklyn Baby by Lana Del Rey, Sad Girl by Lana Del Rey, sex money feelings die by Lykke Li, Angel by Massive Attack and Horace Andy

title taken from Youngblood by 5 Seconds of Summer aka this fics anthem

. ݁₊ ⚜️ . ݁˖

He meets you in, of all places, a fucking Barnes & Nobles.

There’s one Barnes & Nobles in the entirety of Kildare Island; it’s on the North side.

Rafe is only there because one of Kelce’s current flings is obsessed with reading those smutty books. Race doesn’t get the appeal. Apparently, the fling is at home sick and Kelce wants to get her something to make her feel better.

Rafe and Topper both think the partying might seriously be affecting his brain chemistry.

But anyway, Kelce asked Rafe to help because he’s “got a way with wooing women” and then since Rafe was going he said fuck it and invited Topper, who will surely be the voice of reason in all of this.

(He seriously doubts it, since Topper almost died in a burning building for the sake of his girlfriend, but whatever. Rafe just doesn’t want to deal with pussy-whipped Kelce by himself.)

They’re on their third go around the store and Rafe is beginning to contemplate the pros and cons of just grabbing the nearest book of the shelf and telling Kelce to just fucking pick something when he spots you:

Straining to reach a book on one of the top shelves. Looking perfectly and immaculately delicious.

“Yo,” He smacks Topper’s arm, getting his attention, “Who the hell is that?”

Topper follows his eyeline, landing on you.

“No fucking way, dude. No chance.”

He frowns, turning and looking at Topper, affronted.

Topper shrugs. “No offense, man. I tried once. All the guys in the island got this stupid-ass nickname for her, too.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“Mhm. The Pogue Princess. She’s turned down every single guy to ever ask her out. Even the Kooks.”

Rafe snorts. “So she’s arrogant?”

“I wouldn’t call it that. I totally thought she was a bitch when she turned me down, but honestly, it makes sense. People only ask her out because she always says no.”

“So?” He scoffs. “She’s fucking hot. She should be flattered.”

He looks her up and down again. “I’m gonna ask her.”

He can picture it exactly: having the one and only Pogue Princess hanging off his arm. The girl no other guy has banged— she’d be his, and his only. He’d have those lips and that face— he’d have you.

And you’d have him, of course. Not many girls can say that.

“Suit yourself man. Don’t come crying to me when she turns your ass down.”

He strides over to you, sidling up next to you, leaning against the shelf.

“Hey,”

“No.”

He blinks. “What?”

“No. No I don’t want your number, no I don’t want to sleep with you, no I don’t want to go out with you.” You say, not looking over at him once.

“Well, how come, doll?” He says, leaning down a bit so he’s closer to your height. “We could have a good time, you and me.”

“First of all,” You start, pulling a book off the shelf. “It’s a known fact that Rafe Cameron doesn’t date Pogues. Secondly, I can tell you exactly how this relationship would go. We’d date, and then after a few weeks you’d grow sick of my Pogue-ish ways or something like that. We’d break up, and then I would be seen as even more of a social pariah than I am now. I’d be unwelcome in Pogue spaces because I’d forever be the girl who dated Rafe Cameron just to get her heart broken like all the others, and I’m already a stain on this side of the island, but I’m willing to bet your groupies and fanclub would increase their ridicule if I was ever seen here. So no.”

He lets out a low whistle. “You’ve thought this out.”

“No I haven’t. It’s predictable.”

You re-shelf the book you were holding then walk away, stalking deeper into the store.

He looks back at Topper once, flashing his best friend that dangerous smile.

Topper groans in the distance, all too away of the effect a challenge has on Rafe Cameron.

—

You have to say. You’re a little surprised to feel his continued gaze on your back, even more displeased to hear his footsteps trailing behind you.

“You won’t better your chances by annoying me.”

“I haven’t even said anything.”

“You don’t have to,” You slow your walk, reaching out to tap your hand on the spine of a book you’ve been eyeing for awhile. “Your reputation precedes you.”

“And what does my reputation say about me?”

“That you’re an asshole and a heartbreaker,” You turn and look back at him over your shoulder. “You’re not exactly selling me, here.”

Your eyes latch on something tucked under his arm. It’s the two books he saw you eyeing. His gaze catches yours and he gives you a cocky smirk.

You roll your eyes and turn back around. “You’re going to have to try harder than that, Rafe Cameron.”

He trails after you the entire time you’re in the store, picking book after book off the shelf that he sees your eyes even linger on.

“What’s your plan here?” You ask, turning a book over in your hands and scanning the blurb on the back. “Buy the entire store? Woo me with your credit card? You’re not the only guy on the island with a piece of plastic.”

“Pretty sure I’m the guy with the most on his plastic, though.”

You sigh loudly through your nose. “I’m not interested in men who are only interested in me as an object. You want the trophy you get from ‘bagging the Pogue Princess.’ So fuck off.”

You’re so sick of this. Sick of every guy being the same— only being interested in you as an ego boost. No guy has ever been interested in you for you.

And they never will be, so long as you keep turning them down. Every man wants what he can’t have.

“You’re seriously not going to get anything?”

You pause in your storm off, turning around to look at Rafe. “What?”

His arms are laden with a thick stack of books, muscles flexed at the weight of the stack, straining at the sleeve of his t-shirt.

He gestures to the shelves around you. “You must have looked at the entire store. You’re really just going to leave?”

“I’m a Pogue, Rafe. You do the math.”

Your hands clench and unclench on the strap of your bag. You never thought you’d catch the attention of Rafe Cameron. If Sarah’s the Kook Princess, then he’s the Kook Prince. Dating him would give you some major points on the North Side of the Island.

…And ruin your relationship with 90% of the Pogue’s on The Cut.

Besides. Even if you did date him, he would stick around. No way in hell he would. And then you’d be back right where you started.

Your fumbling with your keys out in the small parking lot, groaning as your ancient beater car key once again refuses to turn in the lock when you hear footsteps behind you.

You rub a hand over your face and turn around.

“Can you please leave me alone? Seriously.”

He’s got that stupid smile on his face again and he’s holding something out to you.

A book. Just one.

You take it from his hands cautiously. “You had a whole stack. Why downgrade to just one?”

He clasps his hands behind his back. “Cause you looked at all those other ones once. You stopped at this one three times. Figured you might’ve wanted it.”

You chew your lip. “I’m still not going out with you.”

He shrugs. “Didn’t think you’d change your mind right now.”

He leans down, reaching forward, breath fanning your face. You screw your eyes shut, bracing.

A loud click behind you. He pulls away.

“But you will.”

With that, he turns, walking back into the store. At the doors, he flashes you one last smile.

You take one breath. Two.

You climb into your now unlocked car, tossing the book onto the passenger seat.

When you get home, you won’t be able to stop thinking about how in the moment, you kind of wanted him to kiss you.

—

He finds you at the Boneyard, because of course he does.

You’re sitting on one of the drift wood-slash-benches near the bonfire, pretending like you’re not shivering.

“You know, most people come to beach parties to let loose and have fun. That includes me. Having fun and letting loose does not include you.”

“Oh, come on. This is neutral territory, sweetheart.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“What am I allowed to call you?”

“Nothing. Go find another girl to stroke your ego. Or your dick. I don’t care either way.”

He leans down into your space. “You’ve got a mouth on you.”

“Fuck. Off.”

He raises his hands in mock surrender. “I only came over to give you this.”

This time, instead of holding out a book (that you had, in fact, read in a matter of days. It was as good as you’d thought it’d be) he holds out a jacket. One of those expensive North Face fleeces.

You scrunch your nose. “And why are you giving me that?”

“You’re cold.”

“So?”

“So, I’m being a gentleman.”

“Oh, sorry. I didn’t know you knew what that word was.”

He drops the fleece on your head. “Take the fucking jacket.”

You slide it off your head, putting it on and glaring at him all the while.

“I’m only putting this on because I’m cold.”

“Sure you are.”

“This has nothing to do with you. I’m still not dating you.”

“Mhm.”

“I hate you.”

He cracks the same smile he gave you at the bookstore. “Sure.”

He takes a swig of his beer, walking backwards towards his group of friends. “You look good in my clothes, princess.”

You flip him two fingers, and he flips them straight back.

You’ll deny it later that you smiled after the interaction.

—

He shows up at your job. This time, Topper’s with him.

You close your eyes and count to ten, mentally picturing fleeing the country and never having to deal with men again before speaking.

“You know, there’s a term for you right now.”

He smiles that same stupid fucking smile, tapping his fingers on the table of the cafe you work at. He’s seated outside in your section. You highly doubt it’s by mistake.

“Determined? Persistent?”

“A repeat offender,” You say flatly. “Now will you please order and get the hell out here?”

To his credit, Topper looks vaguely uncomfortable with his own presence. Though that might be because you did turn him down particularly brutally. You wince internally. It wasn’t his fault, per se. It was just… not a good day.

Rafe is perfectly capable of handling your top-notch bitch-ery, and secretly, you enjoy the chance to be as openly angry as you want to be.

Rafe pretends to read over the menu. You know he’s only pretending because you watched him read it for five straight minutes when they first arrived. He probably has it memorized.

“I’d like a blueberry muffin,” He says, still smiling. “Just one.”

You scribble it down on your order sheet, then turn to Topper. “And you?”

“Uh,” He clears his throat, “Just a water, please.”

You raise your eyebrows. “Seriously? You came all the way to my job to harass me and that’s what you order? One muffin and a water?”

You write the water down anyway, clicking your tongue. “And the asshole-ery continues.”

“And what would you have us order, then?” Rafe asks, eyeing you from his position at the table.

It’s scary how well he commands a space just by being— he’s Rafe Cameron and he knows it. He exudes power and control.

He’s the exact kind of man you turn down hard. No chance of anything.

“Something actually worth bothering me for,” You slip the notepad into your apron pocket and spin on your heel, “I have other orders and tables to wait. Don’t expect to get your muffin and water soon.”

As you wait and bus the tables that need to be dealt with before your orders are ready, you begin to wonder if you’re going too far.

This isn’t just any Kook. This is Rafe. He could completely and utterly destroy your life if he wanted to.

Maybe you’re better off agreeing to go out with him. Just to be safe. Women don’t turn a man like that down.

Finally, you get their orders out to them, setting them on the table a little less harsh than you were originally planning.

“There,” Can’t quite stop your mouth, though. “Do you want the check now?”

Rafe picks up his muffin, shrugging. “Sure.”

You slide them the bill— you had it ready the second you got the chance. You’d rather not have them here any longer than you have to.

It was hard enough to get a job outside The Cut. You don’t need to give your boss any more reason to fire you.

Rafe tosses a few bills onto the bill and you take it, counting the money.

“You overpaid.”

“No I didn’t.”

“Your total was nine dollars and twenty six cents. You just handed me two hundred dollar bills.”

He tilts his head at you like he’s confused. “I thought you were supposed to tip waiters and shit.”

You blink at the bills. “Yeah like, five dollars. Not two hundred. I don’t even think we accept hundred dollar bills.”

“Tell your manager I’m the one who paid. Can’t take issue with a Cameron.”

“You’re the worst,” You tell him, but take the money back to your manager. He isn’t happy, but like Rafe said— can’t take issue with a Cameron. He gives you the change you need and bores holes into your back with how hard he’s staring as you walk the money back.

“Here.” You thrust your arm out, handing him the change.

Rafe crosses his arms. “I said that was your tip.”

“I can’t accept this. I don’t accept pity money.”

He rolls his eyes. “It’s not pity money.”

“Then what kind of money is it? Cause it sure feels like pity money. Oh wait, is this you-owe-me-now money?”

He groans. “Can’t you just take the fucking money?”

“Not if there’s a consequence.”

If Topper looked uncomfortable before, he looks almost nauseous now. You kind of feel bad for him.

Rafe scrubs a hand down his face. “Will you just take it? No consequence.”

“Why?”

Topper chokes on his water.

“Why?” Rafe asks, a muscle in his jaw jumping. “Because it’s what I do. You’re the Pogue Princess, yeah? I’m giving you the princess treatment.”

“But why? What do you gain from this?”

“I’m just gonna go wait at the car,” Topper says, getting up so quickly he bumps the table.

Rafe’s eyes never leave you, the money still clutched in your hand. “You know what I get out of this? The prettiest girl on the island in my clothes. The prettiest girl on the island spending my money.”

The bills start to crinkle in your grip. “I’m a Pogue. You don’t date Pogue’s.”

He stands, pushing back his chair in a much more controlled manner than you were expecting, given the look on his face. “Have you ever considered that you’re the exception?”

“No, because I’m not. The only part of me that’s an exception is the challenge. That’s all you want.”

Something flashes in his eyes. His gaze is dark where it scans your features, something calculating in his eyes.

“Some guy fucked you over, huh?”

Your near full body flinch is a dead giveaway. “Fuck you, Rafe. You’re an asshole.”

He shrugs. “Maybe. Probably. But I’m gonna keep showing you what this,”

He gestures to the both of you. “Could be like. I’m not that kind of asshole. Not to girls who look like you.”

He stands, taking all the change out of your hand except the $100 bill.

“Hold onto that for me,” He says, voice husky as it brushes your ear.

His hand comes up for one second, two, and then he lowers it. Like he’d had to restrain himself ok touching you.

An involuntary shiver runs down your spine. He smirks at the reaction.

And then, he’s gone. Now you’re just some waiter standing at a table with a $100 clutched in your hand.

You shake yourself out of your stupor, getting busy bussing the table. You notice something fluttering under his plate.

An old receipt with a number scribbled on it.

And a $20 bill.

“Son of a—“

—

You’re having a really bad day. One of those thirty-million-minor-inconveniences-in-a-row days. With one last fuck you from the universe on top.

You couldn’t get your hair right no matter how many times you tried, your makeup is rushed and bad because you spent too much time on your hair, once again one of your neighbors pulled out of their driveway without looking and almost killed you, a guy tried feel you up during your shift and your manager told you it was your fault for wearing revealing clothing (you were literally wearing your uniform) and then top it all off, your car won’t start. It won’t even try.

You slam your head against the steering wheel. Your boss made you stay late because of the incident so it’s getting dark now. You’re not walking all the way back to The Cut. But you don’t know how you’re getting home. It’s not like you can just call a mechanic. None of your pogue friends have cars and only person who does you’d… rather not call right now.

So that just leaves one option.

A really, really, terrible option.

A horrific one.

You curse as you rifle through your purse, pulling out the old receipt. Your phone’s almost dead, so you have to make this count.

You dial the number, pulling your knees to your chest and sinking low in your seat.

“Hello?”

“Hello, Rafe.”

“I was wondering when you’d call me.”

“I’m sure you were,” You say flatly. “Listen I… I need a favor.”

“Spill.”

“I’m at work. My car won’t start. I just—“ You break off, frustrated tears welling in your eyes. “Can you please come pick me up?”

“I’m on my way. Sit tight.”

He hangs up the phone and you sigh, scrubbing your face and willing the tears to just go away. You press the heels of your hands to your eyes, probably smearing your makeup past the point of return, but you can’t find it with in yourself to care.

You sit there for what feels like minutes, hands pressed to your face trying desperately to stop the tears that keep flowing when you hear a car pull up next to you.

You sit up, hands lowered, eyeing the sleek Range Rover that just pulled up next to you.

You manage to climb out of your car, hugging your waist in an act of self-soothing and a sad attempt at getting warm. It gets cold in Kildare at night.

Rafe rounds the front of his car, expression pinched.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah. I’m fine, really, just…” You trail off, gesturing vaguely to your car. You sniff hard, rubbing the back of your hand across your face. “It’s just been a long day.”

He looks over your shoulder, assessing your car before looking back to you. “Get whatever you need from your car.”

You rush to gather the items from your car, piling them in the backseat at Rafe’s direction. You turn, facing him when something is thrown at your face.

It’s disturbing that you recognize it by deja vu alone.

“Rafe—“ You say, taking the jacket in your hands.

“You’re cold. Put it on.”

“But—“

“Listen, princess, I’m perfectly satisfied waiting here all night until you put that on.” He crosses his arms, leaning against the car.

You squeeze the jacket in your hand. “Why do you do that?”

“Do what?”

“That.”

“Mmm,” He hums. “That’s a tough one. Probably cause you look pathetic when you shiver.”

“I do not.”

“You totally do. You get all hunched. Like an old lady.”

“Is this your idea of flirting?”

He smiles. “Put the jacket on.”

You do. It’s just as warm as last time.

He nods his head towards the car and you climb into the passenger seat, clicking your seatbelt.

He climbs in after you, putting his seatbelt on and pulling the car out of the parking lot. After a moment, he reaches across the console, turning on your seat warmer and cranking the heat up.

“Thank you,” You say after a moment.

“I told you I’d show you what life would be like if you were mine.”

“Yours?”

“Yeah,” He says, fingers flexing on the steering wheel. “Mine.”

“So you’d have me, what? Caged? Chained to you.”

“Spoiled, is the word I’d used.”

“I’m not an object, Rafe. I’m not going to be some kind of kept woman.”

He snorts. “Who said anything about that?”

“That’s what you want, is it not? Want me to have no personality, no nothing. You want me to hang off your arm and laugh at everything you say—“

“Fuck no,” He says so vehemently you pause. “You’re so fucking mouthy. And stubborn. If I wanted some brainless fangirl, I’d go find one. I wouldn’t pick her up from her job and drive her home. Probably wouldn’t give her my fucking jacket.”

You look up at him. “You wouldn’t?”

He shrugs. “None of those girls tell me to fuck off.”

“So it is the challenge. That’s all.”

“That’s not all. You’re making shit up.”

“Am I?”

“Yes. Come on. No guy has ever given you his jacket? You seriously want me to believe you look like that no one’s ever spoiled you?”

“No,” You say curtly, “You want me to believe that every guy just enjoys spending a bunch of money on a girl?”

“Not a girl. Their girl. There’s a difference.”

“I don’t get it.”

“Cause it’s not your job to get it. It’s your job to be spoiled. Now where the hell am I going?”

You give him a vague address— just the street name and how to get there. You’re not stupid enough to give him your house address.

You don’t talk for the duration of the drive, you begin to shrug out of his jacket when a hand on your thigh stops you.

“Keep it. You can give it back to me the next time you see me.”

“There’ll be a next time?”

“If I have anything to say about it.”

You slowly put the jacket back on, then hastily climb out of his car, barely remembering to grab your stuff from the back.

You pause by the window. He rolls it down.

“Um. Thank you. Again.”

His lips twitch. “Don’t mention it.”

—

You don’t see him for a full two weeks after that.

After the first week, you figure he’s busy.

After the second week, you assume you scared him off.

You’re out on your old, busted kayak on the water, enjoying the early evening sun.

“Afternoon, princess.”

“Don’t call me that,”

You look over, eyeing Rafe and Sarah on one of the Cameron’s smaller boats. Sarah waves at you kindly. She’s always been fairly kind to you—

“Princesses have to stick together.” She’d said to you once, an easy smile on her lips, her face bathed in an orange glow in front of the bonfire.

A similar smile is on her face today. But the one on Rafe’s is nothing but mischief.

“Why don’t you come over here?” He calls.

You flip him a certain finger.

“Come on!” Sarah yells. “We’ve got beer!”

Well. Who are you to say no to free alcohol?

—

You should’ve said no to the free alcohol.

“You know what Rafe?” the words tumble out of your mouth, clumsy. “You’re really hot. It’s not fair. How am I supposed to hate you when you look so hot?”

You’re sitting on one of the benches on the boat, half leaning on the back of it and half leaning on Rafe.

You might have forgotten to take into account the fact that you’re a lightweight.

He raises an eyebrow. “How many beers did you have?”

“Don’t worry about that,” You slur, attempting to shush him but failing halfway through, your hand falling harmlessly into his lap. “I like beer. I like drinking. How come I don’t drink often?”

You pause, squinting at him. “How come you’re so hot?”

“Yeah,” He sighs, “You’re drunk.”

“Who cares? I like being drunk. Drunk me is fun. Like that one song. Release your in-hi-bitions— feel the rain on your skin!”

He gives you a pained look. “Please don’t try to start dancing. You don’t have the coordination for it, and I’m not going into the water when you tip overboard.”

“Pshhh, yeah you would. You like taking care of me. Cause you’re weird.”

You turn to face the other side of the boat, where Sarah is watching you with an amused expression. “Sarah! Did I tell you that he drove aaaaaaaallllllllll the way to my job to pick me up cause my car wouldn’t start?”

She tilts her head, looking at Rafe. “You told Dad you were going to go pick up Topper and Kelce from a party so they didn’t drunk drive.”

You make a so-so motion with your hand. “That’s like. Basically the same thing.”

“It is not. You really are a lightweight, huh?”

You squint at Sarah. “Did John B. tell you that?”

She splutters. “No, I—“

You cross your arms, frowning. Then you turn to look up at Rafe again. “I should’ve called John B. to pick me up, cause he’s the only Pogue I know who’s got a car. But I didn’t. I called you.”

“Mm,” Rafe says, his jaw tensing and un-tensing. “And why is that.”

“Cause he’s being a dick. He’s all upset ‘cause I’m hanging out with you, keeps telling me I’m gonna get hurt again and blah blah blah, but then, it turns out he’s been dating Sarah for weeks and he didn’t tell me! It’s the same thing! And we’re not even dating.”

Rafe looks at Sarah. “You’re dating him? That’s who you broke up with Topper for?”

She glares right back at him. “There is literally a Pogue in this boat right now who is only here because you want to date her. Don’t be a hypocrite.”

“She’s different.”

“How?”

“How?”

You and Sarah ask the same question at the same time. Rafe sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“She’s not just some random Pogue I picked up off the street.”

“I could have been.”

“You’re not helping.”

You frown, staring at your feet.

He gazes at you for a moment. “She’s just… different.”

You blink up at him through your lashes. “You should kiss me.”

“No.”

“Why not?” You whine.

“Because when sober-you remembers all of this, she’s already going to kill me.”

“Not to mention I would.” Sarah grumbles, taking a sip of her own beer. “Come on, Rafe. You should bring her home. It’s getting late anyway.”

“Mm,” He hums, glancing at you up and down. “You wanna go home?”

“No. There’s no beer and Rafe there. S’ boring.”

“I’m pretty sure sober-you likes it that way.”

“Then she’s boring,” You poke the muscle of his bicep. “Do you work out?”

“Yes.”

“Are you buff?”

“I’d like to think so.”

“Could you carry me?”

“Probably.”

“Hmm,” You sink lower on the bench, kicking your feet. “Okay. We should go home before sober-me figures out what’s going on.”

Sarah brings the boat back to their little dock while Rafe makes various attempts to keep you awake during the journey.

You whine, batting his hands away as he pokes your face.

“We’re here, so you’re gonna have to get up.”

You groan. “You’re a big strong man. Carry me.”

You hear a huff, a sigh, and then arms come around your middle and you let out a half-aborted scream as you’re hefted into the air, stomach landing on a muscled shoulder.

“I was joking,” You mumble, your arms dangling. “I think I’m gonna throw up.”

“I swear to fucking— here.”

He slides you off his shoulder and you wobble as you land, vision swimming.

“I think I’m a lightweight.”

“You’re just now figuring that out?”

“Why are you so mean?”

“I was told by a certain princess that it was my brand.”

“I wanna go home.”

He pinches the bridge of his nose. “Are you going to walk then? Towards my car? So you can go home?”

You turn (slowly) and squint at his car in the distance. “That seems really far away.”

“It’s not.”

“I don’t wanna walk that far.”

The muscles in his jaw jump. “Just this once, because I need to get you home, and you are drunk, I am going to offer you a piggy-back ride. Got it?”

“Hmm. Okay.”

He stoops a little so you can hop on, then hooks his arms under your legs with only a mild grunt, your arms crossing —not too tight— around his neck.

He makes his way across the deck and up the path, silently, your cheek pillowed on the side of his neck.

When he makes it to the car he opens the passenger side door and slides you into it, clicking your seat belt on when your fingers fumble with it.

He’s silent the entire drive, jaw clenched and hands white knuckled on the steering wheel.

The silence practically thrums with anger, the charged air prickling your skin.

“Are you mad at me?”

He works his jaw. “No.”

“It seems like you’re mad at me.”

“I’m not mad at you.”

“Then how come you’re upset?”

He sighs out through his nose. He doesn’t respond right away. Waits until he pulls over at the front of your street, sets the car in park. His hands don’t leave the steering wheel.

“You’re… squishier than I thought.”

“You think I’m fat?”

“No- fuck. I’m saying you’ve got a convincing stone-cold-bitch act. Then you go and get drunk and turn into this. Makes me feel like a piece of shit.”

You cross your arms. “You don’t like it. Me.”

He finally looks over at you, his eyes hooded. “I never said that. It’s one thing for us to have this back and forth assholery, as you put it. But now I know this is also who I’m being a dick to.”

You look down at your lap. “You know, I wasn’t always a stone-cold bitch.”

He cuts you a look. “Stop talk—“

“No, you shut up, I’m not that drunk anymore,”

You’re totally lying, which he knows, but he lets you talk.

“There was… this guy. I really liked him. He really liked me. Well, I thought he did. He was a Kook, too. Everyone warned me against getting with him, but I thought what we had was real,” You clench your hands on your thighs. “It wasn’t. Turns out his friends had dared him to sleep with ‘the prettiest Pogue he could stomach.’ That’s all I was. The only Pogue he could stand to fake it with. He told me the morning after. We broke up.”

“Who—“

“It doesn’t matter. I’m telling you this so you understand that I am a frigid bitch, but I’m also… this. So you better not fuck this up.”

He chuckles. “What do you want me to do, then?”

You shrug. “Prove me wrong. And I’m not made of glass. You just gotta… take it.”

Rafe raises a single eyebrow. “Take it?”

“Look, I already told you I think you’re hot. You’ve got a brain. Put the pieces together.”

He rubs a hand across his jaw. “And if I go too far?”

“I’m not that fragile.”

He crosses his arms, biceps flexing. “You sure about this?”

“Right now? Yes.”

He hums. “I should say no. You’re drunk. You’re not in the right mind to make these kinds of decisions.”

“But?”

“I’d rather test this and see,” He leans down, across the middle console, eyes hooded and hungry as he stares down at you. “You’re on, pretty girl."

—

When you wake (in your own bed, shockingly) it’s to the sound of a chainsaw right next to your ear.

Oh. It’s actually just your phone buzzing.

You hit the accept button and roll over onto it instead of doing all the effort of lifting it onto your face.

“H’llo?”

“Morning, princess.”

You groan. “Why the fuck are you calling me?”

“You don’t remember last night?”

“You’re on, pretty girl.”

You groan again, this one long and drawn out. “Why did you let me drink? You should’ve thrown me off the side of the boat after the first beer.”

You’re utterly mortified at how you acted. There’s a reason you don’t really get drunk anymore.

“And get rid of my free show like that? Please.”

You huff, head pounding at the effort of remembering the night before and speaking. “Why’re you calling me?”

“Had to make sure all that drinking didn’t kill you. We’ve got plans tonight.”

You sit up a little in bed. “No we don’t. I have work tonight.”

“That’s your only dispute?”

“I figured I didn’t have to state the obvious ones.”

“Come on. It’s just a little party—“

“I don’t do parties, Rafe.”

“I recall seeing you at the boneyard more than a couple times.”

“Bonfires on the beach don’t count as parties.”

“So you’d come if it was on the beach?”

“No, I—“ You tap the speaker button, dropping the phone into your lap. “What’s the point of this party, exactly? You want to be seen in public with me? Want everyone to know I’m off limits?”

“Yes,” He says it so easily, though his voice a little rough, a little gravelly, “But you also need to lighten up. I’ll pick you up from work. Bring clothes to change into.”

You open your mouth to respond but the hang up tone beeps steadily in your ear.

Of course you had to go blab your tragic backstory to Rafe fucking Cameron.

—

Work is long as usual, and you’ve contemplated quitting several times by the time you’re changing into your ‘party’ clothes in the bathroom, ignoring the fact that Rafe has definitely been parked and waiting for half an hour.

Your boss kept you late. Again.

You rush out to his car, cursing. He’s leaned up against the passenger side door, one hand in his pocket and the other holding his phone. He looks up when you approach, the corners of his lips twitching.

He pushes off the car, opening the passenger side door and nodding towards it.

“You look good.”

You pause, shouldering your work bag. “That’s it? I keep you waiting for thirty minutes and that’s all you say?”

“Did you want me to get upset?”

“Well, no, but—“

He shrugs. “Don’t care. Get in the car.”

He closes the door after you then climbs in himself, cranking up the heat and driving towards the boneyard.

You notice his eyes flicking down to your thighs every now and then. When picking an outfit for the party/bonfire/whatever, you’d decided to go simple. Having Rafe follow you around would be attention enough.

Still, the jeans you’re wearing are tight. A bit more form-fitting than your usual attire.

He seems to notice.

You shift in your seat, a little self conscious under the heat of his gaze crossing your legs and angling them towards the car door.

He sighs. “Mm-mm. None of that.”

He reached a hand across the console, deft, strong fingers effortlessly hooking and curling over your knee and dragging your legs back over and closer to him. Once he resituates you, his hand travels a little higher, squeezing and rolling the plush flesh there in his hand.

Your breath hitches. “What are you doing?”

“Taking.”

You swallow heavily, nearly choking on the lump in your throat. “You better not act like this at the boneyard.”

“And what if I do?“

“I’ll leave.”

He snorts. “I’m your ride. You gonna walk home? In the cold?”

“It’s not cold out.”

“It is to you. You’re always shivering. You better have brought the jacket.”

He doesn’t have to say which jacket for you to know which one he’s referring to.

You cross your arms, firmly ignoring the hand still intermittently squeezing your thigh. “I did. But i’m serious, Rafe. You have to back off when we get there.”

“Mm,” He hums. “Then at least let me have a little now.”

There’s something in the way he says it. The timber of his voice, the low, almost croon to his tone. He says it like you’re in control. Like you have power over him.

Even just the idea of it is exhilarating.

You push your thigh up into his hand, just a little bit.

“Only cause you’ll be insufferable if I don’t.”

He curls his hand under your thigh, palm pressed to the side and fingers pressing into the muscle through your tight jeans.

“Thanks, baby.”

“I’m not your baby.”

“We’ll see about that.”

You pull up to the beach, party already well under way.

People cheer as Rafe climbs out of the car, but he ignores them in favor of walking over to your side of the car and offering you a hand, which you swat away.

“I’m not an invalid.”

“Has anyone told you that you’re really hard to be polite to?”

“You’re just—“

“For the love of god, don’t start with that shit. Get over here.”

He snakes an arm around your waist, tugging you to his side. He starts towards the beach and you squirm, not wanting to be seen tucked under his arm.

This is the exact scenario you’d wanted to avoid with this whole thing. Showing up with Rafe Cameron —literally climbing out of his car— and having his arm around you is the perfect way to be ostracized by almost ninety percent of your circle.

“Will you chill the fuck out?” Rafe says, slowing to a stop a little ways away from the party, turning you to face him. “We’re just going to a party.”

You attempt to shrug his arm off your shoulder, but it holds fast. “You don’t get it. You have money, so you don’t need a community to fall back on. We’re poor. All we have is each other. So if I walk over there with you, i’ll lose it. I’ll be a traitor.”

His expression twists. “You’re blowing this so far out of proportion it’s not even funny.”

Anger begins stirring in your chest. “Rafe—“

“Who cares? No seriously, who the fuck cares? Everyone on this island is a piece of shit in their own ways. No one gives a shit if I got you under my arm. No one’s watching you. You’re not a fucking celebrity. You’ve got a reputation for turning down guys, you’re not fuckin’ Taylor Swift.”

The anger fades and your skin prickles in its absence. “I don’t think that I’m famous or anything.”

Rafe’s features smooth into something a little calmer. “I know, I know. Is this cause John B’s being a dick?”

“He has a point—“

“No he doesn’t,” Rafe snorts, “He’s dating my sister. He doesn’t get to say anything.”

You sigh. “They’re just worried about me making the same mistakes again.”

His arm leaves your side and you resist the shiver that threatens to overtake you at the sudden loss of the warmth and stability you hadn’t realized you’d been reliant on during the length of the conversation.

Rafe slides a gold ring off his pointer finger— the gold ring. The Cameron signet ring. The ring he never takes off.

He takes your hand, turning it palm side up, and drops the ring in it.

“There. My dad would probably murder me if anything happened to that ring. If I become a real and serious dick to you, chuck it in the fucking ocean.”

You stare down at it. “This is real gold. It’s a family heirloom. You can’t just give it to me.”

“I’m not,” He says easily, “This is a loan. When you decide that I’m not gonna fuck you over, you can give it back.”

You close your fingers around the ring, still warm from his finger. You tilt your back, looking up at him through your lashes. A small smile starts to spread across your face.

“I’ve really got you wrapped around my finger, huh?”

He huffs a laugh, tucking you under his arm again and walking you towards the party. “Took you long enough.”

The party honestly is fun after that. You drink (not much, Rafe carefully watches your alcohol intake and makes sure you toe the line of tipsy, but don’t fall over into drunk territory. He spends the night nursing one beer, claiming designated driver whenever someone gives him shit for it.

“Never stopped you in the past.”

“Didn’t have precious cargo before.”

He stays true to your earlier agreement and remains fairly hands off, but follows you around the party like some sort of guard dog, lingering just over your shoulder and successfully scaring off every guy who even looks in your direction.

Some of the pogues do give you the occasional glare or judgmental look or two, but Rafe was right. No one cares.

It’s… nice. For once you’re not hoping no guy approaches you or praying a Kook doesn’t start some shit with you. With Rafe trailing behind you, one hand in his pocket and jaw set, you truly are free to just enjoy the party, for the first time in your life. No one’s trying to hit on you, no one’s trying to making a spectacle of trying to convince you to date them, no one is making snide comments.

It’s weird, because you’re accustomed to a certain kind and amount of anxiety that comes with going to a mixed party, but everytime you start wondering how things are going to go wrong, Rafe is there with an arm around your waist or some stupid comment or other about somebody at the party whispered in your ear.

You manage quite a bit more socializing at the party than you usually do. Unfortunately, between this and the alcohol, you tire pretty quick.

You trip over your third stick when Rafe settles a hand on your hip with an “Think it’s time you went to bed.”

You groan. “But I’m actually having a good time for once.”

He steers you in the direction of the car. “Well, you’re in luck, cause if you think you’re going to parties alone from now on, you got another thing coming.”

Rafe at your side —a seemingly permanent arrangement now— you stumble your way towards the car.

“Isn’t that boring for you?”

“If it was, I’d say something. Besides. There’ll be different parties. Stop worrying so much about shit.”

His words seem harsh, but his tone is nothing other than low and fond.

“I’m cold.”

“I told you to grab the jacket—“

“I did bring it—“

“Then why aren’t you wearing it?”

“It didn’t match the outfit!”

“Are you being serious right now?”

"Is it a crime to want to look good at a party--"

He chuckles, fingers flexing on your hip as he tugs you closer to him. "You're so stupid."

"Rude."

"Not rude if it's true."

You elbow his side, but he just laughs louder.

Unsurprisingly, he warms the car for you when you get in.

—

Storms are a common thing in Outerbanks. Everyone's used to them. Monsoons, thunder storms, even the occasional hurricane. So you're not surprised to get the warning, not surprised when it hits.

You are a little surprised to wake up pelted with rain, a tree branch in your room, and part of the roof missing.

"Shit," You gasp, pushing the fallen debris off your body and rolling out of your bed to assess the damage.

It's bad. The branch is big and long, probably from that stupid tree your neighbors refused to cut down that you said was going to be a storm hazard. They'd refused, and now there's a huge tree branch that's caved in your roof and part of the wall that separates your bedroom from the living room.

No one is home but you. No one ever is, but right now it causes tears to rise to your eyes, because there's a branch in your room, and the roof is in pieces, and now that you've stopped moving, your legs and arms and torso actually hurt quite a bit, and something warm and wet is running down your temple and when you touch your fingers to it, they come away wet and scarlet.

You're out of your depth and you're scared. You can't stay here, obviously, but you don't know what to do. No one else is home. You don't even know who to call. JJ is out, because who knows if his dad is home and he doesn't even have a phone right now, Kie's out too because her parents didn't like that you were a Pogue with a reputation, you and Pope aren't that close, and John B is... John B. He has a car, at least, and you grew up together, so he'd probably overlook everything between the both of you if you're in danger.

You snatch you waterlogged phone off your dresser, shaky fingers scrolling through your contacts, thumb hovering over John B's.

You should call him. You've been neglecting your friendship with the group recently, working around the clock and Rafe whisking you away. Everyone's busy in their own way, what with the treasure and everything, so this could be a moment to reunite, bond over how shitty the storms make life on the Cut.

There's one other person you could call.

You shouldn't. Should stick to the friends you know, call John B.

But if you called Rafe, he'd come. He'd come get you, and probably take you back to his house and you wouldn't have to worry about anything, because for some reason, he's serious about doing that.

You could call him. He probably wants you to.

You press call before you can talk yourself out of it.

"Do you know what time it is--"

"A tree branch fell on my roof and now I don't have part of my roof and I'm really cold and wet and please come get me."

"Jesus— okay, yeah, yeah I'm coming. Shit, okay. Are you hurt?"

"My head is bleeding and I'm battered all over, but I don't think I need to go to he hospital."

"You're bleeding from your head and you don't think you need to go to the hospital?"

You can hear the sound of a car door slamming and an engine turning over.

"I don't want to go because then I'll be stuck in these clothes and they'll poke and prod at me and it'll take ages and—"

"Alright, alright. Calm down. How bad is the damage to the house. Look around for me."

"Um," You turn in place, scrutinizing the disaster and chaos around you. "I think most of the roof is intact, just the portion that covers my bedroom and some of the living room are uncovered. The branch took out most of the wall that seperates my room from the living room."

"Fuck. Okay, what about the rest of the house?"

"Um, I don't think I can get to it. The tree branch and other house... pieces are blocking my door."

"Can you get out? At all?"

"Yeah, I think through my window."

"Don't move. Take what you need from your room. I'll be there soon."

“Please don’t hang up.”

The line goes silent and you think he has hung up, that you didn’t say it fast enough or he just didn’t care, but then he speaks.

“Would you rather I sneak you in my house or walk in through the front door?”

“…What are the pros and cons?”

“Well, getting in the front door is easiest, but then you risk seeing my parents and my Dad won’t have questions, but Rose will, and I never want to answer her questions anyway.”

“She can’t be that bad.”

“She is. Sneaking you in is harder, but then we avoid conversations, but if we get caught, conversations will probably be worse. Might become a whole lecture.”

“They’d lecture you for taking in a girl who needs help?”

“Rose would.”

He keeps talking the entire way to your house, his voice speaking in low tones as you gather up the things you need to spend an indefinite amount of time away from home.

He eventually does hang up when he arrives, so you turn your attention to prying your window open and climbing out of it.

You can barely get it wedged open enough to fit through, so you toss your bag through first and shout a quick “over here!” before beginning to crawl through.

You hear footsteps slow to a stop in front of you. “You know, usually when this scenario happens, you’re facing the other way around.”

You swat at his leg. “You’re disgusting. And I’m not stuck. You just arrived at an in-opportune moment.”

He curls a hand under the window and pulls up, making the gap wider. At the sudden release of tension you yelp, tumbling out of the window.

“You’re such a mess.”

“You didn’t warn me!”

He helps you to your feet and leads you to his car, the hand on your waist keeping you distracted from the wreckage behind you.

—

You do decide in the end to just walk in the front door, because you’re cold and wet and tired.

Ward does wake up and meets you at the staircase (you’re pretending not to notice the sheer opulence of the house) looking rumpled and confused.

“Who’s this?” The man asks, gesturing your rather pathetic looking form.

“My girlfriend,” Rafe says smoothly, “Branch fell on her roof. Place is a mess.”

You wave hello. “Sorry for waking you, Mr. Cameron.”

His gaze flicks to you for a second, then back to Rafe.

“Girlfriend?” His tone sounds… off. “How long has this been a thing?”

Rafe shifts, squaring his shoulders and stepping a little more in front of you. “A little while.”

Ward hums again, eyes flitting to you, taking in your appearance.

“Make sure you get the first aid kit. That head wounds looks nasty.”

Rafe nods. “We got it. Thanks, Dad.”

Ward just dips his head once, then steps back into the bedroom.

You let out a long sigh, pressing a hand to your chest.

“I thought he was going to throw me out.”

“He wouldn’t. I wouldn’t let him, anyway.”

You snort. “Yes, yes, you’re a big strong man. Can we attend to my wounds now? And get some dry clothes?”

Cleaning your wound doesn’t take long, mostly because your head is the only one that really needs cleaning. The rest is taken care of in the shower. The most luxurious and amazing shower of your life. Seriously. You didn’t even know showers could be this relaxing.

The warm water soothes your aching muscles, and Rafe has weirdly good taste in bodywash.

He’d left you a change of clothes and a spare towel even though you said you brought your own.

You change into his anyway.

They’re more comfortable. Better quality than your ratty pajamas.

Your underwear is a different matter. Your dresser is old and broken —as most things in your house are— and the drawer you picked to store your underwear in doesn’t close all the way. This normally isn’t an issue, but when your roof is suddenly no longer attached, it means the a good portion of your underwear got soaked and muddy.

Except the ones at the bottom of the drawer. So the only underwear you had to bring to Rafe’s that was clean and dry is the tiny, lacy stuff you bought from Victoria’s secret and only wear when you’ve taken an everything shower and need a little pick-me-up. When you want to feel like a hot piece of ass. Girl things.

So you look at yourself in the mirror, clad in your own tank top (it’s actually warm enough in his house to wear a tank top to bed) and a pair of his pajama pants, the draw-string pulled tight, the fabric sagging low on your hips, showing off a thin little strip of lace.

Your face flushes. You look like his girlfriend. Dressed in his clothes, lacy underwear peaking through, skin freshly washed and smelling of his body wash.

When you step out of his bathroom, old clothes clutched in your hand, he stills.

He sits back on the edge of his bed, leaning back on his elbows as you slowly saunter over, steps quiet.

His eyes flick down to the lace, pauses on the sight, then back up to your face.

The air is charged, thick with tension.

You pull away from it, tossing your clothes in your backpack and ignoring the heat of his gaze on your back.

“Come over here.”

You straighten, hands behind your back as you walk to him.

“Closer.”

You step forward, now standing between his legs.

His hands come up to the back of your thighs, tightening, before moving to your hips. His thumbs ghost over the edge of the lace, and he rumbles something deep in the back of his throat.

“I like these.”

“Do you?”

“Mhm.”

He presses his face forward, pushing your tank top up with his nose pressing his lips to the now exposed skin of your stomach.

You gasp, then feel him smile against you. He tugs you closer, face pressed to you and hands gripping your sides, just above the edge of your ribcage.

Tentatively, you reach a hand down, sliding from the top his head, down the side of his face, then slowing to a stop at his jaw, pushing your palm up. His head lifts, his eyes a little glassy, chin resting on your stomach.

“You introduced me as your girlfriend.”

“As far as I’m concerned, you are.”

“I am?”

You stroke a thumb over his face, sweeping over his cheekbone and under his eye. He leans into the touch, pliant.

“You think I let just any girl in here? You think I give any girl my clothes?”

“Yes?”

“Come on, baby. We’ve been over this.”

He presses another kiss to your stomach, mouth hot and lips firm.

He lifts his head up again. “You can make me yours anytime you want. Just say the word.”

“I’m scared,” you whisper, words barely even a breath.

“Mm,” He hums, hands running up and down your sides. “You think too much.”

You pause for a few moments, taking everything in.

You grab his hand, leave it palm side up in front of you, then reach into your pocket and drop something into it.

The ring. His ring.

He stares at it for a beat, then closes his hand around it, slipping it back onto his finger.

“Yeah?”

You nod. “Yeah.”

He grins.

Your drop your hands around his neck and he moves his hands to the back of your thighs, effortlessly lifting you onto his lap, wrapping your legs around his middle.

He doesn’t waste any time kissing you. It’s hot and full at first, a roaring flame licking in both your chests, like he’s been holding himself back all this time and finally let it all out. He pushes up into you, and the kiss deepens before it mellows out, slowing down to a few cracking embers.

He pulls back, your noses brushing. “Been wanting to do that since the fucking bookstore.”

“That long?”

“Mhm. You were wearing those cute little pants and you couldn’t reach the top shelf. Wanted to have you right there.”

“You’re insatiable.”

“Mm. Only when it comes to you.”

You fall into each other again, and again, and again.

“Baby.”

“Hm?”

“I really like you in lace.”

˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊

[rafecameronssl4t]

Golf day || Rafe Cameron x fem!reader

Summary: INSPIRED BY THIS TIKTOK

Warnings: pure fluff hehehehe

Word count: 497

A/n: if anyone has any tiktoks that they want me to turn into a Rafe fic, send them thru pls!!!! I love finding random vids on my fyp that are so Rafe coded. ALSO BEGGING FOR MORE DAD!RAFE REQUESTSS

MASTERLIST (dad!rafe au masterlist)

divider by @h-aewo

“Do you think she’ll enjoy it?” Rafe questions, turning his head to you, his eyes lingering on Mabel, comfortably nestled on your lap. He looks genuinely concerned, his brow furrowed with worry.

“You know she loves watching you do anything,” you reply with a reassuring chuckle, trying to soothe his anxiety. As you adjust the tiny hat on your daughter’s head, you can’t help but smile at her innocent excitement.

It was Mabel’s first time at the golf course, and Rafe had been on edge all morning. He’d peppered you with questions like, “Don’t you think it will be too hot?” and “What if she gets bored?” His nervousness was palpable, a stark contrast to his usual composed demeanor.

You had spent the morning reassuring him, reminding him repeatedly that Mabel would be perfectly fine. You knew she would be thrilled just to watch her dad play golf, her eyes following his every move with awe and admiration.

“Do you think she’ll like this spot?” Rafe asks as the golf cart comes to a gentle stop under the shade of a large oak tree. “Babe, you’re the one playing,” you giggle, enjoying his overprotectiveness. Rafe laughs softly, his eyes crinkling with amusement. “Mabel, do you like it here?” he asks, his voice tender as he tickles her chin. Mabel responds with a delightful giggle that melts your heart.

You adjust Mabel on your lap so she’s facing Rafe, her wide, curious eyes tracking his every move as he unloads his golf clubs. The sun casts a warm glow over the course, and you can’t help but admire how handsome Rafe looks in his golf gear. “Doesn’t Daddy look so handsome, Bels?” you murmur to Mabel, pressing light kisses on her rosy cheeks. She giggles uncontrollably and tickling sensation.

Rafe turns at the sound of her infectious giggles, a broad smile lighting up his face. “You girls doing alright?” he calls out, his eyes sparkling with joy. You chuckle, giving him a thumbs-up and lifting Mabel’s tiny hand to wave at him.

Remembering that Rose wanted a video of Mabel’s first time at the golf course, you quickly pull out your phone and aim the camera at Mabel’s expressive face. She’s watching Rafe intently, her anticipation palpable.

As Rafe lines up his shot, you can see the concentration etched on his face. The moment the club makes contact with the golf ball, sending it soaring through the air, Mabel flinches in surprise. You can’t help but laugh, immediately clamping your hand over your mouth, feeling a bit guilty for laughing at her reaction.

Rafe shields his eyes with his hand, squinting into the distance to see where the ball landed. Satisfied with his shot, he turns back and walks towards you and Mabel, a broad smile lighting up his face. “Daddy’s pretty good, isn’t he?” Rafe chuckles as he reaches you, gently lifting Mabel from under her armpits and pressing a loving kiss on her round cheek.

You quickly snap a photo of the sweet moment. Their joy is infectious, and you can’t help but chuckle as you send the video and picture to Rose. Mabel’s earlier reaction to the sound of Rafe hitting the ball plays in your mind, making you smile.

Rafe notices your amusement. “What’s so funny?” he asks, his curiosity piqued as he sees you smiling at your phone. You glance up, grinning, and show him the video of Mabel’s startled reaction to his golf swing.

“Aww, I’m sorry, babygirl,” Rafe says with a laugh, his eyes softening as he watches the video. “I’ll let you know when I’m going to hit the ball next time.” Mabel, already captivated by her dad’s presence, giggles and reaches out to touch his face, her earlier surprise forgotten.

Rafe’s heart melts as he cradles Mabel in his arms, swaying gently. “You’re my good luck charm, you know that?” he murmurs, his voice filled with love. Mabel coos in response, her tiny hands grasping at Rafe’s shirt.

[sarahsangelicdoll]

༊·˚ Ditzydoll!reader showing Rafe how proud she is of him for staying clean for two weeks

a/n: had this idea for so long and finally wrote it 💞 having major writing block rn. I really wish more people were there for Rafe while he was literally struggling with a drug addiction.. and should i make a part two of this where it leads to soft sex ??

“I.” Kiss “Am.” Kiss “So.” Kiss “Proud.” Kiss “Of you!” You practically squealed before placing a whole bunch of kisses to all over Rafe’s face. Grin forming on your face as you felt his grin against your cheek. Your manicured hand holding his head in place.

Rafe chuckled, attempting to ignore how his insides were doing backlfips at your actions. His hands resting on your hips ‘n rubbing soft circles along the skin of your thigh while you sat up on the counter. “‘S only two weeks baby.” He murmurs, attempting to downplay his progress, which in his mind, truly wasn’t the biggest deal.

You gasp at his words, instantly pulling away from his face as you bit your cheek. Giving him an un approving look as you shook your head ‘no’.

“Two weeks is a big deal!” You scolded, your hands falling down from his face to rub and down his chest. “Think of how much coke you used to do.” You hummed as you straightened his shirt out. “It was practically everyday.”

You sighed as you finished straightening his shirt out, looking back up at Rafe.

You smiled softly at the sight that awaited that made your heart speed up. Rafe looking at you with a softness reserved only for you, his eyes crinkling slightly as he smiled genuinely. A smile also reserved for you only.

Rafe hummed, right hand coming up to brush some of your hair out of your face. His touch feather light. “You think so?” He asked, tone quiet as he soaked in the peace of the moment.

“Know so.” You grinned, Your words soft and confident before you wrapped your arms around Rafe and placed your lips to his. His own arms circling around your waist while he returned the kiss. Hand running soothingly up and down the length of your back.

⟡ ݁₊ . written by sarahsangelicdoll, 2025 on tumblr! © do not repost on any third party website or repost as yours. Doing so will result in me blocking you and reporting.

Rafe taglist; @rafestoothbrush

[cherubcameron]

You grabbed the little wooden pole that held the string for the kitty to play with. Your attention grabbed by her, as you pushed it back and forth. The little kitten trying to catch it with its paws or its mouth. Rafe watched in annoyance. The entire time your attention had been with the little kitten. And not with him.

“Babe?” But you were too engrossed in the kitten to even spare him a glance. “Yeah?”

“You know you could be getting dicked down right now, right?” All you had to say was “mhm” and continued playing with the kitten. He grabbed the wooden pole from you and grabbed the kitten.

“Wheeze! Get your damn cat out of my room!” He held the cat away from him.

“Hey!” You said, annoyed. Wheezie comes in and immediately grabs for her kitten.

“Y/n said she wanted to play with her.” Wheezie said annoyed. You were glaring up at Rafe. Since there wasn’t much Wheezie could do. She left with the crying kitten.

“I hate you sometimes.” You say, Rafe turns abruptly at that. He looks a bit taken aback by your words. “Why cause I didn’t let you play with a cat?”

“Yes! You can’t stand not having my full attention. It was a harmless kitten, Rafe. You didn’t need to snatch it up like that.”

Rafe ran a hand through his hair. Then he crotched down to level with you. “How about I get you, your own cat? Hm?” You look into his eyes for a second and then you sigh. You nod. He places a kiss on your temple. His kiss traveling down to your mouth.

“All better?” He askes, you grab for him and he knows he’s won.

[robinsgrl]

kildare nights. undecided pairing x fem!reader

GOLD AT HAND and no more treasures to hunt, the freshly graduated treasure hunters are left to deal with the simple life. as simple as a certain level of fame and millions of dollars in the obx can get you, at least.

warnings . . . half canon half not, curse words, sexual innuendos, i mean… spoilers duh, no one dies everyone lives yippee!!!!!!!, im a gay kie believer so… how the show should’ve ended!!! rich pogues and calm life!!!!

genre . . . slice of life-ish, humor, romance, social media!au, big time alternative universe.

the taglist is now closed!

navigation.

.ᐟ.ᐟ

— [ PROFILES ]

— one. stinkin’ rich, baby

— two. rat traps

— three. daddy issues fr fr

— four. sarah routledge day

— five. should be at the club

— six. pope if u can hear us

— seven. serving face

— eight. blocked

— nine. dont even care

— ten. giving up

— eleven. granny

— twelve. baby names

— thirteen. wrong phrase, again

— fourteen. pondering

— fifteen. buzzballs

— sixteen. the grapevine

— seventeen. i rushed

— eighteen. #TOPPIE

— nineteen.

— twenty.

— twenty-one.

— twenty-two.

— twenty-three.

— twenty-four.

— twenty-five.

THE END.

[totalswag]

hey i love your work so much and if it’s not to much go ask i was wondering if you could do a fic where fem!reader is part of the cast on obx and she is really close friends with drew where they are flirting and what not and everyone ships them and they are at an interview with the rest of the cast and that gets brought up? sorry if that doesn’t make sense! if you don’t have time it’s completely

behind the scenes ⎯ RAFE CAMERON

authors note thank you so much lovie!! i'm open to take requests and write them. i've thought of this concept before and all i gotta say is thank you for requesting this because I NEED THIS!! super sorry for not posting for a small while, there were stuff i needed to take care of first.

taglist ⤕ if you would like to be notified every time i post you will type in your username then be all set.

summary having a close relationship with drew that send hints to fans they like each other based on the way they flirt with each other.

warning(s) flirting, shipping, co-stars secretly like each other?

Being apart of the Outer Banks cast has been such a blessing. You've created relationships with people you consider family now and who you can count on no matter what the circumstances are. Being on set for weeks on end filming scenes and making memories is what you look forward to most.

You grew closer with Drew Starkey because your characters are dating in the show and always next together on set too. Drew has become someone that you consider very important in your life.

You joined the Outer Banks cast during the second season. Drew appeared in a couple appearances near the end of the season, implying that he is interested in someone— love interest. You recall fans going nuts trying to figure out if this will continue. Fast forward two seasons, and your characters are together.

After a long day of filming, the cast decided to gather for dinner at a local beachside restaurant. The atmosphere was vibrant, with laughter and the sound of waves breaking on the shore. You and Drew were seated next to each other, much to the joy of your cast members, who were closely watching your interaction with Drew.

"Drew, look at the camera," you softly sang, your phone in your hand on the table, Drew in the frame of the video— he was speaking to Rudy across the table. He gives you a look that shows he knows you are heard before looking down at your phone and waving.

"Oh! "Hello there," he smiles even more when he sees himself on the screen—you giggle at the end of the video before sharing it to your Instagram story. 

"You posted it on your story?" he inquires, his body language focused solely on you. "I obviously had to; it was cute," you said as you placed your phone on the table next to your wallet. You suddenly felt nervous in front of Drew.

He raises his eyebrows in satisfaction. "Cute, huh?" He smirks and smiles, patting your thigh.

Fans began to ship you and Drew together as your relationship grew. The chemistry between you two is clearly obvious on and off screen, which is why you perform scenarios so well. Fans go berserk every time you post something on social media about Drew.

You two flirt without even realizing it at times. You will compliment each other as if you were a relationship, but this is nothing out of the norm for you two. Even your cast members have boarded the train and made a few comments about when you'll finish up together. 

You can't lie, he's an attractive young man. There's no doubt about that.

Few hours after you posted on your story, fans have been discussing the video you shared in which Drew looks at you as if you are the most beautiful person on the planet and no one else is present.

Today, you and the cast will be doing interviews all day to promote Season four. For the first portion, everyone will sit in the same room as the interviewer, but thereafter everyone will be separated.

"Alright, everyone," said the interviewer, "we've got some fun questions from fans today, and they're dying to know more about the dynamic between some of our favorite cast members."

Everyone said "Oooo," anxious to see what else the interviewer would say.

"Let's start with a fan favorite," the interviewer added, her eyes sparkling mischievously. "There's been a lot of talk about the chemistry between you two." She pointed to Drew and you. "Care to share any insights on that?"

Your stomach dropped.

The question hung in the air, drawing a chorus of “Oohs” and playful nudges from the cast. You felt your cheeks heat up as you exchanged a glance with Drew. His blue eyes sparkled with amusement, a smirk playing on his lips

"Well," Drew said, leaning in slightly. "Y/N and I have always been close. We simply clicked, you know?"

"Really?" the interviewer asked, lifting an eyebrow. "Because the way you two flirt on and off set is pretty convincing."

You laughed and shook your head. "We simply have fun with it. Drew is a terrific person, and we like joking around. "It keeps things moving on set."

"From our first reading together, I knew she was going to be a great co star of mine and we've formed an amazing bond throughout the years" Drew says with his hands. In gratitude, you give him a pat on the back.

Your cast mates' eyes are constantly drawn to you and Drew since they can tell you have mutual feelings for each other. Granted, you two have scenes together all the time and have developed a strong bond. However, you consider being more than friends with him.

The interview continued on with more questions popping up that were exciting to answer. In the back of your mind you were thinking about the question about Drew and you— do you want more?

Later that evening, you and Drew returned to your apartment and relaxed in your living room. The city lights outside your window gave a soft glow across the room, and the steady hum of the air conditioner broke the silence. You'd both changed into more comfortable clothes, eager to relax after a long day.

"Today was something, huh?" Drew murmured, breaking the silence as he sprawled down on your couch, seemingly at peace.

"Yeah, it was," you said, sitting next to him. "They really went all in on the whole shipping thing."

Drew chuckled, a deep, warm sound that made your heart race. "Yes, they did. "Makes you think, doesn't it?"

He sat up, his face instantly serious. "About Us. I mean, everybody sees it. Hell, we see it, don't we?

Your breath became locked in your throat. The playful flirtation, the lingering touches, the way your heart raced whenever he was close—it all hinted at something more than friendship. However, hearing him say it aloud was another. It made it real.

"I suppose we do," you confessed gently.

my taglist!!

✰ if you would like to be added to my taglist and be notified whenever i post please let me know in the comments or in my ask box. if there's a line across your name that means i couldn't find your account.

@ifwfratboychris @chenslucy @rosezza @rafeyslamb @runningfrom2am @mymultiveres @starkeyvhs @drewsephrry @francislovergirl @diqldrunks @kiiyomei @sukuna-wafiu @skyslowalking @kneelarmhstrung @inthelibrarybtw @superlegend216

[ervotica]

as a fellow clumsy gal, i need john b in my life.

i just knowww that man is in tune with every one of your movements.

you're bounding round a corner too fast and john b sees the dip in the sidewalk before you do, his arms out and curling round your waist to redirect you with ease before calamity strikes.

he's the calm to your chaos, preempting every slip, soothing your frenetic rambles with a thick palm to your cheek, tucking your face snug against his shoulder as he coos to you in that low, placating voice.

when you get overstimulated - the group gets too loud, the lights are too bright and hurt your head, the material of your clothes makes you itch - he bundles you into the back of the twinkie and strips you bare from the waist up. he tugs his own tee over his head - looser on your frame and smelling like musk and sweat - and slips it onto your bare form, watching as you go lax and your posture slumps.

"attagirl. feel better now, pup?"

tying your shoelaces when you're too preoccupied wreaking havoc with jj to notice, forcing you to sit still long enough to check you over for hazards even as you bounce and fidget and bite your nails. you try to slip away a couple of times for fear of missing out on the action, only to be wrenched back down by means of his fingers twined round your ankle; yeah, your boyfriend is fucking strong.

whining when he traps you with a thick bicep round your neck and makes you sit, murmuring lowly in your ear until your brain starts to wind down and turn off, eyes growing heavy as you push closer into his arms.

you mewl sadly, calves winding around his own as you stretch lazily and tug at the hem of his shirt. he laughs good-naturedly and lets you herd him into bed like an overeager puppy.

his grip on you when he sleeps is like a vice; he has you locked tightly to his chest, a thick thigh wrapped over the backs of your legs to keep you pinned to him.

the rumble of his snores sends you right to sleep.

jombee🥺🥺🥺

[fictionalmenxyn]

Snap stories from actress!reader with Drew

[insidekatmind]

Kiara who?-Pope Heyward

Wearning:+18,smut

You're sitting on Pope's couch, arms crossed and eyebrows furrowed as you watch him pacing nervously back and forth across the room.

"Y/N, you don’t understand! I had to do it, or she’d never notice me!" Pope exclaims defensively.

"Oh, sure, because stealing your dad’s boat is the best way to impress Kiara," you reply sarcastically, a hint of frustration in your voice. "Do you realize how stupid that was? If you’d been caught, what would you have done?!"

Pope stops in his tracks and looks at you, his face flushed with emotion but tinged with embarrassment. "You don’t understand how important this is to me… Kiara is special."

You sigh, shaking your head. "I know she is, Pope. But you’re Pope! You don’t need to do crazy things to prove who you are. If she doesn’t see how amazing you already are, then she doesn’t deserve you."

Pope's irritation boiled over, and he finally snapped. "You think it's easy for me? You have no idea what it's like to be the smart guy, the one everyone expects to have it all together. But no matter how hard I study or how many APs I ace, I’m not the guy girls like Kiara notice. I’m just Pope, the guy they call when they need tutoring or a study partner."

You get even more angry at his words as you can't believe that he only sees this. You get up from the couch and walk over to him. “You're an idiot if you only see this about yourself” you blurt out looking at him. "and it's not just Kiara on this damned island"

Pope is taken aback by your sudden outburst and your proximity, but he can’t ignore the passion in your voice. He opens his mouth to protest, but you cut him off. "You think you’re not enough for anyone, but that’s the farthest thing from the truth. You’re smart, loyal, and kind. And, believe it or not, you’re also really cute. There’s a lot more to you than just being the smart guy."

Pope’s anger and defensiveness soften slightly as he absorbs your words. He looks at you, his eyes searching yours for any hint of sarcasm or pity, but he finds none. "You really mean that?" he asks hesitantly, vulnerability creeping into his voice.

You take a step closer to him, closing the remaining distance between you. "I do. You don’t have to steal a boat or do anything crazy just to get someone’s attention. You’re already amazing as you are," you reply firmly, but with a hint of tenderness.

Pope’s heart races as your proximity. He can feel the heat radiating off your body, and your words wash over him like a soothing balm to his wounded ego."I… I guess I just get tired of feeling like no one sees me for me, “ he admits, his voice quiet. "It’s like I have to do something crazy just to prove that I’m worth noticing."

You reach out and place a comforting hand on his arm, your touch gentle but deliberate. "You don’t have to do anything except be yourself, Pope. You’re worthy of attention and love just as you are. Screw Kiara, you don't need her."

His eyes widen slightly at your words, and a flicker of surprise crosses his face, surprised by how strongly you seem to feel about this. But he can’t help the flutter in his chest at your touch.

"I’ve never heard it put that way," he admits reluctantly, his words barely above a whisper. "I guess I’ve just been so caught up in trying to impress Kiara… I didn’t realize how much it was consuming me.”

You step even closer, your body almost pressed against his. "You don’t have to impress anyone, Pope. And definitely not Kiara," you say firmly, your grip on his arm tightening slightly. "You just have to be the amazing person you already are."

Pope’s breath hitches in his throat as he feels your body against his own. The heat from your skin seems to burn through his clothes, and his heart races in his chest. "How do you know that?" he asks quietly, his voice laced with a hint of vulnerability and longing.

You move your hand from his arm to his cheek, gently cupping it. “I just do,” you reply softly, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw, your touch sending shivers down his spine. “You’re more than just the smart guy, Pope. You’re everything.”

His breath hitches again as your touch ignites a fire inside of him, a fire he didn’t even know existed. Your words hit him like a tidal wave, and he can’t believe what he’s hearing. “You… you really think so?” he asks softly, his gaze fixated on yours, searching for any hint of dishonesty or pity.

Your fingers continue to trace his jawline, the delicate touch sending electric shocks down his spine. Your eyes are locked with his, and you can see the mix of surprise, hope, and vulnerability etched in his expression."I do," you assure him adamantly. "I see all of these things in you, Pope. Trust me."

The fire inside him burns hotter with each passing second, and he can’t remember ever feeling like this before. Your touch, your words, your presence… They’re all intoxicating, leaving him breathless and wanting more.“But… why?” he asks weakly, a hint of vulnerability in his eyes. “Why do you see all that in me?”

Your hand moves from his jaw to the nape of his neck, threading into his hair and pulling him closer. You’re so close now that your bodies are practically touching, the heat from his skin mixing with your own. "Because it’s the truth," you reply simply, your voice barely above a whisper. "Because I see you for who you really are."

He feels lightheaded from your proximity, your touch, your words. It’s all too much, but oh, how he wants more. He can’t help but take a step closer, closing the remaining distance between you. "And who am I, really?"Pope asks looking at your lips. He breathes, his gaze still fixed on yours, his body feeling like it’s on fire.

Your heart races in your chest at the proximity, your bodies now pressed flush together. Your hand in his hair pulls him closer, your fingers tangling in the locks. “You’re kind,” you murmur, your breath brushing against his lips. “Intelligent. Loyal. Strong. Funny…”Your words are cut off by the unexpected press of Pope’s lips against yours.

His body fully pressing you against the wall. The kiss sparks like a live wire, a mixture of passion and suppressed emotions igniting between you both. Your head spins, and you gasp in surprise before melting into the kiss, your hand still tangled in his hair and the other fisting his shirt.

Pope’s arms wrap around your waist, pulling you impossibly closer to him. His hands explore your body, tracing your curves and leaving a trail of fire in their wake. The kiss deepens, and he can’t get enough of you, his tongue pushing past your lips. His body pressing more against yours, his grip on you tight. He can’t help but release a low moan against your lips.

You gasp into the kiss and cling to him as he kisses you back with even more passion. Pope’s lips devour yours with a new fervor, his hand moving to cup your face, angling your head for better access to your mouth. His body is flush against yours, pressing you tight against the wall. He releases another low moan, the sound sending shivers down your spine.

Pope's hands roam your body with a newfound confidence, Pope picks you up, making you wrap your legs around his hips and without breaking the kiss. He he quickly maneuvers you onto the couch. You straddle him, your legs on either side of his hips, and he pulls you even closer, his body heat radiating into you. His hands find their way under your shirt, tracing patterns on your bare skin.

You moan into the kiss from the position and cling to him, kissing him with your tongue. Pope responds eagerly, his tongue meeting yours in an intimate dance. He kisses you deeply, savoring the taste of your mouth. His hands continue to explore your bare skin under your shirt, running up your sides and caressing your back. He tugs at the hem of your shirt, a silent request.

You break away from the kiss to take off your shirt and shorts. Pope’s breath hitches in his throat as you undress, his eyes roaming over your body with a mixture of awe and desire. He eagerly helps you remove his shirt, throwing it to the floor before pulling you on top of him. The feeling of your bare skin against his sends sparks through him, and he grabs you, rolling you onto your back and pinning you against the cushions.

Pope’s lips move from your mouth to your neck, leaving a trail of kisses and small, gentle bites along your exposed skin. His hands continue to roam your body, caressing and exploring every dip and curve with a newfound hunger. He positions himself between your legs, his body almost completely covering yours, and nips at the sensitive skin of your collarbone.

You moan into his touch and arch for him, “Pope” you moan looking up at him.

Pope’s heart skips a beat at the sound of you saying his name, his own name on your lips sending heat rushing straight to his core. He looks down at you, drinking in the sight of you writhing beneath him, his eyes dark with desire.

“Say it again,” he requests hoarsely, his voice low and gravelly. “Say my name again.”

You’re breathless, your body on fire from his touch, and the sound of his own plea only fuels the heat coursing through you. Your hands grip his biceps, holding on for dear life as you arch into him, your bodies flush against each other. “Pope,” you repeat breathlessly, your voice a low, ragged whisper of need. “Pope, please…”

The sound of his name on your lips, coming out of you in such a wanton, pleading tone, drives him wild with want. He captures your lips in a passionate kiss, his tongue delving into your mouth hungrily. His hands roam your body with an unbridled urgency, tracing every contour, caressing every inch he can reach. He pulls away from the kiss just long enough to reply, his voice thick with need: “I want everything,” he murmurs, his breath hot against your skin. “I want you.”

Something snaps in you when you hear his words and feel his breath on your skin. A primal, animalistic need takes over, and you pull Pope down onto you, flipping your positions so you’re now on top of him. You press your body flush against his, and he lets out a gasp of surprise at the unexpected change in position. Your lips crash into his, the kiss hungry and desperate, as your hands roam his body, mapping out every plane and contour.

Pope quickly frees himself from his shorts and boxers and takes off your underwear and immediately enters you feeling the need to feel you. You both moan into the kiss. The moment of entry brings a low, guttural moan from the both of you, and Pope clutches at you as if he can't bear to be even an inch away from you. The kiss deepens, becoming more urgent, as he wraps his arms around you, holding you in place against him. He meets your gaze, his eyes dark and blazing with lust, and he gasps out your name hoarsely. “You feel so good,” he murmurs.

You moan feeling his thrusts inside you. “You are so big Pope” you murmur holding onto him trying to get more. The combination of your words and the feel of your hands on him drive Pope to the edge. He responds to your murmur by thrusting deeper, his body moving with a slow, deliberate rhythm that drives you both wild with desire. “You like that?” he asks, his voice a low, guttural growl, as he buries his face into your neck and kisses the sensitive skin there.

You moan in response and scratch his back. “So good,” you say, your voice cracking with moans. Every moan, every gasp of pleasure from your lips only serves to fuel the fire inside of him even more. Pope buries his lips and teeth into the junction of your shoulder and neck, leaving a mark of possession behind. His hands grip your hips, guiding your movements and helping you meet his rhythm.

“You’re mine,” he grits out against your skin, his words punctuated by a sharp thrust. “Say it.” You moan excited by his being dominant. You had never seen Pope like this and you loved it.

“I'm yours Pope, all yours” you moan as you continue to scratch his back from the pleasure he was giving you. Your confirmation that you are his and only his sends a thrill through Pope that he’s never experienced before. A mixture of dominance and possessiveness takes over him, and he tightens his grip on your hips, his fingers pressing into your skin.

“Damn right you are,” he growls, the sound low and primal. “You’re mine, and I’m never letting go.” His words make you shiver in anticipation, and you arch into him as he pistons into you, wanting to feel every inch of him. Your own hands roam over his back, grabbing and clutching at the skin anywhere you can reach, your nails leaving deep scratches behind.

“Harder,” you gasp into his ear, your voice an octave higher than normal with need. “Please, Pope.” Pope doesn’t need to be told twice.

The command on your lips, the need in your voice, only serve to stoke the fire within him. He growls out your name, his hands gripping onto you even tighter as he obliges and quicken the pace. He kisses, bites, and licks every piece of skin he can reach, leaving a trail of fire and desire in his wake.

The change in pace sends waves of pleasure through you, and you arch your back with a guttural moan. The sensations are overwhelming, and your nails dig into his back, leaving behind angry, red lines. “I’m getting close,” you manage to gasp out, your words intermingled with moans and gasps. “Just don’t stop, please, don’t stop.”

Pope’s mind almost goes blank at your words. He doesn’t think he could stop even if he wanted to. The feel of your nails in his skin and the sounds of your gasping moans only serve to push him towards the edge. He tightens his grip on your hips, fingers digging in even harder as he thrusts even deeper into you, prolonging the pleasure for both of you. “I won’t,” he promises huskily, his voice low and rough with desire. “I won’t stop until we both get come”.

The waves of pleasure crash over you both, sending shockwaves of pleasure rippling through your bodies. Pope pulls you tight against him, his arms wrapping around you like a security blanket as he tries to catch his breath. Your body thrums with satisfaction, and you bury your face into his neck, simply content to be held by him.“Holy hell,” he gasps out, his voice rough and breathless. “That… you…”

You giggle weakly and nod in agreement, not quite trusting your voice. You press a soft kiss to his neck, feeling utterly spent and completely satisfied. It feels like your body has been through a wringer, but it was the best kind of wringer possible. “That was…” you start, but even your brain is all fuzzy still. “Amazing,” you manage to utter.

Pope lets out a weak chuckle at the sound of your ragged voice, the exhaustion in it only serving to make his body warmer in a strange way. He rubs your back gently, caressing you with a tenderness that contrasts to the passion of moments before. “Amazing doesn’t even begin to describe it,” he responds, his voice still rough, but softer than before. “That was… I don’t even know how to speak right now, honestly.”

"Did I manage to make you forget about Kiara?" You whisper as he kisses your neck. He looks up without moving away from your neck. "Kiara who?" He murmurs, nibbling on your neck

[personapeters]

✰ 𝐭𝐞𝐱𝐭𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐛𝐨𝐲𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝!𝐣𝐣 (1)

— random texts with your boyfriend, jj maybank

rating: sfw — cw: slightly suggestive — links: one • two

 personapeters 2024 — all rights reserved • masterlist

[pencil-n-pen]

EYE TO EYE, THIGH TO THIGH

. ۫ ꣑ৎ .

──────────────────────

rafe x fem! black cat! pogue! reader

previous part | masterlist | kofi

this is a sequel but it can be read as a standalone!!

summary: you’ve done it. you’re actually dating the Rafe Cameron. He’s everything you didn’t think he’d be. So maybe you’re a tiny, little bit in love with him.

cw: honestly not much considering this is a rafe fic, relationship insecurity, references to past bad relationships i guess? rafe is rafe and reader is reader :P

tags/tropes: Rafe spoiling reader bc i feel like we didn’t get enough in the last fic, relationship insecurity, fluff, reader is secretly shy and has so much anxiety she just hides it by being a bitch (me too girl) reader feeling safe enough with Rafe to be soft, squishy, shy, and girly-girl <3

a/n: okay so yall at that last fic up i am surprised i will admit. also guys pls appreciate the fact that the color scheme for the first fic was blue and now it’s pink. also fairy warning, the tone of this fic is way different than the first one, we’re highlighting reader’s insecurities so she’s not as maneater-black cat. Rafe is showing her she doesn’t have to be all of that with him :) He loves spoiling his girl <3

title taken from Little Bit by Lykke Li —the original, not the remix— aka the sequel’s anthem. i highly suggest giving it a listen (especially while reading !!)

──────────────────────

݁˖ ❀ ⋆｡˚

Despite projecting confidence and arrogance, you don’t actually know that much about relationships. It’s easy to act like you know better when you know better, and for the most part, you do.

After that fake relationship fiasco, you had to be painfully honest with yourself about what you would and wouldn’t tolerate in a future relationship, if you ever were to get in one.

And now you are in one with the least likely person you ever thought you’d start dating, and well. You kind of feel like you’re bracing for pain that —hopefully— won’t come.

You’ve upheld a strong belief that all relationships are terrible to some extent. The bickering, the clinginess, the cheating. Lack of chemistry. Lack of physical attraction.

None of these things are present in your relationship with Rafe. Except the bickering, but it’s not real fighting. Rafe just enjoys riling you up so he can kiss you senseless after. It’s a hobby of his.

Your first and only real argument thus far was about your house.

“My dad is a real estate developer,” He’d said, jaw tight. “And your house is the size of a fuckin’ postage stamp. Just let me fix it.”

“Rafe, that kind of renovation and repair costs thousands of dollars. Not hundreds, thousands. I can’t be indebted to your family like that.”

Rafe had just groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Okay, baby, you need to get this through that thick fucking skull of yours, but we’re rich. Filthy. Fucking. Rich.”

He’s enunciated the last three words, practically spitting them.

“And you’re my girl. I am your boyfriend. I’m your provider. I take care of you. That’s my job. Can you let me do my job? Can you afford the repairs? Look at me in my eyes and tell me your job at that cafe is going to pay for the renovations.”

“…”

“That’s what I thought. Look, it’s a win for everybody. You get your house repaired for free, and my dad gets to boost his public image. He’s always stressing about that.”

It was hard to complain about things while you were staying in their mansion during the repairs —which, shockingly, didn’t take long. You suppose your house is pretty small and the damage wasn’t that bad.

Your stomach churns with guilt every time you think about all the money that it cost to have the work done. Money you didn’t pay.

It keeps you up at night, a constant, disgraceful, litany.

Money money money money money money money money money money money money money—

So you finally decide to approach Rafe about it.

He’s seated at his desk, headphones on, playing some game with Topper and Kelce.

You peer over his shoulder, trying to figure out if this is a game he can pause or not.

You should wait then, he’s busy, and like, he’s going to think it’s stupid. Actually, maybe you shouldn’t ask him at all—

“I can hear you lingering back there. Do you need something, baby?”

“You can’t hear me,” You grumble, stepping forward so you’re lingering next to him, instead of behind. “I don’t need anything. Just wanted to talk to you about something.”

“Ooooooooo!” Topper and Kelce both coo, their voices tinny and barely audible through Rafe’s headphones.

“Shut up, both of you,” You say, leaning down to rhe microphone on the side of Rafe’s headphones, “Neither of you have girlfriends.”

“Yeah,” Rafe chuckles, “The bitchless don’t get to say anything.”

“Rafe, don’t call girls bitches.”

“But you call girls bitches.”

“That’s because I am a girl. And a bitch.”

“That doesn’t make any sense.”

“You’re not supposed to understand it.”

He shakes his head then pushes his headphones partway off his head. “What’d you need to talk about? Something important?”

You shake your head. “It can wait.”

He frowns, muttering out a quick “bye assholes,” To Topper and Kelce before clicking out of his game and taking his headphones off.

He spins in his chair, facing you. “How’s it work that you call me a dickhead without shame but can’t tell me when something’s wrong?”

You shrug. “Cause sometimes you’re being a dickhead.”

“And the other part?”

A slight, embarrassed flush begins to creep up your neck. “I don’t know.”

“Mmm,” He hums, clearly dissatisfied. “What did you want to talk about?”

You steel yourself.

“I don’t want you spending so much money on me anymore.”

“Absolutely not.”

His words are firm and resolute, leaving absolutely no room for argument.

It’s a good thing you were graced with the ability to make room for an argument. Runs in your family.

“Rafe,” You start, crossing your arms- to which he immediately rolls his eyes with a groan, “I’m serious. You gotta stop. It’s too much.”

“It’s not.”

“It is! It keeps me up at night, worrying about all the money I owe you—“

He drags a hand down his face. “I’m going to stop you right there, because you’re being stupid again. You don’t owe me anything. Why do I spend money on you, baby?”

“Because… you have poor spending habits?”

He rolls his eyes again, reaching forward to grab your hands in his, tugging you forward. “I spend money on you because I like to.”

“I don’t know why.”

“You’re not supposed to understand it,” He says, parroting your earlier words back at you. “Seriously. There’s no way in hell I’m going to stop spending money on you.”

You sigh, and he squeezes your hands consoling.

“I know, I know. Must be so hard having an unlimited budget and a hot boyfriend.”

“Shut up.”

He pulls you down for a kiss, something gentler than usual. “Yes, ma’am.”

—

Despite what he said, your guilt prevails. Then, it sticks its greedy little fingers into your brain and takes root, and suddenly you’re thinking about all the other ways Rafe spoils you. And surely it can’t last, right?

It’s a little twinge when he picks you up from work. (it’s not that far from his house, but multiple trips is a lot of gas, and gas isn’t cheap and that’s more money—)

It’s a prickle on the back of your neck when he insists you borrow his clothes or use his shower. (Luxuries, because his clothes are so much better made than your own and imagine the water bill with another person using the shower—)

And sometimes —it sounds stupid but you can’t help it— he’s just too hot. You just look at him- at the set of his jaw and the curve of his cheekbones and the rippling muscle of his bicep and how he fucking smells, and you just can’t seriously believe that he’s yours. (He always says he’s your boyfriend with such emphasis on the word yours. Like he belongs to you, not the other way around.)

You hate it, because really, you need to enjoy what you have, because it’s what practically every girl dreams of having, but the fear, the guilt— it’s invasive. A little parasite that eats away at your confidence. Makes you feel just a little sick, all the time.

“Alright,” Rafe says one day, pulling you aside into the travel section of Barnes and Nobles —the most secluded, because who even uses the travel section anymore?— and leveling you with a look. “You need to tell me what’s wrong.”

“Nothing’s wro—“

“Don’t give me that shit,” His voice lowers, “We’ve been in here for nearly thirty minutes, and you haven’t picked out one book. You haven’t even looked at one. For you, that’s like the apocalypse. What’s wrong?”

You freeze, panicked. “I think we should break up.”

“No.”

“Wha— You can’t just say no.”

The muscle in his jaw jumps. “Yes I can, because that isn’t the issue.”

“Yes it is, this isn’t working out—“

“Yes it is.”

“Are you just going to refute everything I say?” You hiss.

“I am because you’re lying, right to my face.”

He leans down so you’re face to face. “I’m gonna ask one last time. What’s. Wrong.”

“I don’t know!” You explode, whisper shouting. “I don’t know, Rafe. I don’t know if something’s wrong with me, or if we’re not compatible or what. I just…”

You sigh, slumping. “I feel so guilty, all the time. For all the money you spend on me, and all the stuff you do for me. I feel like a bad girlfriend, and I feel like you don’t think I can take care of myself.”

He leans back against a bookshelf. “So when I spoil you, the thing that’s my job as a boyfriend, you feel guilty?”

“Yes.”

“And you think I’m doing this because I don’t think you can take care of yourself?”

“Yes? I don’t know.”

He gazes at you for a beat, eyes flicking over your form.

“If you would just tell me the name of that guy—“

“No. You would actually kill him.”

“He’d deserve it.”

“Not the point here, Ray.”

“Kind of is,” He mumbles, turning his head.

You’re both silent for a few moments, and you’re sure you’ve gone and ruined things when he speaks again.

“Tell me what you need.”

Your shoulders hike up to your ears. “I don’t know what—“

“Yes you do,” His eyes are half-lidded as he looks down at you. “Tell me what you need. Use your words.”

Your skin feels hot and flushed.

“You’re not going to like it.”

He sighs. “You get all up in your fuckin’ head about stuff and you never stop to ask if I even care.”

“You—“

“I’m obsessed with you. I will always give you whatever you want, every time you ask, whenever you ask. Do you understand?”

You nod.

“No. I want to hear you say it.”

“I understand.”

“You understand what?”

“That you’re obsessed with me, and you’ll always give me whatever I want, every time I ask, whenever I ask.”

He hums, satisfied. “Good girl. Now tell me what you need.”

“Reassurance,” You breathe, a rush of words and air. “It’s stupid, because—“

“Don’t start with your independent woman bullshit.”

You frown, but continue. “I just don’t want to be overbearing.”

He snorts. “I don’t think you could be overbearing if you tried. You hardly ask for anything. Crank it up, baby.”

You groan, stepping forward into his awaiting arms and smashing your face into his chest. “But that’s exhausting.”

He wraps his arms around you, slowly rocking you side to side. “And doing everything yourself isn’t?”

“Different kind of exhausting.”

“Mm. I see.”

You pull away, peering up at him through your lashes. “Are you really obsessed with me?”

His lips twitch. “Is that all you got from that conversation?”

“It was the only important part.”

He leans down and plants a kiss on your nose. “I’m pretty sure you’re the only person who hasnt noticed.”

He tugs on your hand, leading you back through the store and letting you wander through your favorite sections, this time stopping to actually look at things. Every time you step away without handing it to him he pushes you back, giving you a stern look.

“I don’t want to get the whole store, Rafe.”

“You could.”

“You’re not helping.”

With effort, you manage to thin the stack to the ones you actually want, not just everything you’re interested in. Rafe gives a huff but allows you to put some of the books back, but only under the promise that you’re not doing it because “you’re being stupid again.”

When you get back to the car, small stack of books in your lap, you decide to give the whole ‘asking for things’ a go.

“Are you mad at me?”

“No.”

“Are you upset with me?”

The rumble of the engine starting reverberates through the car. “No.”

“Are you annoyed with me?”

“Hold onto your books, I’m turning. No.”

“Are you planning on being upset with me anytime soon?”

He squints at you. “Is this going to take long?”

“Depends on your answer.”

“No.”

“No to what?”

“Your dumbass question.”

“It’s not a dumbass question.”

“Yes it is. Who the fuck plans to be upset with someone?”

“I don’t know. That’s why I’m asking.”

“You’re so lucky I’m obsessed with you.”

—

“Rafe?”

“Hmm?”

You’re sitting on his bed, legs crossed with his head pillowed on your thigh, arms wrapped around your waist. It’s a warm evening- his bedroom window is cracked open and the salty breeze wafts through the room, pleasantly cool air coming with it. You’re wearing a matching set of silk pajamas— they were expensive as hell and probably one of the only things you don’t feel bad about Rafe buying for you, just because they’re so damn comfortable.

His eyes are closed in contentedness as you slide your hands down his neck and over his shoulders. He’s forgone a shirt tonight, and if you look closely, you can see goosebumps left in the wake of your slow, deft hands.

“Before we started dating- that time in the car. You said you like me because I’m mouthy and stubborn. But I’m not really that mouthy and stubborn now. Do you like me less?”

He squeezes you tight. “Doesn’t your brain have an off switch?”

“No.”

He grumbles something unintelligible under his breath, his throat vibrating against your legs as he does it.

“Okay, first of all, you’re still mouthy and stubborn as hell, just in a different way. And no. I don’t like you less. If anything, I like you more.”

You worry your lip between your teeth. “How come? I thought most of my appeal came from the challenge.”

“That’s bullshit, baby. I like that you’re mouthy and stubborn. I also like that you’re soft and squishy too.”

His hand drifts lower, kneading flesh as it goes. “Really like that you’re squishy.”

“Mm. I think I’m a little too squishy.”

He presses his face closer to your tummy. “Are we talking physically or metaphorically here? You’re losing me.”

“Mm. Bit of both.”

His nose presses into the plush flesh. “No.”

“Just no?”

“No.”

“Oh. Okay.”

He squeezes you once, then relaxes again. “Please go back to rubbing me, baby. Your hands feel so fucking nice.”

“Where do you want rubbed?”

“Anywhere. Jus’ wanna feel you.”

He falls asleep before the sun sets fully, breaths tickling your stomach and arms still firm around your waist.

The guilt starts to whither.

—

You’re going to do it. You’re going to ask him for something before he can offer. You’re gonna do it. It’s not hard. You can do it.

You slide into the passenger side door, leaning over to give him his customary kiss.

“How was work?”

“Can we please stop at that coffee place I like on our way?”

He blinks, taken back by your request for a moment. He recovers quickly, a smile tugging at his lips as he gives you another kiss, this one a little more heated than yours.

“Of course we can. You want that drink you like? The one with the cold foam?”

You nod, trying to discreetly rub the sweat from your palms onto your pants.

“Aww, look at you,” He coos, “So worked up over a little coffee. You spent your whole shift worryin’ about this, didn’t you?”

“Not the whole shift.” You mumble, embarrassed.

“It’s just a little coffee,” He teases, “No need to start worrying.”

“Too late.”

“Then we better go get that coffee, huh?”

He stretches his arm across the console, hand finding the meat of your thigh and just resting on it. It feels almost like a reward.

—

He catches on quick that you are, actually, trying to ask for things. Even though your skin prickles a little bit everytime, because you can do these things yourself, of course, but Rafe always gets this pinched look on his face when you insist on doing something yourself.

Rafe says that you’re the weird one in this scenario, not him. That most girls jump at the chance to sit back and let their boyfriend’s do all the work. But that just doesn’t sit right with you. It feels… unequal. If he does everything, if he takes care of you, then what are you bringing go the relationship?

“Your hot ass, for one.”

You swat his arm, sitting on towels on the beach in front of his house.

“I’m serious Rafe!”

“When are you not?”

You swat at him again, but he just chuckles, pushing up so he’s leaning back on his elbows. “Any chance you’d be satisfied with the ass answer?”

You give him a look.

He sighs. “Figured not. Okay,”

He rolls over, lying on his stomach and staring up at you. You cross your legs, absentmindedly taking his face in your hands.

He tips his head into your palms. “Permission to get mushy?”

“Permission granted.”

His eyes, nearly the same shade as the ocean behind him flit over your face before he speaks. “Well for one, you don’t take my shit. Pretty sure my family likes that about you.”

“As if you actually listen.”

“Don’t interrupt, I’m being mushy for you. You take care of me too. It’s cute as shit. You don’t even realize when you’re doing it. You’re doing it right now.”

You frown. “I am?”

“Mhm,” He taps your hands on either side of his face, “Just like this. So stop worrying about it.”

“But like, this doesn’t require any effort and I like doing it, and—“

He raises his eyebrows.

“Okay, you maybe have a point,” You concede, brushing a thumb over the crest of his cheekbone. “But it still doesn’t feel equal. I’m not doing anything, really.”

“You are. Don’t sell yourself short, angel,” He presses a kiss to your palm, then turns back to you, hand sliding over yours. “I promise you. It’s fair.”

“You promise?”

“Mhm.”

“You have to say you promise.”

He leans up and captures your lips in his, slow and soft and warm. The kind of thing that makes your stomach flip and your insides melt.

He pulls back, lips brushing yours as he speaks.

“I promise.”

—

Slowly, slowly, you allow yourself to enjoy things. Enjoy your insanely hot boyfriend, enjoy not having to worry about money- for anything, big or small.

Sometimes you buy something small just for the thrill of it. Sometimes it makes you guilty afterwards, sometimes it doesn’t.

“Rafe?”

“Yeah baby?”

“There’s a sale at Victoria’s Secret—“

“Get in the car.”

Some things he’s definitely more enthusiastic about than others, but, for reasons you don’t understand, he really does just enjoy spending money on you. “Doing his boyfriend duties,” as he’d put it.

A small part of you is still waiting for the other shoe to drop, but the longer it doesn’t, the more you settle into the comfort and, dare you say it, love that he wraps you in.

“Ray?”

“Hmm?”

You’re at a bonfire at the Boneyard, a scaled down version of the usual event that the bonfires end up being. Not a big turnout tonight— probably because of the cold snap threatening to turn summer into fall.

Rafe comes up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist and dipping his chin into your shoulder, lips warm and soft where the meet the skin of your neck.

“You need something, sweetheart?”

You hum for minute, thinking. Sometimes you just want him near. You’ve come to learn you’re actually a very tactile girlfriend— when your boyfriend actually makes you feel loved and cared for.

“Can we go home soon?”

“Of course baby.”

“We should stop and get some food. M’ a little hungry.”

“Yeah? We can stop wherever.”

“And I was thinking,” You pause, the teeniest curl of apprehension poking your chest, “Maybe we could go out tomorrow? Go to a couple shops?”

He mouths the side of your neck, breath warm. “I think that’s a great idea. You know why?”

“Why?”

“Cause I get to show off my girl. My beautiful,” He sucks at the skin of your neck, a shudder running through you, “beautiful girlfriend.”

“Mm, what about me? Don’t I get to show off my handsome, sexy boyfriend?”

He grins against your skin. “Anytime you want. I’m not going anywhere.”

You aren’t either.

݁˖ ❀ ⋆｡˚

[rafecameronssl4t]

Deal or deal? || Rafe Cameron x fem!reader

gif by @rafeyscurtainbangs

Summary: inspired by this scene in ep 4 but with my own twist and it’s dad!rafe x reader w/ Mabel 😍

Warnings: nothing rlly!

Word count: 1,075

A/n: hey so um I caved in couldn't resist writing at least one fic w the new season during my break...

MASTERLIST (dad!Rafe au masterlist)

divider by @h-aewo

You walk into the ensuite bathroom as you adjust Mabel on your hip. Her little hands curl around your shoulder, her head nestling against your neck. The soft scent of baby powder clings to her skin, and despite the busyness of the morning, there’s always something calming about her presence. Rafe stands by the counter, packing the beach bag with towels, sunscreen, and toys, his movements relaxed yet purposeful.

He looks up as you approach, his sharp blue eyes softening. “You’re just in time,” he says, zipping the bag with a quick motion and setting it aside. You smile back, setting Mabel in her bouncer next to him. "Thought I’d let you handle the sunscreen part," you tease, brushing your fingers gently over Mabel's soft curls. Rafe chuckles and kneels beside her, his large hands dwarfing the bottle of sunscreen as he carefully squirts a bit onto his fingers.

"Alright, princess, we don’t want you burning up, do we?” he murmurs, gently applying the cream to her chubby cheeks. His touch is so soft, filled with care, as Mabel giggles, her tiny hands reaching for his face. You smile, pressing a kiss to the top of Mabel’s head. She gurgles happily, her tiny feet kicking as she looks around, wide-eyed and curious. You turn away, heading toward the closet where your bikini is draped over a chair. The fabric feels cool in your hands as you slip it on, the rich colour contrasting with your skin.

“So,” you begin, your voice casual but carrying a note of seriousness, “I was thinking… about that business opportunity that came up last week.” You glance over your shoulder as Rafe’s eyes flick up from Mabel, curiosity piqued. “The investment thing?” “Yeah,” you say, fumbling a little as you try to tie the back of your bikini. “I really think you should go for it." He stands, moving closer, his eyes shifting between your face and your chest as you adjust it.

"Turn around," he mutters, his hands brushing against your back as he pulls the strings into a neat knot. His fingers linger for a moment longer than necessary, and when you glance at the mirror, you catch the way his eyes roam over you—an intensity in his gaze that sends a slight shiver through you. "You really think it’s that good of a deal?" he asks, his voice low, his hands hovering at your waist. You meet his gaze through the mirror, feeling the heat of his hands lingering at the small of your back.

"Yeah, don't you?" You adjust the bikini strap on your shoulder. His hands drop to rest lightly on your hips, and for a second, he doesn't' respond. Lightly biting your lip as you wait for a response, he meets your gaze in the mirror, a slight smirk playing on his lips. His eyes stay locked on you, a mix of thoughtfulness and something more. "I think you should go for it." Rafe’s eyes darken with thought, but his smirk doesn’t fade. He pulls you a little closer, his grip firm but gentle, his chest pressing against your back.

“God, this is just landing right in my lap, isn’t it?” His tone is a mixture of amusement and consideration. You give him a playful look over your shoulder. “That’s what I’ve been saying. You’d be stupid not to take it.” He chuckles, his breath warm against the side of your neck as his lips brush against your skin, slowly at first. “You always know how to push me in the right direction,” he murmurs, the teasing lilt in his voice sending a warmth down your spine.

His hands glide up from your hips to your waist, pulling you just a little closer. You let out a soft breath, your heart quickening as his kisses trail lower. "You could make so much freakin’ money, Rafe,” you say, your voice a little breathless. Rafe grins against your skin, “Could I, now?” His voice is a teasing drawl as his lips move along your skin, causing a ripple of warmth to spread through you. You laugh softly, leaning back against him. “I’m serious!"

“So am I,” he whispers, his kisses slow and deliberate. His hands tighten slightly on your waist, his touch firm but tender. But just as you start to sink into the moment, Mabel lets out a whine, breaking through the intimate bubble. You both pause, exchanging a look before bursting into quiet laughter. Rafe pulls away first, shaking his head as he glances at Mabel. “Perfect timing, huh?” he says, his smirk playful but affectionate.

You walk over to Mabel, scooping her into your arms as she quiets down instantly, snuggling into your chest. “Guess we’re not the only ones who need attention,” you joke, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. Rafe grins, his eyes following you. “She’s just jealous,” he says, tossing a towel into the beach bag. Rafe smirks, watching the two of you, his earlier intensity replaced with something softer. You laugh, bouncing Mabel lightly in your arms as she grabs onto your bikini strap with her tiny hand.

“Can you blame her? You spoil me,” you tease, glancing up at him. Rafe leans against the counter, his eyes never leaving you. “I’ll think about that deal,” he says, his voice a little more serious now. “Sounds like it could be good… for all of us.” You nod, bouncing Mabel lightly in your arms. “You’ll figure it out. You always do.” You say, brushing Mabel's hair. Rafe steps closer, wrapping one arm around your waist, pulling both you and Mabel into his chest as he presses a soft kiss to your head.

“Yeah,” he says quietly, his eyes meeting yours with a knowing look. “We’ll see.” You can tell, though, from the determined glint in his eyes that he already knows what he’s going to do.

[sarahsangelicdoll]

hi! can you write like rafe and reader are best friends but they fuck whenever they need to get off like they’re not together but they like each other and they know they like each other and they don’t get with anyone else or anything but anyways back to what i was saying, whenever they fuck reader is always to scared to do it without protection but just needs him and so they go at it blah blah and then he’s about to pull out but reader tells him to cum inside?

i really hope this makes sense😭💜

༊·˚ Breeding kink + fwb!Rafe… yes pleasee

cw: 18+!, mdni, breeding, unprotected p n v

a/n: another req that’s been sitting in my inbox.. i might elaborate more on it but i just really wanted to get this out for you bby 💞 so rushed lol. not proud of this at all. one req left in my drafts !!

“Fuck sweetheart… feel so good.” Rafe groaned into your ear. One hand lazily holding your throat while the other had a bruising grip on your hip. “Gonna cum in you if you keep squeezing me like that..”

You don’t know what got into you, but the thought had your thighs clenching shut around his waist. Nails scraping down his back even harder. Rafe however, was oblivious. He of course thought of it before, but the thought was too good to ever be possible, right? So he simply assumed you were about to cum.

“Yeah? gonna cum for me baby?” He asks through his own laboured breathing, leaning up to bring his hand down and rub at your clit. The sounds spilling from your lips were heavenly and had Rafe nearing even closer to his own orgasm.

“Fuck.. gonna cum..” He pants, about to pull out to paint your stomach with his cum, but found himself unable as your legs tightened around his hips.

“Cum inside, please?” You pout, looking up at him with puppy dog eyes. How could he possibly refuse that? He knew he should’ve double checked with you, but he’s been wanting this for so long.

His thrusts quickly started again after a momentary pause, a low moan escaping his lips. “Shit… you have any idea what you do to me?” He chuckled before the both of you let out broken moans, cumming at the same time.

Your pussy tightened around his cock as you felt his cum paint your walls, the unusual sensation making your stomach flutter with butterflies as the two of you basked in your orgasm after glows.

After you both caught your breath Rafe leaned up and your legs fell from his hips, his cock slowly exiting your warm cunt.

Rafe could feel his cock hardening again as he grabbed your calf and held it up, smirking as he watched his cum pool out from your cunt. “Shit.. Should do that again baby..”

⟡ ݁₊ . written by sarahsangelicdoll, 2025 on tumblr! © do not repost on any third party website or repost as yours. Doing so will result in me blocking you and reporting.

rafe taglist: @rafestoothbrush

[hunzzzzz]

OBX TWEETS MASTERLIST

Undecided pairing reader x John b / Rafe

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

Part 7

Part 8

Part 9

Part 10

Part 11

Part 12

Part 13

Part 14 (coming soon)

[tvgals]

give me (black) not-so-bimbo reader x rafe cameron :P

rafe cameron and his not-so-bimbo girlfriend! sure she dresses in all pink and her tits are huge, but, she’s super smart and doesn’t like to be reduced to her high fashion and pretty face.

sometimes, you notice people tend to glance at you once and think they have it all figured out about you, but little do they know that you go to stanford and you’re the best on the debate team!

“well how did rafe and not-so-bimbo reader meet?”

well, a while back (just a few months) you were lounging on the beach, glad there was no wind due to you multitasking of studying and going back and forth from the water with your friends, rafe noticed you and your white swimsuit a mile away! he puffed his chest out and sat next to you, languidly watching you as your eyes flicker between the words on the pages. one of your friends called your name and you look up, laughing at whatever they were doing and contently hummed to yourself. you took a quick look around and locked eyes with rafe, your heart jumping out your chest.

“oh! can i help you?” you ask, giggling a bit. you did find it weird this strange man sat next to you, but you’re always up to make new friends! rafe smiles at you and looks you up and down as if you weren’t there! he clears his throat and speaks up, “i’m rafe cameron. you don’t know me?” he smirks, leaning on his hand. you scrunch your eyebrows and giggle again. “no? well, i’m also not from here, sorry.” you smile, your face lighting up. rafe nods to himself and licks his lips. “where ya from?” he asks , taking the book out of your hands and slowly thumbing through the pages.

“oh! i’m from san francisco! i go to standford.” you explain. peering over at rafe while he looked through your textbook. “right right. so, why’re ya’ down here?” he asks, his eyes still focused on your textbook. lots and lots of legal terms… “i’m just here for my friend’s birthday! i’ll be leaving soon.” you explain, tucking a stray hair from your knotless braids back into your bun. he closes the text book and slides it back over to you, standing up and bringing a hand out to pick you up. “wanna get snow cones?” he asks.

“sure!”

i didn’t know how to end this i’ll be back