#bsfb!rafe

bsfriendsbrother!rafe who finds reasons to be in the same space as you, walking into rooms you and sarah are in, leaning in the doorways, making annoying comments on the things you're both doing, or hovering just enough to get your attention without making it obvious.

bsfriendsbrother!rafe who realizes real quick you don’t treat him like everyone else does, rolling your eyes, brushing past him, muttering a quiet “fuck off, Rafe” when he blocks your path, and instead of backing off, it only makes him push more, his forbidden fruit.

bsfriendsbrother!rafe who tests the line constantly by standing too close in empty hallways, letting his hand brush yours, watching you carefully like he’s waiting for you to pull away, and noticing when you don’t.

bsfriendsbrother!rafe who ends up alone with you one time and doesn’t move out of your way, head tilted, smirk slow, “you’re different when sarah’s not around.” and something about the way you don’t deny it? yeah, that’s where it clicks for him.

bsfriendsbrother!rafe who somehow gets your number and starts texting you, casual at first like it’s the most insignificant thing in the world, then with purpose and he sees the exact moment you stop pretending you’re not interested, and he steals the opportunity with quickness.

bsfriendsbrother!rafe who corners you in the kitchen when the house is quiet, voice low, stepping into your space like he’s been waiting for this “i know what you’re doing, right” a small tilt of his head, “what do you mean?” you reply. his eyes flicking to your lips, “this little game” and when you don’t walk away, his lips find yours, closing the distance.

bsfriendsbrother!rafe who who wasn’t supposed to cross that line, but now that he has, there’s is absolutely no going back. he keeps it secret at first, saying things like a quiet “come here,” slipping you down hallways and into his room, the door shutting quick behind you like second nature.

bsfriendsbrother!rafe who always keeps one ear out for footsteps, but still lingers, still keeps you close a second longer than he should, like he physically can’t help it. bsfriendsbrother!rafe who, right before you leave his room, grabs your wrist and pulls you back in for one more second, forehead resting against yours, “you’re trouble,” he mutters, and when you whisper, “you started it,” he just smirks satisfied “oh and i’m not stoppin’ sweetheart.”

bsfriendsbrother!rafe who tries to fix your hair before you leave, straightens your clothes, with a low voice right by your ear, “you’re fine baby, just act normal.” like he didn’t just make that impossible, like that ‘baby’ didn’t just make you weak at the knees. 

bsfriendsbrother!rafe who acts like nothing’s happening in front of everyone, barely looks at you but somehow, you both always disappear at the same time at parties, reappearing minutes later like nothing happened, and no one suspects it, because you act like you hate him in front of people. 

bsfriendsbrother!rafe who actually catches you staring at him across the room and doesn’t look away this time, just smirks knowingly. later, when he finally gets you alone, he leans in close, voice low “keep lookin’ at me like that in front of everyone, and see what happens.”

bsfriendsbrother!rafe who thrives off the secrecy of it. the risk of it all, the way you both have to listen for doors opening, or voices getting too close. and the way you come back flustered every single time, rambling excuses. 

bsfriendsbrother!rafe who brushes past you in a crowded room, fingers grazing your lower back just enough to make your stomach flutter, and without even looking at you, he mutters, “meet me upstairs in five.” and the worst part? you always go.

bsfriendsbrother!rafe who watches you text the groupchat, “can’t today, next time!” while you’re sitting right next to him, and that smug little smirk settles, with that proud pit in his stomach like he’s saying ‘yeah, she chose me.’

bsfriendsbrother!rafe who overhears some assholes at the country club talking about how they want to hook up with you, and has to control himself from becoming his old reckless self again. but smirks saying “i think she’s taken” with a shrug 

bsfriendsbrother!rafe who texts you while you’re sitting right next to sarah with no shame, phone buzzing in your hand, rafe: you look prettyand when you glance up, he’s already watching you, eyes low, leaning back like nothing’s wrong you: you’re gonna get us caughtrafe: that’s the the risk of the game

bsfriendsbrother!rafe who tells himself it’s just a fling at first, you’re just sneaking around, or it’s just something to pass time. but he keeps coming back, he keeps pulling you aside, he keeps wanting more than just a few minutes, and even a few minutes to him isn’t becoming enough anymore. 

bsfriendsbrother!rafe who gets irritated when you pull away, questioning what you’re doing. his jaw’s tight, voice lowering out of hurt and annoyance, “you’re still here, aren’t you?” like that alone proves you feel it too.

bsfriendsbrother!rafe who starts blurring the lines without even realizing. spending more time and longer nights together. the moments becoming more intimate until you both realize it’s not just a fling anymore. 

bsfriendsbrother!rafe who shows up to your house one night with hibiscus flowers, because you briefly mentioned once you liked them. acting like it’s the most normal thing, given your ‘situation’ but he’s watching your reaction a little too closely for it to just be nothing.

bsfriendsbrother!rafe who starts taking you out, but always somewhere off the obx, on the mainland, somewhere no one will recognize you, no chance of it getting back to sarah, or any of your other friends.

bsfriendsbrother!rafe who is still cocky and a little dangerous, but softer with you in ways he doesn’t even realize, like it just natural.

bsfriendsbrother!rafe who loves when you start soft launching him on instagram, with pictures like your hand in his, or his chain, or his shoulder, but never his face. just enough to have people asking questions, and people, including sarah asked many questions. 

bsfriendsbrother!rafe who overhears people talking about your ‘mystery man’ and just leans back, smirking to himself, because they have no idea it’s him, the one person it shouldn’t be.

bsfriendsbrother!rafe who kinda treats it like a game, sneaking around, and he loves how long you both get away with it.

bsfriendsbrother!rafe who starts getting more careless over time, holding onto you a little longer, looking at you a little too openly, sending winks your way, like he’s slowly caring less about who finds out.

bsfriendsbrother!rafe who realizes he’s in too deep when it stops feeling like a game and starts feeling like he wants it to be his normal, like he doesn’t just want secret moments anymore, he wants all of it, he wants people to know you’re his.

bsfriendsbrother!rafe who gets a little jealous when someone’s talking to you too long, stepping in casually, arm brushing yours, “she’s busy,” he says smoothly, eyes not leaving yours, then quieter, just to you, “or you forgot that?”

bsfriendsbrother!rafe who doesn’t care he’s just did that in a crowd of people, “are you fucking insane?” you ask him, shocked he would defend you like that so publicly, he leans down to your ear, his lips almost brushing your skin, “pretty girl i dont give a fuck who’s watchin’ anymore.”

bsfriendsbrother!rafe who knows you’re hesitant because of sarah. he knows that once she finds out all hell will break loose. she’ll be angry about the line you crossed the second you let him even touch you. but would rather deal with sarah’s anger, than pretend he doesn’t want you and everything that entails you anymore.

Sarah had begged and begged you. Not a casual ask. Not a polite invitation. Full-on puppy eyes, dramatic sighs, and a three-day campaign of “please come with us, it won’t be fun without you.” You should’ve known better. Any vacation involving the Camerons was bound to come with complications, especially when one of those Camerons was Rafe.

The cabin was tucked deep into the mountains, all dark wood and glowing windows, snow piled thick along the roof and trees like something out of a postcard. The kind of place that smelled like pine and fireplace smoke, where everything felt quieter, closer.

Intimate in a way that made your pulse jump every time Rafe brushed past you in the narrow hallways, his broad shoulders barely clearing the doorframes, the faint scent of his cologne (cedar and something sharp) lingering in the air behind him. The first night, you told yourself you’d behave.

By the second day, that resolution was already splintering. You spent your mornings bundled in scarves and mittens, laughing with Sarah as you trudged through snowdrifts, the cold biting your cheeks pink. Skiing, sledding, and hot chocolate that burned your tongue.

Rafe was always nearby. Never obvious. Always watching. A hand at the small of your back when no one was looking, steadying you on an icy step. A look held half a second too long across the dinner table, dark eyes burning with something only you could read. Fingers brushing when he passed you a mug; deliberate, slow, the pad of his thumb grazing your knuckles like a promise.

Sneaking around became second nature. A quiet kiss stolen in the pantry while Sarah argued with her dad about dinner plans, Rafe’s mouth warm and urgent against yours, one hand braced on the shelf behind your head.

Another time, he’d pressed you gently into the wall of the hallway, forehead resting against yours, both of you smiling like it was a secret too sweet to keep. His voice was always low when he spoke to you, softer than anyone else ever got, gravel and honey, just for you.

By the third morning, you were aching for time alone. The plan came together in whispers the night before, when the house was finally quiet, and Sarah was asleep. Everyone was supposed to go skiing after breakfast. Boots lined up by the door, jackets piled high. You sat at the table, wrapped in one of Sarah’s oversized sweaters, stirring your coffee slowly, heart already racing.

“I don’t think I’m gonna go,” you said quietly, pressing a hand to your stomach. You hated lying, especially to Sarah, but she barely noticed, already distracted by the weather report on her phone.

“You okay?” she asked absently, eyes on her screen.

“Just cramps,” you shrugged, keeping your voice small. “I’ll stay back and rest.” Sarah nodded without looking up, already moving to grab her gear.

Rafe didn’t look at you right away. When he did, his expression was perfectly neutral, like he hadn’t just caught the meaning behind your words. A beat passed. Then he cleared his throat.

“Uh,” he said, standing slowly. “I’ll stay too.”

Ward looked up immediately, fork pausing mid-air.

Rafe didn’t miss a step. “I tweaked my knee yesterday. Probably shouldn’t push it.”

Ward’s eyes narrowed just a fraction. The kind of look that said he knew his son better than Rafe liked. He hummed, unconvinced. “Mm. Sure.”

The rest of the family filtered out one by one: Sarah, Rose, Wheezie, heading toward the entryway with skis and chatter, the front door opening and closing behind them until the cabin felt suddenly, wonderfully empty.

Rafe lingered at the table, finishing his coffee in slow sips. Only when the last of the footsteps faded, and the door clicked shut for the final time, did Ward appear in the doorway, jacket half-on, about to follow the others out.

He paused, eyes flicking between the two of you—still seated, still casual, but something in the air had shifted. Ward’s gaze settled on Rafe. “Rafe,” he said flatly, voice low enough that it wouldn’t carry to the driveway. “If you’re staying behind for… whatever reason, wear a condom.”

Rafe froze, coffee mug halfway to his mouth, face flushing red up to his ears. “Dad—”

Ward raised a hand, cutting him off without raising his voice. “I’m not stupid,” he said calmly, almost conversationally. “And I’m not interested in surprises. That’s all I’m saying.” He didn’t wait for a response. Just clapped Rafe once on the shoulder, firm, paternal, no-nonsense, and walked out, pulling the door closed behind him with a soft thud.

The kitchen fell silent except for the faint crackle of the fire in the next room. Rafe sat there for a long second, jaw tight, ears burning. When he finally turned to look at you, you were pressing your lips together, trying—and failing—to hide your smile. “You’re enjoying this,” he muttered.

You bit your lip. “A little.”

He shook his head, exhaling a laugh despite himself, then stood and rounded the table. He grabbed your wrist gently and pulled you up and into him once the house was truly, completely yours. “You’re something else,” he said under his breath, voice rough with amusement and something hotter.

You smiled up at him, soft and innocent. “You stayed.”

He kissed you gently at first, like he always did when you were alone. Slow, unhurried, like there was nowhere else to be. Snowlight filtered in through the windows, casting everything in pale gold. His thumb brushed your cheek, reverent. The world narrowed to the crackle of the fire and the quiet pull between you.

You don’t remember who tugged who toward the bedroom. Only that Rafe’s laughter was low and breathless, that the door clicked shut behind you, that his hands were careful even when his want was obvious.

The room was warm, lit only by the soft glow of a bedside lamp and the cold silver light from the window. Snow fell steadily outside, muffling the world. Rafe backed you toward the bed slowly, kissing you the whole way, hands sliding under the hem of your sweater, fingertips tracing the curve of your waist like he was memorizing you.

He pulled the sweater over your head, tossing it aside, then stepped back just enough to look at you, really look, eyes dark, hungry, but still so careful. “God,” he murmured, voice wrecked. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

You reached for the hem of his shirt, tugging it up and off, fingers skimming the hard planes of his stomach, the faint scars from old fights. He groaned softly when your nails grazed his skin. Then he was on you again, guiding you down onto the mattress, settling his weight carefully between your thighs.

He kissed his way down your neck, your collarbone, slow and deliberate. When he reached your chest, he took his time, lips closing around one nipple, tongue flicking gently, then sucking harder when you arched and gasped his name. His hand slid between your legs, cupping you through your underwear, feeling how wet you already were.

“Fuck,” he breathed against your skin. “Been thinking about this since breakfast. About getting you alone. Making you feel good.”

You tugged at his hair, pulling him back up to kiss you, needy and open-mouthed. “Do it,” you whispered. “Please, Rafe.” He didn’t make you wait.

He stripped you both the rest of the way, movements unhurried but sure. When you were bare beneath him, he paused again, eyes roaming over you like he couldn’t believe you were real. Then he lowered himself, kissing a slow path down your stomach, your hips, until he was settled between your thighs. He looked up at you through his lashes, a small, wicked smile tugging at his lips. “Gonna take my time with you.”

His mouth found you first, soft, teasing licks at first, tasting you slowly, groaning low in his throat when you whimpered and rolled your hips. He hooked your thighs over his shoulders, hands gripping your hips to hold you still as he licked deeper, tongue circling your clit with perfect, maddening pressure. One finger slid inside you, then two, curling just right, stroking in time with his mouth until your thighs were shaking and you were chanting his name.

When you came, it was sudden and overwhelming, back arching off the bed, fingers tight in his hair, a broken moan spilling out as pleasure rolled through you in waves. Rafe didn’t stop until you were trembling, oversensitive, and boneless. Only then did he crawl back up, kissing you deeply so you could taste yourself on his tongue. He lined himself up, eyes locked on yours. “Tell me if it’s too much,” he said quietly.

You wrapped your legs around him. “It won’t be.”

He pushed in slowly, inch by inch, letting you adjust, forehead pressed to yours, breathing hard. When he was fully inside, he stilled, letting you feel every inch of him, the stretch, the heat, the way you fit together. Then he started to move, slow, deep rolls of his hips, pulling almost all the way out before sliding back in, every thrust deliberate, dragging against every sensitive spot.

You clung to him, nails digging into his back, meeting every movement. The pace built gradually, faster, harder, until the headboard tapped softly against the wall and the only sounds were your shared breaths, the wet slide of skin, and the quiet, desperate sounds you both made. “Fuck, baby,” he groaned against your neck. “You feel so good. So perfect.”

You came again first, clenching around him, pulling him deeper, and he followed right after, hips stuttering, a low, guttural sound tearing from his throat as he buried himself and spilled inside you, trembling through it. He collapsed over you, careful not to crush you, kissing you through the aftershocks, slow, lazy, sweet.

-

Later, when the house was dark and the family still gone, you and Rafe slipped outside together, wrapped in towels and winter coats, breath fogging in the cold. The hot tub steamed under the stars, snow clinging to your hair as you sank into the warmth. Rafe pulled you close immediately, arm heavy around your shoulders, chin resting against your temple. You fit there easily. Like you always had.

“This is my favorite part,” he murmured.

“The sneaking?” you teased.

“No,” he said quietly, voice soft and serious. “You.” You smiled into his chest.

You didn’t hear Sarah until she was already there.

“Oh my God.”

You both froze.

Sarah stood on the deck, arms crossed, eyebrow raised so high it nearly disappeared into her beanie. She looked from you to Rafe, then back again. Took in the towels. The way his arm didn’t move from around you.

“You two are unbelievable,” she said flatly. “How long has this been going on?”

Rafe sighed. “We were gonna tell you.”

You nodded sheepishly. “Eventually.”

She stared for another long second. Then she rolled her eyes so hard it was almost impressive. “You're gross,” she said. “Both of you.”

Rafe grinned. You laughed, tension melting away like snow in warm water.

The music pulsed so loud you could feel it in your chest. Sarah tugged you into the house, her laugh bright over the thrum of bass, weaving through the crowd like she belonged to it. You trailed her closely, clutching your drink, trying not to stare at him the second you spotted Rafe.

He was leaning against the wall near the kitchen, beer bottle in hand, his easy smirk trained on the girl at his side. One of those Kildare girls who showed up everywhere and made it their mission to orbit him. Her hand brushed his arm as she laughed at whatever he’d said, and you swore you felt it physically. Your stomach twisted.

You couldn’t say anything, not with Sarah standing right next to you, but it burned hot in your chest anyway. You turned your head, pretending to focus on Sarah’s conversation with some friends. But his eyes flicked over once, catching yours, and the smug curl of his lips made it worse. Two could play at that game.

Later, when Sarah had wandered off toward the drinks table, a tall guy you vaguely knew struck up a conversation. He was funny and loud enough that you didn’t have to strain to hear. He leaned down when he spoke, close enough that your perfume would cling to him. You laughed, light and easy, brushing your hand over his arm.

Out of the corner of your eye, you caught it. Rafe, watching. Jaw tight, eyes dark, his grip on the bottle sharp enough to snap the glass. Your phone buzzed. Once. Twice.

Rafe: Upstairs. Now. Rafe: Don’t make me come get you.

Your heart lurched, heat spreading through you at his tone, even written. You murmured some excuse to the guy and slipped away. Sarah was too busy to notice you disappear into the stairwell. At the end of the hall, a door cracked open. Rafe’s hand shot out, pulling you inside before you could breathe. The slam of the door cut off the music, leaving only the ragged sound of your own breath.

His hand was still clamped around your wrist. “What the fuck was that?”

You yanked free, glaring. “What the fuck was that? You draping yourself all over some random girl like I wasn’t even here?”

He stepped forward, crowding your space, eyes blazing. “You know why I do that.”

“Oh, to piss me off?” you snapped, shoving at his chest. “Well, congrats. Mission accomplished.”

His chest rose and fell, hard. “You think I liked watching you giggle at that guy like he was worth your time? You’re mine.”

The words hit, low and rough, something dark sparking in your chest. You lifted your chin, even as your back hit the wall. “Then stop acting like I’m not.”

His mouth crashed onto yours, hot and angry, all tongue and frustration. You moaned against him, nails digging into his shirt as he shoved your skirt up, hands gripping your hips like he could mold you into place. The kiss turned desperate, messy like the argument was still there, but being burned out of both of you.

He spun you, pressing you against the dresser, lips trailing down your neck as his fingers pushed aside your panties. You gasped, clinging to him as he slid into you hard, the stretch making your toes curl instantly.

“God,” his breath was ragged in your ear, “you’re never pulling that shit again.”

You whimpered, grinding back against him, but your voice stayed sharp. “Maybe if you didn’t flirt with every girl in the room, I wouldn’t have to.”

He grunted, gripping your hips tighter, thrusting harder until your words broke off into moans. Each push was rougher, deeper, fueled by jealousy and anger and want all tangled together. “Say it,” he demanded, his hand sliding up to grip your jaw, forcing your eyes to his. “Say you’re mine.”

You gasped out the words, lips trembling. “I’m yours, Rafe, I’m yours.”

The sound that tore out of him was low, feral, his thrusts quickening until heat coiled so sharply in your belly you thought you might break. When you finally came, you clutched him like you’d drown without him, his own release following fast, spilling against your skin as his teeth sank into your shoulder.

The room smelled of sweat and sex, your skin flushed and sticky as you slumped against the dresser, breath coming in uneven gasps. Rafe leaned into you, chest pressed to your back, still half-buried inside you like he couldn’t stand to let go just yet.

For a long moment, the only sound was your mingled breathing. Then he groaned softly, head dropping into the crook of your neck. “Jesus, you drive me fucking crazy.”

You laughed, breathless. “Could say the same about you.”

He pulled out slowly, making you wince at the sudden emptiness. Before you could move, his hands were on you again, tugging your skirt back down, smoothing the wrinkles, fixing the strap of your top. Almost careful, like he was rewinding all the roughness from minutes ago.

“Don’t give me that look,” he muttered, catching your eyes in the mirror as he straightened your hem. “If you think I’m letting you walk back down there looking wrecked, you’re insane.”

You smirked, turning to face him, still leaning against the dresser. “Oh, so now you’re sweet? Thought you hated me five minutes ago.”

He rolled his eyes but cupped your jaw, thumb brushing the corner of your swollen lips. “I never hate you. You just…make me jealous.”

Your heart tugged at that, even as you teased him. “Maybe you should work on that.”

His mouth curved, softer now, as he pressed a kiss to your forehead, tender, grounding. Then another to your lips, slower than before, tasting of apologies. “You know you’re it for me, right?” he said quietly, almost too vulnerable for the Rafe Cameron you knew.

You nodded, brushing your nose against his. “Same.”

For a few seconds, the two of you just stayed like that, cocooned in the quiet while the party raged below. His fingers laced with yours, thumb stroking your knuckles before he finally let go. “C’mon,” he sighed, stealing one last kiss. “Let’s go find Sarah before she gets suspicious.”

When you emerged from the room, both of you looking deceptively composed, it almost felt like you’d gotten away with something impossible. After a glance and a smirk, you slipped back downstairs together.

Of course, Sarah was the first to spot you. She raised her brows, suspicious. “Where’ve you been? And why are you with Rafe?”

Your practiced smile slid on effortlessly. “We were looking for you,” you said, too casually. “Thought maybe you’d wandered off.”