jade

𝘙𝘢𝘧𝘦 𝘊𝘢𝘮𝘦𝘳𝘰𝘯

Kiss Her In Front Of You - 𝘞 𝘑𝘫 𝘔𝘢𝘺𝘣𝘢𝘯𝘬

20 Cigarettes

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x pouge!reader

Summary: you meet up at a bar, and he confesses his feelings but you just can’t let yourself give in

wc: 1,543

~ inspired by the song “If You Were Mine” by Morgan Wallen

The neon sign outside The Wreck buzzed like it was clinging to life. Purple and blue light splashed across the parking lot, casting your shadow long on the cracked concrete. You were supposed to be inside with Kiara, and the rest of the pouges. It was rare that the group went out to actual bars, but after a particularly rough day, we decided to spend the night high off alcohol and that carefree attitude. Dancing alongside Sarah and kie while the boys played darts.

It was easy.

But it didn’t last. The noise got too loud and the air too thick, so you stepped out for a minute.

You weren’t alone.

Rafe Cameron leaned against his motorbike, cigarette unlit between his fingers, staring at the moon like it had personally offended him. He didn’t see you at first.

Or maybe he did, and he just pretended not to.

You looked up at the sky, almost asking it to save you.

A neon moon, yeah, it’s gettin’ late…

You swallowed, fighting the instinct to turn around. Every part of your life warned you against him. Pogue vs Kook, Sarah’s drama vs Rafe’s violence, your heart vs his reputation. You weren’t just opposites. You weren’t supposed to exist in the same frame.

But your feet didn’t move.

When you looked at him, you couldn’t think straight.

Like a horse to the water, prolly shouldn’t drink.

“Didn’t expect to see you here,” he said without looking over, like he knew it was you.

His voice was rough like he hadn’t spoken in hours. “Seems to be having fun in there,” he added.

Of course he was watching you, cause you were also watching him.

“And I didn’t expect you to be sober enough to stand up,” you shot back.

He huffed a small laugh. “Funny.”

You crossed your arms. “I wasn't joking. Why are you out here, and not inside?”

“Fresh air.”

“Rafe Cameron doesn't need fresh air.”

His eyes flicked to yours then, sharp, ocean-deep, startlingly clear. You hated how they made your breath stutter.

“Maybe he does when he’s trying not to think.”

Your eyebrows rose. “About what?”

But he didn’t answer.

Instead, he pushed off the bike and stepped closer, slow, like he was testing if you’d flinch. You didn’t. You kept your chin high, refusing to give him the satisfaction.

He smirked. “You look nervous.”

“I’m not.”

“You should be.”

Because the truth is, we both wanna taste…

“So,” you said, lifting a brow, “you’re not drunk, not high? No rich-boy rage? No punching people who breathe too loud?”

He smirked a little. “Not tonight.”

“That's a promise?”

“No. But it’s the truth.”

The waves rolled in, washing over the bank, and for a moment the two of you just listened. It felt wrong. Dangerous. Like standing at the edge of something you couldn’t back away from.

“You shouldn’t be alone out here,” he said.

“I’m fine.”

“Didn’t say you weren’t. I said you shouldn’t be.” His voice dropped, quieter. “Big difference.”

You scoffed. “You don’t get to care about what I do.”

“You think I don’t?” he said, a little too fast.

Your breath hitched.

His gaze dropped to your lips for one dangerous second before he pulled back just enough to breathe properly.

You could feel your phone buzz in your back pocket, you reached back to push it down more.

“You don’t gotta hide your phone,” he added, voice low. “I know you got people waiting for you back there. People who’d lose their minds if they saw you talking to me.”

“Yeah,” you whispered. “And for good reason.”

He gave a humorless smile. “Probably.”

He wasn’t wrong. JJ would throw himself between you and Rafe like a guard dog. John B would drag you back inside. Kie would cuss Rafe out on principle.

“And what?” you snapped softly. “You’d enjoy that? Watching everyone freak out because you cornered a Pogue?”

His voice dropped lower than you’d ever heard it.

“I didn’t corner you. You stayed.”

You opened your mouth. Then closed it, because he wasn’t wrong.

Another wave crashed. You should’ve walked away. You should’ve run.

Instead you stayed, letting the neon glow from the beer sign spill across the shore, painting everything in impossible colors.

“What do you want from me?” you finally whispered.

His throat bobbed. “If I ever got you alone…”

He paused.

“Just so you know… I wouldn’t rush it.”

The ocean wind gusted across the parking lot, cool and briny. For one moment, everything felt suspended. Like the world was waiting.

Rafe exhaled, and the sound was almost a confession.

“Look…” he muttered, glancing away, “I know this is messed up. I know we don’t work. I know I’m not… your usual type.”

“You’re not my type at all,” you said quick.

But it came out too soft.

His jaw clenched.

“Yeah. I know.”

He stepped closer again, slower this time, like he was giving you every chance to walk away. When you didn’t, he lifted a hand, stopping inches from your cheek. Not touching. Just… wanting.

“Damn,” he whispered. “If I ever got you alone…”

Your breath hitched.

“…just so you know? I’d lay you down. And I’d take my time.”

Heat rushed up your chest, your throat, your cheeks. You should’ve walked away. You should’ve said no. You should’ve slapped him.

But you didn’t do any of those things.

You stared at him, at the boy who was everything you shouldn’t want and whispered, “You can’t say stuff like that.”

He studied you carefully. “Why? Because it’s wrong?”

“Yes.”

He stepped even closer. “Or because you don’t hate hearing it?”

Your stomach dropped. “Rafe—”

“Tell me I’m imagining it,” he said. “Tell me you don’t feel it.”

You couldn’t.

And he saw the truth in the way your breath shook.

Would you let me drown in your ocean eyes?

His gaze locked on yours like he could fall straight into them if he wasn’t careful.

“You have no idea what you do to me,” he said quietly.

You swallowed hard. “Rafe…”

“Ain’t a part of you my hands wouldn’t wanna find,” he added, so quietly it was practically a prayer.

Your knees weakened. “You’re not being fair.”

He laughed softly, tired, lonely. “I’m being honest.”

“Why now?” you demanded. “You’ve hated me for years.”

He shook his head. “I never hated you.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

“I hated the way everyone else looked at you,” he said.

“Free. Happy. Safe. Everything I wasn’t allowed to be.”

You blinked, surprised by the rawness in his voice.

“And I hated,” he added, “that you looked at me and saw someone dangerous instead of someone… who wanted you. Badly.”

Silence stretched between you like a live wire.

Inside, music thumped faintly. Laughter spilled outside when the door opened. The gravel crunching under cars pulling in and out of the parking lot. But none of it reached you. Not in the way Rafe’s eyes did.

He ran a hand through his hair, frustrated.

“If you want it to happen…” he said quietly, “…I’m gonna let it.”

Your breath caught.

“Rafe—”

“I swear,” he murmured, stepping so close you felt the warmth of him, “in a second… I’d take you home. Lay you down. Slow. Careful. Like you deserve.”

It was too much.

Too honest.

Too intoxicating.

“Stop,” you breathed.

He didn’t touch you. He didn’t push. He just looked at you like he was memorizing every detail.

The ocean wind in your hair, the neon light on your skin, the rise and fall of your chest.

“In another life,” he whispered, “I think you’d be mine.”

Your heart twisted painfully.

God. Why did it feel like you believed him?

“In another life,” you murmured back, “maybe.”

“And in this one?” he asked.

You hesitated but only for a moment.

“In this one,” you whispered, “we just wouldn’t work.”

His lips parted.

He leaned forward, forehead gently brushing yours, the lightest contact, but it felt like electricity.

“But we could try,” he whispered.

You closed your eyes, breath trembling.

He didn’t kiss you.

He didn’t touch you.

He just stayed there, letting the moment stretch until it hurt.

But he knew it would never happen, he knew you were too stubborn, too loyal to your friends to ever let something like that happen, with him.

Finally, he pulled back.

“You should go back inside,” he murmured. “Before they notice.”

You nodded, trying to breathe.

He lingered one second longer, taking you in like he’d never get another chance.

Then he stepped back.

Letting you choose.

And somehow, walking away felt harder than giving in.

But you did it.

You pushed open the door.

You slipped inside.

And halfway through, you looked over your shoulder.

Rafe Cameron stood under the neon moon, hands in his pockets, chest rising unsteadily, watching you like you were the one thing in his life that wasn’t poison.

Like if you were his, truly his. He’d treat you like you were holy.

Like if you were his…

He’d never let you go.

The swing of the door slammed behind you. And suddenly you were pulled away by Sarah who was so drunk she barely noticed your absence.

And Rafe? Well he had enough of tonight.

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x tourist!reader

Summary: Rafe meets you on a crowded OBX bar deck, and twenty cigarettes later he’s left with nothing but smoke, the memory of you

~ inspired by the song “20 Cigarettes” by Morgan wallen

a/n : my last one got sm love so I tried it again!

The pack sat on the table, fresh from the gas station. He had bought it on his way to the bar. Twenty inside. Rafe tapped the bottom, slid one out, and let the lighter catch with a soft click.

Cigarette One.

The bar deck was loud, humid, alive with the kind of summer night that pressed against your skin. Rafe leaned back in his chair, smoke curling from his lips, eyes drifting across the crowd. He wasn’t looking for anyone. Not really.

Then you were there.

Leaning against the rail, laughing with your other tourist friends, your voice cut clear through the noise. He knew you were a tourist, there’s no way you lived on this island, he would’ve noticed you. You glanced his way once, then again, like you’d felt his stare burning across the distance.

So you walked over.

Cigarette Two.

You didn’t sit at first. You just leaned against his table, eyes glinting.

“Those will give you cancer.” You paused with a smirk. “You mind?” you asked, grabbing his pack, pulling one out. You had never smoked, but you’ve been drinking and he’s really cute.

Rafe smirked as well, holding the flame out, watching your lips close around the cigarette. You pulled back, vanilla perfume in the air mixed with smoke, exhaling, and something in his chest tightened.

“Thanks,” you said.

He shrugged. “Don’t mention it.”

You lingered. He offered you the chair across from him. You took it.

The conversation started small, you complimented his accent, you’ve been here for a couple days, and he by far has the best one. He didn’t stop talking after that. He asking you what you were drinking, Tito’s and pineapples juice. He ordered you another, and another. You were definitely tipsy.

“I should slow down” you laughed, cheeks red from the heat, the music, but also him. But your laugh was a new warmth, your eyes sharper than he expected.

“Hell nah” he responded, ordering you another. “I ain’t drinking by myself.”

Before long, he was talking too much, he was touchy and you weren’t pulling away.

Cigarette Three.

The pack slid closer to the middle of the table. He lit another, offering you one. You shook your head, sipping from your glass instead. Continuing your story about your home town and how the island was so different.

Cigarette Four.

By now, the deck was too crowded. People bumping chairs, spilling drinks. Your friends waved from the bar, but you didn’t look ready to leave. You were far too interested in what sat in front of you.

“Wanna get out of here?” Rafe asked, nodding toward the parking lot.

You paused, considering him, considering my friend’s reaction if they found out I went home with a random guy, then nodded once. “Why not?”

Cigarettes Five through Ten.

His truck windows were down, the air thick with salt and summer heat. You had one leg tucked under you, laughing at some half-stupid joke he made. He kept stealing glances, the glow of the dash throwing light across your face.

You fiddled with the radio, stopping when you found a country station. Turning it up way too loud, singing along.

At red lights, he lit another cigarette, the smoke drifting out into the night. You stole one, this time. The way you leaned close when he flicked the lighter, your lips so near, he almost forgot to breathe.

By the time he pulled off the main road, he’d gone through half the pack. Each one burned down faster than the last, like the night was slipping through his fingers.

Cigarettes Eleven through Seventeen.

The spot he chose was quiet, a clearing just off a backroad, overlooking the water. You climbed out of the truck, the grass brushing your legs as you moved toward the edge. The moon painted everything silver.

Rafe lit another cigarette, but he wasn’t watching the smoke. He was watching you. The way you tilted your head back, hair falling, skin glowing in the night.

“You gonna share?” you teased.

He huffed a laugh, walked over, held it out. Your fingers brushed when you took it. The smallest touch, but it burned hotter than the cherry at the end of the cigarette.

It was inevitable after that. The way your eyes lingered on his mouth. The way you didn’t move when he stepped closer.

When he kissed you, it was rough at first, desperate. But you kissed him back, and suddenly it wasn’t about control. It was about need. He lifted you up, as if you weighed nothing. Walking you to his truck bed, you didn’t even care if it wasn’t comfortable, all you felt was him.

The cigarettes kept burning down, one after another, forgotten in the grass. The heat between you replaced the summer air, messy kisses, hands tugging at clothes, ripping off your shirt leaving you exposed, halfway naked in his truck bed- he didn’t hesitate to help you with the rest, his body pressing against yours.

For once, Rafe didn’t feel the Cameron burden. Or the anger. Or the screw-up everyone thought he was. He just felt you. Alive. Real. Right there.

It wasn’t love. He wasn’t naïve enough to call it that. But fuck did he know it was something he hadn’t felt in a long, long time.

And for him, that was enough.

Cigarettes Eighteen and Nineteen.

Afterward, you were lying in the truck bed, the night air cooling the sweat on your skin. You stole another cigarette from the pack, lighting it with his lighter, taking a drag before passing it to him.

Your head rested on his shoulder. His hand traced lazy lines along your arm. He wanted to freeze time. Hold onto the weight of you against him, the warmth of your breath, the way your laughter still echoed in his ears.

But cigarettes never last.

And neither did nights like this. He knew that. You had a flight in the morning.

Cigarette Twenty.

He woke up alone, hungover.

The truck bed was empty, the grass rustling in the early morning breeze. No note. No number. Just the smell of smoke and vanilla clinging to his shirt and the ghost of you fading with the dawn.

The pack was gone too, except for the last cigarette — crushed, bent, left sitting on the dashboard like a cruel joke.

Rafe picked it up, staring at it until his vision blurred. He didn’t light it. Not yet.

Because lighting it would mean the night was over.

Paring: JJ Maybank x Reader & Rafe Cameron & Sofia

Summary: Rafe brings his new girl to your spot, you don’t let it slide

a/n: hi! This is my first writing. Any feedback would be nice, thanks a bunch! Enjoy tehe x

The bar smells like salt and betrayal.

It’s a humid summer night, the kind where the ocean breeze doesn’t offer relief, only tangles your hair and clings to your sweat-damp skin. The neon lights of The bar flicker above you, the same damn bar you and Rafe used to sneak off to when the world was too heavy. Where he’d spin you around and dance all night. The spot you’d carve your initials in the booth by the back window overlooking the water. Your spot. Your escape.

But not tonight.

Tonight, Rafe’s inside—with Sofia. Her laughter spills out the cracked window like a punch to the throat. It’s obnoxious really, she’s so native. To believe he actually likes her. Like he isn’t just using her to get under your skin. He’s not out on a date because he likes her.

He’s doing it for you. Every glance over her shoulder, every smirk, every casual arm draped over her seat, every kiss- he’s playing chess. And your the queen he already thinks he’s cornered.

Well, screw that.

I downed the rest of my drink in one long gulp. “Two can play this game.”

Eyeing the bar, looking for the next victim in this twisted game.

And that’s when you see him.

Leaning against the dj booth like he owns the damn place, sun-bleached hair wild, tan arms crossed over his chest, a beer hanging lazily from one hand. JJ Maybank.

All saltwater rebellion and reckless charm. I know their history. I know that JJ will do anything to piss Rafe off.

I smirked.

Perfect.

“JJ,” I say, strutting up to him with too much alcohol in my veins and even more venom in my heart.

He glances up, surprised, but not unwelcome. “Well, well. Didn’t think this bar could get any prettier.” He flirts. Of course he does.

“Don’t get cute,” I say, rolling my eyes. “I need a favor.”

JJ raises a brow, slow and curious. “What kind of favor? I don’t work for free, especially not for kooks”

“The kind that pisses off a certain Cameron.”

JJ’s smirk spreads like gasoline catching flame. “I’m listening.”

I don’t have time to explain. Instead, I hooked my arm around his and dragged him toward the center of the bar—right where Rafe can see us. And oh, he does. His eyes meet yours like a flint striking stone, burning hot and cold all at once.

You ignore the way your heart skips. Ignore the way your chest tightens at the sight of Sofia so cluelessly tucked under his arm. She doesn’t even look like his type. But that’s the point, isn’t it? She’s not supposed to be you. She’s supposed to replace you.

JJ follows your lead without question. One hand on your waist, the other spinning you into him as the music shifts into something slow and smoky. His lips brush your ear. “So, someone’s a little jealous of Rafe’s new girl?” He teases.

“Shut up,” you mutter, pressing in closer. “You down? Still?” I asked. “I can find someone else-“

JJ cuts me off, mouth meeting yours with heat and a little bit of mischief, like he knows exactly what kind of game this is. And he’s all in. His hand slides to the back of your neck, thumb brushing the soft skin behind your ear as he deepens the kiss—slow and deliberate, not rushed, not sloppy. Just enough to make it look real.

You feel Rafe’s eyes burn into you from across the bar.

Good.

You pull back slightly, your breath mingling with JJ’s, and whisper, “You’re a damn good actor.”

He grins. “Who says I'm acting?.”

That throws you for a loop.

Even though the music, you can hear it. Sofia letting out another ear piercing giggle. Like she doesn’t realize rafe isn’t even paying attention to her.

His eyes are on you, and JJ. He looks like he’s two seconds away from crushing the beer bottle in his hand. But still- Rafe doesn’t move.

He just watches.

His eyes are glued to you.

JJ leans down, whispering into your neck, “He looks like he’s about to break something.”

“Good,” you breathe. “Let him.”

JJ’s fingers slide up your neck, pulling you closer. “You wanna make this really sting?” He whispered. Biting my ear as he whispers.

Heat rises up your body. You look up at him. “What do you have in mind?”

JJ just smirks and kisses you again, slower this time. His hand wrapped around your throat, like he owned it, you.

This kiss was deeper.

JJ wasn’t anything like rafe. Rafe kissed aggressively, like he was starved and you were his first meal in days.

JJ kisses like he’s savoring you, like he’s been waiting for this, and needs to taste it all in before you slip away.

After we pull apart; your lips are swollen. You called the bartender, asking for a shot of tequila, and our tabs. I dowed the shot, paid for yours and JJs tab.

You’re either about to make the dumbest or smartest decision.

“Let's go before I change my mind.” You said looking up at JJ. He wraps his arm around your waist. Like he wasn’t missing this opportunity.

You steal one last glance at Rafe. He hasn’t moved.

But you can see it in his eyes—rage barely restrained, hands clenched under the table, jaw ticking like a bomb.

You turn away from him and focus on JJ.

And as you walk past Rafe’s booth, you act like you don’t know him as you head to the parking lot.

You don’t look at him. Your perfume he bought you, lingers in the air behind you. Like a slap in the face.

You know he’s watching.

You hope he is.

Because he brought Sofia here to remind you what you lost. But he fucked up.